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Light from the crack of the window crept into the room, waking Alastor with an irritated grumble. He’d always been a light sleeper, and bright lumen was his biggest disturbance. From his back, he rolled over on his stomach, smothering himself against the pillow into the comforting darkness.
“Vincent,” he mumbled, “Close the drapes.”
His boyfriend was usually awake before him, dressing himself to go to work, but it was a Sunday, which meant Vincent was probably stationed right next to him, sitting up on their shared bed, immersed in a book or his phone while a fresh cup of coffee sat on the nightstand on his side.
But today, nothing. Alastor slowly peeked through half-closed eyelids to the empty space beside him, still adjusting to the sun engulfing their room. Where was that idiot?
He checked the rectangular digital clock on his bedside table, eyes still restricted from the light sensitivity.
7:26 AM
A bit early to rise for a weekend, but he feels well-rested enough not to go back to sleep. His eyes glanced to the side and landed on the folded piece of paper placed next to the time.
Blinking the eye strain away, he reached for the note. As he moved, he realized his skin directly rested against the sheets and comforter, the soft fabric brushing against his bare legs and torso as he shifted.
He was naked, Alastor realized embarrassingly late and mortifyingly so.
Suddenly, events of last night flashed around his mind, images of what he did and what Vincent did to him surging into his memory like it was slapped into him.
Him perched on Vincent's lap while the other touched and kissed him, trembling as he whined for more—begged to come like a desperate hedonist.
Flush reached his cheeks, feeling hot as he remembered the man going between his legs, being teased and patronized like a child until he broke—the sensation of Vincent licking and sucking him… there.
It never even occurred to him that it’d be pleasurable to have someone’s mouth lapping him up and down like some canine. What did Vincent get from that anyway?
With the note in hand, he sat up, making sure to cover his bare crotch with the comforter—utilizing the last of his decency, if you will.
Alastor,
I’m down in the basement if you’re wondering. There are eggs with toast on the counter and coffee in the pot.
And yes, we’re going to talk about last night.
Love you.
- V
With a loud sigh, Alastor stood from the bed, the cold breeze grazing past his naked body, putting on his robe as he strode towards the door.
Going down the steps to the kitchen, he reflected on last night because—well, it sort of went against everything he thought he knew about himself. Did this mean he wasn’t asexual? Even now, he still didn’t have a grasp on the entirety of the word but that’s what people always called him, assuring him that it was okay, though some were a little less understanding.
Did he enjoy it? Reluctantly, the answer was a yes. It was something he’d been wanting for a while after all—because of Vincent or the act itself, he didn’t know exactly. Would he do it again? He supposes that’d be a yes as well. What was wrong with him? Why was he having all of these thoughts so late in life?
Alastor couldn’t deny that he liked it—the attentiveness his partner displayed for his needs, no matter how debased it was, to the exclusion of his own pleasure. Vincent probably didn’t even come from the lack of stimulation on his groin. In fact, he doesn’t really remember what happened after he finished. Would Vincent be mad that his actions weren’t reciprocated? Oh, now that worried him a bit. What would he even do? He had no experience whatsoever and didn’t even know if he’d like it or if it was pushing the boundaries he’s set for himself all his life, but you know what, he decided he’s willing to try.
Alastor brought his food on a plate in one hand, then a mugful of browned coffee, and headed towards the basement. He can eat while watching whatever Vincent’s doing—but if he’s down there, then he probably has a good guess as to what’s holding him up.
He made his way down, hearing the loud bone saw machine working—a gift the man got him for his birthday, he thought fondly.
Vincent was hacking through a leg on the central table—Alastor couldn’t exactly identify whose limb it was, but it was nice to watch him work either way.
Not wanting to disturb him, he settled on the staircase, eating his breakfast on the steps just high enough for Vincent not to see him yet. He had a nice view from up here, watching him through the railings as he ate and sporadically sipped his coffee.
Vincent was sawing the point between thigh and shin, right above the knee, and carefully avoiding any ligaments.
He was wearing what he usually wore while playing down in the basement: gloves and a raincoat—he looked ridiculous, though Alastor supposes he could respect not wanting to get dirty.
Even though Vincent had been assisting him for some time in these certain endeavors, he didn’t quite have a handle on managing blood loss—he let it get everywhere; it was a mess. For a man so keen on staying clean for as long as possible, he really left the place a disaster painted red a great deal of time—a call to Nifty would have to be in order soon.
Blood was splattered across his body and face, trickling down his cheeks, and smeared the vinyl material of his raincoat.
He couldn’t complain, Alastor supposes; it was a good look on him. Couldn’t exactly refuse that he liked Vincent looking a little dangerous—knowing how this weapon of a man practically worshipped the ground he stepped on.
Alastor watches closely now, the way Vincent gripped the leg, sawing it to pieces with such a serious face, but he knew him long enough to catch the glint in his eyes that told him he was enjoying himself.
He thought back to how Vincent used those same hands to touch him, imagined him all bloodied and frenzied as he toyed with him again, letting Alastor lick the blood off of him—
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Al, come down here,” Vincent spoke as he turned off the machine, making Alastor jump, “You’ve been watching me for at least 20 minutes without saying a word.”
He didn’t say anything in reply, staying still and wide-eyed on the steps.
“What, you thought I wouldn't notice you come in?” Vincent grabbed a rag, wiping the crimson off his gloves, not sparing a look towards the other.
Alastor, relented, slowly made his way down, leaving his plate and mug where he sat, “How long have you been playing here?” he said as he reached the ground.
“Good morning to you too,” Vincent chuckled, turning to face him now, “Couldn’t sleep, been here for about three or four hours?”
Alastor settled on the wooden counter by the near wall, “Who’s that?”
“Not sure,” he looked at the evenly cut pieces of what used to be someone’s leg, “This one didn’t have a head when I checked the freezer. I’m guessing you disposed of it yourself?”
“Ah, that’s Adam then,” Alastor said, laughing a little, “And yes. He talked too much, it was getting rather inconvenient, so I—“
“How’re you doing?”
“What?”
“I meant after last night,” Vincent continued, moving to remove his protective gear, peeling the blood-stained gloves and raincoat off his body, “I’m sure you’ve gone through it all already, overthinking everything like you always do.”
“I did not—"
“I’m not finished,” Vincent cut him off, crossing his arms and leaning his hip by the edge of the table where the severed leg still seeped blood onto the surface, didn’t care if it got on his clothes now, “I have three things I’d like to lay out for you before you talk. Understand?”
Alastor recognized the way Vincent was speaking, the same manner he handled a business meeting. Usually, he liked it when he was authoritative, but now, it was making him feel vulnerable—he nodded anyway, shifting uncomfortably.
“Good. First of all, I want you to know that I get that it was a big deal for you. I’m really glad you felt comfortable enough to try with me.”
He looked at Alastor for some reaction, but got none.
“Second, I did enjoy myself—"
“You didn’t even… finish.” Alastor interrupted, giving a confused tilt of the head. How could Vincent have enjoyed that when he didn’t even do anything?
“What are you talking about? Yeah, I did.”
“But I didn’t even touch you—“ Alastor paused, giving it a thought, “While I was asleep?”
“What—no. I, uh, came in my pants,” Vincent said sheepishly, “I mean, even if I didn’t, it was still fun.”
“You—in your pants?”
“Yeah, asshole.”
“I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Well, it is,” Vincent rolled his eyes, “Bottom line, I liked it, and I hope you did too. However, if you didn’t—which leads me to my next point, I wouldn’t mind if you never wanted to do that again.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Alastor gave a raised eyebrow, looking unconvinced, “You have the libido of a teenager.”
Vincent laughed at his comment, “Sure, but I don’t need sex, Al,” he stood off the table now on both legs, blood staining the fabric on his lower back, “If you told me you hated it and never wanted to experience it again, then I’d respect that.”
Alastor looked straight at him, scanning his face for some form of deception, disbelieved to have found none. It’d be a lie if he said he never wanted to do it again, but was he willing to admit that?
“Al? Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Whatever is it you’re thinking so hard about.” Vincent looked at him with caution, giving a reassuring smile, “Did you not like what happened last night?”
“I didn’t hate it, no.” Alastor mumbled, glancing away from the man, “It was just new.”
“I get that,” Vincent nodded, blood dripping from the hair blocking his face, “Anything else?”
“What do you want me to say, Vincent?” he snapped, looking back at him in a fed-up stare.
“The truth,” he shrugged, “Don’t be like that, Al—we’re just talking.”
He knew Alastor wasn’t going to make this easy—it was like feeding a caged lion and hoping you don’t get your arm ripped off in the process, but he wasn’t going to cave. He had to get the man to tell him what he wanted, and he was sure he’d succeed even if Alastor fought him the whole way through.
“Hypothetically, if I did want to do it again, what would that entail exactly?”
Vincent visibly perked up, glad Alastor was showing an open mind, grinning like an idiot, which the other abhorred. “That’s when we talk. You tell me what you like, what you don’t like, and we try it out.”
“I wouldn’t exactly know.”
“Did you like last night?”
“What exactly?” he wanted to say, but instead, he fell silent, quietly calculating what he should say in response—something that gets him what he wants while also freeing him from having to admit it.
Vincent sighed and rephrased, “Did you like my hands touching you?”
Alastor stared at him, his cheeks visibly reddening at the reminder, making Vincent smirk at him as he failed to come up with a dignified reply.
Yes, the answer was yes.
“What about me sucking on your nipples? Did that feel good?” Vincent came closer, stalking towards him with dark eyes and dried blood dragged across his face, looking awfully a lot like a predator. “Or was it my mouth on you, going down on your cock until you—“
“Must you?” Alastor seethed the words through his teeth, narrowed his eyes at the man as he drew closer.
Vincent halted in front of him where he sat on the counter, propping both arms on the wooden surface on either side of Alastor’s body, leaning forward and hardly giving him any room to compose himself.
Blood was getting on Alastor’s clothes, but he didn’t truly mind, “You’re filthy, Vincent.”
“Did you like it or not?” He moved even closer, ignoring him, not hiding his locked gaze on Alastor’s lips, which made something twist in the other’s insides. “Do you want it, sweetheart?”
Alastor’s jaw relaxed, mouth agape without a word coming out, not trusting himself to utter a word for it’d be too honest, he thinks.
Instead, he nods once—barely noticeable, but Vincent caught it.
“Oh, baby, you can’t say it properly for me?”
“Fuck you,” is all he manages to let out.
“Not today, love,” Vincent said, shifting towards the side of his face, leaving a kiss on his jaw, “Not yet, I just wanna take care of you.”
Alastor felt his cock stirring behind his cotton robe, instinctively spreading his legs to make room for him to come closer, feeling the heat of Vincent’s crotch near but too far from where he actually wants it.
“Hard for me already, love?” he whispers against his skin, “Your body’s telling me what you won’t, Al.”
“Vincent—" Alastor choked on his words, an insult probably, when he found rather sensitive skin on his neck and sucked.
“What do you want, Alastor?”
His tone changed, more assertive and firm now, leaning back to look him in the face. Somehow, Alastor got the hint that he wasn’t gonna be able to smart-talk his way out of this one.
“Teach me,” he muttered barely above a sigh, “I want to do what you…did to me.”
“You want to take me in your mouth?”
He cringed at the vulgarity of his words, but nodded. “Yes. I want it.”
“Fuck.” Vincent exhaled, the idea of Alastor sucking his cock, all pretty and willing, spiked his bloodstream with so much epinephrine that it dizzied him. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely not, but I want to try anyway.”
It made him laugh, shaking his head, and reaching up to rest his palm on Alastor’s cheek, his thumb toying with the edges of his mouth. “Okay. How about this?” pushing the digit past his lips, “Suck on my finger, and then I’ll consider letting you have a taste.”
Alastor should’ve spared his dignity from the depravity of it. However, with less hesitation than expected, he opened his mouth wider, letting the thumb pass his teeth.
“So good. How badly do you want it?” Vincent rubbed the wet muscle of his tongue with the pad of his finger.
Alastor could only whine around his thumb, smoothing the appendage with his probe—experimenting, so to speak, with the new sensation. He shifted, grabbing Vincent by the waist and pulling him nearer, their clothed erections touching.
“That bad, baby?” He cooed, exploring his mouth with his finger before pressing it deeper into him, causing Alastor to gag, he couldn’t help his body’s natural response of trying to get away, throat contracting around the fleshy tip.
Vincent clicked his tongue, letting out a silent tsk, pulling back just a little bit, “Now, you’re gonna have to try harder than that. I thought you wanted me?”
Alastor nodded as best he could with his grip on his jaw, and the other smiled.
He sucked on his thumb a little bit, hollowing his cheeks in a slow, quiet rhythm.
“That’s right, no teeth, that’s good. You’re a natural.” Vincent praised, letting Alastor figure things out himself for a bit, his other hand coming up to steady him by the neck, “You’re being such a good boy, love. You want that? To please me?”
He found himself moaning at the praise, nodding as he took his finger deeper. It was strange. Normally, he would’ve had some retort about Vincent’s pathetic display, but in this moment, he wanted it—he wanted to please him.
“You like keeping your mouth busy, huh? Imagine it’s cock, baby, me using your pretty throat. You’d let me, right? You’d let me do anything to you.”
Alastor tightened his grip on Vincent’s waist, keeping him still as he slowly moved his hips, grinding his cock against him, but his robe didn’t make it effortless, the thick fabric blocking him from what he was racing after—his desperation showing despite his better judgment.
Vincent added pressure to the sides of Alastor’s neck, choking him, “Look at you, so debauched. All this because of a finger in your mouth and a few pretty words?”
He’s never spoken to him like this, so commanding—affectionate, and mean all at once. Alastor loved it, his words coiling the arousal in his core tighter, and he just wanted it to snap.
“Did I say you could rut against me like a dog?” he withdrew his thumb from his mouth, not expecting Alastor to chase it like he needed it, a web of spit bridging between his lip and finger. “I’m being rather generous, don’t you think? You might want to thank me.”
His hips stuttered, but didn’t completely stop his movement, panting as he tried to get friction without looking overly needy—a fruitless endeavor, clearly.
“Well, then?” the man gripped his throat more firmly, the pressure against his carotid arteries blocking the blood flow to his brain, clouding his thoughts from anything other than what Vincent is telling him.
“T-thank you.”
Vincent smiled, cruel and saccharine all at once, letting go of his hold on his neck. Alastor felt his muscles decompress immediately, head spinning from the desire.
He stepped away, leaving his space, and Alastor thought he might just die if he left him here like this.
“Please, Vincent.”
Begging unprompted now? How cute.
“I thought you wanted my cock?”
Alastor stared at him, shaking already from the loss of stimulation, too far gone to realize what was being asked of him.
“Don’t keep me waiting now,” Vincent said impatiently, a hand moving towards the front of his belt, frozen as he watched Alastor, “Go on, get on your knees.”
He got off the counter immediately, to Vincent’s amusement, and gets down in front of him by his shoes, sinking his knees into the concrete floor.
Vincent unbuckled the metal clasp, every small sound making Al shiver in excitement, looking up at him and eager to taste. He tugged his pants down, pulling out his hardened cock, holding it by the base.
From his perspective, the shape of his dick took almost half of Alastor’s face out of view, red at the tip and already dripping pre-come.
“Start slow, love. Take it in your mouth.”
Alastor acquiesced, letting the edges of the head rest atop his tongue where his thumb once was. Exploratory, he sucked as he did earlier, the hot sheath hugging Vincent tighter.
The other groaned at the sensation, prompting Alastor to take more of his length, “F-fuck, goddamn you’re warm.”
He took him deeper now, mouth slick, panting through his nose, the taste of copper and salt making him groan, the vibrations earning a moan from Vincent.
His lips were wrapped around him firmer now. The weight of his cock, the mild ache in his jaw, were all new but not entirely unwelcome. A hand comes down behind his head, taking a fistful of hair, not directing but holding him—it hurts, but God, it feels so good. The pull on his scalp made him feel fuzzy, his own erection dampening his underwear.
“Alastor—fuck, you’re doing great, baby—"
He takes his time learning Vincent’s reactions, what made him moan, which got his knees buckling.
“Just like that, you—shit—fuck, yes.”
Alastor moves quicker now, less teasing, working him with his mouth in a ragged rhythm—it’s messy and uncoordinated, drool trickling down his chin as he fought the gag reflex and swallowed.
Vincent moaned loudly above him, “I’m close, baby—God, I’m gonna—"
Alastor shifts his angle to look up at him, locking eyes with Vincent, and it’s all he needs to throw him off the edge. His muscles go taut as he grips Alastor, keeping him in place as he comes down his throat.
Vincent manages to compose himself minutes later, letting Alastor go and breathe after that mind-blowing head he just gave.
“You sure that was your first time?” he laughs, pulling him back up, his knees shaking from the slight ache in his joints.
He doesn’t let him answer, kisses him differently than before—more gentle, more tender. Vincent pulls away, pushing Alastor back against the counter, now more aggressive, unties the loop holding his robe closed, hand closing in on his cock.
“Such a good performance, my sweet boy. You want a reward, don’t you?”
“Y-yes—Vincent, nngh—"
He pumps him with cadence, drawing out moans and whimpers from the other.
“I need—"
“Oh, I know what you need. Good boys get to come, right?”
“Yes! Ahh—fuck.”
“Say you’re a good boy.”
Vincent doesn’t slow down his ministrations, moving along his cock in hypnotic undulations that made Alastor sob pleas and whines.
“I’m—I’m a good boy.”
He places a gentle kiss on his temple, “Come for me, sweetheart.”
Alastor sees stars, white flash surging through him and breaking the tension low in his gut, body going taut before trembling and twitching violently, spilling hot come on Vincent’s fingers.
“Shh, I’ve got you. I’m here.”
He suddenly felt incredibly tired, both mentally and physically, resting his head on Vincent’s shoulders while he tried to even his breathing.
“Vincent.”
“Yeah?”
“What else can we do?”