Chapter Text
Pete inhaled and exhaled in deep breaths as he stared at the open entrance of the Minor Family’s compound through blurry vision. He didn’t know what was happening to him — or what would happen. It was frightening to think about it. And when his lips wobble and throat became a bit too dry, his eyes swell with tears and his voice hitched into a pathetic whine. Truth be told… He would die before the night ended.
It was late at night, and although the lights were on, Pete’s heart skipped a beat. What if Vegas’ men didn’t recognize him? He wasn’t wearing his uniform. What if they think he was some random intruder or an assassin; a stupid one at that? What if they shoot him on sight?
When a piercing pain shot in the center of his stomach, he hunched over and stumbled closer to the compound with shaky legs. He had no choice, really. He was a dead man walking either way.
Tears spilled from his eyes this time at the thought of dying. Although he might’ve always been brave, always bracing for inevitable death in his line of work, a part of him wasn’t ready o die. Not yet.
Pete didn’t wipe the bitter tears away; instead he carried on instead, arms wrapping, pressing around his stomach like a protective blanket.
“Show your hands!” He heard someone ordering a couple of yards in front of him. Although he couldn’t make out the figure in front of him from the darkness, he concluded it was one of Vegas’ guards.
Pete didn’t show his hands, too afraid to move them from his stomach, too afraid the scorching heat coming from inside might tear him open and spill his intestines out on the floor.
Disgusting, the thought of it.
“I need —” Pete exhaled a shuddering breath and took another cautious step closer. “Where’s Khun Vegas?… Tell him I come from the Main Family — I need his help. Let me in.”
He tried to push past the guard only to feel the weight of the man’s heavy palm pressing against his shoulder, pushing him away. There wasn’t any strength to the push and yet he stumbled backward as if he had been punched, or a drunkard, unable to stand on his own feet.
“Not so fast,” the guard said, mean and biting. “What’s your name?”
“Pete… My name is Pete — hurry, ” he answered without arguing and watched as the guard signaled another one over, ordering him to go inform Vegas about Pete’s presence. Thank fuck.
While he waited, surrounded by watchful eyes, he braced his back against a pillar, and oddly enough, the coldness eased the heat in his body. Dammit. This was all Kinn’s fault. If his boss hadn’t insisted he go alone, undercover on this stupid mission, none of this would’ve happened . Then again, he should’ve never insisted to go alone; too foolish, too brave. What happened to him exactly?
Ah, that was right ; he had been poisoned by the Italian man, Francesco , a potential panther for Kinn. He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Francesco, making sure the man didn’t go against Kinn — making sure he wasn’t a backstabber. He was; Pete found out earlier. He was also working for the Cambodian mafia; they weren’t on good terms with Kinn, or Vegas . Why did Francesco have to poison him though? Dammit, it happened so fast too. A needle to the neck, a knuckle in the face, and the next thing he knew, his phone and his gun and whatnot got confiscated before he was getting dragged off by two bulky men to somewhere — somewhere to probably get left to die… How had Francesco even found out he was one of Kinn’s men? Ah, it didn’t matter. He was probably going to die; he needed to get to a hospital.
Pete banged his head against the pillar while he awaited for Vegas, only to regret it when another harrowing ache exploded at the back of his head; he hissed a curse and closed his eyes.
“What’s going on? — What are you doing here?”
Finally, a familiar annoyed-sounding voice; the heir to the Minor Family.
Pete opened his weary eyes as relief washed over him at the blurry sight of Vegas, dressed in his sleeping wear; a black silk two-piece with the shirt open to the navel. Why was he always so sexy? If Pete wasn’t literally dying, he would’ve drooled over Vegas’ yumminess.
“Francesco poisoned me,” Pete said after pushing himself off the pillar and leaning toward Vegas. It made no sense to beat around the brushes; the sooner he gets help, the more likely he stood a chance at living. And although Khun Vegas might’ve been a murderous sociopath, he would help. “Khun Kinn sent me to keep an eye on him at his club… I don’t know. Somehow he found out I’m working for the Main Family, and he poisoned me. I didn’t know where else to go in time, and you’re closer — I need your help.”
This time Vegas looked genuinely concerned before a passing rage seemed to sweep over his eyes. Had Pete said something wrong? Vegas wouldn’t just let him be?! What if —
Pete groaned, a loud moaning thing before he wrapped his arms around his stomach again. He breathed harshly as sweat suddenly flood his forehead, running down his neck and chest, and socking up his torn shirt. He only prayed his trembling knees wouldn’t give out.
Vegas was quickly there to steady him when wavered from side to side. “How do you know it’s poisoned?” he asked with widened eyes as he searched Pete’s face for something. “ And why the fuck did you drink anything? Isn’t there a rule Kinn makes you follow, or are you too incompetent like Porsche to listen?”
Why did he have to be so rude?
“I didn’t drink anything,” Pete mumbled, unintentionally pouting before he pushed Vegas away from him. He could stand up straight without any help, thank you very much. Besides, he didn’t run all the way over to the minor compound to get scolded like a child — he was here for help. H.E.L.P. Help. “Francesco injected me with something, It has to be poison. Please call Khun Kinn — or help me , dammit.”
Vegas, bastard, didn’t help. Instead he stared at Pete and watched as he withers away, hardly able to stand upright. He was examining him instead of helping! Pete whined again and stumbled one step backward. Dammit, so embarrassing. Why did he keep whining? Why — Vegas took a step toward him, and another and another and another until he was braced back against the pillar, and Vegas’s face was only a breath away from his. What was he doing?
Pete looked at him with big doe eyes, confused .
Before he could get a word out, Vegas touched his forehead with the back of his palm, and Pete nearly melted at the cool contact. Why did it feel so damn satisfying? If he asked Vegas to keep his palm there forever, would he agree? Pete didn't realize he was smiling until he opened his eyes (he didn't realize he had closed them either) and caught sight of Vegas leaning into his face with furrowed eyebrows.
When Vegas’ curious eyes travel downward, only to stay staring at Pete’s crotch, the bodyguard joined him and looked down, and — oh shit . Quickly Pete’s eyes double. Why was his cock so hard? It was practically straining against his jeans! And how come he didn’t notice it before? What was going on?
“How do you know it’s poison?” Vegas asked in a whispered tone, snapping Pete out of his thoughts.
Pete licked his lower lip, refusing to take his eyes off his cock, throbbing against his jeans. “What else could it be?” he whispered back, his cheeks coloring. God, this was so embarrassing.
“Look at me,” Vegas ordered in a stern voice this time, and Pete didn’t realize the younger man has been holding onto him by the arms, on his elbows, the whole time to keep him from tipping over, until he felt Vegas squeeze on them to gain his attention.
But he didn’t want to look at Vegas .
Pete closed his eyes and scrunched his face up before he tilted his head up and back, resting it against the pillar. “Khun Vegas," he sighed, desperate and pleading as fresh tears face down his cheeks. "Please just get me some hel —”
“ Look at me ," Vegas said more seriously, a demand really. It made Pete's entire body do a strange tremble, goosebumps racing up his back and arms — even up his neck. He flushed red and gasped when Vegas gripped his chin too tight for his liking. "Let me see your eyes," Vegas ordered again, and Pete didn’t realize he still had them close. He opened his eyes and his breath hitched. Vegas was a handsome man, more so up close. Those menacing eyes, examining Pete's face — Pete wanted to sit on his face and — "Open your mouth." Pete opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. What was this for? Couldn’t Vegas just get him a doctor if didn’t want to call Kinn? Pete was literally dying!
" Khun Vegas , everything hurts," he whined when another piercing flash stabbed at his back this time.
Vegas ignored his plea. "What are you feeling right now?" he asked, tilting Pete's head from side to side. "Tell me in detail and don’t leave anything out.”
Pete brought a hand to the middle of his chest, he had sweat so much in the past hours that his shirt was practically soaked. “I feel hot — like I’m on fire,” he said. “My stomach hurts, my back hurts and my mouth feels like —” he swallowed, wishing he had a taste of water. “Like sandpaper… I can’t see clearly either… And…" He looked back down. His cock was still throbbing; starting to ache. But the pain, the scorching fire in his body was too much, the ache in his cock felt like nothing; like a mere scratch. What the hell did Francesco inject him with? “And I’m getting…”
Ugh.
He couldn’t just tell Vegas he was hard in a time like this.
How embarrassing; how shameful.
A second later Vegas grabbed his crotch and finished the words stuck on his throat. “You’re getting hard,” he said, a mummer.
Dammit.
“Yes,” Pete admitted, heaving for air.
“You haven’t been poisoned,” Vegas concluded, worry dripping from his tongue before he started tugging at Pete’s arm, taking him inside the compound in quick strides while Pete stumbled a couple of times, trying and failing to catch his balance. “That fucker injected you with an aphrodisiac. And by the looks of it, it’s a strong one. How long did this happen?”
Aphrodisiac?
Like the sex drug?
Did this mean Francesco wanted to —
Pete cringed at the thought, nearly recoiling within himself before he answered, “Three hours ago.”
“Fuck,” Vegas hissed.
“Is it going to kill me?” Pete asked.
“Yes, you can die,” Vegas said the words Pete dreaded the most. “You need to get it out of your system.”
How? Pete wanted to ask. The words were stuck in his throat though, like a lump. He felt like he had a lump in his throat. It was there, uncomfortable, gagging him. When Vegas made a turn, another pain shot down Pete’s spine and reached his cock. This time the pain was unbearable, he doubled down, screaming while tears escape his eyes. Thankfully Vegas caught him before he could fully fall, and shushed him.
It didn’t take long before they got inside, sandwiched between the corridors walls of the Minor Family’s compound. And although the wall lights dim up the pathway for an average person to see clearly, Pete wasn’t average. If anything, he felt like mush, a dead weight, weighing Vegas down with him. Everything seemed dark; everything spun.
“Pete, listen to me,” Vegas said and threw Pete’s arm over his shoulder. “Kinn can’t help you with this, and if you don’t take care of it, you’re going to die.”
“What —” Pete swallowed and heaved. “What am I supposed to do?”
Finally , Vegas stopped in front of a room, opened the door, and turned on the lights. It was a guest room, brown and bland. Nothing too fancy; a typical cheap guest room you might find at a high-class hotel.
“You need to help yourself,” Vegas said, dragging him inside and taking him toward the bed. “You have to jerk yourself off.”
Jerk himself off?
Pete’s head snapped to look at Vegas. “What?”
“You heard me,” Vegas said, icy cold and deadly serious. “Jerk yourself off.”
Then Vegas dumped him on the bed, and oh — the mattress felt so soft. Pete allowed his body a second to melt against the silk sheets. But there was still something bothering him , something… His hands reach for his shirt and he tugged it open, uncaring as the buttons went flying in different directions on the bed. He knew Vegas was watching him while he rid himself free of the annoying soaked shirt, yet he was too far gone to care.
When Pete was done, he stared up at Vegas who hovered above him, and he shivered. Vegas’ eyes were darker than normal and unreadable. His breathing is labored too — and when he stuck his tongue out and wet his lips, Pete whined. Truly pathetic.
So, Vegas was just going to stay there and watch Pete jerk himself off?
It was weird; then again, Vegas was a weird man.
Pete didn’t care though, not anymore, not at this moment. He just needed to pain to be gone, he just wanted to feel sane again. So as shameless as it might be, he reached for the zipper of his jeans and unzipped it in front of Khun Vegas’ lusty eyes.
However, before he could get to his cock, Vegas cleared his throat.
Pete stopped and looked up through wet eyelashes, disheveled hair, and parted-slicked lips.
What now?
Vegas exhaled through a shaky breath and said with a husky voice, “There’s water on the nightstand.” And then he turned his back on Pete, heading for the door before he stopped in his tracks, and added over his shoulder, “Don’t stop until you’re completely relieved. If you need anything, call for me. I’ll be in the next room… I’ll check up on you in the next hour.”
Then he was gone, he closed the door and disappeared.
Pete tugged his cock out of his jeans and started stroking himself.
__________________________
An hour later, Pete was still not able to find relief.
He moaned and groaned loudly while lying on his stomach, chewing into the sheet as he rutted into a pillow, trying to get some sort of relief, but nothing worked!
Since Vegas left him, he only came once into his palm.
He couldn’t do this anymore!
He was sweaty and withering; his back ached and his cock ached, standing straight and throbbing in ways he never knew possible. Only his sight returned when he came the first time. This was torture — and not the good kind. He needed help; he needed someone to fuck him because touching himself is clearly not working. But…
Who would want to fuck him, of all people?
Instantly Pete stopped rutting himself against the pillow and took a glance at the closed door.
The only person he was familiar with was Khun Vegas.
What if he asked Vegas to help him?
Would Vegas want to help?
Then again, Vegas would fuck anything as long as it had a hole.
A sneaky smile made its way across Pete’s face.
Of course! — Vegas would do.
“Khun Vegas?” he moaned loud for anyone to hear down the hallway. “Khun Vegas?!”
It didn’t take long before Vegas came bragging through the door with widened eyes. He must’ve expected something else — something less lewd. Instead, what greeted him was Pete’s naked body, sprawling on his knees and elbows with a sweat-soaked pillow under him that he had been using to rut himself into in slow, painfully slow, movements, oblivious that Vegas was already there.
As though in a trance, Vegas’ breath hitched, and his mouth fell slack, before seemingly unintentionally taking a step closer to the bed. “ Pete… What are you…”
Pete’s body froze and he instantly stopped fucking himself into the pillow. “Khun Vegas?” He glimpsed over his shoulder with big doe eyes and trembling lips, smiling when Vegas visibly gulped. “Please,” he whimpered through tears. “I can’t do this anymore… You have to help me."