Chapter Text
Another business meeting, another tense dinner, another night of the families pretending they’re friends, entertaining business partners together. Kinn’s smile has hidden teeth, Vegas has covered his left cheek with expensive make-up. Has he been in a fight? If so, who was so dumb as to punch the oldest son of the minor family and did he die quickly?
Because Big doesn’t doubt for a second that whomever bruised up Vegas Theerapanyakun, didn’t live for long. Of course, it could be from a stupid drunk walk into a wall or some martial arts, but Vegas doesn’t seem like the type to do kickboxing. Big can’t picture him as a playful guy at all, but someone to whom games are always something far too serious.
Not that Big is one to talk. Sometimes it feels like he was born serious, like his mother gave birth to a grumpy old man in a newborn’s body. No wonder other guys – or girls for that matter – never looked twice at him.
Kinn can’t seem to stop diverting his eyes to Porsche but it no longer gives Big that sickening surge in his stomach. It’s just tedious, like having to sit with Tankhun, rewatching one of his shows for the umptenth time. Big would much rather watch Chan, preferably naked but he looks fine as hell in his black suit too.
This is just another night, where Big has to keep his eyes, hands, jealousy and shitty mood hidden, especially the two last ones because this night, that asshole Gun thought it would be funny to celebrate the two families frail little peace by inviting a bunch of no doubt shit expensive escorts to make his very much not straight son even more uncomfortable while the elderly guys are fucking oblivious to the younger ones – as usual.
It’s almost a comfort to know that no matter how rich and powerful these men are, they’re just as shitty fathers as Big’s was. But in his defence, Big thinks while forcing his hands not to do something stupid, at least he never drunkenly pulled Big down to sit on his lap while calling him pup.
The bastard is old and rich, automatically respected due to seniority but there are also rumors about him going a bit soft in head these days. Perhaps a sign of dementia or whatever so yes, here Big sits like a damn firepoker pretending he’s unbothered – but not fucking amused and definitely not flattered – by the creep who chuckles and pats Big’s thigh like he’s some kind of whore on a club.
Or, sickening fucking thought: one of those poor 10-year-olds who are pimped out to actual pedophiles. Big’s mouth goes dry, he doesn’t know if this creep is a kiddy fucker, perhaps he’s just old, drunk and used to get what he wants. It’s not as if Big looks that young, right?!
A hand in his hair.
“Such a funny little tail this one has…”
This one?
The fuck does he think Big is? A fucking pony?!
Big tries to rise, making it appear like he’s not disgusted but the creep drags him down again, rather impatient.
“Oh no, you’re not leaving yet! Night’s young, or are you just shy?”
Money and power sometimes smell like rotten food, like a corpse on parade with too strong incense to hide the process of death. Big would love to see this creep’s body like that as he’s forced to sit down again.
Would love to see these digusting hands unable to touch.
***
He’s seen this happen more times than he can remember. Never liked it, never done anything about it. Being young, pretty and too powerless to speak up makes some old assholes forget you’re a human being altogether. Chan wouldn’t have it in him to be angry should Big blow up, cause a scene, even punch the bastard but he knows his boy.
So while silently praying for patience, Chan throws discrete looks at Mr. Korn, trying to alert him without saying it out loud and while his boss doesn’t show any sign of recognition, he does start looking around and then waves at Big.
“I forgot my cigarrs. Big, you know where they are.”
“Yes, sir.”
Never has Chan seen a man look this relieved to be used as a delivery boy and without showing a hint of the disgust he’s clearly feeling, Big elegantly moves away with a little smile and doesn’t even flinch when the creep lets out an “aww” and slaps his ass while Big, to Chan’s surprised admiration, just walks out with his head held high.
Following him with his eyes, Chan only hears the old man’s prurient chuckle:
“Fine little piece, that one, Mr. Korn.”
Chan’s boss doesn’t nod, doesn’t smile, just picks up his lighter as Big returns with the cigarrs and his usual, respectful little bow.
“Sir.”
“Thank you.”
Then, Mr. Korn takes one and looks straight at the creep.
“The family is lucky to have Big. He’s one of our best. Dutiful, skilled, loyal… and a lot more dangerous than he looks.”
There’s a beat of silence and then Kinn gives one of his slightly provocative smiles.
“Papa is right. We take pride in his devotion to this family.”
Chan knows this is an attempt to stop the bastard from continuing his degrading little game and yes, Big deserves the praise because he is dutiful, he is highly skilled and his loyalty and devotion can’t be questioned.
And of course he’s dangerous, but they’re all aware that he wont do shit no matter how creepy the guest is, unless Mr. Korn allows is – and in this case it’s unlikely. Mr. Korn lights his cigarr and smiles at Big with a little nod towards the door.
“Go and replace Arm for Tankhun.”
“Yes, sir.”
The thank you, sir is unspoken but visible in Big’s eyes as he’s leaving the room with perfect grace, as if he’s not just been subjected to 45 minutes of sexual harrassment. Chan wishes he could follow, but he’s on duty, hasn’t been told to leave and it wont do Big any service if it’s hinted that Chan wants to go to him now.
So Chan does nothing and hates himself just a little bit for it.
***
The taste is vile. Not having had dinner yet means there’s not much get up anyway, but the long strings of saliva, the bile, the way his stomach wants to keep flipping over in cramps, is really disgusting.
Being a bodyguard is to be a tool and Big generally likes that. Being touched by a creep is to be an object and that’s something else entirely. Degrading, not quite like those white old kiddy fuckers drooling over literal boys and girls, of course it’s not that bad, but still. Yikes. And there was nothing Big could do to stop it without causing problems to Mr. Korn so fuck being a bodyguard when you’re paid to not look after yourself.
Getting up from the bathroom floor, he flushes the toilet and then gets up to rinse his mouth before scrubbing his hands and face furiously.
At least he doesn’t have to go back, thank fuck, because there’s an actual risk of Big punching some teeth out if this shit goes on. Making sure he doesn’t look too much like a mess, he strokes his hair back, reties the rubber band and then goes to Tankhun’s rooms.
The oldest Theerapanyakun is all cozied up in one of his satin pj:s, watching the shows he loves on repeat and while it’s tiresome, Big can see the appeal in repetition. To know exactly what to expect is relaxing, after all. Tankhun waves at him.
“Oh, Big! Come here, sit down! You want popcorn?”
“I’m good, boss. Thank you.”
“Well, don’t just stand there, we’re watching the shows!”
This is okay. Tankhun’s own little den, shut down from the world means a break, and one Big really needs right now. He tries to focus on the show he doesn’t give two shits about, on Tankhun and his popcorn and feathery jacket and lousy plot memory, but all that’s buzzing in his head, is how much Chan must despise Big now.
Because he wasn’t strong, didn’t stay put but had to be pulled out of there like some weak ass bitch who couldn’t defend himself. He’s a fucking bodyguard, he’s been taking bullets and cuts and punches like it’s nothing and here he sits, dismissed because he couldn’t keep his shit together when he got some sleezy hands on him?!
Night’s young, or are you just shy?
The smell of popcorn makes him nauseous.
***
With Big gone, the pervert is almost behaving again. That is, until Gun Theerapanyakul subtly nods Vegas over and Chan wants to punch something – or someone. Who the hell does this shit? Making your own son sit close to an old scum who just showed he’s not gonna keep his hands to himself. And yet, Vegas obeys, like he has no choice.
Chan is loyal to his boss and while he’s not blind to the Major Family’s faults, at least they’re not blatantly cruel to the young ones. And yes, Kinn is a decent guy in these circles but when he’s this damn infatuated with a mess like Porsche…
Fuck, who’s getting distracted now?
Big has been behaving better lately. Not as moody, less prone to take Porsche’s baits – oblivious as they might be – and just, well, a lot more stable. Eating normally, sleeping as he should and not skipping stretches. There hasn’t been time for any prolonged privacy between them, unfortunately, but Chan has tried to make up for it a bit with frequent smiles, daily little touches, seemingly ordinary while more lingering.
Of course, Big is still a brat at heart and will start pouting when he’s not getting what he needs. To others, it might look like his usual disdain, but since Chan’s and Big’s thing started, Chan has come to see his boy in a different light, even when they’re on duty. Big doesn’t show it to others, but Chan notices the way he’s looking at him with a half accusatory, half insecure glare. The boy is expecting something, but still ashamed of asking, still worried he’ll be rejected.
Chan, for his part, is scared shitless he’ll end up taking advantage and not just screw up one of their top bodyguards but breaking his heart as well. Big is strong, sure, but something tells Chan he’s not equipped to take that amount of betrayal. It wasn’t as if they did a quickie together and then grabbed a smoke.
The meeting is over now, in the sense that the important parts have been discussed and now it’s just the tedious part with drinking, smoking and chatting left. Chan has learned to tune out from business talk a long time ago, but tonight he’s listening because the guest is a lot more interested in their bodyguards and no one is fucking fooled here: he means Big, just not right out.
It wouldn’t bother Chan, not this much, not before that night.
He really shouldn’t think about that now, but the image of Big resting heavy and satisfied on his chest doesn’t sit well with the unwanted fingers grabbing for him before. Big was uncomfortable, disgusted – and so damn professional.
The men laugh at something Chan doesn’t hear, glasses are being refilled and time is stuck in the mud, moving at a snail’s pace. A shitty evening, to say the least.