i'm the violence in the pouring rain chapter 2: you've got that medicine I need
Kinn is pushed around none too gently, a strong arm catching him, out of the way, half hugging Kinn and redirecting him away from a seriously drunk girl who seems close to possession or throwing up. Both perhaps.
“Whoa there buddy, the martinis aren’t that strong, you cannot go around without looking the way you’re going,” an irreverent voice admonishes.
Kinn is ready to say thanks, hand already up to pacify a trigger-happy Ken, when he catches the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Kinn can just blink at Porsche, at the tousled hair he’s been dreaming about, and swallow as he looks down at his long neck, broad shoulders, waist smaller in person than on screen, and his hand , fuck, the hand he jacks off with, with the long fingers and the bruises still blooming on his knuckles. Kinn swallows again, left helpless, witless, useless, just by looking at him.
Porsche cocks his head and smiles a little, his other arm cradling several empty champagne bottles. He pats Kinn on the pec.
“Oh, I think you’ve had your fill,” he mocks, impish, absolutely unaware of what Kinn is drunk on. “You have friends to bring you home?”
“I’m not drunk,” Kinn manages to get out over the music, somehow. God, his mouth is so dry.
Porsche looks at him with interest, blinking once, twice. “Do you want to be?” It’s like a dare, his smile turning devious. “I make mean cocktails.”
And all Kinn can do is nod.
on ao3
