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Porsche watched as Vegas stiffened in his seat, eyes flickering with alarm and… arousal before the ex-heir of the minor family moved a discredit hand to his mouth and coughed.
A small, almost undetectable, crease appeared in Porsche’s forehead as he watched the slightly older man from the corner of his eye.
He was uncomfortable. Obsequiously, he was uncomfortable.
He always was uncomfortable since he was forced to attend these meetings and keep an eye on his replacement. But now… Porsche was keeping an eye on Vegas as he shifted in the chair he was forced to sit on.
“I’ll be leading the negotiation, right?” Vegas asked, arching a perfectly sharp brow as he lowered himself into the seat at the head of the table, “So I’ll sit here ,” he said as he settled onto the chair, eyes sparkling with challenge.
A challenge that now, Porsche would gladly rise to.
Because, now, he had the power to defy Vegas.
Porsche’s lips twitched into a smirk as he tilted his head to the side, something condescending shining in his eyes as he stared down at the man who held only a bit more power than a mere bodyguard, “Will you?”
Vegas gave a stiff nod, “Yeah.”
Porsche’s smirk widened as he reached towards his holster, enjoying the flicker of irritation that crossed Vegas’s face as he grabbed Kinn’s lucky gun and aimed it at the ex-heir’s forehead.
“Really?” Porsche raised an eyebrow, a part of him wishing that Vegas didn’t back down so that he could put a bullet in his brain.
Vegas’s jaw clenched, smile dropping from his face, “I want to sit here, Nong,” he said, sounding so much like a petulant child that Porsche couldn’t stop the huff of amusement from leaving his lips.
“You can’t,” Porsche replied firmly as he reminded Vegas of his new place in this messed up family, “That seat is reserved for the head of the minor family,” he gave the older man a pointed look, “And that’s me .”
“But–”
“You can sit next to me,” Porsche cut him off, motioning with the gun to the chair next to the head of the table.
Vegas scowled, anger suddenly flooding his eyes, “I don’t want to sit next to you,” he spat out.
Porsche rolled his eyes, growing tired of this… tantrum, “Then don’t,” he simply said, aiming the gun at the ex-heir's head once again, “But you won’t be sitting here,” he uttered like a face that he could easily make true as he clicked the safety of the gun off.
Vegas glowered up at the man who was living the life he should be, mouth parting like he wanted to say something– like he wanted to shout something before he decided it would be better to keep his mouth shut.
After all, like Kinn, Porsche wouldn’t go easy on him.
And, like many of the bodyguards that once lined the minor family’s compound, Vegas knew he could easily be disposed of if he stepped out of line again.
Eventually, Porsche noticed Vegas’s fingers as they clenched the armrest and he heard Vegas’s voice strain as he helped Porsche negotiate.
But as Porsche’s gaze flickered around the other people in the room, it seemed they were all ignorant to Vegas’s plight.
But Porsche definitely wasn’t. And he found himself almost enjoying watching as Vegas’s face twisted and his body shifted with desperation as Porsche shook hands with a much older man and finally closed the deal.
But when that man turned around and moved towards the door (and his own bodyguards followed suit), Porsche was surprised to find Vegas still. Perfectly still with a slightly dazed expression on his face.
“Vegas?” Porsche asked, a small furrow appearing in his brow as he looked at the older man in concern, “Vegas?” He once again repeated, reaching a hand out and–
Vegas jumped when he felt the smooth hand land on his shoulder, wide eyes darting up towards the owner of the hand as he moved to reach for his—
Gun.
His gun that he didn’t have anymore.
Kinn smirked as he shook his head, “You can’t be trusted with a gun, Vegas,” he reminded him as he cleaned the newest addition to his growing gun collection.
Vegas’s shoulders sagged, “What?” He muttered as he tugged his body away from the head of the minor family’s gentle touch.
The furrow in Porsche’s brow deepened as he noticed the… sadness? that Vegas now possessed, “Are you okay?”
Vegas scoffed at the question as Porsche dropped his hand from where it had been hovering in the air since Vegas moved away.
“Vegas, I know–” Porsche began, but the ex-heir cut him off.
“You don’t know anything,” Vegas snapped, turning his gaze away from the man.
But, surprisingly, he didn’t push himself up from the chair and storm out of the room.
Instead, he stayed in the chair, staring down at the table as he… waited for Porsche and the bodyguards to leave the room?
Porsche frowned, glancing at the closed door and the guards still guarding it with apprehension on their faces.
“Okay,” Porsche dejectedly sighed, “Your guards will take you home,” he paused before softly adding, “When you’re ready.”
Vegas gave a curt nod, a clear dismissal that Porsche had no choice but to take. After all, he knew it was better to leave Vegas alone when he was being like this.
But the bodyguards that were ordered to follow Vegas’s every move didn’t leave him. They never did.
So, of course, they reported when Vegas had safely returned to the mansion that used to be the minor family’s compound.
But, they added a seemingly insignificant detail.
Porsche brow furrowed as he parroted the bodyguard's words back to him, “His trousers were… wet?”
The bodyguard hummed through the static of the phone, “Yes,” he paused, lowering his voice slightly, “Maybe Khun Vegas needs to go to the doctor again?” He asked, “The bullets might have done more damage than they first realized, sir.”
Porsche nodded, eyes roaming over Bangkok’s skyline, “Yes,” he agreed, “Yes, they might have done.”
The bullets didn't do more damage than they first realized.
Vegas wasn’t incontinent.
And–
“You only want to humiliate me,” Vegas muttered as he turned away from the doctor– and from Porsche, “Again,” he bitterly breathed out when he had fully turned away from his cousin.
Porsche glanced at his cousin before he turned back to the doctor, “But…” he trailed off, unsure how to insist that the woman was wrong.
Because Vegas had wet himself, hadn’t he?
The bodyguard had told him about the patch of dampness on Vegas’s trousers that they had managed to catch sight of before Vegas promptly concealed it.
And they wouldn’t lie, would they?
“It’s the truth, Khun Porsche,” Pete insisted.
Porsche rolled his eyes, muttering a soft, “Don’t call me that,” as he ran a rough hand over his face.
“Sorry,” Pete mumbled, dipping his head slightly.
Porsche sighed, dropping his hand from his face as he stared into his friend’s eyes, “After everything Vegas… did to you,” he paused, watching as Pete’s eyes clouded over for a moment, “You wouldn’t lie to humiliate him, would you?” He asked, giving the bodyguard a pointed look as he willed him to speak the truth.
“I wouldn't,” Pete immediately replied, sounding slightly hurt that Porsche would even suggest that.
Porsche once again let out a deep exhale as he flopped down onto the plush armchair, once again unsure what to do about this… situation.
“I wouldn’t do anything to… humiliate,” Pete’s face twisted in distaste, “Or hurt him.”
Porsche raised his eyes to meet his friend’s, confusion swirling in his orbs as he asked the question that had been on his mind since Pete volunteered to be Vegas’s personal bodyguard, “Why?”
Pete’s mouth parted, about to deliver the answer Porsche had been waiting for before something flickered across the bodyguard's face that made him snap his mouth shut and shake his head.
“Pete?” Porsche promoted.
Pete sighed, “I can’t,” he said, slightly apologetic.
Porsche frowned, wondering if he would ever get an answer to what was quickly becoming the second? most important question in his life.
“Cameras?” Kinn asked, arching a thick eyebrow as his partner continued giving the meek bodyguard his order.
Porsche hummed, “And audio,” he said, almost offhandedly, “I want audio too,” he quickly decided as the bodyguard continued almost comically nodding his head.
“Why?” Kinn questioned.
Porsche paused, biting his lip before he said, “I’m worried about his health,” he shrugged.
Kinn sighed as he turned his attention back towards the iPad in his hands, wondering when his partner's heart would shrink instead of growing to accommodate people who didn’t deserve it.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Porsche instructed, a warning in his darkening orbs that promised him pain if he disobeyed.
The bodyguard gulped as he nodded and muttered a quick, “Yes, Khun Porsche.”
The bodyguard handed Porsche the iPad, “It is done,” he informed his boss like he couldn’t see the moving image on the screen that told him that the mission had been successful.
Kinn sighed as he glanced over at the iPad and watched as his cousin began unbuttoning his shirt, knowing that this was only the beginning.
(And Kinn hated that he was right.)
Vegas didn’t piss his trousers again. Not in his carefully monitored bedroom and definitely not when he was around the bodyguards Porsche refused to dismiss.
“I don’t need a babysitter, Nong,” Vegas hisses, throwing a hand towards Pete, “Especially not him,” he spat, lips curling in distaste.
Porsche huffed out a laugh, eyes briefly flickering towards the bodyguard, “But you once wanted him, right, Phi?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he cocked his head to the side and he scanned the other man’s stunned face.
“Not like that ,” Vegas corrected his cousin with a roll of his eyes.
Porsche chuckled, obviously not believing him. And why would he believe his words? He knew the truth, after all.
“Pete babysat you in the safe-house, didn’t he?” Porsche asked, making Vegas freeze, “He calmed you down after your tantrums,” he paused as he smirked, “When your Papa hurt your feelings–” he was cut off by the flash of betrayal that crossed Vegas's face.
“You told him?” Vegas asked, hurt clear in his voice as he glanced at the bodyguard.
Pete gulped, shifting on his feet slightly as he tried to explain, “Vegas, I–”
“He told me everything ,” Porsche cut Pete off, making Vegas’s eyes once again turn to him, “And he told me how to calm you down after a tantrum.”
Vegas shook his head, eyes narrowing at the new head of the minor family, “I don’t have tantrums, Porsche,” he pointed out.
Porsche arched an eyebrow, glancing at the splatter of tea dripping down the walls and the broken glass scattered across the floor, “Really?”
Vegas’s eyes bore into Porsche’s head, “Really.”
“Then I guess you don’t want the escort,” Porsche shrugged as he reached for his own small glass filled with tea.
A small furrow appeared in Vegas's brow, “Escort?” He questioned, looking more intrigued than bewildered.
Porsche hummed as he took a sip of the warm liquid, “I hired an escort for you,” he paused as he moved the glass away from his plump lips, “Tonight.”
“You what ?” Vegas spat, outrage clear in his voice.
“Well,” Porsche looked slightly bashful as he admitted, “Kinn hired the escort.”
“Kinn hired an escort…” Vegas raised an eyebrow, “For me?”
“No,” Porsche scoffed, “Kinn hired an escort for himself.”
Vegas’s mouth gaped open as he stared at the man in front of him who didn’t even seem to care that Kinn was going to fuck someone else tonight.
“But after he’s finished ,” Porsche grimaced, “ You can have him.”
But, obviously, Vegas didn’t want him. He didn’t want Kinn’s sloppy seconds anymore.
He wanted someone new– someone Kinn hadn’t touched.
But, of course, Porsche would not allow Vegas to have Pete.
Not yet, anyways.
“Has he tried to?” Porsche asked, finally tearing his eyes away from the iPad and focusing on his friend.
Pete sighed, taking another gulp of the liquid trapped inside of the bottle before he answered, “No,” he shook his head, “He wouldn’t dare,” he said with a small, slightly sad smile on his face as his grateful eyes turned towards his boss, “Because of you and Khun Kinn.”
Slowly, Porsche applied more pressure to the bullet wound, “Say it,” Porsche ordered as Kinn watched from the corner of the room.
And, through gritted teeth, Vegas finally gave his word.
“I promise,” Vegas gasped out when Porsche’s finger further into the wound, “I won’t touch him– ah– ,” he winced, “Again.”
Porsche threw a smile towards the bodyguard as he moved the bottle of alcohol to his lips, “Do you want him to?” He asked, genuinely curious.
And, of course, Pete couldn’t answer that.
But one day, Porsche knew that he would be able to answer it. Like Porsche had been able to.
“You want me, right?” Kinn asked, a small furrow appearing in his brow, “You want this?” He slowly asked, anticipation and fear shining in his eyes.
Porsche smiled as he tugged Kinn closer to him, “Yes,” he confirmed as he allowed the older man’s hands to roam across his body.
Because Porsche wanted it– because Porsche allowed it. This time, anyways.
Porsche smiled at the silence as he gestured towards the bottle clutched in Pete’s hand, “Drink up,” he gently ordered, “You’re going to need it,” he muttered to himself as he watched Pete move the bottle to his lips and take a sip of the tainted liquid.
Porsche expected anger when Vegas found out.
“I’m sorry, Porsche,” Pete bowed his head in shame, “I must have had too much to drink…” he trailed off, eyes slightly glazed over as he tried to recall the previous night’s events, “A–and I–”
Porsche arched an unimpressed and knowing eyebrow, “Fucked by boyfriend?” He asked, seemingly already knowing the answer.
But instead, Vegas was dejected and sullen.
Vegas’s soft lips parted, disbelief filling his eyes for a moment before it was replaced by acceptance.
After all, who would want Vegas… when they could have Kinn?
Porsche frowned down at the iPad loosely clutched in his hands, watching as the bodyguard once again failed to coax Vegas from his bed.
Before regret could fully seep into Porsche’s brain, a smile flickered onto his lips as he watched Vegas move away from Pete’s hand.
“Vegas,” Pete moved his hand away from the ex-heir’s shoulder, “Please,” he begged, “You need to get out of bed.”
And Porsche found himself filled with happiness when Vegas ignored Pete’s words and once again refused to even look or acknowledge the bodyguard he had hoped would one day love him.
Now, it seemed that Vegas was realizing that he wasn’t made to be loved by the bodyguard.
(Or… anyone.)
“Vegas,” Porsche sighed, moving a hand to rub his creased forehead, “You need to get up,” he once again repeated, voice filled with exasperation.
But, once again, Vegas ignored him.
Porsche clenched his jaw, fingers twitching as he opened his mouth and uttered the words he knew the older man wanted to hear, “U need you, Phi,”
But, somehow, Vegas wasn't moved by his cousin's words. His lips didn't even twitch into a smug smile when he heard Porsche’s words.
Porsche glanced at the door – at Pete who was guarding the door like he feared Vegas would spring from the bed and try to run from the room and away from his responsibilities.
“You need to help Porsche, Vegas,” Kinn gave his younger cousin a pointed look.
“Kinn–” Vegas began, but Kinn was quick to cut him off with a raised eyebrow that made Vegas grimaced, “ Phi ,” Vegas corrected himself through gritted teeth, “You said I wouldn't be involved with the family businesses anymore.”
Kinn cocked his head to the side seemingly considering his cousin's words before he huffed out a laugh, “If you want to continue to be able to provide for N’Macau– if you want my Papa to continue helping you provide for Macau,” he paused, watching a flicker of fear spark in his cousin's eyes, “You'll help your family,” he smiled as he leaned forwards, “You'll help Porsche– the rightful head of the minor family.”
Vegas glared at his cousin as Kinn arched an arrogant and expectant eyebrow.
“Right?” Kinn asked, already knowing the answer.
But everybody in Vegas’s bedroom knew that he wouldn't walk (or run) out of that door.
Because of Macau.
“Hospital bills are expensive, Nong,” Kinn reminded him as he plucked the paper from his cousin's hands, eyes widening at the number Vegas would have to pay, “But your family will help you, Nong.”
Vegas didn't smile at his cousin's words. Instead, his frown deepened.
Kinn turned and handed the paper to the nearest bodyguard, “But only if you help us,” he reminded him, the warning clear in his tone.
“Vegas?” Porsche once again called out, hoping that Vegas would drag himself from the bed without the need of any… help.
“He can't fight against them,” Kinn shrugged, “He's too weak ,” his lips twitched into a small smile.
“But–
“He's too weak to fight against you ,” Kinn sighed as he glanced back at the paperwork on his desk, “He should be easy for you to handle on your own, Porsche.”
Porsche frowned, “Then why do I need the bodyguard's to help me with Vegas?”
Kinn let out a breath, “Because your heart is weak, Porsche,” he gently reminded him, wishing that would change.
Porsche let his cousin's name hang in the air for another second before he finally reached out, grabbed the silk sheet and ripped it from Vegas’s unmoving body.
But, a part of Porsche wished he didn't. Because a part of him really didn't want to see the wet patch on the mattress… and on the crotch of his cousin's sleep clothes.
Porsche’s mouth hangs open, unable to tear his eyes away from–
“What?” Vegas mumbled as he pushed his face further into the silky soft pillow, “You've had a wet dream before, right?”
Porsche gulped before he glanced down at the sheet still clutched in his hand, “Get up,” Porsche ordered, “Or Pete will help you,” he tried to threaten his cousin.
But he didn’t know if the threat would work. After all, maybe Vegas would like Pete helping him.
“I liked that side of him,” Pete reluctantly admitted, “The side that… needed me,” he continued to mumble, an almost wishful tone filling his voice.
“He needs us, Kinn,” Porsche repeated, moving the iPad from Kinn’s eyesight.
Kinn sighed as he settled in the bed, “He needs to get laid,” he grumbled.
“He won't fuck Pete,” Porsche replied, almost offhandedly as he watched his cousin's eyes close in bliss, “Not after what we did.”
“We?” Kinn asked, arching an eyebrow as his eyes swept towards his partner.
Porsche huffed, “What I did,” he rolled his eyes as he corrected himself, “Vegas won't fuck Pete after what I did.”
Kinn hummed as he grabbed the discarded bed from the small table next to his bed, “Hire an escort to fuck him.”
Immediately, Porsche shook his head, “Vegas doesn't let anybody fuck him,” he mumbled, sounding slightly disappointed.
Kinn's brow furrowed, a strange mix of jealousy and satisfaction sparkling in his eyes, “He doesn't?” He confirmed.
Porsche shook his head, “He doesn't,” he breathed out, voice barely a whisper as he stared at Vegas suddenly threw his head back, baring his throat as his hand that was wrapped around his pulsing cock sped up, “But I want to be the first,” he muttered as he licked his lips.
Kinn froze, “W–what?” He asked, alarmed eyes snapping to his partner.
Somehow, Porsche managed to tug his eyes away from the iPad, “You can be the second,” he promised with a twisted smile, “But there won't be a third,” he vowed.