From Frost to Flame

Part 36- One Step Closer

As the guest room door clicked shut behind him, Vegas leaned against the hallway wall, the quiet settling around him like a second skin. The soft yellow light from the guest room still lingered in his mind—Pete standing there, eyes wide with surprise, that gentle look on his face. He looked... beautiful. Ethereal, almost.

 And for a brief second, Vegas had simply stood there, watching, something tight curling in his chest.

Then Pete turned, and the spell broke. Vegas handed him the clothes wordlessly and left, but the image clung to him like warmth in winter. He didn't mean to look back—but his feet moved faster than his thoughts, as if afraid his gaze might betray too much.

Back in his room, he closed the door behind him with a soft thud and dropped into the chair by the window. Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling—eyes wide open, thoughts louder than ever. The balcony door had been left ajar, letting in the night air. It swept through the room in quiet waves, fluttering the edges of the curtains and bringing with it the scent of rain and faraway jasmine.

Needing something to ground him, Vegas stood, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and stepped out onto the balcony. The glass was cold in his hand. The sky above was dark, stars tucked behind clouds, but the wind was alive—restless, like him. And as he leaned on the railing, sipping slowly, the silence whispered with thoughts he couldn't outrun.

Thoughts of Pete.
Thoughts he shouldn't be having.

Vegas's mind replayed the evening on a loop, every moment with Pete clinging tighter than it should. It started with the simplest thing—holding hands during the game. Pete's hand had slipped into his with a hesitant kind of warmth, soft and unsure, like he wasn't quite certain if he should stay... but he didn't pull away either.

Vegas remembered how that small touch had unraveled him. Just their fingers entwined, and everything else had fallen quiet. No noise. No people. Just Pete—and the sound of his own heartbeat thudding loud in his ears. He'd held on longer than he meant to. Maybe longer than he should've.
There had been no threat. No fear. Just... something human. Fragile. Real.

And when Pete had to sit in his lap as a part of the dare, Vegas had scoffed, tried to play it off. But when Pete actually started walking toward him—slow, cautious—it knocked the air from his lungs. He hadn't expected Pete to listen, let alone move. But the second he did, everything shifted. When Pete lowered himself onto his lap, every nerve in his body had lit up. He didn't even realize his hand was already reaching out, hovering behind Pete's waist as if to guide him. Steady him, he told himself.

But the moment Pete settled in his lap, all that calm he'd worked so hard to build—shattered.

His body had gone stiff, muscles locked in place like moving might make it worse. He'd never been more aware of his own breathing. Of Pete's weight, light but real. Of the warmth where their skin touched. He placed his hand gently on Pete's waist—not to hold, not to claim, just to make sure Pete didn't fall.
And maybe, just maybe, to remind himself that Pete was real.

But God, he could still feel it.

Pete had been nervous too. He didn't lean back, didn't relax, but he stayed. His fingers fidgeted at his sides. His lashes trembled every time their knees brushed. Vegas had kept his eyes forward, pretending to ignore it all, but his heartbeat was loud in his ears.
And beneath it, something else had crept in—something quiet and dangerous.
Something he didn't have a name for yet.

He took another slow sip of his drink, the whiskey sharp on his tongue.

His eyes drifted down again—settling on the car parked quietly below.

That's when the memory came back, uninvited but vivid.

Earlier that evening, Pete had fumbled with the seatbelt, his hands tugging awkwardly. Without thinking, Vegas had leaned over to help. Just a simple gesture. But it had brought him too close—close enough to catch Pete's scent, to feel the warmth of his skin under the collar. His breath had ghosted over Pete's neck, and in that instant, Pete had gone still. Not scared. Just... aware.

Their eyes met momentarily, and in that brief instant, something shifted.

Vegas had looked away first.

But he remembered the way Pete swallowed, the flush rising on his neck, the way the air had thickened between them. And now, standing here in the dark, glass in hand, that moment replayed itself like a quiet echo.

Vegas exhaled slowly, his jaw tight.

He remembered everything. Every tiny detail.
Every breath. Every brush of skin. Every second that had lingered just a bit too long.

This time he took a long sip of whiskey, hoping the burn would distract him.

It didn't.

Because Pete wasn't just under his skin anymore.

He was somewhere deeper. Somewhere dangerous.

Vegas scrubbed a hand down his face, cursing softly under his breath.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He had promised himself—never again. Never let someone that close. Never want something he couldn't have. He had learned that lesson the hard way—bloody and broken.

But Pete was undoing him without even trying.

And the worst part?

Vegas wasn't sure he wanted to stop it.

Hey everyone,

sorry for the shorter chapter this time around! Work's been a bit hectic, so I didn't have as much time as I'd hoped. But I promise, the next chapter will be longer and packed with more! Thanks so much for your patience.