#au where Pete is in a low-ranking mafia family

[peachym00]

A crack of thunder interrupted Pete’s thoughts, making him jump out of his skin.

“Fuck me, that was loud,” Pete flinched, his heart nearly beating out of his ribcage.

“Not out here; the pavement will be far too uncomfortable,” Vegas quipped, getting up from the floor and holding out a hand for Pete to take.

“You’re hilarious, you know that,” Pete said sarcastically, holding onto Vegas’s hand, which helped him up with far more force than Pete expected, pulling him straight into his chest.

“So I’ve been told.”

Vegas looked at Pete like he wanted to crack him open and see what was inside. It made him feel good and wanted. Brave.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Pete questioned quietly, not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere that had built up around them.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about you, Pete,” Vegas says unhurriedly, his eyes gazing all over Pete’s face like he’s searching for something, anything that will give him an answer, “every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something else to surprise me.”

Vegas brings his hand up to the side of Pete’s cheek, the tips of his fingers grazing it just so, not bearing any weight but somehow burning their mark onto Pete’s skin.  

It was then, as he was wondering what it would be like to feel Vegas’s lips upon his own, that an extraordinarily untimely and out-of-place thought came to mind, blurting out of his mouth as he couldn’t believe he didn’t catch on at the time.

“Oh my god,” Pete exclaims, horrified, “Porsche and Kinn are fucking; they’re one hundred per cent fucking.”

That would explain everything that Pete had been so far confused about. The reason Porsche was so coy about answering questions about working for the main family, the reason he had nothing wrong to say about him. It would also explain the reason why Porsche wasn’t shot onsite for injuring Macau, why out of every single gun pointed at him, Kinn chose to choke Porsche into unconsciousness instead.

“You’ve only just figured it out?” Vegas asks incredulously, dropping his hand from Pete’s face.

“He didn’t tell me anything!” Pete was slightly miffed that he had been interrogated so brutally on life at the minor compound when they could have talked about how Porsche was hooking up with his boss.

Unbelievable.

“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now, Pete, about Kinn and Porsche and their sex life?”

“Yes, it is,” Pete says, his thoughts coming to a standstill as he realises the moment he has deprived himself of, the sinking feeling of coming to the realisation that he is his own cock-block, “why, what should I be thinking about?”

Vegas’s gaze darkens, the corners of his mouth turning up into a brilliantly evil smile, the sharp edges of it leaving no room for mercy. They’re still standing close together, yet he tries to bring Pete even closer, their proximity giving him no choice but to rest his hand on Vegas’s chest. His other hand is still enclosed in Vegas’s own, getting increasingly sweaty the more nervous he gets.

“Me,” he whispers, turning his head to the side to speak directly into Pete’s ear, his voice hot and tingly, “You should be thinking about me.”

Pete gulps.

They didn’t cover this in training.

[peachym00]

Prying his eyes open to the light flooding in from the unclosed curtains in his room was not the worst way Pete could have woken up. Once, years ago, he’d woken up in the back of a car, the left side of his face throbbing from where his father had punched him for losing a match; it was still dark. He didn’t know where he was going or who was driving the car, and it scared him. He was only eleven.

As the grogginess faded to something more manageable, his head was pounding; a glass of water was on his bedside table, and he was only wearing one sock. Sitting up was a struggle; the pain in his head worsened when he moved, making him feel nauseous. Reaching out for the glass of water, he realised some paracetamol was sitting there too.

Huh. 

After giving some time for the painkillers to kick in and his brain to restart, he gets out of bed and into the shower. Standing under the hot water gives him clarity, so much so that the memories from the night before start flooding in. He was drunk. So drunk. In front of Vegas.

Fuck.

The thought renders him useless, and he drops a near-full bottle of shower gel onto his foot, yelping in pain, then wincing when the echo of his own shout hurts his head.

Vague flashbacks of Vegas walking into their conversation in the bar, saving him from face-planting and helping him to bed surface from the shallow depths of his brain.

“God, Pete, you could give me a hand,” Vegas struggled to take all of Pete’s weight as they walked towards his bed.

“Here,” he holds his hand in front of Vegas’s face, chuckling to himself while he does it.

“What are you doing?” 

“Giving you a hand,” Pete bursts into hysterical laughter as Vegas shoves him onto the bed.

“You’re fucking hilarious, Pete, really,” Vegas sighs, pulling off Pete’s shoes for him, “your comedic talents are wasted in the mafia. Do you need help getting undressed, or can you do that yourself?”

“You just want to see me n a k e d,” Pete teasingly spelt out, watching as Vegas stood up straight and put his hands on his hips. Pete tried to sit up but found he couldn’t manage it; instead, he settled for leaning back on his arms, slightly propped up.

Before he knew it, Vegas was leaning over him on the bed; Pete felt like he was going cross-eyed, trying to look up at him, “And what if I do?” Vegas murmured, far too close for comfort.  

Well. 

Suddenly everything wasn’t so funny anymore.

“You’ll have to use your imagination because the only place you’ll be seeing me naked is in your dreams,” Pete whispered back, proud of himself for being able to sound coherent. 

“And what sweet, sweet dreams they’ll be,” Vegas said lowly, his tongue poking out between his lips, wetting them slightly so they glistened in the room’s low light.

Pete gulped loudly. 

He was fucked. And that was putting it lightly.

How was Pete supposed to face him now?