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The afternoon sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the living room, casting long, honey-colored stripes across the hardwood floor. The air smelled of expensive roast coffee and the lingering, floral scent of lavender—a fragrance that had become synonymous with Kimhan’s presence. Kim lay draped across the sofa, his head resting heavily on Porchay’s thighs. He had surrendered to a rare state of total relaxation, his eyes closed, his breathing slow and rhythmic.
Porchay’s fingers moved with a gentle, hypnotic precision, combing through the dark strands of Kim’s hair. He traced the line of Kim’s scalp, occasionally tugging lightly at the ends. It was a quiet domesticity they had fought hard to earn. Six months of pleading, of stripped-back honesty, and a grueling process of forgiveness had led them here. Kim had promised a version of himself that didn't exist in the shadows.
no secrets, no strategic lies, just the raw, aching truth of his devotion.
Porchay brushed a few stray hairs away from Kim’s forehead.
"Phi’ " Porchay chirped, his voice light but carrying a flicker of hesitation.
Kim’s eyelids fluttered open. He looked up, seeing Porchay’s chin and the soft curve of his jaw from below. A small, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of Kim’s mouth. He shifted, sliding upward until he was lying flat on his back, still anchored by Porchay’s legs, his gaze now locked directly onto the younger man’s face.
"Mm?" Kim murmured. His voice was a low rasp, thick with the remnants of a nap. The warmth of the room and the touch of Porchay’s hand made him feel heavy, almost liquid.
"Umm." Porchay’s ears flared a bright, telltale crimson. His hand stopped its movement in Kim’s hair, his fingers curling slightly. "I think I want to try..."
He trailed off, his gaze dropping to Kim’s dark, searching eyes. The silence stretched, filling with a sudden, electric tension.
"Try what, Angel?" Kim asked. A spark of curiosity ignited in his chest, replacing the drowsiness. He sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a subtle change in the way Porchay was holding himself.
"I want... I want to try being the top."
Porchay offered a tentative, shy smile, though his eyes remained intense.
"Like... I want to fuck you."
Kim choked on his own breath, a sharp gasp escaping his throat. He stared at Porchay, his brain momentarily stalling. For the entirety of their relationship, the roles had been etched in stone. Kim was the experienced one, the strategist, the one who led the dance and dictated the pace. He had enjoyed the control, enjoyed the way Porchay would blush and follow his lead with wide-eyed wonder. The idea of the roles reversing was a sudden, violent jolt to his system.
"I mean! Only if you're okay with it," Porchay added quickly, his expression falling, his voice dipping in volume. "If not, it's fine. We can just keep doing things the way we were. I don't want to force—"
Kim bolted upright, sitting up so quickly he nearly knocked Porchay off the sofa. He stared at the younger man, his own cheeks flushing a deep heat. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze darting away and then snapping back.
"No! I mean... it's not that."
"It's not?" Porchay asked softly.
"I just... I love the idea of it," Kim admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "It's just that I've never... I've always been the one in charge."
He finally looked into Porchay’s eyes. He saw the love there, but more than that, he saw a budding confidence, a quiet strength that had grown since Porchay had stepped out of the shadow of his brother and the trauma of the family wars.
"I trust you," Kim whispered. "Of course I want to. It's just—"
Kim never finished the sentence.
Porchay leaned in, capturing his lips in a kiss that was entirely different from their usual exchanges. This wasn't a request; it was a claim. It was an exploring, dominating kiss that pushed Kim back into the cushions of the sofa. Kim let out a muffled moan, a sound of surprise and sudden, sharp longing, as Porchay pressed closer, his body pinning Kim down.
Porchay broke the kiss with a wet, heavy sound, pulling back just enough to breathe.
"Sorry" Porchay whispered, his voice now deeper, laced with a hunger that made Kim’s stomach flip. "You're just addictive."
Porchay didn't give him time to recover. He descended again, his mouth sliding down to the sensitive junction of Kim’s neck and shoulder. He bit down—not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark, a claim. Kim arched his back, his fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa. The sensation of being overpowered, of having the control stripped away, sent a surge of heat straight to his groin.
Porchay’s hands were no longer hesitant. He gripped the hem of Kim’s shirt and yanked it upward, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. He stared at Kim’s lean, toned chest, his eyes darkening. He leaned down, licking a stripe from Kim’s sternum up to his collarbone, the rough texture of his tongue sending shivers through Kim’s entire frame.
"Chay..." Kim gasped, his voice breaking.
Porchay ignored the plea, his hand sliding down to the button of Kim’s trousers. He flicked it open with a deft click and slid the zipper down. He didn't remove the clothes fully at first; he simply pushed the fabric aside to expose Kim’s hardening length. Porchay wrapped his fingers around the shaft, squeezing firmly.
"You're already so hard for me," Porchay whispered against his skin.
He leaned down, taking Kim’s cock into his mouth. The heat was instantaneous. Porchay sucked with a greedy intensity, his tongue swirling around the head, creating a wet, squelching sound that echoed in the quiet room. Kim’s hips jerked upward instinctively. He had spent so long being the one to provide pleasure; receiving it with such raw, unbridled appetite felt overwhelming. He felt the pre-cum leaking from his tip, lubricating Porchay’s lips.
While his mouth remained occupied, Porchay’s hand reached behind Kim, grabbing a bottle of lubricant they kept in the side drawer of the end table. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, the clear gel cool against Kim’s heated skin.
Porchay shifted, sliding his body between Kim’s legs and forcing them wide. He began to massage the entrance of Kim’s hole, circling the tight ring of muscle with his lubricated fingers. Kim let out a high, shaky whine, his head tossing from side to side on the sofa.
"Slow... please, just a bit slower," Kim whimpered, though his body was betraying him, his hips grinding instinctively against Porchay’s hand.
"I've got you, Pi," Porchay murmured, glancing up with a look of pure possession.
He pushed one finger inside. Kim gasped, his muscles clenching tightly around the intrusion. Porchay didn't push further immediately; he stayed there, letting Kim adjust to the feeling of being filled. He began to move his finger in a slow, rhythmic curve, searching for the spot that would make Kim break. When he found it, hitting the prostate with a firm press, Kim’s entire body shuddered. A loud, guttural moan ripped from his throat, and his toes curled.
"Right there," Porchay whispered, a smirk playing on his lips. "I like knowing exactly how to make you scream."
He added a second finger, then a third, stretching Kim open with a slow, methodical patience. The sounds of the encounter grew louder—the wet shlicking of fingers against slick flesh, the heavy, synchronized panting of two men lost in the heat of the moment. Kim was a mess of sensation, his skin flushed, sweat beading on his forehead.
Porchay finally pulled away to strip off his own clothes. When he stood before Kim, fully erect and pulsing, Kim felt a surge of genuine intimidation mixed with desire. Porchay had grown; he was broader now, his muscles more defined.
Porchay knelt between Kim’s legs, guiding the head of his cock to Kim’s opening. He paused, looking Kim in the eyes.
"Tell me you want it," Porchay commanded.
"Please," Kim sobbed, his voice barely a whisper. "Please, Chay. Fuck me. Now."
Porchay pushed in. He didn't do it all at once. He entered slowly, the friction of their skin creating a tight, searing heat. Kim’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he felt his body stretching to accommodate the girth. As Porchay pushed deeper, a wet, air-pushing sound escaped the orifice, a squelch of lubrication and pressure.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Porchay groaned, his muscles straining.
He bottomed out with a heavy thud of hips, burying himself deep inside Kim. Kim let out a strangled cry, his hands flying up to grip Porchay’s shoulders, his nails digging into the muscle. He felt completely full, the pressure hitting his prostate with every millimeter of progress.
Porchay stayed still for a moment, letting Kim’s body wrap around him. Then, he began to move.
The first few thrusts were shallow, testing the waters. The sound of their bodies colliding—the slap of skin on skin, the squelch of the lubricant—filled the room. As Porchay found his rhythm, the pace accelerated. He began to drive into Kim with a primal force, his hips slamming home with a rhythmic, visceral thud.
Kim was no longer the composed, calculating prince of the Main Family. He was a shivering, vocal wreck. He cried out with every thrust, his voice echoing through the house. He loved the way Porchay’s balls slapped against his perineum, the rhythmic impact sending sparks of pleasure through his nerves.
"You're mine," Porchay growled, leaning down to bite Kim’s shoulder again. "Everything about you is mine."
Kim couldn't even form words. He could only moan, his voice breaking into high-pitched whimpers. He felt Porchay’s cock rubbing against his inner walls, the friction building into an unbearable crescendo. The pleasure was too much; it was a tidal wave that threatened to drown him.
As Porchay’s thrusts became more frantic, his cock occasionally slipped out almost entirely due to the sheer vigor of his movements, only to plunge back in with a loud, wet smack. The sensation of the air hitting the sensitive opening for a split second before being filled again sent Kim into a frenzy.
"I'm... I'm going to—!" Kim screamed, his body locking up.
He came with a violent intensity, his seed spurting across his own stomach and Porchay’s chest in thick, white arcs. His internal muscles clamped down on Porchay’s shaft in rhythmic pulses, milking him.
The sensation pushed Porchay over the edge. He let out a low, guttural roar, his back arching as he delivered one final, deepest thrust. He shuddered violently, filling Kim with hot, thick loads of cum, the liquid pulsing deep inside him.
They collapsed together on the sofa, a tangle of sweaty limbs and labored breathing. The room was silent except for the sound of their hearts hammering against their ribs. Porchay remained inside him for a long time, his forehead resting against Kim’s.
"Was that... okay?" Porchay whispered, his voice returning to its softer tone.
Kim could only nod, his eyes glazed with pleasure, his body feeling like it had been disassembled and put back together.
***
For the next two weeks, a strange silence fell over their physical relationship. They still cuddled, they still kissed, and they still shared the quiet intimacy of their daily lives, but the bedroom remained a sanctuary of platonic affection.
Kim found himself avoiding the topic. Every time Porchay looked at him with that new, hungry glint in his eyes, Kim felt a spike of anxiety. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed it—quite the opposite. The experience had been the most intense pleasure of his life, a liberation from the burden of leadership and control. But that was exactly what terrified him.
He had spent his entire life building walls, calculating every move, and maintaining a facade of untouchable strength. To be completely vulnerable, to be the one who was taken and used for pleasure, felt like a surrender he wasn't sure he could sustain. The loss of control had been intoxicating, but in the aftermath, it left him feeling exposed, as if Porchay now held a key to a part of him that he hadn't even known existed.
Porchay noticed the distance. He didn't push, but the tension grew. He could see the way Kim’s gaze lingered on him, the way Kim’s breath would hitch when their skins brushed, yet the way he would subtly shift away whenever things became too heated.
Then came Kim’s week of vacation.
They spent the entire seven days sequestered in Kim’s private home, away from the eyes of the mafia and the flashing lights of the pop world.
as they sat in the kitchen on Monday night sharing a bottle of wine, the silence became unbearable.
"We need to talk about it," Porchay said, his voice firm but kind.
Kim stared into his glass, swirling the red liquid. "Talk about what?"
"The fact that you've been acting like a frightened kitten every time I touch you for the last fourteen days," Porchay replied.
Kim sighed, leaning his head back against the chair. "I was scared, Chay."
"Scared of what? Did I hurt you?" Porchay’s expression immediately shifted to concern.
"No," Kim said quickly, reaching out to touch Porchay’s hand. "No, you didn't. It was... it was too good. That's the problem."
Porchay blinked, confused. "Too good?"
"I've spent my whole life in control, Porchay. Every second of my day is a calculation. Even when I'm being 'Wi-Fi', it's a performance. But when you... when you took over... I didn't have to think. I didn't have to be the 'Main Family's' strategic weapon. I just had to feel. And it terrified me how much I loved not being in charge."
Porchay’s expression softened. He slid his chair closer, wrapping an arm around Kim’s waist.
"Phi, you don't have to be the strategist here. Not with me. I promise, I will stop the very second you tell me to. I’ll take care of you. You can give me the control, and I’ll hold it safely for you."
Kim looked at him, the sincerity in Porchay’s eyes breaking through his last remaining defense. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against Porchay’s.
"I want to try again," Kim whispered. "I just... I don't know if I can handle it."
"We'll go at your pace," Porchay promised.
But as soon as they moved to the bedroom, Kim discovered that his mind's promises meant nothing to his body. The moment Porchay’s hands touched his skin, the fear evaporated, replaced by a ravenous, desperate need. He found that he couldn't say no—not because Porchay forced him, but because his body had developed a craving for the submission.
The rest of the vacation became a blur of hedonism. Porchay, now eighteen and brimming with a youthful, unrestrained energy, seemed to discover a dormant streak of dominance that he leaned into with enthusiasm.
He didn't just stick to the bed. He claimed Kim on the kitchen counter, the cold granite a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies. He took him in the shower, the steam blurring their vision as the water sluiced over their interlocking forms, the sound of their moans echoing off the tiles. He pushed Kim down onto the living room rug, the rough fibers scratching against Kim’s skin as Porchay drove into him from behind, his hands gripping Kim’s hips with bruising force.
Kim was loud. He was incredibly, shamelessly loud. He screamed, he sobbed, he begged for more even as his muscles trembled with exhaustion. He felt the marks on his body—the hickeys on his neck, the faint bruises on his thighs—as badges of a strange, liberating defeat.
By Friday, however, the physical toll began to mount. Kim felt drained, his voice a mere shadow of its former self, his lower back aching with a dull, constant thrum. He felt as though he had been hollowed out, filled and emptied so many times that he felt translucent.
On Friday afternoon, while Porchay was out spending a few hours with his brother Porsche, Kim sat alone in the living room. He was staring at the wall, his mind racing.
"I have to stop," he whispered to the empty room. "I can't keep going like this."
He stood up and began to pace, his footsteps heavy. He loved it—he absolutely loved it—but the intensity was overwhelming. He felt a strange sense of vertigo, a feeling that he was losing himself in the pleasure. He was worried that he was becoming too dependent on this feeling, too reliant on Porchay to provide the only moment of peace he had in his life.
The sound of the front door opening snapped him out of his spiral.
"I'm home!" Porchay called out.
Kim stopped pacing, his heart leaping into his throat. He watched as Porchay walked into the room, looking fresh and energized, a stark contrast to Kim’s disheveled state.
"I missed you," Porchay said, a mischievous glint in his eye. He stepped closer, reaching out to pull Kim into a kiss.
Kim flinched, stepping back abruptly.
Porchay stopped, his arms hanging in the air. "Kim?"
Kim remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"What happened? Did I do something?" Porchay asked, his voice laced with genuine worry. He reached out to gently pat Kim’s shoulder.
"Chay... please," Kim whispered, his voice cracking. "Please don't touch me. I can't... I can't do it anymore."
Before Porchay could respond, Kim turned and bolted from the room, sprinting down the hallway and slamming the door to his music studio shut. The click of the lock echoed like a gunshot in the silence of the house.
Porchay stood in the living room, stunned. For a moment, the old insecurity flared the fear that he had pushed too far, that he had broken the fragile trust they had rebuilt. But he reminded himself that they had moved past the era of poor communication. They didn't hide things anymore.
He decided to give Kim space. He went to the bathroom, took a long, cold shower to clear his head, and dressed in comfortable clothes. He waited two hours, letting the silence settle, letting Kim process whatever storm was raging inside his head.
Finally, Porchay walked to the studio door and knocked softly.
"Kim? Darling ? Come on, love. Let's talk."
He heard the sound of the lock turning, a slow, hesitant click. The door opened a few inches. The studio was plunged in darkness, the only light coming from the standby LEDs of the recording equipment. Kim was standing there, his head bowed, his shoulders slumped.
Porchay stepped inside and closed the door behind him, sealing them in the dim, scent-filled room.
"Can we please turn on the light? I can't see you," Porchay asked gently.
After a few minutes of heavy silence, Kim nodded and reached for the switch. The room flooded with warm light, revealing Kim’s exhausted face. He looked small, stripped of his usual poise.
Porchay stepped forward, reaching out to tilt Kim’s chin up with a gentle finger.
"I don't know why you ran away, my love, but you can talk to me. I promise I won't be angry."
Kim’s ears turned a bright red at the endearment. He looked away, his lower lip trembling.
"You're so cute," Porchay whispered, leaning in to press a tiny, affectionate kiss to the tip of Kim’s nose.
Kim let out a shaky breath, his resolve crumbling.
"I... I'm scared, Chay," Kim began, his voice small. "I'm so scared that you're going to hate me."
Porchay frowned. "Hate you? Why on earth would I hate you?"
"Because I can't... I can't keep up with you!" Kim blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in a rush of anxiety. "I love it, I swear I do. I love everything you do to me. But it's too much. My body... it's just exhausted. I need to rest, I need to breathe for a second. And I just... I know you're younger, you're more energetic, you're so much more... vibrant. I was afraid that if I told you I couldn't do it anymore, you'd get bored. I thought you'd realize I'm not enough for you and you'd leave."
Porchay stared at him for a heartbeat, and then he burst out laughing. It wasn't a mocking laugh, but a warm, incredulous sound that filled the studio.
"You idiot," Porchay chuckled, pulling Kim into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist and squeezing. "You absolute, beautiful idiot."
Kim stiffened in surprise. "You're laughing?"
"Of course I'm laughing! Kim, do you really think I'm with you just for the sex? Yes, it's amazing, and yes, I love seeing you lose control, but I love *you*. I love the way you look when you're focused on your music, I love the way you smell like lavender and coffee, and I love that you trust me enough to let me see you this vulnerable."
Porchay pulled back just enough to look Kim in the eyes, his expression fierce and devoted.
"I will never, ever force you into anything. If you need a break for a day, a week, or a month, that's fine. I'm not going anywhere. I don't want you to hide things from me, not even the fact that you're tired. I love spoiling you, and part of spoiling you is knowing when you need to just be held without anything else happening."
Kim felt a weight lift off his chest, a pressure he hadn't even realized he was carrying. He leaned into Porchay, hiding his face in the crook of the younger man's neck.
"I really am an idiot," Kim whispered.
"Yeah, you are," Porchay agreed, kissing his temple. "But you're my idiot. Now, no more sex for the rest of the weekend. We're ordering the greasiest takeout we can find, and we're going to binge-watch that terrible show you like."
Kim chuckled, a genuine, light sound. "I thought you hated that show."
"I do," Porchay smiled, leading him out of the studio and back toward the warmth of their shared life. "But I love you more."