not enough, not enough
post-canon - kinnporsche / bathroom sex
rated E, 730 words
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----
āMore,ā Porsche gasps, the single word raw and weighted as it settles between them.Ā
Theyāre in a bathroom, tucked away at the back of the restaurant they decided to visit for dinner. Their night was only supposed to consist of a meal, maybe a few drinks, and dessert if they were feeling like something sweeter, but instead -Ā
The tip of Kinnās cock presses harder against Porscheās hole, making him scrunch his face up in pain. They have no condom, no lube, only his spit-slick hole and whatever was left on Kinn after he briefly sucked him off. He was desperate to feel Kinn inside him right now, regardless of anything else.Ā
Porsche didnāt care if it hurt because he knows how good itāll feel once Kinn is inside him, filling him up, fucking in and out, driving him harder and harder until all he can see is stars from the pleasure threatening to take over him.Ā
Even with those thoughts alone, Porsche moans, shuddering as he feels his cock jerk and weep with more precum. Heās so wet, his briefs ruined and caught somewhere around his knees after being shoved down, trapping his legs. His heart thunders in his chest, pulse racing, and he arches his back, whining when Kinnās cock only barely catches on his tight hole, sliding down his taint and leaving a damp trail behind.Ā
āPorsche, you need to calm down,ā Kinn pants, his hands like iron clamps on his hips, fingertips leaving deep bruises on his skin.Ā
āNeed you now,ā Porsche replies, dizzy. His words slur together, barely making sense to him as he speaks, the only thing he can remember to do is beg.
The air in the bathroom is so hot itās sweltering, sweat dripping down his temples and forming above his top lip, framing how swollen they are from the way Kinn shoved him against the wall not minutes before and kissed him like it was their last day on earth. He doesnāt want to think about when theyāre finished. How ruined heāll look, how heāll limp back to their table and carry on as if nothing happened, relishing in the phantom feeling of Kinnās hands and cum on his skin.
Theyād lost their suit jackets along the way, and the top buttons of their shirts, and then their belts and zips had been torn open, leaving them to palm at each other until Porsche dropped to his knees, not caring if the tiled floor was disgusting or not. All Porsche cared about was getting his mouth on Kinnās cock, licking him clean, tasting the musk and feeling the weight of it on his tongue, testing to see how much he could force into his mouth until he needed to pull back for air.Ā
Kinn has been training him so well recently, keeping Porscheās mouth on his cock for hours while he worked, letting him adjust and get used to the feeling of it until it was second nature to have it all the way in, the hinges of his jaw aching and sore, his mind floaty and caught in a dreamlike state.
Itād taken Kinn pulling at his hair once - gently - twice - harshly - and then a third time, hard enough to pull him straight off. It left Porscheās mouth gaping, drool spilling over, sliding down his chin and neck, whining and sobbing to go back to what he was doing. He wasnāt done yet, hadnāt properly felt his throat contract and tighten around Kinnās length, nowhere near long enough for Kinn to tell him how good he was doing, how perfect he was for him, but then he was being hauled him up again and bullied against the wall, shutting him up.Ā
āYou need to calm down,ā Kinn repeats, this time more firmly. The tone sends sparks skittering down Porscheās back, his eyelashes fluttering with the authority and dominance coating the words.Ā
He relents then, relaxing his posture, unclenching each muscle and letting himself go lax the best he can. All for Kinn, all so he can finally work his cock in, so he can fuck Porsche against the wall when theyāre supposed to be eating their dinner and talking business, so he can help satiate this never-ending need that burns between them.
When Kinn finally slides in, the friction of their skin dragging and blazing, scorching and addicting, he feels like heās finally whole again.Ā
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the gaze of the angels
guild hunter au - kinnporsche / archangel!kinn, hunter!porsche
rated G, 2.7k words
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based on a scene from the first book in the guild hunter series, angels' blood. for context, angel's create and handle vampires as they work under them. porsche as a hunter tracks any unruly vamp who has escaped and brings them back to their 'owners', in this case, the arch/angels.
----
āGive me one good reason I should be talking to you on my day off.ā
āWell, hello to you too, Porsche,ā Arm, the director of the Hunterās Guild, says, his voice no less sarcastic even through the phone line.
Porsche snorts, kicking off his boots into a heap by his front door. Heāll fix that later; right now, he has one thing on his mind: to relax.
āIām waiting,ā Porsche replies, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Heād never hang up on his best friend-cum-boss, but the temptation grows as he wanders into his apartment - his haven, his sanctuary - and feels in his gut that whatever Arm is about to tell him wonāt be anything good.
āWell,ā Arm begins and then goes so quiet Porsche has to check to make sure theyāre still connected. āYour holiday is being cut sh-"
āNo fucking way!ā Porsche cuts him off, coming to stand in the middle of his kitchen.
The marble top island is more cluttered than heād like it to be, but heās been nonstop working for the past 3 weeks on one of the hardest hunts of his life. A rogue vampire had gone insane, slaughtering more people than he could count on his fingers. Despite being a crazy lunatic, the bastard had been smart, and led Porsche on a wild chase until he finally caught up and sent him back to his angel owner for her to deal with. Heād barely had time to sleep, let alone clean.
āPorsche,ā Armās voice is hard - stoic and with no room to argue, taking the tone that the director of the Guild should have. This wasnāt a friendly chat - this was a business one through and through. āYouāve been requested.ā
Porsche scoffs, āThatās nice, but -ā
āBy an archangel.ā
Porsche feels his whole world go quiet. āItās not April Foolās Day, Arm,ā He says shakily.
āI know, and Iād never joke about this, butā¦ā Arm sighs, and itās a frustrated one. āWeāre between a rock and a hard place. I tried to deny his request and said youāre off duty for the foreseeable future, but he wouldnāt take no for an answer.ā
Fucking archangels, Porsche thought, the voice inside his head spiteful. Heād never be able to say it out loud without dire consequences, but in the privacy of his own brain, heāll curse them out as much as he wants. Theyāre selfish creatures, living in their high-rises to look down upon all mortals, ruling over the cities they claim as their own without a care in the world. As long as theyāre happy, nothing else matters.
āWhat does he want?ā
āThey wouldnāt say. His lackeys who called up were very secretive, even with me,ā Arm grumbles something under his breath with the same amount of disdain Porsche feels. The archangels are famously hard to work with. āIām really sorry, and I will do all I can to make this up to you - but you have to meet him tomorrow.ā
āWhich one?ā Porsche asks, mind going a hundred miles an hour. He went through all the ones he knew - the ones heād already worked for. Heās had to clean up more of their messes than he can count, but of course, they do nothing but deposit a grand sum of money in his bank account and go about their day without even a simple thanks.
āArchangel Anakinn.ā
The name cut off all of Porscheās internal ramblings. That name had fear instilled into it, each letter dripping with the promise of death if you defied him. The archangel of Bangkok wasnāt exactly known for his niceties; even Porsche, who had fought rogue vampires twisted with bloodlust beyond any form of rationality, who stood up against anyone or anything not caring about the consequences, starts to feel anxiety creeping in.
āFuck me,ā Porsche let out, leaning against the counter to keep him up. His knees felt weak. āLet me guess, Iāve gotta go on my own, too?ā
He could feel the wince through the phone as Arm answered, āYep.ā
Double fuck, Porsche curses. āPing me the time and location.ā
āPorsche -ā Arm began, but Porsche hung up before he could finish, not in the mood to talk anymore.
He glances around his apartment, at the warm woods and white accents, at the trinkets and paintings spread around that heād collected in his travels, and breathes in the scent of incense to try and ground himself. Thereās no use in avoiding the inevitable, so he looks outside his window at the hotel situated opposite his apartment building. It towers above him, each window lit with shadows of activity behind them. Itās a building that never sleeps, with all sorts of goings on happening in the secrecy only immortals had the pleasure of knowing.
Porscheās phone pinged with the details of his meeting for tomorrow.
Director Arm:
Tomorrow, Theerapanyakulās Hotel, 09:00 am sharp.
Memorising the information immediately, Porsche knows that if he takes a few steps forward, heāll be able to see the rooftop of the hotel - the Theerapanyakulās Hotel. It doesnāt have any railing or safety bordering it, as there would be no point. Itās a landing and takeoff point for angels, and they could fly, their giant wings sprawling outwards so wide that even to this day, Porsche finds himself pausing whatever he was doing to stop and watch. Heād spent countless hours since heād moved into this apartment spying on them, watching them come and go, equally fascinated as he was repulsed by their royalty in society.
Each angel had their own set of wings, and no two were the same. One pair had caught his attention the most out of all heād seen, and heād seen plenty at this point. Porsche recalls ones that were so wide that they had almost blocked out the entire sky, so dark in colour that it seemed as if a black hole had opened up in their place, if not for the red tips of the feathers that were visible even from so far away. Porsche has never met Archangel Anakinn - but he knows him. Heās seen him, watched him, studied him the best he could from afar as he admired each descent and take-off from flight, the beauty of his wings too tempting to look away from even for a second.
Porsche walks forward, eyes rising upwards until he can finally see the rooftop, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. To his dismay, the rooftop is empty, so instead he imagines what itāll be like when he is up there tomorrow, and if heād survive the meeting long enough to continue admiring the view of the angels he so frequently indulged in
-----
āAlright, alright! I get it, no need to push,ā Porsche says, wrenching his shoulder away from a heavy-handed vampire.Ā
The impudent thing just glares at him, his fangs poking out, just begging for the hunter to act up within the hotel. Everyone knows that you behave when in a general radius of an archangel, let alone when youāre in oneās territory. The vampire looks young, but the smell radiating off of him could only mean age - and Porsche doesnāt mean a few years, but hundreds. He looks overly serious, with his perfect ponytail and miserable atmosphere, which only makes Porsche want to prod at him even more to see if he can get a reaction out of him instead.
āGet in.ā The vampire orders, shoving Porsche into an open elevator.Ā
āDoes your boss not teach you any manners?ā Porsche mutters under his breath, nose scrunching up in distaste at the vampireās scent now clinging to him.Ā
Each one smells different, much like each angelās wings - itās part of their DNA, their defining feature. This one smells sour, his scent warped with internal rage and something sad, almost as if heās left it so long that itās gone off, twisted and rotten. Itās clear that he hates Porsche, so much so that itās leaking out of every pore.
āWhat did you say, guild hunter?ā The vampire snaps, eyes narrowed in malice.
āI said, did your boss not teach you any manners?ā Porsche repeats, enunciating each word clearly, not caring about the consequences.Ā
āWhy, you -ā The vampire begins through gritted teeth until the elevator doors open and let in a gust of wind so strong it threatens to knock him off balance.
Porsche blinks, his eyes drying out immediately as he takes in the scene before him. He hadnāt even noticed theyād made it to the top, caught up in the brewing fight. The vampire grabs his arm, dragging him out and practically throwing him forward. Porscheās senses are all going off, each one struggling to acclimate to a slew of incoming smells, sounds, and feelings.Ā
āKhun Kinn, heās arrived.ā
āThank you, Big. You may go,ā A voice replies, so smooth and luxurious that Porscheās stomach clenches.Ā
He watches as the vampire - or Big, he supposes - bows and takes his leave, looking like nothing more than a trained puppy in front of his master. Porsche holds back the urge to sneer, but he reigns it in.
Ā
Even though heās completely open out here, the wind is strong and loud, itās warmer than he expected, the sun shining directly into his eyes. He squints, trying to gather his bearings as he looks out across the expanse of the roof, focusing on a shadowy figure at the opposite end. Even without fully seeing him - Porsche knows who it is.Ā
Archangel Anakinn.
Thereās no doubt in his mind, no second guesses, as his mere aura alone is enough to suffice. The great span of his wings flutters, rising and blocking out the harsh glare of the sun, bringing everything back into focus. Porsche blinks, black spots dotting around his vision as he adjusts until he can finally see who he is truly facing.
His breath catches in his throat, eyes widening without his permission as he takes in the archangel. Anakinnās hair is perfectly styled, not a hair out of place except the purposely left-out strand that catches on his eyelashes, even with the harsh winds that are whipping Porscheās clothing and hair around relentlessly. Itās as if the earth has stopped moving, stopped existing, covering Anakinn in an eternal peace where heās untouchable. Porscheās eyes carry on moving, desperate and wanting to take the man in. They follow his masculine brow bone and down the gentle slope of his nose, cataloguing each mole and curve, straight angle and harsh cut of his jawline.Ā
Even hidden, Porsche can sense the sheer amount of strength hidden within his body. Itās not all physical, although he doesnāt doubt that he is just as strong in that sense as he is in any other, but the archangel naturally exudes such a vibe that Porsche feels dizzy. Anakinnās clothes are simple - a white shirt that stands out starkly against his black wings and is open enough to show off the cut of his pecs, along with a pair of tight slacks. He mustnāt feel the chill, either, as any sensible person would at least wear a jacket up here.
Ā
Porscheās eyes flicker back up to meet Anakinnās, and where they are a natural brown colour, thereās nothing normal about them. It isnāt just one shade, but hundreds, maybe even thousands, that meld and entwine amongst each other in his irises, glowing almost golden with how rich they are that Porsche fears if he looks for too long, he will lose himself forever amongst them.Ā
āDone looking, Hunter Porsche?ā
Porsche visibly jolts at the address, shuddering back into reality as he snaps out of whatever daze he is in.
āItās not often I find myself face-to-face with an archangel,ā Porsche retorts, willing the heat on his cheeks at being caught to fade away.
Anakinn smiles, barely a tilt of his lips, and yet Porsche feels heās being treated like a child. Itās humouring - demeaning - like the angel opposite him sees him as nothing more than a toy to entertain himself with. It wouldnāt surprise him if thatās exactly what was happening, but it pisses him off either way.Ā
āWeāre a private bunch,ā Anakinn replies simply, gesturing to the table to the side. Porsche follows his hand to the breakfast spread laid out for them. āShall we have something to eat, and then begin?ā
Porsche shrugs, too stiff to be casual, but it at least forces his muscles to loosen, āSure.ā
Anakinn waits until Porsche moves first, and even with his back turned, he can feel eyes following him with each step. Before he can drag a seat out for himself, Anakinn asks from right behind him:
āDid Big treat you well on your way up?ā
Porsche spins around, not having felt or heard anyone creep up on him. His heart is in his throat, his hand on the knife that was hidden in his jacket sleeve, the blade peaking out as heās ready to attack. Itās lucky he just about caught himself from stabbing the archangel, too on edge from nerves.
Anakinn glances down, catching sight of the knife, āI see you werenāt checked for weapons.ā
āI was,ā Porsche replies instantly, and even though itās delayed, he finally gets a waft of the archangelās scent. His mouth waters - itās not like anything heās smelled before. Itās sensual, sweet, and musky - cloying and addictive. āYour people just underestimated me.ā
āOh?ā Anakinnās eyebrow raises, and itās so unfairly attractive that Porsche feels a pulse of violence rise in him. āI assure you, no one in this building would dare do such a thing.ā
āYou donāt need to flatter me,ā Porsche says cuttingly, sliding the blade back into its rightful place. āI know you chose me for a reason, and Iām damn good at my job, whatever it may be.ā
Anakinn hums, eyes appraising as they trace over his face and down his body, and back up again. Each bit they cover leaves hot trails behind, burning his skin even through layers of clothes. āWhat if I wanted to flatter you?ā
Porscheās heart seizes, his throat clicking as he swallows. āJust add a couple thousand onto my pay check, and weād be good.ā
Anakinn steps closer, boxing Porsche in, pushing his lower back into the chair behind him. It digs in at an uncomfortable angle, precariously balanced on something that could move and leave him unmoored and unstable in his stance. Their chests are almost touching, and Anakinnās scent gets stronger, sweeter, and more enticing. Porsche can see Anakinnās wings out of his peripherals, and the feathers look even softer than he couldāve ever imagined. He wants to reach out and touch, but he doesnāt dare.
āOnly a couple thousand, hunter?ā Anakinn tilts his head to the side, deceptively innocent, āI think youāre worth more than that.ā
āYou havenāt even tried me yet,ā Porsche replies, and heās not sure what heās talking about - whether itās the hunt heās about to be debriefed on, or something else. Even worse, heās not sure which one heād rather be discussing.
āWe can change that,ā Anakinn says, voice low, words rich and honeyed, as his eyes drop to Porscheās lips.Ā
They linger, only for a moment, and then theyāre gone, along with Anakinnās presence. Porsche gasps in shock, turning back around to face the table, where the archangel is now sitting down, poised as if heās on a throne and not a garden chair.Ā
āSo, youāre not a cheap worker, hm?āĀ
Porsche drags his seat out, watching as the screeching sound of the metal against the concrete doesnāt make the man flinch. He flops down onto it, relishing in the plush softness of the cushion beneath him.Ā
Folding his arms over his chest, Porsche replies: āIāll rinse you dry, but Iām worth every penny.ā
Anakinnās eyes search him again, this time more intense, not even bothering to hide the roaring desire and attraction in them. āThen I suppose I look forward to working with you, Hunter Porsche.ā
Porsche smirks, shifting in his seat, leaning into the warm bubbling sensation caressing his skin at such a gaze directed at him, the base of his spine tingling with it. He canāt wait to see what Archangel Anakinn has in store for him.
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Trick or treat! šš
As a treat, here's a little ficlet of fox Porsche for Halloween or as I put it 'Kinn discovering that Porsche is afraid of ghosts'. I hope you like it!
Kinn looks out of the carās window and sees people are milling about, dressed in Halloween costumes.Ā
It had been a long day for him. He had gone from one, long wired meeting. He was exhausted. All he wanted was to get back to the compound. Maybe he even could take a nice long bath with Porsche. His boyfriend loved to prepare them for him after a long day.
However, when he enters his room, it is dark. Porsche is nowhere to be seen.
āPorsche?ā he calls out.
No one answers.
He takes the elevator to the gym, hoping he will find Porsche there, but it is also dark.
Suddenly his phone vibrates, and he sees he has a message from Tankhun.Ā Come to my room.
Perhaps his brother knows where Porsche is.
He knocks when he arrives, knowing today is Tankhunās spooky movie night and doesnāt like to be disturbed.
Pete opens the door and bows before letting Kinn pass.
āKhun, I hope you messaged me for a good reason. Porsche is missing,ā Kinn says to his brother.
āHeās not, we invited him to join movie night. He didnāt seem to like it very much.ā Tankhunās gaze stays fixed on the movie.
āThen where is he?ā Kinn looks around but doesnāt see Porsche anywhere.
Tankhun looks away from the movie on tv for just a few seconds to point at his pile of animal plushies. āHeās there,ā he just says.
Kinn walks to the pile of plushies in the corner and notices a barely visible fox head in the dim light of the television. He realizes itās Porsche in his fox form, surrounded by the plushies.
āPorsche?ā Kinn says softly.
At the mention of his name, the fox lets out a whine and moves, getting out of the pile. Kinn kneels and opens his arms to pick him up. He knows Porsche is seeking his comfort.
He stands and leaves to go to his own room, carrying fox Porsche in his arms, whispering āYouāre safe,ā in his ears.
Porsche, still in his fox form, soon falls asleep on the bed with Kinnās arms wrapped around him.
'Happy Halloween"
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