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He has never really been much of a religious man, but when Kinn fucks him, Porsche thinks he’s found God.
It’s not just the fact that Kinn fucks him so good, so thoroughly, that Porsche forgets his own name - though that is certainly a factor. It’s the way Kinn takes Porsche’s body as his own so fervently, how he lays claim to it, worships it.
And most of all, inexplicably, it’s the words that are pressed hotly into Porsche’s skin, the ones spoken as Kinn rails Porsche so hard into the headboard he sees stars. The ones that make Porsche’s body heat up like he’s been set on fire; a feverish, all-encompassing heat that feels so good it’s almost unbearable.
It unravels on a Friday night, Porsche’s cheeks red and flushed from the couple of glasses of champagne had in celebration of a successful event - that is, an event that doesn’t eventually end in an attempt being made on a person’s life. Kinn has Porsche splayed out on the crisp sheets, fucking him so desperately it’s like they need it to breathe.
“You look so good like that,” Kinn whispers against the skin of Porsche’s neck, breathing the praise hot and heavy into his skin. Porsche feels the words melt deep into his veins, coursing through his body until they drain into his heart. “You take me so well”.
Porsche barely manages to stifle a moan at the words, can only shiver as Kinn presses open-mouthed kisses down his chest.
The stream of praise that leaves Kinn’s mouth in the bedroom is enough to send Porsche to his knees, and the worst part is that Porsche doesn’t even know why it has so much of an effect on him. Maybe it’s the contrast between the stoic, cold, unaffected Kinn that he encounters on the clock, the one who declares with certainty that he trusts no-one, with the Kinn that only Porsche is privy to when they are alone – the one who opens his heart so thoroughly to Porsche with his endless torrent of affirmation.
The Kinn that Porsche knows nobody else sees.
“Fuck, Porsche, do you know how beautiful you are?” Kinn breathes, thumbs gripping Porsche’s hips so hard Porsche is sure they will bruise.
Porsche can’t stop the moan that escapes his lips this time, throwing his head back into the sheets as Kinn fucks into him, Porsche’s thighs lifting off the bed as he rocks back into Kinn.
“Yeah, just like that,” Kinn agrees breathily. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Fuck, Kinn, stop,” Porsche groans, the words jolting through him like an electric shock, the pleasure so overstimulating that it almost hurts. They seem to flow so unbridled from the man’s mouth – the same man who once looked at Porsche with those cold, apathetic eyes and called him expendable, merely a cog in the wheel. Truly, the power Kinn can wield with only his mouth is something remarkable. He could take Porsche apart and put him back together with the utterance of just a few sentences.
Kinn suddenly pauses, sweat beading on his forehead, with a smirk that Porsche could only describe as wicked. He seems to think for a second before he speaks. “You like it, don’t you?”
Porsche's heart thuds unpleasantly in his chest and he swallows heavily, attempting to dislodge the lump in his throat that has formed in record speed. “Like what?”
“When I praise you. I can tell.” Kinn brings his face to Porsche’s until their noses are almost touching, lowering his voice to a quiet rasp. He grins. “You’re a slut for it.”
Porsche knows that Kinn was going to catch on eventually – Porsche has never been the greatest at suppressing his thoughts and feelings, not least in the presence of the most overwhelming person in his entire life. It’s gotten so bad, built up over too many months, that now, even the slightest of appreciatory nods from the man sends Porsche into a sweat, business attire or not.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Porsche chokes back, gasping, back arching off the sheets, as Kinn’s hand sneaks down, fingers brushing over Porsche’s neglected cock.
“Oh, really?” Kinn says slowly, fucking Porsche in tandem now with the slow, rhythmic stroking of his hand on Porsche’s dick. “You don’t like it when I tell you that you look so good spread out for me?”
Porsche swears quietly and bites his lip hard as a culmination of arousal, incredulity, and pleasure threatens to burst out from where they have settled in his stomach. He’s so close to tipping over the edge, but he’d rather die than have Kinn know that the simple whisper of a few filthy things in Porsche’s ear could send him shaking at the knees.
“You can let go,” Kinn speaks lowly, purposefully, into Porsche’s ear. “I want to see your pretty face when you come.”
At this, against his best wishes, truly, Porsche releases, moaning so loud that he’s surprised he doesn’t get the door kicked down by a concerned bodyguard, responding to a clear threat on life.
Kinn just leans back, cock still buried seven inches deep, and laughs.
They’re in Yok’s bar the next night – Tankhun had gotten that excited look on his face the way he does on a Saturday night when he’s bored and wants to get drunk and Porsche and Pete had just sighed, smiling privately at each other.
“Come with us,” Porsche had goaded Kinn, who had just rolled his eyes. Porsche nudged him with his shoulder.
“You’re so boring, Kinn. Have some fun for once in your life.”
“I’ve had enough ‘fun’ for an entire lifetime since you’ve been here,” Kinn retorted, but then seemed to consider something, a thoughtful expression crossing his features.
“I’ll go if you wear the pants.”
Porsche had flushed a little bit, heat rising in his cheeks, knowing exactly what pants Kinn was referring to. “What pants?”, he had asked anyway.
And then Kinn had leaned in, grinning, and said, “the tight ones.”
So, there they are, Pete, Pol and Arm watching helplessly as Tankhun throws back his fourth tequila and lime in a span of fifteen minutes. They’re piled into the booth, Yok flitting through almost imperceptibly with an innocuous smile on her face as she quietly refills the shot glasses.
“I love it when you bring your friend,” Yok says sweetly, a hand placed on Porsche’s shoulder, glancing at Kinn. “He’s so cute.”
Kinn just laughs, eyes trained on Porsche.
“Don’t you think I’m cuter, though?” Porsche jokes, instantaneously flipping Pete off over his shoulder as he registers a derisive snort coming from the boy. Yok just shakes her head, laughing, and saunters off toward the bar.
“You are cute, Porsche,” Tankhun barks, slurring his words a little bit – the four consecutive shots clearly having caught up to him. “Cute Porsche.” He raises his hand to signal for another drink, which Arm frantically attempts to lower.
Porsche and Pete try – and fail – to hide their grins behind their hand. Tankhun is so ridiculously adorable when he’s tipsy that it’s almost impossible to deny him anything.
A nagging part of Porsche’s brain notices that Kinn has been uncharacteristically silent during his brother’s drunken antics, which is not a usual occurrence. Porsche risks a glance at him to find that same strange thoughtful expression from earlier on his face.
And then he speaks.
“You’d be cuter with your mouth around my dick,” Kinn murmurs, just quietly enough for Pete - who has a habit of only hearing things he’s not supposed to - not to hear.
Porsche’s eyes widen slightly, a hot flush immediately creeping up his neck. “Kinn,” he hisses, attempting to infuse as much warning in his tone as he possibly can – which is not much. He spares a paranoid glance at the other three, who are fortunately engrossed in attempting to prevent Tankhun from snorting lines of table salt off the hardwood, exclaiming that he’s “seen people in dramas do it all the time.”
Kinn just smiles and leans back in his seat, eyebrows cocked.
And Porsche realises at that moment how much danger he really is in. His inability to keep his dick from jumping out of his pants when Kinn wields that mouth in unforgivable ways has led to what is starting to become an incredibly volatile situation.
He’s so fucked.
Because really, Porsche could drown in the words that leave Kinn’s lips – the ones that seem so carefully selected; because they must be, everything in Kinn’s life must be careful, methodical, cautious, and that’s what makes it so much worse. That it seems Kinn must try so hard to be perfect and poised and above all cautious and still manages to unravel Porsche with his words is what leaves Porsche gasping, choking for air. And so incredibly turned on.
Porsche feels Pete nudge him from where they sit next to each other, and he looks up to see an inquisitive look, expression asking, “is everything okay?”
Porsche just nods weakly and fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. He hates so fucking much how every expression and thought is written so plainly on his face for what it seems like the entire world to see. He wishes he was like Kinn in that respect – the unflinching stoicism at least lending itself to the fact that nobody has the ability to read him.
“I think another round is in order,” Porsche declares instead, to give himself something to do other than think about Kinn’s words too much. He finds that the more he thinks about them, the more they have the tendency to crawl up under his skin and settle there until only screaming, crying, jerking off, or a combination of the three manages to dispel it.
Pol smiles sheepishly and slides 1,000 baht across the table. “What I owe you from last time,” he explains, and Porsche winks, fighting a smile at the memory of their last bar crawl when he had to drag a shitfaced, usually responsible Pol through the house into his room. Vomit, as Porsche came to learn, is not cheap to remove from expensive, white dress shirts.
“I’ll buy the next round since you took me so well last night,” Kinn whispers into his ear as Porsche goes to leave the table, and Porsche almost loses it.
Porsche wonders what the fuck has gotten into Kinn tonight. He’s never usually this brazen unless they’re in the bedroom, and especially not in front of his employees. He swallows heavily, cursing himself for his stupid decision to actually wear those stupid fucking pants which his steadily hardening dick is now pressed uncomfortably against.
He clears his throat and subtly attempts to smooth his shirt out over his pants, ignoring Kinn’s feral smirk and Pete and Arm’s interested expressions.
“I’ll be back,” Porsche grinds out, and makes a beeline for the bar. The heat rising in his skin is startling to become so stifling he can hardly breathe.
“Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong?” Yok asks as soon as Porsche makes it there, slipping behind the counter, out of breath like he’s just run a mile. He rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes, questioning the reasons behind the existence of his stupid fucking dick, his stupid fucking boss, his stupid fucking praise kink.
“I think it’d be better if you didn’t know,” he says, honestly.
Yok just nods, patting his shoulder sympathetically. “He really is gorgeous, though,” she says, after a thoughtful couple of seconds. “It’s no wonder why you’re like this. I don’t know how you stand it.”
“You should hear the things that come out of his mouth. All, good boy this, and good boy that. It drives me insane. Insane!” Porsche rambles, almost delirious. He’s not entirely sure if it’s from the alcohol or the hormones contributing to the steadfast swell of his dick in his pants, but his head is too clouded to think rationally about what he’s saying.
Yok shakes her head, clicking her tongue in disappointment. “Well, he may be gorgeous, Porsche, but as ladies, we must be the ones in power. Always.”
Porsche ducks his head and grins. He appreciates Yok, her sagacity and reliability as the person he knows he can talk to about literally anything without receiving any judgement.
“If you get off on that, then good for you. You just have to find a way to use it to your advantage. Make him work for it.” She nudges him gently on the back. “Now go. I’ll leave the back room unlocked for you,” she winks.
Unsurprisingly, Porsche ends up not even an hour later with Kinn’s hand palming his dick through his pants, their mouths moving desperately against each other. Porsche thinks he should be more concerned by the fact that there wasn’t a single surprised look from the table when they both half-heartedly excused themselves, but he’ll care about that when he has the capacity to care about anything other than the tongue in his mouth.
Kinn pulls back for a second, one hand snaking around to squeeze Porsche’s ass. “I’ve been thinking about your ass in those jeans all night,” he rasps, breaths coming hard and fast.
Porsche automatically lets out a pathetic whine, dragging his bottom lip through his teeth so hard he almost draws blood. He’s not like this – he isn’t reduced to a whining, begging whore so easily, but with Kinn, Porsche might as well have become a completely different person. He’s just tempted to run with it at this point – to admit that this is who he is now. This is his life.
Porsche stands up a little straighter, anchoring his ass back into Kinn’s touch. Swallowing his pride, resigning himself to a new life, Porsche whispers back, “thinking about how well it takes your dick?”
Kinn chokes back a surprised noise at that, and Porsche has to fight the urge to award himself a mental point. Notwithstanding the fact that their current ranking has him slipping well below the leader board – Kinn has had one over him far too much lately.
But Yok is right, as she always is. The lady must hold all the power.
“You know it,” Kinn grins, fingers moving deftly down the buttons of Porsche’s jeans. “Are you going to come as hard as you did last night if I tell you how much you turn me on?”
Porsche could bite his tongue back and let the words pulse through his body unaided; refuse to make Kinn aware of the true power he holds over Porsche, though he suspects that Kinn already knows that by now. Or he could, as Yok said, use them to his advantage – having Kinn’s overwhelmingly audacious power wielded in the hands of someone as unhinged as Porsche could lead to some very pleasurable consequences.
He takes Kinn’s hand and places it very purposefully on his dick.
“So tell me, then.”
fin