#ghost: JustAnotherVariant | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostly-gifts · 11 months

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🎃🌹 Trick or treat!!! 🏍️🎃

On this haunting Halloween night, @technicallyverycowboy has been haunted by the spooky ghost @justanothervariant, and they've left behind a treat!

A Different Game

by @justanothervariant

When Gun first asked him to keep an eye on Porsche, Vegas’s thoughts naturally turned to seduction. He’d used his attractiveness many times to gain an advantage, ferret out information or bring someone over to the minor family. Besides, Porsche was a handsome guy; this time, it might even be fun.

Destiny seemed to be favouring him; on his next visit to the major family compound, Vegas spotted Porsche alone and struggling with his lighter. Vegas stepped up to his side, smoothly lit the cigarette and began his well-honed routine of smiles and flirtation. But instead of smiling back or blushing, Porsche looked distinctly uncomfortable. It wasn’t until Vegas dialled it down a notch that Porsche seemed to relax; an alarm tripped in the back of Vegas’s mind, and he realised that he might need to rethink his tactics. That evening he called on his main family informant, and within the hour he had a copy of their comprehensive dossier on Porsche Pachara Kittisawasd.

Vegas skimmed over the details of Porsche’s martial arts training, his family background, his educational history. His attention snagged on a note that Porsche had worked for years at a local nightclub called Hum Bar. The staff and regulars would be able to tell Vegas far more about Porsche than any dossier, so he put on his favourite shirt and went to see it for himself.

The owner, resplendent in sequins and leather, welcomed him with a wide smile and literal open arms. “Welcome, welcome, always nice to have such stylish guests!” she beamed. “My name is Yok, your hostess for the evening. This is your first time here, I’m sure - I’d remember that handsome face for certain.”

Vegas smiled, immune to the flattery. “Actually, I’m here because one of my friends told me about a bartender that works here - Porsche, is it?”

“Ah, sorry khun, Porsche isn’t working tonight,” Yok said, with a regretful cluck of her tongue. “But we have many other talented servers to help you. I’ll introduce you to Mo, he’s a genius with cocktails.” She signalled to one of the bartenders and said, “Mo, this gentleman is an honoured guest this evening, be sure to serve him well.”

“Of course. What can I get you, khun?” asked Mo.

Vegas slid a folded 1,000 baht note across the bar and asked, “Can you tell me any more about this Porsche? I’d really love to meet him.”

Mo’s eyes locked onto the money, but he said regretfully, “Oh, well…sorry, khun, but Porsche is my friend. I don’t think I should tell you anything without asking him first.”

Vegas nodded to hide his irritation, then added a second note. “I see. Well, at least tell me this - is it even likely that he’d be interested in me, or are his tastes more…conventional?”

The bartender glanced around, then snatched up the money and said, “I’ve only ever seen him leave with female guests, so sorry.”

Vegas turned away, the man already dismissed in his mind. His informant had seemed sure that there was some interest between Kinn and Porsche, but perhaps it was only on his cousin’s side. Perhaps Porsche was straight, or closeted, or had just never experimented with a man before. Whatever the truth, Vegas realised that going into full seduction mode was more likely to spook him than win him over. Malicious delight shivered through him as he imagined Kinn’s graceless attempts to woo Porsche, the possessiveness and entitlement that would be so off-putting to a guy with no experience. Vegas smiled to himself, a new plan already settling into place.

To win Porsche over, first Vegas would have to become his friend.

* * *

Vegas was used to getting quick results. Whoever he put his mind to pursuing - Kinn’s exes, Gun’s business contacts, random strangers in clubs - sooner rather than later, they gave in to him. It made his slow, subtle wooing of Porsche a novelty, but one he found himself enjoying immensely.

When Gun next visited his brother for lunch, Vegas went to say hello to the bodyguards but didn’t linger. He made small talk, tried to appear genuinely interested in their responses, and didn’t focus on Porsche more than anyone else. Kinn and Tankhun both gave him suspicious glares but he smiled and shrugged it off, noting Porsche’s frown at Kinn’s possessiveness.

At the diamond auction, he delighted in the palpable awkwardness between Porsche and Kinn; his cousin looked out of his depth, despite his pretty friend’s attempts to encourage him. When Kinn smiled at Porsche like he was suffering from indigestion, Vegas could hardly believe his good fortune. To capitalise on the weirdness between the two of them, Vegas gave specifically worded instructions to his mole on the bar staff then collected a small glass of clean water and took it to Porsche.

When Porsche was reluctant to take it, Vegas said, “I know you’re on duty and don’t have much time for breaks, that’s all. But no problem, I’ll take it back.”

“No, wait,” Porsche said, his face betraying all of his emotions as he wavered before finally taking the drink. He downed it hastily, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Thanks.”

Vegas nodded. “We’re not so harsh with our people in the minor family. Standing around all night, you’ll get thirsty. You should be able to go and grab a drink.”

Porsche’s smile was quick, reluctant. He gestured to his earpiece and said, “I get shouted at for not standing up straight enough, never mind leaving my position.”

“My cousin always was more of a stickler for conformity,” Vegas said, adding a note of regret to his tone. “But to me, you’re a person first and a bodyguard second.”

Vegas saw the moment his words snagged in Porsche’s brain, the hint of surprise and gratitude.

“Anyway, I’ll let you focus,” Vegas said, briefly laying a hand on Porsche’s shoulder. “Remember, though, that your own needs are as important as anyone else’s.”

“Yeah, okay,” Porsche nodded.

Later, sitting in his booth surveying the crowd of rich idiots and bootlickers, he saw Porsche staggering from the room and nodded to his men to follow. They knew what to do, where to take Porsche. A word from his inside man would send Kinn up to the Imperial Suite, where he’d find Porsche passed out ‘drunk’ on duty. Repercussions would follow, punishment guaranteed, the wedge between Kinn and Porsche driven ever deeper.

Vegas allowed himself a smile as he settled back and sipped his champagne; so far, his plan was working beautifully.

* * *

A couple of days later, once the dust had settled, Vegas messaged his informant for an update. It was a surprise when, instead of just replying, Ken showed up at the compound to give a report in person.

Vegas took Ken into his office, shut the door and asked, “What’s so important that you had to risk coming here yourself?”

“I thought you’d have questions,” Ken replied, his gaze dipping to Vegas’s lips.

Vegas sighed; this was a complication he didn’t need. “I see. Go ahead, then.”

“Porsche was right where you said he’d be,” Ken said, grinning. “Kinn looked like he’d been slapped when he saw him, sprawled out and snoring on that big fancy bed. He made us leave while he sobered Porsche up.”

“And he believed that Porsche had wandered in there and passed out drunk?”

“Yes, I said I saw him drinking earlier. Khun Korn was furious, so Kinn gave him to me and Big for his punishment,” Ken said, malicious delight glinting in his eyes.

“I’m sure you didn’t make it pleasant,” Vegas said wryly.

“It was brutal,” Ken said with relish. “I fucking loved it.” His spiteful glee was almost charming, but marred by his obvious, pathetic hunger for praise.

Ken went on to give a full report of the main family’s business for the last few days, Vegas interrupting a few times for clarification or more details. When they were done, Vegas said, “Thanks for all the intel. We really do appreciate it. And remember, if Porsche goes out anywhere without Kinn, call me immediately.”

“I will, khun,” Ken said, hovering despite the dismissal.

“Was there something else?” Vegas asked, disquiet stirring.

Ken licked his lips. “It’s just…I’m off duty tonight, so I thought we could - ”

“No,” Vegas interrupted. “Not tonight, I have too much to do.”

“You said that last time,” Ken said, a hint of a whine in his voice, then in English. “It’s been ages, Vegas. I miss you.”

Vegas managed, somehow, not to roll his eyes. Instead he reached out to run his thumb across Ken’s pouting lower lip. “I know. I miss this mouth, believe me. But Pa has given me a very important task, and I need to focus. It won’t be much longer, I promise.”

Ken’s tongue darted out to lick Vegas’s thumb. “Maybe I could just blow you, then? I’ll get you off real fast, I swear.”

His bratty eagerness was tempting, but Vegas shook his head. “I said no. Do we need to do some more discipline training?”

“No,” Ken said immediately. “Fine, not tonight. But soon, right?”

“Do you think I’m a liar, Ken?”

Ken swallowed. “No, Khun Vegas.”

Vegas smiled. “Good boy,” he said, knowing it would make Ken shudder, viciously delighted when it did. “Now run along. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

* * *

When Vegas got the call from Ken, he dropped everything and drove over to Hum Bar. As he’d predicted, Porsche was awed by his new motorbike and needed only a little prodding to take it for a drive.

“Where shall we go?” Porsche called back to him as they sped down the floodlit roads.

“Anywhere you want,” Vegas replied, wrapping his arms around Porsche and leaning into the warmth of his back.

It was exhilarating, riding with Porsche. He drove fast and took risks, but handled the bike deftly enough that Vegas could relax and enjoy it. Vegas reminded himself that this was just part of a plan, but it was hard not to get caught up in Porsche’s enthusiasm, in the freedom of driving into the night not knowing where he was going. Elation bubbled up in his chest, dizzyingly bright, and he raised a fist and a cry into the night sky. He caught Porsche’s grin, couldn’t help laughing; he didn’t feel like himself, suddenly, in an oddly comforting way.

Eventually Porsche pulled into a small parking lot down beside the river. The surrounding businesses were shut and there was nobody around as they settled onto a bench overlooking the river. The breeze was fresh, lifting Vegas’s hair gently. The water lapped below them, its soft susurration calming and kind. Lights twinkled in the water, a string of headlights streaming across the bridge nearby, but here it was dark and quiet with only a little light to show him Porsche’s face.

He looked happy, at first, his cheeks pink and his smile wide. It was disarming, genuine and honest, aimed at Vegas without intent or agenda. Vegas told himself that it was a weakness; his heart sang a different song.

But then the smile dipped, and his head dropped, and Vegas knew he’d been right; softness always meant weakness.

Vegas played his opening gambit. “Tankhun looked wasted, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that. I take it you had a good night?”

Porsche shrugged. “I guess so.”

“You guess so? You know you smell like perfume, right?” Vegas asked, grinning.

“Oh. Yeah. I met a woman at the bar and we went outside but…” Porsche sighed, tilted his head back. The moonlight silvered his bronze skin; he looked, Vegas thought, beautiful. “My head wasn’t in the right place, I s’pose. It’s not usually a problem for me, I can switch off my brain when I’m with someone, but since that thing with Kinn - ” At that he stopped dead, eyes widening before he looked away.

A cool, vicious thrill spiked in Vegas’s gut. As he’d hoped, maybe even expected, Kinn had overplayed his hand, and Vegas was ready to reap the benefits.

Vegas laid a gentle hand on Porsche’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Porsche said, something raw in his voice and his eyes. “I’m really confused, and I feel like I don’t know myself any more, and I’m making all these stupid choices and I don’t even know why. Do you ever feel like that?” He glanced over at Vegas, and shook his head. “No, of course you don’t. You always know what you’re doing, right?”

Vegas blinked, covered his surprise. “I like to have a plan, if that’s what you mean. Doesn’t mean I always know what I’m doing.”

“But you’re so…put-together all the time,” Porsche said, tilting his head in an alarmingly endearing way. “Your clothes, and your hair - your amazing bike over there…not like me, I just stumble from one disaster to the next. Runs in the family, I guess.”

Vegas took a moment to think, unsettled and uncertain. “I don’t think that’s true,” he eventually said. “You seem to be doing fine to me. Being a bodyguard is a tough job, I couldn’t do it. But you look like you’re fitting right into it.”

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Porsche exclaimed. “I’m only here to protect my brother, this isn’t who I want to be. The dumb thing is, if he knew what I was doing he’d be so ashamed.” His tone was plaintive and vulnerable; it called to the predator in Vegas.

“Surely he’d appreciate you taking care of him?” Vegas asked.

“I don’t know about that.” Porsche slumped back on the bench, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve had to be more of a parent than a brother, and it sucks. I don’t know how to be his dad, y’know? But our uncle is useless and just brings trouble into our home. I do my best to shield Chay, I don’t want him to have to do the same ugly shit that I’ve done just to survive. Thing is, he’s almost 18 and suddenly thinks he knows it all, but when I look at him I still see that miserable little kid who kept asking where our parents had gone.” He swiped the back of his hand across his nose, glanced over at Vegas and said, “But you know what that’s like, right? You look out for Macau, I mean.”

“Yeah, I do,” Vegas said, thrown. That instinct to pounce on Porsche’s vulnerability was ebbing, replaced by a sense of empathy, connection. “My father wants him to start getting more involved with our family business, but I’ve been shielding him from it as much as I can. I can’t do it forever, though.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Porsche nodded, nudging Vegas with his elbow. “I knew you’d get it.”

Vegas smiled, unable to resist. “But do the little shits appreciate it?”

Porsche laughed, sudden and irresistible. “No, they definitely do not.”

The silence stretched, and Vegas let it expand comfortably between them. He knew that Porsche’s life was filled with noise and busyness, commands and directions; he needed to be different, a safe place for Porsche.

“Why does Kinn hate you so much?” Porsche asked eventually. “You’re family, right? But he keeps telling me not to trust you, and I don’t get it at all. You’ve been so kind to me - like tonight.”

Against all odds, a weird swirling sense of regret kicked up in Vegas’s gut. But he smiled softly and said, “We’re family, yeah, but that doesn’t mean anything. He sees me as a rival, not a cousin. That’s the way we’ve been raised - I know it might not make sense to an outsider but that’s how it’s always been.”

“Well, that’s stupid,” Porsche said bluntly. “Family is everything. You should all support each other, not fight over everything.” He looked at Vegas, completely without obfuscation. “Did you never get on, then? With any of them?”

Vegas was all set to use the opening, say something to undermine Kinn and build sympathy for himself. But then, out of nowhere, he was hit with a memory of playing in the park with Kinn while their mothers sat chatting in the sunshine. He hadn’t thought about that for a long time, and to his horror he felt his throat thicken and burn. He was about to shrug it off, get back to his plan, until he saw what looked like sympathy in Porsche’s expressive eyes and the words began to flow.

“We used to play together - Kinn and I, I mean. Our mothers would arrange it, when our fathers were busy. Sometimes we’d picnic in the park, or go to our favourite sweet shop, or drive out along the coast and spend the day by the sea.”

“That sounds nice,” Porsche said.

“It was,” Vegas said. “But then Pa found out and he…he put a stop to it.”

“Oh,” Porsche said; just that, oh, but it was soft and understanding, and Vegas had to clench his jaw against the tears that prickled behind his eyes.

The silence swept back in and Vegas fought for control of himself; he was off-plan, unprepared.

“I suppose,” Porsche said slowly, “that it’s hard for you to make friends in your position. But maybe, if it’s not too weird or, like, against the rules…maybe you could think of me as your friend.”

Vegas laughed; he’d prepared a line just like that to use on Porsche, and the ridiculous coincidence struck him as hilarious.

Porsche frowned, sat up straighter. “Okay, I get it, you wouldn’t want to be friends with someone like me.”

“No, Porsche,” Vegas said, unthinkingly reaching out to grasp Porsche’s arm. “It’s not that - of course I want to be friends with you. It’s just…nobody’s ever said anything like that to me. Everyone’s scared of me, or hates me, or wants to use me.” He stopped himself, honesty swelling too close to the surface.

“I’m not scared of you,” Porsche said with a big grin, knocking his elbow into Vegas’s ribs again. “I think you’re a much nicer guy than anyone realises.”

Painful as it was, Vegas managed to smile. “You’re sweet, Porsche. But you’re wrong.”

“I’m not,” Porsche insisted. “I know these things. I’m good at reading people.”

It was almost funny, how wrong Porsche was; how much Vegas wished he was right.

“We should be getting back,” Vegas said, his reluctance less of an act than it should have been. “Kinn will be thinking I’ve kidnapped you.”

“I don’t really give a flying fuck what Kinn thinks,” Porsche said expansively, but he stood when Vegas did. “Thanks for tonight, though. I needed to get away for a while.”

“You can always reach out to me,” Vegas said, his hand resting on Porsche’s arm for a long moment.

Porsche’s expression, for once, was hard to read as he studied Vegas’s face. “You too,” he said. “The only good thing to come out of this mess so far…is you.”

Vegas had no answer to that. He let Porsche drive home, smiled and demurred at Porsche’s gratitude. When Porsche hugged him, tight and close and sincere, Vegas closed his eyes and squeezed back just as hard. It was foolish, and childish, but for a moment he let himself pretend that they could actually be friends.

* * *

Vegas smoothed back his hair as he waited for Porsche to answer the bell. Behind him in the darkness stood a group of men, waiting as instructed.

The gate creaked open and Porsche said, “Vegas? What are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you,” Vegas said, adding a little fear to his tone. “One of our informants told me that there’s a plot to kidnap Kinn - is he here yet?”

“No,” Porsche frowned. “Why would you think that?”

“Pa called Uncle Korn to tell him what we’d heard, and he mentioned you had this week off. Apparently your roommate said Kinn was planning to come here to see you.”

Porsche’s expression melted from confusion to annoyance. “To drag me back, probably. Asshole.”

Porsche’s eye roll made Vegas smile, until he caught and hid it. “I brought some men with me to protect you, you should come with me now,” he said. “Uncle Korn is going to call Kinn back home.”

“So much for my week off,” Porsche sighed, “but you didn’t have to come all the way out here yourself, you could have called me.”

“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” Vegas said, a lie but also not.

Porsche smiled and gestured Vegas inside. “Well, come in for a second while I explain to my friends.”

“And Porchay? He needs to leave too,” Vegas said, following Porsche across the lawn.

Porsche smiled over his shoulder. “It’s okay, he’s away at camp. Thank you, though.”

Guilt tugged at Vegas’s belly. “Sure. I have a younger brother too, remember?”

Two men were sitting at the garden table, the air thick with the smell of pork frying. One smiled at Vegas, the other narrowed his eyes and blatantly looked Vegas up and down.

“This is Jom, and Tem,” Porsche told Vegas, then said to his friends, “Sorry, but you need to go home. I have to leave now.”

“Oh? Emergency booty call?” asked Jom, waggling his eyebrows.

“Some men are on their way here who you really don’t want to meet,” Vegas said, noting subtly how Porsche blushed at Jom’s words. “I’m sorry to break up your evening, gentlemen, but believe me that it’s for your own good.”

When they looked at him sceptically, Porsche added, “He’s not kidding - clear off home, now!”

“Ugh, fine,” Jom grumbled, stuffing his mouth as he stood.

“Will you be okay?” Tem asked Porsche.

“Sure, Vegas will take care of me,” Porsche said.

Vegas froze as Porsche’s words thudded into his skin like bullets. His trust in Vegas, instinctual and freely given, felt like a burden and a blessing all at once. It was new, but not unwelcome, and made Vegas feel like scum.

As they all hurried across the lawn, Kinn stepped in through the open gate. “Porsche?” he said, his puzzled frown turning into a sneer as he added, “Vegas? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you get the call from your father?” Vegas asked, striving to keep the triumph locked down inside. “Donna Giulietta has sent some men after you, they’re probably tailing you right now. I came here to warn Porsche that you might be bringing danger to his door.”

“You fucking snake,” Kinn growled, moving towards Vegas, but Porsche stepped in between them to everyone’s surprise.

“Look, we all have to leave before those thugs arrive,” Porsche said, glaring at Kinn. “Vegas is here to help me, and I trust him. I’m not sure why you’re here, though.”

A flash of hurt surprise crossed Kinn’s face, before he schooled it back to his habitual scowl. “Well, how convenient. How do you know he didn’t bring them here?”

“If he was behind this, would he really have called your father to warn him, and then come here to help me?” Porsche snapped back.

“Porsche,” Vegas said, taking Porsche’s arm, “we don’t have time, they could be here any minute.”

As if on cue, a white van screeched around the corner. Vegas barked orders for his men to get Kinn to safety, then hurried Porsche across to his bike. As Porsche gunned the engine and Vegas climbed on behind him, he was unable to resist a grin back at Kinn before they sped away.

* * *

Vegas directed Porsche to his family’s safehouse. The Italians weren’t aware of it, Kinn had never been there, and it was probably the safest place for them to be. It was also peaceful, serene, beautiful without being showy; a contrast to the opulence of the main compound, and hopefully a place where Porsche would feel relaxed.

“Wow,” Porsche breathed, strolling out along a pier to a small summerhouse sitting over the lake. “This is gorgeous.”

Vegas leaned on the railing beside him, watching the stars swimming in the black water. “Yeah. I’d live here all the time, if I could.”

“Why can’t you?” Porsche asked, glancing over at him. “It’s not that far out of the city.”

“Macau needs to be near his school, he couldn’t live here, and I wouldn’t leave him,” Vegas said. “And anyway, Pa would never agree. He wants me close, so he can keep an eye on me.”

Porsche turned to face Vegas, one elbow on the wooden railing. “Hey, thanks for getting me out of there. That was a pretty close call.”

“Sure,” Vegas said, and smiled. “I told you before, I’m here when you need me.”

The words were like bile in his mouth. Somehow, lying to Porsche wasn’t the same as lying to Tawan. His secret lover was also a liar and a cheat, but gobbled up every word of praise, every platitude, every false declaration; it was easy, unsatisfying. But Porsche was earnest and genuine, sincere, kind. Lying to him made Vegas feel the weight of every label that had ever been pinned to his chest, made him long to be a different man.

Without warning, Porsche leaned forward and kissed him. Vegas was stunned, caught in a moment of hesitation. This was the perfect outcome, the fruition of his plan, the best possible way to hurt and weaken Kinn. Why, then, was he reluctant to pounce on it?

Porsche pulled back, brows drawing down. “Sorry, you don’t seem…I thought you liked me.”

“I do,” Vegas said, grasping Porsche’s hand. “That was just sudden - I didn’t know you were interested in me that way.”

Porsche’s smile was a light in the darkness. “Well, I am,” he said playfully. “What are you going to do about it?”

This was what he’d wanted, what he’d planned and worked and manoeuvred for; but again, the flirty response stuck in Vegas’s mouth.

“Vegas?” Porsche asked, a touch of hurt in his tone but his thumb stroking gently over Vegas’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Vegas said, summoning a smile. “Tonight’s just been…a lot.”

Porsche’s free hand lifted to rest on Vegas’s cheek, butterfly-light. “I know. But we’re safe now.” He leaned in, watching Vegas’s mouth, and kissed him again.

Vegas closed his eyes and kissed Porsche back, a hand on his hip to pull him closer. He felt exhilarated and sick, aroused and disgusted, until it was too much and he had to draw back again.

“I can’t, Porsche,” he gasped, adrenalin making him shaky. “It’s not fair, you don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I can make my own decisions, Vegas - I’ve had enough of other people deciding what I need.”

“No, listen to me - I’m not the man you think I am,” Vegas said, a sense of desperation creeping over him; he couldn’t bear to imagine that soft glow in Porsche’s eyes turning to loathing when he realised he’d been played.

“I don’t care,” Porsche persisted. “I know you’ve done bad things, probably even worse than I know, but I still want you, Vegas. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me any more.”

When Porsche kissed him again, Vegas was too weak to resist.

#kinnporsche #gift exchange #fanfiction #ghost: JustAnotherVariant #haunted: technicallyverycowboy

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ghostly-gifts · 11 months

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🎃🧛‍♂️ Trick or Treat! ⚰️🎃

On this phantasmal Halloween night, @guzhu-furen has been haunted by the spooky ghost @justanothervariant, and they've left behind a treat!

Coup de Sang

by @justanothervariant

Everyone knew that a vampire lived in the big old mansion on the hill.

At least, that’s what all of the village kids said. Pete’s grandmother said that it was a man known only as Khun Theerapanyakul, who was certainly reclusive but definitely human. She pulled out a book on the history of the region and showed Pete a photograph of Khun Mongkut Theerapanyakul, dated 1896. He had been part of the wealthy merchant family that had built the mansion and lived there for several generations. But one tragic night, she whispered, pulling a wide-eyed Pete closer, a wandering vagabond had broken into the mansion and slaughtered family and servants alike; only Mongkut had survived. Mongkut had become a recluse and then decades later his son turned up out of nowhere to claim his inheritance, followed years later by his son. The current occupier was Mongkut's great-great-grandson, she said, though it was rare to see him come or go.

Occasionally the village kids would dare each other to sneak up to the mansion and look in the windows, but Pete always refused. He didn’t believe in vampires for a start, and besides, it wasn’t right to peep into someone’s house like that. He was called a chicken for it but he didn’t budge, even when the other boys threatened or even beat him. Pete fought back every time, but the numbers were always against him. The first time he went home with a bloody nose, his father beat him again for losing the fight. But the next day Uncle Tan began teaching him how to box; as Pete grew in size and strength, the village boys bothered him less.

On sleepless nights, Pete would pull out the old book and study Mongkut’s grainy black and grey image. He was looking slightly off-camera, severe and unsmiling, his face all angles and shadows. But there was something intriguing about it to Pete, some weird sense of familiarity; he almost felt like he knew this man. He imagined what that face would look like if it were smiling, or weeping, or angry; as he grew older and began to understand his own desires, he imagined it twisted in pleasure, in release, perhaps even because of him.

When he finally screwed up the courage, he searched for Mongkut online in the next town’s library, the only local place with a reliable internet connection. He found a few true crime articles about the ‘Slaughter Mansion’, speculation that Mongkut was the murderer, even some claims that the mysterious vagabond had been more (or less) than human. Pete ignored all of that to focus on the historical documents; Mongkut’s father and uncle had been respected merchants, their sons overseeing different branches of their business empire. Pete could only find one other photograph of Mongkut, a formal family portrait with his father and brother. Mongkut was looking straight out of the frame, his eyes black and compelling; Pete printed out a copy and kept it under his pillow.

Pete’s grandmother died when he was 15; his father’s response was to take him out of school and arrange employment for him as a butcher’s apprentice in the next town. It wasn’t a job Pete wanted or liked, but he had long ago stopped hoping to have any control over his life. He went along with it numbly, like he did everything else, and kept his grief for the quiet hours before dawn. He mourned for more than the loss of a loving grandmother; with her went his last glimmer of hope, of purpose, of family. He slept fitfully most nights, his dreams a kaleidoscope of shadow and light that increasingly featured a sharp-jawed face with black eyes.

Pete made the walk to work every morning while the first glimmers of sunrise were still cresting the treetops. His route took him past the crumbling old mansion, and he studied it each day as he walked by. Occasionally he saw movement inside or a solitary light shining; thrillingly, he sometimes saw a man silhouetted in an upstairs window. More often than not, though, the house was dark and quiet.

But then one day, a week after Pete turned eighteen, he saw a light flickering in a ground floor window and some instinct made him stop and look again. After a second, his brain caught up with what his subconscious had already realised; the light was not the steady burn of a lamp, but the flickering flare of a fire.

Without a thought, Pete ran for the house. As he drew nearer, he saw the glistening edges of a broken window and flames roaring up the drapes within. The room beyond seemed empty, no lights on anywhere else. Pete sprinted for the front door; banging on the weathered wood, he yelled, “Hello? Is anyone at home? There’s a fire, you have to get out! Hello?”

From behind him he heard, “Pete, is that you?” On the path leading back to the village, partially obscured by overgrown bushes, lay the biggest and meanest of Pete’s tormentors.

“Ritthirong?” Pete said, confused. “Why are you…?” Then the penny dropped, and Pete realised exactly why he was there.

“Just shut up and help me, before he comes,” Ritthirong hissed. “I fell and my ankle is all twisted up, we have to get out of here fast.”

“Or maybe I should leave you,” Pete said, a sense of power swelling in his chest. “Maybe if you get caught and punished, then that’s only what you deserve.”

“You fucking little shit,” Ritthirong snarled, but then his face went pale and his eyes went wide. “Oh, fuck!”

Dread began to swim in Pete’s veins, but spiked with a sense of anticipation, even excitement. He turned slowly and saw a man approaching from the house, his step unhurried and his posture loose. Pete’s eyes trailed up past slim legs in black trousers, a dark-coloured shirt that faintly caught the gathering light, and finally settled on the man’s face. Pete gasped; the man looked exactly like Mongkut with his black eyes and sharp, handsome features.

Somewhere in Pete’s chest, something clicked into place. “Khun Theerapanyakul,” he breathed, his heart skipping inexplicably as the dark gaze fell on him.

“You can call me Vegas,” the man said, drawing level with Pete. “And you,” his attention shifted to Ritthirong, “can call me Vengeance.”

Before Pete could move, blink, think, Vegas pounced on Ritthirong. A pale hand settled on Ritthirong’s throat, then Vegas’s head pushed in to nestle against it. Pete wondered for a second why Vegas was embracing him, until Ritthirong tried to scream in a burble of blood and agony. Pete couldn’t move, transfixed by the horror and pain and finally bliss that crossed Ritthirong’s rough features. When Vegas finally pulled back, there was only a corpse where the bully had once lain.

Vegas turned his head and the faint pre-dawn light gleamed on his bloodied smile; Pete was gripped with an urge to lick it clean. “You’re not running away, little rabbit?” Vegas asked, licking his lips as Pete stared. “Aren’t you scared that you’re next for the pot?”

Pete shook his head. “No, khun. I mean…Ritthirong got what he deserved.”

“So harsh,” Vegas said, the approval in his tone calling to Pete’s bones. “What makes you think that you don’t deserve the same fate?”

“It wasn’t me who set the fire,” Pete said, “I was the one who warned you.”

“This time, perhaps, your actions were noble,” Vegas said, standing and moving closer. “But I doubt the same can always be said.”

“Of course not,” Pete heard himself say scornfully. “Nobody is purely good, or completely altruistic.”

Vegas cocked his head, a strange light coming into his eyes. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Pete.” He lifted his chin, met that hypnotic gaze.

“It seems that I’m in your debt, nong,” Vegas said, looking Pete over with a blatant, interested stare. “What would you have me do for you in return?”

Pete thought about his life; his grandmother, whose absence still daily scoured his heart; his father, who beat him and cursed him and gleefully made him miserable; his boss, mean-spirited and unrelentingly critical. He thought of walking to work every day feeling sleepy and cold, then stumbling home again bloody and sore. He thought of waking up each morning with an empty chasm in his chest, lying awake each night longing for sleep to take him away. And he knew, suddenly, exactly what he wanted.

“I want you to…” Pete paused, gathered up his courage. “I want to be yours.”

Vegas frowned; even that gesture was unnaturally beautiful. “What do you mean, to be mine?”

“To…belong to you. To live with you and work for you, and…whatever else you ask of me.” He thought his heart would burst or burn or break free of his chest, but still he didn’t look away.

“That’s a bold request, nong,” Vegas said softly. “What makes you think I’d want to keep you?”

Pete shrugged, ignoring how his pulse thundered. “Perhaps you won’t. But you asked what I want, and that’s it.”

“If I do take you in, keep you as my pet,” Vegas said, smiling when Pete shuddered, “then you’ll be mine to command. I will take care of you, but I will also bleed you. I will shelter you, but I will also hurt you. I will fuck you, but I will also break you. Is that still what you want, little rabbit?”

A warm, irresistible numbness came over Pete, like sinking into a hot bath on a cold day. “Yes,” he breathed as he let go of himself, finally.

Vegas’s smile was diamonds and poison. “Then won’t you come inside?”

—

While nameless servants dealt with the small but ferocious fire, Vegas led Pete into the very depths of the house. His bedroom was lavish and luxurious, windowless and dark. Pete looked around at the paintings and ornaments, each probably worth as much as his father’s tiny house. He felt jittery and uncertain, turning over the decision he’d made, until a firm hand settled on his shoulder and the doubts eased back in his mind.

“Having second thoughts?” purred a velvet voice in his ear.

“Yes, but…also no,” Pete said, and was rewarded with a rich chuckle.

“I value honesty, Pete,” Vegas said. He moved to face Pete, hand sliding around to circle his throat. Pete swallowed, found he liked the brief extra pressure. It was hard to meet that dark gaze but once he did, Pete couldn’t look away.

“You will have your own room here, pet,” Vegas said, thumb stroking softly over Pete’s throat, “but when I call for you, you will come. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Pete said, shocked at the hoarseness of his voice.

“I will take your body any way it pleases me, but you will have to beg me to take your blood.”

Pete already wanted to beg, but caught the reckless words before they flew from his lips. Vegas raised an eyebrow and smiled, as though he knew exactly what Pete was thinking.

Vegas moved closer, grasping Pete’s chin lightly to turn his head to the side. Then he pressed his face against Pete’s neck and took a deep, savouring breath. His skin was cool, and Pete vaguely noted that there was no corresponding exhale. “You smell… familiar,” Vegas murmured, then smiled. “Or perhaps, like a familiar. But how could that be, hm?”

“Maybe I was made for you,” Pete said unthinkingly, and Vegas’s laughter was rich and deep.

“Oh, nong,” Vegas said, placing a gentle kiss to Pete’s jugular, “if you only knew what that meant.”

“Show me,” Pete breathed, starting to slip into a calm, blurry sea.

Vegas’s eyes flashed with lust and greed. “Have you ever lain with a man before, Pete?” he asked. “Do I need to be gentle?”

“No,” Pete gasped. “And no.”

Vegas laughed again, and Pete laughed too as giddy delight welled up and pooled in his head.

When Vegas kissed him, Pete felt sharp teeth against his tongue and longed for them on his body. Vegas’s mouth was cool and sweet, like spring water on a hot day, and Pete drank greedily. His lover’s hands were cold, but they trailed fire over Pete’s skin as they undressed him with grace and efficiency. That cool mouth followed, licking and nibbling but never biting, bruising his skin but never breaking it. Pete swallowed down the please that tried to claw free, knowing that asking Vegas to bite him was a step into the unknown, but it hovered behind his teeth all the same.

Vegas laid him out on the bed and devoured him slowly, kissing his mouth and tasting his skin. He swallowed down Pete’s cock with obvious pleasure, and Pete soared into clouds of bliss that he’d never known before. When Vegas turned him over and used his clever tongue and slender fingers to open Pete up, he thought he might die on the spot. His whole body flamed and roiled, desire the fire that consumed him, the chill of Vegas’s touch the only thing that stopped him from combusting.

When Vegas began pushing into Pete, the aching pain blurred into hot pleasure almost immediately; when Vegas was all the way inside him, Pete wanted to hold him there forever. Vegas set a steady rhythm, too fast for Pete to relax but too slow to satisfy the sudden carnal need for completion. Pete had never felt anything like the hunger that was growing inside him; he bit his hand to keep from screaming, and Vegas went still at once.

“Pete,” he said, his voice strangled, “what did you do?”

Pete realised that he was bleeding, just a few crimson dots on the heel of his palm. “Fuck, sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think…”

Vegas leaned over his back, the added pressure making Pete gasp, and nuzzled into his neck. “You smell delicious,” Vegas purred. He reached out to touch where Pete was bleeding, his icy fingertips leaving a scarlet smudge. He lifted his hand and Pete heard another deep, unnecessary breath; when Vegas shuddered, the vibrations shivered through Pete and he cried out in suspended pleasure.

And then suddenly, Vegas was gone. Pete felt cold and empty, uncertainty creeping over him. Slowly, cautiously, he rolled over and saw Vegas sitting back on his heels and staring at his bloodied fingers, gripping his own wrist as though to keep it away from his mouth. His eyes flicked up to Pete, who could clearly see Vegas’s conflict, his desire.

“It’s okay if you want to taste it,” Pete said, slowly moving closer to Vegas.

“It’s too soon,” Vegas said harshly. “If I taste you now, then I will never be able to let you go.”

“Then do it,” Pete said boldly, holding his barely-bleeding hand under Vegas’s nose. “Because there’s nowhere else I want to be.”

Vegas snarled and tackled Pete onto his back; before he could even comprehend what was happening, Vegas pushed back inside him and sank his teeth into Pete’s neck.

Pete’s entire being was wracked with agony, with bliss, with a bone-deep, unshakeable contentment. He could feel Vegas fucking into him, could feel his blood flowing out under Vegas’s mouth, an endless cycle of giving and receiving that made him shudder and moan uncontrollably. Vegas was growling low down in his throat, his thrusts getting harder as he realised Pete could take it, wanted it, needed it. Every cell in Pete’s body strained towards Vegas, everything in him yearning to be closer. A spiralling rush of desire pulled him ever upwards, and he knew that he was crying but he couldn’t stop. When he realised that Vegas was also shuddering in his arms, Pete crested into a blinding, amorphous fog of release and relief that seared him in pounding, irresistible waves. He was floating, falling, flying; nothing made sense but everything was as it should be.

Finally, Pete was home.

#kinnporsche #gift exchange #fanfiction #ghost: JustAnotherVariant #haunted: guzhu-furen

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