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Porchay looked good. Like—really good.
It had been three years since Kim had officially seen him and the shy teenager he once knew was nowhere in sight.
Of course, Kim knew that. He had been keeping tabs on the younger Kittisawasd sibling ever since Porsche had taken over as head of the minor family, so naturally he had seen Porchay growing up and filling out. But seeing it on security tapes or at a distance through a crowded street was one thing. Seeing Porchay on stage, the way he moved with the music and the swell of the crowd—that was something else entirely.
It was a small venue, but the crowd was so loud you’d have thought Porchay was playing at IMPACT Arena. As it was, every single person around Kim knew all the words to every song and Kim’s heart swelled with pride. He sang along too, screaming encore! encore! with the rest of them just for the chance to see Porchay’s wide grin when he realized the audience wanted more of him.
He truly thrived on stage, Kim thought, as he watched Porchay take his final bow of the night.
Kim didn’t know what possessed him to wander backstage, but it was an easy enough journey to make. He had played here before as Wik, so he knew the backstage area and the way to the green rooms—and more importantly, he knew how to go unseen.
He approached Porchay’s dressing room (conveniently labeled with his name—Kim made a mental note to discuss that potential security risk with Kinn later) and paused. What was he doing?
For maybe the first time in his life, Kim didn’t have a plan. It was like an out of body experience as he watched his hand raise towards the doorknob. He wouldn’t knock; if the door was locked, he’d take it as a sign. If the door was unlocked, well… there was no point in thinking about that. It would be locked, of course it would be locked. Porchay wasn’t an idiot.
The doorknob turned under Kim’s hand, the door swinging open almost soundlessly. Okay, so maybe Porchay was still a little too trusting. Kim made another mental note.
He didn’t breathe as he stepped over the threshold into the dimly lit room. He clocked Porchay immediately, standing with his back to Kim, drying his hair with a towel. Loose, grey sweatpants sat low on his hips and he wasn’t wearing a shirt; Kim couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping open as he took in the way Porchay’s muscles shifted with every sweep of the towel.
“I thought I saw you in the crowd.”
Kim would deny the way he jumped at the sound of Porchay’s voice, but there was no hiding the way his pulse skyrocketed. Porchay hadn’t even turned around—maybe there was no need to discuss security risks after all. What had they been teaching him at the compound that he was able to hear Kim approaching him?
Kim stayed silent, waiting to see what Porchay would do next. This version of Porchay was unknown to him, unpredictable.
Porchay turned to face him, and Kim resolutely kept his gaze on his face. He definitely didn’t let his eyes wander down the column of Porchay’s neck, past his wide shoulders, over the broad expanse of his chest and the defined muscles of his abdomen. And he definitely did not wonder if Porchay’s fluid movements on stage would translate if those hips were pressed up against his own.
Porchay spoke again, pulling Kim’s mind out of the gutter. “I figured I was seeing things. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”
Kim’s stomach sank at that admission. How many times over the past three years had Porchay spotted him? And here Kim had thought he was being so sneaky.
Kim cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry, I—”
Porchay laughed, but it wasn’t the laugh that Kim had missed so much. This one was humourless, heavy. “What does the great Kim Theerapanyakul have to be sorry for?”
So much. He was sorry for lying. For leaving Porchay to cry alone on the front step. For writing that song instead of reaching out. For letting three years pass without a single word.
Instead of saying any of that, Kim just shrugged helplessly.
Porchay sighed, his shoulders dropping. “What do you want, Kim?” He suddenly looked tired. Not in a just finished performing way; he looked bone-tired, like he was carrying a weight that was threatening to crush him.
What did Kim want? So many things, none of them remotely plausible. “I thought… I thought maybe we could talk?”
Porchay hummed, crossing his arms as he looked Kim up and down. Kim tried and failed not to squirm under Porchay’s gaze.
“Talk. Last time we talked, you left me behind in that place.”
The hits kept coming and Porchay wasn’t holding back to spare Kim’s feelings. Kim didn’t have a retort to that—Porchay was right.
“I—”
“I’ve decided,” Porchay interrupted, walking past Kim to the door, “that I don’t really feel like talking.”
He was going to leave. Kim was going to lose him again, only this time he would be the one left behind. He felt his heart break a little bit, the cracks that had formed on the front steps of his family’s compound widening.
The click of the lock made Kim turn around; he had just enough time to realize Porchay hadn’t walked out the door before Porchay’s mouth was on his and he short-circuited.
They had never kissed. Before, back when Porchay looked at Kim like he had hung the moon for him, Kim thought he had seen the question in Porchay’s wide eyes—kiss me, please. But Kim wouldn’t—couldn’t—take that from him. He couldn’t take Porchay’s first kiss, not when Kim was so unworthy of a thing as precious as that.
Now, Kim couldn’t help but wonder who had gotten to claim that privilege. Whose lips had Porchay bitten, finding just the right pressure to draw a moan out of them? Who had gotten the pleasure of feeling Porchay’s callused fingertips skimming up their neck and into their hair?
Porchay ran his tongue along the seam of Kim’s lips—who taught him that?—and Kim opened beneath him. He let Porchay back him into the wall, his hand cushioning Kim’s head from the impact. Kim had to stretch up to meet his kisses—when had Porchay gotten taller than him?
Kim’s fingers slipped over the skin of Porchay’s arms, pulling him closer, and bit back a moan as he traced the dips in Porchay’s muscles.
“What do you want, Kim?” There was that question again, breathed into the cut of Kim’s jaw. This time, Kim knew the answer, for better or worse.
“You.”
There was a brief hesitation, Porchay pulling back to look into Kim’s eyes, searching for something. Kim waited with bated breath, hoping that Porchay found whatever he was looking for. He prayed that Porchay could see the feelings that Kim couldn’t bring himself to voice.
Whatever it was that Porchay found, it must have been enough, because Kim watched his eyes darken, sending Kim’s pulse through the roof.
Kim sighed into the bruising kiss Porchay pulled him into, relishing the feeling of Porchay's heartbeat under his fingertips as he traced his hands down Porchay’s bare chest. Kim could feel the warmth of Porchay’s skin through his shirt as Porchay maneuvered them off the wall and towards the couch.
He needed to feel that heat against him properly, but before he could make a move to remove his shirt, Porchay was grabbing at the hem, separating their mouths only long enough to get the garment up and over Kim’s head. He tossed it somewhere, neither of them paying attention to where, as Porchay got his nimble fingers on the zipper of Kim’s jeans.
The rational part of Kim’s mind thought maybe they should slow down, take a breather, but the touch-starved, kiss-drunk, so-far-gone-on-Porchay part of his mind took over once Porchay shoved his jeans down his thighs.
The groan that got pulled from Kim’s lips when Porchay palmed him through his boxers was almost a whine—he had half a mind to be embarrassed, but the way Porchay’s breath hitched at the sound soothed any worries Kim’s coherent mind could come up with. Kim was already half hard from the kissing and Porchay wasted no time getting him all the way there.
Maybe it was because it had been so long since Kim had gotten off to anything besides his own hand, or maybe it was because it was Porchay getting him off, but every sensation was heightened. Kim felt the drag of Porchay’s hand through his boxers like a jolt of electricity. He leaned into the feeling, his own useless hands fumbling with the tie of Porchay’s sweatpants, loosening it to let them fall and pool at Porchay’s feet.
He wasn’t wearing anything under them. The revelation fried Kim’s synapses, rendering him paralyzed for a moment as he stared at Porchay bare in front of him. Kim’s wildest dreams could never have created as beautiful a picture as the one he was presented with. He traced his hands down, down, down to where Porchay was already hard, letting his hands brush against the soft skin he found there. He wrapped his hand around Porchay’s cock, feeling the weight and heat of him.
Porchay moaned, pushing against Kim’s hand, his own ministrations forgotten for the moment as his hands moved, his fingers digging into Kim’s hips. Kim hoped they bruised.
“Kim,” Porchay sighed, dropping his forehead to Kim’s. God, the way Porchay said his name… it was better than any song Kim could ever hope to compose.
Kim didn’t have any eloquent answer. All he could do was murmur, “please,” and hope Porchay continued being the brave one.
His hopes were answered when Porchay swept his thumbs across his hipbones and pushed Kim’s boxers down to join his jeans on the floor. Their height difference swung in the opposite direction as Porchay sat down on the couch, his hands running up the back of Kim’s thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Kim remained standing, hands flying to Porchay’s shoulders when Porchay leaned in and took one of his nipples into his soft, warm mouth.
Kim lost himself to the feeling of suction and Porchay’s golden tongue flicking over him, drawing mewls from his mouth. He wove his hands into Porchay’s hair, holding him there. Porchay let his hands wander up Kim’s thighs and over the swell of his ass. Kim felt him pause, and tried and failed not to whine when Porchay let go of his nipple with a light bite.
“What…?” Kim didn’t understand why Porchay stopped. Was it not good, was he bored?
“I don’t have anything,” Porchay explained, looking up at Kim with swollen lips and the most beautifully mussed hair.
So, Porchay did want him. Kim felt himself melt a bit with the knowledge and blamed what he said next on the lack of blood flow to his brain. “I don’t care. I want to feel it—feel you.”
Porchay stared at him, eyes blown dark and wild. “Kim…”
“Porchay,” Kim whispered, lowering himself down so he was straddling Porchay’s thighs. The tip of Porchay’s cock was wet where it rubbed against Kim’s stomach, and Porchay’s lovely eyes fluttered at the sensation. “Make me feel you.”
“Fuck.” Porchay dragged Kim down into a bruising kiss and the simmering heat that had been building in Kim’s veins exploded. He kissed Porchay like he thought he could erase three years worth of missed opportunities with just his lips, teeth, and tongue.
Kim would have been content to spend the next eternity kissing and being kissed by Porchay, but Porchay drew back, his breaths coming fast and frenzied.
“Are you sure?”
The question was innocent, kind, and it threw Kim for an entire loop. When was the last time he had been with someone who had taken the time to check in with him?
“I am so sure,” he reassured, desperate and needy.
Porchay traced the lines of Kim’s face with his fingertips, his calluses dragging on the sensitive skin deliciously. His thumb caught on Kim’s lower lip and Kim opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue brushing against the digit.
“A little more,” Porchay murmured, tapping his index and middle fingers against Kim’s lip.
Kim opened his mouth and moaned around Porchay’s fingers as they pressed down on his tongue.
“Suck.”
God.
The command was murmured low and heavy in Kim’s ear and he was helpless to deny it. He ran his tongue over and around Porchay’s fingers, encouraging him to push them in deeper.
“Kim, oh my god.” It was more a moan than anything else, but the words spurred Kim on.
His hips moved of their own volition, searching for any kind of friction. He was getting dizzy with want and his cock was hard and heavy with it. He wanted to beg Porchay to please, fuck him, but more than that he wanted to be good. He settled for whining low in his throat as Porchay’s free hand skittered across his lower back, tantalizingly close to where Kim wanted him most.
Porchay removed his fingers from between Kim’s lips and Kim practically vibrated with anticipation. He felt Porchay press a finger to him gently, as if testing his reaction. When Kim pushed back against it, Porchay sighed and eased his finger in, just to the first knuckle. It didn’t matter how many times Kim did this, the first stretch always felt a bit weird. He didn’t mind it though, especially when it was Porchay opening him up with his long, deft fingers.
Kim breathed through the first finger, then the second, then the third. Porchay took his time, letting Kim adjust to the stretch before adding in another one. He scissored his fingers and crooked them just so, just enough to brush up against Kim’s prostate and make him twitch with the feeling. Kim lost time to the feeling of Porchay’s fingers inside him and the way his mouth was sucking bruises into any bare patch of skin he could reach. Kim wanted to wake up in the morning with the memory of this moment painted on his skin in Porchay shaped bruises.
After minutes, hours, years, Kim couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m ready,” Kim practically sobbed, his head falling onto Porchay’s shoulder.
Porchay moaned and pressed a kiss to Kim’s hair. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Kim moaned when Porchay slid his fingers in as far as they could go, stroking them over his prostate steadily. “Need you inside me.”
Kim felt open when Porchay removed his fingers, but he knew he wouldn’t feel that way for long. He raised himself up on his knees and Porchay held his weight with an ease that Kim desperately needed to explore further. Kim’s breath stuttered at the feeling of Porchay pressed against him and he knew he would feel this for days later. He was glad for the burn as he lowered himself back down, Porchay entering him inch by inch. The stretch was just this side of too much, but Kim would rather die than stop. He breathed through it, focusing on Porchay’s bruising grip on his hips, the way his thumbs brushed his hipbones—a soft contrast to everything else.
Porchay let out a strangled groan as Kim dropped all the way into his lap, and they both took a second to steady themselves against the sensation of Porchay deep inside him. Kim had been with plenty of partners, but none of them had ever filled him quite like this, like he was full to the brim and ready to overflow. This feeling, he thought, was reserved for Porchay and Porchay alone. No one else would ever make Kim feel the way he did when he was with him.
“Kim, move,” Porchay begged, his hands moving to cup Kim’s ass and help lift him.
Kim obliged him immediately, quickly getting into a steady rhythm that had the two of them panting and grasping at each other desperately. Kim’s cock rubbed against Porchay’s toned stomach with every move of his hips and each touch sent sparks through Kim’s nerves. Porchay reached between them and got Kim in his grasp, thumbing at his slit. He matched Kim’s rhythm, the two of them moving in harmony to a song only they could hear.
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Kim to feel his release building inside him. The strain in his thighs was starting to hurt and he could feel himself shaking with the effort.
“Chay, I can’t—”
Porchay slowed his strokes and held Kim down, his cock hitting Kim just right to make him see stars.
“Shh. I’ve got you, Phi,” he breathed, his breath ghosting across Kim’s collarbone. And fuck if those words didn’t have Kim almost coming right then and there.
Porchay soothed his hands down Kim’s back, reaching under him to lift him up and stand, Kim’s legs wrapping around his waist. The movement separated them and Kim whined at the loss, but he needn’t have worried; Porchay spun to lower Kim to the couch and rearranged him so Porchay could kneel between his legs. He pushed Kim’s legs up and open, kissing the inside of his knee before guiding himself back in.
Kim wrapped his legs around Porchay’s waist again, urging him to move faster, to hit deeper. He dug his fingers into the flesh of Porchay’s back, hips, and ass–he used his nails, selfishly hoping to mark Porchay up to match the marks left on his own body. He wanted nothing more than for Porchay to be seen as his, even if he never would be.
“Chay, Chay, Chay.” It was a prayer drawn from Kim’s lips by the beautiful boy between his legs—his salvation and damnation.
“Touch yourself.” The demand was breathy and ragged, but that did nothing to lessen Kim’s instinctual need to follow it.
He stroked himself to the same rhythm of Porchay’s hips. The combined stimulation, the sound of their bodies meeting, their gasps and moans—it was too much. The heat between them threatened to engulf him, but he didn’t care. He was Icarus and Porchay was his sun.
“I—Oh god—”
“That’s it,” Porchay encouraged, his thrusts becoming frantic and his arms shaking next to Kim’s head from holding himself up. “Let go for me, Phi.”
Kim came with a strangled cry, coating his hand and stomach. Porchay didn’t stop moving, fucking Kim through his release to the point of overstimulation. Kim didn’t care—he tightened his legs around Porchay’s waist and let him use him as he chased his own release.
Kim was pulled into a fierce kiss as he felt Porchay twitch once, twice. He swallowed Porchay's moans, feeling Porchay empty himself inside him. When Porchay collapsed on top of him, Kim wrapped his arms around him, murmuring praise and thinly veiled declarations of love in his ear as he came back down to earth.
Lying there, sticky, spent, and uncaring about the mess, Kim had never felt so content in all his life. He had known for years now that he had only ever been truly happy with Porchay, and this was just further proof of that. He felt like he was glowing with it.
Little by little, Kim felt Porchay relax into him. He might have been asleep, were it not for the way he stretched his face up, kissing Kim’s jaw and cheek.
“Don’t leave again,” he whispered into the sensitive skin below Kim’s ear.
Kim was too afraid to answer. Too afraid that he’d inevitably have to break any promise he might make, that he’d end up breaking both their hearts again.
“P’Kim.”
Kim’s heart skipped a beat. For a second, Porchay looked and sounded just like he had three years ago, on a couch not unlike this one, looking up at Kim from where his head lay on Kim’s chest.
“Porchay, I—”
Porchay’s previous bravado and confidence had disappeared, leaving a soft, fragile thing in its place. He shook his head, his eyes shiny with tears.
“No. I know you, Kim. You think you’re so mysterious, but I know you. I’m not a child; I won’t let you do this again. Not after this. Not after you finally came back to me.”
Kim paused. He wanted so badly to give Porchay what he was asking for—what they both wanted. Before he could chicken out, he nodded. If Porchay could be brave, so could he.
“I’ll try.” It was the best he could give, in that moment. He only hoped it would be enough.
“That’s all I ever wanted,” Porchay murmured. He nuzzled into Kim’s chest and Kim held him until his breathing evened out.
In the silence, Kim started writing lyrics in his head, humming a melody that sounded like Porchay and felt like love.
When Kim finally let himself drift to sleep, it was to the vision of him and Porchay performing their song—this song—together in front of a screaming crowd. Together, as they should be.