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Macau is back for two weeks, on break from university, and Pete’s entire routine changes.
The apartment suddenly feels crowded and hectic in a way it never did before, even when Macau was actually living with them. But it’s been months, and things have changed so much. They’re all so much more alive now than in the first weeks after everything.
Vegas and Macau are on a whirlwind tour of all their favorite spots in Bangkok, leaving Pete to take care of various aspects of their new family business, not that he minds it. Vegas and his brother have their own secret language, their own way of being that it feels like they’re just now rediscovering.
The work part is a network of gyms around Bangkok. Pete is grateful the main family let them handle a legitimate business, that actually operates at a profit, and all they have to do is manage it. He knows it was P’Kinn’s decision, but still that act feels more like something Porsche made happen.
Pete enjoys the fact that his new job takes him all over Bangkok, and it gives him a built-in outlet for the kind of routine he was used to for years. Physical training, but on his own terms and with lots of variety. He’s proud of the relationship he’s built with his body after how he grew up, how much boxing was something he loved but also deeply hated.
Now he’s learned how to be strong without feeling like he needs to prove anything, even to himself. He doesn’t need the burn, doesn’t need the muscle definition, doesn’t need any of it to feel at home in his own skin.
Of course, sometimes he does need Vegas.
The first week Macau stays with them Pete watches Vegas wind himself up with so much excitement and energy, he can barely sleep. It’s like he’s a new man and he wants his brother to see it, but no amount of seeing feels like enough.
Pete thinks maybe Vegas is waiting for something to happen, some kind of click, for Macau to see Vegas with new eyes and for things to change somehow. There’s something undeniably positive building between them, but also something unnerving. Like too much of a good thing, like so much hope reality can’t possibly match up to the expectation.
The walls of the apartment are thin - Pete’s forgotten how he used to think about that, how it used to matter - but one morning Macau manages to beat Vegas to hopping downstairs and buying breakfast stuff from the vendors on the next street over, and Pete uses that time to ambush Vegas while he’s getting dressed.
Pete kisses him, both of them fresh from brushing their teeth, and then pushes him gently until Vegas’ back hits the wall, and Pete sinks down to his knees and pulls off the half-undone jeans and underwear until he’s got Vegas in his mouth.
It’s less than a few seconds before Vegas is hard, and Pete’s mouth manages to surprise a moan out of him.
Vegas mumbles Pete’s name, says a few hesitant words that Pete ignores because they’re all about how they maybe don’t have time for this, how maybe Pete shouldn’t, when in reality Pete knows exactly how long it’ll take Macau to get back, even at a run, and Pete intends to be done by then.
Vegas’ hands finally descend into Pete’s hair, his fingers combing carefully through Pete’s hair, soothing and caressing, not pulling, and Pete keeps sucking Vegas down, bobbing on his cock, enjoying the feel of him.
Pete’s not hard, but he enjoys this. He loves feeling Vegas like this, so desperate and eager. He wants Vegas’ nervous energy gone, or at least lowered. He wants Vegas to look less frantic around the eyes, like if his brother says the wrong thing, reacts the wrong way, something terrible will happen. Vegas will somehow realize he’s a fraud, or something like that. Pete can’t fully figure it out, and he doesn’t think Vegas can explain it in words either.
Vegas comes, mewling and groaning, and Pete swallows him for long moments, keeping the head of Vegas’ sensitive cock in his mouth until a hitch in Vegas’ breath tells Pete it’s enough.
He gets up slowly and goes to brush his teeth again. When he comes back Vegas is crumpled on the floor, his pants still around his ankles.
“Hey, I got breakfast!” they hear Macau say, as the front door slams shut behind him.
Vegas looks up at Pete with something between panic and betrayal and Pete does his best not to laugh at the pitiful sight in front of him, of the man who no longer has a morning hard-on.
“Did you get the drink I like?” Pete says, raising his voice and heading out of the bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him.
“No, sorry phi, they were out,” Macau says. “There was a line of like ten minutes for the new batch, I just came back.”
Pete shrugs. The phi is new, the last time Macau stayed here Pete was just Pete. This time he’s been phi since the airport. “Maybe tomorrow.”
It takes about five more minutes before Vegas joins them, by which time half the food is gone.
Macau doesn’t comment, and the look in Vegas’ eyes is a little more settled, in Pete’s estimation.
*
After spending ten out of his fourteen days back home with his brother, Macau spends the rest with friends, a group of them going down to Phuket. Vegas takes him on one last morning excursion before driving him to the airport to meet the gang.
Pete uses that time to visit one of the gym branches they own, on the western outskirts of the city. He and Vegas are supposed to meet with an accountant soon, who’ll walk them through how the business is doing, and report back to Porsche. It’s not that Pete doesn’t trust accountants, but he knows he’ll be mostly useless at that meeting. That stuff is for Vegas. Pete prefers talking to people, visiting different branches himself, scoping them out, getting to know the vibe, the staff, the atmosphere.
That’s what he’s good at now, he thinks. Before becoming a bodyguard, before P’Chan and his training, Pete was good at using his body to make other people hurt. At ignoring his own pain so he could stay upright long enough to knock another man down. At getting up again when his ears were ringing and his bones felt shattered.
Now, he’s good at other things. He understands people better, understands power and hierarchy. Understands what motivates some and discourages others. He understands the difference between need and greed. He understands trust, and how it can be a more powerful weapon than a knife or a gun.
He doesn’t think about how P’Chan never actively talked to him about any of those things. He just let Pete learn his lessons, step by step, giving Pete progressively more and more responsibility.
So, Vegas can look at spreadsheets and audit accounts and make business projections. Pete will spend his time down on the ground.
Vegas is home when Pete returns, and while Pete expected him to be a little deflated, melancholy maybe about Macau leaving again, instead Vegas is humming to himself, digging through a discrete paper bag at the kitchen table, barefoot but still dressed in fancy outdoor clothes.
“What did you get?” Pete asks, taking off his own shoes and expecting Vegas to pull out some vegetable he’s decided to experiment with and put into a dish the vegetable definitely doesn’t belong in.
Instead Vegas turns, lips curved into a grin, and pulls out a length of pale green, soft looking rope. “I want to try something.”
Oh. Well.
It takes Pete’s brain a moment to process what’s happening. Vegas wants to tie him up? Of his own free will? He’s bought rope and everything? Pete’s heart skips a beat.
Vegas moves past him into the bedroom, already stripping off his shirt. “Bring the bag!”
Pete blinks once, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating this, and does as he’s told.
The bag feels light, but when Pete looks down into it there’s definitely a considerable length of rope in there.
In the bedroom, Vegas, now in his underwear, takes the bag from Pete and kisses him, warm and passionate and solid, the way Pete hasn’t felt him be since Macau arrived. The way Vegas rarely is even without his brother around.
“Lie down,” Vegas breathes against Pete’s lips, and Pete feels a shiver go through his entire body, leaving him a little less focused on anything outside this room.
He knows without being told that Vegas wants him to undress before he gets on the bed, so Pete’s clothes are quickly discarded. He’s so happy to get rid of his button-down shirt and slacks, they feel like they belong to a different, more tired, less relaxed person than Pete wants to be. They’re his current best guess at Business Clothes, a code he’s still trying to crack for himself given that he’s never owned a business before.
He lands on his back on the bed, half lying down, one knee bent. A great position for observing Vegas, now also naked, fussing with the rope. He’s coiling and uncoiling it on the bed, tracing his hands over every inch, like he’s making sure none of it has dangerous spikes.
A distant part of Pete knows there should be some memory attached to this. Vegas and ropes and a bed and being naked. Those memories aren’t entirely pleasant. But in the forefront of Pete’s brain there’s not even an echo of confusion.
Vegas is different, Pete is different, the room is different, even the rope bears no resemblance. Nothing about this scene is causing anything but anticipation in Pete’s belly.
Finally, Vegas is pleased enough with things to straddle Pete, the rope arranged on the bed to be accessible the way Vegas wants it.
“Gonna do this while you’re lying down,” Vegas says, twirling the edge of the rope between his fingers. “Gonna make it pretty but loose. But if you need to get up, tell me, Pete. It may not be comfortable to move around in.”
Pete nods, and doesn’t say what’s on his mind - he’s not planning on getting off this bed until Vegas is done even if the building is on fire.
Vegas begins by wrapping the rope around Pete’s torso. The strands wrap around his shoulders, but not his arms. Then Vegas slowly moves down Pete’s chest, weaving a diamond-like pattern.
Every time the rope has to pass under his body Pete has to move, lift up a little, let Vegas touch him, take his weight, push and prod him in the right direction at the right moment. It’s annoying at first - Pete thinks it would be much more efficient if he were standing or kneeling - but after a few minutes there’s a lulling effect to it.
His body is never still, it’s constantly in minute motion controlled by Vegas. Muscle by muscle, section by section, Vegas touches all of him, moves all of him, claims all of Pete with his dexterous fingers, leaving behind only structured patterns, not physical marks.
The rope doesn’t behave the way Pete expects. Vegas ties it slowly around Pete’s chest, his ribs, stops right above his bellybutton, and it occurs to Pete none of this is helpful in restraining him in any way.
He feels a little fuzzy, pleasantly relaxed in a satisfying way, but nothing Vegas has done restricts his movement.
He waits for Vegas to decide how to continue past Pete’s bellybutton, and semi-consciously extends his arms upwards on the bed, until his elbows reach the headboard.
Vegas looks away from Pete’s body up at his face, and smiles. He crawls up until he can grab each of Pete’s hands and press a kiss against the inner palm. Then he puts each hand back where it was, and crawls back down Pete’s body, until they’re facing each other again.
“You can keep those up there,” Vegas says. “The rope is just for decoration today, OK? Just because of how pretty you look.”
Pete lets out an indignant little huff, because it’s bullshit that Vegas bought brand new beautiful rope just to make Pete pretty, it’s a waste of goddamn resources. But also Pete can’t be too grumpy about it when Vegas’ hands go back to wrapping the rope around Pete, this time going for his thighs.
Vegas’ hands lift Pete’s right leg to his chest, and then lower it, and then lift it up again, and the motion is so repetitive and soothing, the rope against Pete’s torso feels like an extension of Vegas’ fingers. Like Vegas is still touching him all over, and also manipulating Pete’s legs, pulling them open and completely ignoring Pete’s cock and balls, like they’re not even doing this naked.
Pete isn’t hard, per se, but he’s interested. His cock is half stiff, and there’s a low, gentle warmth in his belly, that’s spreading to the rest of his limbs with every new, careful strand of rope wrapped around his limbs.
Vegas avoids the knee and continues at Pete’s shin, and Pete feels like inside he’s moaning, even though Vegas can’t hear it. The rope wrapped around Pete’s back is digging into his skin, from Pete’s own weight, and it’s not exactly pain, more like a mild discomfort, but it adds to the sense of being enveloped by Vegas everywhere, and makes the fire burn a little bit brighter.
Vegas finishes at Pete’s ankle and moves on to the other thigh, and Pete closes his eyes and lets himself just feel everything. Listen to the sound of Vegas’ breathing, hear the gentle rustle of the coiled rope being unwound every time Vegas needs another length.
When Vegas is done, finishing at Pete’s other ankle, Pete doesn’t open his eyes. He’s enjoying this too much. He feels floaty, and nice, like he’s submerged in a bubble bath. The water is covering him all of him but he’s still able to breathe somehow.
He expects Vegas to lie down next to him, maybe. Pete wants to cuddle, wants to feel the warmth of Vegas’ body, even though he also just wants to feel Vegas’ fingers wrapped all the way around him, like nothing else can touch Pete instead. Nothing bad or scary or disappointing. Only Vegas, holding on to him like a spider holds on to a prized meal.
“Are you a spider?” Pete mumbles, knowing it doesn’t quite make sense when phrased that way. “I like it,” he tries to clarify.
There are lips pressed to his collarbone.
“Look at me,” Vegas says, and Pete opens his eyes.
Vegas is next to him, but he doesn’t look like he wants to cuddle. He’s holding a bottle of lube in one hand, while the other is idly tracing the inside of the rope around Pete’s nipple. Pete’s chest is divided neatly into sections, and each nipple has its own little shape.
“I want you hard, baby,” Vegas says, pouring a few drops of lube into his palm. “You’re almost there. Think you can do that for me?”
Pete moans and wants to close his eyes again, because he’ll do anything Vegas says, including sprouting wings if Vegas tells him to. But he keeps his eyes open, because Vegas wants him to look.
Vegas’ slick hand goes to Pete’s cock, which is indeed most of the way there to an erection. He wraps it around Pete’s length, makes everything smooth and easy, and Pete grunts as Vegas’ hand adds that slick pressure to make the fire in his belly burn even brighter.
Vegas’ other hand closes around Pete’s nipple, pinching and then twisting, making Pete arch and groan and his cock get instantly harder.
“So good, baby,” Vegas says, casually, continuing his assault on Pete who is already so defenseless, and in less than a minute his cock feels ready to burst.
“Perfect,” Vegas says, and kisses Pete, grabbing his face with both the dry hand and the slick, and Vegas’ lips are like oxygen, like the sweetest fruit Pete’s ever tasted, he wants to drown in Vegas’ mouth.
Vegas pulls away and rearranges himself, straddling Pete again, but this time he’s sitting lower, right over Pete’s cock.
Vegas is so hard, Pete can see that. Is he gonna jerk off on Pete? Will he make Pete watch it and hear it and then will he rub his come into Pete’s skin? Pete is into that idea.
“Been wanting to do this for a while,” Vegas says, and grabs Pete’s cock with one hand, lifting his own hips up, and positioning Pete’s cock between his asscheeks.
Oh. Oh..
Fuck.
“Wait,” Pete says, but weakly, because he can’t muster any strength about anything right now.
“What is it, baby?” Vegas says, staying still in that insane position, fingers stroking the head of Pete’s cock.
“Are you sure?” Pete asks, feeling like his tongue is trying to get away from him. He’s loving this so much, the other thing is barely getting through the pleasant haze. The thing where the two of them have never done it like this before, and he knows Vegas has done it, but he doesn’t really know how long ago, and with which people. “Should you…?”
“I want to very much,” Vegas says, patiently. “And if you don’t have a real objection, shut the fuck up and let me fuck you, Pete.”
Pete can do that. He can definitely do that.
Vegas pushes Pete’s cock inside himself, into that impossible, tight furnace that’s also slick somehow because Pete has definitely not been paying the fullest attention to his surroundings for a while now. Vegas shifts his hips, bears down, and it feels like a coil of hot iron is being pulled from Pete’s guts. He moans, loudly and desperately, and tries to hold still so Vegas can use him as he likes.
Every inch of Pete’s cock being subjected to that sublime pressure feels like a blessing, and a form of torture, and as soon as Vegas’ thighs touch Pete’s, as soon as Vegas’ weight is back on him, Pete lets himself writhe and arch and move, trusting Vegas to hold him down if he needs to.
Vegas looks unspeakable. Breathing heavily, eyes half squeezed shut, deep flush all over his body. He’s got one hand around his own cock, which looks painfully hard, and his other hand is sneaking back over to Pete’s chest, to his other nipple this time.
And oh, fuck, Pete is not gonna last, he’s not gonna–Vegas’ hand twists his nipple and squeezes and Pete bucks his hips uselessly and yells and feels like he’s being pushed off a very short plank into an abyss of pleasure.
Vegas grinds his hips back and forth, Pete’s cock sliding an inch out of him and then back in, and Pete howls, the hands above his head clenching into fists.
Vegas comes a moment later, groaning like he’s being punched, come spilling out over Pete’s belly. Inside, Vegas’ muscles get tighter and rougher somehow, like the most brutal massage on Pete’s cock and Pete can feel the orgasm shoot up from his balls all the way to the tip of his cock in half a breath.
It’s here and it’s gone and Pete can barely catch his breath, barely remember where he is or his own name for a moment.
Fuck. Fuck.
*
Pete is only half conscious for the cleanup stage. One blink and Vegas is still recovering, lying on his side next to Pete, lips delicious and puffy and right there for the kissing. Another blink, and Vegas is unwrapping Pete’s legs, and Pete feels vaguely distraught at the loss. Another blink, and Pete is mostly clean, his come and Vegas’ no longer on his body, no rope on him at all anymore.
“Too quickly,” he mumbles, when Vegas is lying next to him again, and he can hear the water running in the bathroom. Vegas is probably filling up a bath. “Wanted to stay like that for a bit.”
“Sorry,” Vegas says, arm slung half over his face, looking exahusted. “Didn’t want to risk any cramps.”
Which has nothing to do with cleaning up the come from Pete’s skin, but Pete’s given up the battle with Vegas’ cleanliness rituals. “What about you?” he asks carefully. “How are you feeling?”
“Pete,” Vegas removes his hand from his face and rolls his eyes. “I’ve bottomed before. I fucking loved it, OK? Just…” Vegas closes his eyes for a moment. “It was so hot that you could get hard for that. Barely any pain. Definitely doing that again.”
Pete feels the temperature under his skin rising mildly again. “I loved it too,” he says. “All of it.” Would have been even hotten with his hands tied somehow, but he doesn’t say that. Vegas already knows.
“Gonna be empty without him,” Vegas says, with a note of mild melancholy, and as happy as Pete will be to have the place to himself and Vegas again, he kind of agrees. It was nice having Macau around. He’ll miss him. Texting and video calls just aren’t the same.
It occurs to him this is the mood he expected Vegas to be in originally today. Not whatever possessed him to suddenly be comfortable with rope, to fuck Pete, to do… all of that.
“What did you do this morning?” Pete asks, knowing Vegas will understand he means before driving Macau to the airport.
“Breakfast, and then the cemetery,” Vegas says, without much emotion. “Papa’s birthday.”
Shit. Pete should have known that. All the family birthdays used to be celebrated at the main family house, Pete’s been to a whole bunch of dinner parties in Khun Gun’s honor.
Vegas gets off the bed and goes to the bathroom, and Pete can hear him turning off the tap.
After that morning… Pete would not have predicted Vegas would come home so… confident. Cheerful, practically. So full of all the things Pete loves most about him.
“OK,” Vegas says, leaning against the door, still fully naked. “Do I need to support your weight or actually carry you to the bath?”
Pete smiles. “In your arms? Or tossed over your shoulder like a caveman?”
“Dealer’s choice,” Vegas laughs.
He looks like he’s finally taken a long, deep breath and let it out.