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."
Vegas could have pouted. Could have, but didn't. Pete was right. Last night was enough exertion on Vegas' still-healing body. He huffed out a sigh and turned, carefully, onto his back. But he still kept his arm around Pete so he wouldn't get too far away.
Scooting himself closer, he rested his head on his chest and gently rested his arm over him. All to be careful to not cause him any further pain. Vegas had to live with enough of that right now. He didn't need him adding to it.
"I'm not going anywhere until one of use needs to piss or one of us gets hungry. Promise."
Hearing that relieved Vegas. He was so needy lately, it was almost pathetic. Being in a new place without allies or contact or a weapon of his own made him more paranoid. What if something happened to Pete while he was out exploring?
He trailed his fingers over Pete's shoulder and upper arm in meaningless patterns and he breathed out a soft sigh. "Kinn mentioned they only have straight razors here. Do you know how to shave with them? I could help you later..."
"I do. Tankhun went through a phase where he would only allow himself to be shaved with them so we had to learn fast how to use them. I got really good with it."
It was how he'd learned most of his more random skills that he had. The whims of his former employer. Either you learned how to do the thing fast or you suffered for it. It was now amazing how fast he could pick up on random skills that were completely unnecessary in every day life.
"Oh." He sounded a little disappointed. It really was such a random skill to have. Vegas had it because of his interest in blades. The one random interest his father allowed him to pursue because it had the potential to be useful.
"I should tell you though that they do actually have safety razors here. Even if they're not what you're used to."
Honestly, Vegas and Kinn were so hopeless. They were so used to all these conveniences that they had no idea what was even around. At least for Vegas he got the excuse of being stuck in bed. Kinn though?
Oh Kinn.
"But, if you want I can make sure that you can shave me with a straight razor."
"Well I am getting scratchy. So later I'll go out and get what we need and you can make sure that goes away. No one else would be able to the right close shave," he decided right then and there, even rubbing his hand over his face a bit.
"Mm, later." For now, he just wanted to lay there with Pete and forget about the world beyond their door. Just like before, a tiny world with just the two of them.
"Later," he agreed and moved so he could press a kiss to his jaw. Then he was nuzzling into him again, breathing in the scent of him as he threw a leg over one of Vegas'. Glued to his side was probably the most accurate description of him right about now. "I'm too comfy with you to go anywhere yet."
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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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"You belong to me, Vegas Theerapanyakul."
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He pressed his thumb firmly against Pete's bloodied lip and smiled.
"Always."
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"Always," he repeated in just a whisper, right against that thumb.
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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.
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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?
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"...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."
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"Just lay here with me, then."
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"I'm not going anywhere until one of use needs to piss or one of us gets hungry. Promise."
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He trailed his fingers over Pete's shoulder and upper arm in meaningless patterns and he breathed out a soft sigh. "Kinn mentioned they only have straight razors here. Do you know how to shave with them? I could help you later..."
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It was how he'd learned most of his more random skills that he had. The whims of his former employer. Either you learned how to do the thing fast or you suffered for it. It was now amazing how fast he could pick up on random skills that were completely unnecessary in every day life.
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Honestly, Vegas and Kinn were so hopeless. They were so used to all these conveniences that they had no idea what was even around. At least for Vegas he got the excuse of being stuck in bed. Kinn though?
Oh Kinn.
"But, if you want I can make sure that you can shave me with a straight razor."
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