Work Text:
"Are you a fool?"
'Fool' is not a word Victor is fond of. But yes, at times, he has been a fool.
For one, he continues association with a house of the possessed, the deranged, and the psychotic. Sir Malcolm pays well, of course. And Victor has found himself begrudgingly invested in the fates of the menagerie of characters who pass through his doors. But his continued attendance at the Murray home is reckless. Tempting fate just to satisfy a morbid curiosity...
For another, Victor did not pull the trigger when given the opportunity. He was handed his daemon, world weary and alone. Ready for the end. But Victor did not give it to him.
Yes, he has been a fool. A fool who is now forced to engage in conversation with the creature standing before him.
"I am not the one who nearly had himself discovered," Victor mutters. "My guest has been gone seconds. Caliban, have you gone mad-"
"I was born into this world in a fit of madness, Creator," the daemon hisses. "But it is your madness I pity. Your short-sighted stubbornness-"
"Did I not promise you I would begin work as soon as my guest departed?" Madness, Victor fears, may be the cause of this dispute. If there is anyone who should be thrilled by the departure of Mr. Chandler, it is his creature, who will now have his undivided attention.
Miss Croft awaits downstairs. There is much work to be done.
"When you succeed, I will have my mate," Caliban says. "And what will you have, daemon? Everything that dares to come to you is turned out into the cold."
"What are you even saying?" Victor asks, exasperated. Turned out into the cold? Garbage from a being who has studied much but lived little.
"You're afraid, Creator," Caliban replies solemnly.
"Afraid of what?" Victor waves a hand in frustration. "For all your hatred of me, you know nothing of who I am. One night eavesdropping, and you think you understand me?"
"You're afraid to ask for what you want." The anger has left Caliban’s voice. Sorrow remains. "Is this the fate I, too, am doomed to, as your creation? Your offspring?"
"Shut your mouth, you foul thing-"
But it is Victor who shuts his mouth, when the daemon's hand winds firmly around his throat. He gasps and thrashes, feet writhing in the air. His face grows pale from lack of breath.
"You call me a foul thing? I call you a coward, daemon. What life can you give to my wife? You, who cannot live for yourself?"
With disgust, Caliban opens his hand. Victor slumps to the ground, coughing and choking.
Weakly, he grits, "Your wife was his love, Caliban. Should I steal during another's grief? Is that the scene you want?"
Caliban bends in front of him, eyes cold. "His love is stolen by death, yet he paused by your door. He waited for you to speak. You did not."
"He...waited?"
Caliban's glare narrows. "Yes. Plain to anyone-"
"Anyone being you, you wretched thing-"
"Anyone with a set of eyes, which apparently you do not own, daemon."
Victor stares at him. The creature stares back, daring him to fight.
Victor does not. He goes to the door instead and lets himself out into the crowded hallway of his building. The stairs are littered with drunks and beggars. He climbs over a mess of limbs to reach the front door.
Victor immediately sees his breath in the winter air. It is quiet in the streets, the early risers strolling through the dirty remains of their latest snowfall.
In this sparse crowd, the familiar trenchcoat and hat are not difficult to find. Victor jogs to him, mindful of icy places.
It is only when he grabs Ethan by the elbow that Victor realizes he does not know what to say.
Ethan turns around with surprise. "Doc," he says.
Victor clears his throat. "Mr. Chandler."
"Where's your coat, Doctor?" Ethan asks.
"I..." Victor shrugs. "I'm two steps from my own door, Mr. Chandler. That isn't- Well, I couldn't-"
"What is it?" Ethan asks. How a simple question can be so loaded is beyond Victor's understanding.
He grits his teeth with frustration. That damned creature and his romanticism. Victor wishes he could retreat, forget this failure, and bludgeon his daemon into oblivion.
But he will not, because Ethan is looking at him with such motiveless confusion that Victor feels compelled to answer. "I thought... Well, I'm not used to being a host, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to...offer you something." He cringes. "Breakfast. Or tea, perhaps."
Ethan's mouth twitches. "Do I look like the tea type, Doctor?"
Victor's demeanor sours. "I have brandy. That's more to your tastes, isn't it?"
"Well, what do you know?" Ethan places a hand on Victor's shoulder. "We're getting to know each other."
Victor pushes his hand off and stalks back to his front door. He expects and hopes that Ethan is not following him. Going after him was a mistake. Going after him at the bidding of a creature who understands nothing of life was an even bigger one.
Victor is done. He will succeed in his latest creation, and his debt to the daemon will be paid. Then, Victor will be rid of this curse once and for all. And maybe, just maybe, he will find peace.
Victor only realizes Ethan is behind him when he catches the front door to the building. His expression is mildly amused, but he says nothing. Ethan just bows his head upon entrance and follows Victor up the stairs to his apartment.
Victor opens the door and casts a hurried look around. Caliban is gone. Has he returned to the basement? Or will he spring suddenly from a corner and end their lives? Neither of these outcomes would be a great shock.
Victor walks to his cabinet. "Brandy, then?"
"Victor." He glances over his shoulder. Ethan is watching him closely. After a moment, Victor realizes that Ethan does not intend to say anything else.
He curses inwardly when he realizes his fingers are shaking. "Brandy it is," Victor mumbles. He grabs the bottle.
When Ethan's hands rest on his shoulders, he nearly drops it. "What are-"
"Why did you follow me?"
Victor seizes up with fear. Everything strikes him at once - Ethan's words, spoken so close to his ear; Ethan's body, fit to his back.
"I wanted to." Victor can't think of anything else to say.
When Ethan hooks an arm around his waist, something inside Victor screams. From fright or joy, he can't be sure. Ethan's body presses closer to him, warm and firm. He smells of spice and something else - something darker, rabid.
Ethan's mouth meets the side of his neck. Victor smiles, bemused. "Did you need me to follow you?" he asks.
"Yes." Victor's words were spoken in jest, and the honest response from Ethan startles him. "Can't outstay my welcome."
Victor chuckles despite himself. "Yes, that has always been your concern, hasn't it?"
"I don't take what isn't offered."
Victor's eyes narrow. "You believe this is my offer, then?"
He is caught entirely off-guard when Ethan kisses him. He was prepared for banter. Their arguments are so frequent and quick-fire that they have become almost a comfort.
Victor should freeze against him, or dart back in alarm. But when Ethan kisses him, he bends far too easily, with too little hesitation. Victor comes into his arms, his own winding around Ethan's waist. He becomes strangely aware of his own heart, its beat obnoxiously present and growing louder by the moment.
"Yeah, Doc," Ethan murmurs. "I do."
When Ethan finally lets him breathe, he is short of air. Swallowing in gulps, Victor laughs. It is a strange sound, one he does not make often. Far too spontaneous for his usual, all-important control.
"Here." Victor folds fingers into his hair. He gives a pull and takes a step backwards, towards his bedroom.
Ethan follows, amused. "I thought you were uneducated in the ways of the world, Doctor."
Victor shoots him an annoyed look. "You should be teaching a Master Class, Mr. Chandler. What, after your night with-"
"Mr. Gray?" Victor freezes when he says the name. So does Ethan. His once warm eyes go cold.
Victor clears his throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean-"
"Are those the lessons you want, Doc?" Victor does not like his voice. "The beautiful boy, surrounded by eyes..."
"I want." Victor sighs and sits on the end of the bed. "How the hell should I know what I want?"
The reaction makes Ethan frown. This only makes Victor angrier. "You've mocked me for my lack of living. And you're right. Do I want your damn 'lessons' from Mr. Gray? Maybe. I don't have a bloody clue. If your whole purpose is to rub that in my face, you can get the hell out." It is as assertive as Victor can be given his uncomfortable vulnerability.
But, as Ethan continues towards him, Victor is afraid it hasn't been enough. The thought of calling for his creature occurs to him. But he dismisses it quickly. He would rather suffer whatever fate than reveal his cowardice to both his rival and his daemon.
Ethan's knee sinks between Victor's legs. Before Victor knows what is happening, he is on his back, and Ethan is on top of him. His arms are pinned above his head, and he is being kissed.
It is not the sweet gesture of before. This is harder, but not anger. The passion comes from something else entirely, something he can feel in the way Ethan's leg moves between his.
Victor sucks in a breath. Absorbed in his studies as he is, he rarely touches himself here. Only in brief moments, overcome by the sadness of his solitude.
He certainly is not used to being touched by another man, and the sensation makes him gasp. Ethan does not move, does not even let him breathe past the mouth pushed possessively against his.
Victor panics, but it is not Ethan that causes the reaction. It's himself. His realization that, under Ethan's strength, his first reaction is hunger. He craves more, needs more, however possible. "I...don't know what to do." It takes a moment for Victor to realize the words have been said out loud.
It takes Ethan a second to process them too. When he does, his surprise dissolves into laughter. It is a kind-hearted sound, and it makes Ethan's face light up. His hands continue to pin Victor's arms, but they soften their grip.
Victor shifts beneath him, only to remember the knee between his thighs. The pressure that rubs into him makes him shudder.
"I can show you, Doc," Ethan offers. He speaks the words against Victor's mouth. It is something that Victor apparently finds attractive, if the awful quickening of his own heart is any indication. "I'll show you whatever you want."
"Goddamn Americans. I'll regret this," Victor mutters. But the retort is only made to ignore the sincerity of Ethan's words. He knows Ethan has not spoken in arrogance. Ethan's offer is an unselfish one, and Victor has no idea how to accept it.
His fear mounts when Ethan slides down his body. Ethan's mouth sinks against Victor's neck; soft, brief strokes of his lips against Victor's skin. His hands slip down to begin to unbutton his shirt.
Victor is painfully aware of Ethan's breaths against his body. He can nearly feel each goosebump spring up under Ethan's mouth, his body cold and feverishly hot all at once.
Victor lies awkwardly still. He wants to offer something in return, but he does not know what to do with his body or his hands. Tentatively, he runs fingers through Ethan's hair and settles them on the back of his neck. His touch makes Ethan smile. Victor can feel it on his chest - what an odd sensation. "Keep doing that, Doc," he says.
"What?" Victor cringes at the sound of his own voice.
He expects to be mocked for his inexperienced foolishness. But Ethan rolls warm eyes up to meet his. His mouth is curved gently at a corner. "Keep your hands on me," he replies. Then, he lowers his head and continues his exploration. The American frontiersman, claiming whatever his hands touch.
Victor lets his head sink back helplessly, but he does what Ethan says. His hands knot in Ethan's hair.
Ethan kisses him in places that make his back arch suddenly. Victor clenches his fingers tighter, gasping under his attention. The scientist in him is fascinated. What is it about these places that makes him respond so strongly? Would he respond the same way to anyone's mouth and hands? Or is this only for Mr. Chandler?
Victor stiffens when Ethan begins undoing his slacks. Ethan notices, and he lifts his eyes. Victor sees his concern, the unasked question. It is on the tip of his tongue, but Victor will not let him ask it. Nothing could be more humiliating.
"What are you waiting for?" he snaps. "Get on with it."
Ethan chuckles under his breath. He does not say a word, nodding and continuing. His hands work slowly, but Victor's body still tenses. He is instinctively afraid, and with that comes aversion. But he also needs to be touched like this. No more waiting. No more poetry.
The cool air of the room hits his uncovered skin like a slap. Victor chews the inside of his cheek for stability. With Victor's pants removed, Ethan is now settling between his legs. Victor sits up enough to place nervous hands on Ethan's arms. They are strong under his touch, the arms of a man who is still alive because of his power.
Ethan smiles. "You're a quick study, Victor."
"I'm not a child, you bastard." Victor hates his own petulant voice, but it can't be helped. He is exposed, and it is terrifying. Ethan can see all of him. The nerves stinging in Victor's eyes, the fear tensing every limb. His cock, half-hard, curious but scared.
Ethan could do anything with him in this moment. He could tear Victor apart, body and soul. Victor has offered this opportunity to him freely. Why Ethan of all the bloody people in this world?
Caliban was right. He is a fool.
"Not bad, Doc."
"What?" Victor tries to force anger, but the word shakes.
His eyes widen when Ethan lowers himself between his legs. His stubbled cheek rubs along the side of his cock. The gesture is so sudden, Victor makes a sound too strained to be himself. His body responds instantly.
Ethan glances upward, eyes dancing with amusement. "Not bad at all."
"What are you-" Victor's words choke off when Ethan's mouth suddenly closes around the head of his shaft. He stares, fascinated by the curl of his lips. His mouth is hot, hotter than he had any right to imagine. Victor's hands tighten on his arms, shaking at this brand new sensation.
Apparently encouraged by his silence, Ethan dips his head lower. His eyes stay closed. Victor watches his mouth widen and his Adam's apple bobbing lazily with a swallow. Ethan's lips part further, his tongue drawing slowly up the underside of his cock.
Curiously, Ethan looks up at him. Victor has no idea what expression he is making, but it cannot be good. His eyes are large, and his breaths jump out of him, awkward and frantic.
Ethan is apparently all right with this. Victor sees him smile, lips twitching around his shaft. And, my god, Victor feels it too. This smallest of movements shoots sparks into previously untapped places.
Victor bites his lip. He wants to say something. A joke, perhaps, or some snappy comment. Anything to regain some sense of control.
But Ethan does not let him. He lowers his head and swallows more of Victor into his mouth. Victor gasps. His eyes roll behind heavy eyelids His hands move to Ethan's shoulders. More to grab here.
Ethan's tongue draws drawling circles over his cock head. Victor's fingers dig into his skin. The bite of his hands draws a soft sound from Ethan. Victor feels it around him, the low hum shivering across his nerves. He jumps, yelping in a way that makes him cringe. But...oh, this is too good. Victor is moving past care about how he sounds or looks. Ethan can see and hear him, and he hasn't stopped yet.
"Ethan..." Victor hears himself. The name sounds strange, soft but weighted.
When he risks a look downward, Ethan is watching him with interest.
His hand wraps around the base of Victor's cock. The grip is hard, and it makes Victor hiss with surprise. "Easy, Doc." Ethan is looking at him with those same dancing eyes. "Stay with me." What does he mean? Victor isn't going anywhere.
But then, Ethan takes him in his mouth again. And Victor gets it. The pleasure is immense, so big, Too big. His body is unraveling, singing under the heat of Ethan's mouth. It arches through his spine and makes his hands bite so hard into Ethan's shoulders that he draws blood.
But the pleasure goes nowhere. Victor's need shoots hot and desperate into Ethan's hand. That damned hand, which Ethan greets with his greedy mouth, teasing against his own tightly clamped fingers.
"Wh- What are..." Victor is having trouble maintaining his sentences. This one dies too, lost in the sight of Ethan's face turned down in his lap. His beard rasps against Victor's thighs, and his hair dips down around him. Victor spasms forward, body stiff and trembling.
But he can't. That goddamned hand. His shaft has flushed to an angry red, so sensitive now that the smallest tease of Ethan's lips makes him twist painfully on his sheets. "Ethan," Victor tries again. His voice is higher than he would like, almost pleading. Terrible.
Ethan looks up at him, and his eyes are dangerous. Dark and sharply focused. Something clenches in Victor's chest.
He opens his mouth just enough to let Victor see his tongue dip down further, stroking his balls with a lazy roll. Victor jumps, eyes squeezed shut. He hopes the sound he just heard did not come from himself. An awful whimper, of all things. He is so desperate to come, he does not even want to know what his hands are doing to Ethan's back, clawing and wordlessly begging to be let go.
"Easy, Victor," Ethan says again. Only this time, he speaks the words against the head of his shaft. Victor responds with an embarrassing near-whine, furious and helpless.
"That's great for you, damn it all!" Victor shouts, his voice breaking from need.
Ethan laughs quietly. Finally, he shows mercy. His hand is removed. But, Ethan somehow manages to replace it with his mouth. He swallows Victor down, lips stroking skin previously abused by his fingers. Victor whispers his name and looks away.
He has felt this before, under his own hands. But it is different now. It's so, so much different. Control be damned, Victor is gone. He has no idea what he sounds like, or what he looks like. He only knows it feels like falling and his heart rattling out of his chest.
Then, he feels Ethan's arm draped, heavy and welcome, around his waist. Victor squints at him. Naturally, Ethan looks pleased with himself, warm eyes and a small smirk. His mouth is wet from...certain activities. Victor tries not to focus on it.
"What?" Victor mumbles. The word slurs out, so utterly relaxed that he sounds like a drunken man.
Ethan chuckles. "We've gotta work on your stamina, that's all." Victor's glare could murder. "Hey, not blaming you. Virgins, you know. We'll work on it. You and me."
Victor sighs. He knows he is being teased, but he can't keep up his affront. It takes too much energy. Instead, he murmurs, "So, I assume you want me to-"
"One thing at a time," Ethan cuts in. "We'll get to me. When you're ready."
Victor raises a brow, genuinely surprised. "But...don't you want-"
"All in good time, Doc." Ethan stretches languidly on his stomach. Only now is Victor able to see the network of scratches on his shoulders, dull pink and beaded with blood. Victor tries to catch his eyes, alarmed, but Ethan is oblivious. He settles his cheek on folded arms and looks up at him with a smile. "All in good time."
Tentative, Victor lets himself relax next to him. "Yes. All in good time, I suppose."
*The End*