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Kinn first notices Porsche’s frugality after he accidentally tears a hole in Porsche’s white tank top in his haste to remove it. Afterwards, while gathering his strewn clothing, Porsche whines at him that it was his last good one, poking through the hole forlornly with his fingers. Kinn frowns, not understanding what the big deal is, and gives Porsche his credit card as an apology.
“Buy whatever you want,” Kinn tells him. “Get a whole new wardrobe if you like.”
Kinn expects the bill to be significant after Porsche returns the card to him. But when he checks his account later, the only thing Porsche purchased is a pack of white vests, an exact replacement for the one Kinn tore.
The next time Kinn sees Porsche, in the pool area training some new bodyguards, Kinn tugs on the bottom of the new tank top he’s wearing.
“I said you could buy whatever you want.”
Porsche tilts his head in confusion. He looks like an adorable kitten. It’s mildly distracting.
“I only needed these,” Porsche says.
Kinn didn’t tell him to get what he needed. He doesn’t have time to respond before Porsche is pulled away to the newbies again, but it sticks in his mind.
Porsche only ever wears his uniform, his training gear, or the same four outfits on rotation. Kinn cannot recall if he’s ever seen him in a new item of clothing that Kinn isn’t already familiar with.
“You’re so fucking scrappy, Porsche,” Pol complains. “You always fight dirty.”
Kinn stops in the doorway of the gym. Pol is currently pulling himself to his feet after clearly being beaten by Porsche in a practice fight. Porsche stands over him, sweaty and triumphant.
Porsche grins, half-feral, “Have to be. Some of us had to learn how to fend for themselves.”
“Khun Kinn technically plucked him off the streets like a stray cat,” Arm calls, from where he’s lifting weights.
“Our very own street rat,” Pol coos, tickling Porsche under the chin.
“Fuck you,” Porsche laughs, shoving Pol’s shoulder.
The conversation is lighthearted but it makes Kinn pause. Porsche has had to provide for his brother since he was younger, far too young to have that burden thrust upon him. It makes sense why Porsche forgets to consider nice things for himself. All the salary he receives is immediately sent to Porchay. Even on their dates, Kinn hasn’t seen Porsche ever buy anything for himself.
“Sorry, dude,” Pol is saying. He gestures down at Porsche’s sweatpants where a small tear is visible. “I think I ripped them when I tried to flip you. I’ll get you a new pair.”
Porsche shrugs. “It’s fine. I can just sew these up.”
Kinn scowls in the shadows. Porsche deserves nice things. He deserves beautiful things. Kinn wants to see him adorned in silk, satin, and velvet. It’s a crime that Porsche does not deem himself worthy of anything precious or expensive, when Porsche is the most priceless thing Kinn has ever had the privilege of calling his own.
Showing Porsche the merit of having a rich mafia heir as a boyfriend is suddenly at the top of his list.
Kinn comes up with a plan to ease Porsche into the idea.
First off, he hides all the spare briefs Porsche keeps in Kinn’s room. Kinn is lounging on the bed in nothing but black boxer briefs when Porsche emerges from the shower, a towel wrapped around his slim waist.
Kinn stares down at the book he has open as Porsche rummages through the drawer, unable to locate his underwear. Porsche makes a bemused sound.
“Where did they all go?”
Kinn shrugs, pretending to concentrate on the book. “The laundry has been a little slow lately.”
Porsche nods in understanding, like the people who collect the laundry deserve the break.
“You should pay them more,” Porsche says.
Kinn throws him a look. “They work in a compound owned by the mafia. They are paid an insane amount specifically for their discretion.”
“Fair enough,” Porsche replies. “In that case, I’ll have to go and get a pair from my room.”
Kinn is up and across the room before Porsche can even take two steps away, winding his arms around his waist in a tight back-hug, pulling him to a stop against his chest. Porsche’s arms instinctively come up to hold Kinn’s around his middle despite the confused sound he makes.
“What’s wrong?” Porsche asks.
“Don’t leave. You can borrow a pair of mine.”
Porsche pulls a face. “You know I don’t like boxers.”
Kinn does know that. He’s relying on that fact for the rest of his plan to work. He slips away from Porsche to dig through one of his drawers, pulling out a pair of his expensive lounge pants in a beautiful light blue silk. The silk shimmers like an azure waterfall as he offers them to Porsche.
“Try these.”
Porsche recoils, curling his hands into his chest like his touch alone will destroy them.
“Are you crazy?” Porsche stares at him incredulously. “They cost more than my entire wardrobe put together.”
Kinn raises an eyebrow. “So?”
“So,” Porsche drags out, sending him a pointed look, “what if I damage them?”
“Then you damage them. I have six other pairs.”
Porsche pauses, his thought process derailed. “You have six other pairs of silk pyjamas?”
“Yes,” Kinn answers.
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Porsche thinks about it. “I just don’t understand the point of them.”
“They feel good. They look good. What other reason is there to wear something?”
“In order to not be naked,” Porsche retorts. “Nobody wants to be arrested for indecent exposure.”
Kinn sighs. It makes him a little sad that Porsche sees no value in clothing unless it fits a specific purpose. His uniform, his workout gear, even the outfits he wears to bartend. The ones that show off the correct assets, in order to garner the best tips when his salary didn’t stretch far enough that month. Those, Porsche sees a use for.
Porsche struggles to accept things when the only reason for keeping it is that he wants to have it. For purely selfish, aesthetic reasons. Kinn wants Porsche to indulge himself because Porsche is worth that and so much more.
“Just try them,” Kinn holds out the pants again. Porsche still looks hesitant. Kinn sends him his best pleading stare. “For me?”
Porsche rolls his eyes but takes them anyway. He handles them delicately, petting the fabric with an almost childlike wonder in his expression. He notices Kinn watching and quickly schools his features, dropping the towel to tug them carefully up his legs. Kinn takes a moment to mourn the loss of such an excellent view before Porsche straightens up and his breath catches.
The silk falls beautifully against Porsche’s long legs, leading up to his tapered waist. The light blue is the perfect contrast between Porsche’s golden skin. Kinn can’t stop staring.
Porsche’s waist is so tiny. Kinn wants to fit his hands around it and squeeze.
Porsche looks at the pants, twisting his upper body to glance down at the back of them, giving Kinn an incredible view of his tight ass covered in blue silk. This is the best idea Kinn has ever had.
Kinn has to clear his throat before he can speak.
“How does it feel?”
“It feels…” Porsche thinks about it, rubbing the fabric between a finger and thumb, “expensive.”
“But you do like it,” Kinn infers.
“They’re soft,” Porsche says awkwardly. “I don’t know—I’m not used to clothes like this. I’m not rich.”
“But I am,” Kinn points out. “Wouldn’t it be nice to just let yourself be spoiled for once?”
“Why?” Porsche laughs, but it’s the soft kind of laugh he does when he doesn’t know how else to react. “Do you want to be my sugar daddy?”
That sets something in Kinn’s veins alight.
Porsche is still smiling bemusedly when Kinn advances, slowly backing him up against the bedroom wall. Kinn crowds so close that Porsche can barely move an inch, trapped between Kinn and the solid wall at his back.
“And what if I do, Porsche?” Kinn’s voice is low, mock-curious. “What if I wanted everybody to know you were mine?
The smile slips off Porsche’s face. His eyes have gone wide, his chest rising and falling incrementally faster than normal. Kinn lifts his hand to press a thumb to the centre of Porsche’s bottom lip. Porsche’s mouth goes lax, allowing Kinn to dip the pad inside, pressing down on his tongue. Porsche makes a strangled noise.
“You don’t want to be dressed up like a pretty little thing just so I can rip it all off you later?” Kinn murmurs.
A secret sort of thrill runs down his spine as he watches Porsche’s pupils visibly dilate. He pulls his thumb out of Porsche’s mouth. The noise of loss he lets out shoots straight to Kinn’s cock.
Kinn leans closer, his lips brushing the delicate shell of Porsche’s ear. “You want to know what’s so fun about things made from silk?”
Porsche is holding his breath. He nods, his hair brushing the skin of Kinn’s temple.
Kinn slides his hand down and cups Porsche’s cock over the silk. Porsche bucks against him.
“Ah,” Porsche whines sharply, “Kinn—”
Kinn shoves Porsche’s hips back against the wall with his other hand. The soft swell of Porsche’s cock feels more vulnerable like this, pressed against Kinn’s hand with only a thin layer between them. The silk is cool to the touch but the heat of his length radiates through it, already beginning to fill out against Kinn’s palm.
“You’re worried you’re going to ruin them,” Kinn says. It’s not a question, but Porsche nods shakily anyway. Kinn laughs gently. “But that’s exactly what I want you to do.”
Realisation spreads slowly across Porsche’s face. Kinn drags the hand on Porsche’s waist up to press over his chest. Kinn can feel the thundering beat of Porsche’s heart beneath his sternum. He palms Porsche’s cock again, now fully hard and pulsing against Kinn’s hand. With his other hand, he roughly pinches Porsche’s nipple, making Porsche rear up and grab Kinn’s wrist.
“Kinn,” he pleads. He doesn’t push Kinn’s hand away, just uses it as an anchor, his fingers encircling the bones of Kinn’s wrist. There’s a half-wild look in his eyes, that last tendril of uncertainty bleeding through onto his face.
“I want you to make a mess of them,” Kinn tells him quietly. Giving him permission.
Porsche’s breath shudders out of him.
Every time they do this, Kinn loves this moment the most. It’s the point that Porsche fully settles into his submissive headspace, allowing Kinn’s natural dominance to take over. Willingly giving his control over to Kinn. When they’re like this, Porsche doesn’t have to think, or make any decisions. He just has to listen to Kinn.
Porsche letting go of Kinn’s wrist is him offering up that power. As always, it makes Kinn flare with protectiveness and possessiveness alike.
“You know the rules,” Kinn says. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
Porsche obediently lifts his arms, pressing the backs of his hands against the wall either side of his head.
Kinn manoeuvres Porsche’s cock so it rests upwards, pressed flat against his abdomen beneath the fabric. He thumbs purposefully over the bulb of the tip, watching Porsche’s face carefully.
A tortured furrow appears between Porsche’s eyebrows, his mouth dropping open. He looks like he’s never felt anything like it, overwhelmed, making a breathy moan in the back of his throat. His head tilts back against the wall as Kinn rubs the thick weight of him over the soft material, eyes fluttering shut. Something possessive lurches in Kinn’s stomach. Kinn wants those eyes to himself. He wants to watch Porsche fall apart from nothing but the silk and his hand.
“Open your eyes,” Kinn says.
Porsche does, his eyes glazed as he struggles to focus on Kinn. His mouth is pink and inviting. Kinn kisses him, only briefly, Porsche’s lips slack beneath his. Kinn pulls back.
“If you look away, I’ll stop,” Kinn’s voice is velvet-soft. There’s an underlying threat to it that makes Porsche shudder.
The silk is soft, making the slide over the length of Porsche’s cock easy. It’s sticky at the tip where Porsche’s cock beads precome into the fabric. The breathy moan Porsche lets out sends a crackle of pleasure up Kinn’s spine.
The extended eye contact makes Porsche squirm, the flush in his cheeks spreading down his chest and up to the tips of his ears. Porsche is getting embarrassed at how much he’s enjoying this, at how easy it is for Kinn to play with him. His eyes are windows that allow Kinn to see just how aroused he is. It makes something dark and satisfied curl in Kinn’s chest.
The wet spot spreads the more Kinn rubs him with the flat of his palm, the heel grazing over the sensitive tip. Porsche’s fingers curl into fists on either side of his head, but he doesn’t look away. His eyes are bottomless, pupils dark and blown wide.
Porsche responds as beautifully as he always does, inevitably willing to be good for Kinn. It’s difficult for Porsche to keep still—he’s always been characteristically squirmy no matter the situation. It’s the reason Kinn ties him up so much. Porsche likes the freedom of being able to buck and strain and pull at his restraints, knowing he won’t be able to move regardless. The helplessness makes him put his trust completely in Kinn.
Sometimes, like right now, Kinn uses nothing but his instructions. Porsche’s arms stay obediently above his head, no matter how desperate he is to wrap them around Kinn’s neck and anchor himself.
“Kinn,” Porsche rasps. He’s beginning to falter as Kinn tightens his grip.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
Porsche’s hands are shaking. He’s always wonderfully responsive. Kinn usually allows him to bury his face in Kinn’s neck when it gets too overwhelming. Making him look Kinn in the eyes is a test of his willpower—the overwhelming urge to be good for Kinn battling against the embarrassment and urge to hide away.
Kinn digs his thumbnail into Porsche’s slit beneath the damp fabric. Porsche’s eyes roll back, his head tipping against the wall, breaking eye contact. Kinn lets go of Porsche’s cock entirely. Porsche gasps at the loss, hips fucking up into empty air.
“No,” Porsche pleads, ragged.
“Look at me, Porsche.”
Porsche’s eyes open halfway, heavy-lidded. His chest is heaving.
“That’s good,” Kinn praises. Porsche makes a pained noise. Kinn can sense he wants to lurch forward and hide his face, but only resists because of Kinn’s command. “You’re doing so well.”
Kinn runs his hand down to massage Porsche’s balls, then back up to fist his cock. Porsche is struggling to keep still. He’s trying so hard to be obedient but, without a physical restraint, it’s difficult for him not to tilt his head back into the pleasure. His leg wants to come up to wrap around Kinn’s waist and yank him closer, to take more from Kinn than he’s willing to give.
Kinn squeezes where Porsche’s cock throbs against his hand. Porsche only just manages to stop himself from dropping his head back, the movement aborted halfway, his eyes lined with desperation. He’s terrified Kinn will take away his hand again.
“I can’t,” Porsche whispers. His tone is softer than the silk beneath Kinn’s hand. He’s trembling against the wall with the effort.
“Do you need some help to behave?” Kinn asks.
Porsche nods. Remembers to use words, breathes out, “Please.”
Kinn sucks a mark behind the delicate skin of his ear as a reward. Porsche’s small ‘ah’ sends a thrill down Kinn’s spine.
“Good boy,” Kinn murmurs. “Thank you for telling me.”
Kinn presses his thigh up until it’s slotted between Porsche’s legs, nestled just beneath his balls. Porsche’s breath catches when Kinn pushes upwards until Porsche is balanced on his tiptoes. Like this, he can just about grind against Kinn’s thigh and hand, but that’s as much movement as he’s allowed.
Kinn fists a hand into the top of Porsche’s hair to keep their eyes aligned. He tugs at the roots just to hear the sharp sound it elicits from Porsche, his cock jumping beneath Kinn’s palm.
“I’ve got you,” Kinn says.
Some of the tension in Porsche melts away as he lets Kinn take his weight. Kinn fists a hand around the shape of Porsche’s cock, encapsulated in silk. The glide is slick-soft and perfect as he jerks him faster. Porsche jerks in shock and bites down on his lip to stop the hitched whine from escaping.
Kinn leans in and tugs Porsche’s bottom lip out of his mouth with his own teeth, swiping his tongue across it in a hot slide. Porsche makes a broken sound against his mouth.
“That’s it,” Kinn rumbles deeply. Porsche’s eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t look away. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”
Porsche’s face is burning. There’s a bead of sweat gathered at the thin skin of his temple that Kinn wants to lick. Kinn’s hand drags over Porsche’s cock in long lines, up and down, from the base to the sensitive tip. Porsche’s resolve to stay silent vanishes, beginning to make high little whining noises in the back of his throat. The build up to orgasm is slow and agonising.
Still, Porsche doesn’t look away. He’s entirely on display, being used as Kinn’s plaything for his own entertainment. He’s completely exposed, and equally embarrassed by how much he loves it. Kinn’s hand is wet from how much he’s leaking into the fabric.
“You’re so beautiful,” Kinn says. “A perfect little doll. Wrapped up in expensive silk.”
Porsche whimpers. His hips are moving in tiny aborted movements, grinding against Kinn’s thigh and into the tight heat of Kinn’s fist. His mouth is open and panting. He’s close, Kinn can tell by the increasingly desperate whines, how his eyes go shiny and frantic. Kinn’s hand lets go of his hair, moving to grasp his chin between a thumb and forefinger. He squeezes, encouraging Porsche to drop his jaw open further.
Kinn gathers all the saliva in his mouth and spits directly into Porsche’s open mouth.
Porsche’s eyes go wide, making a choked-off sound, his hips jerking up once, twice, then he’s coming beneath Kinn’s hand, soaking the fabric with thick hot spurts. Kinn seals his palm over Porsche’s mouth as he shudders through his orgasm, Porsche’s frantic moans muffled against his skin.
Through it all, Porsche never breaks eye contact. Kinn’s entire body burns from it. Hot air gusts across his hand as Porsche pants through his nose, slowly coming down. His body is perfectly lax against the wall.
Porsche blinks sedately, just once. Then he makes a deliberate show of swallowing what was in his mouth, his throat bobbing in a slow ripple. Kinn’s fingertips dig into Porsche’s cheek.
“Good boy,” Kinn says, voice hoarse. He wants to feed Porsche his cock instead. He can never be satisfied unless Porsche is filled to the brim.
On slow days, he fantasises about keeping Porsche beneath his desk, Kinn’s cock resting in his mouth for hours as he works, Porsche’s cheek pillowed on his thigh. Nothing but a mouth to warm Kinn’s cock. He wonders how long it would take for Porsche to get restless, or whether he’d float there until Kinn brought him back down.
That’s something to consider later. Right now, Kinn wants to fuck Porsche’s throat raw.
Something in Porsche shifts, gaze going liquid-hot, like he knows what Kinn is thinking. Kinn takes his hand away from his mouth. Porsche slips straight to his knees.
The sight of him makes Kinn’s stomach flash with pleasure. He settles at Kinn’s feet so sweetly, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Naked from the waist up, showing off the planes of his chest that Kinn wants to bruise. The blue silk pooled over his lap is stained dark with Porsche’s spend.
Porsche rests his hands on his own thighs. He’s staring at the bulge of Kinn’s cock beneath his boxers with a raw kind of hunger, but he waits. Obedient.
“Get me wet,” Kinn instructs.
Porsche’s eyes go impossibly darker. He knows it’s to make the glide easier when Kinn fucks his entire length down his throat. The anticipation makes Porsche’s hands shake as he reaches out to pull Kinn’s cock out of his boxers.
He isn't expecting Porsche to spit on his dick. Kinn’s blood flares at the sordid feel of it as Porsche spreads it around the entire length of him with his tongue.
Kinn takes a moment to enjoy the way his warm tongue laps at every inch of him until he’s soaked, the wet sound of it loud in the room. Porsche seals his lips around the head, digging his tongue into the slit to lap up the precome there. Kinn twists a hand into the top of his hair and wrenches him off. Porsche is panting at the sting as Kinn just holds him there by the root.
“Filthy little thing,” Kinn comments.
Beneath the tight grip, Porsche grins. Kinn wants to make him cry.
Kinn holds Porsche’s hair in one hand and the base of his cock in the other. He nudges the tip against Porsche’s lips, smearing the moisture there. Porsche’s tongue darts out to lick at it.
“Are you ready?” Kinn asks.
Porsche wraps his palms around the backs of Kinn’s thighs, both as leverage and a failsafe. Porsche knows to pinch him twice if it ever gets too much. Up to now, he’s never had to. The extent to which Porsche loves his face fucked is unlike anything Kinn has ever seen.
Porsche nods. The heat in Kinn’s gut blazes as he drops his head back, pink mouth inviting, allowing Kinn to feed him his cock. The slickness of Porsche’s spit makes it easier, gliding inside with little effort. The head of Kinn’s cock drags across Porsche’s palate, and then he feels resistance, the feeling of it bumping at the back of Porsche’s mouth. Porsche spasms, fighting the instinctive urge to cough.
“Breathe,” Kinn reminds.
Porsche takes in a shaky breath through his nose.
“Open your throat,” Kinn says. “Just like I showed you.”
Porsche whines at the memory. It takes two tries – the first swallow is loud and just leads to more resistance, but Porsche pushes his head forward on the second, letting his throat spasm and open, and then the head of Kinn’s cock slides down into the tight space of Porsche’s throat like it was made for it.
Kinn lets out a rough sound, his cock throbbing inside the walls of Porsche’s throat. Porsche’s eyelashes are damp with tears, his jaw prised open. Porsche doesn’t avert his gaze even after Kinn nudges the back of his throat. It’s a game they’re playing—the prolonged eye contact. It was Kinn’s idea and it will be his own undoing. Porsche is merely doing what he was told.
Porsche’s mouth is stretched wide around the base of Kinn’s cock—Kinn can’t help but thumb at the thin redness of his lips. There’s spit and precome leaking from the sides of his mouth, dripping down Kinn’s balls, wet and messy.
Kinn pulls out painfully slowly, letting Porsche feel the entire length sliding out of his throat, and giving him one last breath before he pushes forward and begins to facefuck him. He goes slowly at first, giving Porsche time to get used to it, but then Porsche moans, the vibration of it making Kinn’s hips buck. His cock slams the back of Porsche’s throat and Porsche chokes and moans louder.
Kinn’s resolve slips, threading both hands into Porsche’s hair to fuck him in earnest, each wet, sloppy thrust forcing a muffled cry out of Porsche.
The previously unshed tears now slide down Porsche’s cheeks, dripping down onto his lap and staining the silk even further. It feels incredible, Porsche’s throat the perfect sheath for Kinn’s cock, tight and wet. Kinn can’t stop himself from fucking in faster, Porsche pushing his head forward into the fast-paced rhythm with a little guidance from Kinn’s hand in his hair.
He watches as Porsche swallows him down to the bottom each time, his nose pressing against the trimmed pubic hair on his pelvis. He fucks his face just like this, keeping his gaze glued onto Porsche’s, his ears latching onto the needy sounds, the heat in his abdomen beginning to rise until near boiling point.
Porsche looks absolutely blissed out. His eyes are glazed, cheeks red, with teardrops freely rolling down. The sight of Porsche choking on his cock, swallowing around the length and attempting to press his tongue against its base, makes white-hot pleasure build in the base of Kinn’s spine.
Movement from below distracts him. Kinn tears his eyes away from Porsche’s face to find that one of Porsche’s hands has left Kinn’s thigh and is pushing frantically against his own crotch, thighs shaking, and Kinn realises that he’s getting off on being held in place, choking on Kinn’s cock, even though he’s only just come.
“Porsche,” Kinn groans. How is he so fucking perfect. He looks like a wrecked masterpiece, on his knees, throat open for Kinn and already close to coming again.
Kinn pushes back in with a newfound intensity, punctuating every thrust with a breathless moan of his own that intertwines with Porsche’s muffled ones. The heat is scorching, Porsche begging him with his eyes to be filled, and then Kinn is fucking impossibly deep and emptying himself down Porsche’s throat, the pleasure crackling out of him.
Porsche jerks against him as he swallows everything he’s given and Kinn knows immediately that he’s coming again, from nothing but the heel of his hand and the hot spurt of Kinn’s orgasm down his throat. His cock twitches in sensitivity as Porsche keeps sucking after he’s done, his tongue lapping weakly wherever he can reach.
Kinn begins to pull himself out of Porsche’s mouth and Porsche whines, hand tightening on Kinn’s thigh in panic. Kinn tugs his cock out completely and quickly tucks himself away, joining Porsche on the ground to pull him sideways into his lap. Porsche is trembling when he finally gets to bury his face in Kinn’s neck.
“It’s okay,” Kinn says soothingly, his hand drifting gently up and down Porsche’s back, “you did so well for me. You were perfect, Porsche. Made a mess just like I asked.”
Porsche shivers against him. Kinn gives him a few more minutes to settle, their breathing evening out into a synchronised rhythm. He feels Porsche press a sweet kiss against his neck, which usually indicates he’s returned from the blissful floaty place he disappears to.
When Kinn looks down at him, Porsche is smiling.
“How's your throat?” Kinn asks.
“Good,” Porsche rasps. He sounds absolutely wrecked. Kinn tries to contain the dark glow of satisfaction upon hearing it.
Judging by the way Porsche’s smile turns into a smirk, he’s not very successful.
“So,” Kinn starts.
“So?” Porsche prompts. He reaches out to smooth down Kinn’s hair.
“Does this mean you agree to let me spoil you more often?”
Porsche laughs lightly, his voice rough. He kisses Kinn on the tip of the nose.
“You do make a very convincing argument.”