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Continuous heavy pants began to even out to softer intakes of breath, the room growing more silent as the ability to breathe regularly was slowly regained. Blue and green eyes focused on the ceiling above, half open and slightly weak in the exhausted state that Vincent suddenly found himself in. He lifted an arm to drape across his forehead, instantly coming into contact with the thin layer of sweat that had accumulated on it whilst he debated on where to place the other.
He considered for a brief moment on extending it out to offer the form beside him a chance to come closer. However, the thought was brushed aside just as quickly when he felt it shift away to the edge of the bed, giving him the opportunity to simply allow his arm to fall over the now empty space next to him, still warm from the previous presence that occupied it. Vincent pushed himself up at the sound of rustling fabric and the feeling of the bed becoming empty, your risen figure blurry in his weariness and without the help of his lenses.
Grasping his glasses from the nightstand, he slid the thick frames into place, granting him the ability to observe you more clearly now. His earlier discarded white shirt wrapped around you, a cigarette placed between your lips as you leaned against the windowsill. You pushed open the window to allow the cool night breeze to enter, although the temperature was lower than you anticipated, grazing your bare legs that Vincent’s shirt failed to cover with a cold chill.
He was about to scold you for your decision until the flicker of the lighter interrupted him, his words stolen from him completely when the flame cast a gentle orange glow over your face. The way it illuminated your features was enough to make him speechless — a realisation that made him gulp nervously — before the vision was selfishly removed from him once the flame had ignited your cigarette, leaving only the natural glimmer of the moon upon you.
This was a sight he could get used to.
Vincent slowly fell back against the headboard with a smirk, his voice taunting. “You’re allowed to do that over here y’know. Doesn’t have to be all the way over there, sweetheart.”
“Trying to get me back into bed with you already?” You teased back.
“Always.” He spoke, smooth and deep, your actions inspiring him to search through the drawer next to him and ignite his own cigarette. His gaze remained firmly on you, admiration laced so clearly within it as he inhaled with a cloud of smoke spilling from his lips soon after. “You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”
“And you look good without them.”
Vincent breathily laughed, playfully raising an eyebrow at how your eyes flickered across him, so shameless and enamoured. The plush sheets settled around his waist to give you a tantalising display of his sculpted bare chest, dark hair scattered across that trailed down his toned arms. Your tongue swiped across your lips in appreciation for the sight, unintentional but out of your control. Your approval of his current look was only soldified by his disheveled hair, contrasted strands of dark and light streaks loosened out of his usual immaculate style — a result of your fingers mercilessly tugging at his locks previously in the night.
Thick, black frames rested on his face, blue and green eyes still slightly dazed behind them. The mismatched trait was something you hadn’t seen until meeting him, a feature that made him more unique, more attractive. A beautiful aspect that you could appreciate more up close without the barrier of lenses, although you enjoyed how he looked when he wore his glasses. Vincent would probably argue with you that he appeared better without them, the choice of leaving them off becoming more frequent these days; he seemed to reserve the sight mostly for you, sliding them into place once beads of sweat had cooled and heavy pants had subsided.
“Careful, doll.” He muttered and paused to take a drag from his cigarette. “That’s a dangerous look you’re giving me.”
His words pulled you out of your trance and left you laughing softly. You pushed yourself off the windowsill and took steps towards him with a shrug, feigning ignorance. “What look?”
That look you always gave him, hunger and desire so painfully evident, but with a hint of something else weaved within it. Admiration, maybe — something people often looked at Vincent with, although it was different when it was from you. He considered appreciation to describe it, perhaps even affection, and the possibility that you actually saw him for more than whatever he was to you at the start of these exchanges — for who he was, not just what he was.
Sometimes, but only sometimes, he pondered over the thought that it could even be love that he detected from you, but that wasn’t possible; that wasn’t something either of you were here for, or at least that’s what he told himself at the beginning. It was difficult not to think about something more than just this with you, especially with each night you spent beneath his sheets, leaving him thinking deeper with each exchange, becoming more attached with every shared touch.
You walked around the bed to his nightstand, burying your cigarette that had reached its end in the conveniently placed ashtray. Vincent mimicked your actions with his own, slightly taken aback by how you immediately climbed on top of him after he had done so. Knees settled at either side of him, chest to chest, your arms securely locked around his neck; you had been in this position with him so many times before, yet this time he felt like his heart could stop at the closeness.
His hands instinctively rested on your hips, the way you pushed close enough that your noses gently grazed together leaving him breathless, and then he finally answered. “That look. Like you want to devour me.”
You laughed, a hand settling on his shoulder whilst the other reached up to trace your fingertips across his jaw, soft and slow enough to make him shiver. “I do. It’s hard not to want to when you look good enough to.”
“Careful.” Vincent warned you again in a low voice, a smirk on his face until you wiped it from him completely by bringing his face close to yours and pressing your lips against his.
Your action was tender at first, gentle enough to surprise him, until you worked a little firmer, a little hungrier. It motivated him to knead the flesh of your hips in his grasp, which only seemed to encourage you to go further, your tongue carefully gliding across his bottom lip. Vincent’s grip on you grew tighter, his mind hazy, completely drunk on the taste that flooded his senses — tantalising enough to make him hum in delight.
Vincent loved control — he needed to have it over others — yet around you, he had none whatsoever. To regain at least some back, he disconnected your lips before your actions inevitably went further once again, but lost it just as quickly with the words that fell from him. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
You blinked in surprise. “What?”
“It’s a pretty simple question, sweetheart. Easy enough to answer.”
“Nothing?” You barely managed to answer, your response sounding almost uncertain.
“Great. Let me take you out then.”
You paused, offering him only silence for a moment. When he tilted his head at you, confused but entertained at how speechless you were, you finally pushed yourself to respond to him. “That’s not something we do.”
“You’re right. Aren’t you clever, doll?” He teased with a few gentle pats to your hip, which resulted in you giving him an unimpressed glare. “But I would like to start doing that.”
“Really?” You muttered and received a nod back, your look of disbelief soon turning into a soft smile. “I would like that too.”
Vincent offered you a small grin of his own back, and then suddenly his cheeks were dusted with a subtle shade of pink, his eyes avoiding yours as he attempted to suppress any excitement that threatened to show in his tone.
“Do you like aquariums?”