Trapped in Kismet [KinnPorsche] [Kinn x Porsche]

Part 2: Shall We?

He felt ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And he probably looked just as equally ridiculous.

Porsche's eyes were closed as he let the woman putting him together tug the belt firmly around his waist; the leather fabric covering his legs was not terribly uncomfortable despite never wearing anything of the sort in his life.

It hugged his legs but not tightly considering he was very much male. Why was he subjugated to wearing leather?

Apparently Kinn had picked out his wardrobe that consisted of high-waisted LEATHER pants that hugged his lean waist, a black shirt that flowed at his arms but was cuffed at his neck and wrists and splashed with orange petals and colors. His feet clad in short black boots to make sure he did not tower over Kinn, and he felt weird.

Everything was designer, everything felt expensive, and Porsche almost felt like peeling it off to return it and apologize for even trying it on.

When he agreed to this fucking date, it was with great reluctance and anyone telling him he was quick to answer got a smack to the head. And a swift kick to the ass.

The man had propositioned him: one week from when he spoke, he would send a car to pick him up at the bar promptly at 4PM, bring him to get ready and they would go to the event together.

An easy 50,000 baht.

In and out.

All to pretend to be Kinn's arm candy for one gala auction affair. He had to just play the part of a man who was spoiled, pampered, and let Kinn touch him freely - at least to a point that was appropriate.

At the bar, he had stared at the man like he had thirty heads while looking around the entire bar and then pointing to himself like a fool. There were so many options literally laying on the floor with their legs open to get Kinn to look at them. And appropriate would be if they kept their clothes on.

Only getting an amused expression and that damn secret smile again with a card pressed to his hand, he had one day to think about it.

Not really knowing who Kinn Theerapanyakun was, at the time, Porsche tried to look up information about him on the internet to find only Theerapanyakun family assets and businesses. This man, this family, was clearly loaded. They weren't just basic rich, they were rich-rich.

The sort of people that lived in luxury brands, swimming pool made of gold, and only looked amazingly good in everything. Fuck them.
Porsche had agreed after the coaxing of Porchay who assured that the Theerapanyakuns were on the up and up (according to his sources aka school groups).

Now that he had been picked up in a Maserati, driven to some kind of gated fortress of a mansion and standing in a room that was larger than Yok's bar; he fidgeted. He had walked past family portraits: three brothers and their father. He presumed the mother was absent for one reason or another and didn't dwell. It was not that he could judge on any family situation.

His mind was still whirling. The bodyguards lining the walls, standing at attention, or staring at him in a calculated manner made him walk stiffly.

Porsche was an idiot. He was stupid. And now he was paying for it.

Weren't those sorts of affairs for nice, beautiful, presentable people? Porsche was only one of those adjectives and he would be damned if someone considered him mean. Even the guys from the fight club.

"All set, sir."

A set of hands settled onto his shoulders firmly before twirling him around swiftly that his eyes opened suddenly, and he almost flipped the man behind him in self-defense.