Work Text:
Pete sucks on T- Khun Tankhun’s neck.
It’s a thing he does, compartmentalization. He brings Khun Tankhun his tea, watches romance dramas with him and firmly refers to him as Khun Tankhun, even moments after his cock’s been in his mouth.
Or just in him.
But anyway, he sucks on Khun Tankhun’s neck in Khun Tankun’s room. Khun Tankhun is moaning. Hand gripping his neck, nails digging into his skin coquettishly, like they know just how hard he likes it, just how much the pain would make him moan but won’t give it to him. He’s dizzy thinking of all the ways he’s gonna earn it. (He never does.)
In the end, it’s a matter of knowing.
Most in the house don’t know it but Khun Tankhun gets this look about himself sometimes, this all-knowingness to him, like he’s indulging you instead of the other way around. The trauma’s real and the outfits, the personas are -to an extent- but something…something else is there, in the way he looks after Kim’s come and gone like the ghost he wants to be, haunting the Theerapanyakul home the way the family name haunts him. In the way he looks at Kinn sometimes, or even his father. Clear, assessing.
It’s the way he looked at Pete when he came home from his first mission, all bloody clothes, banged up fists, memories of broken bones and the echo of this off switch he’s gotten way too good at turning off. Pete goes from person to pernicious in a matter of seconds and sometimes he thinks he enjoys it.
In any case, it was simple. Two people who see too much have seen each other. Now they’ve got no choice but to fuck. Half the time, Pete doesn’t know if they’re buying each other’s silences or just burying themselves in the only other person they know won’t reject them, can’t reject them.
Regardless, he’s gonna fuck his boss. He’s gonna press him down till he gets the itch out of both of their skins and then he’ll…go back to watching K-dramas, he guesses. Go back to pretending to not see what’s behind Khun Tankhun’s whims.
He’s going to act like he hasn’t fucked him to tears and held him through them. Like he hasn’t held him through tears he didn’t cause.
It works well. It works really fucking well until Khun Tankhun decides to grace the next family meeting with his presence. Until Pete can sense Vegas’s eyes on him, happens to see Khun Tankhun’s eyes on Vegas, taking on shades he’s never seen and for once, he’s not seeing what he’s missing here.
He still doesn’t see it after the meeting, when everyone's left and Khun Tankhun drags him by the scruff of his suit and leads him towards his room. It wouldn’t necessarily be out of place. His carefully crafted mask allows him to resort to behaviors like this without any eyebrows raised. It's quite genius.
But this time, there’s no…flamboyance to him. He isn’t loudly proclaiming how he's gonna dye his hair, not loudly cooing “Hey Pete, be my mannequin for the day.” There’s no act, no joke, no punchline.
If Pete didn’t know better, he’d be scared he’s getting punched.
In the safety of Khun Tankhun’s room, they both seem to breathe better. Tankhun quickly closes the door, pressing his forehead against it and letting Pete go. For his part, Pete scrambles out of his grip and upright, facing him from a distance.
Khun Tankhun hardly ever goes silent. Pete does not fear his silence.
Sometimes, he wishes he did.
After a while, Khun Tankhun stands. Pete waits some more.
Then, “Vegas has noticed you.”
“He has.”
“How?”
“P' Chan wanted me to trail Vegas when they suspected he had something to do with Kinn’s disappearance.”
A derisive sound. He knew that, of course he knew that. He knows everywhere Pete goes somehow. Fuck, he’s not getting off that easily.
He hates this shit. It’s not like he fraternizes with him after hours and not just because, technically, there are no after hours. It’s not like he begged to trail Vegas, of all people, with sleepy, useless Pol. It’s not like he wanted to smile that big fake smile when face to face with the most dangerous predator he’s ever crossed paths with. He’s not sure exactly what the problem is, why Tankhun wears his hatred for Vegas on his sleeve and face, where it serves as the largest possible chink in his otherwise impeccable facade. He could only think that, somehow, Vegas is part of the reason he wears it.
Part of the reason it’s not all a mask.
Perhaps that’s it. He's worried about Pete finding himself in their enemies' clutches, worried at what they may do and what they might make him tell. It’s insulting but he’s not naive enough to think he’s not a weakness. He's a hell of a good bodyguard, which means he knows this family inside and out. Even if he wasn't, fucking a mafia son for an extended length of time tends to make you more valuable to whoever wants to hurt them, if they ever find out about it.
"He found me and Pol out. We were trailing him in a car. He came up and gave us a bag of items he purchased.”
"What was in it?"
"Mosquito repellent." He leaves out the condoms. He wishes he could have taken the memory out of his head and left it there.
Tankhun gives another hateful snort. Then he’s quiet. He's still not turned around.
“He wants you,” He says.
Pete wants to say that he doubts it. Pete is only important to anyone through his connection to the family and the only thing that separates him from anyone else is that he's fucking his boss. This boss, at least. (Fuck, he hopes Porsche is being careful. If it’s anyone that Vegas wants-) No one even knows that last part though, they've been so careful. So, Vegas can't want Pete. It's not how this works. But-
“Do you want to share?”
He shivers. It’s his silence that prompts Khun Tankhun turning, facing him, back against the door, but some insane part of him thinks it’s because he heard him shiver.
Tankhun’s face is so grave. How could anyone see it as whimsical, carefree? How could he ever have himself? Khun Tankhun's guise has been a shield, and a weapon but also something like a joke he’s played on everyone else all at once. Pete’s wondering how he could’ve been so stupid because Khun Tankhun’s looking at him like he’ll never joke again.
“He wants you,” he says again, urgently.
“I-”
“You’re mine.”
Oh.
Khun Tankhun is many things but before them, he is a member of the Theerapanyakul household. The Theerapanyakuls do not like to share, even amongst each other. Especially amongst each other.
Suddenly, Pete knows how to play this.
“He doesn't have me.”
“Vegas tends to get what he wants.”
“Vegas has never wanted me.”
Khan Tankhun’s face ripples. Right answer. Pete’s sure he’s got the right answer, then-
“He’ll hurt you.”
Khun Tankhun is the first born of the Theerapanyakul household. Deadly and possessive.
Protective.
It’s nice, (dangerous, dangerous, they shouldn’t be doing this) but silly. Pete’s a weapon, after all. More than that, he’s a pawn. A tool. Replaceable. He should not be getting so hung up about this.
And yet…
Pete has seen Khun Tankhun eye his gun enough times to know that either the idea of Pete firing it does something for him or he knows how to shoot himself. It’s likely both.
But Pete’s also held him in the wake of too many close calls, has walked in on him dissociating in the gun range and knows enough to know that Tankhun could never live through the aftermath of taking the shot himself.
He looks like he’s willing to try though and Pete can’t let that happen.
“I’m not important enough. Not to him," Not to you, please not to you. "Not with what he knows now.” Which is nothing. Vegas knows nothing and it’s purposeful, calculated. We’ve got this, he thinks frantically, because if they don’t, it means someone can take it from them. Pete gives a big smile, prey bowing to its hunter. Do we have to do this dance, it says. Can’t we play another game?
Tankhun growls and Pete knows he misstepped. He hates when they bring falsehoods into his room when there’s no one else there. He steps forward, putting his hands on Pete's shoulders, shaking him a bit. “He’ll hurt you.”
Oh, oh.
Pete hasn’t advertised it but Khun Tankhun knows that he likes rough sex. Like, rough to the point that he may kinda be a masochist. By now, Vegas’ sexual habits have reached the ears of anyone who’d care to hear of them, anyone who’d rather not and everyone in between. He’s convinced Vegas wanted it that way.
Khun Tankhun’s buried his head into his chest, shyly now. He's said what he needs to. It's not just about what Vegas has done to him or what Vegas would do to Pete. It’s about what Pete might want Vegas to do to him.
It’s ridiculous. Even if he could forget what he’s sure Vegas has done to Khun Tankhun, what he’s done to this family, he’s not really planning to go out a la praying mantis.
He tells him the latter; He’s not sure he can voice the former. Then Khun Tanhun shakes, hands balling into the chest of his suit, and Pete hates himself. How’s he playing this so badly?
“I can’t…I can’t-” Khun Tankhun says, shivering. “I can’t-” hurt you, he’s trying to say, be like him.
Pete had gathered as much. The worst he’s ever gotten from him was his nails digging in so hard it seemed cruel when they didn’t draw blood.
Khun Tankhun is volatile and demanding. He whisks his bodyguards into his world of dyes and movie nights and two games played at once so he never has to hear his own thoughts without a care as to what they want. In this way, he lives up to his last name.
But these movie nights don’t involve killing indebted fathers. The hair dyeing is never on the unwilling. When he fucks Pete or when Pete fucks him, there are never any lasting bruises.
A Theerapanyakul too scared to draw blood. Many would scoff at the thought. Khun Tankhun’s still shivery, like he hears those sounds and they chill him, even pressed up against Pete as he is.
Khun Tankhun has his traumas, his anger. He cannot express them. Men like them only wear the masks they wear if the alternative is to lose what little power they have. It could be nothing for him to take that power from Pete who hates it, hates always having to be in control of his life, of whether the Theerapanyakuls live or die, of who sees what side of him. Pete could not only have it gone, he could give it to Khun Tankhun. He does already, a lot of the time, but he could give it and receive pain in response, if he only tilted his words just right and asked.
But he doesn't want it if it will destroy Tankhun.
“You don’t have to." He says, wrapping his arms around his shaking boss, his lover. "You don’t have to hurt me like that." Pete doesn't need whips, or electricity or knifeplay. He'd settle for the man before him, his words, his hands.
"But-”
"You could spank me,” Pete says, because he knows Khun Tankhun doesn’t want comfort. He wants solutions. He wants to know how to keep Pete and while Pete has no intentions of leaving, he really does want to be kept. “You could tell me I’m a dirty little slut and that I can’t shoot a gun half as well as I can suck a cock."
Tankhun moans at the thought, face still pressed to his chest and Pete’s ears are roaring. “Are you?" he asks. "Are you a slut for my cock?”
Pete whimpers, "Yes, Khun Tankhun. Yes." It’s true. Many a mission has left him itching, always finding his way into Khun Tankhun’s room and on his knees for him.
“You want to choke on it?" Khun Tankhun says, looking up at him. "You think you deserve it?"
"No, never."
“Good.” Pete moans at that and moans again, louder, whiner, when Khun Tankhun steps away from his chest and turns. He knows him well enough to know he’s thinking. He’s glad, cause he can’t function right now and he’d never forgive himself if Khun Tankhun did something he hated just because Pete got them both too fucking horny.
“We could start small,” he says. “I could be…a bit rougher on the blowjobs.”
Pete wants it so bad he can taste it. He wants to taste him. He nods dumbly, realizing belatedly that Khun Tankhun cannot see him.
“I could- I could pull your hair.”
Pete groans, desperate, helpless. He manages to piece his thoughts together through the haze. “Not if it hurts you though. Not if you can't. Khun Tankhun, I-”
Khun Tankhun turns, quick as a whip crack, and slaps him.
Khun Tankhun slaps him.
Pete turns his head back to him so slowly, he thinks it must be frightening. His cheeks are red, the sting and arousal simultaneously. His dick is so hard it hurts.
Khun Tankhun looks heavenly. He looks like he’s about to devour him. His eyes are so unsure and yet so interested, so eager - “You will call me Tankhun when we do this.”
Pete loves this man so, so much. It will kill them both. Right now, it suffocates him in the best ways and he can’t speak.
Tankhun’s face shifts and he looks frantic. "Pete, I'm sorry, did I go too far? Was it too soon?" He's panicking, hands flying up to the sides of his face. “Pete, you’ve got to say something."
Pete holds him by his wrists. He's frantic himself. It's probably why his voice sounds so wrecked. “Tankhun, let me suck your cock, please."
His face ripples again, vulnerable and assessing all at once. He pushes Pete down to his knees-gently, still gently but fuck, they’re getting there- moves his face to the side and settles it against his cock, keeping him there with a hand against his head. Pete rubs against the bulge instinctively. His Tankhun is a vision like this, red hair and careful cruelty. Fuck, he wants this. Tankhun must sense it because his hand tightens and Pete whines.
“Prove to me that you deserve it, slut.” Pete moans and shifts to lick him through his pants.
If he wasn’t so sure he’d have to kill Vegas one day, he might’ve thanked him.