Work Text
They’d gotten used to their routine. They’d gotten sloppy. Vegas had felt too safe
“I’m going out with friends!” Macau shouted from the front door. Vegas didn’t even get a chance to step out of his room and watch his brother leave, or to admonish him about curfews or bringing his cell phone. He glanced out the window at the car full of Macau’s friends waiting on the street, the engine still running, and didn’t even feel a clench at the sight of at least two teenagers he didn’t recognize on sight.
They’d gotten too comfortable.
A year and a half in Australia, 8 months in Perth itself. Enough time to establish connections, to form friendships, to grow used to it. Macau was settling into school. Vegas hadn’t heard anything about the Theerapanyakul family having ties to the city. Sydney had been right out, the import-export business that the main family kept clean and carefully controlled had a few ties there. There were ‘businessmen’ who might recognize Vegas.
“Be careful.” Vegas said to himself as the car sped away, Macau’s head tossed back as he laughed with friends.
Macau was good at making friends. The sullen and withdrawn kid that Vegas had needed to snap at regularly those first few months out of Bangkok blooming into a happy, if perhaps not healthy, teenager. He’d managed to make friends in every country they’d stopped at. Even when he was sulking and snappish and angry that first week, by the time they’d stepped off the cruise ship in Vietnam Macau had promised at least three girls he’d text them ‘as soon as he had a new phone’.
Not that he had, of course. Macau was friendly but he wasn’t dumb.
The worst had been the three months that Macau had spent in the south of France, unable to speak the language, seperated from Vegas for days at a time while Vegas fed misinformation and laid false trails with the Italians.
And even that, he’d come out of half-fluent with a string of broken hearts.
Vegas had come out of it with a healing gunshot wound and the hope his family would think he was dead.
Vegas examined himself in the mirror, his sweatpants hanging low on his thin hips. He could see the starburst scar of the gunshot wound on his stomach but only feel what it looked like in back.
He shucked his sweatpants and stepped into the shower, getting ready for the night ahead. There were a lot of steps to making sure a night out was a success. Picking out his clothes beforehand, cleaning himself inside as well as out, styling his hair and doing his makeup.
‘Not too much’, of course, the casual look that implied he was wearing less makeup than he was but still had a bit of flare to it. Drawing the eye to his best features, his eyes, his high cheekbones, and of course the moneymaker, his mouth.
He’d come a long way from knuckle-thick layers of basic foundation applied over a fresh bruise. He’d run a long way from the man who ordered him to ‘make nice’ with business associates and then slapped him for acting like a whore. For looking like one. Despite treating him like one.
Vegas dragged his thumb over his bottom lip and remembered the feeling of it splitting after he’d refused his father’s order to seduce Ken.
His work phone trilled, confirmation his ride was at the door, and Vegas shook off thoughts of the past. He shrugged into his white jacket and did up the single button that would hold it closed. A once-over in the mirror and then Vegas slipped his phone and a handful of necessities into his jacket before he stepped out the door and slipped into the night.
–
It was hardly his first visit to the Crown but Vegas wasn’t such a regular visitor that the staff would clock him as an escort. Though perhaps one or two of them had. There were only a few luxury hotels in the city but plenty of escort agencies and rich men looking for a chance to burn through their wallets. Vegas preferred to meet people at the Ritz-Carlton if he was to be honest. A bit boring, he’d admit, but he understood the kind of clientele that stayed at the Ritz. Generally someone from overseas, usually ten years older than Vegas at least.
Younger men might pick the Crown, or choose to slum it at a basic, boring, everyday hotel. If Vegas had his uncle’s money to burn and a choice of where to stay, he might have picked The Crown, if only for the bar.
“Looking for a friend?” The bartender was named Joseph and he had the kind of blonde-streaked hair and lined skin that spoke of a lot of time at the beach when he wasn’t behind a bar. He smiled at Vegas while mixing up his cocktail.
Vegas smiled back. He kept it gentle, and affable. “I’m waiting for someone.”
He was pretty sure he’d clocked the man earlier, a gentleman sitting alone at a table for three with empty plates in front of him and a glass of alcohol cradled in his hand. At a glance, Vegas was surprised to note that he likely wasn’t much older than Vegas. Vegas would estimate the man was, at most, thirty.
It sent unease down Vegas’ spine.
Vegas knew from the agency that the man was Thai. With a name like Time Ratanapakorn, it was pretty obvious. The family name hadn’t sent up red flags before, his father had never done business with the Ratanapakorns. Vegas had expected an older gentleman looking for a familiar face in an unfamiliar part of the world.
Not someone who could be—
Vegas took his drink from the bartender and did another quick check on his phone. The name hadn’t changed. The note about what the man would be wearing hadn’t changed. All that had changed was Vegas’ willingness to go across the room and—
“Is that the 1930s Cosmo?” A voice asked, accent thick and words clumsy. Vegas winced for his own sake as much as this man’s.
He glanced up. Time had thick, heavy, obviously manicured eyebrows. No one’s eyebrows looked like that naturally. A fair face and a wide nose with an unruly strand of hair escaping whatever product kept the rest of it slicked back. His eyes were dark and familiar, and his smile was… charming. Vegas did a few mental calculations.
“Do you want one?” Vegas nodded his head towards the bar. The tender had slipped down it to handle another customer but he doubted it would be long before Joseph was back. “They’re one of the bar’s specialties.”
He spoke in English. He was sure that if the man was from his father he’d have started off directly in Thai.
Actually, if the man had been sent from his father—
Vegas hid a laugh behind the rim of the cocktail glass and drowned it in the flavor of curaçao and roses. He was being paranoid. His father wouldn’t have bothered with hiring him. The money was already in the agency’s account, barring a tip straight to Vegas if the customer was satisfied at the end of the night. His father wouldn’t have bothered with that. His uncle Korn wouldn’t have either. Why bother paying for the pleasure of his company? Simply kidnapping him would have been quicker, easier, and faster.
Killing him would have been his father’s choice.
“No, thank you.” The man set his empty glass on the bar. “Another whisky, neat.”
Vegas noticed the man didn’t specify a brand. He hoped Joseph was charging him for the good stuff while slipping him something cheaper. In Vegas’ mouth, all whiskey tasted like was ((
his father’s disappointment
)) peat.
“Here on business?” Time asked when Joseph had filled his glass and stepped aside.
The cue was meant to be Vegas’ drink. He wouldn’t be the only one sipping on the pink cocktail, they were one of the hotel bar’s specialties. But Time would also have been sent a picture of what he looked like and the line…
Vegas smirked. ‘Here on business’ was innocuous.
Vegas decided he’d had enough. He slipped easily into Thai.
“I’m here for this kind of business.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Time’s crotch. It wasn’t a gentle grab. A more sensitive man might have hissed or winced. Time just raised those very impressive eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Are you sure you still want that drink?”
Time’s cock was larger than Vegas had expected. He could feel it in his grip, large enough that Vegas wondered if he should have stretched better. Maybe worn a plug to the party. But wearing a toy sometimes got a negative reaction from clients. Better not to risk it unless they asked.
Time tossed the glass of whiskey back quickly, definitely not giving it the chance to open up it needed, certainly not giving himself the chance to taste it. Then he wrapped a hand around Vegas’ wrist. “Let’s go.”
Vegas didn’t like to think of himself as small. He knew he was short, and so was his father, the tall genes seemed to have sided with his cousins. But he worked out hard for the muscles he did have.
Time’s hand encircled his wrist like it was nothing, the cool edge of a ring pressed against the heat of Vegas’ pulse. Vegas barely had time to set his own glass on the bar’s counter before he was pulled along.
Joseph didn’t try to stop them, presumably, he already had Time’s credit card number.
Vegas didn’t like small talk and he didn’t like exhibitionism. Still, plenty of clients liked to push their luck. To kiss him in the lounge or push him up against the elevator’s walls. Surprisingly after tugging him out of the bar and into the elevator, Time let him go. He’d stepped away to the other side of the elevator and pulled his phone out, his fingers moving across it, obviously sending off texts.
Vegas glanced at the two of them mirrored in the elevator’s copper-colored doors. Time was taller and broader. Under the crushed velvet jacket (which had Vegas sweating despite the hotel’s excellent air conditioning) he wore a black shirt open almost to his navel. It was a familiar sight. So was Time’s smell. It was more than the cologne he wore, though that was familiar too. It was the smell of whiskey and the faint hint of cigarettes mixed in with it. All Time needed was the scent of gunsmoke and Vegas would feel like he’d never left home.
Vegas’ back teeth itched. He wanted to ask Time where he was from. He wanted to ask what business brought him to Perth. He wanted to make the kind of inane small talk he hated, the prying personal questions that always offered up as much information about the interrogator as the interrogated. If he asked he opened himself up, he risked being caught out, and getting blood out of white was such a nuisance. Not to mention having to flee the hotel without getting caught by security.
“Have you been in Australia long?” Time asked instead when the elevator ride was halfway through. His gaze was still on his phone.
Vegas slid his tongue over the back of his canines. “All my life.”
It got him a slow slide of a look, a disbelieving quirk of an eyebrow. “Your Thai is very good, then.”
Vegas smiled. “You’re too kind.”
The elevator door slid open and Vegas followed Time out. He sauntered down the hallway, not bothering to keep up with Time’s quick stride. He admired the line of Time’s suit, the way his shoulders looked, the slight curls that escaped at the back of his head to brush his bare neck. He felt the arousal that had started to be dampened by fear and anger come back, curling warm and low in his stomach.
But then Time turned his head to smirk and something about it looked so
damn
familiar.
“Be my guest.” Time held the door open and motioned for Vegas to proceed him into the hotel room.
Casing the room was second nature. Vegas noted the second bathroom, the light on inside and the door left open. He saw the items left on the table by the couch in the lounge. The kind of everyday romance book picked up in airports across the world sat on top of a closed manila folder. Vegas spotted a closed laptop on the table, two chairs pushed slightly back. There were signs that Time had brought other people before.
It was all lit by the tall and wide windows showcasing the view of the quay and the fading sun.
When Time stepped up behind him Vegas stepped away, going deeper into the suite. Time’s presence was hard to ignore, Vegas could only imagine what it was like meeting the man on his own turf. Even in this rented hotel room he had left his stamp.
And on Vegas too.
Warm hands cupped his shoulders, stopping Vegas a step shy of the windows. “Running away?”
Like hell. Vegas turned with a smile, twisting under Time’s heavy hands. Time obviously liked to touch, something Vegas was used to, clients who felt the need to possessively mark Vegas as their own were the most boring kind. The most easily manipulated too.
“I just thought it was a perfect view,” he took a step back, leading Time forward, “it would be a shame to ignore it.”
Vegas felt the cold press of the glass against his back and came to a stop. Time had a complicated expression on his face, one Vegas couldn’t quite read, he didn’t bother to try. Time wasn’t worth that much attention.
The jacket had to come off. Vegas tossed it onto the end of the bed, on the folded bedspread that someone had thoughtfully turned down earlier. White on white on white. The button-up shirt was thin,
He arched his back, putting himself on display. He knew how to work his angles, he knew how to make himself look good.
“I thought you weren’t into exhibitionism.” Time stepped close. He radiated heat in the way that muscular men always did.
It was nice to know he’d read Vegas’ lists of do’s and do not’s. Vegas smirked, smoothed it out into a bright smile, and tipped his head back. “No one will see us up here.”
Something about the man made Vegas feel like he liked to be looked at, liked to be watched. It was probably the perfectly coiffed hair, the manicured eyebrows, and the brightly colored, expensive jacket. It was the spark in Time’s eyes whenever Vegas was caught looking.
Something about Time unnerved him. Vegas wanted to find out what it took for him to get his rocks off and leave. The booking might have been for all night but if Time was passed out facedown in the bed he wouldn’t know what time Vegas had checked out. And if Vegas wanted to be really sure Time stayed asleep he had more than condoms and lube in his jacket pocket.
He could tell that Time liked the sight of him splayed against the windows. It was more than just the fact Time was obviously hard in his slacks, it was the heat in his gaze and the eager way he reached for Vegas.
Time tugged the jacket off first and Vegas let him. He undid his shirt himself, unwilling to let the buttons be torn open. Or worse the shirt itself. Very few people understood how irritating it was to put on a shirt with buttons hanging loose or a tear a the seams.
“How do you want me?” Vegas started to slide down but Time’s hands on his ribs stopped him. Froze him. Pinned him against the window. Vegas tightened his arms defensively.
The ring felt familiar against the meat of his arm.
“How do these things usually go?” ‘Time’ asked while he held Vegas in place, that familiar feeling ring burning a hole in Vegas’ thoughts. Vegas hadn’t paid enough attention to Time’s fingers, to his hands, to that damn ring. He’d seen it out of the corner of his eye but he hadn’t
seen
it. He should have looked harder.
Panic made his eyes flash around the room before he hid it behind lowered lashes. He had a knife strapped to his ankle, and the drugs in the suit jacket, but all of that was out of reach right now. The belt could be used as a weapon but he’d need to take it off first. And ‘Time’ was holding him.
“Haven’t you done this before?” Vegas looked up at Time’s familiar face and felt his stomach drop. It wasn’t Tankhun staring back at him, his crazy cousin had agoraphobia last Vegas checked. He never left the house, barely left his rooms, and Vegas was pretty sure he’d never looked at a man or woman sexually.
Though Vegas supposed things could change over the years.
The man holding him was too old to be Kim.
The last time Vegas had seen Kinn he hadn’t grown into himself. He’d barely seen Kinn during their teen years, their father’s working to keep them apart and grow the animosity between them. And then during college Kinn had been too cool to spend much time with his younger cousin. Plus, the boyfriend.
If Kinn was sleeping with escorts the boyfriend must not be in the picture. Or Kinn was a sleazebag.
Or this man wasn’t Kinn.
Whoever he was, he slid his hands down to Vegas’ hips and held him there. The window was cold against his back but Vegas was sweating.
“I’ve done this before but I think I’d like to try something a little different.”
Maybe his father had replaced him, Vegas thought dizzily. Maybe it was some other family’s ring.
A broad hand braced against Vegas’ bare stomach, the Theerapanyakul family crest visible to the naked eye.
Vegas froze. His stomach flexed, and the hotel’s harsh lights glittered on the ring’s crest.
Maybe his father replaced him, he thought again.
But no, he knew better than that. His father would have happily made another child to mold into his own image but this man was older, if his father’d had the option of replacing him, he’d have done it before Vegas escaped.
“Condom.” Vegas said when he came back to himself, his pants around his ankles, trapping his legs in a tangle of fabric and a thin white leather belt. “I have condoms if you don’t.”
Kin had a hand, had
the
hand, the one with the ring, wrapped around Vegas’ soft cock. Vegas might have found the idea of Time arousing but the idea of
Kinn
… a guilty flutter in his cock was an answer to that.
“I don’t like them.” Kin didn’t even bother for Vegas to get hard before taking him in his mouth.
It wasn’t the first time someone had said that, had told Vegas they didn’t like condoms and insisted it felt better without them. Usually, that would signal an end. Vegas wasn’t afraid of leaving a customer with blue balls. He wasn’t afraid of leaving a customer with no balls either if things went too far.
But this was different.
Vegas cursed and bashed his head against the window, hoping for a moment of clarity from the pain. Get Kinn off quick, let him fuck you, get it over with and get out. Grab Macau. Run.
Run.
Run
.
Vegas’ leg twitched and a moment later it was hooked by Kinn, placed on Kinn’s shoulders to give him more room. Vegas twitched again, tossing his head to the side and placing his heated cheek against the window. He could see the skyline behind him, all of those people too far away to see him sink into shame.
“I’ve got,” he cursed when spit slick fingers dragged down behind his balls, teasing his taint, leaving a cool trail in their wake, “I’ve got—”
He’d already prepped himself before he came but he knew that with a cock as large as Kinn’s he was going to need more. And he
hated
being prepped with spit. He hated being rimmed. He didn’t even really enjoy having someone give him a blowjob.
It made him feel vulnerable, his pleasure in someone else’s hands.
“You’re bigger than I expected.” Kinn pulled his mouth off Vegas’ half-hard cock. Fingers speared Vegas open, two at once, slipping in straight to the second knuckle with little warning. Vegas yelped and bucked upward, arching forward toward’s Kinn and his hungry mouth. “Seems to run in the family.”
Finding a prostate quickly took experience. Kinn obviously had it. Vegas writhed as his prostate was mercilessly stimulated until his half-hard cock was fully erect and Kinn stroked the shaft and gave the tip of it soft, gentle kisses with barely any tongue. He wasn’t even licking it, much less sucking it.
So fucking
gentle
. Was he this gentle with all his whores?
“I want you to come.” Kinn murmured as he placed those gentle, indescribably soft kisses down Vegas cock. “How many times can you come in a night, do you know?”
Did he know?
Vegas shook his head. “And what about
you
—?” He gasped, his question broken up between swallowed groans.
It had been a long time since someone else forced him to feel pleasure. Most of his clients were happy to let Vegas take charge. They wanted to get their money’s worth, to fuck Vegas, but they didn’t care about his pleasure. They did expect Vegas to enjoy himself, to orgasm, to tell them they’d made him feel good. But they also expected him to find that pleasure on his own and most of them understood it was a lie.
“Don’t worry about me.” Kinn’s voice sounded so distant.
Vegas thrashed in his hold. He wanted to get away, wanted to take the edge off, but there was nowhere to go. Nothing but the heat of Kinn’s body and the implacable chill of the window, Vegas’ sweat trapped in the thin fabric of his shirt, plastered against his back. When Vegas came, he did it all over Kinn’s chest, exposed by Kinn’s barely buttoned shirt. He did it quietly, Kinn’s name smashed against his tongue and teeth instead of shouted in the quiet room.
Kinn barely let him have a moment to breathe before he was turned around, his chest pressed against the glass.
He shuddered.
It was so much worse looking down at the city as it darkened, the lights in the room making shadows of his reflection against the glass. Vegas stared into his own gaze, so close, so hazy, and quickly looked away. His shirt was peeled off him and tossed away and Kinn placed heavy, heated kisses down the length of Vegas’ spine.
He stopped at the scar.
“What’s this?”
Vegas wondered how he’d missed it before but his fingers hadn’t graced the bullet wound on Vegas' stomach. Now Kinn circled it with a gentle touch, he followed it up with his tongue.
Vegas pressed his face against the glass, fogging it with his breath, but didn’t bother to answer.
Kinn pressed a sucking kiss to the scar, bruising the skin around it. “What is this?”
What would he do if Vegas didn’t answer? Would he hit him? Push him?
“Just a scar.” Vegas’ breath caught when Kinn’s teeth ran around the edge of the scar tissue. “Had an accident a few years ago.”
Kinn would recognize a bullet wound. Vegas groaned and smashed his face up against the glass when Kinn kissed it again.
“Then here…” Kinn’s hand circled Vegas’ waist.
Vegas looked down. Kinn’s fingers graced the wound on his stomach, his mouth was on the scar on his back. The Theerapanyakul family crest was trapped between Vegas’ heated skin and the condensation on the window.
“You were pierced through.”
Why did that sound
sexy
when Kinn—
Vegas let out a squeak. Kinn moved fast. Faster than Vegas expected. Faster than he was used to. He’d grown sloppy, lazy, and useless over the years. He’d never last in a proper fight, not anymore.
Kinn had Vegas pressed up against the glass, his cock shoved up against it, slipping in the condensation and still slick from Kinn’s mouth while Kinn bullied his way into Vegas’ ass.
Piercing him through.
“
Fuck
. Fuck!
Ah!
!” Vegas’ couldn’t look away from Kinn’s hand on his stomach. Touching the bullet wound.
Fondling
Vegas’ scar.
“Easy, easy.” Kinn hushed him. “I’m not even halfway in.”
“...
fuck
.” Vegas hissed.
Not even halfway in and Vegas felt over-full and stretched out. Kinn wouldn’t be the biggest dick he’d ever taken but that guy had enjoyed watching Vegas prep himself for close to half an hour before Vegas slid down on his huge cock.
“Too
big
.”
Kinn snickered but he pulled back, pulled out, and that was worse. That made Vegas seem weak. He wasn’t even good enough for Kinn to bully. Vegas braced himself against the window with shaky arms and shaky legs and glared at his weak, glassy-eyed, fogged-over reflection.
Weak, useless, a waste of—
Strong hands grasped him from behind. Vegas jabbed back with his elbow and twisted in the hold.
He didn’t even process throwing a punch. Didn’t feel it hit Kinn’s cheek. Didn’t realize he’d lost until he was pinned on the firm hotel mattress, his hands held in Kinn’s grip. Kinn’s hands were slippery, he realized, barely holding onto him as he writhed, and that was because Kinn had torn open the packets of lubricant Vegas kept in his jacket. His cock was still hard.
“That was a mean punch.” Kinn had Vegas pinned facedown on the bed, Vegas’ face pressed against down-filled pillows and his body flat against the stiffly laundered sheets.“Are you okay?”
And Vegas realize that… that Kinn actually cared. That even though Kinn was holding him down, even though Vegas could feel Kinn’s cock hard against his back, even though Vegas had no doubt given him the worst service he’d ever had…
Kinn cared.
“I’m fine.” He bit off. Then he kicked himself. He should have tried to leave. Should have made up an excuse, anything, lied about past trauma, or maybe told the truth. What would Kinn do if Vegas came out and admitted to being his cousin? Kill Vegas? Tie him up and hand him over to Gun so Vegas’ father would do it instead?
Or maybe Kinn would let him go.
“I’m glad because I’m not done yet.”
Kinn dropped Vegas’ wrists only to grab his hips, pulling those up off the bed. Vegas' wrists ached from the grip Kinn’d had on them and he scrambled to push himself upright, to turn and look over his shoulder.
He opened his mouth to say something. Anything.
But all that came out was a low groan when Kinn pried his asscheeks apart and spat on his hole. He took a deep breath and even that was pushed out of him when Kin started to shove back in. Even with added lubricant, he was
still
just too big to be taken all at once. Vegas collapsed, his arms giving way until he was braced with his ass up and everything else splayed across the bed.
Kinn pumped his hips slowly, fucking Vegas full inch by inch, sinking so deep inside of Vegas that he felt like he could choke on Kinn. Vegas squeezed his eyes shut, panting, overfull, overstimulated.
Hard, again.
That was the most embarrassing part. The worst part. That Vegas liked it. That his body liked it. He couldn’t lie to himself about it, the evidence was right there, dripping onto the sheets, bouncing when Kinn thrust forward.
“You’re so damn tight.” Kinn groaned. He sunk deeper inside, driving Vegas wild.
Vegas shuddered.
“Can you shut
up
?” He hissed.
Kinn didn’t shut up. In fact, he only got worse. His hand pressed against Vegas' stomach, pushing against the scar there. “I think I can feel myself inside you.”
And the worst part was, Vegas was sure he could. The second worst part was that the sight of Kinn’s hand with that damn ring on it did nothing to stop Vegas’ arousal. It didn’t turn him off at all.
Fuck it. Tomorrow he’d be on a boat with Macau. Or maybe a plane. A train, Australia had plenty of those. They’d be out of the city, their go-bags stowed nearby, and Kinn would be left in their dust. But for tonight—
“You’re not that big.” He snapped and then regretted it when Kinn snapped his hips forward. Vegas let out a short shout and then choked on his breath when Kinn started to finally pull
back
.
All the way back.
He couldn’t possibly—
Vegas let out another shout, this one longer and much closer to a scream when Kinn slammed back in. His cock twitched hard and Vegas’ gaze swum.
“That’s it, so good.” Kinn murmured. “You feel so good. Never had anyone as big as me?” Kinn did it again and Vegas—
“No one’s ever going to make you feel like this again. Just me. Fuck, Vegas, you’re so fucking tight.”
Vegas didn’t usually go for prostate orgasms. It wasn’t his thing. He was the one in control, the one deciding when to get off, but he wasn’t sure he could even reach down and grip himself without getting a mouthful of pillow for his effort. And Kinn wasn’t touching his cock, just his stomach, just his scar. And still, Vegas couldn’t deny, he felt the feeling of an orgasm approaching.
He hated the feeling of Kinn’s un-cut cock rubbing over his prostate. He hated the sensation of Kinn pulling back until just the head was inside of him before shoving right back in. He hated the heat and pressure of Kinn’s hand on his stomach, and the weight of Kinn’s other hand on his hip. He hated how much he liked it.
Vegas hated how much he liked Kinn.
He let out a soft, low cry and shoved his face into the pillows, unwilling to watch as he came.
“Can’t wait to take you home.” Kinn was murmuring now, his words going soft, coming fast, his thrusts shifting to something quicker, not so deep. “I’ll take such good care of you. Keep you safe. Make sure you get fucked as much as you need. Don’t we fit together?”
Vegas squeezed his eyes shut and tried to suffocate himself. If he passed out would Kinn keep going? Or would he stop and wait until Vegas could feel him again?
Kinn’s hand slipped down and wrapped around his soft cock. Vegas bit down on the pillow, over-sensitive from his recent orgasm, from
two
orgasms so close together.
“Wait.” He pushed back, fucking back on Kinn’s cock and making himself gasp. “W-Wait, I already—”
“Did you come?” Kinn rubbed over the wet slit of Vegas’ cock. Vegas looked down and found that Kinn was rubbing the crest of the family ring over his cock head, the Theerapanyakul crest was wet and shimmering with Vegas’ cum. “From me fucking you? You came from that? Fuck, I didn’t think…” Kinn wrapped a hand around him, soft, gentle, and too, too much. “Didn’t think you could get any tighter.”
He hadn’t thought he could get any tighter either, not with Kinn bullying him open.
“Don’t, don’t,” he hissed as Kinn didn’t listen, as he kept tugging on Vegas until Vegas was getting hard again. Tears stung Vegas’ eyes. “Too much,
too much
.”
“You’re going to love Porsche.” Kinn groaned. And why was he talking about a car? Vegas struggled to get himself back onto his elbows, to push away from the hand on his cock, if he could get Kinn to just
come
—
“Too much, too
much
.” Vegas hissed.
Kinn moaned again and collapsed onto Vegas, all of that muscle turning into dead weight when he came.
Vegas had never had a ruined orgasm before. He’d done it to clients, to boyfriends even, but he’d never experienced it himself. The way it felt to be closing in on a peak only for the arousal to vanish totally? He didn’t like it. He felt shattered. Weak.
With Kinn on top of him, he couldn’t hold himself up. The two of them crashed onto the bed, Vegas landing right on the damp spot left from his own orgasm, Kinn’s hand trapped under him.
The edge of the ring dug into the sensitive flesh of Vegas’ cock.
“Can’t wait to take you home.” Kinn murmured against Vegas’ shoulder. “Fuck you don’t even know about Porsche.”
And he didn’t want to. Vegas squirmed until he could get out from under Kinn. He felt a flash of sharp, vicious vindication when shoving Kinn off him meant Kinn landed on his back in the wet spot. It didn’t make up for the slick sensation of Kinn’s cum inside of him. It didn’t make up for how many times his cousin had gotten him to come.
“I don’t do house calls.” Vegas dodged Kinn’s hand and slipped off the bed, grimacing when he realized he was on the wrong side to grab his clothes. Anger sharpened inside of him at the soft, small smile on Kinn’s lips. The best thing to do with any clingy client was to cut them off fast, and this would give Kinn the idea that Vegas was going to stick around Perth. “Call my agency the next time you’re in town, return business is—”
“What are you talking about, Vegas? Of course, you don’t work for them anymore.” Kinn continued to smile but he had a slight, confused furrow on his forehead. He was trying to think too. “You’re coming home.”
“I—”
Vegas—
Vegas
.
“That’s not my name.” Cold terror clawed at Vegas. When had Kinn gotten his pants off? His knife was gone. Was it even on the other side of the room with his things?
Kinn had to have a gun somewhere. He hadn’t been armed. He hadn’t set a gun aside, Vegas would have noticed, but he had to have a gun
somewhere
.
His burner phone was in the jacket. He had to get that at least. Or no, he didn’t, he had Macau’s number memorized that was all he needed. Vegas needed to get out of the room. He’d find clothes somewhere else, steal someone’s things, break into their hotel room and get out.
He needed to get out.
“I don’t know who you think I am—” The game was up and yet denial was the safest option. The best option. The only option as Vegas edged backward. The door to the hall was behind him. He couldn’t risk trapping himself between Kinn and the window to get his things.
Kinn sat up, all that marvelous musculature flexing, covered in scratches left from Vegas’ fingernails. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own cousin?”
Vegas hadn’t. Not at first. When had Kinn realized? Had he known all along?
“That is so fucked up.” He snapped. He felt naked, he
was
naked but now he felt naked, the denial and all his armor stripped away. Vegas strode towards the door, too angry with Kinn to worry about whether or not he should put his cousin at his back.
It was a long walk back to the hotel room’s entrance. He hadn’t noticed before but now he felt every step and not just because he wasn’t wearing shoes.
Vegas angrily shoved the door open and leaned out into the hall.
A few steps from the door, blocking the way to the elevators, stood Big. Vegas remembered Big, though what he remembered was a stringy twenty-something determined to be Kinn’s head bodyguard, panting after his cousin with every step. Not this Big who has finally gotten muscle to stick to his frame and grown into the promise of his nose and ears.
“
Khun
Kinn?” A voice came from the other side of the door. It’s pulled out of Vegas’ reach, pulled so it lay almost flat against the wall. An unfamiliar face met Vegas’ gaze, soft eyes, and softer cheeks. “
Khun
Vegas? Did you need something?”
So the guards know who he is too.
Vegas snapped away from the open door. When he turned, Kinn had slipped on a pair of pajama pants and was lounging in the suite’s bedroom door. The door slid to a close behind Vegas with a painfully final
click
.
“Feel free to take a shower.” Kinn wandered over to a small fridge and pulled a bottle of water out of it. His gaze tracked Vegas when Vegas stomped past him back into the bedroom. “We can talk after.”
Vegas wasn’t even surprised to find that Kinn had grabbed his phone from his jacket pocket. Not that he’d risk calling Macau with Kinn nearby. Hopefully, Macau would understand why Vegas would be willing to leave him behind, he hoped Macau would understand Vegas couldn’t risk his little brother being dragged back into the world that he’d fought and bled for them to leave. Macau was smart, he had always warned Vegas that his night job was too much of a risk.
Vegas should have listened to Macau.
He could only hope that Macau didn’t hesitate, that he’d run and never look back.
He didn’t have much hope though, his little brother had always been too soft-hearted.