Work Text:
Usually, being a bodyguard was nothing but hard work. Long days, strenuous training, pushing your body further than you thought it could ever go and then pushing it even more. But there was some respite to the drudgery. Mealtimes, or at least the meals Pete got from his Yai (the standard food wasn’t exactly cooked with love), sleeping, and the occasional party. It had never been a thing before Porsche arrived, but then again a lot changed since he got here.
Normally Tankhun would get bored and decide it was time to drag them all to Yok’s bar, Porsche would pour drinks, and they’d all end up falling asleep on top of one another on the bench. However, today the atmosphere was different. After maybe an hour of the usual partying, Porsche seemed to be getting tired, and at this point Pol produced a pack of playing cards from his pocket and suggested they play some drinking games.
Pete decided to sit it out, he was already tipsy enough to be having fun, but not so drunk he’d spend all day feeling like ass tomorrow. He watched from the corner of the bar, sipping on a Sex on the Beach, looking as drinking games turned into stupid bets and Ken went from losing 500 to 1000 to 2000 baht. Tankhun was watching too, except a lot closer, egging them on to drink more and bet more for his entertainment.
That was, until the door swung open and Tankhun let out a disgusted ‘ew’ at the person who’d just entered.
“What is he doing here? Doesn’t he know this is meant to be my party?” Tankhun asked rhetorically, before waving his hand like he was trying to get rid of a fly, “shoo!”
”Relax, cousin. I’m just here to get a drink.” Vegas was dressed in a barely buttoned silk shirt and a pair of black trousers, carrying a small black bag in his hand. He started walking into the bar before eyeing Pete in the corner, stopping, and walking over to him.
Shit. What did he want?
Pete grinned as wide as he could, attempting to appear polite and hoping it would cover for any slips he may make. As Vegas reached him and sat down opposite him, the drinking and betting from the other side of the room had returned to its previous liveliness. Vegas gestured to the others.
“Not joining in?” He asked, almost like he cared about how a random bodyguard was or wasn’t spending his free time.
“No,” Pete shook his head, “I don’t really like drinking games.” It was a half truth, Pete liked them under the right circumstances, but right now he didn’t feel like it.
“Aww,” Vegas tilted his head with faux-pity, looking at him like he was a puppy with a broken paw, “but you shouldn’t have to sit here doing nothing, all because you don’t want to drink yourself to stupidity.” He pulled a deck of playing cards out and placed them down on the table.
“What do you say we play our own little game, Pete?” Vegas smirked at him, fingers still on the deck as he slid it a little towards him temptingly. Pete grinned even wider and let out a small laugh.
“Ah, thank you Khun Vegas, but I’m sure you have better things to do!”
“Pete, I insist. Plus, I’m sure my cousin would much rather have me over here with you than anywhere near him.” It was true. Although Pete was technically off duty, he was sure he’d never hear the end of it if he let Vegas annoy Tankhun.
“Sure, Khun Vegas!”
“Perfect,” Vegas smiled and began riffle shuffling the deck. “You know how to play blackjack, Pete?” Pete nodded.
“Alright then,” Vegas dealt two cards to Pete, then two to himself leaving one face down. His face up card was a six of spades. “Hit or stand?” Pete looked at his hand, a three of hearts and a four of clubs.
“Hit me!” Pete said as Vegas dealt him another card–this time the two of hearts. “Hit me again.” Vegas gave him another card, a queen of spades.
Perfect.
Pete slammed his hands down on the table, looked up and smiled at Vegas. “I stand.” Vegas flipped over his own card, revealing a nine of diamonds.
“You win, Pete,” Vegas smiled as Pete celebrated his victory. “Say, what do you say we spice things up a little? How about we include some bets too?” Pete grimaced. That was easy enough for the heir to a mafia fortune to say, but Pete wasn’t exactly swimming in cash so much that he wanted to bet against someone like Vegas. Vegas seemed to read his thoughts clearly.
“Not with money, Pete. There are other ways we can make things… interesting.” Pete supposed this was better, something in his gut told him that making ‘interesting’ bets with Vegas Theerapanyakun in a bar was not a wise choice, but he dismissed these thoughts and told himself it was better than doing nothing.
“Sure.”
“Alright, let’s start off simple. If I win, you buy me a drink. If you win, I pay for your drink.”
“You’re on.” Vegas dealt Pete an eight of clubs and a seven of hearts, before dealing himself a king of clubs.
“Hit me.” Vegas dealt him a six of spades. “Hah!” Vegas just smiled at Pete, flipped over his own card revealing a three of clubs, and went to the bar to pay for Pete’s drink, which Pete had finished guzzling down guilt free now.
Vegas returned with a sly smile on his face.
“Okay. This time, we both choose our bets. What do you want if you win?” He asked. Pete thought for a moment. He was a little tipsy, sure, but nowhere near stupid enough to demand something of actual value from someone of Vegas’ position.
“If I win, you take a shot,” Pete finally settled on.
“Sure. If you win, I take a shot. If I win, you can’t use your hands for this anymore.” Pete must’ve turned ghostly white, because Vegas quickly clarified “no, I’m not going to cut off your hands, I’m just going to restrain them.”
This made Pete feel slightly better, although he wasn’t sure if it should have. Vegas dealt Pete a nine of hearts and a four of hearts, then himself a three of clubs.
“Hit me.” Vegas smiled at Pete’s words, before placing a king of diamonds in front of him.
“Bust,” he said with a smile as he undid his belt and slid it out of its loops. “Wrists out, Pete.” Against his better judgement, Pete put his arms out as Vegas slipped the belt around them, looping it over into a pair of makeshift handcuffs, and pulling on the tail until they fit snug around his wrists. It was a good thing Pete didn’t actually need his hands to play blackjack.
As Pete moved his hands onto his lap, he felt the cool leather biting into his skin.
“Alright, what’s your bet?” Vegas asked.
“If I win, you remove the handcuffs.”
“Sure, but if I win, you let me tie your legs together too.” Vegas said. Strange, but sure. Pete was pretty sure he could slip out of the restraints if he really needed to anyway.
He dealt the cards. A nine of hearts and a jack of clubs for Pete, an ace of diamonds for Vegas.
“I stand,” Pete said as Vegas flipped over his other card. King of Clubs. Vegas smiled and made his way over to sit beside Pete, reaching over and unbuckling his belt, too. He then crouched down underneath the table and fashioned a similar loop to the handcuffs, but this time around Pete’s ankles. As Vegas made his way back to the other side of the table, Pete tried to move his legs and arms a little to explore his range of motion, only to find the cuffs were stronger than he’d expected.
“If I win, you tell me why you’re here,” Pete said.
“And if I win, you keep those handcuffs on the rest of the time I’m here.”
“Bet.” Vegas drew the cards. A three of diamonds and a jack of clubs, and a nine of hearts for himself. “Hit me.” A seven of hearts. “Stand.” Vegas flipped over his face down card. A nine of clubs.
“Alright, Pete. You want to know why I’m here? I wanted to see you.” Pete looked at Vegas distrustfully. It was strange that he was choosing to spend his evening with Pete, but there was no way that was the actual reason he was here tonight.
Was there?
“Okay. What’s your bet?” Vegas asked. Pete looked down at his bound wrists and ankles.
“I feel like I’m the one losing here.”
“Not at all Pete, trust me,” Vegas smirked.
“Okay. If I win–you agree to stop bothering Tankhun for a whole month,” if Pete was going to be betting away his dignity here, he needed to at least come up with better bets, and this was a good start. Vegas not getting on Tankhun’s nerves meant less complaining, and therefore less hassle for Pete.
“Fine,” Vegas rolled his eyes, “but if I win,” he let his eyes lower to his side, where he’d placed his bag, “you wear something for me,” he drawled.
Pete nodded his head a little and looked at Vegas determinedly. This was starting to get more serious, and Pete needed to play his hand well if he had any chance of winning. Vegas made a show of shuffling the cards, switching to a faro shuffle and fanning out the cards masterfully before dealing them.
Pete looked at his hand–an eight of clubs and a ten of spades. Eighteen. Not a great hand, but not a terrible one either. Pete could get lucky depending on Vegas’ draw. He looked over to the card face up in front of Vegas. Ace of spades. Pete furrowed his brow as he thought over his choices. Hitting was obviously a bad move, anything over three and he was bust. But if Vegas’ card was anything above a seven, he’d win.
“I’m standing,” Pete said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Vegas smirked and slowly moved his hand to the face down card, letting his thumbnail slide underneath its edge and looking up at Pete’s gaze, intense and hopeful, before he finally flipped it over.
“Eight of hearts. I win.” Pete winced.
“Alright. What is it you want me to wear?” Pete asked, frustrated. Vegas simply reached down into his bag and slowly pulled out a black box with an intricate design. He placed it on the table in front of Pete, who tried to examine it as best as he could to decipher what it was. Vegas seemed to enjoy watching the cogs turn in Pete’s head, but after a moment leisurely peeled open the lid. The confusion on Pete’s face only grew once he saw what was inside.
The box was cushioned with a deep red velvet, in the middle of which sat a strip of supple black leather interspersed with metal studs. It looped around and was connected with a buckle, and at the front dangled a silver o-ring. Unconnected but circled around the collar in a ripple of silver was a leash, its link of chain glistening a little in the dim bar lights.
Vegas smiled, watching Pete’s alcohol-dampened brain work away at what this actually was, what Vegas was asking—no—requesting Pete to do. It seemed to finally click as Pete’s eyes widened and his face flushed a beautiful deep red. As Vegas got up from the table and went round to Pete, his eyes only got wider.
“Turn around,” Vegas said. As strange as this was, something in Pete burned at Vegas’ words and told him to oblige. And so he did, turning his head as he felt Vegas placing the collar gently around his neck. Pete felt lucky at this moment that the others had been drinking all this time, so they were less likely to notice his current situation–and even if they did, there is no way Pete would admit to this the next day.
“You look pretty like this, pet,” Vegas said as Pete turned around to face him. He retrieved the leash from the box, slipped the strap around his wrist and clipped the end onto the ring. There was enough length on the leash as Vegas returned to the other side of the table that it was even a little slack. “Alright. Make it count, Pete.”
“If I win, you don’t pick fights with Tankhun or Kinn for 3 months,” Pete said. The less trouble Vegas was for the Main family, the easier things would be for Pete.
“You’re still thinking about them even now, with me holding your leash?” Vegas tugged at it, yanking Pete forward over the table as he looked up through his bangs. Vegas moved his hand to Pete’s head and began petting it. “You’re such a loyal dog, but they aren’t your masters anymore.” He loosened his grip on the leash and let Pete return to an upright position. “If I win, you hobble over there and show everybody here what you’ve let me do to you.” Pete squinted.
“6 months.”
“Deal.”
In that moment, Pete prayed to every deity he could think of that he got a good hand. As Vegas shuffled the cards, the chain of the leash rattled and clinked against the wooden table. Vegas dealt the cards slowly and face down, relishing in Pete’s growing agitation, then flipped them over.
He had a ten of diamonds and an eight of clubs, while Vegas had a jack of spades. Eighteen again. At least he had more of a chance this time, anything Vegas drew below eight would let Pete win. They still weren’t great odds, but they were better than before.
“I’m standing.”
“You sure you want to stand again? Look what happened the last time you did that,” Vegas said, pulling a little on the leash to remind Pete of the collar around his neck. Pete stared at him.
“I’m sure. Flip your card.”
Vegas smirked and flipped over his card.
Ten of diamonds.
Pete bit down on his lip and took a deep breath as Vegas stood up and yanked a little on the leash.
“Come on. This is gonna be good,” Vegas said gleefully. Pete carefully shuffled to the edge of the seat and stood up, then began stumbling forward, the ankle cuffs giving him barely enough room to take small awkward steps. Vegas placed an arm around Pete’s shoulder, both to help keep him balanced and to lightly play with the buttons of Pete’s shirt and drag his fingers along his chest as he walked, and kept the other hand holding the taut leash.
After a few awkward minutes of the slowest walking Pete’s ever done, he finally reached the others. Thankfully, most of them had passed out by now, although a few were awake–including Tankhun and Porsche–although he was currently resting his head on the table, seemingly only half awake.
“Pete?!” Tankhun practically screamed out when he saw him. “What the hell happened Pete?” Pete wasn’t entirely sure himself what happened, or where to even begin. Luckily, Vegas took it upon himself to explain.
“Pete and I decided to play a little blackjack with bets, didn’t we Pete?” He asked, yanking on the leash to force Pete to turn to him as he moved his hand from Pete’s shirt to hold his chin.
“Mhm,” Pete said as nonchalantly as he could, trying desperately not to think about his boss, best friend, and coworkers seeing him like this.
Porsche looked up at Pete, trying to decipher quite what he was seeing, before he spoke.
“Jesus Pete, keep your freaky sex stuff to the bedroom dude,” he slurred out before dropping his head back to the table. Vegas let out a laugh before spinning Pete around to face him and tilting his chin up.
“See what they think of you, Pete? How does it feel? The head of the Main family’s bodyguards, here, ankles and wrists bound, collared and leashed by the heir to the Minor family, in front of everybody he works with. What a whore,” he said as he lifted Pete’s chin up even further. “I can barely tell the difference between the head bodyguard and one of Kinn’s rent boys,” he laughed.
Pete felt his face burning even hotter than it had been before as he stared up at Vegas, the tension in the air thick around them.
“Come on. Let’s go back,” Vegas said, leading Pete back to the corner of the bar where they’d been sitting before. This time, after hobbling over to the seat, Vegas sat next to Pete instead of across from him. He was still holding the leash taut in one hand, and had the other draped lazily around Pete’s shoulder, running along the length of his collarbone.
“You know, you practically bet yourself here,” Vegas chuckled.
“I don’t think I did.”
“I have you on the end of a leash because you don’t know when to hit, I’d call that betting yourself.”
“I feel like betting myself implies a different kind of ownership that-“ Pete cut himself off, but it was too late. Vegas looked at him with a rising interest.
“Like what, Pete? What is it that you’re thinking?” He let his hand drift down to Pete’s chest, fanning his fingers out across his skin. Pete swallowed.
“Uh,” he smiled uncomfortably, “I’m not sure!”
“No, no, I think you knew what you meant.” Vegas moved his hand further down Pete’s chest, reaching under his shirt to caress his smooth skin. “Go on, say it,” Vegas moved his face closer to Pete’s then whispered, his breath hot against Pete’s ear, “I want to hear you say you want me to fuck you,” he bit on Pete’s ear as he shuddered beneath him.
Pete looked up through half-lidded eyes, his breath rising and falling in shallow crests as Vegas’ touch ignited his nerves.
“We can’t… here,” Pete managed to spit out.
“Why? They’re passed out, pet. They’ve been drinking all night, nobody’s going to bother us. Or do you just not like the thought of being fucked in the same room as them all?”
“It’s embarrassing-“ Pete said as Vegas pushed him down onto the bench and removed the belt around his ankles.
“What part of it’s embarrassing? The collar? The leash? The fact I have you underneath me begging for me to fuck you?”
Pete moaned as Vegas began kissing his throat, biting it and leaving the flesh red and tender to the touch. He reached to Pete’s pants and began to unzip them, pulling them down around Pete’s ankles before unzipping his own and taking his cock out. Vegas put his hand out, palm up in front of Pete’s face.
“Spit.” Pete looked at Vegas for a moment before complying, spitting into Vegas’ hand as he pressed a finger to Pete’s ass, pushing it inside as Pete winced out. The intrusion inside him felt good, but the dichotomy between the pleasure and the shame was turning his brain to mush. Vegas pushed another finger inside Pete as he continued carving out a space for himself inside Pete’s body, easing Pete open to fit.
After a moment, Vegas removed his fingers as Pete squirmed below him, then began pushing himself into Pete, who tried desperately to bite back a moan that threatened to slip his lips. Almost as if noticing this, Vegas pulled on Pete’s collar, moving his head up just enough to pull him into a deep kiss. He continued thrusting into Pete, making sure to keep the leash wrapped around his hand and the chain tight.
“How is it, Pete? Getting fucked in the same room as your colleagues? Your boss?” Vegas asked as he began increasing his pace, “do you think they can hear us right now? Do you think they can hear you trying desperately not to moan as I fill you up?” Pete couldn’t even think, nevermind answering Vegas’ question with any actual words. Instead, he returned it with a muffled cry.
Vegas sped up even faster, and Pete could feel himself getting closer. Now, the only sound that remained was the faint hum of the bar lights, Vegas and Pete’s faint groans, and the wet sound of skin slapping against skin.
“I’m going to come inside you, then I’m going to send you back with my come still filling you up, dripping out of your hole,” Vegas said breathlessly, moaning out and thrusting one final time inside Pete as he felt a hot liquid pour inside of him. Pete himself came too, spurting strands of come all over his chest and shirt. Vegas planted a chaste kiss onto his lips, before tucking himself back into his pants and pulling Pete up with the leash to lean Pete’s head against his chest.
He began to gently stroke Pete’s head, and for several moments they just sat there, Pete in Vegas’ embrace.
“You really better hope nobody sees you when you head back, huh?” Vegas asked. Pete looked down at himself, his chest covered in red marks and his shirt stained with come.
“Yeah, I fucking hope so,” Pete laughed.
“Or,” Vegas moved his fingers to slip down the side of Pete’s face, “you could come back with me?” Pete chuckled at the suggestion.
“I think they’d definitely be suspicious then,” he added. Soon, Vegas would return home and so would Pete, both returning to their respective mundane, strenuous lives. But for now, they let themselves enjoy this moment of intimacy and bliss between them.
“Next time, we are not playing blackjack,” Pete joked.
“Next time?”