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“Not interested,” Vegas snaps, tossing the photos Kinn had handed him back onto the wide table. They slide across the varnish, and Porsche has to grab one before it slips over the edge.
He stands to leave, satisfied as Pete moves with him.
Pete is his other half, his better half, and he likes that it’s obvious to everyone who sees them just by how fluidly they move together.
“Pete,” Porsche tries.
Pete turns to face Vegas, who sighs, before he faces his former roommate.
“We’re not interested,” Pete reiterates, taking Vegas’s hand in a show of solidarity that makes Vegas’s blood sing. Pete never hesitates to remind him that he chose Vegas. He would always choose Vegas.
“They won’t talk for our men.”
“Sounds like a personal problem,” Vegas tells his cousin.
The drive home is quiet. So is their movement through the house. They remain quiet as they change their clothes into something more comfortable. Vegas might be on much better terms with Kinn now, but he refuses to let them see Pete in anything less than designer. Pete knows he is just trying to show off that he can take care of Pete, and can spoil him, but for Vegas it’s more than that. He wants them to see what they overlooked. Pete is a gem. He’s gorgeous, and lethal, and he only bares his teeth at Vegas’s command.
Their loss is his gain.
Vegas sighs again as he makes them dinner.
Macau had moved into the dorms at school, wanting some independence as well as wanting to give Vegas and Pete privacy to “be gross,” which was Macau-speak for “be obnoxiously in love”.
Vegas misses him, but a part of him likes having that distance, since it keeps him clean from the types of conversations they are seconds away from having.
Sure enough, Pete hums as he wraps his arms around Vegas’s waist while Vegas stirs the pan on the stove.
“Smells nice.”
Vegas grins. “You smell nice, too.”
When he leans back, they catch each other’s grins before they kiss. Vegas loves to be so close to Pete. He loves to feel him, to smell him.
Pete waits until they are seated before he speaks again.
“So what do you think is really going on?”
Vegas sighs. It’s not directed at Pete, never at Pete. He’s just as lost as his partner, and he doesn’t like that. He never likes not having control over the situation.
“Are you asking if I really think that underground chemist really made something that can revive the dead?”
It’s Pete’s turn to sigh as he mixes his food on his plate.
He takes a bite, thinking, and Vegas watches for his reaction. He knows he’s a good cook, but it’s a particular point of pride for him to feed Pete. After all, it was why his pet came crawling back to him. No one else could feed him, he had said. Only Vegas.
Pete grins around the mouthful, and Vegas finally takes his own bite.
After a few minutes, Pete frowns.
“It’s not like reincarnation is a strange concept, but what they described sounds like something from one of Khun Nu’s dramas.”
Vegas doesn’t sour at the nickname Pete still uses for his eldest cousin. They are still fairly close, after all, even if Pete chose Vegas in the end.
Khun had been upset, of course. He tried to steal Pete back. He tried to poison him against Vegas, which shouldn’t have been hard, but Pete had patiently stared him down as he explained that he was making a choice for once in his life and he would never regret it.
Vegas had fucked him extra sweetly that night, leaving bite marks and bruises just how Pete liked.
“Calling the stuff ‘Z’ certainly lacks creativity,” Vegas muses, setting his fork down. “I mean, they might as well have AI writing this script.”
Pete snorts, a feat that Vegas only finds cute when it’s Pete, and gives him a look.
“Admit it,” Pete says, tapping Vegas’s foot under the table. “You’re just as curious as I am.”
Vegas hums, resting his chin on his knuckles as he considers it.
It’s been a while since he’s tortured anyone. Not since Pete, oddly enough. Why does it almost feel like cheating?
When he asks a half-asleep Pete this in bed that night, Pete snorts again, rolling over to face him. He kisses Vegas’s nose, blinking sleepily at him as he strokes Vegas’s cheek.
“I’ll be right there with you,” Pete assures him, “so it’s not cheating if we torture them together. Only you would think like that.”
The exasperated look he gives Vegas is fond, so Vegas gives him another kiss before burrowing into Pete. He wishes they could always be chained together. He does not dare to think how he could ever survive a world without Pete.
Everything they do, they will do together.
So, the next day, Vegas calls Kinn. He puts the phone on speaker so Pete is just as included on the call. They made the decision together, so they will face it together.
“We’ll do it,” Vegas grunts when Kinn answers.
“We?”
Pete glances at him, then adds, “Yes. We’re bored with Cau out of the house.”
The corner of his lip curls and Vegas finds himself mirroring the expression.
It still amazes him that he found someone who is so perfectly his match.
Kinn makes a reproachful sound, but he is in no place to judge them for their hobbies. After all, he is the one who asked them to do it.
Later that evening, Vegas and Pete find themselves in their basement torture room. Kinn had sent two men over for them to take apart. Neither of them were the chemist, that man had been missing for days, but they were close enough to know at least something.
They were bruised, which was a shame. Vegas liked a blank canvas. One of them even had a broken leg.
He dons his raincoat, like putting on old skin he thought he had shed, and turns to face Pete. He worries that Pete might have changed his mind, but Pete only nods. He had always been the only of Kinn’s men to not look away when Vegas showed who he was.
On a table lie various implements, some of which he had used on Pete and some of which were older favorites of his. On a smaller metal tray off to the side are three syringes of Z. The liquid is a sickly green color.
“Shall we?” Vegas asks, giving Pete a chaste kiss as Pete hands him a hammer.
It goes on for hours.
It goes on for so long that Vegas loops back around to the hammer before the first of them dies.
Pete scowls, kicking the man’s leg. Vegas only exhales.
He’s starting to get tired, his stamina having never returned to what it was before he had been gut shot.
He and Pete are both covered in sheens of sweat. They aren’t really getting anywhere.
Turning back to the man still barely alive, Vegas says, “We’ll let you think on it. Maybe a night of being left in here will loosen that tongue of yours.”
Pete makes sure the man’s restraints are secure while Vegas peels off his raincoat and hangs it on a wall hook. There’s no point in putting it away when he’s not finished. After that, he collects the syringes and leads Pete upstairs.
He hates holding them in his hands. He is still not entirely sure what they are, but they don’t feel natural. Stopping by his office, Vegas secures them in his safe.
“Come on,” Pete whispers, reaching for Vegas’s hand. They are both spattered with blood and viscera, both desperate to feel clean again.
They run the shower as hot as they can stand it, helping each other wash thoroughly. When the water no longer runs pink their touches become audacious and deliberate. Pete grins as he takes Vegas’s cock in hand, stroking him in the way he knows drives Vegas crazy.
No amount of exhaustion could keep Vegas from Pete when he acts like this, so Vegas quickly turns the water off to spin Pete around, slapping his ass before pushing him toward the bed.
They don’t bother to dry off, they just throw towels down over the comforter. Vegas gets Pete on his hands and knees, just where Pete wants to be, then pushes his shoulders down so only his ass is raised in the air. He nips that round globe of his ass, savoring the whimper that Pete lets out as he turns to look at Vegas over his shoulder.
Pete’s biting that plush bottom lip, echoing the way Vegas bites down harder on his ass.
Slicking his wet hair back from his face, Vegas asks, “Did you enjoy that show, pet?”
Pete moans again, spreading his knees wider and curving his spine even more.
“Love watching you work.”
Vegas slaps his ass, then his thigh, spreading Pete wide to lick over his hole.
He’s so hard, and Pete is already fluttering, eager for him.
Good things come to those who wait, though, so Vegas takes his time getting Pete nice and wet for him. When he adds a second finger using just his spit, Pete comes with a cry, his fingers clenching tightly on the pillow closest to him. Vegas never gets tired of how sensitive Pete is to his touch. He never tires of how much Pete wants him.
“Please,” Pete whines, and Vegas takes pity on him.
Fetching the lube, Vegas only coats his cock before thrusting into Pete with a sharp snap of his hips.
Pete rocks forward with it, then rocks back, taking Vegas even deeper.
“So perfect for me,” Vegas groans, grinding against him as he smacks Pete’s ass again, catching some of his thigh, too. He sets a brutal pace, cocking his head to the side as he studies the way Pete writhes under him.
He’s never known anyone to move the way Pete does. He’s had men putting on their best show, trying to be what they thought Vegas wanted. None of them understood how pathetic he found them.
Not Pete, though. Pete’s movements are all natural. He goes somewhere special when Vegas fucks him, somewhere he can just take what he wants from the world. His sounds aren’t for show. They aren’t for Vegas at all, even if he does happen to enjoy them.
Pete is powerful, fluid and graceful as he fucks himself on Vegas’s cock. He steals all of Vegas’s focus, all of his attention, without even trying.
He’s incredible.
“You’re going to come again,” Vegas tells him, “like a good boy. Then I’ll fill you up like you deserve.”
Pete growls, glancing over his shoulder as he pushes himself up.
Vegas knows what he needs, what he wants, so he wastes no time flipping Pete over onto his back before plunging back in. As expected, Pete wraps his deceptively strong thighs around Vegas’s waist, spreading his arms wide as he offers himself completely to Vegas’s cruel mercy.
Vegas snarls down at him, slightly manic, as he lifts Pete’s hips a foot off the bed to drive into him even faster. When Pete tosses his head back, exposing that pale column of his neck in another invitation, Vegas accepts the gift with another snarl, bending to wrap his fingers around Pete’s neck to press in just the right places.
Pete’s cock is dark and leaking steadily. He’s so close, but Vegas wants to give him an extra treat to push him over the edge this time. He releases Pete’s neck and Pete blinks up at him, confused.
Then, with a vicious grin, Vegas leans back and slaps Pete’s cock with the flat of his hand.
Pete arches at the pain, his cum hitting the bruises already forming around his neck as he wails.
He’s a thing of beauty, and the sight of him tormented in ecstasy is enough to push Vegas over the edge, too.
He pulses hotly inside of Pete, marking him yet again as his, then continues fucking him for another minute, just until Pete is a panting, writhing mess.
“-Gas,” Pete gasps, pushing at his shoulders. “I can’t-”
There are tears in Pete’s eyes, and as tempted as Vegas is to push him further, he’s also exhausted.
He slips out of Pete, watching his cum weep out of Pete’s hole with possessive delight.
“Pervert,” Pete teases, grinning up at the ceiling.
“Your pervert,” Vegas corrects him, stretching his arms over his head as he stumbles off the bed to get a fresh cloth to clean them up.
When he’s done, they toss the soiled towels into the hamper and finish getting ready for bed, smiling at one another around their toothbrushes in the mirror.
Still naked, they crawl under the blankets. Pete pulls Vegas close and kisses his face.
“I love you, my pervert.”
Vegas snorts softly, brushing his lips over Pete’s.
“I love you, too. Now get some rest. We have another long day tomorrow.”
Pete nods, yawning wide. Rather than obey, he blinks over at Vegas, who just stares back.
It’s times like this where he still has trouble believing that Pete is real, that Pete is his. That Pete chose him. He wants him. His other half. His perfect match.
“I’m so lucky you’re mine,” Vegas doesn’t mean to say aloud, but does.
Pete’s smile widens, and Vegas cannot regret his outburst.
“Yours until the end,” Pete assures him. It’s something he says often. It means even more to Vegas than Pete telling him that he loves him. Pete does love him, but he also promises to stay with him until the end of their ride, whatever that looks like for people like them.
“Until the end,” Vegas assures him right back.
He turned his back on Pete for the last time during the coup, and he’ll never repeat that mistake.
He watches Pete fight sleep, finally whispering to him, “Just let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
With a soft, weak hum, Pete nods and drifts off.
Then, Vegas watches Pete sleep for a few more minutes before sleep claims him, as well.
The next day, after a nice breakfast, they collect the syringes and head back down to the basement. Pete chatters casually as they take their time, reminding Vegas of the dinner date they have planned for the weekend. As if Vegas would forget. He lets Pete ramble, though, knowing that it means Pete is just as excited about it as he is. The closer they get to the torture room, though, the more Pete’s voice trails off as his nose crinkles.
The smell is rancid. Dead bodies really know how to linger.
The other guy flinches when he sees them stroll in, which is good. It means he likely won’t waste as much of their time today.
Before they start, though, Vegas turns to Pete, pointedly ignoring their guest.
“Darling, shall we try this stuff out?”
Pete shrugs, his hand already dancing over torture implements on the table.
“Might as well, my love.”
Kicking the dead man over onto his back, Vegas sets two of the syringes on the tray and uncaps the third. The needle is large. Too large for a regular injection.
“The heart?” Vegas ponders to himself, then squats down beside the corpse and jabs the syringe into the man’s still heart. He pushes the plunger, releasing the vile, green liquid.
Then, Vegas stands again, tilting his head this way and that as he waits for…
Nothing. Nothing happens.
“What a joke,” Vegas scoffs.
All this and the shit doesn’t even work.
“Why didn’t it work?” Vegas snaps at their still-breathing guest.
Three hours later, the man finally begins to answer.
“You only have a minute!”
“A minute?” Pete asks, frowning at Vegas in a way that reveals his cute dimple.
“A minute after death,” the man clarifies, his breath heaving in his chest. One side of his face is so swollen he can’t see out of his eye, and his words aren’t clear.
Gripping his hair, Vegas rips his head back.
“What do you say we give it a try?”
There’s no point in keeping the man alive any longer. He clearly doesn’t know anything, and Vegas would much rather be spending his time snuggling with Pete on the sofa while they pretend not to be invested in the trash that is Love is Blind.
To his chagrin, the man almost looks relieved before he begins to panic.
“No, please. Just kill me. Don’t put that shit in me. Please. I have a family.”
“Oh,” Vegas gasps with mock benevolence. “Did you hear that, my sweet? He has a family. If only he had told us that before.”
Pete shakes his head, not bothering to hide his laugh.
“You want it quick?”
Vegas pretends to think.
“Yeah. Might as well. We have better shit to do with our time.”
Pete nods as Vegas steps away to collect another syringe, humming.
As he uncaps it, frowning at the fluid, he hears the man struggle for air after Pete punctured his lung. It’s a wet, horrid sound, but it’s the sound of a job well done.
Well, a job done, at least.
When he doesn’t hear the sound anymore, Vegas begins to count in his head, crossing the room. Pete only watches as Vegas stabs the syringe into the man’s heart, flooding him with the green solution.
Together, they hold their breath, only to be disappointed yet again.
“This fucking shit is a scam,” Vegas chides. “Z might as well be Hulk piss for all this does.”
Pete shakes his head, moving to untie the body. They will send Kinn’s men in to clean up, and Pete clearly doesn’t trust them to be able to untangle his knots. The only other person who could would likely be Vegas.
Vegas turns around again, pushing the metal cart with the final syringe up against the wall. He contemplates just tossing it in the trash, where it belongs.
“Want to get cleaned up and watch our show while I make lunch?”
“Sounds good,” Pete replies. “But I swear, if Becky says yes to that motherfucker Joe at the altar-”
Vegas never gets to hear the end of that sentence, because the man Pete just untied jumps to his feet, his hands reaching as he snaps his teeth.
“Pete!” Vegas shouts, already moving for a weapon.
Pete, however, shoves himself between the man and Vegas, loyal to a fault. They are grappling, and just as Pete seems to get a good grip on him, the man sinks his teeth into the side of Pete’s neck.
Vegas’s world turns to static.
He doesn’t hear the scream coming from his mouth as he plants the head of his hammer into the man’s skull. He barely registers the man going still and falling to the ground.
All he can see are the spurts of crimson spraying from Pete’s neck, the rhythm matching the beating of Pete’s heart. Pete turns to him, his eyes wide as he clutches at the wound, trying to slow the bleeding.
They both know it’s too late, though. It’s his carotid. They have mere minutes.
Pete drops to his knees, making a sick clacking sound on the cement floor. His face is already ashen pale as he reaches for Vegas.
“No,” Vegas wails, sliding up to him to collect Pete in his arms. “No, baby. I won’t let you.”
Pete attempts a grin, his normally white teeth now carmine.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and Vegas shakes his head.
“It’s my fault,” Vegas says. “I’m so sorry, Pete. Please don’t leave me.”
Pete’s eyelids are getting heavier as he swallows. The blood from his neck is no longer pulsing out in a spray. Instead, it’s just streaming out in a wave, soaking into his shirt.
“Yours,” Pete groans softly, “until the end.”
“We’ll meet again,” Vegas promises, his breath hitching as he sobs. He swipes at his eyes clumsily, trying not to lose sight of his beloved Pete through his tears. “We made merits.”
Pete smiles sweetly, nodding subtly as his hand slumps away from his neck.
He presses his lips to Pete’s. They’re already cooling, so Vegas just presses against them harder, trying to share his warmth.
Pete is still in his arms, and Vegas throws his head back and screams.
He can’t lose Pete. He can’t exist without Pete.
Sucking in a breath, Vegas’s mind helpfully tells him that he doesn’t need to. He can keep Pete. They made merits, yes, but Vegas doesn’t have to wait until their next life to get him back.
Fuck. He doesn’t know how many seconds he has left. He has no time to stop and question the morality of it all as he gently lays Pete down and rushes to the metal tray. His hand is shaking a little, but he does his best to focus as he uncaps the syringe. He needs to hurry.
“You can’t get away from me that easily, pet,” Vegas says aloud as he kneels beside Pete’s still body. “Your master isn’t done with you, yet.”
With that, he plunges the needle into Pete’s heart, which moments ago beat only for him.
The solution injected, he rushes to find the other things he needs. If Pete wakes up like that other man, Vegas has mere moments to collar his pet.
On the far wall, he finds it: a thick metal collar with a padlock and a chain. It’ll do.
Vegas lifts Pete’s head, cringing at the blood already crusting in Pete’s hair, and secures the collar, snapping the padlock shut. It should be tight enough and strong enough to hold him.
Vegas hooks the chain then rushes to crank the hook higher. It’s with seconds to spare, as Pete jolts, then rushes to his feet. He snarls, lunging toward Vegas with outstretched arms. The chain catches just when Vegas is almost within his reach, jerking him backward. Vegas cries out, worried that he has hurt Pete.
But Pete only gnashes his teeth as he tries to get at him again.
His eyes are clouded over. He does not recognize Vegas as anything more than a meal, it seems.
Vegas exhales heavily, his adrenaline making him shake now as Pete stops trying so hard to get at him. Vegas steps back, keeping his eyes on Pete, until he hits the wall. Then, he slides down it, his legs no longer able to support him for the time being.
Pete is hissing and growling, still reaching for him.
“Are you hungry, pet?”
When Pete gnashes his teeth again, Vegas lets out an unsteady laugh.
When he can move again, Vegas summons a guard. He’s new. Vegas doesn’t even know his name.
He leads him to the basement, ignoring the man’s complaints about the smell. When he gets to the door, Vegas pulls it open and steps aside so he can push the man in first. The man stumbles, and Vegas pushes him again. It’s enough to put him within Pete’s reach, and Vegas listens to the man scream as Pete grabs him and digs his teeth into his flesh.
Vegas makes himself watch.
No, he prides himself on watching.
Pete had always been a killing machine. Now, he was a creature, a harbinger of death.
He devours the guard, tearing sinew from bone with reckless abandon. The fresh blood mixed in with Pete’s dried blood, smearing the flakes across his lifeless skin.
Vegas is still amazed by him. He will never not be in awe of Pete.
The guard stops struggling and slumps to the floor.
Oh. Vegas should have attached a rope to him or something.
But then he thinks about leaving Pete alone in that basement and changes tactic. He won’t leave his pet alone in a cage. Never again.
He will never leave Pete alone again.
“Good boy,” Vegas purrs, grabbing the baseball bat to keep Pete at a safe distance as he reaches for his chain, lowering the hook so he can release Pete.
Pete moves toward him, but he seems sluggish. His eyes are wide as he sniffs the air.
Then, Vegas watches as Pete gags, vomiting up some of the raw flesh he had just consumed.
“Oh, baby,” Vegas says softly. “Did I not bring you a good one?”
“Hun-gry,” Pete moans weakly as he claws through the air to get closer to Vegas.
“I know,” Vegas cries, sniffling sharply as he raises the bat. He hates pressing it to Pete’s chest, but he needs to get Pete up to their room. There is another hook in there that he can attach Pete’s chain to. This way, he can keep him close. Pete belongs by his side, and that means Pete belongs in their room.
“Come here, pet,” Vegas calls, his grip tightening on the chain. Pete groans, but he follows after Vegas. “Good boy. Let’s go back to our room. I’ll take good care of you, Pete. We’ll never be parted.”
He keeps up a steady stream of praise as Pete stumbles up to their room. Vegas leaves the bodies in the basement. He does not care about them.
He only needs to focus on feeding his pet.
The next day, he tries another guard, and once again Pete only keeps some of the man down.
Pete’s skin is graying now, and there is an odor coming from him that Vegas is already growing scent-blind to. There is no part of Pete that he wants to rebuke.
He is not sure how he manages to steal a few hours of sleep here and there, but Pete is always right where he left him, chained up in their room. Sometimes he leans into the wall, sometimes he lunges for Vegas. As the days pass in a haze, Pete grows more and more lethargic. He needs to feed, but Vegas is not sure what to provide him. He only says that he is hungry.
That, and sometimes he says Vegas’s name. Vegas thought he had imagined it the first time, but he knows he had not when he hears Pete say it again.
Vegas is staring at Pete from the end of the bed, his knee bent with one foot tucked under him. In his hand is his pistol.
He does not know how many days they have been holed up together. The guards know not to bother them in their chambers, even though Vegas is certain the smell from the basement has spread throughout the compound.
He only leaves Pete to grab food for himself or to grab someone to try to feed Pete with, but Pete still cannot keep much down.
The remains are pushed into the basement. Vegas has taken to just kicking the bodies down the stairs.
As he scratches his scalp with the end of his pistol, Pete groans low as he watches him.
Vegas knows there is only one answer to his problem. One solution, and it is one he has always known.
Pete had been the one to tell him, all those months ago.
Only Vegas can feed him.
Vegas smiles.
Stretching out his leg, which had fallen numb, Vegas moves to stand.
As he does, his phone rings. Vegas sighs. He did not want to be interrupted. Not during such an important revelation.
It’s Kinn.
“What?” Vegas barks into the phone. He is not feeling the most patient.
“Vegas, where the fuck have you and Pete been? The men say you won’t leave your room, and there are bodies piling up. Jesus, what the fuck happened?”
Vegas crows. He cannot help it. He would not be in this situation if he had not been trying to clean up another one of Kinn’s fucking problems. Well, this time, Kinn can clean up the mess.
“One of the men spoke,” Vegas tells him. “It turns out that Z shit works.”
“Vegas,” Kinn says in a low tone. Vegas knows a warning when he hears one. “Put Pete on the phone.”
Vegas sighs, turning to gaze fondly at his pet. Pete’s clothes are filthy, more blood than fabric at this point. He’s practically foaming at the mouth. He’s so hungry. Vegas can see it in his dead eyes.
“I wish I could,” Vegas says cooly. “But he’s a little tied up at the moment.”
“Vegas-”
It’s Porsche yelling his name. But Vegas does not need to listen.
“Gotta go,” he mutters. “Tell Macau I love him, and I’m sorry.”
They yell his name again, but Vegas is already hanging up.
He’s certain they will be there as soon as traffic allows. He doesn’t have much time.
Gripping the pistol tightly in his hand, Vegas strolls over to Pete.
Pete reaches for him, the movement a clear struggle.
“Only I can feed you, right, pet?” Vegas taunts, reaching out to stroke Pete’s cold face. Pete’s face twists, and Pete’s teeth sink into the heel of his palm.
“Fuck,” Vegas hisses, pressing more into the bite to keep Pete’s mouth busy while he steps in closer.
The smell is unbearable, but it won’t matter for much longer.
“Until the end,” Vegas says, pressing his lips to Pete’s cheek.
Instantly, Pete holds him tightly, releasing Vegas’s hand to sink his teeth into the flesh of Vegas’s neck.
The pain is incredible, but Vegas’s lashes only flutter in bliss. Pete is hungry, so Vegas will be a good owner and feed him one last time.
Until the end, he thinks as hot blood gushes down his chest. Is this how Pete felt at the end? A little floaty?
Would Pete be mad at him for bringing him back?
Vegas has wondered this many times, but he can only imagine that Pete, of all people, would understand. Pete always did understand him best.
When Vegas feels the last of his strength slipping away, he raises his arm, pressing the barrel of his pistol to Pete’s temple.
I love you.
Pete takes another ravenous bite, and Vegas pulls the trigger.
Together, until the end.