au - younger john wick in the ruska roma as a ballerina vincent who is a pianist and plays for the theatre sometimes send ask
Send ask? Nah, I’m sending a whole poem. It’s really bad but that’s okay.
I tried to make the English and French rhyme with each other. I hope I did okay with Google translate helping me! I didn’t pay any attention to number of syllables though, that’s…not gonna happen hahaaaa. Also, I guess I’m ignoring canon and assuming they’re roughly the same age in this.
⚜ 𝒫𝑒𝓃𝓈é𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓊 𝒫𝒾𝒶𝓃𝑜 [Thoughts at the Piano] & 𝒯𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝑔𝑒 ⚜
Qu’êtes-vous lorsque vous bougez harmonieusement dans la lumière? [What are you, when you’re moving seamlessly in the light?]
What are you, pianist? Brilliant, precious rare…
Le mien pendant une demi-heure, en mouvement sur ma chanson. [Mine for half an hour, moving to my song.]
For half an hour, I have a peaceful purpose. Then you’re gone.
J'espère que je joue bien pour vous. Mes mains tremblent... [I hope I play well for you. My hands are shaking…]
You make me steady with determination. I could dance a year en pointe.
J'aime quand tu danses. Je vois votre terrible cruauté. [I like it when you dance, I see your terrible cruelty.]
I like it when you play, I see your innocent beauty.
Dans vos yeux, il y a de profonds bassins de vengeance. [In your eyes, there are deep pools of vengefulness.]
Behind your eyes, there is a hollow, lonely trance.
Je t'ai vu cacher un livre d'histoires d'amour. Tu tuerais par amour? [I saw you hide a book of love stories. Would you kill for love?]
I saw you crying in an empty opera box. What do you live for?
Une ombre marche au-dessus de vous : cette femme redoutée. [A shadow walks above you: that dreaded woman.]
A shadow waits in France, to take you from me.
Je mettrais mon couteau contre elle si je le pouvais. [I would put my knife against her if I could.]
If only I could cut him down and let you stay…
J'espère que nous nous reverrons. Ne m'oubliez pas, s'il vous plaît. [I hope we meet again. Don't forget me, please.]
I’ll find you again. Keep a song alive within you for that day.
Hellooooo! I want to add more Russian songs to my John x Vincent playlist, especially ones from John’s point of view (songs about saving someone from themselves, protecting someone, worrying about someone, etc.) But I don’t know Russian music at all, so I’m not sure where to start. Do you have any suggestions?
Thanks! ✨
Hiiii hewooo hiii <3
So, because I'm not that active in the ship I don't have the perfect idea of what fits them well, but here are some songs. When it comes to Russian music I'm more into soviet rock, which is mostly either political or depressive, so this will be a bit of a challenge.
Забей, лерочка - Каждый, кто делал тебе больно.
"Everyone who hurt you is dead"
The name is "Everyone who hurt you" and the lyrics are emphasizing the imperfections of the singer's partner, their scars and the desire of the singer to protect them.
Би 2 - Пекло
"If you're going to hell, I'm coming with you"
The name is "Hell". I have actually used it for an edit of another xJohn ship I have. The basic idea of it is following your loved one no matter the challenges, even if it means going through hell.
Дурной Вкус - Пластинки
"Let's listen to old records until the morning"
The name is "Records". It's more about having a personal moment with someone, sitting together and escaping from the gloomy life outside.
Кино - Разреши мне...
"Allow me to look into your eyes"
The name is "Allow me". This song is actually a bit more about having a crush in general but there's just something about the lines with "Allow me" when talking about normal human connection feels John-like to me.
Агата Кристи - Письмо
"Tomorrow, maybe we won’t die"
This one would actually be more from Vincent's perspective I think, but still. The name is "Letter". It's a bit hard to explain the lyrics to this one, the group is kinda known for having hard to understand lyrics. It feels like it's about someone who is contemplating death but is stopped by their loved one's existence.
Молчат Дома - Волны
"Where there is death, there I will be too"
The name is "Waves". This one is a bit of a reach...I honestly don't even know how to explain why I feel their vibe in this one, you'll have to translate the lyrics yourself I fear.
You ever think about the exact reasons why vampirism is so hot? It represents the drawing forth of bodily fluids in both pain and pleasure -inherently kinky. It is to penetrate with fangs and yet it is to be penetrated with the blood that enters the body - inherently bigender/bisexual. It offers nonsexual intimacy for the fulfillment of a basic need, yet it holds the potential to be deeply erotic - inherently acespec. It weakens one and gives strength to the other by sacrifice - inherently hurt/comfort or perhaps even religious. It brings death yet also eternal life - inherently a form of salvation. Anyway, I want John and Vincent to bite me at the same time.
(If I got too spicy, here’s a cliff to throw me off of but it has a vampire at the bottom so I will definitely enjoy it)
Throw me off the cliff with you I want that vampire too- *gets shot Marquis de Gramont style*
Honestly I really think vampirism is hot because I’m a weirdo that likes blood and anything related to blood makes me go wild amen🙏🙏
(Also hunter!john and vampire!vincent is still rotting in brain AUGHH)
A/B/O One-Shot | Omega Vincent x Alpha John | Image Source
Summary: John is at a party in France on assignment and meets Vincent by chance. He realizes Vincent is hiding his omega status...and he's on the verge of death from an uncontrollable heat.
Mechanics of Heat in this AU: An omega can ride out a heat without doing anything as long as they’re taking blockers. This is normally a safe (if uncomfortable) option. BUT, if the blockers don’t work and it becomes too severe, it can be fatal. If it’s getting dangerous, the omega will experience hyperthermia followed by stroke. This can only be handled by either going to a hospital or…you know.
CW: omegaverse smut, unprotected sex, fever symptoms, crying during sex (from joy), and idk how to TW this exactly but Vincent has a very poor understanding of consent and doesn’t know how to ask for what he wants directly. John is careful with him anyway.
It wasn’t the worst kind of job. The worst kind of job was a job where you loved the target, and John didn’t even know the target. It was just some French woman who had double crossed Viggo. No, this was the second worst kind of job: the kind where John had to see High Table emissaries directly.
Of course, if all went well, they’d never see him. And so far, it was going well. The target was attending a victory celebration hosted in some historical estate. John had slipped in through a back entrance unseen, made his way upstairs like the shadow of death, and silently strangled her while she was refreshing her makeup. He dragged the body into a disused guest bedroom where it wouldn’t be found for hours. Not a word fell from his lips in all that time.
But still, it made him uneasy, to look down from the shadows over the banister and see the guests milling around below him, to the faint sounds of a live quartet and the scents of rich foods. That they could look so human after ordering the sort of acts that he himself had just committed…it was confusing.
Having had quite enough of that glance, he slipped out the doors to an upper balcony, prepared to scale the wall down to the gardens and make a tidy exit. It was normally locked, and sure to be deserted. One of Viggo’s associates had obtained a key for him in advance.
But it was not deserted. Someone was there.
He was clearly one of the guests and probably an important, well-to-do one at that. He wore a long, ruffled tailcoat that glittered under the waxing moon and the dim, golden lamplights flanking the door. And he was very, very sick. John knew immediately. Even if he hadn’t been leaning against the railing with his head in his hands, his scent would have given it away immediately. Something powerfully sweet, definitely the sweetest he had ever smelled. Sweeter than the gourmet pastries wafting up from downstairs, mixed with something tart. It was dulled, yes, but the fact that it was dulled and yet still coming through told him that it was strong enough to break through blockers. A severe heat.
He held his breath, trying not to inhale, but he could already feel it clawing its way inside him, going straight to the brain. This was the last thing he needed to encounter. A distraction, at the final, critical moment. He should excuse himself, before the alarm could be raised. Try to exit a different way – maybe one of the windows. But the man’s head had already turned to him sharply, revealing brilliant, honeyed green pools that shone glassy above soaring cheekbones. John met them and felt his own pupils swell. Shit.
“Que peux-tu vouloir? [What can you possibly want?]” the stranger demanded, with enough venom in his voice to break John out of the reverie for half a second.
I was just trying to get some air. I apologize. I’ll go back inside. Anything, say anything… But John seemed incapable of any response except an inappropriate level of compassion. Sweat had plastered the man’s carefully slicked hair against his forehead and set his flushed cheeks shining. It was all he could do not to step towards him. Instead, he found himself asking stupidly, “Êtes-vous d'accord? [Are you okay?]”
The man blinked at him. “Avez-vous une idée de à qui vous parlez? [Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?]”
“Non,” he said simply. His eyes fell on the man’s ring…shimmering gold on white. The insignia of the High Table. Cold dread flooded over him, but the heat washed it away just as quickly.
“Je suis le Marquis Vincent de Gramont. [I am the Marquis Vincent de Gramont.]” John could tell that this was supposed to have an effect on him, so he inclined his head deeply. It must not have been convincing, because the Marquis looked even more annoyed and changed the subject. “Je pourrais vous demander ce que vous faites en vous promenant à l’extérieur de la salle de bal. Qui es-tu? [I might ask what you’re doing wandering outside the ballroom. Who are you?]”
I’m no one. Just getting some air. Just getting some air. Just getting – “John.” Damn it.
Those honeyed eyes narrowed in understanding. And wariness. “Vous n’êtes pas censé être ici, n’est-ce pas ? Bien. Sont-ils déjà morts? Ou est-ce… moi? [You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Well. Are they dead already? Or is it…me?]” The man’s hand moved very slightly, no doubt twitching towards a concealed weapon. But John wasn’t worried. This person’s reflexes were obviously too deadened to pose a threat.
“Mort. [Dead.]”
“Hmmm.” Casual, feigning disinterest. Why isn’t he calling the guards, John wondered from somewhere deep in the haze of pheromones. After a moment, he noticed that the nobleman’s hand was still gripping the railing, knuckles white. John realized that he couldn’t stand unsupported.
“Tu ne vas pas bien. Vous êtes en chaleur. Et c'est mauvais. [You’re not okay. You’re in heat. And it’s bad.]”
Those honeyed eyes flashed narrow. With grave dignity, “Comment oses-tu. Je suis un alpha. [How dare you. I am an alpha.]”
John nearly laughed. He stifled it but the man caught it anyway and glared.
“Je suis désolé. C'est juste que… tu ne peux pas prétendre ça. Sois prudent. Si vous retournez à l’intérieur… ils le sauront. [I’m sorry. It’s just…you’re beyond pretending that. Be careful. If you go back inside…they’ll know.]”
Fear passed over his features before hardening into anger. “Vas-y et menace-moi encore. Je pourrais utiliser le soulagement du stress aujourd'hui. [Go ahead and threaten me again. I could use the stress relief today.]”
“Ce n’est pas une menace. Je ne le dirai pas. [It’s not a threat. I won’t tell.]”
“Comme c'est généreux. Non, vous ne le ferez pas, je peux vous l'assurer. J'espère que vous avez apprécié votre petite intrusion car personne ne vit pour raconter ce que vous avez vu. [How generous. No, you won’t, I can assure you. I hope you enjoyed your little intrusion because no one lives to tell about what you’ve seen.]” With that, he whipped a knife out of a concealed pocket and lunged forward. It was an energetic movement, but uncoordinated and easy to sidestep. In this weakened state, Vincent’s muscles were practically nonfunctional. John caught his wrist on the way down and plucked the knife out of it easily with the other hand, leaving the Marquis twisted up beneath him and emitting a heart wrenching, inadvertent whine. Every touch must be painful with a mixture of desire and soreness right now.
And it was painful for John too. That skin, even softer than expected and dangerously hot, the closeness of that fragrant neck pouring something like strawberry from under the collar… John released his arm, allowing him to roll over onto his back, too weak to get back up. The urge to cradle him was so overwhelming that John stumbled back against the railing, their positions reversed. He faced the gardens and inhaled deeply, trying to clean Vincent out of his lungs and failing.
When he had collected himself, he pocketed the knife and surveyed the human puddle on the floor that had just tried to stab him. He’d opened his arms and closed his eyes, laying in a dramatic, spread eagle pose with the lamplight washing over him. Center stage and breathtaking. No, not breathtaking. Breathe, I can breathe. “D'accord. Essayons autre chose. Où est ton alpha? [Okay. Let’s try something else. Where’s your alpha?]”
Vincent’s eyes snapped open. “Je n'ai pas d'alpha. Pensez-vous, dans mon travail, qu'il est logique de dépendre de quelqu'un pour de telles… questions? Je gère. [I don’t HAVE an alpha. Do you think, in my line of work, that it makes sense to depend on someone for such…matters? I manage.]”
The opportunity screamed at him from the back of his mind until he had to actively talk himself down. Don’t say it. He doesn’t want an alpha. He doesn’t want you. Protect. Protect by staying away. John found himself backing even further away, now flattened into the dark corner where the railing met the wall. That was better anyway – if anyone passed the window, they couldn’t see him there. And they probably couldn’t see Vincent, lying down, unless they leaned right up to the windowsill. “...D'accord. Qu’utilisez-vous pour « gérer » ? Des bloqueurs? Avez-vous besoin de plus? [...Okay. What do you use to ‘manage’? Blockers? Do you need more?]”
A long moment passed. “Est-ce que tu… essaies-tu de m'aider? [Are you…are you trying to help me?]”
What was he trying to do, exactly? “Je ne peux pas te laisser ici. J'ai senti ta main. Vous êtes massivement en surchauffe. [I can’t just leave you here. I felt your hand. You’re massively overheated.]”
Vincent let out a small sound, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. Whether it was relief or disbelief, John couldn’t tell. Finally, he started speaking, sounding utterly defeated. “Bloqueurs. Oui. Et ils ne fonctionnent pas. J'ai passé toute cette foutue chaleur en public, entouré d'alphas. Des jours maintenant… C’est hors de contrôle. [Blockers. Yes. And they’re not working. I’ve spent this entire damn heat in public, surrounded by alphas. Days now… It’s out of control.]”
“Vous devez aller à l'hôpital. [You need to go to a hospital.]”
“Ce n'est pas... ce n'est pas si grave... [It’s not…it’s not that bad…]” But with the way he immediately started shaking, John knew it was.
“Il le faut. [You have to.]”
“Je ne peux pas. Je ne peux pas sortir là-bas. Je vais mourir. Haha! Oh mon Dieu. Je vais mourir. [I can’t. I can’t walk out there. I’m going to die. Haha! Oh my god. I’m going to die.]” He didn’t seem to be talking to anyone, just sliding rapidly into hysteria.
“Hey. Non.” John’s voice had gone unnaturally gruff, even for him. It did its job and Vincent’s eyes snapped to him in obedience.
He looked away again, defying his own body, but the omega still won out in words. “Que dois-je faire? [What do I do?]”
Don’t say it. Don’t suggest ANYTHING. Be SENSIBLE. “Je pourrais… le réparer. [I could…fix it.]”
Vincent physically writhed at that thought, chest arching skyward. “NON. Va te faire foutre, non. Vous ne me tenterez PAS comme ça. [NO. Fuck you, no. You will NOT tempt me like that.]”
“D'accord, d'accord. Nous ne faisons pas ça. Je suis désolé. [Okay, okay. We’re not doing that. I’m sorry.]”
“ALORS QUE FAISONS-NOUS ? Tout ce que vous faites, c'est empirer les choses ! Tu sens le bordel fait de cuir, d'huile d'arme à feu et de viande et ARRRGGGH !! Tu es sale. Je déteste les alphas, je déteste les alphas, je déteste les alphas… [THEN WHAT ARE WE DOING? All you’re doing is making it worse! You smell like a brothel made of leather and gun oil and meat and ARRRGGGH!! You’re filthy. I hate alphas, I hate alphas, I hate alphas…]” It was an absolutely debauched display, to see this stunning nobleman in heat, writhing around on the ground, moved almost to tears of stifled lust.
No sight had ever made John want to DO something so badly in his life. “Allons juste vous rafraîchir. Enlève le manteau. [Let’s just get you cool. Take off the coat.]”
It must have been a very tempting proposition, because without arguing, he struggled to sit up and started working the coat free. But he only got onto his elbows before collapsing again in frustration. Now that pretty tailcoat was pulled down over one shoulder the way a bra strap might slip down, and to John, it was just as obscene an image as that, even though there was a soaked white dress shirt underneath, and a vest that hugged his waist...
Before he knew what he was doing, John had dropped to his knees above Vincent and was manhandling the coat off of him.
The Marquis laughed. “Alphas. Des créatures brutales et insensées. Je ne peux pas voir la détresse un seul instant sans me déchaîner. [Alphas. Brutish, mindless creatures. Can’t see distress for one instant without unleashing themselves.]” John lost composure and ripped off his vest, sending buttons clattering across the ground. “Vous voyez, aucun respect pour les belles choses de la vie. C'est un costume de qualité mais je suppose que vous ne distingueriez pas un lavalier d'un – [See, no respect for the finer things in life. This a quality suit but I suppose you wouldn’t know an ascot from a - ]”
“Arrêtez de parler. Je ne devrais même pas être ici. [Stop mouthing off. I shouldn’t even be here.]” He was working the ascot free now, and yes he did know exactly what it was. What was this guy’s problem? He was too defensive even for this embarrassing predicament. And it made him come off…vulnerable. A deep pang went through him from the pit of the neck to the stomach, longing for Vincent, and he didn’t know if it was his alpha or his soul. But he knew he liked it, in a vicious kind of way. Vincent was bringing something out of him…
“Pourquoi es-tu ici, hmm ? Tu veux tellement avoir le contrôle de quelque chose dans ta vie, petit tueur ? « John », n'est-ce pas? [Why are you here, hmm? You want this badly to have control over something in your life, little killer? “John,” was it?]” There was more behind that question. Confusion, at the presence of kindness.
This time he didn’t get a rise, or even an answer. John was unbuttoning his dress shirt carefully (because apparently that mattered even on the verge of death) and it took all of his attention. At the touch of the cool wind, Vincent exhaled in a mixture of gratitude and pain at the icy sting. And there he was, bare. Vincent’s skin was screaming at John by sheer sight and scent. He could see veins, collarbones…Breathe. In. Out.
“Je t'ai posé une question. Réponds-moi, alpha. Pourquoi? [I asked you a question. Answer me, alpha. Why?]”
No more buttons. Nothing to think about. Only the desperate urge to touch. John folded his hands behind his back and let his body ache deliciously, from the weight between his thighs outward. “Je voulais aider. Tu as regardé… [I wanted to help. You looked…]”
“J'ai regardé quoi? [Looked what?]”
“Précieux. Doux. Adorable. [Precious. Soft. Adorable.]” It was the wrong answer and he knew it, but he was too brain fogged looking at Vincent. It felt like being in a trance.
He blushed even more brilliantly beneath the wracking fever, and all tenderness faded from his voice. “Faible, tu veux dire. Vous avez ressenti l'appel à me contrôler. J'avais donc raison à propos de toi. [Weak, you mean. You felt the call to control me. So I was right about you.]”
“Non... ce n'est pas le cas... [No…that’s not…]” Desperate to prove his respect, he forced his legs to unbend, to start rising. Get away from him. He doesn’t want you.
Vincent’s hand caught his on the way up. “Où vas-tu? [Where are you going?]” There was terror just below the surface.
“Donner de l'espace. Je serai toujours là. [Giving space. I’ll still be here.]” Vincent’s hand slipped away and let him fade back into the shadows, where he watched in silence.
It must have been an agonizing parting for both of them. He knew it hurt, physically, to feel an alpha slip away while in heat. The omegas he’d been with had talked about a terrible, clingy loneliness, a need to be held that left every muscle aching. God, he wanted to hold Vincent. What a confusing situation.
Quietly, “Merci.”
“Bien sûr. [Of course.]” Minutes began to pass. He watched chills run through Vincent, watched him struggle to get comfortable on the hard ground and eventually hug his discarded coat against his chest, willing to take anything resembling the softness of a nest.
“Mettez-le sous vous. Pas à cause de toi. Ou vous surchaufferez davantage. [Put it under you. Not over you. Or you’ll overheat more.]”
Another irritable whine. Finally, he did. But he still couldn’t get comfortable. “Quand est-ce que cela va s’arrêter? [When will this stop?]”
“…Je ne sais pas. N'y a-t-il personne que vous puissiez appeler? Quelqu'un en qui vous avez confiance? […I don’t know. Isn’t there anyone you can call? Anyone you trust?]”
“Seuls les imbéciles font confiance à quiconque en qualité d’alpha. Et de toute façon, je ne suis pas sur le point de traverser cette fête en sentant… comme ça. [Only fools trust anyone in the capacity of an alpha. And anyway I am not about to walk through that party smelling…like this.]” His teeth were chattering with chills. He seemed to be getting worse. John wished he knew how much time they had.
“Je ne veux pas que tu meures. [I don’t want you to die.]” A flat, matter-of-fact statement.
“Comment tu sais ça ? Vous ne m'avez jamais rencontré. [How do you know that? You’ve never met me.]”
“C'est ce que je ressens. Je ne veux pas que tu meures. [It’s how I feel. I don’t want you to die.]”
Their conversation seemed to be over. A minute passed, and another. Then, “Pourquoi m'as-tu mis dans cette position ? Vous faites ça exprès. Tu es le seul alpha que j'ai jamais rencontré qui fait semblant d'être respectueux juste pour me faire supplier. C’est déroutant. [Why have you put me in this position? You’re doing this on purpose. You’re the only alpha I’ve ever met who pretends to be respectful just to make me beg. It’s confusing.]”
“Pas de mendicité. Je veux juste faire ce que tu veux. C'est tout. [No begging. I just want to do what you want. That’s all.]”
“Quelle mentalité pathétique. Il semble que vous soyez par nature servile. [What a pathetic mindset. It you're inherently servile.]” He went on muttering under his breath but John couldn’t hear it. Probably French swearing.
Not begging… John cleared his throat. “Je ne pense pas que ce soit pathétique de demander ce que l’on veut. Pour exiger ce que vous voulez. Je te veux. Que veux-tu? [I don’t think it’s pathetic to ask for what you want. To demand what you want. I want you. What do you want?]”
Vincent lifted his head enough to stare into the shadows, searching for a joke, a trick. John stepped forward enough to let the light fall on a face set with grave concern and tenderness.
“… Réparez ça. Montez-moi jusqu'à ce que ça s'arrête. […Fix this. Ride me until it stops.]”
And with that, everything John had been holding back burst forth at once. He pounced on Vincent. Belts: gone. He stripped Vincent the rest of the way down and let their contact be the only source of warmth against him.
What a warmth it was. Vincent was almost fatally overheated, but the aura of heat breathing off of his skin felt so good… All John wanted was to be buried in him. So wet too… There was slick pouring from between his legs, and his whole pelvis was red and swollen. Vincent moaned so hard when John pressed into him that he had to bite the back of his hand to avoid being heard.
“Est-ce que tu aimes ça? [Do you like that?]”
“Allez en enfer. Je – [Go to hell. I - ]” John stopped and the surrender came immediately. “Oui, oui, d'accord, j'aime ça. [Yes, yes okay I like it.]”
“Bien. Bon garçon. [Good. Good boy.]” John kissed his burning cheeks and forehead, cupped the back of his head in one hand to protect it from the hard ground. “Bon oméga [Good omega.]” Vincent’s walls contracted around him in response, a parallel of the thrill passing over the Marquis’ exultant expression. He was gasping with pleasure.
The burn in his face deepened and he buried it in John’s shoulder. “Je ne suis pas… ah… je ne suis pas un bon garçon [I’m not…ah…I’m not a good boy.]”
“Tu es. Vous êtes doué. Tu es adorable. Vous en êtes digne. Et je veux que tu vives. [You are. You’re good. You’re adorable. You’re worthy. And I want you to live.]” John rutted into him with every word, swelling rapidly. They’d knot soon, he could feel it building.
It took a second for him to realize how much he’d overwhelmed Vincent. He wasn’t just gasping against John’s shoulder anymore, he was sobbing.
John went still. “Hé. Ça va? [Hey. You okay?]”
“Ne demandez pas tout ! Je suis juste… je suis heureux. [Don’t ASK about everything! I’m just…I’m happy],” he muttered. “Alors continuez. [So keep going.]”
Happy. He’s happy because of me. He cuddled Vincent closer, locking his legs behind his hips to keep them from slipping apart for even an instant. Within moments, he was close to the knot again, waiting only for Vincent to push him over the edge.
Vincent was making soft, desperate noises into his neck, and just pulsing, throbbing rhythmically against him on all sides, milking him. He seemed to find a new wave of energy and started rolling his hips, becoming frantic. “Putain, John, j'en ai tellement besoin, j'ai besoin de plus, j'ai besoin de toi, j'ai besoin de toi ou je mourrai. [Fuck, John, I need it so badly, I need more, I need you, I need you or I’ll die.]”
“Tu m'as. Je ne laisserai rien t’arriver. C'est un lien. [You have me. I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s a bond.]” And it was. With a sense of both dread and satisfaction, he realized what was forming. “Je t'ai, Vincent. Vous êtes en sécurité. Je t'ai. J'ai… putain. [I have you, Vincent. You’re safe. I have you. I have…fuck.]” A rush of slick overwhelmed his words as Vincent came with what must have been dizzying force.
In answer, the knot hardened between them, semen flooding against Vincent’s walls, too much to fit inside him and enough to drip down their shaking legs onto the ground.
At last, they were quiet and still. Vincent’s head laid back and John kissed the tears off of his cheeks, feeling their pulses in sync deep inside the knot. This was who he wanted to be. Not the killer. Someone capable of saving a life. It occurred to John that in a few moments, this stranger would slip away. John would board a plane in the morning, and they might never see each other again.
And what was Vincent thinking about?
His eyes were closed, as long exhales left him. He looked drained by the fever and…tired. Completely tired in ways that even John didn’t understand. It was a kind of inverse of the way he didn’t understand civilians – instead of seeing a happiness that he couldn’t enter into, there was depth of misery here that demanded a companion. John stroked his hair fondly. Where did the physicality of this feeling begin and end? It felt so intimate, so intense. It couldn’t just be about the body. He wanted to be good to Vincent, to protect him. To find out what exactly he was protecting him from.
When they finally pulled apart, the heat had already started to dissipate. Vincent was shivering even more now, if that was possible. John gathered his clothes and began dressing Vincent gently, piece by piece of clothing. Vincent, meanwhile, sat on the ground, looking up at him with unreadable, soulful eyes. When they were both fully clothed again, John wrapped an arm around him and they leaned back against the wall, still concealed under the windowsill. “Que devons-nous faire maintenant ? Il y a probablement des gens qui vous recherchent. [What should we do now? There are probably people looking for you.]”
“Probablement. Mais maintenant je sens comme toi et j'ai l'air... [Probably. But now I smell like you and I look…]” He glanced down at his ruined vest and tsked.
“Viens avec moi. Je me faufilais par ici, on peut descendre le mur ensemble. [Come with me. I was sneaking out this way, we can both go down the wall together.]” John pulled out a length of climbing rope and tied it to the banister.
Vincent looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Grimper? En bas du bâtiment ? [Climb? Down the building?]”
“Je vais vous montrer. Grimpe sur mon dos et accroche-toi à moi. [I’ll show you. Climb on my back and hold onto me.]” I don’t know what the future will bring. But hold onto me, for as long as you can.
Here's my best attempt at the drawing Vincent made while trying to sleep during Chapter III of Beyond Judgement! The image that I added it into comes from here.
*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you again to @evren-sadwrn for the beta read!
TW: John and Vincent bickering...and that's pretty much it, this one's kinda fluffy
Summary: John finds an out-of-the-way motel where he and Vincent can spend the night in hiding.
A dusty, sun-faded sign read “Blue Moon Motel” in yellow across a periwinkle moon. John almost missed it, and it was for that exact reason that he took a sharp turn just in time to swing into the mostly empty parking lot. It couldn’t be more inconspicuous, and the only thing that caught his eye at all was the flickering neon “Vacancy” sign, half obscured by branches. Perfect.
Even so, it would be a roll of the dice. A hitman could be anywhere, even behind the counter of the tiniest motel. He sat behind the wheel for a moment, gazing at the lit window of the lobby, gathering himself. Should he wake Vincent? No, best not. He was as likely to be another obstacle as a help. Feeling the reassuring weight of a pistol at his hip, he reluctantly left Vincent in the backseat and entered.
Luck was on his side, for the first time all evening. The sole employee, a 60-something in a shockingly pink puff-sleeved blouse, was fast asleep with her face in her crossword puzzle. She had a faded flower tattoo on her forearm, but it wasn’t anything he recognized as an underworld symbol. He cleared his throat, and when that failed, rang the bell. Her name was Marjorie. She did not, as he had feared, pull a gun on him the moment she saw his face. In fact, she booked him a room without asking awkward questions, even when he paid cash.
Nonetheless, he wished she would move a little faster. His ears were trained on the road outside, waiting for an engine in the distance, for a grim reaper going motel to motel, searching. He could already picture them checking the cars, peering down at Vincent and Dog, pulling a gun –
“Room 105. There’ll be a queen bed. Find me if the AC acts up. Breakfast’s 7 to 10. Sleep tight - you look like you need it, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“Thanks. Have a good night, ma’am.” He forced himself not to turn away too quickly, and not to run out the door.
But of course, the night was just as silent as before, and the car untouched. He exhaled in relief. God, this day had fried his nerves.
He opened the door to the backseat and lifted back the throw blanket to reveal an innocent-looking man. Positively angelic, in fact, with a button nose and uncommonly full lips, all dressed in bloodied white finery. He hurt to look at. Soft auburn locks swept back from his forehead, so smooth in the mercy of unconsciousness. In combination with blood loss, the moonlight washed his already pale cheeks even whiter, setting off high cheekbones and deep-set eyes for the overall effect of one in desperate need of saving from an imminent death. This face, which had ordered murders, which had mocked love itself, which had been spouting its worst venom at him five hours ago, was harming no one now. Just lying there, innocent, needing rest and protection.
To hell with it. John slid his arms under Vincent’s back and legs and lifted him…well, not like it was nothing - he was a huge, sprawling bulk of a man, taller than John, and it was a challenge to cradle his head properly without aggravating his chest. But John managed things as gracefully as he could, focusing on not dropping him and trying very hard not to focus on his own heart, which was going inexplicably haywire. Vincent smelled of expensive vanilla cologne even after hours of sweating and his head was lolling back against John’s shoulder in a way that sent thrills through him. No doubt he’d hate to see himself right now. Please don’t wake up until I can put you down, John thought as he struggled to turn the key with the hand that stuck out from under Vincent’s thighs.
“Qu'est-ce que tu crois faire, bordel? [What the fuck do you think you’re doing?]”
And just like that, the innocent cherub was gone. “Je te rabaisse dès que possible. [Putting you down as soon as I can.]” The door swung open and, still in the dark, John laid him onto the bed, minding his chest and head carefully even if the bastard didn’t deserve it. “You seemed…peaceful, so I just… Did I hurt you anywhere?”
“I don’t know. Probably not, I think I’m just sore from the drive. Let’s never speak of this again.”
“Great idea.” He stepped back, catching his breath, and switched on the bedside lamp. It revealed a dingy room with an armchair in one corner, a TV, the bed, and not much else. Despite the nonsmoking sign, it smelled of cigarettes. Dog explored the corners and stuck his head under the bedside table.
“Where are we?”
“Blue Moon Motel, just outside Allentown, PA. Not what you’re used to, I’d imagine,” John said. “But it’s rural. Better chance of not being found overnight.”
“Fair enough. You would know what’s best in these…situations.” Vincent stretched himself and began to stand. “I can walk, by the way.”
“Thought we were never speaking of that again.”
“Well, I’m about to go get a drink of water, and I’d rather not have to stab you for trying to get me to the sink.”
John was blushing. Why was he blushing? “Right.” He went to bring the bag from the car, and stood in the coolness for a few minutes, listening to the night birds. He had to get his head on straight. Whatever he was feeling towards the Marquis could not possibly be reciprocated. Friendship? Obviously impossible - Vincent couldn’t stand him. Attraction? As if. Vincent probably spent the night with models anytime he wanted. Empathy? He’d probably never felt that in his life and made it very clear that he didn’t desire it from others. Any attempt to connect with him on an emotional level would at best lead to embarrassment, and would at worst further traumatize him.
By the time John returned, he was already in bed again, laying in the center with both pillows stacked under his head. “The bed is mine, by the way. Your loss that you didn’t get a room for two.”
“That would have been suspicious. I’m fine with the chair anyway. Are you going to sleep?” He moved towards the light switch.
“No. How am I supposed to sleep when this ordeal is still completely unresolved?”
“Same way you did in the car?”
“That was when I hadn’t slept in two days thanks to the stress of the tribunal, and then the flight to the states. Now I’m wound up again.” He sighed. “I still can’t believe this is happening. After I’ve proven myself a formidable enemy, determined to bring the High Table greater glory than it has ever seen, they throw all of that away. Ridiculous.”
With this, John could agree. “They have no loyalty to you or to anyone.”
“Loyalty to the powerless is foolishness. But disloyalty to the powerful…that’s also foolishness.” It rolled off his tongue easily.
“Is that a quote?”
“Oui. I will show them my power and their idiocy will be corrected.”
John just shook his head and leaned back against the wall. “I can’t say I see the point in it.”
“That surprises me. You’ve had your share of vengeful murder sprees.”
“Not for power, or loyalty. Just to…well, just because I couldn’t not.” He struggled to organize his thoughts for a moment. “Sometimes you care about something and there’s no other way to express it. Maybe because the thing you love…or the person…is out of reach. Already gone. So all you can do is wreck the thing that took them.”
The Marquis tsked. “This is what happens when you let love run away with you. It breeds a total loss of control.” He took a ring from his left hand, and held it up to the lamp. The High Table sigil shone crisply on it even in the dim, yellowy light. “Do you know why I wear this on my ring finger, even though I’m not married?”
“No.”
“It keeps courtesans from getting ideas. A man of my station cannot afford distractions or liabilities, much less those who will seek the advantages of his title through the bedroom. I alone pursue what matters to me, I alone manage my affairs, I alone win honor for the name of Gramont.”
“There was a lot of ‘alone’ in that sentence.”
A livid glare twitched the corners of his mouth. “How astute. Well, I happen to enjoy being alone with myself, because the company is good. Perhaps you wouldn’t know what that’s like. Goodness knows it’s a headache to be stuck with you.“
Damn it, thought John, I’ve already done it again. “I’m not trying to make this hell for you, believe it or not.”
“Then be quiet. I need to think. They are coming for me. If I was in their position, I would never stop.” Vincent took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. “I need a loophole, an angle...and all the while, anyone could come through the door...”
You need to sleep, not think, John wanted to say. No, stop it. Let the man do what he wants. Leave him alone. But the look of frayed nerves on Vincent’s face was clawing him from the inside out.
With Herculean restraint, “Fine.” There was only one thing he could do now to help Vincent. Only one thing he was good for. He turned the armchair towards the door, took a gun in hand, and waited for something to kill.
“What are you doing now?”
“What I promised to do. Protecting you. Think. Sleep. Do what you need to do. If anyone comes through that door, they’re dead.”
Thus, his vigil began. Dog settled into his lap and a strange, trancelike bliss stole over him. He was in no danger of falling asleep. Somehow, with the knowledge that Vincent was safe behind him, there was something entertaining even about staring at a closed door. The faint sounds of the wind in the trees outside mixed with Vincent’s breathing, and the occasional rustle of pillows or dramatic sigh which gave him some fragment of information about the Marquis’ position and mood. Charged with that information, the whole room buzzed vividly around him.
At some point, Vincent took the motel’s branded notepad and pencil from the beside table and started writing plans which were, one by one, tossed past John into the wastepaper basket on the other side of the room. This continued for a while before there was stillness again.
It was 3:30 AM before he roused himself enough to look at the clock. When he did, it was only because Dog jumped down from his lap. “Where you going?”
He jumped onto the bed where Vincent lay with an arm across his face, the notepad tossed aside. John glanced over at them apprehensively, keen on ensuring that they played nice. The Marquis muttered something under his breath in irritation as Dog sniffed out the blood on his chest. But Dog was not to be deterred. He licked at Vincent’s chin with concern until he relented and scratched behind his ears, saying softly, “Bon chien. Vous êtes fidèle, n'est-ce pas? Reste ici, à côté de moi. [Good dog. You're loyal, aren't you? Stay here, next to me.]”
The next time he looked, it was 4:30. Vincent was asleep, with Dog curled up against the crook of his neck, their heads resting together. A miracle: the angel had taken over Vincent’s body again.
John stood to turn off the light, and caught a glimpse of the notepad on the bed. It lay amongst torn off pages full of scribbled legalese and lines drawn from one name to another, mapping out a network of debts. But the most recent page, not yet torn off, was different from the rest. It was a drawing. And it was damn good.
There was a portrait of John scowling, from memory. And next to it, on the same page, was a study of his hand gripping the gun as it dangled over the arm of the chair, and dog peeking around the chair to look at Vincent. It was casually done, and it was titled – or perhaps more accurately, it was scribbled upon, next to him and next to Dog. His portrait was titled, “le gros chien de garde stupide [the big, stupid guard dog]”, and Dog’s was titled, “le petit chien de garde intelligent [the little, clever guard dog]”. John stared at it for a long time, switched off the light, and then returned to his post, now in even less danger of sleeping. He gazed into the darkness, trying not to smile, seeing only that drawing until the sun rose.
Telling myself I won't go there / Oh, but I know that I won't care / Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt / This lust is a burden that we both share / Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer / Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt.
- David Kushner
Event Masterpost | CW: blood | This is a scene from Chapter 5 of my John x Vincent fic, Beyond Judgement. Faces come from these sources: one, two.
