Work Text:
If you had asked Noé where he thought he would be during the quiet evening hours, he would never have guessed he’d be where he is right now with Vanitas perched upon his lap, lips pressed to the side of Noé's neck. Vanitas' body is solid against his, a welcome weight that has Noé wanting to let his politeness slip for just one night; to push the human down to the wooden floor and take from him until Vanitas can't think of anything bar the way Noé makes him feel. He likes to think of himself as someone who has more restraint than that, but Vanitas is really pushing at the limits of his self-control.
He's lucky Noé cannot forget that he's human , all too breakable. He requires a (relatively) gentle touch.
Vanitas is tugging at Noé's hair and whining, and Noé finds that he doesn't want to be particularly gentle any more. Clawed hands drag through Noé's hair, catch against his scalp and Noé groans low in his chest, blood rushing down to his cock as Vanitas shifts, pressing against all of the right places.
"Vanitas, if you keep doing that ... I fear I won't be able to stop myself," Noé confesses through gritted teeth, lets himself bring hands up to rest upon Vanitas' waist (so much smaller than his own; Noé can't help the way his breath catches in his throat at the realisation). "So if you have any reservations, I beg of you to stop now."
He may want to ruin the man before him, but Noé is far too kind to do so without giving ample opportunity for Vanitas to voice any prior concerns. Vanitas has pulled back ever so slightly, grinds his hips downwards in a way that has Noé sucking in a sharp breath, fangs poking into his lower lip. For a few moments, Vanitas merely observes him. Then, before Noé can react at all, he's rocking his hips forwards, down against Noé's cock and Noé fights everything within him that begs to lean forward and sink teeth into the pale skin of Vanitas' neck. He can all but hear Vanitas' heart as it races, each gentle thump and the sound of rushing blood has Noé's mouth watering. He wants nothing more than to bite.
He doesn't.
"Vanitas."
"Noé."
Oh, Vanitas sounds so smug; so pleased with himself. The strange, growling beast settled in Noé's chest finds it's home in his mind, and he is no longer concerned with how breakable and delicate Vanitas seems. Now, Noé is interested in breaking him, ripping any sort of smug belief to shreds. He tightens his grip on Vanitas' waist and he's pushing, forcing Vanitas backwards and off of his lap. The look on Vanitas' face is something money can't buy: blue eyes as wide as saucers, cheeks flushed red and plush lips parted ever so slightly. Noé wonders what it would be like to push his cock in between those lips, to feel Vanitas' breath upon his skin as he chokes, as Noé teaches him that they are equals here - that his overly flippant, arrogant attitude will not stand.
Vanitas starts to speak; Noé presses a finger to his lips and - for once - Vanitas shuts up. It's almost impressive, the way Vanitas tracks him with his gaze; the way Noé finally has power over him after so long having to listen to the human's incessant talking.
Instead, Vanitas lets Noé guide him down by the shoulders until knees hit the wooden floor and Vanitas is gazing up at Noé in a way that makes the vampire's cock ache with need. Noé hums, reaches across to card one hand through Vanitas' hair, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Vanitas' face. His fingers drag down, across Vanitas' cheek, coming to rest upon the human's lips. There he parts them, slips two fingers into Vanitas' mouth. He presses up against the tiny fangs, past his teeth and rests both fingers upon the flat of Vanitas' tongue, presses down until Vanitas is restless, trembling on the floor.
"You look so pretty like this," Noé says, smiles. Despite his nonchalant appearance, he is all teeth, spurred on by the human's brattish behaviour. "Perhaps we should do this more often. It seems to be the only way to make you shut up, doesn't it?"
Vanitas tries to say something, and Noé presses down harder, effectively cutting off whatever he had been going to say. His other hand rests upon the back of Vanitas' head as he pulls fingers from his mouth, guides him forwards until Vanitas' chin rests just above Noé's pants, right next to the buckle of his belt. Just as he's about to tell Vanitas exactly what he wants to do to him the young man surprises him by pressing on and opening his mouth, teeth catching on Noé's belt buckle and breath fanning over the fabric, warm and so, so human. Noé's breath hitches in his throat as Vanitas brings gloved hands up to undo the buckle, sliding the belt out of Noé's pants and casting it to the side, peering up at Noé with a half-lidded gaze and a bright smile as if there's nowhere else he would rather be.
Vanitas finally seems to get a word in. "You look so surprised, mon chéri. Are you so easily amused that just the sight of me on my knees has you wound up?"
"Be quiet."
Noé's response is brief, almost clipped as he tugs Vanitas forward by the hair, eyes narrowed; how had Vanitas managed to remain so full of himself in this position? Noé doesn't understand. But then Vanitas is undoing Noé's pants with sharp little teeth, and Noé can only watch as the younger frees his cock, wraps a hand around it and strokes from base to tip, thumb catching across the head to collect the pre-come that has gathered there. Then, quietly, he brings his head down to rest his cheek upon Noé's thigh; he looks so beautiful like this, the blue moon incarnate. Noé wants to devour him.
He settles for nudging Vanitas with one knee, and Vanitas responds in kind, finally bringing his mouth down to hover over the tip of Noé's cock. His tongue darts out to kitten-lick at the swollen head, red and throbbing from neglect. Noé is about to plead with him to touch him properly, but it turns out he doesn't need to: Vanitas takes the head into his mouth, and Noé is a gone man, head falling back against the chair with a dull thud. He'll have a headache later he's certain, but for now nothing matters besides the velvet feel of the inside of Vanitas' mouth and the way his tongue presses up against the vein that runs along the underside of his cock. Vanitas gives him no time to recover, pushing his mouth down to take him in inch-by-inch, eyes watering and yet - and yet - he manages to keep staring up at Noé with that blinding, brilliant blue stare.
He's beautiful. Truly, wondrously beautiful.
Noé's hips twitch upwards and he fights to keep himself in check. I can't do that, he reminds himself, to do so would be a betrayal of the trust Vanitas has offered me. Though Vanitas may act as though he knows everything, Noé is almost certain Vanitas doesn't have a great deal of experience in these things: if Noé were to get too rough with him...
"Noé."
The wet heat around him has vanished and Noé shivers, snaps his head down to look at Vanitas properly (a mistake in of itself, for the sight of Vanitas wiping spit and pre-come from reddened lips is almost too much to bear), barely able to string together enough words to make a sentence.
"Vanitas, I'm-"
"Stop treating me as though I'm breakable. Frankly, it's a little insulting."
Oh. "But I was just trying to keep you safe-" Noé argues, cheeks flushed with something other than arousal. "I don't want to hurt you, and I-"
Vanitas' stare could shatter glass. "I am capable of deciding for myself how much is too much. If it's truly too much for me, I'll squeeze your thigh until you're forced to stop."
It's half-promise, half-threat, and strangely comforting for what it is. The guilt that hangs low in Noé's stomach dissipates, leaving only a sense of moderate unease and a tinge of anxiety. If Vanitas is certain, then surely it's alright to try? The human never had enjoyed it when Noé presumed him to be too weak for something, and Noé so desperately wants to take from him what Vanitas seems all too willing to give. Then Vanitas' mouth is on him again, and Noé's self control has all but left the building.
He wants, and so he will let himself take.
This time, Noé tests the waters by rocking his hips upwards, pushing himself further into Vanitas' mouth. When he's met with no response other than a faint tap of gloved fingers against his leg, he takes it as encouragement, grasps Vanitas by the hair and pulls him down until his cock hits the back of the human's throat. A faint, muffled whine and the vibrations around him as Vanitas' throat moves could quite possibly send Noé to heaven. And so he lets himself go, pulls Vanitas off and pushes him back down again, fucking into his throat in a way that would horrify him were he of a more agreeable disposition. In the morning, there's no doubt he'll apologise over and over for such impolite and unseemly behaviour, but for now...
Vanitas is struggling and as Noé forces him off, he can't help but stare at him. It's the first time he's seen the human look so completely and utterly wrecked. His hair is mussed, unkempt where Noé's hands had grasped at it and his face is flushed, blue eyes glassy. His lips catch Noé's attention the most: plush, spit-slick and bruised from the night's activities, Noé can't help but think he could get used to this.
"I'm close," he warns, gives Vanitas time to think. He may have been little more than his most basic of instincts, but Noé was not unkind: Vanitas' comfort was the most important factor here, and he would listen no matter what was said. "If you keep going, I-"
"- On my face."
Noé's jaw falls open. "Excuse me?"
"I said do it on my face."
For a few painstaking moments, Noé considers saying no. He really should say no. It will take a while to clean up, and there's no doubt that Vanitas will complain endlessly afterwards, but... god, part of him really wants to. Wants to stake his claim on Vanitas in a way not even Jeanne has been capable of doing. Vanitas' shirt has slipped ever so slightly and there it is - the branding upon his skin that makes the possessive beast in Noé's chest howl for some sort of justice.
Whatever shred of self-control the vampire had left is torn to pieces instantly.
He yanks at Vanitas' hair, pulls him down until he can push his cock past reddened lips once more. A few more thrusts and that familiar, blinding white heat has settled low in his groin and then - all too soon - he's grasping at Vanitas' hair, pushing him off, and coming with a gasp. He's vaguely aware of Vanitas leaning with hands on his thighs and, when Noé finally manages to focus once more, he wants nothing more than to imprint this sight into his memory forever.
Vanitas sits seemingly stunned, Noé's release across his cheeks and mouth. His lips, though parted, are still, and Noé is grateful for the quiet. It gives him time to truly admire his handiwork, to satiate the thing within him that howls and claws and begs for more: Jeanne can't do that. She can't mark him the way that I can.
When Vanitas wipes the come off his face moments later and sticks his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean, Noé's brain almost short-circuits. It should, in retrospect, be illegal for someone to do such things, Noé thinks, especially when you're expected to work with that person normally once all is said and done. But there is still a primary issue at hand: Vanitas hasn't been touched at all since they had started, and doesn't he deserve it?
"Come here," Noé murmurs, reaches out for Vanitas with trembling hands. "Come here, baby. You did so well, Vanitas; you look so pretty."
Gently, he guides Vanitas until he's perched atop Noé's lap once more, and Noé can't help the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this night had been: how quickly things had escalated from the time they had first been in this position! But for once Vanitas is vulnerable, and Noé wants nothing more than to reward him for that vulnerability, to treat him gently so as to counter the great wrongs that had been inflicted upon him. He presses a kiss to Vanitas' cheek, to his neck, his ear. Teeth catch on the earrings, and Noé takes a moment to simply hold Vanitas against him. Only when Vanitas rocks forward does Noé respond in kind, shifting so one thigh presses up between Vanitas' legs and hands resting upon Vanitas' hips so as to guide him as he grinds down against Noé, chasing his own release.
With gentle movements he and Vanitas create a push and pull rhythm, rocking the human's hips down with the press of Noé's thigh, the friction causing Vanitas' head to fall backwards with a sob. Even now, as messy as they are, Noé remains ardent in his belief that he has never encountered someone more beautiful (and more frustrating) than Vanitas. This once, Noé lets himself indulge. Lets himself lean forward and press almost reverent kisses up the column of Vanitas' throat; lets himself whisper praise into scarred skin and watches Vanitas as he begins to unravel, falls apart in a way only Noé gets to see.
When Vanitas finally comes with a sharp cry of Noé's name and a shudder that wracks his entire body, Noé lets the human slump forwards against him, Vanitas' face hidden in Noé's neck. The logical part of Noé is aware that they should clean up: Vanitas is still clothed, and if they leave it too long the human will no doubt complain about the dried come on his face and in his pants. But Noé is certain of only two things: the first is that they can wait a few moments to start the clean - up; that he wants to let Vanitas rest.
The second is that Vanitas is ethereal, beauty incarnate and - as Noé presses a kiss to forehead - he understands why he has always found the blue moon beautiful.
Because his blue moon had always been Vanitas.
It has always been him.