Chapter Text
Pete looked at the man sleeping beside him. In the faint rays of the rising sun, straining in through the blinds he looked almost soft; slightly slack-jawed, hair-tussled, peaceful slumber marring the sharp animalistic features of his face.
Pete turned, feeling a childish urge to sweep away some of the stray hairs, to look at the slant of his brows, the hollow of his cheeks, to steal this moment away in his memory.
He bit his lip and gradually turned away; instead, he slowly pushed the duvet and climbed out of the bed, caring not to accidentally wake up the Minor heir.
He craved a warm bath.
Pete sighed, as he dragged his sore body slowly, under the clear waters of the shower.
Thoughts free-flowing, as the hot droplets hissed down his litany of bruises purple, red, pink, and grey.
Pete loved these marks, usually; the only marks his body had ever adorned. He rejoiced in their lingering pain; in the soft hurt they brought in normal chores. He reveled in the way Vegas always took care to never leave a trace at any place a shirt wouldn’t hide, he thrived in the gentle aftercare Vegas always provided. Like a blind-sighted fool, he cherished that they were Vegas’ marks.
And yet, today, as he looked at them, Pete wanted to cry.
For the last eight months, it had been the greatest adventure Pete had ever imagined to be on. He loved the thrill, the high of the hide and seek. He craved for the ropes and the bites, and the sharp sting of an unexpected slap. Like an addict, he sought the tingling at the end of his nerves every time Vegas touched him, set him alight. And still, something felt amiss.
Pete scrubbed his face, more forcefully than he needed to…
Eight months, eight months since they had started sleeping together. Like those things, he saw in trashy dramas and movies with Khun Noo, one-night stands, friends with benefits… But no, that wasn’t true, either, because they weren’t friends. Not even a little.
Pete almost laughed, to imagine him and Vegas as friends. Completely absurd.
No, they were worse. They were fuckbuddies. No attachments, no expectations. Only playmates of the night, he was a shameful secret to be forever hidden.
But, somewhere along the way, Pete had screwed up. There were feelings. He had caught these stupid feelings for a man who probably cared nothing about him. Had slept with hundreds of “Petes” like him before. Lost young men, with no soulmate, naïve men, poor men, only looking for a good hookup for a while…
And the deep azure butterfly soul mark carved into Vegas’ upper bicep, mocked Pete’s entire existence from the very first night.
But it wasn’t too late, Pete thought, he could end it all, before it got any worse; and he relaxed gradually, at the thought.
A lull settled into his body; until he jumped as he felt a sudden hand touch his shoulder.
“Be careful,” Vegas whispered, as he steadied Pete, encircling Pete’s waist. “These will scar if you don’t clean properly.”
Pete swallowed, Vegas was naked behind him, pressing into him. His voice was rough from unuse, his hands skillful as they soaped across Pete’s bruised hips and back. Gently, so gently…
He felt Vegas’ featherlight touches, the hard fingertips massaging away the burn from nooks and crannies of his body; Pete bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from almost moaning.
“You’re so soft,” Vegas murmured into his ear, lingering his hand across his torso, “You’re so sexy Pete. You’ve no idea.”
Pete turned away, the tears at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill again.
“Khun Vegas, I…. I’m …. I don’t think I can go for another…” Pete whimpered.
“Shh…” Vegas pushed a finger against his lips. “I know. I’m not asking you right now, for sex... Let me just take care of you.”
“You… you will get late to your meeting, Khun Vegas,” Pete tried again, “I can do it myself…”
“Drop it,” Vegas said heatedly, suddenly turning Pete around to face him, “Quit the honorifics, call me by what you called me last night…”
Pete huffed, slowly, getting annoyed now. Vegas was his boss, but that didn’t mean he could boss him around all the time, especially now.
“Vegas, stop it.”
“Good. See that’s all you had to say.”
Knowing if he said anything more, things would only get worse, Pete watched mutely, as Vegas washed him and then turned off the shower and cocooned him, like a baby in one of those expensive towels, wrapping one around his head too.
“Wait in the room, don’t leave… I... I ordered breakfast… for you. Eat it, and don’t leave before I’m done.”
Pete wanted to protest, to say they would get late. He wanted to shout, that he was trying to protect his heart, and why did Vegas have to break it so bad? But he didn’t get a chance, the bathroom door closed on his face.
Pete sighed again and dressed back into the crumpled shirt and day-old underwear he had so casually tossed around the room yesterday.
The breakfast on the table sat, hot aroma piping up, gradually filling the suite. And Pete narrowed his eyes.
He tiptoed forward carefully lifting the lid, as his eyes widened and his heart quickened.
The glass bowl was full of hot curry, the color of deepest red, right beside a bed of rice so plump and white it took Pete’s breath away for a second.
He stared at the food, ruminating if he had ever told Vegas what his favorite dish was.
Pete was certain, he hadn’t. Sex, they had only had sex together, in a room, by an alley, in the basement of his house, in this hotel, but no, never, had they actually had a conversation.
The thoughts, hideous creatures, rushed back again like a dam breaking, was today the day, Vegas would ask Pete to spy on the Major family, for him? Would he really break his heart into a million pieces, with so little care? Pete wondered, hopelessly as he stared at the food.
“What? You don’t like it?” Vegas asked stepping out. The towel precariously perched low on his hip. His abs glistened in the lingering droplets. His silk spun, wet hair was plastered across his forehead. His eyes squinted in worry.
“No, no Khun Vegas…. Sorry... Vegas,” Pete stammered trying and failing to smile, “I... I like it…. But how did you know??”
“I went out with Porsche, yesterday. He told me.” Vegas smiled, almost smug.
Ahhh… Porsche, Vegas’ unrequited love, Pete thought bitterly. That explained it.
Pete was annoyed, angry, hurt, and hungry too, he realized belatedly, as his traitorous stomach let out a whining growl.
“Oh, fuck it,” Pete said under his breath, digging into the food. He scooped spoonfuls up scarfing down, and with the little energy he gained from the calories, Pete couldn’t stop himself from the slight dig.
“You know Porsche’s mark is a phoenix right, a big one,” Pete gestured with his hands, chewing and slurping the curry rice, “It’s not small, or blue, or a butterfly.”
Vegas turned around zipping his pants, and replied, “I know. I’ve seen it.”
Pete rolled his eyes, licking his lips to catch any stray rice grain, you’re a slut, of course, you would know, Pete thought angrily.
He gulped down the food, until the bowls were clean, and finished the bottle of water right next to the table.
His eyes strayed to Vegas, who sat now, dressed and watched him, quietly, from the perch of the bed; like a hyena, watching his prey, play, and frolic, a tiny smile hovering on his lips.
“You are adorable Pete,” Vegas grinned as their eyes met, “You remind me of a kitty, I used to have.”
If it was meant to assuage Pete’s already wounded heart, Vegas failed spectacularly.
Pete scowled, “Tell me Vegas, do you…. do you, do this for all your fuckbuddies?”
In an instance, Vegas’ eyes darkened, and the mirth on his face disappeared, replaced by a menacing frown.
He tilted his head to one side, and in a scarily sweet voice asked, “Why Pete, do you think this is some special service?”
In all this time, Pete had somewhat learned to read Vegas. Like a hunted injured animal, he knew Vegas’s tics, and still the thought that out of anything, Vegas might actually kill him when all of this was over, never crossed his mind.
Pete stared with widened eyes, the fear of death cripplingly taking over as he watched Vegas stalking over. He felt the fingers on his throat before he got pushed against the wall.
It could have been violent, Pete knew, and yet it wasn’t. The throw was almost languid, careful like Vegas didn’t want to hurt him at all.
Vegas wasn’t planning on killing him today…
“Fuckbuddies?” Vegas queried, like tasting the word on his tongue, his voice dangerously low, “Is that what you think we are?”
Pete could push him off if he wanted to. He knew that, and he was aware Vegas knew that too. But he stood there, his back pressed against the cold wall, Vegas’ hands on his bobbing Adam's apple.
“Aren’t we?” Pete asked back, softly. He wouldn’t lose this without a fight.
Dark eyes bored into him for a moment, their breaths mingling, the smell of the soap swirling around them like a tornado.
“You’re right. Maybe we are,” Vegas said finally, pushing away from him.
Pete held up, through sheer willpower. Even though his knees cried to give out. His heart hurt, he wanted to run away to his room in the Major house and simply cry on his bed like a child.
“Vegas?” Pete inhaled and called softly, instead.
“What Pete,” Vegas was standing by the window of the hotel, his sculpted broad back turned towards Pete.
Pete ran a hand across his face, his tongue feeling like sandpaper. “I... Thank you… For everything, I… I should leave, Khun Noo would be waiting…”
He turned away to leave, a stone lodged in his throat, hands fisted, and a strangled cry threatening to emerge any second.
“Wait, Pete…” He heard Vegas call out, as he pulled the door. “Will I see you next week?”
“No, I have a lot of work next week…”
“What about after?”
“I don’t think…”
“Right,” Pete thought he heard Vegas sigh.
He lingered, and then finally, he trudged his way out through the door, his body feeling like a million tonnes. Until he heard one last time from Vegas.
“You don’t have a soulmate mark, do you, Pete?”
Vegas had turned, the Sun was right behind him, his silhouette dark and clear like a beatific statue in some ancient museum.
“No,” Pete choked out. Vegas was cruel, he always knew that.
“No I have no soulmate.” Pete repeated more firmly, refusing to break.
“Good. I don’t have to worry then.” He heard Vegas, from a distance, as Pete slammed the door and rushed out into the dimly lit lobby.
To run away, to run far, far away…