It's true. Vegas was completely focused on himself right now: his anger, his want, his needs. Whatever it was that boiled up in him, he just wanted a physical release for it. Fucking, fighting, maybe both? Did it matter as long as it burned the aggression away?

Maybe somewhere in the deep, dark, and rational recesses of his mind, Vegas knew this was a bad thing. But it wasn't the rational part of his brain driving this situation. If it were, they would be sitting on the couch, talking. Instead, they were both at the mercy of Vegas' temper.

He wasn't being particularly careful, either. Once he worked a third finger into Pete, he twisted and curled them with impatience. Vegas noticed Pete's resistance, but it was just another detail confined to the back of his rational mind. Before long, it wasn't Vegas' fingers working their way inside Pete's body.