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Giving the final report of the night is one of Big’s favorite things about being Kinn’s head bodyguard; Big always feels a swell of pride at the way Kinn trusts him to keep him informed. There’s an intimacy to it — his reports are usually given alone, in the inner sanctum of Kinn’s sitting room or his bedroom, often after Kinn has undressed for bed. Very few people have this kind of access to him. Big has come to cherish these moments, the fleeting glimpses of Kinn’s private life, the stolen pleasure of time spent alone with him.
He cherishes the time, even as he’s aware that Kinn does not cherish it in return.
Tonight, Kinn is slouched on the couch in his sitting area, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the half-empty bottle on the low table in front of him. He’s wearing the silk pajama pants he often favors, deep crimson against his golden skin, the matching silk robe open over his bare chest. Big keeps his eyes up, away from Kinn’s massive pecs, his flat stomach. Respectful. Appropriate.
Kinn raises one thick eyebrow. “Well?” he says. His voice is smooth and dripping with condescension. Big mentally revises his estimate of how much Kinn has had to drink. It’s going to be one of those nights, then. Best to be in and out quickly.
He delivers his report as succinctly as he can: all is quiet in the house. Khun Korn and Khun Tankhun have both gone to bed already. The latest perimeter check found nothing of note.
Kinn listens with his head cocked to one side, regarding Big with an icy sneer. It’s his work face, the mask he wears to conduct mob business, but in the last year it’s become more and more his default expression. Before, Kinn might have engaged Big in conversation, asking his opinion on something or even just chatting, but he won’t do that now. The man Big had signed his life away to work for — the laughing, singing, almost dorkily enthusiastic man Kinn had been before — is gone. In his place is someone bitter, wounded, cruel.
Big had done that to him.
Kinn never talks about Tawan, to Big or to anyone else. No one in the main family does. Kinn had made a fool of himself — or been made a fool of, which is worse — and he had atoned for it by murdering his lover in cold blood, and that was that. Nothing more to say.
Big had gotten a raise and a rare clap on the shoulder from Boss Korn for uncovering Tawan’s treachery. Kinn had shaken Big’s hand with empty eyes and promoted him to head bodyguard on the spot. A fitting reward, and everything Big thought he’d wanted: recognition, prestige, a chance to show his devotion to the main family but especially to Kinn. He should have known better. He should have known Kinn better, but Kinn after Tawan is a different animal.
It had taken Big a while to understand how much Kinn had changed, especially since their dynamic is largely still the same: the ruthless mob boss and his devoted right hand. Kinn still relies on Big’s intelligence-gathering. He still trusts Big with his life. It’s only on nights like tonight — nights when Kinn has been drinking, nights that are a little too still and a little too silent in Kinn’s sparse, empty rooms — that Kinn looks at him like this. On nights like this Kinn watches him with those cold killer’s eyes and doesn’t bother to hide how much he wishes Big had kept his fucking mouth shut.
“Is that all?” Kinn says when Big is done speaking. He takes a long swig of whiskey, rolling it around in his mouth. Big concentrates very hard on not watching his throat when he swallows.
“The meeting with Fujiyama-san is tomorrow at ten,” Big says. “Ken and I will accompany you in the car; Arm will drive. Pete, Bank, and That will follow in the second car.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out,” Kinn says.
“If you’d prefer to change the arrangements, sir —”
“That won’t be necessary. After all, you always do what’s best for the family. Don’t you, Big?”
Big lowers his eyes, at a loss for what to say. The guilt and defensive pride war in him as they always do when he thinks of Tawan, of how much Kinn had lost when Big raised the alarm. He had been right. That doesn’t make the fallout any easier to take. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles.
Kinn raises his glass to Big in a mock toast, flashing a sardonic grin. He drains the rest of the whiskey and slams the glass down on the table.
It shatters.
Big’s eyes automatically dart to Kinn’s hands, assessing for damage. He reaches for the broken glass at the same time Kinn does, almost bumping heads with him in his haste, but Kinn gets there first. He picks up a jagged piece and Big cringes.
“Please, Khun Kinn,” Big says, kneeling next to the glittering heap of shards and reaching for the one in Kinn’s hand. “Let me.”
Kinn hands him the piece of glass and sits back, ceding the cleanup to Big. He doesn’t try to help again, but he doesn’t move, either; he lounges on the couch, silent, watching Big work.
The bigger pieces are easy enough to round up, but Big wants to be as thorough as possible looking for the smaller fragments, the sharp slivers that are so hard to find with one’s eyes and so easy to find with the soles of one’s feet. He’ll make a note for the staff to vacuum thoroughly in the morning, but he doesn’t want Kinn to cut himself in the meantime.
He’s so focused on the task that it takes him a minute to register their respective positions. The awareness creeps in gradually: the way he’s kneeling at Kinn’s feet, Kinn’s knees dropped open wide and careless on either side of him, Kinn’s eyes keen on his face. Kinn rarely looks at him at all anymore, let alone with such intensity. He’s almost unbearably close. Something about the way Big is kneeling there suddenly feels transgressive, almost inappropriate; a flush rises to Big’s cheeks, heating his ears. He keeps his eyes on the floor. He shouldn’t be thinking about that kind of thing.
Finally satisfied that he’s gotten all the shards he can, Big fetches a towel from the bathroom, gathers the pieces up in it, and throws them away, tossing the towel in the bathroom hamper. He’ll need to make a note for the cleaning staff about that, too. When he comes back, Kinn is standing up. He’s watching Big with that same intent expression.
Shoving aside the uneasy feeling creeping into his gut, Big comes to stand before him, shoulders back, eyes front. “Is there anything else you need before I go, sir?”
Kinn tilts his head and looks at Big, considering him. His intoxication is only evident around the edges: in his lax hands, his heavy eyelids, the looseness of his wide mouth. The bitterness has left his face, leaving behind a soft, contemplative look. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them. “Big,” he says.
Big’s palms start to sweat. He glances up into Kinn’s face, then away. It hurts to look at him, the way it hurts to look at the sun or a diamond or any other beautiful thing you can never have. Besides, if he met Kinn’s eyes, who knows what Kinn might see there?
Kinn reaches up slowly, the silver ring glinting on his finger, and pulls the elastic band out of Big’s ponytail. Big’s hair falls down around his ears. He can feel the flush returning to his cheeks. With that same considering look, Kinn begins combing his fingers through Big’s hair, arranging it to his liking, seemingly absorbed in his task.
Swallowing hard, Big submits to the impromptu grooming session. He resists the urge to lean into Kinn’s hand like a cat. This is the most that Kinn has ever touched him; it feels like the slightest movement on his part might break the spell.
“There,” Kinn finally says, with a last stroke of his fingers through Big’s hair. “I always wanted to see what it would look like, down.” It’s hard to tell if he’s talking to Big, or just thinking out loud. Almost absently, he brushes his knuckles down Big’s cheek.
“Khun Kinn?” Big asks, his voice sounding small and lost. Kinn can be mercurial when he drinks, but not like this, not usually.
Big’s voice stirs Kinn out of his reverie; his eyes refocus on Big’s face. Kinn smiles, sharp and predatory. His hand slides down to grip the back of Big’s neck.
This is it, Big thinks. He’s going to kill me. He closes his eyes against a sharp stab of fear, one that’s quickly overwhelmed by a wave of relief.
But the crush of Kinn’s fingers against his windpipe never comes. Instead, hand still gripping the back of Big’s neck, Kinn begins to back him across the room. He steers him toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city, that same fierce, hungry smile still on his face. Big stumbles as they move, but doesn’t push back — he lets Kinn walk him backwards until his back hits the cool glass.
Kinn cups his hand around the side of Big’s neck, tracing the line of Big’s jaw with his thumb, sending ripples of confused heat through Big’s body. He’s not looking at Big’s face. He’s watching his hand as it splays out against Big’s throat, his thumb digging into the flesh of Big’s cheek. He’s so close now, bare chest mere inches away, smelling of whiskey and expensive cologne. Big can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He looks at Kinn’s mouth, transfixed.
Kinn leans in to him. For a heart-stopping moment Big thinks Kinn might kiss him, but he doesn’t; he’s bending to whisper in Big’s ear. “I know your secret, Big.” His breath is hot. The hand that isn’t touching Big’s throat has found his waist, pressing him back against the window.
Big’s brain is shutting down from the conflicting signals of threat and desire. “Hm?” he manages to ask, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
Kinn laughs, dark, humorless. “You were jealous,” he hisses. He draws the tip of his nose up the edge of Big’s ear.
Big’s knees go weak. He braces his hands against the window behind him, heedless of the handprints he must be leaving. He swallows, abruptly, dizzyingly aroused, and tries to focus on Kinn’s words rather than the scent of his skin, the gentle caress of his breath against Big’s neck. “That, ah… that wasn’t why I… that wasn’t why.”
“Mm.” Kinn’s voice is soft and dangerous against his ear. “Maybe not. But you were.”
There’s nothing to say to that. Big isn’t stupid enough to lie to Kinn.
The hand gripping Big’s jaw tilts his head, baring his throat. Big’s eyes slide shut. He’s so hard he can feel his heart beating in his cock; if Kinn moves any closer he’ll be able to feel it —
Kinn licks a broad, wet stripe up the side of Big’s neck. A white flame of arousal climbs Big’s spine; he can’t help the soft moan that issues from his throat. The sound seems to snap whatever self-control Kinn has left — he shoves Big hard against the window and sinks his teeth deep into the soft flesh beneath Big’s jaw, pinning Big in place with his body as he takes his time sucking a bruise to the surface.
There’s no question of whether Kinn can feel Big’s erection now, jammed against his stomach as it is, but it doesn’t matter because Kinn is just as hard, pressing thick and heavy against Big’s hip. Big gasps over Kinn’s shoulder, drawing in rapid, shallow breaths that don’t seem to have enough oxygen in them, as Kinn licks the bite mark he’s left and bends lower to suck another beneath it. Hesitantly, Big’s hands come up to touch Kinn’s shoulders, furnace-hot skin beneath the thin silk of his robe, powerful muscle flexing under Big’s palms. He groans, clutching at him. Kinn.
With rough, clumsy hands, Kinn pulls the tails of Big’s shirt out from his waistband. He fumbles with the shirt’s top button, cursing, then impatiently yanks the rest of the shirt open. The violent sensation of the buttons popping hits Big with a sharp shock that’s almost like pain; he flinches at the sound of them rattling to the floor, the sudden cold of the air conditioning against his fevered skin.
The obstacle of Big’s shirt having been dispensed with, Kinn’s mouth begins traveling down Big’s chest, biting and sucking and licking in a way that’s nothing like being kissed and very much like being devoured. Big leans his head against the window glass, his heart racing, his skin aflame. Kinn closes his mouth around Big’s right nipple, making him gasp; he licks roughly over it, again and again, drawing it to a swollen peak in his mouth, then bites down. Big cries out, startled, his back arching. He instinctively tries to flinch away from the pain but Kinn holds him in place with a hand pressing his shoulder firmly back against the window, the other cupping and squeezing Big’s pectoral muscle.
Big stays pinned there, panting, whining softly in his throat as Kinn rolls his nipple between his teeth, as Kinn’s mouth bruises his chest, his collarbone. He never wants it to stop — he wants to burn here against the cool glass until he’s utterly consumed — but it hurts, and he has a brief mental flash of pushing Kinn’s hands away, of saying, Stop. Enough. Would Kinn release his grasp? Or shove him back up against the window? How hard would he have to fight, before Kinn let him go? The thought sends a queasy thrill shivering through him. He makes a helpless, pleading sound and finally dares to slide his hands down Kinn’s shoulders, beneath the edges of Kinn’s robe to touch the bare skin beneath.
The Theerapanyakul heir’s habits of leaving his shirts half-undone and walking around the house bare-chested under his bathrobe have been haunting Big’s dreams for years, but the reality is so much better than Big’s wildest fantasies. Kinn’s chest is firm and dense with muscle, his skin warm and almost impossibly smooth. Big slips one hand up to the back of Kinn’s head and pulls him closer; Kinn goes mmhh and presses his mouth to the side of Big’s neck, his tongue dragging silky-soft against Big’s skin.
Kinn’s hands are pulling at the waistband to Big’s trousers now, guiding his zipper open. He doesn’t bother pushing them down; he simply reaches through the slit in Big’s boxers and pulls out Big’s cock. This is actually happening. Kinn’s hand is on him; Kinn is rolling his cock against his palm as though testing the weight of it, and it feels so good Big briefly thinks he might die from it.
Kinn gives Big’s cock a couple of experimental strokes, then grips it firmly, just to the wrong side of too hard. Big gives a strangled yelp, clutching at him, and he can feel Kinn smile against the skin of his neck. Stroking and squeezing him with that same vicious grip, Kinn mouths his way back up to Big’s neck to his ear, sucking the earlobe between his teeth and dragging slowly off of it.
Big leans his cheek against Kinn’s, his hands full of Kinn’s spectacular chest, shockwaves of pleasure-pain rolling through him as Kinn’s hand keeps up its demanding pace. He feels unmoored, off-balance, dizzy; he tries to ground himself in the press of Kinn’s skin against his, in the warm scent of him. He kisses Kinn’s shoulder, his jaw; trying not to crumble under the weight of his own longing, Big lifts his face to seek Kinn’s mouth with his for the first time.
Before Big can kiss him, Kinn grabs him by the hair with his free hand and yanks his head back. He gives Big a little shake like a naughty kitten, one black eyebrow sternly raised.
No kissing, then, Big thinks. That’s okay (It’s not — all of this is light years away from okay — but he’s not letting himself think about that right now). This is all of Kinn he’s likely to get, and far more than he’d ever thought possible, and he’ll take it.
Kinn keeps his hand fisted in Big’s hair. He continues stroking Big’s cock with ruthless precision, driving his thumb into the slit in a way that makes Big hiss. He stares into Big’s face, his luscious mouth twisted into a leer, his eyes burning like coals. Big shudders, flayed bare beneath Kinn’s eyes. He tries to bite back the guttural sounds falling from his lips, but Kinn jerks his hair again, making him yell in surprise and pain. Kinn makes a low, satisfied sound and grinds his hard cock against Big’s hip, and Big gives himself over to it completely.
He lets his eyes roll shut, gratefully withdrawing from the sight of Kinn observing him with that almost clinical detachment, and falls apart. He moans and whines and whimpers, breathing hard against the mouth that never quite touches his, hips thrusting his cock eagerly into the unyielding grip of Kinn’s hand. The nerve-throbbing sensation of it builds along with the pressure in his groin until he’s thrashing, shouting. When he finally comes all over Kinn’s hand and his own stomach it’s like being electrocuted: his toes curl in his shoes, his back arches and seizes up, his hands convulse and drag long fingernail scratches down Kinn’s chest.
Kinn’s hand slows and stops. He’s still pressing Big up against the window, his cock digging into Big’s hip. When he can manage it, Big opens his eyes and looks up at him, his heaving breath burning in his lungs. Kinn doesn’t meet his gaze — he looks away, down at his cum-slicked hand. He rubs Big’s cum between his thumb and forefinger with a sneer of distaste.
“You do make a mess, don’t you?” Kinn asks. He wipes his hand crudely on the front of Big’s shirt.
Big’s legs are shaking. His whole body is shaking. Kinn lets go of his hair, and Big feels his knees buckle. He leans against the window, letting it guide him slowly down to kneel in front of Kinn. He recalls his self-consciousness when he’d found himself in a similar posture earlier. He can’t remember why he felt that way. It feels entirely right and fitting to be sinking to his knees at Kinn’s feet.
Kinn looms above him, the shape of his cock lovingly outlined by his silk pajamas. Big’s mouth waters. He has no idea what he’s allowed to want here, but Kinn doesn’t seem done with him yet. He reaches up with unsteady hands. Perhaps taking pity on him, Kinn pulls out his cock. It’s thick — Big notes with a pathetic twinge of arousal that it’s bigger than his, which is as it should be — and dark with blood, shining with precum at the tip. Big can smell it, smell him.
Gently Kinn pushes the hair back from Big’s forehead, like a benediction. His other hand is stroking himself in a desultory manner, right in front of Big’s face. He keeps his hand on Big’s head, not gripping him by the hair like he had before but holding him in place nonetheless, keeping him from leaning in.
“Have you done this before?” Kinn asks.
Big shakes his head, eyes on the purple head of Kinn’s cock. Perhaps he should have said something earlier, although he’s not sure when he would have done so. When the man you’re desperately in love with shoves you against the window and gives you a handjob in which your participation seems neither required nor welcome, it’s hard to find the right time to tell him you’ve never been with a man before.
“All for me, then?”
Big nods, licking his lips. “Yes.”
Kinn slides his hand down to grip the base of his cock. He taps the head against Big’s lips and Big kisses it, sweetly, fervently, tasting the salt-bitter liquid at the tip. A tremor runs through his body.
“What else would you do for me?” Kinn’s voice is thick and husky.
“Anything,” Big breathes, kissing Kinn’s cock again, trying to put all the love in his wretched heart into the act. “Anything.”
Kinn presses his cock between Big’s lips and slides the first few inches of it into Big’s mouth, hot and heavy against Big’s tongue. Big moans around it, trying to show his enthusiasm, but lets Kinn keep holding him in place.
“You’d kill for me,” Kinn says. There’s no need to answer, even if Big could do so right now — Big has already killed for him, killed and maimed and tortured for him, and would gamely do so again.
Kinn sighs, drawing his cock back out, keeping his hand firm on Big’s head so Big can’t follow. “You’d die for me.”
“Yes,” Big says. Daringly, he sticks out his tongue and licks the head of Kinn’s cock like an ice cream cone. Kinn hums deep in his throat. He pets Big’s hair.
“You ruined my life, Big.”
“I know,” Big whispers, tears abruptly stinging the back of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Show me,” Kinn says, releasing Big’s hair and stepping into him.
With a grateful sob, Big takes Kinn’s cock into his mouth until his lips meet Kinn’s fingers. He brings a hand up and Kinn lets go, allowing Big to wrap his hand around the base.
Big sucks him down for long, heady minutes, lost in it. Kinn’s skin is delicate and velvet-soft over his rigid cock. The hair at the base is thick with Kinn’s scent, the concentrated musk of his body.
Kinn strokes Big’s hair, combing his fingers through it, breathing hard. The sensation fills Big with a dazed elation, like being drugged. He listens for the sounds of Kinn’s pleasure, a startled gasp, a stifled groan, chasing them with his lips and tongue. He brings his free hand to rest on Kinn’s hip, tracing the point of Kinn’s hipbone, the line of muscle slanting down from it, smoothing his palm up over Kinn’s washboard stomach.
Gradually he’s able to take Kinn deeper and deeper into his mouth, until Kinn’s cock is hitting the back of his throat. Big’s eyes water and his throat constricts, but Kinn breathes, “Ohhhhh fuck, that’s it, that’s good,” so Big does it again, fighting his gag reflex, his eyes and nose and mouth filled with Kinn’s skin. Kinn groans, a sound that Big will hear in his dreams for the rest of his life. Perhaps involuntarily, Kinn’s hips begin to move in counterpoint to Big’s mouth, until he’s fucking shalllowly into Big’s throat.
Big closes his eyes and concentrates on opening his throat as Kinn’s breathing gets harsher and more irregular, as his thighs begin to tense and shake, until Kinn slaps a hand hard against the window glass, the sound reverberating through the cavernous room. He curses and grunts and pulls back slightly to come against Big’s tongue, the spurts of hot, bitter liquid filling his mouth faster than Big would have thought they would. Big chokes and almost gags but manages to swallow, the seawater taste of it burning and lingering in the back of his throat. He keeps sucking at him until he’s sure Kinn is done, not wanting to make more of a mess than he already did.
For a long moment the room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. They stay there like that, drifting together, Kinn’s hand softly stroking Big’s hair, Big mindlessly mouthing and kissing at the damp head of Kinn’s softening cock.
Eventually, Big looks up at him — but Kinn’s not looking back. He’s staring out the window at the view, or possibly at his own reflection. Kinn sighs heavily. He gives Big’s head a couple of awkward pats and turns away, tucking himself back into his pajama pants as he goes. He walks back to the bar, pulling out a new glass to replace the one he’d broken, adding a few ice cubes. He doesn’t look back at Big at all.
Big comes back to himself in waves. He realizes how he must look: still on his knees, his hair hanging loose and disheveled to his chin, his mouth wet and swollen. His ruined shirt is hanging open, sticky with his drying cum, with no way to close it over the vivid marks still darkening on his chest. He can’t stay here on the floor — he has to stand up. He braces his hands on his knees and leans against the window to push himself to his feet, wincing as the blood runs back down into them and the feeling returns. He zips his fly and runs a shaky hand through his hair.
Kinn is pouring a drink with his back turned, for all the world as if he’s already forgotten Big is there. Big feels his last small hope dying, one he hadn’t known he still had. He considers simply slinking out of the room without saying anything — surely total silence would be better than whatever Kinn might have to say to him — but he can’t leave Kinn’s presence without being dismissed.
With heavy, reluctant steps, Big approaches the table where Kinn is standing. To his surprise, he sees that Kinn has poured two glasses of whiskey. He holds one out to Big, wordless, not meeting his eyes.
Big accepts the glass and stares down into it, swirling the ice cubes around. A part of him wants to decline the drink, to go back to his room and fall asleep with the taste of Kinn’s cum still clinging to the back of his throat — but that would be weird. He shouldn’t make this more awkward than it already is.
He takes a small sip. The liquor burns when he swallows it. He risks a glance up at Kinn; Kinn is staring into the middle distance, apparently lost in thought.
When the silence gets too enormous to bear, Big clears his throat, wincing at how raw it feels. “Will there be anything else, sir?” His voice is hoarse and raspy.
“No,” Kinn says, quiet, barely above a whisper. He’s still not looking at Big. “No, you can go.”
Big pulls his shirt closed as best he can; if his wai is more stiff and formal this evening than it usually is, Kinn doesn’t remark on it. He’s frowning down at his glass of whiskey when Big leaves. The house is dark and quiet as Big makes his way back to his room; mercifully, he encounters no one.
Ken is playing video games on the couch when he walks in. He takes in Big’s debauched state with a raised eyebrow. “What happened, did you get attacked by wolves?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Big says, smacking the side of his head on his way to the bathroom, and to Ken’s credit, he does. Ken’s total inability to discuss anything even remotely connected to feelings or problems makes him very discreet and relaxing to have as a roommate.
Big doesn’t brush the taste of Kinn off of his teeth or wash the scent of him off his skin. He splashes some cold water on his face, avoiding his own eyes in the mirror, and goes to bed.
He lies awake in the dark, feeling oddly removed from his own body. His nipples ache. His cock is sore and tender. This is what I wanted, he tells himself, which is true — to be with Kinn in any capacity, to touch him and be held by him, to feel Kinn’s skin against his, is the realization of Big’s fondest hopes. It’s more than he’d ever dreamed he would get.
It was good, he tries next. I liked it. This is also true. He’s never come so hard in his life. He’s never sunk into dreamy euphoria the way he did when Kinn slipped his cock past his lips.
I love him. I’ll take whatever he wants to give me. It’s more than I deserve. He doesn’t know he’s crying until the tears start running down into his ears.
~
The next morning, Big buttons his collar up to the very top and cinches the knot of his tie as high as he can against it, until he feels like he’s choking. It’s still not quite high enough to cover the mottled imprint of Kinn’s teeth at the corner of his jaw. Scowling at his reflection, Big wishes his hair was just slightly longer — as it is, the shadow of it ends before the bruise begins. Well, if Kinn didn’t want him to go to a meeting with the yakuza with an enormous hickey, he shouldn’t have given him one.
He eats his breakfast in stony silence, glaring down anyone who seems like they might want to talk to him. Ken shovels down food, unbothered as usual, and everyone else gives him a wide berth.
As Big is finishing his meal, Arm walks up and sets something down next to his plate with a faint click. It’s a small makeup palette, a square of orange and a square of pale brown. It says “Dark Circle Eraser” in glittery purple script across the front. Big stares up at Arm, nonplussed.
“Use the orange first, then the concealer on top,” Arm says quietly, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Keep it if you want, Khun Nu will not stop buying me makeup.” He gives Big a tiny, closed-lipped smile and walks away before Big can formulate a response.
The makeup actually helps — the mark is definitely still there, but it’s less obvious. Chan doesn’t remark on it in their morning briefing, which is at least something. All he says to Big is that Khun Kinn wants to see him before they leave this morning. Big ignores the way his gut twists at the instruction. He’s Kinn’s head bodyguard, of course Kinn wants to meet with him. Business as usual.
He finds Kinn at the long table in the family’s private dining room, the paperwork for their various joint ventures with the Japanese spread out around him. He’s wearing a gray suit over a crisp white shirt, with only the topmost button undone. A relatively conservative look, for him. Big forces his eyes away from the bared triangle of skin at the top of Kinn’s shirt, thinking of the marks of his own fingernails that lie just beneath it.
“Big,” Kinn says. His expression is mild, but he can’t quite meet Big’s eyes. “Have you been briefed on today’s meeting?”
He gestures to the chair next to him. Big doesn’t hesitate at all, sitting down as smoothly as he would at any other meeting. Kinn doesn’t smell like whiskey or cologne this morning, just coffee and shampoo and the slightest trace of his skin underneath. Big’s mouth and nose fill with the scent of him nonetheless.
He takes refuge in the familiar rhythms of their working relationship, and the next few minutes pass with relative ease. Big walks Kinn through the layout of the meeting location, the possible entry and exit points, the places where a sniper might be placed (which Big already has a team checking out in advance of Kinn’s arrival). They discuss who of Fujiyama-san’s people is likely to attend, their known weapons preferences and fighting styles, where Kinn’s bodyguards should be placed around the room and how that might change based on who else is in attendance.
Sometimes Big gets so tangled up in how he earned his promotion that he forgets that he earned it at all — but he’s good at this. He’s good at his job. And whatever else Kinn may think about him, Kinn knows that.
Kinn listens attentively, but he keeps darting glances at Big. He‘s twisting his ring around and around his finger, a nervous habit that Big knows Kinn has spent a great deal of time and effort trying to break. Big can’t help but let some of that nervous energy take up residence in his own body — he’s supposed to be attuned to Kinn’s moods, that’s part of what makes him effective in his role. By the time they’re done with their discussion, Big is ready to jump out of his skin.
As soon as the briefing is over, Big stands up out of his chair like a shot. “If there’s nothing else, sir, I should —”
“Big,” Kinn says, rising to his feet more slowly. “About last night.”
Big’s stomach sinks. “We don’t need to discuss it,” he says hastily, with a small miserable wish that the floor would swallow him up on the spot.
“No,” Kinn says. He finally looks Big in the eye. His brows are drawn upward; there are tight lines of concern around his eyes, which are clear and warm and sad. He looks more like the old Kinn than he has in weeks. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was… inappropriate. And…” he sighs. “Unfair to you.”
“Please don’t worry about it, Khun Kinn. I —” Liked it. Wanted it. Didn’t mind it. Would do it again, if you wanted to. Would do anything for you. “It’s fine, really.”
“I was drunk, and I —” Kinn scrubs a hand across his face. “And that’s no excuse.” He squares his shoulders. “You’re a good man. A good bodyguard. You’ve been incredibly loyal to the family. To me. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” His words have the cadence of a prepared speech.
Then what do I deserve, Khun Kinn? But Big can’t say that out loud. He swallows the lump that has risen up in his throat and gives a tight nod of acknowledgement, not trusting his voice.
“I’m sorry, Big.” Kinn puts a hand on his shoulder, and Big can’t help the shiver that runs through him. He sees Kinn notice it and frown. “I promise you, this won’t affect your job here. Nothing like this will ever happen again. You have my word.”
Big already knows that it won’t happen again. It can’t. It shouldn’t feel like this, hearing it out loud. “Yes, sir.”
Kinn’s hand is still on his shoulder. His eyes are on Big’s face, full of guilt and concern, completely empty of affection or desire. “Are you all right?”
Big straightens his spine and clears his throat. “Of course, Khun Kinn. If there’s nothing else, I should get the car ready.”
“No, there’s nothing else. I’m glad we discussed this,” Kinn says, dropping his hand, visibly relieved. “I’ll see you at nine-thirty with the car.”
Big gives him a wai and leaves. He goes downstairs and drinks a glass of water and stares at the wall for a couple of minutes. He checks his gun and rounds up the team. He does his job.
And Kinn is right.
It never happens again.