#rebellwrites

And boy is he not starved for opportunity.

He logically knows he's surrounded by good looking men. On top of the fact that they're kpop idols who are primped, prodded and waxed to the kdrama ideal, their little 8 some includes hyunjin, who’s pretty enough on his worst days to have the straightest of straight men question their beliefs and Chan-hyung’s allergy to all fabric inside his home means they spend a lot of time reminding each other that if they stare at him.in.public the way they do at home the questions about their sexuality will go from questions to answers just like that.

But he'd gotten used to all of that well before the first camera started rolling on their survival show, at least that's what he'd told himself about why he initially couldn't stop staring slack-jawed at their newest recruit.

That Minho had been smart and funny and so fucking weird had only made the stupid crush Jisung developed that much worse and not a day goes by without him hoping against hope that all recordings of those first days, when all he could do was follow Minho around like a love sick puppy, will spontaneously combust. That Lino didn't notice his obvious heart eyes probably says more about how much stress he was under than Jisung’s ability to hide anything, but still.

There was a time and a place. And Jisung has been very, very certain that both those things were firmly in the past.

“Why are you up this early? You're never up- Han Jisung! Are you still up from last night?!” Minho's morning brain has clearly caught up which means Jisung needs to get his eyes in order.

He pulls his attention away from that exposed strip of skin and gives Minho his best shit eating grin, half chewed cereal and all. It's worth it for the look of absolute disgust Minho gives him. That'll distract him from wondering where Jisung's eyes were.

“Aish! It's like you were raised by barn animals,”

Jisung shrugs, slurping the last of the milk from his bowl.

“We do call Channie-hyung kangaroo,” he replies through his full mouth.

Minho rolls his eyes. “Don't blame Chan-hyung for raising you. He'd have done a much better job,” Minho grumbles, turning back to where he had started the involved process of making himself a cup of tea.

Jisung finds himself captured again, staring at the broad planes of Minho's back and the precise motions of his hands as they set the kettle to boil and gather up his fancy loose-leaf tea. He's seen those hands gentle enough to comfort Felix on the days his back pain gets the best of him, yet strong enough to manhandle Chan into bed when his stubbornness wins out. He's seen them in plaster, broken from an awkward fall, and covered in jewels, gracefully slicing through the air. But he hasn't been this distracted by them since he was 19 years old. Certainly hasn't wanted them in him this badly since then.

The thought accosts him out of nowhere, and suddenly he can't ignore that that's what the looking and staring means:

"But that is a problem many seem to have with you, isn't it?" Korn asks. Porsche's eyebrows go up, his face asking the question that he refuses to speak.

Korn shrugs. "I heard you dealt with the issue with the Chanthara's very well. Very creatively even."

Porsche feels his jaw clench and fights to keep the glare off his face. "I did what was asked of me,"

"Nonsense. Your insight into the matter was unparalleled. The solution you came to was… unique."

Korn glances up at him, like he's taking stock of whether his praises are landing. Porsche paints a smile on his face and hopes the expression doesn't seem too forced. He's never been the best at hiding his thoughts, a problem that is rearing its head more and more often these days. He's working on it.

"Creativity serves you well in our line of business. It's something to be nurtured. I don't think Kinn or Vegas could have done what you did."

"Well it helps to have been that poor and desperate. It makes you familiar with what it feels like to break." Porsche replies. His tone must miss the full deference that Korn prefers as he gets a sharp look for his trouble. The look coils a dark pleasure deep inside him. Korn likes to pretend he is the benevolent benefactor in Porsche's life. Like he isn't the main reason for Porsche's suffering. Porsche isn't so forgetful.

"Still, good work deserves a reward. There are certain profitable but troublesome clients that may benefit from your deft hand." Korn replies and Porsche feels his breath freeze in him, that 6th sense that is supremely helpful when he's in a fight tickles down the back of his neck. It feels like prey realizing they've been scented by a predator. Any client Korn would describe as troublesome would be above the minor family. They would be Kinn's to deal with.

"With all due respect, Khun Korn, I think Kinn has a handle on his side of the business. He has after all been doing this much longer than I have." Porsche says carefully.

Korn hums, eyes examining the chess board in front of him. His game has been progressing without Porsche paying attention. A black bishop takes a white knight. There is a small collection of black pieces at the side of the game. White is clearly winning.

"There is no shame in needing help. Do you think Kinn would mind? Why should he, he has been helping you a lot over the last few weeks, has he not?" Korn replies quietly, attention remaining focussed on his board.

Porsche flicks his eyes between Korn and the board, trying to read something from his placid expression. Kinn values his standing in the eyes of this useless spider, he would hate to have Porsche instructed to help him against his will. He's a proud creature and if Porsche knows that, Korn definitely does, so this is either a test for Porsche or an intentional dig at Kinn.

Porsche isn't sure he cares about passing Korn's tests and won't stand for the latter. His response is easy.

"Kinn is nothing if not a problem solver. If he sees utility in any skill of mine all he has to do is ask and it's at his disposal. He knows that already. If he needs me, he has me."

Korn's eyes flash, apparently that wasn't the response he was expecting. He eyes Porsche up and down, expression cooling. It's like he's revised Porsche's IQ up a couple points.

"And that pleases you? Being leashed and collared like that. Existing at his beck and call?" There is derision coloring Korn's voice now, disgust dressed as politeness drips from his teeth as he says the words 'leashed and collared' and with it Porsche finally gets his play.

Porsche isn't dumb enough to think that this whole set up, him as the head of the minor family with Kinn leading the main family, isn't exactly what Korn wanted. He just doesn't know why? Still, if this is all he thinks it takes to get him to turn on Kinn, a few well placed compliments, a promise of power and a dig at his masculinity, well he has another thing coming.

Porsche glances at the board in front of them, pursing his lips in thought. "The last year has been one of the most volatile in my life and I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm a slow learner, I admit, but I do learn." He replies softly, eyes meeting Korn. "Everything works better when Kinn and I trust each other. It has been hard won, I will do nothing to threaten it."

Korn's expression stiffens. He doesn't seem to like when his pieces think for themselves. It emboldens Porsche. He allows his posture to slacken, letting the sexuality that garnered him tips at Hum bar from men and women equally soften his movements.

"As for being collared, as long as it's Kinn holding the leash I'm happy to be brought to heel."

He ignores the small cough from Chaiya at his words, smiling slowly at an irritated Korn from below his lashes. He glances down at the chess board, he's not good at the game, but he has been reading. He moves the white queen, threatening the black king.

"Check."

"You know, our distribution is too tied together to untangle right now," Porsche starts, staring at his glass as he drops it back onto the serving tray, "and I mean I could kill you-," he pauses as Rav's guards tense, hands reaching for poorly hidden weapons. Porsche's guards go for their weapons in turn but he quiets them with a flick of the wrist. "-but your mother would likely take that poorly. So tell you what, why don't we settle this like men?"

Porsche stands leisurely, stripping his jacket off and hanging it over the back of his chair.

"Like men?" Rav asks, eyeing Porsche warily, and he nods. 

"Like men. You want the ring, right? You want the power?" Porsche says leaning over the table and locking eyes with Rav, "So come and take it,"

He turns and strolls onto the grass in the silence that lingers after he speaks, making it about halfway to the middle of the field before he turns back, arms spread.

Rav eyes him suspiciously. "Come out there so you can say I attacked you on your home territory and get your guards to gun me down?" He sneers.

Porsche nods thoughtfully. "You're right. Of course, you're right," Porsche laughs. "Guards, guns down. No one is to interfere, else they answer to me," Porsche twists, making eye contact with his men who are flanking the plaza. Most of them listen, though they don't look too happy about it, and their guns are returned to holsters or placed on tables. There are a few, either those previously on Kinn's detail or his most loyal, like Tong, that don't obey. Porsche frowns. "Don't make me repeat myself," he says, looking straight at Tong. The gun wobbles for a moment before he drops his arm, jaw set and eyes pissed. Porsche grins, turning back to Rav and raising a single eyebrow.

Rav stands, face clouded but he doesn't move any closer.

"Kinn would never let that stand," he grumbles doubtfully. "Korn would never let that stand. I can't just take the ring from you and the minor family business is mine,"

Porsche shrugs. "Seems to me that this business is survival of the fittest… the power passed to me with the ring, it seems sensible that if you show I'm not fit by taking it you'd have a better position to bargain from,"

Rav's face seems to clear a little and he sways towards Porsche but still doesn't take the bait. Porsche sighs.

"Ok, ok, you need me to tilt the board in your favor? Don't think you're man enough on your own?" Porsche taunts. He removes the ring from his finger, holding it up to ensure that Rav sees exactly what he's doing, and walks to the midpoint between them, dropping the ring in the damp grass before backing up. 

"There. You don't even have to fight to get it off of me, just have to reach it before I do. What do you say?"

Porsche tilts his head, pasting his most condescending smile onto his face, the one he knows gets under people's skin and makes them want to hurt him.

Vegas glares at him, eyes hateful and promising vengeance. Porsche feels a shiver run through him. He isn't afraid of Vegas necessarily, but he has appropriate respect for the feral danger he represents. Kinn would be pissed if he knew he was here. He'd be even more pissed if Vegas killed him here. He takes a steadying breath and brings the conversation back to his initial point.

"Come on, Vegas," Porsche hisses. "He killed your father,"

"I hated the old bastard,-"

"-and if you wanted him dead, you'd have done it yourself. Don't you want revenge? Don't you want to see Korn brought to his knees?" Porsche pushes.

Vegas scoffs. "So Kinn can take his place as the head of the clan?"

"Better the devil you know."

Vegas doesn't respond and Porsche forces himself not to hold his breath. Ignores the sticky feeling of sweat beading along his neck to slide slickly down his back.

Vegas tilts his head, expression turning cruel and haughty.

"We all underestimated you, didn't we?" Vegas mutters. "Tell me, is his dick so good it's worth you selling your soul?"

Porsche curls his fingers deep into his own palm, letting the pain ground him. If he loses it with Vegas now he won't get this chance again.

"Well...Pete's seems to have been good enough for you to find yours,"

That startles a laugh out of Vegas, the sound dusty and unused. He eyes Porsche again, gaze going serious. The quiet grows wider, turning cloying as Porsche forces himself to keep eye contact. Vegas is like a shark, any hint of weakness and he won't have time to react to the feeding frenzy.

The smile, when Vegas gives it, is slow and cold and utterly terrifying.

"Ok, Porsche. Where do we start?"

***********************

Porsche watches Vegas drive away, the car getting smaller and smaller as it disappears into the distance. Kinn would have him take down the license plate, even though it's definitely a fake. He would say you never know what information you get from what people do or do not let slide. Sometimes even the way people hide themselves gives something away.

But none of this will work without a little trust. Porsche doesn't trust Vegas in the least, but he trusts Pete to deliver when he needs him to.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" A voice that shouldn't be there says from the dark.

Porsche sighs. The muscles around his back and his neck are tight and aching with the stress of dealing with Vegas. He hangs his head, enjoying the pull as he ranges his neck.

"Not in the least." Porsche mutters turning to look at Kim.