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Vincent’s expensive, sophisticated apartment was a sanctuary of glass, steel, and ambition. From above, the city was nothing but lights and sin, but inside, the only glow came from the modern chandelier and the amber shine of the expensive whiskey Vincent slowly swirled in his glass. Seated in a leather armchair, dress shirt open at the chest, soft graying strands falling over his forehead, he watched the reflection of the avenue’s lights on his own legs—the dark suit, the loosened tie, the air of power and control that only intensified when he was alone.
The clock dragged itself toward midnight. Vincent didn’t seem concerned with New Year’s celebrations or going out. In fact, if he couldn’t have that person, then being alone was preferable. There was a languid quality to every movement: the long fingers holding the glass, the unhurried gaze, the mouth shaped by alcohol, nicotine, desire, and the longing he tried to drown with warm gulps of liquor.
The intercom rang, breaking the apartment’s heavy silence. Vincent answered, his voice still rough from the last sip.
“Mr. Vincent? There’s a delivery for you at the front desk.”
Vincent frowned. He wasn’t expecting anything that night. He had explicitly said he didn’t want to be disturbed by anything or anyone. Confused and irritated at having to go down, he left the half-full glass on the counter, grabbed his overcoat from the hook, and stepped out, the warm scent of whiskey and expectation trailing him into the cold air of the lobby.
But when he arrived, there was no delivery. Just an empty envelope with his name on it, and inside, a white card bearing nothing but a red scribble. He touched it, then brought it to his nose—it smelled like lipstick. The strange drawing was a small, hand-drawn radio with a heart around it. That thin, slanted, slightly ugly, unmistakable line belonged to Alastor.
A shiver ran down his spine. Was Alastor playing one of his games again? They hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in almost a month—ever since Vincent had jumped the gun once more and asked if Alastor wanted to live with him, if they couldn’t be more than just the occasional night scattered through the year.
He remembered Alastor laughing, then downing an entire glass of tequila in one go. After that, he said nothing. He just stood there, strange and silent, eyes red and nearly teary from the alcohol. Then he grabbed his coat and keys and left without a word, without even looking back—just walked out and left Vincent alone in the club. They hadn’t spoken or seen each other since, and Vincent had carried a knot in his throat ever since he last saw Alastor’s expression.
Because it probably really had been the last time.
Since then, he had avoided thinking about—or even remembering—anything related to Alastor. Until now, with that strange card in his hands. With no apparent meaning. He went back upstairs, wondering if he should call him and ask what all of this meant.
When he returned to the apartment, the door was ajar.
The smell had changed. There was perfume now. Warmth. The unmistakable scent of a certain person.
Vincent crossed the living room in silence, heart racing. The bedroom was dimly lit, curtains open to the city sky, and there—like a vision pulled from a delirium—Alastor was sitting on his bed.
He wore a wine-colored vest, open over his slender chest, his bow tie carelessly tossed onto a tray where two glasses and a bottle of French champagne rested. His hair was perfectly combed, though slightly unruly at the temples, his eyes gleaming under the soft light. Sexy, provocative, comfortable in his own skin, owning the space as if the apartment belonged to him.
The moment Vincent stopped in the doorway, Alastor smiled—a small, devilish smile—and, without hesitation, popped the champagne cork. The pop was loud. Bubbles sprayed, the golden liquid shimmering like gold.
“Happy New Year, Vincent.” His voice was rough, charged with something electric and intoxicating. “I hope you don’t mind, but when Velvette told me you’d be here all night like a kicked dog, I thought it would be unfair to let you ring in the new year alone. And, well… I also thought it would be fun to mess with your routine and surprise you.”
Vincent laughed, the tension melting away instantly. He stepped closer, eyes roaming over every inch of Alastor—from the open vest to the indecent look—feeling desire and lust infect him with every step.
“You’re actually the best surprise I could have gotten, Al.” Vincent took a glass, his fingers deliberately brushing Alastor’s, their fingertips intertwining. “But you should know that leaving me waiting that long, with no response, is cruel—even for you.”
Alastor poured both glasses, handing one to Vincent. “Maybe I like seeing you restless. Watching you lose your mind over me…”
“Alastor…” Vincent leaned in, his face dangerously close. “You enjoy torturing me.”
“I like seeing how far you’ll go before you lose control,” Alastor replied, his voice velvety, eyes half-lidded. “And I like it even more when you can’t hide it.”
Alastor moved forward slowly, fingers gripping the champagne glass as his body leaned in with a dancer’s grace. He took Vincent by the shoulders, sat him down, and swung a leg over his thighs, settling into his lap, the silk vest brushing Vincent’s chest. Alastor’s eyes burned with desire as he looked at him, lips curved into a teasing smile.
The tension between them was almost physical, the air vibrating with expectation. Alastor took a sip of champagne, the liquid sliding over his lips, then leaned closer, pressing his body against Vincent’s. There was no room left for doubt—or for protocol.
They kissed for a few minutes, tasting alcohol bubbling between tongues and lips. The warm weight of Alastor’s ass on Vincent’s thighs was undeniably pleasant and provocative, but Vincent wanted more than that.
“Alastor, I don’t want to be the guy who has the man of his dreams completely surrendered in his arms and says he can’t do this, but—”
Alastor stiffened.
“So you’re going to be that guy. Fine, I get it. You’re still upset. I understand.”
“It’s been a month, Al. A month without a single word from you. If I wanted to know anything about you, I had to check fan sites. You even blocked me on LinkedIn. I felt like an idiot. Do you have any idea what this month did to me?”
Alastor lowered his gaze, lashes falling. He swallowed hard and set his glass on the tray.
“Guilty. Okay. I’m guilty. I’m sorry.”
Vincent stared at the man in his lap, disbelief written all over his face. He’d be lying if he said he ever expected to hear Alastor apologize for anything. It felt like a hallucination brought on by alcohol.
“I came because… I needed to see you,” Alastor murmured softly, as if confessing a sin. “I can’t even explain it properly. Since that day, I felt like a fraud, like I was lying to myself. I couldn’t even look in the mirror. I kept thinking about everything you said, every day, and the way you looked at me when I left. I think that when you ran after me and dropped that glass and it shattered, something broke inside me too. I was so confused, Vincent. I didn’t know where to go anymore. I just couldn’t stay…”
Vincent pulled him in by the waist, hands firm, possessive. “Then stay. Hell, Alastor—stay. Tonight. Tomorrow. As long as you want.”
Alastor smiled, but his eyes shone with something dark and emotional. He looked like he wanted to cry, but also relieved, as if he didn’t know who he was or what he should do and needed someone else to tell him.
“I’ll stay. Vincent, let me stay. As long as you promise you won’t let me slip away, I’ll stay.”
Tears suddenly spilled down Alastor’s face, his soft, perfect olive skin glistening with shimmering trails.
“I promise,” Vincent replied, his voice hoarse.
He kissed one tear gently, then another, then licked Alastor’s cheek, tasting the salt.
“Vincent,” Alastor laughed, squirming in his lap. “That’s gross.”
They laughed, but Alastor still clung to Vincent and cried for a few minutes, sobbing softly while Vincent rubbed his back. They stayed that way until Alastor calmed down, then lifted his head with red eyes and a gentle smile—the smile of someone who feels profound relief.
They kissed again, first slowly, then with the hunger built from all the silences and lost nights. Alastor was exhausted by his own lies and surrendered, hands sliding over Vincent’s chest, his body responding to every touch, every breath. The glasses fell onto the carpet without either of them caring.
In the bedroom’s half-light, with the city celebrating outside, it was just the two of them: a constant desire, a complicity built on pride and secrecy.
“I thought about toasting the new year the conventional way,” Alastor said, his voice low and seductive. “But now, I think I have a better idea.”
He grabbed the champagne bottle from Vincent’s tray, miraculously still standing, and poured a stream of golden liquid over Vincent’s bare chest. He wasn’t completely shirtless yet, so the champagne soaked the fabric, clinging to his skin. Then Alastor ran his hands over the wet chest, feeling the tense muscles beneath his palms.
Vincent let out a low moan as Alastor continued to explore his body.
Alastor continued to caress Vincent's body with his champagne-wet hands, feeling every muscle, every curve. Vincent groaned softly, feeling the touch of the soft hands, the sensation of the wet champagne on his skin. Alastor then began to kiss Vincent's chest, following the path of the champagne, sipping it with his tongue along the curve of his neck. He ran his tongue over Vincent's nipples.
"Damn, Alastor," Vincent said, his voice hoarse.
Alastor smiled, looking at Vincent with those bright, provocative eyes. "I want this to be the best New Year's fuck of your life."
"This is my first and only New Year's fuck."
"Better yet, then it has to be unforgettable."
Alastor began to move down, kissing Vincent's abdomen, removing his wet shirt and feeling the tense muscles beneath his lips. He reached his waist, unbuttoning his belt, feeling him squirm under his touch.
"Alastor"
Alastor smiled again, looking at Vincent as he unzipped his pants, doing what he had been eager to do since he arrived, freeing his erection. He held the hot, thick member and ran his tongue along its length, feeling Vincent squirm again.
"Fuck, Alastor," Vincent groaned, his hands gripping Alastor's head.
Alastor said nothing, only continued to suck Vincent, feeling him slowly and savoring every vein, feeling him throb in his mouth. He used one hand to caress Vincent's testicles, feeling them harden under his touch. The man groaned again, his hands sinking into Alastor's curls to suck him deeper and deeper. He could feel Vincent's cock scratching deep into his throat, the frantic rhythm without a pause for breath made him start to tear up; he was almost choking.
"Damn," Vincent groaned, "I... I'm going to cum if you keep doing this."
Alastor thought he was going to faint, that member was going in and out with speed and going so deep that it burned his eyes with tears, each thrust seemed lethal, but he was willing to show that he could deliver the best performance. But it seemed that the man never came and always seemed to want more and deeper. When Vincent finally came, Alastor choked, unable to swallow it all, it was too much, feeling the salty taste of semen, he wiped the corner of his mouth. He was a mess, with cum leaking from his lips and soiling his clothes and even strands of his hair. It was obscene, dirty, and the most beautiful thing Vincent had ever seen, he wanted to pull the man and devour him as quickly as possible, but he still felt weak and dizzy.
Vincent fell onto the bed, panting and exhausted, while Alastor climbed over his lover's body, kissing him deeply as he positioned himself between his legs. He could feel Vincent's hot, throbbing erection pressing against his stomach, only he could make him so excited. Alastor began to move, removing the rest of his clothes while Vincent watched the curves become visible under the lights. It looked like a striptease, and he knew Alastor was teasing him and doing it on purpose. Free of any fabric, he began rubbing against Vincent while kissing him, feeling the desire grow with each movement.
"I can't take it anymore, Vin," Alastor groaned, feeling Vincent's hands on his. "I need you, now."
Vincent smiled, looking at Alastor with those heterochromatic eyes, a deep blue and a sweet, provocative, gentle green. "I need you too, Al. More than anything."
He grabbed lubricant from the bedside table, placing it beside them on the bed.
Alastor picked up the jar and then began to move down Vin's body, kissing his abdomen, feeling the tense muscles beneath his lips. He reached the erection, running his tongue along its length, feeling it twitch again.
"Al…" Vincent groaned, his hands holding Alastor's head. "Don't be mean."
Alastor chuckled, surrendering and raising his hands innocently.
Vincent lubricated his member; he knew from past experiences that they both needed a lot of lubricant and poured it in without mercy. Then, he positioned himself at Alastor's entrance. He could have prepared him with his fingers, slowly and romantically, as he wanted, but Alastor kept crying, saying he could take it and wanted him to go all the way, that he hadn't taken a flight on New Year's Eve to be stuck in foreplay. So Vincent growled and threw Alastor onto the bed on all fours, pumping his own cock and inserting it little by little, feeling Alastor contract around him. They stayed there for a moment, feeling the connection between them, the unbridled desire.
"My God, Vincent," Alastor groaned, almost shouting, his nails digging into the sheets. "You're so big." He seemed excited and euphoric.
Vincent began to move, feeling Alastor contract around him with each thrust. He kissed him deeply, feeling the desire grow with each movement. They moved together, the desire growing with each thrust, each kiss. Vincent ran his hands over Alastor's body, feeling every muscle, every curve. Alastor groaned softly, feeling Vincent's touch, feeling the desire growing inside him.
He wanted to look into Alastor's eyes when he came, so without warning he pulled out of the wet hole and turned Alastor over on the bed with agility. Alastor groaned, surprised. Vincent positioned himself between his legs, feeling his heart race with desire. He ran his hands over Alastor's thighs, feeling the softness of his skin, feeling the firm muscle beneath his fingers. Alastor looked at him, his eyes shining with expectation.
"I'm going to make you feel every inch of me, Al," Vincent said, his voice hoarse with desire. "I'm going to make you writhe with pleasure."
Alastor smiled, biting his lower lip. "I have no doubts, Vincent. Do whatever you want."
Vincent continued to move inside Alastor, the tightness and suction driving him to the brink of madness. He felt so good, it was so pleasurable that he could kill an entire country to live this feeling for the rest of his life. His body contracted around Alastor, who arched and gasped incessantly. Vincent knew he was close to climaxing. He decided to take his lover's legs and place them over his shoulders, then withdrew from the warm, soft hole, only to thrust in again with full force.
The sound of their skin clashing echoed erotically through the room. Alastor let out a groan, feeling weak and dizzy. He was almost there, feeling the increasingly hard member going deeper and poking that sweet spot with more vigor and efficiency. It was incredible how Vincent knew how to soften every part of him and make him sensitive in the most humiliating way. He groaned incessantly. Thank God Vincent lived in a penthouse, or he would be the building's slut.
Vincent continued teasing Alastor until he could no longer bear it, and even as Alastor climaxed, he continued to move, feeling his own orgasm approaching. He wanted to overstimulate Alastor until he cried, like last time.
"Vin, slower, slower, please..."
But Vincent was determined to teach Alastor a lesson. He continued, penetrating forcefully and vigorously until Alastor writhed and cried, his tears falling without stopping and his moans broken sobs.
When he finally climaxed, he fell on top of Alastor, panting and exhausted. His body trembled with excitement as if he had been electrocuted.
After a few minutes of rest, Vincent began to move again, kissing Alastor deeply. "I'm not finished with you yet, Al," he murmured between kisses. "I have more plans for the two of us. I was without you for a month; I need to make up for it."
Alastor smiled, biting his lower lip. "Really? Because I'm not finished with you either, Vincent. I still have a lot to show you."
The man smiled, a few gray strands fell over his forehead and he tossed them back, kissing Alastor again. "I'd like to play with the rest of the champagne," he said, his eyes gleaming with desire.
Alastor laughed, biting his lower lip again. "I think we can do a lot more than just play with the champagne."
Vincent kissed Alastor again. He picked up the bottle lying on the carpet. Alastor smiled, biting his lower lip. He began pouring the champagne over Alastor's body. He watched the liquid trickle down the glistening skin and began licking the champagne that ran down, feeling the bubbly taste on his tongue, feeling Alastor's body writhe under his touch.
He ran his tongue over Alastor's nipples, feeling them harden under his touch and teasing them, then moved up his prominent collarbones and sucked hard on his delicate neck, like a ravenous vampire. Alastor groaned softly, feeling Vincent's visceral desire, feeling the lust growing inside him.
Vincent continued to lick Alastor's body, feeling him writhe with each touch, each kiss. He reached Alastor's erection, running his tongue along its length, feeling it throb against his mouth. Alastor groaned again, feeling Vincent's touch, feeling the excitement growing inside him.
They were each other's cup, their minds slowly becoming intoxicated.
They kissed again, tenderly and passionately, while the city celebrated the new year outside. They needed nothing more, just each other. They were enough. Their bodies toasted the arrival of another year, and their hearts were the fireworks exploding in the sky.