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The Mansion of Men

Chapter Text

Pol takes too long to get to a point. Arm decides to beta Pol's fanfics, because people have to see what Pol comes up with. The world has to read it. Pol is a genius when it comes to plot narratives and character arcs. But he beats around the bush too much.

Arm is too happy to help. He doesn't want there to be any excuse why people won't read what Pol has to say. So, during his free time, he pulls up a chair, pushes up his glasses and gets to reading.

Meanwhile, beside him, Pol watches Arm read. He's since learnt what Arm likes to read. He knows exactly how to write it perfectly. But he loves that Arm always wants to read it first. He loves how Arm gets annoyed at bogus sentences. So he puts them in there, bogs the story down in order to keep Arm engaged.

Because it was never about other people. It was just about writing all the love letters to Arm that Arm would never know were actually love letters.

Chapter Text

Everyone read them, but no one knew who wrote them.

TheMansionofMen site just sort of... popped up on everyone's radar and since no one wanted to admit to having read the filthy things that were written about the members of staff AND the main/minor family, no one mentioned it.

Especially since they'd all read different fics about themselves. Pete remembers a spectacularly disturbing fic he once read about Macau and Chan in the armoury that had Pete side-eying Chan for weeks. Because it made sense. The fic was uploaded the day after Macau's incident with Porsche. It very well could have happened.

But then again, Pete had once read a fic about himself, dragging Khun Vegas into a passionate kiss that ended up with him being whipped till he came.

After that day, he'd stopped judging others based on what TheMansionofMen site published. It was fiction.

But maybe whoever had that site was onto something. Because it may not have happened exactly as they'd written it, but there was definitely something to be said for having your hands tied above your head, while the dubious first son of your boss' rival rammed into your ass with soft, steady, targeted strokes.

Chapter Text

Kinn follows every story that features Porsche. It isn't a conscious decision. He just finds that stories with Porsche are... interesting, in a way that other stories aren't.

At first, it's simple stories about first meetings. Light romances about Porsche bumbling his way through his job. Stories about some of the catastrophic mistakes that even Kinn has witnessed with his own eyes. But mixed with romance.

There is one about Porsche finding comfort in Pete's arms after Kinn chokes him in front of the second family. There is another fade-to-black smut about Arm and Porsche in the pool when Arm is helping Porsche train. There is even one about Porsche's first day, when he'd gotten in a fight with Big that ends with Porsche shoved against a wall as Big kisses him till Porsche can't breathe.

At some point, Kinn comes to the conclusion that maybe stories with Porsche are Kinn's favorite.

Right up until the moment Kinn leans over, on the pier, and tastes Porsche's lips for himself.

Because, now, even though Kinn can't stop reading every story with Porsche in it, he can't help but hate every single person who gets to kiss and touch Porsche in them. Everyone who gets to drags Porsche into secluded corners of the mansion. Everyone who gets to hear Porsche's moans of ecstasy.

Kinn can't help but hate it.

For the first time, Kinn seriously considers shutting down that damn website.

Chapter Text

One of the most popular series on the site was one that featured Big and Ken in the most fluffy, romantic partnership possible. They were both coworkers who'd joined around the same time, stationed to work with Kinn, who spent every waking moment glued at the hip.

A long, friends-to-lovers, slow burn that had only just begun to morph into romance, once Big decided to give Ken a chance. It was easy to read, simple to follow. The kind of thing one could read after a long day. Different from most of the other stories, as it did not feature too much sex, and the few times Big and Ken did anything sexual, while they were friends, it was framed beautifully and mutually beneficial.

Reading about them beginning to recognize that it was love was... magical.

Until Big's body came back and Ken's head was displayed in the conference room.

The very next day, the story was marked as complete, with a final chapter uploaded.

It had no words.

Nothing more to say.

Just a page with an empty, black picture.

Chapter Text

It's a notification on Pete's phone.

Vegas has seen it a bunch of times. When he asks about it, Pete just rambles along, never answering the question until he disappears from Vegas' sight.

At first, he thinks Pete is on a dating app, which... Vegas has Pete followed for days and he comes up with nothing. So, he scraps that thought.

He’s since, come to the conclusion that his boyfriend is subscribed to a porno website. Which is ridiculous. Because all Pete has to do, is snap his fingers and Vegas is ready to go. He doesn't need fucking porn for anything. Vegas would cartwheel around the compound if that's what it takes to turn Pete on. He's ready to do it. He's offered to do it.

And yet Pete won't stop receiving alerts from that fucking website.

Vegas is out one day, when he decides to Google the site, just to see what it is, but there's nothing there. It's like it never existed. But he's sure it did. He's read that stupid name so many times that he knows how it's spelt. When he gets home, he tries again, and surprisingly, this time, the site opens. It doesn't take much to navigate it before he realizes what he's looking at.

Because it's so much worse. Pete isn't watching porn. He's reading it. Fucking freak.

Shaking his head, Vegas sits back in a chair, crossing his legs above the center table as he clicks on the first story. It's nothing serious. Nothing important. He just wants to see what all the fuss is about.

No big deal, at all.

Chapter Text

Tankhun has had it

Tankhun was once the head of the main family. He's the oldest. Every major decision in the household runs right through. Having spent his adult life within the confines of the mansion, Tankhun knows everything about everyone. Mostly because he wants to, but also because interaction breeds companionship.

Which is why

He is still shocked

That till this day

Not one story

Has been written

About Tankhun's fabulousness.

He wouldn't hate it. He would love to see it. He wonders what they'd think of him. It's easy to see where the author of the site's head is, pertaining to certain people. But based on the number of people who click to read a particular story, it's also easy to see what the general opinions that the citizens of the mansion have about a particular person.

For example, stories that feature Kinn as a dominant are EXTREMELY popular. But stories that feature him as a fun-loving boss who lounges around the mansion, or opens a coffee shop with his boyfriend, don't usually get the best engagement. Stories about Kim getting spanked are also popular. But Kim isn't written about as much as Kinn, so it's hard to tell if it's preference or if people are just flocking to what's available.

Personally, Tankhun likes to avoid stories that feature his family members.

But he would love, love, love it, if they would mention him just once. Honestly, what does a man have to do to be sexualised in this fucking mansion???

Chapter Text

Chan's been with the Theerapanyakul family family for 24 years now. He's seen Korn through ups and downs in this business. Watched him ride the backs of his enemies, and watched him fall to lowly depths after certain failure.

He's been through it all. To the point that he's become something of a fixture in the business. And being that he has to interact with newbies, cooks, clerks, cleaners, bodyguards... Chan has grown used to being perceived a certain way by everyone. Especially the new recruits.

A perception that isn't helped by that damned website.

It's Chan topping. It's Chan making his coworkers kneel. It's Chan wrapping other people's legs around his waist. It's Chan and his secret stash of whips.

As if being a dom/top is the only way to have fun. For the life of him, Chan can't seem to understand the obsession with making him do all the work.

If the site was more aware, if only the site knew the truth, it would be so much more delicious to read about what Chan really wanted. About the things Chan would gladly let anyone do to him, if he were ever given the chance.

Chapter Text

Arm returned from a three-day mission to find a one-shot fic waiting for him to read through. Tired, he loaded it on his Bluetooth and took it into the bathroom where he planned to soak for an hour. His roommate was asleep, so Arm didn’t expect any disturbance.

As the words drifted into his ear, the sultry voice of the automated female voice lulled Arm into comfort. Two lines in, he realized that he was a main character in this fic. Laughing, he shook his head. He always complained about reading about himself. But Pol was a dick. Every once in a while, he’d shove Arm into a fic and refuse to change it.

Fic-Arm, like the Real-Arm, had just returned from a mission, as well. He’d headed to his room where he’d set himself a bath, picked up a book, and-

Arm sat up, pulling his headphones off, because what the actual fuck, Pol?

Wiping his hand on his towel, he unlocked his phone and went to the details of the fic, to see what the tags were and who Arm was paired with in the fic.

Title: One Good Night

Relationship: Arm

Tags: alone time.

Arm was soaking in the bathtub, reading a story about himself, soaking in a bathtub… and masturbating.

Pol was trying to fuck with him. That had to be it. And, and, and Arm couldn’t read it. How was he supposed to be read it? 5000 words of Arm touching himself. What was this?

Arm was hard, just thinking about. Imagining where Pol’s depraved mind would take him. Imagining what would happen, if he listened to it, if he obeyed the story, did the things that Fic-Arm was doing. God knows, Arm was pent up enough to actually enjoy it.

Urgh, no.

He shook his head. Pol would just have to survive this time without Arm’s notes. No.

Clenching his teeth, Arm published the story without reading it. Because he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to look at it.

Chapter Text

Porsche hums when Kinn says he wants to see him after the meeting. He's engrossed in his report and isn't planning on leaving anyways.

But then, the person beside Porsche curbs a lid giggle.

When Porsche looks at him, he realizes that everyone else is either giggling too, covering their mouths or looking away. There's a joke somewhere and Porsche is missing out.

He hates missing out.

"What is it?" he asks, but Pete shakes his head, signing for Porsche to cut it out. "No, I want to know."

Vegas looks up from his phone, from where he's been asked to sit in a corner and reflect.

"There's a 4,000 words story of rough, bloody, sweaty, table-breaking sex that begins..." he waves his hands at the room. "Exactly like this."

"Excuse me?" Porsche asks, confused.

"Okay, you're done," Pete says, getting up and dragging Vegas out of the room.

"Oh?" Vegas says, feigning shock, as he goes. "Are we not supposed to talk about it polite conversation?"

"What is he talking about?" Porsche asks Kinn.

Kinn just shrugs and says, "It's Vegas. No one ever understands the bullshit he says."

But even after the room quiets down, even after the meeting is over and his mini-meeting with Kinn is finished, Porsche can't help but feel like he's missing something.

And Porsche hates it.

Chapter Text

Vegas doesn't understand Pete's need to pretend that neither of them have ever seen that site. It used to be cute how he'd cover his ears and make "lalalalalalala" all over the room till Vegas stopped talking about it.

It used to be.

Now, it was bordering on silly.

Because who cared if Pete liked to read certain stories? Who gave a fuck? Vegas had his own favorites, too.

When Vegas wanted to relax, his go-to comforts were stories that had Pete being bossy. It was a little odd that he liked it when Pete got to boss Kinn around in the stories. He'd pretended not to want to read the sex that always followed, but he'd shrugged it off.

Reading about Kinn fucking Pete and hating himself for it was... soothing.

Vegas wasn't going to examine what that was about. He just decided that he liked it. And then he moved on.

"I don't understand why we can't just read one together."

"We don't have the same tastes. How about that?" Pete asked, turning from the dresser in his pajamas.

"I could read whatever you like."


"Are you afraid I'd discover a kink or preference you're ashamed of?"

Pete's entire face went red.

"Oh my god!" Vegas said, kneeling on the bed. "Oh! My! God!"

"Everybody has a preference they're ashamed of."

"You let me do the filthiest things to you," Vegas said. "What the fuck do you have to be ashamed of?"

"Fine!" Pete picked up his phone and climbed the bed, crawling till he was kneeling opposite Vegas. "I'll let you check out my reading list, if you let me check out yours."

"What?" Vegas asked, recoiling.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, right? Let's switch. Let's share EVERYTHING!"

How? How was he going to explain the list of Kinn-related stories in his reading list? Because that was just... Pete wouldn't understand. And then it would get weird because he'd think it was a sexual thing when it wasn't and Vegas would have to explain which would just make it seem more suspicious.


Pete scoffed and took his own phone back.

"That's what I thought."

Chapter Text

After Big's death, the main family sends a new bodyguard to Kim, every week. Kim doesn't care. They're all faceless drones to him. Big was useful because he was snoopy. But with Ken's betrayal, Kim isn't ready to trust any faceless bodyguard anymore.

He doesn't notice any of them. Not really.

Not until the one with the glasses shows up.


He's attentive. He's smart. He fixes Kim's computer and does a lot of tech stuff.

Which has Kim thinking.

"Who's behind the MansionofMen website?" Kim asks one day, as the tray in Arm's hand slips and falls.

"Sir?" he asks, turning around, adjusting his glasses.

"You're I.T, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"So you must have an idea who does what, and where, in our system, yes?"

"I... I-uh-I-"

Kim's face grows stern. He'd been asking because he was idle, but now he wants to know.

"The site doesn't open unless you're on our network. I know. I've tried opening it at school, but it doesn't work. Which means that you must know about it. You must have control over it. You, or someone else, who works in I.T."

Arm clasps his hands in front of himself and bows.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I meant no disrespect. It was just a little fun project. I didn't mean for it to get out of hand."

Kim narrows his eyes at Arm.

"Are you saying this is your doing?"

"It was just a hobby, Sir."

Kim can't fault him for that. Everyone needs a hobby. Besides, it's not like it's causing any problems. It's all in good fun.

"Don't worry about it," Kim says, going back to his books.


The next week, Kim goes for a party where a guy attacks him, wrapping his hands around Kim's neck and pressing Kim into the couch. It isn't until Kim has punched him and pushed him to the ground that Kim remembers that the guy had been trying to kiss him.

"What the fuck?" the guy yells at Kim, surprised that Kim would react violently.

"Get the fuck out of here," Kim says, snapping his fingers at the retreating, unhappy man.

Two weeks later, that exact scenario is featured in a story that puts it as something that happened to Kinn.

Which wouldn't be weird, except for the fact that Arm wasn't the bodyguard with Kim, at the party. The only person to have witnessed the altercation, was none other than Pol.

Chapter Text

It's a daily entry. Short paragraphs that describe how he feels. It's meant to be an exercise to cleanse his mind. Because his mind can't function when everything gets too quiet.

It's nothing. It's filled with disjointed notes that don't make sense, pooling experiences from multiple events that add up to chaos. Because everything feels like chaos.

But he writes anyway.

He can't control much. But he can make his hands stay on the desk, make his wrists move, make his brain sit.

One day, he takes a break and reads through everything he's written, marveling at the utter rubbish that it is. He's so proud of it. It makes no sense and would probably confuse anyone who reads it.

He posts one day's entry on Twitter. He has no followers, so it's okay. He's screaming into a void. It's almost anonymous.

But then he wonders what it would be like to actually be anonymous. To write his thoughts out for people to know without them realizing that it's Pete's voice, his truth, his noise.

He envies the man behind the site, his anonymous voice. His ability to speak without consequence and be heard. To captivate people with his noise that has come to mean so much to people who can't put a face to his words.

Pete wonders if anyone would care about Pete's words. What Pete has to say is rubbish, anyway. No one would care. It's just the inner ramblings of a broken man.

And broken men don't last long in this business.

Not if people start to find out.

So Pete deletes the tweet and goes back to his journal.

Because no one can crucify him, if they don't know what sins he has committed.

Chapter Text

It’s a tiny pink button that appears at the end of a story Kinn is reading. Out of nowhere. Kinn’s been on this site for a while, now. He’s read a lot of stories to the end. He’s never seen this pink button before.

“Talk now,” the button says.

Talk to who? About what? Why?

Curiously, he clicks on the button and is suddenly asked to create an account in order to “talk”.

Kinn would rather die than put his name anywhere on this site. So, he spends about 15 minutes, trying to come up with the perfect pen name. Eventually, he decides on “guardlover” because it’s true.

As soon as the account is created, a new page pops up, showing lots and lots of comments from other people who are just as shocked as Kinn that the site is allowing a forum for conversation. Every name is fake as far as Kinn can see, but he’s not surprised. Some people are even tagging specific people in replies to previous comments.

It’s a thrill to watch grown adults gush over a porn-reading site like a bunch of teenagers. But really, who’s worse, if Kinn is the one having fun reading other people’s reactions to stories that he’s also read? Someone even suggests that the admin of the site allow commenting on stories and… yeah, Kinn would love that, too.

He imagines it would be nice to extend the experience of reading a story, if he gets to read people talk about it in the comment section of that particular story.

Enjoying this moment, Kinn clicks on the comment box to talk, and wonders what his first comment should be.

Because, even though no one knows that it’s him, he wants it to be special.


Chapter Text

There was that time he put peppers in Arm’s body cream that caused him to spend a week in the hospital, downstairs. Because even though they never really pranked each other, they tended to mistakenly overdo it, every once in a while.

So, maybe that was why. It had to be. Because, why else would Arm do this to Pol, just because he confided in him.

“Stop complaining,” Arm said, brushing him away.

“You posted my story on the internet.”

“It was a good story.”

“It’s about two bodyguards touching each other while their boss watches a TV show.”

“Relax,” Arm said, moving around Pol as he tried to work. “No one will know it was you.”

“They might think it really happened.”

“They won’t.”

“They might think it’s us.”

“They won’t.”

“I wrote that story for you to read.”

Arm stopped to look at Pol, smooshing Pol’s cheeks together like Pol was a child.

“And I loved every moment of it. But I just thought people might like to read it too.”

“It’s pornographic.”

“It’s sexy.”

“You think so?” Pol asked, moving closer as Arm patted him on the cheek and moved away.

“Fret not,” he said. “It’s a tiny website that no one even knows about. Think of it this way.” He pulled a sulking Pol and dumped him in a chair. “You can write whatever you want. I’ll post it on the site. If people don’t see it? Cool. If they do, no one will know it was you who wrote it.”

“You’re sure no one will know?”

“I’ll make sure your identity and intentions are completely masked.”


Fast forward a couple of years and hundreds of stories, Pol couldn’t believe how well they’d pulled this off. Because even though he was glad that his identity was masked, he hated that his intentions remained masked, as well.

Especially from the one person he wished would unmask them.

Chapter Text

03:55 am

(4 people viewing thread)

>> user6969: there's no way

>> softficrecs: I've heard it. It's true

>> chachains: guys let's not do this. he might read this

>> user6969: but he doesn't look the type

>> mjolnir: he totally looks the type. he looks like such a slut. even from the first day I saw him

>> user6969: but he's so nice

>> softficrecs: nice people fuck like whores, too

>> chachains: this isn't what this forum was created for.

>> mjolnir: he knew what he was doing, messing up every time so that khunkinn could notice him

>> softficrecs: wow, because it makes sense. I can definitely see them doing it after that choking thing

>> chachains: khunkinn didn't even like him at the time, how would they have done anything?

>> user6969: maybe you haven't heard of hate sex

>> mjolnir: he seems like the type who'd just spread it open for khunkinn anywhere

>> chachains: okay, I'm out.

04:00 am

(3 people viewing thread)

>> softficrecs: mmmmm look at the way he moves. Like a horny gazelle

>> user6969: do I want to know how you know what a horny gazelle looks like?

>> softficrecs: it's a figure of speech

>> mjolnir: I've seen them before. I know what he's like when he's on his back, enjoying it like a loud freak

>> user6969: really?

>> softficrecs: for real?

>> mjolnir: why would I lie?

>> softficrecs: what did you see?

>> mjolnir: they were kissing in the water and when I closed the door behind me and they thought I'd gone, they started to -

>> Admin has closed this thread

>> softficrecs, user6969 & mjolnir have been suspended till further notice

04: 00am

(0 people viewing thread)



(82 people online)

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>> (Community Guidelines)

>> Admin: we hope that we continue to co-exist in harmony. Thank you




"How was that?" Arm asked, looking up from his computer at Chan, who was sitting on the sofa, legs crossed, his phone in his hand.

"It will have to do."

Arm got up and bowed. He'd been up all morning, crafting those guidelines and now his waist felt like a rusted hinge.

"I'm sorry that this happened, Sir."

"It's fine. You couldn't have seen this coming."

As Chan got up to leave, Arm spoke again.

"I'm glad you didn't shut us down, Sir."

"Now why would I do that?" Chan asked, a slight smirk on his face. "Khun Korn would be most displeased if that happened."

As Arm's mouth gaped in shock that Chan would even admit that, Chan chuckled and strolled out of the office.

Chapter Text


... like he'd ever seen. Until the day Macau stopped being such an obvious, delectable treat.


Chay narrowed his eyes at the words he'd just read on his phone.

Then he closed them and took a deep breath.

Then he sighed in frustration.

How could he be so stupid?

Theerapanyakul! Macau Theerapanyakul! Like Kinn Theerapanyakul! Like Kim Theerapanyakul!

Or maybe he was wrong. Tankhun had said he had only two brothers. Was Macau a cousin? Why else would this story feature a boy named Macau, if Macau didn't exist in this family?

After all, every single character Chay had ever read about on the site was someone who existed. Which meant that there had to be a Macau running around here, somewhere. A Macau that the bodyguards saw as boss. Which meant that his name was also Macau Theerapanyakul.

That couldn't be a coincidence.

Chay had thought Kim was just a singer and he turned out to be mafia. What were the chances that Chay's friend from school, and his kind, generous brother were also mafia?

Getting off his bed, Chay went in search of Tankhun. He'd have gone to find Porsche, but walking in on Porsche and Kinn was like playing a game of Russian Roulette: there was a chance they were working. But there was a higher chance that they were not.

"What do you need, my coco butterfly?" Tankhun asked, filling a glass of juice for Chay as soon as he entered the room.

"Uh..." Chay began, wondering how to broach the subject. "Are you playing games?"

"Not anymore." He plunked into a sofa. "Want to watch a movie with me?"

"Sure, Phi."

As Tankhun searched for a movie, Chay looked around.

"Do you... like, have any cousins... or...?"

Tankhun made an unearthly, disrespectful sound.

"Banes of my existence. Evil twins. Destructive gnats sent to destroy my happiness, the both of them."

"So that's a yes?"

"Yes, that's, a yes." Tankhun crossed his legs, turning to Chay. "If you ever see either of them, run in the other direction. Although, right now, Vegas is on the run. But if you see an overgrown weed just wobbling around this building with an ugly, discolored jacket, that's Macau."

Vegas and Macau.

Now, that was beyond coincidence, because Chay's Macau also had an older brother named Vegas.

"You... you don't..." Chay stuttered. "You don't like them?"

"HAI! I hate them. As a matter of fact, don't even speak to me about them. They're evil."

Chay took a sip of his juice.

Honestly, Chay shouldn't even be surprised anymore. Because, based on what his life had been like, recently, of course he'd find out his friend was a part of the mafia from a porn reading site.

Chapter Text


There were benefits to giving someone with Porsche's wackiness access to a lot of money. Sometimes, Kinn wanted to interfere because Porsche was new to all this. He'd been head of the minor family for nearly a year now. But Kinn had been at this all his life.

There were somethings that just didn't need to be paid for.

It was hard to explain that to Porsche, though. Because, technically, it was his money now. If he was responsible for it's generation, he'd disperse it anyhow he wanted and there was nothing Kinn could do about it.

This time, it was a night at the theater, but the first rows had been cordoned off, along with the stage, when they'd arrived. He was led into the area where he found a very familiar set up of his former apartment. The one he used to share with Porsche when they first got together.

But it was on a stage. In a theater.

A man walked on stage. If Porsche wasn't sitting beside Kinn, his hand in Kinn's lap, Kinn would think he was the man on stage. When he sat on the replica of Kinn's bed, another man entered the stage. This time, he resembled Kim. But he didn't have the same flighty movement that Kinn's baby brother had. He was more flat on his feet with his chest out, almost like...

"Is that supposed to me?"

"Sshhhhh," Porsche said, moving behind Kinn, on the big plushy cushion that had been laid out for them as he sat down pulling Kinn to lean on him.

"Is this play about us?"

"Just enjoy the show."

And it was a good show. The two men kissed, they laughed, they shared a glass of wine that somehow ended up moving from one mouth to another in a way that would have been disgusting if Kinn wasn't watching it happen to a man that looked like Porsche. Because anything was sexy if was being done to Porsche.

As the clothes came off, and the men began speaking, teasing each other, saying dirty, sexy things to each other, Kinn paused. He realized that he recognized the dialogue.

Shit, he recognized the dialogue.

"Porsche, what's this?"

"Don't you know already?" Porsche asked, his hands unbuttoning Kinn's shirt. He leaned in to whisper. "It's your favorite story."

Kinn wanted to cringe away, but Porsche caught his earlobes between his teeth. Kinn gulped.

"It's not... it's not what you think."

"Are you going to deny that the most read story on your reading list is the one where we-"

Kinn turned around and covered Porsche's mouth with his hand.

"How did you find it?" Kinn asked. "How did you even find out about the site?"

"I went through your phone." Porsche resumed taking off Kinn's buttons, one by one. "Found your darling website." Pulled the shirt off, while the men on the stage had started to get down to business, with breathy moans sounding in the speakers around them. "What an extensive reading list you've got going."

"So you hired cast and crew to put it on a play?" Kinn asked, reaching back to touch Porsche while Porsche continued to undress him.

"I put a cast and crew on retainer for a bunch of plays. Would you like to see more?"

Of all the ways to spend money, this was probably the best. Right then and there, Kinn figured he'd never complain about Porsche's expenditure. He turned to Porsche, pulling him into a kiss.

"I love you."

"I know you do," Porsche said, as the first orgasm of the night hit, right on the stage.


Chapter Text

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing much."

"No, seriously, what are you doing?"

"Don't be weird. It's just for research purposes."

"You've never needed to research anything."

"I need raw inspiration."

"What the fuck?"

"Come on."

"No, really, Pol," Arm asked. "Why are you naked in my bed?"

Pol hesitated, biting his lips nervously. Because when he'd gotten this great idea, it had played out so very differently in his head.

"I'm sorry," Pol said, getting up and grabbing his underwear. "Please forget this ever happened."

"What's going on?"

"Forget it. It's weird. I won't do it again. It was just a stupid thing."

Arm put his bag down on his desk, watching Pol freak out as he got dressed.

"You wanted to research and you thought the best course of action was to get naked in my bed."

Pol turned his back to Arm, pulling on his shirt.

"It was stupid."


"Please don't talk about it again."

As Pol walked by Arm to leave, Arm stopped him. Pol tried to shrug away but Arm held on.

"No, really, Pol. For once, just come out talk to me."

Pol tried to pull away again but Arm turned him around by the shoulder.

"What is this?" he asked, searching Pol's eyes for an answer. "You can't keep doing this."

"I didn't do anything."

"Are you serious?"

"Let me go."

"Fine," Arm said, taking his hands off Pol.

But Pol didn't move away.

"I thought you were leaving."

"I'm going to say something and I'm only going to say it once."

"What is it?"

Arm waited, wondering if this would be the moment where Pol was honest, for once. Instead of using his fucking website or Tankhun's TV shows, or birthday cakes. Maybe this time, Pol would come right out and just fucking say it.

"I..." Pol began.


"I think you should wash your pillow cases more often."

As Arm's brain struggled to catch up with what the fuck Pol just said, Pol bolted from the room like the room was on fire.

Chapter Text

Vegas turned from side-to-side, looking at his shirt in the mirror. It was nothing special. Really. It was literally just a shirt.

Yeah, he got hot a lot and so he hardly wore the top three buttons, but it was still just a shirt. He couldn't understand the hype.

"Pete, what do you think of this shirt?"

Pete looked up from his laptop, adjusting his glasses.

"It's okay."

"Is it sexy?" Vegas asked. "Does it... does it do anything for you?"

"I'm more of a fan of what's under the shirt," Pete said. "If that helps."


Vegas' body was the shit. People raving about him standing outside shirtless, he could understand. People talking about what he sounded like when he spoke English, Vegas could understand.

But the shirts?

The obsession. There was literally someone whose username was "vegassluttyshirts". A very vocal appreciator of every shirt Vegas ever wore. They'd catalogued each and every one to the point that they could tell that Vegas had twenty two sets of this kind of shirt, and had somehow documented them by color.

Really, Vegas read that shit and came home to count his shirts, just be sure. For a moment, he'd been glad that he found eighteen shirts. The creep had been wrong.

But then Pete had returned with laundry and four more shirts showed up.

Vegas didn't know what to think. Or how to act. Because he was the one who watched people with keen focus. He was the one who noticed everything. He was the nightmare on everyone's shoulder, hording other people's secrets like they were a source of sustenance.

Now that someone else was watching him, Vegas didn't know what to do with himself.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, it's wolves that have puppy piles and cuddle together to keep warm. Sometimes it's wolves with heat and ruts, paired off together to extend the population of their growing pack.

Sometimes, it's a bunch of stray cats caught in a turf war with a bunch of prissy rich cats that just won't quit. Or, when it's a litter of cats, born to a mother that lives in a beautiful cottage, allowing them to roam wherever they please, find themselves in the garden or the field.

Either way, it could be the cute stories about animals just living, it could be the gruesome stories about them testing into each other and having to watch their siblings and friends die. It could be fluffy and beautiful where they just wake up, fall in love, eat and go back to sleep.

It doesn't matter.

Pete just loves to read about what his people would be like, if they were born as animals, and not men.

Chapter Text

There's a user on the site who likes to suggest well-crafted fic ideas that spark discourse for hours. He usually isn't part of the chat after his prompt has been dropped, but it gets everyone else in a tizzy.

He comes online in the morning hours and doesn't post the entire day. He quickly becomes something of a fixture on the site, to users who anticipate his wacky prompts, almost as much, as the stories on the site.

One day, promptmaster95 logs in to drop his daily fic prompts when he sees a notification from admin. Not sure what it is, he clicks on it, only to realize that he's been granted new access.

He now has the limited ability to leave longer, stand alone posts on the sites, but he can only post twice a week. He shrugs and moves on with his day. He interacts with his family and friends and waits to hear from others about this new development.

But no one talks about it.

Unlike the community forum that was utilized the moment it was created, this new feature isn't being used by anyone else.

By the third day, he comes to the realization that, (1) he's the only one who's been given this feature, and (2) if he can write longer prompts... longer posts... then he can write stories. Right?

He steps away from his computer, shocked and excited by this kind of power. Because really, that's what it is. He's been granted the power to step into The Mansion of Men... as a creator.

"Phi!" Kinn calls, entering Tankhun's room.

Tankhun jumps to his laptop and slams it shut, causing Kinn to frown at him.

"What is it?" Kinn asks, curiously. "What are you hiding?"

"Mind your business, Anakin," Tankhun says, pulling his robes around his body. "Do you need me?"

"I'm going for the Cross-Fer meeting. Would you like to come?"

Tankhun looks down at his laptop. He'd been eager to explore the new feature. But Kinn needs him now.

"Fine. I'll be ready soon," he says, turning Kinn around and pushing him out of he room.

"What are you hiding? Were you watching porn again?"

Without answering, Tankhun makes it to the door, shoves Kinn out and closes it. Smiling to himself, he can't believe it. So lost in the joy of this new feature, he doesn't even realize that he hasn't dropped his prompt for the day.

Chapter Text

“Feel free to do whatever you want,” Tay said, lying in Kinn’s bed as he scrolled through his phone.

Which was so weird. More often than not, Tay wanted to talk about it. But recently, he’d been shrugging it off, like it meant nothing. Like it wasn’t something that would make Tay go feral in the past.

“What are you reading?” Time asked.


“You understand that it just kind of... happened, right?” Time asked.

Tay shrugged, saying, “You’re an adult. You don’t need me to police you.”

Time bit his finger, watching Tay. Angry, loud Tay was scary. Quiet, seething Tay  loved to withhold sex. Indifferent Tay was new. What was on his phone that was so important anyway?

Getting up, Time grabbed Tay’s phone from his hands.

“Hey, stop,” Tay said, sitting up.

“What are you reading that’s taking your attention from me?” Tay asked, smiling as he saw what it was. “You’re still obsessed with this thing.”

He knew what it was. Some weird website that only opened in Kinn’s building. Tay liked to read it. Time had even looked through it before. But this was new. Were those comments?

suitsandgiggles: he knows he’s hot

mansionman: admin needs to give us the goods. Get nasty with Khun-Tay.

everybodynobody: khun-Time doesn’t treat him right

iloveofficehours: I’d take Khun-Tay on a real date

“Is this what you’re reading now?” Time asked.

Tay snatched his phone away.

“At least I’m not fucking any of them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh?” Tay asked. “Maybe one day I’ll...” Tay paused to think. “What’s that bullshit you always say? Oh yes. Maybe one day “it’ll just happen”,” Tay said. “You know? Beyond my control.”

“You wouldn’t do that me,” Time said, feeling a chill in his bones.

“Wouldn’t I?” Tay asked. “After all, your excuse is always that they throw themselves at you.” Tay smiled, walking backwards. “Maybe some nice, hot bodyguard will throw himself at me, and I won’t even know what happened.” Tay blinked at him with a smile on his face, just as he opened the door and walked out of the room, leaving Tay standing in the middle of Kinn’s room.


Chapter Text

“So...” Arm said, leaning over Pol’s shoulder to read the screen. “This was a bad idea.”

“Was it, though?” Pol asks, looking sideways at Arm. 

“We gave him the power to tell any story and he chose literal violence.”

“You know Khun-Tankhun has things to work through. This is good for him,” Pol said, standing up and going to refill his cup of coffee.

“What happened to all those juicy, beautiful romance plots he used to post? Where did they go?” Arm sits on the chair, scrolling through Tankhun’s story. “Why did he choose to write a whole...” He reads the story details. “Ten-thousand-word fic about his bodyguards in the Squid Games?”

“You’re just mad because you died first,” Pol said, laughing.

“Why the fuck did I die first?” Arm asked. “You run and you stop. It’s a stupid, fucking children’s game.”

“That you lost at. Get over it.”

Arm groaned, leaning back in the chair and swiveling around. He’d been grouching about the story for two days now. He’d read it back and forth, up and down, left to right, looking for typos. But Khun-Tankhun was a meticulous devil.

A notification came up on his screen and he sat up, clicking on yet another story.

“Hey, Pol,” Arm called. “He just used his second slot for the week.”

“What did he write about?”

Arm squinted at the screen, reading the story details. Then he laughed.


“It’s a “Boys Over Flowers” au with Khun-Kinn as Gu Junpyo and Porsche as Geum Jandi.”

“Hunh,” Pol said, staring up at the ceiling. “Why does that make so much sense?”

“Because it does, weirdly enough.”

“Well, you wanted romance, right?”

Yeah, Arm wanted romance. Relaxing back in his chair, he pulled the laptop closer and delved into the story. Was this Khun-Tankhjun’s schtick? Would they expect every single story to be a remake of some classic Korean Drama, but staring them?

Because, there was a chance that Arm could get really invested in that agender. 

Provided Khun-Tankhun stopped killing him off before the story even fucking started.

Chapter Text

It's not Pete.

Vegas knows it's not Pete. The name is "Jord" and Vegas has met Jord, before. He's a main family guard who likes to laugh a lot. He's tall, he's dopey and he's just so very clumsy. In fact, Vegas only knows Jord because Jord knocks over something, EVERYTIME he's in the room.

A testament to how low the bar is, for hiring, in the main family.

It's Jord. Not Pete.

But it could be. Vegas doesn't even know how he makes it through the entire story without throwing up. It's dated weeks... months before Pete ever set foot in Vegas' dungeon. So it can't be based on anything Pete actually experienced. It's not real. It's the figment of the author's imagination.

That Jord sneaks into the minor family home and gets caught, where he is captured and kept, as Vegas does things to him, is a mere coincidence. But Vegas is caught, unable to stop reading as the story delves into Jord's mind, depicting the vitriol inside of Jord every time he looks at Vegas. Telling of the hate he has when Vegas presses Jord's head into a plate of food. When Vegas ties him against the bedpost and...

It's not Pete. Because Pete understands that Vegas was hurting. Pete knows Vegas. Pete loves Vegas. PETE CHOSE Vegas. TWICE.

Pete knows how sorry Vegas is.

This is someone else. This person remembers every unwanted touch of Vegas'. He remembers kisses he didn't ask for. He remembers the whip of the belt and the taser to his spine. And he hates Vegas for it.

Vegas wonders if Pete feels this way. If Pete looks at Vegas and remembers... everything. He almost asks, but he's too scared of the answer. Because how do you wipe that from memory? How do you forget?

That night, when Vegas goes to bed, he holds Pete extra tight.

"What is it?" Pete asks, wrapping his hands around Vegas. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Vegas replies.

Because it wasn't Pete in that story. It was Jord.

And Vegas has to... NEEDS to remember that.

Chapter Text

It takes six days for Vegas to wake from his coma.

In that time, Macau tries to be strong. He doesn't leave the room. He wants to be there when his brother wakes. He's been assured that Vegas is safe, but Macau stays put. Chay keeps sending him school work, but Macau doesn't open it.

Instead, they talk about everything else. Everything but school or their brothers or anything that's actually real. Sometimes, when it's quiet, during the day and all his friends are busy in class, Macau reads. He's only just discovered the site so there's a lot to see. His favorites are the ones that are set in Korean dramas. He's never really been a drama person, but one day, he decides to watch the dramas that those stories are based on.

'Squid Game' is a ride. It's bloody and reckless like those western movies. Taking the author of the stories as a recommendation source, he finishes 'Boys over Flowers' during Vegas' third day in a coma. Just as he's about to begin 'Protect the Boss', Pete joins him in the chair.

"You haven't moved in days," Pete says.

"K-dramas," he replies, offering Pete one earpiece.

"Oh my god," Pete says, leaning into the laptop in Macau's lap. "Khun-Tankhun is obsessed with these." He leans back with a wistful look on his face. "I miss him."

Macau tries not to frown at that. Because Pete is with them, now. Pete is Macau's. He's here to stay. He's the one who keeps Macau warm at night. The one who asks how Macau is doing. He's the one who let's Macau vent without judgement.

Macau has no idea how Vegas will react to Pete being around, all the time. How will he react when he learns all the things Macau has told Pete in moments of vulnerability? He feels like Vegas will be mad about it. But it's Pete. Macau doesn't know why he's here, but he knows that he'd hate it if Pete returned to the main family.

One more reason to hate that bastard, Tankhun.

Because Tankhun has had Pete for years. He doesn't deserve to have Pete anymore.

"Will you watch with me?" Macau asks.

"Of course," Pete says without even thinking about it.

And that's how they walk right through the show, with Pete spoiling almost everything, because he's seen it before. Macau doesn't care. He doesn't mind at all. Anything to keep his thoughts off of Vegas, is welcome.

By the time Macau suggests 'Sweet Home', Pete laughs.

"Have you seen it?"

"About three times. Khun-Tankhun is obsessive like that."

Tankhun, Macau sneers in his head. His name keeps coming up.

But then it hits him.

Tankhun and his shows. Really, if there was anyone jobless enough to write all those stories on that site, it would be someone like Tankhun. He doesn't have a job. He doesn't go to school. He just drapes himself in crazy colors and waddles around for no reason.

Macau cringes inwardly, imagining that the stories he likes so much... the recommendations that he's grown to trust, might come from someone like Tabkhun.

He shakes his head and cringes. No. It's impossible.

After all, there is no way that someone as... irregular... as Tankhun would ever write such beautiful stories, or have such good taste in Korean dramas.

Chapter Text

They bowed. They stared in shock. They couldn't believe it. But they were so thankful.

Just as he'd known they'd be.

Employment was a gift, but benefits were more so. Considering they'd started this whole endeavor on their free time, and effort, without any compensation from Korn, he was very aware that these two boys could have gone on for years manning that site without any extra pay.

But Chan had convinced Korn to double their monthly pay. Nothing like a few extra bucks in the bank to make already-loyal guards become even more loyal.

"It's fine," Korn said, waving them away and watching as they pinched each other and ran out of his office.

They deserved it. It was hard work to make up stories, write them and then curate the entire site. Korn would be remiss if he didn't appreciate them monetarily.

That, and the simple fact that one day, Korn would need the sway that that site had on every single, sentient being in this family.

Because even though Pol and Arm didn't know it yet, Korn had plans for that site. And when the time came, he wouldn't want either of them getting in his way.

Chapter Text

"Does it ever bother you," Porsche asked. "When that site writes things that are a little too close to reality?"

Sitting at Porsche's dresser, Kinn looked at him in the mirror.

"How do you mean?"

Porsche was naked, in bed with his tablet on his chest as he scrolled through the site.

"There's a story in here about you finding me, out of it, in a hotel room."

Kinn laughed and turned to him.

"I love that story."

"I was coked out of my mind."

"You were also a rich, spoiled brat who ran away from my care," Kinn said, running his hand through his hair. "I believe I was the bodyguard in that scenario."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point, then?"

Kinn got up, crawling on the bed till he was above Porsche.

"It says here that I grabbed your crotch and proceeded to remind you of all the times you wanted to fuck me." Porsche dropped the phone. "That doesn't bug you?"

"It's a story."

"That's almost what happened between us."

Kinn gasped.

"Are you saying the writer can read our minds?" he asked, feigning shock.

Porsche rolled his eyes.

"I'm saying that there are too many cameras everywhere."

"There were no cameras in that room."

"Are we sure? Because once or twice, would be a coincidence. But this site seems to know intimate details. Repeatedly."

"Or..." Kinn said, sitting on Porsche. "Maybe the writer has seen how we are in public and deduced most of what we do in private."

"Isn't that still creepy?"

Kinn looked at him like he was crazy.

"Porsche, you try to fuck me everywhere."

"Hey," Porsche said, smacking him on the stomach. "You try to fuck me anywhere, too."

"Because I love you."

He leaned down dropped a peck on Porsche's lips, as Porsche stared off, still deep in thought.

"I'm pulling back on cameras in this place."

"You can't do that."

Porsche frowned at him, the rolled them over till he was the one on top.

"Honey," he said, smiling at Kinn. "My love, this is my mansion." He leaned in for a kiss. "I can do whatever the fuck I want. When you get back to yours, you can put CCTV in every single bathroom, if you like."

Giggling like a teenager, Kinn grabbed him by the neck, pulled him down and kissed him back.

Chapter Text

Tankhun thinks Porsche's friend is cute.

He's tall, broad-shouldered, beautiful... and when Tankhun fakes a fall, he gets up very quickly and catches Tankhun before he can hit the floor.

Flustered, excited, Tankhun spends the rest of the evening around him. He is shy as a beetle, soft-spoken, always down to answer any questions Tankhun has about his personal life. When Tankhun drags him on deck, to dance to the muffled music sifting up, from the floor below, he follows, taking Tankhun by the waist and swaying with him.

It's been a while since Tankhun felt this fluttery about anyone. He likes being watched like this. He likes being close. And everytime the words he wants to say cling to the tip of his tongue, Tankhun smiles and looks away.

It is too soon. Granted, he's known the man for a while now, but this feeling is too new to go acting upon it. Tankhun has to let it sit. Let it breathe, before he does something he'd regret.

So, that night, while everyone else sleeps, Tankhun writes. Not of anything unusual. No. He just wants to get the words out. He can't say them. Not yet. Not until he knows what it is.

But he can write about them, pour them out on to paper, and see where the words lead him.

For the first time, Tankhun writes himself into a story. It isn't a big story. Not a very plotty one.

It is just a simple love story, about Tankhun, falling in love with Porsche's friend, Tem.

Chapter Text

While Pete filled in the answers to his online, Statistics test, Porsche rummaged through the shelf of books at the far end of Pete’s office. 

They’d been guessing for a while now, but they just couldn’t figure out who was behind the site. The people who could do it were too busy and the people who were free, couldn’t. 

“It’s Arm and Pol,” Vegas said, sitting up from where he was lying on the sofa.

“No, it's not,” Porsche said.

“Arm knows tech. Pol is the writer.”

"Where would they get the time?” Pete asked. “Between their individual duties, guarding Khun-Tankhun and following Khun-Kinn on missions, at what point do you think they’d take a break to write about their bosses fucking?”

Vegas sighed in exasperation and left the room.


That night, Pete found his ringing phone before it woke Vegas.

“What the fuck, Porsche?” Pete whispered.

“Vegas was right,” Porsche whispered back.

“About what?” Pete looked over to check if Vegas had woken, but he hadn’t.

“About Arm and Pol.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Why are you whispering?” Porsche asked back.

“Vegas is tired.”

“So is Kinn.”

“How did you find out?”

Porsche was silent.


“Okay, so it’s not that I don’t trust my boyfriend-”

“What did you do?”

“Arm and I have a system. If Kinn goes out without support, I like to know where he goes, so Arm... helps.”

Pete rubbed his temple, softly.


“So, I went to supervise, while Arm went after Kinn and would you guess what I found? His email was open and I saw dozens of emails between him and Pol. Rough notes, first drafts. You name it. It’s them, Pete,” Porsche said, sounding horrified.

Naked, Pete rushed into the bathroom.

“Oh fuck, Vegas is going to be so horrible if he finds out he was right.”

“I know!” Porsche agreed.

“He will never let us live this down.”

“What do we do?"

"What do you mean, what do we do?" Pete asked. "Nothing."

"We can't just let him get us."

"We don't bring it up. We just - we just forget the whole thing."

"And then the next time he talks about it, we pretend that we were the ones who suggested Arm and Pol."

Pete wanted to agree but, "You want me to gaslight him?"

"Hey, you owe me, Pete."

"The fuck for?"

"Remember that time you convinced me to go through Kinn's things without his permission?"

Pete flinched. He'd walked right into that one.


"Let's do it this way and we can call it even. Deal?"

"Deal," Pete said reluctantly, just before the line went dead.

Fuck. Pete hated lying to Vegas. But Porsche was right. They'd both connived against Kinn. Maybe this was Pete's turn to keep something from Vegas.


He could tell the Vegas the whole truth, double-cross Porsche and let Porsche think that Pete was on his side.

Yeah. Yes. Right. That sounded like a much better plan.

Chapter Text

Big sees the signs, long before he realizes what he's looking at. Porsche is popular from the moment he walks through the door. The boy who defies Khun-Kinn. The boy who speaks to Khun-Korn. The one who makes demands.

He's astounding. Audacious. A shiny, new toy.

He's in every, new story, somehow. He gets in so many fights that it's almost impossible to escape him in real life, or in the fictional world. He's fascinating, like that. Easy on the eyes, but grating on the nerves.

At first, it's only that. It's just that. Porsche, a character that's distinct from Porsche, the real man. At first, his rendezvous with other employees, and their favorite bosses are something to be read on paper.

Then, the lines start to blur. Because Porsche, the real Porsche, starts to move like the character. His life starts to form like the character's. And it's not so funny anymore. Not because he gets punished. Not because he gets put in his place.

But because Big sees other things, too. Khun-Kinn's attention. Khun-Kinn's words. Khun-Kinn's time. Porsches sucks them all up like the character that takes every space that he walks into.

Khun-Kinn doesn't call for escorts anymore, but Big still has to buy condoms and lube. Big knows why.

It's hard to read about Khun-Kinn and Porsche, now. They're not fiction anymore, they're real. And Big hates to read about the desperation Kinn feels anytime the disobedient bodyguard walks by him.

But he can't help himself. Because even as it hurts, it gives Big insight that he never had before. To read about Khun-Kinn and Porsche, and watch them manifest before his eyes. To learn how Khun-Kinn folds his entire life and personality around his feelings for Porsche to the point that Big just knows that extracting Porsche would be detrimental to Khun-Kinn's health.

Which is why it costs him nothing to take that step. They're in the warehouse and Khun-Kinn isn't there yet. But Big is. And Porsche is lying over him. Porsche is trying to keep Big safe. But Big cannot imagine the devastation that Khun-Kinn will feel if he arrives to find Big alive, while Porsche is dead.

So Big takes the bullets. Without question.

Because if Porsche holds the key to Khun-Kinn's happiness, then there's never been a choice as to whose life mattered the most.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after Vegas came home from the hospital, Arm met with Pete in order to hook the minor family's home system up to the major family's network. Arm was happy for the chance because the last time they'd tried, Tawan had corrupted the files. This time, Arm would be granted full access.

Pol tagged along to do some "research". Arm hadn't argued. Any reason to be around Pol was a plus.

Which was how Pol ended up walking through the guards' quarters, the facilities, the yard, the shops on the edge, the main building, and even the network of tunnels beneath the building. Half the places he entered had never been seen by anyone who wasn't minor family and some of the men grumbled when Pol showed. But he had Pete's say-so and Pete was as good as Vegas, these days.

"You don't have to do that," Arm said into his walkie-talkie. He was speaking from the control room, on the ground floor.

"I know."

"Write the rooms anyhow you want. Who cares?"

"I care."

"You never needed accuracy before."

"They're our people now. I want to know them."

"You're walking through dirty tunnels."

"Imagine the sex-capades that could happen here."

"Somehow, I doubt Khun-Vegas would fuck in a tunnel."

"They'll be reading the stories now. Representation matters."

"What?" Arm asked. "The site is for the main family's complex, alone."

"Not anymore. Wait," Pol said. "I thought we came here to extend the site to the minor family's buildings because Pete lives here."

"Hell no. If Pete wants to read it, he should come home and read there."

"But this is Pete's home now."

"Think of what you're saying. You want me to give them access to our stories."

"They're our people too."

"Secret exits, business deals, main family habits, guard protocol. That's the shit that's in your stories. Not just flimsy sex. And you want to give that to the enemy?"

"They are not the enemy anymore."

"Says who?"

"Says Khun-Kinn and Porsche and Pete. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Arm's finger paused on the walkie-talkie button. Pol never raised his voice at Arm. Not like that. It was incredibly unsettling and made Arm want to pull away and cry.

"What the fuck, Pol?"

"Sorry," Pol said, immediately. "Think of all the people we've lost this year because we were fighting the minor family. It doesn't have to be that way."

"And you think a porn site can erase all that?"

"It wouldn't hurt."

"You want to just... start broadcasting everything to minor family staff."

"Yes. We have to make the first step of trust."

"They wouldn't even know what to do with it."

"They'll learn."

Pol seemed to have a lot of faith in this endeavor. 

"Pol, this could be a security breach. We can't make this decision ourselves."

"I know."

"We'll have to expose ourselves to get permission from Khun-Kinn."

"We already have Khun-Korn's permission."

Arm frowned at his walkie-talkie.

"Did Khun-Korn tell you he doesn't mind the security breach?

"It's not a breach and it was his idea in the first place."

Arm wasn't too sure how he felt about that but that cleared a lot of his issues up. If Khun-Korn was fine with it, then who was Arm to worry?

"Fine. I'll extend it."

"Yay!" Pol said, the smile evident in his tone. "And sorry for raising my voice at you. I'll make it up to you."

Arm scoffed.

"You'd better."


Chapter Text

“I told you it didn’t make any sense.”

“Just slip it under,” Macau said, trying to stretch his hand.

“No, it says to slip it above and if we do that,” Chay said, putting the rope above as it strained across Macau’s wrist, causing Macau to wince in pain. “See? I told you.”

“Maybe they made a mistake?”

Macau was sitting on Chay’s bed, his legs stretched out before him. His left hand was bound to the left side of the bedpost, above him, as it was twisted and strangled by whatever the fuck Chay was doing.

“It’s tangled now.”

“Don’t blame me,” Chay said. “You’re the one who thinks a porn site has reliable information.”

“Give me that,” Macau said, grabbing Chay’s phone from him. “You’re reading the instructions wrong.”

Chay rolled his eyes.

“They’re not instructions. It’s a fic about bondage sex. A fic, I might add, that gives nonsensical information. Anyone who’s into real bondage would know that that entire section is bullshit.”

Macau’s eyebrows rose into his hair as he slowly looked at Chay.

“Anyone who’s into bondage?” Macau asked.

Chay stared at him, blinking like a deer caught in headlights.

“No. That’s not what I meant.”

“Who have you been tying up?” Macau asked, getting to his knees on the bed, a devilish grin on his face. “Or who has been tying you up? Oh my god!” Macau laughed. “Your brother is going to love this.”

Chay jumped on the bed, grabbing Macau’s mouth and looking around like Porsche was suddenly hiding in the walls. 

“Macau, I swear to god-”

There was a knock at Chay’s door. When both boys looked over, the door opened and Kim walked in to find Macau’s hand tied up with Chay all over him.

“Am I...” Kim began. “Interrupting something?”

“No,” Chay said, the same moment that Macau said, “Yes.”

Chay shoved Macau away as he got down from the bed.

“Do you need something?”

“No,” Kim said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I was just... I was just in the neighborhood and thought... I came to say hello.”

“Oh,” Chay said, rubbing his hands together, nervously. “Well, hello.”

“Right,” Kim said. “So, I’ll be going then.” He pointed at the door. “Macau?” he said, offering a slight nod, before he left and shut the door behind him.

“Tension,” Macau said. “What is this tension I sense between you and Kim?”

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Chay said, climbing the bed, forcing Macau down and stuffing his bedspread into Macau’s annoying mouth.