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Vegas awakens to a breeze of coldness on his bare chest, almost electrocuting him entirely off the bed, almost making him curse aloud.
He blinks the residue of sleep away from his eyes, his vision blurry as Vegas tries to prepare for another hectic day, mentally readying himself for the worst. Living as a mafia boss isn't as glamorous and exciting as people fictionalise in their stories. It takes a lot more than money and power to fuel through every situation. Sudden gun attacks, cancelled deals, heated arguments- Vegas can only pray that he would live long enough to see Venice taking over this empire. After that, he can lead a slow-paced life, grow old with someone he loves, and laugh at each other's greying hair and wrinkled skin. Vegas then don't want to think much, just live and be happy with his little family. That's all he wants. More than enough to make him pleased- a sweet ending to his rollercoaster/hell-like life.
The grey blinds shield the morning sun from penetrating his bedroom, and although it's too dark for his liking, Vegas is too lazy to search for the controller. He huffs a breath, frustrated and annoyed for no exact reason. However, when he turns to his left, he notices another lump hidden underneath the ash grey blanket. Vegas recollects the scattered memories. He pushes himself up a bit from the mattress, his elbows as support, and Vegas looks around the room. Then, he spots his clothes on the floor, near the foot of his bed, along with Pete's. Something clicks in his head, or rather the remembrance of last night's events. And instantly, he feels hot. He's burning. The smell of drying musk wafts in the air, a vivid reminder of last night's passionate endeavour, naked skin on naked skin, becoming one. Vegas doesn't feel giddy often, but the thought makes his chest tauten. He feels like a child again. A teenager that can't stop thinking of their first love. And it's still so early to be in love, for God's sake.
The ripple of warmness on his skin is so comfortable and homey that Vegas almost falls back to sleep. The bubbling sensation whirling around his ribcage, the fading marks on his body, and the slight soreness around his groin is everything Vegas wants to remember. Pete's face, beautifully contorted in between pleasure and euphoria, haunts him, rekindles the urge to hold him again, and relishes the feel of his smooth curves and scars and silk of his hair on his sinful fingers anew.
Following the voice in his mind, Vegas slumps to the bed again but is careful not to awaken his lover, who's still fast asleep. His heart thumps vigorously in his chest as Vegas drags the blanket from covering Pete's figure. What he sees next immediately puts him in a stupor. Vegas melts in a pool of goo.
Pete's whole existence screams for Vegas to touch, appreciate, worship and adore. His skin glows like the silver linings of the moon, the glitter of the stars, and Vegas knows he's making no absolute sense right now, but it's what he notices on Pete. The afterglow. He's groundbreakingly beautiful that Vegas will do anything to protect this view from unwanted, undeserving eyes. This is only for Vegas, this Pete. No one can have the privilege to glimpse this ethereal human being. It took him a year to tone down the beast inside of him, the possessiveness that runs in his blood like a lifeline, and he succeeded, especially after Pete left. But Pete is in his arms again, in his territory. The desire to cage him in his life resurfaces. Vegas believes he'll never survive this catastrophe. Pete is the end of him.
A powerful force pushes the air out of his lungs when Pete begins to stir. Displeasure colours his face at first, annoyed that something (or someone) is disturbing his sleep, but Pete then stretches his body like a cat. His body arches. His limbs move in a dance routine of their own. Graceful almost. Moans of last night's dream tumble from Pete's lips, and Vegas almost loses a fragment of his sanity. The smile that forms on his face is even brighter than the invisible sun outside, Vegas knows. Only Pete can make him this elated.
Pete opens his eyes finally. Two mini suns are staring back at Vegas, vibrant sparks are cascading from Pete's eyes, and Vegas swallows the sand in his throat. A smile blossoms on his lips, the kind of smile that transforms Pete's eyes into two crescent moons, friendly and fond. This smile, Vegas believes, is only for Vegas. He is proud of this- he loves how Pete also reserves a part of him for Vegas. The connection he feels, the thread that binds him and Pete together, is from endless heartbreaks, mistrust, profound pain and muted tears. They found common ground, finally, and Vegas won't let it go to waste ever again.
After momentary heart palpitations and continuous awe, Vegas says, "Morning, Pete." He loses his breath completely, unaware that he has been holding it for no one knows how long.
Pete grins, toothy, sunshine on his face. And Vegas wants to write a song for him. Or maybe a poem. Or anything that can convey these feelings in his chest, creating mayhem on their amends. He might have to step foot into the first family's house to find Kim. Vegas might have to ask help from him, or Porschay might be a better choice. He might do it someday. Pete deserves it. And other beautiful things.
Pete pushes back the bangs from covering his eyes, a yawn turns his mouth into an O, and he giggles. Oh, Vegas' heart malfunctions. Nonsensical thoughts come to a screeching halt as Pete fixes his position, resting his back against the headboard. Vegas sees a canvas of ivory, blotches of red and purple scatter like a wildfire on Pete's neck and all over his chest. Vegas' mind is full of this; he's- he's- beautiful.
"Morning, Vegas," Pete greets back. There's shyness lingering in his voice, and when soberness flows in his system, Pete is too jittery to meet eyes with him. Cute, Vegas thinks.
Vegas caves to temptation and scoots closer to Pete, eliminating the tiny space that separates him from the love of his life. The rustle of his body against the crumpled blanket rings in his ears, masking the nervousness that turns his lips dry. He hopes Pete won't hear the stutter in his heart, the orchestra that plays a song of haywire and chaos because that would be embarrassing.
His shoulder meets Pete's, and the mere touch sparks a feeling so profound that Vegas visibly flinches. Pete is both Vegas' strength and weakness. His mind wants Pete to stop affecting him entirely, but his heart craves more. More of Pete, more than everything he can offer.
Vegas searches for Pete's hand underneath the blanket. He entwines them once he finds the other five stars in his constellation. He squeezes once, only to catch Pete's attention. Pete reciprocates with his signature smile. His hold is always gentle, loving, and tender. And how can Vegas not fall head over hills, body over mountains for Pete?
"It's still so early," Pete says, breaking the silence. "How long have you been awake?"
Vegas can't stop staring at Pete, how his mouth moves to every syllable, how his eyes twinkle in genuine curiosity. And Vegas notices Pete's voice sounds hoarse and so alluring that blood rushes south. Down there. The dangerous spot. Now's not the time to be aroused! Vegas thinks he's going bonkers.
"Y-yeah," he says, stuttering. He looks past, through Pete, the small clock on the bedside table- 7.37 am. "Not that long," Vegas answers, mortified if Pete catches him in the act.
Pete tenses a bit, and Vegas' heart drops to the ground. Did he say something wrong? Did he do stupid things without realising again? Because if he-
"Do we have to get out of bed now?" Pete asks. Sadness is blue on his face, and the pout on his lips is visible in Vegas' line of sight.
Oh.
"We have to go soon," Vegas says, mirroring Pete's disheartenment. The grip around Pete's hands solidifies as he assures, "But I can take you out for lunch. We can get your favourite curry."
Pete vibrates in excitement. The grin on his face is addictive. Vegas smiles too.
"Really? Wah! A date?" Pete clasps their hands together and places the ball on his chest, close to his heart. His whole body moves, delighted with Vegas' promise of lunch and his favourite dish in the world.
Vegas might be making things up in his mind, but he feels the pounding on his fingers, the chills on Pete's skin, the heat that burns Pete in silence.
He looks up, and Pete looks like he was caught in the act, for the toothy grin widens even more, with tints of red colouring the clouds on his cheeks.
And Vegas can only heave a sigh as he answers, overwhelmingly fond, "A date, yes," he says, trying his best not to release any incoherent shrieks. "Of course. Anything for you, Pete. Anything."
Pete nods comically, pursing his lips, agreeing to Vegas. His smile is shining brighter, bedazzling Vegas, stopping him from seeing any form of darkness. His gestures are awkward and animated and so utterly Pete that it hurts Vegas. He's in immense pain. Love is indeed a painful emotion.
Before he can stop himself, his fingers already find their way to the sides of Pete's face. Licking his lips, Vegas stares into Pete's eyes, asking for permission because what he learned before is this- he only needs to ask. And answers shall Pete grant him.
Pete's eyes are telling him- yes. You can.
And Vegas allows himself to fall.
He takes Pete's lips with his. Morning breath or anything doesn't even bother Vegas. He likes this- the rawest version of them. Excited hands pull Pete onto his lap, cradling the other close enough until their chest adjoins in a kiss of their own. Waves of pleasure wash Vegas nearer to Pete, arms secured around the bodyguard's waist as his lips carry heaven to Pete's faithful ones.
Vegas gobbles the sounds Pete makes, eases the franticness on Pete's skin with loving caresses, tracing the junction on his back with his fingers. Pete shivers, and Vegas holds him tighter, pouring love into Pete's body, hoping that his kisses can be a quilt that shelters him from the darkness.
If his lungs were not screaming for air, Vegas would have continued this exchange of souls for a second more. But Pete pushes him slightly, breaking the contact, and a string of saliva connects them still. Vegas respects Pete and stops. He opens his eyes, and the smile automatically tugs his lips upwards. Pete echoes his smile, equally dishevelled, with swollen lips and bright eyes- gorgeous.
"You're killing me, Pete," Vegas murmurs as he showers tiny kisses all over Pete's shoulder blade.
Pete laughs. "I can say the same about you, too."
Surprised, Vegas asks, "Really?"
Vegas doesn't know why Pete is laughing even louder than before, but he is enamoured that he made Pete smile.
The sun sprinkles gold on his skin, and Pete glows like a ball of sunrays. Beautiful.
"Of course, you do," Pete answers. "You have me wrapped around your fingers. I can't escape."
He's in love. Again and again.
Vegas tries his luck by asking, "Do you... want to escape?"
A flicker of sadness paralyses Pete on Vegas' hold. Vegas catches a glimpse of that tragedy. But Pete quickly picks up the pace, masking their dark yesterdays with an honest smile. Pete combs Vegas' overgrown bangs from his forehead and holds onto his shoulder. Affectionate strokes are like magic spells on his skin. Vegas tries not to be overpowered by his love for Pete again, but it's hard. Pete makes loving him so easy and forgetting him so difficult.
"No," Pete answers. "I don't want to. Not again." And he seals the vow with an ardent peck on Vegas' lips.
And what else can Vegas do than this- love him. Love Pete. Everything about him.
"Then," Vegas prays that luck is on his side again. "Don't go."
Pete's smile carves a mark on his neck. Up to his jaw. And lands close to the edge of his mouth.
"I won't," Pete says. Flowers trail his voice as the residues of laughter is still in the air.
Pete caresses the apples on his cheeks and repeats, "I won't, Vegas."
Vegas is in love, and even if he dies and reincarnates, he will find Pete and love him again. It's his destiny- to love Pete. In all universes, Vegas vows to love him. He hopes that Pete will do the same.