Stockholm (Shadows cast light)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39767610.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: |
KinnPorsche: The Series (TV),
| KinnPorsche: The Series (TV) RPF
Relationship: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun,
mentioned Kinn/Porsche, Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn
Theerapanyakun
Character: Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Kinn
Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Tawan
(KinnPorsche: the Series), Vegas's father
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence,
Violence, Blood and Violence, Vegas likes it rough, Pete likes it too,
Love, Love Confessions, Falling In Love, Boys In Love, Love/Hate, Slow
Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, until it
becomes healthy, I mean I'll try, Roughness, Rough Sex, Mildly Dubious
Consent, Dubious Morality, Mafia world, Gangsters, Vegas is an idiot,
Pete is smart, Fucked Up, they both are tbf, Vegas has daddy issues,
and Pete does too, Daddy Issues, I'm laughing bc it's an actual tag
lmao, How Do I Tag, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Dom/sub,
Light Dom/sub, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Bondage, Light Bondage, Rope
Bondage, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, so much feelings, Anal
Sex, Anal Fingering, i'm sorry gosh
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-06-20 Updated: 2022-07-18 Chapters: 12/22 Words:
43925

Stockholm (Shadows cast light)

by Atleastimsleeping2

Summary

It is odd, he thinks darkly. He shouldn’t feel anything remotely close to affection for this
man. Vegas is his jailer, the man keeping him in his basement for his own private
enjoyment, which involves a lot of mocking and a few beatings.

Pete shouldn’t feel pity and sympathy when Vegas comes to visit him, the marks of his
father’s blows clearly visible on his fair skin, and misery and pain evident in his eyes.

No, he was sure, he shouldn’t be feeling anything else than hatred, and he should only be
thinking of a plan to escape and leave Vegas and his dim-lit basement. His only thought
should be to escape. Well, he did want to run away, to be freed from the handcuffs hurting
the tender skin of his wrists, leaving deep crimson marks. Still, he also wanted to
understand why Vegas was keeping him alive.
 ...

Pete honestly doesn’t know what will happen for the first time since he got there. He
wonders why Vegas keeps him close when he cannot even look away from the other
tormented form.

If Vegas is mad, Pete thinks bitterly, then I am too, for caring.

Hello! This is the multi-chaptered version of my one-shot, Stockholm (Losing me is better

than losing you)!

Notes

Helloooo!

So, I decided to try and write a story about these two

As a fair warning, this is an unhealthy relationship. Pete is Vegas' prisoner and Vegas is not
tender, since he still is a notorious gangster (and let's be honest, real gangsters prob do
worst things). Although, I will try to make it work and somehow less toxic (I'll try, but I
can't promise), well this is obviously going to be canon-divergent.

I'm using ep11 to write the first few chapters, but I put more depth into Pete and Vegas'
characters because I think the show is missing how much potential these two have.

Also, this story is the following of a one-shot called Stockholm (Losing me is better than
losing you), but don't worry, I'm putting it as the first chapter so you don't have to look for it
and it will allow you to better understand the story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!

(This is unedited, so forgive any mistakes you can find)

 Losing me is better than losing you (one-shot)

It is odd, he thinks darkly. He shouldn’t feel anything remotely close to affection for this man.
Vegas is his jailer, the man keeping him in his basement for his own private enjoyment, which
involves a lot of mocking and a few beatings.

Pete shouldn’t feel pity and sympathy when Vegas comes to visit him, the marks of his father’s
blows clearly visible on his fair skin, and misery and pain evident in his eyes.

No, he was sure, he shouldn’t be feeling anything else than hatred, and he should only be thinking
of a plan to escape and leave Vegas and his dim-lit basement. His only thought should be to escape.
Well, he does want to run away, to be freed from the handcuffs hurting the tender skin of his
wrists, and leaving deep crimson marks. Still, he also wants to understand why Vegas was keeping
him alive.

Pete knows from his reputation that the other man is notorious for being merciless; as such, he
should've been dead by now. Instead, he is alive (hurting, but very much alive), and Vegas brings
him food three times a day, every day since he got there, and sometimes (most times), he would
come down to see him, but without punching him, just taunting him. Pete knows it is strange for
the other man to act like this, even more so that he couldn’t explain why. He hasn't been a prisoner
for a long time, but Vegas' behaviour is still odd.

He tries to move slightly, his arms stretched above his head, attached to a long, heavy-looking
chain tied to a pulley fixed to the ceiling. His shoulders are sore from the awkward position, and
the blood has long left his hands and fingers. There is no comfortable posture he could find. Tired
and unable to ease the sore pain of his shoulders, back and wrists, Pete tiredly leans his head
against his bicep, closing his eyes for a moment. He thinks back to the last time Vegas had visited.
He had a large red bruise all over his right cheek, and the corner of his right eye had been turning a
deep yellow. Neither had he smiled nor smirked, as he usually did. He simply looked at Pete,
sorrow and anger in his almond-shaped eyes, his lips curling as he landed his gaze on the
untouched meal by his side. He had frowned and asked why Pete wasn’t eating, and all he had
found to answer was that he wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t too far from the truth; the bowl of soup
hadn’t felt appealing to him at the time. Although, he should also have wondered why he felt
comfortable enough to be a picky eater while he obviously was in a disadvantaging position and
Vegas’ prisoner.

Pete has a lot of things to wonder about, and maybe this bizarre ease he has to complain about the
food is the source of all his questions.
Frankly, it isn't the first time Pete has been held prisoner and tortured; working for the most
powerful family in the mafia world comes with its own risks. He knows it better than anyone,
which was why Kinn entrusted this task to him, not to anyone else (like Porsche). There always
was a risk of dying, or worse, being tortured. Pete was among the best when it came to espionage.
It was primarily because he knew how to hold his tongue, no matter the torment used to make him
talk in the instance he would be captured. His time in Vegas’ basement was no different; he hadn’t
given the other man any information, and he would not.

However, no matter how good Pete is at resisting pain, he never has played the picky eater before.
Firstly, because he really is not. Secondly, when held hostage or prisoner, the occasions to eat are
rare, so if presented with food, he would not hesitate to eat. You never know when your next meal
will come, if it ever comes.

Pete is confused by his own behaviour, even more so because every time he thinks the next time
Vegas brings his meal, he will stop acting weird and eat, but he does not. Instead, he stares at
Vegas, at his sad eyes when he isn't taunting Pete, at the fading and new bruises on his face…

One way Pete has discovered to bring Vegas out of his daze is to refuse to eat; on those occasions,
he would be angry (or perhaps frustrated?), and the sorrow would temporarily leave his eyes.
When he isn't staring, he thinks about the other man; frankly, it is even worse. He really should be
planning his escape, not wondering (worrying?) about the other man’s feelings and mental state.

It is apparent now that Vegas is unstable. Not because he clearly enjoyed a bit of ferocity and
roughness in private, Pete has no issue with that (even secretly likes it), but because he seems to
genuinely enjoy bringing him pain. He had witnessed the other torture to death a grown man
without a frown or grimace, and, when he had just been captured, Pete had seen the glint of delight
in the other's eyes. Upon reflection, he realises that Vegas has always acted that way when people
are around or when his father is in the building. Otherwise, he would settle for taunting Pete for
hours, touching his exposed skin sensually so that he made Pete more uncomfortable than the
beatings. The other would constantly caress his chest, his arms, his face, or even lower (sometimes
the man’s long fingers would get lost inside his boxer, and his brain wouldn’t know whether to
fight the intrusion or enjoy it), stroking the skin as if he was as fragile as porcelain. He hated how
his stomach would contract and jump slightly at the contact of his fingers, at the feeling of his
breath against his face; he would rather prefer a good old violent beating to erase Vegas’ abnormal
gentleness.

Him touching his skin was even stranger because Pete had known Vegas for a long time, and he
also believed that he liked Porsche.

Pete abruptly opened his eyes, standing straighter at the thought. He was being ridiculous; since
when did anyone need to have any kind of romantic feelings to sensually touch someone else
body? Even he liked the easiness of a one-night stand and its stress-free, thoughtless touches.
Yeah, he thinks again, this whole situation is weird, bizarre even, and Pete has no idea what he
should do about it.

Suddenly, the door opens, and Vegas strolls inside. He looks angry, he notices as he tries to
straighten even further.

“You ruined all my plans”, Vegas declares, a slight slur to his voice, and Pete quickly sees the ugly
bruise at the corner of his lips. It is still bleeding; his father must have come to visit not long ago.

This time, instead of the electricity-conducting pliers he had used the first few times, he is holding
a blood-covered bat. Pete gets ready for a blow, contracting his abdominal muscles in an attempt
to reduce the pain. Instead, he only feels Vegas pressing the tip against his chest a little harder each
time, but never actually striking. Perhaps, Pete is as mad as Vegas, but he wishes the other man
would just hit him because the lack of pain makes him even more tired and dizzy. His head drops
slightly, and he hears Vegas chuckles. The bat's tip moves from his chest to the underside of his
chin, and the man forces his head up, and Pete has no choice but to look into Vegas’ deep caramel
eyes.

There it is, he thinks desperately, the distress and slight haze in the other’s gaze. It is as if Vegas,
the real Vegas, was hiding deep inside him. It would only ever happen after a meeting in private
with his father, Pete had come to realise pretty quickly after his imprisonment.

At the view, Pete growls, more animal than human, and trashes against his restraints.

“Just kill me already!” he yells, half-hoping Vegas would grant him his wish. He doesn't, but Pete
successfully brings some light inside the other’s eyes as a smirk stretches the lines of his red lips.

“At first, I was gonna kill you,” he confesses, leaning away from Pete's personal space ever so
slightly, then leaning in even closer this time, his nose almost touching Pete's, the bat still firmly
under his chin. “But I changed my mind,” he adds softly, his smirk disappearing for a moment.

Pete could only groan in answer, trying to push the bat away (trying to ignore how close the other
man was).

“Because when you suffer, you seem to be more interesting,” he comments, his smirk turning into
a smile. Pete wonders why his stomach flips at the view while his brows frown on their own, and
his lips tug down in a hostile scowl. Maybe he really is crazy, too, after all.
He watches Vegas throwing the bat away with wide eyes, now really wishing for a beating rather
than anything that the other has in mind (he’s sure it involves a lot of touching, and he doesn’t
want his stomach to uncomfortably leap again), his face still fix in a hateful expression. In contrast,
his eyes follow Vegas as he starts walking around him like a predator would stalk its prey.

Pete knows he isn’t pretending to hate the other man. His facial expression and feelings are
genuine; he abhors Vegas and his whole family. But he could not explain why every time the man
would even only brush him, he would feel like a fire had ignited under his skin. It was
uncomfortable and undesirable; he despised Vegas.

Bringing him back to the present, Vegas has started stroking the skin of his forearms, sliding up in
a gentle but far too sensual caress until his fingers reach his shoulder. Pete cannot help but fight a
little fiercer against his restraints, trying to escape the other’s touch, feeling the fire burning all
over again under his skin in the places he had touched.

The delicate touch of his fingertips comes to a halt against his nape before seizing him firmly,
forcing his head up. At the same time, his other hand slowly makes its way down his chest, his
face leaning close to his collarbone. A sudden shiver spreads on Pete's back at the feeling of Vegas'
warm breath hitting his damp skin steadily. Now, trying to hold perfectly still, Pete watches the
other’s hand travel down his chest, fingertips brushing over his pectoral muscles, his diaphragm,
slightly stroking the skin of his belly, before continuing its way further down, not even hesitating
when his fingers reached the barrier of his boxer, fingers spreading over his overheating skin,
brushing against his head. Pete cannot hold back the shudder at the sudden contact. It is almost
overwhelming, but he cannot tell whether it is because of discomfort and hatred or because of the
pleasure he definitely shouldn’t be feeling. The clever fingers move above his skin, half-hidden by
the fabric of his boxer, until they reach his left hipbone, where they rest there in a burning grasp.

“What are you doing?” he breathes heavily, trashing against Vegas’ hold frantically as he looks up
slightly, settling his eyes over the other's face. Still, he ignores him, his eyes focusing on his
fingers holding Pete.

Pete notices the frown on Vegas' face, and his hand promptly shoves away the fabric over his hip
where a tattoo is hidden.

“No legacy is so rich as honesty,” he reads, his frown never leaving his handsome face, something
like disbelief in his voice.

Something’s wrong, Pete thinks when he sees Vegas’s caramel eyes turning pitch black even as his
fingers are caressing the words inked on his hip.
“What a lot of bullshit,” he whispers as the grip on his nape becomes more forceful. He straightens
his spine, finally looking directly into Pete’s eyes.

The hand on his hip comes to hold his chin firmly, his fingers clutching over his jaw as Vegas
leans closer to his face, and Pete has to close his eyes.

“You’re such a good pet of the main family,” Vegas spits out, his grip tightening painfully, and
Pete feels the other's body align against his side, feeling the fabric of his clothes and the warmth of
his body against his naked damp skin. The hand holds his nape and moves up toward his hair,
grabbing a handful and pulling vigorously.

“Let me tell you something,” Vegas murmurs against his cheek, and Pete can only groan. He has
stopped fighting against the tight grip and only prepares himself for a blow he is confident will
come.

“Only the fool thinks that honesty is real,” Vegas asserts hatefully, and Pete may be damned, but
he thinks he spots bitterness under his cruelty. He believes that if the other's father can beat Vegas
up to a pulp, he can also lie to him and teach him that honesty is for the weak. He wouldn’t be too
surprised if it was the case. So, instead of the smart answer he had planned, Pete jerks his head out
of Vegas’ grasp (it occurs to him that Vegas only allows him to get out of his hold because he
definitely has the strength to keep him where he wants) and looks away. As if in response, Vegas’
hands that were until now holding his face travel down his flanks until they settle over his ass. Pete
cannot help the groan, a mix of pleasure at being touched like this after so long and displeasure
because it is Vegas who is touching him while he is tied and cannot do anything about it. His head
drops against the other's shoulder as he forces his body to protest. He wants to punch Vegas, and
his outrage makes his body shakes. This time, his facial expression is desperate, frantic, rather than
hateful.

“I told you to kill me!” he yells as he fights Vegas’ hold over him. He feels his hold body
trembling, rendering Pete mad because he cannot tell if the shaking is out of fear or desire. He
seriously considers himself mentally unstable when his dick hardens ever so slightly, and he yells
at Vegas again, his trashing becoming more urgent.

Then, when Pete thinks he cannot take more, neither Vegas’ burning touch nor his own unwanted
desire, the door suddenly slams open, and his father walks in, followed by his goons. A fresh wave
of shame hits Pete as he becomes conscious of his half-naked and vulnerable state, and as if on cue,
Vegas steps in front of him, hiding his body from the group. Pete wouldn’t say he is thankful, but
he wonders if the other is conscious of his action.

“What are you doing?” the older man asks; his tone is harsh, and Pete witnesses Vegas turning
pale as his tongue absently licks over the bloody corner of his mouth.
“Papa.”

His voice doesn’t shake, Pete notices, and even if he looks slightly scared, he stands perfectly still
in front of the oddly dressed man.

The strike comes without warning. It is powerful, and the impact is so strong that it makes a loud
smacking noise that echoes in the room. Even Pete jolts, surprised, the rattle of his handcuffs
against the pillar, reasoning unexpectedly loudly in his ears. He watches the older man punching
Vegas in the face with so much strength that the latter stumbles. Pete should feel thrilled to see the
other suffer, but he can’t. The only thing he can think about is his father and how he used to hit him
the same way as Vegas' father did. Nothing to be thrilled about, really.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” the man asks again, stepping a little closer to his son, who, to
his credit, does not step away. However, he does look livid, perhaps more than his father.

“I’m doing what you told me to do,” he grits his teeth. Pete is surprised; he had assumed the plan
he had hijacked was entirely from Vegas' mind. He never thought of his father’s involvement.

Something eases inside of him at the realisation, but he ignores it.

“What did I tell you?” he shouts, his fingers firmly grasping over Vegas’ sharp jaw, leaving red,
bloody marks on his fair skin. “I told you to keep an eye on Porsche,” the man continues, his grip
tightening over Vegas’ face, and even to Pete, it looked painful. “Not to hurt him! How dare you
disobey my order?”

And Pete’s mind thinks again; technically, it isn’t Vegas who hurt Porsche. He hadn’t even
planned on hurting the bodyguard. The culprit is Tawan, and the only thing Vegas is genuinely
guilty of is having played Tawan and broke his heart, which the other man had used as a
justification for his actions. Now that Pete considers it, Vegas has no reason to hurt Porsche, apart
from the fact that he is Kinn’s bodyguard (and lover? He always wondered about that). He even
seemed to truthfully like the man. But Vegas’ father doesn’t seem to come to the same conclusion
as Pete as he punches the younger again, making him stumble so strongly that he almost falls over.
Yet again, Vegas slowly straightens, looking more hurt than before, something akin to
hopelessness haunting his eyes, and Pete wonders if the older man will acknowledge him. But the
man keeps ignoring his existence (Pete thanks the deities for that) as he takes a deep breath, his
eyes narrowing on his son, who glares back. Pete wonders whether Vegas is brave or really crazy.
He can’t tell.
The man turns away from Vegas and Pete, stretching his neck and making the thick tendons
apparent under his skin.

“Pack your bags,” he declares, his voice steadier but cold as ice, utterly emotionless. “The main
family has put you on the blacklist. Go to the safehouse. When it gets quiet, we’ll decide what to
do next. They’ll send some guys to check here.”

Vegas finally looks away at his words with an annoyed snarl, his eyes still glaring and black as
night. However, he reports his attention to his father when the man gives him a gun. A SIG-Pro
Pete observes appreciatively before frowning at his own thought. Vegas takes the weapon without
hesitation, but his skin seems too white compared to the black of the gun. The contrast is startling,
Pete thinks.

“Clean this mess up,” his father articulates. His tone is menacing as he pushes the gun forcefully
into Vegas’ grip.

With that, the man and his goons leave the room, only leaving a too rapidly breathing Vegas that
looks dangerously crestfallen and a vulnerable Pete. As the other's crestfallen expression quickly
changes into anger and fury, his grip on the gun tightens. He takes a few steps in the direction
where his father had just vanished before leaning over a small table and pressing the gun against its
surface as his head drops between his shoulders. All Pete can see is the shape of his back and how
tense he is, watching the muscles taut. For a moment, he thinks that Vegas is going to spend all his
rage on him (he should, he’s a prisoner, after all, that’s what jailers do, even at Kinn’s house), but
instead, he suddenly turns to another larger table where various utensils are exposed, and throws it
all against the wall in a surprising and impressive show of strength. Vegas does not look at Pete
once, and he worries him a little (it shouldn’t, his conscience unhelpfully provides).

Then, slowly, Vegas straightens, his eyes still resolutely on the ground as his body turns to Pete.
He thinks that finally, the other will rightfully hit him, but he doesn’t and finds a seat in front of
Pete, putting his elbows on his thighs as he leans forward. Now, rather than angry, Vegas looks
weary. He breathes in deeply, running one hand through his dishevelled hair while the other leaves
the gun on an adjacent table. Then, Pete sees Vegas’ fingers flutter in the air as he lets go of the
weapon as if searching for the cold metallic contact. Swiftly, the long fingers curl over the black
handle, bringing the SIG-Pro to his head, pressing the side of it against his forehead. He hasn’t
looked up yet, his face still downward, and Pete is suddenly worried because the gun’s barrel is
directed at him. Suddenly, as if Vegas has read his mind, he raises the weapon, straightening his
arm, openly aiming at Pete. He is still not looking at him, and Pete finally sees the slight trembling
of his lips. The bruised corner of his mouth is bleeding now, and he can already see the ugly bruise
where his father had hit him.

Vegas doesn’t only look dejected; he seems exhausted, as if he is out of ideas, as if he mourns the
fact that he had failed to please his father. Pete finds it awfully amusing. Vegas is widely known to
be merciless. He is a sadist. He is harsh and cruel. So, seeing him so down because his father
believes he is a failure is kind of amusing, especially when Pete is still tightly tied to the pillar,
half-naked, and that he should be the one looking exhausted and dejected. This time, he doesn’t
really care to bring back the light in those brown eyes; on the contrary, he immensely enjoys seeing
the despair on the other’s gorgeous face.

So, he laughs. It isn’t a particularly loud laugh or a particularly happy one. Still, it is amused,
mocking even, and echoes noisily around them. He laughs so much that it leaves him breathless.
He laughs and laughs, but Vegas does not move and does not react. His gun is still aimed at Pete,
and his whole body is unmoving.

Then, slowly, unhurriedly, Vegas looks up, his eyes just above the gun’s barrel, piercing through
Pete’s, stopping his hilarity. He no longer looks dejected or tired, his face is expressionless, and the
light has left his eyes, turning the usually caramel-coloured, now flat and tern. Pete takes in the
sliver of blood coursing down his chin and the reddish bruise on his cheek, and he holds his breath.
Perhaps, Vegas will finally grant him his wish and pull the trigger?

He doesn’t.

Instead, he narrows his eyes, licking the flecks of blood on his lips.

“Don’t get overjoyed just yet,” he declares, his voice as flat and tern as his eyes. “I’m not killing
you now,” Pete watches him readjust his hold over the gun’s handle, expecting him to frown, to
smirk, to stand and touch him, but Vegas stays where he is, apathetic and impassive.

“Because being with you…” and there it is, Pete sees, Vegas is smiling again. It is an empty thing,
and he hates it with a burning passion. “… is so darn fun.”

If Pete loses his smile and shivers this time, it is not because he doesn’t know what it feels or is
afraid. No, it is because Vegas is speaking without any emotion, because his eyes are two endless
black pools where no lights shine, because he doesn’t know what Vegas means by being with him
is fun, and he definitely doesn’t understand why he bothers with him. He is probably the reason
why his father gets so mad every time he comes to see him, because if Kinn discovers that he is
missing, he will bring hell to his house. And his father is not like his son; he is a coward who fears
Kinn’s family the most.

Finally, Vegas pulls the gun away, dropping the mockery of a smile he had on his face, and Pete
can see the depth of the other’s own misery. In seeing it, Pete begins to understand why the other
man is able to act like a monster. He was raised by one and made to feel like one.
Pete wishes he could free at least one hand to stroke the bruise, to ease the pain ever so slightly,
even though his conscience is shouting at him that he is becoming crazy, that he shouldn't care
about Vegas' feelings at all. He says nothing, though. He doesn’t even try to move. He just watches
while Vegas glares back without a word. His jaw muscles are working under his skin, tensing and
untensing repeatedly, and then, he looks away.

Pete honestly doesn't know what will happen for the first time since he got there. He wonders why
Vegas keeps him close when he cannot even look away from the other tormented form.

If Vegas is mad, Pete thinks bitterly, then I am too, for caring.

 I hate how much I feel it right there in my chest
Chapter Summary

After Vegas' father visits, Vegas calls Pete's grandmother in order for him to bring him
to the safe house.

Chapter Notes

The story continues here! It is still heavily inspired by ep11 but from Pete pov I guess

Tell me what you think of it!

After a long moment, Vegas finally stands up, putting the SIG-Pro away as he slowly strolls closer
to Pete. He doesn't know what the other wants now; he is still confused after the man's words and
doesn't understand why he has to live and why Vegas wants to keep him alive; for the first time in
a while, Pete honestly is scared.

Vegas stops close to him, so close that he can feel his warmth, and he tries to lean away, bending
against the wall as much as he can.

"I guess you haven't gone back home for a long time," Vegas declares, his still emotionless eyes
racking over his half-naked form. Pete only notices now that Vegas has grabbed a phone, his phone
to be exact.

"I'll…" he walks even closer to Pete, so much so that he can see him scrolling through his contact
list, and he frowns deeply at the action. "…get some vacation for you."

Vegas looks up from the phone and smiles at Pete, something warm and pleasant, although he
knows the other doesn't mean it and that he is undoubtedly up to something.

Again, Vegas reports his attention to the device. Pete sees him clicking on a name that he can't
make out, and he starts writing a message rapidly, his thumbs flying over the keyboard. He clicks
on send, and Pete hears the light noise of a text sent. Vegas looks up and smiles at Pete. His
shoulders seem less tense now, and he even looks amused by whatever he has just done, making
Pete even more anxious. Again, the other's amusement doesn't last on his face, soon replaced by
the same anguish and emptiness as before that seemed to permeate his handsome face since his
father came.

"What did you send?" He finally questions, biting his lips anxiously as he scrutinises Vegas.

The man shrugs and smirks. "I told you," he answers, "I asked for a break. Texted your boss," he
adds as he shakes the phone in front of Pete's face.

"He's not gonna say yes," Pete affirms, sure of himself. He knows Kinn; if he just asks for a break
out of nowhere without a good reason, he'll surely say no.

Vegas' smirk widens as Pete's frown deepens, and he listens to the man's answer with growing
panic.

"I said you wanted to see your grandma," he explains, "Told Kinn she fell and that you were
worried because you're a good grandson," Vegas adds as he runs a hand through Pete's hair,
stressing the word good.

Fear tightens Pete's throat as a sudden cold grasp clutches his heart.

"How do you know about my grandma?" he inquires in a whisper, wanting a response but afraid of
the truth.

"You stayed at my house for a long time, Pete," Vegas replies, cocking his head to the side as he
sits on the chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. "I've learned a few things."

The phone pings, suddenly bringing their attention to the phone. Vegas unlocks it, reading the text
message with a pleased grin.

"He just gave permission," he declares, looking at Pete with a satisfied expression. "So stupid," he
shakes his head, a single strand of hair falling over his forehead.

"Then, all that is left to do is..." Vegas stands up and walks closer to Pete, brandishing the phone to
his face, and he sees the name of the person he wants to call. Grandma <3 is written brightly on
the screen, and Pete cannot help but fight against Vegas' hold when he sees it. He struggles even
more when Vegas grips his jaw tightly, forcing his face towards the phone's screen.

"What are you doing?" he shouts, trashing against the other's body, his eyes not leaving the phone
screen.

"Your grandma must really love you," Vegas comments, but the smile has left his face.

Pete wants to scream and punch the other's gorgeous face until no one can recognise him. He wants
Vegas to be done with him. If he has to die at one point, he wishes for the other to finally pull the
trigger and end him. He didn't need to include his grandmother; she didn't have to know what her
grandson what doing for a living.

"Leave her alone!" He yells, still struggling while Vegas chuckles slightly.

"What if she disappears?" he wonders out loud, his constricted hold over Pete's jaw relaxing
slightly and turning into a light caress. "Do you think the main family will look for her? Do you
think Kinn will send his men to find her? It'll be a waste of time, don't you think?"

Pete doesn't precisely know what pushes him over the edge. Perhaps it is Vegas' words; perhaps it
is the fact that he has a point. However, he knows deep down that if something happens to the only
person he loves, no one, apart from him, will do something about it. Perhaps the realisation of his
utter solitude creates a deep emptiness within him as if there is a black hole where his heart used to
be, and he begins to cry. He suddenly feels exhausted and just wants to go to sleep and wake up in
his lovely grandma's house, the scent of her cuisine filling the air.

"I give up, Vegas," he whispers as he lets go of his resistance, his body becoming limp against the
other. "I give up," he repeats, silently praying for the man's father to come back and pull the trigger
his son seemed to have so much difficulty using.

He is still forced to watch Vegas press the name and bring the phone to his ear, never relenting
over his grip on Pete's jaw, even though his fingers are still gently stroking over his skin. And it
may be Vegas' gentle touches despite his harsh tone and the fact that he could hear the moment his
grandmother answers the phone, but Pete finally breaks. He lets the few tears collected in the
corner of his eyes run down his cheeks as he stares at Vegas helplessly.

"Hello, yes, Pete's Grandma," Vegas answers the phone with a bright smile and a polite tone, and
Pete cries softly, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm Pete's friend," the other continues, ignoring Pete's
distress. "I'd like to ask for permission for Pete to go on a trip for a while."

Vegas catches a tear and wipes it away, brushing his fingertip against the warm and tender side of
Pete's jaw. In spite of Vegas' soothing gesture, the panic that spreads throughout Pete's brain only
grows as he watches the other talk calmly, his tone the most soothing he has ever heard.

"Pete just got a vacation from his boss," Vegas explains to Pete's grandmother. He stays quiet for a
short moment, listening to the answer before pressing the phone against Pete's ear. "She wants to
talk to you," he clarifies.

Pete knows he cannot say what he really wants; it is logical since he is still Vegas' prisoner. Even
if the other man must know this, he still looks threateningly at him, stepping even closer to him,
pressing his chest against his, his face only a few inches away from his, and Pete feels the air
leaving his lungs as he tries to even his voice in order to speak.

He listens to his grandmother asking how he is and if he has eaten, and he cannot help but the fond
chuckle that escapes his lips despite his tears.

"Sorry, grandma, I got some days off from my boss. It was quite sudden," he explains, silently
thanking the deities because his voice doesn't shake or break. Oddly, Vegas draws closer to his
face at the sound of his breathy laugh, his nose brushing against his.

Pete keeps listening to his grandma, who doesn't seem to mind that he wouldn't visit as he usually
does. It is becoming increasingly harder to focus on her voice, though, because Vegas is
close, too close. His breath steadily hits his lips, and the hand that doesn't hold the phone gently
strokes the skin of his naked shoulder. He looks into his eyes for a moment. Pete feels too
vulnerable and looks away, pushing the other's attention elsewhere. Vegas tilts his head to the side,
his eyes becoming laser-focus before leaning forward and pressing an open-mouth kiss against his
neck. Pete's breath gets caught in his throat at the contact.

Gone is the earlier feeling of despair, sadness and hopelessness. Yet again, Pete believes he is
becoming insane as he feels his whole body becoming hot, a fire spreading from where Vegas' lips
are touching his skin. He tries to shake it off, tries to find or recreate the feelings from earlier,
thinks it would be better if he just felt angry, that it would be so much easier if Vegas wasn't so
attractive, but then stops because Vegas is not attractive. He is a sadist who enjoys torturing Pete.
With that in mind, he successfully focuses on his grandmother's voice and manages to answer right
on time.

"Yes, I'll come home soon after the trip, alright?" he says softly, his voice breathier than he
intended. Vegas obviously hears it and, after licking the skin slowly, leans back to grin at Pete,
looking extremely satisfied with himself. "We'll go on a trip together, okay?" he adds lowly,
shaking between Vegas' hands, and Pete has never hated himself more.

He must be sick in the head. That's the only explanation.

As his eyes settle over Vegas' face, they notice that his eyes are once again this deep caramel
colour and seem to sparkle. Long gone is the emptiness of the pitch-black darkness. Most
importantly, Vegas is grinning, not a smirk or a mocking or fake smile, but a genuine smile that
reaches his eyes. It is so peculiar that Pete cannot look away and even forgets to listen to his
grandmother's answer.

When he feels his own lips stretching into a smile, he doesn't know if it is because of his
grandmother over the phone or because Vegas' own pretty smile that seems to lighten the whole
dark room. It almost makes him forget that he is still tied to the pillar and that the other still has
complete power over him.

Reality sets in again, and the ache in his wrists produced by the tight handcuffs, the feeling of the
rough cement pillar against his back, Vegas' hand tight around his jaw, the bars around the room…
it all brings him back to reality. Pete's throat tightens, and the tears are back in his eyes.

"I love you, grandma," he manages to utter through his tears before Vegas takes the phone away;
his smile is gone too.

Vegas thanks his grandmother. His polite, sweet tone is back, and he takes a significant step away
from Pete's body, leaving him suddenly cold and feeling even lonelier than before.

"Oh, by the way, if Pete's boss calls... Yes, about Mister Kinn. Please tell him that Pete's home.
He's afraid he'd get scolded if he's off work for a trip."

With that, Vegas says goodbye and finally hangs up the phone. Pete cannot hold it any longer and
let go of a deep sob, feeling more and more tears flowing down his face while Vegas silently
observes him for a moment. He is not really smiling, but he looks pleased with himself and
removes his hand entirely from Pete, who stumbles forward. As his sadness turns to anger, he
slams his head against the concrete pillar and screams at the top of his lungs, letting all of his
frustration out. It is a furious, frantic and ferocious yell, animal-like even, and, this time, Vegas is
openly amused. Still, the bottomless emptiness is back in his eyes.
Pete stops moving for a moment, watching Vegas rolling his sleeves up as if nothing happened,
and his fury turned into wrath.

"Are you happy, now?" he inquires, breathing out the question through clenched teeth.

However, if Vegas is chuckling and grinning broadly at Pete, he shakes his head.

"No, I'm not. Not even a little," Vegas leans against the opposite wall, crossing his arms over his
chest. "I'm just getting started."

Pete breathes in and out, trying to be calm enough to hear and understand the other's answer.

"I don't wanna go to the safe house alone," the man announces, "I guess I'll bring a pet to keep me
company."

And it is such an odd thing to say that Pete immediately sobbers, staring unbelievably at Vegas.
The man has just called him a pet, he thinks, too astounds to say anything.

It becomes even more surreal when Vegas walks closer to gently ruffle his hair and, with a sweet
smile, says:

"Who's a good boy?"

 Wrecked check
Chapter Notes

Huuuum, so... I don't have any excuse, but I feel so inspired by these two, so I've
constantly been writing lately! I already I've written five chapters that all follow ep11.
Once I'm done with this episode, I think I'll take some time to think of where I want
the story to go (bc this is not going to be canon-compliant), so the updates might slow
down. Also, I don't want to impose a schedule to publish the chapters (bc I'm supposed
to be working on my thesis and not thinking of this story lmao), so I'll upload them
when I feel like it!

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Vegas comes to pick him up soon after their last meeting. After putting a shirt and pants on Pete,
he walks behind him to untie the handcuffs from the system that has held him up all this time.

Vegas does not utter a word, and Pete notices the eyes hidden in the shadows; they're not alone.
Once the other man has Pete's handcuffs in his grip, he pushes Pete forward with a hand gently
settling against the small of his back, and Pete starts walking. Each step is painful, and he can feel
his blood rushing down to his hands and fingers uncomfortably, but he doesn't whine or complain
and simply focuses on his next step. He doesn't think of Vegas' hand on his back or the apparent
tension of the man's muscles.

The man who has been hiding steps out of the shadows as Pete approaches the door, covering
Pete's eyes with a long, thick dark cloth before covering his ears with noise-cancelling earphones.

Pete does not have time to panic about not being able to see or hear that he feels Vegas' hand on his
back moving to his hip while the other hand settles over his nape, not grasping or clutching, just
resting there, his fingers gently pressing against his skin. It is soothing enough that Pete relaxes at
the touch and allows the man to guide him through the darkness.

The journey to the safe house is spent in a haze for Pete. He is only aware that, at one point, they
must be on a boat because the air gets misty, and the ground moves a little too much to be normal.
Then, he is pushed out of the boat onto the concrete ground and has to walk more. He walks up
some stairs and can smell the sweet scent of jasmine floating around him as he hums
appreciatively. Vegas finally halts, the hand on his hip stopping him from taking a step further.
Pete feels the man's fingers untying the know of the fabric covering his eyes and removing the
earphones. Pete realises he is in a small room with a double bed, a small table, and a chair on the
other side, unlike at the minor family's house. There's Vegas' hedgehog cage settled on the table,
and the small creature makes a tiny squeal at its master's sight. There is a pulley fixed to the ceiling
in this room, too, Pete notices, with the same heavy-looking chain as before.

Vegas is still quiet when he removes Pete's clothes, only leaving him in his boxer, even when he
attaches him to the chain and pulls his arms and handcuffs up above his head. He even goes
without uttering a word. Pete finally sees the two older men standing by the door, observing every
Vegas movement. Pete is then left alone with his own thoughts.
 *

When Vegas returns to visit, he is holding a small bag of pet food. He still ignores Pete, which
makes his skin crawl in irritation.

If he is going to ignore me, he should have pulled the fucking trigger, he thinks bitterly as he
watches Vegas squatting by the cage, putting food in the hedgehog's bowl.

He silently observes how Vegas' back muscles move under the thin fabric of his shirt and takes in
the round curve of his ass under the taut cloth of his pants. Pete's conscience reminds him that he
shouldn't look at the other like that, that he should be enraged at the fact that he is still a prisoner,
and not feel so frustrated because the other hasn't talked or looked at him yet.

Not for the first time, Pete believes Vegas is not the only unstable person in the room; he must be
too.

"Somebody must be hungry," he suddenly hears Vegas say. The man's eyes still settle on the
hedgehog, but his tone is sweet, and the pet squeals softly in answer. Then, Vegas straightens, the
muscles of his back moving under his shirt as he slowly turns his upper body towards Pete. "I
forgot to feed another pet," he croons, but he is not smiling, and Pete is unsure what to expect or
how to act. Still, he feels oddly relieved when Vegas' honey gaze settles over him.

Pete settles on observing Vegas for now as the other stands up and goes to release the chain
keeping him up. The action makes Pete's arms fall in front of him, but the sudden pressure and
weight on his exhausted legs cause him to immediately collapse to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he
tries to kneel, his flank pressing against the bed's edge as he watches Vegas walking away for a
moment. As he grabs something too far from his vision, he comes back and pushes a large bowl of
soup in front of him, similar to the kind dogs have.

"Eat it."

It is an order, Pete can feel it in his bones, but he doesn't want to. Vegas is still standing tall in front
of his kneeling form, and he can even hear the smirk in his tone.

He doesn't want to eat. He intends to annoy Vegas, make him pay for keeping him a prisoner rather
than killing him (for ignoring him, too, but his conscience forbids him to even think about it).

So, he plays picky. And he plays well, pretending to reach for the bowl, his fingers clutching over
the cold metallic feeling of the bowl, and he brings it closer to him until it touches his knees. He
then crouches a little more, tilting his face forward before halting. He glances at Vegas, sees the
mocking smirk painted on his red lips, feels the wave of anger that hits him, and ferociously shoves
the bowl away.

Pete hides his pleased grin when he sees Vegas' brows twitch, and his smirk disappears. He hides it
even when the other man squats before him, setting his eyes at the same level as Pete's.

"You know..." Pete notes that Vegas sounds far too soft, like something dangerous is hiding under
it, similar to the calm before the storm, and his stomach knots (yet again, he doesn't really know if
it is in fear or in anticipation). "...what you did is a waste of food."

Now, Pete is confident he has successfully angered Vegas. His satisfaction must show on his face
despite himself because Vegas' serene features suddenly turn angry, and his right-hand lurches to
grip Pete's hair.

"I told you to eat," Vegas almost yells as he shoves Pete's face into the bowl of soup, forcing him
to open his mouth and eat.

Pete is so surprised by the violent action that his whole body goes limp, and he falls to the floor as
he tries to resist the painfully tight grip of Vegas' hand on his hair.

After a few seconds, Vegas raises Pete's head out of the bowl, his eyes searching for Pete's. He
must not like what he finds there because his eyes turn black, and his jaw clenches, even though his
following words are pronounced in a soft, almost kind, tone.

"Yummy?" he asks, and Pete wants to spat the bits of soup that got into his mouth at his face. The
other man doesn't wait for an answer before shoving Pete's face back into the bowl, holding him
down for a few more seconds before lifting his head again. "How's it?"

Pete sees the delight in the other's empty eyes, and he snarls furiously at him, his body still lying
on the floor and the soup dripping from his face and hair. All he wants is to erase the wicked grin
on Vegas' lips, but he can't, not in his current position. Instead, Pete settles on, finally, spatting the
bits of soup at the other's face. When he sees he has aimed right, Pete smiles before it becomes a
satisfied snicker. He drinks in Vegas' surprised and disgusted face as much as he can before the
other reacts.

Unsurprisingly, Vegas shoves his head back into the bowl with more force this time. He holds him
there for so long that Pete can feel the strength leaving his body, made even worse when he catches
the other's amused snigger from above him.

Finally, after a long moment, when Pete's mind gets really dark, Vegas releases him completely.
He even hears him heavily sitting next to him. Pete slowly moves his face out of the bowl,
punching the damned thing away from him, before collapsing on the floor, too exhausted to move.
Still, his eyes follow Vegas as he stands, his foot shooting into the bowl, plashing more soup on
the already dirty floor. Pete thinks Vegas is done with him now and will leave and ignore him just
like the last few days, but he doesn't. Instead, he squats by Pete's side and extends a hand, his long
fingers touching his wet cheek almost tenderly.

"A good pet listens to his owner," he declares, his voice flat again, but his eyes slowly return to
their honey shade, and Pete calms despite himself. "Eat..." Vegas adds before turning away from
Pete and his weak form, and he leaves the room without another word.

Pete stays lying on the floor for a long time after Vegas leaves. He is silently thankful that he has
forgotten to put the handcuffs back on the chain (he knows that Vegas hasn't forgotten but
permitted it), so he can finally stretch his sore shoulders.

When he finally finds the strength to sit, his back leaning against the bed, he glares at the bowl of
soup.

It is cold now and utterly unappetising.

 He sighs. Pete remembers what he thought not long ago about how weird he, too, is acting. The
more he considers it, the less it makes sense. He understands wanting to annoy Vegas and defying
him, but he should be eating now that the man has left. Still, he isn't. He doesn't even want to. And
for all of his cleverness, Pete doesn't understand why. He is confused. Not just because he
apparently quite enjoys playing the picky eater, but because he immensely enjoys torturing Vegas
too. For all the times he has been held prisoner and tortured in the past, Pete never had been one to
relish playing with his tormentors. It never even crossed his mind. Why then does his heart pound
furiously every time he brings a hint of despair and annoyance to Vegas's eyes, just as much as he
wants to see the light and joy?

He closes his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to slow down so he can think while his
conscience is screaming at him how mental he is.

Exhausted and unwilling to consider more about his feelings, Pete turns away from the bowl of
soup, curling against the bed, trying to forget everything around him.

Chapter End Notes

Don't hesitate to leave a comment to let me know what you think of the chapter and a
kuddos!

Much love, A <3

 Dark honey
Chapter Notes

Helloooo!

So, I'm done writing all the chapter canon to ep11. There are 6 in total, so two more to
go after this one! After that, it will be the end of Part 1 and the beginning of the canon-
divergent part. But, no worries, I have already planned out the plot and have a good
idea of where I want to go!

Anyway, I'll leave you to the chapter!

Much love, A~

Vegas had returned to tie the handcuffs to the chain, pulling his arms up again. On his way out, he
also took the cold soup bowl. He hadn't uttered a word, but Pete had thought for a moment that the
concern in his eyes was genuine.

Now, Pete is alone again. Vegas used to visit him more often at the minor family's house, but Pete
tries not to think about it that way. Instead, he tries to pick at the handcuffs' lock and force them
out of the chain's ties, but to no avail. He is trying to pull at the main chain, the one held by the
pulley when he hears Vegas's voice through the door. He stops moving, his fingers holding the
handcuffs to stop their rattle as he listens.

"Well, I'm here, Papa," Vegas' tone is borderline irritated yet respectful, even if the words leave
his mouth harshly. "What am I supposed to do exactly? Do you really think I wanna be here?"

Pete thinks Vegas really must be angry because the other doesn't seem to realise he has just used
English rather than Thai.

Then, the conversation ends, and Pete doesn't hear anything but the door opening, and Vegas steps
in. For once, the other man isn't wearing one of his colourful shirts but a plain cream-coloured t-
shirt that makes his eyes stand out, paired with black slack. Even his hair is not styled like he
usually does. Pete realises that they truly must be alone in the house for Vegas to look so relaxed.
Plus, lately, the man hasn't sported any fresh bruise on his face, which surely means his father
hasn't visited.

Pete doesn't know how to react to this new version of Vegas, but his heart beats rapidly against his
ribs and his stomach uncomfortably clutches.
Vegas' gaze settles first on the untouched plate still lying on the bed. It's the salad with some
chicken on the side that Vegas had brought him for lunch, and just like the other meals for the past
few days, Pete has not touched it.

He expects Vegas to be angry. He wants Vegas to be mad. But the other only looks disappointed
(and concerned?) as his eyes finally settle on Pete.

He must be wrong because the moment his gaze falls on Pete, the fire in his eyes churns back, and
he can only watch how his powerful shoulders tense.

"What the heck are you looking at?" he growls, his jaw clenching and Pete keeps quiet.

From the light that manages to slip under the room's curtains, it isn't time for dinner yet, so Vegas
has no reason to come down here. He wonders if the other is going to torture him since he hasn't in
a while, but Vegas goes to squat in front of his hedgehog's cage, leaving Pete alone.

What's wrong with him, he wonders, observing the muscles of his back even more apparent under
the thin cream fabric. It looks like Vegas has gained muscles since they moved into the safe house.
Pete contemplates the idea that maybe the other is bored, and all he does is work out and talk to his
hedgehog.

His thoughts are interrupted by Vegas' voice.

"Tell him how to be a good pet when you're free."

His voice isn't particularly loud, as if he is really talking to the hedgehog, and Pete seriously
wonders who he is calling a pet this time. Him or the actual pet?

Pete watches as the other man strokes the small animal with great care through the bars of the
cage. Vegas doesn't speak again, but before he leaves, he looks over his shoulder, his eyes piercing
at Pete, something he cannot identify in those dark honey eyes. They both stay like that, unmoving,
for a while, simply staring at each other. There is no heat in those gazes but curiosity and
something else Pete doesn't want to name. He takes in the sharp shape of Vegas' eyes and the
starking honey shade of his iris before his eyes observe the surprising fairness of the other's skin.
Unlike all the other gangsters (he includes Kinn's family, Porsche and all his colleagues), who
almost always sport tan skin from working hours upon hours outside under the scorching sun,
Vegas has milky white skin that looks smooth even to his eyes.

His gaze doesn't leave Vegas' face as he steps closer and unties the handcuffs from the chain and
the pulley, gently guiding Pete to the floor against the bed. So, Pete looks and looks, recognising
that Vegas is allowing him to observe, to scrutinise, and taking his chance before the latter
eventually turns away and leaves, closing the door behind him.

When Vegas comes back a few hours later, he has changed. He is now wearing a golden and black
shirt, the sleeves roll up on his forearms, allowing Pete to observe the muscles move, while the
front is open more than what is decent, showing his chest. He first gives food to his hedgehog,
opening the cage to stroke the small animal tenderly before closing the door and finally turning to
Pete. The latter sits with his legs crossed against the bed, where Vegas has left him hours before.
He looks up at the other, his breath a little shorter because he can't tell what Vegas is feeling, and it
makes Pete suspicious.

Without a sound, Vegas crouches in front of him, his face blank, but Pete reassures himself when
he notices his eyes are still this deep caramel colour.

"Why didn't you eat?" he asks, and his tone is calm. He even sounds curious as his fingers point at
the untouched meal.

Pete frowns slightly at that. He still wants to make Vegas angry; it is the only time he feels like he
has some kind of power over the other. And he doesn't like Vegas' concerned voice at all; it makes
his stomach leaps and flutters unpleasantly.

"I'm not eating," he replies, and his tone is purposefully insolent.

He watches Vegas' head falls slightly between his shoulders at his words; one of his hands is close
enough to Pete that it brushes against his knee.

"Not eating?" he repeats slowly, and this time there is a tell-tale of irritation under the level tone.
Vegas leans closer to Pete's face, his brows frowning slightly as his eyes rake over his face. "Do
you think you can choose?"
Pete knows Vegas intends those words as threatening, but he can only spot the worry. Again, he
thinks, Vegas is not making any sense. He could be annoyed at Pete for not eating, yes. Still, he
shouldn't care so much, shouldn't spend so much energy on understanding why he wouldn't eat or
preparing different types of meals just to make him eat. He shouldn't. There is no reason for him to
act like that. Pete is his prisoner; he is his to play with, so why is Vegas so bent over the idea of
making him eat?

Just kill me already, Pete thinks as he stares into those dark caramel eyes.

"Do you think you can choose?" Vegas rhetorically asks as he leans closer, but Pete doesn't move,
not at all. He just passively looks at the other man.

"I'm not choosing," he replies, "I'm just not eating."

A part of Pete wants to see how far he can push Vegas to witness precisely what will make the
other tip over the edge. For now, however, the other man closes his eyes momentarily, chuckling
slightly as he stands. Pete watches attentively, wondering what the man is doing, as he swiftly
grabs the chain connected to the pulley and his handcuffs, causing Pete to stumble. Once again, the
easiness with which Vegas is acting only serves to remind Pete of his power and control over him.
If it makes his legs weak and his stomach leaps at the thought (his mind is screaming at this
nonsense), he still stares defiantly at the other.

Once he is sure Pete can stand on his own, Vegas lets go of the chain and look away, one hand
rubbing against his chin as if faced with a particularly challenging issue. Pete observes him,
wondering if it was his tipping point, but Vegas looks too relaxed still. He realises astonishingly
that he is a little afraid of the man's reaction, mainly because they are still fighting over food. Even
Pete finds his resistance borderline stupid sometimes.

Vegas looks back at him for a moment, the hand rubbing his chin, now running through his gelled
hair, pushing smoothly through the dark strands, his milky skin contrasted against his almost black
hair. He watches Pete in return and steps closer to his half-naked form. The anger, or at least the
irritation, has left his eyes, but it is replaced by something Pete doesn't understand, nor does he
want to name it. The red shadow of the curtains gives the man a new aura, rendering him even
more menacing as he steps into Pete's personal space. Still, he keeps his hands to himself (for now,
Pete thinks frantically).

"You know what an untamed pet would get?" Vegas' voice is suave, and Pete knows immediately
the man's following action will hurt.
As he watches Vegas reach for his belt and slowly unfasten it from around his waist, he keeps both
ends in his hand as he curves the rest in a threatening manner. Pete knows exactly what is coming,
already more familiar with this aspect of imprisonment, and he also knows he doesn't like it.

"Well, I don't like it, and I'm not hungry," he tries to argue, but Vegas takes a step back, putting
some distance between them, and Pete difficulty gulps.

"I'm gonna hurt you," Vegas states, almost as a warning. "So, you'll remember."

He makes the belt slap loudly as his face and eyes darken. A long shiver runs through Pete at the
sight, but he quickly forgets about it when the first blow hits him. The pain is immediate and
spreads hotly through his whole chest, burning where the belt has hit. He screams before he can
stop himself. And then, Vegas hits him repeatedly, his breath shortening with the effort as he
focuses on Pete's body, gradually covered in blood. After the third blow, Pete stops trying to hold
his screams back, and he cries in agony loudly. His whole body is on fire, and the pain is extreme.
Vegas hits and hits, again and again… Pete counts nine blows as he sees the blood running down
his chest in thin crimson rivers. He manages to settle his gaze on Vegas from time to time and
catches the wicked grin the other is sporting, panting as he steps back from Pete. For a moment, he
thinks the man will hit him again and, unable to control it, he backs away from the other. The
action makes Vegas lose his grin, and Pete can suddenly see some unnamed emotions swirling in
the black emptiness of his eyes. Slowly, his hand falls to his side, and he frowns.

"You're no fun at all," he spats, throwing the bloody belt on the bed before walking away briskly,
his whole body taut.

It is only when Pete hears the door closing that he allows himself a profound inspiration. He
wanted to know Vegas' tipping point and what would be his reaction; well, now he knows.
 In your eyes
Chapter Notes

Hello guys!

So, I have written seven chapters (the 7th is canon-divergent), but I am at the airport rn
and I'll be moving around a lot in the next few weeks so updates might slow down as
well as my writing pace

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well! If you do, don't hesitate to comment
and leave some kuddos!

(Btw, it's a very long chapter with lots of feelings and I really hope you'll like it bc i
think it's the one I enjoyed writing the most)

Much love, A~

Pete is still trying to catch his breath when his eyes settle inadvertently on the belt left on the bed.
He can see the blood, his blood, coating its side, but he ignores it and focuses on the buckle and its
tongue.

Ignoring the extreme pain from the various slashes on his chest, he turns his body toward the bed.
He raises a leg, pointing his foot in order to grab the belt. He makes his toes wiggle a little, hoping
for one to catch on the belt's leather and repeating the whole ordeal as many times as it took to
bring the belt to him. It is tricky; he quickly realises that even if he successfully brings the belt
closer to him, he cannot bend to pick it up, so he needs to throw it high enough to reach his hands.
Once the belt's panel rests on top of his foot, he takes a deep breath and focuses. Swiftly, he throws
the belt up, watching it fly past his chest, then his head, until his expectant fingers finally clutch
around the stiff leather. A content smile stretches his lips as he quickly moves, not wasting any
time. He takes hold of the tongue and swiftly inserts it into the handcuffs lock. He turns it inside
the lock system, his fingers shaking with anticipation, and turns it until he hears the
soft click meaning that the system is unlocked. His whole body thumps with excitation at the
prospect of being free as he opens the handcuffs and removes his hands with a relieved sigh.

Once free, he doesn't waste time celebrating; he only allows himself a small victorious cry. He then
briskly walks to the door, or at least as fast as his weak legs allow him. Not eating for long is
seriously taking a toll on his body. The door is locked, and he has to force it open, ploughing his
shoulder against it repeatedly until it opens, and he almost falls.

When he straightens, Pete sees that he is outside, the floor is in dark varnish wood, and he is
surrounded by nature. The scent of jasmine is strong again in his nose. He looks around some
more, trying to figure out where is the exit and how to reach it. He spots stairs on his left and
simply decides to go that way, too afraid of being caught by Vegas to think more about it. He
finally sees the pier where he supposes the boat had stopped when they had arrived all those days
ago. That makes Pete realise that the house is entirely surrounded by water and then further, by a
dense forest. There is no obvious sign of life around apart from this very house. He shakes his
head, willing his mind to focus on escaping and forcing his body to go faster as he reaches the
pier's wooden planks.

"Do you think I wouldn't know about your stupid plan?" a sudden voice resonates behind him, and
Pete halts, turning around.

Vegas is standing in the shadows of a high tree, his hands in his pockets, looking tranquil if it
wasn't for his eyes, two bottomless black pools. Pete shivers at the view. He was so close to
succeeding, so, so close. He watches the muscles of Vegas' jaw contract and relax repeatedly as if
the other man is trying to hold back or calm himself.

Vegas takes a step closer, strolling in Pete's direction as Pete turns around and tries to outrun him.
Still, he is too weak, and all he can do to save his honour and not stumble over himself is to keep
going despite how tired and in pain he is.

"You think you can get away?" Vegas continues; he sounds genuinely curious, his head tilting to
the side as he watches Pete trying to escape him.

As he peeks from above his shoulder, Pete catches the man's delighted smile, so genuine that it
reaches his empty eyes, the sun reflecting on his face, giving his milky skin a slight golden glow.

"You're darn good," the man says, his smile broadening as he picks up the pace and, in a few steps,
reaches Pete easily. "Head of the main family's bodyguard," he calls, and his tone is already more
mocking. Pete prefers Vegas' mocking tone rather than his sick curiosity, or worse, his gentleness.

The pier ends, and Pete realises that even if he had reached this place by himself, he would still
have been unable to leave the island since there is no boat. He briefly considers jumping in, but he
knows if he wants to live, he cannot do that since he is severely malnourished and has slashes on
his chest.

"So?" Vegas' voice echoes behind him, and Pete slowly turns around. Even though he is still
smiling, his eyes are still too dark to hide his anger. "What's next?"
Pete absentmindedly notices that Vegas is not touching him or grabbing him when he definitely has
the power to do so. He is stronger by far compared to his frail state. His hands have moved from
his pockets to behind his back, and still, he doesn't try to catch him. Instead, he seems to settle on
curiously following Pete, his eyes never leaving him. As he lets the man watch him all he wants
(he can feel his eyes on his naked back and shoulders, and, even now, he cannot identify the feeling
in his stomach), he turns to the water. He contemplates it again. If he dies trying to flee, the main
family wouldn't consider him a traitor, but if he does nothing… he isn't sure about it. For the safety
of his grandma, the only person he cares about in this world, he cannot afford to pass as a traitor by
Kinn's family. He isn't Porsche, and he knows he won't be forgiven easily, if at all.

So, he jumps. Or tries to jump since he immediately feels the cold contact of something hard
against his mid-section, and his whole body suddenly goes rigid. Pete cannot move a muscle, and
the pain is almost as agonising as the one from the belt when he catches the distinct noise of a
taser. Now, he knows what Vegas had in his pocket, he bitterly thinks as he falls unconscious in the
man's arms.

When Pete awakes, he is standing, his hands high above his head with his calves pressing slightly
against the bed, and his chest is burning. His whole body feels like it has catch fire, to be frank. He
can feel the cold sweat running down his back and coating his brows as he leans forward, pressing
the side of his face against his bicep. There are no sensations in his fingers, and he barely feels
anything at all. He is dying, he thinks. From the state of the wounds on his chest, he will soon.

Pete is angry at Vegas. He is angry because he should have killed him a long time ago; if he had,
he wouldn't be suffering now. Even Vegas would probably have fewer problems with his father if
he had just killed him. He is angry because the man has stopped him from jumping in the water,
where he knows he wouldn't have survived. He doesn't even have the strength to swim. Now, he is
stuck back in the room. If anyone from the main family hears about how long he has been stuck
there, they would probably be suspicious and assume he has betrayed them.

He sighs. His vision is darkening and spinning. Even so, regardless of how angry he is, Vegas'
face, eyes, cheekbones, and the endless panels of his muscled back keep turning endlessly in his
mind. He even sees the man's curiosity and concern shining in his honey-like eyes.

This is it, he decides. He is insane. Despite clearly remembering Vegas' delight as he whipped him,
he still feels strangely warm when he remembers the caramel in his iris, the smoothness of his hair,
and the fair colour of his skin. It is unhealthy, he knows, but he is already dying, so he is no better
off if he indulges in his vice.

Vegas doesn't return for a long time, and Pete doesn't know what to make of it. However, his mind
is blackening, and he feels himself falling unconscious before he can really consider the reason
behind Vegas' absence.

It may be a day later or only a few hours when Pete regains consciousness. He doesn't open his
eyes; he is too tired for that. He tries to understand, however, what has woken him up, and he hears
faint voices outside. He listens to the surprised greeting of a voice he recognises as Vegas. From
what Pete understands, his father must be visiting. Immediately after, he hears a slight commotion
followed by the loud sound of slapping, the smack resonating even in his room. Pete tenses at the
noise; he pities Vegas, who, without a doubt, will have to go through another beating. Something in
Pete's heart clenches and stings. He can picture Vegas' face at the moment: crestfallen and
dejected, perhaps even angry, but mostly looking for affection somewhere he won't find any.

Pete focuses on the voices, and he distantly hears Vegas' father.

"The gold mine deal that you're responsible for is crushed," he states, his tone as cold as ever.

"Maybe that's because the situation right now is not so good, so they ran off," Pete hears Vegas
arguing, and he wants to shake the man when he hears the yearning in his voice. Even without
seeing him, he can tell the other is doing his best to win his father's approval, making him cringe.

It is obviously not working when he hears Vegas' father yelling, accusing his son, putting the
weight of all his failures on Vegas' shoulders.

"That's all on you, you stupid boy! You only know how to create disaster! In this life, you'll never
be able to beat Kinn!" the older man yells, and even Pete flinches at the harshness of the words.

However, he can't help the light chuckle that escapes his lips as he hears Kinn's name. He will
probably never understand why so many people compared themselves to Kinn. He respects him; he
is his boss, after all, but he isn't that good, to be honest. For one, he lets his emotions control him
too often, like with Tawan and Porsche. Being emotional doesn't really make him a good boss, no
matter how brilliant the man is.

In fact, Pete believes it makes him predictable, which is terrible for a mafia boss. If Pete is
perfectly honest with himself, he even believes Vegas could be better than boss than Kinn after
experiencing how he behaves and treats his men from the time he spent at his house (when he
wasn't a prisoner).
"You and Macau aren't worthy of being my sons," the older man spats cruelly, and Pete's loathing
for him grows at his words. He really is starting to understand why Vegas has become what he is
today.

There's a long silence following Vegas' father's words. During this time, Pete realises that the chain
tied to his handcuffs is loose enough for him to sit. He sits against the bed slowly, feeling his world
tanging violently, and for a moment, he loses his consciousness again.

Pete is too exhausted to even move his head, and it keeps hanging low between his arms, the sweat
dripping in his eyes. He feels even hotter now and only wishes to be done with the fever and pain.

Through his daze, he hears the door slamming against the wall and Vegas steps inside the room.
He cracks an eye open and watches Vegas' broad back, his head hanging low in front of him as he
leans on the table where the hedgehog's cage is. Pete notices how, once again, Vegas is dressed in
a white t-shirt and black slack, and his hair doesn't seem to be gelled. Still, the other doesn't look at
him, and Pete has to close his eye again, his mind swirling and his heart pounding rapidly against
his ribs.

He hears Vegas' anger exploding when the man throws something against the wall, making a
thunderous clatter echoing in the room. He hears him yelling, letting his frustration out, and Pete is
reminded of his own time with his father, of how he was so similar to Vegas at this time. Suddenly,
he feels a familiar wave of gratefulness for his grandmother, who has taken him out of his father's
clutch.

Because Pete is still fighting to stay conscious and has his eyes closed, he doesn't see how Vegas
turns to him, his sharp eyes squinting at his limp form. He misses how hurt and livid the man
looks, misses the deep, deep agony plain on his face. Pete barely hears when Vegas finally talks to
him, his mind becoming increasingly cloudy.

"Don't pretend like you're asleep," he yells, but Pete is too out of it to react. "Get up and laugh at
me!"

But Pete finally lets go, and his body slumps forward.

"Pete?" Vegas turns around and takes a step closer to Pete. "Don't get on my nerve," he says, but
the anger has left his voice, and he only sounds worried.
As soon as he shakes Pete, he feels how hot his skin is. He tries to call his name again, feeling the
panic growing in him.

"Pete!"

He sees how red and swollen Pete's wounds look and feels a rush of guilt hit his gut. He crouches
next to the man, shaking him again a little stronger.

"Pete," he calls, now frantic.

He gently takes the man's face in his hands and inclines it towards him. Pete looks too pale and
sickly, sweat coating his brows and upper lip. The under of his eyes are darken than they should
be, and his face is too thin. He gently slaps his face, calling his name repeatedly, but Pete stays
unconscious.

When he realises that the man will not wake up any time soon, he curls an arm around his
shoulders and one under his knees before lifting him up and gently putting him on the bed. Once he
has ensured Pete can breathe comfortably, he leaves the room quickly to grab plasters, disinfectant
wipes, bandages, painkillers, and antibiotics from the house's bathroom. He then rushes back to
Pete's room, where the man hasn't moved at all and spreads everything on the bed. He sits next to
Pete's body, takes one disinfectant wipe, and starts cleaning his wounds. It's a long process that
Vegas knows he should have done earlier, and the heavy guilt he feels only fuels his father's
words.

He is indeed stupid, and he does only create disaster. Seeing Pete so fragile when he used to be
strong-headed, ready to resist, ready to play with Vegas… it does something to Vegas, something
unexpected.

He shakes his head and focuses on finishing cleaning Pete's wounds. He then spreads a sanitising
ointment before covering them with clean plasters. Once that part is done, he grabs the bandages
and wraps them around Pete's chest, feeling his burning skin under his fingertips. Even as he lifts
his torso, the man doesn't move, and Vegas feels his concern grows the more prolonged the man
stays unconscious.

He doesn't want him to die. Not at all. He doesn't know why. He knows that his behaviour is
unusual and that if Pete had been anyone else, that person would have been dead a long time ago.
He is also aware that his begrudging at the idea of killing Pete is making his father even more
disappointed in the excuse of a son he is.
Still, he can't kill Pete. He tried pulling the trigger. He tried beating him to death. Each time he
feels himself holding back his punches, he feels himself hesitating. He knows it has to do with
something he always sees in Pete's eyes. He can't identify it, but it's entertaining. It seems to be the
reason why Pete always stands up to him, unafraid. He likes it that Pete isn't afraid. Except for
when Vegas lost his mind and whipped the man until he was out of breath.

It happens sometimes, him loses his mind. Usually, it is after his father's visits, and that day had
not been any different, sadly. He had to sit through a long phone call with his father where the man
called him names and said how disappointed he was, how lowly and weak he was compared to
Kinn. Still, it doesn't excuse what he did to Pete, and he regrets it now that he sees how bad the
man's state is.

It has been easy to forget that Pete is only human when he is the only one brave enough to stare
into Vegas' eyes, even when he feels like burning the whole world. Not even Tawan was able to do
it or Macau. Vegas is keenly conscious of his own dangerousness, of the darkness living inside of
him, but Pete doesn't seem to care as if he wants to see, to witness. However, Vegas has lived alone
in this darkness for so long that he isn't sure he wants someone else to see, to know. He isn't a good
person. He is wicked, manipulative, unstable, and likes making people suffer; he can't hide those
parts of him, but he tries his best to control them. But Pete keeps pushing and pushing and pushing,
bringing him closer to the edge, where he definitely can't hide, and that scares him. Perhaps that's
why Vegas reacted so strongly last time.

He tries to keep those thoughts out of his mind, unwilling to dwell on them further and focuses
back on Pete. He notices a wound a little higher than the others, almost on his shoulder, that is not
covered by the bandage or plaster. He grabs one, opens it, and leans forward, bending over Pete's
chest to reach the wound. He delicately presses it down, ensuring it sticks to the skin before
running his fingers on the smooth surface to fix it flatly. As he does so, his fingers still running
over the plaster to smooth it further, Pete finally wakes, moving his head a little as his eyes
immediately settle on Vegas' face.

The rush of relief that hits Vegas is so powerful that it makes him dizzy, and he has to sit back
down as he lets a thankful sigh escapes his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he catches the little
smirk Pete sports at his reaction, and he can't help his own giddy chortle. However, the relief he
feels is short-lived, and soon, it is buried under his guilt and the weight of his dark thoughts. Now
that his mind is not laser-focused on Pete, he can feel his own cheek burning and swelling where
his father has hit.

Vegas ignores it because he has to and is used to it; he grabs the bottle of antibiotics, takes one pill
between his fingers, and extends his hand to Pete.
"Take it," he says. It's an order, but Pete only watches him, not moving at all. Vegas cannot
identify what is inside the other's eyes, but he thinks he sees some distrust.

"No."

The word resonates even deep within Vegas, and rather than feeling angry (like he should), he just
feels tired and worn out. He wants Pete to feel better, to be better, and he may be a little frustrated,
after all.

"Your wounds are inflamed," Vegas tries to explain patiently. "Just take it."

"Just let me die," Pete murmurs, his eyes still staring right into Vegas, and the words hit him in the
gut.

He wants to say that he tried, that a part of him wants to, but the other cries every time he thinks
about it. He wants to say many things, but instead, he clenches his jaw and inspires deeply.

"You think it's poison?" he questions, leaning closer to Pete's face and holding the pill tightly
between his thumb and index.

He watches the doubt and the suspicion stirring in Pete's dark eyes, and Vegas knows what to do.
He takes the pill, brings it to his lips, and holds it between his teeth. He observes the other man's
face for a short moment before bending down, one hand coming to rest against Pete's cheek as he
presses his lips to the other's, forcing the pill into Pete's mouth. He stays a little longer than
necessary against his lips, enjoying their warmth and softness, trying to ignore why he likes it so
much. He is even surprised to not feel Pete stiffens under him. On the contrary, his body is relaxed,
even if Vegas can feel his tongue fighting against the intrusion of the pill in his mouth. So, he stays
there a little longer, telling himself it's because he's mean and insane, and that must be the answer
for everything in his life.

He presses his lips against Pete's until he backs away gently, the fingers on his face gently stroking
the skin without realising. When he does, however, he quickly withdraws, left only with Pete's
astonished expression. It isn't like he feels particularly embarrassed or uncomfortable. Pete is a
very attractive man, and Vegas has kissed worse people in his life, but the atmosphere feels
different here. Still, it must not show on his face because now Pete looks surprised and confused.

Ignoring the other's bewilderment, Vegas places one hand under his nape while he has a small
bottle of water in the other and gently lifts his head up to allow Pete to drink and swallow the pill.
He needs to rehydrate his body anyway.

Surprisingly, Pete drinks without protestation, his body still lax and relaxed against Vegas' leg.
When he's done, he lays his head back on the bed. Pete looks irate now, and Vegas is already tired
of the dispute that is undoubtedly coming. So, he stands from the bed, trying to escape Pete's
burning gaze even as those eyes are following him, making his stomach unpleasantly flutters. He
sits against the bed, where he has found Pete unconscious.

His cheek is throbbing a little more painfully now, and his head feels heavier with the weight of
dark thoughts and his father's words.

Despite himself, his eyes return to Pete's face, and he stares at him for a moment. His mind
becomes pleasantly blank when his eyes settle over the other's features. It is so bizarre and
unwanted that Vegas looks away hastily. From the corner of his eye, he sees Pete lifting his arms
and bringing them close to his body, making the chain move and rattle loudly against the pulley.
He even lets out of tiny, pained moan as he does. After that, he sighs and stops moving for a
moment.

Then, Vegas feels the other dark eyes pierce holes on the side of his face, but he keeps looking
away, not ready to dive into Pete's soul and feelings.

"Why don't you just let me die?" Pete's voice is rough and coarse from unuse and perhaps pain.

Vegas doesn't want to answer. He really doesn't want to, not even to himself. Still, something in
Pete's voice forces him to look his way and say something.

"That's not easy," his voice comes out too soft for his liking, but he can't take it back. "You must
suffer until I'm satisfied," he adds, and Pete seems disappointed with his answer.

The man stays quiet for a moment, and Vegas can feel his gaze on his face, more precisely on his
swelling bruise, and he prepares himself for the question is knows is coming.

"What happened to you?"

He frowns still, turning his face to Pete. Vegas considers for a moment messing with the other,
asking if he wants to know in general or something in particular, but the genuine concern he sees in
his eyes convinces him otherwise.

"My father just left," he says only, and Pete seems to understand. He even looks sympathetic,
almost as if he doesn't just understand but personally knows the pain Vegas is in.

"He scolded me for sucking," Vegas continues to speak as he looks into those dark eyes, unable to
stop now that he has opened that door. "I suck at everything I do. Well… I deserved that, anyway.
Whatever I do, I can't seem to beat your boss."

He hates Kinn for a hundred reasons, but even more so because his father keeps comparing the
man to him. It's more than infuriating after two good decades. However, Vegas doesn't expect the
little smirk coming from Pete at his words, and he frowns.

"Why do you have to compare?" Pete asks, losing his grin, his eyes turning to the ceiling for a
brief moment as if remembering something unpleasant.

"Everyone knows that I'm just Vegas," he explains, trying to understand where Pete is going.
"From a minor family. Always under the main family."

He is aware of the bitterness of his voice; he doesn't really try to hide it, oddly comfortable
showing it in the presence of Pete.

"Everyone has the good and the bad part," Pete slowly enunciates, his voice soft. "You're doing
this for your father, and that makes you a good son, doesn't it?"

Vegas cannot help the scoff at that. He has been told a thousand times how bad a son he is,
sometimes (most time) without using a word.

"You only look at this world on the bright side," he says instead, "You've never gone through what
I have."

He sees Pete smiling at his word like he has said something amusing, and Vegas cannot look away.
"Who said so?" Pete murmurs, his eyes on the ceiling, looking far, far away. "When I was little,
my dad forced me into boxing," he starts explaining, his voice barely above a whisper, like every
word is costing him to pronounce, "When I would lose, he would beat me up. Until one day, I
won."

"So, he stopped beating you?" he enquires, but Pete shakes his head, his jaw clenched tightly.

"No. He still beat me. Harder, if anything. I found out later that he had been a boxer. The difference
was that he never won. He kept that pain and took it out on me."

After hearing his words, Vegas' brain helpfully provides something to say since the rest of his
mind absorbs this new information about Pete.

"You're saying that my father sucks?" Vegas wonders, genuinely curious to know what it is that
Pete wants to say.

"Has he ever beaten Mr Korn?" he asks, his eyes returning to Vegas.

He thinks for a moment, going through all he knows of his father's story, his family's story, and all
the rumours and gossip he heard. Still, he can't remember one speaking of his father's victory over
the main family.

"Got it now?" Pete's voice cuts him through his reflexion, and Vegas' eyes return to Pete
reluctantly. Still, he is starting to understand what Pete means, and it is like his world is crumbling
around him.

"They don't beat us because we suck," Pete resumes, "They beat us because they, themselves,
suck."

It is the resentment in Pete's voice that forces Vegas to believe him. He feels like puking because,
truly, it is a lifetime of beliefs shattered by a few words, and he doesn't know how to handle it. His
throbbing cheek is a pleasant reminder of his presence in the world, and it anchors him enough to
swallow his panic and allow himself a deep breath.

"Nosy," he grumbles in Pete's direction, but the other only smiles at him. He focuses on the
amused light he can see in Pete's eyes, even when he feels it deep inside; the world around him is
burning down, and he has no intention of saving it.
 If you know about me and choose to stay, then take this pleasure, and take it
with the pain
Chapter Notes

Hello!

This is technically the end of Part 1 of my story, and chapter 7 (which will be the first
canon-divergent chapter before chapter 8 which focuses on ep12) will be the first
chapter of Part 2 that I have called "I've been burning for so long in a world that keeps
getting colder", inspired by Zayn's song "Bring me back to life".

This chapter is short, but that's because the next two will be really long :)

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter! If you do, don't hesitate to leave a comment
and some kuddos!

Much love, A~

Pete moves slightly, letting the cover slides down his bandaged torso as he presses his face further
against the pillow. He keeps his eyes close, enjoying the pleasant warmth and the bed softness
while letting his mind wander. In retrospect, Pete realises that yesterday has been a strange day as
he remembers Vegas' lips on his own, the man's fingers on him, and the ease with which he had
found talking to him. Sometimes, Pete thinks it is difficult to remember that Vegas is only human.
Flawed but deeply human. In a way, he is a lot like him or who he used to be. Looking for the
approval of a man who will never give it to him. He wonders if Vegas will remember what he had
told him yesterday, while he was lying tiredly on the bed and the other was sitting on the floor, his
head close to Pete's.

As of now, he is too exhausted to even move a finger, so he lays silently in bed and waits for
Vegas' next visit.

He may have fallen asleep without realising because the sun is shining behind Vegas in his
pyjamas when he opens his eyes. His pyjamas. Pete blinks, his eyes raking over the other's body,
taking in the dishevelled state of hair, the oversized black t-shirt, and the tartan cotton pants. Even
his face seems more delicate than usual, softening all of the other's sharp angles.

Trying to assess Vegas' state for a moment longer is too much for Pete, so he looks away and sits
in bed. He does so slowly, groaning as he feels his wounds pulling under the bandages. Once
settled against the pillow, Pete returns his gaze to Vegas. His bruised cheek is less swollen, but it is
already turning yellow instead of the angry red of the day before. He also has a new scratch on the
corner of his mouth, it is still bleeding a little, and his left eye is swelling. Pete wonders what could
have happened because he is sure these injuries weren't there yesterday (he would know, he has felt
those lips on him and stared at this face more than he looks at himself in a mirror). He sighs,
realising that he knows what happened: Vegas' father came again.

"He did it again?" He asks softly as his heart stings for Vegas. It is almost as if he wants to
embrace the other and hide him from his useless father. "Are you okay?" he inquires instead as he
watches Vegas' expression.

His eyes are still their dark honey-coloured, and his jaw is relaxed, but the agony Pete sees is plain
on Vegas' face. The man is not trying to hide his pain anymore, which makes Pete's stomach
flutter, but he ignores it.

At his questions, Vegas chuckles quietly. His face softens even more, and he stretches his lips in a
gentle smile (not mocking or fake, making his face look different), trying not to make his scratch
bleed even more. He seems almost fondly at Pete as he tilts his head, answering softly.

"Are you not used to it yet?" he wonders, a point of humour in his voice, but Pete doesn't want to
laugh, not when he sees that Vegas looks like he is about to crumble.

"Are you hurt?" he asks instead, wanting to know if only his face is touched or if the older man has
dared raise his hands on Vegas' body as well.

The other doesn't lose the fond expression he is sporting, his eyes calmly observing Pete as he nods
slightly.

"I am hurt," he says, "But I don't know why it isn't as bad as before."

He tilts his head again, some unnamed emotions swirling inside the honey of his eyes, and Pete is
too fascinated to answer right away. He is not used to this soft-looking Vegas, even less used to the
way he addresses him. However, it makes him feel seen and perhaps, even cherished. There is
something in Vegas' eyes that makes Pete understand that something he said the day before must
have changed the other's perception of things with his father or his life. And for a moment, Pete
doesn't know how to react or what to say. He would have known if Vegas had been angry and
screaming, but it is not the case now. So, he settles on a small smile of his own, trying to mirror
Vegas' softness.

"That's good," he affirms. For a brief instant, Pete feels his fingers flutter against the bed's cover as
if they want to reach for the other, grab the soft t-shirt and bring him closer. In spite of Pete's
discomfort, Vegas always stands close to him, always steps into his personal space, but not today,
not when he wishes he could feel his warmth just to make sure Vegas is indeed fine.

However, the other's eyes turn from Pete's form and settle over the untouched meal on the
nightstand. A deep, genuine concern is reflected in the frown that immediately marks his face,
making Pete a little breathless at sight.

"You're still not eating?" Vegas' voice is frustrated more than truly angry, reinforcing his deep
worry.

Pete looks sheepish as he turns his gaze to the plate and can't help the disgusted grimace on his
face. It's a plate of what used to be fresh salad, with its serving of small tomatoes, yellow and red
peppers, and pieces of chicken. He doesn't want to tell Pete that he forgot to eat because he slept
the entire time, wasting the food he made for him.

"Did you make it a while ago? It just doesn't look fresh," he mutters, looking down at his hand,
still feeling a little ashamed. It's like he is a kid and needs to constantly be reminded of the most
basic things.

He hesitantly looks up at Vegas through his bang (his hair is getting awfully long now), half
expecting the other to be irritated with him, but he isn't. Instead, he nods slightly, almost
absentminded, at Pete and turns away, quickly leaving the room. That reaction leaves Pete
perplexed and wondering what the other is doing.

Still trying to understand Vegas' reaction, Pete stays unmoving, his hands gently resting on his lap
as his eyes are staring at the door. He stays like that for another ten minutes until Vegas opens the
door, holding this time a freshly made bowl of noodles and chopsticks in the other hand. Pete's
body reaction is immediate. His stomach is rumbling at the delicious smell, like he has turned into
a dog, sniffing the air as Vegas walks to the bed.

"Is this mine?" he asks, hopefully smiling as the other extends the hand holding the bowl, putting
the noodles right under Pete's nose.

"Are you gonna eat it or not?" Vegas grumbles, but Pete sees the cheerful light within the depth of
his eyes, and it makes him warm all over.

Pete doesn't have to be asked twice, and he grabs the bowl with both hands, taking the chopsticks,
while Vegas grabs a book and sits on the bed by Pete's side.

He takes a large piece of noodles, watching the soup dripping from it with blissful astonishment.
His eyes focus on the meal while his mind unhelpfully provides that Vegas hasn't changed his
clothes and that he doesn't have to stay with Pete as he eats. Still, there he is, silently reading, his
hair graciously falling over his forehead and the light reflecting beautifully on the milky white skin
of his nape. Wanting to muffle his unwanted thoughts, Pete takes a large bite, already slurping the
noodles, when a sudden wave of suspiciousness hits his brain.

Vegas is manipulative. He is extremely good at pretending. He may have put some poison in the
food just to enjoy making Pete suffers a while longer, all the while pretending to be vulnerable and
kind. In a moment, Pete is unable to believe that Vegas might have acted just to please him or out
of goodwill. It seems ridiculous, and he spats the food out. He puts the bowl down on the bed and
leans to grab the bottle of water on his nightstand, not stopping to wonder why he is allowed
perfectly fine water when Vegas could have poisoned it too, and takes a long gulp, cleaning his
mouth.

He doesn't immediately see how Vegas has stopped reading, closing the book on his lap as he turns
to Pete, a frown on his face as he looks at the other exasperatedly.

"What are you doing?" he sighs, "Do you really think I would put poison in noodles? I'm not a
monster…" he grumbles. Vegas throws his book away, turning fully towards Pete as he takes the
bowl and chopsticks. He stirs the noodles in the sauce and makes sure it is soaked with it before
taking a large bite that he brings to his mouth, chewing it with energy as if to say to Pete, "See? Not
poisoned."

He puts the bowl down in Pete's lap, "Go ahead, now, and eat it."

Pete slowly takes to bowl, yet he hesitates, his eyes resting on Vegas.

"If you hate me, eat, and you'll have the energy to kill me later," he says with a smile before
turning his back on Pete and opening his book.

Pete doesn't say another word and takes a large bite of his food, slurping the hot noodles, realising
as he eats that he may trust Vegas a little more now (although his mind tells him he's being silly
and stupid, the warmth in his stomach makes it easier to ignore the voice).
Focusing on eating, Pete misses the way Vegas smiles fondly at him while reading, his eyes
shining with that unnamed emotion.
 Can you blame me for thinking about you?
Chapter Notes

Hello guys!

First of all, change of plan!

This is me from the past, way before I publish this chapter, and I have just finished
watching ep12… let's say I have a lot of feelings, and I need to include all those
Vegas/Pete scenes in my story, sooooooo… Well, let's say this chapter is an additional
scene (canon-divergent), but that for the chapter to come, they will probably respect
ep12.

I have also watched ep13, and... well, I knew I wouldn't like the development of the
Pete/Vegas relationship, although it makes sense. Like their story is more logical that
way.

But I'm sticking to my plot, which is going to include COMMUNICATION

(woaaaaa), because nothing is sexier than two adults talking about their feelings XD

So, get ready. This is the beginning of the canon-divergent part!

Also, there is sex in this chapter! (it's the handjob tag) and honestly Part 2 of this story
will be a lot (I mean A LOT) smuttier than the first part

Enjoy~ <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Part II

- I've been burning for so long in a world that keeps getting colder -

What if I changed my mind?

What if I said it’s over?

I’ve been flying so long,

Can’t remember what it was like to be sober.

What if I lost my lives?

What if it’s taking over?

What if I forget my lies,

And I lose all my composure?

 Honestly, he’s the only one that’s watching over me,

Gives me oxygen when it gets hard to breathe.

And if I’m wrong or right,

He’s always on my side.

And if I lose the fight,

I know he’ll bring me back,

Bring me back, bring me back,

Bring me back to life.

7 - Can you blame me for thinking about you?

Pete has savoured the bowl of noodles as much as he could, drinking to the last drop of soup while
Vegas is reading his book calmly by his side. He stretches after putting the empty bowl on the
nightstand, and enjoys the warm feeling spreading from his full belly to the rest of his body,
making his mind comfortably hazy. He scratches the back of his head, feeling how greasy his hair
has become, with a grimace. He feels Vegas' eyes on him, and he slowly returns his gaze.

For a moment, Pete muses. He feels disgustingly dirty; his stomach has blood caked on it, and the
rest of his body is sticky with sweat and dust. He wants to ask Vegas if he can use the shower, but
he doesn't know if the other will allow it. Objectively, he shouldn't allow it as the person who has
to keep him prisoner. Pete, from experience, has never been authorised such a thing, but then, none
of his old jailers had fed him such good food or taken care of him like Vegas did. So, he stares at
the other a moment longer, trying to gather his courage to ask, but Vegas loses his patience before
him.

"Do you want something?"

Vegas is looking at him expectantly. As he turns to Pete, his soft caramel-coloured eyes
contrasting nicely with the sharp edges of his features. Even his shoulders are relaxed as his fingers
are holding his book softly.

"I was wondering..." Pete licks his lips, hesitating, "Can I use the shower? Or wash?" he finally
asks, speaking as quickly as he can, afraid the other will cut him before he’s done. But Vegas only
blinks, his head slightly tilted to the side as his eyes give him a long once-over.
"Come with me," he just says as he stands from the bed. Pete tries to follow, but his body is still
too weak and his knees buckle under him. If it wasn’t for Vegas’ quick reflexes, he would have
been lying flat on the floor.

Without a word, Vegas guides Pete to the floor, gently helping him sit as he unties the handcuffs to
the main chain. Vegas merely murmurs a warning before wrapping one arm around Pete's
shoulders and the other under his knees before lifting him easily in a display of strength that makes
Pete's belly flutter.

The moment Vegas walks out of Pete’s room (he has come to call it his room after a while), he
briefly closes his eyes, his head tilted back as he enjoys the fresh breeze on his face and the sweet
smell of jasmine hitting his nostrils. Vegas marches inside the house, this time in what seems to be
the living room. As his eyes look around, Pete notes that all the furniture is in light colours and that
the open kitchen, adjacent to the living room, seems well-used. It feels different from the minor
family's house and its dark corridors, and Pete finds himself liking it better. However, Vegas
doesn't stop and walks to another door on the left of the kitchen, pushes it open with his shoulder
and strolls inside a large bathroom. The walls and the floor are covered in light blue and green
tiles; there is a bath in white porcelain, white sinks, a toilet, a tall closet, and a little further, an
Italian shower. Pete has rarely seen such luxury, except in Kinn's and Tankhun's room.

Gently, Vegas puts Pete down on a chair by the sink, turning to close the door. He then goes to the
closet, opens it and grabs two fluffy towels, putting them on the sinks before squatting in front of
Pete.

"You realise I won't remove the handcuffs, right?" Vegas enquires, but there is no harshness to his
voice even if his face is carefully expressionless. He seems to just want Pete to understand the
situation, so the latter nods slowly, not really expecting less from the other.

"So, how am I supposed to wash without my hands?" Pete still questions, raising his handcuffed
hands for better effect. His wrists are slightly red and irritated where the metal has constantly been
scrapping, he notices.

"I'll help you," Vegas simply says as he stands and starts removing his clothes.

Pete's eyes widen as he watches him remove his shirt. Vegas lets the clothes fall to the floor
carelessly, removes his slacks and socks, and remains standing proudly in his underwear in front of
Pete.

For a moment, Pete forgets to breathe and only blinks at Vegas as his eyes can't settle on where to
focus. There is so much milky skin and muscles to see that Pete finds himself almost overwhelmed
(he considers if he is overwhelmed because of embarrassment or something else). Nevertheless, his
eyes rake over the other’s broad shoulders as he observes the beauty of Vegas’ defined collarbones
before going further down and gulping, Pete’s mouth suddenly dry at the view of the firm muscles
of his stomach. He even has muscular thighs, strong calves, and a tiny waist, and Pete would have
felt jealous if he wasn't so taken with Vegas' beauty. The other must have known the effect he has
on him because when Pete finally looks up to his face, Vegas is smirking, an amused sparkle
glowing in his eyes.

"You're not showering with me," Pete affirms but he attempts to make it sound like a question (he
doesn't even know if his brain is correctly functioning at the moment, not with the other half-naked
before him). Still, Vegas ignores him and goes to help Pete to his feet.

"You need to remove your clothes," he states, pointing at Pete's old brief, and he blushes slightly,
feeling the tip of his ears warming. Stupidly, Pete realizes that he hadn’t considered that he would
have to be completely naked in front of Vegas. At least, he thinks, the other is not trying to remove
his underwear for him; he truly would have been mortified otherwise.

As Vegas looks insistent, one brow raised as he crosses his arms over his chest, Pete slowly
complies. He removes his brief under the other’s watchful gaze, struggling a little with his hands
still tied together, but he manages. Once naked, he avoids looking at the other's face; he doesn't
even want to know what Vegas thinks. Pete is acutely aware he looks nothing like him. When the
other looks like the greek sculpture of a young Adonis, Pete is skinnier and has lost some of his
muscular mass by staying inactive for so long. He is dirty and smaller in almost every aspect
compared to Vegas ad his broad shoulders and back. He doesn't know how he feels about feeling
so much unattractive compared to him.

However, as he is lost in his thoughts, trying not to shake in nervousness, Pete feels long fingers
firmly curling around his hip while another hand comes to rest against his cheek, forcing him to lift
his chin and look into Vegas' eyes. What Pete finds there is pure awe, and he doesn't know how to
react because Vegas isn't even trying to hide his emotions anymore, and Pete isn’t sure to
understand the other’s reaction anymore.

"You're really pretty," Vegas declares, his face too close to Pete's. The latter momentarily forgets to
breathe as his stomach leaps and his heart hammers rapidly against his ribs.

He says nothing but takes a step back, leaving Vegas' half embrace as he feels his face turning red.
The other doesn't seem particularly offended that he backs away as he smiles, the caramel of his
iris shining brightly with an almost golden glow. Then, Vegas turns to the cabinet under the sinks
and takes out a few plasters, sanitising wipes, and new bandages, placing them on the sinks before
turning to Pete.
"You need to remove those first," he declares as he steps back inside Pete's personal space, his
fingers already working to remove the bandages around his torso. "I want to check if there’re not
inflamed anymore," he adds, and he looks concerned enough for Pete to stay where he is without
comment.

He watches Vegas work as he wills his body not to react weirdly at the feeling of the other's long
fingers on his skin, but it seems to get more challenging the longer Vegas' fingers linger. At last, he
is done, and his chest lays bare. Pete feels his wounds slightly prickle under the AC's air. Still, he
stays perfectly motionless as Vegas leans forward, looking at the injuries with attention.

"I think I'll clean them again and put new plasters before you go under the water," he declares, his
eyes focused on Pete's chest.

It is then, however, that Pete sees them. The scars. They are all over Vegas' back and shoulders,
thick, long, some reddish, others white, and they look painful although they are completely healed.
Despite himself, Pete reaches out with both hands, his fingers carefully touching the closest one on
Vegas' left shoulder, and the scar feels rough under his fingertips. The contact makes Vegas stop
moving, and he slowly looks up at Pete, something foreign and vulnerable in his eyes, and Pete,
once again, forgets to breathe but for a completely different reason now.

"Who..." he gulps, trying to find the words, but his mind is entirely focused on Vegas' back and the
many, too many scars marring the skin. "Was it your father?" he finally asks in a whisper, already
knowing the answer.

Pete doesn't think he expects Vegas to answer. He expects him, however, to react angrily,
indignantly, or to tell him that it's none of his business, which would be true. Instead, Vegas nods
slowly, without a word, the vulnerability in his eyes only growing stronger and plainer. Pete
notices that the scars look like the whipped wounds he has. It is as he looks that an idea forms in
his mind. Perhaps, if Vegas is so skilled with a whip, or if he “enjoys” hurting other people with
various forms of torment, it is because he has suffered from those tortures more than anyone else.
The realisation is sobering because there are so many scars on Vegas’ back that he can barely see
his normal skin. Pete wants to say that he is sorry (because he really is), but he feels it would be
inappropriate and not the thing Vegas would like to hear. Instead, he decides to do something bold
and unlike him. He leans his head against the other’s shoulder, pressing his lips against the
mutilated skin. He feels Vegas stiffen under him, but he doesn't push him away, so Pete continues,
and slowly, one of Vegas’ hands comes to gently skim through his hair before, after a minute or
two, he tugs him away and, without a word, takes a sterile wipe and starts cleaning his wounds.

They both stay silent while Vegas works on Pete's chest, cleaning the wounds and putting fresh
plasters. The air between them feels different now, and Pete is unsure what to make of it. This new
emotion makes his fingers quiver uncontrollably, his stomach leap, and even his mind seems a little
dazed.

Once Vegas is done with his task, he stands and helps Pete to his feet before guiding him to the
shower. There, the man enters first, turning on the water, feeling it with the tips of his fingers for a
moment and adjusting the temperature before stepping out. Pete watches him remove his brief (he
tries not to stare at Vegas' dick, but it's there right under his nose, and it's unmissable), and then he
turns to Pete again. The smile is back on his lips.

"In the shower now," he instructs as he steps close behind Pete and gently pushes him into the
shower.

The water is at the perfect temperature Pete finds, and he closes his eyes briefly, enjoying it. He
doesn’t try to escape Vegas’ hands still firmly on his hips since the man doesn’t seem to want to
initiate anything, and he tilts his head back under the water and feels it running through his hair. A
sigh of satisfaction escapes Pete’s lips, and Vegas' soft chuckle is heard in response.

Vegas doesn't waste time and grabs a soap that smells like bergamot and green tea and starts
washing Pete's shoulders and back.

That is when Pete realises, he is screwed. Although Vegas' touches seem relatively innocent, his
body reacts independently. Soon, as Vegas’ hands are rubbing over his stomach, he feels his dick
coming alive. He tries to think about something he dislikes to calm himself down, but it doesn’t
seem to be working, not with Vegas’ hands constantly on his skin. Pete closes his eyes and silently
curses at himself and his nonsense. He has really no reason to be this turned on about the other.
Except for the fact that Vegas is the most beautiful man he has ever seen. Except for the fact that
he seems to know exactly where to touch Pete to make him shiver. Plus, now that he has seen the
other’s scars, perhaps the reason behind all his cruelty, and see the vulnerability in his eyes, Pete
cannot pretend he is indifferent to this version of Vegas. Even before being his prisoner, the man
had always seemed to be untouchable as if carved from stone, almost inhuman. Consequently,
seeing him so exposed, so easily breakable does something to Pete; something he hasn’t expected
or planned.

"Relax…" Vegas' voice resonates close to his ear, so near that Pete can feel his breath hitting his
wet skin. "You're all stiff.”

He doesn't know if the other said that on purpose, but it makes him even harder and embarrassed.

"I'm not used to someone else washing me," Pete retorts, proud that his voice is even enough to
hide his current problem, or so he thinks because Vegas chuckles behind him, his body coming
closer, not close enough to be skin against skin, but close enough to feel the warmth of his body,
and Pete trembles at this.

"You gonna have to get used to it from now on," Vegas declares, and his hands move around his
flanks to press against his chest, and Pete feels the air inside his lungs leaving him at the contact.

He realises quickly that Vegas must be teasing him. His long fingers are moving slowly, spreading
the soap over his chest, stopping when he reaches his nipples. There, Vegas’ fingers would curl
slightly, twisting the nub and leaving Pete panting. He tries to hide it, tries to stay quiet and ignore
the burning pleasure rising from his belly, but Vegas knows what he is doing and where to touch
him, and it quickly becomes impossible to hide his desire.

Vegas' fingers pinch one of his nipples a little firmer, and, before he can hold it back, Pete moans
softly. Immediately, he brings his hands to cover his mouth, mortified, and steps away from Vegas.
However, the other doesn't let him go, his hands stopping him from moving.

"Stay where you are," Vegas orders, and Pete freezes almost obediently (he silently curses at
himself for acting so passively). As a reward, however, one of Vegas' hands moves from his nipple
to his hip, brushing slowly against Pete’s flank, bringing both bodies closer with the movement.

Pete is now entirely aware of Vegas’ body against his, and the sensation is almost overwhelming.
A part of him keeps on screaming that Vegas is the “bad guy” and that he should use this
opportunity to run away, while the other is all too happy to press back against the other, enjoying
the firmness of his muscles. Pete considers that perhaps he had been touch-starved for too long,
which would explain why he enjoys Vegas’ hands on him so much. However, he is far from stupid
or blind, and he is all too aware that the mingling of emotions swirling at the bottom of his belly
must have to do something with his overwhelming pleasure.

Surprisingly, Vegas' movements stay quite gentle as he moves Pete’s body where he wants him,
and Pete finds himself relaxing in the other's embrace. The more Pete presses his body against
Vegas, the more his mind would go pleasantly blank, only focusing on the other man and turning
off his mind. Vegas' arms curl around him, and he feels the other's lips pressing against his neck,
sucking the skin slightly, and a new shiver runs through him. Pete’s heart is hammering violently
against his ribs, and he wonders briefly if Vegas can hear it.

"Let go…" Vegas whispers into his ear before closing his teeth over the lobe, pulling slightly, and
Pete has to bite his lips to not moan out loud again. However, for some unknown reason (mostly
because he doesn't want to look further into I; for now, at least), he wants to listen to Vegas'
tantalising voice. So, he relaxes against the other's body, allowing his head to rest against Vegas'
shoulder and letting a soft sigh escape his mouth. He feels the other's smile against his neck as he
does, and his stomach flutters at that. He feels warm inside out now.
Vegas' hands are moving again, first all over his stomach, pressing softly, then going back
repeatedly to tease his nipples. One of his hands slowly slides down Pete’s chest while Vegas’
mouth is busy marking his neck, his teeth biting and sucking the skin until his hand reaches his
pelvis and stops there. His long fingers spread over the skin, teasing the tip of his member with
light brushes that make Pete weak in the knees. He is openly gasping now, and a part of him is
aware that it is the first time in his life that he is so turned on after just a few touches. He almost
wants to beg for Vegas to really touch him, feeling tortured by those light caresses. Pete reassures
himself when he pushes back against Vegas and feels the hardness pressing against his ass. He is
not the only one affected.

"What do you want?" Vegas whispers, his lips moving languorously over his marked skin. The
hand still playing with his nipples now move up to his nape and then to his hair, pulling just
enough to bring Pete more pleasure.

Still, Pete doesn't want to voice out what he is feeling and wants. It's too much to ask. Although it
has been relatively quiet, his mind keeps reminding him that he and Vegas are from opposite sides.
Moreover, not long ago, Vegas had whipped him almost to unconsciousness, and he is still his
jailer and the man whose job is to torment him. Pete should not feel any attraction to him, he
should be angry. He should still feel angry at him.

Truth be told, he shouldn't even have found himself in the situation with Vegas' hands on him. But
now, he feels like he is burning alive with desire. All he really wants is to have Vegas' hands on
him, touching him, doing something about his hardness (he might even want to turn around and
crush his lips against the other's, but he doesn't want to explore that feeling more as it feels too
intimate, too insane). He is so conflicted and unwilling that he stays quiet long enough for Vegas to
take matters into his own hands, not waiting for Pete's answer anymore.

Once Vegas' fingers wrap around Pete's dick, Pete moans louder than he expected, and the grip
over his nape becomes firmer as Vegas slowly strokes him. The hand on Pete’s neck moves to rest
on his hip, gripping forcefully, digging his fingers into the skin, strong enough to leave marks,
while his other hand pumps Pete faster. He moans, his head fully pressed against Vegas' shoulder,
his mouth wide open while his tied hands rest on his stomach. Vegas is fully pressed against him,
there's no space left between their two bodies, and Pete can feel the other's member, hot and heavy,
resting against the crack of his ass. He smiles at that, feeling the warmth in his belly flaring as his
mind rejoices in the knowledge that Vegas desires him too. Hyperaware of the other's desire
pressed against his lower back, Pete wants to touch him. He tries to bring his tied hands between
their bodies, but the movement is too awkward and pulls at his healing wounds so much that it
stings, and the moan that escapes his lips isn't from pleasure anymore. Immediately, Vegas stops
stroking him, turning Pete's body to face him. He is frowning, worry glowing brightly in his eyes.
Still, Pete wants to protest at the loss of contact.

"Stop moving like that. You're gonna hurt yourself," Vegas orders as he cuts the water and presses
Pete against the cold tiled wall. He watches Pete momentarily, observing the pink dusting his
cheekbones and dilated pupils. He smiles at the view.

Grabbing his hips, Vegas brings himself flush against Pete again, and he lets a small satisfied sigh
at the return of Vegas' flesh against him. This time, however, he feels the other's member pressing
against his pelvis, hot and leaking, right next to his own hardness, and Pete finds himself, even
more turned on.

Vegas' face is so close that their noses are brushing against each other, and Pete is, once again,
taken with the want to close the distance between them and press his lips against the other's.
Instead, he stares at Vegas, the latter returning his gaze, and tries to resist his urge. In contrast,
Vegas' hand returns to stroke his dick, now harder than before, while his other is touching his own
member. Pete's moans are getting embarrassingly higher, and his breath is unsteady as he feels his
orgasm building, and Vegas is so, so near. He could just lean forward and captures those stupidly
pink lips. And he is so tempted to do so, to let go of everything he was told, of everything he knows
just so he could taste those lips again.

But then, Vegas' grip on him turns viciously harsh, so much so that Pete knows he will be marked
for days afterwards (and the thought turns him on even more), and he sees the precise moment
Vegas decides for the both of them. Their lips slam together brutally; it is all teeth, tongue and
bites, and it is as if Vegas wants to eat Pete alive. He can only let Vegas do what he wants and
enjoy it, and a part of him is thrilled by that. Vegas nibbles his lower lip strong enough that Pete
feels his lip bleed, and the other licks it before ploughing his tongue inside his mouth, curling it
with Pete's. He tries to fight for dominance at first, but Vegas growls, and the sound makes his
knees buckle, so much so that he feels Vegas' hands gripping him firmer and pressing him further
against the wall so he won't fall. He lets Vegas have all the control over him and decides to just
enjoy it as Vegas starts pumping them faster, his thumb stroking his tip from time to time. Pete
feels the man pleasuring himself as his knuckles brush against his stomach and his pre-come
smears his skin, and perhaps, it makes Pete buckle his hips into the other's tight grip. Vegas smiles
in their ferocious kiss at his involuntary movement, and his mouth moves away from his lips to
return to his neck. There, he bites and sucks at the skin joining his shoulder and his neck. Pete
uncontrollably flexes his hips again as he moans loudly, his pre-come helping him slide into
Vegas' hand with an obscene noise. Vegas bites his skin again, so firmly that he breaks the skin
and he has to lick the blood away with a delighted growl that makes Pete shiver and makes him
forget the slight sting. Vegas’ lips trail kisses and suck the skin until they reach Pete’s ear, nipping
softly.

"Come for me, pretty boy…" he whispers, his voice so raspy that Pete moans, his hips buckling
more frankly. Without warning, he comes violently against both their stomachs with a cry. Vegas
strokes him through his orgasm, smooching his neck as he does. When Pete starts shaking from
overstimulation, Vegas lets go of his now flaccid dick and reclines just enough so Pete has a
perfect view of him pumping his own member, his head resting against Pete's shoulder. It only
takes a few more strokes before Vegas comes all over his hand and Pete's stomach, mixing their
come together.
 They're both breathing heavily, Vegas' face still hidden into Pete's neck and his hands now resting
on his hips, while Pete's head is tilted against the wall. After a moment, Vegas slowly steps away
to turn on the water, gently taking Pete by the hip to bring him under the spray. This time when
Vegas rubs his hands against Pete, his movements are efficient and do not linger for too long, but
they're surprisingly gentle, especially when he cleans the come off his belly and his member. He is
silent, but he doesn't embarrassed; Pete notices. He, himself, doesn't feel ashamed or shy like he
knows he should. He feels pleasantly spent and relaxed, and he is happy enough to enjoy Vegas'
administrations without a word. Once he is done with Pete, Vegas washes quickly and then turns
off the water.

"Can you walk?" He asks Pete, and this time, he feels himself blushing at the question. Still, he
takes a tentative step, a bit afraid that his legs will fail him, but he seems alright.

"Yeah…" he replies, his voice hoarser than before.

Vegas nods and guides him out of the shower with a hand on his lower back.

"Stay here," he orders as he walks to the towels, he has left on the sinks. He grabs them and tucks
one around Pete's shoulders before he can feel the cold, then wraps one around his own hips.

Vegas looks even more glorious like that, Pete thinks as he grabs the border of the towel a little
closer to his naked form. He enjoys watching the other move around him and suddenly realises that
they both have become a lot more comfortable in the other's presence. If Pete is highly conflicted
about what he feels for Vegas, he sees in the other's eyes that he is in the same situation. Once
again, Pete is reassured by how profoundly human the other can be, in a way he had not realised he
needed.

Chapter End Notes

The song at the beginning is Back to Life by Zayn (a great song, you should go listen
to it!)
 Turns out, I'm my worst enemy
Chapter Notes

Hello guys! Get ready for a really long chapter filled with heavy feelings, porn with
feelings, and for our two boys to get closer! Also, I'm not sure how well I've done with
the smutty part, so if you have any advice, please don't be shy and share them in the
comments!

I've prepared a short playlist to listen to while reading this chapter:

Sin x Secret, Charlotte Lawrence

Good for you, Selena Gomez

Power, Isak Danielson

Love me Wrong, Isak Danielson

Yours, Alina Baraz

Show me, Alina Baraz

Until I Found you, Stephen Sanchez

I hope you'll like this chapter and enjoy the reading! <3

Pete is back in his room. Vegas has let the chain free enough so he can move around a little more
than before. Pete doesn't know if it is because of what happened in the shower, but he is thankful,
nevertheless.

It has happened two days ago. Now, Vegas allows him to wash once a day after his dinner, but he
doesn't try to help Pete anymore. He only cares about changing his bandages and cleaning his
wounds. Not that Pete minds. Not really. (He convinces his mind that he doesn't care at all.)

He is now sitting against the room's table, the book he has found open on his lap. It's a stupid book,
and he wonders how a guy like Vegas came into possession of such a book. It's about blood types,
zodiac signs, and how they both determine someone's personality. In Pete's opinion, it is utter
bullshit but also entertaining. He likes reading about the character of his blood types because it so
happens that it was quite cool.

He is still reading when Vegas walks inside the room, a small smile on his face. He has dressed up,
Pete notices, red wine slacks and a tight black shirt showing off his muscled chest. He looks away
quickly.

"Where did you get that?" Vegas asks as he comes to rest his hip against the table next to the
hedgehog's cage.
"I went out to buy it, I guess," he snaps sarcastically. Now that he sees Vegas, it is harder to hide
his frustration. Like a bottle of beer that has been stirred too much, it explodes once it is opened.

However, Vegas doesn't seem offended by his behaviour. He still smiles at Pete; his hair is
carefully gelled back, and he is positively radiant under the room's soft light.

"A book doesn't suit an idiot like you," he retorts, the grin on his face openly amused. Pete only
sighs, looking at the book and pretending to focus on it.

"Well, look around. Is there anything else to do in this room?" But Vegas is already looking away,
his attention on his hedgehog, and Pete murmurs a soft idiot under his breath, reading the page
under his eyes. It's a section about blood types and their influence on someone's personality. He has
already read about his blood type; still, the more he reads, the more he feels like it is all stupid. Or
perhaps, he is just annoyed with Vegas.

"Telling personalities from blood type... Can it really tell that much?" Pete grumbles, turning the
pages a little stronger than necessary when a question pops suddenly in his mind.

"Vegas," he calls, "What's your blood type?" he asks as the other turns his gaze on him.

"AB."

"That's a cool one, AB," Pete nods, smiling a little as he reports his attention on his book, trying to
find where the AB blood type section is. "I wanna be AB too," he mumbles to himself, but Vegas
smirks, something almost fond if it wasn't for the terribly amused glint in his eyes.

"And what's your blood type?" he asks.

"O," Pete looks up at him briefly.

"And what does it say?"

Raising a brow, Pete turns a page, his index following the lines until he stops next to the correct
paragraph.

"O blood type," he reads, "handsome, cool, and smart," he invents, enjoying seeing Vegas rolling
his eyes.

"I think you should throw the book away," Vegas declares, his smile mocking.

"Well, it's really written like this," Pete shrugs, secretly amused by the other's behaviour. "Let's
look at AB," he adds as he looks through the pages. "AB is peculiar," he reads aloud, this time not
inventing anything. "They look open on the outside, but in reality, it is really hard to get to them. It
is also difficult to guess what their emotions are. They can often be described as volatile and
unpredictable," he halts his reading for a moment, looking up at Vegas to find the man focused on
what he is saying. "This is so accurate," he says, laughing.

"There is only you who could believe such a stupid book," Vegas replies instead. His shoulders are
relaxed as he watches Pete, his head slightly tilted back. He, too, looks amused; his eyes are almost
laughing.

"Well, it's actually your book," Pete can't help but point out, turning more pages until he reaches a
new chapter. "Haha! It also says that the personality can be told by the pet too."

As he looks up at Vegas, whose attention has turned to his hedgehog – he is now squatting in front
of the cage, his features softened as he watches the small animal – Pete wonders if there is
anything about hedgehog's owners.

"Hedgehog..." he mumbles as he turns the pages, "hedgehog... Ah! There it is! Like the animal, the
hedgehog owner may look strong and scary on the surface, but on the inside, he is actually
sensitive."

"Who's weak?" Vegas immediately cuts him, and his face has lost all trace of amusement.

"Sensitive, Vegas. It says that you're sensitive, not weak. It means that you need love," Pete
explains, not hiding the small delight he feels at Vegas' reaction. Still, his words don't seem to
appease the other as he frowns and straightens his spine, his jaw clenching repeatedly.

"Fucking leave it alone," he suddenly snaps, kicking the book out of Pete's hands with his foot,
startling Pete. He stares at the other with wide eyes, only now considering that saying such things
at someone as unstable and as obviously love-starved as Vegas may have been a bad idea.

Already, however, Vegas has turned his back to Pete, turning to the hedgehog's cage on the table.
The small animal is sleeping on the other side of its cage, but for some reason, Vegas' expression
looks deeply worried.

It's the middle of the night, and Pete has been sleeping on the bed for a while. However, he wakens
suddenly and opens his eyes to see Vegas sitting on the bed, holding something in his hands as if it
was the most precious thing. The man is wearing his pyjamas, and his hair is down, and when he
should have looked relaxed and ready to go to bed, his features are tensed and haunted. Even his
eyes, which have constantly been a nice rich honey colour for the past few days, are dark now.

Pete realises that Vegas is holding his hedgehog, the tiny head of the pet rubbing against the man's
right thumb. Confused, he sits on one elbow and cannot help the concern growing in his chest as he
sees Vegas' troubled expression.

"What is it?" Pete asks, but the other doesn't react. He doesn't even look up, so he tries to call him.
"Vegas? Is he sick?" he enquires after a brief silence as he watches Vegas frown deeper, his eyes
never leaving the small pet. For a moment, Pete believes that Vegas is not going to answer him,
that he probably hasn't even heard him, but he is surprised to hear his voice, hoarse and trembling
with worry.

"He's been breathing abnormally for a while..." he whispers, "his faeces are watery too."

"Do you have medication for him?" Pete questions, seeing how troubled and clueless the other
seemed. And Vegas shakes his head, the hair falling over his forehead following the movement of
his head. "Can't you ask the guards outside to take him to the vet?"

That was something else Pete had always wondered about. Why Vegas was always the only one
taking care of him?

"There's no one," Vegas answers, his voice slowly enunciating the words as his face darkens and
his breathing becomes heavier.

Pete sees how his shoulders tensed under his white top, how his lips tighten into a thin line. Pete is
only half-surprised when Vegas grabs the towel next to him, the hedgehog in his other hand, and
briskly leaves the room. Still, he asks without thinking:
"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking him to the vet," Vegas' tone is almost aggressive as he keeps the pet close to his chest
protectively.

"But it's –"

"I'm not asking you!" he yells, and Vegas leaves the room, slamming the door behind him. Pete
isn't even sure what he wants to say. But it is late... or perhaps, but you said there was no one, so
who's going to take you? However, his eye is quickly drawn to the small key, innocently lying on
the bed cover, where Vegas' hedgehog's towel was. It almost seems too good to be true for Pete,
and it takes him a moment before he tries to move toward it.

He sits up and straightens, his eyes fixed on the key before they stare at the handcuffs around his
wrists. Then, he doesn't hesitate and grabs the key, afraid they would disappear if he didn't catch
them fast enough. It doesn't take him long to open the handcuffs and finally free his hands. Once
the handcuffs lie uselessly on the bed, Pete sits there, staring at them. He wonders what he should
do. Well, not exactly wonder. He knows precisely what he must do. He must escape. That's the
logical thing to do next. So, he slowly stands from the bed, careful not to fall, but thanks to Vegas'
extra care, he is feeling much better now.

Once on his feet, Pete grabs Vegas' jacket that he has forgotten to take with him, wears it, and
quietly makes his way to the door. It isn't locked, and Pete can easily get out. Like last time, the
jasmine fragrance hits his nostrils, and he breathes deeply, briefly closing his eyes. He looks
around in case Vegas had lied, and they were other guards, but everything is tranquil around Pete
as he slowly makes his way around the house, trying to find another exit than the pier.

However, as he runs by the living room's large windows, Pete suddenly halts, his head turning
around. Vegas is far away in the garden, sitting on the grass, slumped forward with his head
hanging low, hands in front of him, holding something. He is perfectly still under the garden's
golden lights, and, at the view, Pete's heart stings. He has never seen the other so troubled and
down before, not even when the man's father would beat him.

But it is not Pete's problem; his mind screams at him. He must turn away and leave this place
before Vegas catches him. He has to run away, or the main family will think he is a traitor and hunt
him down and all the people he ever cared about. They might even track and hurt Vegas. He has to
leave.

He is trying to; he is trying to will his feet to move forward, to turn away from the heartbreaking
vision of Vegas... Yet, Pete can't. His heart is full of images of the man's back and the dozen scars
he has seen there, of the open vulnerability in his eyes, which hasn't last, but Pete has seen it, and it
was enough.

For an instant, Pete feels divided. He knows what he is supposed to do. He also doesn't want to
leave Vegas. Not like that. Not when the other seems ready to jump into the river and not try to
swim. Not when his mind is full of images of Vegas, and his body still shivers at the memory of
the other's touch. He cannot.

So, he turns around, angry at himself for being so weak but even more worried about Vegas. He
walks, feeling the wooden planks under his bare feet until he gets on the grass. He continues
walking silently until he reaches Vegas. He sits next to the other, who looks up at him, openly
surprised to see him. (Pete briefly wonders if Vegas hadn't left the key behind on purpose.)

However, Vegas' surprise quickly returns to deep sadness, and Pete holds his breath back.
"He's dead," Vegas declares, his voice strangely flat despite the desolation and melancholy in his
eyes. Pete's eyes turn to the small, balled towel between the other's hands, and he swallows. He
doesn't really know what to say now. Instead, he comes closer to Vegas, their legs touching from
ankle to thigh. They're now close enough to each other that Pete feels it when Vegas starts crying.
His hands tremble, his shoulders shake, and his thigh trembles.

It's unusual. Pete doesn't know how to react. Vegas, before the shower episode, before falling sick,
before seeing the other's openness, was the unattainable, sadistic heir of the minor family. Now,
Vegas looks like a twenty-something-year-old who has been lacking love his whole life and has
tried finding some in the company of a pet which he has just lost. It's heartbreaking, Pete believes,
and his own heart doesn't break easily. So, slowly, he puts a gentle hand around the other's knee,
squeezing slightly to show that he is here with him and that, despite everything, he is not going
anywhere.

At the contact, what has just been small tears running down Vegas' face, turn into long sobs
breaking his body, his shoulders shaking even more as he struggles to keep the cry inside of him.
Pete watches it all silently, his own eyes feeling up with tears while his heart breaks for Vegas. He
watches still when Vegas turns to him, something akin to anger and distrust before he looks away,
his head hung even lower than before, and Pete doesn't move. He allows Vegas to cry about the
loss of a life he loved, and then, after a long while, he gently takes the other's hand, forcing his
attention on him.

"Maybe we should burry him?" he suggests, and already Vegas is on his knees, digging a hole in
the ground with his bare hands.

The hedgehog is tiny, so he doesn't have to dig too deep. Vegas gently places the animal still
wrapped in the white towel before covering him up with soil. Then, Vegas stands and walks to the
closest tree, cuts some flowers and comes back to kneel. He places the flowers on the small grave
without a word, but his hand shakes a little. Pete's eyes have not left the other's face, and he is
concerned to see a deep frown above his eyes, already as dark as night. Pete can tell some anger is
boiling under the other's skin, but he can't quite understand why.

Without a word, he watches Vegas stand again. He expects him to start walking immediately but
stays next to Pete, almost waiting. So, Pete gets up slowly, clenching his jaw when he is pulling on
his healing wounds until he is finally on his feet. Still, it takes Vegas a moment longer before
moving away from the grave.

They return to his room and sit on the bed. Pete turns to look at Vegas' hands, which are covered in
dirt. So, he takes a napkin (he thinks it is from his last meal) and gently rubs the other's hands
clean. They're still not talking or looking at each other. Once Pete is done cleaning Vegas' hands,
he lets go. It is then that Vegas finally asks:

"Why didn't you run away?"

There is no reproach in his voice. He simply sounds curious but also somewhat reassured. Pete's
voice is stuck in his throat. He wonders if this is how Vegas feels whenever he asks why he didn't
kill him. He doesn't know why he hasn't run away. Or he knows why but doesn't want to put words
on it. Words make things real, and Pete isn't sure he wants it to be real just yet. He wants to say
that seeing the other alone and crying in the garden had broken something inside Pete's chest. He
also wants to say that he can't stop thinking about Vegas, can't stop remembering how he feels to
have his hands on his skin. But he can't say that.

"I don't even know," he replies instead.

A moment of silence follows his words, and Pete hears the sob that tries to break Vegas' walls.
From the corner of his eyes, he sees him lowering his head as if to hide his tears.

"My father had me take care of a hedgehog since little," Vegas whispers suddenly. Pete listens
attentively. "One by one, they all died. (Vegas breathes deeply, and Pete watches a tear rolling
down his cheek) Until there was this one left. He still left me too," he says, looking at Pete.

He sees the anger again, burning at the bottom of Vegas' dark eyes. Slowly, he realises that this
anger may be directed at Vegas himself.

"I didn't even get to name him," he adds, sounding exhausted as fresh tears running down his face.
Pete is a little amazed at how genuine Vegas seems to be. He doesn't think he would have allowed
anyone to witness him being so vulnerable.

"So, why do I have to feel so much about this now?"

It is Pete turns to breathe deeply before he can say his answer. "If you're feeling sad, that means it
was important," he simply states, but Vegas' gaze is burning on him, and Pete can barely hold it
until the other finally looks away.

"Whatever my father gave me to do, it was all important," he declares, and the frustration in his
voice turns stronger to the point where Vegas lets an odd chuckle escapes his lips, all the while
new tears still run down his cheeks. "Everything that I love leaves me. My life is pathetic, isn't it?"

And that is, once again, a side of Vegas Pete never thought he would witness. The self-pity. He
understands, though.

"But you still have Macau," Pete replies, wondering how lonely and loveless the other really grew
up. But Vegas shakes his head, his eyes suddenly empty of everything.

"Macau is no different," he says, "it's unfortunate... to be born in the minor family." He turns to
Pete slightly, "minor means the second. No matter how well we do, no one sees it."

Vegas has whispered the last words, almost as a confession. Still, it is difficult for Pete to
understand because he always has been at the bottom of the hierarchy. He was a boxer who always
lost. Then, a boxer who always won. Then, he became a bodyguard, and apart from changing
which brothers of the main family he was supposed to protect, he stayed a bodyguard. For someone
like Pete, there is no prospect of changing. Except, maybe, if he decides to sleep with Tankhun,
Kinn, or Kim. But the simple thought makes him want to gag, so it is out of the question.

Pete refocuses on Vegas, who has started crying again, but there is something weird about the
other this time. He watches the odd grin marking Vegas' expression abruptly turning into pure
hatred before Vegas suddenly slaps himself, making Pete jumps in shock.

"Vegas!"

"Why?" he cries, "why was I born in this fucking family?!"

Then, before Pete can stop him, Vegas punches himself, strong enough that his own face turns
away, and Pete jumps on his feet, trying to take hold of his hands to stop him from hurting himself.

"Stop! What the heck are you doing?" he fights against Pete's hold on him, but he holds on tightly
until Vegas shoves him away.

"Leave me alone!" he yells, but it sounds to Pete that Vegas is asking for help.
Or not.

"You think it serves me right, huh?" Vegas' voice has turned menacingly now, and Pete is caught
off guard.

"I know that you're sad, but you're freaking stupid to hurt yourself," he finally replies after a
moment when he tries to quell his own anger.

He may have still sounded irritated, though, since Pete watches Vegas wipe his tears away, his
eyes slowly coming to rest on Pete.

"But you like it, don't you, when I am like this?" Vegas questions. There's no threat in his tone
now, but he sounds like he knows. Like he knows what Pete feels. And he is so shocked and
suddenly scared of being seen that Pete doesn't know what to do or say next, and just stands where
he is. He can only watch Vegas slowly stand from the bed, grabbing the edge of the jacket he is
still wearing and pulling him closer.

"What are you doing?" he finds the strength to ask. The closer he gets to Vegas, the more terrified
he becomes because he can see it. Vegas knows what Pete doesn't even want to acknowledge.

"Every time I get moody," Vegas continues, ignoring Pete's question, "your eyes tell me that you
like it."

They're chest to chest now. One of Vegas' hands is sneaking under his underwear, long fingers
curling around his already hardening dick, while the other is cupping his face. Pete tries to resist
the temptation. He really tries. But Vegas' hand on his face feels like he has turned on a light inside
him, while the other hand, the one around his member, is setting him on fire. Pete is entirely
helpless, and he likes it, and Vegas knows. The other guides his face closer to his, their lips almost
meeting, and Pete really, really wants to close the distance, but he still has some pride, so he does
not and waits for Vegas' next move.

"I know exactly what I want," he declares, his hold getting slightly tighter around Pete, and he has
to swallow a moan, "how about you, Pete?"

The only thing Pete can think about now is how much he wants to kiss Vegas and how much he
loves his hands on him. The rest is just hazy, like hiding behind a thick fog, and it even becomes
difficult to speak.

"How do you like it?" Vegas keeps asking, and he almost sounds like he is guiding Pete where he
wants him, and Pete follows willingly.

Perhaps the easiness with which Vegas has complete control over Pete, even when he doesn't have
the handcuffs, brings him back to reality, even just a little.

"You're a psycho," he says, but his words lack the spite, and he only manages to get his face closer
to Vegas, their lips only inches away. Still, he succeeds in making the other smile.

"Don't try to hold it," Vegas whispers. Pete notices that his voice is turning much like how he
sounded in the shower two days ago, all husky and rough from desire. "I know you're suffering
inside," he adds, "let it out."

Pete feels it deep inside his bones; it is an order. Not a request or a demand. An order to which he
desperately wants to comply, but his mind is too loud. When he thinks his mind will get the best of
him, Vegas' hands move; the one around his member picks up the pace while the other brushes his
flank before cupping his ass. In contrast, Vegas' lips get nearer, and nearer, and nearer... And Pete
thinks he will shatter if Vegas doesn't do something. And he does something; he lets go of Pete
entirely and takes a step back.

Pete is too shocked to say anything but stares at Vegas.

"But a guy like you, it's no fun if you don't give in," he says as he starts to walk away, leaving Pete
all hot and bothered and confused. His mind is screaming at him, but he is screaming back this
time because he wants it badly, and Vegas has taken it all away from him.

So, Pete looks up, and the emptiness in Vegas' eyes is so deep that for a moment, he loses himself
on the edge of the abyss. He knows he is almost ready to fall with Vegas, to fall all the way to the
bottom of his emptiness, of this big black hole within his eyes, in blackness so empty and lonely
that they will never find their way back to the surface.

But Vegas is still walking away, and Pete knows now what he wants. The fear has left him with
only the desire, so he swiftly turns around and grasps Vegas' t-shirt, taking hold of his neck with
both hands before pressing his lips against Vegas'. Pete immediately feels him respond, holding his
face between his hands and his long fingers losing themselves in his hair as they kiss passionately.
It is all teeth and tongue, and Pete feels his whole body igniting the more he presses himself
against the other, knowing he has made the right decision.

Vegas is everywhere. In his hair, his chest, his thighs, his ass, his lips, his neck... It's
overwhelming in the best way since Vegas seems to be the only remedy to shut his brain down.
Pete also feels the effect he has on the other, making him, even more, turned on and happy as his
kiss turns brutal, teeth nipping at lips and tongues licking the blood away. While ungracefully
removing Pete's jacket, Vegas feels his chest through the bandages, his fingers tracing his curves
until they reach his hips and hold onto him tightly. But Pete wants to feel Vegas too, and his
fingers clutch over the fabric of his top, trying to pull it up until Vegas breaks contact with him for
a brief instant so he can take off his shirt before smashing their bodies together once more,
claiming his lips possessively. Vegas seems pleasantly taken with kissing Pete breathless, but soon
he wants more. He wants to feel Vegas everywhere, wants to make sure the other will not go back
on his words.

Almost by instinct, Pete reaches up, his forearms tangling with the chains as he holds them.
He knows what he wants. He wants to completely surrender to the other. He wants Vegas to be in
control because he looks glorious when he does so, like a young god. And Pete feels privileged
enough to be seen by such a man.

Pete knows Vegas is pleased with his action when he swiftly moves behind him, pressed so tightly
against Pete that there's no space left between their bodies. One hand comes to curl around Pete's
throat, not tightly but enough to make Pete relax. Without losing time, Vegas is open-mouth kissing
the side of his neck, teeth and tongue nibling with the tender skin, leaving Pete a moaning mess,
and he is already leaking abundantly in his brief. He reassures himself that he is not the only one
affected because Vegas is hot and heavy against his lower back, and the sensation is thrilling. The
man's other hand spread over his stomach in a possessive grip while his lips move to his nape,
leaving a wet trail behind them before Vegas starts slowly licking his way down Pete's back. It is
as if the man wants to taste every inch of skin that makes Pete. The sensation is strong enough to
make Pete quiver helplessly as he moans against his arm, clinging to the chains. As he goes down,
Vegas finally removes Pete's brief in one swift movement, freeing his member, which springs up,
the tip hitting his stomach and already smearing pre-come there. Pete feels Vegas' veracious grin
against the skin of his hips, and it makes his stomach flutters (and he likes it, and he feels so alive
for the first time in years, maybe in forever...).
The moment his underwear is completely removed, Pete feels Vegas' greedy mouth immediately
nibbling at the skin of his ass, his fingers pressing so firmly it will leave marks. Pete lets out a long
moan, feeling goosebumps covering his skin as his grip over the chains tightens desperately. He
mumbles Vegas' name repeatedly as it is the only thing he can still think about as he feels the
other's teeth bite softly into the tender skin of his ass cheek. Pete can't help but press further into
Vegas' mouth, and he shivers, his stiff dick leaking more and more against his stomach, and
he needs more.

"Vegas..." Pete moans, unsure what to ask for since he wants so many things. But, as if Vegas
already understands, he stands on his feet and forces Pete to let go of the chains before pushing
him to the bed.

Pete lies there, his legs naturally coming to wrap around Vegas' hips, and the other only grabs
them, his fingers already caressing his thighs and calves, leaving goosebumps on their way. This is
then that Pete sees it. The rope. It is the typical kind of rope, black, thick, and rough to the touch,
but seeing it makes Pete's belly leap, and he remembers the shower and his hands still handcuffed,
allowing Vegas to have complete control over his body. He wants this feeling again. So, he grabs
the rope, his legs still tightly wrapped around Vegas, and slowly, almost reverently, presents the
rope to the man without a word. Vegas takes it, his long fingers curling around it without hesitation
even though he watches Pete's reaction when he does it, perhaps trying to see if he regrets? But
Pete doesn't. He is shaking from anticipation, he wants Vegas to do it, and he rarely has ever been
so sure about something in his whole life. So, when Vegas smiles (a genuine smile that warms Pete
inside out) and starts tying his hands together, Pete has no fear. He knows he is in good hands from
now on.

However, Vegas does something unexpected. Once he has tied Pete's hands together, he bends
down and presses a long kiss to his knuckles tenderly, almost worshipfully, and it takes Pete's
breath away. Vegas then gently pushes him down on the bed; Pete's arms stretch above his head,
giving the man full access to him.

But Vegas steps back, his eyes ranking over Pete's body, looking greedily at the expense of skin
and flesh as he licks his lips. He briefly looks away to move to the table, where he grabs something
Pete doesn't see immediately. It's a condom, he realises, when Vegas puts it between his teeth as he
stands back in front of Pete. Slowly, his eyes burning on Pete, he removes his own brief, throwing
it away somewhere in the room, before straightening his spine.

Vegas stays there, standing in front of Pete, gloriously naked under the soft light. Vegas looks
surreal. More god than human as Pete's eyes stare at the expense of muscles, at the perfect milky
skin that looks like melted silver under the moonlight, at his hair falling over his forehead, but
mostly, at the darkness swirling within his eyes. Pete desperately wants to fall into such beautiful
darkness and finally be one with Vegas. There is no fear or doubt left in him, only desire, burning
him alive. Pete's desperate state is not helped by Vegas, who keeps staring at him as he undresses,
the condom still between his teeth.

Finally, he slowly bends over Pete, ripping the condom open. At the same time, his fingers run
down Pete's chest, then over his member, teasing his tip as they move, before stopping over his
tight hole. Pete can feel the other's fingertips pressing, brushing, and making him feel like he has
become liquid fire as his moans get higher and his breath irregular. Pete watches with attention
when Vegas rolls the condom over himself, their eyes never leaving each other as Vegas brings his
fingers to his mouth and sucks firmly on it, carefully wetting them. Then, when they are wet
enough, Vegas brings his fingers back to Pete's entrance, spreading the drool down there, teasing a
little more until Pete cries before finally breaching his tight entrance, pushing slowly, knuckle after
knuckle, until he is entirely inside Pete.
"Vegas!" He cries, his hips wriggly despite himself as he tries to push more of Vegas inside of him,
but instead, the man reclines slightly and grabs the chains. He takes hold of thick handcuffs that
Pete has not seen before, but his dick hardens when Vegas locks them over his ankles, preventing
Pete from moving.

"What do you want?" Vegas asks sensually as he bends over Pete, his finger still slowly moving
inside of him.

"More..." he moans, incapable of formulating complete sentences, "I want more..."

Vegas smirks at his words, and he adds a second finger, not wasting time and pushing it fully
inside of Pete. There's a slight sting to the new addition, and because Pete's entrance is tight, it is
quickly replaced by devastating pleasure when Vegas rubs his fingertips against his prostate. Pete
screams at the contact, his hips buckling and his back curving as his half-opened eyes try to stay on
Vegas. It doesn't take long before the other can add a third finger, pumping faster and stroking
against Pete's prostate every time to the point where Pete is a moaning mess, red down to his chest
as he tries his best not to wiggle too much. Still, he feels the burning pool of desire heating more
and more down his belly.

Then, Vegas removes his fingers, and Pete is about to complain, his hole gaping over nothing,
when he feels the lubricated tip of the other's thick member. Vegas pushes down slowly, allowing
Pete to adapt to him, and all Pete can do is throw back his head; his mouth opens as a long moan
escape his lips between pain and pleasure. It is only when Vegas is entirely inside of him that he
halts his movements, observing Pete with attention. Pete spreads his legs a little further, allowing
Vegas to penetrate him even more. He moans longly when Vegas' thick member constantly rubs
against his pleasure point until Pete's vision whitens for a brief instant. Seeing this, Vegas leans
forward, grabbing his nape and his thigh as he thrusts deeper, watching with fascination how Pete's
face seems lost in pleasure.

Vegas fucks him, setting a rough pace as he brings his chest against Pete's and leaves open-mouth
kisses against his neck, groaning in pleasure.

"Fuck, Pete, you're so tight..." he growls before bitting Pete's shoulder, licking it right after.

Pete has never felt more alive than there, Vegas between his legs and deep inside him. Every time
Vegas manages to rub against his prostate, Pete feels his whole being ignite, burning more and
more, and he can barely moan any longer. Or perhaps he is screaming. He can't tell; his mind is
pleasantly blank, only filled with Vegas' presence, and all he can do is moan the other's name over
and over again.

Pete tries to kiss Vegas, and the other gives in easily, but soon he lacks oxygen. Even if he doesn't
want to break apart, Vegas reclines slightly, pressing his lips against his jaw and staying there as
Pete breathes him in. Vegas' pace becomes brutal, and Pete feels him hardening even more inside
of him, the man's hands clutching his arms and his hips, and Pete is confident he will be marked
tomorrow. He only groans in answer, feeling the burning pool of pleasure at the bottom of his belly
flaring more and more like wildfire. All Pete does is bring his mouth to Vegas, kissing him,
nipping at his lips, licking the inside of his mouth greedily before Vegas' mouth moves to his neck,
where he bites and sucks at the skin, his hips thrusting more violently against Pete's ass in an
obscene sound, his balls smacking against his skin. The faster Vegas fucks him, the closer he leans
to Pete, their chest so pressed together that there is no space left. He licks, sucks, and bites, his dick
repeatedly stroking against his prostate until Pete sees white, screams the other's name, and comes
violently between their stomach, making a mess.

It doesn't take long before Vegas joins him, Pete's hole clenching around him abruptly, and he
grunts Pete's name as a warning before biting his shoulder firmly, breaking the skin there, and he
comes hotly inside Pete, filing the condom.

They both breathe heavily, panting into each other mouths. Vegas leans forward to lick at the bite
mark, licking the blood away, before he kisses Pete. There is something inside Pete's hazy mind
that notices that the kiss is tender, full of sentiments neither of them is ready to voice out, but at
least they can show each other.

Slowly, Vegas slips out of Pete, and he winces a little, feeling the sting of the man's rough
lovemaking. He throws away the used condom after tying it. For a moment, Pete is terrified at the
idea of Vegas leaving him, still bound and spent, all alone. But the man only rolls on his side, so
close to Pete that their bodies touch from shoulder to ankle, and Vegas' fingers gently caress where
he has marked Pete with a satisfied grin. He turns his face to look at Pete before beaming at him
with the happiest smile Pete has ever seen on the other's face, and it returns it easily, almost
naturally, both their damp foreheads tightly pressed together. The moment feels so intimate that a
part of Pete is glad he is still tied, or he would have climbed Vegas and curled right there, on his
chest, where the man's heart lies, in the hope that he can clamber those walls one day. Something
tells him that he is on his way there as he watches Vegas wrap an arm around his middle, kissing
his damp shoulder tenderly.
 Until I found you
Chapter Notes

Hello, guys!

This is an off-script chapter! Yay, we're getting there! Although, this one is more of a
filler so I could get these two in the same place!

Just to let you know, I have written 5 more chapters, and I'm planning at least 3 more.
Most of them are entirely canon-divergent, and I'm just using snippets of dialogues
from the show, but barely.

Also, I haven't watched ep14 yet, and I'm soooo excited (and scared XD)

(This is still unedited, I apologise if there's any mistake)

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

If you do, don't hesitate to leave a comment and kuddos! (I genuinely love reading
your comments, it is such a booster for my ego, you have no idea)

Much love, A~ <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Wrap me up in all your

I want you in my arms

Oh, let me hold you

I'll never let you go again like I did

Oh, I used to say

I would never fall in love again until I found him

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found him

I found you

Everything changed after that night. Initially, Pete was afraid it would change for the worse, that
Vegas would take advantage of Pete's moment of weakness and his knowledge of Pete's undeniable
attraction to him and use it against him. But it hasn't been the case. On the contrary, Vegas has
been even more tender in taking care of Pete afterwards. He had gently removed the cuffs around
his ankles, massaging the skin before pulling the rope from around his wrists. Then, he had helped
Pete in the shower, gently stroking his sore muscles and washing his body, and Pete had felt like he
was on a little cloud, almost like he was dreaming.

Now, Pete is standing in his new underwear in the middle of the bathroom while Vegas carefully
removes the plasters from his wounds. His brows furrow in focus as he does so, and Pete smiles,
amused at his action, but he doesn't comment on it, content to simply enjoy it.

"I don't think we need to replace the bandages this time," Vegas finally says once Pete's wounds
are uncovered, "they look like they're healing well," he adds with a smile that Pete mirrors easily.

He looks down to his chest and sees the wounds that used to be red and bloody, now marking his
skin in thin maroon lines, similar to Vegas' scars.

"Let's just apply some healing ointment," Vegas declares, turning to the cabinet to grab the balm
before turning back to Pete. He takes some on his fingertips and gently applies it over the injured
area while a strong scent of mint and fresh herbs spreads in the room. A comfortable silence settles
between them. Until Vegas is done with his task and goes to clean up.

"Can I have something to eat?" Pete asks as he watches Vegas throwing the old bandages in the bin
and putting the ointment back in its place.

"Now, you want to eat," he chuckles, amused as he shakes his head, not looking at Pete. "What
would you like?"

Pete considers for a moment, his hands pensively crossed over his stomach, which keeps rumbling
lowly, before shrugging slightly.

"Whatever you make as long as it is not lettuce," he declares, making Vegas smile brighter.

"Is that why you refused to eat for so long? Because you don't like salad?"

"Back at the main family's house, I had to follow a super dry diet since I was a bodyguard, but here
there is no one I have to protect, so I think I can skip that," Pete explains.

"Okay, whatever..." Vegas is still smiling when he finally turns to face Pete, "I think I still have
some noodles left."

It doesn't take Vegas long to cook for them, giving Pete time to look around as he sits at the table.
He is still unbound, the red lines around his wrists the only reminder of the handcuffs he has
constantly been wearing until now. He wonders how long Vegas will trust him like this and if he
even trusts himself because now that he is free (his body, at least, is free), his mind keeps shouting
at him to run. But he doesn't. He stays, silently sitting and watching Vegas cooking. Pete also
wonders how the man's father would react if he came around and found them like this. Badly
surely, and Vegas would have to go through another beating session, and perhaps Pete too. To be
frank, although Pete hated the handcuffs, he feels uncomfortable now without them and is unsure
what to do about it.

Vegas is finally done preparing their plates and puts one in front of Pete, who thanks him. He starts
eating, but his mind keeps returning to this uneasy sensation he has at the bottom of his stomach.
He really hated the handcuffs, but probably because of what they represented. They had first been
put on him by this traitor Ken, and then he had been left in a gloomy room, half-naked with three
other goons goggling at his body like he was their next meal.

Until Vegas came. Vegas and his false-calm demeanour. Vegas and his beauty that resembles the
divine. Vegas and his sharp tongue and his dark honey eyes. Vegas and his violence.

Pete recalls how it felt to see the man, the sleeves of his dark shirt neatly rolled up his forearms, as
he explained slowly that Pete was to blame for the failure of his plan. At the time, Vegas had been
a familiar face, someone Pete knew how to handle. Plus, Pete knew that if Vegas dealt with him,
that could only mean he had been successful in his mission. So, Pete had been happy to see the
other, in a way.

Still, the handcuffs then had been the symbol of his captivity, and he hated them. And then,
everything slowly changed again. Being handcuffed still meant that Pete was carefully under
Vegas' control, but also his protection, his care. As long as he was bound, Vegas cared for him for
everything, going to the bathroom, eating, washing, helping him sit down... Pete has found it
relaxing not to be in control at all times. In order to be as good a bodyguard as he has become, Pete
had to constantly be aware of everything around him and ensure he had complete control over his
environment to adequately protect Kinn or Tankhun. So, when Vegas pressed Pete against the
shower wall and used Pete's body to bring them both pleasure without him moving a finger, that
had felt amazing and safe, just as when Vegas had tied his hands and ankles and used Pete's body
to bring them both pleasure the night before.

There is something comforting in the knowledge that Vegas can simply take control and handle
Pete without being weirded out by this side of him. His past partners (no matter how few they
were) all found his desire to give some of his control away during sex irritating at best, bizarre at
worst. So, until now, Pete thought he was abnormal, like a freak, because he likes it better when
his partners have total control over him. And because he enjoys sex rougher than most people
would find pleasurable.

Pete thinks about Vegas, however. Vegas is different; he always has been. He would understand
Pete and his needs and probably wouldn't judge him for having them. So, perhaps... Perhaps, Pete
would like to have some kind of restraints on him even now. Maybe not like the ones he had in his
room. Those irritated his wrists, and they're heavy. But something lighter that he could have all the
time and still move around, but when Vegas wants him to, he could just tie him.

Pete sighs deeply as he swallows his noodles. He sounds insane, he thinks, unaware of Vegas'
curious gaze on him as he takes another bite of his plate.

"What's wrong?" Vegas finally asks, "You've been awfully quiet. That's unlike you."

Pete tries to swallow, but his throat is suddenly dry, and he feels himself blushing slightly,
embarrassed.

"Nothing," he says quickly, but Vegas only raises a sceptical brow, and Pete eventually sighs,
defeated.

"It's just..." He licks his lips as he lets his chopsticks down on the table, "I'm not sure how to
explain it."

"Try me."

"Well, how can you trust I won't try to run away now that I don't have the handcuffs? I mean, I
don't like the old ones, but at least they got you to trust me... And... And... (he bites his lips,
hesitating) I feel uncomfortable without them right now. I'm not sure why, but I think I find it
comforting? Like, I know it sounds fucked up, but I guess I kinda like it when I'm not in control...
And... Fuck, I sound stupid!"

Pete hides his face behind his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes, trying to think straight,
but all his worries are attacking him at the same time, and he feels overwhelmed, which makes it
even harder for him to clearly articulate what he wants.

"Hey, Pete," Vegas calls as his right hand reaches for Pete's face above the table, "calm down,
okay? Let me try to understand."

He gently removes Pete's hands from his face, and Pete sees that he isn't smiling or mocking him;
he looks serious like he is really considering what he had just told him.

"So, I take it that you think I shouldn't trust you without restraints, but you don't want the old
handcuffs, even though you feel comforted by the idea of letting go of the control you have over
yourself... Am I right...?"

And Pete can only blink at the other because he got it perfectly right and even made it sounds
perfectly sane. So, he only nods, slowly and still a little uncertain.

"I think I can find other handcuffs," Vegas declares as he scratches his chin pensively, "You're
right, anyway. If my father finds you free, he might go batshit crazy."

And with that, Vegas stands up from his chair, taking his plate and Pete's before putting them in
the sink. Pete watches him move around from his place, wondering what he should do next until
Vegas turns to him, his right hand extended towards him.

"Come with me," he says, waiting for Pete to take his hand, which he does quickly. Their fingers
tangle, palms tightly pressed together, and Vegas guides him through the house, walking through
the living room until they reach stairs that Pete hasn't noticed before. When they reach the top of
the stairs, Vegas stops to open the only door and finally enters the new room.

It is twice as large as "Pete's room", and one entire side is made of windows instead of concrete,
letting sunlight in. The view is breathtaking. From where he stands, Pete can see the green water of
the river surrounding the propriety and the forest further away, everything in various shades of
blue, green, and yellow. He can even see the garden and the wooden pier. Pete then turns to the
inside of the room, trying to see what Vegas is doing. There is a gigantic bed against the opposite
wall with midnight blue sheets and two white nightstands on each side.

Further away, two large closets are painted in the same white as the nightstands. In one of those,
Vegas is apparently looking for something, half of his body lost inside the closet. There is a long
grey carpet under the bed and another one of the same colour where Pete stands.

Pete turns slightly and sees that on his left, there is a comfy-looking cream reading chair with its
pale yellow plaid, and behind it, a high and large bookcase full to the brim. Pete stares at the
collection of books for a moment, impressed by the number, before realising there are even more
books scattered around the room. There are maybe five by the right side of the bed, two on the left
side, four next to the closet Vegas is looking through, and a few others pilled up in the middle of
the room. Pete knew Vegas liked reading but didn't know he liked it that much.

Opposite the reading chair is what must be the sports side of the room. There are a few weights,
dumbbells, a bench, a pull-up machine, as well as a red punching bag fixed with a chain on the
ceiling.
It explains why I feel Vegas has gained muscles, Pete thinks as his eyes linger on the boxing
equipment. His fingers flutter slightly, and he clenches them, forcing himself to look away. If he
wanted to practice again, he would have to ask Vegas, but one thing at the time. First, they needed
to do something about the handcuffs situation. Once they are both settled, perhaps Pete will allow
himself to ask for one more thing.

"Ah!" Vegas suddenly exclaimed, stepping back and holding a bunch of thin-looking chains. "I
found them," he declares, turning to Pete.

Slowly, Pete walks to Vegas, looking with a curious gaze at the chains when he notices the new
type of handcuffs the man is also holding. The bracelet is larger than the other cuffs he had to
wear; it is in black leather, which looks flexible enough. Around it are wrapped three thin chains
connecting both cuffs and allowing ample motion. There are two buckles, one to stop the chains
around his wrists from moving and another to attach the handcuffs to another longer chain. Pete
blinks at it for a moment, observing the object and realising that this type of restraint is definitely
the one used in a bedroom, and he blushes slightly. He remembers Vegas' secret room back at the
minor' family's house and everything he has found inside, all the toys and garments... The memory
makes him blush even more, and Pete has to clear his throat to try to regain his composure.

"Do you like it?" Vegas asks, smirking as he observes Pete's turmoil. "I can fix this chain (he holds
up the long silvery chain) to this wall behind the bed and attach it to the handcuffs. You will be
able to move around more than before. But, you'll still be restrained," he explains, pointing at the
half-hidden metal hooks on the wall and on the bed, and Pete's throat becomes dry at the view.

Vegas knows what he likes; he had time to explore it with many, many partners. Pete's eyes settle
back on the handcuffs, frowning slightly.

"What's wrong?" Vegas inquires, stepping closer to Pete, one arm coming to wrap around his waist,
and Pete allows himself to breathe Vegas' scent deeply before answering.

"It's just... I like it, it looks more comfortable than the other, but..." He stops, wondering if he
should ask because even in his head, he sounds stupid.

"But?"

"Did anyone else ever wear it?" He finally asks, not looking at Vegas, but he is compelled to when
the other's fingers come under his chin and force his head up. Vegas stares at him for a long
moment, his smile is gone, and he looks serious as if he is trying to understand why Pete would ask
this question.

"I never had a partner who willingly asked to be restrained," he says slowly, still looking at Pete's
eyes, "so, the answer is no. You will be the first one to wear them. (He pauses) And, just to be
clear, I would not suggest you to wear something someone else has already worn. I think you
deserve better than second-hand, Pete."

They stare at each other for a moment, and Pete feels his inside warming pleasantly at Vegas'
words. He smiles slowly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the other. The kiss only lasts a
few seconds, and it is chaste, but it has meant as much, if not more, than the passionate kisses they
have exchanged before, and Vegas returns his smile brightly, the sun reflecting prettily in his
honey iris.

"Can I try it on?" Pete asks after a brief moment of silence when they both enjoy each other
presence in each other arms. Vegas nods promptly as Pete presents his wrists, his palms facing up,
watching the other wrapping the handcuffs around his wrists and feeling the soft leather brushing
 against his skin. Then, Vegas closes each cuff before he tries moving Pete's hands, testing the
movement of the chains connecting both cuffs together. Pete watches, fascinated by how easily the
chains move through the buckle and how far he can now move his arms without being stopped by
the chains.

"It'll be easy for me to restrain you," Vegas explains, his fingers moving over the chains, "See this
small buckle here? (He points at a place under Pete's right wrist) If I press there and activate the
buckle, you won't be able to move your hands around much."

He clicks on it, and the chains shorten and tighten, forcing Pete's wrists closer together like real
handcuffs. When Pete tries to move, he can only force his hands an inch or two. Taking hold of the
handcuffs, Vegas guides Pete to the bed, still holding the long chain in his other hand. He helps
Pete to sit before turning to one of the metal hooks on the right side of the bed, fixing the chain on
it before connecting the other side to Pete.

This chain is less heavy than the one from before, and Pete is silently grateful for that. But then,
another sudden question pops inside his head.

"Wait... Does that mean I'm staying here from now on?" He turns to Vegas, inquiring.

This time, it is Vegas' turn to look sheepish; Pete would even say he seems shy if he didn't know
better. The man's long fingers slowly run over the side of the long-chain, not looking at Pete as he
seems to think.

"I..." he halts, hesitating as his fingers tighten around the chain and a frown slowly forms on his
forehead.

"It's okay, Vegas," Pete says softly, coming closer, his fingers brushing against the other. "You can
tell me what you want."

Vegas hesitates a moment longer before slowly looking up at Pete, who is still patiently waiting, a
small encouraging smile on his lips.

"I want you to stay here, with me, in my room," he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper
yet perfectly clear in the silent room. "I don't want to be alone anymore," he adds softly, his
forehead coming to press against Pete's, and he holds his hands tightly, pressing his thumbs against
Vegas' soft skin.

Vegas looks almost afraid for a moment, like if Pete refuses, he might fall apart, but Pete has no
attention to saying no. He is actually glad that he isn't the only one who wants to stay close to the
other. A part of him is reassured to know that this, no matter what it is (maybe it's only bodily
desire, or maybe it's more), is reciprocal.

"Okay," Pete answers softly, "I wanted to stay anyway. It's boring by myself, and the other room is
way too dark. Plus, I like the view here."

He is only glad when he hears the soft chuckle coming from Vegas, sounding all the same relieved
and amused as he watches Pete with a bright smile.

Chapter End Notes

Song is Until I Found You, Stephen Sanchez (listen to the piano version, it's amazing)
 If my heart has a voice, it'd cut through the chaos; it'd cut through the noise
Chapter Notes

Soooooo, hello, guys

I've tried to convince myself not to update every two days, but well, hehe I'm weak, I
guess (well, it's been three days, so technically, it's okay, right?)

About this chapter... A lot of angst and heavy feelings, and sex to make it all better

I wrote six more chapters; five of them are in Part III of this story, and, considering my
plot, I still have to write at least five more chapters. So, more content to come, my
lovely friends!

As always, thanks for all the comments! They warm my little heart <3

I hope you'll like this new chapter! If you do, don't hesitate to comment and leave
some kuddos! <3

Much love, A~ <3<3

Listen, I've got something to tell you

And no, I don't know how it'll sound

I was never good at conversations

Whisper when I meant to scream out

All of these feelings are saying

THat I could never find a better love

Better love than you

The silence is killing, and God

That's how I know I haven't said enough

If my heart had a voice

It'd cut through the chaos

Cut through the noise

If my heart had a voice

I'd tell you the stories

I'd always avoid

 I'd be honest to you

Honest, Mali-Koa

Pete is conformably sitting against the bed frame; a book is opened on his lap, but he doesn't look
at it. He is thinking. Vegas is somewhere in the house, probably cooking.

He feels the leather around his wrists, trying to pinpoint what is bothering him now. There is
something. Something hiding so deep within him that he barely catches it or understands it. He
wants Vegas to come back, so that feeling leaves because the longer the other is absent, the more
Pete realises that perhaps the handcuffs weren't the problem, or if they were, then he is really
crazy.

Mental.

Insane.

Disgusting.

Sickening.

Because he likes it. Because he wants it. Because he didn't say no when he should have... .. and the
knowledge of his betrayal overwhelms Pete, he can do nothing but feel it, and he feels like he is
drowning. Until Vegas opens the door with a bright smile that lightens the whole room, holding
two plates of freshly made Phad Thai, Pete can take a deep breath, his mind filled with Vegas.

Relieved, Pete manages to smile as Vegas sits next to him, giving him his plate.

"You alright?" Vegas asks, gently placing some of Pete's hair behind his ear, and all he can do is
nod, hoping he wouldn't ask more questions. And the other doesn't, focusing on eating as he pushes
the second plate towards Pete.

They eat silently; Pete slowly relaxes the longer Vegas stays next to him. It's strange the effect the
man has on him. But he welcomes it; he doesn't want to think about the consequences of his
actions. Not now. Not so soon.

But he should have thought of it. He should have considered that asking Vegas to restrain him
when he could have - when he should have - run away would have consequences. At least his mind
wouldn't let him forget. If Kinn or his father ever heard of this, they would surely kill Vegas and
him. That's what he would do, anyway.

"Hey," Vegas' voice resonates close to his ear and brings him out of his thought, "What's wrong,
really? You seem out of it."

"It's nothing," Pete answers, his voice firmed. He frowns slightly, bothered by his own reaction and
by the faint of fear he can see deep in Vegas' eyes. "It's really nothing..." he repeats, moving closer
to the other, tangling his fingers with Vegas'.

Pete moves his fingers to Vegas' face, cupping his right cheek, where a bruise was only a few days
ago. He delicately lets his fingers brush the skin, willing his mind to quiet down and leave him
alone to enjoy this. Pete can't remember the last time he felt that happy, even though he is good at
pretending to be. Without anyone looking any further, it isn't too hard. And he has been through so
much his whole life... First, his entire childhood and teen years were spent with his abusive father
and an absent mother. His grandmother was indeed the only light in the darkness during that time,
but no matter how much she loved him, she could not heal all his wounds. She had her own life to
take care of.

Plus, despite his unconditional love for her, Pete was a difficult child, and at the time, he had
spiralled out of control and got involved with the wrong people. Fighting in underground boxing
fights did not help either, but that was the only way eighteen-year-old Pete had found to express his
feelings. Or to feel anything. That's also how he met Kinn's father, Korn. The man had been quick
to recognise potential, Pete would give him that, and he had asked Pete to join him. He didn't know
better at the time, so he joined them. And truth be told, that's what might have saved him. Pete isn't
sure he wouldn't be dead by now if he wasn't for Mr Korn. That's why he is loyal. That's why he
should have returned to them as soon as he could have. That's why right now, even as his fingers
feel Vegas' warm skin under his fingers, even as he feels the other's breath hitting his face, even as
he wants to kiss him, his mind still reminds him that he betrayed them. All of them. Because he did
not run.

In a desperate attempt to shut the voices inside his head, Pete crushes his lips against Vegas',
holding his face tightly as he hears the chains moving through the buckles with his motion. Vegas
immediately wraps his arms around Pete's waist, pulling him closer and pressing their bodies
together.

Pete feels almost relieved when Vegas' fingers find their way around his throat, his fingertips
pressing against his skin, while his other hand tightly holds Pete's left wrist. Vegas slowly makes
them lie down on the bed, pushing Pete a little higher so that he lies at the centre before following
him, covering him. They never break apart as they move, and the kiss becomes more and more
passionate, Vegas nibbling at Pete's lips with a tenderness that would seem out of place in such a
fierce embrace, but that makes Pete's blood warm and rush down to his member. With equal desire,
he kisses Vegas, savouring each bite with a lick of his tongue as Vegas' hand brushes against his
flank, leaving a tingling sensation behind his fingertips' trail until they reach his pelvis. There,
Vegas' hand grips his hip, fingers dipping in the tender skin firmly enough that it will add imprints
to Pete's already well-marked body.

Pete should be embarrassed at how hard he already is, but he can't, too blissfully enjoying his
finally silent brain. At the same time, he presses his hips further against Vegas', shamelessly
grinding against the other as small, breathy moans escape his lips.

Finally, Vegas leans back, straddling Pete's hips, and he grabs his wrists before pushing them
above Pete's head. He presses on the small buckle under the handcuffs, and immediately, the
chains shorten and bring his wrists closer as Pete can barely move his hands now. He watches
Vegas, sitting on his hips, a delighted glint in his eyes as he smirks slightly, his desire becoming
more apparent now, even though his pants. Vegas stares and stares, unmoving and totally in
control, until, slowly, his hands brush against Pete's belly, making him jump slightly and leaving
goosebumps at this brief contact. Pete wriggles under the man, moaning louder and louder as his
fingers traverse up to his chest, followed by Vegas' greedy mouth, which kisses, bites, and licks the
skin that his fingers just touched.

Pete tries to keep his eyes open; he wants to see Vegas. He wants to watch the darkness of his eyes
take over the caramel of his usual gaze. He wants to see the desire in the other, partly to reassure
himself, partly because it turns him on even more. But it's getting increasingly difficult as Vegas'
mouth closes around his right nipple, sucking the nub slightly between his teeth, and Pete's chest
arches under the other's as his mouth falls open in a long moan. Vegas toys with him like this for a
moment, his eyes fix on Pete's face to observe his every reaction with an elated twinkle in his eyes
until he lets go of his nipples to attack his lips in a hot, breathy kiss.

When Vegas pulls back, his right hand is around Pete's throat, tight enough that he will feel it for
hours afterwards. Pete notices how flushed Vegas' cheeks are now, and his hair is getting a little
everywhere while his pupils are fully dilated, drowning his eyes in endless blackness that makes
his stomach helplessly leap. Pete smiles because he can't help it and wraps his legs around the
other's waist. Vegas gently strokes his right thigh as a reward, smiling tenderly at Pete despite the
hungry look on his face.

Vegas doesn't waste more time and wraps his right hand around Pete's dick, stroking one, two
times as if to test, and he watches with fascination the member stiffening further.

"Vegas..." Pete whines, wanting more, but Vegas only stops his administration, leaning forward,
close enough that his nose touches Pete's.

"You've been so patient for me... Keep being a good boy, and I'll make you feel good," he
whispers, quickly pressing his lips to Pete's before reclining and removing himself from Pete's grip.

Pete's brain tries to stay calm and maintain patience because he wants to feel good (and a part of
him really wants Vegas to believe Pete is a good boy), but he already misses the other's warmth,
and he feels cold without him. So, he fights against the bonds, whining a little pathetically as he
watches Vegas moving to the right side of the bed, opening the nightstand's drawer to grab a few
things. Pete realises that Vegas is holding a bottle of lube and a condom that he quickly rolls down
on himself after removing his slack and underwear before moving back on the bed next to Pete.
Still wearing his shirt, Vegas slowly unbuttons it, clearly showing off as his fingers linger over his
chest and the muscles of his stomach, and Pete's throat feels drier than the Sahara. He groans in
answer, his arms fighting against the binds, making the chains rattle against their hook loudly, and
Vegas chuckles at his reaction.

Finally, leaving his shirt open over his chest, he returns between Pete's legs, kissing the inside his
left thigh with a fond smile while his other hand is stroking his right. Pete lets a soft breath escape
his mouth at the contacts, so, so close to his leaking dick. If he raises his head a little, Pete can
even see Vegas' dick, heavy, thick and red between his legs, and he wants it inside, now. He can
already feel his body burning with want the longer Vegas makes him wait. His inner turmoil must
have shown on his face because Vegas kisses his thigh again, his lips lingering on the skin as his
fingers wrap around his member, stroking slowly.

"I'm here, baby," he murmurs as he comes closer to Pete, "I got you."

And his words are reassuring on so many levels that Pete feels like crying. Vegas is here; he won't
let go, and he will make him feel good. He knows that. And Pete prays for all his fears to just
vanish and leave him with Vegas, only him.

At the moment, he watches the other arrange the pillow under his hips to put his lower body in a
better position for Vegas. He can feel the anticipation taking over his overthinking brain, making
him tune out everything around him except Vegas. The other's hands keep stroking his chest,
flanks, and thighs before pulling Pete in for a deep kiss, tangling his left hand in his hair.

Somewhere in the background, Pete faintly hears the pop! of a bottle opening, followed by the
squelchy sound of lube before he feels cold, lubricated fingers spreading his cheeks apart. One
finger comes to gently rub against his hole, making him squirm uncontrollably at the sensation of
cold. Still, Vegas' left-hand moves from his hair to his hip, firmly holding him down, and the
finger slowly enters his hole, only penetrating until the first knuckle. Vegas then halts, watching
Pete's face for anything that would say he doesn't want it anymore, but Pete almost begs him to
continue, pushing his hips down as much as he can, and Vegas takes the hint and sinks his finger
inside Pete to the last knuckle. His finger blissfully brushes against Pete's prostate, and he
whimpers, a broken, ragged moan leaving his throat as his head falls back. Unhurriedly, Vegas
moves his finger, slowly taking it out before slipping it back inside Pete's hole, taking great care to
rub against his pleasure point and making Pete shake at the stimulation. It feels too much and not
enough, and Pete is acutely aware that it is merely one finger.

"More..." he moans, trying to catch Vegas' eyes. The other is watching his finger sinking inside
Pete with a fascination Pete has never seen before. Vegas treats him as though he is something
precious as if he matters, and it's such a frightening thing to watch and realise when you know for a
fact that you should never be seen or felt by someone like Vegas.

"More," he begs again, his voice breaking as Pete feels the panic rising in his chest as his mind
becomes louder again. "Vegas, please!"

And finally, Vegas pushes another finger inside Pete, making small scissor motions and brushing
against his prostate. When he decides that Pete's hole has adjusted enough, he adds a third finger,
moving them in and out as Pete can barely breathe from the burning sensation. He hardly feels the
slight sting that comes with the addition, but the pleasure of being filled, yet not nearly enough, is
maddening enough to make him tremble. All he hears are Vegas' small groans, the squishy sounds
of his lubed fingers penetrating him repeatedly and his own breathy moans until Vegas removes
his fingers from him, leaving Pete empty. He whines louder than before as he tries to push his hips
back on his fingers, but Vegas holds him firmly as he moves Pete's legs. He spreads them further,
keeping Pete's hips a little higher, before pressing his tip against Pete's hole. At the contact, Pete
holds his breath, the anticipation thrumming under his skin, until Vegas finally pushes forward,
thrusting deeply, inches after inches, until he is entirely inside him, and Pete feels all the oxygen
leaving his lungs. Vegas keeps still for a moment, his arms on each side of Pete's head, his muscles
taut as he closes his eyes and profoundly breathes through his nose, allowing Pete to adjust to him.

It takes Pete a minute or two to fully be able to ignore the burn stretching his hole and inside,
focusing on the building pleasure at being so wholly filled by Vegas' thick dick, his tip pressing
maddeningly against his prostate, and Pete has to rock his hips back, desperate for more friction.
Vegas growls at his movement, his right hand coming to clasp around his throat as he sits on his
heels, finally moving his hips.

Pete groans, a low sound that comes from deep in his throat, and he has to close his eyes when
Vegas repeatedly brushes against his pleasure point, making him see stars. He can barely beg for
more, faster, deeper. Still, Vegas understands, and he thrusts quicker and harder, his lips pressing
against his shoulder, his neck, between the fingers still slightly choking him, nibbling and sucking
at the skin, leaving countless hickeys. Vegas' other hand travels from his hip to his nipple,
pinching before coming to grasp his hair, pulling at it until Pete's throat is perfectly exposed for
Vegas to suck and bite more skin between the clutch of his fingers around his neck.

All Pete can do is breathe, moan, and try not to fall apart at the overwhelming pleasure burning
him alive. He feels Vegas inhaling deeply, his face hidden in the crook of his neck, as his thrusting
quickens, and Pete manages to tilt his hips up, needy and open, as he feels Vegas growl against
him, fucking him even deeper. Pete pants, pushing down and mirroring the other's pace, the
smacking sound of their skin echoing loudly in the room as he moans, his head thrust back against
the rest of the pillows. His dick is leaking, a pool of pre-come smearing against his belly, while
Vegas' torso is pressing tightly against him, making a mess of them both, but each thrust is rubbing
against Pete's tip, making him shake from the stimulation. Rapidly, he knows he is on the edge of
his orgasm.

"Ah, fucking... perfect!" Vegas groans, hunching back on his elbows, allowing more strength into
his movement and moving deeper inside Pete. "You're so perfect, Pete. Such a good boy," he
groans, his voice hoarse and rough from his desire, and Pete's dick jerks slightly at his words, his
lust growing inside his lower belly, the fire spreading through his body, making his toes curl.

He feels so wonderfully warm, hot, and full that Pete manages to smile, a delirious smile that he
loses quickly when Vegas hits his prostate, and he moans loudly, almost crying. But Vegas sees it,
and he leans closer, capturing his lips, plunging his tongue in his open mouth, and his right-hand
returns to clasp around his throat, the other viciously holding him down, his fingers pressing firmly
against his skin enough to leave new prints.

Pete feels Vegas' fingers tightening around his neck, choking him until he has to stop kissing him,
trying to breathe and uncontrollably moaning at the time. He feels the burning pool of liquid
pleasure spreading from his lower belly, building up until he feels he will explode into a thousand
pieces. Vegas thrusts violently inside of him, growling against the side of his face, his fingers
unconsciously tightening, and Pete sees white and comes between their chest with a long cry, his
body stiffening as his back arches and his hole tightens around Vegas, who quickly follows him
and comes with a wild groan.

It takes them both a long minute before neither can move. When they can, Vegas slowly slips out
of Pete, kissing him tenderly when he shudders at the sensation and rolls next to him, his body
wrapping himself around Pete's side, one leg over his hip and an arm over his chest. Vegas stays in
this position a moment longer, catching his breath before he sits on the bed, removes the condom
from himself, and then turns to Pete. He disengages the buckle, allowing the chains to move again,
and gently helps Pete bring his hands to his chest. Vegas then stands from the bed and goes to the
nightstand again, grabbing a pack of wipes. Tenderly, he wipes the come off Pete's stomach while
Pete watches through half-open eyes before quickly cleaning his hole. Pete tries not to blush, but it
is somewhat embarrassing, and he feels so vulnerable that he can't help it. Finally, when Vegas
decides that Pete is as clean as he can be without a shower, he comes back next to him, pressing his
body tightly against him and wrapping his left arm around his waist. Pete can feel the other's
eyelashes flutter against his throat, his breath hitting the undoubtedly marked skin, before he
moves slightly and kisses the top of Pete's head, making him close his eyes briefly.

"You did so good," Vegas whispers into his ear, his voice still rough from sex but so tender it
makes Pete shivers slightly as he presses further into the other's body. Vegas kisses his shoulder,
his fingers coming to stroke against Pete's throat with a fascinated expression before draping his
arm around his chest.

Pete's mind is pleasantly quiet now, only filled with Vegas' presence, his scent, his warmth, and he
slowly closes his eyes, pressing his face against the other's neck, kissing the smooth skin there,
before allowing himself some rest.

The peace Pete is allowed doesn't last, however; soon, his mind returns to the endless question of
why he likes it so much? Why can't he say no to Vegas? Why on earth, all the things the man does
make his heart warm and sting at the same time? Why does he have to feel anything for him? He
could be anybody else, he knows. He really wishes he would just fall for anybody else but him.
Even now that Vegas is holding him tightly against his chest.

What does he feel anyway? Every time he tries to figure that out, his throat tightens, his mind
darkens, and it feels like the world is ending and that if he looks at Vegas for too long, he might
burn. Or maybe it's his world that would burn.

Still, Pete isn't stupid. He may be insane, but not foolish. He turns his face slightly, his eyes
settling on Vegas' elegant profile, and he feels it again. His heart warms and starts beating a little
faster the longer he looks. His stomach contracts and there's a strange buzz, like a bunch of bees
flying inside his belly. Or maybe is this what people call butterflies? The fact is that it is there. He
can't even look at the other without his whole body reacting; it's like a spell has been cast upon
him. As much as Pete hates to admit it, he is undeniably falling for Vegas. That is if he hadn't
fallen already.

The realisation hits him so abruptly that Pete feels like crying and smiling, or maybe screaming
and running away, because this is all too much, all too dangerous for him and Vegas. They're from
opposite sides. Vegas had tortured him, whipped him unconscious quite literally. He is still tied
(well, he asked for it, but the other had handcuffed him first), and his chest is burning because of
his wounds as a reminder of the past. Pete knows that even if he ignores the 'opposite sides' part,
even from an outsider's point of view, he shouldn't feel any affection for Vegas. It's wrong on so
many levels. It makes him feel sick. But Vegas has his eyes closed, and his hands are stroking his
arms gently, leaving goosebumps behind, and Pete feels powerless when his heart quickens its
pace, and his muscles loosen against the other.

So, he looks away from Vegas' face and tries to ignore everything he feels.

That is then that Vegas decides to open his eyes, the honey shining brightly in his iris, and it is his
turn to turn to observe Pete. His fingers follow an imaginary line over Pete's arm, his fingertips
barely brushing against the skin, and he smiles softly.

"Do you know how sexy you are?" He says in English, perhaps proof of Vegas' slight
disorientation, his voice husky from sex and sleepiness, and Pete feels himself blushing despite
everything he feels.

"What are you even saying?" He mumbles, refusing to look Vegas' way because the other is
watching him like he is indeed beautiful and sexy, and Pete objectively knows he is attractive, but
no one ever made him feel like this with only a few words. But then, Pete's chest still burns, and
even Vegas' words cannot stop his brain or his heart, which makes him terrified, so he keeps
averting his eyes, shying away from Vegas' affection.

However, the other doesn't stop there. Vegas moves against Pete, pressing his face against the
crook of his neck while his left arm wraps tightly around Pete's chest, careful not to touch any
wounds. Vegas sighs, his warm breath hitting Pete's collarbones, and a slight shiver runs through
him, but he waits for the man to continue.

"At first, I thought I was a freak," Vegas murmurs against his skin, and it's the raw vulnerability in
his voice that pushes Pete to force his brain to quiet down to focus on the man in his arms. "Until
now." He presses himself further against Pete as if to emphasise his words, and Pete mentally notes
that Vegas is smiling almost shyly.

"You just have to accept and be true to who you are," Pete replies, his voice as low as Vegas, as he
tries to find something better to say. He profoundly understands what Vegas mean, but he is
paralysed by fear, his overworking brain yelling that Vegas is indeed a freak for everything he has
done to him. At the same time, he can't shake the knowledge that he, too, is crazy for allowing
most of it, for liking it even. All these thoughts make him nauseous, and he tries his best to refocus
on Vegas, who is still smiling at him, an amused glint in his honey-coloured eyes.
"Like you?" He inquires, but Pete doesn't smile back.

"I just live in the present," he declares, shrugging slightly. "What I'm feeling, that's all I think
about," Pete reassures himself in the knowledge that, at least, he is being honest. He can't stop
thinking about what he feels, even when it's negative, even when it unable him from focusing on
Vegas' rare, genuine smiles.

"How can you live in this filthy world?" The man asks, raising himself on one elbow as his fingers
come to trace the line of Pete's face. It's almost a miracle, but Vegas is still smiling, something soft
and real that makes Pete warm and fuzzy deep inside.

"Why? Are you gonna say that I'm a good guy?"

Vegas shakes his head, chuckling softly, "No, but you're a fool."

At least, Pete is reassured by the knowledge that Vegas is not blind and does not see Pete as some
good samaritan. He won't have to pretend that he is. But he doesn't necessarily like being called a
fool, and he can't help the frown on his face.

Vegas watches the emotions shifting on his face without a word, and his smile is gone as he looks
at Pete seriously. His touch becomes more present, and he gently places his left palm against Pete's
right cheek. His fingers are still moving in a tender caress, fingertips losing themselves in his hair,
and Pete's throat tightens when he notices the look on Vegas' face: reverent and full of an affection
Pete knows he shouldn't desire so much. Still, he doesn't look away, allowing himself to soak in the
other's attention and perhaps return it because he isn't sure he can still hide his own affection.
 Loving you makes me hate you too
Chapter Notes

Hello, guys! How are you all doing?

Let me just say first, we're entering the part of the story that becomes truly violent,
especially for Vegas, so if anyone gets triggered, please be careful. This story is dark
and violent, and I really don't want any of you to feel bad because of what you are
reading. By the way, let me know if you think I've forgotten some tags and triggers
warning, and I'll add them right away.

This is a very long chapter (around 5500 words), fills with heavy feelings and plenty of
angst

I think I'll upload the next chapter very soon, like in two days, because it's the direct
suite (it was one big chapter that I decided to divide in two, that's why)

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!

If you do, don't hesitate to leave a comment!

Take care of yourself and be kind to yourself <3

It's you, and all the things you do

I know it could be anybody

It should be anybody else

Loving you makes me hate you too

[Vegas]

Vegas is acutely aware that they aren't many things that genuinely bring him joy in his life. It's
difficult with a family like his own. He tries his best to be a good son to his father, but he
constantly fails, so he tries even harder to be a good older brother, and perhaps he's not making half
bad a job, but Macau is entirely numb to any type of affection, let alone Vegas'. His younger
brother knows how to look grateful, he even learns to apologise when needed, but he rarely means
it. Vegas is different. He feels too much deep down, or Pete would have been dead a long time ago,
and he wouldn't be in the safe-house kitchen, cooking for the man.

Pete hasn't been smiling much since this morning, even after their little activity, and there's like a
shadow obscuring his eyes. Although Vegas is curious and wants to know what bothers the other
so much, he is too afraid to ask again because he might have an idea what or who is bothering Pete.
It's something Vegas hasn't anticipated, his affection for Pete. It was unexpected. Sure, he always
saw the man's attractiveness, and he particularly appreciates his stubbornness and cleverness, but
Vegas can't say he felt like he was falling for the other. Sexually attracted, yes. Emotionally, it
seemed an impossible feat. Not because it was Pete, but because Vegas didn't think he could ever
feel this kind of affection again.

Love... The word feels foreign even in his mind. It doesn't seem to fit well with someone like him.
When he looked at himself in the mirror earlier this morning, he tried to picture it, his face looking
at Pete with the tenderness that he undeniably feels. He only managed to grimace at his reflection,
so he stopped. Still, there's no denying here that he likes Pete. A lot. So much that he was cooking
something he had never done before, he had to open the video app on his tablet to find a good
recipe.

From what Vegas gathered (from all the time Pete refused to eat, saying he didn't like what he was
served), Pete seems to enjoy spicy food, so he has a bunch of red peppers aligned on the counter
and green curry paste slowly cooking in the pan. Just the smell stings his eyes from the spiciness.

He feels good, like being with Pete has removed a weight from over his shoulders. He almost feels
like he could easily fly if he jumped off a window. There's something freeing in the knowledge that
he can still like someone and be liked by that person (does Pete like him? He hopes).

He takes his time cooking; he wants it to be good. Vegas does his best to focus only on the
drizzling pan in front of him and not the hundred thoughts and fears he might have, trying to ignore
the voice whispering that Pete must hate him because of everything he did to him and that he's only
pretending to be nice to Vegas just so he stops hitting him, or perhaps gain some intel about him or
the minor family. He tries really hard to ignore this voice and focus on the image of Pete smiling at
him. It's easier that way.

He knows that Pete has the right to hate him, and he probably should, but Vegas doesn't want him
to. He's selfish like that. He can't help it.

He blinks once, twice, refocusing on the pan, stirring the mix of rice and sauce with a little more
energy than necessary, and blocking all negative thoughts.

Finally, the plate is ready. He has placed a few peppers on the side and artfully sprinkled a few
fine herbs on top of the rice and its sauce. It looks good for a first time, he decides as he takes the
plate and makes his way to the stairs.

"What the heck do you think you're doing?" A voice suddenly breaks the silence, and Vegas
swiftly turns around to face his father, looking at him with a combination of his usual
dissatisfaction and incomprehension. The man's dark eyes are settled on the plate between his
hands, making Vegas feel incredibly small, and he only wants to hide it behind his back. He
doesn't. He knows better than to move after more than two decades.

Still, his father must have decided what he feels about seeing his son with food (he can't know it's
for Pete, right?) and slapped the plate out of his hand. The bowl crashes on the wooden floor,
shattering upon contact as the food spreads all over. Vegas oddly briefly thinks that he will be the
one to clean this mess before his attention is forced on his father again.

"The main family is about to cut my head off!" The man yells, coming closer to Vegas, who is still
trying to digest what just happened, his eyes on the fruit of his efforts and affection on the floor.
He feels the usual anger against the man, but the sadness and helplessness are stronger this time
and take over all of his senses.
"What do you want me to do, Papa?" He asks, yelling back at the older man. He doesn't understand
him. He was the one who ordered him to watch and follow Porsche. He was the one who wanted
more information about Kinn, no matter how he obtained it or what was the cost. He was the one
who absolutely wanted to know Kinn's weakness to destroy him. It's his plan, not Vegas', and he
had tried his damn best to satisfy the man.

For a moment, his father only watches him with so much disappointment, like his question is out of
context, like he shouldn't even question him, that he feels himself shrinking despite his efforts to
stand tall. He is still a little boy when he faces this man. A scared, weak boy who only wishes for
his father to smile at him and love him.

"You're just as stupid as your mother," the man spits instead, the words, the effect of a slap in
Vegas' face as he feels the emptiness in his chest returning and spreading, numbing even the tips of
his fingers as he looks at his feet.

They never speak of his mother. Never. But even then, his father never dared to insult her memory.
And that he just did hurt beyond words. Like he had just carved out his heart to stab it, and Vegas
could not help the tears filling his eyes. He holds them back, however. He must never cry in front
of his father, or it makes him even worst. If he moves his left shoulder too fast, he can still feel the
consequences of the last time he cried in front of the man. So, he clenches his fists until his nails
pierce the skin, and he bites his inner cheek until he tastes blood just so he can focus on something
else than the burning pain in his chest.

"You shouldn't be my son," his father continues, his eyes tracking the shifting emotions on Vegas'
face, but he holds on. He is at a loss for words anyway.

But there is something he wishes he could say. Something his whole body and mind are screaming.
What if he dared...?

"DO YOU THINK I WANTED TO BE YOUR SON?" He yells as loud as he can, trying to steady
himself to not fall apart in front of the older man for what he knows will come.

"What did you say?" The man's tone has lowered, his whole demeanour is menacing, and his body
is taut, but Vegas doesn't budge. He feels brave when he shouldn't. Instead, he watches, almost as
an out-of-body experience, his father rotating his ring around his index, cracking his neck, as the
man takes a step closer. Still, Vegas doesn't move, and he watches, trembling in fear.

He sees it coming when his father punches him, the incrusted part of his ring stabbing into the
tender skin of his right cheek. The strike is so powerful that Vegas has to take a step back to make
sure he won't fall, but he barely has the time to inhale sharply that already the second blow lands,
hitting his left cheek, scraping the skin, and another, and another... He is at four hits when the
older man uses his foot, kicking him right under his ribs and pushing all the air out of his lungs.
This time, Vegas cannot help but fall to his knees, his arms wrapping around his middle as he tries
just to breathe! But his father punches him again, striking his right cheekbones. Vegas can feel the
blood running down his face; he even tastes it when it reaches his cut lips. His father hits him two
more times before inhaling loudly and straightening his suit. He takes out a tissue, dabbing the
slight sweat from his forehead; his father has already turned away from Vegas, still kneeling on the
floor.

The man sneers at the vision of Vegas, so small and weak, shaking from pain and fear and so
much rage, but unable to say any of this before he leaves without another word.

Vegas tries to catch his breath, inhaling through his mouth as slow as he can because his ribs are
hurting. He closes his eyes briefly, willing the tears to disappear, but it isn't that simple. He feels
one lonely tear finding its way down his face, and he wipes it away furiously. When he opens his
eyes, he sees that he is kneeling in the middle of what is left of the meal he had cooked.

Pete...

He needs to prepare something else for him now. He must be hungry since Vegas has been gone
for a while.

So, slowly, he stands, wiping off the rice's grains from his pants before walking to the kitchen. He
first goes to the sink, opens the tap, and puts his head under the water. He stays like that for a
moment, allowing the cold water to clear his mind before furiously rubbing the blood away from
the wounds and bruises. He spits out the blood from his mouth and washes his hands, then closes
the water, quickly drying his hands and face.

His father's voice echoes endlessly in his head, and Vegas is working on autopilot. He grabs a new
package of noodles and puts some water to boil on the stove. He doesn't allow himself to stop
moving, or he might just break down, and start cutting some greens to add to the soup. The noodles
are quickly cooked; he adds the vegetables and pours everything into a new bowl. He grabs
chopsticks and makes his way to the stairs, ignoring the food and the pieces of broken porcelain on
the floor. He'll clean later. For now, he must see Pete.

Fighting every instinct while you hold your pride

Back to the beginning, it swallows my mind

You're all that I think about

I even see you when I'm dreaming

I wish that I could hate you, my baby

[Pete]

Pete is sitting on the bed when he hears some commotion downstairs, and he is afraid Vegas' father
is there for another visit.

It's a welcome distraction, however, the noise. It puts Pete's attention on something else than the
leather and chains around his wrists. About how he asked for it. How he grabbed Vegas when he
was walking away and how he kissed him. Because he wanted to do it. Because he couldn't say no.
Because, even right now, he wants to feel Vegas' body against him, inside of him. So, the noise is a
distraction from the memory of Vegas' hand over his throat, in his hair, on his wrists.

It's a distraction until it isn't. Until it only serves to remind him all the reasons why the affection he
feels is abnormal.

Pete wants Vegas to be back already just to see his love mirrored by the other and finally be
reassured that even if he is insane, Vegas is too, and they can be together in this shit. But Vegas is
dealing with whatever is happening downstairs, and Pete's chest is still burning, the wounds a
constant reminder of why he should hate the other man.

He presses his right hand against the burning sensation on his chest, feeling the healing wounds
and his fingers spreading over his heart, clutching slightly. He breathes deeply, inhaling and
exhaling through his nose when the commotion downstairs gets louder, and he abruptly raises his
head, his eyes staring at the closed door. He hears yelling, but he can't tell who is it.

He is worried, his heart clenching painfully at the thought of Vegas facing his father alone and
having to deal with more violence.

"I don't like it..." he whispers in the silence of the room, but it only sounds like he is trying to
convince himself.

He doesn't like the situation where Vegas is not by his side but facing his father. That's it. His
throat is still pleasantly pulsing from the memory of the other's fingers, and the rest of his skin is
marked with imprints and bites, and he likes it. He can't even deny it, and perhaps that's precisely
what he hates.

He can't allow himself to like (love?) Vegas. He can't. But he also can't deny that he likes
everything he does with him.

Pete slowly runs his hands through his hair, pulling on it, trying to bring some sense to everything.
Still, the world seems so dark at the moment that he feels like he is drowning in his own fears.

"I should have said no..." he murmurs, pulling a little firmer on his hair and closing his eyes. As if
to remind him, his body starts pulsating in all the places Vegas has touched him, from deep inside
of him to every inch of his skin, making Pete feel crazy.

He doesn't want to like Vegas.

He. Doesn't. Want. It.

Anything but that.

Anyone but him.

The thrill of something new he felt at first, only a few days ago, is gone now, and Pete wishes he
could just go back in time and keep hating Vegas. A time when he could easily ignore the other's
beauty, his words, and his touches.

Or did he?

Pete blinks rapidly and remembers everything he thought when he saw Vegas back at the minor
family's house. At how relieved he felt. He then remembers even further back, when he wasn't a
prisoner yet, how he couldn't help but look at Vegas at the table. Back then, he justified it because
Kinn had given him a mission, and he had to watch Vegas. But deep down, Pete knows. He fucking
knows. He can't hide from himself. The realisation hits him so deep that his next inhalation is
broken, even more so when the door suddenly slams open, with Vegas barely standing on his legs.

Pete blinks, trying to understand what he sees. Vegas is covered in bruises that are still bleeding.
His lips are cut, blood is caked at the corners, his right cheekbone is scratched at two places,
bleeding too, his brow bones are red and scraped, and he holds himself in a weird position as if his
right flank hurting him.
Vegas' gaze is on him; Pete notices the anger swirling there, but he isn't confident the other is
angry at him. He can't seem to find back his voice, even when Vegas slowly makes his way to the
bed, sitting with a wince as he holds out a bowl of noodles to Pete.

"What're you looking at? Just eat," he says, his voice low and slow as he licks the blood from his
cuts. He isn't looking at Pete anymore, but he can see the rest of the bruises covering the man's
face.

"What happened?" Pete asks, taking the bowl from Vegas' hand, realising how hot the plate is as
he almost burns himself, and Vegas' hand is bright red, but the man doesn't seem to realise or care.

Unsurprisingly, now that Pete thinks about it, Vegas doesn't answer him. He looks completely
closed up, and it is such a stark contrast with the man Pete had the privilege to see only a few hours
ago that, for a moment, he doesn't know what to do, and he forgets his own fears. He puts the bowl
of noodles on the side, careful not to spill any, as he turns fully to Vegas, trying to access the
damage on the other.

"Why aren't you eating?" Vegas asks suddenly, the irritation plain in his voice, and when his eyes
meet Pete's, he can see the barely hidden fear and hurt there. Vegas is agonising, Pete realises, and
he wishes he was strong enough to do something about it. He still tries to touch the other's face,
though, delicately bringing his hand to Vegas' left cheek, but he is stopped by Vegas' fingers
crushing his.

"Leave. It. Alone. And. Eat," Vegas pronounces slowly, and Pete knows something must really
have gone wrong with his father downstairs. However, he might still be a little too into his own
head and feelings, and his following words are out before he can control his mouth. He regrets it
immediately when he sees the hurt his words do to Vegas.

"Is this the way you're supposed to be living?"

It's not just in Vegas' eyes, but it's his whole body that reacts as he tenses, muscles shaking briefly
from the sudden effort. Pete knows he should stop talking, but now that the words are out, it feels
too late to stop.

"Give yourself up to the main family. Mr Korn is not cruel," and he almost adds, unlike you and
your father, but he bites his lips before he can, swallowing the words. He bites a little more
forceful when he sees actual tears filling Vegas' eyes.

Not for the first time, Pete wonders who really is the mastermind behind whatever plan the minor
family has. Vegas is smart enough to be the one behind it all. Still, something about his reaction
isn't normal, and Pete doubts and doubts and only wish to take Vegas in his arms, but the handcuffs
stop him from wrapping his arms around the man's tensed shoulders, and he regrets everything he
said.

Instead, Pete watches Vegas open his mouth once, closing it, then reopening it, his shoulders even
more tensed than before, and the bitterness of his tone clear on his face as he slowly turns his eyes
to Pete.

"Isn't my life like this because of them?" He asks, and Pete would like to say no, but it's the mafia
world, and it's dirty and nasty, and he wouldn't be surprised to hear that Mr Korn had played tricks
over Vegas' family to keep it where it is today. But, again, his mouth cannot seem to stay quiet,
and he stares back at Vegas, trying to soften the harshness of his next words.

"It's up to you, Vegas. It's your choice."

His words echo around them, and Pete can hear how he sounds. Like he is lecturing Vegas. Like he
knows better. He doesn't, though. If his life has been hard, he can't even start to imagine what it
was like for Vegas. Vegas, who looks in so much physical pain at the moment because he is still
bleeding from his father's punches and one of his hands is holding his sides, and Pete can't help but
worry. So, he ignores Vegas' hateful snarl in his direction and tries to focus on the other's obvious
discomfort, trying to think of a way he could persuade Vegas to bring back some supply so he
could help him clean his wounds.

"You really should shut the fuck up," the man growls, his tone threatening as he turns to Pete fully.
Vegas leans closer to his face, his brows frowning and his lips tightly closed, and before Pete can
realise, his right hand is around his throat, tightening dangerously but not enough to truly suffocate
him. Still, Vegas' expression darkens further as he leans against Pete's right ear, glaring.

"Don't think you can say anything to me just because we had sex," he declares, his tone poisonous,
but his fingers stay loose enough for Pete to breathe, "Who the hell do you think you are to lecture
me?"

Pete feels Vegas' left hand joining his right around his neck, and his brain sends signals to the rest
of his body, his shoulders tautening as he tries to get out of the other's hold. When he catches a
glimpse of Vegas' eyes, they are black and teary, and the distress he saw earlier seems to glimmer
more strongly now.

"Huh? Who the hell do you think you are? You're nothing..." and Vegas lets go of him completely,
swiftly standing up from the bed with both hands tangled in his hair, pulling furiously. Even Pete
winces as he watches the other do. He is shaking. He supposes it is from fear because he really
thought Vegas would choke him. He seemed angry enough to do it.

"A guy like you will never regret," Pete groans, massaging his throat as he glares at Vegas from
under his bangs. He doesn't expect the man to understand what he is referring to, but it seems that
Vegas' brain works as fine as ever as he snarls, kicking the bowl of noodles on the floor. Pete tries
to dodge the blow, confident the strike is for him, and he falls from the bed, the chains connecting
the handcuffs to the wall loudly rattling against their hooks. Vegas catches him, his hands firmly
gripping his shoulders as he pushes him against the wall.

Vegas is breathing loudly through his nose, the rage inside of him burning brightly in his eyes as
he holds Pete firmly. Pete's chest is tightly pressed against the wall, his tied hands shifting to the
side as the chains force his hands that way, and he only manages to stay up because Vegas is right
behind him, his hands tightly holding him. Then, one hand comes to grip his nape, tightening, this
time, enough for Pete to feel Vegas' nails digging in his skin, and he fights against the man's hold.

"Just kill me, for fuck sake!" He yells as he struggles against Vegas. At his words, the man turns
him around, his hand still tight around his throat as his other punches the space next to Pete's head.

"You want to die that much, huh?" He whispers, looking down as if trying to control himself.
"Maybe I should. (He repeatedly nods, briefly looking up) Maybe I should kill you. I'll kill you as
you wish."

There, seemingly out of nowhere, Vegas produces a knife with a long and sharp blade. He hesitates
briefly before pressing the edge against Pete's throat. Then, Vegas inhales deeply, stopping the
shaking of his hands.

"Do you want to die that much?" He whispers, his eyes staring at the knife, and Pete tries to
struggle, but he feels the panic invading his senses, making his eyes swell with tears. Or maybe it
is because even with a knife to his throat, he knows Vegas is barely pressing the edge against his
skin. He knows he must have pushed the other tat his limit so soon after his father came. Even
now, Pete can still see the agony in Vegas' eyes even when the man is shaking with rage. He
wonders what the older man said to hurt Vegas so much.

Although Pete realises all of this, he cannot help the panic and the tears, cannot help the old hatred
and fears having a hold over him, so much so that he doesn't immediately understand when Vegas
breathes deeply repeatedly until the clench of his jaw relaxes quickly followed by the taut shape of
his shoulders. Vegas shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Pete.

"Don't think that acting weak will work," Vegas affirms, shaking his head slightly again, even
though he relaxes the grip of his fingers over Pete's throat as he steps closer to allow the rest of his
body to hold Pete in place.

But that's precisely what Pete doesn't want. Or he thinks. Because if now, Vegas manages to calm
himself and stares at Pete with those gentle eyes when he should be angry, he isn't sure his heart
won't respond. If only Vegas could be a completely emotionless, tactless jerk, one without a shitty
story, it would be so much easier. So, when he feels Vegas removing the knife, Pete grabs his hand
and presses the blade against his throat himself.

"Come on!" Pete yells, and he watches the way Vegas' face falls, and his mouth drops in shock as
he tries to let go of the knife and make Pete do the same. "Just do it! Kill me! Why won't you kill
me!" He keeps screaming, "You have no fucking reason to not kill me! So, do it!" He respires
profoundly, ignoring the alarm spreading over Vegas' expression and body, "I got nothing left,
Vegas. Not even my humanity."

Pete observes the tears filling Vegas' eyes at his words as he struggles against Pete's hold to move
the knife away from his throat.

"Right now, I feel useless," Pete continues, ignoring the shaky way Vegas' lips move, ignoring
how his fingers have completely let go of Pete or the knife, ignoring how he still steps closer as if
he is afraid of leaving Pete. "No. (Pete shakes his head slightly, feeling Vegas' fingers brushing
lightly against his chin) I've always been useless. I never exist. I have no feelings. I don't fucking
have anything left within me."

"Pete..." Vegas whispers his name like a prayer as if he begs him to stop, and Pete should have
further minded the other's reaction, which is far from the one he had expected, but he doesn't, his
mind getting darker the more he speaks, and he isn't sure he can stop now. It's like all the feelings
he has bottled up for so long are finally getting out, and he can't stop it now.

"I can't take myself anymore, Vegas..." Pete whispers, too, his face coming closer to the other,
their foreheads a few inches away from each other. He inhales sharply, the intoxicating scent of
Vegas filling the air between them. "I can't take it anymore... (he swallows thickly, wetting his lips
before he can say the next words.) If you don't kill me today, I'll do it myself."

And Pete finally steals the knife from Vegas' grip, swiftly pressing the sharp edge against his
carotid, but Vegas is faster, and he has his fingers around the edge before Pete can do anything.
Instead of slicing his throat, Pete feels the blade cutting Vegas' fingers in a swift motion, splaying
blood on him, the wall, and Vegas, who doesn't even wince. Instead, he uses Pete's shock to shove
the knife out of Pete's hand before pressing his good hand against his throat, this time to ensure he
isn't hurt.

"Pete! Are you alright? Pete!" Vegas' voice is breaking while his fingers are trembling against his
skin, but Pete's eyes are staring at Vegas' profusely bleeding hand. A long, dark red slash is
horizontally marking the four fingers, apart from the thumb, blood running down the length of the
fingers, dripping on the grey carpet.

And as his eyes follow the blood, Pete breaks and sobs loudly against Vegas, holding with both
hands his shirt.

"Pete..."

Again, his name sounds like a prayer inside Vegas' mouth, enunciated with so much devotion, and
Pete feels like he is going to throw up because it is all too much. He feels too much, and his sobs
get louder.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Pete feels Vegas' body shake against his, and he can guess from his wet tone
that he is crying too. "Pete... (a sob breaks the sound of his name) I'm sorry."

But all Pete can feel is the smell of Vegas' blood on himself. All he can see is Vegas' blood on the
floor and on the man. It's like all he feels, sees, or smells is red, and Pete's head is becoming dizzy
with distress, but his hands clutch Vegas' shirt tightly, yet he doesn't try to bring the other closer.

"Why can't you just kill me?" He cries, his head falling between his shoulders as he weakly
punches Vegas' chest.

"I give up, Pete. I'm sorry," Vegas inhales sharply, his good hand coming to tangle with Pete's hair
as he whispers his next words, "Don't leave me, I'm begging you."

"I'm human, Vegas. I have feelings," is all he says in answer, but he pushes Vegas closer to him,
his hands still holding the other's shirt tightly. Pete closes his eyes briefly when he feels the soft
silk of his shirt under his cheek.

"Can we start all over?"

Pete looks up at Vegas curiously through his daze. There's only honesty and eagerness on the
other's face, and Pete is extremely tempted to just say yes because why the hell not? He's been
through hell and back for Kinn and his family. He's been loyal; he is still loyal to them. But he also
wants to be happy, and he knows, deep down, why Vegas can't kill him and why Pete can't say no
to him. He knows. From the beginning, Vegas is the only one who ever understood him. He is the
only one who ever looked at him like he could actually hang the moon. He is the only one who has
listened to his darkest thoughts and decided that it was okay, that Pete was still alright and lovable.

"Just you and me," Vegas pleads as he steps closer, his forehead pressing against Pete. They're both
shaking from all of their barely contained emotions. "I need you, Pete," he whispers before
repeating, "Just you and me."

Pete realises they are not so different from each other because he wants to start over, just him and
Vegas, and curl against the other, kissing his lips and forgetting about the rest because he
desperately needs Vegas. He doesn't want to let go of his feelings for the man. He doesn't want to
let go of Vegas. But he can't stay. He can't, and that's all he can think about.

"Need me?" He tries to think, and the words come out spiteful. "For emotional projection, like a
pet with no feelings?"

"No, I'm sorry for what I've said, I—"but Vegas stops himself as he closes his eyes, and his legs
suddenly give up under him before he swiftly holds himself up with both hands firmly pressed
against the wall. Pete suddenly remembers that Vegas is in terrible shape and he needs medical
attention. He looks even paler now. "Shit," Vegas curses through his teeth as his forehead pressed
against Pete's left shoulder, "I'm so sorry, Pete. I've fucked up. I know, I'm sorry. I'm trying really
hard not to, but... but everything hurts all the fucking time. And the only time it doesn't is when I'm
with you. I can't do this without you, Pete. I need you. I'm not joking. I feel like I'm fucking dying
inside, and no one cares, not even my own father, not even you. I'm sorry, Pete... I'm so sorry..."

And Vegas falls heavily against him with a grunt, his legs failing him. Pete blinks at the panting
form of Vegas' body, his eyes quickly peeking at the long bloody trails on the wall, right next to
his head, then back to Vegas and all the bruises and cuts on his face, and without a doubt on the
rest of his body.

Pete makes a choice, and his conscience agrees for the first time since he realised that he might
feel a little too many things for Vegas. So, he squats next to the other and leans closer, pressing his
body as closely as possible against him.

"We need to take care of you, Vegas," Pete says, his anger momentarily forgotten, carefully
putting his right hand on Vegas' face, forcing him to look up. Pete is surprised that Vegas is crying
real tears, rolling down his face, wetting the sharp edges of his features, and soaking Pete's hand
on his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Vegas keeps repeating, and Pete gives up and takes him in his arms, passing his
handcuffed hands over Vegas' head and holding his shaking form tightly against his chest.

"It's okay," he whispers, pressing Vegas' head against his shoulder, trying to bring a little comfort
to the man as he hears him wince wherever Pete touches, which worries him even more. "We still
need to talk," he adds, "But right now, it's okay, Vegas. We need to take care of you."

He waits until Vegas nods, and then Pete helps him get to his feet, never letting him go
completely.

"Could you untie me, please? Not completely, only from the wall. You need help to walk to the
bathroom."

Again, Vegas nods, taking out of his pocket a small key and unlocking the main chain from Pete's
handcuffs, ensuring the chains tying both sides are lax enough so Pete can move his hands almost
freely.
 Take me back to the light
Chapter Notes

Hello! As promised, here is the direct suite of the last chapter! I really didn't want to
wait any longer, so here we go!

Enjoy the ride, and if you liked it, don't hesitate to leave a comment <3

Take me back to the light

I know you were way too bright for me

I'm hopeless, broken

So you wait for me in the sky

Browns my skin just right

You're so golden

[Pete]

Once Pete is free from the main chain connected to the wall, he stands and helps Vegas do the
same. He watches him wince as he straightens, his hand quickly coming to press against his side as
he breathes sharply through his teeth. Vegas' other hand is staying by his side, still bleeding and
dripping on the carpet, and Pete takes it in his hands, trying to find something to cover it for now.
He only finds the top lying on the floor. He thinks it's Vegas' and quickly wraps it around the
other's bleeding fingers.

They slowly make their way to the bathroom downstairs, and Pete guides Vegas to sit on the chair
next to the sink. Without a word, he grabs a new pack of sanitising wipes, clean pieces of gauze,
plasters, medicine alcohol, and a tube of healing cream. He puts everything on the sink next to him
before turning to Vegas, who is watching him move around, his face expressionless but his eyes
weary.

Pete halts his movement for a moment, taking in Vegas' appearance. The man is covered in blood
and bruises. Half of his face is swollen from his father's punches, and his lips are dark red from the
blood caked there. Blood runs down Vegas' face from his brow bones and forehead, reaching his
chin in thin crimson lines. He still holds his right side, his left elbow resting on his knee so he can
lean on it and put less weight on his bad side, and Pete really wants to ask Vegas to remove his
shirt so he can see the damage, but his eyes are forced back on Vegas' slashed fingers and the top
wrapped around them. The clothing has already turned bright red, soaked with Vegas' blood.

Pete decides to deal with these first, and he takes the gauzes and the alcohol, grabbing a clean plate
to place the pieces of gauzes, drenching them in alcohol before taking one and dabbing it on the
deep cuts carefully. Vegas flinches at the contact, but he doesn't move, his eyes settling on the
point above Pete's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," Vegas says again, his voice soft but broken, and Pete feels his heart tighten at the
sound.

He keeps rubbing the gauze before throwing it into the sink, grabbing another clean one and
continuing to clean the wounds as he sighs softly.

"I know, Vegas," he replies without looking up from his task.

Pete finishes cleaning the blood before bringing Vegas' fingers closer to his face, trying to see how
deep the wounds are and if he needs stitches.

He does, Pete concludes as he frowns at the slashes.

"You need stitches," he tells him, finally looking up at Vegas' face. The other is observing him, his
eyes searching Pete's face, but Pete doesn't know what exactly he is searching for.

"I can do it if you want," Vegas says, already pulling his hand away from Pete, but he holds on, his
grip tightening around the other's wrist as he puts the man's hand back on his lap.

"Don't move, would you?" He grumbles, "I know how to stitch. Do you have what I need here?"

"Yeah, behind the bandages."

Pete nods, standing up to look inside the cupboard above the sink, searching for a clean needle and
thread. He finds everything in a small box behind the rolls of bandages and some bottles of
painkillers. He takes the box, returns to sit in front of Vegas as he opens it and prepares the needle
with a thread.

"It's been a while since I did it," Pete says, "It might sting."

Vegas shrugs, "Can't be worse than what I'm feeling right now," he mumbles while Pete takes his
injured hand and puts it on his lap.

"Shut up now, let me focus," Pete says, but he is anxious, the needle seems enormous in his hand
and against Vegas' milky skin, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop his fingers from
shaking.

Slowly, he presses the needle against the skin, the sharp end of the needle prickling and poking the
skin until one stitch is done. Pete keeps going, working as fast as he can, sewing the skin back
together in tight, small sutures. He feels Vegas tensing next to him, his inhalations sharp as he tries
not to move. He groans deeply, however, when Pete takes a little too long to work the needle right,
but he still doesn't move or complain.

Finally, Pete is done, and he throws the needle and the rest of the thread into the sink, grabbing a
sanitising wipe before gently cleaning the speckles of blood left on Vegas' fingers, careful not to
rub on the new sutures. Pete hears Vegas panting next to him, his muscles slowly relaxing, and
finally, Pete is done. He takes four plasters that he puts over the stitches and wonders briefly if he
should add a bandage above it, but Vegas takes his hand back.
"It's okay, thank you," he says as he watches Pete with a tiny smile that doesn't really reach his
eyes, "I still need to use my hands, so a bandage might be annoying," he explains, and Pete nods.

He turns to face Vegas, already grabbing another gauze soaked in alcohol to clean the wounds on
his face.

"Keep still," he instructs, "your face is still bleeding."

Vegas says nothing but doesn't move as he nurses his newly sewed fingers against his chest.
Cleaning Vegas' face is quicker than his hand, and soon, Pete is done wiping the blood away. He
then takes the tube of healing cream and another dry gauze, putting some balm on it before gently
rubbing it first on Vegas' brow bones, ignoring how Vegas flinches. Then, he does it again for the
other's lips.

"Don't lick," he warns as he observes Vegas' jaw muscles tensing and loosening under his skin as
Pete's fingers hold his chin up.

"I'm not a kid," Vegas mumbles an answer, but there's no spite to his tone, and his eyes are even
starting to recover their pretty caramel colour. Pete smiles fondly at the man's words before
grabbing two plasters and putting them on the scraped brow bones. Then, he puts some healing
cream on the tip of his index before massaging it into Vegas' swollen black eyes, trying not to
press too much. Still, Vegas winces, biting his lips unconsciously, and flinching even more as he
does so.

"I told you not to lick," Pete says, while his fingers holding the other's chin gently stroke the
injured lips. He stares into Vegas' eyes for a brief instant, too taken by the softness he finally sees
there to move. The warm buzzing in his belly is back, and his heart is beating faster against his ribs
while Vegas stares back, his pretty eyes wide open. Pete can't resist anymore; he leans slowly (he
wants to give Vegas the opportunity to dodge him if he wants to), and presses his lips gently
against the other. He doesn't try to deepen the kiss, minding Vegas' injuries and already slightly
tasting the minty flavour of the healing ointment. Still, his fingers tangle in Vegas' hair, pulling
slightly as he breathes deeply against him. The kiss is like a calming balm spread over his nerves
and his mind, and Pete suddenly feels better. He feels good. Even better when Vegas answers the
kiss, placing his uninjured hand on Pete's nape and nibbling gently at his lower lip. After a moment
of intense kissing, Pete slowly leans back, delicately holding Vegas' face.

There is no pretending he doesn't like Vegas now, he thinks, surprisingly without any bitterness or
panic. And finally, accepting his feelings is like a breath of fresh air for Pete, and he smiles, the
happiness reaching his eyes. Vegas mirrors his joy, even if hesitantly like he is still afraid of Pete's
next action.

However, Pete's attention returns to a more important concern: Vegas is still holding his side, and
he needs to take care of that.

"Could you remove your shirt?" He asks, still holding Vegas' face. Pete waits until the other nods,
and he lets go of him. Slowly, Vegas unbuttons with trembling fingers his shirt, letting it slide off
his shoulders, then on the floor.

[Vegas]
Vegas doesn't exactly feel shy under Pete's scrutinising gaze. Not really, but he is afraid. Because
he knows how his chest might look at the moment. Covered in yellow and blue contusions, perhaps
some scraps here and there where his father's blows have landed. And then, there are the too
many scars on his back. He knows Pete has already seen them. Once in the bathroom, then
probably every time they slept together. Still, something about the fact of undressing as Pete
watches, his eyes searching for the bruises, scowling when he finds them, makes Vegas feel small
and frightened.

It's one thing for Pete to know he has scars; it's another to stand in front of him vulnerable,
especially after the fight they just had. His heart still pounds furiously against his ribs at the
memory, and his fingers shake. Vegas had never felt so terrified in his whole life than when Pete
took the knife out of his hand to hold it to his own throat, ready to press further.

Vegas' world crumbled for a moment. Precisely when he knew it was his fault if Pete was ready to
kill himself just to escape him. Because he doesn't like him. He can't. That understanding has
shattered something within Vegas, but he doesn't want to show Pete. He doesn't want him to notice
how affected he is by all this. However, standing chest bared in front of Pete with his concerned
gaze concentrated on him, Vegas is uncertain. He doesn't know what the kiss they just shared
means and doesn't understand why Pete suddenly cares about his well-being. He doesn't
understand so many things that it is exhausting. And scary. Now, he is afraid Pete will ask
questions. He should; he has the right to after everything Vegas has put him through, but still, the
idea terrifies him.

When his shirt lands on the floor, Pete takes a step towards him, his fingers already on his skin,
right under the swelling, dark bruises marring his right side.

"What did your father do this time? How could he hurt you so badly?" Pete wonders out loud with
outrage barely hidden. Vegas smiles fondly at that, wrapping his good hand around the other's
waist (he can still enjoy this for a while, he convinces himself, as long as Pete doesn't push him
away, he will).

"It's nothing. He was mad, so he beat me. Nothing new," he declares, but Pete frowns at him at his
words.

"What the fuck was he mad about this time?" He grumbles, his fingers still stroking the skin under
his ribs and Vegas shivers slightly at the soft touches.

"I was cooking for you," Vegas confesses softly, leaning closer to Pete, "I was preparing some
spicy curry with rice. I know you like it. I even watched a new recipe to make sure it'll be good.
(He pauses, hiding his face against Pete's neck, breathing deeply there) Papa caught me when I was
about to walk out of the kitchen with your meal in my hands. I suppose he didn't like seeing me like
this."

Pete is unmoving against him. Then, slowly, he manages to wrap his arms around Vegas despite
the handcuffs, his hands gently soothingly stroking his back, and Vegas almost cries at the soft
touch. When was the last time someone rubbed his back to comfort him? Was it when his mother
was alive? That was almost fifteen years ago now...

"He was mad about some deal," Vegas continues, momentarily pressing his lips against Pete's
neck, savouring the sweet taste of his skin, "and he said the usual things. Like he wishes I wasn't
his son. Or that's I'm stupid. (He breathes Pete's scent again, trying to steady himself when he feels
like the world is drowning him) He said something about my mom. He never does that, but he did
this time."

"What did he say?" Pete asks, his hands still caressing Vegas' back and sometimes coming to stroke
his hair too.

"That I was as stupid as her," he whispers, the tears filling his eyes again.

"I'm sure your mother wasn't stupid," Pete declares after a brief silence, "She can't be with a son
like you. And you definitely didn't inherit your father's brain."

It takes Vegas a moment to fully understand what Pete meant, and when he does, he chuckles
softly, leaning back to meet his eyes.

"When will you stop insulting my father?" He inquires, amused despite the pain he still feels.

"When he'll stop beating your arse," Pete replies, his left hand caressing Vegas' left cheek fondly,
and Vegas can't help the other chuckle that shakes him.

This feels good, laughing with Pete, being in his arms, instead of fighting with him. Instead of
trying to kill him. Being with Pete feels good. More than good. It feels like Vegas is finally alive
after so many years of being nonexistent, of being empty. Pete has managed to cast light among all
the shadows that make Vegas' soul. It's a damn miracle, and Vegas wants to kiss Pete breathless
one more time. He doesn't because Pete has already turned to grab the healing cream, putting some
balm on his fingers. He then rubs the cream into Vegas' bruised skin, careful not to press too much,
and Vegas watches him do silently.

"Can I ask you something?" Pete suddenly asks after a moment, and Vegas hums softly, waiting for
him to continue. "Was it your father who hurt your back?"

Vegas' mind empties at his question. Precisely what he feared. He gulps forcefully, trying to quell
the panic that grows within his chest. It's only Pete, he thinks. He doesn't want to know to hurt
him. He might only be curious. Vegas inhales deeply, steadying himself.

"Yeah," he whispers, his fingers losing themselves in Pete's hair on his nape, grabbing gently at his
neck to distract himself from the memories. "I was in high school when it happened."

"High school..." Pete murmurs under his breath as he shakes his head, "You were a kid... How can
he—" he stops himself, shaking his head even harder before looking into Vegas' eyes. "Why did he
do it? What exactly could you do to deserve something like that?"

Vegas notes that Pete is angry. It's weird seeing someone being mad for something that has been
done to him. It's the first time, Vegas thinks. Usually, people are glad when he is suffering. They
smile and celebrate his pain at best. They don't get mad or think that it's unfair. Never.

He clears his throat, trying to control the flow of memories that tries to invade his mind before he
can answer Pete.

"I think I was fifteen or sixteen at the time. I used to have a crush on a boy in my class... His name
was Tae. A tall guy who played basketball every afternoon after classes, and I liked to join him,"
he breathes deeply, looking at his fingers tangle in Pete's hair. He swallows again before
continuing, "I wasn't allowed friend, so I would meet Tae secretly. And we became friends quickly.
We spent a lot of time together, actually. And I think I liked him because I could be myself with
him. Or at least, I could be who I wanted to be. But I was going to the same school as Kinn, and
one day that fucker saw us. Me and Tae. Kinn told his father I was seeing a boy, except when he
told him my father was there for a meeting. He heard everything. So, when he came home that day,
he told me to stop seeing Tae. Well, more than just told me. I got beaten up pretty hard that day. Of
course, to make sure I listened to him, my father sent some of his men also to beat Tae. Not just
him, but his family too. He was so scared. The next day, when I saw him at school, he begged me
to stop talking to him and told me he had asked to change school. He even said I was a monster. At
first, I was mad because I couldn't understand how my father knew about us. Then, I think it was
one or two days after, one of my father's men told me it was Kinn who snitched. So, I did the
unthinkable and went to Kinn's house and beat the shit out of him. Mr Korn then asked my father to
punish me appropriately, and my old man obviously did. He whipped me a hundred times in front
of Kinn's entire family. He forced me to count each hit. After that, I was brought back to our house
and left alone to deal with the wounds. That's why they look like this. I didn't know how to take
care of this kind of injury back then."

Vegas inhales deeply once he is done talking, still avoiding Pete's eyes. However, Pete doesn't
allow him to evade him for too long because, as soon as he is done, Vegas feels Pete's fingers under
his chin forcing his head up, and he has no choice but to look into Pete's eyes.

Pete looks positively horrified by what he just told him. His eyes are wide and dark, and his jaw is
painfully clenched.

"How—?" Pete opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, trying to find his words, "How could he do
that? You weren't hurting anyone."

"It's the past, Pete," Vegas tries to comfort the other, but Pete shakes his head, his fingers moving
to hold his face firmly.

"When Kinn told his father, did he know that the consequences would be this severe for you?"

Vegas shrugs, "I don't know. I don't even know why he felt the need to tell his father. It wasn't his
business, whoever I liked."

He feels Pete's fingers tightening around his face until he winces because the fingers are digging
into his black eye, and he forces Pete to release his face.

"I'm so fucking mad!" Pete tempests against Vegas, "So fucking mad at my own boss! Like,
seriously, why did he do something like that? No one likes a snitch. Did he already hate you that
much?"

Although Vegas really enjoys seeing Pete so reels up for him and against Kinn, he tries to calm
him down.

"Pete..." he calls gently, wrapping his hands around the other's face to make sure he listens to him,
"Don't worry about it, okay?"

Pete breathes deeply, closing his eyes briefly as he puts his hands over Vegas' hips. Then, he
abruptly opens his eyes, his scowl deepening.

"This guy, he didn't have to call you a monster," he declares, "it wasn't your fault."

"He was scared," Vegas explains, stroking Pete's face soothingly, "Anyone would have reacted that
way. He was right anyway."

"Stop that," Pete orders as his grip tightens, "Stop saying you're a monster. It wasn't your fault.
You were just in love. It's your father's fault. He made you like this, forced you to be like this."

Vegas is silent at his words. He didn't expect that from Pete. But, as he stares at the other, Vegas
realises that Pete understands him. He doesn't justify or forgive everything that Vegas has done to
him or other people, but he understands why he did them and how he became like this. Pete knows.
And he stays despite knowing. Pete kisses his knuckles, his fingers stroking the skin, and
he knows and Vegas is overwhelmed. Because no one ever stayed. No one. Especially when they
finally learn who Vegas truly is deep down. But Pete is kissing him, holding his hands as he
presses his lips against his, his tongues gently licking his lower lip to ask for entrance, and Vegas
feels so warm inside and out like there's a sun shining inside his chest. He tightens his hold over
Pete to steady himself (and because he is terrified of waking up suddenly and all of this is a dream,
and Pete is gone). Vegas kisses Pete with all he has, pouring all of his feelings into the kiss, hoping
Pete won't run away, hoping he will understand. And Pete wraps his hands around his face,
deepening their kiss, and Vegas knows. Pete understands and decides to stay.

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