"It was you, wasn't it?" His voice is low, with the sort of tone he'd used frequently in the safehouse after they slept together. "Who got me help after..."
His smile didn't fade but it lost a lot of the joy in it as he remembered that night. A soft and humorless laugh spilled out as he thought about it. "I realized you weren't dead and I screamed for help while I compressed the wounds on your stomach. When the crew came to help survivors I forced them to take you. They were rambling about not knowing what your records were right away so I tore at my sleeve to give them my blood. Said you were AB and I was O and needed to shut the fuck up and take it."
He nuzzled the arm he was resting on a bit. "When we got to the hospital they took you in. Apparently if you hadn't gotten blood on the way there you would have died since you'd lost so much. But they were able to save you and get the bullets out."
Somehow, this information doesn't surprise him. What does is that Pete remembered such a small detail from a single conversation they had. So much went on in the safehouse and Pete remembered that. And that detail probably saved his life.
Vegas let his eyes fall closed and breathed in the air between them. His hand remained against Pete's jaw, but after a few seconds, he slipped it back into Pete's hair and urged him closer for a deep, searing kiss. Vegas' arms tightened around Pete, pulling him flush against his body (which earned a small wince, but Pete was worth a little pain).
When he finally broke away from Pete's lips, he panted softly and opened his eyes halfway.
The kiss was a surprise but a welcome one. For a moment it felt like the power of Vegas' body before he'd almost died. Just a moment. But then they were panting softly and he was pushing his hand under the shirt that Vegas wore to touch the skin not covered in bandages. Not to stir him up but because he just wanted to touch him more, have more contact.
"I had to. I couldn't live without you," he admitted with shaky breath. "I cried so much over you and it hurt so much. But the more days that passed the more I knew it. That I loved you and that if you weren't in my life I wouldn't be living anymore."
Vegas sighed at the touch, shivering slightly. He understood Pete's intent. The closeness was important to them. It always had been since the very start. Only now, Vegas knew he could use closeness and touch for more than just terrorizing another. And so he was able to accept it for it what was: a need for intimacy.
"I remember you screaming." His voice is soft, distant as he recounts what little he could recall after being shot. "I thought... I could at least die near you... That would be enough."
"I screamed so much I lost my voice for a couple days after," he admitted to him. Pete drew little mindless patterns on Vegas' back. Nothing in particular, just a way to have contact as he grounded himself talking about this. It had been the most terrifying moment in his entire life.
"I'm never going to let you die on me." Which was pretty stupid all things considered but he didn't care. He didn't care at all. "Never. Because you can't leave me."
He could be contrary. He could remind Pete that everyone dies it's simply a matter of when and how. But instead, Vegas holds him closer. His weight and warmth familiar and reassuring. How he sighs wishing he could lay back and feel Pete's head on his shoulder, his body half on top of him. But this is enough for now.
There were so many people that would hate those words. But for Pete they meant everything. He even found himself smiling and pressing a kiss to those lips that had said something that special to him.
"Yeah. We die together." Neither of them were ever going to be alone again.
Maybe it's a little stalkerish, but he means it with every fiber of his being. Or maybe it's codependence? Either way, it works for them. They cling to each other in a world where their lives could be cut very short -- something Vegas has now had a taste of.
And he believed that. Vegas and him had come a long way together. What had started out as a horrifying experience had turned into something almost magical. Not that Pete really believed in that kind of fairy tale crap anymore. Once upon a time he had but that had been beaten out of him until he realized it wasn't a real.
This though? This was real. What was between them was real and burned bright enough to be blinding. But he'd learned to see past the brightness to look to the shadows where the two of them lived. Where they were the most comfortable.
"Stuck with you?" Vegas barked a laugh (though it did make him ache to do it). "Pete, I chose you." And would choose him every single time. Every chance he had. Pete would always be his number one priority. And if Pete ever tires of him? Well, they die together.
"You wanted to choose me. But you had to wait for me to choose you." He poked his face for that. But really the face was that at the end of it all they'd chosen each other. Which was something that he could appreciate now that he'd had time to process it.
"After you left..." He makes it sound like Pete just sauntered out the door and didn't make a daring escape. "I hoped you'd come back. I even made you dinner. But then my bodyguards told me you went back to them..." He cried so hard his eyes were dry for days after.
Pete nodded because he understood the feeling. How many times had he wanted to run back there? He'd known where it was. Even now he could retrace the exact steps it would take to get back there. He drew in a deep breath then let it out.
"Porsche tried to get me to tell him where I'd been and what happened to me. I was even sitting in a bathtub and he kept asking. But I couldn't do it." His hand stops the patterns just rests on his back. "I actually made myself noodles and I couldn't even eat it. I just cried."
He looked right at him now. "I was so ready to shoot you. But I couldn't do it."
Pete really couldn't help it. He leveled Vegas with such A Look.
"I don't know, Vegas. Have I ever gotten seriously injured on the job?" Because someone he was looking right at would happen to know a little something about that wouldn't he.
"I meant have you ever been seriously shot, Pete."
Listen, he was restrained! He didn't break any bones with that baseball bat. He didn't rupture any organs. He didn't stab or cut him at all. What's a little cbt among friends?
What's a little car battery electrocution to the genitals between future boyfriends? Or whipping him and letting his wounds get inflamed? Pete just rolled his eyes with some affection in them though.
"Once I took a bullet for the family when I first started. It pierced a lung. I'm pretty sure the only reason why I survived and don't have scarring is because the hospital for the main family is one of the best in the world." He shifted on his side to move his free hand so he could touch the right side of his chest where he still remembered the bullet hitting.
"I thought the family would get rid of me for sure but when I healed I got my spot watching Tankhun because I'd proven that I was reliable enough to take care of him."
Hey, at least he cared enough not to let Pete die when his wounds got infected! Usually, he just tortures people to death. Pete was different right from the start. Maybe because he smiled during all of it. Vegas recognized something as unhinged as himself.
Vegas let his fingers follow where Pete's went, brushing over the smooth skin. No scar at all. And wouldn't Vegas know? He could draw Pete's body from memory in the dark. He memorized all its lines and curves weeks ago. When the world was small enough to fit in one room, and they were its sole inhabitants.
Vegas probably wouldn't be so lucky. To not have any scars. Who knows? He tries not to look when the bandages are changed. Being stuck in bed means he can't exercise, so in addition to scars, he's pretty sure he's losing all his abdominal muscle tone.
"I still remember how it felt. I was sure I was going to die and I just accepted that. Then I woke up in the hospital instead."
And here he was now. Sometimes he wished he had the scar to prove what happened. If only to himself. So he'd know that it seriously happened in his own memories. But he knew that it was true. That he should have died that day.
His eyes closed a moment then opened again to look at Vegas.
Vegas lets his fingers linger against Pete's skin a moment before he lifts his hand to caress his face. To think, a split second longer, a centimeter more and Pete might not be there with him. It made him shudder. It made him angry. But, at this point in time there was no way of getting revenge. The guy who shot Pete was probably dead already.
Vegas met his gaze with mirrored intensity. "And mine is to you."
Both hands went to his cheeks so he could hold him as he kissed him deeply. Like he needed to share all the love in his heart with him in that moment with just one action. Even then he doubted it would be enough but he didn't care about that. He still had to give it his all.
Vegas would have that for the rest of their lives now. He'd make sure of it.
His hand moved through Pete's hair, fingers tangling in it to keep him close. Pete's love, he was learning, was not a finite resource. There was always more to have and it seemed endless! Vegas leaned in to meet that kiss, crashing against him for more, more, more of his lips, teeth, and tongue.
It was a violent sort of kiss that suited them. He only pulled back when he felt his lip split a little on Vegas' teeth. Even then he didn't mind it, just panting as he gazed at the man, licking at the blood that beaded there. He could see a little bit of it on those lips he'd just been kissing too but he found he didn't mind that either.
His blood belonged to Vegas as much as the blood in that body belonged to Pete. That was how it should be.
Vegas only grinned when he tasted blood. A slow, maniacal grin. His thumb ran along Pete's lower lip and he licked that small stain of blood from his own. Pete's blood ran in his veins, saved his life. And Vegas loved it as much as he loved any other part of Pete.
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He nuzzled the arm he was resting on a bit. "When we got to the hospital they took you in. Apparently if you hadn't gotten blood on the way there you would have died since you'd lost so much. But they were able to save you and get the bullets out."
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Vegas let his eyes fall closed and breathed in the air between them. His hand remained against Pete's jaw, but after a few seconds, he slipped it back into Pete's hair and urged him closer for a deep, searing kiss. Vegas' arms tightened around Pete, pulling him flush against his body (which earned a small wince, but Pete was worth a little pain).
When he finally broke away from Pete's lips, he panted softly and opened his eyes halfway.
"You saved me."
There's more than one meaning to that.
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"I had to. I couldn't live without you," he admitted with shaky breath. "I cried so much over you and it hurt so much. But the more days that passed the more I knew it. That I loved you and that if you weren't in my life I wouldn't be living anymore."
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"I remember you screaming." His voice is soft, distant as he recounts what little he could recall after being shot. "I thought... I could at least die near you... That would be enough."
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"I'm never going to let you die on me." Which was pretty stupid all things considered but he didn't care. He didn't care at all. "Never. Because you can't leave me."
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"When we die, we die together."
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"Yeah. We die together." Neither of them were ever going to be alone again.
Without You plays in the distance
Maybe it's a little stalkerish, but he means it with every fiber of his being. Or maybe it's codependence? Either way, it works for them. They cling to each other in a world where their lives could be cut very short -- something Vegas has now had a taste of.
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This though? This was real. What was between them was real and burned bright enough to be blinding. But he'd learned to see past the brightness to look to the shadows where the two of them lived. Where they were the most comfortable.
In truth, they were both really fucked up people.
"Me either. You're stuck with me now."
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"After you left..." He makes it sound like Pete just sauntered out the door and didn't make a daring escape. "I hoped you'd come back. I even made you dinner. But then my bodyguards told me you went back to them..." He cried so hard his eyes were dry for days after.
"I would've let you shoot me at the bar."
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"Porsche tried to get me to tell him where I'd been and what happened to me. I was even sitting in a bathtub and he kept asking. But I couldn't do it." His hand stops the patterns just rests on his back. "I actually made myself noodles and I couldn't even eat it. I just cried."
He looked right at him now. "I was so ready to shoot you. But I couldn't do it."
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That thought gave him pause. "Have you ever been seriously injured on the job?"
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"I don't know, Vegas. Have I ever gotten seriously injured on the job?" Because someone he was looking right at would happen to know a little something about that wouldn't he.
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"I meant have you ever been seriously shot, Pete."
Listen, he was restrained! He didn't break any bones with that baseball bat. He didn't rupture any organs. He didn't stab or cut him at all. What's a little cbt among friends?
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"Once I took a bullet for the family when I first started. It pierced a lung. I'm pretty sure the only reason why I survived and don't have scarring is because the hospital for the main family is one of the best in the world." He shifted on his side to move his free hand so he could touch the right side of his chest where he still remembered the bullet hitting.
"I thought the family would get rid of me for sure but when I healed I got my spot watching Tankhun because I'd proven that I was reliable enough to take care of him."
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Vegas let his fingers follow where Pete's went, brushing over the smooth skin. No scar at all. And wouldn't Vegas know? He could draw Pete's body from memory in the dark. He memorized all its lines and curves weeks ago. When the world was small enough to fit in one room, and they were its sole inhabitants.
Vegas probably wouldn't be so lucky. To not have any scars. Who knows? He tries not to look when the bandages are changed. Being stuck in bed means he can't exercise, so in addition to scars, he's pretty sure he's losing all his abdominal muscle tone.
"That family values loyalty."
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And here he was now. Sometimes he wished he had the scar to prove what happened. If only to himself. So he'd know that it seriously happened in his own memories. But he knew that it was true. That he should have died that day.
His eyes closed a moment then opened again to look at Vegas.
"My loyalty is to you now."
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Vegas met his gaze with mirrored intensity. "And mine is to you."
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Vegas would have that for the rest of their lives now. He'd make sure of it.
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His blood belonged to Vegas as much as the blood in that body belonged to Pete. That was how it should be.
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"You belong to me, Pete Saengtham."
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