Chapter Text
Taste the love of my pain
I'll take a good look at myself
It's you I want and no one else
Don't you ever want to take sides?
I guess that's family suicide
[Accident without Emergency, Biffy Clyro]
It should be inhuman to be this hot, Pete thought as he watched Vegas open the bedroom door, take off his trousers and drop them in the laundry basket in the hallway. He left the door ajar and turned towards Pete in glorious nudity, one eyebrow arched in invitation.
Pete didn't even register: before he had time to think, his body had taken complete control and his clothes were stripped off, thrown directly into the basket as well, the door finally closed as they made their way to the bed, fingers intertwined.
They knelt on the mattress in front of each other, their skin vibrating with excitement. Vegas' hand lifted, fingers dancing down Pete's arm as he came to cradle his face, his other arm wrapping around Pete's middle and pulling him flush against him, the whole length of them pressed intimately together.
He kissed Pete deeply, his hands running over every inch of skin within reach. He pressed his tongue in, forcing Pete's lips to part. He didn't have to be forceful tonight; it wasn't one of those times when Pete felt rebellious and resistant to their intimacy, but he welcomed it anyway. Sometimes it wasn't so much about Pete struggling as it was about Vegas needing to reassert his dominance.
So he let Vegas devour him, lick into his mouth, against his teeth and palate, their tongues swirling and saliva building and drooling around their lips and chins as Vegas refused to let him retreat, to let him swallow, to let him breathe. He just pressed closer, slurping Pete's lips, one hand on the back of his head to keep him in place and the other wandering to every accessible area, shoulders, back and ass.
Pete found himself unable to do anything but give in to the buoyant intensity, grabbing hold of Vegas' shoulders to keep himself upright, his mind buzzing with the desire that was clutching at his insides. He allowed himself to become putty in Vegas' hands.
After a while, Pete had to pull away, gasping for air and with his face completely flushed. Vegas dragged his lips along his cheek, biting at the underside of his jaw, sucking a dark mark at the edge of his face that would be impossible to hide or cover. Pete didn’t care, fingers digging and pulling at Vegas’ hair to enjoin him to continue the desecration of his body. Tomorrow Pete could deal with the aftermath, but today Pete just wanted to be pushed down and railed violently until there was no room left in his brain for any thought that wasn’t Vegas, Vegas, Vegas. If the man had to tattoo his entire face with his lips to get the desired results, Pete was happy to oblige.
Vegas slowly moved his lips down to Pete's neckline, nibbling and licking the skin as he went. Pete's hands gripped his hair tightly when he felt the tongue licking the sensitive skin above his collarbone, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from Vegas. With his head still hidden in Pete's neck, Vegas pushed him bodily backwards and Pete reluctantly let go of Vegas' hair, grasping his shoulders instead as he let himself fall back into the bed.
Pete rearranged his limbs slightly, his hands spread against Vegas' back to hold him close and his legs opening naturally as Vegas settled against him without a second's hesitation. He grounded his hips down, their hardened cocks pressed tightly against each other, hips grinding against each other, stomachs touching and chests rubbing, expanding into each other's space with every deep breath they took.
The tension was building between their perfectly aligned bodies, their skin vibrating with anticipation and members filling with the delicious friction between them. Pete let his hand wander down to Vegas' ass, squeezing the buttocks firmly as he pushed his hips up at the same time. Vegas faltered slightly against him, teeth scraping the skin of his collarbone. They both groaned at the sensation.
Vegas pulled back slightly, devouring Pete's face with hooded dark eyes and flushed cheeks. His lips curled into a lecherous smile.
"Fuck, the things I want to do to you," he huffed against Pete's lips, one of his hands coming up to push aside the bangs on Pete's forehead. He pushed down, letting the full weight of his body rest on top of Pete, trapping him underneath him and pinning him to the bed.
“Do them then,” Pete said as he groaned. His legs curled around Vegas, his heels digging into the flesh of his thighs.
Vegas smirked and planted another demanding open-mouthed kiss on him, sucking his tongue and tugging at it with his teeth; a mess of gasping moans and saliva running down their chins.
Pete could feel the rush of excitement spreading through his chest and all over his body, the tight coil in his abdomen becoming painful with the need to increase contact. Vegas licked his mouth one last time before kneeling up, breathing hard and blinking out his own arousal to grab the leather restraints dangling from the head of the bed. He cuffed Pete's wrist with practiced ease.
Pete felt a shiver run through him as he allowed himself to be manhandled into position, his heart beating in a staccato in his chest. Immediately Vegas was back on top of him, his presence warm and reassuring, if a little unsettling from the eager way he looked at him, licking his lips at the feast sprawled before his eyes like a famished animal.
Vegas loved licking Pete's body. Pete didn't think there was a single part of his body that Vegas hadn't pushed his tongue into by now, from his ears (and the squeak Pete had let out the first time he had licked inside them, because how the fuck was Pete supposed to know that his ear canal was somehow an erogenous zone? ) to between his toes (neither of them had a foot fetish, but seeing Vegas kneeling and kissing his feet had almost made him come on the spot; the act a perfect picture of shamelessness and devotion), including some really weird places (no, Pete wouldn't back down, there was nothing sexy about an eyelid lick, saliva in the eye stung) and some mind-blowing ones (he was still waiting for rimming to feel less soul-shattering, but there was no getting used to it).
Vegas loved to lap up and lavish his skin, whether it was when Pete had just come out of the shower, his skin cool and artificially scented, or after an intense workout session, trading sweat for saliva and sniffing Pete's natural musky scent like his favourite creator's new overpriced perfume. Dirt, blood, spunk, you name it, Vegas would slurp it up as long as it came from Pete's skin.
And really, who was Pete to deny him? Vegas' tongue was a brand on his skin, wet and hot, making it pulsate with warmth on the way up and shiver with coolness on the way down. It was as if Vegas was physically spreading his love and ownership all over him, scenting him like an uncontrollable animal, forcing his own scent on Pete and saturating him with his top dog pheromones to keep the outsiders at bay.
(Maybe Pete had as much of a thing for being licked than Vegas for licking him, but he'd never admit it. Maybe also the nibbling that accompanied the mouth-bathing. And the biting and the sucking and - well, in general, anything that had to do with Vegas' mouth, really. He'd say they were both stuck in the oral phase if they didn't enjoy everything anal-related so damn much.)
True to form, Vegas buried his face in Pete's armpit, tonguing a long strip of skin that made Pete's toes curl at the tickling sensation.
Vegas continued to lap at him, moving to the creases of his neck and following the sinews of his chest to one of his nipples, which he circled with the tip of his tongue, pressing and probing relentlessly, offering no respite from the teasing sensation. Pete bucked beneath him, moans and whimpers escaping his lips as he pushed his chest up for more and wriggled around to escape the attack.
"Please," he whimpered without even noticing.
Vegas just grinned and looked him up and down. The smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing and how frustrated Pete was getting!
"What do you want, baby?" he asked in English with a cocky smile.
Pete let out an exasperated sigh. He glared at Vegas. The thing was, Pete didn't like to express his needs and Vegas took a sadistic pleasure in making him spell it out every single time.
"You're being nice," Pete complained.
Don't get him wrong, he loved that Vegas worshipped his body, he loved feeling his hands and lips and tongue all over him, but he was getting restless, hunger rattling under his skin and needed to be satisfied.
He needed Vegas to be a little mean, a little rough - just to take the edge off.
Vegas smiled a predatory smile, teeth showing and eyes glowing.
"You say that like it's an insult," he commented almost disinterestedly, but then his hands were back on Pete, nothing gentle about the touch anymore, and any thought of retaliating left Pete's mind. His body tensed in anticipation.
Vegas slid his palms down Pete's side, making his skin quiver, before finally swapping his tongue for his fingers. They attacked both nipples at the same time, nothing teasing in the way they twisted the sensitive little nubs of nerves viciously. He held them wrung up for long seconds, enough for the sharp pain to turn into a piercing, stabbing sensation that sent painful electric jolts all around his chest.
Pete let out a cry as Vegas' mouth moved further down, adding teeth to the tonguing down, his fingers still tormenting the nipple with well-honed practice, Pete's body writhing helplessly under his ministrations.
When Vegas reached his crotch, he let go of his chest and Pete took the opportunity to take a deep breath, foolishly thinking that his agony would be alleviated for a moment, but instead of going for the tantalising erection just inches from his face, leaking demandingly onto Pete's stomach, Vegas simply moved it aside, pushed his balls up with a few fingers and placed his mouth on the wrinkled skin below.
He pressed his mouth to Pete's perineum. His tongue barely touched the skin before he sucked. Hard. And then he kept going, pulling for long, long seconds. He tugged the skin between his lips and teeth, breathing through his nose as he abused and bruised the very sensitive area.
Pete trashed as the initial pleasurable sensation quickly turned to aching and throbbing, then downright painful as Vegas just would not stop sucking with all his lung capacity. Pete pulled against his restraints to push Vegas' head away, but of course there was no hope there; he tried to close his legs around the mop of black hair, but hands on his inner thighs kept him stretched open, leaving Pete completely at the mercy of the sadist between his legs.
He wasn't quite at the point where the pain itself felt good, or maybe it was his mind still valiantly trying to deny the reality of it, but the helplessness and his complete inability to escape it made his mind dizzy, beads of sweat sliding down his temple and into the folds of his body, his breath reduced to short pants and muscles trembling all over.
He desperately wanted it to stop, the discomfort more than he thought he could take (it was never enough), yet he wanted it to never end; the more unbearable the physical stimulus became, the more Pete felt himself drowning in it, the coils of his mind unravelling as he inevitably lost the battle against himself.
Vegas sucked until his whimpers turned to moans, then bit him for good measure, sending a jolt of pain through Pete's groin that made his cock pulsate with pleasure.
Pete was breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his ears.
As he tried to regain his bearings, he felt Vegas crawl to his balls and swallow one into his mouth. For a brief moment he felt a rush of panic as he thought Vegas might give them the same treatment as the skin underneath (he did once, sucking bruises so deep into Pete's testicles he couldn't walk without crying for days), his whole body tensing like a bow until Vegas released him. His relief mixed with the sharp heat of the tongue making its way up, licking along the shaft of Pete's erection all the way to the leaking head.
Pete let out a sharp exhale as Vegas took him in his mouth, pushing Pete's cock decisively inside, engulfing him firmly and steadily until he reached the back of his throat and felt the tremors of his gag reflex awakening. Pete bit his lips, trying to hold back a moan as he felt Vegas ignore the natural reaction of his body, relaxing his jaw and swallowing around Pete's cock until he had it all the way inside, his nose pressed deep against Pete's pubis.
Pete's thighs trembled, his stomach muscles jerking from the tension. Vegas keept him from arching up by pressing his hands into Pete's hips to hold him down. He lifted his mouth smoothly, lips sliding up and teeth brushing the entire length of Pete's cock, breathing briefly before plunging right back in, eliciting a moan from Pete who felt his whole body quiver at the delicious sensation.
"Fuck, Vegas," he moaned. His mind was spinning, going from the throes of pain to those of unbridled pleasure. He was shaking, could feel himself pulsating in Vegas' mouth. Vegas had somehow managed to master the elusive art of giving a punishing deep throat blow job, bringing Pete closer and closer to a release he knew he'd never taste.
To this day, Vegas had never once let him come in his mouth.
Vegas took him so far and so deep that Pete felt like he was being swallowed alive, teeth chewing dangerously along his shaft, saliva dripping all over him, mixing with his pubic hair and leaving his cock glistening. When Vegas decided he indulged him enough, Pete could do nothing but whimper pitifully at the lost sensation, his belly clenching painfully at how close he'd been to coming.
He yelped as Vegas flicked the head of his cock with two fingers, chuckling at Pete's reaction.
Vegas straightened up on his knees, his hand reaching out to stroke Pete's cock to keep him trembling on the edge with a slow, steady jerk. He looked devastated - plump lips red and swollen, cheeks crimson and tears in his eyes from the self-imposed cock choking, pupils almost completely blacked out with arousal. He looked up at Pete with a hungry expression, a delicious smile tugging at his abused lips.
Pete whined.
A slight frown crossed Vegas’ face as his eyes swept over Pete's wrists, but it was gone in an instant, leaving only a foreboding expression of lust so intense it made Pete's body tremble, the hand on his cock still stroking him in a maddeningly lazy rhythm, far too slow to bring any real relief, but still enough to make Pete's body quake with the teasing.
"Still with me?" checked Vegas in a husky voice. Pete nodded, preparing himself for the next part as Vegas let go of him to rummage through the bedside table. He frowned, a small wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he didn't seem to find what he was looking for.
It occurred to Pete that they had used up the bottle of lube last night and had not replaced it. They were going through them at a frankly alarming rate.
“Bathroom,” Pete murmured between two gasps for air.
Vegas quickly got out of bed and disappeared into the adjacent room for a few seconds. Pete used the reprieve to take a few deep breaths and assess the state of his body.
His cock ached from the obvious unattended erection, the wetness of the saliva coating it creating a cool, breezy sensation along the shaft, contrasting with the lingering burning sensation where teeth had scraped it; his perineum was still throbbing painfully, enough to know that he would walk like a duck for a few days at least (not looking forward to the awkward, slightly mocking look Macau would give him in the morning, having become far too used to seeing Pete in all sorts of discomfort over the past few months); his nipples were tender; and he could only imagine how red and sweaty he must look. But the most unexpected thing was how much his wrists hurt. Vegas had restrained him with the leather cuffs, which were generally gentler on his skin than the rope or metal handcuffs they sometimes preferred to use, which meant that Pete must have struggled against them more than usual.
He also felt strangely clearheaded, not quite able to reach that comforting peaceful stillness in his mind. If he were, he wouldn't be worrying about his aches and pains in the middle of a shag. His brain was really doing him dirty today, the bastard.
He realised Vegas had come back when he felt the bed sink against his hip and turned his head towards him, admiring the natural beauty of Vegas' features as he sat down at his side. He unscrewed the bottle and tossed the cap into the bin beside the bed.
Vegas let his dark gaze slide down Pete's exposed body, making his skin tingle from the intensity of the studying eyes. Pete fought the instinct to cover himself to avoid the scrutinising look and instead focused his attention on the way Vegas' pupils dilated and his tongue wet his lips without him even noticing.
Pete felt himself blush, a ridiculous reaction to a little ogling from a man who had his balls in his mouth minutes ago. Still, Vegas caught it and it made him smile affectionately at Pete before his expression turned sinful again.
He spread a nut of lube on his fingers and Pete's body automatically opened for him, his legs parting and his hips tilting up by sheer force of habit.
"So presumptuous," Vegas sneered as he pushed Pete's legs together, forcing them to close before straddling his thighs. Pete frowned slightly, expecting to have fingers up his ass at this point, but that was obviously not going to happen with no way to reach between his legs.
"Not today," Vegas said with a sly smile as he reached for Pete's dick again, spreading the scarce amount of lube from his finger over the glans and length, mixing it with his spit and making Pete recoil a little at the cold sensation.
"What do you mean, not today?" whined Pete, feeling stricken. Was Vegas not going to fuck him?
"Look at you, all grumpy." Vegas smirked, his hand tightening around Pete's cock, bordering on painful as he spread the lube around. "Are you making demands, Pete?"
Pete blinked innocently at him, squirming a little under Vegas' strong legs that held him in place. "I just want you," he pouted.
Vegas leaned forward, pressing his nose against Pete's as he continued to slowly jerk him between their bodies.
"You'll get what I give you," Vegas said, his eyes shining with wicked promises. He pressed a kiss to Pete's mouth, plunging his tongue in and lapping at the teeth and palate in an incendiary kiss that stole all of Pete's breath and killed his worries.
Yes, Vegas had it under control, it wasn't Pete's job to worry about such things.
Still, he was totally unprepared when Vegas stepped back with a final peck on his lips, straightened his back and shuffled forward on his knees until he was straddling Pete's groin. Pete felt his eyes open comically, because in this position it almost looked as if Vegas was going to bottom out on him, and wasn't that a crazy idea? But then Vegas reached behind him and grabbed Pete's member with a firm hand, pulling it up towards him and Pete felt proper dread clutching at his stomach as he felt the tip of his cock pressed against hot, burning skin.
"Vegas! What are you doing?" he said in panic, tugging hard at his hands.
But Vegas ignored him and pressed down, hard, punching the air out of Pete's lungs in surprise.
His mind reeled - what was Vegas doing? This wasn't how they did it! It was wrong! Pete didn't want it! - but his body was a fucking traitor for the way it shivered and trembled as he felt the head of his cock slowly, painfully force its way against Vegas' resisting hole.
"Stop it!" Pete moaned, his arms trembling frustratingly where they were pinned above his head.
He wanted - didn't - wanted - couldn't –
"Shut up!" barked Vegas, face crunched in concentration as he pushed himself down like the complete idiot he was, unstretched, unprepared, barely any lube between them, not even discussing this with Pete beforehand!, frowning in dismay and obviously in pain.
Pete froze and moaned despite himself as an unbelievable burning sensation suddenly engulfed the tip of his cock the moment it slid into the tight, constricting hole.
Vegas huffed, sweat beading on his forehead, his lips turned downward. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, breathing heavily, resolutely not looking at Pete.
Pete's brow furrowed. He trusted Vegas, he did, but something about this just felt wrong.
Why was Vegas no longer looking at him?
"Please, please, please, Vegas, don't do it," Pete heard himself beg as his cock slipped further inside, his glans popping into the tight ring of muscle.
It felt like his cock was being strangled by the pressure surrounding it, choked by a sweltering coil; but beyond that initial sensation, it felt so smooth and velvety and hot; he could feel the rejection of Vegas' body, desperately trying to keep him from going deeper, pushing against him; it was so, so wrong, but the quivering pressure around him felt so, so good - but if it was painful for him, what the hell was Vegas feeling?
Vegas looked down at him with dark, angry eyes.
"What are you complaining about?" he snapped. "Just stay still."
Seriously? The guy who would spend hours preparing Pete to take him if he had the patience, who would stick his tongue and as many fingers as he could fit inside him to get him gaping ready (to the point where Pete was forlornly resigning himself to having his whole fist in there at some point with the way he was going about it), this guy didn't see what the fucking problem was?
Pete didn't like it, he didn't want it, his whole mind was fighting against it, but waves of pleasure kept creeping up his treacherous dick, his hips and legs shaking from the pressure of keeping still and not making things worse by doing something completely stupid like thrusting back - but then Vegas put his hand around his throat and sneered vehemently "Stop fighting it, goddamn it! " in English and Pete didn't register the words, but he knew the tone and his control slipped, surrendering to Vegas' dominance; he felt a powerful wave of pleasure rage through him, orgasm almost tearing through him from the impossibly tight heat on his cock and the menacing hand on his throat; his hips betrayed him, stuttering up powerfully as a long, drawn out groan slipped from his lips -
It was almost comical, Vegas' mouth opened and his eyes grew wide as he felt the thrust, but his body was so, so tight that it didn't welcome Pete, but rather propelled him forward. Vegas lost his grip on his neck, his hand slipping on the pillow beside Pete's head, pulling his hair as he went down - which only made Pete's pleasure skyrocket - then it was his balance that Vegas lost, precariously perched on his knees as he was, and his head slammed into Pete's nose, making them both yell in pain and recoil; Pete's orgasm disappearing as suddenly as it hit him.
"Shit! Can't you even keep still?" yelled Vegas, slapping him across the face in a fit of anger.
Pete's cheek smarted and his nose pulsed painfully, miraculously not bleeding everywhere.
His head instantly cleared, his mind snapping back like an overstretched rubber band.
He was so over this asshole.
"Get off! Get the fuck off me, Vegas!" he snapped.
His plea - demand - was answered this time, Vegas pulled himself up with another grimace, then sidestepped the bed and stood beside it with a stormy expression.
Pete felt like he could breathe again, he was panting and angry, the ruined orgasm still coursing through his veins despite his reluctance, the anger in his gut dark and barely controlled.
"Untie me," he demanded.
"Don't fucking order me!" Vegas snarled back, sitting on the bed next to Pete, his arms on his knees and his head hanging forward as he caught his breath.
Pete's stomach sank as he realised that Vegas wasn't even hard anymore, not even a brave semi had survived his ridiculous attempt to split himself open like that.
What a moron.
Vegas wasn't Pete, he didn't enjoy pain, suffering wasn't his pet peeve, it was Pete's. Of course, he could take it, he had probably endured a lot worse in his life, but that wasn't the point, was it? It didn't turn him on, so what exactly was he trying to prove? Pete was seriously reeling, angry at his stupid martyr attitude. And where had that come from anyway? They had never even discussed switching positions! By Vegas' own admission, he had never even tried it before. What the hell?
"I'm sorry I hit you," Vegas said after a while. There was still steel in his voice, but he seemed to have calmed down a bit.
Pete didn't care about the slap. He knew Vegas was only apologising because the reaction had been unintentional, a knee-jerk response to the pain and frustration of Pete's movement. Unlike Vegas, he didn't care much about the intention of things most of the time, as long as it got him off in the end.
"What are you doing?" he asked, testing the knot on his wrist again and feeling the pain run down the length of his arms. He grimaced. Great, he probably burned, if not bled, himself from tugging too hard. He sighed. "Vegas, let me go."
Vegas straightened up. He glanced at Pete before looking away. "No, I'm not done," he said, his voice pouting and unyielding.
Pete blinked in disbelief and his nostrils flared. Right, now he had to deal with his boyfriend being all broody and stubborn while he still tied up. He took a deep breath and wished he had the patience to deal with Vegas' erratic temper, reminding himself that not so long ago he'd been shown nothing but understanding and support during his own mood swings. He shouldn't be surprised at the reaction, really. Vegas hated failure more than anything, and sex was supposed to be his thing.
Pete shifted on the bed, leaning on his hip and turning his body towards Vegas. He brought his knee up to touch the man's back.
"Come on, Vegas. You're hurt and I don't like it. What's the point?" he nudged him.
Vegas turned towards him with a sneer. "You don't like it?" he repeated in stride. "Look at you, you're still leaking hard. Don't think I didn't see you almost come with just the tip in. It's pathetic even for you, Pete."
Pete gritted his teeth. He couldn't pretend that the physical sensation was bad - it was glorious, really - but that didn't mean Pete liked it. Not like this anyway. Not at the expense of Vegas' own enjoyment and comfort.
Especially not at the expense of Vegas' pleasure.
Pete could get off from being uncomfortable and in pain as long as it pleased Vegas. It didn’t work the other around though, Pete took no pleasure seeing Vegas suffer. Why the hell would Vegas thwart their entire intimate dynamic out of the blue?
"I just don't want to hurt you," Pete admitted with a lacklustre smile, keeping his eyes as clear as possible as he looked straight at Vegas, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way.
Vegas scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself. You're not that big."
So not what Pete had in mind. Grasping at straws now, he kneed Vegas in the back for good measure.
"Untie me," he repeated, resisting the urge to pull at his arms again, knowing it wouldn't do any good. "Come on, it's no use. You're not even hard anymore!"
As if he hadn't realised it himself, Vegas looked down at his crotch with a puzzled expression. He bit his lips and contemplated Pete for a few seconds before seemingly coming to a decision and standing up. For a moment, Pete thought that was it, but instead of freeing him, Vegas went to the cabinet under the wall mirror and opened a drawer.
Pete followed his movements with narrowed, suspicious eyes, knowing only too well what was in the drawer. He sighed, looked up at the ceiling, weighing out his options. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could use his safe word and stop this whole masquerade.
Things just felt wrong tonight. Vegas was acting strange, not like himself at all. He wasn't the soft idiot talking about lovemaking as he cherished Pete's body, nor was he his dominant, sadistic self, reducing Pete to nothing but a whimpering mess. For whatever reason, he was holding back and it was throwing him off his game.
Pete didn't fare any better. His mind just wouldn't let go; his body fought pleasure and pain alike; he couldn't relax, couldn't let go; he felt almost detached from his sensations.
They should stop.
But Vegas was right about some things. Pete, despite his annoyance, was still raging hard. He'd been on the verge of climax twice already. He was hurting from being so pent up.
If he went ‘red’ at every little inconvenience, his sex life would be downright boring, with the kind of activities he liked to indulge in.
And yes, being inside Vegas had felt amazing for a glorious moment, so maybe Pete wasn't exactly against repeating the experience (he certainly couldn't dismiss the practice), but it was the whole premise of how Vegas went about it that bothered him.
Pete might not be 'big', as Vegas put it, but he was hardly inconsequential to an untrained ass. And even so, would it really cost Vegas so much to put a few fingers inside himself, just to appease Pete and guide him through the process? Why was he treating himself so badly when he was always so careful with Pete?
Pete didn't even want to be treated nicely to begin with!
Pete had no made up his mind by the time Vegas came back to the bed with a few things in his hands. Any thought of stopping promptly left his mind as he saw what Vegas was holding. The fucker knew him way too well already.
Pete inhaled sharply as his eyes grew wide with panic. He squirmed away as Vegas knelt beside him.
Pete shook his head. "Come on Vegas, you don't have to do this! Please. I'll be good, I swear!"
Vegas cupped his cheek tenderly, his icy eyes on Pete.
"I can't trust you anymore. I have to take action now if we want this to work. You want it to work, Pete, don't you?" He pressed his thumb to Pete's mouth, his gaze unwavering despite Pete's pathetic attempts to escape what he had planned for him. "Didn't you say you didn't want to hurt me?"
Pete felt dread fill his body, his balls retracting within themselves at the nasty memory of the metallic cock ring Vegas was holding in his fingers. A cold sweat ran down the side of his face.
"Please, at least use one of the other ones!" begged Pete.
He hated cock rings with a passion (it made his motor roar like nothing else), and this big metallic one was the worst. It was heavy, cold and a bitch to put on, especially now that Pete was already hard and sensitive. There was no yield in the metal and it was supposed to be put on before anything, but of course Vegas didn't care about any of that, the oaf!
Vegas smiled, amused at Pete's dismay. He straddled Pete's chest, untying his hands from above his head. He looked critically at his damaged wrists, blew lightly on them and kissed them gently before taking the silk rope he had brought and tying an intricate knot around his wrist and arm, carefully avoiding the area damaged by the cuff and Pete's earlier struggles. This caused a warm sensation in Pete's chest; the extra sign of attention not going unnoticed. It helped to calm his rising panic a little.
Vegas attached the rope to opposite corners of the bed, forcing Pete to spread his arms around his head. Pete frowned; a little lost at the change of position. Vegas slid down his body, hovering over Pete, the clammy skin of his thigh and ass rubbing distractingly against his groin on the way down.
The movement sparked sensations all over Pete's body. He bit his lips to swallow the moan. He was so tense and hard, still sensitive from his earlier ruined orgasm and on edge from the adrenaline rush of that fucking cock ring he hated so much, that he could probably come untouched with just a little persuasion.
Fuck his brain for thinking fear was erotic!
Vegas grinned knowingly and grabbed his hips, then pulled Pete's body down onto the bed, stretching his shoulders out mercilessly. Pete was now completely sprawled out on the bed, with no room to move his arms at all, his shoulders stretched to the point of almost pain.
His mind tumbled. Pete inhaled sharply. He was such a sucker for a good restraint.
Vegas walked to the foot of the bed and did the same with Pete's feet, tying a black silk rope in an elaborate knot around his ankles and tying him spread-eagle, one foot on each corner of the bed, completely spread out with no hope of any movement or leverage to push or pull himself.
Pete's breath caught in his chest at feeling so tightly bound and exposed; tendons and muscles straining from overstretching; dick throbbing painfully and leaking between his legs.
Vegas looked at him mockingly.
"Not so feisty anymore, are you?"
"Vegas, please," Pete begged, fighting his mind as it tried to pull him under, the euphoria making his muscles shake. Shit, Pete was such a goner, stuck in immovable positions and robbed of all control, it was ridiculous.
The tidal wave of surrender was within his grasp, his brain fogging and unfogging, pushing and pulling him in different directions.
"Please what?" Vegas asked. "You gave me no choice, Pete, I can't even trust you not to come before I tell you to - "
"No, not that," Pete murmured, resigned to his fate. "Just... use lube, please."
Vegas arched an eyebrow. "On the cock ring?"
Pete grimaced. "No, not that.” Like he cared about himself. “On you. Please. I don't want to hurt you," he repeated for what felt like the thousandth time. The thought of Pete inflicting pain on Vegas was absolutely unbearable at the moment.
Pete wanted to please him, not hurt him.
Something soft crossed Vegas' features. He nodded in acknowledgement. "I will," he promised and Pete felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
OK, good, that was... good. He could do that, right? If he ignored the way his heart was trying to find a way out of his chest and his rapid, anxious breathing, the way he was shaking with both fear and anticipation...
Vegas grabbed his cock and jerked it a few times before slipping the ring on. Pete closed his eyes and grimaced.
"Oh come on, I haven't done anything yet!" Vegas scolded.
It didn't matter. Pete remembered how it had felt last time; like his dick was getting ripped off. He didn't want to experience that again (he was thrumming with anticipation). He shivered as he felt the cold metal against his sensitive skin, the ring moving along his shaft, sending delicious tendrils of painful pleasure through his body. Pete breathed. Ok, it wasn't that bad, he could do this... the ring was tight around his cock, with barely enough room to move down, but it fit - until Vegas reached his sack and Pete's whole body tensed violently.
He felt Vegas' hand on his stomach and side, calming him down and telling him to relax. Pete forced himself to breathe. He could do this, Vegas thought, so he had to, right?
It was excruciating. If the ring was a tight fit around his cock, it ought to be impossible to get it over his scrotum. Vegas had to push down while tugging at the skin to get it through as Pete whimpered in pain. He was so sensitive in that area, there was a reason these things had to be put on beforehand, God damn it! It wasn’t even how you were supposed to put them on to begin with!
Vegas clicked his tongue. "You're pushing it!"
Pete whined. It felt wonderful. He hated it.
"You're a sadist," Pete cried, his face contorted in pain. The pressure against his balls was ridiculously harrowing and his brain filled with all that could go wrong: what if his cock got stuck? What if it didn't fit? What if he couldn't get it out? Pain and fear turned into waves of pleasure that rippled through his body as he struggled and begged in vain, knowing there was no escape.
The pleasure coursed through his veins like molten lava, even as he begged Vegas to stop.
"Oh baby," Vegas murmured as his fingers finally managed to force the cock ring into place. "You love it."
Pete did. The wires of his brain were so messed up.
Vegas gave him a moment to calm down, knowing how much Pete hated the device and the fraught emotions it always provoked. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and planted a kiss under each of his eyes.
"All good?" asked Vegas as he straddled Pete's tights again.
Pete blinked and exhaled. He nodded.
His panic was making him feel stupid now. The ring was settled nicely against his skin, a constant weight and pressure around his cock that slightly eased the strain of his impending orgasm; it was almost comforting to know that he could let his control slip a little and let the ring do the holding for him for a while.
It also pushed nicely against the bruise Vegas had sucked into him earlier, a constant throbbing pain just below his balls that kept him anchored to his body.
Of course, Vegas knew what he was doing. He wouldn't deliberately hurt Pete for no reason.
Pete had to swallow a lump of emotion before he could answer properly, noticing that Vegas had not moved since he had asked the question.
"Yeah," he sighed. "I'm fine."
"Then let's get started," Vegas said, as if Pete hadn't been on the verge of imploding for an eternity. "Don't come until I say so."
The dangerous glint in his eyes and the upward curling smile were the only warnings Pete got before Vegas gripped his cock in a vicious squeeze, painfully tight and nails digging in his skin.
Pete cried out, his whole body lifting off the bed - or trying to, there was no give in his bonds. His cock throbbed and his whole body buzzed with it.
Vegas leaned in and planted a long, lingering kiss on his neck, then slowly worked his way down to one of Pete's nipples. Pete lay back, breathing hard and enjoying the temporary respite. His nipples were not the most sensitive part of his body but Vegas loved to play with them and had made it his business to get Pete tuned into them as well. The previous tenderisation had done its job though and thousands of nerves suddenly lit up in his chest.
Pete allowed himself to enjoy the sensations, the slurping and sucking, the fingers tweaking and twirling the little nub of skin, dragging along the goosebumps that crowned the cheeky centre. He almost bit his tongue as Vegas suddenly sucked, hard, then tightened a clamp on his left nipple. The pain surged through him with unexpected intensity, from his chest down to his feet. His cock jerked up, leaking profusely onto his stomach, the liquid pooling in his navel.
Pete’s entire body clenched down and he swore, eyes opening big at the rush, sudden feeling. He almost felt the sweet release of haziness take over him, before lucidity forced itself back in; the wrong kind of static that forced him to endure and experience everything, every little pain, every sensation; the way his body rebelled and tried to escape it; the way he felt the pain and the pleasure alike, hating it and loving it equally, forced witness to his body’s glitching system.
Pete tried to hold back tears of frustration.
He loved the pain, there was no denying that. But by now he would normally have surrendered to his body's sensations, his brain full of white noise, his mind a floating cloud of nothingness; every sensation elevated to glittering golden tendrils of infinity cloying against his skin; every thought of wrong and freak and mistake lost in the mist of here and now and Vegas; his being reduced to a stuttering mess of goo, unable to speak, to move, to think.
No such luck tonight though. It seemed to be one of those times when Pete had to keep his wits to himself.
Endurance it was, then.
Vegas's fingers pushed at his shoulders. He propped himself up on his knees to adjust his position, his skin barely brushing against Pete in sweet torture. Pete looked up at Vegas a little unfocused, not quite understanding what was going on.
Vegas sneered a little, his face tight and scrunched.
Oh, Pete's brain picked up with a delay. He's fingering himself.
He tried to look down, to see, to witness what was happening out of sight; the idea of Vegas touching himself as he lay over Pete, preparing himself to take good care of Pete, was enough to light a fire inside him, his body vibrating with the anticipation of what was to come. Now that Pete knew what to expect, now that he wasn't fighting it, the idea of being deep inside Vegas seemed bloody marvellous.
An impossible sound tumbled out of him but Vegas pushed his head down and kissed him, lips pressed hard against his. Vegas’ tongue licked greedily into his mouth with a lack of refinement indicative of the troubling task going on in the background (aka: Vegas' backside). But that was all right, Pete could take over and distract him for a while.
There was an undercurrent of uncertainty in Vegas' actions, a slight trembling of his arm and a hesitation in his eyes, but as he pressed himself on top of Pete, into his mouth, pushing down on him with all his body weight, it seemed clear that Vegas craved control and domination, needed it even, so Pete forgot his own desires and stayed still, opened his mouth and let Vegas enter him and use him and take everything he needed.
When he pulled back, Vegas' eyes were slightly unfocused, a twitch in his brown, his expression slightly pinched.
"Are you all right?" asked Pete. Just because Vegas was the one who usually did the checking in didn't mean Pete couldn't.
Vegas viciously twisted the nipple clamp he had put on Pete earlier, eliciting a surprised cry from him. Pete's whole body sang, the pain crackling through him like thunder, and Vegas smiled fiendishly.
"You should be worried about yourself," Vegas said, rising to his knees and encircling Pete's hips. His expression changed to one of bloodlust and cruelty; Pete's balls tightened painfully and he moaned.
Vegas grinned and grabbed his cock with a wet hand - lube, uselessly provided by Pete's mind, the fingers that were inside - and flicked his hand, forcing Pete's member to bend unnaturally to the side.
Pete jerked and writhed, but his body was going nowhere, his wrists and ankles secured so tightly that any movement could only tug painfully at his joints. He whimpered, feeling incredibly exposed and helpless as Vegas continued to twist his cock like it was a bloody chew toy that would squeak when sprained.
His whole body was shaking; all he could feel was the pain in his groin, growing and growing as Vegas continued to twist and pull. He was going to rip it right off Pete if he kept going like this; but the pain was so good, all encompassing, wiping out every thought, every other feeling, making Pete nothing more than a slave to what he felt.
Sounds he would never admit to making erupted from his throat - fuck, it felt so good - bad, wrong - good and he could feel the pleasure blooming and spreading through him, only held back in its release by the relentless pressure of the ring around his cock, pulling in the opposite direction to Vegas -
"I can't," Pete cried. His cock is going to break, he thought, panic rising at the back of his mind, but no, no, he couldn't do anything to stop it, couldn't stop Vegas -
Vegas!, his mind supplied unhelpfully, who was looking at him intensely, eyes shining, drinking up every twitch, every moan, every whimper of Pete like the tasty wine he liked so much -
Pete felt his orgasm slammed into him without any finesse, his face contorted with pain, frozen in Vegas' delighted expression; then the hand was gone and so was the pain and the high and Pete whimpered, conjuring up in his mind all sorts of insults for his sadistic lover.
He would insult him if, you know, his mouth worked. And if he had a death wish. And if he never wanted to come again for the rest of his life.
"Oh baby," Vegas murmured, soft fingers coming to caress the side of Pete's face. Pete turned his head into the offered palm, breathing slowly to regain some control over his tangled emotions, allowing himself to be petted fondly.
"You've done so well," Vegas said and Pete blinked his tears away to look at him through his lashes. Vegas' gaze was still cold, but there was pride and tenderness in it as well. Pete felt a warm sensation spreading through his chest, replacing the pounding of his heart.
His throat tightened.
He was so damned in love with this man, it was ridiculous.
Vegas' expression softened slightly. "I love you too, baby," he said.
Pete bit his lips - he hadn’t meant to say anything! - but then Vegas leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his mouth and Pete forgot all about it.
That was until Vegas' hand suddenly grabbed his tender and painful cock with a vicious grip again. Pete was so startled that he bit Vegas' lip, so hard that a metallic taste entered his mouth. Vegas straightened up with a victorious smile and licked the blood from his lips with a disturbing expression.
Pete felt his heart leap in his chest and despite himself, he pulled at his restraints. Wasn't he done yet?
"Oh baby," Vegas hummed. "We're done when I say we're done. And I'm not done playing yet."
Vegas' nails dug into the sensitive skin of his dick, running the length of it to the tip, then sinking his nails into the sensitive flesh of his leaking head. Pete hissed and struggled against his bonds but there was no escaping the pain. With his other hand Vegas pulled on the nipple clamp, awakening the dull pain and causing it to flare again, forcing a moan from Pete's mouth.
Vegas continued to play with him like this, alternating the painful tugs on his chest and the nail digging into his cock with strong squeezes along its length, jerking him at irregular intervals and leaving him breathless.
In a matter of minutes, Pete could feel his orgasm rising from the ashes that had never really been extinguished, and shame spreading through his body as he realised that he was going to come from the pain alone, and that he would never live down the humiliation of it. Perhaps worst of all was the way Vegas did it, almost absentmindedly, playing with a toy at his disposal without giving it the attention it deserved.
It rattled Pete's core; it made everything worse: it made it a thousand times better.
"Please..." Pete begged, though he didn't even know what he was begging for, a release or some mercy, anything other than this continued teasing without any real purpose that made him shake and tremble. Perhaps it was the continuity of it, the constant yet unpredictable motion, that made it so hard to withstand; sometimes not knowing when the pain would end could be more agonising (liberating) than the pain itself.
His muscles ached from the prolonged torture; his body was completely covered in sweat by this point. What a sore sight he must be.
"I still haven't decided if I'm going to let you come or not," Vegas commented as he pinched the skin under Pete's left nipple, causing him to yelp, before tugging on the clamp again, like a master reminding his dog who held the leash. "What do you think? Do you deserve to come?"
Pete could barely breathe, let alone have a coherent thought process, why was he being asked for an opinion anyway? He opened his mouth but Vegas circled his dick with two fingers just below the glans and squeezed all the way to the base, making Pete's whole body shudder at the painfully pleasurable sensation.
"I asked a question, Pete, and I expect an answer," the asshole insisted before tugging sharply at the nipple clamp and not letting go, pulling continuously until Pete's skin was stretched to the point of breaking.
Pete gasped, tears streaming from his eyes as he bit his lips again to control his whimpering, pulling on the restraints once more, feeling the ropes dig into the skin of his wrists as he tried to lift his torso off the bed to ease the pain.
"Stop fighting it!," Vegas roared in an imperious voice, annoyed by Pete's behaviour. He let go of the clamp and pulled his hand away from his dick, causing Pete to sob even harder, filled with the shame of not being able to take even so little.
Suddenly it became uncontrollable, unstoppable, like a tidal wave that left his body shaking and trembling with thoughts of not being good enough and inadequate and useless.
Vegas didn't notice at first. He sighed, looked a little resigned, and moved on top of Pete, aligning himself and pressing down, very, very slowly accepting Pete into his body with a mere twitch of the face as the only sign of discomfort, and the sensation was just as glorious as Pete remembered, but -
"No, no, stop, please, Vegas, I can't!" he cried out.
Pete didn't deserve it. He couldn't take it, couldn't taint Vegas, couldn't claim him; useless, good for nothing, fool. The emotions rose in his chest, intense and ugly, wiping out everything else in their path. Pete couldn't have Vegas; he wasn't worth it...
This time, Vegas did not insist. He frowned, the way he did when he really worried that he had taken things too far, and lay down next to Pete, slowly stroking his hair and wiping his cheeks, giving him a reprieve to calm down.
“It’s okay baby,” Vegas said in a soothing tone. "We won't do anything you don't want us to," he promised - and he sounded almost sullen, but Pete couldn't concentrate on that because it made him feel even worse.
"I'm sorry..." he sniffed. He wished he could hide, cradle his face in his hands or pull the blanket over him. He didn't want Vegas to see him in this state, but he was tied up and stretched out, every ugly bit exposed and ripe for the picking.
"Haven't I been good to you?" asked Vegas in a tender, reassuring voice. "Haven't I taken good care of you?"
Pete nodded, tears still streaming down his cheeks, his eyes closed and unable to look at Vegas, ashamed of himself for making it so difficult and yet unable to find the key to put himself in the right frame of mind; to let go; to let it happen.
"Then what's holding you back?" Vegas went on as he slowly moved his hand down the length of Pete's neck, tracing the faded bruises and following them all the way to the nape of his neck.
"Didn't you like it? I gave you a part of me that no one had before," he murmured in a low voice directly into Pete's ear. Pete gasped at both the physical sensation and the explanation. "Wasn't I much better than that woman?"
The statement was so unexpected that it took Pete a few seconds to process it.
It felt like a slap in the face, the ridiculous, laughable idea that Vegas was measuring himself against the most pathetic, sorry excuse for sex Pete had ever had in his life. How could he ever think that there was anything similar between then and now and how incomparable he was to all of Pete's experiences? Vegas was the only one Pete had ever really been able to give himself to; the only one who had ever seen Pete. Ugly bits and broke parts and unspoken desires.
"Doesn't it feel good to know that you're the only one I've ever trusted enough to share this with?" whispered Vegas, planting kisses on the side of his face, and oh, Pete could almost feel the exact moment it clicked, both in his head and in his heart, his body letting go of any physical resistance as the strain of the day and the mental blockage of this scene seeped out of him.
He had been so focused on himself and his own emotions, the unbearable, paralysing power of the feelings that had crept up on him without warning, that he hadn't stopped to think that he might not be the only one in the throes of such unbridled, fervent passion, blindly trusting a very dangerous individual.
Vegas looked at him with such love and devotion that Pete suddenly realised what an idiot he was. Yes, Vegas had plenty of lovers he had fucked into oblivion and plenty of people he had tortured into agony, but Pete was the one he had chosen to love. It wasn't a competition, there was no comparison. And yet there was Vegas, trying to prove his love to Pete by letting him (well, forcing him) stick his dick in him, like it would change anything.
Like he needed to prove something to Pete to earn his love.
He probably didn't even like it, this stupid, foolish, self-sacrificing, loving idiot. Would he let Pete carve his name into his skin next time?
It felt like whiplash. The sudden realisation caused a rush of elation that filled his bones and veins, worming its way into every crevice of his soul, every exposed wound, every tender thought.
"There you go, good boy," Vegas congratulated him, speaking against his jaw, his lips brushing his skin with each word. Pete purred at the praise, finally releasing the tension and allowing his mind to drift into the peaceful submission he'd been chasing all night. Vegas pressed another kiss under his jaw, then sucked one bruise on Pete's neck, then another, until he had created a rosary of bruises and bite marks around his throat, leaving Pete a moaning mess.
Vegas propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Pete with swollen, glistening lips and a burning, intense gaze. "Will you be good and take it?"
Pete nodded. He blinked. Everything. Anything. Vegas could take it all, could have it all. There was nothing in the world that Pete would not let him take from him.
"Yes," he added before being asked. He knew Vegas always wanted the confirmation out loud, not letting Pete avoid the responsibility for his surrender.
"Let's see then," Vegas said as he straightened up and resumed his torturous act, alternating long pleasurable strokes on Pete's most sensitive area, leaving him a trembling, begging mess, with painful nail penetrations into his tender flesh, shaking him and making him cry.
"Shall I remove this?" asked Vegas after another painful tug on the chest clamp, its small indentations biting into Pete's sore nipple.
"No," he whined. Or yes? He didn't know. He was swimming in the static of his mind, just wanting to please Vegas.
His answer made Vegas chuckle and Pete felt like he'd hung the moon, a pleasurable purr escaping his lips and travelling around his body at the sound.
"No?" Vegas repeated before pulling extra hard, eliciting a cry from Pete's bound form. "Are you going to keep it on indefinitely then? Let your poor little nipple turn blue from lack of blood until it rots and falls off?" asked Vegas, touching the throbbing little bud of flesh with the padded side of his finger.
An aching tendril of pain-pleasure ripped through Pete’s chest.
"Or should I just rip it off then?" he threatened, beginning to pull again, stopping only when Pete was shaking with fear and pain. He pulled the attachment from Pete's chest until the skin was taut and white from the stretching, beads of blood beginning to appear where the most pronounced dents gripped the tender skin, and then, at the last moment, he released the mechanism, freeing the red, swollen, bloodied nipple from its grip.
The suddenness of the action and the rush of blood into the abused area tore a scream from Pete who bypassed the instinct to fight and allowed the pain to consume him until it was nothing more than a dull throbbing of oversensitised skin, his mind buzzing with the overwhelming sensation.
He could never get enough of it, he thought blearily.
"Beautiful," Vegas murmured in amazement, his eyes drinking in the whimpers, sniffles and tears, unable to resist the desire to assault the skin even more by pinching it violently, bringing the pain back to a level that made Pete whimper and tremble and moan. "You're so perfect," he marvelled, moving his head just inches from Pete's face and planting a kiss on his lips, absorbing his gasps and swallowing his cries as he played with the injured nipple, completely ignoring the other.
Pete's head lolled to the side, watching Vegas' profile as he began to pull on his cock again, hard, jerking it with a force that brought Pete to the brink of orgasm before he had time to catch his breath from the torment of his chest, lost and confused between the pain and the tears and the pleasure that twisted at his core. His whole body burned with the desire to let go and come, but the pressure of the ring at the base of his sex served as a constant reminder of the rule.
It wasn't his choice. His pleasure was Vegas'.
"Vegas..." he gasped, unable to gather enough clarity for more than that, his body shaking from the strain of fighting off the orgasm that was pounding at the back of his tights and deep in his belly, making his entire skin prickle and burn. His mind was off somewhere far away as his body continued to take the assault, eyes glassy and dazed over the face of the man who was inflicting pain and pleasure in equal measure.
"Fuck, do you even know what I want to do when you look at me like that?" sighed Vegas. The skin of his shoulders and collarbone was a deep red and beads of sweat were forming on his forehead as he fought his own mental battle.
Sharp nails dug into his skin and Pete felt his concentration slip as the foreboding signs of orgasm raced through him, his entire body tensing, his hips lifting off the bed despite the way the restraints held him stretched out on the bed, an unstoppable wave of unadulterated pleasure ripping through him, breaking his resolve - before crashing against the rough pressure at the base of his cock from the very hand that had brought him so close to the edge.
Pete spasmed and sputtered, the frustration almost as painful as the torture. Tears found their way into his eyes again, from the denial of his release as much as the disappointment in himself for not being able to withstand the assault and obey the order not to come without permission.
He looked at Vegas, expecting to see the same dissatisfaction in his eyes and the punishment he'd have to withhold for it, but instead he was met with a burning, lustful gaze.
"No, no, no," Vegas breathed out, tentatively letting go of the hand that was pressing against Pete's groin. "No, not yet, I have plans for you," he murmured, and Pete would have cried at the utter relief of hearing that he would be allowed to come at all tonight. It almost felt wrong, in a way, to be allowed to find his pleasure after his terrible behaviour. He deserved to be punished a hundred times more, but Vegas himself didn't seem to be in the right frame of mind for that tonight, more focused on slow, torturous pleasure with moderate, pleasant pain than real domination until Pete was nothing more than a sobbing, bloody mess crumpled on the floor.
Vegas straddled him again, making Pete's eyes bulge slightly.
He grinned. "What? You thought we were done?" he asked before grabbing Pete's dick, still throbbing from the near miss, and slowly descending on it until he was fully seated on Pete, spread open and looking far less uncomfortable than the first time.
Pete closed his eyes, unable to bear the vision of Vegas hovering over him, the intense, searing pressure around his dick and the feelings bubbling in his chest. It was just too much, his mind was torn in all directions and he couldn't hold on to anything to keep himself grounded, completely powerless, just good enough to be used as an overgrown dildo as Vegas began to fuck himself on top of him, slowly at first, then with more vigour as he gained confidence.
"Open your eyes," came the order, and Pete obeyed without thinking. The lascivious image of his Adonis of a lover was overwhelming. He couldn't understand how he had fought it so hard the first time, when the vision of Vegas taking his pleasure from him was the most mesmerising thing he had ever seen in his entire life.
He felt himself disappear in the heat of the moment, his entire being and sense of self washed away until he was nothing more than an empty vessel for Vegas' will and pleasure.
Nothing else in the world mattered at that moment.
Yet... there was a spare thought that made its way into his mind as he looked at Vegas and the concentrated expression on his face, eyes blackened and intensely focused on Pete: the image of Pete breaking free of his bonds and grabbing Vegas, turning him over and burying himself in his tight heat; to make him completely his own, to imprint his ownership on his owner so that there could never be any doubt again. The sheer audacity of the thought, when he was bound and subdued and should think of nothing but obeying, sent a rush of heat and shame through his entire body.
"I want to fuck you so badly," Pete sighed, unable to keep the shocking thought to himself as he watched Vegas tilt his hips slightly before coming down hard, his mouth opening in surprise at the sensation.
Pete wanted to smirk, make a comment, something about prostates and whatever else Vegas usually drowned out when he was mocking Pete in this exact situation.
Vegas moaned, his eyes gleaming, and his hand suddenly grabbed Pete's throat and squeezed.
"Careful pet," he sneered, his breath coming out in short gasps, red appearing all over his chest and shoulders. "Don't forget who's fucking who here."
He squeezed Pete's throat menacingly and Pete felt almost dizzy with the sensation, his mind swirling in a sea of elation, his attention completely taken up by the way Vegas was thrusting up and down, his other hand pressing so hard on Pete's chest for balance that it would leave the imprint of his palm for days to come.
Yes, the primal part of Pete's brain supplied; mark me, make me yours.
The fingers on his neck tightened painfully as Vegas mumbled incoherently, a litany of curses escaping him. His lips quivered and his eyes closed, slaves to the sensations erupting in his body.
Pete's entire body seized in the face of Vegas' obviously pleasurable exploration of his own asshole; his entire attention focused on Vegas' enjoyment as a way of ignoring his own.
The sensation of the walls shaking and spasming around his dick, sucking him deeper and deeper into the tightly coiled heat of Vegas, was maddening. His body was agitated by the tremors of his barely contained orgasm, his hands and feet flexing relentlessly in their bounds, the pain in the tendons of his crotch becoming unbearable with the desire to thrust up but being stretched too far to be able to.
"Vegas, I can't..." stammered Pete, feeling so far away from his body and yet hyper-focused on every little sensation running through it. He was going to come, he just knew it, he needed Vegas to remind him, to forbid him, but -
"Yes," Vegas chanted, his hand going down to jerk himself off as he leaned forward, his other hand regretfully letting go of Pete's throat in favour of gripping his hair tightly, their faces pressed together, a single breath exchanged between them. "Come with me."
Pete felt his whole body tense at the command, as if it had been jolted by electricity; he'd been on the verge of orgasm for so long that all it took was a thought to make himself come and break through the forbidding pressure of the ring.
He got much more than that as Vegas tensed and shook above him, eyes boring into him. He came with a guttural moan, a string of 'Oh fuck, Pete, yes, yes' escaping his mouth, sending Pete's own orgasm crashing into him with the force of a tsunami, feeling himself send endless spurts of cum straight into Vegas' clenching hole - and oh fuck, there wasn't even a condom, Pete realised far too late - wave after wave of pleasure washing over him erratically.
It could have been minutes or hours before Pete blinked slowly, looking up at the ceiling as he tried to come back to himself after the intensity of his orgasm, blinding starry points still flickering behind his eyelids, his body convulsing in the aftermath.
He couldn't stop shaking. Even after he came, he could still feel the waves of his orgasm shaking him to his core. His mouth opened in vain; he couldn't speak. Was he still coming? It almost felt like it.
He could feel Vegas still sprawled across his torso, breathing deeply and still shaking slightly himself, having slipped out of Pete's cock at some point during his pleasure-induced blackout, his cum slowly dripping down Pete's thighs, making him want to moan all over.
Pete's mind felt fuzzy and full of cotton wool, sluggish as he struggled to keep his eyes open and wished he could just fall asleep.
Unfortunately he knew that Vegas had zero tolerance for falling asleep reeking of sex and sweat and he would be forced into his second shower of the night in no time. He felt so fucked up and woozy, though, there was no way he'd be able to stand on his own two feet after that, and judging by the way Vegas remained motionless on top of him, he wasn't sure he would either.
"I take it you liked it, then," Vegas asked, and the ridiculousness of Vegas needing reassurance after that crazy coupling made him almost giggle like a schoolgirl.
"I love you," Pete said, his brain too fried to come up with a better, more detailed answer.
He dabbed at his lips, trying to form words, a thought, anything.
"I feel like I should ask," he murmured, tilting his head just slightly to inhale Vegas' dark mop of hair. He smiled as he felt him simply press closer, against the entire length of him.
"It was certainly an interesting experience," Vegas admitted. Pete chuckled. No shit. "But you'll pay for it if I can't walk straight tomorrow."
"You big baby," he smiled, already feeling the aftermath of today's ordeal in the dull, constant pain in his chest and the persistent sensation of splinters and needles on his softened dick. He wasn’t going to pee without cussing at Vegas for a while, he could already tell.
Pete allowed his eyes to close for a moment, letting time slow around them. The moment felt suspended, the whole world reduced to the two of them, their own bubble of time and space opened just for them to exist in each other's presence.
There was nothing in the world he would trade for those peaceful moments. It felt as if the world straightened itself out a bit during those times, old wounds closed and present worries all but forgotten.
But it was an elusive feeling, always far too brief, and suddenly panic jolted Pete awake.
"The cockring," he said urgently. "Fuck, Vegas, wake up! The ring - "
"Stop panicking, I already removed it," Vegas snapped, annoyed but without much heat in his tone. Pete relaxed, realising after taking the time to connect with his sensation that he didn't feel the weight of it anymore. "Every time, really. What's with you and your fear of losing your dick?" grumbled Vegas.
It was pretty rich coming from someone who had tried to rip it off just minutes before.
(It had to do with Pete doing some 'research' in the wake of their relationship and his complete illiteracy about the BDSM toys Vegas seemed to be so fond of. The horror stories he had read about the misuse of some of these devices were not to be taken lightly. The image of gangrenous penises not treated in time was burned into his mind, far more effective than any horror film Tankhun had subjected him to over the years).
(He also read horrible things about encounters gone wrong and wondered what he'd gotten himself into, before realising that there wasn't much they couldn't come back from if they were able to rise above the whole kidnap-and-torture-almost-to-death thing. Hell, his story would probably be at the top of those horror scene retellings, but he didn't dwell on it too much).
Vegas finally shook himself out of his funk and stood up with a start. He stretched and turned towards the bathroom. Pete frowned.
"Aren't you going to free me?"
"No," Vegas replied with a devilish smile. "Take it as your punishment for almost coming without permission," he said, turning and leaving the room, leaving Pete tied to the bed, naked and covered in cum and cooling sweat.
"Vegas! Come on, it's too tight, I'll be fucking sore tomorrow!" he shouted, of course to no avail. It was a miracle that Vegas had not punished him immediately and allowed him to come at all. It was certainly a testament to how far he must have been lost in his own lust that he allowed Pete to share in his pleasure.
Pete wriggled a little, trying to find a position where he didn't feel completely stretched to an uncomfortable degree, then forgot about it when he realised he was tied like that for exactly that reason.
He seethed a little, then took the situation in stride (what choice did he have?) and allowed the discomfort to become a part of him (it wasn't like it was the first time Vegas had tied him up against his will anyway). There was something almost comforting about it, a return to their roots, as fucked up as they were.
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander, enjoying the silence that always followed such intense sex, savouring the feeling of being both grounded and very far away, an elusive peace he had never known before meeting Vegas.
The voices in his head had fallen silent again.
He didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, now that most of the aftershocks had passed and gone, but neither did he feel the pull of the anguish that’d been unsettling him all afternoon. He could feel himself landing slowly, reaching the ground with soft padded steps, his body loose and slack.
Pete jumped as he was startled by the sensation of a warm cloth being placed on his chest. He lazily opened his eyes to watch Vegas meticulously clean him since he wasn’t inclined to free him and drag him under the shower.
"Why did you do it?" asked Pete, the words coming out as sluggishly as he felt.
"There isn't a single part of me that doesn't belong to you," Vegas said, looking up from where he was kneeling beside Pete. "Now you have everything."
Pete's chest tightened. He never knewn that love could be so painful.
"I thought you were going to kill me yesterday," Pete confessed. He could never lie or hide the truth in this state. He felt the sharp intake of breath that Vegas took, but he didn't flinch, just looked at Pete with dark, dilated pupils.
Pete had liked it. And Vegas knew he had, knew what a freak he was, but still wanted Pete to have all of him.
"Did you want me to?" asked Vegas in a low, breathy voice.
It was such a loaded question. Pete didn't want to die, but sometimes he just liked to feel like he might.
"I'm all yours," Pete replied.
His life had never felt like his own. It had been his father's, a man who had dedicated his time to trying to destroy Pete, but had failed like everything else in his life; his grandmother's, Pete's love for her so deep that he would have sold himself to the first human trafficker in town just to put food on her table; the main family's, loyalty ingrained so deep in his core that it seemed nothing else in the world could ever matter more.
Now it was Vegas' responsibility, to do and end as he pleased.
Vegas pulled the blanket over him and Pete and lay down on him. On top of the ropes that kept him stretched out and stuck to the bed, Pete was now being held down by the heavy and warm weight of his favourite person in the world.
Vegas pressed his mouth to Pete's and kissed him lazily.
"I'm going to suffocate if you don't move," Pete gasped after a while, the weight of Vegas on top of him getting heavier and heavier, pressing him down and restricting his breathing.
Vegas just smiled.
"It's okay though, your life belongs to me."
"Yeah," Pete murmured, closing his eyes and letting sleep take over. "Yeah, it does."
He figured being smothered to death by his boyfriend's bear hug would be a pretty nice way to die anyway.