Ahri

The tip of Kinn’s cock presses harder against Porsche’s hole, making him scrunch his face up in pain. They have no condom, no lube, only his spit-slick hole and whatever was left on Kinn after he briefly sucked him off. He was desperate to feel Kinn inside him right now, regardless of anything else. 

Porsche didn’t care if it hurt because he knows how good it’ll feel once Kinn is inside him, filling him up, fucking in and out, driving him harder and harder until all he can see is stars from the pleasure threatening to take over him. 

Even with those thoughts alone, Porsche moans, shuddering as he feels his cock jerk and weep with more precum. He’s so wet, his briefs ruined and caught somewhere around his knees after being shoved down, trapping his legs. His heart thunders in his chest, pulse racing, and he arches his back, whining when Kinn’s cock only barely catches on his tight hole, sliding down his taint and leaving a damp trail behind. 

“Porsche, you need to calm down,” Kinn pants, his hands like iron clamps on his hips, fingertips leaving deep bruises on his skin. 

“Need you now,” Porsche replies, dizzy. His words slur together, barely making sense to him as he speaks, the only thing he can remember to do is beg.

The air in the bathroom is so hot it’s sweltering, sweat dripping down his temples and forming above his top lip, framing how swollen they are from the way Kinn shoved him against the wall not minutes before and kissed him like it was their last day on earth. He doesn’t want to think about when they’re finished. How ruined he’ll look, how he’ll limp back to their table and carry on as if nothing happened, relishing in the phantom feeling of Kinn’s hands and cum on his skin.

They’d lost their suit jackets along the way, and the top buttons of their shirts, and then their belts and zips had been torn open, leaving them to palm at each other until Porsche dropped to his knees, not caring if the tiled floor was disgusting or not. All Porsche cared about was getting his mouth on Kinn’s cock, licking him clean, tasting the musk and feeling the weight of it on his tongue, testing to see how much he could force into his mouth until he needed to pull back for air. 

Kinn has been training him so well recently, keeping Porsche’s mouth on his cock for hours while he worked, letting him adjust and get used to the feeling of it until it was second nature to have it all the way in, the hinges of his jaw aching and sore, his mind floaty and caught in a dreamlike state.

It’d taken Kinn pulling at his hair once - gently - twice - harshly - and then a third time, hard enough to pull him straight off. It left Porsche’s mouth gaping, drool spilling over, sliding down his chin and neck, whining and sobbing to go back to what he was doing. He wasn’t done yet, hadn’t properly felt his throat contract and tighten around Kinn’s length, nowhere near long enough for Kinn to tell him how good he was doing, how perfect he was for him, but then he was being hauled him up again and bullied against the wall, shutting him up. 

“You need to calm down,” Kinn repeats, this time more firmly. The tone sends sparks skittering down Porsche’s back, his eyelashes fluttering with the authority and dominance coating the words. 

He relents then, relaxing his posture, unclenching each muscle and letting himself go lax the best he can. All for Kinn, all so he can finally work his cock in, so he can fuck Porsche against the wall when they’re supposed to be eating their dinner and talking business, so he can help satiate this never-ending need that burns between them.

Porsche feels winded partially lying on his back, propped up on his elbows and legs splayed wide so Kinn can fit himself in between them as he comes up to the edge of the bed. He feels petty, spiteful, full of humiliation from wearing a damned collar and fluffy cat ears, and before he can stop himself from acting out, he kicks his leg out and Kinn comes to a sudden stop, Porsche’s foot planted squarely on his chest.

Kinn’s eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting Porsche to misbehave, sure of the fact that he’d already broken him down and bullied the fight out of him. Porsche is anything but a quitter, though. He feels ridiculous, dolled up and - he can’t even say it in his head, can’t even fathom the words Kinn has been feeding directly into his ears, the way his fingers have left imprints of their reverence and want in his skin so much that it feels like he’s burning from the inside out with the knowledge.

“Do you think this will stop me?” Kinn asks, grabbing a hold of his ankle. The grip is tight, unforgiving, and cruel.

Porsche wants to bare his teeth in defiance, but he holds back, not wanting to add any more fuel to the fire when it comes to feline characteristics, so he just clenches his jaw instead. It aches, his teeth feeling like they’re shifting in their places with the pressure on them. It stops him from hurling choice words at Kinn for now, at least, or voicing just how much he’s enjoying this despite how much he hates it.

The silence stretches on, Porsche not willing to give up for a second, and Kinn waiting for him to move his foot on his own accord. Porsche knows Kinn would immediately let go if he felt him retreating, but he doesn’t, so the fingers around his ankle get even tighter, digging in until he completes a circle around it. He feels his pulse thump in his foot, his circulation restricted.

They’re at a stalemate, standing off as they stare at each other with calculating eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Porsche feels stuck, undecided on if he’s ready to completely give into this new thing they have, or hit the brakes for a bit. He wishes his brain would shut off already, but he can see the ridiculous white frilly socks he’s got on, the colour contrasting with the dark shirt Kinn is wearing from where it’s still planted on his chest, and he feels like he can’t let go just yet. 

He hates how he doesn’t hate it. He hates how all he wants is to sink into the feeling and indulge in the way Kinn wants him, even looking like this. The bell on his collar jingles as he shifts, pressing his foot more into Kinn’s chest, the sound of it breaking the thick tension between them. The pink paw pads printed on the bottom of his socks crinkle with the movement, and that sound alone is almost enough to get his hackles up again. Porsche holds his breath, keeping those roiling emotions at bay, realising that Kinn is waiting patiently for him to decide, giving him the time and space to do so.

Something in his chest finally cracks, his bottom lip trembling with splitting his desire open so clearly, and he breathes out. The tinkling of the bell this time is hypnotising as he moves again, but this time it’s to curl his toes, catching on the fabric of Kinn’s shirt. 

It’s permission, and Porsche sees the second when Kinn realises it. His expression softens, settling into something more relaxed rather than on edge, and Kinn moves his foot for him. But instead of pushing it away like he assumed, he pulls it higher and higher, until the tips of his toes brush against his lips, and then even higher still. Porsche’s heart jackrabbits in his chest, his breaths getting shorter as it feels like the collar around his neck is constricting his airflow until he’s barely breathing at all when Kinn’s tongue flicks out at his heel, the feeling of it over the thin cotton of his socks makes his whole leg jerk and his stomach bottom out.

“Kinn!” Porsche gasps, unable to hold back any longer. He squirms at the tickling sensation - it’s not like anything he’s felt before, like an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s as if it’s connected directly to his cock as it twitches within the confines of his panties while waves of heat wash over him. 

Kinn hums against his skin, the vibrations rippling down his leg and reverbing around his body. Porsche can’t look away, not even to blink, even though his eyes are watering from pleasure. 

He worries that he might kick Kinn in the face, but he’s holding onto his ankle so tightly that it doesn’t budge in the end. Once again, Porsche has no power, forced to just lie down and let Kinn do whatever he wants. Each lick and nip Kinn leaves on the sole of his foot as he works his way up makes his calf muscles jump, the place behind his navel tugs dangerously, and his hips twitch. It’s not just his body he can’t control now, it’s his voice: whimpers and mewls spill from his lips, his eyelashes fluttering with each sound. 

Kinn grazes his bottom teeth across the arch of his foot, the drag of the sock and his hot breath makes his spine curve upwards, his mouth dropping open so wide, a moan caught in his throat. It’s the wrong move - it shifts the butt plug inside him, forcing it to press down harder on his prostate.

His whole body jolts as if shocked by electricity, throwing his head back as his arms finally give out from holding him up as he collapses onto the bed. Porsche’s brain fizzes out, his skin buzzing with static as he loses himself in angling his hips down to nudge the plug inside him as Kinn continues working, clutching at the bedsheets just for something to hold onto. He knows he can’t touch himself, even though he’s desperate to get a hand around his cock or even palm over it just to feel the scratch of the lace over his length. But he also knows that if he did, Kinn would stop – pulling away and leaving him there with nothing but the disappointed set of his mouth. That scares him more than anything, so he hangs onto the sheets like a lifeline and rides each wave and pulse of arousal that shoots through him. 

Porsche can’t help it when his toes begin to curl, hooking over Kinn’s bottom teeth, his mouth open and trying to get enough air in that saliva begins to slide out the sides of his lips, pooling in his hairline and making it feel even stickier than it already was with sweat. He can’t tell if it’s too much - if the way Kinn’s hand around his ankle is too tight, too hot, too heavy, or if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored down to earth. 

Mournful noises begin to filter out, dazed and caught between wanting too many things while not getting enough at the same time, but still, Kinn doesn’t stop; if anything he just doubles down – tongue pushing in between his toes as his lips close around the tops of them to suck. The material of the sock is so thin already, and with the added saliva, it’s practically translucent. Porsche’s panties aren’t any better off, ruined and stained, coated in his own pre-come and copious amounts of lube that soaked through the heart-shaped cut out in the back.

Kinn bites as if sensing that Porsche is hanging on by a thread, and he groans in pain. He should find it gross - he’s worn these socks in the bathroom, and then across the plush carpet of their bedroom, but Kinn’s eyes are hooded and impossibly glassy as they stay zeroed in on his face. Each pass of his tongue and graze of teeth tickles, sending thrills through him. It feels like it’s something dirty, something that feels against the rules to like so much, but he does, and that fills him with even more excitement - the type that floods him with shame, prickles at his cheeks and makes more beads of pre-come gather at the tip of his cock.

The sound of when Kinn pulls away from his mouth away from his foot is filthy, and along with his lips swollen and red, thin threads of spit still join them, keeping them connected even with the distance. Porsche has to bite down on his bottom lip so hard that it feels like it’s bleeding to stop himself from coming on the spot. Kinn’s eyes are blown out, his chest heaving just as much as Porsche’s is, his hair mussed and ruined beyond saving, worn and frayed around the edges as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing as his eyes rake over Porsche still splayed out on the bed.

“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead. 

Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing.

Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.”

“‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.

Kinn raises an eyebrow at him, his eyes drawn down to the tail that’s draping limply over the edge of the mattress, catching on his ruined panties as he moves them back up to the pastel pink collar fitted snugly around his neck, and then to the pair of ears on top of his head before he finally meets Porsche’s gaze again.

Porsche feels a whole new wave of humiliation redden his cheeks and heighten his temperature at Kinn’s stare, knowing exactly how much his words contradict his appearance. He wants to hide, bury under the covers and call off this whole thing, but -

“You’re so pretty, Porsche,” Kinn’s earlier words echo in his head, his ears ringing. He’d seen Kinn look at him with a multitude of emotions, but the one he had on his face when Porsche first stepped out of the bathroom after getting changed was unlike anything before. He feels that rush again just remembering it: that high, the way he can feel himself preening, wanting to show off and let Kinn experience how lucky he is, how good he has it with Porsche, that the endless depth of desperation comes roaring back to life in him.

Kinn takes his silence as continued resilience, his eyes narrowing down at Porsche and pinning him to the bed with that alone. His muscles seize up, joints locking as his breath catches in his throat with the intensity of it. 

“A pity,” Kinn says simply, his voice terrifyingly neutral as he drops Porsche’s leg, letting it fall back down onto the bed as if he’s discarding him, “I was looking forward to you hearing you meow again.”

Porsche has nothing to lose anymore, nothing at all, and if doing that one small thing is what it takes, he’ll do it.