Present Day — Kinn's Penthouse, 2:04 a.m.
Porsche is drunk on something heavier than alcohol.
Maybe it's the silence.
Maybe it's the ache behind Kinn's eyes.
Or maybe, it's the way Kinn kissed him three nights ago and hasn't spoken of it since.
He shouldn't be here.
But he is.
Standing in the doorway of Kinn's room, breathing too loud, heart beating like a war drum. He should leave. He should run. That's what he's always done. But tonight, something anchors him.
Kinn stands by the window shirtless, whiskey in hand, skin haloed by citylight and sin. There's a scar just below his ribs, curved like a crescent moon. Porsche doesn't know how he got it.
But something in him wants to kiss it.
"I had another dream," Kinn says, voice low.
Porsche exhales. "Me too."
Kinn turns. "Tell me yours."
"No," Porsche says. "You first."
Their eyes lock. No games. No smirks. Just gravity.
Kinn steps closer. His voice is softer now. "You were on fire. And I couldn't save you."
Porsche swallows. "You weren't supposed to."
Silence.
Then—
"Come here," Kinn whispers.
They don't undress each other like lovers. They tear.
Clothes drop to the floor like fallen crowns. Lips clash before hands do. There's no permission—only desperation. Kinn pushes Porsche against the cold wall, and their mouths meet like they're remembering a language lost to time.
Porsche tastes like smoke and defiance.
Kinn tastes like regret and ruin.
And together, they burn.
"Don't stop," Porsche breathes into Kinn's mouth. "Even if I beg you."
Kinn's eyes flicker with something primal. Something ancient. "You said that once before."
Porsche stills.
"What?"
Kinn kisses his jaw. "Before. Another life. You said that to me the night before the war."
Porsche shudders. Not from fear.
From memory.
Kinn's mouth trails down his neck, teeth grazing skin like a threat. Porsche moans—sharp, unwilling. "You're dangerous," he whispers.
"So are you," Kinn growls.
They stumble backward, collapsing onto the bed in a mess of limbs and gasps. Porsche pulls Kinn atop him, thighs tight around his waist.
"Touch me like you've done this before," Porsche dares.
Kinn looks down at him—sweaty, panting, pupils blown wide—and says: "I don't remember the details. Just how much I wanted you."
And then it happens.
Skin against skin.
Kinn inside him, slow at first, like worship. Then brutal. Desperate. Like a war only their bodies can end.
Porsche arches, eyes shut, lips parted. "You feel like home," he whispers before he can stop it.
Kinn freezes.
And that's when it happens again—
The past bleeding through the present like a storm tearing through stained glass.
Then — Centuries Ago
Ashiroj presses Voranai against the temple wall, hands bloodied, heart shaking.
"You'll be the death of me," he says.
Voranai smiles through the ache. "Then let me be the last thing you ever taste."
And Ashiroj kisses him like a curse. Like a confession.
They make love under threat of execution, lips painted in prayers, moans muffled by silk.
Now
Kinn thrusts deeper, harder, like he's chasing that echo. Porsche cries out, arms gripping Kinn's shoulders, nails raking down his back.
This is not sex. This is remembering.
"Say it," Kinn gasps. "Say my name."
"I don't know which one you want," Porsche moans. "Kinn? Voranai? Or the one I only say in my sleep?"
Kinn groans and loses rhythm for a moment, forehead pressed to Porsche's. "Say yours then."
Porsche breathes it out like a secret, like a key:
"Ashiroj."
And Kinn breaks.
Not just his body. His soul.
They fall apart together—release and relief tangled in each other's skin. Porsche comes with a cry that sounds like surrender, and Kinn follows with a groan torn from his chest, as if the gods are watching.
Later
They lie in silence. The sheets are a battlefield. Their bodies, weapons turned soft.
Kinn traces the scar on Porsche's chest. "How did you get this?"
"I've had it since I was a kid. Doctors said it was a birthmark."
Kinn frowns.
"It's the exact same place Ashiroj was stabbed," he whispers.
Porsche closes his eyes.
"Maybe we've always belonged to each other," he murmurs.
"Or maybe we've always been doomed."
Morning Comes. So Does Consequence.
They don't speak of the night. They don't look at each other when they dress.
But something lingers in the space between their fingers when their hands almost touch. In the glances that say too much and not enough.
Later that day, a new enemy reveals itself.
A face from the past. A man who should be dead.
One who remembers everything they forgot.
Author's Note:
You asked for heat, heartbreak, and soul-deep intimacy—Chapter 2 brought all three. 🔥Kinn and Porsche don't love gently. They love like soldiers, like sinners, like soulmates who have bled across lifetimes to find each other again.This isn't just about desire. It's about recognition. About two bodies remembering what the mind has buried.If this chapter stole your breath, leave a ❤️ or drop "REBORN" in the comments.
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Teaser for Chapter 3 – The Man Who Remembers
A stranger from the past steps into the present.
He knows Ashiroj's secrets.He knows how Voranai died.And he knows what Porsche and Kinn must sacrifice—if they want to break the curse.