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2022-06-20
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1/1
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No Heroes And No Villains

Summary:

Vegas keeps showing up with more bruises. Pete, still chained up, looks after him. Somebody should.

Notes:

It was my birthday yesterday when Kinnporsche aired and I'm still feeling like I was personally attacked. ASLMSDJSD. I love this show and I'm thrilled to give a real attempt at VegasPete. I hope y'all enjoy it! Any thoughts/comments are beloved by me! 💖

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

 

 

*

It's hard… it's hard trying to sleep.

Pete flops his head down, grunting loud, and then flops his cramped-up arms over him. The safehouse barely makes any noise. No creaks, no cracks. Pete does hear a bird twitting outside sometimes when morning comes along. It's alive. He's alive, Pete realizes.

 

"Beg…"

 

Sinking into a memory, Pete hears what he hears. 

His eyelids flutter.

 

"Beg me…"

Vegas' expression grins, grins and grins, widening in a maniacal nature.

Everything hurts.

Hurts.

Pete feels everything that Vegas has done between his legs, where his balls are, unable to move while tied up and electrocuted. Vegas cradles a hand up against Pete's neck and murmurs against Pete's ear, deceptively sweet, thumbing the ridge of Pete's collar-bone.

It feels…

Alive…

Alive…

"Beg me to keep the ones you love… alive…"

 

Pete writhes, hissing out air, feeling his hardening dick throb.

He swears under his breath, and then mentally apologizes. It's not worth it.

Everything hurts.

Pete heaves himself upright, grunting a protest, starting to undo his bandages in order to clean off. 

Everyone he loves… they're, thankfully, far away from here.

Unaware. Safe in their own beds.

The welt-wounds, crusted black with long lines of scabbing across Pete's chest, heal. He doesn't miss the oozing pus. Or the swelling. Or the weird gross odors. Pete's almost certain he survived a form of blood poisoning. Thank goodness for Vegas' pills…

And, Vegas…

(Geez, that's not a thought Pete meant to have.)

"Need help with that?"

In the corner of his eye, Pete notices a dark, towering figure in the unlocked entrance. 

Vegas sounds hoarse. Like he's been screaming out. His breathing ragged. Pete takes a moment to shake his head, reaching for the pile of medical supplies left on the bedspread. There's still half a tube of ointment, isn't there… ah, right, there it is.

"It's okay, I think. The fever's down." 

Pete slowly rotates his left wrist, hating the chaff. His skin stings. 

"Actually," he tacks on, glancing up when Vegas takes another step inside the room, "I could use another one of the—" 

Pete's words disappear off his lips hanging open.

Blood glistens on Vegas' lower lip.

Shit.

He thinks of the crashing, like heavy furniture overturning, and the raised voices less than an hour ago.

Pete usually assumes this is when Mr. Kan visits.

It's all falling apart for Mr. Kan, as well as the minor family and its reputation, and… Pete is forced to watch it. He watches as Vegas returns, over and over, to this room as if seeking sanctuary. His facial bruises darken like they're real.

"Did you ever lay a hand on him?" Pete blurts out, not addressing him as 'sir' or any kind of formality, and Vegas murmurs out a "what?" as if he's having trouble believing what Pete has asked him. "Mr. Kan, I mean… when he has the chance to hurt you, have you?"

Vegas' lips thin together, smearing bright blood.

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" he barks. In a moment, Vegas storms over to one of the tables, his palm rattling it.

Pete eyes Vegas' back.

He's taken to wearing comfortably loose pajamas and none of his silver jewelry around Pete. 

Wonder if that means something. 

Something important.

"They're cowards. Both him and my father." Pete insists, his voice oddly flat, "Cowards bleed like everyone else."

Vegas' shoulders tense.

"You don't understand anything…"

"Don't I?" Pete argues softly, knowing what he is risking when Vegas' palm strikes again, rattling the table's wood. "There's nothing wrong with defending yourself if you need to…" In his mind's eye, Pete sees his trembling and child-like fingers gripping the metal bat… sees the light leaving his own father's eyes as he collapses onto the dirtied kitchen floor… sees himself fleeing… "Maybe that's better."

Vegas snatches up an old-fashioned dagger and lurches around.

He's too quick.

Pete blinks, stiffening when the tip of the knife prods hard into his cheek, leaking blood.

"Don't get on my… FUCKING… nerves," Vegas demands in clear and fluent English.

His teeth expose, Vegas' lips curling back.

Pete feels a twitch of terror, mingling with a sense of hot, unforgiving arousal, which understandably confuses him…

Oh…

On instinct, Pete arches and closes his eyes, remaining still. He hears the dagger embed into the mattress, thrust in deeply. In a heartbeat, Pete reopens them. Vegas has backed off, not longer focusing on Pete, rubbing at his swollen and bloodied-up lips.

That's right. Pete shouldn't have coaxed the lion when his jaws want so badly to take Pete apart.

He clears his throat. 

"You should sit. That needs some of the ointment," Pete says briskly, not sure what to expect out of him. Trying to handle Vegas and his ever-changing moods is like trying to shout into a storm, hoping to calm the fury, praying to be kept from the heart of the destruction. 

When Vegas doesn't move, Pete arches one of his eyebrows. 

"Do you need begging?"

For some reason, that works. Vegas makes his decision, joining him, dropping his hands at his sides, staring over Pete's determined features with a hint of intrigue. Pete starts with the thick, grease-like antiseptic, coating a cotton-swab, dabbing the edge of Vegas's chin. 

It has to hurt, Pete thinks. The bruising. The swollen-pink cuts.

Vegas doesn't flinch at the pain, but he jerks slightly at the outright tenderness of Pete's fingers resting on his cheek.

"Sorry…" Pete mumbles.

"Don't be." 

He's at a loss, gawking when Vegas' hand clutches onto his.

"Don't be," Vegas repeats firmly. A little crease forms on Vegas' brow. Pete resists an urge to smooth it out of existence. Has it ever come to this? Has Vegas ever displayed an emotion resembling his vulnerability before to others when it wasn't manipulation?

It feels… blessed.

Warm.

Warm as Vegas' mouth descending onto his, the pill slipping gently on Pete's tongue.

A low, flustered noise escapes him. 

Pete swallows hard. Vegas' forefinger lifts, tracing the dried, dark line of blood on Pete's face.

"You still want to die, Pete?"

His hands lower, the chains attached to Pete's wrists and arms jangling.

"… I'm reconsidering," Pete quips, offering a thin smile when Vegas huffs a laugh. A laugh, oh. That's a real one.

Oh.

Pete groans, caught against the firmness of Vegas' mouth, feeling the rough bristle of unshaven facial hair. He's confident in having no idea who kissed who to start. It hardly matters. Their lips open, allowing Vegas to exhale into Pete's mouth, dragging his tongue on his.

It's…

It's so surreal…

He's Pete, one of the trained head bodyguards of the major family, and Vegas is… Vegas… out of nowhere, Pete grimaces, quivering harshly when one of Vegas' hands press onto a wound. Agony flares. Pete nearly hollers, not because of it, but because…

Vegas stops.

No, no… no… that's not what Pete wants…

"Again," Pete breathes, choking for it. He repositions Vegas' left hand to where his ribs are. "Please, again."

The corner of Vegas' mouth twitches up. 

Oh, oh… that's… 

Pete realizes it's the taste of Vegas' blood inside him. Everything's spinning.

"You're more messed up than me," Vegas drawls, now smirking.

He digs a fingernail mercilessly into Pete's bandages, and Pete writhes, whines, and feels himself getting hard from pain. Shit.

Vegas roughly kisses him, clutching a whole fist into Pete's hair, tugging him in. The newest flash-flare of pain aches Pete's cock. He noses against Pete's throat. lathing with his tongue, biting down on saliva-slickened skin. It's different. It's different from the torture back in the minor family's house. Pete uses his hands to grope along for one of Vegas' thighs, holding on, needing something else to steady him.

Kissing is for the people we like only…

Pete doesn't fight him, doesn't want to, when Vegas gets him down on the bedspread. His knees press up against Vegas' hips. "What do you think… I'm gonna do to you like this?" Vegas whispers, running fingers absently over Pete's tattoo. "If you say it honestly…"

"Devour," Pete says with hesitation, watching the bright-dark glint of amusement in Vegas' eye.

"That's… a very good idea."

Vegas wets his lips, never breaking eye-contact, hunching in. His hands slide slowly into Pete's underwear, easing him. As soon as Pete feels his breath, warm and damp, that's it. That's what it'll be. Pete knows he is never escaping the likes of Vegas again.

His lips engulf Pete's cockhead, widening open. Vegas' tongue rolls. 

Wet…

He sucks Pete down, taking him in, using him. Vegas rumbles out a delirious, dark sound, his throat tightening. Pete can't… ohshit, shit, taking a deep breath hurts. Pete moan-laughs it out, smiling and writhing at the mercy of Vegas' control. Feels good. Feels more than good.

Vegas grips onto Pete's bare ass, hauling him, his nails burying into soft, muscular flesh.

When his teeth scrape along the length of Pete's dick, as they thrust together, Vegas' lips grin.

Pete mutters out Vegas' name, feeling his orgasm approaching.

With a loud, furious rattle, the entrance-door slams. 

They separate.

Mr. Kan, and nobody else accompanying him, marches in. He glares at a forlorn Vegas climbing to his feet.

"Papa—"

There's no mistaking the slap, but Pete's brain feels full. His adrenaline heightens.

"You're a disgrace—" Mr. Kan hisses, backing Vegas away, now facing the opposite direction of Pete. "Stupid boy—"

Roaring out, Pete drops his arms over Mr. Kan's head, wrapping his chains around his neck and restraining him. His blood boils. The memory of killing, over and over and over, seeps like crimson. "Vegas!" Pete bellows over Mr. Kan thrashing wildly and choking.

He can't do this forever.

Vegas can't.

Pete's heart stutters when Vegas looks him and only him with a kind of clarity, walking towards him. The old-fashioned dagger wretches out of the mattress. Vegas manages to ignore Mr. Kan threatening to ruin him, ruin both of them, and cups the back of Pete's head.

For the first time…

"Pete…"

Vegas leans over Mr. Kan's shoulder, setting down his chin. His other hand curls into Pete's sweaty hair. His voice soothing.

"Pete…"

Mr. Kan finally collapses, staggering from Pete's reach. The dagger protrudes from his abdomen.

"Pete…"

"I told you," Pete says kindly, also restraining the insane notion to kiss Vegas while he's covered in red. "They bleed."

*