Work Text:
You stand in the elevator at the hotel, the night before the Ghost concert. You hold a Coke and a bag of Doritos in one hand, your wallet clutched in the other. It's late but the snack craving won out. Dull elevator music drones from the speakers above, the kind of bland instrumental that makes you feel like you're in a waiting room rather than moving between floors.
The door dings. It opens.
Time stops.
There's something dark about Papa V.
He wears all black, not just black, but a black that seems to absorb the artificial light in the elevator. His paint is somehow darker than his predecessors. Papa is wearing just his silk shirt, cravat and those tight pants you’ve thought too long and hard about. His mask is even shinier in person, casting shadows around his eyes that would make them difficult to see — if one didn’t have a ghostly white glow.
You try to act cool as he steps inside and settles into the opposite corner of the elevator. The doors slide shut. The music continues its mindless loop. You look everywhere but at him, the floor numbers, the brushed metal panels, your own distorted reflection in the polished surface. Anywhere but him.
But you feel his gaze on you.
You can't help it. You turn to look.
He's smirking at you. Not a full smile, just the barest curve at one corner of his painted mouth, like he knows exactly what you're thinking. Like he knows exactly what you're feeling.
Fuck.
"You look like you want to say something," he purrs.
You sigh. The bag of Doritos crinkles in your hand. "I mean—I guess I do have a question. I've been planning on doing something during the concert, but... I don't know."
His eyes widen. "And what's that?"
You take a breath and launch into it. "So, like—okay, this is going to sound weird, but in the past, people would flash their boobs at Ghost concerts, right? It was a thing that definitely happened. But I haven't really seen anyone talk about it lately and I don't know if that's still... acceptable? Or if the vibe has changed?" You're talking faster now, the words tumbling out. "I mean, I want to do it, I've been thinking about it, but I don't know if I'm overthinking this whole thing or if it's actually inappropriate now and—"
You stop yourself, realizing you're rambling. Heat creeps up your neck.
When you finally look over at him, he's watching you with an expression you can't quite read. Curious, maybe. Amused, definitely. One eyebrow is potentially raised above that white eye.
"Also," you add quickly, "I don't want to get kicked out. Or make the security guards uncomfortable."
His gaze drops. Not subtly. Not politely. It falls directly to your chest, lingering there with an appreciation that makes your skin flush hot beneath your shirt. When his eyes lift back to yours, that smirk has deepened into something wickedly amused.
"You could," he says, his voice low and smooth. "I certainly wouldn't complain."
The heat in your face intensifies. Your grip tightens on the Coke bottle, condensation slick against your palm.
The elevator dings. His floor.
Papa strides slowly to the doors until he is through, though you can see the hesitation in his steps. They start to close. Then he stops them, turning back to you. "You could show me them now… if you'd rather…."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. The Doritos bag crinkles louder in the sudden silence, the only sound besides the blood rushing in your ears. The elevator is empty except for the two of you. The hallway behind him is deserted. You should say no. You should laugh it off, make some joke, let the doors close.
But that white eye is fixed on you, waiting. Patient.
"Here?" Your voice comes out smaller than you intended.
"Why not?" He steps back into the elevator, letting the doors slide shut behind him. The space feels smaller now, the air thicker.
Your hands are shaking as you set down the Coke and Doritos on the elevator floor. You straighten up, meeting his gaze. The smirk is still there, but there's an anticipation in his eyes now.
You reach for the hem of your shirt.
He moves closer, closing the distance between you in two steps. Long legs. The elevator feels too small now, the air thick with this strange tension. Papa's tongue drags across his bottom lip before he catches it between his teeth. Sharp teeth. Too sharp.
Your hands are trembling as you grip the hem of your shirt. You hesitate for just a moment, meeting that white eye one last time before you commit.
Then you pull your shirt up.
The cool air of the elevator hits your exposed skin first, raising goosebumps across your chest. You hold the fabric bunched above your breasts, your heart hammering so hard you're sure he can hear it.
Papa’s eyes are immediately on you, raking over your chest as a low groan bubbles up from his lips. He nearly has you caged against the wall. Nowhere to run. You're not sure if he even realizes he's doing it. The space between you shrinks with each of your shallow breaths.
“Speaking of consent… aheh.” His gaze shifts, meeting your eyes directly now.
"Y-yeah, of course," you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. "U-uhm… have at it."
Papa’s palm makes contact, cupping one of your breast, his thumb circling your nipple. The sensation shoots straight through you, making your knees wobble. He’s still watching your face.
Your brows knit together, trying not to give in too quickly to whatever this is between you.
Then his fingers find your nipple and pinch.
"Mmf!” You groan through tight lips.
Papa's response is immediate: a low, pleased growl through a tight smile. He leans down, cupping the sides of your breasts with both hands before burying his painted face between them.
You feel insane. Palms flat against the wall, anchoring yourself to reality while your breath is stolen.
He moans as he nuzzles deeper, his nose dragging along the curve of your breast. The paint on his face smears slightly against your skin, leaving traces of black and white. A warm mouth finds your nipple. The beeps of the elevator are far away now. You close your eyes as he circles it with his tongue, then pulls it between those sharp teeth with just enough pressure to make you squeak.
He switches to the other side, giving it the same attention. You tilt your head back, eyes shut as you take it all in. This can’t be real, can it? Not just some Ghoncert induced fantasy you’ve dreamt up for yourself? But the warmth of his mouth is as real as anything.
When he finally pulls back, his paint is thoroughly smudged, his pupils blown wide with desire.
The elevator dings.
Your floor.
You quickly pull your shirt back down, suddenly aware that people could be on the other side. The elevator doors stand open and you peer over Papa’s shoulder only to reveal an empty hallway. Relief floods you.
Then, Papa clears his throat and your gaze snaps to his face. Around his mouth is smudged, streaks of black and white blurred together where his face pressed against your skin. His hair is slightly mussed. He looks more wild, untethered to whatever professionalism he held when he first stepped on.
He catches your gaze and that smirk returns, though it's softer now, almost fond.
"I should—" you start, gesturing vaguely toward the hallway.
"You should," he agrees, but he leans in one last time to press a kiss to your temple. “Enjoy the concert tomorrow. Perhaps… I’ll see ya again.” His white eye gleams as he finally steps back to give you space.
You bend down, grabbing your Coke and Doritos from the elevator floor. One last look at him with probably an insane look on your face, bewildered yet aroused.
After the elevator doors close, you fall to your knees.