Chapter Text
[Porsche & Kinn meet]
shifting eyes & vacancy vanished when i saw your face
✧ ✧ ✧
The bar has been busier than usual these past days - the sudden influx of customers has more to do with the decrease in other options, and Porsche’s own infamy, than any real change on the part of Yok or her girls. Not that his boss has ever minded that before, she’s already preferred a relaxed and cozy atmosphere.
Porsche can’t complain about the money though, it helps that Yok’s firm has kept more of the outlandish clientele in check, and yet he’s glad for a break, a moment, with a cigarette in his hand and a welcome breeze on his cheeks.
It’s been a few months – the pressing deadlines of his many debts and loans, Chay’s impending semester and essential music lessons – but he thinks he’s finally made enough that they’ll make it through until his next payday in relative comfort, even with the added costs of new shoes and school supplies. He can already picture the proverbial light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.
Porsche has just stubbed his second cigarette against the bar’s brick wall, rubbing his aching neck, when he hears muffled curses and the sound of a commotion from the end of the alleyway.
At first, all he sees is a man running, sprinting really, down the messy pavement. Porsche backs up on reflex, not looking to get involved, not until he sees the man fully.
It’s like sniffing an injured antelope – whoever this man is, he looks like could (would) pay a hefty reward to anyone looking to save his ass.
And Porsche has no problem with charging.
The man skids to a stop, casting a weary eye over Porsche, probably thinking he’s another obstacle, before he spins back towards whoever is actually chasing him – “Help me!”
It sounded more like a command than a plea for help and Porsche can’t keep the smirk off his face.
Asshole.
The men have caught up with their target and are eyeing Porsche somewhat wearily, ragged and covered in dirt.
“Must be a numbers game, definitely not well trained,” he thought, running his eyes over the panting group – Beta sweat and low-level Alpha musk filling the once peaceful alleyway.
“Hey! Stay out of this ya filthy bitch!” the largest one yelled, waving a smooth baseball bat between gasps.
Porsche huffed a laugh – already moving away from the wall – but eyed the very-well dressed man, and held up five nimble fingers.
“Fifty thousand.”
“Done!”
A rich asshole.
Fighting often felt like a mix of nirvana and self mutilation but it was all too easy to slip into it. There were no crowds, or roaring screams, but there would be blood. And he might be a filthy bitch, more than the people in this alley could ever guess, but he was a filthy bitch who could kick anyone’s ass – including cocky lesser Alphas like this one.
Porsche had been holding the bottle he’d been flicking ashes into this entire time and swung it across the bat-guy’s face, unable to stop himself from laughing as he spun and kissed the next guy in the throat.
The one who had looked close to pissing himself earlier had apparently grown a pair because he raced forward, a small pocket knife in his left hand, only to scream when Porsche caught his forearm and threw him against the wall. The sound of the guy’s broken jaw echoed through the alleyway.
At first he felt, rather than saw, the rich asshole behind him and Porsche can’t help but instinctively move away so that he can see him out of the corner of his eye. Not trusting him to have his back.
The stranger isn’t completely untrained though and Porsche watches as he catches one guy in a bruising punch to the throat right before his attacker can swing his bat into his face. The thug gurgles and huffs on the ground, trying desperately to suck in air. And there’s an uneasy silence that seems to creep up around them, interrupted only by the soft cries and choking coughs of the guys they’ve brought down.
But the silence, like all things, doesn’t last for long and Porsche fills his heart still in his chest as he hears – smells – more scents beginning to fill the alleyway.
They smell of mud and sand, weak Alphas, salty Betas, but Porsche doesn’t feel like taking on the entire army of whatever asshole this asshole has pissed off. Fifty thousand is nothing in the face of his death, or worse, a hospital bill.
And then he smells gunsmoke and the smell of tires and that pretty much decides it.
“Damn, who the hell did you piss off!?” Porsche growled, gnashing his teeth, body humming with the need to fight as he forced himself away.
The ones around them are still down, but they’re just knocked out.
There’s the slap of shoes against wet concrete and Porsche looks over as the asshole – he’s hot, handsome, can’t help but think the guys a fucking masterpiece – head cocked to the side.
“A hundred thousand?”
Asshole scoffed, disdain evident on his face, “You’re kidding!?”
Porsche smirked, “Hm, the young master places such a low price on his life – wonder if those guys would bet differently?”
Maybe the man would have said something to the effect of “Fuck off!” but Porsche doesn’t get the chance to find out because, just as the bullets begin to fly, the asshole pulls on his arm, yelling – “Go! Go!”
He obviously has no idea where he’s going though and Porsche quickly begins to drag him. The only way out from the alley was quickly filling with guys and so Porsche pulled him back into the crowded bar.
“Yok!”
The lower Alpha is leaning against the counter but she catches Porsche's eyes even over the busy line in front of the bar.
Maybe she knew he was in trouble – Yok always seemed to know – but it was likely that she thought it was just one of his creditors, not an entire group that stunk of danger.
She pointed towards the entrance while yelling instructions to a few other employees.
“Paan, Som, May! Come with me!”
Three women, two Betas and an Alpha, hurry towards Yok, eyes peeled for danger.
For all intents and purposes, this could count as an invasion, a turf war in the making, and Porsche saw several other bartenders move uneasily from their stations – bartenders, waitresses and dancers moving after Yok. Not everyone who works for Yok is a part of her pack but they probably felt an instinctual need to help. He just kept running towards the entrance, hoping he wasn’t leaving Yok to deal with serious shit on account of someone she didn’t even know.
The bar had almost emptied out but the muffled sounds of music still pulse uncomfortably in Prorsche’s ears even as they slipped out the front door.
“Which way!?”
Porsche rolled his eyes at the obvious irritation in the man’s voice and dashed to his bike, brushing back his hair as he slung his leg over.
“Well!?” he demanded at the guys’ shocked gaze. There were more muffled yells form the alleyway and the bar and the man seemed to resign himself to his fate.
They were around far from the bar just as more guys appeared from the main street, guns drawn and ready to take the man by force.
✧ ✧ ✧
This was not how he had planned tonight going.
The meeting with the Italians had, overall, gone the way he’d wanted, the way he’d expected.
They were greedy, greedier than had been permitted under their previous head. And the pack that had such firm control over the region had quickly turned more violent and infighting had grown rampant. Kinn had found it easy to exploit those weaknesses, and his murder of a traitor had impressed the blood-prone leader, a weaker Alpha. But that wasn't new to Kinn.
He was used to being the strongest in the room.
His father had always believed his pride to be his most damning trait and he chaffed under the knowledge that the old man might be right.
Kinn left with well under the required bodyguard account mandated by Chan but he hadn’t planned for such a large group to go after him – especially a bunch of pricks that were so obviously ignorant of just who they were after. Who didn’t know Kinn would rather die than be taken.
But stupidity had nothing on numbers and he’d found himself quickly pinned in, forced to dunk into a messy and decrepit alleyway in order to avoid being kidnapped.
Kinn kept a tight grip on the back of the bike as they sped off, watching wearily for anyone who might be following them. The man who had helped him escape headed towards a crowded shopping center and around back towards a small gas station.
“Thanks–”
It was only when he got off of the bike that Kinn saw the man fully and was hit with just how (amazing) delicious he looked.
Gorgeous and sharp, the personification of gold. With wide, coconut–colored eyes that reflected the lights of the buildings around them, hair that looked so soft it was tantalizing and lips the color of a pomegranate. His body was firm yet slender, his open shirt revealing yards of unkissed skin. A runner, Kinn guessed. He smelled like an Omega, honeysuckle and mint, the slow curl of alcohol and sweat, but Kinn couldn’t believe that someone so ferocious, so proud, could be that sub-gender – especially with the way he’s looking at Kinn now.
“Oi!” he said, eyes narrowed, snapping his fingers at Kinn and rubbing his fingers together.
“Give me your bank account number, I’ll transfer the money,” Kinn said, “Fifty-thousand.”
The man gave him a condescending look as though he’d been insulted, “It’s a hundred thousand, and are you as crazy as you look? Transfer it now.”
“I don’t have my phone on me.”
That much was true. He’d lost it somewhere between the scuffle in the car and running into the alleyway. If he’d had it he would’ve made contact with the compound on the way here.
“I’m going to pay you,” Kinn bit out, “Just give me your phone and I’ll have my people handle it.”
Kinn Theerapanyakul wasn’t in the business of not giving what was due.
He always paid his debts.
The Omega’s filled with a smarmy grin and an outstretched hand and began to hand over his phone before jerking it back – smile giving way to narrowed eyes and bared teeth.
“I knew you were an asshole, I just didn’t know you were a crazy, stupid, rich asshole. Unfortunately, I’m not as dumb as you – you’ll just have your people beat me up.”
The “or worse” settled between them like some kind of heavy stone and Kinn couldn’t help the flash of anger that spun through him.
Kinn was well aware of his reputation. And who he was.
He was not a nice man, selfish, rude, proud and condescending but he had no interest in beating up defenseless, albeit bitchy, Omegas. His father had raised him to respect all Omegas, and he narrowed his eyes but relaxed his hands at his sides, trying to remember everything he’d been taught.
Trying to keep his voice calm he replied, “So what do you want?”
The Omega gave him a look over and Kinn had the vaguest impression that this Omega, a literal street rat, was assessing him and his worth. There was a part of him, a small, minute, part, that wondered if the Omega had found him wanting.
But he reached out for Kinn’s hand and Kinn, worried he was going for the black band that covered his scent gland yelled, “Hey!”
“Stay still! Stay still!” The Omega hushed – and Kinn would forever deny that he had stilled in that moment.
“Don’t worry,” he continued, pushing down Kinn’s sleeve, “I won’t take your cuff.”
He slid off Kinn's watch and waved it in his face.
“Now was that so hard? And I’d tone down on the bourbon if I were you, you stink!”
The words shot through Kinn’s head and he couldn’t help but gape, “You can smell me?”
The Omega just rolled his eyes and shook his head, climbing back on his bike.
Kinn eyes are glued to his watch, tight around the Omega’s wrist. He was intrigued, curious, and wanted to know how he would look under him – bare, and wet, save for his watch…
He waved the thought away, trying to achieve some semblance of sense, “What’s your name?”
The Omega stilled, and scoffed, “Why do you want to know?”
“I’ll send a gift hamper.”
The excuse was good, not the truth but good.
But the Omega just shook his head and gave him another smarmy grin, “Shove your hamper up your ass.”
And then he sped out of the parking lot, sliding smoothly into traffic.
Kinn messaged his bare wrist, the Omega’s touch still burning his skin, when his bodyguards - finally - appeared.
✧ ✧ ✧
He had slid off his bike, unable to bite back the low groan of hurt as he climbed off his bike. Some nights he returned exhausted, or in pain. Luck, like always, was on his side in that tonight he returned home being both.
The news that their debtors had gone after his uncle hadn’t really surprised Porsche, but he couldn’t shake off the guilt from the relief in knowing that his uncle had taken the brunt of their fists and not Chay.
He hadn’t admitted the real reason, to either of them, dodging the question with ease. Too embarrassed to admit that the new semester had been a heavy drain on bills and he’d only just managed to keep them afloat for another few weeks.
It was a culmination of feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with, and he squeezed his eyes shut even trying, trying to block out the memories of the worry and fear in his baby brother’s eyes.
Porsche had long ago resigned himself to a long life of failure, made worse by the fact that it was his own brother that he was failing. But the last few months had all seemed to culminate in an ever increasing weight of responsibility and pain that no longer burned like a fire but made him feel lethargic and stuff.
He held his breath, trying to still his pounding heart, when Chay moved, shuffling closer in his sleep. Porsche soothed him with a few murmurs and a gentle pat that helped lull him back to sleep.
Their pile had always been just them but he was glad for the comfort after such a long day.
The name suggested otherwise but Omega piles had long been the place where a pack congregated after tiring days. It was a place to relieve stress, to soothe worries, to find comfort in family and to assure the safety and protection of the Pack. It was what people did when the world was just too hard.
I’ve got your back, and you’ve got mine.
The piles had come on more and more often as bills piled up and Chay neared the end of the usual presenting age.
He hadn’t yet shown exactly what his sub gender was or his inclination.
He hadn’t yet shown as either Omega, Beta, or Alpha.
The specialist Porsche had pawned the television in order to see had just said that Chay wasn’t yet safe enough to present.
Porsche had presented young, at twelve, just a few weeks before his parent’s deaths, in a household with protective parents and the security of meals and shelter.
But if things kept going the way they were going Porsche worried that that his brother would never present at all.
His thoughts drifted from his worry for Chay back to the impending reality of right now.
He had to find some way to come up with two hundred thousand baht before Sunday. The watch, from that Alpha, would hopefully cover half and he had a litany of appointments scheduled for Saturday.
Maybe they’d make it. He’d try his damndest and Uncle would get what he could.
But what if…
What if it’s not enough? What if the watch is fake? What if they demand more – interest on top of interest? What if all of his customers came down with a heavy case of food poisoning?
And the “what-ifs” are what get you killed, the “what-ifs” are what you have to watch out for.
Porsche had not gotten this far – avoided Alphas who wanted to tame a lone Omega, kept his brother alive and (mostly) intact by taking changes or dreaming up fantasies. No, there was no Alpha on a white horse coming to save him, regardless of what Chay’s favorite dramas want to say, and besides, Porsche has always made his own luck.
So he leaned over and kissed Chay’s temple, replacing his arm with a plump pillow, and willed his tired body into clothes that would work for sparring.
It was time to pick a fight.
✧ ✧ ✧
He’s always preferred the illegal fighting ring to his work in the scenting brothel.
Even though, according to the other girls, she’s one of the best matrons and protects her workers the most, Porsche feels more like he’s doing something here. He can’t fight customers but he can kick the shit out of cocky Alphas and upstart Betas looking to knock him down a peg.
Most of them sign up to fight for that very reason – they want to see the fucking Pheonix and put out his fire.
It works in Porsche’s favor because most of the money he makes is off of people who seem determined to underestimate him just because of his sub-gender.
The first fight is good – long enough that the crowd is still hung for blood and not yet too bored to demand literal back–breaking entertainment. The second is simple enough, a young Beta who’d obviously never done more than easy scrapping and Porsche had laughed when his opponent had shaken his hand.
His last fight of the night though makes his teeth hurt and his aching headache worse. It doesn’t help that he’s having to draw it out to make enough or that it’s someone connected to such a large pack. They scream for their pack member but he does fall, a lot more banged up than is probably reasonable for a guy so large. The elbow to the side of his head is going to leave Porsche with a bruise but it all seems worth it until he counts his earnings.
It would have been a good take on a normal night. Maybe not enough to put his head above water but to keep he and Porschay fed and watered.
But this isn’t a normal night and he needs money desperately.
His entire body throbs and, by the end of the night when he and Jom are eating noodles on the corner, he’s still twisting the idea over and over in his head. And then begins to wonder if he should just go ahead and work full–time at Yok’s for all the good it does for him to kill himself in the ring.
So he calls Yok and confirms he’ll be there Saturday.
It’s a long ride home but…maybe there are Alphas on white horses, or at least Alphas that sometimes need an Omega to save their ass.
It should not make Porsche cry later that night at the sight of pizza sauce all over his baby brother’s mouth, or the knowledge that they’ll be alright for another few months. More then maybe.
He can pay off more loans, get a good chunk together for Chay’s next semester.
Maybe it’ll be enough for a while.
✧ ✧ ✧
Scent brothels were considered beneath even the most “loose” of Omegas. An Omega allowing someone to scent you other than your mate was one of the biggest taboos in the world but it’s made him almost five times the amount of money he’s made in most of his fights. The same Alphas that preach about purity and used car metaphors are the ones that pay top dollar for him to do nothing but drown them in his scent.
But it’s not like he’s got a choice, even though Yok swears he does.
“You don’t need to do this darling,” she’d said, “If you need a loan–”
She’d slapped his arm when he’d glared at her, “Porsche! Not that kind of loan, just a…a gift.”
Porsche was just as willing to take as he was to take a loan.
“Okay,” Yok sighed, “But just when you need to. I don’t wanna see you here too often.”
He’s never looked down on Yok, or her girls. Som is perfectly fine with her profession and even seems to enjoy it in a way that Porsche has never been able to understand.
“You’re just a romantic, s’all,” she’d said, her face sweet and skin smelling of jasmine.
“So are you!” he countered, feeling like he should be offended.
Som nodded, “Yup, just a different definition, sweet Porsche, not bad, just different.”
Yok had been a successful sex and scent worker who had scrimped and saved to open her bar – she’d always bragged that all it had cost her was “all of her savings, a broken arm and six broken ribs.” It was only after she’d become moderately successful that she’d opened the back room to people – Betas, Omegas and one Alpha, May – looking to ply their trade in peace. Yok only ask for peace and quiet, and maybe that had been the key to her success, there was a reason she’d gone from two rooms to a strong pack of twelve. Soon people started paying her anyway and their thriving business helped make the bar even more profitable.
There was a reason he trusted her enough to make room for him on those rare occasions and, more importantly, keep it from Porschay.
So he tried not to feel bitter when he headed to the bar on Saturday night.
The need to be bitter though is quickly replaced by the need to be calm at the sight of that Alpha from the alleyway sitting on a stool, drinking a glass of bourbon.