“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”

When Vegas wakes up, Pete is gone. Was he even really here last night? Perhaps it was a dream after all? Wishful thinking? He stares at the ceiling and just wants to pull the blanket over his head and go back to sleep. Hibernation sounds like a really good plan right now, being able to sleep away the next couple of months would be so nice. Damn, he’s doing it again. Fantasising about running away when things get tough. Because they’re tough. It feels as if he’s carrying this enormous weight on his shoulders all the time that’s threatening to crush him any moment. His family situation is stressing him out. Work is stressing him out. Pete is stressing him out. Vegas wants a fucking break from all the emotional turmoil, is that too much to ask for?

With the new day comes clarity. Vegas takes a long hot shower, the water cascading over him while he leans against the wall and takes a good look at his current situation. He isn’t an idiot, he knows that this thing between him and Pete is far from healthy. They keep hurting each other and themselves deliberately, although Pete is really taking matters to new extremes. What he did yesterday was not okay, and that is an understatement. Vegas can still taste the fear in his mouth. It leaves a bitter taste. To be honest, it makes him really angry, and that in itself is also a big red flag. Love shouldn’t make you angry, right? He’s never seen Porsche this angry with Kinn, and they’re basically the only relationship role model he can refer to.

But he’s so damn angry with Pete for the stunt he pulled because it shows that deep down Pete doesn’t care all that much for Vegas. Tem was probably right, who does something like this to someone they like? And since Vegas just had the fact that he is in love with this disaster of a man shoved rather rudely in his face, it makes him angry at Pete and also with himself. What does this say about him, that he falls for someone who is so very obviously toxic? Vegas wants ‘normal’ so badly and what does he get? A master of mind games. Maybe he picks the wrong people to fall for because of his fucked up family? Who knows.

The worst part is his uncertainty about what Pete feels for him. He knows that Pete is attracted to him, and apparently rather possessive, but is that all? He can’t read Pete; he has no clue what he feels, if he feels something more profound for Vegas. But one thing Vegas knows for sure: giving Pete too much power over him would be very unwise. The fact is, Vegas simply does not trust Pete with his heart. Falling in love should be a wonderful moment in his life but instead it is stressing him out to no end.

He sighs deeply and turns up the water temperature even more.

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way

What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you

What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way

What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

And I don’t wanna fall in love

No, I don’t wanna fall in love

With you…

----------------------------------------

Vegas doesn’t look forward to going to work. Not at all. The thought of being in a confined space with both Pete and Tem is terrifying. It feels like being tossed into an active battlefield, with mines strewn all over it to make everything even more challenging. He just wants to be able to work this case; he does not have time for these kind of complications, dammit! This is exactly why he did not want to have any work flings!

He gets his first taste of how things are going to be when he enters the office and sees that someone has rearranged the furniture overnight. His desk is no longer next to Tem’s desk but has instead been moved across the room into direct proximity to where Pete is sitting. And there is a bright neon Post-it sticker on his computer monitor: “Don’t even think about moving this desk again.”

Wow. Just … wow. What is he, a bone to be fought over? Pete is staking his claim and Vegas can already imagine, vividly, how Tem will react to this. What a fucking mess. Time to put his foot down. And so he goes and moves that damn desk—fuck you, Pete—this time placing it well away from both Tem and Pete. Vegas refuses to play along in this tug-of-war between the two men in his life.

Part of Vegas is actually surprised when Tem finally shows up for work. He almost thought that his partner would ask to be reassigned immediately after yesterday’s traumatic rooftop disaster. And as expected, Tem is not taking the new furniture arrangement very well. He enters, see that Vegas’ desk has been moved and curses. Loudly. Vegas looks up from his screen and sighs. Here we go…

“…and good morning to you too, Tem. Go get a coffee, no use getting all worked up. I moved the desk, I want to sit like this. Accept it and move on. Let’s not turn this office into a war zone, we have work to do.”

His partner looks as if he wants to argue, but then sighs and changes the topic instead. “Are you all right, Vegas?” Tem inquires, with concern in his voice. “I tried to call, but it went straight to voicemail.”

Vegas sighs inwardly. Of course Tem is concerned; he’s always so damn considerate. His life would be so much easier if he did have feelings for his partner—at least Tem openly shows that he cares about him. But no, Vegas had to go and fall for someone vastly more complicated.

“Sorry, the phone must have run out of battery, I didn’t even notice. I’m okay now, thanks for asking.”

“Are you sure? You looked like hell yesterday. It scared me,” Tem admits quietly. “I would have stayed but you were all wrapped up in him… I am sorry, I let you down.”

Awww hell. Vegas swallows hard because Tem’s showering him with affection, but it’s all wrong; what Vegas needs, what he craves, only Pete can provide. “I’m so sorry, Tem. For everything.”

For a moment Tem appears as if he wants to come closer, but seems to decide it’s best to keep a safe distance, and walks over to his own desk instead. He takes a seat, but he isn’t done talking about yesterday yet. “Are you really sure about this, Vegas? About him?”

No. Yes. I don’t know. “Sure about what?” Vegas leans back in his chair, facing Tem calmly. “Sure about having feelings for him? I think that became abundantly clear yesterday. No use lying to myself about it anymore.” And there is a certain amount of bitterness in his voice; he still hasn’t forgiven Pete for putting him through hell.

Tem gives him a helpless look that feels like a dagger to Vegas’ heart. He does not like hurting Tem like this, despite everything they’re friends after all.

“He’s not good for you, Vegas. You saw what he did. What normal person does something like this? He’s obviously deeply disturbed, surely you can see this as well?”

“I know, I am not blind,” Vegas admits tiredly. “Unfortunately that does not change anything. I still feel the way I feel.”

“… Vegas…”

“What do you expect me to do?” Vegas is frustrated. “You think I can just turn my feelings on and off with a snap of my fingers? I wish it were that simple but it just doesn’t work that way.”

“It’s just a momentary infatuation, Vegas. If you try really hard you will manage to keep your distance to him,” Tem insists desperately. “You are not safe with him.”

“Tem…” Vegas sighs. He wonders if he should choose his words with care but then decides against it. Tem deserves nothing but total honesty. “This isn’t a mere infatuation, I am in love with him. Distance isn’t gonna help in this case. Besides, I do not want to stay away from him. Trust me, I tried. It’s not working.”

The other man cringes visibly, looking deeply hurt. “Well, try harder. He is clearly trying to brainwash you.”

“I want you to listen closely now. I know you don’t want to hear, because it hurts, but the sooner it sinks in, the better for you.” Vegas really wishes he didn’t have to do this. “I am not going to stay away from him. I love Pete. I am aware this whole situation is a mess. It does not change anything though. I still love Pete and I am going to have a ‘fling’ with him, with all that it entails, no matter what.”

“Dammit Vegas!” Tem seems increasingly frustrated. He searches for a way to convince Vegas, but can’t find the right words.

Vegas just shrugs. What else is there to say? The moment Pete jumped off that roof he knew that he would follow him to hell and back. Fighting against it is just a waste of time and energy so he might as well enjoy the ride into madness and pain because damn—this is going to hurt badly, he knows it.

“Just drop it Tem. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I truly am. I’m not doing this on purpose, everything just kind of happened, it’s beyond my control. So can we please go back to being partners and friends? I know this is a shitty request, but please? Let’s just solve this case together?” Tem is so conflicted, it hurts to see him like this. He clenches his jaw, clearly wanting to argue about this some more, but then the fight drains out of him. “Fine,” he mutters, and gives Vegas a rebellious glance. “But I will keep an eye on him and if I see him hurting you again, I won’t stay silent.”

Good enough for Vegas. A bit of the tension he has felt since waking up this morning subsides. One problem solved, one more to go. Well two, if you count their murder case. The murder case that he should be paying more attention to, if only those two idiots would let him do his job. He gives Tem a curt nod of acknowledgement and then busies himself with work, and so does Tem.

----------------------------------------

Pete doesn’t show up to work this day. Nor the next day. Or the day after that. He’s gone, not even showing up at Vegas’ apartment. After a couple of days Vegas inquires about him with the administration and is told that Pete had a family emergency and requested leave for a week. Family emergency, my foot. Pete doesn’t have any family—he told Vegas about growing up in an orphanage. It is more likely that Pete decided to give Vegas some time to cool down. Wisely so, but it still stings. They need to have a talk and drawing out the whole matter isn’t helping at all.

Vegas has to admit that it is a lot more peaceful in the office without Pete. The whole atmosphere is calm and relaxed, the way his days used to be like before he met Pete. He wants to relax but as the days go by, he becomes painfully aware that he misses Pete. It’s like a constant ache deep inside of him, as if something vital is missing from his life. He hates feeling like this, Pete isn’t even here and yet has so much power over him. It sucks. Vegas goes running after work, running away from his problems and his feelings. He runs a lot during this week. A lot.

And if this isn’t bad enough, there is Tem finding out about the whole Theerapanyakul bodyguard angle as well.

“It’s a pure coincidence,” Vegas insists. “I talked to Porsche and Kinn about it already. They’re looking into it from their side and will contact us if they find anything. But I’m sure it isn’t connected to the family business. So under no circumstances must any of us do a formal interview with anyone from the family. We absolutely must not draw attention to us, trust me. You know how my family is… especially my uncle and my father.”

Yes, Tem is aware of Vegas’ complicated relationship with his father. They’ve been extremely careful all these years not to arouse Khun Gun’s suspicion when it comes to their partnership. And so they both decide to keep the Theerapanyakul family out of the official part of the investigation for now.

But when Vegas’ phone rings one afternoon and it’s Arm calling, he knows that they’ve run out of time. Damn.

“We got another one. I’ll text you the address.” Arm sounds strangely excited and Vegas can feel his stomach dropping. Another one. They’re taking too long catching this killer; innocent people are dying because Vegas isn’t doing his job properly. But Arm hasn’t finished talking yet. “Pol and I have started processing the scene—give us a call when you arrive and I will send Pol out to take you inside. This one’s relatively fresh, so the smell shouldn’t be a problem but please… don’t throw up on my crime scene.”

It seems Arm really won’t forgive him for puking that one time. Vegas sighs deeply. He doesn’t feel even remotely ready for this. Thankfully, this time he will have Tem tagging along.

----------------------------------------

Their new crime scene is an abandoned warehouse in yet another rundown industrial area. Derelict buildings, crumbling concrete, shattered windows, barbed wire fences.

It’s been nearly two hours since the phone call; traffic was really bad and the drive itself is spent in grim silence between him and Tem. Neither of them is looking forward to this.

The weeds are growing high; the whole area reeks of desolation. This neighbourhood is even worse than the last crime scene. There will be no chance for any CCTV footage unless they find a car with a dashboard camera—and even that seems unlikely. Vegas drives through defunct, rusty metal gates and parks beside the CSI van, some other car and a lone police car. Business as usual; this murder isn’t deemed a priority either.

It’s afternoon and the humidity is high today, as is the temperature. It hits them in the face as soon as they exit the car. Both Vegas and Tem groan tiredly because they know the crime scene will be hell, unless the warehouse by any chance has air conditioning. From the looks of it, they’re out of luck.

Tem texts Arm that they’ve arrived while Vegas takes out his notebook, looks around and jots down his initial thoughts. All the problems between the two of them are forgotten at this moment; they fall back into their old partnership seamlessly, each of them following the crime scene routine that they’ve established through all their years of working together closely.

“Arm writes we should go to the backside. There’s an entrance there, and Pol will lead us in.” Tem takes a quick drink of water and offers Vegas some as well. They might go without something to drink for hours, best to hydrate now (but not too much, in case they get queasy). Vegas gladly accepts the bottle and drinks while discussing their surroundings with Tem. They take more notes and finally they can’t put it off anymore but head towards the backside of the warehouse.

When the two men round the last corner, Vegas freezes in mid-motion, causing Tem to bump into him. Guess who has apparently picked this day and moment to reappear, after being in hiding for a week? Of course Arm called him, too, Vegas should have known. But he thought there was very little chance of Pete showing up. Guess he was wrong.

Pete is standing by a graffiti-covered steel door, from the looks of it in the middle of a conversation with Pol, who is already in full CSI outfit. In stark contrast, Pete is wearing black Chinos, and his shirt is something silky and black with a butterfly print. He has once again outdone himself. One look and Vegas’ emotion are all over the place; he doesn’t know if he should growl in anger or sigh with relief. Tem’s hand grabs his shoulder and squeezes and this is just what Vegas needs to keep himself grounded. They’re at work, they have a job to do and there are people here who have no clue about the complicated relationship Vegas has with his therapist. He throws all his issues with Pete into a dark corner of his mind and mentally locks the door to that place. Later. He will deal with all this later.

Vegas takes a deep steadying breath and then marches forward, Tem in tow. “Hello Pol. Pete.” He nods curtly at both of them, taking great care to resist the urge to stare at Pete, who is giving him a friendly, yet distant smile.

“Since everyone’s here, we might as well get started. Here’s how we’re going to do this…” Vegas starts, and turns to Pete. “I’am going to help you suit up. Don’t take off your mask or gloves at any point in time. If you’re getting queasy or dizzy, let either me or Tem know immediately. Under no circumstances must you throw up on the crime scene. Hold it in and run outside. Oh, and do not touch your face with your gloves. Everything clear so far?”

Pete nods. He seems intrigued, but otherwise rather calm. Completely unbothered. Maybe a bit excited even. Let’s see how long he can maintain that façade.

“You’ll walk behind me at all times, stepping where I have stepped. You will not wander off. You will not touch anything. If you want to take a closer look at something, ask Arm for permission first. You will not get in the way of Arm and Pol working. If you get bored or tired, you tell us and then you can leave. Understood?”

“Yes, detective. I will do my very best to follow your instructions.”

Vegas doesn’t believe a word this deceptively meek Pete is saying.

“Are you sure about this?” Pol asks sceptically, looking from Vegas to Pete.

“No, I am not,” Vegas admits.

If it were up to him, Pete would wait outside, but he remembers Pete’s threat in the car, and doesn’t want to find out to what extremes he’s willing to go to be part of this investigation. After all he already jumped off a fucking roof to prove his point!

“But Pete is part of the team, so he’s allowed to tag along this time.”

“You’re in charge, your decision.” Pol shrugs, and then points to a box by the door. “Suit up. When you’re ready, I’ll lead you in.”

The three of them put on the disposable overalls, shoe covers, masks and gloves. Vegas helps Pete, double checking that he’s wearing everything correctly. They don’t speak more than necessary. They definitely don’t speak about what happened on that roof. They could’ve almost pretend it had never happened, if it weren’t for the very visible bruises around Pete’s wrist. Bruises Vegas put there when he held on to Pete for dear life. Moving on. Vegas can’t allow himself to be distracted right now by personal matters.

The heat is oppressive. “Is it a very complex crime scene?” he asks Pol, who just shakes his head.

“Size-wise it’s much smaller than the last one. We’ve documented the perimeter and the body. Arm is going over the details now.”

“How bad is it?” Tem asks quietly.

“Pretty bad,” Pol admits. “Pretty bad…”

----------------------------------------

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” And welcome to hell…

This hell is a mixture of heat, concrete, steel and dust. There are endless walls. A metal ceiling high above, riddled with partially broken roof lights, like bullet holes. Whatever this warehouse once contained, it’s all gone now, replaced by spiders and their cobwebs, dust and trash. Pol leads them, their steps echoing eerily through the emptiness. They follow him in a line through the assorted trash, back towards the front of the warehouse and the corner where they can see Arm working with something. Vegas sees dust motes floating lazily in the occasional beam of sunlight shining through the dirty window panes in the roof. He believes he can smell the blood already, even this far away.

“The front entrance is welded shut,” Pol explains. “Most of the other entrances too. The only way to get in here is the roof, or through the door we just used.”

It’s warm inside, warmer than Vegas likes. “Arm said the body is fresh?” Heat is a problem when it comes to crime scenes and dead bodies. And fresh is always relative.

“We have first instar larvae,” Pol replies grimly, and Tem and Vegas collectively groan. They hate maggots.

Pete is confused. “What are instar larvae?” As instructed, he’s following Vegas closely and Vegas is at all times hyper-aware of Pete being just a few steps behind. It’s a bit unnerving.

“An instar is a developmental stage of insects, the period between each moult until it reaches maturity,” Pol patiently explains. Arm’s knowledge is rubbing off on him. “The number of instars an insect undergoes often depends on the species and the environmental conditions; it can be very helpful in determining time of death.”

“Oh… interesting,” Pete mumbles.

“I hope you can deal with maggots,” Tem adds, casting Pete a sharp look. “Remember, no throwing up on the crime scene.”

“I am pretty resilient,” Pete replies sweetly, but gives Tem a dark look.

Lord, give me patience, Vegas rolls his eyes. The three of them need to have a talk soon, because he refuses to work with them under these conditions. He can practically feel the invisible daggers flying back and forth between them. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on this because they’re approaching Arm and the actual murder scene. He would have known even without looking, because the scent of blood is heavy in the stale air. One closer look, and he’s already regretting it.

Oh fuck. This is bad indeed. Again.

“…Shit…” Tem mumbles, sounding a bit dumbstruck.

Vegas glances worriedly back at Pete, concerned about how he’s taking it, but Pete is more focused on him than the actual crime scene, it seems. Their eyes meet for a moment. Pete’s eyes are burning, and Vegas could loose himself in them if he isn’t careful. Bloody hell. He must not let Pete distract him!

Back to the crime scene… Someone very obviously has cleared this corner of the warehouse from debris; the concrete floor is abnormally clean in what Vegas guesses must be a 4-5 meter circle around the installation.

Vegas gets why Pol said that it wasn’t all that complex. There are no flowers all over the floor this time; there is no need—the body speaks for itself.

Their murder victim is suspended from ropes—no, cables—that are attached to his bloody wrists. With arms stretched wide, he’s hovering about 1 meter from the ground, seemingly floating in the air. And there is something large and dark attached to his back; precisely what is difficult to say from this angle. There is also a large blackish puddle underneath the body, and Vegas can hear the lazy buzz of flies. The ceiling is several meters above them—how on earth did their killer manage to fasten those cables, Vegas wonders. Focusing on the cables and ignoring the body itself for the moment seems like a good way to stay sane.

Tem clears his throat repeatedly beside him. “We’ll have to check the roof.” His voice sounds a bit hoarse.

Vegas nods, also clearing his throat. The scent of blood is so heavy in the air that he can feel it in his mouth; it’s disgusting.

“I don’t see any ladders, I don’t even think there are ladders long enough for this.”

If Vegas can focus on the cables, he doesn’t have to deal with the rest of the crime scene and the body. He really does not want to look at it again. Not yet.

“How is he tied to those cables?” he asks Arm, who has stopped taking notes on his tablet and is walking over to them now.

“Oh, you’re going to love this.” Arm actually seems impressed; he adjusts his glasses before answering, then points at the victim’s arm. “He put the cable right through the radius and the ulna—it looks as if he drilled through the tissue and then threaded the cable through that hole before wrapping it around the wrist a few times, fastening it with an ordinary knot.”

No, Vegas does not love this. Behind him Pete makes what seems to be a distressed sound, but he can’t worry about him right now, he has a job to do. “Please don’t tell me…”

And once again Arm is reading his mind. “Yes, he was alive for the drilling. I will send you the photos; you can clearly see from the edges of the wounds that the victim tried to struggle.”

“Awww fuck…” Tem is taking notes, just shaking his head with disbelief.

“Vegas…” Despite the carnage before him, Arm seems to be exited. “You need to take a good look at this scene, no one has seen this kind of thing in at least the last 1300 years. If ever. I did a quick online check. This—” and he gestures at the suspended body, “—is the stuff of legends.”

No thanks, Vegas does not want to look at the body, stuff of legends or not, and what is Arm even rambling on about? But Vegas is here to do his job, to speak for the dead. Kind of hard to speak for the dead when you avoid being confronted with how they died. Fine. Here we go.

He takes one last glance at Pete, who is staring at the body with an expression that is difficult to read. Horrified fascination perhaps? Pete is taking it better than he expected. And if Pete can handle this, so can Vegas. Time to look.

The body is obviously male—he’s very naked. The feet and the lower parts of the legs are of a blackish-blue colour due to liver mortis. In fact, the front of the body seems to be remarkably untouched. There are no visible wounds. A few dark specks scattered over the skin here and there, most likely from the blood spray.

“Where are the clothes?” Tem glances around. “And what about the shoes?”

“Didn’t find any yet,” Pol shrugs.

“Can I walk closer?” Vegas checks with Arm, just to be sure he won’t mess up anything.

“Yes. Try to stay out of the blood pool though.” Arm glances past Vegas and arches an eyebrow. “You brought your intern?” He turns to Pete and immediately starts to lecture him. “You better not throw up on my crime scene. I suggest you give Vegas and his partner some space to work and watch from a distance.”

“I’ll take that advice into consideration, thank you.”

Is there a hint of sass in Pete’s voice? Vegas isn’t sure. He’s too busy looking over the body.

The head hangs forward, chin touching chest, longish hair almost completely obscuring the facial features. There seem to be dark trails on what he can see of the chin as well.

“He bled from the mouth?” Vegas edges closer.

There is minute movement around the mouth, and Vegas is taken aback for a second, but then he recognises a few blackish flies crawling over the chin. He swallows drily.

“Yes, with that wound, it was inevitable.” That wound. The wound that Vegas is slowly working up the courage to take a closer look at because well shit—it’s like a never-ending nightmare with this killer. It’s not getting better; every crime scene gets worse.

“There’s a lot of blood,” he observes, carefully staying out of the blood puddle on the ground, as he slowly circles the body to reach its back. “He bled out?”

Arm is following Vegas on his slow track around the body. “After the initial stages of skin and tissue removal, I would assume he bled out very rapidly, yes.”

Another quick glance backwards; Pete is not following him this time. He’s stopped in front of the body, apparently studying it closely, but glancing over at Vegas now and then. Due to the damn mask Vegas can’t see any of his facial expressions. Is he feeling sick? Disgusted? Horrified? Vegas knows he’s fretting but he can’t help it. He would rather not have Pete see something like this crime scene. Hopefully this won’t be giving him any nightmares.

And then Vegas stands behind the body, no longer able to block out the gore in its full glory.

“Oh fuck…” He sighs softly. “Fuck.”

“Behold…” And there is reverence in Arm’s voice now. “… the beauty that is the Blood Eagle.”

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Vegas would categorise this as madness instead. With Beam it was the abdomen, and with this victim it is the back. Vegas didn’t even know this was possible, but apparently he’s about to learn a lot more about human anatomy than he ever wanted to know.

“Just what the fuck is this?” His voice is thin with distress. “Blood what…?”

“It’s a legendary process of ritualised torture and execution, dating back to the time of the Vikings. Called the ‘Blood Eagle’.” Arm is nerding out again, but perhaps he needs this in order to deal with the horror. “There is almost no historical evidence that this ritual even existed; I think there is one or two vague accounts of it at all. Some movies and TV series make reference to it, embellishing it of course, but all in all no one in modern times has ever seen this in real life. It’s fascinating…” Arm’s voice trails off.

Torture and execution sums it up nicely. Vegas has never seen anything like this before. The back of their victim is open; he’s been opened up like a can of sardines, unzipped like a zipper. The skin and the muscle tissue of the back are just gone.

Vegas has to clear his throat repeatedly before he manages to speak again. “Isn’t there something missing? Where has all the tissue and the skin gone?” He swallows hard and looks away, only to meet Pete’s questioning gaze; he’s watching Vegas very closely indeed.

Pete must not see this under any circumstances, is all Vegas can think. “Stay where you are, don’t come over here,” he instructs him harshly.

Thankfully, Pete nods and stays put.

“We haven’t found any of it yet,” Pol informs him.

“I’ll make a note to send some people to search the immediate area,” Tem suggests.

And Vegas goes back to staring at the nightmare hanging in front of him. “Are ribs supposed to bend that way?” he can’t help asking. Like white fingers clawing outwards, someone—their killer—has somehow managed to detach, no, unzip the ribs from the vertebrae of the spine, and succeeded in folding them outward.

“Astonishing, isn’t it?” Arm is a picture of horrified delight. “This would require tremendous strength and coordination. I think he fractured the ribs again to bend them outward like this.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Like this… folding them outward to create the illusion of bird wings. Blood eagle indeed. Vegas feels ill. “Please tell me he was dead at this point.”

“If he wasn’t dead yet, he would have been bleeding out within seconds when the work on his ribs started, if he didn’t die from sheer shock first,” Arm tries to reassure him. “And there is no way he would have survived the removal of the lungs from the thoracic cavity… there are just too many veins and arteries attached to the lungs to be able to pull them out like this; they’d have to be severed first.”

“This is insane,” Vegas whispers.

He’s just horrified at the sight before him. Because the man’s lungs have been pulled out of place, they are now fully outside of the body, and in combination with the ribs, they definitely give the impression of wings—gory, raw, meaty wings, straight from a nightmare from hell. The lung tissue has been stretched out, even cut open, to allow for maximum surface area. And fuck… he takes a closer look, because he sees something metallic, and yes… there is more wire work involved here as well, to make sure everything stays in place, just like their killer intended it to. Wings. But instead of an eagle, all Vegas can think about is butterflies.

Hamearis lucina. Papilio memnon. Cymothoe sangaris. Vegas likes going to the butterfly house with his mother. They’re so pretty, just like his mom. So pretty.

This isn’t pretty though. This is horror incarnate. But the thing that really gets to Vegas are the insects. There is a low constant buzzing coming from the body; the whole massive wound is constantly fluctuating and moving. As if those wings are trying to flutter. Flies and tiny maggots are everywhere. Vegas’ stomach lurches violently.

He has to close his eyes, bend over and concentrate on his breathing for a while.

“Just breathe through it, Vegas.” Tem rubs his back; this isn’t the first time that maggots get the better of Vegas.

“Are you doing okay there, detective?” Pete asks from the other side of the body.

The tone of his voice sends a shiver of dread through Vegas, strong enough to even keep the nausea at bay for a moment. He knows that tone. What’s pissed Pete off this time? Then he becomes aware of Tem rubbing his back and gulps, quickly standing up again, shrugging off the touch. He’s not ready for a repeat of the rooftop madness.

“I’m fine. And no, I won’t throw up on your crime scene, Arm, don’t worry. I just need a moment, all right?” And in a barely audible voice he mutters to Tem: “Back off.” Tem looks offended, but steps away, and Vegas forces himself to ignore his nausea, because there is more work to do.

“Can I look at the face? Lift the hair a bit? So that Tem can take a photo?” Maybe this way they can start trying to identify the victim right away, without having to wait for the official crime scene photos.

Arm nods. “Sure. I’m all but finished here, I just have to wait for the coroner. So it’s safe to touch him, the body has already been processed. You need a stick or something to reach the hair?” The body is dangling up in the air after all.

“You’ve got something?”

Of course Arm has tools. A short while later Vegas is using pliers mounted on a telescopic pole to lift the hair away from the face of the dead man so that Tem can take a photo with his phone. At first, the facial features are bathed in shadows, but when Tem starts photographing, the flash goes off, illuminating the ghostly pale face, cloudy eyes, the black blood-smears around the prominent nose, and the gaping black hole of the mouth. Vegas’ stomach drops.

“You will like this one… trust me… temporary oblivion in the form of a harmless looking little pill… and you want a bit of oblivion, don’t you… everyone who comes to buy from me wants that.”

Instant recognition: it’s the dealer he used to get his drugs from! Fuck fuck fuck!!! Can the universe give him a break already?!

Vegas is shocked. Oh fuck. No way. This can’t possibly be connected to him as well? Another coincidence? Who is he even kidding? How many coincidences can there be? Fuck! It seems he’s in serious trouble.

----------------------------------------

The universe hates him. And that bloody killer must hate him too. The rest of the afternoon feels like a bad dream. Vegas does all that’s expected of him, but he’s more or less on autopilot. First Beam. Then the bodyguard. Now the dealer he got his drugs from. He’s too good a cop to pretend that all of this is a mere coincidence. What a fucking nightmare. This is way beyond anything he can handle on his own. Who is he going to talk to about this? Definitely not his superiors. And definitely not his family—which means he can’t even talk to Porsche, because he will tell Kinn, and his cousin mustn’t find out about this either. If his family gets the slightest hint that he is involved or even targeted by what looks like a serial killer, Vegas is going to disappear from the face of the earth. They’re going to fucking lock him up and throw away the key to protect him, and he will never escape their clutch again, ever.

That leaves Tem. And, perhaps, Pete. But if he gets Tem involved in this, that would put him at risk as well. And keeping something big like this a secret could ruin his career forever if anyone at work finds out.

As for Pete… how can he even begin to explain all of this to Pete? The casual sex with Beam. The drugs. His complicated family dynamics. He’s a mess, and if Pete ever finds out just how much of a mess he is, he will surely walk away and it’ll break Vegas’ heart. And immediately, he smacks himself mentally. What the fuck is wrong with him? It doesn’t matter, they’re not in a relationship after all, and never will be.

Who on earth is he supposed to ask for help? He’s in so much trouble. He knows that both Tem and Pete are watching him like a hawk as the afternoon progresses but he pretends everything is fine. It’s this dreadful crime graphic scene, it gets to him, that’s all, there’s nothing else to be worried about, he reassures everyone who asks.

Pete leaves first. They really do need to talk, but now is not a good time. Vegas just wants to go home. He doesn’t want to get into an argument; he feels too exhausted, both mentally and physically. It’s unbearably hot and he’s glad when he’s out of the warehouse and can take off the overalls again.

“Let’s call it a day,” he suggests tiredly to Tem. “Do you need to go back to the office or should I just drop you off at home?”

“Home, please. I’ve had enough for the day. Are you going to be all right, Vegas?”

No. “Sure. I just need food and some sleep and I will be as good as new.” Vegas gives him a faint smile and gets into the car.

Tem has his doubts, that much is clear, but he refrains from any further questions and so the drive back home is as long and as quiet as the drive out.

----------------------------------------

Once again, the traffic is horrible, and when Vegas finally arrives home he’s exhausted and wants nothing more than a shower, food and sleep. The moment he unlocks his door and steps into his apartment, he knows there’s been a change of plans. All it takes is a look at the floor, and the pair of shoes that are not his. For a moment, he’s stunned. No way. No fucking way! How did Pete get in here? That door was locked!

Vegas doesn’t even take the time to take off his own shoes; he slams the apartment door shut and storms into the living room. Where is he?! They need to have a talk about boundaries! There is no Pete in the living room, but he can hear humming from the bathroom. The nerve!

“Pete!!!” he stalks towards the bathroom door. “What the hell are you doing here?! Get the fuck out of my apartment!”

He plans to drag him out by the hair if he has to, but discovers that the bathroom door is locked. Locked. He has been locked out of his own bathroom.

“Chill, Vegas…” comes the cheerful reply from the inside, and after a long day from hell that is really all it takes for Vegas to explode. Wooosh. Ignition.

Vegas thought he had it all under control. It’s been a week. He’s had time to cool down. But just one phrase, and he knows he had merely put his anger on temporary hold—until now. His world bleeds into red. He’s back on that damn roof again. Scared out of his mind, seeing Pete fall. The absolute terror he experienced at the hands of this asshole. Who then had the nerve to callously leave him on that roof to deal with the aftermath all by himself. Who showed up uninvited at his apartment later, to casually sleep over, as if nothing ever happened. And then disappeared without a word for a whole damn week! And now he’s here, uninvited, again!

With a feral snarl, Vegas slams his fists against the bathroom door. “Get the fuck out of there and get out of my life, asshole!”

He doesn’t wait for Pete to open the door; he knows that’s not going to happen. The part of him that is still thinking rationally also knows it is better to channel his aggression against that door than against Pete. If he’s lucky, that door will allow for him to blow off some steam before it gives way. Because it will give way. Vegas slams his fists against it repeatedly; it hurts, but it also feels good. “I hate you!” Then he resorts to kicking the lock. “Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. There.”

The lock is surprisingly sturdy. It takes more kicks than he thought before it breaks and the door swings open.

“Are you satisfied now, Vegas?” Pete is leaning against the sink, casually drying his hands. Completely unmoved by Vegas’ tantrum. He gives Vegas the same kind of look that a parent gives a rebellious toddler, and this makes him even more angry.

“You!” Vegas points his index finger at Pete. “Get the fuck out of here. You have no right to be here, this is my place, not yours! And I don’t want you here! Piss off!”

Pete simply shakes his head, completely ignoring everything he said. “You really need to work on your anger issues, Vegas. Repairing this door is going to be expensive. Take a deep breath, count to ten and try to relax.”

“You asshole!” Vegas is fuming. “I don’t want to relax! I want you out of here, I don’t want to have to look at your face, not after that stunt you pulled a week ago! You left me on that fucking roof! And then you disappeared for a whole damn week!”

“So what? I had an appointment.” Pete simply shrugs with nonchalance. “And you managed, otherwise you wouldn’t be here right now. I just hope you learned your lesson this time.”

“What kind of lesson is this?! You jumped off the roof, you jerk!” Vegas gives Pete a hard shove that makes him stumble backwards. But as soon as he’s caught his footing, Pete lurches forward and gives Vegas a hard shove in turn.

“Shut the fuck up, Vegas! You started it! You just had to go and kiss Tem, didn’t you?!”

They glare at each other, breathing hard.

Vegas narrows his eyes. “Oh, now it is my fault?! If you hadn’t messed me up with your damn little mind games, I might not have kissed him! How am I supposed to think clearly with all the shit you put me through?! Tem is right, you’re not good for me!”

With an outraged huff, Pete gives Vegas another hard shove; his self-control seems to be slipping, because he’s starting to raise his voice. “Tem’s not right for you either! All these years, and he never made a move on you. He’s a bloody coward, that’s what he is. If he cared for you as much as he claims to, he would’ve fought for you! Instead he settled into comfortable pining. You would have been bored with him after a month of living together!”

“Maybe I want to have a boring life! At least Tem cares for me, he would never scare me like this! You are such a damn jerk, Pete! Do you have any idea how I was feeling, seeing you fall off that roof?”

“You certainly screamed loud enough…” Pete smirks, and a fresh wave of anger takes hold of Vegas, making him lash out, his palm connecting with Pete’s cheek as he smacks him hard. Pete’s head jerks to the side with the force of the impact. Vegas isn’t holding back.

“Asshole!” he snarls, enraged. “What do you even want from me?!”

“Everything!” The faintly red imprint of Vegas’ hand on his cheek clearly visible, Pete gives him such a hungry look that Vegas’ anger is instantly turned into ashes, and like a phoenix, desire unfurls its wings in its wake. Shit.

Vegas feels a moment of panic. He wants to run out of that bathroom, away to imaginary safety, but his feet won’t move, he’s rooted to the spot. No matter how complex and complicated his relationship with Pete is, he wants him. Badly. Nothing can change that. And at the same time he’s terrified by just how much he wants him. If he gives in now—which he will do, he knows he will—how is he supposed to protect himself from getting hurt by all of this in the end? Pete will incinerate them. Control… he needs to stay in control of the situation somehow.

While he was contemplating all this, Pete has moved, and is now right there in front of Vegas, his fingers sinking into the uniform shirt, pulling them together slowly. Vegas draws in a sharp breath. He once again feels like a mouse facing a snake. “…What… what do you think… y–you are … d–doing?” he stutters, and his heart skips a beat under the heated stare Pete is giving him.

“I am going to kiss you until you are a shivering mess,” Pete purrs, coupled with a lethal smile.

Shit! Vegas gulps. Yes, he would like that very much. Too much. Dammit. Control, he needs to stay in control. “No kissing,” he objects, but his voice doesn’t sound very convincing even to himself.

“Objection noted. And overruled.” Still smiling hungrily, Pete leans in. Vegas can feel his warm breath feathering over his face, and he shudders. Kiss me already. But at the last second Vegas turns his head to the side and all Pete’s hot lips come in contact with is his cheek. Even that feels damn nice.

“Really… I mean it…” Vegas has trouble concentrating because the devil that is Pete is flickering his tongue against his cheek now. “No kissing.” Control. He needs to get the upper hand in this madness before Pete ignites him and turns him into ashes. Kissing is way too personal. If they start kissing, Vegas is going to pour all his feelings into it and then Pete surely will know how much he cares… dammit. Time to wrestle back control from Pete.

Before Pete can lick his way to his mouth, Vegas grabs his wrists in desperation. Pete hisses in pain, and that’s when Vegas remembers that those wrists are bruised, and he’s currently pressing down on those bruises. Damn.

“Sorry!” Eyes wide, he takes a step back, letting go of Pete. “Shit, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“Did I complain?” Pete has been looking at his wrists but when he raises his eyes again to make eye contact with Vegas, the expression in them takes Vegas’ breath away. And then he remembers what Pete has told him about pain… yup, this little episode just seems to have fanned the flames as far as Pete is concerned. He looks as if he’s about to pounce on Vegas.

“Don’t move!” Vegas snaps harshly.

And Pete actually stops in mid-motion, becoming very still, watching Vegas cautiously. So far, so good. Vegas frantically searches his brain for solutions to this control problem, and in the end only one thing comes to mind. The last time he did this, Pete objected greatly. Let’s see how things go this time.

“Hands up.” Vegas uses the same command tone of voice he used to get Pete to stop moving. He can see something flickering in the depth of Pete’s dark eyes, which are glued to his face. And then Pete slowly raises his hands until they’re at about shoulder height.

Since Vegas is still in uniform, he has access to everything that comes along with it. And in this case that means his handcuffs. Slowly, methodically, he reaches out to detach them from his belt, giving Pete a chance to see what he’s about to do, giving him a chance to object if he wants to. Pete doesn’t say a word. If anything, his pupils are dilating slightly and he inhales a slow deep breath.

In turn, Vegas’ breath is becoming increasingly uneven. Pete obeying his every word is one hell of a rush. He clears his throat, which feels suddenly very dry. “Into the shower,” he commands, and for every step he takes forward, Pete is taking a step backward, until they’re standing in the shower stall.

It’s a nice modern shower with chrome fixings and a glass shower screen. Vegas walks Pete backwards until he hits the shower valves on the wall. Calmly, Vegas takes one last step forward and then snaps one of the manacles around Pete’s right wrist. Not too tight. But tight enough. The metal is touching those bruises and Pete’s pupils dilate even more. He’s starting to look a bit dazed.

“Higher.” Vegas tugs on the handcuff connected to Pete’s wrist. The metal digs lightly into the bruise. Pete’s nostrils flare as he exhales with a shudder. He lifts both hands above his head. Perfect.

The sturdy chrome rail holding the shower itself is attached to the wall in four places. This will work perfectly. Vegas leans closer, mesmerised by the way Pete is reacting to everything and the way he’s looking at Vegas. As if Vegas has given him a delightful unexpected gift. “Turn around,” Vegas orders him quietly. Again, Pete shudders and then his lips curve into a slow Cheshire Cat smile as he turns around to face the tiled wall.

Since he standing right behind Pete, Vegas just needs to lean in and his chest touches Pete’s back. “Higher,” he whispers into Pete’s ear, and when Pete complies, Vegas reaches up and draws the short chain of the handcuffs between the top and the second attachment of the chrome rail, before snapping the other manacle around Pete’s left wrist. Pete doesn’t have to stand on his toes but he doesn’t have much leeway to lower his arms either; he’s stretched out and up against the wall and Vegas likes that view very much.

The mere feeling of being in control of the situation is a huge relief. He exhales a shuddering breath and then leans his forehead against Pete’s back, right between his shoulder blades, taking a moment to collect himself. Feeling how Pete inhales and exhales quietly. Before he knows it, they’re breathing in sync. Vegas feels grounded again; he no longer has the urge to escape.

“Does it hurt?” he asks after a while.

“A bit. But it’s fine,” Pete replies quietly.

Just in case, Vegas checks, for clarification, “You will tell me when it gets too much?”

“… Mmmm…” Pete hums in agreement and nods. He’s just standing there, waiting patiently for Vegas to make up his mind about what to do next.

And Vegas doesn’t know. He really has no clue what to do next. He didn’t plan this. All he wanted after this exhausting crime scene was a shower, food and sleep and now he has a handcuffed man in his shower. Surprise. He feels laughter bubbling up in him, chuckles softly, and then gives in to the first thing that comes to his mind. He slips his arms around Pete’s waist and simply hugs him from behind.

“We need to talk about boundaries,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Pete’s back and shoulder. “How did you get into the apartment?”

Pete sighs and leans back into the hug as much as the handcuffs allow. “I stole your spare key the last time I was here,” he admits easily enough.

Vegas guffaws, because this is such a Pete thing to do. “You jerk.”

Pete’s shirt might be a stylish atrocity, but the fabric is soft as silk. It feels nice against his cheek and underneath his hands. He can feel Pete’s body heat, the outline of his muscles

“Vegas…?” Pete eventually interrupts his thoughts.

“Hmmm…?”

“Not that I want to hurry you or anything, but what exactly are you planning to do now?” Pete doesn’t sound annoyed, just curious.

“I don’t know yet.” Again, Vegas chuckles. “Actually… I think I’ll have a glass of wine.” He can feel Pete tensing slightly under his hands. “It would serve you right if I left you standing here in the bathroom for the night,” he points out.

Pete tenses up even more when he hears that, and Vegas has to smirk.

“Fortunately for you, I am no longer feeling quite as vengeful as I felt 15 minutes ago, so I’ll be right back.” And with that he ends the hug and steps away from Pete.

“Vegas…” Pete twists his head to the side, looking back at him with an arched eyebrow, the very picture of barely suppressed irritation, and that view is so delightful that Vegas decides to capture it for posterity. Still smirking, he takes out his cellphone.

“Don’t move.” The smirk turns into a grin as he takes a photo. “Perfect.” And he winks at Pete, who gives him a dark look in return. “Keep looking at me like that and I take more photos. You are hot when you glare at me like that.” Vegas blows Pete a kiss and then saunters out of the bathroom, suddenly feeling great.

First, he takes off his shoes. Then he pours himself a glass of red wine and takes his time savouring its taste. Let Pete stew in resentment for a while. Vegas ponders if he should bother to change clothes, but then decides against it, taking another sip of his wine. He’s actually surprised that Pete hasn’t walked out of the bathroom yet. Somehow he has the feeling that if Pete really wanted to get out of these handcuffs, he could do so. Pete is so unpredictable sometimes.

After about ten minutes, Vegas wanders back into the bathroom, the glass of wine still in his hand. Pete is where he left him, but in a slightly more grumpy mood it seems. “Are you going to let me go now?” he asks impatiently.

Vegas takes another sip of wine and shakes his head. “What’s the rush, I haven’t even started yet.”

Pete makes a growling sound and Vegas laughs while placing the wineglass on the counter next to the sink. “You look a bit flushed with anger, Pete. Time to cool down.”

“Vegas,” Pete warns him because he knows what’s coming.

And Vegas enjoys throwing his own words back at him. “Objection noted and overruled.”

He steps into the shower stall and reaches around Pete to switch on the shower, quickly jumping back to avoid getting wet himself. The shower has one of those rainfall shower heads; within seconds Pete is drenched. He curses loudly and sputters, and Vegas almost feels bad for him because he knows that that first rush of water is cold as hell, before it finally warms up. Almost but not quite. Serves you right. He smirks and goes to have another quick sip of his wine.

Then he commemorates this special moment by taking another photo of drenched Pete.

“Fuck! You keep ruining my clothes!” Pete complains, holding his head down so he can breathe without getting drowned in the downpour.

“That little bit of water doesn’t ruin anything. Just be glad you are not wearing leather pants this time.” Vegas is completely unapologetic. He’s also busy appreciating the view. The wet shirt and the pants cling to Pete’s body in a delectable way. “You had to take a shower anyway after that crime scene—you got all sweaty in that heat, so why are you complaining?”

“I’m complaining because I am handcuffed to the damn shower rail, I’m fully clothed, and the water is the wrong temperature,” Pete sputters and tries to turn around to get a better look at Vegas who is leaning casually against the glass screen.

Vegas winks at him. “I can fix two out of those three things. Say Pretty please…”

“Fuck you!” Pete snarls at him instead, which makes Vegas smile even more.

“… Not just yet…” He hums and goes around the glass panel to step into the shower with total disregard for his uniform, which gets thoroughly soaked as soon as he reaches around Pete to adjust the water temperature. “First problem, fixed. Say Thank you, Vegas.”

He takes a step back out of the spray. The way that shirt clings to Pete’s body should be illegal. Oh, what the hell, he might as well enjoy himself a bit. And so he moves back under the water and runs his hands over that shirt and Pete’s back. Feeling the bone structure. The muscles moving minutely under his fingers. The feel of the silky wet fabric against his palms. It is thrilling.

Pete has stopped cursing. And then all of a sudden, there comes a quiet, “Thank you, Vegas.”

Such a simple phrase, but it rekindles the fire within Vegas. He moves his hands down Pete’s spine, then separates them, running them along the ribcage, to the sides, and then to the front. By now he’s just as wet as Pete.

“You have an atrocious taste in shirts. Are you very attached to this one?”

“Actually, I am …”

It’s very satisfying to hear the unsteady edge to Pete’s voice. Vegas leans in even further to be able to move his hands up until he can feel Pete’s nipples under his thumbs. He’s been wanting to do that since seeing Pete in that damn semi-sheer shirt. A scrape, and Pete reacts with a delicious shudder.

Vegas rests his chin on Pete’s shoulder, smiling to himself. “Let me fix the second problem for you then. Weren’t you complaining about being fully clothed?” He can undo these buttons and enjoy it greatly but then he remembers that Pete is handcuffed. Damn. Then again… “Pete?”

“Huh?” Pete does sound a bit breathless.

“I have bad news for you. The shirt’s gotta go, and I’m not opening the handcuffs just yet. So I’m going to cut it off you.” He knows he sounds too cheerful, but he really hates this shirt and will take great pleasure in destroying it.

“… cut it off…” Pete gulps and Vegas can feel him shiver. “Uhm… sure…”

Vegas is enjoying this teasing so much, but Pete without a shirt he will enjoy even more. And so he reluctantly stops hugging him to go and fetch some scissors. Thankfully he has some in the drawer under the sink, because the thought of walking through the apartment in wet clothes isn’t appealing at all.

He decides to cut the shirt along the line of the spine. But first he reaches around Pete and adjusts the water flow. He doesn’t want to get drowned while having fun after all. A little bit less water will be best. The scissors are sharp and cut through the fabric without resistance. Pete stays very still through the whole procedure. It feels like unpacking a present. He’s unwrapping the glory that is Pete. Once the shirt is cut in half length-wise, he quickly cuts across and along each arm to the cuffs, and hums with satisfaction when the pieces of the shirt fall to the floor. Finally.

Taking a step back, Vegas at last allows himself to look at Pete’s bare upper body without feeling as if he’s looking at a forbidden fruit. He had Pete like this on his bed when he was drunk, but back then all that bare skin just made him panic. Not today. Today he’s looking his fill.

“Still alive, Vegas? Cat got your tongue?” Pete is holding on to the shower rail now to protect his wrists from the pressure of the cuffs against the bruises; he turns his head over his shoulder to look at Vegas with a mischievous smile. “You like what you see?”

“Oh yes… I do,” Vegas admits quietly. Pete is perfection. In a way Vegas feels like an embarrassed teenager, the mere sight of someones bare upper body shouldn’t really knock the breath out of him like this, it’s silly. But this is Pete, and everything connected with Pete just elicits strange reactions from him. And so he says the first thing that comes to his mind, and then feels immediately mortified about it. “You’re beautiful.”

“You need glasses.” Pete rolls his eyes, clearly thinking this is a cheesy comment. And yes, it sounded cheesy, but Vegas means every word. Pete is beautiful. There are a few faint scars scattered along on his back, and some beauty marks. He’s lightly tanned. Lean with just a hint of muscle definition. Vegas knows Pete is stronger than he looks, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to cling to that ledge.

“My eyes are just fine,” he insists, and like a moth to the flame he steps right back underneath the water again because he needs to touch this perfection. “Beautiful,” he mumbles, mesmerised, as he runs his hand over Pete’s shoulders.

The water cascades down the skin in a steady stream. Without a second thought Vegas leans in and licks along the spine, causing Pete to draw in a startled breath. Nice, this is nice. Like a cat, Vegas rubs his face against all that bare skin, closing his eyes, just concentrating on the sensation the skin contact is giving him. So damn nice. He can feel Pete shiver, feel every trembling breath he takes.

With a happy sigh, Vegas nuzzles Pete’s nape and then plants a kiss right there. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, and slowly trails kisses down the outline of Pete’s spine, while his hands are busy undoing the damn buttons of his uniform shirt. He needs more direct skin to skin contact, he needs it badly and he needs it now. Pete throws his head back, eyes closed, water pearling off his face. Judging from how fast he is breathing, he’s enjoying what Vegas is doing. By the time Vegas’ lips reach the edge of Pete’s pants, all the buttons are undone and he shrugs out of the uniform shirt, throwing it behind him without a care.

He should have done this sooner, Vegas reflects in a daze. He has wasted so much time. When he hugs Pete this time, he gets goosebumps all over his body as soon as their skins touch. Pete breathes a shuddering sigh that echoes through the bathroom, Vegas can see how his fingers clench around the shower rail, holding on tighter. Vegas wants to melt into Pete, he feels as if he’s getting drunk just by touching him; it’s insane.

“Show me my mark,” he whispers while he runs his hands over Pete’s chest.

Pete groans breathlessly and tilts his head to the side and yes, there it is. It has healed nicely but it is still very visible. Just like it should be. Pete belongs to him, and everyone should see it. Mine, Vegas thinks and kisses the scar. Once… twice… and then he licks it slowly and Pete’s breath hitches. The handcuff chain clanks against the shower rail, and somehow this is yet another turn-on for Vegas. He’s in control, and he can do whatever the hell he wants with Pete. It’s very arousing, and he can feel himself getting hard.

Vegas gives the scar another lick and then bites down. Not too hard, but hard enough to hurt a bit. He gets an instant reaction from Pete, who arches forward into the tiled wall with a hiss that turns into a low moan. It pleases Vegas greatly.

“Shiiit Vegas…” Pete is panting, and Vegas can feel his heart racing beneath his hands. “… Do it again…”

Vegas didn’t see that coming and his mind goes blank, but what Pete wants, Pete gets, and so he bites him again. Pete moans and shudders, and suddenly all that Vegas can think about is that he has to get him out of these pants too. In fact, his entire focus shifts away from himself and his own pleasure and to Pete. He just wants to make Pete feel good, that’s all that counts now. Sliding his hands around Pete to the front of his trousers, he hurriedly undoes the buttons.

“Give me a second, you are going to like this even more,” he mumbles while shifting back and forth between kissing and licking Pete’s throat.

Once the buttons are undone, Vegas puts his thumbs inside of the wet chinos and starts to peel them off—and Pete’s underwear right along with it. He’s rewarded by one of the most beautiful sights he has ever experienced; Vegas has to take a break from worshipping Pete’s neck to be able to fully appreciate his full nudity.

“Holy shit…” he mumbles in awe.

Pete is comfortable enough with his body that he gives Vegas a coy smile and when he turns his body halfway towards him, Vegas can see he’s already hard. And not only that, he spies something else he didn’t expect: a tattoo by the left hipbone. Intriguing.

Vegas leans down to take a closer look at the words, and then has to laugh. ‘No legacy is so rich as honesty’—but the fun part is that this quote has been carefully crossed out, with some additional text added to it above: ‘What a load of bullshit’.

“You are such a brat, Pete, this suits you so well.” Still chuckling, Vegas plants a line of kisses on the tattoo; why waste this great opportunity after all?

Pete smirks and then closes his eyes again to be able to concentrate fully on the feeling of Vegas’ lips against his skin. And Vegas enjoys giving him pleasure. Once he’s kissed his way all the way up to Pete’s neck again (because damn, he likes that neck a lot), he skims his hands across Pete’s delectable ass with just a quick squeeze and then rests them on Pete’s hip bones. “Do you want me to jerk you off?” Vegas whispers into his ear while slowly edging his fingers closer to the groin.

“Oh God, yes,” Pete gulps and nods, his breathing getting heavier by the second.

Vegas grins. “Say Pretty please…”

“Pretty please, with a cherry on top.” Someone is getting a bit impatient, it seems. “Just get on with it, Vegas. Or uncuff me and I will do it myself…”

“The handcuffs stay.” And with great satisfaction Vegas watches that irritation disappear the second he wraps his fist around Pete’s cock; Pete’s mouth falls open with an audible gasp; his whole body tenses and then he bites his lips, trying not to moan too loudly. “Does that count as ‘getting it on’, Pete, or would you like me to stop until you can do it yourself … when I eventually uncuff you, whenever that will be?”

A slow groan escapes Pete’s lips, and he opens his dazed eyes. Just looking at the unbridled desire in them fuels Vegas’ lust.

“Vegas…” he gasps again, because Vegas has softly started moving his fist up and down. “Please don’t stop… I swear I’ll die if you stop now.”

Thankfully, Vegas has no plans to stop anytime soon. Pete’s cock feels amazing, the skin is like velvet, and damn, if he himself wasn’t hard before, he most definitely is now. The feeling of Pete’s cock under his hand is electrifying.

They stare intensely at each other without a word. Pete shudders and trembles, Vegas watches him eagerly as he learns which of his moves elicits the strongest reaction. He’s a fast learner, and soon he has Pete panting heavily, grinding himself into Vegas’ fist with growing urgency. Vegas uses his free hand to card his fingers through Pete’s hair, then grabs it roughly and turns his head to the side so he can suck hard on the scar he left.

Pete jerks violently when he does that, groaning loudly. Then he bites his lower lip so hard it starts bleeding. Vegas has reduced him to a trembling mess with trembling knees, Pete’s so close to coming, but Vegas does not want that to happen just yet and so he forces himself to let go and takes a few unsteady steps backward. And wow… what a view.

It has to be the most erotic thing he has ever seen. Naked Pete in his shower, handcuffed to the shower rail, holding on to it for dear life because his legs are shaking so badly, with water continuously cascading over his skin. He’s gorgeous; it takes Vegas’ breath away.

While trying to catch his breath, Pete turns his head towards Vegas and the look on his face is so needy and hungry that Vegas forgets to breathe for a moment. They stare at each other, and all Pete can moan is a thready

“…please…”. He’s begging.

Vegas throws all caution to the wind. Screw control. He takes three steps, grabs Pete’s face, and finally allows himself to kiss him. And as expected, everything escalates immediately, as always when they kiss.

It’s instant ignition. They burn together.

Vegas didn’t plan on having sex, all of this is a bit unexpected. One moment they’re just making out a bit, the next moment he’s frantic to get out of his trousers and underwear. Pete is kissing him so desperately it is driving him insane. This whole situation is turning hilariously chaotic;

neither of them wants to break the kiss so Vegas ends up hopping on one leg while trying to get out of his pants, nearly loosing his balance on the wet tiled floor. He clings to Pete, cursing into his mouth and Pete laughs and licks and sucks and it’s a miracle that Vegas ends up naked without injuring himself or both of them in the process.

Thankfully Vegas hasn’t entirely lost the ability to think, not just yet, even if Pete is doing the best he can, handcuffed as he is, to make him lose all reason; right now he’s nibbling on Vegas’ earlobe, which feels so damn good that he keeps forgetting what he wanted to ask Pete. Vegas moans and grinds his cock against Pete’s ass, and just wants more. “You ever had sex in the shower before?”

Pete stops licking the outline of his ear to answer, and Vegas takes this opportunity to try and catch his breath.

“Nope. Can’t be too difficult, just don’t untie me,” Pete mumbles, and drags his teeth over the sensitive skin behind Vegas’ ear, causing him to shudder with delight.

“Kinky.” Vegas gives Pete a hard kiss but draws back before he loses himself in the kiss again. “Condoms…” he breathlessly reminds them.

There are some in the bathroom cabinet; he nearly falls over the pile of clothing on the floor in his urge to get them. Pete stands there holding on to the shower rail, watches and laughs heartily and Vegas is so damn in love with him that he thinks his heart will burst.

This is definitely the strangest, funniest and yet most intense sexual encounter he’s ever had. Nothing can compare, Vegas has so many emotions that just keep pouring out of him, it wouldn’t surprise him if he was actually glowing. Love makes every touch so much more intense—he had no idea. And he’s definitely never laughed so much while making out before either. The damn shower floor is slippery like hell, at least Pete can hold on to the shower rail but Vegas feels at times as if he’s walking on ice, slipping at inopportune moments, which makes both Pete and him giggle hysterically. Both of them are completely frantic at this point, they’re so horny that all they can think about are each other’s bodies, and the pleasure that awaits them.

Vegas keeps dropping the bottle of lube while fingering Pete, everything is so damn slippery now, he laughs and curses while Pete begs and pleads with him to hurry up already.

“Let’s just move to the bed.” He chuckles helplessly in frustration when he drops the condom for the third time; he’s fumbling with it like an inexperienced teenager. It’s embarrassing.

“No! I need you, I need this, right here and right now… we’re not moving!”

Pete hisses stubbornly, the handcuffs seem to frustrate him just as much as they obviously arouse him, and he most certainly does not want to be uncuffed right now. “Just fuck me already, I don’t think I’ll last long anyway,” he whispers hoarsely.

I love you, Vegas thinks. I never thought I could love anyone as much as I love you. “Pete?” He leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. “Thank you for crashing into my life.”

Pete looks slightly perplexed, surprised even, but then Vegas once again kisses him deeply and slowly pushes into him and Pete’s eyes flutter shut as he tries to adjust.

They both groan, the sound echoing through the bathroom, neither of them quite believing that this is finally happening. Vegas feels completely overwhelmed. For a moment, he senses the all familiar panic bubbling up inside of him, but he squashes it ruthlessly. Not now. He wants to enjoy this moment. While Pete is still trying to relax, Vegas reaches up and laces his fingers through Pete’s, holding on tightly. He buries his face into Pete’s neck and begins to slowly thrust. It feels amazing. And Pete was right, Vegas won’t last long either. Which is totally fine; this won’t be the last time they have sex.

The shower is still on, the warm water raining down on them relentlessly.

“Go faster,” Pete whispers and Vegas speeds up.

It feels so incredible that Vegas thinks he’s seeing stars. He can feel Pete shuddering, hears him panting, he’s tight and hot and the sensation is just out of this world. Vegas is really not going to last much longer, but he needs to make sure Pete comes as well.

And so he unlaces his fingers from Pete’s, moves his left hand down and starts jerking Pete off. Apparently that’s just what Pete needs to drive him over the edge; he makes an incoherent sound in the back of his throat and throws his head back. Since this puts the scar, now adorned with a fresh hickey, right within his reach, Vegas bites down on it and with a strangled shout, Pete explodes, coming so hard that his legs buckle beneath him and he hangs in the handcuffs, groaning breathlessly.

Holy shit! It’s a magnificent sight! And it’s enough to make Vegas climax as well. “Oh… my… fucking… God…” Vegas gasps, and shudders through a truly mind-blowing orgasm.

He has to hold on to Pete’s shoulders, clinging to him, in order not to collapse. His legs are trembling just as badly as Pete’s.

“…Owww… hurts…” Pete hisses in pain as the handcuffs dig deeply into his bruises with the additional weight of Vegas pulling on them. “Vegas… my wrists… ease up a little, okay?”

“Sorry…” Vegas immediately lets go and then finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower since his legs won’t carry him right now. He blinks, his mind still in an afterglow daze. And then he feels laughter bubbling up in him. He feels so happy and giddy all at once. Pete casts him an exasperated, exhausted look; his wet hair is plastered to his head, his skin decorated with a few more hickeys, courtesy of Vegas, and Vegas thinks he’s the most beautiful man on earth. I love you. Please don’t break my heart.

“Let me find that key for you.”

Trying very hard to hold in the laughter, he first takes off the condom and then crawls over to the heap of clothes on the shower floor and searches through them until he finds the key. On extremely wobbly legs, he somehow manages to hold Pete up while unlocking the handcuffs, and since they’re both still so shaky, they end up in a heap on the floor again. Vegas pulls Pete into his arms, holding him tight, and kisses the top of his head.

“That was well worth the wait,” he mumbles with a content sigh.

Pete rests his head against Vegas’ shoulder, snuggling against him. “If you ever do this with someone else again, I will fucking kill you,” he whispers fiercely and sounds as if he means it. Vegas chuckles softly. Such a brat.

“Pete? Don’t leave tonight, all right?” It takes Vegas a lot of courage to make this request. “Sleep over. And be around when I wake up, please?”

“So clingy…” Pete mumbles, sounding sleepy, and rubs his cheek against Vegas’ shoulder. “Fine. I promise.”

And that’s good enough for Vegas. He’s so damn happy he’s buzzing out of his skin. He wants to shout his happiness out to the world. Vegas is in love and life is wonderful.