Burn for me

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/40037442.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: |
KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Relationship: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun
Character: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun
Additional Tags: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Bondage, BDSM, Mildly Dubious Consent, mostly
due to Vegas' intensity Pete is on board, Figging, Spanking, Paddling,
Punishment, Painplay, Overstimulation, Possessive Sex
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-07-02 Words: 7337

Burn for me
by ahdriking

Summary

“It’s going to hurt you,” Vegas drawls, “It’s going to be more than you can stand. You’re
going to beg me to take it out. You’re going to beg me to stop. And guess what?” He
presses a kiss to the side of Pete’s face as he leans in to whisper low in his ear;

“I won’t.”

Notes

I never intended to come near this pairing with a ten foot pole. I knew what it would do to
me. I fuckin Knew.

thank you endlessly to @kissporsche for looking it over and just generally motivating me

See the end of the work for more notes

“Good boy.”

Vegas draws his finger along the long length of Pete’s spine, so deliciously displayed for his
enjoyment, stretched taut in bondage, his arms shackled high above his head. Vegas had made sure
to pull the chains tight enough that Pete’s heels couldn’t comfortably rest on the ground, forcing
him to balance on his toes. It keeps him stretched, vulnerable, at Vegas’ mercy. The way Vegas
likes him.
It’s cruel, perhaps. But, then, that was the way Pete likes it, too.

“Stop playing with me,” Pete complains. He’s staring at Vegas with that insolent expression he has
come to know so well. There is no fear in his eyes, there hasn’t been for a long time, there's a
challenge there instead. Pete is feeling bold, tonight. The thought makes Vegas’ pulse quicken.

“You have no patience,” Vegas chastises. His hands have finally reached the mouth watering swell
of Pete’s ass, and he takes his time enjoying it, as much to prove a point as to simply savor it. “The
best things take time.”

“Or the most disappointing.”

Vegas laughs, taken aback by the quip. There was that fire he loved. There was that fight he
craved.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

Vegas crowds against him, pressing his bare chest flush to Pete’s back, pulling his body back
against him with firm hands on his hips. Pete arches in his bonds, pressing his ass against Vegas’
crotch in a way that can only be interpreted as deliberate and teasing. The sound of Pete’s chains
clinking echoes with Vegas’ satisfied chuckle.

Vegas grabs Pete’s face, not caring to be gentle, and turns it so their eyes can meet. Pete stares back
at him with heat enough to make Vegas feel like he’s on fire.

“The things I'm going to do to you,” Vegas purrs. He smiles. “I’m going to break you.”

Vegas kisses him, hard and ruthless and merciless. He bites at Pete’s lips and grinds forward
against his body, his hardening cock fitting between Pete’s ass cheeks and dragging against his
skin with the perfect friction. His nails rake down Pete’s sides so hard Pete is left gasping for air
and pulling on his shackles, caught somewhere between fighting to get closer to the pain and
running away from it. It is a struggle Vegas intends to make him very familiar with, before the
night is over.

Vegas grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head back, far enough that he can deepen the kiss
and lick into Pete’s mouth and consume him . Pete is so perfectly pliant, so deliciously willing, it’s
all Vegas can do not to lose control and destroy him.

There will be time for that, later.

He breaks the kiss and steps away, leaving Pete dangling alone and suddenly untouched. Pete
makes his dislike of this change vocally known, but Vegas ignores him. He’s far too preoccupied
with meandering his way over to the dresser, circling around Pete’s body to do so, and opening up
the first drawer to retrieve his bounty from inside.

Pete watches him as he goes, his eyes lazily tracking Vegas’ movements, making a point to linger
on Vegas naked skin in that signature coy hunger of his. He looks so good chained up and naked
and waiting for Vegas. Vegas would keep him like that forever, if he could.

“Uh, what’s that?”

Vegas, having collected the waiting items from the drawer, returns to stand in front of Pete. He
shows him, there’s no point in hiding it, but he enjoys the confusion that splits Pete’s brow more
than he should.
“Why do you have… is that ginger ?”

“Hmmm.”

Pete laughs, his face crinkling in that beautiful, blissful expression of happiness that Vegas was so
obsessed with.

“What, you going to make me lunch?”

Vegas holds a knob of ginger roughly resembling the size and shape of a small carrot in his left
hand; in his right, he holds a small knife. Pete’s eyes go to both, but they are still not afraid. Not
even when Vegas flips the knife around in his hands and quirks a brow. Pete isn’t afraid of him.

Not yet, anyway.

Slowly, deliberately, careful not to cut too deep, Vegas begins to peel the ginger. The sweet and
spicy smell of the fresh root fills the air with the first slice, and Vegas’ blood immediately stirs, the
scent burning itself into his memory. He had made sure to buy the ripest and freshest specimen,
and he can see that his efforts weren’t wasted as a thin film of juice drips down the knife and falls
to splatter somewhere amidst the discarded peels on the floor.

Vegas’ silence must make Pete nervous, because Vegas hears the jangle of his chains as he adjusts
his footing, an awkward shuffle of uncertainty. Pete was entirely predictable, sometimes.

“What’s that for, then?”

Vegas detects a hint of trepidation in Pete’s tone. He seems to be finally catching on, realizing that
this wasn’t a game, that Vegas had some purpose that he had yet to divine. Vegas loves that shiver
that tumbles down Pete’s spine, the way his chest rises and falls with the staccato of his breathing,
as he is left lingering in the uncertain silence. He loves the way Pete’s eyes dart between Vegas’
hands, a clear sign of his racing mind, as he tries in vain to figure it out.

When the ginger is peeled, Vegas sets about carving the wider end into a defined notch, forming a
makeshift flared base. It’s such a classic shape, unmistakeable.

Pete finally figures it out.

“You– you’re not going to…”

Vegas looks up at him through veiled lashes. “Oh, yes.”

Pete’s eyes widen. “In– inside me?”

He’s closer to fear, now. Vegas can sense it.

A lazy smile splits Vegas’ face, and he licks some of the ginger’s juice from his fingertips. He
steps into Pete, close enough that the scent of ginger is heady where it is trapped between them. It
fills every one of Vegas’ senses and he knows he will never be able to smell it again without
remembering this.

“Oh, yes,” Vegas says. “This is going inside you, Pete.”

Pete swallows thickly. He’s nervous now, Vegas can see the first signs of sweat beading at his
brow. But the part that Vegas loves the most, the part that makes something wild and animal purr
in satisfaction inside him, is that he doesn’t even know, yet. Pete has no idea what the ginger is
going to do to him.

If he had, he probably would have been afraid.

Vegas kicks Pete’s legs apart abruptly, forcing him to the tips of his toes to stay balanced, and
forcing most of his weight to hang off the chains. Pete yelps, and his beautiful body stretches even
further, revealing the lines of his muscles beneath soft, creamy skin and the impression of his ribs,
rising and falling with each and every breath. Vegas runs his fingers around his torso as he circles
him again. He marvels at him, at his subservience, at his willingness. He admires what is his.

He presses himself against Pete’s back so their bodies are once more flush. One arm winds around
Pete’s waist possessively, and his hand gently strokes at the soft trail of hair just below his navel,
just to feel the muscles jump under his touch. Just to feel Pete’s sharp intake of breath, and feel the
way his body presses back against Vegas, searching for more.

Vegas lets him and leans in close, whispering in his ear, “Do you trust me, Pete?”

Pete exhales on a shudder. He lets his head fall onto Vegas’ shoulder, tilting it so that he could look
at him. Their faces are so close like this that it should be uncomfortable, too awkward, too much.
Instead, it’s just intimate. Pete is close enough to kiss, and Vegas wants , but instead he simply
looks. He looks at every one of Pete’s perfect features, from the jut of his chin to the slope of his
nose to the bow of his lips, he looks at his open expression, the fearless conviction that seems to
emanate from him, and drinks him in.

When he finally meets Pete’s eyes, he doesn’t look away. And neither does Pete.

“Yes,” Pete says. Vegas knows he means it.

Feeling something like victory, Vegas smirks. Without warning he slaps Pete’s ass hard, making
the other man jump and cry out in surprise at the sudden sharp pain. But then, impossibly,
incredibly, Pete moans.

Oh, Vegas thinks.

Oh, Perfect.

He does it again, and the reaction is the same, Pete’s moan perhaps even louder than the first. It
sends a shock wave of lust directly to Vegas’ already half-hard cock, and he can’t help but grind
against Pete’s outer thigh, chasing after his body as Pete instinctively bows away.

“You like that, hmm?” Vegas purrs, his voice saccharine sweet and coupled with a gentle kiss to
the crown of Pete’s hair. In sharp contrast, he roughly palms the flesh that is already starting to
redden from the impact of his strike, scratching his nails over the most sensitive places just to
make Pete squirm. “Let’s see if you like this as much.”

There is a bottle of lube within reach on the dresser, and Vegas grabs it. He pours a small amount
onto his fingers, mixing it in with the slight tackiness left from the ginger, and then his hand falls
to Pete’s ass again. But this time, he doesn’t stop at the cheeks. He traces his fingers along the
cleft, leaving a trail of lube as he goes, and presses between until he can feel that perfect little furl
of tight muscle hiding there. The second he does, Pete’s body jolts like he’s been electrocuted. And
he hasn’t even pressed the tip of his finger inside.

“So sensitive,” Vegas chuckles, loving every second of it. “Can you handle it?”

Before Pete can reply, Vegas’ smirk turns to a snarl, and he shoves the full length of his finger
inside him. Even with the lube it's a tight stretch, and Vegas can feel Pete’s hole constricting
around the intrusion, confused by the sudden pressure and fullness.

The chains rattle as Pete’s head lolls on Vegas’ shoulder and he keens .

Vegas swears under his breath as he wrestles to maintain control over himself. The feeling of Pete’s
hot, tight body around his finger, an imitation of how that same place might feel around his cock, is
torturously good. He’s so tempted to abandon his plans, discard the ginger, and just fuck Pete right
then and there. It’s a near thing, with the sounds Pete is making. If Vegas didn’t know any better,
he’d think Pete was doing it deliberately, just to test the bounds of his self control.

But Vegas’ self control is stronger than that.

Instead of taking his time as he usually would, Vegas prepares Pete quickly, fucking his finger in
and out in motions designed to stretch instead of pleasure, until Pete’s body relaxes enough that he
can add a second. Pete makes an unhappy sound, hips twitching away at the too quick stretch of
the intrusion, but Vegas doesn’t give an inch. He couldn’t afford to, if everything was to go as
planned. Because the moment his ginger coated fingers had touched Pete’s hole, the countdown
had begun.

Sure enough, not a minute after the second finger begins to thrust inside him, Pete starts to move
again, even more restless and fidgety this time, like there is a sudden itch he can’t scratch. He
makes a soft, confused sound that makes Vegas’ cock throb. His expression crumples, his beautiful
brows bowing in growing concern.

“Uh… Vegas.”

Vegas smiles. “Yes?”

“It’s… Is it… My ass is…”

“Burning?”

Pete’s eyes fly open and his head snaps around to look at Vegas, who is staring at him like he’s a
meal to be devoured. Pete simply looks, for a long moment, searching Vegas’ face for the truth.

And then the realization sinks in.

“The ginger?”

Vegas chuckles. He leans in close, nuzzling into Pete’s ear, and whispers low and dark, just for
him, “And that was just what was on my fingers.”

As though a switch has been flipped, Pete starts to struggle, and Vegas’ blood starts pounding
through his veins, sending waves of euphoria through him that are better than any drug. Pete twists
and pulls on his chains, but he finds no weakness in the binds. He tries to close his legs, but every
time Vegas simply kicks them back open, forcing them to stay apart. Vegas’ fingers are still buried
deep inside Pete’s ass, and he hooks them when Pete tries to pull away, keeping him still and
pressing directly into his prostate for good measure.

“Vegas, fuck!”

“That’s right,” Vegas bites Pete’s jaw, his cheek, his neck, any part of him that he can reach,
leaving his mark like stamps on his skin. “Say my name.”
“Vegas, I can’t do this!”

But they both know that he can. And he will.

Until the moment the safeword passes Pete’s lips, Vegas won’t stop. No matter how much Pete
struggles and begs and cries, Vegas wouldn’t stop. Hell, he’d enjoy it more. From now until Vegas
was satisfied, anything and everything is fair game

And Vegas cannot wait to start playing.

“The wonderful thing about the ginger root,” Vegas says, as he starts to extricate his fingers from
Pete’s body, “Is its ability to cause the most exquisite pain without leaving any trace or damage.”
He rolls the bulb of the ginger root between his fingers, just in the periphery of Pete’s vision, just
where he can see. Where he can watch. “You see, Pete, you don’t always need brute force to make
someone suffer. Sometimes the simplest torture is the cruelest.”

Pete’s eyes are wide as he watches Vegas lower the ginger until it is out of his view. He startles,
just a little, when Vegas presses the thin head of the peeled root to Pete’s ass, rubbing it over his
hole to slick it up with the lube that has made a mess there. Pete’s hips try to jerk away, cheeky
little bastard, but Vegas uses his other hand to keep him still. With little effort he forces Pete to
stand there, caged in his arms, and take it, as ever so slowly Vegas begins to push the ginger inside
him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” Pete moans, yanking on his chains with a white knuckled grip. He pushes to
his toes, like he can try to outrun Vegas and the ginger, but it is to no avail. Vegas will chase him
wherever he runs. Wherever he hides.

“It’s going to hurt you,” Vegas drawls, slowly twisting the tapered tip of the ginger just inside him,
letting it slip a little deeper. “It’s going to be more than you can stand. You’re going to beg me to
take it out. You’re going to beg me to stop. And guess what?” He presses a kiss to the side of
Pete’s face as he leans in to whisper low in his ear; “I won’t.”

Pete’s chest shudders as he sucks in a desperate breath. He shakes his head, like he’s trying to deny
the reality of what Vegas is telling him. But he doesn’t have that power, not anymore. He gave that
to Vegas the second he offered his wrists for binding, and they both know it.

“I’m going to make you scream,” Vegas promises.

Biting at his ear, Vegas presses the ginger in, hard. He feels the resistance of Pete’s body, feels it
like it’s part of himself, as it slowly gives and opens up for the root, until it sinks in up to the hilt
Vegas had carved. It was all inside him, now. Every last inch of impending torture. There was no
going back.

Pete’s head falls forward and he bites his lip, hard, like he’s trying to keep himself silent. Like he’s
trying to steal his sounds from Vegas.

That was not allowed.

Vegas grabs a hold of Pete’s hair and yanks his head back, exposing the long column of his
vulnerable throat. It bobs as Pete swallows thickly, and Vegas watches it, that most vital place, like
a predator stalking its prey. He can see the hammering of Pete’s pulse jumping under the skin. He
can smell the want and fear and need emanating from him. A small aborted moan slips past his
bitten-shut lips before he can stop it, and Vegas smirks in victory.

He kisses Pete’s neck, laving his tongue across the salt-sweet skin, before he bites down hard.
 Pete once more tries to suppress his moan, but he can’t, not with the angle Vegas holds his head,
not with the way Vegas lips and teeth and tongue worry at his skin until they’ve left a distinct mark
in their wake.

Vegas leaves one mark and then another, and then another. He does it just to amuse himself, and
just because he can, while he waits patiently for the inevitable.

It doesn’t take long.

“Vegas– Vegas, fuck, it hurts.”

“Hmmm,” Vegas kisses one of the many marks he has made, feeling a warm satisfaction pool low
in his belly at the sight of it. “Tell me what it feels like.”

Pete whines and tries to jerk his head away from Vegas’ grip, like a stubborn brat. Vegas doesn’t
allow it. He grabs a hold of him harder around the waist and tugs his hair to yank his head back
ruthlessly far, far enough that Pete’s mouth slips open and he groans loudly in something between
pleasure and pain. It quickly devolves into unintelligible whines and whimpers, the most sinful
sounds of discomfort, sounds that make Vegas’ cock ache, as the ginger does its work .

But, still, Pete is disobedient. He screws his eyes shut and turns his face away from Vegas and
refuses to answer. He dances on his toes and wiggles his body and does everything he can to try
and shake himself free, to no avail. There was never any chance of his getting free.

And he should really know better than to disobey a direct command, by now.

Vegas waits for the perfect moment, until Pete is distracted in struggling against him mindlessly,
until he assumes the worst of the danger has passed.

“I told you,” Vegas purrs, “To tell me what it feels like.”

Then, he spanks Pete’s ass so hard the sound echoes like a gunshot in the quiet room. His palm
stings with the force of the blow.

Pete’s reaction is instantaneous; his entire body convulses like he’s received an electric shock. He
rocks up to his toes, pulling so hard at the chains that the roof beam they are attached to creaks.
His mouth opens in the shape of a cry, but no sound escapes. He goes so still he doesn’t even
breathe.

And then, he breaks.

“ Vegas !”

Vegas holds him, hushing him softly as Pete begins to shake, as his head tosses back and forth,
trying to deny the reality of what is happening to him.

“ It hurts.”

Vegas hums. He is sure it does. The ginger on its own is painful enough, the burn is an almost
living thing that settles underneath the surface of the skin and radiates a gentle, persistent agony.
But coupled with a spank? Pete would have no choice but to clench in reaction to the impact, and
the tensing caused the burn to increase thousandfold.

Pete’s suffering is a thing of beauty. The way his breaths shudder past his parted lips, the way his
skin shines with sweat, the way his body jerks in tiny, helpless spasms; it is perfection. Vegas
could watch him suffer for hours, knowing that Pete was suffering for him. It is the most total form
of power Vegas has ever felt. It’s better than any drug. It’s fucking addictive.

Vegas is going to destroy him.

In a moment of fondness, Vegas gently strokes Pete’s raven locks, feeling the strands slide through
his fingers like silk, as soft as butter. He kisses Pete’s brow and winds his arms tightly around him,
hands resting low on his stomach, cradling possessively. This gentleness is something of a reward,
for Pete, a taste of something sweet to temper the spice. But he was going to have to do a lot better
than that to satisfy Vegas.

“Describe it to me.”

“ Vegas–”

“Now.”

Pete shakes his head back and forth again and again, his eyes screwed shut and his face a gorgeous
maelstrom of contradictions; want and denial, fear and anticipation. Pleasure and pain. His body is
beginning to tremor, but Vegas knows it's not only from the agony of the ginger. Pete can still
handle so much more.

“It– it feels like… like burning. Fuck , Vegas, I can’t–”

Vegas shushes him, holding him tighter and massaging his hips in small circles with his thumbs.
The action feels so natural Vegas hardly notices himself doing it.

“It’s so much, isn’t it?” He kisses into Pete’s hair. He rests his forehead on the nape of Pete’s neck
and looks down, down to where he can see his cock resting against Pete’s gorgeous ass, to the
place where their bodies connect. “You’re doing well so far.”

“So far!?”

Vegas chides Pete’s outburst by spanking him again, a hard slap to the outside of his cheek, one
that drives Pete to his toes. This time he knows what's coming. He tries so hard not to clench,
Vegas can feel his struggle, the delicious conflict that rages within him as he tries so hard to fight
what he knows is coming. But in the end Pete cannot fight the inevitable.

Vegas feels Pete’s body stiffen as he finally gives in, letting his hole clench around the ginger and
extracting more of that delicious agony from the root. The moan of pain that spills out of Pete’s
mouth is sinful.

The urge to take him is almost overwhelming. Vegas has never wanted so badly to be inside
another person, to feel the tight heat of another body around him, as he does in that moment. No
one has ever made him want the way that Pete does. No one has ever made him feel this close to
breaking. He has to stop himself and force himself to breathe, to wrestle back control from the
beast threatening to rear its ugly head and consume them both. There would be time for that later.

Now, it is time to finish taking Pete apart. Vegas’ own pleasure can wait.

It takes every ounce of his self control to do it, but Vegas wrests himself away from Pete’s body,
taking a step back so that there is distance between them. He circles Pete, who watches him with
wary eyes, eyes that are glassy with pleasure and pain and anticipation. And maybe, just maybe, a
little bit of fear.
“Do you know where the practice of using ginger as a means of inflicting pain comes from?”
Vegas asks conversationally.

He doesn’t expect Pete to answer, and between pain and the indignation, Pete doesn’t. He narrows
his eyebrows, trying to look tough despite how his body shakes, and uses the opportunity of Vegas’
departure to close his legs, instead.

Vegas allows it. For now.

“It’s surprisingly genius,” he chuckles. “The British, in particular, were quite notorious for their
fondness of it in corporal punishments. But perhaps a practical demonstration would be more
fitting?”

Vegas comes to a stop right in front of Pete and grabs a hold of his jaw possessively, leaning in
close enough that he can feel Pete’s ragged breath on his cheeks. He lingers there for a long,
languorous moment to simply enjoy the fire that Pete stares him down with, the sweat on his brow,
the quiver of his lip, before closing the distance and kissing him.

Vegas kisses Pete like he is devouring him, and perhaps that is what he wants; to consume him,
whole, every piece of him, to take him in hard and bruising and biting pieces, and leave him
swollen and red and aching for Vegas and nothing else. Perhaps he wants to reduce him to nothing
but this, this mess of pain and pleasure and fear and want, so beautifully subservient with just a
whisper of defiance, and then cradle the remnants of him, mark each piece as his . The way it
should be.

Pete’s eyes slowly close and Vegas watches him, the way he starts to unfurl into the kiss, some
part of it distracting him from the constant pain. It’s so very easy for Vegas to let his hand run
down Pete’s chest, tracing the dips and valleys in his muscles, down his stomach, down to his
groin and then…

Pete jerks, breaking their kiss, and tugs wildly on his chains as Vegas wraps his hand around his
cock. He looks down to where Vegas holds him and makes a confused, tormented sound as his
hips half buck into the grip before shying away.

“Vegas,” Pete moans, his head rolling against his arm, his eyelashes fluttering, his body as taut as a
bowstring ready to snap. “Fuck, Vegas.”

Vegas squeezes him, feeling the silky smooth texture of him in his hand, the weight of him, the
heat of him, and feels his own cock throb in want. He strokes firmly from root to tip, twisting
slightly at the head, and smirks as Pete’s thighs shake. He’s trying to stay very still, trying not to
disturb the ginger inside him, trying to avoid the pain instead of surrendering to it. It makes
something dark in Vegas stir.

Hand still fisting his cock, Vegas kisses him again, forcing Pete’s lips apart and licking into his
mouth, demanding and unrelenting, until Pete acquiesces and lets him in. Vegas taunts him, teases
him, playing with him with tongue and teeth and his ever moving hand, before finally biting down
on his bottom lip, hard enough that Pete flinches, hard enough to leave a mark. He laves his tongue
over it almost apologetically when he is satisfied, sucking Pete’s bottom into his mouth and
drawing blood to the surface before kissing the place he has bruised, tempering his violence with a
taste of something sweeter. He thumbs the slit of Pete’s cock as he does it.

Pete continues his desperate dance of pain, the stinging and burning of the ginger no doubt finally
reaching its apex, at the very edge of unbearable. It would be battling with the pleasure now, each
sensation threatening to overwhelm the other, but Vegas knows which side wins out when Pete’s
cock remains hard in his hand, weeping into his fist, betraying Pete no matter how badly he wants
to hide it.

When Vegas finally releases him, Pete doesn’t even make a sound. Many people would be a mess
on the floor, but Pete doesn’t even sag in his bonds, he stands tall and defiant in spite of everything,
and stares Vegas down. There is trepidation in his eyes, perhaps, but not fear. He still has strength
left in him.

Perfect .

Vegas goes back to the dresser. With Pete’s anxious eyes on him, he withdraws his final prize from
within.

A leather paddle.

It is long, sleek, black and padded, and hefty in Vegas’ hands. It’s light and flexible enough to bend
easily as he tests it, but firm enough that, when he smacks it against his palm, the meaty thunk of
sound it produces is deeply satisfying. It won’t leave permanent damage or scars, but it will hurt.

A lot.

Pete’s eyes are wide. His mouth shapes soundless words, perhaps sounds of pain or a plea for
mercy, perhaps even a denial of impossible reality facing him, but it never leaves his lips. He meets
Vegas eyes and there. There. That is what Vegas has been waiting for.

Pete knows what is coming. He knows he can’t stop it.

And he is afraid.

Vegas’ blood pumps with building excitement as he returns to stand behind Pete, wasting no more
time, his entire being alight with anticipation of what is about to happen. He takes up his position
standing side on, the paddle poised in his hands before its target, and grabs a hold of Pete’s hair,
pulling roughly and dragging him a step backwards, back into Vegas’ reach. He caresses Pete’s ass
with the paddle, deliberately poking at the ginger where the head of it peeks out of his body, just to
make Pete swear and raise a knee almost protectively to his chest. It just bares his ass all the better
for the paddle to explore.

“Vegas.”

Pete’s voice is thin, weak. He sounds like a shell of himself.

“Vegas…”

“I’ve got you,” Vegas hushes him. He circles the paddle over his ass cheek, marking out his target.
“Remember, I’ve always got you.”

Then, he strikes.

And Pete screams.

He doesn’t stop, not at one. Not at two. Not at three. He lands the paddle on Pete’s left cheek and
then waits for the moment it takes for his body to clench against the pain, which in turn causes the
ginger to burn , and then he strikes at the right. He watches the way Pete’s body reacts to the
strikes, anticipates how he will wiggle and move and try to avoid the blows, and meets him
wherever he runs to. There is nowhere he can go that Vegas won’t follow him with his endless pain
and pleasure. There is no end to the blows as they fall.

The sound alone is enough to drive Vegas insane. Every hard smack of the paddle against Pete’s
skin is like an electric current down his spine, every one of Pete’s broken sobs and moans is a pull
from deep within that curls in his gut and makes his cock ache. The pattern of marks that the
paddle leaves is a speckling of red blotches amidst a gentler, rosy pink blush, and it’s exquisite. It’s
perfect. It’s fucking addictive. Vegas feels high on it.

He strikes again, and again and again.

“Everytime you try to escape the pain, you can’t,” He growls, raising the paddle for another strike.
“It follows you. It hunts you. It torments you, no matter how badly you try to fight it.”

He yanks Pete’s hair hard, forcing his head back and a broken cry out of him. His thighs are
shaking, drawing up against his body one after the other in a helpless cycle of vain self-comfort.
His hands are white knuckled on the shackles above his head. His eyes are closed, and they glisten
at the corners where tears have begun to gather.

“Vegas, I can’t–”

“Every blow is a sweet, blissful torture.” He strikes hard, admiring the red welt already beginning
to form across the left hand cheek, admiring the way Pete’s body arches in pain. “Every moment is
agony without end.” He duplicates the welt on the other cheek, just to keep the marks symmetrical.
Just so he can admire his canvas properly. “What’s worse I wonder, the pain of the paddle or the
pain of the ginger? Hmm?”

“I– I–”

Another hard smack and Pete yanks on his chains. They rattle almost as loud as the moan that
breaks from his swollen lips. His entire body goes rigid, his stomach hollows from the breath he
sucks in desperately.

And then, he slumps.

Vegas senses the change. Vegas feels the moment that it happens.

The moment Pete breaks.

It’s almost euphoric, the feeling of power and control and possession that rushes through him,
watching Pete sag, his legs struggling to hold him up. Vegas crowds in close, shoving his face
against Pete’s neck and breathing in the scent of him; his sweat, his pain, his fear, his pleasure.
Pete simply dangles limply, shuddering now that the rhythmic blows have finally ceased, little
tremors of helpless pain wracking him that makes Vegas’ cock hard. Tears are flowing down his
cheeks and he’s bitten his lips almost bloody, but Vegas thinks he looks perfect. He wraps his arms
around him and holds him, just for a moment, before his hands start to slide down.

Pete whimpers, utterly broken, utterly defeated, when Vegas’ fingertips start teasing at the corners
of his groin, hinting at where they might go next. He didn’t think that it was over, did he? Vegas
chuckles, low and dark, as he looks down Pete’s body at his cock, standing tall and proud and hard
despite everything. He takes it into his large hand and squeezes just hard enough to make Pete gasp
and rock forward into him, which has the delightful effect of making Pete unwittingly clench.
Pleasure is still not safe.

“Fuck!” Pete’s voice breaks on his cry. He sounds wrecked. He sounds defeated.
Vegas drinks his agony like a man deprived and revels in it. “Give in to me, Pete,” he coaxes, his
voice so deceptively gentle as he rocks his hips into Pete’s ass, driving the ginger into his body,
eliciting more pain even as he strokes Pete’s cock. “Let go.”

He twists his hand over the head of Pete’s cock and feels against his own body the way Pete’s
reacts. He can feel every muscle twitch, every tremor, every shake. He can feel his sharp, sudden
reactions to pain and his desperate, wanton surrender to pleasure, and he uses it to play Pete’s body
against itself. He lets him sink into pleasure just long enough that his muscles begin to relax, his
guard begins to slip, and then he fists his cock hard and grinds himself into Pete’s ass and sends
him spiraling back into blissful agony.

Again and again and again.

And then, when pleasure has broken him, when he thinks there’s nothing left that Vegas can do,
Vegas drops him. And picks up the paddle.

The look of despair in Pete’s eyes makes Vegas want to eat him alive.

Ruthlessly, endlessly, Vegas alternates between spanking Pete with the paddle and jerking him off,
balancing him on the knife’s edge of overwhelming pain and intoxicating pleasure. He works him
to the brink with skilful hands and gentle touches, right to the point where he is certain there will
be no return, only to abruptly spank him again, shattering perfect pleasure with even more exquisite
pain and starting the process all over again.

Pete, already broken, takes it and takes it and takes it. He sinks deeper and deeper and deeper into
that unfathomable place of ecstasy that marries pleasure and pain into one indistinguishable,
unbearable sensation.

He’s past the point of fear, now. He has finally accepted.

Vegas strokes his red, raw ass with the rough edge of the paddle. “Have you had enough yet,
hmm?”

Pete has slumped forwards, his head fallen, but Vegas grabs a fistful of hair to yank it back up. He
wraps a hand around his cock as he licks a vicious line up Pete’s nape, neck and cheek, ending with
a hard bite on his jaw. He squeezes him tight, fisting from base to tip and twisting in the perfect
motion. Pete can’t help but rock his hips into it; he’s always been helpless to Vegas’ touch, even
now. Even when it’s unbearable.

“Have you taken enough pain?”

“Yes!”

Vegas laughs. He squeezes Pete’s cock hard at the head, so sensitive and swollen that Pete lifts
both feet off the ground trying to close his legs and protect himself, letting himself hang fully on
the weight of his arms. A shattered cry escapes him; the ginger inside him must burn, in that
position. His legs fall back to the ground, but Pete doesn’t even try to hold himself up with them.
He hangs on his chains in beautiful surrender.

“I think you’ve been good enough,” Vegas smirks. “I think you took that so well for me, Pete. And
you’re going to keep taking it so beautifully for me, aren’t you?”

“Ke–keep…” Pete is almost completely limp, just a shivering, shaking mess. “I–”

His words are drowned with a scream as Vegas, without warning, pulls the root of ginger out of his
body.

Vegas palms the gloriously red, marked ass cheeks that quiver so delightfully for him as he gives
Pete a moment to comprehend the intense sensations overwhelming him. His hole flutters,
clenching around nothing, still burning with the aftermath of the ginger as it will for a short while.
But Vegas doesn’t intend to leave him empty for long.

Because Vegas has waited long enough.

He finds the condom on top of the dresser where he left it, ready for this moment, and rips it open
with his teeth before rolling it over his aching, hard cock. He shivers in pleasure as he touches
himself, but he keeps focused on the matter at hand.

“Vegas,” Pete moans, still so slack and pliant and broken in his bonds. “ Vegas. ”

Vegas holds his hips with an iron grip and rubs himself against Pete’s ass, making Pete wince and
hiss at the pain of the friction against his bruised and battered cheeks. His cock catches on Pete’s
hole, still flexing like it can’t stand to be empty, and the sensation makes shivers roll down Vegas’
spine. When he takes himself in hand and finally presses firmly against that entrance, finally feels
the tentative, blissful give of those muscles as they welcome him inside, it’s all he can do to hold
onto Pete and try not to lose control. It’s so good, so tight, so hot, so much. He wants to unleash
himself, become the beast that’s simmering beneath the surface, and brutalize Pete until he’s sated,
leaving nothing left.

He wants to consume him.

But Vegas maintains his control. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how badly he aches, he
forces himself to push in at that slow, inexorable pace, until he’s buried all the way inside, his hips
pressed flush to Pete’s burning hot ass.

Pete sobs, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks, but Vegas knows they’re in more than just pain.
Vegas knows exactly how much he likes this moment, right after the first thrust inside, when
everything is too big and too much and too overwhelming and his every sense fills up with Vegas
and drowns in it. Pete craves this as much as he does.

Vegas gives him a cursory moment to adjust, grinding his hips just a little to keep him alert, keep
him guessing. His hands stroke down Pete’s beautiful chest, his sides, his back, anywhere he can
reach. He feels the evidence of the devastation wreaked on Pete’s body in his tremors and shivers.
He knows how broken he has left him.

And yet.

“Fuck me.”

Vegas blinks, almost surprised, his head snapping up as Pete’s words sink in. He had thought Pete
long past the point of coherent words, but the other man manages to astound him one last time.

“ Fuck me.”

For once, Vegas does as he’s told.

He holds Pete’s hips, draws his cock out of his tight, wet hole, and slams back inside. Pete wails,
too limp and weak to do anything but hold on as Vegas does it again and again and again. He fucks
Pete so hard that, despite the shackles, he’s driven forwards, one stuttering foot at a time, until his
back arches and his arms stretch behind him, forcing his body into the perfect stretch for Vegas to
admire as he fucks him. The angle is perfect, so Vegas hooks one arm under Pete’s thigh and lifts,
forcing his body to contort, increasing the pressure around his cock until it was perfect. Half held in
Vegas’ arms, Pete can do nothing but surrender.

“Fuck, Pete,” Vegas says with stuttering breath. “ Fuck.”

Vegas wraps his arm around Pete’s body and takes hold of his cock, and instantly Pete arches
harder against him, hips jerking forward into Vegas hand, and he moans. God, the sound of it is so
filthy, so depraved, Vegas can’t help but shudder and bury his face in Pete’s nape and bite at his
shoulder blades, anything to be closer to him, anything to have more of him.

He feels Pete’s body tense in rolling waves, feels his chest quiver under his bites and kisses, and
knows he’s close. He tightens his grip and rolls his hips, aiming his cock for that place inside that
was going to drive Pete insane. He knew he found it when Pete threw back his head and screamed
Vegas name.

“Again,” Vegas demanded, punctuating it with a brutal thrust. “Say my name.”

“ Ve–Vegas ”

“ Again.”

“Vegas!”

Pete comes like that; with his back arched in reckless abandon, his arms straining against the
chains, his head thrown back, and Vegas name on his lips.

Vegas loses himself.

He fucks into Pete’s body like an animal, a beast, completely lost to the demanding, desperate need
to be inside him, within him, a part of him. His hands claw at Pete’s shivering body, his mouth
biting at his sweat-salty flesh, and his cock fucks him open until Pete is trembling from something
more than pain, more than pleasure, past the point of orgasm until he’s twisting in Vegas grip like
a wild thing, trying desperately to escape him.

He cries fresh tears as he becomes newly sensitive, the too much feeling growing until he becomes
absolutely wrecked by it. “Vegas! Please!” He begs with abandon. “Please!”

Vegas feels raw and bestial possessiveness as bends forward to lick the tears from Pete’s cheeks.
He snaps his hips hard, fast, pulling Pete’s leg up higher and practically holding him up as he fucks
into him. Every part of Pete belongs to him, even his tears. Especially his tears.

“You’re mine,” Vegas growls into Pete’s ear, and doesn’t even recognise the sound of his own
voice, the animal he’s become. “ You’re fucking mine.”

In oversensitivity, Pete’s body tightens. He’s like a vice around Vegas’ cock, and it’s so hot, so
much, so perfect, Vegas feels whatever was left of his control shatter. He loses himself, selfishly
taking his pleasure from Pete’s trembling, wanton body. He fucks him until the sweat drips down
his back and his muscles burn, until Pete is past tears and begging and his cock has hardened anew.
He fucks him until Pete’s body tightens a second impossible time, and then he can’t help himself;
he sinks his teeth into Pete’s shoulder, holds him ruthlessly down, and comes inside him so hard
his vision goes pure white.

It leaves him shaking. It leaves him fractured.

 It breaks him, too.

The world spins when the wave of pleasure finally recedes, and Vegas remembers how to breathe.
Pete is still trembling and moaning and shaking with his own orgasm, and that abruptly becomes
the entire world to Vegas, who cannot help but marvel at the sight of him. Pete looks absolutely
wrecked, filthy and debauched, sweaty and marked and covered in his own come. He came with
his cock entirely untouched. Vegas huffs a breath of impressed laughter, stroking a hand down
Pete’s face, the action instinct, thoughtless.

But then Pete presses into his hand, nuzzling it. He kisses the side of Vegas’ palm.

Vegas’ chest feels suddenly too tight.

Pete opens his eyes. They are bloodshot and teary but somehow, impossibly, vibrant and fierce and
bright, and he looks through his lashes at Vegas. He smirks, an exhausted little quirk of his lips.

He’s beautiful, Vegas thinks.

He’s mine.

“Next time I challenge you to surprise me,” Pete says, his voice hoarse and rough, “Tell me to quit
while I’m ahead.”

Vegas laughs. He holds Pete’s face, and it feels so tender, so intimate, he can hardly breathe for it.
So he kisses him. And kisses him. And kisses him.

He’s mine.

End Notes

So who knew figging and spanking was a juicy enough subject matter to write 7.3k words
about!

Thank you to the horny, horny anons on tumblr who put this thought in my brain. I dedicate
this filth to you.

find me on tumblr @ahdriking

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