Tender gangster

Big spoon

"Does he pay you to have sex in the backyard too? I bet it's the biggest tip in your professional career!"

No. These words shouldn't have been spat out in Porsche's face, but that's the way it turned out. The sound of a slap cuts through the overly tense air between you. You almost spill a sip of whiskey from the bottom of your glass, right onto Porsche's T-shirt between the hem of his unbuttoned shirt.

"You're such an asshole, Kinn!" Porsche is glaring at you with hatred. "And what an idiot I am to let you..." he waves away his own thoughts, "it doesn't matter, though. It doesn't matter anymore."

Forced to pull yourself together. You put the glass on the table and, clenching your jaw, bring your face closer to his - dazzlingly beautiful, even in anger you won't deny it. And you say:

"Was it that hard just not to betray me? Don't mess with Vegas? I warned you."

Porsche is silent.

"Answer me when I ask!"

"And why shall I?" Porsche narrows his eyes, "no matter what I say, you won't believe it. So, think what you want, Khun Kinn. But I will mess with whom I want, when I want, and how I want. Have a nice evening."

"Don't forget," you grab him by the elbow when he intends to leave you and further inflame the anger with alcohol, "as long as you are in this house, you belong to me. And you're going to do what I tell you to do."

Porsche grins, throwing it in your face:

"Let's check it out."

He jerks his hand and pulls it out of your grasp. You're still alone. However, you're used to it.

***

If anything has followed a certain route in your life, it's all at once. Karma didn't think it was enough to deal with Porsche. Your "beloved" father invited you to a conversation today. No matter how much you knew him, you never bothered to figure out which of the pieces on his chessboard was assigned to you.

His new disappointment. Another disappointment in you, as the heir to the family business. Korn even suggests "taking you off the case for a while and handing it over to Vegas - he doesn't have anything to do anyway".

You're holding on.

Right up to the moment you close the door of your apartment.

And then everything falls to the floor and walls - bottles, glasses, books, unread papers. You're not sure you've ever felt such anger and despair. But the last week has knocked the ground out from under my feet.

"Kinn?"

You hear a knock on the door and Porsche's voice.

Heck! He's on duty today. He was the one you almost knocked down when you were rushing here like a hurricane.

"Kinn? Can I come in?"

Your hands still itch from wanting to hit something or someone. You prop them up on your waist and turn to the door, wheezing:

"Come in."

Porsche raises his eyebrows when he looks at the mess you've made.

"I'll be right back," Porsche waves vaguely to the side, disappearing through the door.

And now you're alone again. What an irony.

However, after a few minutes, Porsche returns and begins to sweep up the broken glass fragments with the brought inventory.

"There are maids for that. You're my bodyguard," you remark casually.

"It's okay, Khun Kinn. I can make coffee, so I can handle it here."

It's not hard to guess the reproach in Porsche's words. But now you have neither the strength nor the desire to prove anything.

"Porsche. You don't have to."

"Maybe," Porsche finishes and walks away again to get rid of the broken glass.

When he's back in your apartment, he picks up books, desk knickknacks, and chairs from the floor.

"That's about it," he sums up. "Now go to the bedroom, Kinn. You need it."

"Ha ha. Sorry. I'm not in the mood for sex tonight," you decide to be sarcastic out of desperation.

"Are you just reducing everything to sex? You shouldn't have. You just need to go to bed and sleep, Kinn."

You're grinning. Viciously. But you're not mad at Porsche right now. At yourself for the weakness and lack of will.

"And you?"

"And I will be guarding your sleep."

"Outside the door?"

"As you wish, Khun Kinn."

No, if Porsche is still angry, then not so much. You learned a long time ago to distinguish the shades of his emotions by his voice.

"Good. Then I wish... can you lie down with me? Just lie down. Without continuing."

You're waiting for a fucking curse, a loud slamming of doors, or something worse. But Porsche responds calmly and simply:

"Yes. I'll sleep with you. You need a big spoon, Kinn. It'll help."

"What's that?"

"Come on. You'll see."

Porsche is wearing only a white T-shirt and trousers. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there is an anxious weariness in his eyes, but despite it, he is here with you. He lies down from behind and wraps his arms around you, pressing his chest tightly against your back and hugging you with both arms, so that you seem to be in a cocoon of his warmth.

It follows the curve of your back, just like a shell follows the shape of a clam. His firm chest is like a reliable, warm shield; his belly fits softly against the small of his back, and his long legs are intertwined with yours. Your little harbor. In which you're almost ready to lower the anchor.

And then comes comfort - quiet, sweet and all-consuming. Your tense body, forever encased in a shell from the outside world, suddenly goes limp and dissolves into this support. Every muscle, every pinched string inside, emits a quiet sigh and releases tension.

Porsche breathes in the scent of your hair, his hands slowly stroke your stomach, as if gently pushing the last grain of anxiety out of it. The world narrows down to a point of contact: your back, feeling his chest; his palm resting on your bent arm; his cheek pressed against the top of your head.

And through that protection and comfort, solace seeps in. It's like Porsche is telling you, "You're not alone. Your burden is now mine. Your fatigue has a right to be."

All the adversities, all the small storms of the day recede, crashing against the calm, confident rhythm of his heart behind your back.

You catch yourself thinking that the warmth of Porsche is like the warmth of a fireplace, only transferred to the image of a person.

And in this warmth, under the blanket of Porsche's embrace, in the rhythm of double breathing, your world becomes whole again, simple and serene.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the pillow, but so that Porsche hears. "I shouldn't have said that.".. I don't think you're like that. I just snapped. Sorry."

"Shhh," Porsche kisses you affectionately on the cheek, "sleep, little spoon."

You're giggling. Well... you don't mind being that little spoon at all, if a big spoon in the shape of Porsche hugs you like that.