Can it even work? || VegasPete

Chapter 2

If there was something that Pete truly hated was soulmates. It's been three years since he met his and the only thing he found reasonable to do was to avoid him completely.

Pete didn't want anything to do with that bastard, that's what he called him all that time, but he actually never forgot that name.

Vegas.

Even years later it was stuck in his head like it was tattooed there permanently. He tried everything to erase it but none of it was enough, it stayed there written with waterproof ink.

Pete after a while trying, decided to just live with it. It hurt him more than he'll ever confess, the longing and the loneliness were every day stronger.

Why did it happen to him? Why did he always have his life so complicated even on the simplest matters?

In his mind though, Vegas' face started to become blurry, he would remember some key details he loved like his eyes, and he'd never forget those, but some features were getting fuzzy.

Pete looked around finding himself in an unfamiliar room, he didn't remember how he got there, he didn't remember anything about the previous night.

He tried to stop that incessant headache that clogged his mind, not making him think as he usually would.

When he got more in himself he noticed the smell he loved so much and that he has been avoiding like the plague, the smell was tamping the room and it was making him lose his mind.

Was Vegas there?

He looked on the other side of the bed to make sure he wasn't and that was right, it was empty.

Pete could only stare at that side of the bed, visibly used throughout the night, impregnated with his favourite scent. He wanted to get closer to have it cloud his mind completely but he chose not to, he ordered himself to stop now that he still could.

He got up from that bed noticing he had still his pants on while his shirt was completely gone, hidden in a corner of the room as if it was thrown there.

And Pete believed that was exactly how it went, he could see, now that he looked better, traces of consumed and tasted skin.

His finger unintentionally found their way to those marks that painted his candid skin red, some even purplish.

Pete found it a masterpiece, his fingers travelled on his chest tracing it all, trying to remember some detail of the previous night, to no avail.

He could feel the desire he'd been repressing for years coming back stronger than ever, the desire to have Vegas there with him was increasing beyond measure. It was no longer a desire but a need.

He needed Vegas right now.

Where was he now? Was it possible that he left Pete there alone after they had done something?

Perhaps he too was drunk and later regretted the night spent. It didn't seem so unlikely as he recalled past events and how he had been treated.

The more time passed the more certain he was that he and Vegas had done nothing more than scenting each other. He wasn't sure but he felt like it and he was definitely sure he hadn't been penetrated.

Also, the fact that his pants were still in place was a big indication that his theory made sense.

Yet what did Vegas expect to do by escaping like this? Pete couldn't help but add this to his list of things he hated Vegas for.

Pete quickly retrieved the shirt and put it on, not paying too much attention to the folds, and took out his phone to check the notifications.

There were a dozen missed calls from Porsche and twenty from Tankhun; from his hangover, he could figure out exactly what had happened.