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Porsche is restless. He and Kinn haven’t had the chance to do a scene in almost two full weeks, and he can feel the need settling under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch.
After the incident in the forest, Kinn and Porsche slipped seamlessly into a relationship, as if they were practically made for each other. Endlessly compatible in the bedroom, Kinn’s inherent dominance intrigued Porsche, and Kinn ended up introducing him to a world of submission he never knew existed.
Porsche took to it like it was an integral part of himself, a yawning desire to please and be worshipped in return. It was the easiest thing in the world to accept that he wanted Kinn as a dominant just as much as he wanted him as his boyfriend.
In Porsche, Kinn sees a worthy, competent partner. Kinn describes him as a brat, a natural disaster who blew through his life and changed it for the better. A perfect contrast and compliment to his own nature. The seamless way they work and play together pleases some kind of base instinct in Porsche’s brain, loving how well they fit together. How well Kinn fits inside Porsche.
Right now, Porsche aches for Kinn’s firm, settling touch, but Kinn has been swamped by meetings because of a dispute between two of their clients. Kinn is busy acting as a mediator lest the two warring companies break out into a full-scale battle, with Kinn’s organisation in the middle of it all.
Most of the meetings drag late into the evening and begin early in the morning, leaving only time for rushed, desperate snapshots of moments between the two of them, with Porsche often having to leave Kinn’s room before they get caught.
There’s no time for Kinn to put him under, to let him float in endless bliss for a while.
There’s no opportunity to go out on one of their dates: Porsche dragging an indulgent Kinn to a secluded park, setting up a picnic and hand-feeding him fruit, licking the sweetness from his fingertips as Kinn watches him warmly, his smile like a spring afternoon.
There’s no time for the appraisal in Kinn’s eyes after, leading to Kinn taking him home and fucking him facing his own debauched reflection, telling him how perfect and good he’s being, how happy he makes Kinn. Telling him not to look away or else Kinn will stop, the command curling hot in his belly.
Porsche needs something that he doesn’t know how to ask for, still fairly new to the dynamic and hesitant to admit what he wants: Kinn’s controlling hand putting him in his place, not having to think or do anything else but what Kinn asks him to. He wants to know that he’s done a good job, that he’s pleased Kinn in some way.
It makes something in his brain go liquid-hot and floaty when they play together, and Porsche yearns for that feeling again.
He doesn’t want to disturb Kinn from his work, not wanting to be a burden, needing Kinn to come to him, to be the one to make that decision for him. Porsche doesn’t know how to ask for it, so he acts out instead.
Kinn is scheduled to be in a dreadfully long meeting with his father and some other higher ranking employees from the organisation. It’s an internal meeting at the compound, with no need for a full protective detail, so Chan and Korn’s other bodyguards relieve Porsche of his duties for the evening.
He doesn’t like the thought of leaving Kinn alone. He doesn’t like it even when he isn’t being cut to the core with the need to be near him, because although Kinn is his dominant behind closed doors, it’s Porsche’s responsibility to protect him in the outside world, and he can’t do that if he’s not beside him.
He protests at being dismissed—perhaps a little too vehemently given that Kinn isn’t likely to be in any danger inside the compound, but he can’t help the part of him that feels scraped raw with the need to be beside Kinn, to breathe him in, to be within touching distance.
Kinn notices something off, pulling him away from the argument with Chan and into his empty office, settling on the sofa and tugging Porsche down to straddle his lap.
Porsche squirms for all of two seconds before Kinn drags a big, warm palm up to catch the back of his neck and squeezes. Porsche deflates like all his strings have been cut, exhaling slowly and staring down at where his hands curl into the front of Kinn’s shirt.
“Easy,” Kinn says gently, trying to catch his eye, “what’s going on with you?”
The words rush up but won’t spill out, getting tangled inside the hollow ache in his chest, his yearning sticky in his throat. Kinn already looks tired, the long day catching up to him, and now his eyes are lined with concern. Concern because of Porsche.
“Nothing,” Porsche gets out, “I’m your bodyguard. I should be in there with you.”
The weight of Kinn’s gaze on him is heavy, deciphering. Porsche fights to keep his face neutral.
“You hate long meetings,” Kinn points out. “You get all restless and antsy.”
“That’s not the point.”
Kinn lets out a quiet breath, his thumb moving down to fit beneath Porsche’s windpipe, sweeping softly over the delicate skin there. Porsche swallows, Kinn’s eyes follow the movement.
“We have bodyguards on rotation for a reason,” Kinn says. “You’ve been awake since six this morning. You need to sleep.”
Porsche’s head jerks up. “That’s not fair. You were awake before me.”
When Porsche opened his eyes this morning, the space beside him where Kinn should have been had already grown cold, the sheets tucked carefully around Porsche before he’d slipped away.
Kinn cocks his head, teasing. “Did you miss me?”
Under normal circumstances, Porsche would tease right back, but as it is he’s feeling fragile and off-kilter. Indignant, Porsche tries to wrench himself out of Kinn’s grasp, but Kinn just squeezes his neck harder and holds him still with ease, the other hand curved around Porsche’s waist to keep him in place.
Porsche could easily escape if he wanted to—he fights dirty, Kinn is no match for him, Kinn knows that—but he doesn’t actually have any desire to separate his body from Kinn’s.
If anything he wants to get closer, burrow down so far into Kinn that he disappears inside him, absorbed into his very marrow. He doesn’t know how to voice what he really wants, wishes Kinn would just crack him open and find it for himself, unravel it out into the open.
Frustration bubbles up inside Porsche, making his gums itch, succumbing to the urge to lean forward and sink his teeth into the juncture where Kinn’s neck meets his shoulder, biting down over Kinn’s shirt into the muscle and just holding him there. Kinn makes no move to stop him, fingers gently brushing the hair at the nape of Porsche’s neck in quiet understanding.
“Okay, okay,” Kinn murmurs, “I’m sorry.”
Porsche releases him but doesn’t move away, nose pressed like a little magnet just beneath the hinge of Kinn’s jaw. It’s grounding, breathing in the scent of him at its source, the solid warmth of his torso seeping into Porsche’s sternum.
Porsche stays where he is, drifting, until he feels less like he’ll vibrate out of his own skin; Kinn just lets him exist there, tucked up into him, even though he has more important places to be.
When Porsche finally brings himself to pull back, Kinn’s gaze is honeyed gold with affection. Porsche leans in, transfixed, and Kinn meets him halfway in a kiss that’s half comfort and half devotion. Porsche melts into it, wrapping both arms needily around Kinn’s neck, trying to deepen it, until Kinn’s phone chimes from somewhere in his pocket.
Porsche smothers a sound when Kinn draws back, resting his forehead against Porsche’s.
“I have to go,” Kinn tells him reluctantly. “Go to bed. Nothing is going to happen to me if you get some sleep.”
Porsche wants to scream because that’s not the point. Kinn stands, lifting Porsche from his lap and depositing his feet gently on the ground. The hollow feeling carves itself deeper when Kinn’s hands leave his body, the skin at the back of his neck cold without Kinn’s palm.
Porsche makes it back to his room on autopilot. The room is empty, with Pete on an evening shift with Tankhun, so he has the space to himself.
Porsche stares at his bed, thinks about the need skittering beneath his skin, and gets an idea.
Kinn has no policy against Porsche pleasuring himself so long as Porsche asks for permission beforehand. It’s less about taking away Porsche’s autonomy and more because Kinn likes to walk him through it in the filthiest way, either on the phone or through text.
It isn’t something Porsche has had to do very often, given that Kinn is usually around to help him out, but there have been times where Kinn is whisked away to a family meal or meeting that personal bodyguards aren’t privy to, and Porsche gets bored easily.
Sometimes Kinn says no and makes him wait. Being denied always sends a shiver of delight through him, knowing Kinn will take him apart with particular focus afterwards.
This time, he doesn’t intend to ask for permission.
It takes only a matter of moments for him to strip down to his underwear and settle on the bed, grabbing the lube he keeps hidden in the bedside table, mostly hard just from the anticipation. The end goal isn’t to drag this out, so he goes straight to it, reaching into his briefs and coating himself with the lube, jerking himself harsh and fast. He imagines it’s Kinn’s hand in place of his own, telling him he has to come quickly or not at all, pinching his own nipple harshly, imagining the sting of Kinn’s teeth instead.
It doesn’t take long before the coil in his stomach expands and releases in a starburst of pleasure, angling the tip of his cock so that he comes up the length of his abdomen and chest in thick spurts. He’s panting a little as the tiny aftershocks wrack through him, fading away quickly from the lack of build-up. He’s barely satisfied without Kinn’s voice in his ear, but it served its purpose.
Porsche grabs his phone and opens the camera app, angling the field of view so that it captures his body from the neck down: the come glistening across his abdomen, the swell of his cock beneath his underwear, the tip poking out and still pink.
He sends it to Kinn after only a second of deliberation. The tick mark to confirm it’s been delivered makes anticipation sweep beneath his skin, imagining the consequences his actions will invoke. Kinn will be angry, no doubt. Angry enough to punish him.
Porsche tosses his phone to the bed and goes to shower. He tries not to think about how Kinn might react but is unsuccessful, ending up rushing through the rest of his shower so he can get back to his phone.
The double green tick next to the photo, indicating that Kinn opened it, makes his breath catch. He waits for another few minutes, hunger in his veins, but absolutely nothing happens.
He tells himself he isn’t actually expecting a response. He knows Kinn is busy, far too busy for Porsche’s games, but he can’t help the bitter curl of disappointment in his gut when he gets nothing in return.
Porsche can only bring himself to pull on sweatpants before he crawls into bed, curling into a tiny ball of misery on top of the sheets.
The bedroom door swings open, slamming harshly back against the wall, what is unmistakably Kinn’s silhouette outlined in the doorway. Porsche’s heart jumps into his throat; Kinn is still wearing the button down and suit pants he last saw him in, every line of his body fraught with tension, his expression thrown half into darkness.
The sound of the door locking behind Kinn is loud in the silence.
Kinn is across the room in two strides, climbing onto the bed and seizing Porsche’s wrists, pinning them down to the mattress either side of his head. The heavy weight of him is intoxicating after so long without it, Porsche’s eyelids fluttering as Kinn leans so close that their noses almost brush.
“I thought I told you to go to bed,” Kinn’s tone is deliberately calm, his frustration simmering beneath the surface like a dormant volcano.
“Technically, I did go to bed,” Porsche points out innocently.
“I was in a meeting, Porsche, I thought something was wrong, I—” Kinn cuts off abruptly, eyes darkening, “Big almost saw the photo. He almost saw the mess you made of yourself.”
Porsche draws in a sharp breath, his body going hot all over at the thought of being seen like that. Kinn notes his reaction with interest but doesn’t comment on it, like he’s filing the information away for later. He squeezes Porsche’s wrists so hard the bones creak.
“Why did you disobey me?”
“You weren’t there to help,” Porsche replies petulantly. It’s a little too close to the real reason he’s acting like this, his longing bubbling too close to the surface, realising how it sounds as soon as the words leave his mouth.
Something flashes briefly through Kinn’s eyes, an inkling of realisation, but it’s gone as soon as Porsche blinks. The world spins around him as Kinn drags him upright, rearranging them until Kinn is lying on his back and Porsche is straddling his lap, dizzy from the sudden change in position. He’s the one looking down at Kinn but he’s never felt so powerless, hyper-aware of the difference in their state of dress as Kinn’s big hands wrap around his thighs and tug him closer.
The family ring digs into Porsche’s flesh even over his sweatpants, a reminder of just who Kinn is. Kinn may be a dangerous man but Porsche has always had a penchant for danger, enjoyed the thrill of the risk, toying with something that could hurt him.
Porsche’s cock fills out again as Kinn grips his chin between his thumb and forefinger. Kinn glances at the imprint of it beneath his sweats, then back up at Porsche.
“Do I need to tie your hands together whenever I’m not around?” Porsche makes a noise in the back of his throat, his mouth going slack. “Should I put your cock in a cage so you’re not tempted to touch yourself without my permission?”
Fuck.
That is the kind of thing he wants, to give Kinn that kind of control over his own pleasure. Making Porsche beg and whine and plead before he gives it to him. He’s so close to getting it, Kinn’s patience balanced precariously on a razor’s edge, he just has to tip him over.
“Tying my hands together wouldn’t stop me,” Porsche says breathlessly, grinning as Kinn’s face darkens further.
Kinn wrenches Porsche’s arms behind him, holding his wrists together at the small of his back with one hand. The strain on his chest is perfect, arching forward until his muscles ache with it, the pain sending a bolt of heat straight to his groin. Porsche can feel the hard line of Kinn’s cock beneath his ass—Kinn is enjoying this as much as he is. If he rocks forward, his own cock drags deliciously over Kinn’s torso, separated by his sweatpants and Kinn’s shirt.
“Prove it,” Kinn commands softly.
Confusion filters through the fog of lust in Porsche’s brain, his hips moving in slow rolls, chasing the friction.
“What?” Porsche asks, mouth pink and open, panting.
Kinn tracks the way the muscles in Porsche’s abdomen shift with each rocking movement, his irises entirely swallowed up by pupil. Kinn is looking at him with that expression he often gets, like he wants to wreck Porsche completely, making him beg for it until there’s tears in his eyes.
“Come without using your hands.”
Porsche whines. Kinn wants to watch as Porsche rubs himself off against Kinn’s abdomen, desperate enough to come in his pants from just a little bit of stimulation through two layers of clothing. If it was anybody else asking it of him, Porsche doesn’t think he’d be able to, but the fire that Kinn kindles within him from just a single glance is unlike anything he’s ever felt.
Kinn squeezes his wrists to help him balance as Porsche rocks down harder, eagerly chasing the friction that makes his breath hitch. Just as Porsche is finding a steady rhythm, the door handle rattles from the outside.
Porsche’s blood runs cold as the sudden noise seems to snap Kinn back to reality, the lust in his eyes rapidly clearing to be replaced with comprehension. It’s as if he realises where he is, what he and Porsche were about to do, nowhere near the safety and privacy of Kinn’s room.
“Porsche,” Pete calls from outside, “why did you lock the door?”
Kinn shifts, removing his hands from Porsche’s body. Porsche isn’t able to bite back the noise of loss that threatens to escape as his arms are freed. The sound of it makes Kinn’s expression go apologetic, reluctance to stop touching him evident in every line of his body.
“No,” Porsche complains, uncaring of how whiny he sounds, “just ignore him.”
Kinn sits up and kisses his temple in an unbearably tender gesture.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs against Porsche’s cheek, “I got carried away. I have to go back—I told them I was dealing with an emergency, but the meeting isn’t actually over.”
“Porsche,” Pete yells louder, jiggling the handle again, “are you jerking off in there? Khun Tankhun fell asleep and Arm is taking the night watch. Let me in!”
Porsche loves Pete, he really does. He’s his best friend at the compound. But at this moment, he really wants to strangle him.
Kinn untangles himself from Porsche’s limbs and stands, glancing once at the door, then back at Porsche.
“Since when is he this loud?”
“Since always,” Porsche responds.
Just as Pete begins banging on the door in earnest, Kinn crosses the room and opens the door.
“Finally, you ass—oh,” Pete’s face goes horrified in realisation, his throat bobbing in a nervous swallow, “Khun Kinn. Hello.”
“Hello,” Kinn deadpans.
“If you’re—um, busy, I can come back—”
“No, we’re not busy,” Kinn interrupts, making Porsche’s stomach sink further, “I have a meeting to return to.”
Kinn turns only briefly back to Porsche, his face as impassive as ever in front of the other bodyguard, but his eyes shining with sincerity.
“Get some sleep. You’ll need it for the rest of the week.”
Then he’s gone again, taking Porsche’s thoughts with him.
Porsche buries his face into his pillow, breathing in the lingering scent of Kinn’s shampoo, and tries not to get upset at the yawning chasm inside him.
Sympathy bleeds through into Pete’s voice. “Another punishment?”
“I wish,” Porsche mumbles into the pillow.
“What?”
Porsche lifts his head, “It’s nothing,” he says, “I’m going to sleep.”
The next few days continue mostly the same. Porsche finds lots of little ways to rile Kinn up, only for something to pull Kinn away before he can do anything about it.
Porsche deliberately brings him the wrong coffee, cleans his gun at Kinn’s desk and leaves a mess, then slips away to sneak a drink at the club on a rare afternoon off without asking for permission to leave the compound. They both have each other’s locations via the GPS in their phones, so he knows Kinn won’t panic and think he’s been kidnapped.
His phone buzzes on the bar.
Kinn [15:46]: I hope you’re enjoying yourself.
Only Kinn could make that sound like a threat even via a text message. A thrill of delight skitters down Porsche’s spine, knowing he’s getting to Kinn.
Porsche [15:48]: I am ^-^
The bubble pops up to indicate Kinn is typing. Porsche holds his breath, his stomach fluttering with hope, but the bubble disappears, and Kinn never replies. Porsche slams his head down onto the bar so hard that Yok jumps and yells at him for scaring her.
When he gets back, lightly buzzed and smelling of sweet alcohol, Kinn is on his way out to his late afternoon schedule, flanked by Big and Ken.
They pass by each other on the steps leading up to the entrance. Porsche risks a glance at Kinn. The muscle in Kinn’s jaw tightens but otherwise he doesn’t look at Porsche before he’s whisked away into the car.
Chan is waiting for him when he gets inside, his face stern with a hint of exasperation. Porsche is made to run laps in the gym for breaching safety protocol and leaving without permission. His lungs and muscles burn with exertion by the end of it, but it’s not the kind of burn he craves. It’s also a very tame punishment considering the circumstances – Porsche gets the feeling that Chan is aware his recent misbehaviour is Kinn-related and is therefore wisely deciding to stay out of it.
The next day sees Porsche sat to Kinn’s left in another meeting, his restlessness making his leg bounce beneath the table. It’s surprising how much mafia business is actually just meetings and negotiations, a lot of boring business and politics. Porsche almost wants something dangerous to happen just so he has something else to do with himself, a purpose.
The CEO of one of the warring companies is busy explaining the reason for the conflict but Porsche tunes him out, eyes drifting towards Kinn.
There is an intent focus in Kinn’s expression as he listens attentively, a focus that Porsche wishes was directed at him. He wants Kinn’s attention all to himself, greedy, willing to do anything until he gets it. His leg shakes harder the more he thinks about it, with no other outlet for his discomposure.
Kinn is talking now but Porsche doesn’t even hear him, the words distant and muffled as he stares at his mouth. Porsche loves Kinn’s mouth. The curve of his lips when he kisses him, the slide of his tongue, the filthy things he says to Porsche when he’s so close to coming that he no longer has any semblance of a filter.
Kinn’s hand clamps down on his bouncing thigh beneath the table. The tips of his fingers are dangerously close to Porsche’s inseam, liquid heat pooling in his belly. Kinn doesn’t skip a beat in his conversation but his hand tightens in warning, ordering Porsche non-verbally to keep still.
Something stirs deep within Porsche, and he won’t stop until it’s tamed.
Porsche casually knocks Kinn’s pen to the floor until it rolls beneath the table. Both Kinn and the CEO are distracted by the noise, heads turning in unison towards Porsche. There is a tiny furrow between Kinn’s eyebrows.
“Oops,” Porsche says, looking directly at Kinn, “I’ll get it.”
He waits for their conversation to resume before he ducks under the table and directly between Kinn’s spread legs.
He’s never played around like this in front of external clients, the both of them agreeing to keep this particular aspect to small internal meetings due to the risk, but Porsche feels stretched thin and pushed to the very edge, and he’s willing to accept the consequences.
Porsche drags his hands up Kinn’s spread thighs, his thumbs digging into the sensitive line where his leg meets his groin. The entire set of Kinn’s body goes tense.
Kinn loves fucking his mouth almost as much as he loves fucking his ass. He’s trained Porsche to be able to deepthroat his entire length with only minimal gagging, loves the tight hot squeeze of Porsche’s throat, the way Porsche’s eyes water with the strain.
With that in mind, Porsche leans down and breathes hotly over the imprint of Kinn’s dick beneath his slacks. The muscles of Kinn’s thighs are rigid steel beneath his palms, his cock stirring as Porsche nuzzles into the bulk of it, sweeping his thumbs up to caress the soft swell of his balls.
The conversation above his head falters, Kinn tripping over his words in an uncharacteristic stumble. A hand twists viciously into his hair, shoving Porsche’s head away at arm’s length, Kinn’s fingernails biting into his scalp in warning, the pain sharp and sudden.
Porsche can’t help but smile at how easy Kinn is to wind up. He’s already been under here for suspiciously long, so he slips away, collecting the pen and smoothing his hair back down as an afterthought, before returning to his chair.
Porsche places the pen in front of Kinn with a demure smile. Cold fury flashes in Kinn’s eyes.
“Khun Tar, please excuse me for a moment,” Kinn grits out. “I need to have a conversation with some of my people. Big, stay here. Porsche, come with me.”
Porsche rises and wordlessly follows Kinn out of the meeting, down the hallway, and into a small side room.
As soon as the door closes behind him, Kinn slams him up against the wall so hard that Porsche’s teeth rattle. It knocks the breath out of him, both of Kinn’s hands encompassing the entire expanse of his waist, Kinn’s body a hot pillar of fury in front of him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Kinn hisses.
“I was bored,” Porsche complains, voice a particular brand of whiny that never fails to rile Kinn up. “You know I hate meetings.”
Kinn’s eyes turn obsidian, tearing open the collar of Porsche’s shirt so roughly that the top button pings off, dragging both sides apart to reach Porsche’s skin. Kinn fits his teeth to the juncture of Porsche’s neck and bites down, like Porsche is a belligerent kitten in need of discipline. It’s a warning, a taste of what will happen if he doesn’t behave, the acute sting of it turning his muscles to liquid, his head tipping back against the wall with a sharp gasp.
He brings his hand up to tangle in the back of Kinn’s hair, wanting Kinn to bite harder, trying to encourage him to leave a claiming bruise, but the touch makes Kinn abruptly pull away and step back, his chest heaving. The throb of the bite mark on Porsche’s neck helps but he feels Kinn’s absence like a gnawing pain.
“Kinn,” Porsche can’t stop himself from whispering, raw and wanting. Some of the anger fades from Kinn’s expression, his gaze tracking the desperation in Porsche’s eyes with abrupt clarity. “Kinn.”
“Get on your knees,” Kinn says.
Porsche goes down gratefully, sitting back on his heels and crossing his wrists at the small of his back, his spine ramrod straight, the picture of a flawless presentation. He lets his head tilt back in submission as Kinn lets out an appreciative exhale at the sight of him.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, reaching out to press the tip of his thumb to Porsche’s bottom lip. “So you do know how to behave.”
Porsche’s lips part on instinct, whole body hollow as he laps at Kinn’s thumb, wanting it in his mouth. Kinn complies, his pupils dilating when Porsche hollows his cheeks and sucks the salt from his skin. It’s good, but it doesn’t make him feel full. Porsche’s brows furrow, unable to stop himself from sucking but knowing he needs more.
Kinn slides his thumb in further, pressing down on his tongue, and Porsche makes a wanton noise around it, his eyes heavy-lidded as Kinn stares down at him. His mind is beginning to drift away from him, aided by the weight of Kinn’s thumb in his mouth and the pressure on his knees.
The knock on the door sounds distant to Porsche’s ears.
“Khun Kinn,” Big’s voice floats through the door, “Khun Tar is asking for you. He doesn’t look very happy to be kept waiting.”
Kinn’s eyes flutter closed in regret, looking like he’d rather flay himself to the bone than tear himself away from Porsche. Porsche makes a hurt sound when Kinn reluctantly slides his thumb out of his mouth, swaying forward towards Kinn like he can’t help it, dazed.
Porsche ends up with his forehead pressed to the solid heat of Kinn’s thigh, mourning the loss of Kinn’s thumb in his mouth.
“I know,” Kinn says quietly, cupping the back of Porsche’s head in a gesture more tender than their position should allow, “I know, I’m sorry. This isn’t fair. It will be over soon, only a few more meetings, I promise.”
He knows Kinn is speaking but Porsche can’t comprehend the words, too busy concentrating on breathing evenly, trying to anchor his mind back to his body.
“Look at me,” Kinn says, and when Porsche doesn’t move, he instils it with more of a command, “Look up at me, baby.”
Porsche stirs, latching onto the natural dominance in Kinn’s tone, blinking blearily up at him.
“Stay on your knees. Don’t move unless you or someone else is in danger. Don’t touch yourself. After fifteen minutes, come back to the meeting room. Can you do that for me?”
After a beat, Porsche nods. Kinn would normally expect a verbal response, but his tongue feels heavy and clumsy in his mouth. Kinn seems to understand that, gazing down at him in silence, something indecipherable on his face. He leans down to press a chaste kiss to Porsche’s forehead before stepping away and slipping out of the door.
Kinn’s instructions give him something to focus on, stopping him from sinking too deep, but it’s not enough.
Porsche feels bereft.
That evening, the tension in the meeting room is so thick it can be cut with a knife. The two opposing companies have finally agreed to meet so long as Kinn is present to oversee.
The bodyguards are instructed to stand at the edges of the room, applying to Kinn’s men and the bodyguards belonging to the two CEOs. Kinn and the two CEOs are seated in the middle of the room at the conference table.
Porsche barely hears what’s being discussed, the words floating by like water. Kinn keeps shooting looks at him from across the room that Porsche doesn’t have the witherell to decipher, too busy staring at the way Kinn’s fingers trace the condensation up and down his whiskey glass, the hollowness persistent inside him.
The man next to him, one of the bodyguards brought by the other company, keeps turning his head to try and catch his eye. Porsche already registered it earlier but had originally ignored it, deeming it not a threat, but his persistence does not go unnoticed.
Porsche finally brings himself to tear his gaze away from Kinn, glancing sideways. There is unmistakable interest in the man’s face as he looks Porsche up and down, his eyes catching on Porsche’s slim waist in his uniform, the soft swell of his ass.
Porsche knows it’s the worst idea he’s ever had. His sense of self-preservation is screaming at him to ignore it, knowing jealousy is a particularly bad trigger for Kinn, with the possibility that it will push him past that controlled dominant headspace and straight into abject fury. But the part of him that needs Kinn to settle him, to decide what punishment he would deserve, wins out in the end.
Porsche lifts his arm, movements slow and non-threatening, and reaches out to straighten the other man’s tie.
It’s only for less than a second, Porsche’s arm quickly returning to his side, but the movement draws Kinn’s attention, his conversation ending as abruptly as a gunshot. The sudden silence is jarring. Porsche can feel the heat of Kinn’s eyes boring into the side of his head but he ignores it, smiling invitingly at the other bodyguard.
The bodyguard leers back, hand darting out to slide down Porsche’s waist and around the curve of his ass. The touch is unexpected, Porsche didn’t intend it to go so far, so he steps away quickly, the hand falling from his body, but it’s already too late.
Kinn slams the glass tumbler down onto the table so hard that it cracks. The noise is devastatingly loud, dread and expectation curling into Porsche’s stomach in equal parts. The two CEOs are wide-eyed and frozen as Kinn slowly stands, his body uncoiling like a viper, leaning both hands on the table in front of him.
“I refuse to play mediator any longer,” Kinn’s voice is even in a terrifying way. “Figure this out amongst yourselves, or I’ll personally see to it that you both disappear. If you cannot come to an agreement, I will raize your companies to the ground and start over.”
The power he exudes makes Porsche’s knees weak. Kinn moves away from the table, over towards the door, where Porsche is standing frozen. Kinn stops just before he walks past Porsche, the other bodyguard tense and still beside him. Kinn doesn’t even turn his head when he says:
“Touch my bodyguard again and you will no longer have hands.”
The breath in Porsche’s lungs is lost in a silent, shaky exhale. It should scare him, the possessiveness in Kinn’s tone, but instead it makes his blood sing.
Kinn walks out of the door without looking back. Porsche knows without hearing that Kinn wants him to follow.
Porsche trails after Kinn in silence all the way up to Kinn’s bedroom.
Porsche stands in the middle of the room and keeps his eyes on Kinn’s back as Kinn shuts the door behind him. Kinn rests one hand on the wood and doesn’t turn around immediately. There is silence, as if Kinn is summoning whatever scant reserves of patience he has left.
The air around Porsche goes still. He realises he’s holding his breath. When Kinn turns, every line of his body rigid like a metal rod, anticipation rolls off Porsche in waves. Kinn moves and Porsche tenses, like prey in the eyeline of an apex predator.
Kinn walks right past him, over to the wardrobe. Porsche can’t stop the disappointed sound in his throat as he watches him go.
“When I turn around,” Kinn says, calmly searching for something in the wardrobe, “I want you to be naked.”
Porsche swallows and very quickly complies. His clothes are tossed into the corner until he’s completely bare, the plush carpet soft against the bottom of his feet. His body is thrumming with expectation. He’s never seen Kinn like this before—so focused, intent. Eerily calm, like the eye of a storm.
Kinn turns. His eyes flit briefly, dismissively, over Porsche’s body then back up. He’s holding a length of black silk that Porsche is already meticulously acquainted with. Porsche’s wrists ache at the sight of it.
Kinn steps closer, a hair's breadth away. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”
Porsche cannot bring himself to give in easily despite how needy he feels—it’s not in his nature. He needs Kinn to push and push until he eventually snaps, given no choice but to relent.
“Are you just going to talk about it, or are you actually planning on doing something?” Porsche asks, with as much apathy as he can manage.
Kinn smiles. Ignores Porsche’s words completely, unbuttoning his own shirt, letting it fall to the ground. Porsche has seen Kinn’s body more times than he can count, but it always makes his heart beat quicker in his chest.
Kinn circles behind him like a hunting animal. Porsche can hear the soft swish of the silk as Kinn runs it between his fingers.
Porsche’s hands go behind him automatically, crossing his wrists at the small of his back without Kinn having to ask. Porsche realises he’s overplayed his hand when Kinn exhales in satisfaction, giving Kinn a glimpse of how needy he truly feels. How much he wants to submit. Kinn binds his wrists together tightly but efficiently, ensuring there’s enough circulation but that Porsche can’t pull himself free. The helplessness has blood rushing to Porsche’s cock.
“I think you’ll cry,” Kinn adds from behind him, casual, like he’s talking about the weather.
It makes Porsche bristle. “I’m not going to cry,” he argues, defensive.
Kinn laughs. He sounds as dangerous as he is. Porsche’s insides go hot.
Kinn grabs him by the elbow, bodily moving him as Kinn sits on the edge of the bed, knocking Porsche off balance so he’s draped across his lap, chest pressed to the mattress and Porsche’s crotch nestled over Kinn’s thighs. Porsche squirms, the material of Kinn’s pants rough against his skin, mouth falling open around a shocked gasp. Kinn presses a hand against his neck until his hot cheek comes to rest against the sheets, positioning him exactly how he wants.
Porsche’s ass is in Kinn’s lap, right beneath his gaze. It’s nothing Kinn hasn’t seen before but the position makes him feel exposed in a way that’s embarrassing, wrists tied at his back and vulnerable, Kinn’s to do whatever he wants with.
“You embarrassed me in front of my guests,” Kinn tells him, in a dangerously calm tone. “I should do the same to you. Let everybody in the compound come and watch while I bend you over and make you beg for it.”
Porsche shudders. He knows Kinn would never let anyone else see him like this; Kinn is deeply possessive of what belongs to him, he’d never allow another soul to witness Porsche naked and squirming in his lap, but the threat of it sends a crash of pleasure through his veins, his cock twitching at the humiliation. Kinn would shoot anyone that dared look at Porsche with too much interest. It satisfies the dark, primal part of him he tries to keep hidden, the part of him that Kinn sees right through.
Still, Porsche isn’t willing to give in without a fight, his impudence rising up to meet him. The response Kinn is having to his misbehaviour is weak at best, not enough to scratch that restless itch that’s been plaguing Porsche for days.
Porsche scoffs into the sheets.
“Why would I ever beg for you?”
There is silence from above him. At first, Porsche worries that he’s gone too far, fearing that he’s overstepped completely and Kinn will get sick of him and kick him out, but then he feels Kinn let out a deep exhale, ghosting across the skin of his back.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Kinn murmurs. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have done this sooner.”
Porsche doesn’t know how to interpret the lump in his throat at that, but he doesn’t have time to linger on it before Kinn is leaning over to the bedside table without dislodging him and pressing the intercom that connects him to the nearest bodyguard down the corridor.
“Pete,” Kinn says. Porsche freezes, a line of goosebumps racing down his spine as the telltale sound of static indicates someone on the other end, “come to my room, please.”
“On my way, Khun Kinn,” Pete’s tinny voice replies.
Panic and arousal tear through him in equal parts—he tries to lift himself off Kinn’s lap but his bound wrists make it impossible, his knees slipping against soft sheets, unable to gain his balance, cheek pressed to the mattress.
“Kinn,” Porsche hisses, “what the fuck are you doing?”
“He’ll hear you,” Kinn tells him, his voice calm but his grip relentless, shoving Porsche effortlessly into the bed by his neck, “is that what you want?”
The knock on the door seizes the breath in his lungs. If Pete makes it past the entrance he’ll see exactly what Kinn is doing to him, exactly how desperate Porsche is for it.
“No, Kinn, please, don’t—” Porsche pleads quietly, his body in complete contrast with his words, grinding down into Kinn’s lap like he can’t stop it.
Kinn shifts his grip, tilting Porsche’s face at a harsh angle that makes his neck ache, until Porsche can peer up at Kinn.
“You need to trust me,” Kinn says quietly, his eyes so dark they look black. The thumb soothing over his temple is tender, in direct contrast to the situation. “What’s your colour?”
Porsche breathes slowly, the fragile span of his ribs contracting, in and out. Kinn has never viewed his submission as anything less than a priceless gift, aware of the responsibility he holds when Porsche gives himself over to him in this way.
Kinn has long since earned the right to it, has yet to steer him wrong, and he trusts Kinn to know what he needs. Kinn knows his limits, knows how to push him to the very edge of them, only sending him tumbling over when Kinn is there to catch him.
Porsche’s submission comes as easily as it always does, letting himself sink into the position over Kinn’s lap, eyes fluttering closed.
“Green,” he whispers.
“Good,” Kinn murmurs. The praise sets a shivery warmth alight behind his breastbone, but he’s still hyper-aware of how exposed he is like this. Kinn slides a big, warm hand beneath Porsche’s body, wrapping it around his aching cock. Porsche smothers a whine. “Stay where you are. Don’t make any noise.”
Kinn waits for the nod that Porsche gives him before he lifts his head and calls, “Come in.”
Approaching footsteps make him tense, the instinct to run rearing up. He tries to force himself to stay still, to behave like Kinn told him to, but he can’t help squirming as he flushes all over.
“Don’t come any closer,” Kinn calls, authority laced through every word. It’s so commanding that even Porsche stops squirming, his heart pounding in his ears as the footsteps halt their approach.
If Porsche cranes his neck, he can see the tips of Pete’s dress shoes poking out from the side, the rest of him obscured behind the wall that separates Kinn’s bedroom from the entrance. One step further and Pete will be able to see him, laid out and leaking into Kinn’s lap.
Porsche’s ears and cheeks burn with shame, feeling small and humiliated in the best way. He turns his face away and hides it in the sheets, tries to take small, silent breaths so as to not give himself away. His cock pulses in Kinn’s hand.
“How can I help you, Khun Kinn?” Pete’s voice asks tentatively.
“Cancel the meeting I had scheduled this evening.”
Kinn pinches his swollen cockhead between two fingers. Porsche jolts and gasps silently, open-mouthed against the sheets, his toes curling as Kinn squeezes harder, a fresh spurt of precome slicking his fingers.
“What reason should I give them?” Pete asks.
Kinn rubs his thumb against Porsche’s slit, smearing the slickness there with a deft twist of his wrist. The wet noise of it seems obscenely loud to his own ears—Porsche prays that Pete can’t hear it from where he’s standing.
“Tell them I’m taking care of something important.”
“Of course, Khun Kinn,” Pete’s tone is perfectly even. There’s no indication at all that he even knows Porsche is there, but it’s the possibility that makes Porsche burn.
“You’re dismissed,” Kinn says, absently petting through the soft hair at the back of Porsche’s head. Porsche tries not to push back into the affection, not wanting to give in to Kinn that easily despite his body screaming at him to submit to it.
Pete’s footsteps retreat, the door closing behind him and locking in place.
The pads of Kinn’s fingers trail lightly down Porsche’s vertebrae, coming to rest in the dip at the small of his back. The touch is deceptively gentle, soothing. Porsche knows—hopes—it won’t last, the anticipation erupting like goosebumps down his spine.
Kinn says, “If you hate the thought of people seeing you like this, why are you so fucking wet?”
The heat in Porsche’s cheeks sparks anew. It’s because he wants everyone to know that Kinn chose him. That he will always choose Porsche, no matter how much he misbehaves, because of how he misbehaves, Kinn taking as much as Porsche is willing to give.
“You’d enjoy it, wouldn’t you?” Kinn’s voice is casual, “To be stuffed full in front of everyone. I could tie your legs apart and leave you there, wet and open for me, plug you up and come back to fuck you whenever I want.”
Porsche would. He belongs to Kinn entirely, everything he is. It used to piss him off to hear Kinn say it, to have it thrown in his face, but now it’s something he chooses, something that makes him feel safe, claimed. Kinn wants him enough to keep him. Porsche has never had that before.
“But that would be more like a reward.” Kinn trails his hand, painfully slow and worshipful, down Porsche’s flank, coming to rest over the swell of his asscheek. He squeezes, fingers digging harshly into the muscle. “That isn't why we’re here, is it?”
Not once during all of this did Porsche stop to consider why it is that Kinn took him over his knee. He still doesn’t fully understand until Kinn’s palm comes down against his ass with a sudden, sharp slap. Porsche’s mouth falls open around a sharp inhale as he rears up in shock. Kinn pushes him back down easily, the hand on his neck shoving his cheek back into the mattress.
Kinn spanks him again, right over the meatiest part of his cheek, then keeps going. He doesn’t pull his strength, being completely mean with it, his hand big and the sound it makes echoing in Porsche’s ears, the sharp pain ricocheting through him.
“Kinn,” Porsche chokes on his own voice, his hips rocking forward at the sting, “Kinn, what are you—don’t—”
“You can take it,” Kinn says, grip tightening on him, cold and unfeeling as he lands a series of stinging smacks against Porsche’s reddening skin.
Porsche has never been so hard before. It’s mortifying, getting hit by someone like this, being bent over Kinn’s lap and spanked, his hand hitting his ass over and over again. Kinn’s other hand stays firmly around his neck when he tries to squirm away, forcing Porsche’s cheek harder against the bed until he’s completely immobile, unable to do anything but take the onslaught.
Porsche cries out as Kinn smacks him on the sensitive line where his ass meets his thigh, Kinn alternating blows on both cheeks without pausing to give Porsche a break. It’s degrading, it’s demeaning, it hurts and Porsche loves it, he needs it, realises the sticky mess he’s making of Kinn’s lap as his cock excessively leaks precome, his legs trembling and desire burning like wildfire in his veins.
Kinn stops only to squeeze the burning flesh, pain blooming across Porsche’s skin, making him whine and grind his throbbing cock against Kinn’s lap.
“You acted out because you wanted my attention,” Kinn says. “You baited me, disobeyed me, and let another man touch you. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
Porsche can barely speak, breath tangled in his chest from the pain, “No, I—Kinn, I didn’t.”
Kinn slaps him again, over and over. Porsche’s nails bite into his palms at his back, toes curling at the blistering wave of pain-pleasure.
“It hurts,” Porsche gasps out, “it hurts, it hurts.”
Kinn says, “You love that it hurts,” and spanks him harder, his skin pink and burning beneath his palm.
“No,” Porsche moans, hips moving on their own, grinding down harder into Kinn’s thigh.
Kinn is right, it hurts so good, Porsche is mindless with it, mouth slack and open against the bed. Kinn smacks roughly over his balls with the flat of his fingers and Porsche jerks, making an embarrassingly desperate sound.
Porsche likes it when Kinn is kind but he loves it even more when he’s mean.
“Don’t lie. Colour?”
“Green,” Porsche bursts out, frantic with the thought that Kinn might stop, “green, green—”
Kinn hits him again. And again. And again. The noises torn from Porsche’s throat are those of a wounded animal, desperate. The friction against his dick is so good he sees stars; Kinn’s lap is soaked from it, the wet spot spreading across his thigh.
“You’re so easy,” The dismissiveness in his tone makes Porsche’s stomach twist. “Making a mess of yourself just from this. This is supposed to be a punishment, Porsche. You were out of line.”
Porsche’s harsh, staccato breaths dissolve into whimpers. The guilt and humiliation and arousal are pooling heavily in his gut, rushing up in a wave, threatening to drown him. It’s overwhelming, the throbbing heat, Kinn’s unyielding touch, the pain so harsh he feels like he may die from it. It’s like the dam within him breaks beneath Kinn’s hand. The next breath he takes is around a sob, emotions rushing out of him like a flood.
“I’m sorry,” Porsche cries, cheeks wet with tears, “I’m sorry, Kinn, I just wanted—I wanted—”
“I know,” Kinn says quietly. “I know what you wanted. It’s okay, I have you.”
Porsche exhales around another sob, body going limp against Kinn’s lap at the quiet devotion in Kinn’s voice. Crying feels like a new kind of release and he gives into it entirely. Kinn doesn’t stop, and Porsche doesn’t want him to. He lies there, loose-limbed, and lets Kinn take him apart.
He’s as limp as a ragdoll as Kinn smacks him, over and over, until Porsche’s skin is reddened and bruised. Kinn takes the time to pet over his handiwork in admiration before he lets his fingers dig in. The next stinging stroke has Porsche muffling a pathetic whine into the sheets.
“Kinn,” he says pleadingly. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for but Kinn understands anyway.
Kinn’s hand dips between his thighs, tugging his trembling legs apart. The next slap lands on the most sensitive part of his inner thigh and Porsche all at once realises he’s going to come just from this, the blazing heat of it curling in his gut. His fingers twist against the binds, toes curling against the bed.
Porsche tries to warn Kinn but can’t seem to get the words out, only able to make a broken noise as Kinn hits him again. Kinn rocks Porsche forward with the force of his next hit, his cock pressed firmly against Kinn’s thigh, and the coil of tension within Porsche snaps and releases, barely hearing the desperate whimpers he makes as the force of his orgasm rips through him.
There’s a brief moment where Porsche loses all sense of time. The next thing he’s aware of is being gently lifted and moved up the bed, deposited gently on his stomach in the cool sheets. Porsche turns his face to the side so he can breathe, but that’s all the energy he has left for.
Kinn’s weight presses up against his side. He pets gently through Porsche’s hair as he trembles from his orgasm.
“So good for me, sweetheart,” Kinn murmurs. “You did so well.”
The acknowledgement that he’s done what was asked of him, that he’s pleased Kinn in some way, makes tears sting Porsche’s eyes again.
“Can you keep going?”
Closing his eyes, Porsche nods. He’s still not full, he needs more. He’s vaguely aware of Kinn leaving the bed then returning an indeterminate amount of time later.
A hand on his waist encourages Porsche to turn on his side. There’s the shnick of a lube bottle and then Kinn reaching down to slide a silicon cockring down over Porsche’s half-hard cock until it’s nestled firmly at the base. If Porsche had the energy, he’d put up more of a fight. As it is, he can only bring himself to drop back down onto his stomach, hiding his face in the blanket.
“I didn’t expect you to come just from that,” Kinn admits. Embarrassment spreads around the edges of Porsche’s awareness, realising how desperate he must have seemed. “This should make it a little harder for you.”
Porsche makes a half-miserable noise into the sheets. Kinn once edged him for hours using the same ring, bringing him to the edge over and over again, only to take his release away at the last minute. When he finally came, his orgasm was so strong and drawn out that Porsche lost consciousness for a few minutes.
Kinn ignores his attempt at complaint. Both of his hands come to rest on Porsche’s ass, one on each cheek, right over the hot skin. Porsche jolts and swears at the pain.
“Such a baby,” Kinn comments.
Porsche doesn’t have time to respond before Kinn forces his thighs apart, then parts his cheeks. Warm air brushes the sensitive skin there as Kinn sighs, but Porsche can barely remain cognisant of that, suddenly hyper-aware of how empty he is as Kinn just takes his time and looks.
Then Kinn spits directly into his hole, and Porsche shudders out an embarrassing sound he’s never heard before.
Kinn says, “You’re so pretty here, Porsche,” before licking inside him.
Porsche’s voice breaks as he whines into the bedspread, his hips jerking as he tries to rock forward and away from the sensation. It’s too much, too soon, overwhelming in its intensity, and Kinn shows no signs of going slow or easing him in. Porsche’s cock gets hard again so fast it’s painful, made worse from the pressure where it’s trapped against the bed.
The base of his dick is throbbing around the ring, a wet spot quickly spreading beneath him despite it, rocking away from and towards Kinn’s mouth, not sure whether he wants to get away or plead for more. He barely feels the ache in his arms from the bindings, unable to talk when Kinn is licking him open so filthily, the tip of his tongue darting in and out of Porsche’s hole, swirling around the rim before he leans back and spanks him with the hand that holds him open. Porsche keens weakly, legs spreading wider on instinct.
Kinn’s fingers, slick with lube, rub against where he’s already hot and open from Kinn’s mouth. It crashes into him, just how empty he feels, rocking back with a hungry whine to get Kinn to do anything to stop the hollowness that aches in him.
Kinn fucks two fingers into him, his hole already loose enough to accommodate the slide. Porsche chokes on a moan as Kinn makes a rough noise at the tight, hot squeeze of him around the fingers stuffed inside him.
“Tell me how it feels,” Kinn demands, hunger in every word. He’s fingerfucking Porsche with almost laser-like precision. Porsche trembles all over and shakes his head, hiding his face in the bed. Kinn adds another finger, the stretch wide and brutal.
“I’m waiting,” Kinn says, low and teasing as he rubs his fingers over the hidden spot inside him.
“Good,” Porsche manages to say, throat scraped raw.
Kinn’s other hand cups his balls, rolling them gently, then he tightens his hold and tugs, making Porsche jerk and wail.
“Such a fucking masochist,” Kinn groans, sounding crazed and half-starved.
Kinn yanks his fingers out and Porsche cries out at the devastating emptiness. Kinn is unbuckling his belt, the sound of the metal making Porsche rear back against him. There’s the sound of Kinn’s clothing being tossed to the ground and then he’s yanking Porsche up by the hips to rest on his knees, spread wide, cheek still pressed to the sheets.
Porsche is mindless with need, his skin burning from Kinn’s hands and cock aching, a yawning emptiness inside him that Kinn’s fingers weren’t enough to fill. The pain and pleasure and ownership crash together into a crescendo, something in his mind snapping at the onslaught, his eyes stinging.
“Please, please,” he begs, “Kinn, please—I need it, please—”
“You said you wouldn’t beg.” Kinn’s hands grip him so tightly he’s going to leave finger-shaped bruises, sliding the length of himself up Porsche’s cleft, rubbing over his hole but never pushing in.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Porsche gets out around huge gasping whines, “I was wrong, ah, please—”
“What is it you want?” Kinn asks.
Porsche moans raggedly, pushing back weakly into Kinn. His legs are trembling so hard he’s afraid he’s going to collapse, held up by Kinn’s hands alone. Kinn spanks over his tender flesh in warning and Porsche bites down on a wail.
“Answer me or I'll walk away right now.”
The threat is an empty one but it makes something panicked lurch in Porsche’s chest.
“No,” he whines, “fuck me, fuck me, please—don’t leave, I’ll be good, wanna feel it—”
Kinn groans softly, rubbing the thick tip of his cock against Porsche’s hole until it catches.
“Always such a mouth on you.”
Porsche’s breath strangles in his throat as Kinn’s cock slowly splits him open, pushing all the way to the hilt in one long devastating slide. Kinn is so big inside him that Porsche feels half a size too small, his hole clutching tightly at the stretch of him, greedy. It’s so good, he’s so full. He only realises he’s spoken aloud when Kinn groans.
And then Kinn is fucking him brutally, tugging his hips back into the cradle of his dick like he’s a rag doll, using him in the most perfect way. His cock is steadily dripping onto the sheets, every pulse of precome pushing past the tension from the ring as Kinn slams his prostate, his stomach tightening with suspended pleasure.
Kinn’s mouth turns downright filthy. “You’re so greedy for it, you can’t even think without it. Maybe I’ll let everyone have a turn when I’m finished with you. Pass you around like the good little cockslut you are.”
Porsche whines. Kinn wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. But if it was what Kinn wanted him to do, if it brought Kinn pleasure to watch him like that, if it meant he was good for Kinn, he’d do it without any hesitation.
Porsche tries to speak, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He only manages a strangled noise. Kinn pets through the hair at the back of his head as he fucks him, humming in question.
“You’ll have to speak up, darling.”
Porsche swallows around his dry throat and tries again.
“Only for you,” he croaks, “m’yours.”
Kinn goes still inside him. The span of his chest rises and falls as he takes deep, measured breaths.
“Mine,” Kinn eventually says, the word curling deep into Porsche’s stomach, “but I think you need reminding of that fact.”
Kinn presses his full weight on top of Porsche, chest to back, and mounts him, rutting into Porsche like an animal. Porsche can only lie there and take it, cock-drunk and drooling, the sound of skin on skin loud in his ears. Porsche doesn’t just want Kinn to fuck him, he wants to feel it for as long as he can, wants Kinn to mark him permanently—on him, inside him, lingering deeper even than his skin. Even now, he’s hungry for more.
“You love this so much,” Kinn’s voice is ragged, the deep growl of it pooling like liquid heat in Porsche’s stomach, “all you want is to be stuffed full, bending over so eagerly for me. You’re taking it so easily Porsche, it’s like you were made to be fucked.”
Porsche keens, Kinn reaching so deep that he can feel it in his throat, his knee slipping against the sheets as his next thrusts steal the air from his lungs.
Kinn hauls Porsche upright with an arm across his chest so Porsche can take his cock without running away, forcing Porsche’s back into a sinful arch, the sound of skin against skin ringing in his ears as Kinn pounds into him, turning the tender skin of his ass even pinker.
Porsche is making hurt little noises at the sting, Kinn’s hand gripping his jaw and turning his chin so he can lick into his mouth, gasping little ah ah ah noises smothered against Kinn’s tongue.
Kinn’s hand moves to wrap around his throat, licking a hot line up to his ear.
“I want you to come on my cock,” he commands softly.
Without the ring Porsche would have come all over himself by now, but instead he’s suspended in place, brought to the very edge but unable to reach that peak, his pleasure stretched endlessly thin like an elastic band.
“I can’t,” Porsche gets out around desperate little whines, “The ring, I can’t, ah, Kinn— ”
Kinn’s hand wraps around his swollen cock, flushed pink at the head and dripping, jerking him so tightly that Porsche cries out, tears stinging the corner of his eyes.
“You can,” Kinn says, “because you’re a perfect little cocksleeve.” Porsche moans raggedly, the heat scorching through his veins. “Always desperate for it, letting me fuck you whenever and wherever I want. You feel so good Porsche, always so tight and wet. Wanna feel you squeeze around me as you come.”
The build up to orgasm is agonising and slow. It is so drawn out that Porsche almost faints at the never ending force of it. He’s unable to see or hear anything that isn’t Kinn. He can only feel, brutally, the tension pulsing through him endlessly. Every nerve stands on end, everything inside of him primed to come, his cock throbbing where the ring squeezes the base, dragging out the coil of pleasure in his abdomen until it borders on painful.
“I’m going to fill you up,” Kinn promises, “fill you so full you’ll choke on it, won’t be able to walk after. You can have it, baby, but you have to be good and come for me.”
Porsche sobs at that, straining at the binds around his wrists, suspended between Kinn’s hand on his throat and on his dick, Kinn’s thrusts reaching so deep he feels like he’s being rearranged around Kinn’s cock, his insides shifting to accommodate him.
“Porsche,” Kinn says, hand tightening around his throat, “be a good boy for me.”
Porsche comes so hard it tears through him with white-hot intensity, unravelling him from the inside out, thick lines of it in long pulsing spurts forced past the tension from the ring. Kinn moans as Porsche clenches down around him, fucking him impossibly harder, using his body like he’s nothing but a fucktoy.
His mind floats in ecstasy, drifting somewhere above his body. Porsche doesn’t have to focus on anything else when he’s just Kinn’s little toy, just a tight hot place for Kinn to come into.
“Please,” he whispers, throat raw, “please.”
Kinn lets out a low moan that Porsche has never heard before as he presses deep and starts to come, the hot thick feel of it making Porsche whine in response, mouth falling open as he’s filled to the brim, cock twitching in sensitivity.
Time unravels away from him. Porsche drifts. Somebody unties his arms, his hands falling limply to the bed. The ring is removed and tossed aside. Careful hands pull him against a warm body, soft murmurs of reassurance muffled through the ringing in his ears.
“I was good, I was good,” Porsche slurs softly, pawing weakly at the chest he’s pressed against, “I was good, Kinn, was I—?”
Kinn’s arms drag him closer, Porsche curling up gratefully into his chest, pressing his forehead to Kinn’s sternum as he tries to breathe evenly, the floaty feeling in his brain slowly fading away.
“You were good,” Kinn is holding Porsche tight like he’s something precious, something worthy of gentleness, “you were perfect for me.”
Porsche feels absolutely euphoric, muscles aching, throat raw. Kinn splintered him apart and put him back together again in just the way he needed. The endorphin rush makes him dizzy, accompanying the swell of emotions rising in him, the tenderness with which Kinn rubs feeling back into his trembling arms making his throat tight.
Kinn is looking at him in that way he does sometimes, like Porsche is the centre of his universe, a bright shining thing that he can’t believe he gets to keep. It makes Porsche want to burrow so close to him that their bones intertwine, so that they never have to be apart. It makes Porsche wonder if he’s worthy of such a thing.
“You’re always good for me,” Kinn says gently.
Porsche makes a small noise. Porsche isn’t perfect; he misbehaves, he acts out, he tries to get beneath Kinn’s skin because he enjoys the reaction he gets from him.
“Not always good,” Porsche mumbles.
Porsche feels rather than sees Kinn smile, his cheek bunching up against the top of Porsche’s head.
“No,” he allows, “but I like that about you. I like that you’re a brat. You drive me crazy, but that’s part of the fun. I wouldn’t change anything about you.”
The air around Kinn suddenly turns serious. Something in his face makes Porsche pay attention.
“You needed this, Porsche. You didn’t know how to ask for it, so you acted out to force a dominant response from me. I don’t blame you for that. I’m sorry it took me so long to do anything. If it wasn’t for those two useless—” Kinn stops, takes a cleansing breath. “It doesn’t matter. In the future, when you need this again, I’ll find a way for you to be able to tell me.”
It’s slightly mortifying to admit that he needs these kinds of things, that he needs Kinn’s praise and punishment and control. Porsche tries to turn his face away, to hide, but Kinn doesn’t let him, catching his cheek in a warm palm, making him feel seen.
Kinn’s eyes hold nothing but tender devotion as he says, “There’s absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”
The way Kinn understands him so entirely sets off something golden in his chest, glowing with affection and belonging. It’s like Kinn sees down into the fragile, hidden parts of him and pulls them out into the light, embracing him for all he is.
Porsche burrows down into the crook of Kinn’s neck, into the safest place he knows.
“Thank you,” he mumbles, because he rarely gets the chance to say it.
“There’s no need to thank me. I need it, too.”
That makes Porsche warm all over. Knowing how well they complement one another, that Kinn needs Porsche just as much as Porsche needs him. He kisses the nearest part of Kinn he can reach, feeling sticky and tired and satisfied. He feels more like a human being with every stroke of Kinn’s hand through his hair.
“You need water and some food,” Kinn tells him, as dutiful as ever with aftercare.
“Do you know what else I need?”
“Lotion?” Kinn asks.
“No,” Porsche says, then pauses. His ass is still stinging a little, so maybe some lotion would be good. “Well, yes. But before that.”
“A bath,” Kinn says.
“A bath,” Porsche groans in agreement, “I’m so gross. I can’t believe you spat inside my ass.”
The body beneath him shakes with laughter. “I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.”
“That was then, this is now.”
“Okay,” Kinn concedes with a smile, “I’ll go and draw you a bath.”
“And wash my hair,” Porsche adds.
“And wash your hair,” Kinn agrees dutifully.
Kinn shifts as if he’s going to pull away. Porsche wraps his long legs and arms around him like a koala, stopping him from escaping.
“Porsche,” Kinn’s voice is amused, “you have to actually let me go.”
Porsche makes an ornery noise into Kinn’s neck. “Five more minutes?”
Kinn presses a sweet kiss into his hair.
“Five more minutes.”