Archive of Our Own

Strictly speaking, since the coup (the failed coup) Vegas hadn’t been involved in any mafia business. Partly, it had been to let him heal – whether from the loss of his father, the years of denying himself what he needed, or the actual physical wounds he’d endured despite Pete’s best attempts was unclear.

Really, though, the more likely cause was that the very idea of coming face to face with Kinn made him want to be sick. The last time he’d seen Kinn had been at his father’s funeral, and the feral, unbridled glee that Kinn hadn’t bothered to hide, coupled with everyone’s fucking pity had been more than Vegas could take.

That night, he’d asked Pete to make him bleed. And Pete, who had been steadfastly, unfailingly at Vegas’ side through it all, had done exactly that. It was the first time they had brought knives into the bedroom, a special kit that Pete put together just for him, sharp blades that cut through Vegas’ skin like hot butter. Afterward, Pete had put him back together again with bandages and the occasional stitch and that was almost as good as the cut of the knife.

It wasn’t necessarily on purpose that Vegas had handed himself over to Pete. It had become something of a necessity. When eating, moving, showering, even existing had become too much, it was only because Pete refused to let go that he hadn’t faded into the same darkness as his father.

Even Macau didn’t really seem to need him anymore. Vegas could have killed someone – one very specific someone – when Macau had gleefully announced that he’d been gifted the honor of both losing his virginity to Kinn and also being Kinn’s gift to Porsche.

Vegas remembered feeling like he mattered – like Kinn cared. He remembered what it was like to be treated like a gift as well.

At least, for all the pain Kinn had caused Vegas, he could be sure that Kinn would never hurt someone. At least…

Not during their first time.

Not if they didn’t ask.

The only reason that he wasn’t jittery out of his skin these days was because of Pete. Pete, and the semi-legal cocktail of anti-anxiety and anti-depression drugs that the family doctors had prescribed him, with strict orders to avoid alcohol. They hadn’t said anything about not smoking though.

Except for the usual muttered statements about lung cancer and how Vegas would regret it one day. ‘One day’, as if Vegas was the kind of person who grew old. As if he hadn’t buried his hardly-over-middle-aged father within the last six months. The world they lived in took a toll; if anyone needed an example, his Uncle was the perfect one, held together by what seemed like money, spite, and the undeserved, unfailing loyalty of his sons.

The window was cracked just enough that the trail of smoke from Vegas’ cigarette escaped out of it, instead of lingering in the small, enclosed space. Getting rid of the smoke was a habit. Pete didn’t care, he’d light up right next to Vegas. But old habits die hard.

Gun had always preferred cigars to cigarettes and he hadn’t liked the scent of smoke on Vegas’ clothes.

“Where are we going anyway?” Vegas asked, his knee bouncing. Either the nicotine fix was kicking in, or the anti-anxiety meds were starting to fade. Or, more likely, both.

Pete laid his hand on Vegas’ knee, stopping the unconscious motion. “To a hotel,” he said, smiling at him.

The vagueness did not settle Vegas, which Pete knew. Vegas knew that, because Pete knew, the vagueness was on purpose. He rolled his eyes, turning back to the window, pulling another drag of the cigarette and watching the buildings move. Bright lights and sharp darkness, the technicolor brightness of electronic billboards flashed by as they moved down the streets. They were headed to a part of town that Vegas knew was expensive, which was cheeky considering Pete didn’t technically have a job anymore.

Not that Pete would have been able to afford a hotel room down here when he did have a job. The family didn’t pay the bodyguards that much.

It was not until they got to the hotel that Vegas found himself frozen in place in the back seat of the car. He stubbed his cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and stared up at the all-too familiar shape. “Why here?”

The scent of smoke and taste of ash might overwhelm his senses now but they couldn’t drown out the memories of the past.

“Come inside, Vegas.” Pete held out his hand. He was wearing his brightest smile, the one that meant he was having fun but also that he was working at it, forcing himself just a little bit. Pretending to be more normal than he actually was.

Pete glanced around. “What’s your safe word.”

Not a question, a reminder.

Vegas hadn’t realized the scene had started yet, but he really should have. He glared at Pete as he rocked to his feet, taking Pete’s hand. “Papa.” He hissed.

He wanted another fucking cigarette. Maybe one laced with something more than tobacco. He’d heard that ketamine laced cigarettes could be fun.

Pete leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Good boy.” He whispered, leading Vegas inside.

Sort of. Pete sort of led him, and Vegas sort of wandered against his own volition. Following steps that his feet remembered even if his heart had tried desperately to forget them. To the elevator. To the penthouse. They stopped outside the door, Pete’s retrieval of a key the only thing that stopped Vegas from knocking the habitual four-tone knock that he’d used so many times.

He knew who was going to be on the other side of the door before it actually opened, and when he stepped through the door it felt a little like he wasn’t even really there. Like he was watching himself step through the door. It felt as real as any of the silly dramas Macau would watch when he was sick. Any moment Vegas would hear canned laughter or the theme of the show would start up, perhaps in a minor key or on piano.

The only part of the experience that felt real was Pete’s warm hand on the small of his back, grounding him in time and place. “Why?” He asked. “Why are we here?”

“Fantastic question.” Kinn’s voice was sharp enough to knock Vegas back into his body. “Why are they here?”

Porsche stood just out of arms reach from Kinn, his arms crossed over his chest, chewing on his bottom lip aggressively. “Pete?”

Pete’s hand on Vegas’ back clenched into a fist. Everyone's eyes were on him, but his gaze was settled firmly on Kinn. It was softly determined, a velvet glove wrapped around a cruel, weighted fist. “When I agreed to go into the compound, you told me Vegas was dangerous.” His hand relaxed, sliding around to the front of Vegas’ hip, a possessive grasp. “But I learned a lot during my weeks with Vegas.”

Vegas bit the tip of his tongue to stop himself from spelling out all the things Pete had learned during his kidnapping. It wouldn’t be bragging, it’d be exposure, and Kinn already knew where to aim to make it hurt.

Kinn’s face had tempered from surprise and anger into confusion. Porsche’s eyebrows had made a permanent move to live amongst his hairline, and Vegas was just… there. Feeling a lot like this was all happening around him. Focusing on the warmth of Pete’s hand because it was real– and it hurt less than the intensity of Kinn’s gaze.

“I learned why he was dangerous, Kinn.” Pete continued, voice quiet, but resolved. “And it’s because you kept me from him.”

Vegas and Kinn seemed to scoff in unison and Porsche shook his head, staring up at the ceiling. “I gave you to him years ago!” Kinn exclaimed, like that was any excuse, like that was any explanation. Like Pete was a thing to be given away, like Vegas’ affections for Kinn were something easily shifted. “He’s the one who didn’t want you.”

Vegas bristled at the very thought that he might not want Pete.

But, before he could speak, Pete continued: “You offered me to him as a submissive.” Pete’s fingernails bit into the skin of Vegas’ hip. “And left a submissive you claimed to love to flounder. For years. And then wondered why he caused so much pain. He hurt people, sure. But do you know why, Kinn?” Pete didn’t really give him time to answer. “Because you hurt him.”

The entire room fell silent. Completely silent. Not the kind of silence that happens during sex that was accompanied by squelching and grunting. Dead silent. Pin drop silent. Like all of the air had rushed out of the room.

Vegas wanted to wheel around and yell and ask how Pete dared to make assumptions and say things like that and – lay out his fucking weaknesses right there on the goddamn floor for Kinn to see. But…he just focused on the prick of Pete’s fingernails on his hip and waited. Watched.

Watched as an entire catalog of emotions crossed Kinn’s face.

The first one was disbelief, the kind of expression Kinn would make when he scoffed, or rolled his eyes. It passed quickly, followed by annoyance. Then shame.

Fear.

Regret.

“What are you talking about?” Kinn’s voice was quiet. Even so, they shattered the stillness of the room, breaking the frozen tableau.

Vegas swallowed his wounded, agonized noise, stuffed the urge to scream down somewhere beneath the urge to cry. He’d let it out later, when he and Pete were alone, and Pete was holding his throat so tight that the noises Vegas made didn’t matter. Porsche though, Porsche let out a frankly scathing scoff as he turned away from Kinn.

“What, do you not think you’re capable?” Porsche turned his head, catching Kinn in his peripheral vision. “You never mean to hurt people, Kinn. But somehow, it keeps happening.”

The curl of Porsche’s arms across his chest shifted minutely, becoming less of an aggressive barrier and more of a protective one.

Kinn’s response came slowly; so, so slowly. “I didn’t – what are you talking about? I wouldn’t… I would never hurt someone I love.”

Hotel rooms were always cold. Vegas liked it, generally, because the reason he was in hotel rooms was to press himself up against someone else’s hot body, to generate heat through friction and exercise, to break a sweat. Fully clothed, with only Pete’s hand to provide him with warmth, he could understand why Porsche was hugging himself. The hotel room was too cold for his liking.

The thermostat was only a few steps away but to get there Vegas would have had to peel himself away from Pete. He’d have had to pass by Kinn.

“I guess you must not have loved me as much as you claimed, then.” Porsche was fired up, in a way that Vegas had only seen on occasion. His usual good-natured, affable expression was nowhere in sight. “But then, I’m not like the others, am I? I’m not like Vegas– or Macau – or fucking Kim or my own brother. You didn’t get to be my first, so what, I’m not good enough?”

Kinn’s head was buried in his own hands, shaking. “No. No, you don’t… I wish I could have been.” He looked up, eyes distraught. “I wish I could have been your first. And I don’t regret any of it. For anyone.” His gaze flicked to Vegas. “I wouldn’t take any of it back. Everything I’ve done – it’s to protect you.”

“So you protect us from everyone but yourself?” Porsche whispered.

A deathblow if Vegas had ever heard one and he’d heard a lot.

Pete’s fingers curled in Vegas’ shirt, the only sign he was holding himself back. Or perhaps a sign he needed to hold onto Vegas as badly as Vegas himself needed held. “Kinn, I think they deserve to know.”

Kinn looked exhausted – like he was a million years old, like the entire weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Know what, Pete?”

Pete didn’t waver under Kinn’s gaze. He was one of the only people Vegas knew who didn’t shy away from it. “They deserve to know why.”

A reason for Kinn's madness? To his need to control? Vegas had always assumed that if anyone had ever asked Kinn why the answer would have been the same as if they’d asked Vegas. Vegas didn’t know why he felt the need to hurt himself or others. He just knew he had to. He knew he liked it. Something inside of him had broken long enough ago he couldn’t remember it.

He’d always assumed Kinn was like him, broken from the beginning, but now…

There was a why? There was a reason? And Pete knew it? Vegas turned his head up towards Pete, brows pulled together. “What are you talking about?”

Pete had been one of Kinn’s guards before he had been transferred to Tankhun. Before Kinn had brought Pete to Vegas, Pete used to follow along at Kinn’s heels, just as loyal as Big. Vegas had never thought to question why Pete was transferred to Tankhun’s detail; he'd been too busy being pissed off at Kinn, Pete, and the world to think about it.

But no, that was too late to be the root cause of Kinn’s controlling issues. Kinn had already been fucking Vegas. He’d already—

Pete pressed a gentle kiss to Vegas’ cheek, catching him on the side of his mouth.

“Vegas.”

The slap caught Vegas as off-guard as the kiss, the pain just as sweet.

“Pete.” Kinn’s voice was low and dangerous, a threat. It was a useless threat though.

Porsche and Pete worked well together. When Pete had moved to slap Vegas, Porsche had moved to wrap himself around Kinn, trapping Kinn’s arms against his lower back when Kinn had reached behind him for his gun. Kinn didn’t struggle against Porsche’s hold, even as Porsche pulled the gun from his waistband and set it aside.

“How dare you hit him.” Kinn’s eyes were full of righteous fury. Or, so he probably thought. Vegas was frustrated to have been put back into his body, but it did make it easier to scoff and raise both eyebrows at Kinn. “Are you seriously asking him that?” Had Kinn forgotten….all of it? Everything?

Pete smirked, leaning up to kiss Vegas’ reddened cheek. “Are you better now?”

Vegas nodded.

Pete turned back to Kinn. “He was dissociating. You didn’t even notice.” Pete wet his lips, face as serious as Vegas had ever seen it. “You gave him up. You don't get to decide now, after years, how to best take care of him.”

“Would you have really shot Pete over that?” Porsche asked, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Kinn made a face like he’d just bitten into a lemon or tossed back a shot of ya dong. It was a look that said that he didn’t know.

Vegas ignored Porsche and the blatant discomfort on Kinn’s face:. “Tell me the fucking truth, you bastard.”

Kinn’s eyes settled on Pete, and if Vegas watched closely enough, he might have even seen Kinn’s lower lip quiver. “You know, most of the time I see betrayal coming, but not from you. I never thought you’d turn on me, Pete.”

“Do you remember when Tankhun—” Pete started, then stopped. “Everyone sometimes hurts the people they love, but there’s almost always a reason. Tankhun didn’t mean to hurt Pol. But we all understood why he did it, because we all know what happened to him. But they –” Pete pointed with two hands to Vegas and Porsche. “-- don’t understand what happened to you.”

Porsche pushed Kinn into a nearby chair, the armchair as opulent as the rest of the suite. If it had been Vegas, he’d have tied Kinn there, but perhaps that wasn’t the kind of scene they were playing.

Released from Porsche’s hold, Kinn folded his hands primly on his lap.

“...”

It seemed like silence would be Kinn’s answer. But then Kinn’s gaze flickered to the slowly fading handprint on Vegas’ cheek and something changed.

“I know your father hit you.”

Vegas flinched. It hadn’t been a secret. There would have been no way to keep it a secret. No amount of concealer would have hidden all the bruises Gun left on Vegas’ skin and Gun detested when Vegas wore makeup. He’d hit him more, sometimes, for daring to cover up.

"But that's only part of why I killed him."

He couldn’t breathe. The oxygen felt like it had been sucked out of the room as Vegas took two quick strides and sat down hard on the end of the bed. There were a number of reasons Kinn could have had to kill Vegas’ father. A memory that Vegas couldn’t even be sure was real surfaced. His father’s smug face over a glass of his favorite whiskey, smirking. “I guess I really did break him if he was willing to kill Tawan over such a minor slight.”

Vegas didn’t have enough air to speak, so he raised a shaking hand and motioned for Kinn to continue.

Whatever Kinn was trying to say seemed like it had to be torn out of him, bit by bit, a wound that hurt as much to debride as it had to endure. “He raped me.” Kinn said, softly. So softly that Vegas had to strain to hear.

Vegas distantly heard Porsche gasp, but mostly he felt…numb. “And it hurt,” he said, dragging in a long, deep breath as years of actions were made crystal clear by the truth. “He was your first.”

Kinn nodded.

Incredulous laughter spilled from Vegas’ lips, “He practically told me. I should have known. I was never anything more than revenge to you, was I?”

Years of revenge. But what did Vegas expect? What other reason could Kinn have had to fuck Vegas practically under Gun’s nose? Certainly under Gun’s room. What, had Vegas thought Kinn loved him?

What a joke.

“I killed my lover to protect you.” Kinn said, leaning forward, his face genuinely, transparently pained. “I shot Tawan because he was going to sell you out. And I couldn’t let him do that.”

Vegas couldn’t breathe again. The world seemed far away. Kinn had shot Tawan? For him? He’d always assumed it was for selling secrets.

For him?

And then his father had saved Tawan’s life and set Vegas as his guard.

He barely heard the next words out of Kinn’s mouth.

“And then I ended what was going on between us so that nobody would ever try to use you to get to me.”

“That worked out well.” Porsche quipped with another scoff. How many was that? Vegas had lost count. “Instead you turned him into a nightmare for the rest of us to deal with.”

“Rude.” Vegas managed, eyes focused on Pete’s firm, calm gaze. “A nightmare dressed like a daydream.”

Pete blinked. “Did you just quote–”

As if Pete didn’t know. Macau only caterwauled one singer’s works while he showered, Vegas was just thankful it wasn’t WIK.

“I never stopped loving you, Vegas. I never stopped caring.” Kinn had stood up from the chair, crossing the room slowly, hands clenched – but empty– at his sides. He turned sharply then, towards Porsche. “And you – you can’t think for a minute that I don’t love you so, so fucking much, Porsche. You’re – you’re everything to me.”

“I’m everything? But will I ever be enough?” Porsche asked, gaze serious.

Kinn looked helplessly between Porsche and Vegas, eyes flickering momentarily even to Pete. “Porsche –”

“You can’t ask him to give everyone else up, Porsche.” Pete said softly. “It doesn’t make him love you any less, but they’re – a part of him.”

Another scoff. Vegas would turn it into a drinking game except his liver was damaged enough. Porsche rested his hands on Kinn’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I had to ask.”

It was sickening to watch the way Kinn looked at Porsche, so soft, so open, so trusting and so much like how he’d once looked at Vegas. Vegas hated it. It was why he had tried so hard to insert himself between the two of them. Why he had tried to weaken the bond the moment he had seen it form. It had been a blurry line between wanting Porsche, and wanting to be Porsche.

“Do you love him any less after your night with Macau?” Pete took a seat next to Vegas, anchoring him with an arm around his waist.

The question made Porsche go red. “That wasn’t—” Porsche spluttered. “That was just sex!”

Pete pinched Vegas through his shirt, a tight, bright spot of pain that kept Vegas from launching at Porsche.

“It wasn’t the same at all.” Porsche frowned slightly and looked between Kinn in his chair and Vegas and Pete on the bed. “I don’t love Macau. Not like that.”

Pete pinched Vegas again to keep him on the bed. If Porsche hadn’t added the addendum Vegas would have fought him about it, pushed him off and stormed over to sock Porsche in the jaw. Macau deserved to be loved. “You should consider yourself lucky I didn’t cut your dick off for even touching him.”

“I took good care of him, Vegas.” Kinn said.

There was something off about Kinn’s tone. Something gentle. Something —

Something that reminded Vegas that he used to trust him. That he used to believe that Kinn had his best interests at heart. Those days felt a million years away now.

Vegas drew in a long breath, letting the anger recede in place of what he knew – the truth he’d always known. “I know,” he said. “He deserved it too. To have the best first time imaginable. And I know – You’re so good to the people you love.” He waited just a beat. Just a minute. “When you love them.”

The blow landed. Vegas felt a thrill of vindictive glee.

Kinn’s mouth opened to respond, but Pete jumped in. “I bet, if you asked, they would show you, Vegas. Kinn and Porsche could show you what Macau’s first time was like.” He turned to make eye contact with Porsche. “They could show you how well they took care of him. And maybe then you’ll be able to accept that Kinn still loves you.”

Oh.

The hunger in Kinn’s eyes was a familiar, enjoyable heat. Vegas almost thought that Porsche would start arguing, would protest, but from the look Porsche shot Pete, getting Vegas into bed was something that had been agreed upon.

Pete took the best care of him.

Vegas caught Pete’s wrists before Pete could pull away. “You won’t leave, right?”

He didn’t have any right to ask. He didn’t have a say – didn’t get to control what Pete did with his life. Still, the question fell out of him beyond his control: Needy. Desperate. Pathetic. He was a hedgehog, exposing his belly to the room. He barely resisted the urge to squirm over three pairs of eyes; but only one that really mattered.

And like the sparkle in Pete’s eyes, it was perfect.

Pete didn’t push Vegas away. He pulled him closer, kissing him, owning him. Usually it took a few spanks before Pete would push his tongue down Vegas’ throat. Maybe he liked showing off for Kinn and Porsche. Or maybe he liked knowing how much Vegas wanted him.

When they broke apart, Pete caught Vegas’ bottom lip between his teeth, biting hard enough to leave a mark before he pulled fully away with pink cheeks and a vicious smile. “I’ll never leave you.”

The chair was moved to the edge of the bed, angled so Pete had the perfect view.

“Macau was already naked by the time Kinn and I got to the room.” Porsche said. The buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, and he knelt with one knee on the bed, looking every bit the lethal weapon that Vegas knew he was.

Vegas took it like the challenge it was. He kicked his boots off and shimmied out of his pants without getting off the bed. There wasn’t any need to make a show of it, to get up and strip slowly, because Porsche and Kinn couldn’t look away. Or maybe Vegas already writhing on the sheets was better than a strip show.

Pete had picked his shirt out for him, one of the ones that was easy to pull up and off instead of having to unbutton it once by one. He’d clearly planned for this scenario. And all of it had just gone over Vegas’ head.

He was so attentive to Vegas’ needs.

“I’m not a needy teenager, looking to get fucked for the first time.” He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his underwear and pulled the sheer black material off.

He tossed it to Pete, despite the urge to throw it in Kinn’s face.

“Macau’s a lot smaller than you.” Porsche crawled onto the bed and wrapped a hand around Vegas’ ankle. “Though not by much.”

Neither of their parents had been big, Vegas could not claim that his bird bones and thin wrists were entirely from his mother’s side. Porsche must have inherited his father’s genetics because Vegas had seen Nampheung, a small, slide, waif of a woman with the air of a ghost.

“Not small where it counts.” Kinn wrapped a hand around Vegas’ half-hard cock and gave it a gentle stroke.

He’d thought before that Porsche and Pete made a good team. It was nothing compared to Porsche and Kinn. Kinn gently stroked Vegas’ cock, teasing him into hardness while Porsche slipped up Vegas’ body to kiss him as deeply as Pete had. It was a good kiss, even though Porsche wasn’t Pete. Even though Porsche wasn’t Kinn. It was far better than any of the one-sided kisses they’d shared in the past.

Kinn didn’t kiss him. Not on the mouth. He kissed Vegas’ stomach, pressed his mouth along the edges of Vegas’ scars, he grazed his mouth over Vegas’ chest to his shoulders and up his neck.

He planted a kiss right on Vegas’ cheek as Porsche broke off to gasp for air.

But he didn’t kiss Vegas on the mouth. Vegas hated how much he wanted it.

“Did you know that Porsche took Macau first?” Kinn murmured against his ear, his teeth catching on the lobe. “I got Macau ready for him. And then Porsche opened Macau up, for me, and we took him together. He took it beautifully.”

Vegas hissed. Macau hadn’t shared details of his night with Kinn and Porsche. Vegas didn’t need to be a genius to know why; Macau wasn’t ignorant of the damage Kinn had done to Vegas all those years ago.

“You’re a bastard.”

There was heat behind it but no vitriol, no hatred. He was annoyed and angry that Kinn had dared to fuck his little brother, that Kinn and Porsche had fucked Macau together, but he couldn’t— He didn’t—

There were too many other things to feel for Kinn.

He’d never really been able to hate him.

Not properly.

“Vegas won’t take as much prep as Macau did.” Pete said from his place on the chair. “He can take whatever you give him.”

Half of Vegas wanted to blush, but mostly he just raised his eyebrows, glancing backwards over his own shoulder to lock eyes with Pete – accepting the challenge that he’d laid out so clearly. “Macau was a virgin.”

“So then you should have no trouble taking them both.” Pete smiled, bright – and for the first time tonight – real.

Vegas shuddered at that.

Well, at that, and the press of Kinn’s fingers against his twitching hole. Everything about Kinn was just…proportional. From his height to the breadth of his shoulders to his hands to his unfairly perfect dick. Which meant that compared to Pete’s hands – which were by no means small – two of Kinn’s fingers pressing inside with very little warning and nothing more than saliva for lube was enough to earn a sharp groan from Vegas.

He didn’t look away from Pete, though, until his body started to relax, and Porsche dragged him back in for a kiss.

Vegas was quick to fire up, but slow to relax. He knew it, Macau knew it, Pete knew it. Sometimes it took a little while for him to get warmed up, for Pete to be able to sink more than a finger inside of him without Vegas hissing. Relaxing took time, effort, and occasionally pharmaceutical aid. But Vegas opened up effortlessly around Kinn’s fingers.

He’d never managed to keep Kinn out. Not really.

Porsche reached over him to tug on Kinn’s hair and pull him over for a kiss to be shared right in front of Vegas. A sloppy, lazy kiss that had Vegas burning with jealousy even as Kinn dragged his fingertips over Vegas’ prostate.

“And now– kiss him.” Porsche shoved Kinn down, pressing his cheek against Vegas’.

It wasn’t particularly dissimilar from their first kiss. There was eye contact, a burning need between them, and then a gap closed. The angle was awkward. Vegas was twisted enough that if he held this position he’d feel it tomorrow, but the taste of Kinn’s mouth – whiskey and smoke, lightning striking between them – made everything worth it.

Vegas was so entranced by the kiss that he almost missed the third finger, spreading him wider. It had been years, but his body knew – his body belonged to Kinn in a way that no amount of years with Pete was ever going to replicate. Vegas was okay with that. He hoped Pete was okay with it. It didn’t make him love Pete any less.

Something cold drizzled over Vegas’ hole, making him gasp into Kinn’s mouth.

A dark, familiar chuckle. “Four would be a bit much without some lube, don’t you think, Vegas? We don’t want Kinn and Porsche to actually tear you open.”

Kinn froze at that, breaking away from the kiss and staring off into the middle distance. His body gave a viscous shudder, and then he drew in a long, shaky breath. His fingers stilled but didn’t pull out. Porsche reached up to gently turn his face back towards the two of them.

Vegas was all too familiar with the glassy-eyed, far-away look that filled Kinn’s face. Trauma was a bitch. “Did my father do that to you?” He asked, grinding himself back against Kinn’s fingers. “You wouldn’t hurt someone like that, Kinn.”

“You’re so gentle, love.” Porsche said, leaning up to kiss Kinn in small, controlled pecks. “You’re careful. You’re not like him.”

Well.

Not in temperament, or in actions. But he had, in fact, methodically fucked his way through his entire family, and even into his fiance’s family. So, there were undeniable similarities between Kinn and his father. But Vegas didn’t want to think about that anymore.

It took a few minutes, but Kinn eventually came back to himself, shaking his head and leaning in to reciprocate the soft kisses Porsche offered him. “I didn’t realize I was still so affected by it.”

“You should ask Tankhun for the number to his therapist.” Pete said, pressing a finger playfully against Vegas’ stretched hole, adding one of his own amidst Kinn’s three thick ones. “But first, you should let Porsche fuck Vegas before he gets too loose.”

It took a few disorienting minutes of bodies shifting, but eventually, Vegas was kneeling on either side of Porsche’s hips, his hands pulled back behind him, both of them held tightly in one of Kinn’s as Kinn pulled him down onto Porsche’s cock. It was a nice cock. Not as thick or as long as Kinn’s, but with the prep, Vegas sank down onto it with a comfortable stretch that let him focus instead on the pull in his shoulders from how Kinn held him.

“We let Macau come once before Porsche fucked him.” Kinn whispered, against Vegas’ ear. “He couldn’t hold out, pretty young thing.” Kinn sucked a mark into the side of Vegas’ neck. “Just like you, back then.”

Vegas shivered at the reminder that once he’d been just like Macau – young, vulnerable, and infatuated with Kinn’s power and presence.

“Vegas can hold out.” Pete said from where he was perched on the bed beside them, still mostly clothed aside from where he’d opened his pants to grant himself access to his dick. “Right, Vegas?”

Vegas’ eyes narrowed at Pete. He should have seen that coming – he should have seen all of this coming. “Of course I can.” He rocked his hips up and down, one of Kinn’s hands guiding the motion. Porsche was shockingly quiet, staring at Kinn over Vegas’ shoulder.

“Fuck – I’m not sure I can.” Porsche shifted so that he had better leverage, his overwhelming athleticism making it unfairly easy for him to piston his hips upward, driving deep into Vegas. “And you’re not gonna tell me I – fuck – have to.” Porsche gripped Vegas’ face and dragged him down for a kiss.

It tore Vegas in two directions, his arms wrenched back by Kinn, his body pulled forward by Porsche. Trapped between their physical forms and Pete’s gentle, non-negotiable commands. He shuddered.

It didn’t take much longer for Porsche to come, burying himself deep inside Vegas and coming with a loud curse. Kinn chose then – naturally – to press his fingers back in – two again, enough to shock Vegas into a shout – beside Porsche’s half-hard cock. “You’re still so tight.” Kinn hissed. “You’ve been fucked so many times.”

“Years of pretending to be dominant will do that to someone.” Pete said, his words cutting to the bone; a blatant, matter-of-fact truth. “And stress.”

“I can take it.” Vegas grunted, his dick trapped between his body and Porsche’s stomach. Porsche whimpered against the pillow, his body shuddering through the oversensitivity, which was not helped by Kinn’s fingers stroking his dick from inside of Vegas. “I can – fuck, just fuck me.”

Kinn – surprisingly, somewhat – didn’t actually object, but he must have looked at Pete, who shrugged. “His body, his choice, right?”

“Just go slow.” Vegas said, tugging his arms out of Kinn’s grasp and settling against Porsche’s chest.

Kinn started slow. Sinking into Vegas, filling him up, stretching him to his limit. Or it felt like Vegas’ limit. Surely he couldn’t be stretched wider. Vegas breathed with the pain, the stretch, the sense of fullness as a warm, fuzzy sensation settled over his brain. He got like this with Pete, when Pete was hurting him, and the pain and pleasure twisted together into a knot inside of him.

“You feel so good, Vegas, you always, fuck, always make it good.” Kinn rumbled, his slow thrusts reaching deep inside of Vegas.

Porsche was starting to get hard again, his cock filling out alongside Kinn’s as he clutched at the sheets. He should have been clutching at Vegas, should have dug his nails into Vegas’ shoulders blades, or pulled some more at Kinn’s hair.

But Porsche didn’t know how to hurt him. Not like Kinn did, and certainly not like Pete.

Vegas dragged his teeth over Porsche’s pecs but he couldn’t bring himself to bite. Not when Kinn was murmuring soft, sweet compliments about how good he felt. How tight he was. How sweet Vegas was for him. For them.

For all of them.

“Feeling good?” Pete was louder than Kinn, his words should have pushed Kinn’s out of Vegas’ brain but instead Vegas had all the room in the world for words. He was an empty shell, made to take what was given to him; dicks, words, anything.

The next thrust from Kinn’s cock pushed the words out of Vegas, “It could be better.”

Porsche’s chest jumped, silent laughter shaking through all three of them as Kinn made the world’s most offended grumble.

“How?” Kinn gripped Vegas’ hips tightly, pulling him down on their dicks.

“Pete could be fucking my face.”

It’d be a lot, maybe too much, with Kinn and Porsche forcing him open and Pete filling him up. Vegas wanted it though. He wanted to feel Pete with him.

“Next time.” Pete promised.

Next time. Maybe there’d be a next time. Maybe this would be a one time thing. Maybe this would be the finale, the book-end of his relationship with Kinn, one last fuck for the road. Or maybe there would be a next time, and a time after that.

Tears rolled down Vegas’ cheeks.

“Macau cried too, you know.” Porsche cupped Vegas cheeks before he licked the tears off his face.

Vegas wanted to tell Porsche to fuck off but he only had so much breath in his body and Kinn was trying to fuck it all out of him. When Porsche started moving two, the two dicks inside of him sliding back and forth, overwhelming him with the sensation of getting fucked twice over Vegas lost the ability to speak entirely. It wasn’t something he was used to. He liked to talk, to critique, even with Pete he was a bit of a brat pushing Pete to punish him in the way he needed. Fucking Vegas so hard that words failed him had always been a special skill of Kinn’s, though.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Porsche murmured and Kinn agreed. He tugged Vegas up, away from Porsche, holding him close as he pistoned his hips into Vegas’ willing hole.

“So good, so good.” On the crest of orgasm, Kinn dragged his tongue over Vegas’ stretched out throat.

“I’m sorry.” The words were less than a whisper, more the motion of lips on skin and Vegas’ foolish heart. They were just for him. They cut deeper than any of the knives in Pete’s collection.

With tear stung eyes, Vegas twisted away from Kinn, falling towards Porsche, but he couldn’t see anything, just blurs of dark hair and golden skin. All he could feel was the hot press of Porsche’s hands on his arms, Kinn’s hand on his dick, and the aching stretch of Kinn and Porsche’s cocks, the slick slide of lube and pre-cum and sweat.

“You can come now, Vegas.”

Pete’s words shivered through him from the soles of his feet up to the top of his head, shaking him at his core.

“Fuck.”

Vegas clamped down on Kinn and Porsche’s cocks when he came, shouting at how good it felt. Too good, as his orgasm shattered him, his dick twitching in Kinn’s grip. It was too much.

Kinn kept stroking him even after he’d finished coming, even after his dick had gone soft, and Porsche and Kinn kept fucking him, even after Vegas went limp between them.

“Got all tight,” Porsche grunted, his thrusts becoming erratic, “now you’re all loose.”

“Tug on his hair, Porsche,” Pete suggested. “He’ll tighten up.”

Even though he complained, Porsche didn’t seem to mind how ‘loose’ Vegas had gotten. He was fucking him faster, harder, his breath catching on a moan. Pete’s instructions were ignored and Vegas was left to clench helplessly, his body shuddering with every thrust, unable to really focus on tightening up when the oversensitivity set fire to his nerve endings.

Kinn caught Porsche in a kiss, pulling him in by the back of his neck and holding him there, kissing him breathless at the edge of Vegas’ vision.

Vindictively, Vegas twisted Porsche’s nipples. Both of them. At the same time.

Porsche came with a shout that Kinn dampened with his tongue, swallowing the noise, drinking Porsche in.

Broad hands on Vegas’ hips pulled him away and come dripped from his ass when Porsche slipped out. No, when he was dragged out as Vegas was dragged away, pulled tight against Kinn’s broad chest. Porsche chased after Kinn’s mouth, the two of them squeezing Vegas tightly between them.

And then Kinn pushed Porsche away.

“Wha—” Vegas gasped.

Pete helped turn him around so he was sitting on Kinn’s lap, riding him, the two of them face to face. It had been a long time since he and Kinn had to look each other in the eye.

Kinn had such deep, dark eyes and a mouth, so plush and red. Vegas wanted to see it even redder– wanted –

“Yeah?” Pete’s voice, so soft and deep. “Do it.”

Vegas lunged.

Was it the best kiss in his life? Perhaps. Years of waiting made the flavor sweeter, made it hotter. The stretch of Kinn inside of him, the dampness of Porsche’s come, and Pete’s hand on his back.

Pete’s arm across his chest, pulling him back.

And then Pete kissed him, claiming him. Pete, pressing down on the bruise he’d left days ago, his hand marking Vegas’ thigh. The only bruise Vegas had. Pete had been so careful lately, careful not to leave behind marks. Obviously there had been a plan, Pete had wanted him to come here as a clean canvas. Mostly clean, anyway, with Pete’s signature scrawled on his skin in the language of violence.a

They had talked about the possibility of a tattoo.

Teeth bit down on Vegas’ bottom lip as Pete pulled away from the kiss. He dragged on Vegas' lip until it ached and Vegas whined, following the pull and lifting off Kinn’s cock.

And Kinn pulled him back down, tearing him away from Pete. Blood dropped from Vegas’ split lip and splattered over Kinn, a trail of tiny droplets crawling up his chest to his chin.

Horror briefly clouded Kinn’s eyes.

Vegas licked his lips and smiled with blood stained teeth. “Don’t freak out, I like it.”

True to form, he clenched around Kinn, tight as a drum around Kinn’s tight cock, the pain of his split lip helping him focus. Vegas didn’t mind being on top when he was on top but there was a specific vulnerability when bottoming. He’d never liked riding cowboy, his thighs would burn and his back would ache and if he had to do it long enough he’d struggle, dripping sweat and shaky.

It was Pete’s favorite position for a number of reasons. Pete liked watching Vegas work, he loved watching Vegas work, whether it was working to take his cock, or listening to instructions, or torturing someone until they screamed. Pete never looked away from Vegas.

Kinn stared up at Vegas with awe in his gaze, with a lightness to his expression that Vegas wasn’t sure he had ever seen.

“Vegas.”

It was too much, hearing Kinn say his name, feeling Kinn inside of him, suffering that bright regard.

Kinn’s hand stroked up his side, its destination clear, the move so slow that Vegas could have stopped it. If he had wanted to stop it. The callouses Kinn had from firing a gun or holding a knife, the ones thick and heavy on his fingers from holding a pen, were rough on Vegas’ tender feeling skin. His hand was hot. Kinn cupped his cheek, softly, ever so softly.

And then it was Kinn who pulled him down for a brilliant, bloody kiss. Gently, handling Vegas like an antique crystal wine glass that might shatter at any time.

It hurt Vegas, a soul-deep pain almost as terrible as Pete squeezing his sac just then, ruining his orgasm.

Vegas scrabbled at Kinn’s chest as fingers, not Pete’s, were pushed inside of him alongside Kinn's cock.

“Porsche.” Kinn mouthed against his lips.

“Just helping out.” Porsche said.

Protesting came naturally to Vegas, he was a bit of a brat. His complaints were smothered by Kinn’s tongue, his whine breathed into Kinn’s lungs. The barest brush of Pete’s fingers on his shoulders suppressed the rest.

“You can take it.” Pete said. “And don’t come yet.”

You will take it, was what Pete meant.

“Porsche.” Kinn groaned when Porsche’s fingers twisted around his dick, jerking him off inside Vegas, like Vegas was nothing but a fancy heated fleshlight for them to fuck around with.

Kinn pulled out when he came, coming from the slide of Porsche’s grip to dampen Vegas’ thighs and crotch. If Pete hadn’t been so cruel with the squeeze to his nuts, maybe Vegas would have come again, or maybe he’d have already come; but Pete’s words rang though his mind. Don’t come yet. It left him just existing with the awkward hum of arousal and pleasure and pain sinking into his skin, and wondering what on earth was left to come.

He collapsed onto Kinn’s chest, burying his burning face against Kinn’s neck.

“Do you have a good grip on him?” Pete asked, somewhere far away. Vegas didn’t bother to lift his head. “He’s pretty loose, but this – he might still react.”

“What are you – oh holy shit.” Porsche didn’t get a chance to finish the question.

Vegas felt it, felt every bit of it. The cool press of Pete’s fingers. Four– no – five. A cone pressing into him, not quite wider than two dicks had been, but still forcing his body open – making space inside Vegas. “Breathe.” Pete said, just loud enough to penetrate the quiet hum that filled Vegas’ ears.

And then he pressed his entire fucking hand into Vegas. It was so fast. It burned. It was perfect. Vegas’ dick was so hard, and even the abuse to his balls couldn’t keep them from drawing up close to his body. He didn’t remember how to speak – he couldn’t feel anything– not his arms or his legs or his tongue. His entire being was wrapped around Pete’s fist.

“He took that so easily.” Porsche whispered.

“You two made it easy.” Pete said.

He flexed his hand, opening and closing it, pressing his fist deeper into Vegas, forcing his body to open wider, far deeper than the widest parts of Porsche and Kinn’s cocks had been. Vegas keened, unable to form words but able to form sounds. He was so hard. It hurt so – so good.

“You can come, Vegas.” Kinn said, against the shell of Vegas’ ear.

“Don’t you dare.” Pete snarled. “You’re not his anymore, Vegas.”

Vegas felt split apart – by words, by dicks, by Pete’s fist, making room inside of him. He whimpered, grinding down against Kinn’s stomach but trying his very best to hold out.

“Good boy.” Pete said. “Lift him up, Porsche.”

Warm hands pressed into his shoulders, pushed him up and back, sinking him impossibly deeper onto Pete’s hand. His other hand snaked around, pressing against the flat of Vegas’ stomach, and Vegas forgot how to breathe when he could feel the hand inside of Pete pressing against the one on the outside of him.

“Holy shit.” Porsche’s eyes were impossibly wide.

Vegas’ dick twitched again, now without anything to grind against. Pete pulled the fist inside back out, bringing it so his knuckles rubbed directly against Vegas’ prostate. “You can come now, Vegas. Ah– No.” Porsche had reached for Vegas’ dick. “Just from this.”

Vegas could come untouched once – but twice – and after everything his body had been through – he wasn’t sure.

Not until he was coming.

And that was the last thing he knew for a while.

–

Kinn stood in the bathroom for a long time, staring at himself in the mirror. He stood there long enough that the fog from the shower had faded, the condensation that Kinn had wiped away so he could see himself was long gone and the entire bathroom was exposed. It was not as big a bathroom as the one Kinn had back at the tower. It was not even as big as Vegas’ bathroom in the minor family house, or the bathroom at the safehouse that Kinn had taken Porsche to a few months ago.

(A short weekend trip for Porsche’s birthday to a ‘tiny’ house at the seaside and a little ramshackle ‘bar’ Kinn had someone build on the beach.)

Sometimes, when Kinn and Vegas had met up at the hotel, they’d fuck in the shower. Or over the sink. Kinn had bent Vegas over a counter not much different from the one he now braced himself on, he’d fucked his cousin while he stared at their reflections, unable to look away from the pretty little O Vegas’ open mouth made. Vegas had sucked him off in the shower, soap in Kinn’s hair and his eyes shut so tight that stars flashed across his eyelids.

Cold water dripped down Kinn’s neck from his still wet hair. He needed to get out of the bathroom, to towel off and blow-dry his hair, he needed to let everyone else have a turn to wash up. He had to stop staring at himself.

But he was frozen. Staring a face in the mirror that he couldn’t quite recognize. It wasn’t lined by age, but streaked with tears. His shoulders were broad but he had less bulk– and his eyes. His eyes, his gaze – it was empty.

The bathroom at the club that Kinn had limped into had been small, but Kinn had been smaller back then too. He’d pushed it from his memory, tried to ignore the pain that sat there, just under his skin, hidden beneath the years of controlling his world, beneath the sight of Gun’s blood on the morgue floor, slow, lethargic, an unhealthy deep red. It was less satisfying than it would have been if Gun had been alive, but it had healed a piece of Kinn.

A piece of Kinn that had watched blood run down his own leg. That had wiped tears from his face and called for his most loyal bodyguard – the only one he could trust –

“You’re going to make Porsche worry about you.”

Kinn reached for a gun that wasn’t there as he turned to look at Pete, who had helped himself into the small bathroom while Kinn had been lost in the past. Pete, who had kept the secret for years, when he could have turned it against him at any time. Who had only used it now because Kinn had been hurting Vegas because of it.

Hurting himself too, possibly. Kinn wasn’t sure. He was too close right now to untangle his thoughts and feelings, now all he wanted was to feel numb.

To look in the mirror and not see the ghost of his uncle sitting behind his eyes.

“Porsche is asleep.”

Probably. He had been half-asleep when Kinn promised to be right back and had disappeared into the bathroom for half-an-hour. The fact that Kinn had left his sleeping cousin and his almost-asleep boyfriend in the same room as Pete, who was wide-awake, probably said that despite the agony Kinn felt when he looked Pete in the eye, he still trusted him. He still trusted Pete to protect the people who were important to Kinn. Even if Kinn wasn’t sure he trusted Pete to protect him anymore.

A small smile flickered across Pete’s face, there and gone again, the kind of smile that spoke to it being real instead of the wide, silly smile Pete would paste on so people didn’t look past it. “He is.” A beat. “You are worrying me, then.”

The ache inside of Kinn pulsed. “You weren’t worried about me when you had Porsche trick me into coming here.”

Pete was still fully dressed. He had come to the hotel dressed far softer, far more casual, than he ever had in Kinn’s employ but that didn’t mean he hadn’t come armed. Standing in the small bathroom in nothing but a knotted towel, Kinn was vulnerable, open, and if both Porsche and Vegas were asleep, maybe Pete could get away with killing him. The killing blow would have to be quick and sure because otherwise Kinn wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“I was.”

Kinn blinked.

“I was worried.” Pete repeated, “I wasn’t sure this was a good idea at all. Whether you’d changed so much you wouldn’t understand what I was trying to show you. Or if you’d kill me before Vegas or Porsche could get in the way. And I didn’t know if Vegas…”

Pete drifted off.

“I knew he needed this. But I wasn’t sure if he’d want it.”

Kinn studied Pete, trying to read through what he knew was an unreadable mask. It was how they trained their bodyguards. And Pete was – had been – the very best of them. “What about what you wanted?”

Pete’s eyes flicked up towards Kinn, the corners of his lips quirking. “I just want Vegas.” He said.

“Even after what I’ve done to him?” The words hurt – tore their way out of Kinn’s throat. The vulnerability made him squirm. He was almost sure that there was no one else alive that he could imagine being in this room with him.

Pete blinked a few times, considering the question. “He’ll be okay. Eventually.” He stepped closer, cocking his head to the side. “Will you, though?”

A fantastic question. Maybe, one day, Kinn would have an answer.

Whether Pete saw that or something else in Kinn’s face, he nodded, accepting it. Then he stepped past Kinn to the sink, washing his hands with quick movements. Kinn didn’t fail to notice that Pete kept his head bowed. Perhaps he too had trouble looking at himself in the mirror.

When Pete touched him, his hands were cold, cool from the water he’d just washed them with. His movements were slow, choreographed, so that Kinn could see them coming and make a decision on how to react. Pete had always been good at that. Whether he was handling Kinn or Tankhun or Vegas, he was very good at being gentle.

Or perhaps he was just good at giving them what they needed.

When Pete leaned in close, Kinn saw it coming and braced for the blow.

Lips, slightly chapped, with breath that smelled like peppermint candy and the faintest hint of iron, brushed over Kinn’s mouth. It was only a kiss in the technical sense, lips connecting for a moment in time, and then Pete had stepped back with his hands tucked behind him, his wrists no doubt properly crossed.

The next move was Kinn’s. He could have followed up on that kiss, could have pulled Pete in for another and made it a real kiss, a proper kiss. He could have dropped his towel. Maybe if he ordered Pete to his knees, Pete would have gone through with it, and maybe he would have acted as sweet and subservient for Kinn as he had once for Vegas. Kinn didn’t think he’d enjoy the kind of pain play that Pete and Vegas did, but maybe he could handle a little cruelty in the bedroom.

He seemed to have dished out plenty of it on his own.

When they stepped out of the bathroom Porsche was sitting up on the bed, nowhere near as asleep as Kinn had thought he was. Vegas’ head was in Porsche’s bare lap, his cheek on Porsche’s thigh as Porsche combed his fingers through Vegas’ sweaty hair.

“I thought you two might have killed each other.” Porsche spoke carelessly but there was an edge of real fear in his voice and he couldn’t stop himself from glancing from Pete to where he’d stashed Kinn’s gun. “Or something.”

Or something. Kinn rolled that thought in his head again and then shelved it. He really was too tired to figure this all out.

Porsche traded spots on the bed with Pete, Vegas’ head now lying against Pete’s pants covered leg. In his sleep, Vegas’ face scrunched up, clearly displeased at the change.

“Your hair’s soaked, c’mon, we have to dry that off before you sleep.”

Kinn wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep in that bed, he hadn’t planned on it, but he hadn’t planned on leaving either. If he left before Vegas woke up, it would hurt him, and Kinn had decided he’d had enough of hurting Vegas.

Porsche wrapped an arm around Kinn’s shoulder and held him close, tugging him toward the bathroom door to grab the hair dryer. His mouth lingered close to Kinn’s ear and his voice was soft.

“Are you okay?”

Again, Kinn couldn’t give an answer. But just like Pete, Porsche looked at him and seemed to find an answer of his own.

Again, Kinn hoped that one day, he’d be able to find the answer for himself.