Chapter Text
Alastor wanted to have sex.
It’s not something he typically thought about; although, he must have grown accustomed to having it; years of codependency and enduring the nightmares following their homicidal nights can do that to you. That is until he felt it become a necessity, like an alcoholic getting his liquor confiscated while being a barkeep, except for sex. Ah, he felt like he might die.
Vincent’s the one who always asked first, but it seemed to be far from his mind these days. Wake up, go to work, go to sleep, repeat; not paying any attention to his pent up husband. Sure, Alastor’s done some self exploration in the short period of time between him arriving from his morning broadcast and Vincent coming home, but it was never enough- he had never, not once, been able to get himself to completion; and he’d grown tired of trying.
He had been close once. He had been in the middle of preparing dinner when he imagined Vincent coming home to him wearing nothing but an apron, roughly bending him in half over the stove, furiously kissing his neck as he untied the knot behind his back; his fingers easily being sucked in by Alastor’s own eagerness to come. He’d be loud too, so loud that Vincent would have to cover his mouth with his hand as the other drilled three fingers into his dripping hole.
Next thing he knew, his pants were halfway down his thighs as he rubbed himself over his underwear, face warm and mouth agape as his fingers had become drenched from every pass over the wet patch of his entrance.
It’s safe to say they had eaten burnt casserole that day.
There’s a sense of shame in wanting something so animalistic, so impulsive, for it to constantly be on his mind. It’s not safe for work, seriously; he had messed up on his lines this morning on the daily weather report, and he had never- not once in his twenty years of experience slipped so badly. If a dame reached for her coat in this ninety-degree heat, he’d like to regretfully apologize for his screw-up. Speaking of..
If Vincent were to come through the front door at this very moment, he’d ask to be ravished in every which way. Hell- he’d stop Vincent in the middle of the foyer and unbutton his pants to choke himself on-
“Al, I’m home!” Vincent yelled from the foyer.
Alastor’s thoughts were cut short as Vincent’s voice echoed through the empty house, completely backing out from the ludicrous thoughts buzzing in his head. Not in a million years would he do something as degrading as that. He stood up from his prolonged brooding at the dining table and walked towards Vincent, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek and removing his hat to hang on the rack.
“You would not believe the day I’ve had. Rodger had the crew disassemble all our image dissectors because we ‘didn’t add enough caesium oxide.’-. He’s wasting precious time, and he knows our competitors are advancing with their image sensor,” Vincent said.
“Oh, enough about him, why, he’s nothing but an underqualified fool trying, and succeeding in making our lives more difficult,” Alastor replied as he tried to untie Vincent’s tie with a sense of urgency.
If he gave it an ounce of thought, Rodger is the reason for Vincent’s dry spell, making him work overtime since he knows Vincent’s passion for the advancement of television.
Alastor paused. “Did you need me to take care of it?”
Vincent removed Alastor’s hands from his tie with a gentle, apologetic squeeze, brushing past him to walk in the direction of their bedroom. What’s frustrating is that Alastor couldn’t stop his legs from following.
“No. Honey, as much as it pains me to say, he’s an important asset to the team, and I can’t have him disappearing on us just yet. I’d never be able to come home from all the responsibility that’d get piled up on me.”
Boo. “Alright, but I just hate seeing you this way. When will you find time for yourself?” Alastor tried to mimic the way scandalous paramours sound in the variety shows that play after his own, resting his hip against the doorframe as he watched Vincent undress to shower; the problem is he has never tried to casually flirt a day in their marriage, lest they were in the middle of intercourse. And they’re not. They are actively not doing that.
“Soon, you’ve just got to trust me on that.” Vincent replied without even a glance in his direction.
Except he couldn’t trust him. There’s been something crackling at the back of his mind, and he couldn’t shut it off.
Was Vincent drifting away from him?
Vincent thanked him for the meal before scarfing it down like it’ll come back to life and run from him if he took the time to swallow before shoving another spoonful in his mouth, but still, it’s a compliment to his cooking as much as it’s disgusting to watch. Meanwhile, Alastor had been feeling something churning in his stomach, like a bubble engorged with bitterness and near to bursting- which prevented him from taking more than a couple of bites. And what made matters worse, Vincent didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t care to bring it up. The taste of acid reflux sat heavily in the back of his mouth when he thought of it being the latter.
It was Vincent’s turn to wash dishes, so Alastor remained seated, responding to Vincent’s mutters about work (supposedly, he wasn’t paying attention) with hums and nods of agreement as he hesitated on how to breach the topic of wanting any sort of physical intimacy, as well as the impending feeling of suspicions he didn’t yet want to name.
Vincent made asking seem so simple- he knew very well what rejection felt like; it took thousands of tries through the span of countless years of dragging his feet behind Alastor for a date, but he supposed his charming persistence won him over in the end. What had kept Vincent’s attention in their marriage was being able to satisfy Alastor’s unyielding dissatisfaction. Or, at least he thought.
Next thing he knew, Vincent had finished drying their plates and was on his way towards the bathroom to get ready for bed. Time is up, he’ll ask tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. There was no need to rush; he’d made it through most of his life without needing sex, what’s another day?
So Alastor prepared for bed and pretended to read as he watched Vincent walk around their room; and in three minutes (he continuously checked the clock on the bedside table), not a page was flipped, and Vincent was pulling the sheets to slip into bed, yawning irritatingly loud as he fluffed his pillow before turning off his lamp, forgetting to give Alastor the soft peck he’d always leave on his forehead.
What had started as a matrimonial ritual of some sort will be known as the reason for the start of their diminishing relationship.
He decided to give Vincent sixty seconds. Sixty, draggingly slow seconds of listening to Vincent’s breathing slow and turn into quiet snores. In the forties, he had started to add ‘Mississippi’.
And nothing.
He’d not been imagining it. Something’s happened.
Alastor must have blacked out, because his hands were around Vincent’s throat, thumbs digging as Vincent croaked from the sudden assault. His legs lay on top of Vincent’s arms, trapping him still for his soon-to-be death.
“You two-timing buffoon- I’ll kill you! I’m going to chop it off and kill you!” Alastor yelled, removing one hand from his throat to punch Vincent across the face. The sound of flesh against flesh echoed through the room.
Working in their respective mediums (and other trivial activities) gave them the idea of soundproofing the house, so when Vincent yelped in pain, Alastor wasn’t worried about the neighbors overhearing.
With his free hand, he gripped Vincent’s flaccid cock hard, causing a pained groan to erupt from his throat. “No wonder you’ve been coming home late, did she satisfy that incessant itch of yours?”
Vincent must have been out of his damn mind if he thought he'd be able to leave the bed breathing.
“You're nothing but a dirty hound that needs to get your willy wet on the norm, and if you’re never home, where else would you be?”
Alastor could only handle so much humiliation from the only person he’d ever learned to trust. “H-have you been going to the brothel?”
He removed his hand from Vincent’s cock like it stung, fist striking across his face again. Blood splattered onto the bed, wet and messy in a way he didn’t want.
“We agreed on not displaying our relationship, but if I had known you hadn’t been truthful about being monogamous-” His voice cracked as he stopped himself from finishing, and his throat burned as he fought back any emotions that wanted to build besides anger.
A red splotchy mark blossomed on Vincent’s cheek. His nose flared in pain as his widened eyes flickered across Alastor’s face, analyzing him in distress, but otherwise didn’t reply. Entitled, guilty people don’t know how to lie on the spot when they get caught. No need for a prosecutor!
Alastor’s heart was pounding as he fought the tears swelling in his eyes. He should have known, but decided to trust him anyway. Five years of knowing every part of each other, and Vincent decided to throw it all away for reasons that are out of Alastor’s comprehension. He could never understand the need for something so prehistoric.
He felt dizzy; the quick air puncturing his lungs only made it harder to breathe; he couldn't- it didn’t make sense- he needed to leave-
“Was I not enough?” he whispered.
Somehow, Vincent found the strength to cross his legs around Alastor's hips, twisting until he turned out on top. He grabbed Alastor’s hands before he could throw another punch. Right, Alastor isn’t the only one who can wrestle; they’ve killed people together. What was once a perfect duo- a perfect partnership-
“L-listen to me!” Vincent gasped, pushing back against Alastor's still struggling body, taking a moment to catch his breath.
“Alastor, please listen, I’m tired, that’s all it is. There’s no affair, there’s no woman. I get worked to the bone, then I come straight home to you.”
Liar.
Vincent wiped at the stray tears running down the side of Alastor’s face that he didn’t realize had fallen.
“All the unpaid hours, dismembering those schmucks- everything is for you. And if we were to get caught, I’d put my name on the line. Our savings will go to you finding a way to escape, and I’d go to prison- we’ve talked about this.”
Alastor kept quiet. There was nothing he could say to state his case.
So Vincent went on. “Your silence isn’t unusual to me, so I wanted to give you your space if you needed it- I thought that’s what it was, and I hate that I’ve made you worry, but I won’t always be able to understand how you feel if you don’t tell me. You don’t need to every time- but if it starts to hurt you this much- I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
Alastor kept his eyes wired shut; the shame had begun to seep in his veins, replacing the boiled blood with the burning humiliation of being wrong.
“I wouldn’t have spent all those years making a fool of myself for you to look my way if I didn’t know I’d want to spend the rest of my, hopefully, long life with you.”
“-And if you wanted to hunt me for sport as a way for me to show my undying devotion, I’d agree in a heartbeat.”
Alastor opened one eye with interest.
Vincent smiled in return. “Oh, that caught your attention? Alright, let’s go- right now- I’ll go pack up.” Vincent began to lift himself off of Alastor, who had reached out to stop him with a laugh in his throat. When Vincent leaned back down to move his bang from his eye, Alastor noticed the blood dripping from his lip, wiping it away with his thumb.
“I’m serious, Alastor. I’ve never met anyone on this earth as interesting as you.”
That. That might be the best thing Vincent could have said.
“You forgot to kiss me,” whispered Alastor.
“Ah- did I?”
Vincent fell back against the mattress as he grabbed Alastor’s head between his hands to pull him in close, pressing his lips softly against his forehead. Alastor progressively felt himself relax deeper with every kiss; three on each cheek, two on his eyelids, and one on every mole, giving extra attention to the one under his chin before returning to his mouth.
He had lost count after that; however, he gained a flush that ran down from the tips of his ears to the curl of his toes as their lips parted with a wet smack. He felt like a pubescent schoolboy from how intensely sensitive he felt from Vincent’s attention. Their last kiss dragged agonizingly long, forcing out a moan from Alastor he didn’t mean to let out.
“If I forget again- which I won’t- I give you permission to kill me and bury my body in that shriveled lady's yard so I can haunt her forever,” said Vincent against his mouth.
Alastor couldn’t help but snort. “Deal.”
“Good, now I want you well rested for the morning, okay, star?” Vincent said, caressing Alastor’s cheek with his thumb. He leaned over to turn off Alastor’s bedside lamp before returning to his side of the bed. Alastor didn’t enjoy being coddled- unless he felt making a fuss required some type of reward in return.
They stared at each other in the moonlight-lit room as Vincent had decided to wait for Alastor to shut his eyes first. As the summer nights had started to increase in temperature, they had been going to bed unclothed; the thin sheet was the sole thing that covered their bodies, and the tiny electric fan could only blow so much air in the wide room.
Alastor grabbed Vincent’s hand, keeping eye contact as he shoved it under the sheets until his fingers skimmed the hair encircling his cunt. Vincent twitched in realization, moving on his own until he found Alastor’s already dampened clit, pushing deeper as he curled his fingers. Alastor spasmed, grabbing Vincent’s arm for stability. Alastor feared he might overheat, and Vincent’s heavy stare wasn’t helping.
Vincent didn’t say anything about his unusual sensitivity and proceeded to do it again, slower, maintaining that ever-consuming eye contact. The sheer attention made him want to lean closer. Close enough to feel their sticky skin merge- until they turned into one.
Their legs intertwined as a slick layer of sweat formed on their skin, the graze of Vincent’s fingers against his bud quickened, and with their proximity, Alastor could feel Vincent’s cock begin to swell up on his thigh. It was astonishing how he was still able to get it up after squeezing it like he would an unripe orange.
Without any warning, Vincent inched the pads of his fingers towards Alastor’s entrance, angling to insert them deeper. Alastor shifted his hips to push them in, but Vincent moved away the moment he noticed the clench of Alastor's hole trying to suck him in.
“Don’t do that..” Alastor sagged, feeling a shameful vulnerability that still lingered from their earlier conversation. He lowered his head as he sobbed at a particular flick upwards. It had been quite some time since their last nightly tussle, and he hadn’t realized how long he had been left feeling empty. He missed the ache in the morning after receiving such thorough attention; he'd glow, and he'd be left feeling like he was back in his twentysomethings. Plus, it was a good replacement for coffee.
“Can’t help it when you get like this,” said Vincent, pressing his lips against the top of his head in apology.
Alastor hummed in confusion as Vincent palmed his entire cunt, spreading the cum he gathered from his hole all over until the slick glide of his hand had become frictionless.
“When you let yourself need me.”
His finger reached his entrance again, and this time, Alastor held on to Vincent’s wrist tightly to stop him from pulling away again. But just as he was about to breach, the heel of his palm rubbed against his clit, giving him the upper hand to pull away as Alastor jerked his hips in agony.
“S-seriously, enough.” Alastor looked up at Vincent, and in the barely glowing room, Vincent was looking at him like he'd been struck in the head with a bat, enamoured and dumb. Even now, he can’t imagine just what about him has gotten Vincent so entranced. He wanted to vomit; he suddenly felt sick in his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” Vincent mouthed.
Alastor averted his gaze. He had been untrusting of someone who had exhibited nothing but adoration in the countless years they’ve suffered through their comical ups and downs; through seeing firsthand what life and death had meant to each other, and through realizing that even in death they would never part.
Shit, he wanted to crawl into a ball and weep again.
Vincent’s fingers continued to slowly rub against his clit in a languid rhythm; first in gentle swirls, as Alastor became sluggish with all the warmth of their shared devotion, then speeding up as Alastor reached to embrace him, finally letting the racing yet stagnant thoughts go to relish in Vincent’s undivided attention for once after far too long.
The slick glide of Vincent’s fingers swiped back and forth over the entirety of his cunt as the cum from his drenched hole continued to drip out onto Vincent's awaiting hand, using the spillage to wet his cunt once again. He had finally stopped fooling around, concentrating on what got Alastor to whine louder. He had discovered the best way was to pinch his clit between two fingers, jerking his wrist in quick succession. Alastor's moan had turned inaudible; it was too much- he was going to-
Alastor’s nails dug into Vincent’s arm as he felt himself lose the last bodily ounce of control he had, giving himself completely to Vincent, like a different matrimonial blessing, a benediction- moaning out the once-said vows from the bottom of his twisted heart. The bubble had burst, and out came the chorus of sinful worship; disgustingly raw and merciless.
An unsteady groan escaped his raspy throat as he continued to come in erratic pulses, and he remembered what he had felt in their earlier rendezvous; blasphemous with repulsion as he came to terms with redemption drifting even farther than the sins he had already dug in the soil.
“There, there,” Vincent cooed as Alastor softly cried into his shoulder. He trembled as he slowly regained feeling in his legs, his toes unfurling as well as his faith in confiding in another. The bedsheet had become sopping wet with sweat and his climax, which was terrible as there was no spare to change into.
When he finally came to, and his blood finally returned to his head, he was reminded of Vincent’s blood-soaked wound, reaching out with a shaking hand to touch it, feather-light in regret. “I’m sorry.”
“You throw a mean punch, Al, I’d almost forgotten what it felt like.” Vincent had grown a slight lisp from the swelling, but his returning smile, while small, was just as bright as when he first met him, albeit a little more fatigued.
He will peel Rodgers' skin clean off with a pocketknife until he screams pointlessly for salvation.
“Ice it in the morning, Vince,” Alastor replied, drifting off into what he was sure to be a blissful sleep. It seemed Vincent had already conked out; poor thing was so tired, and was so oblivious of what was coming. Alastor supposed he could mention it again- with his voice rather than- ah, perhaps not.