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“What if we adopted?” Pete finally manages to say, and he can feel his hand becoming clammy where he’s holding onto Vegas’ forearm. He hopes to God he can’t tell.
Vegas freezes up around him imperceptibly, chest stilling against Pete’s back, his arms tightening by just a fraction. The moment passes as soon as it comes, but Pete feels it all the same. “What?” he chuckles out, breath tickling the nape of Pete’s neck.
Pete gives him a couple of seconds to inquire further, but when no questions follow, Pete supplies, “The human trafficking ring Cousin Pond took down…”
“What about it?”
“It involved children.” He sighs, thumb ghosting back and forth over the freckle on Vegas’ arm. “Joy is temporarily fostering as many of them as she can while they try to figure it all out.”
Vegas offers no comment as he waits, palm warm on Pete’s stomach.
“There’s this six-month-old boy.”
“You want to take in a six-month-old you’ve never even seen before?” Vegas eventually asks, tone almost laughing, but not in a mean way, Pete can tell; bewildered, more like, unsure how to respond.
Pete angles his head towards the forearm it’s resting on, noses at the skin, breathes in steadily. Instead of answering verbally, he nods.
He counts one, two, three, four, five seconds.
“You really want a child?” Vegas asks. He shifts both of them a little, hold becoming more secure. The hand on Pete’s stomach travels to his hip bone. “Why raise someone else’s when we can make our own?” he says into the crook of Pete’s neck, and Pete has to bite back a moan when Vegas’ naked body rolls against his own, sure and meaningful and practised.
Pete tugs at his arms with both hands, exhales harshly when he pushes back at Vegas and Vegas only thrusts in return. “I mean it!”
Vegas’ open mouth is scorching hot on Pete’s throat, teeth a blunt pressure. “Oh, so do I.”
Ugh.
As fast as he can, Pete turns around in Vegas’ arms, hands coming up to push at Vegas’ chest; not hard enough to nudge him back, but confident enough to get him to listen.
Vegas sobers up a little. Keeps holding him. Waits.
“I’m serious,” Pete says, and he watches for the moment Vegas’ eyes soften with understanding.
“Pete,” he says in the tone Pete will never grow tired of hearing his name spoken in, like his heart directly pumped it out of his mouth, like he’s pleading and offering him everything at the same time. “How are we going to care for a baby? How can I—”
Pete shifts to hold Vegas’ face in his hands now, securing eye contact. “Vegas, I’ve been with the Family since I was a teenager. I’ve seen you raise Macau.”
Vegas’ eyes become wet within milliseconds. He shakes his head as much as Pete’s hands will allow. “You can’t say I— Macau and I had no one, I did all I could and it was still not what Macau deserved—”
“You did a great job,” (Vegas’ breath hitches on a silent sob) “you taught him love and made him feel safe, and, admittedly, he grew up into a bit of a brat, but you allowed him to be a kid first. You raised Macau all on your own. It was all you.”
He watches as Vegas tries to rein himself in and fails, the subject of family always, always an extremely sensitive spot right in the centre of his sternum, raw and exposed. A weakness for as long as he’ll live. Pete gently shushes him, leans in to kiss his mouth, ventures upwards to wipe away the wet tear tracks with his lips. Leans away again to look at him, listen to him trying to steady his breathing again. Vegas holds him close.
“What if I fuck him up?” he finally asks, and he doesn’t have to clarify who he’s referring to.
“You won’t,” Pete reassures, confident beyond explanation. “You will be great. I’ve seen it in you, and I see it even more clearly now. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.” He ducks again to kiss a sigh out of Vegas’ lips. “You will be a great father.”
Vegas’ eyes slide closed at this, shuddered breath leaving him slowly, like his lungs are cracking with what he’s feeling. Fingers dig into Pete’s skin, not to hurt him, but looking for steadiness. When he finally looks back at Pete, his eyes are shining with more than just tears. “You really mean that,” he states.
“I do,” Pete confirms.
He can’t be sure how he knows, because their chests are not quite touching, but he feels this bone-deep certainty that, right this moment, their heartbeats are perfectly synchronised.
He wills his heart rate to slow down, steadies his own breath. Watches as Vegas silently follows his lead.
Hands now find Pete’s neck, warm and soft. They trail down his chest, ghost over his arms, tug at his own hands, bringing them up to Vegas’ lips. A kiss, chaste, almost reverent. Thumbs smooth over his knuckles. “You want to raise a child with me.”
Pete doesn’t know how to confirm something this big, this certain and solid inside his chest, ten times as heavy as his heart. Words feel small. He nods.
“With me,” he smiles.
“With you,” Pete chokes out, smiling back. As if there ever was even a shadow of a doubt.
Vegas finally closes all distance between them, pulling all of Pete up against and into him. Arms secure them close together. Vegas kisses a thankyouiloveyou into Pete’s mouth. Pete takes it all in, tucks it into his ribcage, safe and sound, and hopes Vegas feels his own response when he gently bites it into Vegas’ lips.
When they break apart, Vegas’ heavy-lidded gaze is bright with understanding. Good.
“Can we go see Joy about it?” Pete asks him.
Evidently not one to ever deny Pete anything, Vegas says, “Yes.”
Pete’s heart beats with satisfaction, happiness. “Tomorrow,” he dares push.
“Tomorrow,” Vegas repeats, and Pete wants to physically shake him, giddily shout at him, scream in an attempt to express how incredibly happy Vegas makes him.
Instead, Pete holds onto him even tighter, scattering pecks everywhere he can reach: Vegas’ lips, his high cheekbones, the curve of his nose, the softness of his eyelids, the sharpness of his jaw. The heat of his throat.
Vegas groans, easy. His hands travel over Pete’s skin, and Pete immediately taps into the shift in the mood, automatic, trained. His own body responds without second thought, entirely Pavlovian.
“Until then,” Vegas says, “how about we keep trying?” He leans in, smirks into the vulnerable triangle of Pete’s chin when he tilts his head for access. He kisses at the soft skin, trailing lower and lower while fingers dig into tight flesh. Pete moans, entirely in agreement. “This time it might just take.”