Tanned Leather & White Lace [+18]

4

Every one of Vegas' battles ends in defeat.

Since he was a child, for as long as he can recall, he never came out on top. Wether it was at school, in sports, inside the four walls of the family house, in front of his dad or his cousins.

Vegas tried, he really did, but as the time passed, as he grew older, he realized there was no point in battling shadows—shadows of his past, of his fears that took the shape and the form of his father.

No child should have to fight those battles, those battles his father lost way before him. But Vegas did, and it probably started while he was still in his mother womb. He did it to protect himself, to protect his little brother. He fought those battles he knew weren't even his, those useless and pointless fights. Even though his father was long gone now, Vegas knew he'd always be the second choice, the afterthought, the heir, never the lead, to a pointless legacy.

Vegas felt like an orphan even when his dad was alive. Only blood sealed the curse of his destiny, a curse he still carries to this day, and will probably carry into his grave. Even though the only place his father could haunt him now was in his nightmares, Vegas still wished that someday he'll be the one with his fist raised high in victory.

A victory for everything he ever dreamed of, everything that vanished like a puff of smoke in his teenage years. A victory he's made his own now. He never said it out loud, and he will probably never admit it, but this was why he was still here, trying to make sense of a situation that never had one in the first place.

Taking on Kinn and the first family. A battle that became the essence of his existence. Vegas always claimed he had nothing to prove, and yet, he spent his whole life trying to prove himself. To prove he was worthy of anything else but rage, shame, and resentment. Worthy of trust, of being seen as reliable.

Vegas was alone, alone with himself, alone in his rage, and when nothing, no one is there to show you the way, it was sure easier to hate than to love. This was all he knew after all, all he ever experienced. He stopped expected, hoping, he stopped trying to fight and eventually came at peace with it.

Until last night.

Last night, he glimpsed another perspective. It wasn't the old duality of black and white, nor the one he had imposed on himself long ago. It was hope. The hope he thought had died the day his mother took her last breath suddenly resurfaced when he found himself lying there in the middle of his office, cradling the naked body of this pretty man. Feeling the gentle rise and fall of Pete's chest against his hand, the rhythmic and soothing breathing that lulled him to sleep. Hearing the sigh of content slipping through Pete's lips as Vegas' arms wrapped around him, tightening their embrace. Warm, soft, reassuring.

It felt like hope was blooming like beautiful flowers all around them in that space they created just for themselves. The hope of waking up to those eyes the next morning, looking back at him with that same smile that took his breath away. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in years—being content for a fleeting moment, just a hush, a breath.

In those eyes, he saw a hand painting with beautiful pastel colors another scenery, maybe a better future for himself, for his brother, for his name, warming his chest, his gut, and his soul. For a lifetime or just two hours he thought he'd never get... Two hours of a night he never imagined would turn out like this—a night he wished never happened, yet never wanted to end.

Vegas blinked slowly, standing on this parking lot in front of his club, now just a ruin, his eyes fixed on the car lights fading into the horizon, taking that pretty man, the ennemy, away with them. And he didn't understand why the lump in his throat was even harder to swallow.

"We should head back, Khun Vegas,"

Nop's voice pierced through Vegas's thoughts, his eyebrows slightly raising. He knew. He knew he should already be on his way home, he knew he should rest to be able to focus on the urgency of the situation. Yet, his gaze remained fixated in the darkness, on the horizon, where those car lights were dwindling into tiny dots.