Pete was on his feet and letting his clothes be shed as they made their way to the bed. When his knees hit the bed, he fell back onto it with a gasp, kicking the last of his clothes away. They weren't going to be needed anyway. His underwear actually ended up on the bed but it wasn't in the way so it was fine.
Then, he was reaching for Vegas' clothes to help him get naked too.
"No," he grunted, pushing Pete back against the bed. No, he wanted submission right now on his terms. As soon as Pete was back against the bed, Vegas' deft fingers darted over buttons and fastens. Before discarding his pants, he pulled his belt off with purpose.
They didn't keep much here for kink. That's what the loft was for. But they weren't at the loft and Vegas craved what he craved.
He was surprised when he was pushed back and saw the belt. In the loft it was great because it was just them. Pete could scream and Vegas could be violent. Here in the hotel their room wasn't designed for that. They could get rough but they didn't go far with it. Because it could get loud.
He blinked and then let out a laugh. His gut was suddenly telling him that something was off here. If there was one thing that was always right it was his gut. "Let's leave the belt for the next time we're at the loft, okay?"
"It's for your hands," he replied when Pete turned over. "Gimme," he added impatiently. He even gestured for Pete to put his hands behind him even though his husband couldn't see it.
Putting his hands behind him, he shifted to make himself more comfortable. The belt was not going to help with that but nothing to be done there. "Bad day?"
He had a pretty good guess that's what was going on here.
"Had to kick someone out for talking shit," he grumbled as he wrapped the belt around Pete's wrists and tightened it. When that was done, he finished undressing and made a pitstop at their bedside table for the lube. He tossed the bottle on the bed beside Pete, then reached for his husband's hips to pull his ass up.
He winced a little at his hands being pulled tight behind him. But a test and he knew that he could slip this if he had to. He'd bruise his wrists to hell to do it but he'd be able to get out. What felt worse though was that Pete realized he was having to analyze how to escape. With his own husband. That was not something he liked.
Ass up, he shifted his knees. "Vegas, let me get up. You can tell me what happened..."
Oh that was a concerning tone to take with his name. So, Pete shifted to start to get himself up. He even gave a sigh. Helping Vegas through a bad mood? He didn't mind that. But it would be more comfortable for him if the talked it through first.
Vegas' arm darted out, grabbing Pete by the back of his neck to push him back down. With the other, he snatched up the underwear Pete left on the bed, balled them up, and shoved them into Pete's mouth.
"Wait! Vegas! Cu-mmph!" Pete couldn't believe he'd really tried to use their safe word. That he'd tried and Vegas flat out hadn't even tried to listen to him. He wasn't listening at all and that was terrifying. Pete's eyes went wide as he struggled on the bed, not able to get the cloth out of his mouth.
This had gone so wrong. He wanted to punch sense into his idiot of a husband. Just one solid thwack to his jaw. That would do it, he was sure. But he had to free himself from the belt first and that would take a little time if he wanted to do it without being noticed to avoid being stopped.
Would Pete be able to escape before Vegas had his way? Even with one hand occupied holding Pete down, Vegas reached for the lube he'd dropped on the bed. Getting it onto his fingers would be difficult, so he simply drizzled the slick oil down the crevice between Pete's asscheeks. The bottle fell back on the bed when Vegas was satisfied there was enough of it. He pressed his fingers where the lube trickled, rubbing it against Pete's hole before pressing two fingers in.
He was in no mood for this anymore. Whatever arousal he'd had before had flagged. Instead, Pete was left trying to get up but being unable to. And it made it hard to breathe like this, made his collar bite into his neck. The cold feeling of the lube told him that Vegas was really not paying attention to the needs of his partner anymore. Only his own mattered.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Pete made a strangled noise as those fingers pushed into him, squeezing his eyes shut at how it actually hurt because his body wasn't actually turned on presently. Oh sure he was a little hard from before when things were good and the pain was easily going to get him harder. But that did not mean he was turned on mentally or emotionally. He wanted this to stop, hands twisting in the belt.
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.
A muffled scream left him as his hands twisted and moved in the belt. Over and over again he clearly was trying to say something but Vegas wasn't even trying to listen to him. He felt so betrayed and scared. Not scared of what was being done to him though. Scared of losing someone he so desperately needed in his life.
Tears formed in his eyes as the pain got worse when Vegas started to push his cock into him. Crying out he struggled in the hold that he was in. He was feeling his hands slip a little and knew he was tearing the skin a bit. But he didn't care about that. Nothing he did to himself to gain freedom mattered.
All that mattered that Vegas was...
He let out a sob as he realized that his body was getting off on this even when he didn't want it to.
The Troubles with Being a Masochist: An Autobiography by Pete Saengtham
With his mood giving him tunnel vision, Vegas wasn't giving much attention to Pete's struggles or the blood from his fight to free his hand from the belt. They've played games like this before. Or maybe that's how he would justify it to himself. But that wasn't on Vegas' mind at all right now.
No, right now, all he wanted was to wreck Pete. Vegas wasted no time. Once he'd worked his cock deep, he pulled back, then slammed in hard, starting a frenzied pace.
Every move that Vegas made caused him to see stars. It hurt and it was a pain that ripped right through him. Crying out, he tried in vain to use their safe word. Over and over again he tried. The longer this went on the more he felt more hurt by the betrayal at this line crossed than anything else. As cruel and horrible as it sounded, he didn't care if Vegas crossed lines with other people. He knew who his husband was and what kind of man he was.
But with him? More tears fell and screamed again around his own underwear.
Perhaps the only saving grace in all this was Vegas' urgency. Which meant he wasn't going at Pete for long. Maybe it was just unwarranted aggression or the fact the Pete felt tighter than usual or even the struggling... Maybe some combination of all three. Whatever it was, Vegas didn't last long and soon he was spilling hard into Pete. He barely finished when he pulled out and collapsed beside him on the bed as if nothing was amiss.
Pete came and it just added to everything. It was like a humiliation on top of a betrayal and he was left in tears as he felt the bed shift with Vegas next to him. And in that moment, he freed himself. There was blood but he didn't care. He rolled over and sat up trembling, pulling the underwear from his mouth. For about a minute, he couldn't do anything but sit there.
And then suddenly he was on top of Vegas and he punched him so hard that he knew that the man was going to have one hell of fucking bruise for a good while. It suddenly didn't matter how raw his throat was in that moment, he screamed at him anyway. "I...said...curry rice! You fucking asshole!"
For a split second -- in that time between rolling on top of him and his fist connecting with Vegas' face -- he thought maybe Pete wanted to go again. Which, of course, made the blow take him completely off-guard. He was already pushing at Pete to get him away by the time the pain lanced through his skull.
He easily could have beat the shit out of him. He should beat the shit out of him. Pete threw his fist back to do it and then that bracelet caught his eye. The ring on Vegas' finger. So he scrambled off the bed and went to start grabbing Vegas' clothes.
He threw the clothes right at Vegas' face to get himself away from being touched. More tears were falling but he didn't even seem to notice. Instead, he just suddenly shoved him.
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Pete was on his feet and letting his clothes be shed as they made their way to the bed. When his knees hit the bed, he fell back onto it with a gasp, kicking the last of his clothes away. They weren't going to be needed anyway. His underwear actually ended up on the bed but it wasn't in the way so it was fine.
Then, he was reaching for Vegas' clothes to help him get naked too.
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They didn't keep much here for kink. That's what the loft was for. But they weren't at the loft and Vegas craved what he craved.
"Turn around."
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"Ah Vegas we're at the hotel..."
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Just a suggestion as he rolled over.
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He had a pretty good guess that's what was going on here.
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Ass up, he shifted his knees. "Vegas, let me get up. You can tell me what happened..."
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"Look, Vegas..."
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"Didn't I say to be quiet?"
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This had gone so wrong. He wanted to punch sense into his idiot of a husband. Just one solid thwack to his jaw. That would do it, he was sure. But he had to free himself from the belt first and that would take a little time if he wanted to do it without being noticed to avoid being stopped.
CW: NONCON BEGINS HERE
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Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Pete made a strangled noise as those fingers pushed into him, squeezing his eyes shut at how it actually hurt because his body wasn't actually turned on presently. Oh sure he was a little hard from before when things were good and the pain was easily going to get him harder. But that did not mean he was turned on mentally or emotionally. He wanted this to stop, hands twisting in the belt.
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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.
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Tears formed in his eyes as the pain got worse when Vegas started to push his cock into him. Crying out he struggled in the hold that he was in. He was feeling his hands slip a little and knew he was tearing the skin a bit. But he didn't care about that. Nothing he did to himself to gain freedom mattered.
All that mattered that Vegas was...
He let out a sob as he realized that his body was getting off on this even when he didn't want it to.
The Troubles with Being a Masochist: An Autobiography by Pete Saengtham
No, right now, all he wanted was to wreck Pete. Vegas wasted no time. Once he'd worked his cock deep, he pulled back, then slammed in hard, starting a frenzied pace.
It's a real problem, okay.
But with him? More tears fell and screamed again around his own underwear.
In his previous line of work, i don't doubt it!
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And then suddenly he was on top of Vegas and he punched him so hard that he knew that the man was going to have one hell of fucking bruise for a good while. It suddenly didn't matter how raw his throat was in that moment, he screamed at him anyway. "I...said...curry rice! You fucking asshole!"
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"Ah! What the actual fuck?!"
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"Get out."
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"Shit," he hissed under his breath.
Vegas was on his feet instantly, chasing Pete down in his task and, foolishly, trying to lay hands on him.
"Pete, baby, I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."
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He threw the clothes right at Vegas' face to get himself away from being touched. More tears were falling but he didn't even seem to notice. Instead, he just suddenly shoved him.
"Get out, you asshole! Get out!"
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le fin?