Vegas's Penthouse

The storm outside raged on, lightning illuminating the sky in sporadic bursts, each flash highlighting the sleek, modern lines of Vegas's penthouse. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from the city below casting long shadows across the luxurious furnishings. But all that registered for Pete was the intense, almost palpable tension between him and Vegas.

Pete's heart pounded, every beat echoing in his ears as he stood just a few feet away from Vegas. He could feel the heat emanating from Vegas's body, could sense the barely restrained desire in his eyes. The air was thick with anticipation, a charged silence hanging between them, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder.

Vegas took a step closer, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey. His dark eyes locked onto Pete's, filled with a mix of desire and something deeper, something more primal. Pete swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the intensity of Vegas's gaze. It was like being under a spotlight, every emotion, every thought laid bare.

"Pete..." Vegas's voice was low, almost a growl, filled with a kind of restraint that only added to the tension. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Pete's cheek, a touch so light it sent shivers down Pete's spine. "Are you sure about this? There's no turning back."

Pete's lips parted, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He could feel the magnetic pull between them, could see the struggle in Vegas's eyes—the battle between his desire to protect Pete and the burning need to claim him completely. But Pete knew what he wanted, what he needed. He had never been more certain of anything in his life.

"Fuck me raw," Pete whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the relentless pounding of the rain against the windows. Pete's heart raced, his voice growing stronger, more determined. "I want to feel it. I want to feel you, Vegas. All of you."

The effect of his words was immediate. The tension in Vegas's body shifted, his control slipping as the primal urge he had been holding back broke free. His eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous, something wild, flashing in them. He tightened his grip on Pete's chin, tilting his head up so their eyes met fully.

"You don't know what you're asking for," Vegas said, his voice rough, laced with the strain of holding himself back. But Pete could see the desire in his eyes, the need that matched his own.

Pete didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned into Vegas's touch, his hands coming up to rest on Vegas's chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his palm. "I know exactly what I'm asking for," Pete shot back, his voice steady, filled with a confidence that surprised even him. "I trust you, Vegas. I want this. I want you."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, with the depth of the connection they shared. For a moment, Vegas hesitated, searching Pete's eyes for any sign of doubt, any hint that he might not be ready for what he was asking. But all he found was determination, an unyielding resolve that left no room for hesitation.

A low growl escaped Vegas's throat as his control snapped. In one fluid motion, he pulled Pete into a fierce, possessive kiss, all the pent-up emotion and desire pouring into it. Pete responded with equal intensity, his fingers gripping the fabric of Vegas's shirt, pulling him closer as if he couldn't get enough. The kiss was a clash of need and passion, their tongues tangling in a battle for dominance, both refusing to back down.

Vegas's hands roamed over Pete's body, tracing the contours of his back, his waist, memorizing every curve, every shiver. Pete moaned into the kiss, his body arching into Vegas's touch, his skin burning with the need to be closer, to feel more. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the heat between them, the electric connection that sparked with every touch, every breath.