No one could understand them even if they tried. What they had was a very special sort of fucked up. Maybe even a little codependent on Vegas' side of things. Pete was his everything.

Vegas shed his own robe and draped it next to Pete's on the wheelchair. He helped Pete get to the stool and washed the stale sweat and other things from his skin. Every gesture was tender and reverent, ensuring that Pete was completely clean before guiding him into the steaming bath. He made quicker work washing himself off so he could settle into the bath behind Pete. Vegas wanted to be close to him, wanted to feel the reassuring weight of Pete leaning against his chest. That sort of intimacy was just as important to him as the sex.