Porsche's Point of View:
Rap music boomed from the shaking house on the street full of laughing people dressed in dark and trendy clothes. Approaching the vibrating door, I stole a quick glance in the window to sweep my hair to the side. I sucked in a deep breath and grabbed the doorknob before I changed my mind and ran off the property. Swinging the door open, I was swallowed by the crowd of shouting students and booze.
I'd never been to a party that hadn't included wearing fancy suits and my father impressing every dignitary crossing our path. There wasn't a tie suffocating me as beads of sweat trickled underneath my collar. I chose the night's outfit based on social media photos surfaced, which recommended anything tight, black, and alluring. With the amount of effort it took to force myself into this pair of jeans, if someone didn't grab my ass at least once, I was going to be offended.
Squeezing through the hot crowd, I murmured, "Excuse me," and followed the moving line trailing to a large room decked with tables and red cups.
Many familiar faces surrounded me but none that I'd ever associated with. It was weird to see people looser than how they present themselves. Rather than turn-up noses and lifeless smiles, wide smiles and laxed mannerisms freed the confinement of the desperation to impress.
The only person I'd actually spoken to before was Techno, who was in the front center of the room running his hand down a tall, muscular guy's chest.
Crossing my arms, I found an abandoned table and plucked a red cup filled with a nameless, clear liquid. I smelled it, not knowing what the fuck to do. The scent was stronger than I thought it'd be, smacking my face and not enticing me to really sip it.
"First timer?" A girl asked, resting a hand on the table as she gulped her half empty cup. Long hair swished past her shoulders, framing a very low-cut dress.
Someone's looking for attention.
I glanced at her and experimentally sipped the beverage, cringing at the fire tingling my throat. My father's disappointment rang in the back of my head. "Losers run to alcohol. Winners run to the gym!"
Fuck you, dad.
I downed the rest and finished with a stinging cough, drinking whatever disapproval snuck into my head.
"Impressive," she complimented. She took a small sip, looking up at me with starry eyes.
"I've got quite the skillset," I said, wiping my chin. I grabbed another drink and smacked my lips together at the thought of tasting the sinful liquid.
"I know. I saw your matches. I couldn't take my eyes off you," she said. She twirled a strand of her hair and trailed her gaze from my head to toes.
"Why's that?" I asked. I peered past her shoulder, raising my eyebrows at the sight of a girl drinking from a guy's belly button. People are fucking weird.
She smiled coyly. "Well." She nudged my arm. "You look really good when you fight."
"It's all about posture. I've worked hard on my stance," I said, switching into my go-to fighting stance, legs shoulder width apart and hands perfectly positioned.
"Do you work hard on those arms, too?" She firmly gripped my bicep, feeling up my arm flexing muscle.
"Of course, I can't defeat an opponent with noodles." I shrugged her hand away, spilling some of my drink. I tipped another few awful swigs and cringed. "This tastes like ass."
She laughed. "Cheap booze isn't made for its flavor."
"What is it made for then?" Besides running away from your problems.
"Getting you to have some fun," she said, biting her lower lip.
"What's its success rate?" After the shit I went through today, a night to dick around was exactly what I needed. I didn't care what I'd have to clean up the next day. That was future Porsche's problem.
"Based on my experience, 100 percent," she said confidently.
"Sounds reliable."
"Very. Want to be part of the statistics?"
I looked down at my drink of undefined promises and shrugged.
I wonder what game she's inviting me to.
"Fuck it. Sure," I said.
She happily grabbed my wrist and lured me from the tables. My vision unfocused upon the movement. The once clear faces became blurry spheres. Staggering across the room, she took me to the cramped hallway.
"Porsche!" Kinn approached us like he just found the lost keys to his car. "There you are."
Kinn's sex appeal seemed to increase every time I saw him. He sported a loosely buttoned, sexy-black shirt and jeans that accentuated his long legs. My naughty gaze snuck a glance at the bit of nipple peeping from the crevice of his cotton fabric. His hair was slicked back in its usual fashion but with less product, allowing strands to give him this I-just-had-sex look.
"Kinn," she said, releasing my arm. The strange girl ran a finger up his thigh.
Does he know her?
Frowning, Kinn snatched her hand and flicked it away. "You're not my type," he said bluntly.
Despite his rejection, she wasn't giving up. She primed her lips and puffed her chest out. "What is your type? I can try to be her."
Kinn's gaze sailed to me. "Tan, stubborn, and hard-to-get." He smirked.
"I can be those things," she said, pressing her breasts against his arm.
"The only hard thing for you to get is a negative test for an STI," Kinn said coldly.
Harsh.
Gasping, she instinctively slapped him and stormed off.
"Wait! What about the fun you told me about?" I shouted, my voice muddled with the obnoxious music rapping about fucking bitches and doing drugs.
I scowled at Kinn. "You just have to ruin everything."
"I was doing you a favor. You don't want herpes." Kinn casually shrugged, indifferent to her explosion.
"Who said I was going to eat* her?" I asked, stomach curling at the idea.
(*Eat is a common expression in Thai to mean sex or have sex with*)
Tsking, Kinn shook his head.
Did Kinn really have to ruin everything in my life? No matter what I did, he was always there to fuck up my situation. Even when my life didn't involve him, he found a way to butt in. While I was his bodyguard, I was off duty tonight. Just looking at him brought back the sensation of my father's sharp slap.
Was a couple hours to myself too much to ask for?
I finished up my second cup. "Ugh. Empty," I complained.
Whirling around, I bumped into people as I made my way back to the buffet of liquid trouble. I was so wrapped up in getting a third drink that I hadn't noticed Kinn had followed me until he chose a cup in front of me.
Draining the red plastic, the taste became less terrible than I'd remembered. I was starting to understand why they didn't bother to make it taste good. I had to admit that the numbness of alcohol was addicting. It was a step up from sulking in my room while listening to angsty rock music or studying harder to prove to my father I was more than what he asked of me.
"When did you get here?" Kinn asked, his shoulder almost touching mine.
"What's it to you?" I imbibed more. I didn't know if it was possible to become more numb, but I wanted to try.
"Just curious." Kinn titled his head back. He gulped his drink within seconds, clear fluid streaming past his lips and down his neck, and finished with a satisfied exhale.
Is there anything he isn't better at?
"Judging by your flushed cheeks, I'm going to say that isn't your second cup," he said. He set his empty cup on the table and grabbed another one.
"Wow, you should be on a gameshow with those guessing skills," I retorted.
Was it that obvious?
Kinn chuckled. "I might be a good guesser, but my shitty luck would screw me over."
I scoffed. "Your luck is anything but shitty. You've got everything," I said, words beginning to slur.
"What does everything entail?" Kinn cocked an eyebrow and took a small sip.
"You're good-looking, charismatic, popular, and successful." I hiccuped and drank again. "Anyone who doesn't want to be you, wants you."
"You want to be me?"
"Never." I grimaced. My father might've wanted me to be him, but I definitely didn't want to be. Although, if I could choose, I'd be straight. The only thing I wanted was Kinn's heterosexuality.
"That means you want me," Kinn said, smiling with a cute sparkle in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes and narrowed my gaze at my cup, drinking it once more.
Kinn leaned in to me and set his hand on my waist, drawing my side against his. "Is this what you want?" he asked huskily in my ear.
I rested my shoulder against his warmth, shuttering at his breath tickling my neck. "I want another drink," I murmured.
"You haven't even finished the one in your hand," Kinn said, pressing his lips against the side of my head. I swore I heard him inhaling like he was smelling a new dessert before tasting it.
"Hey, Porsche!"
I turned to the direction of the voice and saw Techno waving in the corner of the room.
"Bohn said he can beat you in arm wrestling!" Techno yelled.
"Bullshit!"
I pushed past Kinn and hobbled through the parting sea of people leading to a table with Bohn smirking in his seat. Duen, his boyfriend, had an arm around his shoulder and a frown on his face.
As I settled across from him, I scooted my drink beside me. Bohn propped his arm.
"I haven't donated to charity this year yet," I said, positioning my arm.
"That's because you are the charity," Bohn said provokingly. Duen slapped his arm and shook his head.
Gritting my teeth, I snatched his hand and shuffled my elbow on the slippery table, ready to defeat this son of a bitch. People around us were cheering and raising their cups. Kinn observed from a few meters away and raised his drink at me upon our eyes meeting.
Swallowing thickly, I refocused my attention to my arrogant opponent, submitting my mood into the upbeat music drumming in my chest. I blocked out the noisy shouts of encouragement, turning them to incoherent ear-blurs.
Bohn's grip crushed my hand. We weren't going down without a fight. I mimicked his taunt but with more pressure than he'd exerted. Wincing, he titled in discomfort, hand squirming in mine.
Techno approached the table with his cameraman.
Is he the fucking paparazzi?
"Ready, gentlemen?" Techno asked, folding his hands together.
We nodded, not bothering to remove our glaring contest.
"Okay! Three, two, one, go!"
Immediately, I flexed my arm, straining my muscle as I weighted against Bohn's heavy limb. Like the battle of two mountains, we strained against the odds of gravity, levering arms in this surprisingly challenging duel. Had I not been drinking, I would've easily slammed my victory in a flash, but to his advantage, the alcohol had revoked control of my body. The only word I could use to describe this feeling was slushy.
I grunted as Bohn waned my hold parallel to the battlefield, closing the gap that'd grant him triumph. No, there wasn't a chance on Jupiter that I'd lose to Bohn, especially on video. I wasn't accepting permanent humiliation.
Rushing determination set in, encouraging me to oppose my odds and levy Bohn's arm back to our original location. His eyes darkened. That look of anger was exactly what I needed. Leaning in slightly, I drove his arm to the side and compressed the back of his hand to the pine-wood. It was a slow success but a success nonetheless.
"Yes!" I clutched my cup and rose it victoriously to the celebrating ceiling. Flooding voices returned to my ears, shouting, "Way to go Porsche!"
"No fair! I want a rematch," Bohn protested, pounding his fist against the table. Duen rubbed his arm, but Bohn paid him no mind.
"Sorry, I only donate once a year." I patted his face and left the table with my drink back in my hand.
A guy I didn't recognize slid an arm around my shoulder and yelled, "Somebody get this man a better drink!"
Fuck yes.
I hadn't realized the impact of winning anything at a party, but it had its instant perks. People began racing around to find available alcohol. The guy led me to the area of swaying hips and jumping girls, DJ playing with the melodies matching the tone of the night. A pretty girl passed a glass full of a clear substance. He sniffed it and smirked, passing it to me.
"Now you can drink like a Russian!" He laughed.
I accepted the drink and drained the cup, choking at the unexpected kick that couldn't be dulled by my intoxication. Crinkling the plastic in my hand, I tossed it aside and stomped my feet to the lyrics thumping the floor.
My mind felt like a weightless cloud floating amongst the sky. It took more effort to swish my body around, but fuck was it exhilarating. At this point, I couldn't tell if the pounding in my head was from my drinking or the blasting music. I didn't care.
Arms slithered around my neck, prompting me to glance down and see a girl in a short, black dress grinding on me. It was weird. Girls were bonier than Kinn and didn't offer his same appeal. I cupped her ass, getting a good fill in my hand. I was still indifferent.
She giggled and balanced on her toes, forcing our faces closer together. I tripped back as she pressed heavier against me, barely understanding the concept of balance by this point. Deciding to pursue the ultimate test of manhood, I leaned forward to kiss her.
Unfortunately, my plan quickly came to an end when I keeled over and vomited outside of the dancing bubble.
"Ew! What the hell?" the girl yelped, jumping from me.
I lazily wiped my mouth, groaning at the nausea replacing my fun. She shoved me abroad the group of dancers, abandoning me in the chaotic mix of drunkards and mistakes. Kinn swept to my side and wrapped his arm around my waist.
"Fuck off!" I pushed him aside, staggering away.
"Porsche, relax," Kinn said patiently.
"I'm dancing!" I twirled around and ended up crashing into him.
Kinn sighed, returning his arm to my hips and dragged me to an unoccupied bedroom. I didn't really protest because my gut's queasiness was coming back with a vengeance. Mercilessly, the forbidden substance thrashed around, agitating the walls of my stomach. My churning insides urged me to the attached bathroom Kinn navigated me to.
I plopped to my knees and clamily gripped the toilet, spewing the poisonous turmoil in the poor bowl. Struggling to hold up my head, I groaned as more burned my throat like gas to a flame and flooded from my quivering lips. Kinn crouched beside me and slid a gentle hand to my back, caressing it with comforting circles.
It was fucking pathetic. Of course, I'd throw up at my first party after a few drinks and some vodka. The only way I could've topped off my humiliation was by pissing myself and streaking* the neighborhood. Puking with an audience was bad enough but to have Kinn see it just made it that much worse. I was never going to hear the end of this.
(*Streaking is slang in English for running around naked.)
I sat up and turned to him. "Why are you-" I was cut mid-sentence to hurl back in that swampy container of my barf. I didn't dare to see what was in that toilet.
"Take it easy," Kinn said, still assuaging my back.
It was out of character for him to be this kind to me. I didn't want to accept his pity, but his hand was healing the sickness overtaking my body.
What felt like hours, but were likely minutes, passed, and the nauseating flip-flop inside turned into a raging headache. Kinn guided me to the edge of the bed and rubbed my back once more. "I'll be right back. Stay here."
As if I can fucking go anywhere.
I nodded slowly. He left the room, closing the door behind him.
Alright, Kinn was just nursing me. Now, he's gone. There's no way he isn't coming back with Techno and his crew. Fuck. I better get out of here before he comes back.
With wobbly arms, I braced myself from the mattress, using it for support as I stood up. The door swung open, revealing Kinn with a water bottle and small towel. It was just Kinn.
I sat back down. He handed me the bottle and said, "This'll help."
The cold drink soothed down my stinging throat and somehow jolted a bit of life back in me. Kinn sank next to me. Bottle half empty, I set it next to my thigh and aired a sigh of grievance.
Kinn crept the towel to my face, soaking up the leftover embarrassment. I yelped at the fuzzy cloth impacting the subtle mark my father had stamped hours ago. He briefly paused, then continued wiping with a more considerate approach.
I snagged the cloth from him and dropped it to the floor, too tired to hold anything. "I feel like ass. Why do people drink?" I bemoaned, massaging my head. It felt like my skull was closing in on itself.
"Wait until tomorrow," Kinn murmured.
Fuck. hangovers.
Kinn firmly gripped my shoulders.
"What're you doing?" I asked.
"Stay still. You're too tense."
I wanted to refuse him but surrendered when his thumbs drove into my tight muscles. Fuck, I couldn't tell him to stop while he was easing years of pent-up tension. He dipped his fingers deeply and in all the right places like he knew the places that'd give me the most pleasure. Slowly, he pressed into my joints, rhythmically evoking gratification. I let out a small moan as soon as he found my sorest spot and magically loosened it. Kinn pressed his nose to the back of my head, breathing heavily. Reclining into his touch, I closed my eyes as the uncomfortable churning in my stomach was exchanged for excited swirls.
"Why are you so good at everything?" I gasped.
"Practice," Kinn said, soft lips vibrating against my head.
"Who else have you massaged?" I didn't really want to know the answer, but I was hardly thinking by this point.
"A few fuck toys but only if they're hard to relax," Kinn said nonchalantly. I swore he kissed my head but was too dizzy to concretely say.
"Fuck toys?" I asked, unimpressed. "That's a demeaning term. You don't even refer to them as people. You call them objects."
"That's because I use them like objects. They only serve one purpose," he said bluntly.
I huffed and broke free of his entrancing hands. "My mom always told me you give every person you sleep with a bit of your soul." I bit my lip, glancing down at my lap. "You might see them as objects, but there is a person inside of that body you enter."
Kinn silenced, ruminating my criticism before saying, "That's oddly poetic of you."
I shrugged.
Who knew I was an introspective drunk?
"I didn't know you were a virgin," Kinn said as if this were some fantastical revelation. I shot a look at him to see that he was smirking.
"Who said I was a virgin?" I asked pointedly.
"You, just now. Only virgins have such flowery views on sex."
Kinn got to watch me throw up and call out my virginity all in one night. What next?
"Fuck off. I'm just more human than you."
He laughed. "That may be true."
I drank more water, cutting the conversation and focused on getting rid of this stupid fucking headache.
"So, you are then?" Kinn pressed on.
"I'm not a virgin. Quit asking me that!" I twisted the cap on the bottle and chucked it halfway up the bed.
Why do you care anyway?
Kinn cupped my chest, warm hands grazing my nipples, and thrusted me into the spongy mattress. My breath hitched as I was slammed and watched Kinn hover over me, gazing down at me with a fierce lust. Kinn lowered his face to mine, flickering his hot breath over my lips.
"Prove it." Kinn teased the taste of booze from his whisper. He draped over me like meat dangling in front of a lion, waiting for me to take a bite from that delectable, white flesh hinting an unimaginable flavor I'd yet to experience. His soft eyelashes fluttered as I reached up to brush a thin strand of hair hanging above his nose, tucking it behind his ear. Kinn's chest slowly hit my pecs, followed by a hard swallow that brought attention to his long neck.
What're you doing? This is Kinn!
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned my head away, pressing my cheeks into the silky sheets.
Kinn tossed himself next to me, flipping on his stomach and scoffed. "That's what I thought."
"I'm not gay," I said, opening my eyes to stare at the plain ceiling boxing us in.
"Because every straight guy throws up before he's about to kiss a girl," Kinn challenged, the pain of frustration in his tone.
"That was the alcohol." I sighed. The irony of me throwing up at the mere attempt to kiss a woman was plenty confirmation that I was gay. Even my drunken alter-ego couldn't be fooled.
"I wonder what else alcohol does to you," he mused.
That was a wonderment I didn't want to figure out. I'd explored my wild side enough to know that parties were only worth it if I could hold in my liquor and probably participated in illegal substances that I wasn't experimental enough to explore.
Sitting up, I grumbled at my throbbing brain and cracked the stiff bones in my neck. I stood up, wobbling as I did so. Kinn followed suit and slipped his arm around my waist for support.
"I can support myself," I assured him.
Kinn held me anyway.
"Where're you going?" he asked.
"I'm heading out. You should stay here and enjoy the party." I didn't want to be known as the party pooper amongst the other titles sure to be labeled.
"I'll come with you." He flung my arm over his shoulder, gripping my wrist to help me balance myself. "This party is pretty lame anyways."
I was too exhausted to argue, and I figured that tagging along with someone was better than roaming the streets drunk and alone. "Suit yourself."
Stumbling out of the party, we strode down the black streets covered by darkness and solace, away from the fading music. Kinn occasionally adjusted his hold but never let go, no matter my insistence that I was capable of walking. We passed dozens of shadowed cubes protected behind gates and bushes.
As I peered up ahead, four elongated figures marched towards us like a troop of soldiers readying to bring hell. I heard Kinn mutter, "Shit," under his breath.
He shuffled us to the side of the street and set me on the ground behind a parked car.
"Stay here. Don't leave this spot until I say so," Kinn said seriously, eyes now a look of fear behind that still face he tried to convey.
"Kinn?" I rested against the car and looked back to see the group quickening their pace. "What's going on?"
Clenched fists by his sides, Kinn's face wore an expression that struck an intimidating thump in my heart, brows furrowed and powerfully harshening his gaze. He stood taller, and though he kept a calm demeanor, the twitching of his lips sent a worrisome message.
Like a brave lamb to a pack of wolves, he approached the crew with incoherent grumblings.
"What the hell do you want?" Kinn thundered.