Chapter Text
Alastor was getting better at kissing, Vincent had to admit.
It was cute—he was becoming more confident with his movements, touching Vincent with bolder hands, exploring his body, and testing each play to see what reaction he could coax out of the other, slowly.
Too slow.
“Ah—Al, stop—“ Vincent managed to get out, despite the man in front of him attacking his lips, pinning him to the wall with tight clutches to his lapel.
Alastor moved south, trailing kisses down his jaw. “Yes, cher?” he murmured, relentlessly striking towards his neck.
Vincent gripped his hips and forced him back in arm’s length, unable to free himself from Alastor clinging to his suit jacket.
“We’re gonna be late for the party.”
Ah, yes. The party.
“So? I’m sure they’ll survive a few hours without their esteemed leader, yes?” Alastor said flatly, as if the idea was hardly worth discussing over, “After all, what’s the point of being on top if you can indulge in a little fun?”
Vincent sighed, “Val and Vel are waiting, Al.”
Valentino.
The sole reason Alastor didn’t even want to attend this insipid party.
Alastor was well aware now of his chosen companion’s past relationship with his business partner.
He had no idea until an hour prior to leaving.
Vincent decided to bring it up without warning, slipping it in the middle of their conversation, and moved on without expanding further.
Alastor didn’t even bother to listen to the rest.
Valentino, a man infamous for cavorting and sleeping around with men he found god knows where—with his Vincent.
His Vincent.
“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth, “Wouldn’t want to keep Valentino waiting, hm?”
Alastor let go and smoothed out his clothes back to condition, then reached to fix Vincent’s tie.
Vincent watched him, completely at a loss—oblivious to what the problem was.
For a man of his brilliance, he was struggling to fathom what the hell Alastor’s problem was now.
The party was to celebrate the company receiving the highest-rated broadcasts in the country. By all rights, Vincent was supposed to have his ego inflated to heroic proportions—he was expecting this to be a night of people toppling themselves over to praise his success.
I guess not.
“Shall we?”
“Wait.”
Alastor halted, tilting his head in question.
Vincent lifted him off the ground with ease, one arm hooked behind his knees and the other across Al’s back.
“What—” Alastor instinctively wrapped his arm around Vincent’s neck to steady himself.
“Calm down, Al,” Vincent made his way to the couch, “You’re right, I can indulge in a little fun.”
Alastor blushed at the implications, but was over when Vincent carefully settled him upright on the couch.
Vincent remained standing, towering over him, forcing Alastor’s neck crane up to face him. A dangerous glint hinting at what was to come, making Al gulp in anticipation.
“Turn around. Knees on the couch and elbows on the backrest,” Vincent commanded, speaking with the same authority he saved for his staff.
Alastor gave him an unimpressed look, one eyebrow arched, conveying all the derision in him, “I don’t appreciate being manhandled and ordered like a—”
“Liar.”
Alastor opened his mouth, probably to fire off some kind of insult towards him, but was interrupted by Vincent hoisting him up and flipping him so his back arched against the backrest, arms gripping it to support his weight.
“Next time, I won’t be so lenient, okay?” Vincent said, tone carrying a patronizing edge.
Alastor growled and shifted, turning his body to look at Vincent.
“What did I tell you about you and your orders?”
Hands gripped his hips firmly as Vincent moved to ground against Alastor’s backside.
“Well, you’re right where I want you, aren’t you?”
In truth, Alastor could get away. It wouldn’t take long for him to reach into the dagger in his breast pocket, pierce Vincent’s carotid artery, and watch the blood drain from the gash.
But he didn’t want to.
“Just get on with it,” Alastor said despite his tight jaw, “before I get bored, mon cœur, hm?”
Vincent’s fingers toyed with the waistband of his slacks, smirking as he caught the subtle hitch in Alastor’s breathing.
“You know,” Vincent started, peeling off his pants with deliberate slowness, “I was saving this for another time, but you wanted something fun, isn’t that right, baby?”
Lowered just enough to get a view of his bare ass, Vincent rubbed his cheeks, letting his fingers brush the curves, savoring every tiny reaction Al was involuntarily giving him.
Alastor could hear Vincent retreating, then the faint, sharp pop of a bottle opening.
Before he could even register what was happening, he felt the cool slick against his rear entrance.
“Ah—Vincent, what—" Alastor choked.
A sudden, hard press entered him. His body jolted at the unexpected breach, not knowing whether or not to move toward or away from the sensation.
“Putain de merde—ahh—“
“Take it slow,” Vincent’s voice was barely registering, “That’s it, baby. So good for me.”
Vincent slid the object in slowly, letting Alastor adjust to the stretch inch-by-inch.
“Fuck, Vinny—"
Vinny? That was new.
The cool metal seated in place, the plug rested inside him, suddenly making him acutely aware of every movement.
“W-what did you p—put?” Alastor stuttered, legs already trembling from the stimulation.
“Figured you’d look better this way for the party.”
The party.
Alastor shivered, unable to stop his body’s reaction. He twisted to turn his gaze over to Vincent, looking needy.
“W-we’re still going?” He tried to control his voice, faltering as the crack in his voice betrayed him.
Vincent smiled.
Evil, evil man.