Work Text:
this has been the longest drunkest night of his life, and he’s had a lot of long drunk nights, and he’s had a lot of long drunk nights with this set of people in particular, but this is crossing a line. it’s the third bar of the night, and they’ve got about four more bars to go to meet the lucky seven of this stupid bar crawl.
it was pete’s idea; ‘let’s do a bar crawl’ he said, ‘it’ll be fun, it’s for adults’, he said, and here they are, the oldest and drunkest people in the crowd; all of the under-thirties keep staring at them; he told someone he was married and they stared at him like he said he was going to die in seven days.
this is not his scene, and he's paying for it in spades, watching some child clumsily hit on his husband. he's going to go sit with pete and vegas, who are somehow still smiling and upright.
needless to say, he’s a bit over this, but it’s starting to be more fun the more drinks he has, porsche thinks, wobbling, only saved by latching onto kinn’s jacket as he makes his way over to pete, across the bar, stepping around people.
kinn’s back is so broad. shoulders, he’s got great shoulders, and now porsche is thinking about petting his shoulders, because they are so pettable, and real nice to put your legs over. he feels someone spritz him with water and he shudders before spinning around; it appears he’s found pete, who has dipped his fingers into his drink and wet his fingertips enough to flick them at porsche; vegas is giggling into his own stupidly expensive drink at the sight.
“what was that for?” porsche yells, irritated and damp, swatting droplets from his face.
“you had coat room incident of twenty-ten eyes, and i’m not trying to get kicked out of this bar. keep it in your pants.” pete says, face flushed but somehow still so unimpressed; he doesn’t even break when vegas slides a hand under his sweater, so porsche can’t even call him a hypocrite.
“i’m not allowed to leer at my husband? we’re married, i’m allowed to leer at my husband, because we’re married, and he’s my husband.” he can’t stop saying it. it’s been four years, and he still can’t stop saying it, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever get old, especially not when kinn swivels around looking like he just knew porsche was talking about him.
when their eyes meet, he beams, eyes squinting up into delighted crescents; porsche wants to pet his eyebrows, he looks so cute. he gives a little under the chin finger wave and kinn waves back at him, before turning to the person next to him who is watching them both with a confused glare; porsche thinks he should rescue his husband from the latest person who thought he was flirting, but he thinks kinn should just suffer until he learns a way to be nice to people that doesn’t make them want to marry him, even though they can see the giant ring on his finger, and there's a huge chance he's just talking about porsche, which is giving him coat room feelings.
although it did work on porsche, so who knows, maybe he should do something. he doesn't though, because he lets pete feed him a few more cocktails, and he tries the weird smoky lavender citrus thing vegas is drinking; it tastes like somebody burned down an anthropologie with nothing but their overpriced candles, he spits it back into the glass, only to earn a smack on the arm for wasting the drink. but vegas still gets distracted enough to take another sip anyways, so porsche just sits back and doesn't say anything.
after another turn around the impromptu dancefloor, he walks up to kinn, tugging on the back of his jacket; it’s time to leave for the next bar, and porsche needs to pee before he’s walking anywhere, he doesn’t want to have to squat in someone’s yard; he’s too old for that shit, and too brown to risk getting spotted and therefore arrested.
“bathroom, we should go to the bathroom!” porsche screams, trying to be heard over the music; but it only barely works, kinn drunkenly swivels on the stool he’s occupying and and leans towards him, so he repeats himself and kinn just nods at him, downing another shot and pushing the glass away, knocking it over. he tips his hand towards kinn so they can clink their rings together before intertwining their fingers so he can help him from his wobbly perch on the broken stool.
they cut through the crowd only to be met with a line; he texts pete, letting him know they’ll meet him and vegas at the next bar; it’s arcade themed, and probably going to be full of flashing lights, and he can’t say he’s thrilled, but they shouldn’t be there long. all in all, he could use the few minutes of the walk to just talk to one person and not be dragged along in a crowd; kinn spots his slightly out of sorts face and pulls him close; he snuggles into kinn’s chest, warm and happy and a lot less annoyed now that he’s being held.
“we don’t have to do the entire thing, if you want to cut out early.” porsche appreciates it, because he knows kinn means it, but he shakes his head; he signed up for it, and as annoyed as he’s being, he is having more fun than he’s had in months, so he’s going to stick it out as long as he can, but he thinks he’s done with drinking for at least another two bars.
the room is starting to swirl in a less fun way, and unless he sobers up on the walk over, he’s a bit drunker than he’d like to be to keep on drinking. porsche lets kinn rock him back and forth before he straightens up; he has to pee a lot more than he thought, and the rocking is not helping, alongside how long the line is.
when they finally get up to the door, he has to pee so bad he can feel it in his toes, and his stomach hurts; he realizes kinn isn’t faring much better because he keeps hiding behind porsche to adjust himself in his pants. he wishes this line would keep moving, but every time he thinks they’ve finally made it, it feels like it doubles in size.
when they finally make it inside the actual door, porsche gives a little cheer, until he realizes there’s only two stalls, and people are just cramming themselves inside the bathroom, the line didn’t stop at the door, either. the bathroom is somehow just as crowded as the actual bar, and nobody can get to the actual sink without shoving and pushing.
“we can just go together, grab my hand and don’t let anybody stop you, we’ve got this.” they’ve survived black friday together, the people in this bathroom can suck his ass, he’s not waiting another ten thousand years to pee, and these pants are too expensive for him to piss himself, plus he’s wearing velvet boots.
the minute the stall is empty, he drags kinn towards it, slightly yelling his name to be heard over the din of the crowd waiting for empty stalls; someone makes a loud annoyed noise and porsche just yells over his shoulder; ‘ we’re married, it’s fine, shut up’, kinn steps closer to him and turns around to glare, and they settle down quickly; the benefits of having a tall muscular husband with angry eyebrows are not lost on him, too bad he’s a dyed in wool pacifist who catches and releases house flies, because every living creature deserves a chance, porsche. if he thinks that a little mockingly, nobody has to know.
as soon as kinn locks the door behind them, he starts trying to get his pants off but his hands are too shaky and clumsy, so he spins around and whines, and kinn takes the hint, unbuckling his belt and futzing with an unholy amount of zippers; what was sexy a few hours ago is a nuisance now, and he’s starting to feel like he’s up to his eyeballs in pee and he's about to start floating.
“the next time you want to wear pants like this, remind me to bring a tool box, what the fuck.” it’s a dad joke, and they have a rule about dad jokes, so he cuffs kinn around the back of the head, ignoring his wounded oh come on , deciding to be equally helpful by sliding kinn’s jacket down his shoulders and hooking it over the door.
he can hear people getting restless outside the stall, so he tries to hurry up, letting kinn shove his pants down his thighs and collapsing onto the toilet, spreading his legs, much to kinn’s confusion.
“what, what are you doing?” he says, not even bothering to move the hand he has down his pants, holding himself.
“we can’t, we can’t just hold up the line like sorority girls at starbucks, babe, we can just go at the same time. just you, know, go between my legs. try not to hit my piercing, you don’t get extra points for that like you did in college.” he even does a little flight attendant gesture at the toilet bowl so kinn gets the point, but he just stares.
“i’m not pissing between your legs, what the fuck are you talking about?” his voice has gone all high- pitched and fussy, which is how porsche knows he has about ten seconds to persuade him before he just leaves a puddle on the floor with the way he’s pressing his legs together. porsche tugs him close by the belt loop and unzips his pants, pulling his cock free; kinn hisses at him like their cat after a bath, batting at his hand, going back to gripping himself tight and glaring.
“oh my g-d, get over it, we’ve done weirder. remember the oyster thing after khun’s wedding? i still married you after that, and that was gross and i still smell it when i close my eyes occasionally.” kinn blanches at the reminder, before flushing at the implication; porsche doesn’t have time for his weird hang ups; they are married, they have seen and tasted so many of each other’s fluids that he’s run out of shame; this is a man who he’s gleefully dutch oven'd, they don’t get to be weird about piss.
“we’re holding up the line, just go. come on.” he figures he can at least lead the way, so he sits back, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, just letting go; it feels good, the way it always feels good, when he’s drunk and his wires get a little crossed.
he scratches absentmindedly at the bunny on his hip; when he opens his eyes, kinn is just staring at him with his cock in his hand, eyes glued between porsche’s legs.
there’s piss beading up at the tip of his cock, dripping onto the floor, like he can’t even help it, but he’s still somehow so hung up; porsche tugs at his belt loops again, before deciding to play dirty; he leans forward and laps at the tip of his cock; it tastes bitter and briney and slightly sweet.
kinn jolts and porsche has to lean forward when a spray of piss hits him in the mouth, trying to catch it so he doesn't get soaked; he just barely aims kinn’s cock down before he can get porsche’s shirt wet, and he really doesn’t mean to swallow, but it’s kind of an reflex, this deep into their relationship.
he swallows everything else that comes out of kinn’s cock, so it would be weird to discriminate. that drunk logic would not hold up in court, he thinks, wobbling a bit.
he looks up and sees the heat in kinn’s eyes; something about that did it for him, and he can tell he has five seconds before that heat turns into shame and stammering and kinn’s eyebrows start trying to make friends with each other like all of his pictures from high school, so he just leans forward again, dipping his tongue into the stream, sitting back again when kinn hisses at him; now that he’s used to the taste, it’s not as jarring.
“is it weird that this kind of thing does it for me? how have we been together for over a decade and we just tried this? are we getting boring in our old age?” he says, waggling his eyebrows and lapping at kinn’s stream again, letting it play over his tongue before he sits back, knowing the smile playing across his face is kinn’s biggest weakness; he can tell from the way he’s not hard, but definitely not as soft as he was before, and he knows he’s got to stop before he makes this take any longer; the crowd outside is starting to get restless.
“what are, oh fuck, what are we doing, there are people barely three feet from us, can you not do that, porsche.” kinn barely gets the words out, and he’s not even participating in this, he’s just standing with his hands over his face, pissing while porsche holds his cock; and then porsche remembers he has to pee too and he sort of clammed up when he got distracted, and as soon as he gets things going again, he shivers and his grip goes lax, and oh.
he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know how to, and it feels too good for words; but the minute his grip on kinn’s cock goes slack, hot piss starts to spray across his clit; down his piercing, making him throb and clench around nothing; he looks down, chin to his chest in this awkward position, and dizzily watches the stream split around the shiny steel of his piercing, dripping down his skin and mixing with his own piss.
it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, and it makes him lose his breath with how filthy it is; the sound of it hitting the water is echoing in his ears, and the way the room is spinning is making it so much worse; he shoves his shirt up so he can see better, and it makes his breath catch, when the light hits, making the piss on his skin glitter and shine.
they really shouldn’t be doing this with so many people waiting for them to get a move on, but it’s like time slows down every time the spray gets faster and harder; when he aims it directly on his clit, he can’t help the way he moans, breathless and far louder than it should be; the noise of the crowd is the only thing covering him right now, but he knows kinn can hear it, based off the gasp he hears.
when he looks up, kinn is staring at him, eyes gone so dark they are almost black; his eyes are almost boring holes with how intense his gaze is, staring at his piss running down porsche’s skin, across his folds, making him shiny and wet, dripping from him; when porsche sits back and lets it spray across his hole, he gets a hand clutching at his hair as a reward; he whines and it tightens, making his scalp burn; when the stream of piss picks up again, hard, he outright moans, loud.
someone bangs on the door and they both jump, so porsche sits back until he's not in the line of fire anymore, jerking against the hand in his hair. he’s dazed and stunned, just sitting there and feeling kinn’s piss cool against his skin.
when he’s done, he just cleans himself off and waits; he's so wet he has to do it twice, wadding up tissue and wincing at every swipe against his sensitive overheated skin; he's so slick it's almost embarrassing. when he's done, he just slumps, watching kinn carefully step back so he can finish too, but before he can shake himself off, porsche leans forward again, lapping and sucking at the tip of his cock, mouth filling with that same briney, bitter taste, pressing a kiss to his shaft before he stands up and pulls up his pants, not even looking at him; not out of shame, but because he doesn’t trust himself and the thoughts running through his head are filthy, each of them nastier than the last; he wonders, in a split second, what it would feel like if kinn filled him; if he pressed the tip of his cock against his hole and just let go, using him, the nastiest part of his mind offers, flooding him with warm piss and then he wobbles, zipping all of his zippers and shaking his head like that will get rid of the thoughts for him.
his head is spinning, and he’s overheated, and he’d like to be out of this bathroom immediately, so they can talk about whatever the fuck that just was. he barely remembers to flush the toilet; he feels like the glittery mannequin in the corner is judging him; he has to duck to avoid a tiny crystal chandelier hanging from the low ceiling he’s sure was not there before.
kinn fastens his pants, adjusting himself and hissing air between his teeth; he grabs his coat and unlocks the door, and tugs porsche behind him; he doesn’t even bother washing his hands, he just grabs the hand sanitizer from his pocket and covers his hands before throwing it over his shoulder at porsche who scrambles to catch it and cleans his hands too; the crowd is just staring at them, and he lets kinn grab him and push him out of the bathroom.
the minute they get outside of the bar, porsche turns to kinn, eyes wide and alarmed, suddenly a lot more sober, both from the cold and the understanding of what they just did settling over him.
“baby, what the fuck was that?” he’s figuring he’s in the clear to be alarmed, that kinn won’t get all weird and shame faced and quiet, and he’s right, when kinn turns to him, he's not all eyebrowed out, he's just laughing, and it’s contagious, because porsche starts laughing too, stomach cramping with a hysterical glee.
“i don’t know, fuck, we haven’t been that dumb in public since undergrad. and hey, wait, why am i also taking the blame for this, i didn’t do anything, you’re the one who had the idea, and then grabbed my, you know,” he says, gesturing towards his crotch and whispering like the people on the light up pedal pub riding by will be scandalized if they hear the word cock, “and then you licked it and then you, that was you, that was kind of all you, and i was just there.” kinn says, waving his hands, hair flying around his face, as the wind blows; they get started towards the next bar, and porsche lets kinn grab onto his hand, linking their fingers together again.
“and you enjoyed yourself, don’t get huffy with me, you’re acting like the cat got in the dryer again. don’t talk to me like i’m a good for nothing naughty dryer cat.” porsche says, swinging their hands back and forth, enjoying the cold breeze against his skin after the heat of that bathroom; it felt like a damn sauna in there, but he’s not sure if it was the bar or if it was the way it felt having kinn watch him like that; that’s the most intimate thing they’ve ever done, and it’s still making him feel heated and a bit strange; he knows that the second they get home, fuck, they might not even make it past the couch.
“fine, it was hot. it was stupidly hot, and i’m still, fuck,” he stops short, tugging at porsche’s hand, they’ve made it to the bar, and porsche wasn’t even paying attention, too distracted by the thought of getting railed through the floor of their apartment the second they get home; he’s already wet again just thinking about it, so when kinn pulls him close, hands on his waist, he tips his face up for a kiss, shivering when kinn’s hands go under his shirt, up, fingers spreading over his skin; when their mouths touch, he can feel his cunt throbbing; he wants to be fucked so badly it’s making him dizzier than all of the drinks ever could.
“last bar, and then i’m taking you home. because i’m still hard enough to mine diamonds, and it’s your fault.” he says, nipping at porsche’s neck, licking at his jaw, moving up and sucking at his earlobe, making him shiver again, knees going weak.
“i give us fifteen minutes until we end up in the bathroom again, but sure.” porsche says, flushing when a group of people on the other side of the road start whooping and yelling, cheering them on; kinn wraps him up and gives him a proper kiss, hands gravitating to his ass; the crowd across the street gets even louder; kinn lets go of him and he steps back, skin on fire, despite the chill in the air.
kinn shakes his head, eyes roaming over porsche’s body, before getting stuck on his chest, and the tattoos peeking out.
"you have entirely too much faith in me. i give it five.”