You should be scared for your life, 'Cause you know I don't play nice
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/39114162.
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KinnPorsche: The Series (TV)
Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham/Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun,
Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun
Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun,
Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Khun
Tankhun Theerapanyakun
Pete's canonical use of public displays of affection as a distraction
tactic, Anal Sex, Whipping, Pete and Porsche bestie agenda, NonConsensual Drug Use, Alternative Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent:
sex after torture, Psychological Manipulation
English
Published: 2022-05-20 Completed: 2022-05-25 Chapters: 2/2 Words:
10263
You should be scared for your life, 'Cause you know I don't
play nice
by aby01
Summary
The plan was simple. Pete was supposed to stand watch while Porsche snooped around in
the second family's home.
Pete was not supposed to kiss Vegas to distract him.
Notes
Title is from Chase Atlantic, OHMAMI. Highly recommend listening to it while reading.
See the end of the work for more notes
Looking into the Abyss
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The plan was simple. Porsche was supposed to go inside, snoop and gather as much information as
he could, then quickly leave before the second family noticed their frankly too long of a smoke
break.
Pete was standing next to the lavish doors that led into the house that Porsche might have gotten
lost in because what the fuck was taking so long . Pete would rather serve as a dart board for Kim
than be subjected to whatever punishment Vegas would graciously bestow on him if they got
caught.
Even thinking about it sent shivers down Pete’s back. Although they’d have liked to think
otherwise, all the bodyguards loved to gossip between themselves. For the longest time there has
been hushed whispers about the proclivities that the heir of the second family indulged in. The
uncomfortable looks between vague rumors of bloodied men leaving Vegas’ personal residence,
the downcast eyes of the bodyguards that shadow him and the unsettling intensity within the man's
eyes whenever Pete would meet his gaze.
Pete knew what others within the underworld thought of Vegas; a mere shadow to the great Kinn
Theerapanyakun .
Pete knew that they were wrong. Vegas was much worse.
Vegas was more obsessive, calculating eyes following Porsche, a wane smile pasted on his lips.
His mouth would smile but his gaze would stay empty.
Pete always wondered what hid beneath his mask. When the smile slithered away, when his eyes
lost their sheen of geniality and when he stood tall and straight, no longer concave in himself to
appear harmless and approachable.
No matter how much he liked to psychoanalyze people, Pete knew he wouldn’t like to be in the
man's presence when that happened.
“Are you lost?” It’s infuriating how such a soft voice can invoke such terror all the way down
Pete’s soul. He should really evaluate his bodyguard skills because this is the second time that
Vegas has managed to sneak up on him without Pete even noticing until the man is right in his
personal space.
Fuck, why is he always so close? Pete smiles and notices an answering smirk on Vegas’ face, the
ever-present polite mask on his face. “Mr. Vegas! Hello! I’m just admiring the pretty flowers. The
red and orange ones are my favorite!” He gestured outside the window.
The Theerapanyakun's should really invest in acting classes, Pete mentally anguishes at his
frankly terrible acting. The infinitesimal quirk of Vegas’ eyebrow sends cold sweat down Pete’s
back which is honestly embarrassing because Pete has committed bodily harm towards others,
doesn’t even flinch when Kinn gets all petty and starts shooting people, and is no stranger to
pulling out fingernails for information. There must be something innately disturbing about Vegas
that makes Pete want to take a shower when he’s in the same vicinity as him.
“Thank you,” Vegas widens his shark smile, “flowers can be so fascinating, especially once you
understand their meaning.”
Pete knows he’s staring. Porsche even knows he’s staring, from wherever he is, which is still
inside the house which he’ll be dead if he's caught snooping around . Pete honestly feels like
working in the trauma center as a nurse would be less stressful than whatever the fuck the
underworld got going on. The point is, Pete is staring. Vegas’ eyes glint under the dim lights of the
vintage oil lamps on the walls, the sunlight bathing him golden from where it's setting on the
horizon. Porsche has been gone for exactly 10 minutes and 42 seconds and his velvet red shirt has
its first few buttons undone. Pete has broken someone's collarbones once, the sound of crunch had
been satisfying, the sweaty and rubbery skin pulled abnormally taut over the broken bone. It's
nothing like Vegas’ smooth skin, the faint hint of collar bone intensified by the diminishing
sunlight. Vegas glows against the dramatically dark wallpaper, his eyes narrowing as Pete stands
there, awkward smile and a burning feeling in his gut.
Pete is facing the glass French doors, his back against the wall so he can have direct view of where
Porsche entered as well as the hallway from where Vegas crawled in from. It's only a millisecond
that his eyes stray towards the pretentious doors from Vegas’ increasingly intensive eye contact,
but it's enough for Vegas to notice and before he realizes, Pete is stepping forward, snatching
Vegas’ face before he sees Porsche and kissing him.
Vegas makes a choked sound, for a second, he’s too shocked and Pete takes this chance to back
him into the wall adjacent to the French doors. Pete doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, he’s
barely kissed people, youth spent too long with a weird haircut and adulthood too busy watching
over Tankun’s six. His eyes are closed and he’s not breathing, he keeps alternating between soft
and hard pecks against the slack lips against his, his fingers grasping harshly at Vegas' jaw.
Then an arm wraps around his waist while the other snare into his hair and then he's being moved.
It takes five seconds or five years, and Pete is flipped over, his back painfully meeting the wall.
There's a thumb in the corner of his lips and the once slack lips against his are now open. There’s
tongue in his mouth and that's different .
Pete pulls back slightly; his heart doesn’t know if it's going through a panic attack or whether he’s
running away from pelting bullets. Nothing compares to the dark of Vegas’ eyes, the iris
completely overtaken by black pupils. The sun from behind paints him in a terrifying light, his face
bathed in darkness. Pete’s heart skips a beat when he sees the terrifying smile slowly slithering
onto Vegas’ face.
Pete can hear himself panting, embarrassingly compared to Vegas’ slow-moving chest. The pain in
his back only distracts him for a second until the thumb inside his mouth moves further in, past his
molars and softly swipes over his tonsils. Pete chokes and the burning in his gut increases when he
sees Vegas’ eyes widen, and he’s fully smiling now.
Then he swoops in, his tongue shoved in as far as his thumb is and Pete loses control of the
whimper he’s tried to hold on. There’s an answering laugh and then he's being kissed. Pete has
never been kissed like this; there's teeth biting at his lips, he's pretty sure he’s bleeding from his
bottom lip, there's a tongue tracing his palate, which usually would make him ticklish, but there's
nothing funny about what Vegas is doing to him. His fingers are tightly grasping at the hairs on the
bottom of his scalp, the other hand is harshly squeezing onto his sides, there will be bruises, Pete
already knows . Pete also knows that he’s shaking, he can’t get enough air into his lungs because
of the tongue slowly choking him and how tightly Vegas is pushing him into the wall. He doesn’t
know much else to do other than hold onto Vegas’ shoulders, his fingers sinking into the soft shirt
and probably tearing it from how tightly he’s holding on. He feels like he's holding on for his life,
there’s a dizzy feeling in his body, his head going quiet and all he can feel is the scorching hot
body against his.
Pete turns his head away, finally gulping down lungful of air and winces when sharp teeth bite into
his cheek and jaw. There's another bite against his chin, his mouth absolutely destroyed from
Vegas’ forceful kissing. Then those hot lips and sharp teeth move down his neck and Pete doesn’t
realize the painful moans coming out his mouth when his neck is absolutely mauled at. All those
rumors of bloodied men flash in his brain and Pete realizes that his neck is under the teeth of an
absolute predator.
“Hurts,” Pete whimpers and hears the answering laugh.
Slowly those lips slither up his neck, Vegas’ breathing heavy in his ear, “You’re hard.”
Then there's a hand on his crotch and Pete faintly hears another mocking laugh in his ear but he's
too busy moaning when Vegas’ hand squeezes his cock, the pressure heavy and borderline painful.
Pete’s brain is going haywire, all the blood running towards the lower parts of his body and he’s
vaguely aware that he’s making out with fucking Vegas in the hallway of his house where anyone
can walk in and see Pete being reduced to moaning virginal mess after having his dick touched for
less than a minute.
Pete doesn’t know if it's from the scorching hot hand on his crotch, the stinging from his lip or the
biting pain from his neck but his blood is boiling, he wants to simultaneously grind and move away
from the hand that's tortuously building a steady pressure on his cock. He knows he's whimpering;
he can hear himself whimpering, but all embracement flew out the window the moment those lips
touched his neck.
The sudden yank at his hair has his eyes flying open, Pete didn't notice when he had shut them and
all he can do is helplessly stare into those bottomless eyes. There's something in those eyes, Pete
can’t look into them, but he also can't look away. He’s breathing too fast, he’s gotten hard too fast,
but Vegas in faster, thumb back in his mouth but now its steadily moving back and forth,
mimicking something that Pete’s lackluster sexual life hadn’t gotten even close to.
“Come on, baby. Stop thinking so much,” Vegas whispers close to his mouth, his teeth snag onto
his bottom lip and suck . It's almost like he's sucking the nervous energy out of him. Pete feels his
mind blank, shoulders pulled down from its tight hold and he feels his eyes roll to the back of his
head.
There's a sharp inhale and then the hand ensnared onto his hip slowly moves upward, past his
quivering stomach, over his hard nipples and finally wraps around his neck. Pete’s eyes are lowlidded, and he watches Vegas watch him, those eyes looking ravenously as Pete keens, starting to
grind onto the thigh that he hadn’t even noticed pressed in between his legs.
Pete is dimly aware that he has Vegas finger-fucking his mouth while his hand is wrapped around
his neck, slowly increasing their pressure. It's like he can't get a break, can’t get a breath, eyes kept
captive by that terrifying glint in Vegas’ gaze. His neck hurts, grip too tight and too hot, his lips are
aching, feeling numb, and the thigh pressing against his rock-hard cock also hurts. He feels like a
papercut pulled too tight and he likes it. There's a wet spot forming in his pants, he hasn’t been
this wet in ages, the front of his underwear soaked in precum. Vegas can probably feel it, the
bastard, the vague crinkle in his lips as he watches Pete use his thigh to get off.
Just when he thinks things couldn’t get more humiliating, the hand in his mouth and neck is gone
and he's being pushed down. Pete is on his knees before he even knows it. He must lose time, in
between trying to choke down the abundance of saliva in his mouth and get his breath back, he
doesn’t hear the sound of a belt unsheathing and a zipper being pulled down.
“Suck.”
That's a cock. There's a cock a few inches away from Pete’s face and he has absolutely no idea
what to do.
He stares helplessly at the (infuriatingly) pretty and (terrifyingly) large cock in his face. It's thick
and long, flushed from the root to the tip. There's glistening fluid at the tip and Pete watches in
fascination as Vegas jerks himself a few times before bringing it closer and swiping the tip over his
lips. Pete is too busy inhaling the scent, male and musk to fully understand that there's a cock .
“Lick the tip, Pete.”
His name from that sinful mouth fans the arousal that's been building in Pete's gut. Not even his
lack of experience and the fact that he has Vegas Theerapanyakun cock dangling in front of him
distracts him from swiping his tongue over the tip of Vegas’ cock.
“Good boy.”
Pete feels his gut burn, his brain only in tune to that sweet, honeyed voice. Nothing else matters as
the taste of Vegas on his tongue and Vegas’ hand in his hair, pushing his head forward.
Pete has never sucked cock before. Hell, before today he’s never had someone tongue-fuck his
mouth. So the feeling of the smooth skin is foreign, and when he finally takes the tip into his
mouth, his body blazes at the hiss from above.
Pete vaguely feels Vegas pushing his body further into the wall, there's a hand around his jaw and
another one pulling at his hair. His knees are starting to faintly hurt, his mouth open too wide as he
starts to take more of that huge cock in his mouth. It's almost like the fingers in his mouth from
before but also nothing like them. The cock in his mouth is bigger, hotter and reaches deeper than
those fingers could only dream of.
“Open wider, come on, baby. Take me inside you,” Vegas’ hips slowly start to rock into his mouth.
When he starts to thrust inside, Pete lets go of the bruising grip he has on those muscled thighs and
lets his throat relax, taking in as much oxygen as he can.
“Open your eyes, Pete. Watch me fuck your mouth,” Pete is moaning, has been moaning for who
knows how long and when he opens his eyes, he’s aware of the tears clumped into his eyelashes.
Awareness rushes back and he’s aware of how much his body is hurting and how fucking hard he
is because of it. He’s on his knees, fuck, he’s on his knees . He's on his knees with the heir of the
second family’s cock in his mouth.
Vegas’ cock is dripping in his mouth, the taste of him bitter and musky. Its all the way back in his
mouth, there’s a gagging sensation building in his mouth and Vegas might notice Pete eyes
watering and his throat convulsing because the grip in his hair gets tighter and the cock in his
mouth starts to move faster and rougher.
“That's right, choke on my cock, Pete,” Vegas is panting, his bangs slipping onto his forehead and
Pete notices the crack in his bulletproof armor, “I'm going to fuck your mouth and you're going to
take it, is that clear?”
Pete whimpers, the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He’s a mess already, there's saliva
running down his chin, his lips feel pulled tight around the huge cock in his mouth and his scalp
feels tender. The pain and pleasure are getting all mixed up in his body, and he’s making moaning
and whimpering sounds. Its embarrassing, so fucking embarrassing and then when he feels Vegas’
shoe push down on his aching hard cock, he feels the brink of his orgasm.
Vegas takes advantage of the long-drawn out moan and earnestly starts to fuck Pete’s mouth. Pete
can feel himself crying, his head both chaos and blank. He tries his best to breathe but all he does is
swallow around the cock in his throat with his fingers bruising around Vegas’ hips. The heel on his
own cock has ceased movement, Pete is dimly aware he's getting off on having his dick stepped
on, the pressure so, so painful.
There's heavy breathing and faint moans from Vegas and Pete will later investigate why he felt his
cock drip at Vegas making himself good.
“Taking me so well, baby. Fuck , you were made for taking my cock, weren’t you?” The dirty talk
shouldn't be affecting him so much. It should be disgusting to him for being reduced to a just a
hole to fuck, but its getting to him. All the dirty words spilling out of those sinful lips are making
him harder, leaking in his pants and he knows that if Vegas even moved his foot slightly, he’ll be
coming in seconds.
“Next time,” he’s openly panting now, obviously close to the edge, “I’ll tie you up,” he’s keeping
direct eye contact with Pete, his gaze ablaze, hot as he watches his cock disappear into Pete’s
mouth, “keep you in my bed for days ,” his smile is disturbing as he watches the tears stream
down Petes flushed cheeks, “fucking you when you’re awake, when you're asleep,” he traces his
hands down Petes neck and feels himself in Pete’s throat, “I’ll make you bleed, scream ,” Pete
feels his horror grow, his cock throbbing in his pants, “you’ll only know my name.”
It's too much, there's panic simmering in his heart, there's a cock cutting off his airways and he's
feeling what Vegas is describing. It’s scaring him, he wants to run away and never see this man
again, wants to erase his marks from his neck and forget the taste of him on his tongue.
“Come, Pete.”
Vegas’ foot pushes down as he thrusts his entire cock into Pete’s throat.
Pete feels his eyes close and his back arch. His orgasm is ripped painfully from his body and feels
his eyes roll to the back of his head. He's making noises, he doesn’t know but there's something
dripping down his throat, something bitter, hot, and thick. He can’t breathe, he can’t open his eyes,
can't move his head and roughly feels himself break apart. He faintly hears someone instructing
him to swallow the fluid in his mouth. After he's done, he becomes aware that his airways aren’t
obstructed anymore.
Pete falls back, leaning against the wall behind him as the world slowly starts to get back into
awareness. There's a finger softly running through his hair, wiping away the tears still streaming
down his cheeks. His mind is amazingly blank, his body coming down from easily the best orgasm
he's probably ever had.
Once he gets his minimum amount of awareness back from Best Orgasm of his Life, he cracks his
eyes open to see Vegas crouched in front of him, softly caressing his aching lips. There's sweat
cooling on his skin, his pants are disgustingly full of his own cum but this doesn’t measure up to
the vision that Vegas makes, a flush to his cheeks, lips bitten red and hair damp with sweat. His
intense gaze is slowly roving over Pete’s face before their eyes connect again.
“You have two minutes to leave because if you're still here, I’m taking you to my bedroom and
trust me,” he smiles, eyes wide with arousal, “you’re not ready for what I want to do to you.”
“I guess the distraction worked?” Porsche’s eyes looked over Pete’s rumpled clothing, his awkward
gait and the red marks all over his mouth and neck.
Without waiting for an answer, Porsche walked closer and took stock of Pete’s bitten neck and
flushed face, “Fuck, Pete, it looks like he mauled you.”
Pete flushes further and bites his swollen lip.
Porsche's sudden laugh startled him, “Aw, Pete, I didn’t know you were into this type of thing,” he
winked and ruffled his hair, the once worried look on his face replaced by mirthful eyes and
raunchy smirk.
Pete huffed, “shut up, as if you're not getting your dick regularly wet in Kinn’s hospital room.”
Porsche’s choked laughter almost lessens the heavy feeling in his chest.
Porsche throws his arm around Pete’s shoulder, pulling him back onto a quick walk away from the
second family's home, “look at us, couple of bodyguards fucking around with some of the most
dangerous people in the mafia world. Total Korean drama material, wouldn't you think?”
Pete swallowed, his throat aching painfully, “yeah.”
Pete is good at compartmentalization, it's what makes him calm and collected, one of the best
level-headed bodyguards in the Theerapanyakun employment. He knows later when he's in his
room, alone and away from Vegas, that it'll all come crashing down on his head. The lips on his,
the cock in his mouth and the last parting words. Pete’s not dumb, he knows that something
changed, something between him and Vegas changed.
I'm not a nice person, Pete. Don’t let me catch you alone again.
Pete is so, so, so screwed.
Chapter End Notes
Bible doing the lords work because I haven't been so terrified yet hot for a character
since Hannibal Lecter.
The Abyss Looks Back
Chapter Summary
Reminder:
1) Tags have been updated.
2) I posted the 1st chapter before episode 7 aired, so just imagine chapter 1 occurred
when Vegas caught Pete texting Kinn.
3) WARNING: dubious consent- sex after torture, use of temperature as manipulation
tactic.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Please, stop! I have a wife and kids, please! They’ll kill them if I tell you!”
The windows were locked shut, the floor was dirty, and the air was stilted and stale. The smell of
iron, vomit and urine permeated the air, the aroma thick and revolting. There was an array of steel
bars separating them from a truly gruesome picture.
With ease, he stood up from his crouched position. Heedless of the whimpering man on the bloodsoaked cement floor, Vegas held up the man's tooth, clamped in between bloody forceps.
“He spoke.”
“Pete?”
Kinn's frown wasn’t half as disturbing as Vegas’ genial smile.
Pete looks towards an unusually silent Tankun and a fuming Porsche.
“Mr. Kinn, I am not opposed to your plan,” anything, anything but what he just said, “it's just I
don’t have the qualities that would ensure the proper execution of this type of stealth operation.”
The frown was replaced by an assessing look.
“Qualities?” Kinn raises his chin. Despite being recently shot at, he was sitting perfectly straight,
shoulders wide and not a hair out of place. Kinn was the perfect heir; Pete understood his allure,
the steady foundation he offered not just to his employees, but to the important people around him.
He wasn’t needlessly cruel, was filial and thanked the staff. He was also seeing right through
Pete’s half-assed maneuvering.
“Pete, you have worked for my family for quite some time. You excel in de-escalation, you’re
calm, humble, and have a friendly face,” Kinn set his hands forth, his finger twirling his ring,
“you’re also impenetrable. Do you know why I bring you with me when I need to amputate
someone?”
Kinn smiles as Pete keeps steady eye contact. Tankun shifts minutely in his periphery.
“You can take it.”
“Crazy bastard,” Porsche was pacing their tiny apartment, finger pulling on his oily tresses, “acting
as if he’s sending you off on a cute little McDonald's delivery pickup and not to spy on Satan's
favorite spawn.”
“I'll just be following him around,” Pete shrugged, silently wondering if Kinn has ever consumed
50 chicken nuggets in 10 minutes and gotten sick over the toilet, “at the end of this week me, you,
Arm and Pol will have a little sleepover and I’ll tell you all about where Vegas buys his favorite
curry powder, which American base supplies his gun collection and where he buys his ridiculous
velvet shirts from that he insistently wears in this weather, I mean come on, this is Thailand,” Pete
makes sure to fan his unsurprisingly sweaty face.
Porsche laughs and finally stops pacing, instead taking the opposite seat around their table. Pete
feels like he’s being dissected under Porsche’s critical stare, a serious expression on his usually
unserious friend.
“I know you’re not doing this because you wanna get off with him again,” Pete feels himself
physically cringe, “I know, I know! Don’t make that face. But,” Porsche sets his hands on the table
and Pete vaguely thinks this is how his younger brother must have felt, “you and me both saw what
he did to that guy, and that was just business. Once you invade the privacy of paranoid fuckers like
Vegas? Pete, I’m terrified of what he’ll do to you.”
Porsche’s concern was a heady sensation. He wore his entire heart on his sleeve. Porsche was loud,
mischievous, downright an asshole sometimes but his loyalty was unshakable, his love
unwavering. How he effortlessly managed to charm both Tankun and Korn was impressive and
Kinn, with his constant horny heart-eyes when in the same vicinity as Porsche, would rather use
Vegas’ tibia as a toothpick than let him anywhere near Porsche again. Porsche was comforting, his
smile genuine and arms always open for a hug.
Pete sighed, “I won’t be near him. I’ll just be in a car tailing him.”
Porsche didn’t look convinced.
“He most likely drugged you the first time. Before we start accusing him and inevitability the
second family, we need to find out where he’ll hide out if he flees.”
Pete’s eyes caught onto Porsches’ fingernails, chewed all the way down to the skin. The concern
and worry were flattering. It was obvious, Porsche’s wasn’t made for this world. If not for Kinn,
the underworld would have eaten him alive.
But Porsche was smart, he could sniff out bullshit from a mile away. That's why his eyes narrowed,
lips set in a flat line, “I’m guessing it's not just cousin rivalry, Vegas is playing at something bigger
than just wanting me to ride his bike?” Pete averted his eyes while giving a single nod.
A quirk of an eyebrow, a slight smirk on his mouth, “So, is it a nice bike?”
Pete fucking hates metaphors.
Pete walked into Tankun’s apartment, quietly closing the door behind him. Surprisingly, the man
was still awake, clad in a dark pair of checkered pajamas. There was a plush blanket around his
shoulders and his hair was frizzy, no doubt from a recent shower.
“Mr. Tankun.” Pete bowed and waited for his orders.
Tankun shifted on the leather couch, the sound dwarfed by the sounds of the television.
“Take a seat with me, Pete. I’m watching a thriller,” he rolled his eyes as he scoffed, “or a romantic
drama. I’m not sure when this detective will realize he’s in love with a cannibalistic serial killer.”
Pete frowned while he sunk into the comfortable leather, “wouldn’t living in ignorance be better
for him?”
“No,” Tankun gave him a slight smile, eyes glinting from the light of the television, “when you
have someone who needs you so completely and so obsessively, they’ll stop at nothing to have
you.” Pete looked away from the man, the lack of the typical mania from his face suddenly jarring.
“It's better to have control over the obsession, because then you can yield it how you’d like.”
“What if the detective gets hurt?” Pete looked over Tankun’s hands, gripped tightly onto the
blankets. The lack of nail polish was unnerving.
“He’ll get hurt no matter what, it's what he does with the hurt, that's the most important part.”
Suddenly, Pete’s hands were grasped tightly, blunt fingernails sinking into his palm.
They watch as the disheveled man throws up an ear.
“Let's hope he’s careful,” Tankun says softly.
Pete should have been more careful. He’s been tailing Vegas for an entire week, sleeping in tiny
windows of time, eating whatever he could get from late night food stands. He’s sweaty, grimy,
and has been wearing the same suit for the past 7 days. The second he had a chance, he slipped into
a motel to take a hot shower and to change.
From what he’s gathered- which isn't much because again, he's tailing -is that Vegas deals with
foreign customers while his father deals with the locals. Vegas is a chameleon, changing skin
according to the person or to the gang. Although not surprising, he’s also an enforcer of sorts. Pete
has seen his rectangular kit carried with him when visiting various areas, often coming out with a
relaxed expression that hilariously juxtaposes the pale and shaken looks of his bodyguards. Vegas
is capable, steady hands and unflinching demeanor. Pete would be impressed if it wasn’t typical.
Once his hair isn’t dripping oil and dandruff and he’s got on clean underwear and a backup suit,
Pete lets his arrogance get the best of him and of course does something stupid. Vegas is thorough,
never one to half-ass and so, he’s not likely to double check once business is done.
The industrial compound is located on the outskirts of the city, in an empty area that takes a while
to drive to. The lack of windows and a single door limits Pete’s access to peek inside.
His job was to just tail. Find out where, when, physical location, longitudinal and latitudinal
coordinates.
But curiosity got the best of him. As he watches Vegas’ motorcycle disappear into the night, he
slinks out of the nondescript car and heads towards the only entrance. The first mistake was when
he guessed the pin (Macao’s birthday) correctly. The first mistake was the major stupid mistake
because who knew Vegas was paranoid enough to have an alarm for false correct pins.
Pete didn’t think much of it, instead carefully strode into the building, gun in hand, footsteps silent.
The door closed soundlessly behind him, and Pete had to take a second to center himself, waiting
out for his night vision before he crept inside. As a seasoned bodyguard ought to do, Pete quickly
cataloged his movements and sensed any discrepancies.
First, the air was stale, and the oxygen filtered.
Second, the compound was one entire open area, illuminated by various industrial light sets. The
lights were so dim, it was hard to see much beyond opaque curtains and dark wood furniture.
Walking further, the lights become dimmer, and Pete’s eyes start to hurt. Suddenly, sleeping in the
car for the past few days catches up with him and the strain in his lower back starts to ache
fiercely, his calves hurting, arms heavy and lethargic. Taking another step feels harder than it
should. Black dots swarm his periphery, and he slowly feels himself collapse, eyes shutting with
minimal protest.
Pete should have been more careful.
The floor was burning ice, the skin on his back sticky with cold sweat. Pete slowly took inventory
of his body; lying face down on bitingly cold cement, his cheek numb from pressure, his hands tied
back with rope. His upper body was bare, and his hair was sticking to his nape. At least his pants
were still on. No shoes or socks. Considering the rough terrain of the countryside, Pete knew he
wouldn't get far if he escaped the compound.
Pete tries to remember what happened that led to his encapturment and he goes blank. His sudden
collapse can only be described by some kind of drug which he should have felt the pinprick of.
Heavy feet, fatigued muscle and lethargy can only be due to“Chloroform.”
A voice that soft shouldn't invoke such a visceral reaction from Pete. His mind is chaos, fight or
flight kicking in and only through heavy breathing can he calm himself, his stark heaving the only
sound in the silent room.
“The gas automatically sets on when someone uses the wrong pin.”
“The door still opened,” Pete choked out. Compartmentalization, he's good at that. But that was
before a dirty little blowjob in a dark corner, before Vegas pulled out someone's tooth, before he
pulled a gun on Kinn. Fuck, Pete’s never been that suicidal before.
“It opens to the correct wrong ones. If someone gets in here without my permission with correct
information, I personally investigate the situation.”
Pete laughs, the lack of oxygen making his lungs feel tight. His body hurts, his head feels heavy as
if he’d drowned in tequila and he’s been sleep deprived going on day five now, making his brain to
mouth filter hazy, “you’re paranoid as hell.” He cracks his eyes open, his eyelids feeling like
cement; dry and heavy. His throat feels fucked. Ha! Absolutely no pun intended.
Pete raises his head slightly, taking in the still dark room, the only bright light from the one
overhead, illuminating him and nothing else sans the moody multicolored ones. He slowly raises
himself from his stomach down position, his upper body strength null from the gas still screwing
with his head.
He sees Vegas on his left, sitting nonchalantly on a, honestly pretentious as hell, Victorian wooden
chair. He was almost under the blinding white light, his posture relaxed, smoke rising from his lit
cigarette. The all-black ensemble wasn’t different from the one he wore before, when the four of
them went into the field. His eyes though, his facial expression sent chills down Pete’s already
damp back. Focus.
“No little torture bag?” he inquires, raising his eyebrows, “I’d be guessing ribs? Scapula? Since
you took off my shirt.” Pete attempted to sit straight, mindful of his aching arms and chained
foot. 'Don’t let me catch you alone again', Pete tries, with Herculean effort, not to think about the
horrifying implication.
“No,” Vegas said softly as he stood up from his position, walking towards Pete. He crouched
down and brought his face uncomfortably close, “for you, I’m thinking something a bit more
personal,” his dark eyes traced Pete’s face, “since we are far more acquainted than your pretending
implies.”
Pete felt his eyes narrow, the slight burning in his gut overwhelmed by the other man's proximity.
He could feel it when Vegas exhaled, faint wisps of air the only warmth in the ice-cold room.
Vegas’ entire body was emitting warmth and Pete simultaneously wanted to shuffle close and run
away. There were goosebumps on his arm as Vegas ran his thumb under his eye. The skin contact
was brief, but Pete felt pins and needles, unconsciously following the warmth. The amused look on
Vegas’ face makes Pete swallow, his face twisting into a scowl.
Quick as a viper, Vegas’ face goes blank, and he crushes the fire hot tip of his cigarette onto Pete’s
nipple. Pete feels his back arch, the pain blinding and sharp. His neurons fire, the pain felt from the
tips of his fingers to his toes and everywhere. He feels his heart beat a mile a second, taking every
bit of willpower not to scream, breathing heavily through his nose.
“You’re taking it so well, Pete.” Vegas looked teasingly at him; mirthful eyes set on Pete’s
thunderous expression. He digs the cigarette further, the pain now tenfold.
Pete grits his teeth, setting his face into a neutral expression while he glares at Vegas. He could
play dead mouse, cowering under a blood-hungry snake, he would have played dead if it were
anyone else, but“Fuck you!” Pete slams his forehead against Vegas,’ the pain only minutely distracting him from
the burn on his chest. His eyes are set on the other man, now with a dropped cigarette and holding
his forehead, face twisted in pain for only a few seconds.
Instead of getting angry, Vegas chuckles, gingerly tapping onto his forehead with his fingers, “next
time make me bleed, it’ll feel better.”
Pete grits his teeth and sets his jaw, mandible already throbbing as Vegas brings down his leather
whip over the previous bleeding wounds. The pain in his nipple has numbed against the onslaught
of fresh cuts all along his upper back. His shoulder aches and aches, his neck feels heavy under his
pulsating headache.
Time seems of no importance; Pete’s not sure how long he’s been in here, the lack of windows
deprives him of the sun and the soundproof walls prevent him from hearing the early morning
birds or afternoon crickets. The only sight is Vegas with his sleeves rolled up, skin glistening and
expression blank, the only sound is Pete’s own heavy panting, breathless whimpers, and thundering
heart.
After Vegas sets down the whip, he crouches low until he can gently hold up Pete’s face. He softly
wipes away the fresh tears clinging to Pete’s quivering cheeks. His eyes are warm, holding steady
eye contact with Pete’s half-shut ones. Although Pete’s body is burning fiercely, the warm skin
contact feels comforting, the only source of solace from the hot pain of the whip and the ice cold of
the compound.
“What is Kinn planning?”
Pete laughs humorlessly, his shoulder painfully jerking. He feels a thin rivulet of blood drip down
his shoulders. The hand on his cheek is pleasant, Vegas’ warm breath on his face, the wounds on
his shoulders cutting right through the hazy fog; it all makes his gut burn and his mouth salivate.
Pete leans closer, watching Vegas’ narrowing eyes and blown wide pupils, as their lips practically
touch, he steadies his voice, “try harder, Mr. Vegas.”
Pete laughs as Vegas hastily stands up, face showing signs of irritation, “gonna kill me?”
Vegas disappears in the darkness, his silhouette outlined in hazy green light. After a few moments,
he returns, the previous irritation replaced by a slow swaggering approach, his face alight with a
cruel smile. Slowly he uncaps the water bottle in hand.
Pete’s eyes the sloshing liquid, his throat parched and dry. He squeezes his eyes shut, the pain
burning as Vegas pours the water onto his sweltering wounds.
“Kill you?” honeyed voice over his own harsh panting, “later.”
“Your perseverance is admirable.”
“You’re just a spoiled child,” Pete took in an agonizing breath, “you’re treated like shit by your dad
and decided to take it out on the rest of the world? Get over yourself.”
Vegas snarls, his face twisted in a truly ugly expression, “you don't know anything.”
Pete lifts his head, neck past the point of pain, now just a dull numbness, “you’ve been
manipulated by your father since the moment you were born,” Vegas’ eyes glinted dangerously, the
rage building, “you have no power against him, so you take it from someone else.” The whip
comes down harder, Pete crying out in shock.
It takes a while to separate his hearing from his heart pulsing in his ears. There's hot tears
streaming down his face, his knees are numb, thighs shaking. His hands had gone numb hours or
days ago, tied behind his back. His fingers are crusted over with dried blood, dripping from his
back. His back, fuck, his back. The skin feels like it's being split open all over, the feeling both hot
and cold. His head is hazy, either from pain or dehydration, not to mention food. There might be a
saline drip on the far side of the compound, but it might just be Pete’s overfired brain
hallucinating.
There's a sudden pull at his head, his hair ensnared in a tight fist, “anything else to say, sweet
Pete?” Vegas smiles, temptingly vicious.
Pete smiles, lips dry and cracked in the corners. He gathers as much strength as he can and lets his
head snap forward. The pain in his forehead is nothing compared to the satisfaction he feels when
he sees blood gush out of Vegas’ nose.
“Gonna kill me?”
Vegas gently swipes his bloody chin, fingers painted red.
He assesses, “not yet.”
“You’re very loyal to Kinn.” His back hurts, but then everything hurts. Even his hair hurts; oily and
flaky dandruff.
“Mr. Kinn is nice, he wouldn’t torture, he’d just shoot me,” never say Pete knew when to quit. His
body feels like a great big papercut, it's not helping that when he felt this type of pain was in that
dark little corner, with his back against the wall and Vegas’ dick in his mouth.
Vegas scoffs, “yes, he wouldn’t, but you do.”
Pete lifts his head, maintaining steady eye contact as he shifts positions on the cold cement. It's
amusing, pain is supposed to be the weakening of the body, but Pete has never held a more
consistent communication with anyone else other than Vegas at this moment. The pain is sharp, so
is Vegas but Pete always has stability on his side.
“When I was extracting information from that man, you didn’t flinch. When we killed all those
people, you didn’t flinch. When I threatened the other man with mutilation,” Vegas paused and
almost in reverence, “you did not flinch”
There was warmth in those eyes, his lips pulled into a soft smile, “you look at me like you look at
everyone else you think is a decrepit piece of shit, we’re all the same to you.”
Pete smiles cruelly, “you're just like any other snake.”
Vegas’ eyes twinkle, mouth pulled into a smile that makes the simmering in his gut burn. If Pete
weren’t under heavy duress, he’d think that's the first genuine smile he’s seen on Vegas’ face.
“Seems like I’ve found my Saint.”
Pete squinted; the English was too complicated to decipher for his lethargic brain.
“Go to hell,” although he might not be fluent, Tankun has shoved enough American media down
his throat for him to know a few phrases.
Vegas’ sudden and joyful laugh might be more shocking than even the heavy-handed whipping.
“Why would I? I finally have my key to heaven?”
Confused, Pete watches Vegas stand up and walk towards him. When he crouches down, Pete gets
hit with the faint smell of cologne, something expensive and deep. It's alarming how familiar the
smell has become in such a short amount of time. He’s not sure if he’s disgusted with the scent or if
he actually likes it. Is Pete aware he’s being psychologically manipulated? Perhaps.
Vegas chuckles when he sees Pete visibly inhale.
He brings his hand up to Pete’s face, caressing his cheek as if he were holding precious porcelain.
His dark eyes implore into Pete’s, as if trying to look straight into his soul. He’s being nice, as if
he’s nice.
“Gonna kill me?” Pete whispers, the space between them warm, the heat in his gut burning.
Vegas’ eyes are wet, steel, “Never.”
Pete loses time. He feels warm hands on his skin, pulling and pulling. There’s a pinch in his elbow,
the prick burning. His legs feel cold, goosebumps on his thighs and knees. He’s freezing, from
blood loss or the permanent ice age in this nightmare of a compound, but then he’s up against a
burning furnace, his body turned towards the heater, his head on warm breathing cloth. His cheeks
are being patted, his hair gently massaged; it’s all very comforting, like a hug.
Then there’s water; finally heat, finally comfort. He feels soft cloth over his shredded back, the
pain making him nauseous. There are hands in his hair, gently massaging his tender scalp. Apple
scent permeates the air and Pete sighs, breathing in deeply.
He comes to, more lucid than before, in a bathtub with twinkling candles around him. There’s
newfound strength in his body that wasn't there before, the ache in his head lessened and his back
in a low simmering burn.
It takes a few minutes for him to focus on the person on the other side of the bathtub.
Vegas has a cup of wine in his hand, drinking leisurely as he watches Pete. There’s a hawkish glint
to his eyes, a slight smile in those sharp teeth. Pete remembers those teeth, how they felt on his
neck, in his mouth, around his tongue. They’d applied just the right pressure to his pulse point, a
predator about to take a bite.
Glass set aside, Vegas moves forward, a tsunami towards land. He sets a heavy hand onto Pete’s
chest and drags it up. His touch burns all the way down to Pete’s marrow, his presence
encompassing so much that he gets lost in those bottomless eyes. Will he ever escape? Will he ever
leave the abyss that he accidentally stared into?
There’s a heavy hand on his neck, caressing his throat. There’s also fingers on his lip, a thumb in
his mouth. Pete feels the breath leave his body, his mouth slowly opening further, letting the finger
slip deeper inside.
It's like he blooms, just like those red roses outside the window of his house; pupils blown wide
open, lips parted, looking reverently at Pete. His skin is glowing, chest moving faster than it was a
few seconds ago. The physical reaction to such a small action makes Pete feel heady, powerful.
He feels his mental capabilities severely diminished, continuous torture finally eating away at his
resolve and he lets his head fall back. The thumb in his mouth slithers out, Pete running his teeth
under the delicate skin. There’s iron on his tongue and he lets a tiny smile creep onto his face.
This time when he wakes up, it's with sobriety and clarity. His hands have been untied, the flesh
feeling tender yet relieved. Pete feels relieved; his stomach isn’t cramping, his knees a faint ache,
the skin on his back feeling cool. Contrary to his previous horizontal positions, this one is on a
smooth and comfortable surface, his cheek squished against a fluffy pillow.
With growing agency, Pete slowly rises up, using his (separate!) hands to push himself upright. His
eyes take in the king-sized bed adorned with soft sheets and pillows. There’s a duvet pooled
around his waist, maintaining minimum modesty of his completely naked body. The chill of the air
sends goosebumps across his skin and for a split second, Pete wants to dive back into bed, pull the
covers over his head and be lost to the rest of the world.
But Pete is an adult, in an adult world, whose wounds have been cleaned and whose hair has been
washed and conditioned. Honestly, he’ll take what he can get. Although, still thirsty, but that's a
problem for another time.
He feels grounded, brain working correctly and alert. He spies the only other man on the other
side, surrounded by bright light. Turning his head, he notices his hair is still damp, droplets of
water onto his silk robe and his naked chest. He’s sitting on another Victorian-esque chair, the
handles puffed with intricately designed fabric.
A droplet of water drips down Vegas’ chest, visible through the parting of the robe, cascading
down a dusky nipple. Sobriety means Pete notices these things with laser focus, something that
Vegas’ indulgent smile says he’s also noticed.
Pete prior to getting a taste of Vegas is not proud of Pete who did get a taste of Vegas.
“There’s clothes on the bed towards your left,” Pete doesn’t break eye contact, “your keys are in
the pocket of the pants.”
Pete swallows, his eyes tracking Vegas, “my gun and switchblade?”
His lips pull into a smile, looking adoringly at Pete.
There’s growing tension in between his shoulders, his heart beating faster and his neurons firing
rapidly. That's not how a person looks at someone who they’ve been torturing for a duration of
time.
“Have some water, you must be thirsty,” Vegas gestures to the nightstand. Pete finally breaks off
the increasingly intensive eye contact, taking a moment to breathe, before his eyes catch onto the
water bottle.
Quickly looking back, Pete feels his hackles rise, “is it drugged?”
“Would that make your surrender easier?” His face has gone blank, critical, and assessing.
Fight or flight? Pete has no working brain cells.
Pete shuffles to the edge of the bed and rises, careful to mask his shaking legs. The duvet slides
off, the cold is jarring, perfect for sharpening Pete’s head.
Heedless of Vegas’ almost physical appraisal of his naked body, Pete grabs the water bottle before
striding towards the man in the chair. His legs still ache, but it's nothing compared to the heat
reflected in those dark eyes. His lips are parted, face vacant of the irritating politeness. Vegas looks
ready to get on his knees and pray, the only thing stopping him is his hands, fingers gripping onto
the handles of the chair tightly.
Slowly Pete uncaps the bottle, the seal breaking off and drinks, lips wrapped around the tip, all the
while looking into Vegas’ eyes. The cold liquid feels heavenly in his throat, some of it escaping the
tight grasp of his lips and dripping down his chin and neck.
Once he’s done, he lowers the bottle. His breathing has unconsciously picked up, encouraged by
his hunger for hydration and for the man standing in front of him. Pete has never seen Vegas so
naked; eyes wide and chest heaving. There’s no mask to be found, the expression only him.
“Is Porsche safe?” from you?
Vegas moves his gaze from Pete’s eyes to his mouth, over his glistening skin, downward to his
quivering hands and hard cock. He swallows, his mind probably working miles fast.
“Yes.”
Pete feels the breath leave him; his shoulders drop.
It takes a laughingly short time for him to tightly grasp onto Vegas’ hair and crush their mouths
together. He shoves his tongue between those hot and parted lips, breathing in his oxygen and
bringing their bodies together in a crushing embrace.
Pete’s been cold for too long; the warmth makes him burn for more, for skin, for heat, for Vegas
everywhere and anywhere. For those hands to wrap tightly around him, to push him back, to push
him down and envelope his shaking frame between cold sheets and a hot body.
Pete is quickly pulled in from his out of body experience, Vegas’ fist tight around his cock, already
jerking him off to the same tune of the tongue fucking into his mouth. His body burns and his
lungs feel tight without oxygen. He unconsciously feels himself push off Vegas’ robe and pull
down the silk pants. It takes a few seconds, but finally he’s all bare and pushing himself in
between Pete’s parted legs, grounding their hard cocks together.
Pete moans into Vegas’ mouth, his eyes half-lidded as he watches Vegas look at where their bodies
meet. There's sweat gathering on Vegas’ shoulders, beneath Pete’s gripping fingers, and he seems
to be vibrating, wild-eyed.
“Vegas,” he calls, cradling his flushed face while slowing down his moving body. Vegas looks
crazed and Pete spends a few moments bringing him back in, keeping steady eye contact and softly
pecking those full, parted lips. “You’re only coming when you’re inside me, understand?”
Vegas nods while breathing deeply, still flushed pink but slowly there is that familiar glint in his
eyes, reminding Pete of waning sunlight and a heavy taste in his mouth.
They kiss and kiss, for minutes for hours, lips swollen and plump, there’s saliva dripping down
their chins, heavy breathing with slow, dirty grinding. The air between their bodies is sizzling,
sweat glistening on their skin as their hands roam. Pete memorizes the exact curve of his shoulders,
the dip of his waist, palms over a ridiculously ripped abdomen and can’t help but marvel at the
perfect body between his arms. He has his legs wrapped around Vegas’ hips, the other man slowly
biting a path down neck and towards his burned nipple.
Vegas bites on his nipple and Pete feels his back arch, the pain radiating throughout his body,
intermixing with the pleasure. The delicious blend of pain and pleasure makes him harder, wetter,
the tip of his cock dripping onto his hip. There's a tongue laving at his abused chest, Vegas’ hand
twisting the other nipple. There’s no politeness in the eyes staring up at him, keeping direct skin
and eye contact as he sucks harshly.
Pete feels tears gather in his lids, some escaping to the side, “you look so gorgeous when you're
crying,” it's almost like he’s whispering to himself, instead turning his attention onto the rest of
Pete’s upper body, biting and sucking, leaving nothing alone.
The bite on his thigh makes him whimper, Pete imagines the colors he’ll be when they're done.
Red, maybe blue and yellow bruises will litter his body, he’ll pressure them and relive this moment
all over again.
Before he’s aware, there’s hot warmth all over his cock as Vegas dives all the way down, licking
over the tip and then laving his tongue over the sides, deeper and deeper into a scorching hot
throat. Unconsciously, Pete has his legs thrown over Vegas’ neck and shoulders, stunned as he
starts to unintentionally fuck his mouth. He’s moaning, he’s whimpering, keening on pleasure. The
burning in his gut has been present the moment he woke up from the chloroform, so it doesn’t take
long for him to reach his climax. He digs his heel into Vegas’ muscled back and arches his back,
Vegas’ name the only thing on his lips, in his head. Suddenly, there’s a hand clamped tightly
around the base of his dick, and he feels the breath ripped out of him. His displeasure is loud and
violent, fingernails digging into Vegas’ neck, scratching red marks.
“No! Please, no!”
The asshole just laughs, preening under the painful fingers and deathly glares. After he releases
Pete’s cock, leaving one last wet kiss at the tip, he ducks down. Pete feels the physical reaction of
his body before he even feels the slippery tongue, going directly over his taint and softly licking
over his hole. Pete is past the point of caring what dying animal he sounds like, instead holding
onto his dear life, holding Vegas’ hair, as the man spears into his hole, licking so thoroughly, so
passionately that Pete feels the accumulation of saliva, leaving him wet and dripping. There’s red
marks on his ass cheeks as Vegas digs his fingernails in, pulling apart to get deeper inside
somewhere no one has ventured into.
The second his body relaxes into the tongue prodding inside, Vegas slips in his finger, steadily
building up a rhythm, finger-fucking Pete in a way that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.
The sensation is new, something actually moving inside him, running over his ridges, over muscle
and Pete distantly thinks of how strange this feels before another finger is sliding in, the two tightly
fucking into him, scissoring, and sinking in deep, too fast.
Way too soon, the fingers withdraw, and the silky tongue disappears, replaced by the pouring of
copious amounts of lube- which, where did Vegas even get the lube? Pete feels like his bodyguard
skills quit way too soon for his liking if he doesn’t notice lubeVegas reappears in his field of vision, lips cherry red and eyes bright. There’s saliva covering his
chin and Pete doesn’t think twice before he’s pulling the man closer, wrapping his arms around his
shoulders, and licking his chin, tasting himself on the other man's skin. Vegas’ eyes are completely
all pupils, his panting giving a low hiss as he dives down and kisses Pete like it's the last thing he’ll
do for the rest of his life. Pete can’t resist from rubbing his tongue against Vegas,’ his hands
running over hard nipples, downward quest rewarded in a throaty groan when he grasps onto
Vegas’ hard and wet cock. He tugs a few times, memorizing the feel of the smooth skin, the thick
base, and the rest of his dick, equally as thick and heavy. Pete faintly remembers how it felt in his
mouth, taste musky and hot on his tongue. His cum had been as bitter as the man himself, burning
down his throat, the taste staying in his mouth for many days after.
“I want to suck your dick again,” Pete whispers between the biting teeth on his lips.
“No, no,” groans Vegas, “I’m going to fuck you first, then if you’re good I’ll let you have my
cock.” Pete pants, he forgot the effect the dirty talk had on him.
Then he feels hands on his thighs, spreading them as Vegas gets on his knees. Pete lies there,
spread out on expensive sheets, his thighs quaking, hands gripping tightly onto the pillow. Nothing
else matters except the man between his legs. Vegas holds his cock as he looks at him, slowly
jerking himself shamelessly as his eyes take the sight spread out in front of him. Pete flushes
further as Vegas looks into his eyes, speeding up his hand, spreading his slick over his thick cock.
His dick is glistening, whether from the precum or the lube, and when he bends, the tip strokes
Pete’s inflamed hole, causing the filthiest moans from Pete.
“So pretty, so soft,” Vegas whispers reverently, eyes glued to his cock stroking Pete’s hole, “you’ll
feel amazing around me,” Pete shuts his eyes, trying to simmer the fire within him, “you were so
tight around my tongue, this your first time, isn't it, baby?”
Pete glares, Vegas licks his lips, “good,” he pants as he presses the tip inside, “I’ll be the first, and
only.”
Pete doesn’t even get to react before Vegas sinks inside, all the way in, right to the hilt, his cock a
hot intrusion into the most intimate part of Pete. Pete feels his heart skip a beat, the pain like
nothing, no whip, no bullet wound, no knee to his groin, only fullness. He feels Vegas all the way
in his throat, painfully forcing his way inside, as if he owned the place, as if he owns Pete.
Thick beads of sweat line his forehead, Pete feels his back burn before Vegas pulls back and then
thrusts back in, taking Pete like he’s nothing, reduced only to a weeping slick hole. There’s no
hesitance, only Vegas roughly snaping his hips, fucking into Pete with all his power.
Pete pulls at Vegas’ neck, “look at me.” He feels the breath leave his lungs, his entire world this
flawed man; this man who’s fucking him so hard its painful, who looks at him with amazement,
expression full of awe. Their foreheads are pressed together, sweaty, and gross but all Pete can feel
is pleasure, the cock inside him touching places he’s never dared to explore.
Slowly, Vegas steadies his rhythm, his thrusts more thorough and deliberate. Before, it was like
being fucked by a machine, fast and powerful, but now his cock drags against his walls, hot and
too big, Pete feels every thrust somewhere different, new angles. It feels like Vegas is looking for
something, something that’ll make everything so goodPete cries out, eyes roll to the back of his head, feeling like he’s been sucker punched. His orgasm
feels sudden, almost painful against the prostate stimulation. It's been simmering the moment he
woke up tied up and bare, it continued to slowly build with every crack of that whip, aided by the
cruelty shown from the man inside him, from his expert use of knives and machine guns. Vegas is
dangerous, so, so dangerous, so cruel, so hot, so sexy, so unbelievably ruthless as he continues to
roughly thrust into Pete, fucking him into oversensitivity.
Pete is crying, fat tears streaming, wetting the pillows. He’s tossing his head from left and right,
moans getting only louder when he feels a hand wrap around his neck. Through blurry eyes he sees
Vegas lean in closer, “so gorgeous, so tight,” he pants into Pete’s mouth, “only for me, baby,” he
bites Pete’s bottom lip, the skin cracking and bleeding, “I’m going to keep you here, open and wet
for me, ready whenever I want.”
Pete finds it funny how familiar the fear in his heart is, the white-hot panic encouraging the
burning in his gut, making his cock hard and firm again. Only Vegas could mess him so bad, fuck
him so stupid that his brain automatically translates fear into arousal.
Regardless, Pete feels amazing. He’s been fucked for minutes or hours or days, it doesn’t matter
because he caged and claustrophobic, his senses overwhelmed and his cock throbbing. It's tight,
the cock in him feeling bigger and harder with every passing thrust.
He has no control; he can’t even feel his toes with how tingly his body feels. He’s losing time
again, somehow his body flipped over, and face smothered in the pillow. Vegas fucks back in, one
long thrust, all the way inside, his hips slapping against Pete’s ass.
Vegas holds both of Pete’s wrists over his head with one hand, while the other finds home around
Pete’s throat, fitting around Adam's apple like it always belongs there. His hips pick up pace and in
no time, he’s fucking right into Pete’s prostate.
Pete feels Vegas everywhere and anywhere. His sweaty chest is pressed against his bloody back,
his wounds a steady trickle of iron, staining the sheets and now against the hot skin of the man
pounding him, the pain feels terrible and wonderful. His pained moans only seem to provoke
Vegas into going faster, harder, his prostate reduced to nothing against the brutal cock.
Vegas presses his face into the back of his neck, his upper shoulder before he licks a fat strip of
skin, tongue against blood and sweat. Pete sobs into the pillow, his oxygen slowly dwindling
making him feel weightless and airy.
“Delicious.”
Pete feels himself start to shake, second orgasm approaching. Vegas’ thrusts get sloppier, now only
for his pleasure, rough and straight to his prostate.
Only when Vegas drops his entire body onto his does Pete feel himself really start to
hyperventilate. Fingers digging harshly into his throat, wrists held tightly in his other grasp, Vegas
presses his face into his neck, “listen to yourself, feel how loud and hard you are for me, Pete,” he
somehow presses in deeper than before, fuck, he can taste his orgasm, “listen to me, baby,” harsh
panting, the words sound painful, “I am never letting you go,” with one last violent snap of his
hips, he buries himself inside Pete and cums, hot and permanent.
With terror in his heart and cum cooling under his stomach, Pete smiles; triumphant.
“Why didn’t he try to leave, disappear forever?”
“He would have followed him wherever he went.”
“So, there’s nothing he can do?”
Tankun smiles at him, almost with pity, “Oh, Pete, there’s so much he can do.”
Chapter End Notes
Vegas is the type of person who'd fuck Pete on the St. Peter cross just because
blasphemy makes him giggle.
End Notes
Bible doing the lords work because I haven't been so terrified yet hot for a character since
Hannibal Lecter.
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