Chapter Text
Voxtek was an empire.
Vincent had built it from the ground up and transcended to the top through the ranks of stardom all on his own.
Well, besides Velvette and Valentino.
He didn’t dwell on that little tidbit all that much.
Light crept into his office, door creaking as a small, pasty-faced boy peered through the slit.
“Sir, someone’s here for you.”
Vincent slammed his fist on his desk, “Dammit, Ethan!” he barked at the lanky intern by the door.
He was running on no sleep, wild eyes red and twitching—practically shaking from the stark shots of caffeine doses that spiked his bloodstream.
“I told you I needed to get this done—tell whoever that fucking nobody is to see me another time.”
He quickly shifted his focus back to the piles of paperwork mounted on the wooden surface of his stage-like desk, signing document after document.
“Sir, it’s your—"
“I’m busy. What the hell am I paying you for?”
He could make out movements in his peripheral vision, assuming Ethan had left as the door clicked shut. The room, once again, went dark apart from the dim yellow light from the lamp perched on the desk.
Vincent was drifting into flow state, pressing the keys on his laptop with peak efficiency, only slowing to frantically check for physical spreadsheets in his drawers every couple of minutes, the solid thudding of the wood ricocheted from the walls.
“Could you work with a little less ruckus, dearest?”
He immediately whipped his head to the familiar sound voiced from across his office, halting everything to process the figure on his couch properly.
Alastor.
Fuck, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in, realizing how much he needed to see Al. Suddenly, all the stress tension dissolved away at the sight of his husband, lounging back on the sofa while reading a book cross-legged.
Vincent stood up without thinking, “W-what are you doing here?” The caffeine stuttering his sentences, “How long have you been sss-sitting there?”
“Can I not visit you at work?”
“N-no! I mean—"
“Then I see no problem, mon cher,” Alastor tilted his head with a soft smile, “Please continue—I’d hate to interrupt such a busy man.”
Alastor knew Vincent wouldn’t be able to do anything with the thought of him in the same room, breathing the same air—just within reach. The predictability of it—his pathetic attachment—was amusing, to say the least. He was sure Vincent would pounce on him any second now.
But still, the man never fails to surprise him.
“I can finish up in an hour, my love,”
Ah, his little workaholic.
He tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, feeling a twinge of disappointment, “Take your time, dear. I will be here.”
Vincent immediately positioned himself, sat in his chair behind the desk, typing at warped speed, eyebrows furrowed as he squinted at the words on the screen.
For an hour, Alastor watched this—watched him.
It was no secret that his husband had a work ethic that bordered on preposterous psychopathic proportions. His tenacity was one of the things that made Al so dangerously fond of the man.
Suddenly, Vincent stood with his phone in hand, turning away from him to face the bookshelf that spanned the whole width of the wall, though he could still hear him from where he sat—Vincent’s voice echoed in his unnecessarily large office.
Alastor knew him—he always went big, whether it was gifts, parties, or in this case, his rather ostentatious choice of fancy interior design.
“I’m gonna be out for the rest of the night, okay?” He heard Vincent speak to the phone, “I am not to be disturbed by any means, do you understand?”
Alastor rose from the couch and sauntered towards his husband, going around the desk to join him, planting a palm on Vincent’s shoulder from behind.
“I don’t care what it is, I will not—"
He was interrupted by his phone being abruptly yanked out of his grasp mid-sentence, eyes wide, just now realizing Alastor was there.
Al brought the phone to his ear, “Listen, my good man—Ethan, was it?”
With his free hand, he gripped Vincent by the waist and maneuvered him to recline back in his office chair, and his husband responded with compliance in kind, letting himself be pushed into arrangement.
“I’m afraid the big boss man won’t be available for some time,” Alastor settled between Vincent’s legs before situating a knee on the chair, grounding the area near his core, “As you know, his husband is here and will be rather occupied. I trust that you u can make sense of the implications?”
Vincent could hear the faint reply coming from the phone, hands gripping the armrests in anticipation.
“Lovely. I’m glad we understand each other, dear Ethan. I’ll be sure to put a good word in for you with the boss, yes? Bye-bye now.” Alastor bluntly hung up, dropping the device on the desk next to them, his full attention now on Vincent.
Vincent remained quiet, pupils blown, staring up at his husband with a look of devoutness that Alastor has familiarized himself with all too well in the many years of knowing the man.
Al glanced down at the already growing tent, smirking like he won some kind of wager with himself on how fast he could get Vincent worked up.
He did.
“What’s wrong, mon cœur? You usually love to run your mouth,” Alastor teased, leaning in closer, one hand curling behind his head to grab a fistful of black hair while the other played lower, twirling around his tie.
Vincent made an audible swallow, “Can’t I appreciate the sight of my husband?”
“Well, I didn’t say that—"
“Then I see no problem, sweetheart.”
Alastor rolled his eyes, his expression showing annoyance before melting away to an affectionate smile, “Appreciate all you want, cher,” he whispered to his ear, the hand on his tie venturing south straight to the contours that revealed the obvious strain in his pants, giving a squeeze that made Vincent’s breath hitch, “But I prefer you use your hands.”
Before Vincent could do anything, Alastor crashed his lips on his, closing the distance between them.
“Fuck—Alastor,” Vincent managed to get out before another assault on his mouth, the other kissing him with intense fervor that bruised, sending heat all over his body.
He placed his hands on Alastor’s waist, drawing him closer, feeling the pull on his hair angling him to match the movements.
Vincent couldn’t help but feel a bit of uneasiness at the thought of fucking Alastor stupid in his office.
This whole building was a sanctuary born out of the power he had conjured up for himself. Money and influence etched the atmosphere from the east to the west quarters, filling every corner of his ego to maximum expansion.
He was supposed to be a leader, the quintessence of superiority—could he really risk the consequences?
He and Alastor had become quite the controversy since announcing their marriage, far more than when theories of the suspicious coinciding murders that surrounded them blasted through the media, although that one died down rather ephemeral. How boring, Alastor had thought.
While same-sex marriage was slowly gaining recognition as acceptable—legal, even, a lot of the public and their demographic weren’t exactly as open to their nuptials.
It was too much of a risk for both of them, their careers, their lives, to indulge here in Vincent’s office where anyone can hear them through the door.
And Alastor had a tendency to be loud.
Fuck, he was really regretting not splurging for the soundproofing when renovations were still underway.
It’d be almost too easy for those fucking low-life journalists to use this for headlines as some kind of office scandal to weaken their image. Hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised if one of them already planted a hidden camera in here to snap a photo of Al’s bare ass on his desk.
What a picture that’d be.
Alastor released him, panting, leaning his forehead on his husband’s, the heat of their breaths colliding.
Vincent felt a hand trailing down his side, shivering at the touch, biting his lip to muffle the noises that were bound to escape.
Alastor was still palming the pinnacle fold of his slacks, stroking him using rhythmic technique through the fabric.
“That—that feels good, Al,” He swallowed between pants, his eyes fluttering as the other coaxed him further along the edge.
“Does it now?”
The fingers flexing his dick retreated, leaving him strained and leaking in his clothes, lifting his hips instinctively to search for the sensation.
“No, not yet, mon cher,” Alastor whispered, cruel and saccharine, “I’m not done with you.”
Vincent’s head swirled with the raging pandemonium of conflicting feelings going at him all at once.
God, he was hard.
Anyone outside could hear them.
Alastor’s waist.
Shit, his ratings would plummet.
His husband looked fucking irresistible.
What would the headlines say?
Al reached to work on his belt, pulling the leather out of the loops around his waist before hurried fingers slipped open the pants button.
Before he could get to the zipper, Vincent’s hand caught his wrist, “Baby, n-not here—let’s go home.”
Instead of complete sentences, Alastor tilted his head, a silent question of why the hell not telepathically traveling to the other.
“Someone might hear,” Vincent murmured.
“Let them,” Alastor replied as if it was the most obvious course of action, “Here I thought you were the exhibitionist between the two of us.”
“But—"
“I want you now, mon cœur. Don’t make me wait.”
“I-it’s just that—“
“Honestly, Vincent, why do you care?”
“I’m the boss, and this is completely inappropriate!”
He cringed, looking away, not believing his own words.
For the record, he couldn’t give a single flying fuck about propriety like he was born out of some immaculate conception—but paranoia got the best of him. It’d damage both their positions in their respective jobs if it ever got out that they were fucking in his office like some unrestrained teenagers who couldn’t keep it in their pants.
He turned his head to watch for Alastor’s judgment, only to find his husband wearing a wicked smile that could only mean no good.
“Is that so?” Alastor purred, taking a step back, “You’re the boss, Vincent?”
“Y-yes,” he said, trying to stand his ground, but was betrayed by the slight tremble in his voice.
Alastor sank down on his knees, not steering away from his hold on other’s gaze.
It was like the world was set in slow motion as Vincent watched Al settling by his shoes, knees digging into the hardwood floors.
“Perhaps I should show some more respect, hm?” Alastor crooned, resting his cheek on Vincent’s thigh, batting his eyelashes—feigning innocence, “What do you think, sir?”
This man was going to be the death of him.
A finger traced up his thigh up to the prominent outline of his cock, circling around the area, teasing.
“F-fuck—someone might come in—"
“You will tell them to fuck off because your husband needs you right now.”
He leaned in, softly nuzzling Vincent’s crotch, taking in the magnetic hot scent of him, his own erection still painfully caged behind his trousers.
“Oh fuck! Ha—hah—“ he let out a tortured laugh, “C-careful, you’ll get me thinking you like it down there.”
Alastor hummed, feeling his shaft twitch against his face in doing so, “And if I do?”
Goddamn brat.
Vincent reached for his dark curls, pulling him back, angling him to take in the sight.
Alastor looked flushed—cheeks burned, hair ruffled, shirt disheveled, lips parted.
He looked needy, ruined.
This was going to bite him back in the ass—he just knows it.
Fuck it—at heart, Vincent was always a selfish man.
“Prove it.”
Alastor felt command send a wave of thrill to his extremities, feeling the delicious ache emanating from Vincent’s grip on his scalp.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better,” he leaned back in his chair, letting Alastor feel the shift of who’s in charge now, “Now why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth can do, yeah?”
Vincent could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, a small tell he didn’t miss.
“Oh? Suddenly shy, are we? I thought you needed me, sweetheart.”
Alastor nodded.
“Use your words, baby. Ask me for what you want.”
He looked away, one last attempt to regain control, not wanting to admit how desperate he was getting—not yet.
Okay, so it was going to take him a while—Vincent could work with that.
It was always like this with Alastor; he enjoyed taking charge of their intimacy but ultimately relished the feeling of being out of control—however long that took—being ordered to do things he’d never think to do if not for the man in front of him.
Vincent extended his leg forward, rubbing the sole of his shoe right up against Alastor’s clothed dick.
“Vin—yes, fuck.” he gasped out, pushing his hips forward to chase the sensation.
“Not so high and mighty now, are you? So eager and desperate,” Vincent taunted, allowing his husband the friction he needed, “I could keep you like this, you know—on your knees, forced to come on my shoe and nothing else.”
Alastor looked up at him, a small hint of panic unveiling itself in those brown eyes.
“N-no.”
“Oh? What do you want then?”
“I—I want—“ his voice failed, still rutting on Vincent’s shoe, knees strained, hands gripping the armrests for support.
He looked fucking pathetic.
Vincent’s mouth curved at the sides, applying more pressure on Al’s cock, “So beautifully depraved, sweetheart. I love it when you get like this.”
Alastor whimpered at the praise, “Vincent—God, yes—"
Vincent knew what his husband liked; Alastor wanted to be adored, to be worshipped, and he was only too happy to deliver.
“Make more sounds, baby. You know I love listening to you.”
“Ngnk—hah—oh, fuck. Vin, I want to—"
Alastor didn’t want to beg, even as the urge crept in. He’d built himself on restraint and discipline—asking outright would cross a line he didn’t like admitting tempted him.
“Already losing yourself? Come on, Al, tell me what you want.”
“I want t-to suck you off,” he was shaking now, fraying at the edges of his self-acclaimed control.
“Is that how we ask for things we want, hm?”
“You said to—hah—prove it. Let me. I want—“
“I know what you want, my love, but can you ask nicely?” Vincent teased with a knowing tone, “Where’s all that respect you talked about?”
He was going to make Alastor beg in every way possible.
“P-please! May I w—worship you, sir?”
“That’s what you want, Al? To worship me?”
“Please—"
“God, do you know how good you sound whining for my dick?” Vincent groaned, withdrawing his shoe, making Alastor squeak at the loss.
Alastor dropped his head forward, trying to steady his breathing and composure—whatever little left he had.
His mind was in disarray, struggling to string two coherent thoughts together,
“You know what to do, baby.”
He scrambled towards his husband’s pants, hands shaky with excitement and arousal, but his movements were ceased by the sudden grip on his wrist.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vincent snorted a fake laugh, “I didn’t mean for you to use your hands, darling—no, I want you to use your mouth.”
Alastor looked up at him, at his stupid grin, how he looked like he was just expecting obedience.
“Yes, sir.”
If it were even possible, Vincent’s smile widened.
“That’s my boy. Keep being good for me, Al.”
Alastor drew his head closer to the outline of Vincent’s dick, taking the zipper tab in between his bite and pulling down the metal teeth apart.
His husband’s breath was already coming in-and-out unevenly, which he took as encouragement to go further. Alastor bit the waistband of Vincent’s boxers, tugging it down enough to release his aching member, red and glistening at the tip.
“Fffuck—yes, Alastor—"
“My, so responsive. I’ve barely touched you, sir. Do you really love me that much?”
“We’re m-married, you fucking—"
Before he could finish, Alastor took the entirety of the head in his mouth.
“Holy—hah—baby, more—"
He wills his jaw to relax, taking each inch with careful reverence, tongue flat underneath Vincent’s cock.
“Yessss..."
Alastor slowly bobbed his head, cheeks hollowed as he sucked. He felt Vincent’s hips lift off the chair to thrust into his mouth as a hand moved to his hair, guiding him up and down his length.
“Alastor—mmph—I’m not gonna last—"
Suddenly, the phone left on the desk rings, cutting through the moment.
Alastor pulls away from Vincent, hand wrapped around the base.
“Answer it, sir.”
Vincent looked at Al, phone still vibrating to a tune, checking for any sign that he’s kidding—but no, Alastor was seriously telling him to answer the call—in the middle of this?
The hand tightened around his cock, forcing a whine out of him, “Well? Can’t keep business waiting, sir.” Alastor put on a show of concern, tilting his head.
Vincent reluctantly reached for the phone before holding it up to his ear, “H-hello?” he stuttered, voice undignified for an influential figure like himself.
Alastor chuckled at the sound of his husband becoming undone from his touch—from him.
His dick twitched at the thought of being able to reduce this man into nothing but a desperate dog—before the unexpected, yet terrifying, thought came hurling in his mind; he was just as desperate and pathetic for the man before him.
It was true—Alastor drove himself crazy restraining himself from the urge to kill everyone who drew Vincent’s attention away from him. He would sit apart from the crowds in soirées and observe his husband from a distance, watching him greet guests with his ever-polite smile, feeling his blood boil with raging heat whenever someone’s hands or eyes lingered too long for his liking.
But now, he was enjoying ruminating over all the ideas he could act out with Vincent’s focus partly on the other voice speaking through his phone.
“Yes, tell him I’ll w-work right—right on that,” Vincent said to the man on the line, his tone betraying his push to hide how flustered he was, “I have to—ah!"
Alastor took Vincent whole in his mouth, choking when he felt him hit the back of his throat.
He dove further and further to swallow Vincent completely, who was struggling to keep his noises down, cautious not to expose what was going on in his side of the call.
“No, I just s-stubbed my foot. P-please, I’m really busy at the moment—I’ll give you a—hah—call later, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, Vincent disconnected and slammed the phone down on the desk.
“Alastor, fuck!”
Retaking dark curls back in his grasp, he swore he could feel the smirk of triumph lined against him as Alastor continued taking him in his willing throat, lapping up his cock.
“Baby, I’m—I’m close.”
Alastor didn’t stop.
His throat narrowed around Vincent’s shaft as he swallowed, guiding him through the edge.
Vincent came with Alastor’s name on his lips, a wave of intense supernova burst through his veins, like electricity branching out from every part of him.
Alastor worked him through it, dipping his head back and forth as his husband rode out his orgasm.
He popped off Vincent’s dick, dragging a groan from the other.
“You—“ Vincent started, attempting to draw even breaths, “You’re evil.”
Alastor let out a quiet laugh as he stood up, feeling the dull ache in his knees, “You love it.”
“Fuck yeah, I do.”
Alastor smoothed out his dress shirt, his obvious erection straining the front of his slacks.
“Need me to take care of that, baby?”
“We’ll continue this at home or in the car—depending on how long you can behave yourself.”
“Wouldn’t count on it.”
He leaned into his husband’s space, “I want you to make me scream and cry until I’m begging you to stop, Vincent,” he pressed a kiss to his temple, “Think you can manage that, dearest?”
“Yes, you got it, Al,” Vincent gulped, not able to say anything other than agreement.
“Lovely,” Alastor turned, walking towards the door, peering over his shoulder to get a look at Vincent, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”
Vincent sat still in his chair, not quite back to himself yet. He could only focus on Alastor’s waist, how it felt cradling the shape of his chassis in his hands.
Alastor opened the door to make his exit, letting out a genuine laugh as he got out, “Oh, dear. You can uncover your ears now, Ethan.”
Poor kid.