but Red is mine [vegaspete]

To unbreakable boys

A/N: 

Trigger warning for non-con touching

***

"Just kill me already."

***

How interesting that Pete never fought back. He'd taken it all like a defiant little minx, sneering at Vegas, egging him on, practically begging Vegas to end his life. But how could he end it when it was too much fun? How could he stop when he'd never met someone so ready to die as Pete?

Intoxicating, really.

At first, it had irritated him how little fear he saw in those eyes, how Pete had slipped so easily from honorifics to calling Vegas by his name, almost as if he thought Vegas was beneath him. As if he believed Vegas to be a recalcitrant child with a toy.

He'd expected less, but with each hit, Pete seemed to blossom, a bud of thorns that never grew petals, that was ready to be cut down by the gardener. It was confusing to behold, really. Vegas could only imagine how hard he'd have to work to get Pete to fall back, to lean away from his touch.

Every time he approached, Pete leaned forward, snapping at him in the few moments when he wasn't laughing. Because he wanted to die.

If pain didn't work, and the fool wanted to die, family was the next best thing. Which was a bit underwhelming. If anything, Vegas wished he'd waited a bit. Because hearing the words, "I give up," hadn't caused the surge of power he'd hoped for.

Defeat, on Pete, felt nothing like defeat on everybody else: sweet for a fleeting second that was followed by a sour after taste. And not in a good way.

Cradling his head with the phone as he licked up the side of Pete's neck, Vegas wondered what it would feel like to have someone own you so much that your resolve crumbled at the mere mention of your name. To attach your happiness and sense of being to another person's safety to the point of wracking fear. Because it was doing strange things to Pete.

Vegas could tell, standing so close, caressing Pete while he shivered in Vegas' arms. He could feel Pete's heart beating in his chest like a jackhammer, as if seconds from bursting out. And it wasn't because Vegas was this close. It wasn't because Vegas had his mouth stuck on Pete's neck. It wasn't because of the looming threat of what Vegas might do to Pete himself, of what his obvious intentions were.

It was because Pete was scared for his grandmother. For another person.

How did someone who was ready to die turn around so quickly in muted fury as he wailed silently, while Vegas spoke to his mother? He could feel Pete's throat, working against his arm, struggling not to cry out. And Vegas loved this part. He almost loved Pete again.

The anger was back. It wasn't the same as before. It didn't carry the same defiance as someone who'd resigned himself to death did.

When Pete screamed to the top of his lungs at Vegas, Vegas reveled in the beauty of it all. Because this was what he wanted. This was what he craved. Pete could take every bit of what Vegas had planned.

And the mere thought of that was enough to bring a real smile to Vegas' face.

***

"I'm not choosing."

***

The room had started to reek, which wouldn't have been a problem if Vegas didn't have to go in there everyday. He was lonely, he'd admit. He couldn't tell any of his toys where he was, because he was on lockdown. So, really Pete was the only companion he had. His men weren't exactly the chatty types and they liked to stay invisible, disappearing until needed, just the way they'd been trained.