Work Text:
The thing about Vegas, is that he keeps wanting to try things.
Pete isn't against experimentation, exactly, it's just that in his experience nothing good comes of fucking with something that works.
He can admit that "a thing that works" is not necessarily an accurate description of every aspect of his and Vegas' relationship.
It's been months since the hospital, since squaring away their lives with Porsche and in a different way with P'Kinn. Weeks since Vegas has been able to walk and sit and dress himself without pain.
Pete has spent so long by his bed, just waiting and praying that he comes out of this OK; that whoever Vegas is when he emerges from all this, however he decides to rebuild his life, Pete will have a permanent place in it.
The thing Pete doesn't anticipate - though he probably should have, P'Chan would have been disappointed in his deduction abilities - is that once Vegas is fully back to himself, he'll turn the full span of his attention and focus on Pete.
Macau is away at university, studying in Japan now that the family's agreed to continue sponsoring his education. Which is good, because Pete would hate for him to still be in their new, modest apartment, with its tragically thin walls, the first time Vegas tries to give Pete a handjob.
He doesn't sneak up on Pete, exactly, but it's... unexpected, after all this time of sleeping in the same bed while Vegas recovered, without any overt sexual advances.
"I'm sorry," Vegas says, kissing Pete's neck in the morning, before either of them have to get up and face the day. Which is not unusual, except his hand slides down under the sheets, inside Pete's boxers, wrapping itself around his cock.
Pete gasps, doesn't know how to close his mouth now that this is happening. The hand feels pleasant and warm and he loves the intimacy of this, loves that Vegas is well enough to consider this an option.
"I haven't been taking care of you at all," Vegas whispers into Pete's collar bone. "I couldn't find lube anywhere in here, so I bought some last night. Let me get it from the kitchen. Make this feel nice and wet."
He has a predatory grin on his face that makes Pete's stomach flutter with excitement, and Pete nods his approval.
"Yesterday I tried to think," Vegas says. "How many times you've probably jerked yourself off since the hospital, when I could have... helped, or something. I don't know." He looks mildly embarrassed as he rolls away, throwing the blanket aside. He always sleeps naked, and Pete always appreciates the view when he first gets out bed.
"Uh, not that many times," Pete says, as Vegas walks into the kitchen through the bedroom door, which is open. They closed it when Macau was here, but keeping all the doors open helps both of them with the anxiety born of lifelong security training.
"Yeah?" Vegas says from the kitchen, and comes back with a small bottle of clear liquid. "You got a number in mind?" he smiles.
"Umm," Pete says, realizing belatedly this is a bad conversation to have right now, when it's morning and everything is nice and he's enjoying this energized, calm, enthusiastic Vegas so much.
"Come on, tell me," Vegas says, climbing back into bed and settling next to Pete, bottle thrown on the sheets between them.
He could lie, but there's an unspoken agreement between them that, given their history, lying is tantamount to admitting this thing between them can't possibly work. If they can't give each other the truth, in all its complicated brutality, eventually they'll end up in a bad place.
"Zero," Pete says on an exhale.
Vegas freezes. "What?"
"It's not... something that really works for me, that often," Pete says, feeling Vegas' confusion change the mood in the room.
Vegas thinks for a moment, as if replaying events in his head. "You... you definitely enjoyed yourself when we... right? Is it just... does it only count if it's with another person?"
Pete shakes his head and feels his temperature rise by about 10 degrees. Vegas already knows the answer to this, but if Pete doesn't spell it out they'll spend the next however long talking around it. "The pain, everything we did, it just... made it different."
*
Vegas doesn't want to go back to everything they did, is the problem. Pete doesn't blame him, doesn't push him, doesn't want him to do anything he's not comfortable with. But the reality is that Pete has never had a relationship where he was more interested in sex than the person he was with.
There was a brief period growing up when, like every boy he knew, his life felt like one endless erection, and yes jerking himself off then had felt good and necessary and like such a fucking relief.
But at some later point it just... became less satisfying.
He was seventeen when he got into a fight with his father that ended with Pete lying in a pool of his own blood, and his father no longer breathing. He was eighteen when P'Chan accepted him as a junior trainee bodyguard.
Somewhere in there, in between the boxing and the killing and the constant training, Pete figures something in his mind, or his body, or maybe both, shifted. Getting laid just wasn't a priority for him, and he found life at the Theerapanyakun compound well suited for that. Especially once he was assigned to Khun Tankhun's detail, it was like all the sharp edges of life that he no longer enjoyed, no longer got along with, were gone from his daily routine.
It would have been weirder, he thought, if everything about him was average and normal. He spent most of his days generally satisfied with his life, so it was only right that something else had to suffer, to compensate.
Pete is OK with that being his damaged ability to come. He still gets hard occasionally, and touching himself feels nice, but most of the time he can't make it end with an orgasm. After a while he just gets sore and bored and frustrated and gives up.
He never dreamed about a wife and kids when he was a kid, and he didn't dream about them working as a bodyguard. He had his brothers, and hid bosses, and his gun, and however long he'd last in this line of work, and that was OK.
At least, that's what his life used to look like.
Vegas... Vegas changed all of that.
*
They can't go back to how it was in the safehouse. Pete knows that. For both their sakes, they have to make their new lives... new. Pete already has an idea of what that will look like, but for Vegas... he has to figure out his own version. What he wants to keep from his old life, what he wants to reinvent, what he wants to burn to the ground.
And for Vegas that means he wants to love Pete without whips, without belts, without chains. At least for now.
Pete can accept that.
But Vegas also seems to be more and more invested in the idea of them having the kind of sex where Pete comes, and those things... they may not be compatible. It took Pete a long time to admit that even in the privacy of his own head, but... the only part that was different with Vegas was the violence, the pain, the lack of control. It was like it rewired his entire nervous system.
He can't go back to not having that, and still feel the same things in his body.
"I'm happy to be the one doing things to you," Pete assures him. "I like... making you feel good."
"No," Vegas says vehemently. "Not if I can't reciprocate."
"You can touch me!" Pete says, though he knows it's useless. "I like it when you touch me."
Vegas shakes his head and looks visibly distraught and leaves the kitchen, where they're having this conversation, to go into the bedroom, empty an entire linen closet and re-fold everything in it.
*
"I have an idea," Vegas says, and Pete is wary. Sometimes these are wonderful, brilliant things, and sometimes they're the kind Vegas used to concoct with Tawan - hairbrained schemes that any rational person can see will fall apart before their time.
Pete still isn't sure which category this one belongs in, by the time he's leaning his back against Vegas' chest, both of them naked on their bed.
"Can I play with this?" Vegas asks, slick hands already palming Pete's cock.
"Sure," Pete says, with a fond smile, because this is what he wanted. For Vegas to accept that whatever they can have is better than nothing, and good enough to build a life around.
Vegas' fingers circle the head of Pete's cock, run up and down the shaft, occasionally thumb over his slit. There's no hurry to Vegas' motions, everything is languid and pleasant and warm, and Pete loves it. He slumps against Vegas and lets himself feel this luxurious pleasure. The man he loves caressing him, pouring attention and care into his skin, kissing Pete's shoulders as he does it.
When Pete's cock is half-hard Vegas' hands slide down to Pete's balls, spread the slick warmth there as well, and Pete sighs. Vegas pushes two fingers even further, just barely reaching Pete's hole, circling but not pushing inside.
Pete turns his head, seeking Vegas' mouth, and finds it, so hot and comforting. Vegas' lips taste of the spice in the dish they just finished eating, that he prepared, and Pete moans with how all of this feels. Living in his own place, with someone who cooks and touches him like this, with so much patience. It fills his chest with something soft and ever-expanding, something so good he almost feels guilty about it. He's done a lot of shitty things in his life, and this feels like almost too much happiness.
Vegas' hands return north. One hand wraps around the base of Pete's cock, and the other circles the base of his balls. It feels tight and warm and slick and Pete moans, softly, breaking the kiss.
"So good for me," Vegas whispers into Pete's ear, and Vegas' hands begin to pull away from each other.
The hand holding Pete's cock squeezes a little tighter, pulls upwards a little, and the hand around his balls pulls downwards, and even though the movements are minute Pete gasps like he's been hit with a beach ball in the chest.
It's not pain, exactly - well, OK, it's a little bit of pain - but it's mostly pressure, in a way Pete's never experienced it before, and it feels so weird and so disorienting and yes, OK, he's harder now than he was a second ago.
A moment later Vegas' hand moves from the base of Pete's cock, up to the shaft. But his grip is still too tight, squeezing Pete more than he'd ever do to himself when jerking off. Pete moans at the pressure-pain of it, at the sparks of pleasure it sends to his insides, somewhere low in his belly, and hears Vegas whisper "yes, come on, come on sweetheart," into the back of Pete's neck.
"Hurts," Pete says, because he has to, because they're being honest at all times and all places.
"I know." Vegas presses a kiss into Pete's right shoulder. The hand on Pete's balls is pulling Pete's balls down, slightly away from his body. "Too much?"
Pete hesitates for a moment before shaking his head. He thinks he can feel a heavy breath on his back, like Vegas had been holding it in.
"You don't have to come," Vegas says, quietly. "Just let me play for a bit."
Oh, that feels good. Pete nods, and squeezes his eyes shut because they prickle. He can feel one tear escape and run down his cheek anyway.
Vegas jerks off Pete's cock with slow, terrible, deliberate motions, always a little harder, a little tighter than would be comfortable. Sometimes he pauses at the base of Pete's cock, and then his other hand does the same to Pete's balls. He pulls them down, every so slowly, squeezes the base, and within moments Pete can't help himself. He's letting out breathless little moans and whimpers on every exhale.
The way Vegas moves his hand is almost... it makes Pete think of groin injuries, of getting kicked in the balls during training, of the worst nightmares about the pain a man can endure. But the edge of that fear is all it is. Vegas' hands are safe, they're slow and methodical and Vegas is listening to every one of Pete's breaths.
And Pete is so hard, when he opens his eyes his cock is staring back him dark and angry, covered in slick and Pete moans even louder, feels another bolt of electricity go straight to his belly.
He feels like he might come. Shit, how is that possible?
He's panting, breathless, moaning just from Vegas' fingers on him. No chains, no hits, no blood.
Vegas' hand returns to stroking Pete's cock, but his other hand doesn't let up on his balls, keeping them low and pressed tight in Vegas' palm.
"Vegas," Pete groans, feeling helpless and out of control, even though he could stop this at any moment. His hands aren't even bound, he could just push Vegas away.
"Shh, sweetheart," Vegas says, and his voice sounds fucking feral. All the hunger Pete remembers, but none of the franticness. "We're just playing. If it's too much just tell me."
Pete knows both his cheeks are wet now, and he closes his eyes again, which makes the sensations even stronger. He feels like there's a storm brewing in his abdomen, in his chest, about to rise up into his throat.
Vegas' hands release the pressure on Pete's balls and Pete groans and practically curls in on himself and Vegas doesn't try to stop him, doesn't try to keep him still. Just waits for Pete to stop moving and then goes back pushing his balls gently away from his body, squeezing them just a little too tight.
"I'm gonna come," Pete says, a little shocked, because he can feel it building, inexorable, like something that shouldn't be possible but is. "Vegas, I'm gonna come."
"I would love that," Vegas says into the crook of Pete's neck, his hand squeezing the base of Pete's cock again. "But it's OK if you don't. We're just having fun."
Which is a fucking lie, and Pete will call him on it later because Vegas knows exactly what he's doing by this point, can see exactly where this is going, and Pete chokes on a sob from the pain and the pressure between his legs just as he feels the pleasure of it overtake him.
He comes, gasping, and Vegas doesn't let up on squeezing the head of his cock, doesn't let go of Pete's balls, until Vegas' fingers are covered in come and Pete is shaking against him.
Pete isn't sure what happens after that, exactly.
He knows Vegas is warm around him. He knows the pain doesn't disappear, despite the floaty, buzzy feelings he gets after an orgasm.
He knows Vegas is putting something next to his lips, and at first Pete thinks it's probably Vegas' cock, which he desperately wants to suck right now, but then realizes it's just a disappointing bottle of water.
Pete drinks in little sips and eventually the bottle goes away, while Vegas stays.
*
Later, Vegas fuses over Pete's groin, puts a soothing cream on his balls, which Pete thinks is both unnecessary and useless, and tries to convince Pete to take a bath so he can relax after that work out to his system.
Pete doesn't want to move from where he is.
"I didn't think... I didn't know I could come like that," Pete says, instead, to change the subject.
Vegas' smile is bright and mischievous and wholly inappropriate for someone who just put someone's entire groin in a vice grip. Which is an overall decent description of Vegas.
"You were perfect," Vegas says. "We can't do that every day, but I'll... I'll think of other things. Fun things, that don't require... equipment."
"OK," Pete agrees. He still can't believe Vegas could do that to him with just his hands. Just kind words and the warmth of his body and pain that wasn't the worst Pete had ever experienced. "But the experiment has to go both ways."
"What do you mean?" Vegas asks.
"You have to let me try" to serve you, to humiliate myself for you, to hurt for you "to make you feel good, my way. Occasionally," Pete adds.
Vegas is quiet for a moment before nodding. "That's fair. I just... I'm not sure what's going on inside my own head sometimes."
"That makes two of us," Pete smiles at him, before pulling him in for a kiss.