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.
That grin was something that could scare anyone but him. Because he could match it with his own as he kissed that thumb and held eye contact. It hurt a little to have that split touched but he liked that hint of pain. An idea of what they could do together when Vegas was healthy again.
He wondered how many people thought Pete had some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. They clearly didn't understand him. They didn't see him, not how Vegas did. He always knew there was something beneath Pete's polite, somewhat silly exterior. It called to him, drew them together again and again until he finally saw it. And what he saw delighted him, aroused him. Pete was just like him: a product of an ugly, violent world too scared to reveal their true selves for fear of rejection.
He pressed his thumb firmly against Pete's bloodied lip and smiled.
He gasped when he felt that ache in his lip. It pushed more of his own blood out onto the thumb as well as into his own mouth. Swallowing it, he kept watching Vegas, cupping his neck as he found himself unable to even blink because he didn't want to miss any micro expression on that face.
"Always," he repeated in just a whisper, right against that thumb.
Fascination filled his eyes. Would Pete ever stop being wondrous and magical to him? God, he hoped not. His eyes darted from Pete's blood to his eyes. Vegas didn't even close his when he leaned in, moving his thumb to catch Pete's lower lip with his own. When he was healthier, he'd be sure Pete got a taste of his blood, too. It seemed only right since so much of Pete's was in Vegas.
These days when Vegas kissed him it was full of warmth. Even the hints of violence, or the violence he knew would come, had that affection to them. They were on another level now, speaking to each other in a language only the two of them fully understood. With each other they never had to hide who they really were and he was sure that was as much a relief for Vegas as it was for himself.
Eyes closing, he let his boyfriend taste as much of his blood as he wanted. This same blood that was now so much the reason why he was still alive and on his way to recovering.
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?
The need to press himself to Vegas was strong. He could have easily forgotten how hurt the man was. Could have. But he didn't. Pulling back, he panted, eyes dazed as he gazed at him. The very last thing he wanted to do was push Vegas more than they already had.
"...hurt. You're hurt," he got out, the regret written all over his face. "If you keep going like that I'm going to get turned on again."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
"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.
no subject
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."
no subject
no subject
no subject
"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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
That thought gave him pause. "Have you ever been seriously injured on the job?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
"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?
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
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."
no subject
Vegas met his gaze with mirrored intensity. "And mine is to you."
no subject
Vegas would have that for the rest of their lives now. He'd make sure of it.
no subject
no subject
His blood belonged to Vegas as much as the blood in that body belonged to Pete. That was how it should be.
no subject
"You belong to me, Pete Saengtham."
no subject
"You belong to me, Vegas Theerapanyakul."
no subject
He pressed his thumb firmly against Pete's bloodied lip and smiled.
"Always."
no subject
"Always," he repeated in just a whisper, right against that thumb.
no subject
no subject
Eyes closing, he let his boyfriend taste as much of his blood as he wanted. This same blood that was now so much the reason why he was still alive and on his way to recovering.
no subject
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?
no subject
"...hurt. You're hurt," he got out, the regret written all over his face. "If you keep going like that I'm going to get turned on again."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)