Archive of Our Own

It was supposed to be a good night.

Porchay had planned everything. A small dinner at Kim’s new apartment—just the two of them, with his favorite dishes and an over decorated cake Kim had let him pick out even though he thought it was just taste of fondant. There was even a cheap birthday crown involved, which Kim rolled his eyes at but placed gently on Porchay’s head anyway.

They had kissed in the kitchen. Then on the couch. Kim’s fingers had slipped under Porchay’s shirt. Porchay’s hands had tugged at Kim’s belt. They ended up in the bedroom, tangled together warm and wanting. 

Until it happened again.

Porchay’s fingers found the waistband of Kim’s jeans, and just like that, Kim pulled away.

“Don’t,” he said softly, pressing a hand over Porchay’s and moving it away.

Porchay blinked, breath catching. “Why not?”

Kim didn’t answer. He sat back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling like it held the answers he didn’t want to give.

“P’Kim.”

“Chay, please. Don’t start.”

Porchay sat up. 

“I’m not trying to start anything. I just—every time I try to take this further, you act like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not,” Kim muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I just don’t want to.”

“You don’t want me ,” Porchay corrected, his voice cracking.

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?” Porchay’s voice rose, hurt peeking out through the edge of it. “Because every time we get close, you shut down. Every time I think we’re ready, you pull away. Am I pushing too hard? Are you not attracted to me? Is it—”

“Stop.” Kim sat up too now, jaw tight. “Just stop.”

Porchay stared at him. “It’s my birthday. All I wanted was to feel close to you. Really close. And you won’t even tell me why you keep rejecting me.”

“I’m not rejecting you ,” Kim snapped. “I just—can we not do this right now?”

“No.” Porchay stood, grabbing his shirt from the floor. “Because I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt when you push me away.”

Kim didn’t stop him. He didn’t say anything at all.

And so Porchay left.

—
Porchay doesn’t go to the compound.
He doesn’t want to face his brother. Doesn’t want to hear Porsche’s voice go soft and worried, doesn’t want Kinn to pull out that big brother voice and ask what's wrong. Because it’s not something he can talk to them about—not this. Not Kim. Not this part of Kim.

So he goes to the only other place that’s ever felt like safety.

He shows up at Vegas and Pete’s without a warning text, without a call, without anything but the tremble in his chest and the burn behind his eyes. The couple had moved into a small humble home from the minor compound, Vegas not wanting to be reminded of his father everyday. When Pete opens the door, he blinks in surprise.

“Chay?”

Porchay tries to smile. Fails.

And then the tears start.

“Oh—oh no, come here,” Pete says immediately, pulling him inside with no questions, no judgment, just steady arms and warm hands.

Vegas appears in the hallway in sweatpants and a tank top, towel slung around his shoulders from a half-done shower. He pauses when he sees who it is.

“Porchay?”

“Hey,” Porchay croaks, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to just… show up. I just…”

Pete pulls him into the living room, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders like a reflex. “Don’t apologize. You’re always welcome here.”

Vegas lingers by the doorway, watching with his arms crossed and brow furrowed. “Did something happen?”

Porchay shakes his head. Then nods. Then shakes it again.

Pete sits beside him, hands warm on his back. “Take your time.”

Porchay swallows hard. “I just—I had this idea in my head. That tonight would be different. That we’d finally be ready.”

Pete doesn’t say anything, just offers a quiet sound of acknowledgment.

“We’ve been dating for over a year,” Porchay continues, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve talked about so many things. We live together. But whenever I try to be more physical—Kim just shuts down. Every time.”

Pete’s hands slow but don’t stop. “And tonight?”

Porchay’s lip trembles. “I thought maybe… he wanted me, too. But he looked at me like I was hurting him. And then he shut down again.”

Vegas has moved now, leaning against the wall across from them. “Did you two fight?”

Porchay nods, eyes burning. “I didn’t mean to start a fight. But I couldn’t just let it keep happening without saying something. I told him how it made me feel—like I wasn’t good enough, or like he didn’t love me the same way. And he just… clammed up. Again. Like he used to, before .”

Pete tugs him into a side hug and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Porchay lets the tears fall freely then, because Pete says it with no pity. Just affection. Just care.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Porchay admits softly. “I couldn’t go to Porsche or Kinn. I didn’t want them knowing… intimate stuff about us.”

Pete gives him a squeeze. “You came to the right place.”

Vegas finally moves closer. He drops down onto the coffee table in front of them, elbows on his knees.

“You know he loves you, right?” he says.

Porchay nods, slow. “But he won’t let me all the way in. Not really.”

Vegas is quiet for a moment. Then: “Has he ever talked to you about his past? Like— really talked about it?”

“Not in detail,” Porchay says. “Bits and pieces.” 

Vegas snorts. “That’s Kim. Looks like a thousand-piece puzzle. Turns out half the pieces are missing and the rest are taped together.”

Porchay lets out a small laugh, shaky but real.

“Whatever this is,” Pete says gently, “it’s not about you, Chay. It’s about something he hasn’t figured out how to say yet. But it is about time he learns how to say it.”

Vegas straightens up with a sigh, already grabbing his phone off the counter. “I’m going over there.”

Pete raises an eyebrow. “You’re not gonna let him sulk and stew in it for a night first?”

Vegas shrugs. “If we leave him stewing, he’ll turn it into a five-act tragedy and probably start composing sad piano music alone in the dark. No thanks.”

Porchay sniffles. “You really think he doesn’t hate me right now?”

“I think,” Vegas says firmly, “he needs a swift kick in the ass. And I’m the right man for the job.”

Pete leans back against the couch, brushing Porchay’s hair away from his face. “You stay here. Rest. If Vegas can’t knock some sense into him, I’ll go throw a wrench at him.”

Porchay lets out a breath of something close to relief.

He’s still hurting. Still confused. But for the first time tonight, he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning.

He’s warm, and he’s safe.

And someone’s fighting for them—even if it’s not Kim, not yet.

—
Kim didn’t even look surprised to see him.

He just opened the door and stepped aside wordlessly.

Vegas took it as an invitation.

“Your boyfriend is on my couch crying,” he said, walking in. “Want to guess why?”

Kim didn’t answer. He shut the door and leaned back against it, arms crossed.

Vegas raised an eyebrow. “You’re pushing him away again.”

Kim looked away.

“Why?”

Silence.

“Kim.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Kim finally said, his voice tight. “Okay? I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel or say or—he looks at me like I’m supposed to know. Like I’m the one with the experience. But I don’t. I don’t know anything.”

Vegas blinked. That… wasn’t what he expected.

“You’ve never—”

Kim shook his head, staring down at his hands. “No. I would’ve left myself vulnerable for attack.”

“Are you serious?” 

Kim didn’t respond.

“Then tell him that, idiot.” Vegas sighed. 

Kim let out a breath. “What if he thinks I’m pathetic? What if he leaves?”

Vegas crossed the room in two strides and flicked Kim hardly on the forehead.

“Then he’s an idiot too, and I’d be shocked. Because from what I’ve seen? That kid is crazy about you. But you’ve got to talk , Kim. He’s not a mind reader.”

Kim swallowed.

“Now,” Vegas continued, already pulling out his phone, “I’m calling Pete. I’ll tell him to bring Porchay over. And you? Try not to clam up like an emotionally constipated sea creature.”

—
Porchay arrived twenty minutes later.

Pete dropped him off with a quiet, “You’ve got this,” before leaving them alone in the apartment.

Kim was standing in the living room, arms at his sides, gaze flicking up as Porchay stepped in.

“I’m sorry,” Kim said instantly.

Porchay stood frozen. “For what?”

“For not explaining,” Kim clarified. “I was scared. I thought you expected me to know what I was doing. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Porchay’s eyes softened. “Kim…”

Kim took a slow breath. “I’ve never done this before. You’re my first relationship. My first everything .”

“I didn’t know that,” Porchay said, stepping closer. “But I wish you’d told me. You don’t have to be perfect, P’Kim. I just want you to be honest. Stop hiding from me.”

Kim looked at him. “I’m trying.”

“I know.” Porchay reached out, linking their fingers together. “We don’t have to rush anything. I just needed to know what was going on. You shutting down made me feel like I wasn’t enough.”

“You’re more than enough,” Kim said instantly. “It’s me. I’m the one who’s afraid of messing this up.”

Porchay tugged him forward and pressed his forehead against Kim’s. “Then let’s stop being afraid. Let’s just… talk. Like this. From now on.”

Kim nodded.

They held each other for a long time. Warmth building in the quiet.

When they finally curled into bed that night, fully clothed and facing each other, Kim whispered, “Happy birthday, Chay.”

Porchay smiled. “It is now.”

The lights dimmed. The room grew quiet.

And this time, when Kim kissed him, it didn’t come from a place of pressure or fear.

It came from love.

—

The next morning, Kim wakes up first.

For a long moment, he just lays there—watching Porchay’s face softened by sleep, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, the way his lips part just slightly with each breath. He wants to reach out. Wants to touch. Wants to pull him in and whisper that he’s ready now, if Porchay still is.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he just breathes and mentally prepares himself for the moment he’s sure is coming. He’s ready to take that next step. He knows now what held him back before—his fear of being seen as something he wasn’t, of not knowing what to do, of failing when he’s always been expected to know everything. But he doesn’t feel that way anymore. He feels safe. With Chay, he can learn.

So when Porchay stirs beside him, stretching like a lazy cat and blinking into the morning light, Kim braces himself.

“Morning,” Porchay murmurs, voice still gravelly with sleep. He leans in to kiss Kim, slow and sweet, his hand briefly brushing down Kim’s bare chest.

Kim’s heart skips a beat.

But then Porchay rolls out of bed, yawning and already talking about his plans for the day—the teacher he shadows who always forgets their attendance sheet, the students who ask for snack breaks like it's a negotiation. He kisses Kim on the head as he walks past to get dressed.

And that’s it.

That’s all.

Kim blinks at the ceiling, stunned.

It happens again the next night. And the next. And the next.

Every evening, Kim readies himself for what he thinks will come. He showers, moisturizes, trims his nails, even sets the lighting low and warm. He wears Porchay’s favorite cologne. Sometimes he leans in for longer kisses. Sometimes he lets his hand rest on Chay’s hip for a second too long.

And every time, Porchay just smiles at him, snuggles close, and eventually drifts off to sleep.

By the end of the week, Kim is bewildered.

He’s ready now. So why isn’t Chay trying anything?

Then, around the sixth night, the thought dawns on him—clear and brutal and obvious in retrospect: Porchay is waiting for him to be ready on his own terms. Not just emotionally, but actively. Porchay’s giving him space. He’s making room.

And Kim realizes: If I want it, I have to ask for it.

Which is fine. Kim isn’t afraid to ask for things. He just… hasn’t had to ask like this before.

But he’s going to. And he’s going to do it his way.

一

The plan is simple: seduce his boyfriend.

He spends the afternoon cleaning the bedroom, adjusting the pillows, lighting a sandalwood candle that Porchay once claimed made the room smell “dangerously kissable.” He takes a long shower, exfoliates, and moisturizes. He runs his fingers over the small collection of lip products by the mirror and picks the one he knows Porchay likes best—a slightly tinted caramel-gloss, shiny but not sticky.

Kim applies it carefully, then slips into a pair of gray sweatpants, nothing else except a thin silver chain around his neck. He checks himself in the mirror once. Twice. Then he pads barefoot to the bed, lays on his stomach, and waits.

…Which is apparently a mistake, because he falls asleep.

He wakes up to fingers tracing down his spine.

Kim’s whole body stills, eyes fluttering open. He’s disoriented for a second, face smushed into a pillow, the sheets warm around his waist. Porchay’s fingers trail lower, then back up again, like he’s sketching on Kim’s skin.

“Chay?” Kim mumbles, lifting his head.

Porchay hums, but doesn’t stop touching him. Kim shifts to roll over, and that’s when he remembers: the lip gloss.

Shit. He’d been sleeping on his face. It’s probably gone. But when he looks up, Porchay’s expression tells him otherwise.

Chay is staring at him, jaw slightly slack, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“You,” Porchay says, breathless. “You— what is this? ”

Kim raises an eyebrow, playing it off even though his heart’s going insane . “Waiting for my boyfriend to get home. Is that not allowed?”

Porchay’s eyes sweep over him—bare chest, chain, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, that lip gloss glistening like a challenge.

“I hate you,” Porchay mutters.

Kim smirks. “You do not.”

Porchay pounces.

One second, Kim’s lounging on his side; the next, Porchay has him pinned , arms held to the mattress and thighs straddling his hips.

Kim blinks up at him, stunned and breathless.

“ Shit ,” Porchay says. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Porchay fully expects Kim to back off, or for him to flip their positions like he always does, pinning Porchay beneath him.

But Kim stays still. Underneath him. Letting him lead.

Porchay freezes.

“You’re not…” he begins, voice hushed.

Kim’s gaze is steady. “You can have control, Chay.”

Porchay’s breath catches. “You’re serious?”

“I trust you.”

That’s all it takes.

Porchay crashes down to kiss him, one hand tangled in Kim’s hair, the other still holding his wrist. His kiss is open and greedy and aching. Kim melts into it, gives everything , and never once tries to take over.

Porchay’s whole body shakes with the force of his want—and the sheer surprise of Kim’s surrender.

And Kim? He just smiles into the kiss, tasting caramel and something sweeter.

This isn’t just about sex. It never really was. This is about trust . This is about letting go.

And Kim’s ready now.

Finally.

Porchay’s hands trail up and down Kim’s arms, then his sides, making Kim squirm slightly. His lips find Kim’s easily. 

Kim moans softly, his body arching up against Porchay's. He can feel Porchay's hardness pressing against his own, and it sends a jolt of desire straight to his core. He wants this. He wants Porchay. And he's ready to give himself over completely.

Porchay breaks the kiss, his lips trailing down Kim's jaw, then his neck. He nips gently at the sensitive skin, making Kim gasp. "Is this okay?" Porchay murmurs, his voice husky.

Kim nods, his breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," he manages to say, his hands fisting in the sheets.

Porchay smiles against Kim's skin, then continues his exploration, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He takes his time, savoring every moment, every gasp, every moan. He knows he's in control, and he's going to make the most of it.

Kim's body is on fire, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. He can feel Porchay's hands roaming over his body, his touch firm yet gentle. He knows Porchay is enjoying this, enjoying having control, and it turns him on even more.

Porchay finally makes his way back up to Kim's lips, his body pressing down on Kim's. He can feel Kim's heart pounding, and can see the desire in his eyes. "Are you ready for more?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

Kim nods, his eyes never leaving Porchay's. "Yes," he says, his voice filled with trust and desire.

Porchay smiles, then reaches for the lube in the nightstand drawer (Kim will have to ask when that got there). He pours a generous amount onto his fingers, then leans down to kiss Kim deeply. Kim's body relaxes under him, trusting and open. Porchay's fingers trail down Kim's side, over his hip, and then between his cheeks. Kim gasps at the cool touch, but he doesn't flinch away. Instead, he pushes back slightly, encouraging Porchay to continue.

Porchay takes his time, his fingers gentle and slow. He watches Kim's face, making sure he's comfortable and enjoying every moment. Kim's breath hitches as Porchay's finger breaches him, a soft moan escaping his lips. Porchay smiles, his own desire growing as he sees the effect he's having on Kim.

"More?" Porchay asks, his voice a soft whisper.

Kim nods, his eyes glazed with desire. "Yes, Chay, angel, please," he manages to say, his voice hoarse.

Porchay adds another finger, his movements slow and steady. He can feel Kim's body relaxing around him, can feel the trust and love between them growing stronger with every touch. Kim's moans fill the room, his body arching up against Porchay's.

When Kim is fully ready, Porchay withdraws his fingers and positions himself at Kim's entrance. He leans down, his forehead resting against Kim's. "I love you," he whispers, his voice filled with emotion.

Kim's eyes meet Porchay's, his love for him shining brightly. "I love you too, Chay," he replies, his voice soft and gentle.

Porchay smiles, then slowly pushes into Kim. He goes inch by inch, giving Kim time to adjust to the sensation. Kim's breath hitches, but he doesn't look away. Instead, he wraps his arms around Porchay, pulling him closer.

"You're doing great," Porchay murmurs, his voice soothing and reassuring.

Kim nods, his eyes filled with tears of happiness and love. "It feels... amazing," he manages to say, his voice choked with emotion.

Porchay smiles, then begins to move. His thrusts are slow and gentle, his body pressing down on Kim's. Kim's moans fill the room, his body arching up against Porchay's. They move in sync, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one.

The room is filled with the sound of their love, their breaths mingling, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Porchay can feel his orgasm building, can feel the pressure coiling in his stomach. He knows he's close, and he wants Kim to be with him.

"P’Kim," he gasps, his voice filled with desire. "I'm close."

Kim nods, his eyes meeting Porchay's. "Me too," he says, his voice filled with trust and love.

Porchay smiles, then increases his pace. His thrusts become faster, harder, his body pressing down on Kim's. Kim's moans fill the room, his body arching up against Porchay's. He can feel his own orgasm building, can feel the pressure coiling in his stomach.

And then, with a final thrust, they both come, their bodies convulsing, their breaths mingling. They collapse onto the bed, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating as one. They lie there for a moment, their bodies trembling, their breaths coming in short gasps.

Porchay gently withdraws from Kim, eliciting a soft sigh from his boyfriend. He rolls to the side, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at Kim, whose eyes are already fluttering closed. 

Porchay gets up from the bed, assuring Kim he’ll be right back, and heads for the bathroom and the kitchen. When he returns he begins to wipe down Kim’s body with a warm damp cloth, his touches gentle and soothing. Kim murmurs softly, a mix of pleasure and fatigue, but he doesn’t resist. Instead, he seems to melt into Porchay’s care, his body relaxing under the tender ministrations. 

“Shh, just relax,” Porchay whispers, voice soft as a lullaby. He cleans Kim thoroughly, making sure to be gentle around the most sensitive areas. Kim’s breaths grow deeper with each pass of the cloth.

Once Kim is clean, Porchay sets the cloth aside and reaches for the glass of water he had placed on the nightstand. “Here, drink this,” he says, voice firm but gentle. Kim’s eyes flicker open, and he obediently takes a few sips, his throat working to swallow the cool liquid.

Next, Porchay retrieves a small bar of chocolate that he had retrieved from the kitchen, breaking off a piece and offering it to Kim. Kim takes the chocolate, his fingers brushing against Porchay’s. He pops it into his mouth easily and eats.

Once he’s done, Kim’s eyes drift closed again, his body already surrendering to the pull of sleep. Porchay watches him, heart swelling with love. He knows Kim is tired, but he wants to ensure that he is taken care of. 

After a few more moments of watching Kim, Porchay decides it’s time for him to rest as well. He pulls the covers over them, ensuring they are warm and comfortable. He wraps his arms around Kim, pulling him close.

Porchay kisses the top of Kim's head, his heart filled with love and contentment. "Goodnight, P’Kim," he whispers, his voice soft and gentle. "I love you."