Overheat [kinnporsche & vegaspete]

the danger ahead

Pete was used to the attention. Vegas could not imagine someone just sitting in a corner, watching him without saying anything. He'd have gone mad after the first minute. By the fifth, he'd have his gun out. But Pete seemed to thrive with it, live in it. Love it, even.

Which was a win/win situation because Vegas was satisfied with just the view. Besides, there was the very real chance that if Pete talked too much, he'd break the spell Vegas was under. Most people did. They rambled on, with the impression that Vegas would think them interesting for their insight.

Not Pete.

Worldly as he was, he knew what he was doing. At some point, Vegas realized that the only reason Pete was still on that mat in the most suspicious positions was solely for Vegas' benefit.

But then people started coming to the gym. Another reason why Vegas didn't use public gyms. Left to him, he'd have reserved the entire gym for the day. But that would be too much. He just met Pete. And the play's production team needed the hotel's amenities. Putting the actors out of any of their activities would just put more pressure and negative attention on Porsche's back.

He could just remain in place. Pete didn't seem to mind the added audience. But Vegas hated it. The thought of other people enjoying a show that was clearly meant for only Vegas, put a sour taste in his mouth.

He stood, as Pete looked up.

"You're leaving?"

"I was out all night. I need to get some sleep."

"Oh," he said, standing as well. "Same time tomorrow?"

Vegas didn't even hesitate.

"Yes," he agreed, unable to help the smile.

"Maybe then, you can actually join me... instead of just watching."

Vegas assessed that in his mind, waiting for the regular chill of casually touching another person for any reason other than to inflict pain or to fuck. But it didn't come. He could imagine it, though. He could see himself on the mat with Pete, letting his body be bent this way and that, not for pleasure, but not for pain either. At least not the type of pain that Vegas' could give.

He wondered what Pete would think of that. If he knew what Vegas was like on the inside, would he be this eager to offer his free time? Would he welcome Vegas' touch when Vegas' fingers were coated with the blood, sweat and tears of countless others?

"It's fine if you don't want to," Pete said, worriedly.

"No, I want to," he replied quickly. "I'll be here," he promised as he waved at Pete, moving backwards to give himself one last view before he exited the gym.

***

Ignoring all the missed calls and texts, Vegas fell onto his hotel bed and didn't wake up for hours.

***

The sun was setting when Vegas opened his eyes. His phone was, once again, vibrating beside him.

"What?" he said, placing his phone on his ear.

"Where the fuck have you been?"

Vegas sat up as soon as he heard his father's voice.

"Papa, I-"

"You said you would handle Charlem. Why the fuck did he send the papers back without signing them?"

Vegas clenched his jaw as he pressed his fist into the bed.

"I was with him last night. He said-"

"You can never do anything right."

"Give me a break, Papa."