Work Text:
It’s three weeks before Jasper sees hide and hair of Guy, finds him in the lounge of the Hôtel Gaumont, the place all wood paneling and ornate wallpaper, uncomfortably reminiscent of the Westcroft. Jasper takes a seat at the bar where Guy is, a few stools down, knowing that he was already made three blocks from the place but still decidedly placing himself within Guy’s sightline as if Guy wouldn't know he's here otherwise. Guy isn’t alone, leaned in tight with a man twice his age, old enough to be his father with salt and pepper hair, expensive suit. Guy himself — Jesus Christ — looks delectable: black dress shirt opened enough to show not just the points of his collarbone but a little pulled to the side to show the line of said collarbone; curls unruly, a little longer than Jasper last saw, begging to be gripped. There are trifles at this bar, like any bar, and Guy looks like one of them. No, worse, like a wild garden begging to be trampled.
A slight quirk tugs the corner of Guy’s mouth, and it surely isn’t in response to whatever the man is saying to him.
Maybe Jasper is supposed to seethe, Guy’s mark selection not exactly subtle, but instead, he’s amused, settles in to watch, orders a whiskey neat from the bartender that he won’t drink, just for appearances. He watches as Guy leans in to whisper, surprised to hear halting French alternated with American English. Watches as Guy traces his fingertips along the edge of a shirt cuff, playful little touches, as Guy looks up through veiled lashes, practically a flutter. Then, it’s a bite of his bottom lip, and surely that’s gotta be a touch too far, Jasper thinks, Guy hamming it up way too much. Instead, while Guy is locked up tight, nary a hint of his thoughts, Jasper is given a billboard of the suited man’s carnal wishes. And Jasper does seethe then— no, it’s wrath, a sudden boilover rather than a simmer. The audacity to even think about his boy that way.
Oh wait, that’s right: not his boy.
Guy is truly fighting a smile now, and finally — fucking finally, like he’s deigning to do so — he glances Jasper’s way. Like that, the rage subsides. That fucking face, same and yet so fundamentally altered, all the raw materials having been there from the start, gumption and nerve, now molded clay, fired in a kiln. Surely Jasper wasn’t thinking with his dick when he slammed the door and insisted Guy to stay. Or maybe he did, just a little bit. It’s hard to divide the two, the immaculate face and the mettle, the pretty blue eyes and the pluck, the quiver-soft vulnerability and the gutsiness, never fearless — terrified all the time actually — but crashing through it like an affluenza teen through wrought iron gates in his BMW.
Guy briefly turns his head, hiding his ill-timed laugh as a cough. The man he’s with is confused and then vaguely outraged when Guy turns back with an innocent smile and excuses himself, abruptly ending the flirtation. Guy makes for Jasper now, a direct line, a direct gaze, and he brushes by Jasper, leans in, whispers, “I got a room upstairs,” then continues onward towards the elevator.
Jasper follows.
It’s quiet all the way to the room, Jasper not bothering to knock and Guy not offering a peek, a detente that holds all the way up until they pass through the threshold and the door closes behind him.
Guy collides into him, mouth first then body, and Jasper would oomph if he had any breath in him. As it were, he feels strangely breathless anyhow, as a creature who doesn’t breathe, Guy taking up all the air, all the space, pushing into his mouth, pushing into his mind.
You’ve barely recovered.
The words aren’t overly filled with concern, more a statement of fact, an observation noted. Yeah, Jasper isn’t exactly unaware of that fact, a hell of a risk taken to have travelled here, and not just because of the Talamasca still hunting his ass but for the sake of Guy’s newfound control, a dizzying display of his abilities. Jasper has laid down some spackle but what he really needs are steel panels. He’d suffice against most threats right now — or so he tells himself — but Guy… Guy has put himself into a whole new category.
It’s fucking weird to feel the sheer power delving inside him, a finesse that Guy seemed years away from in London. Guy’s hands, though, they’re rough and urgent and inelegant, pawing at Jasper, yanking Jasper’s shirt tails from their tuck inside his jeans, and Jasper isn’t a dawdler, gives back as good as he gets, physically anyway, his mental prowess falling far short of his usual capacity.
Guy enjoys that though; Jasper can feel that clear as day. Half vindictive glee — you have no moves; I have all the moves — and half genuine preen, Guy basking in Jasper’s unreined desire, his naked wanting, the possessiveness that Jasper can’t hide, or maybe doesn’t want to.
Guy slipped from him once. Twice. Jasper is a predator, after all; he likes to chase.
They fall into bed, shoes kicked off, a tangle of limbs, mouths enmeshed, a semi-tussle until Jasper finally wrangles his way on top and wedges himself between Guy’s thighs, definitely having recovered enough since their last meeting to be more than adequately aroused. He demonstrates this, rocking against Guy as he looms over him, layers unable to hide how hard he is, and Guy bites his bottom lip, no feign, no show, not like in the bar, real lust in his heavy-lidded eyes even as he sends thread of amusement down the line, mocking Jasper’s need to be a man above all else.
You’ll always be a brat, won’t you?
Guy’s lips drawn up into a lazy smile, intentionality in the bat of his eyes. He splays himself, hands on either side of his head, palms out, a pretense of a surrender. You’ve caught me, he seems to say without saying, teasing the predator, the man, the vampire, even as he locks his ankles behind Jasper’s back and urges him to grind with a persistent push of his heels, reminding Jasper that Guy is only here because he allows himself to be.
What a little shit, Jasper thinks, with too much fondness, too much indulgence. Guy revels, having caught both thought and affection like a can of corn; he reaches over without looking, fingers hooking the handle of the bedside drawer. He slides it open.
Jasper glances over.
Inside is a dildo of modest girth, and like that, Jasper receives a premeditated flash of what Guy was up to before he chose to wait for Jasper down in the bar. The jolt of arousal is almost painful in intensity, as if Jasper could get any harder than he already is, nerves sizzling with voracious want, making him feel savage.
Guy flashes a feral grin, retracts his surrender and starts to fight Jasper, shoving against him, and Jasper knows — without any need to probe — that Guy is being a right asshole, making him pay and pay by inciting libido and then immediately giving him a disorienting reminder of their scuffle in the garage of the London motherhouse.
You are a goddamn fucking menace to society. Jasper snarls the thought, slices the words through, and he doesn’t want to replay that moment, not when they’re in the middle of this, except every second between them is a product of London, of half-truths and expectations. As if the garage wasn’t tinged with the very same tension here and now. He’d wanted to murder Guy, for keeping the truth from him. He’d wanted to fuck Guy then, too, the way Guy stilled, bottom lip quivering, terrified and terrorized, an endless litany of don’t wanna die don’t wanna die racing through his mind even as he offered a subtle tilt of his head.
With a growl, Jasper flips Guy onto his stomach with a decisive seize of his hips, unfastens his belt, and yanks his pants along with underwear down to mid-thigh, Guy struggling the whole while, a fight that can easily be quelled but Jasper lets him thrash fruitlessly, just like he did in the garage, but very much unlike in the garage, Jasper opts for fuck rather than murder, sinking himself into Guy in one full thrust, burying to the hilt. At the breach, Guy chokes out a gasped moan, and Jasper certainly can’t keep silent either, a satisfied groan leaving his throat. Guy stretched himself well — the mental image of Guy fucking himself with a dildo to prepare for him fuel enough to light a thousand fires — the entry just that perfect tightness.
Jasper fucks that perfect tightness now, deep, hard rocks of his hips, driving Guy into the bed. Guy resumes struggling under him again, wiggling and trying to scramble for purchase, as if he wishes to buck Jasper off him, except every motion rears him back onto Jasper’s cock. Every sound Guy makes contains a keening whine, as though desperate for escape even as he radiates pure satisfaction, even as he very clearly calls out to Jasper, fuck me fuck me hard please need it need it harder deeper
Jasper is getting the distinct impression that he’s getting used again, but he can’t really bring himself to care, not when Guy pleads and pleads so wonderfully in his head, when Guy feels so fucking good, hot and tight and perfect, a primal satisfaction in asserting claim, even if Guy is the one who maneuvered them here. Jasper reaches between Guy and the bed, easily shreds the front of Guy’s shirt, and Guy mewls at a tug of his nipple, at the very liberal grope of his body, ribcage to thigh, a sound that intensifies when Jasper lifts Guy’s hips just enough off the bed to shift his angle just right. Fuck yes, like that, like that like that please just like that I’m so fucking close. When Guy starts to move a hand, presumably to reach for himself, Jasper seizes it and pins it down onto the pillow, causing a miffed complaint.
You’ll take it, pup.
In retaliation, Guy tilts his head, not quite the curve of that gorgeous throat when his back is to Jasper but he’s still presenting nonetheless, baring the line of his neck, beckoning with that deliciously biteable junction of neck and shoulder. Jasper’s hips stutter. Guy knows and wishes to taunt him, a knife wound between the ribs deeper than any other, a touch more cruel than Jasper thought Guy capable of even if Guy has been pelting him with rocks and nicking him with cuts. But no, Guy doesn’t know, not from the way he near wails in frustration at the way Jasper has stalled, except he’ll figure it out easily enough when Jasper drags his tongue along the junction instead, lapping sweat and skin all the way to the nape of Guy’s neck. Jasper redoubles his thrusts, and a noise rises high in the back of Guy’s throat. Guy is right on the fucking edge; Jasper can practically smell it. He now keeps both of Guy’s hands firmly pinned, not allowing any theft of pleasure. He’ll be the one to give it all to Guy, aimed true, pushed deep.
The sound Guy makes when he comes ought to live in infamy forever.
Utterly awashed in Guy’s ecstasy, Jasper comes, too, finishing inside of Guy, giving a few more thrusts for good measure, making Guy whimper, a squirm for real out of oversensitivity, a breathy moan escaping. Jasper probably could torture Guy some more, wouldn’t take much for him to get hard again, to fuck Guy some more, but he’ll save it for the next time he catches Guy, knowing already that at some point he’ll fall asleep and wake to an empty bed.
For the time being, Jasper withdraws and tucks himself away, drops onto his side next to Guy, and just enjoys Guy radiating fucked-out bliss like a post-coital cigarette. He inhales unnecessarily, just like with a smoke, and breathes in sweat and come and satisfaction. Guy shifts, languid, loose-limbed, kicks off his trousers and underwear, a tad of a struggle before he knocks them entirely off the bed, leaving him only in his ruined shirt which he does not bother to take off, entirely because he knows how much Jasper likes the sight of it, seams torn and buttons missing and at least one long rip. Guy giveth and he taketh, which is only fair, Jasper supposes.
Guy turns to face him, and they lie there, side by side on their sides, facing each other. Close, wonderfully and terribly close. Guy looks fucking beautiful, flushed and bright-eyed, curls plastered to his forehead, radiating heat and post-orgasmic glow. Jasper’s never really considered the cold-blooded nature of being a vampire but he feels as an alligator basking in the sun.
Guy has to ruin it, of course.
Smirking, Guy murmurs, “I’ve heard that can happen with men your age.”
Jasper sighs. “Yeah?”
“Dontic dysfunction.”
Jasper thought Guy was being cruel earlier, presenting when Jasper still can’t fucking bite, except he wasn’t, and he isn’t now. Guy looks entirely too proud of himself for the stupid pun to intend cruelty. God, what a fucking idiot, he thinks he just might—
“Being cute only gets you so far and then you get smacked by a rolled up newspaper,” Jasper says, exasperated.
Guy laughs, full-throated.
Jasper's not sure he's ever heard the sound. It’s… it’s something, all right.
Guy quiets. Softens. “Show me,” he says, voice just above a whisper and yet pitched with just a hint of command.
Jasper should balk, especially at the command, as though Guy has any right to this, yet he does it anyway, not obedience but… but perhaps acquiescence. He opens his mouth, lets his fangs drop, an ache just to do so. Guy watches, fascination written across his face. His blue eyes flicker between Jasper’s own and those sharp teeth, back and forth, back and forth. Finally, with slowness and yet without hesitation, Guy brushes a thumb down the elongated canine. It takes everything in Jasper not to shudder, and it gets more and more difficult to contain it when Guy strokes up and down the length of the tooth, fearless.
Finally, Jasper has to pull away, an inward shake that’s threatening to become an outward one, but he doesn’t get far before Guy clasps a hand to the back of his head and brings him into a kiss. Soft, fucking soft, just a brush, then two, of lips. And Jasper doesn’t know what Guy means, the boy nothing but a locked box again, impenetrable.
“Are you going to tell me what happened to you?” Jasper whispers against Guy’s mouth.
Guy licks his lips, close enough that he catches Jasper’s. His gaze is downcast, lashes near touching his cheeks. Then, he’s pulling away, rolling from Jasper entirely.
“We unloaded both of our backstories at each other real fast and look where that got us.” Guy runs a hand through his hair, sitting up now, back turned to Jasper. “Probably for the best that we keep a few cards to ourselves. Besides, do you want to tell me what happened to you in Amsterdam?” He looks over his shoulder, throws Jasper a half-smile, something that doesn’t touch those blue eyes. “I don’t really actually know.”
If Guy said “and I want to,” if Guy asked, Jasper thinks — he really thinks — he would, he would spill his guts, show him everything. But then again, Guy isn’t wrong to say that didn’t exactly work out for them in London.
So Jasper doesn’t answer, just reaches for the back of Guy’s shirt and tugs, drawing Guy back to him. He half-expects Guy to leave the bed entirely; instead, Guy acquiesces as Jasper did, coming back, and not just to lie down but to press himself into Jasper, curling up close, tucking his face into the crook of Jasper’s neck.
Jasper wraps both arms around Guy. Holds on tight. And Guy settles with a sigh.
But just as Jasper knew Guy would, just as Jasper predicted, he wakes up to an empty bed.