Work Text:
The ride out of Paris is not a fun one for Vanitas.
There are several things all battling for his attention, things that have nothing to do with their journey south but everything to do with the vampire now dosing across from him, tophat perched over his face so as to block out the midmorning sun. Vanitas glares at him over the rim of the thick scarf he’d brought to face the chilly winter in the French countryside, annoyed that Noé could be relaxed enough to sleep on a train that lurches and jerks with every inch, loud and obnoxious. Thankfully they're alone, closed off in their own booth with wide seats that stretch across from each other, comfortable enough that sleep should be an easy time killer, if not for the human’s foul mood and the bumpy track. It’s not just the train that’s keeping Vanitas from doing the same though, or his annoyance at Noé’s easy sleep. No, but it definitely has to do with the vampire himself.
If Vanitas were truly being honest with himself - a tall feat for someone so used to evading that task - he was annoyed with himself just as much, for even being affected by the events of the last week. It was easier to pin the blame on someone else though, and even if he’d admitted his own fault, it still all ended and began with Noé at the center.
Vanitas’ eyes drift off to take in the passing scenery that Noé had been so excited to witness early in the trip, although one could only watch trees and fields flying by for so long before becoming bored with it. His luminous eyes peer back at him in his reflection in the glass, as if trying to see and assess what was going on in his own head. Maybe he’d find a way to straighten everything out into a cohesive thought, god knew he had enough time. There’s a reason Vanitas had kept everyone at arm’s length for this long, and it had a lot to do with the bewilderment he was experiencing now. People were messy, selfish, unseemly things. Maybe he felt it would all rub off on him if he got too close. Maybe he regrets everything that’s happened since this all began.
Noé had no way of knowing he’d been on the roof, that was fair. Vanitas used the window as an entrance and exit so often that even if it were left open, there was no guarantee that he wasn’t off somewhere in the city instead of right outside. Even that night, he’d only just arrived back at the hotel when he’d first realized something was amiss. The room had sat in silence, quiet enough that he’d assumed Noé was out, but the sound that had come after was unmistakably human. A soft sound reverberated through the night air and drew Vanitas’ attention. Was Noé sleeping? It was still relatively early for that, but he had been working extra hard lately, maybe he'd been too exhausted to stay up longer. Vanitas contemplated turning in early for the night himself, but then there’s another sound and suddenly he’s acutely painfully aware of what’s going on in that room.
Noé makes a sound that sends a shiver up the length of vertebrae in Vanitas’ back like a wave on the ocean. Deep, guttural, and distinctly masculine, quavering in parts that make him sound particularly desperate. Vanitas considers himself quite mature, despite the act he puts on, but he can’t stop the way his face flushes at the drop of a hat. There's no mistaking the pleasured groan that had reverberated through the space, making it abundantly clear that either Noé had invited a friend over or was having a particularly good time all on his own. Vanitas doesn't hear another voice however, and when he hears Noé again, he's almost certain he knows what's going on in there.
Even worse, his first instinct isn’t to go running off into the night for both their sakes, it’s to remain sitting ramrod straight just outside the open window as if frozen in place. Later he’ll tell himself that he’d been so mortified that he’d been unable to move, something that's only partially true, and that his inaction has nothing to do with his own curiosity. Maybe if he moved now, Noé would hear him and think that he was eavesdropping, nevermind that he was now doing exactly that. This was about maintaining both of their dignities, afterall.
Noé’s not excessively noisy, but each sound makes Vanitas jump out of his skin, no matter how subdued and breathy it is. For someone who puts on a big show of being forward and unaffected when it comes to sex, Vanitas has never been in this position before, like listening to his sometimes partner pleasuring himself from just outside. That thought alone, of what’s going on in there sends a wave rolling through Vanitas’ gut, forcing him to cover his own mouth with a gloved hand. It’s so uncomfortable, but he’s absolutely rooted to the spot. The longer it goes on, the more Vanitas’ brain attempts to decipher what Noé must look like at the moment, a mortifying thought that he attempts to shake away several times. Why on earth would he want to see something like that? Even if it is astounding that someone like Noé would be brazen enough to touch himself out in the open like that. Vanitas had thought that was an activity only suited for the privacy of the shower, not a shared bedroom.
His thoughts are beginning to spiral out of control but then Noé releases an especially loud moan, the bed under him creaking with his movements. Suddenly, for no logical reason Vanitas can decipher, he has to know what’s going on. Normal people didn't make sounds like that! Maybe he doesn’t have to see everything, but he needs the general picture. As if seized by a fit of madness he can’t quite understand, he slowly shifts over an infinitesimal amount at a time, creeping close enough to touch the window frame. He’s actively aware that he may regret this, but it feels like he’s already in too deep. Gathering his courage, Vanitas leans around the edge of the window for only a heartbeat, but a heartbeat’s all he will need. He throws himself backwards against the roof s second later with as much grace as he can muster, careful not to make any sound. His hands fly to his face, attempting to suffocate the wild burn of heat threatening to consume his face. Why would he even think to do that!?
Vanitas whined into his own palms, suffering the after effects of the hot flair of something that had crackled through his body like a lightning strike, settling in his midsection with considerable weight. Instinctively he brought his knees up into himself, trying to suppress whatever he’d felt in that moment. Vanitas didn’t get aroused by men, he definitely wasn’t attracted to ones of the vampire variety, and he would die before admitting that he wanted anything to do with Noé, no matter how inticing he looked while-
Vanitas resisted the urge to dive headfirst off the roof at that last thought.
It’s not that what he’d seen had been particularly graphic in nature, in fact he’d not seen any of Noé’s anatomy that he wasn’t already familiar with. The vampire had been turned onto his front, hand hidden below him, propped up on his opposite elbow with his face half obscured by the pillows. The glimpse of Noé's face that Vanitas had seen however...flushed and breathless, white locks clinging to his face with sweat, eyebrows pinched together as if in pain with eyes shut tight against the unbearable pleasure coursing through him. Vanitas was trying his hardest to banish this vision from his brain, even if a voice in his head was now taunting him about how he'd been curious just seconds before.
Did Noé always look like that when he was
… No, no, he wasn't going to entertain those thoughts.
Vanitas doesn’t know what to do with himself now. He’s definitely not going to interrupt the other man or reveal himself, but he also imagines trying to get off the rooftop might result in him plummeting to his death if he tried in such a flustered state. He tries his best to shut out the noises that seem to grow in frequency and volume, desperately trying to block his brain from doing anymore unauthorized fantasizing. There’s a stuttering cry that knocks the wind from Vanitas' chest soon after though, thankfully. How the hell he’s ever going to be able to look Noé in the eye again after this is a mystery.
Once he’s sure Noé’s finished and in the bathroom, Vanitas makes his move. He’s going to enter the room, look at nothing, hide in bed, and pretend like he’s unconscious until morning. Of course, the moment he’s crossed the threshold all of those plans go out the window; he can’t help but glance at Noé's bed, taking notice of the rumpled sheets. Face heating up again Vanitas makes for his own bed while removing his cloak, but he’s stopped in his tracks.
Where did that come from? he wonders, discovering a crumpled ribbon stained with blood on the edge of his bed.
It was a spare, one he’d assumed he’d lost weeks before. Had Murr dug it out? What was it doing here now?
It’s this distraction that throws a wrench in his plans; Vanitas’ whole body tenses hearing the bathroom door open and close, Noé reappearing in the room in pajamas this time, passing Vanitas without acknowledgement. He reasons with himself that there’s no way the man could know he’d been overheard, but he can’t help but feel a tendril of panic worming its way through his gut. He nearly jumps when Noé speaks to him.
“Vanitas,” he begins, halting in the middle, and for a wild second Vanitas is sure he’s about to confront him for his voyeurism, but then-
“You...left your-”
Vanitas’ eyes widened, seeing his way out.
“Ahh, yes,” Vanitas rushes to fill the awkward space between them, “I was careless, forgive me,” he admits, although he’s still not sure where the ribbon appeared from. He shoves it into his pocket, hoping Noé doesn’t intend on commenting further. The human isn’t sure he can carry on a full conversation with him right now without giving himself away.
Noé makes a sign of understanding, nodding in his direction before getting back into bed. Vanitas settles on wrapping himself up tight in his cloak, although he can still see the shadows playing against the wall before him, twisting and writhing like serpents; he’s trying to use them as a distraction from the cascade of thoughts now plaguing him, hoping for relief. He doesn’t sleep much that night, and he’s been blaming Noé for his exhaustion ever since.
Now, watching the man sleep on the train is an especially heinous slap in the face. Vanitas feels like kicking the wall of the train compartment just to get him to wake up, arms crossed like a petulant child. Why is this even weighing on him? He scoffs, throwing himself sideways in his seat to lay flat on his back and glare up at the ceiling. He was not affected by what he’d seen and heard. Maybe, just maybe he wasn't completely opposed to other men, he relented with a slight flush, but Noé? The idiot who’d rather face down an enemy by having a lively discussion than getting the job done? Who couldn’t understand a damn thing Vanitas was trying to do? Who continued to follow him around like a lost puppy simply because Vanitas fascinated him? What a joke, he told himself.
Of course, this had all occurred before yesterday; nothing about what had happened impacted the blind panic Vanitas had experienced when he’d imagined that Ruthven was using Jeanne to distract him in an attempt to get to Noé. No, of course not. It also didn’t cause him to shiver a little when he’d first picked up on Noé’s desire to drink his blood later on. All of this sudden confusion that had divided Vanitas’ attention on his work certainly had nothing to do with why he’d been intent on giving Noé the slip and bolting out of Paris for Gevaudan at first light, despite Noé’s dogged persistence on following him. Nope, not at all.
Vanitas had been frowning for so long that his brow was beginning to hurt. When he’d first asked Noé to act as his shield and ally in the beginning, he hadn’t imagined he’d be dealing with all of this. Vanitas wasn’t stupid, but he was inexperienced with navigating complex interpersonal relationships, and right now his instincts were telling him to get as far away from Noé as possible or face potential ruin. The whys and hows weren’t important, he honestly didn’t have the energy to untangle it all. Right now, he just wanted to rest and be ready for whatever was waiting for them in Gevaudan. That was his priority, of course.
He’s unsure as to when he falls asleep, lulled into unconsciousness by the rocking of the train after days of poor sleep. However long it is, he’s roused by a sound he hears too late to understand. Vanitas is only basely aware of himself and his surroundings, settled on the edge of unconsciousness, but there’s a certainty that wherever he is he’s safe. He can feel the cool night air rush over him, can smell or taste something sweet on it that relaxes him further. There are sheets to his back, or maybe a plush blanket judging from how soft it feels against his skin. Just when he thinks he’s about to slip back down under the waves and return to the black abyss of oblivion, Vanitas becomes distantly aware that he’s not alone. In real life, this would have sent him reeling into consciousness, up on his feet and ready for a fight. In this world, there’s no sense of looming danger, so when this dreamlike phantom drifts close to his side, Vanitas is almost tempted to reach out to them in curiosity.
Vanitas isn’t the one to make the first move though; he can sense this person looming over him, feel the tension that runs through their body as if he’s experiencing it in tandem. He startles at the slide of fingers against his cheek, gently caressing his face in a downward slide towards his chin. He shudders, but not in revulsion or fear, lips parting when those fingers take hold of his chin and tilt his face to presumably bring it in line with the phantom’s. Their breath washes over his face, the wet slide of what he images is a tongue saturating dry lips unmistakable in the close space. Vanitas’ own lips tremble in response; he doesn’t understand why, but his heart is pounding in his chest and there’s an overwhelming anticipation wracking his body. He doesn’t know that he’s still asleep, so it’s hard to fathom what’s happening or what he wants, but he knows that it’s whatever is about to happen.
The instant he’s aware of his own longing, he feels the soft press of lips against the corner of his mouth, a fleeting kiss just out of range. Those lips somehow stay just out of his reach, teasing Vanitas, pressing to his skin with feather-light touches that only stoke his need for them to properly press to his own. When he moves in their direction, his own lips parting as if to seek them out, the person pulls back just out of range, a muted sound of amusement rumbling in their chest. Vanitas might have blushed in indignation if he had any sense of himself, but like this he just feels disappointment.
“So eager…” a voice teases in a whisper, the words curling against his mouth in an exhale of breath. Vanitas’ eyes widen, even if he still can’t see anything in the crushing blackness.
“N-Noé?” he asks, but the moment it’s out and in the air between them, the person he presumes is the vampire slides forward, slotting his lips against Vanitas’ in a full kiss that steals the air from his lungs. He gasps into it, whole body surging with a thrill from the contact, Noé answering him with a satisfied moan. This should be weird, Vanitas should be pushing the other man away and threatening his life, should be doing anything but relaxing into the kiss further, tentatively moving his lips along with Noé’s and finding any sort of enjoyment. These aren’t normal conditions though, so when Noé’s tongue shifts against the seam of Vanitas’ lips he can’t help himself, parting them to allow the vampire entrance to his mouth. Noé tilts his head to take his mouth more fully, deepening the kiss with the drag of his tongue against the other man’s, devouring Vanitas’ sigh. Noé keeps hold of Vanitas’ chin the whole time, making the human feel held in place in a way that awakens something dark and sensual lurking just below the surface that he’s only experienced before while having his blood drank.
When Noé’s had enough of plundering the human’s mouth, his lips part from him and reconnect against his jaw, slipping just under it to mouth a line down the pale column of Vanitas’ throat. Vanitas’ breathing comes in shallow gasps, skin prickling with anticipation; razor sharp teeth sit just behind slack, soft lips worshipping at the flesh down to his collarbone. Another inch and Noé would be taking his blood, but any fear or anger he’d expect to feel in real life doesn’t exist here inside his dreams, his own trembling fingers reaching out to comb through the vampire’s hair as if in encouragement. Noé doesn’t bite him however, instead using his lips and tongue to worry at the sensitive hollow of the human’s neck, nipping at his collarbone softly enough to not draw blood. Vanitas squirms underneath him; he might be enjoying himself but he’s still not used to so much physical attention, and it seems like Noé has no intention of going easy on him. A hand sweeps up Vanitas’ side, dragging over his ribs just as Noé pulls one of his thighs aside to settle over and against him a little more firmly, mouth still poised above his sternum. A firestorm races up Vanitas’ spine setting his body ablaze, it feels like the whole room is tilting off axis and him along with it.
Everything happens both so quickly that it’s hard for Vanitas to keep up with, and so slow that each touch feels like agony. He can’t see a single thing clearly, but there’s no mistaking the mouth and hands and body against him, the rumbling groan of desire from his partner that he now recognizes thanks to his previous observations outside on the roof. There’s no doubt that Noé can feel the pounding of his heart against his lips when he drags a slack kiss down his chest, but then the pad of a finger ghosts over one of Vanitas’ nipples and neither is ready for the yelp that rips its way out of his throat in response. He hadn’t even been aware of the fact that his shirt is open, but now Noé’s intent on attacking all of his weak points it seems. Lips, tongues, fingers, he can’t really be sure what’s happening but Vanitas is moaning into his own shoulder at the attention being applied to his chest, bottom lip between his teeth against all the gasping, needy sounds threatening to spill out. Noé plants his tongue against one of his nipples, perhaps as a distraction for the hand now wrapping around Vanitas’ erection, and there’s another interesting development, because the human could have sworn he’d been wearing pants just an instant ago.
Vanitas answers the slow, firm stroke of Noé’s hand with an almost pleading moan, hips jerking violently. There has been a wisp of self-restraint until now, whatever part of Vanitas’ conscious mind holding him back from fully letting go but once those calloused palms begin pleasuring him he’s a goner. He rolls his hips into it, head tipped back against the bed as all manner of debauched noises spill from his lips. His fingers twist into the silky fabric below him and the slow build of euphoria begins to pool in the cradle of his hips. He can feel Noé press one of his thighs open, there are lips against his knee trailing upwards and a thumb rubbing at the slit of his cock until Vanitas nearly sobs.
Just when he thinks he can’t take anymore, his attention is violently pulled back from the edge by the stroke of slick fingers against the ring of muscle between his legs. Vanitas' mouth goes dry, because this is definitely new territory for him, despite his dick reacting like this has been the goal all along and somehow growing even harder at the way Noé's petting at him. The vampire works on sucking marks into the pale skin of his inner thigh, one hand still curled tight around his cock and the other working on relaxing his opening enough to slide inside. Perhaps it’s then that Vanitas realizes he’s dreaming, when Noé manages to work a single finger inside him and it doesn’t come with the flair of pain he’d expected. He feels boneless instead, at Noé’s mercy, trembling and oversensitive in a way he’d usually hate, but like this it just feels like relief. When Noé works a second finger into him, he can’t stop his hips from instinctively rocking down onto the intrusion, and when he moans this time Noé’s right there to devour his lips, seemingly delighted at the way Vanitas is taking it. For a hysterical moment Vanitas wishes this was real, that Noé felt even an iota of desire or even affection for him, that Noé wasn’t probably thinking of someone like Domi or another girl the night he’d heard him on the roof. He slides his fingers up through Noé’s hair, getting a soft groan of approval from the other man against his tongue and a savage jab against a spot inside him that makes his whimper. He’s so close, but even then he still wants more. He thinks he hears Noé say his name, but it sounds distant and garbled, like his brain is too overloaded to properly put it together.
“N-Noé…” he gasps, parting from the other man’s lips, still rocking down on his fingers mindlessly. They’re running out of time somehow, maybe because Vanitas is about to have the most violent orgasm of his life, but there’s something else he’s becoming distantly aware of that he can’t put his finger on, but knows is an endpoint. He needs to tell Noé now, he needs to tell him how much he wants him, how he’s felt that way since well before the night he’d eavesdropped on him, how he’d never wanted this badly in all his life and how terrifying that is, but all he can do is gasp and cry into the vampire’s shoulder, fingers locked tight in the fabric of his shirt. When he finally comes, it’s with Noé’s name on his lips, fingernails sunk into the flesh of his back, twitching and moaning. As quick as a lightning strike, the fog obscuring his consciousness lifts to reveal sun as bright as daybreak, but it’s actually the afternoon and-
Vanitas sits up in the train seat, eyes wide and face flushed red. His breathing comes in shallow gasps, loud enough that he smacks a hand over his mouth to keep the volume down. He glances in Noé’s direction, praying to whatever god likes him enough that the man’s still asleep. It looks like Noé had shifted at some point, but thankfully he’s still reclined in his seat, face hidden by the brim of his hat.
It’s mortifying enough to have a naughty dream in a public place like a train, but to have it in the presence of the subject of said dream? Vanitas really is the unluckiest bastard alive it seemed.
Gingerly, he sneaks out of his seat, making for the train’s washroom to assess the damage he’s done while fighting down the wild blush in his cheeks. He vows to not make a big deal of it - he’s still young, afterall, these things happen - but he’s also trying to avoid thinking any further on Noé and what this all meant. He’ll try to convince himself that it’s all just a side effect of overhearing Noé’s escapades, that having to be in such close quarters with someone for this long is frying his brain, and that he’s just pent up and touch starved. Vanitas has always been a good liar, but he’s beginning to realize that he’s not as deft when it comes to himself.
When the door to the train compartment closes after him, Noé counts to ten.
He pulls his hat from his eyes, face a frozen mask of shock. There is a riot of emotion going on in his chest, all battling for supremacy: confusion, incredulity, denial, joy, desire, and something deeper he’s not ready to poke at all swirling together like a whirlpool sucking him deeper down down down and god he’s going to make an utter fool of himself if he doesn’t get it together right now before Vanitas returns.
Still, he allows himself one last moment of weakness.
“Oh god help me,” he groans into his gloved hands, unable to stop his brain from replaying the sound of his name on Vanitas’ lips.