P A C I F I S T

vincent decker ripperdoc. 38

[ripperdxc]

Un Confessionale Tranquilla | Matteo & Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

He has never had the time to have toast before – something, which, although quick and easy to do, speaks of a bit more effort than he’s ever bothered to expend towards himself. It is as though someone asked him, incredulous, if he ever exfoliated before or perhaps taken a yoga class. His life was not made up of those leisurely things, but he thinks, as he curls up a little bit into the warm sheets, that it isn’t a bad sort of life. Despite the worry in Vincent’s eyes that troubles him more than a little, there is a warm that glows in his chest and heats the tops of his cheeks at the gentle touches to his wounded arm. He’s putting on a brave face, but the burns do still feel raw and painful, and it feels good to have them looked after. Matteo’s not used to it,  but he thinks he can get used to it – this care.  These gentle, subtle touches.

There’s a look away at the question, brows furrowing, caught in an uncomfortable position. From speaking with Cain, he knows he knows Vincent (although not precisely to what extent), and he doesn’t want to get him in trouble. On the other hand, he doesn’t fully feel comfortable with lying to him. Evenhanded in most things, the young man settles for a compromise between the two – not lying precisely but not wording it in a way that would make it sound worse than it was. In retrospect, he’d think, after he spoke it, perhaps his straightforward delivery wasn’t the best choice, even though he does take the time to think it over –

Thinks it over during those careful ministrations, cool gel against stinging flesh, drawing a small breath in in discomfort at the slight pressure.

Thinks it over during the brief kiss and the way that he instinctively seems to lean into his touch, starved from affection for so very long, eyes soft and luminous.

Thinks it over as he accepts the open arms with open heart, folds himself in against him – against warm skin, face pressed into him a little, breathing in the scent of clean fabric and him, curling himself gratefully into that warmth, and letting his arms go around him in return.

For a moment, he just remains there – perfectly content – basking in the warmth and the quiet moment between them, that heat and ache in his chest growing hotter and hotter. He doesn’t understand why he feels this way, or how it could hurt to be happy, but he is. He is very happy.

“It isn’t Cain’s fault,” he murmurs softly against the fabric of his dressing gown. “Well, it was, but it was not really. They wanted him and got me to get to him because they saw us together once. They hurt me and sent a tape, and he came for me. Killed them all.”

There’s a thoughtful, quiet pause, a repression of terrifying memories. “He can do good things, but he is not a good person, I think.”

[ripperdxc]

  “Cain?” He repeats, mirroring the name as if it had been burned onto his tongue—with Lawrence it certainly felt so. Neither of them had any choice in the matter of partnership, doctors were chosen for the units without asking whether each side was comfortable it was a matter of who was applicable where. Lawrence had been his damnation. The man had very little consideration for anyone but himself, perhaps one or two were included into the tight circle of protection, but for the most part his words were biting, his fists worse. It is hard, after so many years of torment laid on thickly by Lawrence, to not withdraw a little.

  He continues to coat each burn with a medpack, the gel ought to soothe the blackened, raw parts of his skin but after that he lays beside him somewhat calmly, quietly. His expression has sobered entirely and any happiness seems to have extinguished, although he tries desperately to hide it. If he could go for a few weeks, preferably months, without Lawrence cropping up he’d be grateful. “No, Cain,” the name still felt foul on his tongue, it was a lie just as much as his own was, “Cain isn’t a good man.”

  “I—it’s not my place to talk, what you do with him is your own business. But be careful with him Matt.” He hated himself for it, the bite of jealousy that stung so plainly and sharply in his chest, cocooned and wrapped into concern for him that he can ignore it well enough. “I know you can look after yourself but he’s dangerous.” Soldier trained to kill, chipped even if that had been ripped out by his own hands, that had of course been the only reason Vincent was free. Lawrence needed him to escape, otherwise he’d still be out there. He didn’t think he’d have been so willing to assist Vince based upon his own kindness.

  Arms wrapped around him tight it’s easy to push it all from his mind, to focus devoutly on him but Vincent cannot push away that deliberate unease that has settled into his bones. “I’m glad you’re safe now,” that, at the end of the day was all that mattered. All he truly cared for. The marks would heal over eventually and perhaps, he could soothe the memories of the ordeal for him but he’s not sure—does he even have that kind of capability. Had he even left that much of a mark on Matteo.

  “I’ll do my best to keep you that way.”

[ripperdxc]

[ripperdxc]

Un Confessionale Tranquilla | Matteo & Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

The light filters into the room, warm and welcoming and golden – subtle as it snakes through the blinds, and it is warm enough to give an extra hint of color to the pale skin mixed in with comfortable sheets. Asleep still, Matteo had unconsciously created a soft nest for himself, body on its side and instinctively curled up despite his lanky height. Even after he had grown conspicuously tall after puberty, he had never fully outgrown his tendency to want to take up as little space as possible; it made him feel safer that way. For the first time in a long time, he has slept without interruption through the night, exhaustion making his rest deep and dreamless and a little later to stir than his normal quick wakefulness. Unusually, he doesn’t even stir as Vincent’s weight depresses the bed again – until he hears him speak and there’s a twitch, a flutter of dark lashes against white cheeks, a curl up tighter.

After a moment, it is as of he realizes that Vincent isn’t planning to move any time soon and he wakes – stifles a yawn, opens sleepy eyes. There’s a twitch of smile at the warm smile granted to him, at the fact of where he is, despite the circles that are still heavy around his eyes. His hair is disheveled as he props himself up a little – dark hair curly even at this relatively short length, and he looks much more vulnerable, much more human the way he is now, no move to duck beneath sheets, just a tired gratefulness and curiosity at the mention of breakfast. He’s simply happy just because he’s still there – the novelty of a breakfast in bed is something that he wouldn’t have ever dreamt about.

“Good morning,” he mumbles softly, with another of those smiles, genuine. “I do not think I have ever had toast before, but I would like to try it.” There’s open mindedness there – he’s missed out on many things, breakfast being one of them. Never had it made for him as a child in his memory, apart from perhaps an applesauce tossed in his general direction, and never much had an interest in it after. He’s more than a little touched, and a little amused that Vincent’s puttering around in a dressing gown. It doesn’t do much to hide any of the lovebites, which just quietly amuses him further. Matteo doesn’t bother hiding his.

He warms further at the kiss to his forehead, and he reaches for him instinctively, wanting to kiss him a little more substantially, before his own expression changes. He looks at first a little – confused, and then a little crestfallen. It is not as if he hadn’t been affected by the kidnapping, or if he wasn’t in a certain amount of physical pain from it, or emotionally impacted – but he hasn’t thought of talking to Vincent about it. He seems burdened enough as it is, and he would rather make him happy than worried.

There’s a drop of that curly head, an almost thoughtless rub against one of the culprit tiny marks on his arm – hyperpigmented against pale skin. “You usually worry,” he informs him quietly, “and you’re a doctor, so you know what these are – you know they’re not life threatening.” There were possible side effects – he might have lost a few brain cells out of oxygen deprivation a few times when he continually lost consciousness, but he luckily had a great deal to spare. There’s a quizzical look on his face that is actually rather rare – that furrow in his brow a little deeper than usual, almost defensive. “Why does it matter? It was not my fault and my friend is all right.”

Friend – was probably the worse descriptor for what Cain was, as he doesn’t know him that well – but they’ve been friendly – apart from the whole ‘I almost died because of you’ bit. That, and despite decent intentions, he had essentially bought him at one point. Friend wasn’t a perfect word, but it was the best one he had in a limited vocabulary that had only four levels ‘friend, colleague, randomized human being, and enemy.’

He stops, and that quizzical look remains – concern in his own expression subtler than Vincent’s along with a distress not dissimilar to a blind man attempting to sight-read a bus schedule.

“You are…upset? Do not be upset, please.”

[ripperdxc]

  “You haven’t had toast before?” There’s a soft element of surprise, and a sombreness that settles quietly into his chest as he wonders just how many more concepts he thinks of as regular or normal are foreign to the young man before him. He had not been sure exactly how much would be appropriate, it has been a long time since he’s dated longer still since he’s cooked someone breakfast. There had never been a notion of elegance between him and his former partner, lazy Sunday afternoons in bed together had been a faraway notion back then. A novelty at best, but now with another, someone who meant a great deal more to him, it was a reality. There’s a surge of warmth that flushes the tops of his ears to a slight pink as the realisation settles in. Only disturbed once he notices how Matteo has dropped his head, a slight and worrying shift in his expression that’s subtle but Vincent is observant enough to pick it up. Knows him well enough by now.

  “It matters because you matter…” Quiet sigh and without saying anything else he gently stretches out one marked arm so he can better examine the burn. “I’m sorry for worrying, but I can’t help it,” it was dreadfully easy to express just how much he cared, to whisper those words that seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things but would be far too soon. He didn’t want to scare him away. “Was it your friends fault?” Words carefully chosen because he is not a fool, Matteo had come to him before with injuries not of his own acquisition and what scared him, troubled him deeply, was that this was no different.

  With tender fingers he pressed the medpack onto one burn mark, it sealed perfectly around the small spot and began to release a healthy dose of cooling gel, to take away the residual edge of the burns, then another gel but this time to aid the healing. To protect the new skin beneath and form a protective barrier between it and the world. “I’m just...worried, I’m sorry.” He kisses him, chaste and sweet, a brief little press of lips against his before drawing back slowly. One hand cupping a pale cheek, thumb absently tracing inane patterns across high cheekbones. “I don’t like seeing you hurt…” That and he still couldn’t help but scorn himself for not trying harder to bring it up the day before.

  He begins to press another medpack onto the small mark that was mirrored onto his right arm, head dropped in careful concentration. The burns indeed weren’t life threatening themselves but they spoke of a wider much larger story that he could only guess at, but no matter how he looked at it the story didn’t look pleasant. He finishes fussing with the medpacks and leaves half a dozen more on the bedside table in-case more burns were to be found. “Come here,” he murmurs, as arms reach out to gently hold him, share his warmth that only seems to be amplified with the extra layer.

  “You can speak to me you know, if there is something troubling you.” Or more poignantly if there was someone troubling Matteo. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.” Spoken much quieter, muffled a little as he presses another chaste kiss to the top of his head this time. Even with the distress, the concern heavy between them, he is content to lay here with him. To play ignorant to the world around them and take for even just a moment a second or two of peace. It would only last so long, the clinic would be open soon enough.

[turncoatjet-blog]

Jet and Open | Lost in Chaos

Jet stumbled out of the bar, almost tripping over the cracked curb and into the street. It was still lively at a quarter past two in the Old Downtown, boosters and hookers marketing their wares along the streets. Bums less (or more) fortunate than he curled up in the gutters and ignored the bustle around them, snoring softly. Neon signs and lights blinked and stuttered in the dark alleys, inviting late-night customers. For the third night in a row, Jet was inebriated beyond what was probably wise, the cheap whiskey keeping him warm despite the cool Night City air. Most importantly, it numbed everything. While the spirit flowed through his veins, he forgot about the sleepless nights, the constant worry after Riley, the persistent tingle that forced him to glance over his shoulder every five minutes or less in fear of hostile eyes. He was abruptly jostled to the side as someone darted past him, a red sequined purse in hand. A woman in black heels pursued him minutes later, yelling and cursing and sobbing. No-one stopped to help, and Jet watched numbly as the thief wove through the thin crowd, quickly gaining distance before disappearing around the block.

‘Is this what the world has been reduced to?’ he thought. ‘Chaos and crime reigning supreme.’ It didn’t matter whether you lived in West Hill and worked for the biggest companies in the corporate sector, or slummed it out in the dingiest part of the Old Downtown – corruption and disorder permeated everything. Whatever God had once created the world had long abandoned Night City to the murderers, the thieves, the corrupt, and the cruel. The only way to survive was to keep your head down, ignore the wrong, and scavenge what you could to live. If it could be called that.

He paused in front of another bar, the whiskey buzz already beginning to wear off in the cold. He’d been building up his tolerance frightfully quickly, and it probably should have suggested that he should stop, or at least slow down. Jet dug into his pockets and counted a few coins of change. He sighed and kept on walking. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice that he’d nearly run into someone until they said something.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing up. “M’sorry.” He suddenly noticed that they’d dropped something and cursed, kneeling to help pick it up. “Shit, I’m pretty clumsy tonight. S’one of those days, y’know?” His words and pathetic apologies still slurred together.

[ripperdxc]

  It was frightful really, just how easy it was to be coaxed by a glass at the end of the day. If there was anything he feared more it was the bottom of the bottle. It was a dark place to be. Knew what dependency could do to a man, but not through experience but through observation, he had seen and helped more than a few to recover from their habits over the years. Another startling figure that he tried not to dwell on too much. Especially since a large number of them were close friends. Some more volatile cases than the others. He thought of Marlowe and his damnable magnetism to anything destructive. It was enough to put him off his drink, to slide down from the stool he’d been occupying by the bar and head for the door. Dark wash coat open and flared behind him with each step, it was cotton, real cotton none of the scratchy synthetic that dominated the stores these days. If it wasn’t polyester, then it was at least half a century old. His coat was no exception.

  The signs of age tarnished into the dark fabric, scruffy around the hem, but it reminded him of home. That and his well-loved beaten copy of the Iliad that’d travelled with him from London were all he had left. Tokens of another life that he couldn’t seem to let go. At the very least the coat kept him absurdly warm, unneeded on a warm summer’s evening like tonight, but nonetheless he couldn’t part from it. “Pardon me,” he spoke quietly as someone drifted into his path, the scent of whiskey strong enough that Vince nearly offered out a hand to steady him. It wasn’t until he stood that it sunk in why he was so familiar.

  “Jet?”

  They had met once, briefly, but Vincent had never been the type to forget a name or a face once he’d learnt one. “It’s fine, are you okay?” There’s a thread of concern to his voice that shows in the obvious way his brows knit together, takes the dropped object from Jet, a piece of medical equipment that he never leaves home without. It was reliant on a handheld, a little dated in that sense, but that was partially down to Vincent’s reluctance to be augmented. The notion of having technology crammed into him is a little frightening and he would like to keep well away from it.

  “Think it’d be a good idea if you came and sat down for a while,” he gestured to one of the booths behind them a little further into the bar. “Maybe some water?”

[jxphiels]

He is the elements compressed,  Sunrise peaking over a glassy sea,  Rays refracting and reflecting  Surroundings brighter for their arrival; Lightning splitting open a troubled sky:  Fierce;  Intensity peaking and cresting:  The eye of the storm He is sunshine:  Warm to the touch, life giving  Devastating heat, draining, life swallowing He is everything you cannot articulate,  The sounds that are lodged in your throat;  The only one worth mumbling: his name. You cannot remember your world before him  This god of a boy around whom your life revolves  The best of men,  Your most beloved. You pray he reads it in the way your fingers trace his skin absently,  The way your body molds itself to his;  You pray he remembers it as he becomes  The thing for which he was created:  The most beautiful of destroyers; You pray that your love is enough,  Capable of bringing him back from this precipice;  That you, the lover, are not downed:  Mediocrity in the face of his divinity;  You pray that it is enough Even while remembering that even Patroclus lost his Achilles to Aristos achaion

sometimes our fate is bigger than our love (amsr.)

[ripperdxc]

Un Confessionale Tranquilla | Matteo & Vincent

  Warm light was flooding the room now. Lifting the dark shadows and transpiring them into something that could, perhaps, be considered beautiful. The kitchen was not bare but it didn’t hold that…homely coziness the rest of his home did. He had rose from the bed the moment light had begun to peek from beneath the blinds. Not because he hadn’t been comfortable, certainly not because he didn’t wish to be in his company, quite the contrary. But even Vincent, kind and humble as he is, needed a moment or two. No amount of morning sun could lift the shadows beneath his eyes, even if for the first time in weeks he’d gotten something of a decent night’s sleep. It had not stopped the tremors.

  His mind was ticking away, as he busied his hands with pouring tea and buttering toast he could think of nothing but those small burn like marks. They could be nothing else. Certainly not akin to the flush marks they had each made the previous night. He tugged at his dressing gown as if to make an attempt to hide the marks that adorned his neck. Pointless, as for the time being he wasn’t in company that would scorn him. Alone there was nothing to hide. But he wasn’t alone, not truly, and that itself was an odd thought that might take a little getting used to. He could easily be mistaken for a strong man, for a resilient and tirelessly diligent man, but like any other, he could not admit his faults. He could not admit his loneliness, not even to himself.

  Vincent thought he might ask him, properly this time around so that he might not evade the question with a skilful dodge. It takes him several attempts to figure a way of carrying both the plate of toast and two cups of tea back in one go, but he manages in the end. Sets them down carefully beside the bed before sinking just as cautiously into the sheets. Beside him again, as if there hadn’t ever been someplace else he ought to be.

He thinks then, as selfish as it may be, that he is happy to see him. Another might be exultant at having a beautiful young man to lie beside, and there really was no other word to describe him, none that was adequate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t enjoyed the previous night, but now he was quietly content to see that rest had eased Matteo. The emotional outburst had troubled him at first, rightfully so, but he knew intimately that curbing the release of such emotions, wanted or acknowledged, was cathartic.

  “Morning.” A hushed whisper that barely fills the space between them, he is sitting up still and with a warm smile he speaks again, this time just a fraction louder. “I brought you toast…” That and a medical kit tucked into the pocket of his dressing gown, one of the reasons he was wearing it that and the slight bit of modesty it offered. The burn marks had concerned him gravely, enough that he’d lost all attention and interest in the news whilst he’d been brewing the tea earlier that morning. “Not much else I’m afraid, plenty of tea and a few biscuits if you’re lucky.”

  Light press of his lips against his forehead, but as he draws away his expression darkens, brows knitting together in concern, unable to conceal his worry. “Toast and then maybe you tell me how this happened,” he gestures slowly to a mark on his arm, “forgive me it’s just…worried and if they are troubling you then I can help.” Concern that’s born out of the strong emotional turmoil that’s brewing tight in his chest, brings wonderful highs that have teased broader smiles from Vincent than he’s used to, lows too. Although he wouldn’t dare dwell on them. Not when the present seemed to have ascended elsewhere. 

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  For a moment he was surprised, worried, that he’d stepped out of line somehow but for the brief moment that Matteo fought him he settled, it didn’t curb the worry that settled deep into his chest. Flared tight again as he realized that the glimmer that shone against pale cheeks wasn’t sweat, he shifted so that they were face to face, one hand moving to cup his cheek, a thumb catching his tears and wiping them away. Briefly his words sting, until he steadies his breath and accompanies it with what Matteo had told him earlier, that he’d been his first to matter, the tightness turned into a thrumming ache, similar to the one that’d settled into his body, only the latter was sweeter in its reasons.

  “I’m not sending you anywhere,” soft lips against his cheek, the taste of salt lingering on his lips as he pulls away, still close with one arm still holding him, just far enough so he could gaze into dark eyes. Warmth still shared between them. “Maybe to the shower but…si può rimanere qui finché vuoi.” Brush of callused warm finger tips against his forehead, moving dark sweat soaked hair back to place another soft kiss there. Beneath the soft affable manner he always portrayed was a lingering sadness. It was dark and heavy usually only reared its ugly head when he was alone. Drenched in self-doubt, but willingly clinging to the notion that this had meant something to the both of them. He put aside whatever it was that made his chest unbearably tight, focused on him, on curbing those tears, because if there was anything that unsettled him more it was seeing him upset.

  “La mia casa è vostra.”

  He hopes it might be enough, that if this had truly been important to him that the reassurance he could remain here, that there was no need to fear being booted, he might perhaps relax. Soft fingers tangled into dark hair, holding him close enough to share the warmth beneath them, he wouldn’t let him go.

[lost-centurion-blog]

There’s a cream for that || Vincent & Nico

[lost-centurion-blog]

Nico smiled and nodded before he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and tapped into his security code before softly pressing the back of his phone to the tablet to grab the contact details. “Thank you sir.” He said with a small nod before pulling his phone away  and glancing over the contact details before dismissing a few messages on his phone and looking back up at the other man. “Should I need to visit you again sir I promise ill give you a heads up before hand.”

“I really do like the place doc.” Nico said looking around again before nodding. “I’ve been in plenty of hospitals, clinics, and make shift med tents all over the world.” He said with a smile. “This has to be the one single place where I feel like a human. Everywhere else your just a number, or grunt, or some other way of making your less of a human.” Nico said with a small shrug. “Here I feel like…a close friend or family. Like your going to fix me, give me a pep talk tell me go get ‘em then send me out into the world with a lollipop.”

“My question is.” Nico said as he put his phone back into his pocket. “Should I need someone to help me in a pinch. Let say…after finishing work in a…hostile work environment…would I be able to come to you?” He asked looking the other man. “I would be more than willing to compensate you for your time. That on top of owing you a massive favor.” He added.

[ripperdxc]

  “It’s not a problem.” He swipes across the tablet to dismiss the app and lock it before putting it to one side, Vince nods his head in acknowledgement. If he was honest, a heads up would always be helpful, the clinic could get swamped on some days if they had too many walk-ins. He supposed Nico had struck luck that it’d been quiet today, not an occurrence that would likely happen twice. Vince almost flushes at the compliment he’s spent a great deal of time trying to delicately balance the starch white tech out. To build a space that’s a little less sterile and more homey, helped perhaps mostly by the man himself.

  Vince had long forgone the old med suits he’d worn in the scorpions, heavy, almost verging on armour itself. Didn’t dress in sharp formal suits either, just a shirt with a casual sweater thrown over the top. Gentle smiles, a little scruffy and with the inevitable five o’clock shadow. “Well there’s a pot of lollipops in the corner if you want one, stickers too,” there’s a quiet laugh that accompanies his words, another light hearted smile that just about reaches his eyes. “Been on both sides,” he gestures, although his turn on the gurney had been brief, an emergency he couldn’t explicitly avoid. “Would only ever want to treat you as I’d like to be treated.”

  “You can always come here doesn’t matter why,” he had his fair share of patients that had come in for dubious reasons, Vince never turned them away, a human was a human. A moral conscience that had gotten him into trouble at least a few times thus far. He hadn’t exactly been in the city for that long either. “No extra compensation is needed,” he raised his palms up, honest and earnest, he expected no more than the base rate for his time. “Honestly I wish I could say goodbye and not see you again, but you’re always more than welcome back here whenever you need my help.” It was a sad job, sometimes whenever a new recurring patient sprung up it took Vince a while to grow accustomed to it.

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[ripperdxc]

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[ripperdxc]

  The moment is well timed, his own voice joining Matteo’s striking cry of pleasure, even now it sends a shudder down his spine, amplifying the shuddering pleasure that is shooting through him. His hips stutter forwards, deep, into one last thrust, gasping into his climax, perfectly undone for him. Shudders as he feels Matt’s hips beneath him buck one last time before even he stills, a quiet groan as he pulls away from him, still riding the exhausted high it takes him a moment longer to collapse down into the sheets beside him.

  He pulls him close, one hand going to intertwine with his, the other pressed against the narrow of his back, holding him close as if to recreate the feeling of being one. Vince presses into him, burying into a narrow shoulder just as much as he tugs him closer. Quiet consensus of trust, no space to let shame or embarrassment linger between them after that, no he is perfectly content to lay here for a little longer, sweat soaked and thoroughly but happily exhausted.

  “You can stay, if you want.” Reaches for him and kisses him slowly, nothing in comparison to what they had shared moments ago, softer, tender. “For as long as you’d like.” And he hoped he did.

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  It’s the long, slow noise that Matteo makes, the biting kisses that tread a thin line to being wild and unruly, the way his hips stuttered forwards, up, more than enough to conjure a breathless moan from his lips. This wasn’t the slow, gentle, art of love, the angle they were caught in meant the drive of Vince’s hips was deep, pace growing ever more feral as they reach a crest together. He learns quickly what spurred those hitched cries, the angle of his hips now tortuously perfect for teasing more breathless, gasping moans.

  Unraveled by the man beneath him, utterly his in this moment, and for those that would likely follow. He just about notices the way his fingers are knotted into his hair and the slight dig of his nails. The tilt of his hips is something else entirely. Breathless, he adjusts as legs are rested against his shoulders to take full advantage of this new position, the pace no longer a tease for either of them and one that Vincent couldn’t keep up for long. Evident in the way he moves more erratically, shuddering as a pang of pain mixes and intertwines with the pleasure.

  “Ma—” Another gasping attempt at his name, the heights of pleasure making it difficult to utter much more than wordless low moans, words a faraway distant concept. Tangle of limbs and yet he still finds a way to make contact, despite their closeness, palms pressing against his cheeks as he sinks into another aching, open-mouthed kiss. “Come for me.” Interspersed by breathless moans, words soaking into pale skin flushed with the marks he’d made earlier, admires his handiwork with a lavishing of kisses and tongue. Even undone by him the flex of muscle as he presses impossibly deeper is unmistakable, hands gripping the thighs pressed against him, short nails digging in. “Fuck...”

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  If the sight of him alone, wanton and the slow rock of narrow hips would be enough to send him dangerously close to the edge, the sharp noise that fills the space around them is met with a shuddering upward thrust of own hips, inescapable in the depths of his wanton lust. His own voice joining his, in a lewd version of a harmony.

  There’s an element of surprise as his back hits the sheets, blue eyes open for only a moment until he’s caught into another hard, conquering kiss, wrists held together with a surprisingly strength, but it’s the tortuous slowing of his hips that teases a quiet gasping noise from his lips that could’ve been his name, only he’s a couple of syllables short.

  Pliant beneath him, he allows himself to unravel and descend, pour himself into those devouring, hard kisses until he’s his, entirely. There’s a deep heat that stirs as hands hold his wrists tight into sheets, despite the stilling of his hips for that tortuously long moment he loses himself, basks in this new power that’s held over him, and submits. Wanton quiet moan at the attention paid to his chest, another, louder, as he tightens, the slow rock of his hips such a tease that in just a few moments he’s unraveled beneath him. The man of steeled exterior laid bare in the most primal sense.

  In that slow stilling, with a thin hand pressed against his chest over pulse point, he shifts, moves with the strength that’s usually conceal beneath multiple layers, but here it’s on display. The flex of muscle inescapable as he breaks free from the slender hand that held him, moves until he’s on-top, hands gripping slender thighs to press them against a narrow chest.

  He had not intended to break free but there was something of a tease, a taunt, and he couldn’t resist, even Vincent could befall temptation. Evident in the way his hips press forwards, a slow shuddering thrust until they’re flush together again, lips hard down against his and even in the midst of their tussle there is something strikingly tender in the way he holds him. Perhaps, overshadowed by the way his hips were moving a slow, deep, drive, mirroring the torment Matteo had subjected him to.

  He fucks him, he loves him, it’s raw and all-consuming at the same time, far beyond any wanton necessity for skin, not as superficial. But for a moment, just a moment, he lets himself be consumed. The pace set sped up slowly, another moaned curse harsh from soft lips, echoed against his lips, accompanied by his name, clear and sharp.

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  He pours himself into each of the burning kisses, a sacrifice of himself laid out for the taking, a warm coil of heat as legs tighten around him. Absorbed into the kiss, the way his lips seemed to devour his own, leaving his lungs empty of air as if Matteo had stolen that from him—not that he minded. Didn’t notice that hands were pressing up onto his shoulders until he was on his back, slender legs straddling him, a tilt of his own chin as he caught the sight of him. He was in his own way beautiful, features sharp and defined, expression unchanging as if he was carved from stone. But here and now, he had a glimpse of him in a different light, both a little breathless, light sheen of sweat from their tussle, looking a little wild, a little feral but still absolutely breathtaking.

  Little distracted he doesn’t fight back to regain whatever control he’d once possessed, just a slight arch of his back in anticipation as a hand finds him and a quiet, low moan as Matteo’s hips slowly become flush with his own. Unable to focus on much else than the tight, hot heat of him, but still he reaches for him, moans into the kiss as his hips begin to rock into a steady rhythm. Meeting his slow aching grinds with hips that stuttered forwards, up, without thought, instinctual. Hands anchor back against his hips, firm and the instinctive kind of contact that he always initiated. It wasn’t an act of possession but a simple wanting to be close, to have skin to skin contact, even here when they were joined as one.

  He presses hot biting kisses to the soft pale of his neck down and into the hollow of his collarbone, leaving a trail of flush red marks as if the ones he’d left earlier weren’t enough. Broken only by quiet content noises of pleasure that’re teased from his lips with each rock of his hips, his own steadily stuttering upwards to meet his grinds, quickening the pace that’d been set and moaning at the feel of him. Every touch heightened in the midst of his wanton pleasure, each little caress sending shivers up his spine, aching unrestrained noises uttered out against his skin. “Fu—” It took all the control he had not to flip him back over, deepen the drive of his hips, instead managed it beneath him albeit not so easily. Hands roaming freely, up the narrow of his back to tangle into dark hair as he kisses him, a fierce conquering of his lips.

[ripperdxc]

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  It’s dangerously addicting, being able to provoke noises like this from flushed red lips, and if Vince was devout in paying him his undivided attention, here, between his legs every motion is deliberate. To tease and to heighten pleasure over the discomfort, he takes him into his mouth, swallowing down his taste, tongue a teasing torment on the underside of his cock. Cannot help but feel a small thread of satisfaction to his perfect moan, the obvious way he tries to press back, Vince gives him what he wants, the perfect tease.

  Only hesitates as Matteo speaks, pulls back so that he may speak, or more poignantly to place firm steady hands against back his hips, both of them, with his lips finding Matt’s. A first, it wasn’t something he had expected, first one that matters, four words that speak for a hundred. Even in the midst of damning lust and ludicrously slow kisses, he can feel a spark in his chest, a bloom of sharp happiness and responsibly that leaves him gasping just as much as the kiss itself. This goes beyond wanting to make him feel good, to tease out cries of pleasure and learn every inch of his body, he needs to. The understanding of the importance of this is there in the way he kisses him, the way he holds him, words are not needed in the moment.

  They were still so inexplicably close, all it would truly take is the slow press of his hips forwards and they’d be one. Breaks from the teasing kisses to find the bottle, leaning back a little bit to great space, a quiet hitched moan leaving parted lips as he slicks himself. Leans down until they’re close, couldn’t seem to be apart from him for long. He lifts slender legs to place them against his waist, close enough that when he speaks he whispers, “tell me if you want to stop.”

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  Even if the press of hips and the aching friction wasn’t there to tease him the kiss was the kind design to steal his breath, to heighten the breathy moans that’re hardly noises at all, but threaten dangerously to spill into quiet cries, igniting something in him that’d be hard to extinguish. He does not resist, effortlessly moves with him so that he is on top, hushed noises leave parted lips as again Matteo leaves a flurry of marks behind in the wake of his lips. It does not occur to him that they might need hiding later, he doesn’t care, his sole attention is devout on the man shivering beneath him.

  He cannot keep his hands off him, first his hips, then pressed against hot flushed cheeks and then they trace down the sides of his narrow chest. There’s a lingering kiss against the smooth sharp line of his jaw, as if he intended to learn him with his lips he descended down. Until he was pressing soft kisses up the inside of his thigh, each kiss echoing a little higher until his lips graze teasingly close to his cock but move to his right thigh instead. He lavishes the soft skin of his inner thigh with hot little kisses, blue eyes glancing upwards in a deliberate tease to find his. However, he pulls away completely, “everything it is.”

  Vince is only gone for a moment, returns with a small bottle in hand as the bed depresses lightly beneath his weight. He kneels before him as if ready to worship, he is and he will. Fingers slicked he presses into that tight hot heat, with one and then after a moment a second, lips mirror the breathlessly intense kisses they’d burned through just a moment ago, but against the underside of his cock, another teasing torment to take away from the uncomfort. He knows already how to curve his fingers so they graze with an antagonising pressure against that sweet spot, drawing back only to run his tongue over his lips, it was a sweet torment for him too, the anticipation of knowing.

[better-classofcriminal]

To Repair with Gold - Matteo and Vincent

[better-classofcriminal]

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[ripperdxc]

  He has not lost all control, despite the small soft scarcely audible noises that have left his lips, poured against Matteo’s in silent worship. Chin tilts upwards to bare him his throat, a sacrifice that’s all too willing to be delivered to the lion, a quiet noise at the bite of teeth into soft skin. There’s a slight lean into that kiss, flush and coil of warmth at the hand raking through his hair, it’s affectionate almost tender despite the lewdness of this all. He is pliant as Matteo pulls away, blue eyes do not open and remain closed with chin tilted slightly down as if he might guess what he was up to just from listening closely.

  Head tilts upwards as a cool kiss is pressed against his inner thigh, anticipation sparking through him heightening his arousal. If Matteo’s earlier grinds had been teasing torment this was a thousand times worse—infinitely better. He gasps, quiet little noise of breathless eagerness as his hips press against his own, no fabric obscuring the feel of him now and with his eyes still closed it’s all he can focus on. “You.” He utters, hands moving to anchor at his hips, fingers digging into smooth silken skin, “all of you.”

  Vincent presses up, not just unashamedly with his hips as he had earlier, until he can press his lips against flush red marks he’d made earlier, near mirroring the ones Matteo had made. Like this he can feel every inch of him, pure torment, hands still pressed firm against the shallow curve of his hips. His hips stutter up in a deliberate gyrate so that he could more than just feel him—control and restraint are starting to become foreign concepts. “I’ll give you everything.” Anything.

[waltsdarlings]