Vegas shifted closer, trying to close what little distance remained between them. He might pay for it later with aches and pains, but it was worth it to be pressed against Pete. To pull him close and hold him against his body.

He groaned softly and let one hand card through Pete's hair. He loved touching Pete. Maybe he always had. He thinks back to times when he laid a hand on the bodyguard's shoulder or back; times before the world shrunk to the safehouse and the two of them. And he remembered the first time Pete really touched him, that hand on his knee when his hedgehog died.

Who would thought all those months ago that they would end up needing each other as much as air?