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Pete drummed his fingers on the table, his leg bouncing up and down fervently. He sighed, trying to reign it in as he glanced around the packed club. Pete didn’t even really like going out to clubs that much—he much preferred the familiarity of Yok’s bar, his friends, the comfort of knowing exactly what his night would look like, start to finish. A few drinks, a little dancing, a bit of laughing with his friends, an annoyed Vegas dragging him into their car and palming his crotch eagerly until they got home, and Vegas could do whatever he wanted to Pete… Pete shook himself out of his reverie, eyes still locked on Vegas at the bar getting only their second round of drinks for the night.
This was also something Pete didn’t understand, but he thought maybe it was Vegas trying to be chivalrous or something. They were in the VIP section of a club in which the Theerapanyakul family held a large share. Vegas didn’t need to go to the bar to get drinks, they could have drinks brought to them, hell they could have whatever they wanted brought to them. Pete knew, though, that Vegas liked taking care of him, liked going to get drinks for him at bars, or ordering food for him at restaurants, or paying for their movie tickets when they got a chance to escape the house for a few hours. Pete smiled to himself, even as annoyance tinged the edges of his thoughts. It really was sweet of Vegas—until it turned into some shit like this.
Vegas had been standing at the bar for far too long—nearly five minutes—and he didn’t seem to care one bit. In fact, he so didn’t seem to care one bit that a tall, slim, blonde-haired probably barely legal-year-old was standing next to Vegas, very evidently flirting with him. Pete knew that Vegas was drunk, whereas Pete had only had the one drink—Vegas had been sipping on an old bottle of whiskey that he had found in Gun’s office throughout the day, after Pete had convinced Vegas not to smash it, and that instead better retribution would be to enjoy the aged bottle of alcohol that Gun had apparently been saving for some big occasion that never materialized.
Their night out, at Vegas’ insistence, had been to this club in the heart of downtown. It was really quite busy, which Pete supposed was good for his family, but the twinges of irritation still pricked at him. Really, what was taking Vegas so long?
Finally, two drinks were set on the bar in front of Vegas hurriedly, the bartender visibly flustered at the influx of people that night and Pete ruffled his bangs with one hand. He really needed to calm down. The club was busy, the bartenders were clearly unprepared for how many people were going to show up, Vegas was being a good boyfriend… he had no reason to feel as pissed off as he was. He had finally nearly shaken himself out of his stupor when he noticed that guy trailing behind Vegas back to his and Pete’s table.
“This is Win,” Vegas said brightly to Pete as he set down his drink in front of him and slid into the booth next to Pete. Pete couldn’t help but shoot a glare at Vegas. He was really that drunk that he had invited some stranger over to come sit with them? Win hovered awkwardly at the edge of their table and it gave Pete a sickeningly good feeling. “Win knows Macau from school,” Vegas clarified, downing half of his drink in two long gulps. Well, at least that explained why he looked barely legal—the kid was probably nineteen or twenty at most.
Pete knew they couldn’t stay much longer—Vegas drunk always equaled Vegas trying way too hard to make Pete as horny as Vegas was or Vegas passing out, exhausted. It was truly a fifty-fifty chance which one would result on any given evening. “Ah,” Pete plastered on a friendly smile and turned to Win. “Nice to meet you.”
Apparently, this nicety was an invitation for Win to sit down, and he did so eagerly, sliding into the circular booth so that he was sitting just close enough to Vegas to make Pete grip the glass in his hand more tightly. “Nice to meet you, too! You’re Macau’s brother too, right?”
Pete nodded, waiting to see what Vegas was going to do, if he had the presence of mind to make it known that he was taken, that in fact Pete was not Macau’s brother, but Vegas’ boyfriend. Nothing. Vegas hadn’t even slung his usual arm around Pete’s shoulders, instead keeping both hands wrapped around his glass as he turned to Win. Pete couldn’t help but roll his eyes but knew that neither Vegas nor Win noticed him as they continued some conversation about Macau.
Pete wanted to follow the conversation—he tried to—he wanted to know about Macau’s school life from an outside perspective, this was actually a good chance to talk to someone who knew Macau outside of their family, but he could not pay attention. All Pete could concentrate on was the insistent press of Vegas’ thigh against his and the same closeness with which Win was sitting to Vegas. He was nearly in Vegas’ lap after less than five minutes, his hands inching closer and closer to Vegas’ with every sentence he spoke.
Pete tipped the remainder of his drink down his throat and slammed it on the table, causing Win to jump a bit. Pete felt victorious. “Vegas, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Pete leaned to whisper in Vegas’ ear, placing one hand on his back, trailing his fingers lightly between Vegas’ shoulder blades. Vegas turned to Pete and nodded, smiled. Drunk Vegas was also confusing—he sometimes acted just like Vegas did in their day-to-day life and sometimes he could be vastly unpredictable; at least that was the way it seemed the few times that Pete had seen Vegas drunk. Vegas could usually hold his liquor exceedingly well—in fact, it impressed Pete—and there had been only a handful of times that Pete had ever seen Vegas drunk before and only once before tonight when only Vegas had been drunk, not the couple together.
Pete slid out of the other side of the booth, half expecting Vegas to follow him immediately. He turned back briefly, just for a glance, and it was as if Vegas had completely forgotten that Pete even existed. Pete was past pissed off—he was getting hurt. It wasn’t necessarily that Vegas was even flirting with Win—that would have been one thing and might not have even made Pete that mad, as he could have flirted with someone back, made Vegas get jealous… they’d played that game before, and Pete had come out on top. Or, if Vegas was flirting with Win, it might have been to get some information out of him. Both Vegas and Pete had done that before on separate missions—flirted with some high-up mafia boss to get some top secret—and it both turned them on so much that they had fucked for hours afterwards. But this, where Vegas was just ignoring Pete to talk to someone else… that was different. That hurt more.
Pete dragged himself slowly towards the bathroom, hoping that he would feel a familiar presence at his back at any moment. Pete entered a stall, scrolled through his group chat with his friends for a few minutes, and exited, still somehow hoping that Vegas would be leaning against the counter, a wolfish grin on his face as he waited for Pete to finish. Pete was greeted with an empty row of sinks. The door to the bathroom banged open and Pete felt his heart lift for a moment, only for an unknown guy to stumble in and towards one of the open stalls, shutting it behind him, retching sounds emerging a minute later. Pete’s face stung and he felt embarrassed.
Quickly exiting the bathroom, Pete looked up towards their table, a visible line of sight from the entrance of the bathroom to Vegas and Win, still talking. Win was running one finger along the rim of Vegas’ glass, leaning on the other hand as he leaned forward to speak in Vegas’ ear, clearly trying to make sure Vegas heard him over the loud thumping of the club. Vegas nodded and smiled, the same smile he had given Pete a few minutes ago.
Pete felt heat and anger, jealousy, rising in his chest. Now Vegas was smiling at this fucking… guy the same way that he had smiled at Pete? Before his brain caught up with the rest of his limbs, Pete was moving towards the table at lightning speed and was standing at the edge of their booth within ten seconds. Pete realized with a pang that this situation now looked the reverse as it had fifteen minutes ago when Vegas and Pete had been sitting in the booth looking up at Win. Now, Vegas and Win sat in the booth, looking up at Pete. Pete didn’t even have the desire to meet Vegas’ eyes—he just glared at Win who seemed oblivious. Pete made a mental note to tell Macau to stay the fuck away from this kid in the future.
“Vegas, I think it’s time to go,” Pete finally pushed down the anger and seething jealousy long enough to look at Vegas.
“Aw,” Win whined and Pete rolled his eyes as he turned to look at him again. Pete’s hands twitched and he instinctively reached for the knife in his jacket pocket, a gift from Vegas, as Win reached one hand out and trailed it along one of Vegas’ hands holding the glass. Vegas, even in his drunken state, at least had the decency to look confused by Win’s actions. “But we were having such a good conversation!”
“I don’t care,” Pete said without pretense.
Win turned to Vegas. “P’Vegas, can you ask your brother if you can stay just a little longer?”
Pete slammed one hand down on the table and Win jumped, his hand retracting from Vegas instinctually. “Vegas isn’t my brother. He’s my motherfucking boyfriend. So, you better take your hands off of him, get out of this booth, and refrain from speaking to him again.” Win’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between Vegas and Pete.
Vegas, managing to string a few sentences together, nodded and looked at Win. “I think you’d better listen to him. He can get rough when he’s angry.” Pete straightened up and rolled his eyes at Vegas, moving slightly out of the way as Win slid out of the booth. Win stood a good ten centimeters taller than Pete, but Pete knew he made him feel small as he glared at Win. Win scurried away like a scolded child and Pete could not care less. He turned back to Vegas and bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from completely losing it at Vegas, as much as he wanted to. Not here—not at a Theerapanyakul club.
“Vegas, c’mon,” Pete said in English and Vegas’ eyebrows shot up as he slid out of the booth, not breaking eye contact with Pete. Vegas reached one hand out for Pete and Pete shook him off, turning tail and heading for the exit of the club. This time, Pete knew that Vegas was behind him, and it gave him a sickly familiar combination of hurt and pleasure to know that he had some power over Vegas.
The car was waiting for them at the front entrance of the club and Pete slid into the backseat, Vegas right behind him. Pete crossed one leg over the other and stared out the window, not even wanting to acknowledge Vegas. He knew he was probably being petty and ridiculous, but fuck, Vegas had hurt his feelings.
Pete felt one hand on his knee, and he uncrossed and recrossed his legs so that Vegas would be forced to retract his hand. “Baby…” Vegas started, and Pete shook his head once, sharp. Pete felt Vegas shift closer to him, one of Vegas’ hands going for Pete’s crossed arms this time. “Baby?” Vegas tried again softly.
Tears pricked at the corners of Pete’s eyes and Pete hated how ridiculous he felt. Vegas hadn’t been flirting with the other guy—Win, whatever—he was drunk, he was talking about Macau… but Pete hadn’t really even wanted to go to this club, he had because of Vegas, and then he had gotten ignored by his boyfriend in favor of some fucking flirtatious nineteen-year-old. Pete refused to turn his head towards Vegas. He didn’t want Vegas to see him crying over something as stupid as this—over nothing.
“I’m fine,” Pete managed to choke out, pushing Vegas’ hand off of him. “You’re drunk, I just want to go home.”
Pete, again, felt hurt when Vegas didn’t even try again, when he instead felt the warmth of Vegas retracting back to the other side of the backseat and Pete was left shivering in the air conditioning the rest of the way home.
--
Vegas groaned as he cracked one eye open, the blinding sun burning his eyes through the slats of the somewhat open blinds in his and Pete’s bedroom, forcing Vegas’ eye shut again. Vegas reached down to pull the covers up over his head to block out the sun and reached for Pete to pull him closer to Vegas. Nothing—no Pete. Vegas opened both eyes at this, not caring how bright the sun was. A wave of panic rushed up in Vegas. He reminded himself that this was normal—Pete got up before him sometimes, was eating breakfast, was doing homework with Macau, was showering, was doing any number of things. One glance at Pete’s side of the bed, though, and Vegas could tell that Pete hadn’t even slept in their bed last night. Real fear in the form of bile rose up in Vegas’ throat. What the fuck had happened last night? Why couldn’t he remember?
Waves of memory flooded through Vegas all at once—drinking his father’s whiskey all day, the club, his Pete looking so gorgeous in that red velvet suit, that guy at the club… oh fuck, that guy at the club. Vegas closed his eyes, his head swimming as he tried to remember what had happened. Had he fucked up, done something really fucking dumb? No, he didn’t think so—in fact, he knew he hadn’t, the last thing he vaguely remembered was Pete angry in the car on the way home, refusing Vegas’ touches, refusing to even speak to Vegas. God, where the fuck was Pete?
Vegas looked around their room and noticed, in the sitting area piled with stacks of books that he and Pete pored through together, a lump on one of the sofas. Vegas flung himself back onto the bed with a relieved sigh. He didn’t even have to look that hard—that was Pete. Vegas pushed the covers off of him, noting that he was just in his underwear, so whatever had happened last night, Pete had managed to get him undressed and into bed, and padded over to where Pete was sleeping.
The blanket was pulled up to Pete’s chin and Vegas smiled at Pete’s furrowed brow, wondering if he was still dreaming about being angry at Vegas. Vegas sat at the edge of the couch, near Pete’s bent knees. Vegas slowly carded his fingers through Pete’s hair, ignoring the beginnings of a pulsing headache behind his eyes—that could be dealt with later. Pete was, always, Vegas’ priority. Vegas thumbed along Pete’s cheek and Pete furrowed his brow deeper before slowly blinking his eyes open, looking right at Vegas as he did so. For a moment, Pete seemed to smile at Vegas and then some mixture of emotions took over as it seemed like Pete remembered how he was feeling about Vegas at the moment.
Pete pushed himself up to a sitting position and the hand that had been running through Pete’s hair collapsed back into Vegas’ lap with a light thud. Vegas raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”
Pete looked away from Vegas and Vegas, not drunk anymore and able to collect his thoughts, able to push Pete to tell him what was wrong, tried again. “Pete, baby, seriously. Talk to me,” Vegas insisted as he placed a hand on one of Pete’s knees that he had pulled up to his chest.
Finally, Pete sighed and turned back to Vegas. Vegas noted a strange combination of hurt and anger in Pete’s eyes and it fueled something in him as he waited to hear what Pete wanted to say to him. “It’s ridiculous, Vegas, I just need a bit to get over it.”
“You’re clearly mad at me, and I’m sure I deserve it,” Vegas acknowledged. “I just want to know what happened, why you’re angry, how I can make it better. I barely remember anything after we got to the club yesterday,” he added, prodding Pete.
Pete’s eyes narrowed at this. “Oh, so you don’t remember Win, huh?”
“Win, that’s right,” Vegas clenched Pete’s knee. “I do remember him. Did I do something?”
Pete sighed and finally gave in. “You hurt my feelings,” he admitted. Vegas felt a bit surprised at this—he thought he might have flirted back too much with that guy, Win apparently, or done another one of his typical dumb things. He had hurt Pete’s feelings? That was way, way worse.
“I’m so sorry,” Vegas said automatically.
“You don’t even know what you did or why I’m upset,” Pete said angrily.
“Then tell me baby, please,” Vegas pleaded. “Whatever I did, I already know I’m sorry, but I want you to be open with me, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t be honest with me.”
At this, Pete softened a little and placed one hand over Vegas’ on his knee. Vegas felt a swell of relief at this small gesture. “I just… I didn’t even really want to go to the club yesterday and then when we were there, you just ignored me. Getting our second round of drinks, you started talking to this kid who goes to school with Macau,” this was all coming back to Vegas as he nodded along, “and then basically brought him back to our table. Then he asked if I was also Macau’s brother, and you didn’t fucking say anything.” Vegas cringed at this. On the one hand, he was happy that Macau was apparently going around talking about Pete as his brother too, but on the other hand, before Pete was Macau’s brother, he was Vegas’ boyfriend.
“Then, I went to the bathroom, tried to get you to follow me, and you just… didn’t.” Pete squeezed Vegas’ hand slightly, his face drooping with hurt. “I had to be the one to come back to the table, embarrassed, and tell Win that I’m your fucking boyfriend, and you just didn’t seem to even notice that you had hurt my feelings at all,” Pete finished in a rush.
Now Vegas felt tears forming and he swallowed, pushing them away. It didn’t matter how he was feeling—he had hurt Pete, really hurt his feelings. Vegas grabbed for Pete’s other hand and held both of Pete’s together in his hands, bringing them up to his lips and kissing them gently. “Pete, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I was drunk, I know that’s not an excuse, I was a fucking dick.”
A small smile crept onto Pete’s face, a couple of tears slipping loose from his eyes and Vegas’ heart shattered. He retracted one hand to wipe away the tears lightly with his thumb and he cradled Pete’s face with one hand. Vegas was relieved when Pete leaned into his open palm. “I know you didn’t hurt my feelings on purpose,” Pete managed. “It’s just that all I wanted was to spend time with you, and instead our time got stolen by one of Macau’s fucking classmates,” he laughed softly.
“This is why I don’t get drunk,” Vegas muttered. “I do stupid shit.” Sighing, Vegas scooted closer to Pete slightly, seeing if Pete would allow it. “Pete, really, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, it was unintentional, but it was not good of me to not consider how you were feeling. I can’t believe I didn’t say you’re my boyfriend.”
Pete shook his head. “Yeah, that was the worst part honestly, like, you’re always so fucking possessive.”
Vegas smiled. “I guess that means drunk me didn’t even see that kid as a threat, so I didn’t need to be possessive.”
Pete smiled back, Vegas running his thumb along Pete’s dimple. “I mean, good. That kid was no threat.”
“I think I was also just subconsciously so glad that Macau was talking about you as if you were his brother, it didn’t even cross my mind to think about anything else,” Vegas admitted. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
Pete pushed the blanket fully off of him and Vegas leaned back against the sofa as Pete straddled him easily. “It makes me happy too. Just… don’t do that again, okay?”
“Pete, I love you. I love you more than anyone. I promise that I will never hurt your feelings on purpose. You have to promise me that if I am hurting your feelings, you’ll tell me. When it’s happening. I hated waking up and realizing you hadn’t slept in the bed with me,” Vegas felt choked up.
“I hated not sleeping in the bed with you,” Pete admitted. “I barely slept last night. Maybe like an hour total. I think that was the first time I haven’t slept next to you since…”
“Since the hospital,” Vegas finished.
Pete worked his hands into Vegas’ hair and smiled at him. “I love you. I promise, if you hurt my feelings again, I’ll tell you right then. I hated feeling like because I was mad at you, I couldn’t sleep next to you. It was a lie, all I wanted was to be lying next to you.”
“But you’re stubborn,” Vegas rested his forehead against Pete’s, grinning. Pete leaned down and finally kissed Vegas, every feeling of anxiety and fear leaving Vegas with one press of Pete’s lips to his. “How can I make it up to you?” Vegas whispered against Pete’s mouth.
Pete pulled away and sat back on Vegas’ thighs. “I knew you were going to ask, and I was thinking about this, and I already know.” Vegas quirked one eyebrow. “I want to fuck you.”
Vegas groaned involuntarily. “You want to fuck me?” Vegas asked and Pete nodded vigorously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Pete shrugged. “I like getting fucked. I didn’t know if you’d be into it, so I didn’t feel like I needed to say anything because it’s not like I feel like I’m necessarily missing something hugely important in our sex life. But… I want to fuck you. So badly,” Pete admitted, scooting closer to Vegas with each word until they were pressed together fully, hips to hips, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. Vegas gripped Pete’s waist tightly, beyond glad that Pete was also only wearing his underwear. “Can I fuck you?” Pete whispered as he leaned in to capture Vegas’ mouth.
“Yes,” Vegas breathed as he grasped Pete under his thighs and stood up in one quick movement, earning a yelp from Pete. Vegas laughed as he walked them over and nearly threw Pete onto their bed. Vegas glanced down and nearly exploded at how hard Pete already was, his erection poking out through the top of his underwear. Vegas crawled over Pete and kissed him breathless, running his tongue along the roof of Pete’s mouth, pulling Pete’s lip between his teeth until Pete moaned.
Finally, Pete pulled back, his head landing on the sheets, laughing. “I’m fucking you,” he reminded Vegas as he gripped Vegas’ upper arms and flipped them over, back to straddling Vegas. This wasn’t an unfamiliar position—Pete hadn’t fucked Vegas before, but he rode him all the time and Vegas felt himself growing to full hardness at the sight of his boyfriend sitting on his thighs, grinning devilishly.
Pete leaned down to kiss Vegas, running his tongue over Vegas’ teeth, and Vegas moaned. “Pete, fuck, I’m so hard,” he groaned.
Vegas knew Pete well enough to know that this would make Pete grind down involuntarily, just what Vegas wanted, and he grinned into their kiss when Pete did so. “Fuck,” Pete whined, his hands scratching down Vegas’ chest as he sat back, grinding their still-clothed erections together. Vegas reached up to grab at Pete’s ass, massaging it roughly. Pete moaned and threw his head back. Vegas sat up without warning and affixed his teeth to one of Pete’s nipples. Pete’s hands flew to Vegas’ hair, and he tugged, moaning, as Vegas lapped at Pete’s chest, his hands never leaving Pete’s ass, Pete still grinding down on Vegas. “Vegas,” Pete moaned. “Vegas, I’m fucking you,” he insisted.
“Yes, yes, you are, you are,” Vegas laughed against Pete’s peaked nipple. “That doesn’t mean I can’t still make you feel good, does it?”
Pete pulled on Vegas’ hair and Vegas gasped as he was ripped away from Pete’s chest involuntarily, his neck bent forcefully so he could look up at Pete. “No, it doesn’t,” Pete acknowledged. “But I’m in charge,” he said, as he moved his hands down to Vegas’ shoulders and pushed, roughly enough that Vegas found himself back in his previous position, laying on the bed, hands gripping at Pete’s hips to keep hold of something. Pete smirked from above Vegas. “That’s better. You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?”
Vegas could have sworn he nearly came on the spot. This wasn’t something that Pete did often either—sometimes, on rough days, Vegas really needed Pete to fully take charge and he would ride Vegas until the sun came up, calling him “good boy” and “sweetheart” and it broke Vegas and put him back together just like he needed it to. Combining this with actually getting fucked by Pete, Vegas was pretty sure he was going to lose his mind. “Yes,” Vegas breathed. “I’m going to be good for you.”
“Good,” Pete said as he leaned down to kiss Vegas again, easily overtaking Vegas, his tongue wrapping around Vegas’ with practiced ease, his hands still gripping at Vegas’ shoulders. Pete began to kiss down his neck, leaving the occasional mark. Vegas didn’t like receiving pain in the same way that Pete did, but he couldn’t deny how much he loved it when his boyfriend marked him as his own. Pete belonged to Vegas, but Vegas just as much, if not more, belonged to Pete. He could already imagine the stares as he and Pete walked into meetings at the main family house or fancy restaurants that week, both of them with their necks marked with evidence of ownership, and he moaned.
Vegas felt Pete grin against his neck. “You’re thinking so loudly, Vegas,” he sat up and looked into Vegas’ eyes. Vegas saw glints of wonder and nervousness and love, all threaded through with lust. “I already know what you’re thinking. That we’re going to walk into those meetings we have this week and we’re both going to be covered in hickeys.” Vegas nodded, eyes wide. Part of him couldn’t quite believe that Pete had, somehow, quite literally, read his mind, but so much of them was so similar, he knew Pete had been thinking the same thing. “You’re mine. I’m yours. Everyone should see that.” Pete resumed sucking marks into Vegas’ neck and Vegas groaned, hands flying to Pete’s back to scratch down the length of it. Pete moaned against Vegas’ neck at that.
Pete continued to kiss and mark his way down Vegas’ body, teeth catching on each nipple for a moment. Vegas’ chest wasn’t as sensitive as Pete’s, but he couldn’t help the surprised moans that escaped his mouth when Pete sucked, causing Vegas’ nipples to pulse along with his racing heart.
Pete kissed down his stomach, until finally, finally, he reached Vegas’ underwear. Pete looked up at Vegas through his eyelashes and took the waistband of Vegas’ underwear in his teeth, pulling them off Vegas’ legs slowly. Vegas clenched his fingers into the sheets, not breaking eye contact with Pete through the whole thing. Eventually, his underwear was off, and Pete tossed them off the side of the bed. “Pete, fuck, fuck,” Vegas nearly screamed as Pete took his entire cock into his mouth in one swallow.
Pete bobbed his head up and down along Vegas’ length with practiced ease—Vegas couldn’t believe it when Pete had sucked his dick for the first time, knowing that it was his first time with a cock in his mouth ever. Pete, somehow, had the best natural blow job skills that perhaps had ever existed, and Vegas already truly never understood how he got so lucky with Pete in many ways, but with this? His boyfriend was next level.
Vegas threw his head back on the pillows, eyes closing, fingers gripping tightly in the sheets before he felt one of Pete’s hands reach for his and move it to rest in Pete’s hair. Vegas opened his eyes to grin down at Pete—even if Pete was in charge of Vegas, he still wanted that bit of pain. Vegas pulled harshly at Pete’s roots and Pete moaned around Vegas’ cock, his tongue catching on the head as he pulled off to lick at the slit and pump Vegas’ cock with one hand. Vegas felt the beginnings of orgasm start to tingle in his abdomen and he breathed out “close,” causing Pete to pull away and sit up on his knees. Vegas nearly whined at the loss.
Pete crawled over Vegas again, leaning down to kiss him and Vegas moaned at the taste of his own precome in Pete’s mouth. Vegas pulled away from the kiss and leaned his head back, opening his mouth wide. Pete grinned as he spit into Vegas’ mouth, a mixture of spit and precome, and Vegas swallowed instantly, savoring the bitter taste. Pete reached for Vegas’ nightstand and pulled their half-empty bottle of lube out of the drawer. Vegas reached up to tangle his hands in Pete’s hair, pulling him back for another kiss, a surprised “mm!” making its way out of Pete as he melted slightly into the kiss. Vegas felt the bounce on the bed near his knee where Pete had dropped the bottle of lube and he smiled when Pete held Vegas’ face in his hands, kissing him deeply, tongues and lips sliding against each other with familiarity.
Eventually, Pete pulled back and he was breathing hard. Vegas grinned at what he could do to his boyfriend, even though he knew that he had to look ravished in much the same way as Pete. Pete grabbed one of his pillows from his side of the bed and kneeled in between Vegas’ legs, settling the pillow underneath Vegas’ hips. Pete grabbed Vegas’ thighs in his hands and pulled, causing Vegas to move closer to Pete, his legs bent at the knees and in the air. Vegas felt his face burning slightly as his ass was on full display for Pete. Pete groaned. “You’re so fucking sexy, Vegas,” he praised him, and Vegas’ eyes slid shut in pleasure.
Pete pushed Vegas thighs up so that Vegas’ knees were essentially resting on his chest, his ass spread apart. Vegas instinctually brought his hands up to wrap around his own thighs, freeing Pete’s hands. Pete kissed down one thigh and up the other, never touching Vegas’ throbbing cock or his clenching entrance. Eventually, Pete, looking absolutely sinful on his knees with his own tight, gorgeous ass up in the air, locked eyes with Vegas and pressed the flat of his tongue against Vegas’ entrance. “Pete, oh fuck,” Vegas moaned. This wasn’t the first time that Pete had rimmed Vegas, but this was the first time he was doing it for the express purpose of getting Vegas ready to be fucked. Pete licked slowly around the rim, his hands clenched in the meat of Vegas’ ass. Vegas was sure that there would be bruises tomorrow with how hard Pete was gripping him and he couldn’t wait to poke at them and remember what Pete had done to him. Pete alternated between slow licks from the bottom of Vegas’ entrance up to his balls and fast, sharp thrusts with his tongue around the edge of Vegas’ rim and into his hole.
Eventually, Pete began concentrating just on Vegas’ hole and Vegas nearly screamed in pleasure as Pete began sloppily making out with Vegas’ entrance, kissing it sensually, tongue circling inside and licking at Vegas’ walls fervently. Pete would do this for a few seconds, lean back to press light kisses to the hole, and dive back in. Vegas clenched his thighs so tightly that he thought he might have drawn blood, but he could not be bothered to care. “Pete, it feels so good,” he moaned.
“Yeah? You like it, baby?” Pete murmured against Vegas’ entrance and Vegas nearly came instantly at the vibrations.
“I need more,” Vegas gasped, surprising himself at the admittance. Within a few seconds, Pete pulled back and Vegas watched as Pete poured a generous amount of lube onto the fingers of his left hand, rubbing them together to warm the lube.
“How many do you think you can take?” Pete asked.
Vegas moaned. “As many as you’ll give me,” he admitted. Unlike rimming, this was not even a semi-occasional occurrence for the couple—the only time Pete had fingered Vegas before was once while they sucked each other off at the same time and Pete had, in the throes of pleasure, stuck one almost dry finger up Vegas’ ass, surprising them both. Vegas also didn’t regularly finger himself, so he had no idea how this was going to play out.
Pete traced one finger around Vegas’ hole. “You’re being such a good boy,” Pete praised. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” Vegas nodded but knew that wasn’t good enough for Pete.
“I’ll tell you,” Vegas promised. Pete pressed his index finger in very slowly, stretching Vegas deliciously. Vegas moaned at the simultaneous mixture of pleasure and pain at Pete entering him—Pete was inside him. “You’re inside me,” Vegas moaned.
Pete grinned. “It’ll be even better once you’re ready,” Pete assured him, and Vegas nodded.
Finally, after a steady push, Pete’s finger was all the way inside of Vegas. Pete experimentally traced along Vegas’ walls and Vegas nearly screamed at the feeling. He’d done this a few times in his life, but it had never, never felt like this before. He wasn’t sure if that was due to his own inexperience or due to the fact that now, he was doing this with the love of his life.
Eventually, Pete began to slowly retract his finger and push back in, not all the way in and out, but just enough to get Vegas loosened up slightly. After a few minutes of this, it was not enough, and Vegas moaned, “another, please, Pete, please.”
Vegas locked eyes with Pete to see a wicked grin spread across Pete’s face. “Oh, what a delightfully good boy you are.” At that, Pete began inserting his middle finger into Vegas slowly, one knuckle at a time, and Vegas moaned at the stretch, at having two of Pete’s fingers inside of him. More quickly this time, the entirety of Pete’s middle finger was inside of Vegas and Pete didn’t give him as much of a chance to adjust as he began thrusting his fingers in and out of Vegas.
Vegas’ thighs clenched tightly, and Vegas was halfway worried they might cramp up, but he also could not be bothered to care. All that mattered was Pete’s fingers inside of him, all that mattered was that Pete was clearly trying to find his prostate. After a moment of curving his fingers, Pete brushed against Vegas’ prostate and Vegas’ back arched off the bed. Vegas felt his spine crack and he screamed. “Pete, oh fuck! Pete, right there, right there, right there,” he chanted.
At this, Pete began ramming his fingers into Vegas’ prostate relentlessly, again and again, and less than fifteen seconds later, Vegas felt his orgasm approaching. “Pete, I’m going to come, I’m going to come, can I come” he begged, and Pete nodded.
“You’ve been a good boy, you can come,” Pete allowed, and Vegas came without being touched for the first time in his life, spurting come on his stomach, up his chest, some even hitting his chin. Vegas clenched down hard on Pete’s fingers, not wanting him to stop, not wanting him to continue for fear of being overstimulated, as Pete continued to rub Vegas’ prostate through his orgasm.
Slowly, Pete began retracting his fingers from Vegas and Vegas let his legs drop, feeling like they were lead weights. “Fuck, Pete, does it always feel like that?” Vegas asked breathlessly as his boyfriend hovered over him, planting kisses lightly along his jaw and cheeks.
Vegas felt Pete nod. “Yeah, and you know just how to make me have a prostate orgasm that it makes me a little bit crazy.” Vegas grinned despite himself.
“You’re just so good at having them,” he reminded Pete and grabbed Pete’s face to guide his lips to Vegas’. Vegas kissed Pete slowly, still trying to get his bearings back.
Pete pulled away and rested his forehead against Vegas’. “You came so fast,” Pete laughed. “I’m going to remember that.”
Indignantly, Vegas said, “I did not come that fast!”
Pete glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “Baby, I think you came in less than three minutes. Pretty fast.”
Vegas whipped his head around to stare at the clock, as if he even knew what time he had woken up that morning, before turning back to Pete, eyes narrowed. A grin spread across Pete’s face at this, and Vegas couldn’t help but soften at the gorgeous smile, the fucking dimples and freckles that marked Pete. “You’re so beautiful,” Vegas said.
“I’m going to fuck you now, baby,” Pete scooted back and stood up on the bed briefly to pull his underwear down and off, Vegas’ mouth watering and hands itching at the sight of Pete’s perfect cock. “Are you going to be good?”
Vegas nodded eagerly.
“Are you ready for me?”
Another nod.
Pete repositioned Vegas on the pillow again and Vegas heard the crack of the bottle as it opened and the squeeze of lube onto Pete’s hand. He shivered as Pete squeezed some onto Vegas’ hole, making sure Vegas was prepared for Pete. Of course, Vegas knew that Pete wasn’t as big as him, but that didn’t mean that he had a small cock by any means, and this would be the first one Vegas had taken in a long time.
Pete positioned Vegas’ legs on his shoulders and Vegas shuddered as he felt the head of Pete’s cock catch on his rim. Pete locked eyes with Vegas. “Are you okay?”
Vegas nodded. “I’m okay. I’m ready, I promise, Pete, I’m ready.”
Pete looked down as he guided his cock into Vegas’ hole and they both moaned simultaneously at the tightness, the fullness. After Pete was seated partially inside of Vegas, he removed Vegas’ legs from his shoulders and guided them to wrap around his waist instead. Vegas moaned at this. “Your waist is so fucking perfect, Pete.”
“It feels so good to have your legs wrapped around my waist,” Pete grinned, and he leaned forward to kiss Vegas as he continued to push further and further in, slowly, bit by bit. Vegas felt like crying, not because of the pain or the pleasure, but because of the fucking love—how considerate Pete was being about all of this. Pete should have been fucking Vegas roughly, he should have been angry, mad at how his feelings were hurt last night, but he was being so gentle. Vegas closed his eyes—he would not cry while Pete was inside of him, he would not cry while Pete was inside of him.
“Baby, are you okay, am I hurting you?” Vegas heard Pete ask in a worried breath. Pete stopped moving, stopped pushing forward.
“No, I’m okay,” Vegas looked at Pete and smiled. “You feel good.”
“Why are you crying, then?” Pete whispered. Shit.
Vegas turned his face away from Pete, but Pete gently turned his chin back with one hand, cupping his cheek with the other, wiping tears gently with one thumb, just as Vegas had done earlier. “I just… I just love you,” Vegas let out. “I fucking hurt you last night, made you upset, and you should be angry, you shouldn’t be gentle and sweet with me, you should fuck me until I’m bleeding, but you’re just being sweet and considerate and… perfect,” Vegas finished in a rush, eyes closed.
A moment later, Vegas felt Pete lean down and kiss him. Vegas cracked one eye open and saw Pete’s gorgeous smile overtaking his face. Vegas reached up and cradled Pete’s face in his hands. His Pete. “I love you so much, it doesn’t matter if my feelings were hurt, that doesn’t mean that I want our first time switching to be painful or make a bad memory for either of us. You feel so fucking good, Vegas, I’m going to get addicted to this feeling, I want this to be a good memory so that you let me fuck you more.” At this, Pete slid the final few centimeters until he had fully bottomed out in Vegas, and both Pete and Vegas moaned simultaneously.
“You feel so good inside me, Pete,” Vegas moaned. “Please, please fuck me, it feels so good.”
Pete wrapped one hand around one of Vegas’ arms and placed one underneath Vegas’ neck as he began to fuck into him at a steady pace. Vegas gasped and he felt Pete smile into his neck—this was the same position they had been in when Vegas had fucked Pete for the first time, all except the tying up part. “This is…” Vegas didn’t even need to finish as he felt Pete nod against his neck.
“Yeah,” Pete acknowledged. “It is.”
Pete fucked in and out of Vegas at a steady pace, both of them gasping for air. “Pete, please, harder,” Vegas finally moaned, and Pete easily complied, hitting Vegas’ prostate on every thrust.
“Baby, I’m so close, I’m so close,” Vegas felt his second orgasm approaching a few minutes later, the rams into Vegas’ prostate bringing him once again right to the edge. “Your cock feels so good, please Pete, please make me come, I want you inside me forever, you make me feel so good, Pete, Pete, please,” Vegas finally let out a loud moan as he came, untouched again, and he wondered distantly if Macau had planned to visit that day or if he was at his and Chay’s apartment as he came down from his orgasm, thoughts clouded.
Pete pulled back slightly and began to thrust erratically. Vegas knew just how it felt every time he was inside Pete—after Pete came and his hole began clenching involuntarily around Vegas’ cock, it was only a matter of time before Vegas would follow over the edge. It appeared that Pete was much the same. “Oh, Vegas, fuck, you were so good for me, you are everything I wanted, this is everything I wanted, you feel so good, I’m going to come inside you, can I come inside you,” he asked breathlessly.
Vegas groaned, already craving the feeling. “Please, please, Pete, please come inside me.”
Without warning, Pete was suddenly thrusting into Vegas three more times and coming with a scream, falling forward, only his hands on the sides of Vegas’ head catching him from crushing Vegas. Vegas chuckled lightly, which turned into another moan as Pete thrust involuntarily into Vegas a few more times, emptying himself inside. Even though Vegas had been fucked before, years ago, nobody had ever come inside of him. He knew he could get addicted to this feeling—the idea that Pete’s come was filling him up made Vegas’ cock give a valiant twitch.
Slowly, Pete pulled out of Vegas and sat back on his knees, watching as come started to slowly drip out of Vegas, Vegas feeling it fall onto the pillow beneath him. Pete gathered up all of the come that was dripping out of Vegas’ hole and pushed it back into him with two fingers. Vegas screamed, “Pete, fuck, oh fuck,” and his hands clenched tightly in the sheets. Vegas didn’t think he could come again, but fuck, it seemed like Pete was determined to make his body at least consider it.
Pete grinned and withdrew his fingers slowly. “Sorry, baby, I couldn’t help it, it was so sexy.”
Vegas struggled slightly to sit up and Pete intertwined their fingers together, pushing the pillow out of the way, to help him with his efforts. “That was fucking amazing,” Vegas murmured against Pete’s lips, kissing him slowly.
“I’m glad you liked getting fucked baby, you were so good, you were such a good boy for me,” Pete continued to praise Vegas and Vegas keened as Pete ran his fingers through Vegas’ hair. “Let’s go shower now,” Pete pulled Vegas off the bed and towards the bathroom and Vegas felt a sense of happiness and lingering lust as he felt Pete’s come dripping down along the insides of his thighs as Pete shut the bathroom door behind them.
--
“Hey, Win!” Macau called to his friend across the cafeteria, a spring in his step as he made his way over to one of his newer friends that he had made in one of his classes. Macau and Chay were in different majors, so even though they went to the same university, he really only got to see his boyfriend at lunch and when he would drop him off and pick him up from class when he had free time.
Win’s eyes widened as Macau sat down across from him, quickly gathering up the remains of his lunch, which he clearly hadn’t finished yet, about to flee the scene. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Macau asked. Had he done something to his friend?
“T… tell you brothers… brother I said I’m sorry, and tell his boyfriend that I’m really sorry,” Win stammered as he gathered up his lunch, nearly dropping his backpack as he raced outside, away from Macau.
“Damn it,” Macau muttered to himself. He didn’t know what the fuck Vegas and Pete had done to his friend, but this was why he didn’t make any—his family would always find a way to traumatize them. With a sigh, Macau pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time, deciding that since he didn’t have anyone to eat lunch with now, he would make his way across campus to visit Chay, maybe skip a class to hang out with his boyfriend. If Vegas and Pete found out, well, they couldn’t even be mad after they had done something to fuck up one of Macau’s friendships. Macau grabbed a couple of apples on the way out of the cafeteria, tossing them in the air and whistling as he made his way to the music building to spend some much-needed time with his boyfriend.