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the here and now
“you will not believe what i heard about this guy—” it takes astrid a few moments to even pay attention to whatever linh is saying, mainly because she’s distracted watching the new hires set up for their presentations; she never comes to these beginning of the semester colloquiums; the department sent out a ten paragraph email with dates and room numbers, and she wasn’t going to. but then there were several pointed messages from dr. blau, and more pointed messages about service and showing face and recommendation letters from dr. terrance, and at a certain point, it was impossible to avoid. she tunes back in when linh hits her on the arm again.
“seriously you want to hear this,” she says, leaning over again and whispering as quietly as she can, which isn’t particularly quiet, “homeboy got headhunted to come here, even though he notoriously was anti-ivy, for whatever reason, weird because he’s a fucking og legacy kid—”
“the story, linh, what are you talking about?” she can tell they are getting closer and closer to having to be quiet, and there was another passive aggressive email about nobody being on their computers, and therefore even potentially not paying attention, so none of them have tablets or laptops, and she knows she’s getting glared out of existence if dr. terrance so much as sees a glance of her phone.
“fine, ruin my story pacing because you’re impatient,” she waves her hand at astrid, facing the front and pretending she’s getting ready to pay attention when dr. terrence spots them and glares, but she leans back over when he’s glaring at somebody else, “but he almost got his tenure snatched last year because he was schtupping one of his students, and they got caught fucking in his office, like, literally recorded him eating the dude out on his desk,” she says, sotto voce, with a wide smirk, “but then he basically put his massive dong on the table with the fucking president of the university, and was like, dude yours is six inches, mine is ten. told them to shove it, took his multi-million dollar institute and internship program with him, and came here. he’s getting seven figgies while we’re borrowing each other’s ids for extra swipes into the food pantry, and he brought his boyfie with him for almost double his salary, fresh out of fucking grad school. or not boyfie, husband, because he married the kid a month after he quit and never looked back. i heard they’d been fucking the whole four years, but nobody has any proof.”
astrid stares at her, in disbelief, and then looks over at the new professor; he doesn’t look the type, older, solid in a dilf-y way, with the dad bod to boot; well-tailored suit, shiny, expensive shoes, his watch looks michael rubin white party level impressive, and he’s got the vibe of someone who could and would kill a man with his bare hands; but the second his husband walks up, it’s like a flower turning towards the sun, the way his face opens up; in a move that makes her breath catch, he pulls him close, solid hands wrapped around his impossibly tiny waist, pressing a kiss to his forehead with a wide smile that opens up his face; whatever the story, it seems like it was worth it, to have someone look at him like that. she’d kill to have someone look at her like that; both of them look good together; tall, beautiful, and out of this world expensive clothing; it makes her feel that weird insecurity like they shouldn’t even be existing in the same room.
“that can’t be true. i refuse to believe that’s true, blau and terrence would have eaten him alive before they’d let that happen. no way, absolutely not, i mean, why would they hire him here? that’s—” she doesn’t even have words for it, but linh does.
“that's really expensive dick.”
&then
it’s a miracle, kinn thinks, that he had just muted himself, because of course porsche comes barging into his office mid-meeting with the new zealand folks, half asleep because of the time zone difference, and unlucky that it was their turn for the night meeting; he kicks the door shut behind him, coming up to the front of kinn’s desk, fiddling with a glass paperweight.
“daddy—” he drops his voice from a high pitched, childish whine when he realizes kinn is scrambling for his mouse, turning his camera off, before porsche can come around his desk and sit on top of it, like he owns the place, “mommy is being mean to me about my dissertation edits—”
“freud would have a field day with you,” he says, getting up and opening the door, but porsche rolls his eyes, so he leaves it cracked, instead of fully open, not even bothering to say anything when porsche settles on top of his desk, swinging his legs back and forth.
“what is the point in opening the door?” porsche asks, tipping his head back so he can look at kinn, bracing his weight against his arms, kinn tries not to look, but it’s hard, when he’s so on display, like he doesn’t care what it looks like, what people might think if they saw how comfortable he is here.
he blinks at porsche, until he gets the hint and sits up straight, knocking his knees together, “i mean i know the walls have eyes, but the walls also have ears, and how am i supposed to bitch when people could be listening?”
kinn stares at him, and then up at the ceiling, and then back at porsche.
“have you considered being professional even a day in your life,” he says, sitting back down in his desk chair and rolling away enough to get some space, “i mean really and truly, do you know what it looks like, barging into my office,” porsche cuts him off, mouthing along to his spiel, mainly because he’s heard it before, “sitting on my desk, interrupting meetings, and acting like, porsche, people are going to think things, things you and your shiny visa can’t afford to have them thinking. things that me and my giant internship program can’t afford for them to think—”
porsche slides off of his desk, sullen, and kinn almost feels bad, but he knows he’s right; he walks around his desk and exits out of the meeting; dr. cohen can handle wrapping up without him, and he’d already said he needed to leave early to teach; he packs up his laptop, even as porsche keeps rambling on, complaining loudly.
“—blah blah blah, get off my desk, open the door, title nine, whatever. are we still on for after class drinks at pink elephant, or what? baby needs a bitching session, and you owe me after cancelling last week, even though our lil business bastards put me through hell over a test you made, which by the way, had a mistake in the key—”
“don’t call our students bastards, and yes, we’re still on for drinks after class. but first, we have to get through class, so—” he holds his hands out, expectantly, and porsche leans over, pulling out kinn’s freshly printed lecture notes, popping back up and handing them over; kinn scans them; he did a good job, and he’s somehow managed to capture kinn’s voice, and his odd speaking habits, and parts of the chapter have been broken down in ways he would have never considered; porsche is good, and he’s a great teacher, even if he’s a menace and bad for kinn’s blood pressure.
“thank you, porsche. excellent work, as always.” he’s at least nice, even if he’s annoyed, and he gallantly ignores the way porsche flushes at the praise, suddenly shy; he also refuses to call the way porsche walks behind him, slightly to the side, arms held carefully behind his back, what it is; an obedient, submissive heel.
they make it to class, and kinn doesn’t even have to say anything; they are a well-oiled machine. porsche takes his laptop and gets to work, logging in for him and setting up the powerpoint slides and checking the audio to make sure all of the video segments work; forecasting isn’t his favorite class to teach, but porsche makes it so much easier; the students love him, he’s a good teacher, and his lectures are good, even if he rambles more than business students feel like paying attention to.
when his laptop is set up, and the slides are up, he waits as the students trickle in, sitting down around the auditorium, talking to each other loudly, laughing and gossiping; there’s an entire section of kennedy-suited frat boys that make him nervous every class, but they’ve stopped talking as much now that porsche sits right behind them, all the way in the back row; kinn watches as he gets to the back of the auditorium, taking the stairs two at a time, bounding up them in his giant pink boots; when he’s sitting down, he waves at kinn, and kinn waves back, which for some reason, merits a series of loud giggles from a group of girls sitting in the front row, with heavily stickered water bottles.
finally, it’s five minutes til, so he gets started, clapping his hands loudly, and laughing when a few students jump, and one person yelps; he turns the lights down, except for the front of the house, and walks to the podium, picking up his clicker.
“today, we’re talking regression,” he pauses for groans, with a smile, “which means you really need to pay attention, or else the next few weeks won’t make any sense, and then the entire class will probably not make any sense either. but, you’re in luck, because my lovely assistant has provided an extra set of notes that should be helpful. please access the blackboard page, under files, to find it by date and lecture title.”
he waits for everybody to click around on their laptops with a smile, until he notices everybody is paying attention to him again, or at least mainly everybody; there’s a guy with earbuds in, jamming out in the back row, oblivious to the amount of people staring at him; kinn is used to this, and he’s not so easily broken by people who don’t realize he doesn’t have an attendance policy, and they can always stop showing up.
kinn settles into a rhythm, and it’s like class flies by after that, it takes a random glance at the clock for him to realize he should set them loose after their activity, so he claps his hands again, this time, laughing when the student from before yelps and jumps.
“that’s it for today, we’ll get back to it on wednesday, but for right now, i’m giving you the night off, because if you thought today was bad, wednesday is somehow even worse,” he pauses for groans again, “but you can do it. you gotta get through the pain to get to the paycheck,” at that, a few students eyeroll, but the frat boys cheer, and he only barely holds back laughing.
he waits around, chatting with a few stray students who have questions, while porsche lingers in the edges of his vision, packing away kinn’s computer in his bag, and coiling up his laptop charger neatly; when he’s done, he hands kinn his bag with a soft smile.
“that was good,” he says, still smiling; the rest of the students wander off, chatting with each other, but kinn barely notices, when their hands touch against the fabric of his bag; he stares for a second, before clearing his throat, and plastering on a smile, “you did a good job.” porsche finishes, voice going a bit weird for some reason.
“thank you, porsche,” kinn replies, as they start up the stairs, “that’s high praise coming from the man who once fell asleep in a six person seminar—” he knows what’s going to happen the second he says it, porsche not so subtly tugs on his bag, making him rock backwards and stumble on one of the platforms in between the sets of stairs; kinn laughs, swinging his bag and hitting porsche in the side.
“in my defense, i’d stayed up all night because somebody wanted to grade papers until three am—” kinn remembers this story, and he stops in his tracks, still amused.
“yeah, and i let you crash on the couch, so—”
“no, tawan made me crash on the couch, because he didn’t want to wake up to my jeep on the news, random long legged immigrant gets into crash, more news on whatever the republicunts are up to at ten—”
at the mention of tawan, kinn’s stomach drops, but he keeps up his good humor, hoping porsche doesn’t notice; it’s not so much that it still hurts, it’s just that it feels weird; he feels guilty, even with their flourishing friendship; he doesn’t know why being divorced has made them like each other so much more, but they’ve talked more than they have in years, and he’s supportive; he stayed on facetime for an hour helping tawan pick out outfits for a date; anakinn, i’m almost fifty and i’m dating, help me, you are my only hope.
“yes, tawan suggested it, and i agreed with him—”
“speaking of mommy,” porsche says, even as kinn grimaces at his back; as they get out of the building and into the sun, kinn puts on his shades, trading out his glasses and putting them in his shirt pocket, trying to hide from the blinding sun even temporarily.
he presses the button on the crosswalk the second they get to the corner, in a crowd of students; kinn looks at them with an underlying overwhelmed disgust; it’s strange how they manage to look more and more twelve each year, and the clothing makes him understand more of his parents by the day, “i meant it when i said i wanted to bitch about the feedback, i mean, he called it reductive, ripped half of my models apart, and all but told me to start over, but gave me zero feedback—”
at that kinn stops him, as the light across from them counts down, letting the other group on the road cross the intersection; he blinks against the light glaring off of the huge glass building in front of them.
“now i know that isn’t true—” at that, porsche rolls his eyes.
“daddy, you always take mommy’s side—” kinn tugs him back by the shirt, and he stumbles in place, arms flailing.
“what is with—is it the divorce? should we have gone through with the court recommended therapist?” porsche laughs loud, tugging away, but kinn holds him in place; half of him is a little serious, because the family thing was funny at first, but now he’s wondering what porsche is hiding behind that joke, and the affected, childish voice he does when he makes it.
“no, no—” he goes slightly somber for a second, his smile ill-fitting when he plasters it back on, “it’s just, i’m just frustrated. i know i need to sit with the feedback, but i can’t think of anything i want to do less right now, even though he’s right, and you’re gonna read it and think he’s right, and i’m just being dramatic.” he says, walking forward when the light changes at the intersection and a massive crowd starts to cross.
“you’re not being dramatic, you’re tired, overworked, underpaid, and probably more than a little burnt out,” kinn says, even as porsche course corrects and goes to walk behind him, at his left shoulder, for some reason, “so the feedback probably hit at some fragile spots. which is why we’re doing what any good advisor should do for his students,” he holds the door to the bar open, blinking and eyes watering at the sudden stuffiness and darkness of the bar, when the door shuts behind them, the sudden blast of cigarette smoke and alcohol in the air makes his chest go funny, he’s getting too old for this shit.
“and i’m getting you good and drunk, and you’re not coming to class on wednesday,” porsche goes to protest, but kinn looks at him, sternly, “you’ve been doing too much, and i promise i won’t die if you’re not there to supervise, okay? you’ve finished your entire first draft about a year and six months earlier than most people in your position, you’re not going to flunk out if you take a break,” he stops short before finishing the sentence, and he knows why, but he doesn’t want to think about it, as porsche slides onto a stool at the bar, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head and sitting it on the floor beside him, as kinn sits his bag on a hook underneath the bar. it sits in his stomach like lead, and he autopilots through ordering his normal drink, whiskey neat; porsche orders some brightly colored monstrosity with an eager grin, oblivious to kinn’s inner turmoil, reaching over across kinn’s lap, into his bag, to steal his wallet and open a tab for both of them; his head is spinning, and he blinks against the lights behind the bar; suddenly, porsche leaning over him is just a solid line of heat against his thighs, he stabilizes himself with one hand on kinn’s leg, digging through his bag; kinn just sits there, in shock.
he almost called porsche baby.
the rest of the night passes in a blur, he just lets porsche bitch at him, about the students, who never read his emails, unless they want to complain, about tawan, who has ripped his dissertation apart, even though kinn knows for a fact that tawan probably just made suggestions, and porsche takes feedback like he always takes feedback, poorly, he complains about his cohort, and how they never seem to talk to him unless they need something; through all of it, kinn runs on autopilot until he’s on his fourth drink, this time with ice, because it’s suddenly so hot in here. he unbuttons the top of his shirt, and porsche lets out a loud woo, spinning on his stool, wobbling in place.
“give us a show, professor,” kinn stares at him, pinning him with the thousandth stern look he’s shot porsche all day; he doesn’t know why he tries, sometimes, with the way porsche seems determined to test him, to test his pride, his shame, his patience, his resolve, whispers a voice, the same corner of his mind that can’t stop staring at porsche, the way he glows more and more, the drunker he gets, the way his hands fly around, like restless birds, landing on kinn’s arm, and his shoulders, stealing his drink more than once, even though porsche always grimaces at the taste of whiskey; the long line of his neck, as he tips his head back with a hoarse, barking laugh.
he’s beautiful, and kinn is tired of pretending he doesn’t notice; because he does, and once that box is unlocked, there’s no stopping it; he just rests his head on his hand and watches; as porsche dances around to some horrible, tinny, top forty hit blasting over the speakers; licking his hand when he does a shot of tequila with the bartender; the way he laughs; he knows he shouldn't think about it, but there's been so many long nights, sitting on the floor of his living room, grading and laughing, that ended in him wondering what it would be like if porsche didn’t stay on the couch, what it would be like if he crept up the stairs, into kinn’s bed, it’s a train of thought that makes him consider buying stock in lube, because he's gone through so much of it, but worse, the more he learns about porsche, the more it warps from shapeless desire to something tangible, something he can’t say out loud because he’s too scared of what it means to want someone so badly, and to never be able to do anything about it.
kinn picks up his drink and downs it in one go, and immediately knows it was a bad idea; before, he was tipsy, now, the world is wobbling around him in a way that takes him back a decade or two, or three, and makes him have to blink rapidly, trying to focus his eyes behind his glasses; he pushes them up the bridge of his nose and looks at porsche, who is looking back at him, which makes him want to look away, but he doesn’t.
“what,” he says it coyly, half hiding behind his hands, which makes kinn just smile at him, more than a little drunkenly, “why are you looking at me like that?” kinn doesn’t know what he’s talking about, except that he does, but he’s not playing his cards if he doesn’t have to, if porsche isn’t going to say it out loud; the music switches over to something syrup slow and bass heavy, that makes the heat that’s been playing over his skin settle at the base of his spine; his fingers itch to touch, even though he knows he shouldn’t; there’s a question that wants to drip from the tip of his tongue, and he has to swallow heavily before he even thinks about asking it.
“like what? how am i looking at you?’ he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t be asking, not when—he’s not stupid, he knows the way porsche looks at him; he knows the many, many times tawan joked about a crush, he knows the argument they had when it wasn’t a joke anymore, when he let tawan go through his phone to prove a point and he spent three days in a hotel, and then the rest was papers and slammed doors and history; but he’s never been very good at lying to himself, and he’s even worse at lying to porsche, so he asks the question he shouldn’t, and he braces himself for the impact of the answer; but nothing could have prepared him for the way porsche blooms into himself; sitting up tall, draped over the bar, eyes squinting up and amused, but there’s a flash of teeth in the way he stares at kinn, like he sees something he likes; like he sees something that cements the heady feeling going between them like static electricity; he feels like he can reach out and touch how much he wants porsche; a tangible, thready desire that makes all of his senses sing a chorus of want.
“like you want something,” he says, sitting up, sitting closer, “but i’m not gonna be the one that says it,” he wobbles a bit, and the moment comes crashing down; kinn isn’t this person, who can look at his barely sober graduate student; someone he’s taken care of; he can’t be the guy they tell stories about in whisper soft voices, hiding disgusted smiles behind their hands; he can’t walk through conferences and look people in the face, and know what they think of him, know what he’s capable of, like he’s a monster with no control of his impulses; he sees pretty things all of the time, there’s no need to have this one, he tries to tell himself, the lie is sour, even unspoken.
“i think,” kinn says, trying to inject levity into his voice, desperate for it to work, shaken when it only barely does, because porsche looks at him, somewhere between desperation and disappointment, “i think you’re drunk, and you should have a glass of water, and use the bathroom, and i’ll call you a car.”
porsche blinks at him; the light plays over his skin, and he seems to want to say something, but he stops himself, barely; kinn beckons over the bartender, who smiles at him, even as he has to unfurl his tongue to get the words out, speech slurred and clumsy; when the bartender brings over the glass of water, porsche takes it, carefully; but all kinn can notice is that his hands are shaking.
they don’t talk, as porsche finishes his water; they don’t talk, as kinn helps him off of his stool, and picks up his bag, hanging both of them on a hook visible to the bartender, who shoots them a thumbs up as they go to the bathroom; not touching, but kinn can feel the heat of porsche, almost leaning against him, but always getting away at the last second.
the second he pushes the door open, he frowns and almost walks right back out; he’d forgotten about how much this bar really sells itself as a dive bar and commits to the bit; it’s a proper hole in the wall; the walls are bright, bright pink, the same shade of pink that covers every inch of the bar, but is somehow worse in here, where there’s an attempt at lighting from a yellowing, naked bulb in the ceiling; it smells heavily of air freshener and the acrid scent of cheap cleaner and hand soap; and best of all, there’s a massive stuffed deer in the corner, with a disco ball for a head, on a shiny black platform; and a small window, slightly cracked to let in air, but only letting in noise filtered in from outside; the bar next door, and students cheering as they wander past. there’s a sink, built into a single cabinet; the drain stuffed with cheap brown paper towels, soggy and wet; a dirty mirror above it, with a sloppy lipstick kiss in the corner.
and then the worst part; a single toilet, crammed into the corner; set against the checkered tile; they stare at each other, and kinn sighs, going to grab the door knob again, but porsche stops him, by the back of the shirt.
“just—turn around and turn on the faucet, i’m not, it’s fine. you’ve never drunkenly shared a bathroom with someone? just pee in the sink,” kinn blinks at him, suddenly so caught off guard that it makes his head hurt; he’s not sure what look he’s giving porsche, but he knows it isn’t a nice one.
“it’s easier for you than it would be for me,” right, he thinks, face flushing, except he tries not to think about that, because that way lies thoughts he saves for when it’s just him, in his bed, trying to pretend the person he thinks about when he jerks off doesn’t have a recognizable face, or tattoos he’s thought about licking; he blinks and spins the dial on the faucet; the second porsche collapses onto the toilet, he turns on the other one, and tries not to hear anything; he fumbles clumsily at his own zipper, and he tries not to think about if porsche can see anything, if he’s looking; if only because that will make this entire process take so much longer than he’d like it to.
instead, he just closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything; he shivers the second he feels the pressure in his bladder being relieved; the water is hiding a lot, but it isn't hiding everything; and it feels so much louder than the water; he tries aiming for the side of the sink to muffle the noise, but it doesn’t do much; so he just takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut; only, he realizes quickly, that was a mistake.
at the first touch of porsche’s hands, sliding around his waist, he flinches, but doesn’t move far; the solid weight of porsche pressing into his back makes him shiver again; the feeling of his hands, sliding across the fabric of kinn’s shirt with purpose, makes him have to blink rapidly, his mouth filling with spit; his tongue feels too big for his mouth.
he doesn’t want to open his eyes, but he has to, the second he feels porsche’s hands drifting lower and lower, until one of porsche’s hands is over the one he’s using to hold his cock, and the other is spinning the dial to turn the faucet off, and suddenly it’s so loud; the hissing noise of piss splashing against the bowl of the sink.
he feels porsche’s hand replace his own, and he can’t help the way he gives into the touch, sinking into his grip, feeling his calloused palm, sliding over the soft, sensitive skin of his cock; he swallows heavily, and porsche laughs, low and dark, in his ear, fingers playing in his stream; shiny and glittering over his skin.
“i know—i know i shouldn’t, it’s just, fuck,” he cuts off, and their eyes meet in the mirror; kinn’s gaze drops down to where porsche is still holding his cock, not even moving his hand anymore, just holding it, head cocked with curiosity; the same curiosity he looks at data sets with; the same curiosity he attacks every problem with; the problem with that look being aimed at kinn is that porsche can feel how much he likes it; now, he’s hard, and dripping, and he feels embarrassed at how easy he is, when porsche hasn’t even done anything other than rub gently over his foreskin.
porsche rubs one finger over his slit, where he’s still dripping wet with piss, beading up at the tip of his cock, and slowly leaking precome, cleaning kinn up with his thumb, rubbing the mess around. he pulls away, his finger shiny and slick; kinn just waits with bated breath; when porsche brings the finger up to his mouth, his breath sticks in his chest; when he sucks it clean, licking over his fingers, kinn has to lean into the counter so his knees don’t buckle, he’s barely supporting his own weight, he doesn’t know how this has run away from him so quickly.
“what are you doing?” he doesn’t know why he asks, it’s an obvious question with an obvious answer; something bad, sings the voice in his head, something really fucking bad.
porsche just laughs; when he grins, hooking his chin over kinn’s shoulder, there’s no joy, just desperate fear, an ill-fitting mask of joy for something that bleeds into terror.
“what you’re too scared to,” he barely gets the words out before kinn snaps, switching their positions until porsche is the one pressed against the counter, capturing his mouth in a kiss, sucking the taste of his own cock, his own piss, off of porsche's tongue, briney and salty around the sweet taste of the cocktails he's been downing all night, porsche's hands come up and grab at his shirt, knocking his glasses down his nose, their teeth clicking as porsche damn near tries to climb inside his mouth, like he can't get enough; desperate and wanting, like he's been starving for touch.
this, at least, kinn is an old hand at; he knows how this works, has done this enough with one bendy, flexible twenty-something after the other, when he was post-divorce and had nothing better to do, too scared to be alone with his thoughts; he turns porsche around in his arms, until he's facing the mirror, staring at them; he gets one hand on the doorknob, pressing it shut so nobody can try the handle; with the other, he reaches down, unbuckling porsche’s trousers, when he feels, he laughs, loud, and almost annoyed, at how fucking predictable porsche is, because of course he’s not wearing any fucking underwear.
he gets porsche’s pants down around his muscular thighs, and he just stares, looking at him in the mirror; there’s tattoos he didn’t know porsche had, a blurry playboy bunny silhouette on his hip; a set of flowers and stars crawling up his thigh; kinn rucks his shirt up, for a better look, he sees a shiny steel ball, right at his clit, which makes kinn’s ears ring; he wants to wrap his tongue around it and suck, there; right in the cradle of his thighs, where his body goes soft and smooth; kinn stares at him, eyes darting over the dusting of hair that spreads over his thighs; he’s immaculately groomed; his cunt is dusky, and waxed and pretty; it makes his mouth water, he looks edible.
“who said i was scared, porsche?” now this is fun, he thinks, watching the fear bleed from porsche’s eyes; he brings his hand up, wrapping it around porsche’s throat, yanking his head back, so he has no choice but to watch them in the mirror; he clicks his tongue when porsche’s gaze bounces away; he’s well trained, he has his eyes on kinn’s almost immediately; his eyes flutter, but he doesn’t look anywhere but at kinn; his eyes go so dark kinn can see several galaxies worth of stars in them from the glittering light bouncing off of the disco ball; the shitty lightbulb giving his irises a halo.
“i didn’t say—” kinn tightens his grip, grinning when porsche moans, breathy and high.
“you did, though, you said you were doing what i was too scared to, and i’ll give you credit, you took me by surprise, but that’s not how this works, and you know it,” this part, this is the thing that haunts him when he thinks about it later, but he can’t think about now, he can only think of what will get him another one of those breathy moans, “not when the only taste on your tongue right now is my cock, baby boy,” he grins when porsche’s eyes water, one tear dripping down his face, fuck, he’s so easy.
“not when,” porsche bucks against his hold, but kinn just squeezes at his throat again, and laughs, high and loud, mean, even, “not when you want it so badly,” porsche nods, and his hands grip at the edge of the counter, knuckles going white at how hard he’s digging his fingers into the cheap tile, “all you have to do is say it, i mean you know what i want, don’t you? you said it yourself, you say it all the time, and i didn’t know what you were asking for, but i know now. just one more time, porsche, use your manners, like a good boy.”
“what do you say,” kinn says, letting go of the doorknob to shove his pants down just enough, “what do you say when you want me to fuck you, baby?” he rubs the tip of his cock where porsche is so wet, tender and clenching and ready; he should, he should do more, he feels like he should, he knows he should, but he doesn’t want to, not when porsche looks like the only thing he wants is this, when he keeps rocking his hips back, trying to get more, only for kinn to take it away; all he has to do is answer the question, and kinn will give him the world.
“daddy, please.”
he should be a better man than this. he should, but he’s not, so he just gets one hand around the doorknob again, and with the other, he lines up his cock, until porsche tilts his hips back, at least trying to help; kinn clenches his teeth so hard his skull rattles, the second he feels the hot, tight, slick heat of porsche’s cunt against the tip of his cock again, squeezing and suckling, trying to get him deeper and deeper, and all he can do is give into it, shoving his hips forward, fucking into the silky soft clutch of his hole; it makes him feel like an animal, the way the pleasure runs up his spine; he doesn’t know how to explain how good it feels; he takes his hand and wraps it around porsche’s hip, probably hard enough to bruise; he hopes he leaves fingerprints; he hopes porsche can feel it in the morning, he hopes he has trouble sitting down, that every time he so much as moves, he thinks of the way it felt for kinn to fuck him.
“look at me, porsche.” that doesn’t get his attention, he’s too lost, his eyes are vacant, and almost crossing; there’s tears dripping down his face, pooling and dripping from the tip of his chin, “look at me, baby,” finally, his gaze snaps up, even though there’s nothing behind his eyes; kinn can only stare, trying to catalogue all of it; the way his hands are scrambling against the counter, the way his lip is tucked tight between his teeth, enough that there’s blood pooling against his canine where he’s broken skin.
he licks over it, soothing the skin; their eyes finally meet, properly, and kinn presses in deep, breath caught in his chest at how wet porsche is; he’s dripping; sloppy and wet, and impossibly tight, like a vice grip around his swollen cock; he pulls away and uses the hand he has on porsche’s hip to drag him back, until their bodies are flush again, laughing in disbelief at the way porsche slumps back against him; their skin is sticking together; with every thrust, he just gets more mesmerized by the way his ass curves; how plump and soft he is; kinn takes his hand off of the doorknob again, just for a second, just to feel; running the back of his hand over the soft skin, just to feel the way porsche clenches down around him, his stomach flexing and trembling under the hand kinn has on his hip.
but every time his gaze gets pulled away, it’s only temporary; he snaps right back to the mirror, and the way that porsche is staring at him, overcome and undone, their eyes meet, and he can’t look away; he can only watch, every time porsche’s eyelids flutter; at every tear that drips from his lashes; at the way his face is flushed with pleasure; he looks beautiful; he’s stunning, always, in a way that turns heads, but this; fuck, he wishes he could capture it, but he doesn’t know how he could ever do it justice, the way porsche looks when he’s losing his mind from desire; the drunken joy that makes his face go placid and his gaze blank; he grinds back, meeting every thrust, trying to get more and more, like he’s greedy for it.
“say it again,” he just wants to hear it; he just wants to know; an answer to a question he can’t ask; do you know who you belong to?
“i—” at first he thinks it’s shame stealing the words, but no, he watches in real time as he fucks the words clean out of his brain; as the thought curls up and dies behind porsche’s eyes, because he feels too good for it to form, he slows down, but porsche whines, so he picks up again, holding porsche in place, bracing him against the counter, using his weight to make sure he feels every inch of kinn’s cock; there’s a look in his eyes that kinn can’t get enough of; pure ecstasy, like he’s been reduced down to nothing but the way he feels, fucked stupid on kinn’s cock; nobody will ever do this for you as good as i can, he thinks, still watching the way porsche’s head is rolling on his neck, coming to rest against his shoulder as his eyes go vacant again, you’ll never feel as good as i can make you feel.
“say it,” porsche shakes his head, mumbling and whining, licking his tongue across his lips, lust clumsy and fucked stupid; he whimpers when kinn moves like he’s going to pull away; kinn feels one of porsche’s hands, the one he’d been rubbing at his clit with, grab onto the hand kinn has on his hip, tangling their fingers together; his fingers are slick; he pulls kinn’s hand down, between his legs, until he feels the ball of porsche’s piercing and his brain tips out of his head; it’s nice enough to put up a sign when it leaves; closed for vacation, be back in a few.
the shiny steel beneath his hand is warm, and when he rubs his fingers over it, against the piercing; against the soft bud of porsche’s clit; where he’s soft and so hot, throbbing underneath kinn’s fingers; he rubs, the same way porsche was, in soft circles, speeding up when he feels porsche clenching around him; less like he means to, and more like he can’t help it, chasing after something that feels good; every time kinn fucks into him, rubbing over his spot, pressing the head of his cock up and up, where it makes porsche go up onto his tip toes, almost running away from the overwhelming sensation, leaning against the counter and crying out; finally, finally, he breaks.
“daddy, daddy please, fuck, oh, ah, ah, ah, fuck, i’m—” his breathless panting turns into a soft, barely audible cry, a sob that gets louder the longer it sits in his throat, as he chokes, hard enough that he almost gags, barely swallowing the spit in his mouth, instead it drips down his chin, over his plush bottom lip, leaving his skin spit shiny.
when he comes, he just keeps crying out; over and over again, a filthy prayer dripping from his lips, spit pooling in the corner of his mouth; he’s still drooling, his eyes roll back; it’s like a burst of expensive champagne, the way he bubbles over and gives in, throbbing and clenching, and spraying, squirting so hard it soaks into kinn’s pants; soaks his pubes, makes drips down his thighs; surely there’s a puddle being left on the floor; not to speak of the way porsche ruins his own trousers.
he goes so tight it hurts, his hips roll against the grip kinn has on him, so kinn gives him what he wants; he shoves in deep, until his chest is plastered to the sweaty fabric of porsche’s shirt, until he can barely tell where he ends and porsche begins; his orgasm chases right after porsche’s and he feels himself make such a mess; filling porsche with come, making him full and wet and so messy; his fingers dig in deep, pressing into the soft fat that pads porsche’s hip; right above his bunny tattoo; now he knows for a fact that he’s leaving bruises.
he shoves in deep, burying his cock in the velvet heat of porsche’s cunt, chasing after the pleasure that keeps setting off white light at the edges of his vision; he sets his mouth against porsche’s ear, nipping at his earlobe, fucking him through it; pressing kisses against the back of his neck, over the tattoo that curls over where his neck and shoulder meet; he licks a stripe up porsche’s neck, just to feel him clench and shiver; his skin is covered in goosebumps, and it’s so hot in this bathroom there’s steam coming from the crack in the window; and for his final trick, he thinks, watching porsche in the mirror again, over his glasses, that are barely sitting on the tip of his nose; he leans against porsche’s back again, trailing his hand up and tipping porsche’s head against his shoulder again, so there’s no mistaking or mishearing the words kinn whispers into his ear;
“good boy.”
it’s like all of the sound comes back at once; there’s a conversation happening outside of the bathroom; the bartender is yelling at a coworker about being late; there’s someone crying underneath the window about a bad breakup; someone in the alley had the same idea as them, but clearly not as good of an execution, as evidenced from the uneven sound of skin on skin, and only one set of moans, high and fake, against a chorus of low grunting.
their eyes meet in the mirror, again, both of their chests heaving; the music flares up again from outside; the light glitters from the spinning ball on top of the stuffed deer, in the corner of the bathroom; kinn’s grip on the doorknob loosens, enough, and immediately a cramp shoots through his hand; his heartbeat thuds in his throat; he pulls out, back and away, trying to stuff himself into his pants, even though the fabric of his underwear is soaked; his hands are shaking, and the world is spinning. when he steps back, his shoes squeak against the floor; he was right about the puddle.
in the aftermath, there is a ringing in his ears, to the point that it vibrates through his skull. he watches the world move around him in slow motion; porsche stumbling away from him, pants still around his thighs; collapsing onto the toilet in the corner; burying his face in his hands; kinn turns the faucet on again to cover the noise; he can feel the blood pumping through his heart; he has never been so dreadfully aware of his own humanity.
porsche pulls his pants up, quickly, washing his hands, and then moving out of the way for kinn to wash his; a well-oiled machine, he thinks, rather grimly. porsche turns to him like he’s facing his death, leaning against the counter, and kinn just stares at him, trying to think of something to say when porsche speaks first.
“what happens after this? are you—” he swallows heavily, trying to find his footing and his phrasing, around the buzziness of the alcohol, eyes glossy, “ daddy, please just say something.”
kinn stares at him, taking his hands, tangling their fingers together; how, he thinks, how can one person be so perfect.
“we figure it out. it—this isn’t,” he can’t believe he’s saying it, but he has to, “you don’t understand how badly i want to be with you, we figure it out.” and he means it; but there’s nothing like the way porsche relaxes into him; suddenly, there’s a warmth he didn’t know he was missing; a heat, at every point of contact between their bodies; he sighs, because he can't help it; he doesn't know what else to do, but porsche rubs his fingers over kinn's knuckles, turning in his arms, fixing his shirt, and surveying the damage of his pants; it's dark enough that he can get away with it; it'll be fine, kinn thinks, probably, definitely, lying to himself.
when porsche taps him against the knuckles, stopping his absentminded rubbing, kinn looks up, catching his eye in the mirror; he smiles, shaky, but real.
porsche smiles back.