Archive of Our Own

Ah, the sound of commotion;

The clatter of champagne glasses, forced laughter echoing through the hall, raised voices of people one-upping themselves with their empty flattery and of course the lewd jokes, said to woo someone’s co-star for this one, not even that special of a night.

It wasn’t often for Alastor to leave Louisiana or even New Orleans, not to mention leaving to take part in one of these silly get-togethers with his fellow entertainers (if that was what they could’ve been even called) and play “best friends forever” with them.

Which was funny enough, because he didn’t recognize the majority of the people there, let alone refer to them with their first name.

And with that in mind, normally Alastor would’ve just scoffed at the invitation in his mail and forgotten about the thing, like he had done oh-so-many times before, but apparently his radio show had been nominated in one of the more important categories and he had no choice but to trade the peaceful comfort of his home for an ugly hotel room and all that insufferable hubbub.

At least his dear Vincent was there to keep him company.

Well, he was somewhere there.

After the awards ceremony – Alastor had won the thing, of course he did, he was confused why there were two other people nominated together with him, at all – Vincent decided to leave him alone to go and make some connections, use that charisma of his and force himself into interviews with the press, even though he wasn't even invited, only was there as Alastor’s plus one.

But Alastor let him, happily so even, because there was no way in Hell that he was going to join him in that buffoonery of playing all buddy-buddy with strangers.

Not to mention answering the questions and smiling at the cameras. A shiver ran through him at the mere thought. No, that was only and completely Vincent’s playfield.

And in consequence of that, Alastor got himself a champagne glass, wishing for it to be Sazerac instead, and sipped it slowly, at the same time observing the people from the shadows, as they were getting themselves more and more drunk.

No one dared to come close to him and strike some idle conversation. And he was so grateful for that, because not only he didn't want to listen to some “artist” ranting to him about their industry or sucking up to him, but also because he didn't want to get distracted in watching the interactions playing in front of him.

Some of the things he saw he could use for his radio show, after all. Didn’t people just love a good scandal?

And he would be more than happy to be the first to share the tea with his dear listeners.

So, Alastor stood and watched, listening to the light tune playing in the background. After some time he decided that the music wasn’t too bad. Of course, he would’ve been better at the piano, but it was bearable enough to say that Alastor was somehow enjoying himself.

And he had to admit, it did feel delightful when he heard a forced congratulations directed towards his victory. Bonus points if it was followed with a bitter look or some passive-aggressive remark regarding his entire persona.

It was just so amusing, so much that Alastor felt genuinely glad for deciding to join that tacky performance, despite everything.

The waitress came and refilled his glass. Alastor sent her a grateful smile, before she went on and watched as one of the guests started being a little too friendly with her.

Huh, now that was something. Didn't that man come together with his wife? And that waitress could be half his age younger, not to mention that she looked like a minor.

Now, that would make the people talk for sure.

There was a yelp to his right and Alastor saw how someone “accidentally” spilled her drink onto her supposed best friend's dress. Ah, the sin of envy, what a wonderful thing!

Alastor looked back to the waitress and the pervert. Now he was being touchy – his hand on the small of her back and moving lower and lower with every passing second.

Alstor decided to focus on the scene and watch how it would unfold, but then his attention had been caught by a familiar looking figure – there was his dear Vincent, rushing towards him, with a look on his face that Alastor was very familiar with.

A bloodhound that had found the prey’s track and could not wait to start the chase.

Suddenly, Alastor was very glad he didn’t ignore the invitation in his mail.

Vincent was next to him in no time. His entire body shaking from eagerness, as if there was electricity inside him that tried to get out together with the words. His eyes seeing only Alastor, observing him like some masterpiece in a museum, and waiting for the man to finally acknowledge him, so he could share with him what he had found out.

And for a long moment, Alastor only sipped his champagne in silence, a relaxed smile on his lips, as he kept watching the guests in the hall.

Vincent shifted his weight from one leg to the other, squirming in impatience and agitation.

Alastor ignored him in order to watch how the waitress situation would play out.

She said some hurried apologies and untangled from the man’s hold in one swift movement. He was about to go after her, but got quickly caught by his wife and forced into a conversation with her and some other “big names”.

Well, if that wasn’t disappointing.

He finally turned to Vincent and regarded him with a short glance. There was his loyal source of endless entertainment. His eyes were sparkling in excitement and his face flushed in a deep pink.

Alastor said, sounding bored, “Out with it.”

“So there's this guy,” Vincent began immediately, a joyous smile on his lips, because Alastor had finally acknowledged his presence.

“I heard him complaining to his friends about some darkie having a radio show that’s more successful than his YouTube podcast.”

Alastor hummed, the smile on his face not wavering an inch. “Mhm, what else?”

“He also said he won’t be getting close to us tonight, because he’s afraid of catching HIV.”

“I’m surprised he even knows what this is,” Alastor sighed in a tired manner, shaking his head.

He turned properly to Vincent, meeting his mismatched gaze to let him know that he had now Alastor’s full attention.

“And what do you want to do with him?” he asked, his voice a delightful hum.

Vincent froze for a second, surprised that Alastor would ask what his plan would be.

Because Alastor did take pleasure in reminding him often of how “sloppy” and sometimes downright “shitty” his murders were. Never letting him forget about the two kills he’d done before meeting Alastor, ones he’d performed in plain sight, without any actual plan in his mind and acting on a stroke of luck only.

It was a miracle that the police never caught onto him, Alastor decided some time ago.

But now Vincent was given a chance to show Alastor just how much he had improved in being a decent serial killer.

Alastor only hoped he wouldn’t regret asking in the first place, instead of just taking the initiative like always.

Vincent leaned down even more, removing these couple of inches from their height difference completely, so no one would eavesdrop on them by chance.

“He’s on his third glass by now, so he should go use the toilet soon,” Vincent began, his voice dripping with barely contained enthusiasm.

“There’s no way he’d use the public bathroom, so he’d go to his private room. And it just happened that I saw his room’s number, because he was spinning the key on his finger, while talking about scoring some tonight.”

He paused to send Alastor a proud smirk, “And, guess what.”

“I’m not guessing,” Alastor deadpanned in response.

Vincent continued, not put off in the slightest. “His room is on the same floor as ours, only three rooms to the left. And I thought we could follow him there, get inside and have some fun with him.”

Vincent looked at Alastor exactly like a proud dog would look at its owner when waiting for the treat and praise.

“What do you say, Al?”

And Alastor had none of these things to offer, however, because there were way too many things Vincent hadn’t bothered to think about and decided to skip over.

Sloppy, Alastor thought, not for the first time and also not for the last, most probably.

But the moment his mouth opened, ready to vocalize his disappointment with the man, Vincent interrupted him with a hurried, “I know what you’ll say! And I’ve already thought about it!”

Alastor sent him a sharp look.

Right, Vincent was an entertainer. Sadly Alastor wasn’t that much of a fan of this little act of his.

Still, he let Vincent speak. Mainly, because he was curious if Vincent really had thought about everything or was just stalling.

“There are only two cameras. One next to the elevator, the other directed to the emergency stairs. I guess they value their client's privacy or some shit like that.”

And after saying it, Vincent waited, grinning like a moron.

But Alastor also waited – it wasn’t enough. His expression frozen in a strained smile, as he hoped that Vincent would–

“Oh, and the body!” 

So he did think about it, Alastor realized, a pleased hum leaving his throat.

“We won’t leave him there, don’t worry, I’m not that naive or sloppy, like you often tell me to, there’s like a hundred customers and they would link us somehow because of our DNA and everything–”

“Hurry up,” Alastor said, emptying his glass.

“Yes, yes, right,” Vincent cleared his throat, “So, we’ll chop him up, pack him into our suitcase and take him to go, since I know how much you hate wasting food.”

Alastor smiled in response, a pleased expression on his face.

Dear God, Vincent really used that pathetic excuse of a brain inside his head for once! This was truly a remarkable occasion, one that needed to be celebrated.

“And what do you say about my plan?” Vincent asked, with so much hope in his voice that it was pathetic. If he had a tail he would’ve flown away with how fast he’d be wagging it.

Such a simple creature, Alastor thought to himself, living only to please me.

But well, since Vincent actually came up with a good-enough plan to execute, Alastor decided to say,

“Well, color me impressed, my dear,” he said in a sugary-sweet voice, “For once you actually came up with a decent plan and didn’t rely fully on me.”

He patted Vincent on the cheek, fondness in his voice bordering on mockery, as he praised, “Good man.”

And hearing that, Vincent blushed so intensely he really became the same color of a tomato. A weak whine escaped his lips involuntarily and his eyes darted away, all while biting his lip so hard he had to taste the blood by now.

Alastor only chuckled in response, absolutely and utterly amused.

What a pathetic little man, he thought.

His man.

Their target for the night happened to be a young, caucasian man, with blonde, curly hair that had way too much gel on it. His eyes were green (strange, they usually had them blue) and was dressed in an ill-fitting black tuxedo with white sneakers on his feet.

If Alastor murdered people for their poor fashion tastes, then this man would’ve gotten killed first.

They watched him for a couple of minutes, as he entertained his company with vulgar jokes and an awfully told story about his one night stand with some “bimbo”, before Vincent’s theory turned out to be true – the man excused himself and started walking towards the elevator.

“He’s on a move,” Vincent whispered next to him.

“I have eyes,” Alastor pointed out, annoyance creeping into his voice. “And can you please not speak like we're in some James Bond movie?”

“You haven’t even watched any of James Bonds,” Vincent complained in reply.

Alastor only gave him a flat look, his lips pressed tight – a warning.

“Fine,” Vincent rolled his eyes, “The racist-homophobe is going to take a piss. Better?”

“Very much so, thank you, dear,” Alastor hummed, his lips curving into a smile.

The man had walked to the elevator and pressed the button. And, as he waited for it to arrive, Alastor decided that it was time for them to leave the party as well.

He turned to Vincent, his hand cupping the man’s cheek. “Kiss me,” he ordered.

“What?” Vincent’s eyes widened in surprise. He glanced to the side, to all the other guests, and hesitated, “You mean, like, right now?”

“Yes and use your tongue,” Alastor replied sharply, hurrying him up. “Make it look convincing.”

“Ah, I see,” Vincent realized, at last. His expression still a little puzzled, as he uttered quick “Right,” before leaning in and locking their lips together.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t allow any of the PDA, but they needed to put on a show for their audience, so no one would find their sudden disappearance suspicious.

That’s why he kissed back, his hand moving down Vincent’s face to hold him by his neck, tugging him closer to deepen the kiss. He felt Vincent’s tongue on his own – velvety hotness trying to get as deep Alastor’s mouth as possible – and his own hands, hesitating if he should or shouldn't place them on Alastor’s slim waist.

Alastor groaned, annoyed and grabbed Vincent’s wrists to force his hand on his bottom and squeeze the flesh there.

At once Vincent froze. Alastor kept kissing him, biting at his lower lip and moving down, to caress his neck, to suck the skin above the collar and leave faint hickeys.

And when he felt Vincent giving out a breathy moan and pressing against him, grinding like an untrained dog, that’s when Alastor pulled away.

A devilish grin appeared on his face. “Let’s go upstairs, dear.”

“Y-yes,” Vincent nodded quickly, once, twice and cleared his throat. “Yes, please.”

There was a vivid blush on his face and his gaze foggy with desire. He didn’t even care about all the eyes on them, all that mattered was Alastor and Alastor only.

And Alastor couldn’t help, but laugh quietly to himself, his hands moving to stroke Vincent’s cheek one last time, before taking his hand and leading them away, towards the elevator’s way.

They stopped here and there to exchange messy kisses, to make sure that everyone knew why they were leaving the party. They didn’t stop when the press directed their cameras towards them, they didn’t stop inside the elevator, even with the other guests taking the ride, and didn’t stop after stepping out of the elevator.

They stopped, however, when Alastor noticed their target walking down the corridor.

But apparently Vincent got too carried away with his little role, because he kept pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck, his erection brushing Alastor’s groin in the most annoying way.

He hissed sharply, “Behave.”

And when his warning was met only with unfocused eyes and almost an offended look, Alastor pointed with his head towards the corridor to their target, an annoyed expression on his face.

“O-oh, right, right,” Vincent remembered what they were doing. He fixed his clothes, while Alastor observed their target.

He was almost at his door and apparently God was rooting for them that night, because there were no other people in sight.

The man opened his door, not bothering to take his key with him, and disappeared inside.

Alastor turned back to his supposed partner, his eyes moving to Vincent’s raging boner.

“Ready?” he asked, sending Vincent an unimpressed look.

“Of course,” Vincent huffed, sounding offended. And yet he shifted from one leg to the other in a restless way.

To regain his composure, he asked instead, “Are you ready?”

“Please,” Alastor scoffed, his eyes rolling. He crouched to unroll his trouser’s leg to show the small knife he had attached to his calf. “Who do you think I am?”

“Just making sure,” Vincent shrugged, the sparkle in his eyes becoming brighter, the moment Alastor grabbed the blade and twirled it in his hand effortlessly.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper.

He started walking down the corridor, not having to turn around to make sure if Vincent was following him.

The rooms’ numbers read 210… 211… 212.

Ah, there – 213, their target’s room.

Alastor grabbed the handle and walked inside like he owned the place. His room looked the same as theirs (was way more messy though, Alastor would never leave his clothes unfolded, not to mention on the floor), so Alastor had no trouble locating the bathroom.

The door was closed, but they could hear the guy pissing while singing to himself some happy tune.

He saw Vincent, taking the key and locking them inside, preventing their prey from escaping.

He grinned at Alastor and situated himself in front of the door, waiting. Alastor smiled back, his back pressed against the wall, making himself invisible.

The door opened and the man came out.

Let the fun begin.

He saw Vincent and stopped in his tracks to stare at him in confusion.

“Hi!” Vincent greeted in a friendly voice and a light wave of his hand.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, his mouth opening to bark out some insults and force Vincent to leave his room.

But before a single word could materialise on his tongue, Alastor stepped in.

He grabbed him from behind, the tip of his knife pressing into the man’s throat. “Hello,” he said in a low voice, against the man’s ear.

The man gulped, his eyes darting to the side to try and take a look at who the attacker was. And when he did realize that it was Alastor, the person he talked shit about for the majority of the day – oh, the sudden dread in his eyes, it was just so very delicious, Alastor swore he could actually taste it on his tongue.

He shoved their victim onto the nearby armchair. The blade of his knife pressed sharply against his skin, so he wouldn’t even think about fleeting.

“Go bring my suitcase, dear,” he said to Vincent. Then, he grinned down at the man, something cruel showing in his tone, as he added, “I’ll make sure he behaves.”

Vincent nodded sharply in response. He made sure that no one was in the corridor, before he left Alastor alone with their victim in the room.

Alastor hummed happily, “Such a loyal dog he is.” He turned to the man and drew lines on the skin of his neck, “You see, the thing you have said about HIV, it was very offensive for both me and him.”

Alastor watched as the lines started bleeding lazily.

“And I don’t like when someone is disrespectful towards me,” he continued in a sweet voice, his knife pressing harder into the man’s skin, causing the blood to trickle down onto his shirt, “Not to mention when someone insults my property–”

“I’m sorry! God, I am– I’m so, so, so sorry! I didn’t mean it, please–”

Alastor slapped him across the face. The man fell silent immediately, his chest heaving and his entire body shaking with fear.

Alastor grabbed him by his hair and forced eye contact. He said slowly and very clearly, “Don’t you dare to interrupt me ever again.”

The man started sobbing in response. Alastor grimaced in disgust and let go of his hair. He was about to say how pathetic this man was for breaking down so easily, but he heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.

His dear Vincent stepped in, Alastor’s suitcase in his hand, and he looked between him and their victim.

He saw the injuries on the man’s neck, the red print of Alastor’s palm on his face, and asked, “You started without me?” He frowned, an accusation in his voice, “That’s really rude of you, Al, you know that?”

“Nonsense,” Alastor replied with a light wave of his hand. “I just had to remind him about good manners, I can promise you that’s all.”

Vincent crossed his arms, his eyes squinted as he studied Alastor’s face for something that would say ‘liar’.

But when Alastor sent him a smile – one of these rare smiles, reserved only for Vincent’s eyes; lips pressed together, fondness in his dark eyes – Vincent decided, “All right, I believe you,” and moved to open the suitcase he was holding.

Alastor turned back to their victim, to make sure that the lines he had drawn wouldn’t clot and stop bleeding. He ignored the pained whines that escaped the man’s lips and kept humming to himself happily, as new wounds appeared on the pale skin.

Meanwhile, Vincent decided to take out the contents of his partner’s suitcase.

There were weapons (mainly knives, because of Alastor’s strange fixation with them), a thick black rope, a single circular saw, a neatly folded drop sheet, spare clothes for him and Vincent, and various chemicals Alastor used when they needed to get rid of blood or their own traces.

Vincent laid everything out on the carpet, making sure that every single thing was evenly lined right next to each other. He grabbed the rope and drip sheet and as he was walking towards the armchair, their victim’s eyes widened in fear and it was obvious that in a second he’d start screaming.

Alastor grabbed his jaw firmly and pressed the blade to his lips.

“No need to be so hysterical.” He managed a friendly smile to appear on his face. “What do you say we make a deal?”

The man kept silent, the expression on his face like a deer in the headlights.

Alastor continued nonetheless, his voice a sing-song, “You’ll keep quiet for the duration of us being in your room and after that we’ll let you go. Sounds pretty reasonable to me.”

Vincent chuckled quietly to himself after hearing that, but didn’t stop tying up the man.

The man asked, his voice breaking, “What do you want to do to me?”

Alastor sighed in disappointment, “That’s not keeping quiet, my friend.”

The man froze. He flinched when Vincent put his hands on his shoulders. “You see, we just want to have some fun,” he sent him a wolfish grin. “That was your intention for the night, after all, wasn’t it?”

“Exactly!” Alastor chirped. “And we all are entertainers here, right, dear?”

“Of course,” Vincent purred in response, “The best ones.”

“So, you’ll entertain us and when we’ll decide enough is enough, you’ll be free and back with your little friends in no time.” Alastor tapped the man’s lips with his blade, “But you need to be quiet, exactly like a church mouse. Not a single squeak can leave your throat. Understood?”

The man stared at Alastor in silence.

Vincent leaned to his ear and whispered loud enough that Alastor could hear, “If I were you, I would accept it. There’s a big chance he’ll change his mind very soon…”

At once, the man started nodding furiously, his lips pressed in a tight line, desperation showing in every inch of his body language.

“Wonderful!” Alastor laughed, turning on his heel and taking a seat on the bed.

He crossed his legs and grinned, delighted, “Let the fun begin,” he locked his eyes with Vincent and cooed, “Vincent dear, will you do the honors?”

Vincent raised an eyebrow, “You sure you don’t want to?”

“I believe I feel rather lazy today,” Alastor announced, his tongue licking the blood off his knife. It tasted average. An avarage-tasting blood from an avarage-looking man, who would suspend.

“And I want to see how you work the knife after all that time you had spent next to me,” he added after a second.

“Oh,” Vincent blushed, something flashing in his eyes. A desire to make Alastor proud of him, maybe even get him to praise Vincent for his skills.

He grinned, “You got it, babe,” and walked back to the suitcase to choose his weapon for the night.

Alastor hummed, pleased. He leaned back more on the bed and noticed a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses on the side table. Truthfully, he had enough champagne after an entire day of celebrating his victory, but, as he took the bottle in his hands and eyed the label, he realized that it was the good stuff.

He turned to their victim and said, “I believe you won’t need this any longer,” he added, looking at Vincent, “Unlike us, of course.”

Vincent eyed the champagne. “Pol Roger?” he read aloud, before adding with a scowl, “Well it isn’t Perignon but I guess it can do.”

“Now, now, my dear,” Alastor cooed, trying to open the bottle, “I bet it’s the most expensive our friend here could’ve managed. We shouldn’t act so snobbish, just because we’re superior to him. And because we happened to have better taste than him.”

“You’re right,” Vincent agreed with a heavy sigh. “But I’m not apologizing.”

“I can understand that,” Alastor smirked.

Vincent chose his weapon – a black knife with a long blade – and traced it with his finger to make sure that it was sharp enough to cut with surgical precision. And it was, even a little too sharp, because it cut the pad of his finger causing it to bleed.

“My, you’re being clumsy already,” Alastor’s voice was all sweet, but the mockery behind it was nothing but cold.

He placed the bottle back on the side table and gestured for Vincent to come closer, “Let me take care of it.”

He took a hold of Vincent’s hand, his eyes carefully considering the injury – it wasn’t that deep, but still needed to get tended to – before parting his lips to welcome the finger inside his mouth.

He pressed his tongue against the bleeding pad and gave it a light lick, his lips closing tightly around the knuckle as he swallowed the copper flavor down his throat. All, while looking Vincent straight in the eyes.

And, in response, Vincent flushed, his breath hitching, “Al… “

Alastor pulled away, to flash him a quick grin, revealing all of his perfect, sharp teeth.

He closed his eyes and pressed a gentle kiss to Vincent’s finger, exactly as if kissing all the pain away. Not a second had passed and he bit the flesh, forcing more blood to start flowing from the injury.

He heard Vincent whimpering from the sudden burning sensation, his hand flinching away automatically.

But Alastor ignored him, his hand firmly holding Vincent’s in place, as he started sucking to taste more of it.

Dear God, sometimes he really wished he could’ve just eaten Vincent whole. Empty him of his blood, lick his bones clean, make sure that every smallest piece of him had been taken care of.

He wouldn’t do it, of course he wouldn’t, because for once Vincent was close to the thing called “heart” in his chest; always keeping him busy and entertained, so his disappearance would leave Alastor lonely and bored. Miserable.

And, for the second matter, Alastor was sure that after eating his dear Vincent, he’d never be content ever again. He would taste way too good, way too special.

He’d force Alastor to chase after that flavor for the rest of his life, but despite all the attempts and efforts, he’d never even come close to Vincent’s ambrosial taste. No, he would have to be Alastor’s last meal. Always save the best left for last – there was that saying and how true it was.

He also needed to make sure to never bring it up to Vincent, as well, because, knowing the man, he’d agree to it without a second thought, letting Alastor eat him whole and even better – encourage him to do so.

And the mere thought of it made something in Alastor snap – his self-control, composure, discipline, whatever it’s called – and make him suddenly feel all hot and wild and he needed to completely devour Vincent right now.

He grabbed Vincent’s wrist and violently yanked him down for their lips to meet. Their glasses clanked, their noses bumped each other and it was all messy and lacking grace, but if Alastor were to be honest, he would say he didn’t give a single shit about it.

He needed Vincent and that need was making him feral.

His hand fisted Vincent’s hair on the back of his head and tugged him closer to his face, his tongue slipped out and forced itself between Vincent’s lips, brutally and hurriedly making its way as deeply as possible, to dominate Vincent’s own tongue, to explore his insides or to just taste him.

“Shit, Al,” Vincent panted, when Alastor pulled away for a moment, spit already dripping down their faces. “I haven’t even started– “

“I don’t care,” Alastor snarled, shoving Vincent down to make him lay on his back. “I don’t give a single fuck about it, right now,” he muttered, his teeth already biting at Vincent’s neck.

He squirmed underneath Alastor, a loud moan leaving his lips when Alastor clamped his teeth hard enough for the skin to break and start oozing blood.

Alastor licked the bitemark, making sure to collect all of the drops with his tongue and not let a single one go to waste.

He unbuttoned Vincent’s collar, his bow-tie crooked, when Alastor’s lips tried kissing around it, his lips going down and down as he licked and sucked and bit at the pale skin, bruising it, but at the same time worshipping the body of the only person that had truly accepted all of him.

Vincent yelped, his back arching when Alastor’s canines bit into the place where his neck met his shoulder, “Fuck!”

Alastor pressed his knee against Vincent’s erection, making his hips twitch involuntarily, forcing him to grind against Alastor’s thigh, as he was slowly making way down Vincent’s chest.

Vincent squirmed, his head turning away, his eyes half-lidden when he noticed their victim in the armchair, a grimace on his face next to a furious blush. And his eyes closed shut tightly.

“I think our friend here doesn’t appreciate the show we’re putting on for him,” he pointed out, his voice a broken gasp.

Alastor raised his head, a scowl on his face, when he decided, “Well, that’s really rude of him, then.”

The man’s eyes shot open, his mouth opening and closing, unable to decide if he should start apologizing or keep being silent as he had been told to.

Vincent eyed him for some more time, the wheels turning in his head, before he looked back at Alastor. He proposed with a playful smile, “Should I remove his eyelids?”

He added right away, as if he had just come up with the best idea ever, “And tongue, too? So he’d never insult us ever again”

Alastor decided that if what he was feeling right now was considered love, then he truly was heels over head for that silly little man.

“My, my, Vincent dearest,” Alastor purred, stroking his partner’s cheek. “You amaze me more and more today.”

“When did you become so forward-thinking? he teased in a playful tone, his lips pressing a quick kiss to Vincent’s nose, “I’d think they replaced you, if I didn’t know any better.”

In response, Vincent grinned, a row of his pure-white teeth flashing at Alastor.

Alastor pressed one last kiss to Vincent’s face, before pulling away to lie down on the fancy pillows. He observed as Vincent took a hold of his knife again, his grin widening at their victim’s realization that they indeed were not joking about mutilating his body.

His eyes darted to Alastor, a panicked look on his face, tears already spilling down his cheeks.

But Alastor only brought up a single finger to his lips and reminded him to be quiet. “Shh,” he hushed, the grin on his face becoming nothing but cold and cruel.

Vincent tried grabbing the man by his jaw, but he kept jerking away in some foolish attempt of delaying the undelayable.

“Stop squirming or I’ll stab your eye,” Vincent hissed, as he grabbed the man’s blonde curls and held him still. He paused for a moment, a smile on his face matching Alastor’s own.

“Or maybe keep squirming. It’ll be more fun that way.”

And while Vincent was at it, Alastor once again got a hold of the champagne bottle. He managed to finally open it and a loud pop! was heard the same moment the man’s eyelid fell down onto the drip sheet, beautiful red droplets following right after it.

That man had to really believe that they would set them free, for how silent he tried to be, way quieter than his predecessors.

Well, it just showed that some value life more than the others. A truly inspiring thing to nothing but admire.

Alastor poured a glass for Vincent and himself and not a moment later their victim lacked the other eyelid.

His green irises looked a lot brighter now, deprived of the additional shadow and eyelashes. Alastor made a mental note to himself to preserve these eyes. They weren’t as extraordinary as his Vincent’s, but still looked nice enough for Alastor to decide to put them on display, instead of simply eating them.

Maybe he’d put them in a jar and place it on their wardrobe in their bedroom? That way he would always have to watch their time in bed, unable to displease them ever again.

Splendid idea, Alastor decided, with a wide grin. He couldn’t wait to show it to Vincent or no, better – couldn’t wait to give the jar to Vincent, as a gift!

He was the one who sniffed out their prey, after all. And he did an absolutely wonderful job with it, pleasing Alastor oh so greatly; so much he felt the need to reward the man with something more than just a singular gift.

But as for now, he reminded himself to be patient. He stretched out on the pillows and watched as Vincent proceeded to the man’s tongue, just as promised.

Vincent grabbed his jaw, forcing him to open up wider. “Just try to bite me, bitch, and you’ll see what will happen next,” he warned in a low voice, a beautiful maniacal gleam showing in his green and blue.

The man choked, his eyes rolling back into his skull as blood overflowed his mouth, causing the crimson to drip down his jaw.

Both Alastor and Vincent ignored the man’s sudden loss of consciousness – they knew from experience that sooner or later he would come back to them, no need to be worried, then. If anything, it made Vincent’s work easier and quicker.

Alastor saw the greater part of a reddish tongue being held between Vincent’s thumb and pointing finger. He presented it to Alastor, his face crunching in disgust, as he eyed the thing, “Ew.”

Alastor mused in response, not put off in a slightest, “You know that the tongue is considered a delicacy?”

“Uh, really?” Vincent didn't sound convinced.

“Especially the tongue of a deer,” Alastor added, his voice a pleased hum.

He took the tongue from Vincent and turned it in his hand, blood staining his fingers, as he studied it carefully.

It had the color of a healthy pink, no signs of diseases or infections and oh, he even happened to wash it on a daily basis! Truly surprising, considering that so many people don’t know that the tongue was supposed to be washed.

“I don’t know, Al,” Vincent grimaced, somehow still unconvinced. “I think that’s kind of nasty.”

Alastor sent him an unimpressed look. “You thought human meat was ‘nasty’ until I put it inside a cheeseburger.”

Vincent looked as if he was relieving some beautiful memory in his mind, “It was a really good cheeseburger,” he sighed in a dreamy way.

Alastor rolled his eyes, giving the tongue back to Vincent, “Hurry up,” he said, feeling rather impatient.

Vincent complied, packing the piece of meat inside a plastic bag in the suitcase for them to eat later. Or for Alastor to eat it, because he was still somehow grossed out.

The man woke up, noticed that something was missing and with a panic in his eyes gave out a muffled yelp.

Vincent silenced him with a blow to his temple. The man choked again, his tears mixing with the blood on his face, as he sobbed quietly.

And Vincent only stared at him with a bored expression, before turning to Alastor, “Should I cut off his dick, too, while I’m at it?”

“It’ll make him bleed out too quickly.” Alastor glanced at his watch, “And it’s only 10PM. The night is still young,” he shrugged, “There’s no need to hurry.”

“But I can cut off his dick later?” Vincent wanted to make sure.

Alastor chuckled in response, “Only if you behave, dear.”

“Sweet,” Vincent replied, a joyous smile splitting his face in two.

The man’s sobs became louder, but both Alastor and Vincent ignored him. They had more important matters to attend to.

Alastor held out one of the champagne glasses for Vincent to take, at the same time patting the spot next to him on the bed.

They clinked their glasses together and, after taking only one sip, Alastor’s body decided that enough was enough and he couldn’t wait any longer – Something it did a lot when in the company of Vincent, Alastor noticed some time ago.

If he didn’t know for a fact that Vincent didn’t believe in occultism or anything of sorts, he’d be sure that there was a spell cast upon him that was making him act like that.

But, what was the most surprising, he didn’t mind it that much.

Mainly because it was Vincent Whittman – the absolute fool that one day decided that he’d become Alastor’s devotee.

And, since Alastor noticed that he was harmless and entertaining enough, he let him.

Plus, he had to admit it, it did feel nice having someone who’s entire attention and well-being was tied to his person and him only. It was flattering and stroked his ego a lot. It also made him feel important and powerful.

It was maddening.

He snatched the glass away from Vincent’s hand, putting it back on the side table.

Vincent didn’t have time to react, let alone say anything, before Alastor grabbed him and forced him to sit in his lap. Vincent’s knees pressed into the mattress on both sides of Alastor’s hips, as Alastor grabbed him by his hair and pulled down to make their lips meet.

He kissed exactly like before – hard and roughly, his tongue already on Vincent’s – this time, however, he let his hands roam a little as well. He took off Vincent’s jacket, his shirt stained with their victim’s blood. He stuck his finger under Vincent’s bow-tie and undid it slowly, causing it to fall next to the pile of clothes. He had Vincent in his lap, naked from the waist up, his glasses framing his pretty eyes and his grayish hair already disheveled.

Alastor moved his hands up and down Vincent’s chest, blunt nails stretching at the pale skin, pausing to pinch at Vincent’s nipples sharply.

Vincent gasped in response, his lips parting abruptly only for Alastor to clamp his teeth on his lower lip to bite. Vincent moaned, another painted grunt escaping him when Alastor increased pressure hard enough to feel the copper taste inside his mouth and swallow the sweet, absolutely delicious blood of his dear Vincent.

His hands moved to Vincent’s spine, going down and down to the grope his bottom, his finger brushing Vincent’s clothed hole and pressing.

Vincent broke the kiss suddenly, leaning away and almost jumping off Alastor’s lap.

Alastor only regarded him with a confused look, his brows furrowed.

“Shit, I forgot the lube!” Vincent explained in a panicked voice, “It was in the other suitcase. I can go get it, Al! Right now! I’ll be back in less than–”

“There’s no need,” Alastor interrupted him with a finger to his lips.

Now Vincent was the confused one. Alastor only smiled sweetly and turned to their victim that was forced to watch them, the blood on his body drying up slowly.

“I’m sure we can manage with what we have here.”

Their victim squirmed under Alastor’s threatening stare, but it was obvious that he had no strength to pick an actual fight with the restraints on his wrists.

Alastor turned back to Vincent, his voice a lovely tune, “How long does it take for blood to dry off completely on the skin, Vincent dear?”

“It depends on the amount," Vincent mused in response, his forehead placed against Alastor’s top of the head as he played with the dark curls. “A single drop will dry in less than a minute.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” Alastor muttered, annoyed by the touch to his hair. “That only means we would need a lot of it.”

Alastor stood up, pushing Vincent off his lap.

“But at the same time, we don’t want him to bleed out too quickly,” Alastor thought out loud. He smirked at their victim, “He should enjoy the show for a while, we’re not that cruel to deprive a man of good entertainment, after all.”

Vincent laid down on his back and mused, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, “You could cut off his fingers or slash his wrist horizontally a dozen times.”

At once, he sat up, madness shining in his eyes. “Oh, I know! You could puncture one of his arteries and keep pressure on and when we’ll need more lube you’ll remove the pressure to make it pour out right onto your hand.”

“You mean, use him like a valve?” Alastor tapped his chin in thought, “Hm, it is creative, I’ll give you that.”

Alastor grabbed the knife he had left on the bed and walked to the man in the armchair. “I think we have a winner,” he announced with a happy grin.

And he did exactly that; he rolled up the sleeve of their victim’s shirt and punctured the radial artery with the tip of his knife. Blood started flowing effortlessly, but rather too slowly in Alastor’s liking.

He smeared the crimson on his palms and fingers, getting them all slick and shiny.

“Watch out, Al,” he heard Vincent’s amused snort, “He might have HIV.”

“Right, we wouldn’t want to catch it by accident,” Alastor laughed, while applying a tourniquet with the victim’s own tie. It wasn’t like he wanted for their dear friend to bleed out too quickly and miss the best parts of the show.

Alastor was back with Vincent, his hands red from the tips of his fingers to his elbows, exactly as if he was wearing some gruesome version of evening gloves.

“Lie down on your stomach,” he ordered, his hand cupping Vincent’s cheek and painting his white skin red. “You deserve a reward for your splendid behavior today.”

“You mean–” Vincent perked up, his eyes shining brightly. “Really, Al?”

“Oh really, my dear,” Alastor hummed, one bloody finger tracing Vincent’s face, down his neck and stopping at the collarbones, “I may even indulge in your perversions, that’s how delighted you’ve made me today.”

A pathetic whimper escaped Vincent’s throat, his breath suddenly hitching as his face matched the color of the blood on his neck.

Alastor didn’t have to repeat himself for Vincent to quickly lose his trousers together with his underwear and lay down, face first, on the mattress, his feet firmly placed on the floor as he situated himself on the bed’s edge.

“Oh, just take a look at you,” Alastor purred, undoing his tie. “Such a good boy. Absolutely perfect, only for me to have.”

He grabbed Vincent’s wrists and tied them together behind Vincent’s back. What he liked so much about being restrained and completely on Alastor’s mercy, Alastor could never understand.

But, since he enjoyed having Vincent vulnerable and helpless, exposed in front of him completely and utterly pathetic, a broken, begging mess… well, he’d definitely wouldn’t kinkshame him for that one.

Alastor grabbed Vincent’s tied wrists and pressed them firmly to his bare back. His other hand made its way to Vincent’s bottom and used his slick finger to smear the dripping blood right onto his hole.

“Ah-Alastor,” Vincent gasped underneath him, his eyes closing shut.

Alastor leaned down enough to leave bitemarks at Vincent’s nape. He felt the man shuddering, his hips twitching to try and grind against the sheets. He licked the bruised skin, his finger pressing inside Vincent.

The hot tightness closed around him, but he didn’t stop moving his hand, instead pushing in, forcing himself all the way to the last knuckle. Vincent’s mouth opened in a silent moan, his glasses crooked on his face, as he tried to look Alastor’s way, “Al, please, more.”

“Feeling greedy, are we now?” Alastor hummed happily. He pulled out only to add another finger, shoving them back in one quick movement.

Vincent hissed in pain, a pleased smile appearing on his face a second later. “Ah, m–more,” he managed to choke out.

Alastor cocked an eyebrow, a warning in his voice, “Since when are you the one giving out orders?”

He threatened to pull away his fingers completely, only the tips inside Vincent, spreading his tight hole, teasing the rim.

“I–ah, sorry,” Vincent apologized right away, his hips moving back to make Alastor press in again.

But when Alastor stood frozen like before and kept silent, Vincent became desperate.

“Please, Al, please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I need it, I– please–”

Alastor cut him off with an amused chuckle, “That’s more like it.”

He pressed his fingers back inside, grinding them against Vincent’s prostate. “But don't do that again, dear,” he warned, his breath hot in Vincent’s ear, “You don’t want me to punish you, do you now?”

He picked up the peace, the fingers inside Vincent moving quickly in and out causing the man to grunt and gasp and moan.

“You want to keep being my good boy?” Alastor continued, his voice a velvet purr. “My loyal little toy?”

“Ah–” Vincent gasped, muscles around Alastor's fingers squeezing tightly.

“My pretty little hole to use?”

“Ah, yes, yes!” Vincent shouted, his voice breaking. “Please!”

Alastor ceased his movements. “Hmm, so which one do you want to be? he wondered, his hand moving in slow, lazy circles.

Vincent managed to gasp out, “All of them.”

“You want to be all mine?” Alastor raised an eyebrow skeptically.

He saw a small, amused smile on Vincent’s face. He looked at Alastor, his eyes behind a haze, as he said in a sure voice, “I already am.”

Alastor felt his grin widening, something inside him growing hot, exactly as if his insides were on fire.

He wanted to hurt Vincent in a way it mattered. To crave his initials on the pale skin, to break every bone in his body, to be the cause of his ruin. And Vincent wouldn’t complain about a single thing.

He would keep looking at Alastor like he was doing right now: with nothing but devotion in his eyes.

His perfect Vincent. His loyal little toy. The only person that ever mattered.

“That’s right, my pretty,” Alastor purred, “You are mine.”

“I’m yours,” Vincent repeated, his eyes closing with a grunt, when Alastor at once spread his fingers inside him in a rough manner.

Alastor leaned down, kissing Vincent’s neck tenderly and feeling the quickened pulse from the carotid artery on his lips.

He nipped at Vincent’s ear, his breath hot, when he promised sweetly, “Say it again and I will reward you with something way better than my fingers.”

Vincent shuddered, his hips arching and a gasp leaving his mouth. “Ah, I’m yours, Alastor,” his voice bordering on a sob, when Alastor kept pulling his fingers in and out in quick movements.

“I–ah, I belong to you.”

“Mhm, you do,” Alastor cooed in agreement.

He watched for a couple moments longer how Vincent reacted to his touches, just as if he was watching his favorite show.

How Vincent’s hips grinded against the sheets, when Alastor focused on his prostate. How his mouth opened in a silent cry, when he curled his fingers. How he shook and shivered, when Alastor picked up the pace, basically fucking into him with his hand.

And when he noticed that Vincent was getting a little too close to meeting his orgasm, Alastor pulled out completely without any warning.

“All right, you pleased me,” he decided, ignoring the needy whine that escaped Vincent’s throat and the way his hole spasmed on nothing.

Instead, he grabbed Vincent by his hair and forced him to look into his eyes, as he praised, “I could even say that you’ve made me proud.”

Vincent whined in response, his hips twitching on their own, “Al, please...”

Alastor chuckled, amused, and walked to their victim who had the greatest pleasure of observing this entire scene.

And with his favorite knife in hand, Alastor turned to the man, “Forgive me, pal,” his eyes moving from the makeshift tourniquet to the man’s thigh, “I don’t feel like waiting, you see,” and drove the blade right into the flesh there.

He ignored the pained scream and instead focused on the freely flowing blood. He collected it onto his palms, before unzipping his trousers and freeing his erection. He smeared it with blood, the red hue matching the mess he had left between Vincent’s cheeks.

Alastor noticed how Vincent was watching him: with a desire in his eyes, a smug smirk on his face, when he realized that Alastor would put his cock inside him.

Because it wasn’t often when he did it; getting himself involved instead of simply using his fingers or a toy. Or just being a voyeur as Vincent was pleasing himself in front of him.

But well, since Vincent pleased him oh so greatly tonight… It could be his grand prize.

Vincent shifted on the bed, his legs spreading so he would give Alastor better access to his hole.

And “better access” he gave, because all Alastor had to do was grip Vincent’s hips and press in firmly for his cock to slide in with ease.

“Ah–Al!” Vincent yelped, pain quickly turning into pleasure, as Alastor gave a couple of rough thrusts, forcing his walls to give way and welcome Alastor’s length like it was a permanent part of his body.

Alastor leaned down, his teeth breaking the skin on Vincent’s neck in one hard bite. He licked the blood, moaning at the taste. His hips kept snapping in a rough way – a loud sound of skin slapping skin echoing inside the room – forcing his orgasm to approach at an alarming fast rate.

But he didn’t want it to end so quickly. He missed something; something that would give that blazing hotness inside him a way out; something that would satisfy the need to completely devour Vincent.

He pulled out – ignoring the confused gasp that left Vincent’s lips – only to grab at Vincent’s restraints and flip him onto his back. He grabbed each of Vincent’s knees, spreading them as far as possible, and pushed himself back in, continuing with the punishing tempo.

Vinent’s mouth fell open, the glasses on his face crooked, blood smeared on his face, and his eyes seeing only Alastor, his body feeling only Alastor.

And suddenly, Alastor felt that something-feeling again, but it was much stronger this time.

It made him move his hands from Vincent’s legs to his neck. It made him squeeze and hold him like that.

Vincent’s fight or flight response kicked in. He started gasping for air, his back arching to try and get from Alastor’s tight hold, his hands subconsciously struggling against the restraints to try and break free.

And Alastor was absolutely delighted by the reaction. He only asked, his voice sweet and warm, “Would you die for me, dear?”

He lightened his touch enough to let Vincent speak, the words leaving him in choked pants, “I would, Al, I– I swear!”

“Are you sure?” Alastor raised an eyebrow, the hold around Vincent’s neck bruising the milky skin, pressing into the bruises and bitemakers, causing them to open up and start bleeding slowly.

“Ah, yes, yes!” Vincent chanted with every rough thrust of Alastor’s hips. “Kill me, Al–ah please–”

His body was trying to break free, shaking from the intensity of it all, and yet Vincent started begging, the words merging into one desperate stream of;

“Please now right now ple-ah–se please Al–Alastor! Kill me fuck me God fucking kill me now Al please ple–please now right now! Alastor please!”

Alastor grinned, something wild shining in his eyes.

“Come,” he ordered sharply, his hand completely cutting off Vincent’s oxygen supply.

“Come, Vincent,” he repeated in a low voice, his eyes fixed on Vincent’s delighted expression, “Let me feel it,” he was driving in his cock deeply, making sure to hit Vincent’s prostate every time. “Make me even more proud.”

Vincent shivered wildly, his back arched completely off bed and his hole clamped down on Alastor’s cock. He came untouched, on command, but even then Alastor didn’t stop strangling him nor fucking him.

He waited, his cock grinding in deeply and, when he was balls deep and felt underneath his hands how Vincent’s body started going limp, Alastor finally allowed himself to come as well.

He moved his hand, letting Vincent breathe again. He gasped and coughed, his vision still a little blurry as he watched Alastor leaning down to stare as the come mixed with blood and was leaking out of Vincent’s hole after he had pulled out.

Alastor wanted to say that it would satisfy his hunger for some time, but he knew that would be just a nasty lie. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got hard again in less than an hour – Vincent’s fault, obviously.

Maybe he did have a spell cast upon him, despite everything.

Just not the type of a spell Alastor was ever familiar with.

Vincent shifted underneath him, his head turning to the side.

“Al, I think he's dead,” he managed to choke out and it took Alastor a moment to realize that he was talking about their prey. He forgot all about him, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering what they were busy doing.

Alastor slapped his way-too-pale face, making sure that the blow was hard enough for him to wake up if he had fainted.

But he hadn’t, apparently.

“Huh, he is,” Alastor realized. He must've hit the femoral artery. “Well, that's not fun.”

Vincent groaned, “Ugh, I didn't get to cut off his dick.”

Alastor only chuckled in response; a genuine and soft sound that lasted for less than a second.

He was back with Vincent in no time. He freed his hands and tended to his injuries.

He had a couple of bitemarks here and there and a red bruise around his neck, but that was it. There was also blood coming out of his hole, but this one Alastor could easily ignore – it wasn’t like it was his blood, after all.

He leaned down to stroke Vincent’s cheek. “Thank you for that, dear,” he said, his voice soft and gentle. He placed a quick kiss to Vincent’s forehead, “I really enjoyed it,” and added, managing a genuine smile to appear on his face, “You truly are irreplaceable.”

Vincent only hummed, his eyes fluttering shut and a dopey smile appearing on his face.

Alastor watched his partner for a moment, before deciding that was enough and Vincent shouldn't shoot himself in the head now because of the lack of proper aftercare.

“No, don’t go,” Vincent whined, his eyes opening to plead at Alastor, as he tried to pull away.

“My apologies, dear,” Alastor sighed, “But someone has to cut him up,” he gestured towards the corpse of their victim.

“And I don’t think you’re up to that in your… condition.”

“I’ll be,” Vincent protested weakly, before adding, “In some time.”

He propped himself up on his elbows and took a look between his legs. And at his chest. “I need a bath first,” he decided.

“We both do,” Alastor said, looking down at his pants stained with blood, his shirt dirty with Vincent’s come. Good thing they had spare clothes in his suitcase.

Alastor went to the bathroom to let the tub fill slowly with warm water. And when he came back, he realized that Vincent had to find the remote because some loud movie was playing on the hotel’s TV and assaulting his ears and eyes.

“Look, Al,” he sent him a wide smile, gesturing towards the screen, “They got James Bond.”

“Great,” Alastor muttered in response, a flat look on his face.

And, as Vincent was watching his silly movie, while Alastor was doing all the heavy lifting and packing the body to go, he thought that maybe he should accept invitations to these “get togethers” more often.

Because, not only they disposed of one piece of trash, but also got themselves food for a month.

And Vincent…

Oh, his dearest, sweetest, lovely, remarkable Vincent.

If Alastor was truly in love with him before, then now he had to be completely and utterly gone for the man.

And that realization made him wonder briefly;

How expensive exactly are wedding rings?