Chapter Text
Chamber wonders if you'll gaze at him with hatred and disgust, or if you'll understand his reasons why.
Even as his hands skim over your body, finger tips brushing over your nipples, your stomach, your inner thighs, he wonders. Unfortunately for him, you've gotten to know him too well over the past year, recognizing the faint air of distance in his actions. Even more so than usual - he knows you know he keeps his distance from others with a lofty, flirtatious air. Closeness with him isn't truly possible, not with the secrets he holds.
You catch hold of his hands, even as he presses a fingertip against your clit, drawing forth a soft gasp.
"A penny for your thoughts, Vincent?" You ask, voice as melodious as usual. But he knows you, too, and he hears the faintest edge of arousal.
"Hm? Nothing, mon chatton, except for how to make you whimper and moan beneath me."
Except you had used 'Vincent' instead of 'Chamber', and he knew you wanted a real answer instead of his flagrant dismissal.
So he strokes your clit again, hoping the spark of pleasure will be enough to distract you, and he's rewarded with the gentle arch of your hips, pressing yourself a little further against his hand. Chamber is only too happy to oblige, and he repeats the motion, then gentle circles.
But you're not to be dissuaded, your own hands still clenched around his, nails digging into his skin. Chamber relishes the faintest of pain, hoping those same nails of yours will claw down his back later - deep enough to draw pinpricks of blood. A grounding reminder that he's capable of being here with you, right now, lost in the sensations of you instead of lost in the mental chessboard of his mind, always trying to be ten, fifteen, twenty steps ahead.
Ah, but there he is again, lost in his thoughts when he has you beneath him.
"Vincent," you say, part moan, part chastisement.
"I'm here," he says, sliding two fingers inside of your wet pussy, and desperately tries to convince himself that he means it.
-
Chamber wonders how he'll feel, if you do decide to hate him.
There's the part of him that doesn't care, of course: he has a bigger vision to fulfill in his mind's bright eye. You have secrets of your own that he would like to dig up, little treasures of hidden information that he can use later to barter and sell. Yet, yet, yet... a not insignificant part of him recoils at the thought of you gazing at him, eyes flat and bleak, lips pressed into a thin line.
How strange.
How his Omega counterpart would laugh at him, if he knew.
How he's laughing at himself right now, with Headhunter in his hand mid-cleaning, for having such thoughts.
Fate is a cruel mistress, to put one such as you in his path. You weren't even a field agent for the Valorant Protocol a la him or Viper, merely a healer who assisted Sage and Skye on occasion within the base. At least, that was your official job designation.
He knew the truth. You were an intelligence officer for them, with only two or three of the Protocol knowing what you truly were; no radianite powers or special ability like Killjoy. Merely someone (and how 'mere' were you, really?) with a dark intelligence, and a cunning flickering in your eyes.
You had melded into the crowds so easily, and it was only his own drive for entertainment to toy with others that led him to you. Oh, how interesting it would have been to play with you under the eyes of Sage, knowing it would cause the woman to grind her teeth in irritation at her assistant being distracted by one such as him.
But he had caught that flicker, that faint spark. A carefully tended to flame, ready to be ignited at a moments notice if need be. Dutifully hidden away so you could play pretend with everyone else, just like him.
Like recognizes like, after all.
After that, it was a surprisingly quick slide to bring you to his bed. Chamber enjoyed the encounter immensely, and was even more pleased when he found you at his door once again. That time, it had been you pushing him towards his bed, fingers making deft work of the button on his slacks, the sound of his zipper deafening in the quiet room.
"I want you," you had whispered in his ear, and Chamber gladly obliged. It was a delight to have you arching your back beneath him, breasts pressing against his chest. It was easy to moan your name with a genuine passion he thought he lacked. Perhaps it was because he thought you a kindred spirit in some ways - and in some ways, this was a shared secret between the two of you, knowing what the other truly was.
Not that Chamber truly tried to hide it, already so distrusted and vastly disliked by the Protocol.
And so why should it have mattered whether or not you continue to hold him in a positive regard?
He was certain that you were one of a small handful - and maybe the only one - who viewed him somewhat positively. A warmth that he's noted you share with no one else, only with him. Your time you thought too valuable to spare for others, and yet, you spent most of what you did have available with him. You lingered in his bed, curled tight within the circle of his arms, head resting on his chest, sharing little nothings with him.
Chamber groans at the image, his pants tenting.
Mon dieu, he was becoming hopeless.
-
Your hands were pinned above your head tot he wall with one hand, the other adjusting your hips slightly as he slid his cock into you. No condom, for once, not this time. He wants you, fully, completely.
"Yes," you hiss, allowing your cheek to rest against the hallway wall, eyes falling closed. Chamber gazes at you as if fascinated by the way your lashes flutter, the way they curve - a wave breaking. "Chamber?"
"Ah, my apologies, mon chatton. You feel so good I needed a moment to revel in it."
You laugh quietly. "Please, just...just move. I need you." And you wiggle your hips slightly, grinding back against him.
Chamber groans. You need him. Not just want. Is he overthinking everything you're saying, trying to cherry pick what will make him happy? Perhaps. More than likely, but he'll take what he can.
"Apologies," he says, and leans in against you, covering your body with his. He sets a slow, torturous pace - not what you wanted, but he wants to take his time, and savor every moment of your wet cunt around his cock. It could be any moment when orders change, or when he needs to proceed. Any moment when your bright eyes turn dark.
"Faster," you whimper, and he feels you squeeze tight around him.
"Anything for you, mon chatton."
Chamber's thrusts become faster, harsher. Brutal, even, but by the sounds of your muffled moans it's very much so to your liking. Perhaps fucking you in the hallway was far too risky, but a part of him wants everyone to know that you're the one he's chosen as his. That he's the one you spend time with - him, Vincent Fabron, Chamber, the pariah of Valorant Protocol, even more so than Reyna. That he's the one you seek for company in bed, and he's the one who's currently making you bite your lips until they bleed to stifle your voice.
Your fingers curl, uncurl, then scrabble at the wall.
"So deep, so good, oh, Chamber..."
Chamber presses his lips to your hair, then finds the curve of your ear. The soft fragrance of your soft shampoo envelops him, drives him even further into a frenzy. The hand about your wrists squeezes even tighter, and a perverse part of him hopes he'll leave bruises. A memory of him that will linger for several days.
"Vincent. My name. Say it."
It's the first time he's asked this of you.
Your eyes flicker beneath your lids. Maybe his request was a mistake.
"Vinceeeent," you moan, drawing out his name on a breath and Chamber simply doesn't care anymore in this here and now.
"I'm close," he murmurs and now you're grinding back against him again, turning your head back towards his the best you can.
"Please, please, please. Fill me, make me cum, too. I need it, I need you, I -" Your voice is breathy, your cunt is so wet around him, your arousal dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. A sweet memory for him to hold onto.
For once, he has no response, too focused on you. With a muffled moan of his own, he thrusts deeply into you one last time, finding his release, filling you with cum and tipping you over the edge as well. You stiffen, nails scratching at the wall, and he feels your muscles clench and release.
Dipping his head down, he kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder. His hips continue to thrust, but gently now, feeling you shudder through the last of your own orgasm.
"Vincent," and it's still a moan.
Chamber has to fight his cock trying to stiffen again.
"Yes, mon chatton?"
You smile at him, indolent and pleased, and he thinks how appropriate his petname for you is. "Take me to your room to clean up? And then dinner, maybe?"
He kisses your cheek.
"Of course. Whatever you ask for, mon chatton."
Fate has dealt a cruel hand, to force him to say such words. The worst is he can see the disappointment flick across your face at his words, knowing them for what they truly are.
-
The two of you stand together on the remains of the site after the spike explosion. Sage and Skye wander from agent to agent, patching and healing as needed. You gaze up at him, and he studiously keeps his eyes on the remaining team. Sage resurrects Raze, and he feels a thought branch into what the cost of such an ability must be.
And then that thought, inevitably, leads to what the cost of all his actions will be.
No one person is enough to deter him from the course he has plotted for him. He knows that, and he thinks you must know that as well.
"Sage is an understanding person," he comments, "and yet, even she's limited in her attempts to understand me. You would think, knowing that I'm the one who can lead them to the other side, they would at least try to pretend to like me."
Similar to a comment he's made to Brimstone before, who only gave him a look of disgust and turned away.
"Mm. You certainly are a store of secrets, that makes it difficult. And you tend to fall back on cheap flirtation rather than being genuine."
"My, you certainly are a flatterer," he says, laughing slightly. "Cypher has his own secrets though, non? We don't even know what his face looks like!"
"Cypher is, otherwise, approachable and honestly quite funny." You roll your eyes. "Am I wrong?"
Chamber doesn't answer.
"You do the same with me. But not as much." A shrug accompanies your words this time. "Is that as true to yourself as you can manage, Vincent?"
Again, he doesn't answer.
"You don't like that people might think you terrible, do you?"
"No." There, he'll let you have it: a true, vulnerable answer.
You fall silent, and he finally looks at you, not bothering with his usual smug smile or cocky charisma. Your eyes search his face; he isn't sure for what, but you seem to find your own answers there.
"Vincent, you have your reasons, don't you? For why you're here?"
Ah, there it is. The conversation that's hovered between them all this time, an acknowledgement of the other.
"As do you, non?"
You smile, a little sadly. "Yes. I do. And maybe they're ones that are easily understandable, and maybe they're not. We all think we should be understood - we're human, after all. That's all we want."
"And what are your reasons?" A not so small part of him hopes maybe you'll give him something true.
But you look away, gaze shuttering. "Nothing important."
Disappointment opens a chasm beneath him, a yawning void. Hope and wanting: this is what it got him. But he supposed he brought it on himself: mistrust sows mistrust, dishonesty and shams beget the same. As if he had been honest with you, and yet he had the audacity to expect it from you.
"What about you, Vincent?"
He hesitates. "It's something absolutely necessary. Something I believe needs to occur."
Surprise lights the spark in your eyes. "Really now."
"Yes." There's no joking look in his eyes and his mouth is set in a straight line. The same expression on his face when he peers down the sights of Tour de Force, knowing the cost of taking a life.
"Hm."
The two of you stand in silence for a moment. Clean-up of the spike-devastated site is almost complete, the agents finishing up packing and setting up the transporter back to their base.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, Chamber feels your fingers brush against his. And when he doesn't pull away, you lace your fingers with his. Your tentativeness is sweet, as if you think he might bolt away from the contact.
A heartbeat, then two. Another moment. Chamber squeezes your hand, and has to fight the urge to bring your hand to his lips and kiss your palm.
"I'll stay," you say, finally. "I'll listen. I'll..." The words fail you.
But he knows what you mean, and he can feel his heart breaking already for what the future holds. There will be an impasse at some point, where it simply won't be enough. Choices will need to be made. Your secrets will come to light, even the ones you've hidden from the Protocol. And so will his.
But he supposes for now, in this moment, this will have to be enough.