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Chan doesn’t need the details. He never does, really, not when he knows his employer so well. He knows that Kinn’s particular brand of thoughtlessness and selfishness veers into cruelty whether or not he means for it to, just as Chan knows that it’s that accidental cruelty that has Porsche walking around the compound like a hit cat the day after the diamond auction when he finally does show up for duty, two and a half hours late and hollow around the eyes.
Fucking Kinn , Chan thinks, never says aloud. He doesn’t need the details because he knows .
He doesn’t exactly go easy on Porsche for the next few days because that’s not his job, but as Chan follows his struggling bodyguard into the gardens one night, he knows his job is also not to help said bodyguard figure out his messy feelings regarding his ongoing sexuality crisis.
Chan holds up his lighter and ignites it before Porsche can even reach for his own, Porsche’s eyes dark and spooked in the dim firelight.
“Kinn is who he is.” It’s not the reassurance Porsche likely wanted to hear; he’s a sensitive boy underneath all the sass and swaggering bravado. He’s been hurt, scared. Chan knows Porsche wants apologies and an opportunity to be able to forgive, but that’s not what Chan can provide. “But you are who you are too, Porsche.”
“What does that mean?” Porsche asks, and though there’s his usual defensiveness in his voice, Chan hears the exhaustion in it as well. Whatever he is struggling with in the aftermath of the night with Kinn is wearing away at him like water eroding a riverbank.
“It means the more you fight with yourself, the worse you’re going to feel. Some things we have to accept, Porsche. And beyond that, some things can turn from shame to something better, if you want them to.”
Chan knows Kinn would be enraged if he was ever to find out about this, but this is something Chan is doing on his own. No directive from a boss, no command, and so far outside both his job description and probably what should occur with someone who’s just been put through what Porsche experienced, but when Chan steps closer to Porsche, the boy sucks in a breath and widens his legs so Chan can put one of his thighs between them.
It’s hot tonight, even for Bangkok, and Chan can see the sweat beading along Porsche’s hairline and his upper lip, feels desire stirring in him to lean forward and lick it from Porsche’s skin. But he doesn’t, not yet. Porsche isn’t ready just yet, but Chan will guide him there.
Instead, he watches as Porsche takes a shaky inhale of his cigarette, the cherry burning red and bright in the darkness around them. This isn’t the best place for this, but most of the guards are either asleep or on their given assignments, none of them likely to stumble into the garden this late at night.
Chan lets his thigh brush, light and brief, against Porsche’s inner thigh, barely skirting along the slight bulge in his slacks. He’s not fully hard, not yet, but Chan can see the tentative, confused arousal in every tense muscle of Porsche’s body.
He takes Porsche’s cigarette from his trembling fingers and takes a drag of it himself, closing his eyes as he inhales the smoke and then blows it out into the space between their bodies.
“What if I can’t accept it?” Porsche says suddenly, eyes fixed on the way Chan’s lips fit around the cigarette as he takes another drag.
“You can’t accepting it is very different than you not wanting to,” Chan says, enunciating clearly. “You likely can’t accept that the other night was how it went, nor do you want to. But what could you accept that might make it all easier?”
Chan doesn’t think Porsche is dumb, because he isn’t, but the boy blinks at Chan’s words and has to think hard for a few long moments, worrying the inside of his cheek with his tongue and his teeth. Chan can feel sweat pooling in the middle of his back, starting to slide down, and he gives up the idea of maintaining decorum to untuck his dress shirt, fanning it out to try and get some of the sluggish night air to circulate against his skin and cool him down.
Porsche watches him like a hawk, eyes on Chan’s middle where he knows his abs are being flashed between flaps of his shirt, and Porsche licking his lips makes Chan hold the cigarette back to them. He shakes his head when Porsche reaches for the cylinder, forces his face and voice into something softer than he’s used to.
“Go on, I got you. Take a drag.”
Porsche freezes, and Chan himself sort of doesn’t know where he’s taking this exactly, either. He doesn’t know if it’s the heat and humidity that’s making him feel a little restless and itchy under the skin, or not knowing what Kinn did but knowing it all the same, or that Porsche – hurt, scared, angry, and lost – has been looking at Chan, the closest thing to a mentor or parental figure he has here, since that night with eyes that beg Please make it better.
Porsche leans forward slightly to wrap his lips around the end of the cigarette, and Chan wraps his fingers around Porsche’s wrist.
“Want me to make it a little easier to accept it, Porsche?”
Chan expects Porsche to nod mutely, to ask for guidance in this as he sometimes asks during his training. He’s surprised by the fire he sees flicker across Porsche’s face instead, his uncertainty and the softness of his hesitation reformed into something hard and immovable.
“I’m tired of people making the decisions for me,” Porsche says, voice layered with conviction, before he leans forward to bite brutally at Chan’s bottom lip. He soothes the bite with the drag of his tongue, before he’s bullying his way into Chan’s mouth and kissing him with a fervent desperation Chan hadn’t expected.
Chan’s knee brushes against Porsche’s cock and Porsche moans into Chan’s mouth, pressing himself more firmly against Chan and wrapping his hand around the back of Chan’s head. The cigarette is dropped to the ground, forgotten, and Chan recovers himself enough to finally kiss Porsche back with an answering brutality, biting and sucking his lip between his teeth before pulling away to watch the bruised-plum swell of it in the low light of the moon and the few outside lights lining the garden.
Porsche is trembling, just slightly, and Chan hardens his grasp around Porsche’s wrist and pulls him in even closer, moving his hand so that it rests against the bulge of Chan’s cock in his slacks.
“This is entirely your decision, Porsche,” Chan says, just holding Porsche’s hand against himself and caressing the side of Porsche’s wrist with his thumb. “You decide everything tonight.”
It’s all Chan can give him, and even this is borrowed time. He’s grateful Porsche had enough foresight to sneak into a shadowed corner of the gardens where the security cameras can’t see, but it’s a known blind spot for other guards who slip out for a clandestine smoke or fuck. And this is certainly clandestine.
Porsche leans in for another kiss, one with a little less teeth than before but somehow even more full of desperation. Chan keeps Porsche’s wrist in his tight hold and tilts his hips forward to see if Porsche will flinch away.
Chan swears he could feel Porsche smile under his mouth as Porsche’s hand cups Chan through his pants, squeezing him a little bit and using the heel of his palm to make Chan grunt in appreciation, but when Chan pulls back Porsche’s face is a mask of lust and loneliness, not even a hint of a smile on his handsome face.
“Okay then,” Chan breathes out, consent granted from his point of view. He maneuvers Porsche backwards a step and a half, pushing him not too gently against a vine-covered brick wall.
He has one hand on Porsche’s shoulder, holding him in place – though loosely enough that Porsche could get away if he truly wanted to – and his other hand is sliding up Porsche’s stomach underneath his shirt. Chan stops when he reaches Porsche’s left nipple, using his thumb to glide over it.
When Porsche lets out a little gasping moan of surprise at the touch, Chan smiles and pinches the hardening bud between two fingers, watching as Porsche’s cock twitches in his pants.
“You’re sensitive,” Chan observes, and Porsche groans and tries to look away but Chan moves the hand on Porsche’s shoulder to his chin, holding him firmly and forcing him to look at Chan as Chan continues to tease his nipples.
“It’s good to be sensitive, not everyone is. I wonder–” Chan starts, his words interrupted by Porsche’s surprised moan when Chan pinches him again.
Porsche’s hips buck slightly, and Chan can’t help but smirk as he circles the pad of his thumb around the stiff peak. Porsche’s face tilts up to the sky, full of stars somewhere high and far above the light pollution of the city bearing down around this little garden oasis of their employer, and Chan watches Porsche’s eyes slip closed as he softly flicks Porsche’s nipple with his nail.
“Is this what you’re choosing? I can make it happen for you,” Chan offers. He ignores his own arousal in favor of watching Porsche swallow hard, his Adam’s apple sliding under the bronzed skin of his throat. Chan’s always known that Porsche is a particularly attractive person, but him whining quietly as Chan moves his other hand under Porsche’s shirt to start touching both nipples at once is something eerily exquisite. Forbidden and perhaps a bit unfair given their hierarchy.
But he’s so pretty, Porsche is. Chan doesn’t live a life that allows him to be an aesthete; there is no room nor time for beauty very often, unless it’s in passing from one planned random act of violence to another. Chan licks his lips, tasting the salt of his own sweat, and decides he might as well stop and appreciate beauty while he can.
“Chan…” Porsche’s eyes are entirely closed now and with his long neck extended Chan takes the opportunity to lean forward and lick up the column as his fingers tighten and tug, press and pull. Porsche’s hips are moving of their own volition, and Chan thinks briefly of pressing himself against Porsche so they both can have something to rut against. But this is too good, this quiet version of his command so effortless for both of them in a stolen few minutes.
“You’re going to come just like this,” Chan murmurs, half instruction, half words of wonder. Porsche gulps and nods, opening his eyes to show Chan that they’re hazy and a little glassy. Chan digs his nails into Porsche’s chest, raking them over his defined pectoralis muscles, and slots his leg higher and tighter between Porsche’s. “Go ahead if you need to.”
Porsche grinds against Chan’s knee, pressing his chest harder into Chan’s fingers at the same time, licking his lips as he pants and bites back his moans of pleasure. Chan wants to hear them all, but he also knows it’s safer this way, if Porsche can hold back some of his sounds from potential listening ears.
“You’re so beautiful, Porsche. Strong and pretty. You walk around this compound like a tiger surveying his kingdom, a little king. It’s why the other guards don’t like you, you know,” Chan smiles, tilting his head slightly as he looks into Porsche’s obsidian eyes, ink pools of arousal. “It’s why I like you more than I should,” he continues, softening his previous words.
“I want it. Make me come, Chan. Please,” Porsche says, the words a command wrapped up in a plea. Chan is more than happy to oblige in this, though he’s not accustomed to following commands from anyone other than his employer, Porsche like a siren, an omen of destruction and pleasure.
“Go ahead, I’m not stopping you,” Chan grins, his assault of Porsche’s nipples intensifying as the cadence of Porsche’s breath takes on a more frantic quality. “Are you so close already? Did you ever do this for any of those girls you used to fuck behind your bar? Did you even think to bring them this sort of pleasure?” Chan’s words are filthy, he knows, a little accusatory, but they seem to work beautifully on Porsche as the other man tosses his head back and spills into his slacks.
Chan can feel Porsche’s cock as it pulses and releases against his knee, the wet patch obvious even in the darkness that cloaks them both.
Porsche presses his forehead against Chan’s shoulder, his breath stuttering on the exhalations. Chan lets Porsche rest his head there, recognizing both the need the boy has for some comfort as well as the way he wants to soothe him in these last few moments that Chan is going to ever let them have between them.
Chan tries very hard to not care about the employees he oversees. It’s an incredible liability. It’s hard not to care about Porsche though, knowing what Chan knows about him.
“You should get cleaned up,” Chan reminds the bodyguard after another minute or two, using his hands to carefully pry Porsche’s head off his shoulder. Porsche blinks, clearing away the last remnants of whatever headspace he was in, and nods as he looks away.
“I… does it ever get easier?” Porsche’s voice is so small and soft that he sounds a decade younger than he is. Chan has to will himself not to think of sun-filled living rooms, of blood splatter, of huge eyes he knows were watching and are now watching him, seeking reassurance.
Chan holds Porsche’s gaze quietly, telling himself this is his penance for both tonight and for years ago. “You have to make it get easier, however you can. You can live with anything, after a time.”
Porsche inhales and moves as if he’s going to lean forward and kiss Chan one last time, but Chan tenses and the last vestiges of tonight are broken and fall away at their feet. Porsche nods again and simply turns and walks away, heading back into the estate as Chan watches his retreating back.
He takes Porsche’s place against the wall and reaches for his own cigarettes, absently palming his half-hard cock and deciding he doesn’t even have the desire to take the edge off for himself anymore. Chan sparks his lighter and blows smoke up towards the sky, wondering if he’ll be able to live with this as well.