Chapter Text
Like a switch being flipped, Big goes from kind of cool, actually, to a real dickbag. Porsche doesn’t know what happened to trigger it. He thinks that Big might have caught him and Kinn making out in the bathroom of a gala, and he feels super shitty about it.
Since… everything, Porsche has been aware that Big had certain feelings for Kinn. He feels like an asshole that he didn’t notice before. He’s tried, as much as he can, not to rub his success in Big’s face the way he probably was when they first got together. And he doesn’t know what else he can do.
Apparently his efforts weren’t enough. Overnight, Big’s criticisms go from helpful to mean. The hilarious little zingers he would get Porsche with occasionally are now just nasty. He goes from being the thing that was getting Porsche through his days to someone he dreads seeing in the morning.
Porsche doesn’t know what to do about it. Big is still the guy who saved his life - he doesn’t feel like he can be an asshole back. And if he requested reassignment, he’d lose the help that Big is still giving him.
(He’s a hopeful person, too. Maybe if he endures it, maybe if he finds the right thing to say… Maybe Big will like him again.)
In the midst of Big’s cold shoulder, he and Kinn settle into a rhythm of more in their sex life.
It’s not every time. They still fuck like they did before. And it’s not even choking every time they do stuff.
After a mostly no-work dinner, Kinn does what they’d talked about the first time, and wrestles Porsche to the floor to take him. They push the coffee table out of the way before they start and roll around on the floor. It’s fun.
“Got you,” Kinn says triumphantly, sitting on Porsche’s hips. Porsche wriggles a little under him, trying one more time to make him work for it, but Kinn’s hold is secure. “You gonna give it up now?”
Porsche enjoyed that. It felt more like play fighting with Chay than anything violent. He liked that he could keep eeling out of Kinn’s hold, and Kinn would keep getting up on his knees and trying again to wrestle him to the floor. It felt sexy that Kinn would make an effort for him like that.
“You got me,” he agrees, and spreads his legs. He’s only wearing his underwear and he prepped himself in the bathroom before they started. “You win.”
“Then I’m taking my prize,” Kinn tells him, and loosely pins his hands over his head to pull his underwear down far enough he has access to Porsche’s loose hole.
Porsche gets all shivery at the idea he’s the prize. “You cold?” Kinn asks, nosing along the side of Porsche’s neck. “I can grab the throw off the couch.”
“I’m good,” Porsche answers. He flexes his hands in Kinn’s grip and Kinn presses down harder. He shivers again.
“Ah,” Kinn says, and smiles with his eyes. “I finally caught you, huh? Gonna keep you right here and do whatever I want to you.”
“Mmhmm,” Porsche says. “Keep me right - ah!”
Kinn’s started pushing into him. He has to breathe hard to make himself relax, but it’s like Kinn has a direct line to his dick. Porsche is so fucking hard, even when it hurts a little.
“Good?” Kinn asks. Porsche makes a little moan of agreement. “You gonna ride me, handsome?”
Porsche’s legs are already trembling, but he nods. Kinn flips them over without pulling out, and switches his hold so he’s pinning Porsche’s arms to his own chest. “Show me that fighting spirit, huh?” Kinn asks.
Porsche bites his lip and starts fucking himself down on Kinn’s cock. Kinn’s usually on top, except for a couple times in the pool, and it’s hard to coordinate all the moving parts even though Porsche can fuck like a sewing machine when he’s topping someone else.
Kinn plants his feet and thrusts up into Porsche hard. Porsche cries out, louder than he meant to. “You good?” Kinn asks, still smiling with his eyes. “That sounded like it hurt.”
“Uh,” Porsche gasps. It did, a little, but not in a bad way. “I’m good.”
Kinn readjusts his hold so that he’s not gripping Porsche’s wrists but lacing their fingers together. It gives Porsche something to push against without feeling like he’s going to crush Kinn’s sternum. The rhythm gets easier, especially when Kinn starts bouncing his hips up to help.
Porsche feels his orgasm start to build at the base of his spine. “I’m close,” he pants. “Please Kinn, I’m close, I…”
“Can you come like this?” Kinn asks him. “Try for me?”
“Maybe,” Porsche whimpers, and works himself down, and down, and down. He’s starting to vibrate with how close he is. But he can’t quite get there. “I need… I need…”
Kinn doesn’t ask him for more. He shifts Porsche’s grip, and takes both of Porsche’s hands in one of his. Porsche comes with Kinn stroking his cock in time with his increasingly ragged downward thrusts.
“Can you take a little more?” Kinn asks, rolling him on his back. “Gonna let me get what I want?”
“Okay,” Porsche says, and shivers and jangles through Kinn fucking him to completion.
That’s not always his favourite thing, but tonight it feels okay. Kinn pulls out and Porsche feels like his bones have melted into the carpet. “Was that good?” Kinn asks affectionately, and grabs the throw off the couch.
“Yeah,” Porsche says, and shifts to pillow his head on Kinn’s shoulder. “That was fun.”
“How was your day?” Kinn asks, when Porsche has finished cozying up to him. “Good?”
It was shitty. Porsche shrugs. “Okay,” he answers. “You?”
“The same,” Kinn says. “Do you want to go soak in the bath?”
“Yeah,” Porsche agrees, and wraps the throw around himself to wobble after Kinn.
They both bring their phones with them into the bathroom, and they both set them on the bathroom counter. Porsche has his muted except for texts from a few key players: Kinn, Chan, Big, Arm, Pete and Nop. But really, Kinn’s the person most likely to text him late and he’s got his hands in the water.
So Porsche is surprised when a phone buzzes. “Can you grab that?” Kinn asks, pinned between Porsche and the bathtub. “I’m sure it’ll just be quick, I can answer it in here.”
“Sure,” Porsche says, and pops out of the tub. Kinn leans forward to add more hot water. “Oh, there’s no notification.”
It takes him another second to realize that maybe he’s the one who buzzed. It’s probably Chan or Nop, dealing with scheduling for tomorrow. He’ll just…
When he picks up his phone, the message is from Chay.
Porsche has wet hands. He drops the phone before he can read the text.
Kinn snaps the water off, looking up at him like a gunman might burst through the fiftieth story window at any second. The bathroom goes eerily silent.
“It’s - no,” Porsche says, scrabbling on the floor for his phone. “It’s Chay.”
“Oh,” Kinn says, relaxing. And then - “Oh! You okay?”
He gets out of the bath and grabs a towel for both of them. “Yeah, I’m…” Porsche says, finally finding his phone on the floor. He’s shaking with adrenaline, suddenly. “It’s…”
He’s a mafia boss - his texts are hidden. All his phone screen says is the name of the texter. And Porsche can’t bring himself to enter the password.
He and Chay haven’t spoken for a little more than a month. Porsche has called, texted, knocked on Chay’s door, tried to ambush him in the lobby. But Chay ignores the calls, leaves the texts on read, doesn't answer the door, and simply looked through Porsche the one time he tried the lobby trick. It was too awful for Porsche to make a second attempt.
Kinn drapes the towel over his shoulders. “Do you want me to read it?” he asks.
Porsche all but shoves the phone into his hands. If Chay says he never wants to speak again, if he says he hates Porsche… Porsche can't handle seeing it there in black and white. He doesn't know why this is fucking him up more than someone shooting at his car this afternoon, but it is.
Kinn types the PIN, his own birthday. Porsche's old phones were always some variation on Chay’s. Chay was the most important person in his life, his better half. He is still Porsche's better half. Chay was even right. Being the head of a crime family fucking sucks, actually.
The PIN finally entered, Kinn skims for what feels like an hour. “It's good,” he reports, looking up with a smile. “He wants to meet up.”
Porsche's eyes start to water. He's already shaking. He snatches the phone back.
I want to try to talk again, the message reads. I'm still really mad but I miss you too much to keep going like this.
Of course we can talk, Porsche texts back. Water from his hair must be dripping onto the phone screen. I love you, Nong.
Immediately he wishes he hadn't added the second part. If Chay doesn't reciprocate, Porsche will disintegrate into a fine dust.
The typing bubble appears and disappears for what seems like an eternity. Porsche waits for I don’t love you anymore or maybe just okay. He knows how much it’ll crush him to read it, and he can’t look away.
ilu 2 is what the text finally reads, and then the typing bubbles stop.
The phone blurs in Porsche’s hands as more water from his hair drips into his eyes. He’s shaking with a mixture of relief and dread for how he’ll fuck up the next conversation. Even when he ran away from home and left Chay all by himself, it didn’t feel this awful.
“Wow, hey,” Kinn says, and takes Porsche’s phone. “It’s good news, right?”
Porsche nods, feeling his ears heat up. He doesn’t know why he’s like this, for the last few months. He’s okay with the mafia shit, but the smallest fucking thing, like Kinn not using enough lube, sets him off now.
“Do you want a hug?” Kinn asks. Porsche nods. He feels like an elephant is stepping on his chest. This is so good and so terrible.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as Kinn wraps him up in his arms. “Sorry, sorry.”
“I know how much it hurt you when he stopped talking to you,” Kinn says gently. “I’m here, okay? I love you.”
“I know,” Porsche croaks. The hug is good but they're both naked and wet and it feels weird being dick-to-dick with Kinn. Porsche pulls away and grabs his pajamas from the counter. “Um, could we go to bed?”
“Sure,” Kinn says, and compresses his evening skincare from thirteen steps to four while Porsche dresses. It’s thoughtful.
This is what gets Porsche so messed up in the head. He knows it's business, but he doesn't understand how the man who holds him so tight in bed can disappear when they hit a boardroom. He doesn’t feel like he’s a different person when Kinn is shouting at him across a polished wood table. They’re still Kinn and Porsche.
But he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now. Kinn finishes his skincare and turns the blankets down for Porsche. He lets Porsche tuck his head under Kinn’s chin and hold on way too tightly, even though he complains that Porsche is a human space heater.
Porsche knows this is stupid. He should be able to take care of himself. He should let Kinn fall asleep unmolested. But he can’t seem to calm himself down. Maybe if he just had a drink, it would…
“Ssh,” Kinn says, and starts to rub Porsche’s back. Porsche knows he’s still gripping Kinn way too tightly, but at least this makes some of the pressure in his chest release. “He loves you, Porsche. It’ll be okay.”
Porsche wants to sit down with Chay immediately, but Chay has… whatever he’s been doing, and Porsche has to go to work. It takes almost 48 hours for them to schedule time together.
In his best dreams, this is easy. Chay hugs him, says bygones are bygones, and tells him he’s thinking about going back to school. The two of them are like they always were before.
In his nightmares, Porsche imagines Chay telling him Chay hates him now, that they’ll never reconcile. He lies awake for almost the whole night before they meet, dreading his brother abandoning him forever. His life doesn’t make any sense without Chay. Everything feels wrong right now.
“He’s not going to do that,” Kinn says, watching Porsche try to dress to go meet Chay in the hotpot restaurant downstairs. “I can see how much you two love each other. Deep breath.”
Porsche nods and crosses his arms over his exposed chest. He’s got his old jeans on but he can’t decide what top to wear. It seems very important that he gets this right. His relationship with his baby brother can’t end over a bad shirt choice.
Kinn reaches into the depths of the closet and pulls out one of his own more casual shirts. “Try this,” he says. “I think the tone works with your jeans.”
It does, and better, it still smells a bit like Kinn. “Thanks,” Porsche tells him. He really likes wearing Kinn’s clothes, it feels…
“Kiss for luck?” Kinn asks, and gives Porsche a long hug, too. “Do you want me to walk you down there?”
Kinn is also not exactly in Chay’s good books, so as much as Porsche would like that…
“I’m okay,” Porsche says, and leans in for another kiss. He doesn’t understand why he can’t seem to settle himself anymore. “I should go.”
“Don’t be late,” Kinn agrees. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
Seeing Chay is a whole different kind of awful than Porsche was imaginined. The second they lock eyes across the restaurant, Porsche can see that of course Chay still loves him. But he can also see that Chay is still really angry.
It kills him inside before he even gets to the table. He got so close to what Mama wanted for Chay. He was almost happy, healthy and safely in university. And Porsche had to go and fuck it all up for him by falling in love with Kinn.
They probably went longer without talking when Porsche was Kinn’s bodyguard, but the few weeks they’ve been apart feels like forever. Porsche clocks a hundred changes in Chay before he even sits down at the table. Chay looks thinner, like he hasn’t been eating well. Tired, like he hasn’t been sleeping. And Porsche thinks he’s been crying in the last few days. Chay’s eyes stay puffy for a long time. Porsche can always tell when he’s sad.
“Hey,” he says, drinking in the sight of his baby brother even as he tenses for a blow.
Chay gets up from the table and throws himself into Porsche’s arms. “Hi, hia,” he mumbles against Porsche’s shoulder.
Porsche wants to hold him forever. Chay is his baby brother, except sometimes he’s also like Porsche’s baby son, but on other days also Porsche’s dad. He’s missed Chay a lot in the last weeks. A brother/son/father in one person is a lot to lose.
People in the restaurant are probably watching them, but Porsche doesn’t care. He can tell Chay’s still angry with him, but as long as he’s here, Porsche can deal with it. There’s nothing in the world that’s worse than being cut off from Chay.
“You wanted to talk?” he asks, when Chay finally pulls away, and tries to wipe his eyes without making a big deal of it.
“Yeah,” Chay says, and rubs his own face on his shoulder. It doesn’t make Porsche feel better to know that they’ve been missing each other. He feels more like shit than ever. If he could ever make the right decision, Chay wouldn’t have to feel like this. “But… do you wanna eat first?”
“Yeah, of course,” Porsche agrees, and starts cooking the hot pot. He’s missed the simple moments with his brother more than anything else in this weird new life. Cooking, cleaning, folding Chay’s socks for him when he had a spare minute and the energy. Before it was the little things that strung his life together, and now they’re gone.
Chay props his head up on his elbow and just watches. They don’t talk, but that’s okay. Porsche can see that Chay is still angry with him, and he’d rather not hear harsh words right now. He can ignore it if they’re quiet together.
Porsche doesn’t like two things. He doesn’t like other people to leave him. He always runs first. That kinda makes sense to him, given everything about his early life. There’s a pretty clear a-to-b line.
And he doesn’t like people to be angry with him. That doesn’t feel logical, but Porsche knows it maybe hurts him more than other people when someone he loves gets mad. Chay’s been pissed off at him before, when the loan sharks started coming around, when he started street fighting, the first time he tried weed. It doesn’t make sense how much Porsche fears it. Mama and Papa weren’t angry with him, and Uncle Thee’s fault was that he was too easy-going.
“Is it good?” he asks, placing some meat in Chay’s bowl. He tries not to sound too desperate for Chay’s approval, but he thinks that Chay has some inkling of how much Porsche doesn’t like it when they fight. (It never makes either of them stop, though.)
“It’s delicious,” Chay says, and gives Porsche the first glimmer of a smile Porsche has seen since the night Chay realized what exactly the minor family does for their money. He shouted a lot that night.
Porsche smiles back and keeps cooking, like if he puts enough sliced beef in the hot pot, it’ll fix things. “You eat too, hia,” Chay tells him, and Porsche gamely takes a slice of beef, but it tastes like ash in his mouth.
“Um,” he says, because if he chats, Chay won’t make him eat, probably. “Have you met Arm?” Chay nods. “He puts sliced cheese on his hot pot.”
“That actually sounds kind of good,” Chay says, and for a few minutes, they’re brothers again.
But then the food is finished - Chay didn’t order much - and it’s time for them to talk. Porsche is so nervous that he doesn’t know if he can sit for this. He shifts in his chair, thinking about making a break for the door, and…
Chay grabs his wrist. He knows Porsche better than anyone else in the whole world and he’s seen him literally run off rather than have a difficult conversation at least a couple times before. Porsche isn’t surprised he’s being held in place.
“I still don’t like this,” he says, and Porsche uses all his new mob boss training not to squirm. “But it’s like, worse if I don’t know you’re okay. So.”
I’m sorry, I know it’s bad, Porsche wants to tell him. I know you’re right, Chay, I should give this up. Every other awful thing he’s done was in the name of keeping Chay safe, and this isn’t. It makes it feel so much worse when Porsche knows people are fucking dying because of him and it isn’t even for his baby brother.
“Okay,” he says, because he loves Kinn too, and he can’t just stop. He loves Chay. He loves Kinn. He needs Chay. He needs Kinn just as much. He feels like he’s being cut in two caught between them. “So, can we see each other?”
“Yeah,” Chay says, rough. “Let’s… I mean, we can try, right?” He briefly looks across the restaurant and Porsche can see the sour expression on his face, the same one he came in wearing when he shouted at Porsche that they were the people the minor family had hurt. It sours in Porsche’s stomach immediately.
“Of course we can,” Porsche says. “Maybe… same time next week?”
“Sure,” Chay says, and smiles, but Porsche can tell he doesn’t really mean it. “See you then.”
“Was it as bad as you thought?” Kinn asks, when Porsche comes back upstairs. Porsche is so relieved to see him. He spent the entire elevator ride feeling like Kinn was gone too, for absolutely no reason.
“It was okay,” Porsche says, and sits down next to Kinn to curl up really, really small. “It could have been worse.”
“Awh, Porsche,” Kinn says, and gives Porsche the same kind of hug that Porsche gave Chay an hour ago, like Porsche is someone’s beloved baby brother. Porsche closes his eyes and pretends for a few minutes that’s true. What a fantasy.
Chay still being mad isn’t what Porsche wanted, but he’s the head of one of Thailand’s most important crime families. Just like he had to get up and bartend when Chay loved him, he has to go to work and threaten people when Chay doesn’t. So he does, the same as he always has.
Big is snide after his morning meeting and Porsche can’t shake it off like he has the last few days. He doesn’t roll into the afternoon session the way he should, and that makes things worse, and then Big gets worse. Porsche thinks about going to Chan and asking for Arm, but he knows Arm and he knows Big has a way better handle on the players he’s meeting and the products he’s moving. And he saved Porsche’s life, so Porsche will fucking eat his shit because he’s right.
It isn’t a good day, but Porsche handles it. The morning guy gets threatened. The afternoon deal gets closed.
He chokes down a protein bar at lunch and barely drinks water. By the time he gets home to change for tonight’s bread gala, he’s shaky and his head is starting to ache. But that’s fine, he’ll get some food at the dinner, and it’s not like he’s never worked a shift hungover as shit. He can -
Suddenly, he isn’t a little headachey. He’s feeling the worst pain in his head he’s ever felt, like something burst in his brain. The room goes white.
When Porsche can make sense of shapes again, Kinn is standing there, blurring in and out of Porsche’s field of vision. “Porsche?” he says, and Porsche can feel the noise down to his bones, like explosive percussion.
“I’m gonna be sick,” Porsche grits out, and barely makes it into the half-bath to throw up the protein bar. Kinn follows him and does everything a good boyfriend should. The wet cloth is a relief, as is the toilet flush. Porsche thinks he can smell the leather of his shoes, the vomit would have…
“You okay?” Kinn asks, a little quieter. “Food poisoning?”
Porsche shrugs. He wobbles to his feet, and Kinn catches him and holds him in a hug, which is great because Porsche feels heavy, like a bag of sand. He doesn’t think he could maintain himself upright.
But it’s also bad because Kinn’s wearing aftershave and it smells repulsive. It burns Porsche’s nose, and the longer he smells it the more he thinks he’ll be sick again. He can’t say that though.
“I dunno,” he says. “Headache. Gonna… bed.”
“Sure,” Kinn says, and follows Porsche. He unbuttons Porsche’s pants for him, and helps him shuck off his jacket. He turns down the bed. “Baby, I’m going to send the doctor up here, okay? I’m speaking tonight, I gotta…”
“Yeah, go,” Porsche mumbles, because he’d rather throw up and shake and curse the light by himself. Kinn doesn’t need to be a party to whatever this is.
“I’ll be home in a couple of hours,” Kinn says, and worriedly smooths one hand over Porsche’s head. “I love you.”
Porsche can’t respond. The door clicks shut and Kinn’s aftershave starts to fade away. As Porsche pulls the blanket over his head, the thought occurs to him that he’s finally managed to let someone else be the one to leave. And then…
And then, nothing for a very long time, because whatever this is, it needs to be slept off.