Chapter Text
Pete is lying on the bed in his room staring at the white ceiling, eyes unblinking and mind drowning in memories of his time with Vegas. It’s been four months already and he still can’t get over it, no matter how hard he tries to forget, he just can’t. All he has in his head is Vegas’ smirk, his soft, smooth voice and the ghost of his touch on his body; sometimes gentle, sometimes cruel.
Every time I’m in a bad mood, your eyes say you like it, he still can hear his voice, feel the slightly bruising touch on his neck and the way his own heart started beating wildly in his chest.
That’s when all of it had really started. What made him hate Vegas; the fact that he made Pete like pain, that he made him like sex with a man. Before him he was normal, before Vegas he wasn’t a freak that got off on being beaten up, on being fucked in the face so hard it literally destroyed his throat for a day or two.
His finger twitches on the bed sheets when another memory comes to his mind.
Vegas with yet another bruise on his face because his bastard father had hit him, taking his own frustrations out on his son. The smile on Vegas' face when he said he’s hurting but not as badly as before; that the talk with Pete helped him to see that he wasn’t the failure his father made him out to be. He showed Pete his face without a mask, without the fake pleasantries and fake nice persona. Just the raw emotions of an abused kid; now a man; who became so lost in everything, he forgot who the real enemy was.
Pete swallows painfully, when his hand twitches, waiting for the rattling sound of chains but there is only silence. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.
To be honest, he isn’t holding a grudge against Vegas for catching and torturing him; it was something that the main family would do as well to someone who would try to infiltrate them. That’s how this business works, there is no place for traitors and moles. Pete knew what he was getting into when he went to find evidence against Vegas. He knew that he could be imprisoned, tortured and killed, fuck, he knew exactly what Vegas was capable of and he still went.
But he hates Vegas for making him like it. It’s all his fault. He did something to Pete to make him like it so much. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it. It was wrong.
“Pete.” He can still hear that breathy whisper in his ear, the brush of warm breath on his cheek. “Pete.”
Pete blinks slowly, his hands twitching again.
“Pete!”
The loud, almost scream makes him come out of his weird stupor. He startles and looks to the side, where Porsche is standing and looking at him with concern.
“Hey,” he says to him, summoning a bright smile, but he feels like he isn’t fooling Porsche with it.
“I called you three times,” Porsche tells him, “on the phone, I mean. And I’ve been standing here for a good two minutes now, calling your name.”
“Sorry,” Pete mutters, sitting up. “I was daydreaming.”
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Porsche sits down on the bed that a few months ago was his own. Right now he’s sharing a room with Khun Kinn, making Pete be here in their room all alone; he still doesn’t know if it makes him happy or not.
It was such a shock to him, when he came back from being held captive to hear that his best friend was living in Khun Kinn’s room now, that they were together and Khun Korn knew about everything. Porsche’s sweet little brother was even living here now.
“Nothing to talk about,” he tells him.
“You haven’t been the same since you came back from your vacation.” Porsche’s face says that he doesn’t believe one bit that Pete was on vacation during the time that Vegas held him captive.
There is no way in hell Pete is going to talk about it, though, even if Porsche is his best friend.
“What do you need?” He asks him instead, sending him a gentle smile.
But there is no happiness in him, no other emotion than despair.
“Tankhun wants to see you,” he informs him with a sigh. “He wants to watch some Korean drama again.”
“I love Korean dramas!” Pete claps his hands, standing up from the bed. “I should go, it’s best not to make Khun Tankhun wait, you know how he gets.”
Porsche stands up as well, nodding his head.
“Chay is making popcorn,” he says while they’re walking down the corridor.
“Lovely,” Pete says and falters in his steps when the smell of ramen hits him full force. His mind is instantly assaulted with a memory of Vegas handing him the bowl of soup when he was hurt and starving, eating some of it to prove to him that it was not poisoned. He can still feel the wonderful taste in his mouth; he hasn’t had ramen since he came back to the compound.
“Pete?” Porsche asks, voice concerned as they pass the bodyguard that is holding a bowl full of steaming ramen; he’s clearly taking it to his room for an evening snack.
“Hm?” he hums, forcing himself to continue walking.
“Promise me that you will talk to me one day,” Porsche tells him, pleading. “Not now, but one day.”
“One day,” Pete promises him, squeezing his own wrist to feel the ghost of handcuffs against his skin.
~~,~~
It’s a week later and Pete is on his way to Khun Tankhun’s room, when he notices that all the bodyguards are whispering to each other about something, hushed conversations falling quiet when Chan passes them with a phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t spare anyone a glance, clearly busy with something.
Pete doesn’t stop either, not really interested in having a conversation with anyone. He would rather be alone in his room right now. Last night he dreamed of Vegas again, he still can feel the sting of whip on his back, hear whispered “good boy” in his ear.
He knocks on the door to Khun’s room and opens it a second later, knowing that he can come in and go from this room whenever he pleases; the knocking is just a habit, a way to announce his presence.
The second he steps inside, he sees Pol and Arm sitting on the plush couch with tea in front of them and Tankhun who is walking around the room excitedly, clapping his hands like Christmas came early this year; Tankhun is obsessed with the holiday.
“Pete!” Tankhun stops in place, his shiny jacket twinkling in the sun coming through the big windows. “You have to guess what happened!”
Pete looks at Arm and Pol for some clue, but before either of them can help him, Tankhun stomps his feet, putting hands on his hips.
“Don’t spoil the fun!” He sulks, but doesn’t actually look mad. “Guess! Come on!”
“Umm,” Pete mutters, trying to come up with something. “The new season of Drag Race is out?”
Tankhun cocks his head and looks at Arm.
“It’s not, sir,” the other informs him.
“Why are you giving me false hope, huh, Pete? You’re being rude!”
“I’m sorry, Khun,” Pete apologizes to him, bowing a little; the words and motions a habit.
“Alright, I will tell you, stop begging already,” Tankhun flails around with his hands, clearly so excited with the revelation that he just can’t contain himself.
“Thank you, Khun,” Pete answers dutifully.
“Vegas was shot!” Tankhun screams and jumps a little, absolutely ecstatic. “Someone shot the devil! He’s fighting for his life in a hospital. How ama…”
But Pete doesn’t hear anything else. Tankhun’s voice became a buzzing in his ears, white noise.
Vegas was shot.
Fighting for his life.
The words are bouncing around in his brain, making it impossible to breathe. Pete feels panic claw at his throat, his hands become clammy and his heart starts beating wildly in his chest. He feels like he’s dying.
It can’t be true.
Vegas is indestructible.
The last time Pete saw him he had tears in his eyes and a bruise on his cheek, but he was fine.
He was fine.
Pete staggers back a step, leans his weight on the wall, and makes a strange noise in his throat that stops Tankhun’s excited rambling.
“Pete!” he scoffs, pointing a finger at him. “What was that noise?”
Pete swallows, feeling his legs shake, and tries to make himself focus, not show how badly the information shook him.
“Umm,” he mutters and looks for a second at Arm who silently pretends to be coughing, trying to help him out. As always, he looks at Pete like he knows everything, the other’s gaze piercing him.
“A cough,” Pete stammers and fake coughs again. “My throat is bothering me a bit.”
“Then what are you doing here?” Tankhun yells, throwing his hands up. “Are you stupid, Pete? Are you trying to make me sick? Is that it?”
“No, Khun,” Pete tells him, feeling relieved. “I’m sorry, please forgive me.”
Tankhun puffs up his cheeks, but waves his hand at him.
“I’m in good humor today, so I will forgive you,” he says. “But you must go away. I don’t want your germs close to me. Shoo!”
“Yes, Khun Tankhun, I’m sorry.” Pete bows to him and quickly opens the door, eager to get the hell out of there.
He closes the door behind himself and starts panting, his hands shaking. He has no idea what he will do if Vegas dies. Just the thought alone makes him want to vomit.
And just like that, the promise he made to himself to never seek Vegas out, falls like a house of cards.
~~,~~
The first thing Pete does is find Porsche. He knows the other man will have all the information, considering his close relationship with Kinn.
“Hey,” he says, aiming for casualness when he finally finds the man in the gym.
Porsche is shirtless and sweaty, his hair plastered to his forehead.
“Hey,” Porsche smiles at him widely, clearly glad to see him. Pete doesn’t remember the last time he was the one to seek him out. “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be with Tankhun?”
“I coughed in his presence and he told me he doesn’t want my germs to be near him,” he explains truthfully, making Porsche laugh.
“So you have a free day?”
“Mmm,” he mutters, leaning against the wall. “Khun was very happy about Vegas being shot.”
“I bet.” Porsche rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised he isn’t planning the funeral yet.”
Pete has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making a painful noise.
“So it’s that bad?” He forces out, the words barely making it out of his tightened throat.
Porsche looks at him for a second.
“The bullet was close to his heart, they’re still operating on him,” he explains, opening a bottle of water. “But I think he’s gonna be alright.”
“Do we know who did it?” Pete feels like he’s going to faint any second now, he grasps at the wall, trying to find some kind of anchor.
“Probably the Yakuza,” Porsche tells him. “Or that’s what Kinn suspects anyway. Vegas’ been quiet these last few months, but the Yakuza don’t forget. The last deal they made went sideways.”
Right. Vegas was selling information to the Italians and to the Yakuza. The Italians were almost wiped out after they got too confident with messing around in the Theerapanyakuns’ casinos, but the Yakuza is a strong, old mafia organization and they are vicious. The minor family was still going through a shift in power after Kan’s death. Vegas and Macau had taken charge after the man’s death but things were still a little unstable, the Yakuza chose the right moment to strike.
“That sucks,” Pete finally says, trying to calm himself down.
Porsche glances at him.
“What are you gonna do today?”
“I’ll ask Khun Kinn for permission to leave,” he explains and then quickly lies, “I need to buy a present for my grandma’s birthday.”
He has a present for his grandma already packed and ready to be sent.
“How old is she?”
“She’s gonna be seventy in a few days,” he says.
“Wish her a happy birthday from me,” Porsche tells him.
“Sure.” Pete smiles at him thinly and straightens up. “I have to go if I want to find something nice.”
“Mmm,” Porsche hums. “Have fun.”
Pete waves at him and goes looking for Khun Kinn, knowing that he will get permission easily because his boss is still very grateful for his help.
~~,~~
Pete is standing in front of the big, luxurious hospital with a pounding heart. It’s been three hours since he’d left the compound. He had spent the time in a small cafe, drinking iced coffee after iced coffee, which didn’t exactly help his pounding heart and trembling hands, but he needed to do something to pass the time. He would still be sitting in that place, trying to talk himself out of the stupid thing he was about to do, but he had gotten a text massage from Arm that said:
Vegas is out of surgery, boss is very disappointed, avoid him if you can.
But Pete is fairly sure that the other man didn’t send it to him to actually warn him about Tankhun, he doesn’t dwell on it for long lest he go crazy.
After one last breath, he takes a step inside the hospital and goes straight to the elevator, ignoring everyone. He learned early in the days of being a bodyguard that if you wore a suit and acted confident, people would do as you said or just simply avoided you. And if someone had a problem, showing your gun off would be enough to make them comply.
He’s been in this hospital enough times to know his way around; he guarded the main family here if they were seriously injured, had visited colleagues in the same hospital when they got shot or badly beaten. Minor injuries were treated in the compound’s small infirmary but larger ones got sent here instead.
That’s why he strides confidently to the laundry room that is located in the basement, nodding his head at people working here. No one dares to stop him, because his jacket is open, revealing his gun; he’s pretty sure he doesn’t look too friendly either.
He steps inside the laundry room and looks at the clean pile of male nurse uniforms and quickly selects his size.
“What are you doing here?” A voice asks suddenly from behind, making him freeze for a second, before he straightens himself to his full height.
“Hello,” he says, looking at the small, older lady and decides that a friendly approach will be better. “I spilled my coffee on nurse Kuea and I felt so bad that I promised to bring him clean clothes. He’s still in Khun’s Vegas room, changing his IV.”
“The Theerapanyakun?” she whispers to him, eager for gossip. “The whole hospital is buzzing with the news.”
“I’m his bodyguard, madam,” he says politely, making her eyes go round. “I’d better go.”
She quickly waves at him, telling him to go, clearly not wanting to have anything to do with the mafia. She probably doesn’t know for sure they’re the mafia, but people are always gossiping, not believing that Theerapanyakuns are just a wealthy family.
Pete gladly leaves the room and goes to the bathroom on the third floor to change his clothes. He takes a mask out of his pocket and hides his suit in one of the cubicles, closing the door from outside, hoping no one will find it suspicious that the toilet is occupied all the time.
Dressed as a nurse with a mask on his face, he takes the elevator to the highest floor where high profile patients are treated and walks along the long corridor, looking for bodyguards standing in front of a door. He spots two guys in loose, patterned shirts that the minor’s family bodyguards are known for and goes straight to them, hoping they won’t recognize him.
“I’m here to check on mister Theerapanyakun,” he tells them, keeping his head low. “I have to see if his IV needs to be changed.”
The guard looks him up and down, but take a step to the side, allowing him to enter Vegas’ room.
Pete’s heart starts pounding once again the second he’s inside. He can’t make himself look up, afraid of what he will see. He scans the room quickly, but thankfully it’s empty, no one other than Vegas is here. Pete was expecting Macau to be there, but apparently he’s lucky for the first time in his life. He still doesn’t have a single idea of what he would do if the younger brother was here.
He hears a steady beeping coming from the machine next to Vegas’ bed and finally looks that way, knowing he doesn’t have much time.
The sight makes his knees buckle; Vegas is so deathly pale, lying on the huge bed with his torso bandaged and uncovered from the waist up. If it wasn’t for the machine that was showing his heart rate, Pete would say the man might be dead.
He takes cautious step forward, swallowing heavily. He feels like it’s been ages since he last saw him.
Every single memory they have had together – the good and the bad – come rushing to the forefront of his mind, making him dizzy.
“You fucking asshole,” he whispers when he’s standing close to the bed, his knees touching the white covers. He didn’t even notice he was moving.
With a trembling hand he reaches to gently touch Vegas’ forearm, sighing at the first skin to skin contact with the man in so long. It’s so good to feel him again.
“I told you to take care of yourself,” he tells him, voice choked up. He looks at the clock, noticing that he’s been here for four minutes already and that he needs to go. After a deep breath, he squeezes Vegas' hand gently. The hand that beat him, tortured him and brought him so much pleasure he blacked out twice. The hand that treated his injuries, gently touched his face and prepared food for him. He adds in a shaky whisper, “if you aren’t back to full health by the end of the month, I will find you and kill you myself.”
With those words he takes his hand away and quickly leaves the room, knowing that if he doesn’t do it now, he will never leave Vegas again.
“Mister Theerapanyukan is going to be unconscious for a few more hours, the IV is still half full, someone will come to take care of it in about fifteen minutes,” he tells the guards when they look at him expectantly.
With that he bows quickly and almost runs to the elevators. His heart breaks all over again with every step he takes.
~~,~~
It’s two days later and Pete can’t sleep. He almost wishes for Khun Tankhun to come and make him watch another drama till dawn, at least then his mind would be occupied.
No one in the compound is talking about Vegas, he doesn’t know if he woke up after the surgery, what the man’s prognosis is, what his recovery period will look like, he doesn’t know anything. He’s too afraid to ask questions, afraid that someone will want to know why he’s interested and he won’t be able to hide any longer how much he longs for the other man.
Pete’s fingers starts tracing the six, thick scars on his chest; he’s trying to remind himself that Vegas in no good for him, that he hurt him, branded him for life, but… it doesn’t work, because he knows why Vegas did it, he knows why Vegas is the way he is, he knows him, understands him.
Pete fucking loves him.
And there is no damn thing he can do about it. He tried running, he tried hiding, avoiding the other man, he tried to forget about him, but nothing worked. He is always on his mind, just under his skin, driving him mad.
That’s why Pete abruptly stands up and for the first time since he started working for the main family, he sneaks out of the compound.
~~,~~
He kept the nurses uniform so it would be less work to get into the hospital and Vegas’ room. The guards are different this time, clearly a little dumber or just too sleepy and lazy to check on what Pete is going to do in their boss’ room, so he doesn’t even have to come up with a lie.
The room is dark and quiet, the only light and noise coming from the machine checking Vegas’ heart rate. It’s steady, which makes Pete breath a little easier. Vegas’ chest is moving up and down, so he’s clearly breathing and Pete feels a sense of relief he hasn’t felt since he was here last.
This time he doesn’t hesitate to come close to the bed and gently sits down on the mattress, careful not to move anything. He has no idea if Vegas is unconscious or just sleeping, but he doesn’t want to let him know that he’s here. He’s not ready to talk to him and that’s why he doesn’t touch him this time even though he wants to. Craves to touch him really.
Vegas taught him how to stop denying his own nature, how to reach for things that brought him pleasure, so he has to bite his own lip until it almost breaks and starts bleeding to get a grip on himself and not tuck himself under Vegas’ arm and just breath him in.
He moves his eyes over the other man’s sunken, pale face; the cheekbones are even sharper and more prominent than they used to be. It breaks his heart all the more.
He lets himself sit there for seven minutes, two minutes longer than the last time, counting on the fact that the bodyguards are too tired to notice anything amiss.
When Pete leaves the room, he feels even more hollow, like a part of himself is staying behind with the man in the hospital bed.
~~,~~
In the following week he’s lucky enough to sneak into Vegas’ room at night two more times unnoticed by anyone. He cherishes every quiet moment he gets to spend with the other man. And he knows he’s alright, or he’s going to be anyway because on the bedside table lies a plate of half-eaten food.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers to him, sitting on the edge of the bed, fighting with himself not to touch him, just content to listen to him breathe.
He promises himself this is the last time he will come here. He knows Vegas is going be alright, there’s no need for him to show up anymore. Pete shouldn’t show up.
The thought of not seeing Vegas again makes him want to scream and shout, angry at everything that happened between them. Why did they have to start their relationship in such a fucked up manner? Why couldn’t they just be normal, like Porsche and Kinn. Sure, they have had their ups and downs, but Kinn never beat the shit out of Porsche, didn’t make him enjoy pain, didn’t hold him captive, didn’t set him free with words filled with pain and eyes filled with tears.
“If you don’t run away right now, I will never be able to let you go Pete. I will consume you.”
The words are still clear and loud in Pete’s mind and he thinks about them often. When he yearns for the feel of handcuffs on his wrists and the sound of rattling chains, of bruising lips on his own, the feel of a hard cock pounding into him until he cries and begs for it to stop and never end all at once.
His resolve is crumbling, the thought of leaving Vegas behind once more makes him rigid, unable to move. A noise of pure frustration rips itself from his throat and Pete tugs at his own hair, reveling at the slight pain.
He almost shouts out loud when he suddenly feels fingers tightening around his free hand, his head whips to the side and the sight of Vegas’ open eyes makes his heart stop beating.
“Pete.”