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“You’re sure?” Kinn asked softly. Pete had seen Kinn in a lot of scenarios, but never quite like this. The weight of everything was taking a toll on him. It seemed like all the joy he’d experienced in his relationship with Porsche had made the pain of betrayal worse. Pete was afraid that he might break if something didn’t give soon. “You know the rumors, Pete. About him. He could kill you.”
Him. They almost never spoke the name anymore. Both of them knew who they were talking about. Vegas wasn’t even a presence in the room, he was an absence in the conversation.
“We need to know.” Pete said simply, shrugging. “You need to know. To keep everyone safe.”
Something like a smile flickered across Kinn’s face. “You’ve always understood me better than anyone, Pete.”
Pete smiled back at that, tipping his face down. “We’re all lucky to have someone like you to take care of us, Khun Kinn.” He glanced back up before giving a sharp nod and turning towards the door.
“Pete.”
He stopped, turned back. Could hear the words before Kinn said them. Wondered if he deserved them. “Yes, Khun Kinn?”
“Be careful.” Kinn said, eyes dark again. “He’s dangerous.”
What Pete does not say, as he walks out of Kinn’s rooms to begin the mission that could be his last, is that he’s only as dangerous as Kinn made him.
–
Pete’s wrists itched. The outsides of them, the parts he couldn’t reach. It made him wonder what on earth could have been on the handcuffs. Or maybe it was just a stress rash. He’d never had a stress rash before, but then, he’d never been stripped nearly naked and strung up by his wrists before either.
At least, not without asking for it first.
The room was also surprisingly empty of people. Pete had enough of a reputation that someone should have stayed to watch him. But after Ken had brought Pete in everyone had disappeared, leaving Pete with nothing to do but hang from the cuffs and think.
The room certainly wasn’t empty of things, but there weren’t guards and Pete couldn’t make out any cameras. Just red-tinged light and…torture implements. Lots of torture implements. Some of which Pete couldn’t even wrap his head around. The baseball bat he understood, the car battery was a little out there, but some of the items on the table were either so innocuous or so strange he couldn’t parse how they could be used on the human body.
He’s dangerous.
Pete closed his eyes for a moment, pressing up onto tiptoes to give his wrists some relief, and then dropping back down to rest his calves. He’d been doing the same thing for at least two hours now, waiting.
But he was good at waiting. Most of his job was waiting. And observing. And reacting. Most of the time, Pete didn’t have to think, just follow orders.
The door opened silently, and the only reason Pete really noticed was because there was a splash of yellow light that interrupted the red. And there was a shadow; sharpened and elongated, reaching almost to Pete’s bare feet. Vegas was backlit, warmth surrounding him like a halo, leaving a dark, empty void in the center.
In another life, Vegas could have gone into television, or maybe theater. He was good at making a dramatic entrance.
“You.” Vegas said, crossing his arms over his chest and stepped closer, the door closing as silently as it opened.
Pete blinked at Vegas, smiling in what he hoped came across as… good-natured? Friendly? Could one look friendly while suspended by their wrists?
He was half tempted to respond with ‘me’.
“Did he send you because he thinks you matter to me or something?” Vegas’ voice was low, his words casual. But there was tension in him. Tension not unlike the tension that Pete had seen in Kinn recently.
“I volunteered.” Pete answered, realizing too late that the question was probably rhetorical.
“And did you think the fact that we’ve fucked once was going to protect you?” Vegas had looked away from him, turning to a table, sliding white leather gloves onto his hands. “Because it won’t.”
I’m still alive, aren’t I? Pete didn’t say it, or he might not be much longer. Vegas flipped a switch, the high-pitched hum of electricity filling the uncomfortable silence. He was sure that, as much as he appreciated that he was still alive, this was about to hurt a lot.
“You ruined my plans, Pete.” Vegas closed the distance between them, holding the jumper cables in each hand, tapping them together just to watch sparks dance. “And the worst part is you did it for him.”
As the electricity coursed through him, clenching his jaw and leaning into the pain that flooded him, all he could think was: why do neither of them say each others' name?
–
Pete’s head ached.
It was somehow worse than how the rest of his body felt. The electricity had taken its toll. There was a muscle in his abdomen that still twitched from time to time, and occasionally he had phantom shocks that jumped from his hip to his ankle, bad enough that his left leg would buckle under him, to the point that he’d almost dislocated one of his wrists.
He’d considered letting it happen, but even if he made it out of the bindings, there were locked doors and bodyguards, and he was injured and tired: there was no way he was getting out of the estate. The headache was the worst part though, a drumming pain against his temples that made it hard to think.
He was glad, at least, that once they were at the lakeside safehouse, that he was allowed to sit down. He was also forced to kneel and had been tossed onto the ground to sleep on the floor but at least he wasn’t constantly hanging from his wrists.
You’d feel better if you ate, so your body could heal. The voice sounded strikingly like his grandmother. Pete ignored it even more fervently, driving thoughts of her out of his mind. And thoughts of Porsche. And Kinn. And anyone who might come to his rescue.
Because….they weren’t going to come. Vegas had made sure of that. Pete and Kinn had known Pete was walking to his death, offering himself up as bait to the tiger on the hill. Even if Kinn was suspicious of Pete’s requests for time off, Pete knew that in the ranking of people Kinn cared about, Pete ranked lower than Vegas. Pete’s death had been a sacrifice to clear Porsche’s name, perhaps to wipe the board clean entirely.
If Vegas really killed him, if he taunted Kinn with it, would Kinn care enough to forget how much he loved Vegas? Or would it be just one more wound between them, unable to be healed?
The belt was…both better and worse than the electricity had been. A belt, at least, Pete was familiar with. He could guess how it was going to hurt and when it was going to split his skin open. And then there was the familiar lightheadedness of blood loss, a creeping numbness from his pain receptors being overwhelmed.
And then, as he slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing he remembered was thinking that maybe his headache would finally stop.
–
When Pete woke up, it felt a little like he was still dreaming. His chest was wrapped, and cool, firm hands were pressing another bandage across a wound. Cool hands that led up to lithe, carved arms, the sleeves of a white T-shirt, and then— Vegas.
Vegas, ethereal while dressed down, faint creases of worry at the corners of his eyes as he held up the unmarked pill. Pete could guess what it was from the size and color, as well as the circumstances. A painkiller or an antibiotic, something meant to help Pete recover. Pete didn’t know if infection had set in but he could feel the familiar edges of a fever making everything hazy and distant.
“Take it.” Vegas pressed the pill against his mouth, insistent.
“No.”
The kiss was…soft. Pete wasn’t even really sure if it was a kiss, and as soon as it started, he was distracted by the pill sliding into his mouth, and then Vegas’ tight grip on the back of his head, lifting him up, feeding him water.
So….gently.
“You were a better kisser last time.” Vegas said, settling at the end of the bed.
Pete barely had the energy to laugh, turning his head towards Vegas.
The soft fabric of Vegas’ pajama pants amused him as much as they confused him. Had he ever seen Vegas look so comfortable, so open and unguarded? Perhaps it was because he knew Pete wasn’t a threat. Captured, injured, weak from lack of food and dosed with whatever Vegas had forced down his throat, Pete was definitely not going to be able to fight Vegas off or run away.
But Pete had never been a threat to Vegas. That wasn’t the role he played.
There was something dark in Vegas’ eyes again. “He made you do that, didn’t he? Forced you? Used you as a distraction.”
Say his name, Pete thought, but didn’t say. Does it matter?
“No.” Pete said, the words scraping through his throat. He cleared it, coughing. “Khun Kinn—” If Vegas’ expression was dark, it went murderous at the sound of Kinn’s name. “He asked me. I told him it was a bad idea – you’d never want someone like me – not after–” Pete hesitated, “Not after him.”
Who would want Pete after Kinn? It wasn’t even a dick thing, though Pete knew Kinn was bigger. Kinn was simply… more than Pete. He had more personality, more spirit, more love to give. Pete could barely manage to love his grandmother, he couldn’t manage to love himself. Kinn had enough love to share.
Vegas’ head rolled to the side, resting his cheek against his shoulder, eyes boring into Pete. “He must really trust you.”
Pete winced his way through a shrug. He managed to blink the fuzziness from his eyes to get a better look at Vegas, taking in the faint redness on one side of his cheek, the cut against his cheekbone. His mind was fuzzy from before, but he was pretty sure Vegas hadn’t been injured. He would have noticed that, surely. “Who – did someone hit you?”
Vegas’ eyes narrowed and he turned his face away from Pete. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” Pete insisted, groaning as he forced himself to sit up, his chest stinging and burning, shoulders and feet sore. He turned halfway towards Vegas. “It matters to –”
Vegas shot to his feet and turned around, finger close to Pete’s face. “If you say his name I swear to god I’ll kill you.”
Pete swallowed the words, raising both eyebrows. “Who hit you?”
Vegas didn’t reply, nostrils flaring, eyes wide and wild with anger. He looked like a spooked horse, ready to bolt. Pete could have laughed, Vegas looked more trapped than he did, and Vegas was the one who held the keys.
Pete wet his lips, dragging in a deep breath before saying. “It matters to me, Vegas.”
It was a tight moment, sharp with the scent of ozone in the air like right before a storm. Vegas’ shoulders drew tight, his gaze flicked from Pete to the door of the room, his limbs twitched. Pete thought he might storm out or maybe he’d drag Pete back up and beat him again. The belt had to be somewhere nearby. Instead, Vegas slumped down onto the floor, his head resting on the bed so near and yet so far.
Pete couldn’t see him properly from this position. He couldn’t see Vegas’ face, he could only listen to his voice.
“My father was here earlier.” Not a full accusation but Pete’s blood ran cold. Is there anyone you won’t hurt, Khun Gun?
–
They had sex in between one of Gun’s visits and the next, between one question and another, between the ghost of Kinn and the dream of freedom. Pete hated the cuffs. Even switched out from the ones that made his skin itch, these still make his wrist ache. Being handcuffed to the bed was fine for an hour, for two, for a night even, but for days? Even with Vegas wrapping his wrist and applying ointment, Pete was still in pain. Still annoyed.
They fuck because they’re bored, having sex because Vegas had finished his book and didn’t have the heart to choose another, because Pete had been recalcitrant about taking his painkillers and Vegas was happy to shove them down his throat with his fingers, because Vegas was worried about Macau, or the hedgehog, or his father and needed sex to get out of his head. If he was hurting Pete, he wasn’t thinking about whether his father would be hurting someone else. If he was hurting Pete, Vegas wasn’t thinking about how he and Pete were both trapped in the safehouse.
For a little while, it’s almost like Pete chose to be there. And it’s occurred to him more than once that he actually hasn’t thought about escaping in some indescribable length of time that was probably just days.
Then, the hedgehog dies. And Pete watched something inside of Vegas die along with him.
“Why didn’t you run away?” Vegas asked, lit softly by the low light in the room.
Pete had been wondering if the key left on the bed had been a sign from Vegas or if it had been an accident. He supposed that this answered the question. Vegas had given him an out, had let him have his freedom without having to break the cuffs or pick the lock, and Pete had thrown the chance away.
“I don’t know.” An honest confession. Pete wasn’t sure where the loyalty that tied himself to Kinn and Vegas came from. He’d had opportunities to leave before, chances to slip away to a rival mafia family, or even to disappear into the night and lead a life that wasn’t filled with violence and blood. He could have taken the knowledge he had about Gun and Kinn and used it to break the family apart. Someone else might have. Ken definitely, perhaps even Big (though unintentionally).
Watching Vegas crumple, spilling the story of the hedgehogs that had been entrusted to his care only to die one after another, Pete struggled not to reach out and touch him. Touching Vegas might lead to sex and he didn’t think that was what Vegas needed right now.
“Everything that I love leaves me.”
Everyone, Pete heard, and the absence where Kinn’s name should have been.
“My life is pathetic, isn’t it?”
There’s not much Pete can say to that. Would Pete’s compliments have any worth to Vegas? Whose would?
Kinn.
Gun.
“You still have Macau,” Pete spoke softly and this time he couldn’t stop himself, his hand rested on Vegas’ knee, squeezing him lightly through the thin fabric of his pants. Vegas twitched under his touch.
“Macau has it just as bad,” Vegas’ hair shadowed his face, “It sucks to be born into the minor family.”
Vegas laughed, a bone scraping, shuddering chuckle. “‘Minor’ means second. I’ll never come first. No one will ever see our hard work.”
I’ll never come first for Kinn. He’ll never see how much I love him.
Pete understood.
The first time Vegas’ hand collided with his own face, Pete was too surprised to do anything about it. It was so thoroughly unexpected, but in hindsight, Pete should have seen it coming.
The second time, Pete was able to catch Vegas’ hand before the strike landed. “Stop,” Pete said quietly. Vegas struggled against him, eyes hazy; like he was anywhere but here. “Stop!” He repeated more emphatically.
Vegas stared at Pete, the resistance reducing. “I need — I need it.”
The pain.
It all made sense then — or if not all of it, enough that a plan was able to form in Pete’s mind. He’s always been flexible to the needs of his partner — it made it easier when his choices in partner were more limited. And he’d thought — with the chains and the torture implements and the overt sadism — that what Vegas needed was someone he could hurt.
But his first partner had been Kinn.
If Vegas was any normal person, Pete would have wanted more consent than he had at present, but Vegas certainly hadn’t asked with actual words, so why would Pete? Instead, he hauled Vegas to his feet by the wrists he had clasped between his own hands, earning himself a shocked huff. “Do you need a safeword?” Pete asked – because he’s not a total brute.
Vegas’ perception of what was happening came slowly, a tense string slowly loosened, unwound from a peg. Vegas shook his head slowly. Pete had never had sex with someone without using a safeword, but maybe, for some strange reason, Vegas…trusted him.
“If I let go of your hands, are you going to hit yourself again?” He asked softly, his face close enough to count the tears hanging from Vegas’ impossibly long eyelashes. “ It’s hard to take your shirt off if I can’t.”
Vegas shook his head again, quiet in a way that almost made Pete nervous. Where was the Vegas who always had a witty remark, a sharp quip, a cruel word? Instead, he was just staring, quietly. It was almost like if he said anything – if he used actual words to acknowledge what was happening, the whole charade would fall apart.
They’d go back to the reality where Pete was nothing more than a pet for Vegas to vent his frustrations on, and not someone who could give him what he so, so badly needed.
Pete brought the shirt up over Vegas head, and then gathered his hands back together. It took him a moment to decide exactly how to proceed, but he just kept thinking to himself: what would Kinn do.
He didn’t hesitate before he grabbed the chains still dangling from the ceiling. He tugged Vegas’ hands up over his head, wrapping the cuffs around them. At first, he considered leaving them loose, but instead he tightened another few clicks.
Vegas still didn’t object.
“When was the last time you let someone do this?” Pete asked the question half out of curiosity and half out of the need to fill the silence with something more than grunts and breathing. He reached for the waistband of Vegas’ sleep pants, gripping it loosely. “Answer me.”
It took a minute for Vegas to manage an answer. “Years.”
Since Kinn.
He’s dangerous. Something inside Pete was angry now – at Vegas, and even more so at Kinn. How could Kinn let Vegas suffer? Was it worth it? All the pain that Vegas had perpetrated on the people around him, for the sake of him being safe from Kinn? Why didn’t Kinn realize that he was hurting Vegas?
He was doing the one thing that he swore he wouldn’t do.
There’s something powerful about being clothed while Vegas is naked, chained up. Pete could run. He could leave Vegas like this, leave him for his father or his bodyguards to find. If Pete was a cruel man, he would. But the very idea of leaving turned his stomach.
Pete started with tight, fingernail to fingernail pinches. Vegas moaned louder as Pete moved closer to erogenous zones; towards his nipples, or his dick. Then, Pete spun him, so he faced away, towards the colored lights. He pinched his way down Vegas’ back, and then he stopped.
The first smack of his hand across Vegas’ bare ass seemed to echo around the room. He did it again. And then with the other hand, across the other cheek. Pete wished there was a mirror, wished that he could see Vegas’ face as he did this. If they ever – if it ever happened again, he’d make sure there was one.
Pete was a boxer, a former street-fighter, a Theerapanyakul thug. He knew how to hit someone in a number of ways. How to punch so that someone’s ribs would break, how to slap so that someone would bleed. He knew also how to hurt someone so gently, so insidiously that they wouldn’t realize it for hours. It was this kind of slap that landed against Vegas’ skin; the kind that would hurt hours, maybe even days later.
And he knew how to hit so it looked and sounded worse than it actually was, he knew how to fake a real fight for a crowd. He just wasn’t sure if he’d be able to fake a real beating for Vegas. But –
It didn’t seem like what Vegas wanted was something fake.
He glanced around, eyes falling on Vegas’ belt, discarded on the floor from days ago, amidst the rest of the clothing they’d shed and the towels that they’d used to clean themselves up. He tapped Vegas twice on the hip and then stepped towards it, running his hand along the rich, expensive leather. Turning his head towards Vegas, he held it up, raising an eyebrow, a silent question.
Pete watched a full body shudder crawl through Vegas’ body. His dick was hard already, hanging between his legs, the pinch-marks starting to redden enough to match the redness of his ass.
Pete pulled the first few strikes, watching the redness spread across Vegas’ ass, taking a moment between every strike to look at Vegas’ face. After four with no reaction, Pete increased the pressure of the strike, more kinetic energy, a harder crack against skin.
It earned him a broken moan from Vegas’ lips. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth open, breath coming in sharp, short pants.
“God, you take it so well.” Pete murmured. He brought his strikes lower, against the sensitive skin of the back of Vegas’ thighs. Vegas gasps out at that, tugging against the cuffs, his body bowing away momentarily before returning to the position Pete had started him in. Tears have started to streak down his face.
Pete was enthralled.
He’s dangerous. Was he? Was he really? Or was he just lost? Had Kinn done more harm than good? As he watched Vegas fall into the quiet, into the obedience so, so beautifully, The anger at Kinn settled into his bones. He’d never been angry at Kinn before, but for this – now he could be.
“Can you come from just this?” Pete asked, running the belt slowly against the growing welts on Vegas’ ass and thighs. He reached up with his free hand to grasp Vegas’ jaw. “Answer me.”
Vegas squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing hard enough that Pete watched his throat bob. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s been –”
Years. Pete patted Vegas’ cheek. “I can suck you off. You’ve been so good, Vegas, you’ve earned it.”
“No.” Vegas’ face was aflame – and Pete could name a number of reasons why that might be the case, but the sharp objection froze him in place. “No, I –” He shook his head, and Pete watched him begin to rebuild the more familiar persona, his eyes sharpening. He wet his lips. “Fuck me, Pete.”
Pete blinked a few times, the belt falling to the floor. His hands came up to cup either side of Vegas’ face. “Are you – are you sure?”
Vegas nodded. “I need it.”
Well, who was Pete to deny that?
—
They don’t talk about it. Not for a long time. Like, at least a few hours. The next morning, Vegas went upstairs, made breakfast, and brought it down to Pete. They ate in silence. Pete didn’t miss that Vegas chose to lay on his stomach, propped up on elbows, rather than sitting normally.
When they were done, Vegas set the bowls aside, rolling over onto his side to look at Pete with a queer blend of threat and fear. “Last night was –”
“Amazing.” Pete cut him off, crossing his legs in front of him. “I mean, at least for me. I don’t know – I mean, I thought you enjoyed it.”
Vegas stared at Pete. His face was still frozen in the same expression, but there was discord in his eyes. “It… I did.” He looked away, letting out a huff of a breath. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?” Pete asked softly. “Why can’t it matter?”
“Because I’ve been holding you hostage.” Vegas’ face whipped around. “I fucking – I tortured you. And last night you – Fuck.”
“I gave you what you needed.” Pete said, shrugging. “It mattered, Vegas.”
“So what now, then? Do we just stay here forever? Pretend like this is fucking normal?” Vegas pushed up off the bed with a wince and began pacing the room. “I was going to just kill you. That would have been so much easier.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong.
“You have to let me go.” Pete said, surprising both of them. “Let me go back to Kinn. I can– I’ll talk to him. I’m sure Kinn has a plan, Vegas. We just have to trust him." Vegas’ face began to twist and Pete hurried to continue. “I promise he – if he knew that your father –”
“Why does it fucking matter what my father does to me? Kinn made it perfectly fucking clear that I’m not good enough for him. That I’m just the fucking minor family.”
That almost startled a laugh out of Pete, but it would have been entirely inappropriate. “You have to trust him. Or if you don’t trust him, do you trust me?”
Vegas’ nostrils flared at the question, eyes going impossibly wide. The answer was obvious, at least to Pete. He must – last night would never have happened if he didn’t. The lack of an answer was an answer in and of itself. Pete climbed off the bed and stepped towards him, moving slowly, like approaching a deadly predator. He wrapped his arms around Vegas’ shoulders. “I won't let anyone hurt you. Not yourself, not your father – “ He kissed Vegas’ cheek softly. “Not Kinn.”
Pete was sure there was some kind of clinical diagnosis for the way that his loyalty had shifted from Kinn to Vegas so fucking quickly, but he didn’t care. He was a protector, he always had been – he’d been trained to be one, and he was damn good at it. And Kinn– Kinn didn’t need a protector. He controlled everything around him like a perfectly choreographed dance.
But Vegas – Vegas needed someone.
Years ago, Kinn had given Pete away to Vegas. He had known they would fit, even if he had been completely wrong about what their dynamic would be.
“Fuck me before you go.” Vegas whispered, bringing their faces close, the fight going out of him. “Just in case they kill me.”
Pete slid his arms down Vegas’ body, grasping under his thighs and hauling him up. “I won’t let them.” He kissed Vegas anyway.
--
Porsche was… animated. He always had been. It had been one of the things that made working with him fun. “.. and anyway, so apparently I’m just supposed to be okay with him fucking — spying? Is it fucking spying in your own house?? – on his brother – and my brother – and his cousin.”
“Didn’t you sleep with Macau too?” Pete asked, staring at the condensation on his drink.
Macau hadn’t tried to hide from Vegas what was going on. Kinn hadn’t tried to hide it. Pete wasn’t sure if that had made it better or worse for Vegas. He was sure however that if Macau had been hesitant, if Macau had ever seemed hurt, Vegas would have tried to kill Kinn once more.
Porsche groaned, pressing a hand over his face. “That’s not – is that relevant? I’m not related to him.”
Pete snorted. “That doesn’t matter in this family.”
“I’ve fucking noticed.” Porsche sat forward, both of his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. “I’ve bitched enough. You’ve been quiet. What are you thinking about?”
“Vegas.” Pete said, bringing the glass to his lips.
“You’re always thinking about Vegas.” Porsche rolled his eyes.
“Vegas and Kinn.” Pete said once he’d swallowed the drink. It wasn’t as good as the drinks Porsche would make, when he slipped behind the bar. Porsche was an experienced bartender and he turned every drink into an experience. Whether it was moonshine or a foreign liquor, Porsche knew how to mix it in a way to please the customers.
Pete had asked for whatever Porsche was drinking when he joined him at the bar. He hadn’t even asked what it was, the flavor was bitter, smokey, which suited his mood if not his palette.
Porsche collapsed back into his chair. “Everyone keeps hinting that they’ve slept together, I don’t get it – they hate each other.”
Pete shook his head. “No, they don’t.” He studied Porsche. “They miss each other.”
Porsche raised an eyebrow. “They nearly killed each other.”
Pete nodded. “It’s complicated. But you should ask Kinn about it – about his relationship with Vegas.”
Porsche frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Everything. Pete didn’t say it. “Ask him why his relationship with Vegas ended.” He pushed away the worry in his gut. “And ask him if he’s still sure he did the right thing.” Pasting on a smile, Pete stood up.
“You can’t just – that’s not fair.”
“I’m off to see Tankhun.” Pete winked and headed away, hoping that he’d planted enough of a seed.
Because he could be a lot of things for Vegas – had been in the last few months. Their relationship was…secure. It was comfortable. It was… happy. But there was something missing. Pete wasn’t Kinn. And that – he was what Vegas needed.