↳ Description: A one-shot exploring Chamber's feelings, based off the voiceline, "It's a shame you had to die, but you are not part of my bigger picture."
↳ Notes: Won't be posted on AO3, you can read it below. Thank you <3
“You’ll have to make a choice soon.”
Though short, Viper’s words are non-accusatory. The words come out straightforward and neutral, or at least as neutral as one can be about their possible, impending doom caused by a loved one’s hand. Which, to Viper’s credit, she did possess an extremely high degree of.
A consequence of his past actions biting him back in the ass like he knew it would, he just didn’t know it’d be like this. How was he supposed to know that he’d meet a group like the Valorant Protocol? A ragtag group, because that’s what they are at the end of the day, of people with too much power thrusted in their hands, heavy responsibilities weighing down on their shoulders when all they want is to live alongside the world. From wind-shattered kitchens to the loneliness of savant syndrome, they all carry their burdens and their stories.
Everyone seems scary to the outside world, but inside this building — no one is ever as heartless as they seem.
Among them, he’d meet the infamous Viper. Especially her, how would he have known that he’d talk to her, get closer, quickly fall in love with her?
Beautiful Viper, love at first sight echoes in Chamber’s heart. He no longer thinks about the moon or the sun, he thinks about the dark space in between that reminds him of Viper’s sleek, black hair; he thinks about how he’d like to rip every star out of the cosmos to place it in Viper’s hands, cover her in stardust and see her still shine the brightest among the stars. He thinks about Viper.
It’s taken him a grueling few months to weasel — because he can’t deny, that is how he succeeded — his way into Viper’s bed first, her heart second. But the French are romantics, and Chamber is no exception. He’s always been a lover, romanticizing everything he can including himself; the world is depressing enough, and he’s the only one who’s ever cared enough about himself like this.
(He was, he reminds himself. But Viper is here now.)
Sweet Viper, with a heart as cold as the sandy shores of a French beach. Viper who says one thing harshly and means five hundred things kindly; one of the heads of the protocol, she leads with both respect and fear. She takes nothing, but she gives everything; she fears for the protocol, the agents, and the very world she lives in — she’s a woman trying to survive everything.
The French are romantics, lovers, and Chamber mourns; could he truly still say any of those things?
A lifetime of orders from higher-ups, hands calloused from working on weaponry, Chamber doesn’t remember a moment where his hands weren’t involved in violence. He’s a person who fought in multiple wars of his own volition, the same person who didn’t blink at the deaths caused by the exploding reaction. The same person who had entrapped Viper upon first meeting, there’s been more bodies put into graves than his bed; if he starts counting now, maybe he’ll finish the amount of bodies killed on his hands by the time he’s dead in his own grave.
How does a person like him get to love another person? How do you love back the damage you’ve caused to the world?
On one hand, he’s doing better now. He doesn’t let his damage overtake him or his surroundings anymore, participates in the missions without that much fuss like a good agent, and he’s found people who actually enjoy being around him. He’s had colleagues and classmates before, but never friends; growing up sheltered and genius, it had always been easier to befriend objective, non-judgemental science than real, breathing people. No one had ever seemed to look past Vincent with his chunky glasses and awkward words anyway.
(Not until the protocol. Another reminder he isn’t alone.)
But on the other hand he’s already given up everything he’s loved and known for this personal mission once before, he could do it again. He has to do it again, or else what good would it do if chooses to give up now? Far too many sacrifices had been made for him to stop, everything would be in vain otherwise; everything would be ruined, everything would be meaningless. He’s been so hell-bent on his mission for so long, he’s unsure of what would happen if he aborts this mission.
Would he still have a reason to forge a path forward? If he peels away everything he’s worked for, would Vincent Fabron still remain?
He’s not sure where bloodshed ends and Vincent begins. Is there even a difference anymore? He doesn’t know what lies underneath the bloodied mountain of bodies and the empty shells of golden bullets, or if there’s even something left to find. He wonders when the two started to blur together, wonders if they’ve always been blurred together.
Whatever it might be, in this swirling vortex of emotions that runs rampant in his chest, he’s sure of one thing: he isn’t ready to talk about this. He knows how to give everything up but doesn't know if he can when the moment strikes.
His throat is dry, and his words come out alongside a small cough, “I don’t know what my choice is going to be.” It’s the only truth he can find in his heart. He doesn’t know anything anymore.
“If I’m not a part of your bigger picture, it’s fine to tell me that,” Viper says. Still, there is no malice in her tone and no pleas in her words. She doesn’t toe around the subject, talks about her own life like a subject to be analyzed. She doesn’t beg for Chamber to choose her over everything, and Chamber doesn’t know if he’s more impressed or saddened by that realization. “I’d just like to know as soon as possible.”
“You seem to think your life is less than my own, from what you’re saying, mon cherie.”
“It’s not that I think my life is lesser. It’s that I have to prepare myself too.” Viper’s blank expression morphs into a grimace, before her eyes harden, and Chamber is staring directly into bright-green eyes. “You’re not the only one who gets hurt once you make your choice.”
And she’s right, isn’t she?
Selfish Vincent, who’s only been thinking of himself and what he’d lose — he doesn’t stop to think about what Viper would lose, what the protocol would endure. He forgets that he’s only a small part of the huge web that entangles everyone, that just because only one string gets snipped, it doesn’t mean the web will stay the same. They’re all stuck together, whether they want to be or not.
“I see,” is all Chamber can muster out. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest, one that fills him with a cold emptiness at his ignorance. His fingers feel numb, his head feels like a mess, and there’s a void in his chest he can’t get rid of now. He does his best anyway to ignore everything.
“You’ll have to make a choice soon,” Viper reminds him. This time, it’s a little less straightforward and a little more softly; there’s less of brute strength, facing on one’s demise, and moreso a soft strength, reassuring Chamber that while inevitable, it’s not the end of the world. Because it isn’t, at least not in the ways that Chamber’s already experienced while he’s worked for the protocol. Those missions would count as world-ending, he thinks, if they hadn’t been around to stop a series of attacks.
Whatever he’ll experience next, whether a consequence of his personal missions or his betrayal of his own self, he won’t know until it happens. There’s no reason to dwell on the uncertain future when there’s certain dangers in the present. He knows he can’t escape this choice, but for until he gets there…
“I don’t have to make that choice right now.” Chamber’s voice is quiet.
“Not right now,” Viper reaffirms with a nod of her head.
Chamber swallows the lump in his throat, doesn’t tell Viper about how heavy his tongue feels as he speaks. He only watches how Viper nods in approval at his demeanor, before she returns to what she was doing before this shitshow of emotions. He still feels a queasiness, now from his chest to his stomach, but he tries his best to shove it down.
Tells himself it’s only for a little while longer, then he’ll make the choice. He’ll speak his truth, his reasons eventually — he only hopes he can still remain part of the web he’s formed, that Viper will remain by his side.
↳ Description: Vincent Fabron is the owner of Romantique, a classy boutique focused on making wedding creams come true. Despite the romantic occupation, he has the worst luck in finding romance for himself, and he’s slowly giving up hope in romance overall. That is, until Sabine Callas walks in, and Vincent wonders if this who he’s been looking for this entire time.
↳ Notes: Due to weird tumblr issues, I cannot link properly. But this can also be found on AO3, under my same username!
Friday, April 28th, 1:00 pm.
Romantique was located at the corner of a small yet busy business plaza, sandwiched between a nail salon and a records store. Founded half a decade ago, Vincent was the owner and sole employee of the business. Though a grueling start, his passion project turned into a living eventually, and now he was an established wedding planner with a heft of experience under his belt.
“Do come in, take a seat anywhere! I take you have exciting news?”
Vincent watched two women shuffled into his office, their hands remaining clasped together as they took a seat on the couch in front of Vincent’s large, mahogany desk. ‘Cute. Sweet. Almost too sweet,’ he thought at the sight of them actively working around the handholding rather than letting go.
The young couple entering was in their late twenties. The woman that sat on the left — ‘Zyanya,’ if Vincent remembered correctly — boasted tan skin and sharp features, her hair pulled into a ponytail with the ends dyed magenta; she donned a sleeveless, black turtleneck that showed off her muscled arms splattered with. An intimidating sight compared to her companion, in a baby blue dress covered in white polka dots and shiny, black hair in a high ponytail. Her eyes were aqua and bright, looking at Vincent with a friendly light in her eyes. He smiled when they settled comfortably on the dark blue couch, an arm slung over Ling’s shoulder instead now, and looked towards him.
“Welcome to Romantique, a boutique dedicated to making wedding dreams come true!” He sang the last few words like a jingle as Ling clapped politely. “Thank you, thank you. How may I be of help to you today, my friends?” His eyes twinkled, excited for the upcoming news based on the smile on Ling’s face. Normally a stoic person, it was always interesting what could get Ling to emote so much.
She stuck her hand up, palm facing her, and Vincent watched a dainty sparkle catch in the light. Zyanya followed suit, and as they stuck their hands out closer for Vincent to inspect, he crooned at the matching set of diamond engagement rings. A turn of the hand, and their initials with maiden names were carved into the band. Ling blushed. “I got engaged, Vincent. She proposed last week, and you’re the first to know besides family.”
“My congratulations, ladies! You’re looking for help with regards to a wedding then, yes?” At the nod from both women, he pulled a small, gridded notebook from a desk drawer alongside a blue ballpoint pen. A few clicks, and he scribbles their names down with a heart followed after. “This is fantastic news! How did she propose? Simple, extravagant? Public, private?”
Zyanya grinned now. “Extravagantly, of course. Nothing but the best for mi corazon.” She hugged her fiancée tighter, and Vincent laughed at Ling’s flustered expression. She batted Zyanya’s shoulder lightly, as if a warning, but Zyanya ignored it and bragged, “We took a trip to the coast and rented a small space to stay in. Took her exploring for a few days to distract her, then on a boat for a special dinner, I proposed! Her face, Vincent, if only you could’ve seen it…”
“Oh, to see stoic Ling be overcome with glee…did she cry tears of joy?”
“A bit,” Zyanya nodded. “She couldn’t speak clearly for a few minutes, she only stared at the ring.” Her chest puffed out in pride. Ling swatted at said chest, the tips of her ears burning bright red now. Zyanya continued further about the special night, until the mention of ‘bed’ was heard, and Vincent double-taked.
“Enough now, please,” Ling requested with a soft frown. She must have caught it too. “We’re getting distracted from the goal of today’s meeting.”
“I am sorry, mi corazon,” Reyna cooed. Vincent’s tooth ached at the tone.
“My apologies. I am merely excited and happy for you,” Vincent said. He tried to be as genuine as possible in his life, and now was no exception, especially to a person he had grown quite fond of. “How time flies by! I remember first meeting you in my time of great, great need, and now I’m witnessing your engagement.” He grinned and cleared his throat.
“Pardonnez-moi. Now then, when do you plan to get married? Cost? Venues? Themes?” He rattled off some more questions in a rush before finishing off with, “or just give me all of the information you have available” at the irritated and confused expression on Zyanya’s face.
Zyanya scowled, still seemingly processed some of the questions Vincent had listed, as Ling patted her shoulder with a fond smile. The Mexican woman ended up settling on, “I want to do whatever Ling wants.”
Ling stammered, a first in the time Vincent had known her, and it was endearing, this dynamic. Zyanya who was all sharp edges and a bite to her tone, and Ling who was soft but resolute like a quiet force of nature; both had a heart of gold for the other. Vincent’s heart ached with something. He wondered if his swipes resetted yet.
“Well, er, there is one thing I’d like to have if nothing else,” Ling confessed. Her free hand fiddled with a stray fiber from the couch, and she shifted her weight. Vincent’s ears perked up. “I’d like to have a tattoo parlor for a venue.”
A beat of silence. Vincent’s eyebrows furrowed. “Pardonnez-moi, did you say you wanted a tattoo parlor to be your wedding venue?”
“Yes, I have a specific location too, if that’s okay?”
Right, a tattoo parlor. That… was a new one.
As the owner and sole employee of Romantique, Vincent expected himself to uphold the utmost, highest standard of customer service. As the person responsible for one of the biggest milestones in the client’s life, he refused to voice judgment on any ideas unless it was truly terrible. He was hired to create a majestic event for his client, and by god, if Vincent wasn’t going to make it the best he could.
Sometimes, though, wedding ideas could get a little interesting — like now, for instance.
Vincent cleared his throat, accidentally coughing in actuality instead, and said, “A new adventure for me! Let us discuss the idea. We would have to get permission, of course, but we can also have alternatives in place!”
“I’ve already obtained permission from the owner. The shop is Viper’s Ink, right next to Porter’s House of Flowers.” Ling chuckled, as if a funny inside joke with herself, adding, “It’s the business that we share a lobby with after all.
The latter business’s name was familiar. That was his own friend in front of him’s flower shop she worked at, and the flower shop he signed on to be a main provider of flower arrangements for his events. After saving him during a predicament, he had signed them on after a brief trial period, and now he couldn't imagine not having a dedicated provider. It had saved him numerous times over the course of the last three years. Ling created beautiful arrangements, with Vincent having commissioned her work for personal use in the past.
He must have not hidden the confusion well enough though, regarding the tattoo shop, because Ling frowned and inquired, “Did you not notice?”
Vincent stayed silent, but he could feel the apples of his cheeks start to burn.
Truth be told, Vincent was possibly a disaster when it came to existing in everyday life. He was a smart man, a former engineer that quickly rose through the ranks at the time, but he was clueless sometimes. Free body diagrams and calculus problem sets were his favorite past times, but remembering to pay attention to places was too difficult of a task. It was just background art to him.
Ling sighed, exasperated but slightly unsurprised sounding. Almost endeared, if Vincent was reaching a little. “It’s the business we share a lobby with,” she repeated, “and it was where we first met. Alongside other important memories, it became a special place for us.” She squeezed Zyanya’s hand, and Vincent felt his own heart get squeezed when Zyanya returned the small action. “I can get you in contact with the owner, Sabine. Sabine Callas, and perhaps discuss face to face? She mentioned she wanted an involved opinion on her place as a venue.”
‘Shit.’
Vincent didn’t want to deal with another pair of eyes overseeing him, knowing well that people just got in the way under the guise of ‘overseeing’ the project. Vincent was capable of monitoring himself, and oftentimes, it felt like an insult to his capacity as a wedding planner when the client began to micromanage. Either manage it by one’s self at the start or leave it to the expensive planner hired, Vincent grumbled. That was typically how it went.
Sabine, in this case, was a vendor, and Vincent would have to play nice to get what the client wanted exactly. This request was more than reasonable too, considering the woman’s entire business was being requested as a venue, but it was still a possible extra obstacle. He would give the owner of the tattoo shop the benefit of the doubt for now, unfortunately, and pray that she wouldn't interfere with his workflow.
That was what he would do. He would hold his tongue for now and set up a meeting with Sabine, then he’d gauge the situation from there — considering the request was reasonable, maybe the owner was as well. He had no choice but to wait until he set up a meeting in person.
Vincent mustered up a smile after thinking through his next steps for this wedding. “That works for me.” He wrote a few lines of notes, slightly smeared from the drag of his left hand, in his messy cursive. “Now then, could I grab her information? Then we can discuss other details of your wedding.”
//
Monday, May 1st, 11:30am.
Vincent stared at the most recent notebook he started for his client. A simple, one-subject notebook with a black plastic cover, Vincent decorated the cover with holographic, purple alphabet stickers. It spelled out ‘Ling and Zyanya Wedding: June 8th, next year’ in the chicken scratch equivalent of stickering.
Inside contained everything he wrote down and everything that he would ever write down over the course of the job. A means of keeping things organized originally, it quickly became a good way of keeping track of a client’s needs as well as creating a sort of journal about the experience behind the client. It was an amalgam of many things — journal, workbook, scrapbook. Whatever anyone deemed it as, it was undoubtedly crucial to Vincent’s effectiveness and investment as a wedding planner.
Within the first few pages of the notebook was the dog-eared page of a woman named Sabine Callas. Her name was written in red Sharpie and highlighted, and it imbued the same dreadful feeling as if one was about to face a judge at court. Vincent was afraid of her judgment at the end of this face-to-face meeting, if he would be able to make his client’s dreams come true.
“Non, Vincent,” he grumbled, shaking his head. He couldn’t think like that, not when nothing was certain yet; he hadn’t even met the owner! No, this sort of thinking was terrible, and it would get him nowhere in his mission to create a meaningful wedding. He would be successful. He had to be successful for his client, and in this case, his friend as well.
Every jingle of the coffee shop’s bell over the doorway attracted Vincent’s attention, and with every person who did not fit the description given to her, his eyes returned to the clock. It was 11:57am, and they had agreed on a meeting time of noon over emails the other day. On his screen was the very email chain.
Ms. Sabine Callas typed properly. Succinct but polite, she wasted no in time sending all her information and her expectations for the process. No exclamation marks or smiley faces like Vincent included in his emails, but she wasn’t necessarily cold either. Scheduling was a breeze with her, and Vincent’s hopes were starting to look up after the interaction.
The exact email on his laptop screen was the last one exchanged between them, where she had described herself in a rather…confident manner.
Subject: Meeting for Ling and Zyanya’s Wedding Venue
Vincent,
Noon tomorrow will work. As for my appearance, I am pale and tall at 6’0”. Black hair in a short bob cut with green eyes. This will be enough to find me.
Best,
Sabine Callas
Another jingle, another look away from the screen, and—
“Madame Callas!”
Vincent raised his hand, calling out with a friendly grin and wave. The woman was right. After what seemed to the nth person coming through, a woman fitting the description sent over by the woman herself walked in, and Vincent trusted the gut feeling — no one else had come close to her description eerily.
As Vincent stood up, he took stock of the woman that walked towards him. At six feet, Sabine was the same height as Vincent and seemed to be covered in lean muscle. She wore a dark green, thin sweater with what seemed to be a small viper logo for a design on the front, and a pair of straight-legged and pressed, black slacks swaying over a pair of black combat boots. Slung diagonally across her body was a shoulder bag, an emerald green shade instead.
Sabine Callas truly was difficult to miss.
Vincent watched the woman take the seat across from him, and she began to set up on her side of the table. While he had out a notebook and his laptop, Sabine took only only a small tablet and a pencil, as well as her phone. From the small glimpse of the screen Vincent saw before she tilted the screen away, Vincent knew she was taking her own notes.
“Vincent Fabron, yes?”
“Yes, that’s me. And you are Sabine Callas, judging from your response to my call earlier,” he said. Meant to be light-hearted, a way to break the ice and test out the waters that was Sabine, Vincent was disappointed by the lack of response besides a nod. Not much to work with. “Very nice to meet you, Zyanya talked quite a bit about you.”
Sabine’s eyes flickered with pride. ‘Ah, that was a reaction,’ Vincent noted.
“It’s nice to meet you as well. As for Zyanya, we’ve simply known each other for a while,” Sabine explained with ease. She was writing something on her screen, and Vincent panicked lightly; should he have been writing something down already? What could Sabine be writing already? “Tell me about yourself, Vincent. I’d like to get to know you more.”
And damn, if that didn’t sound like a perfect distraction as well as an invitation for Vincent’s favorite hobby: talking about himself.
“I am the owner of Romantique, where wedding dreams come true,” he repeated the slogan to the tune of a jingle with a smile, only to be disappointed when Sabine hummed in acknowledgement and continued writing down notes. If he was a little less professional, he would pout lightly right now. “I was hired to help plan a wedding by some of your friends, and I was roped into discussing your tattoo shop as a possible venue? Ling said she received permission already.”
At that, Sabine raised her head from the tablet to meet Vincent’s eyes. Her lips were pursed into a confused frown. “What sort of permission?”
Sahine was already a sight to behold upon initial entry. Now that Vincent was closer up, he could see the tinier details about the woman. She really was pale, but it created a strong contrast against her jet-black hair, sleek and smooth in a short haircut. Side strands framed her face, and Vincent noticed the spattering of freckles across her nose.
Then frankly, while green eyes were an accurate description, it was one hell of a simplification. Sabine had magnificently glimmering eyes that were the exact shade of emerald, just like the very bag she brought to the meeting. Vincent idly wondered how much gemstones of that caliber would cost.
“Vincent?”
Vincent startled; he hadn’t realized he was staring into her eyes nor that she was asking for a response. With a chuckle, he scratched at the back of his head. “My apologies. I was lost admiring your eyes,” he joked, hoping she wouldn’t realize the real joke was Vincent’s excuse itself. He winced when his joke elicited a frown from Sabine. “Apologies,” he repeated with less humor.
Whatever upset her, it was small enough that the more genuine apology quelled the start of discontent that appeared. Sabine kept her gaze locked on Vincent’s as he wondered why a dry lump was suddenly in his throat before he tried to swallow it down. “What kind of permission?”
“Permission to use your shop as a…” Vincent trailed off, flipping the pages of her notebook. ‘One of the first things we discussed, and…ahah,’ he thought. “She said to use it as a wedding venue.”
Unlike before where it was a mild annoyance that flitted across Sabine’s face, the frown currently marring her face gave Vincent more pause. Not necessarily a death sentence of judgment, but he was prepping for the worst to leave Sabine’s mouth.
“I did not say that. It would be too cramped, and I’d be endangering my and employees’ workspace.” Sabine shook her head, serious and solemn. “Absolutely not for a wedding venue.”
‘And that’s what I was waiting to hear. Fuck.’
It was too good to be true to already have received the full permission needed for proceeding with a venue. Nonetheless, this was not the first time Vincent was in this sort of situation, and he was sure he’d find a way to succeed in fulfilling the client’s wishes. He had to.
“Ling mentioned there was a discussion at some point though, at least?” He fished for more information. He just needed more to work with, and then he’d be able to start negotiating if needed. “I’d hope she didn’t lie about that.”
Much to his surprise, Sabine chuckled. It sounded low and velvety, and it warmed his cheeks at how lovely of a noise it was to his ears. He wouldn’t mind hearing more.
She peered at Vincent with a faint trace of mirth in her eyes, a small smirk played on her lips. “She isn’t the type to lie. Most likely misconstrued what I said,” Sabine clarified. Her lips twitched into a softer, fonder smile. “She can have her reception celebration in the lobby, with some people in the shop. I offered to do tattoo work at their reception, as a way to make it more…interesting, I suppose.” She huffed out a laugh.
This was becoming an odder idea and a very feasible plan at the same time. Not at all what he was normally used to in terms of planning, but he was starting to change his tune; it was a novel idea that Vincent could experiment with designing, and Vincent loved to design. He furiously scribbled new notes in, highlighting certain ideas and keywords that popped into his head. “That certainly is interesting. I’ve not been to a wedding reception like that yet.”
Sabine’s eyebrow quirked. Sleek and groomed, Vincent recognized the threading done as well as the small acrylic nails that tapped away on her tablet screen occasionally; she was a woman who took care of herself.
“How many weddings have you been to?” She finally stopped interacting with her tablet, instead waiting for an answer. Whether it was ten minutes ago or ten seconds instead, he didn’t know that much. All he knew was Sabine’s eyes seemed to pin him into place with their gaze, and he had to keep swallowing the dry dry lump in his throat.
“Er, personal is three. As for client weddings, I’ve easily attended double digits,” he answered with a small cough at the start and wiped his hands on his pants. Nervous habits, he said as a curse to himself. “I aim to ‘finish’ one wedding a week. After five years of doing this, I’ve established enough credibility to have a consistently filled schedulebook. I was lucky that you had availability on a Monday, my friend!”
Sabine made a hmph noise at the epithet. Not negative but not positive. “I give Mondays off at my shop. We don’t get much activity anyway since it’s the start of a work week, and my employees voted for working longer hours instead anyway.” She propped her chin up with her hand, and her gaze seemed to be more scrutinizing than before. “Your work hours must be awful, I just realized.”
Vincent winced. They could be…awful, yes, depending on how terrible the client was. “Not typically, though it can get overwhelming. I choose my own schedule, and that’s something it’ll never take away from me,” he answered. “I could never return to a normal job after being able to choose my own, like I used to be an engineer.”
Whatever else was brewing behind such an intense look dissipated, instead replaced with an appreciative gleam. “Respectable. Where did you work? What field?”
The interest in such a tidbit about Vincent caught him by surprise, and he fumbled with his words for a split second. “I graduated as a mechanical engineer. At Kingdom Corporation, I was Head of Design within the defense department, but…” He grimaced, shaking his head. “Burnt out. Flew too close to the sun and all that. Unfortunate, but so be it. I found my new calling anyway!”
Viper’s eyes lit up, brighter than it had before. It seemed to rival Ling’s own brightness in her eyes from their meeting on Friday. “I was a fellow at Kingdom Corporation,” she said with a smug glee, considering the look of amazement that must have crossed Vincent’s face. “Head of research and development. Majored in chemistry across all three degrees.”
Vincent’s composure was already abysmal throughout the entire meeting, and he was only glad that Sabine seemed to be much more relaxed than expected but also much prettier. He blamed his issues on that. Then to hear how accomplished the woman was, on top of it? All he could do was whistle and beam at the impressive resume.
“A fellow…you must’ve done fantastic, revolutionary work! Congratulations on that achievement, even if you do not hold it anymore,” he smiled, clapping. “I could only dream of being in such a position, Dr. Callas.”
Sabine scoffed, turning away. “You were the head of design for defense. You did plenty of work, and you must have generated plenty of patents as well. You would’ve been a fellow eventually,” she said with no hesitation, and Vincent felt a warmth spread through his chest. “I’d love to know further about your work, but I fear we should return to the topic at hand.”
“Oh—! Of course, Sabine,” he breathed out. His heart picked up; he couldn’t remember the last person who was genuinely curious about his design work. While he did get burnt out at his job, he loved what he did; he loved receiving a problem and formulating a solution, figuring out what was wrong and how to fix it. Every problem felt like a puzzle, and everything was a chance to improve.
He did his best to focus, closing his eyes and recentering with a deep breath. With a smile, much cheerier than before, he asked, “Now where were we?”
For the next hour, Sabine inquired next about the expected process and planning, and this was something Vincent could do — this was what he did for a living, this was his craft he became an expert in. The next hour passes by in a steady blur of exchanging questions and answers.
Sabine was an unsurprisingly thorough person, answering questions that very few clients ever thought to ask but probably should start. Vincent noticed how well-suited her demeanor was for her occupation; dedicated, focused, and detail-oriented. All admirable and desirable traits for such a job.
Along the way, Vincent managed to squeeze in quips and personal questions. Maybe none of the jokes landed far enough out of the ballpark to score, but a few one-liners pulled an amused exhale out of her nose, so Vincent figured that counted for something.
It was at the end of a particularly funny punchline, at least in Vincent’s eyes, that Sabine suddenly frowned when she glanced at her watch. “Ah, shit. I have an appointment in an hour, and it’ll be a decent drive,” she explained as she started to put away her tablet and pencil. “I’m afraid this is the end of our appointment, but I feel we made good progress on this transaction.”
Vincent ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach at the announcement. He had been enjoying the woman’s company after the initial roughness that came with meeting anyone new. While not rude or off-putting, Sabine wasn’t the warmest of women, but she eased up more as the conversations continued. Vincent found himself already feeling missing the conversation.
He coughed behind his fist. “That we did. Before you leave though, let me buy you a coffee.” He hoped he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt, asking a woman he met for business to stay and indulge in conversation for a few minutes longer. He hoped she didn’t see how his cheeks burned. “My thanks for the meeting being quickly scheduled, and for the interesting conversation. Or call it an incentive to pay me back, to ask me about my job,” he rambled. “Or perhaps this is a poor attempt at being a gentleman.”
It was the last offer that cracks the stoicism, however small, that seemed to permeate Sabine’s face for the most part. She seemed amused at the self-deprecating rip of himself. “I do love a man who owes me,” she responded much to the flustering of Vincent. “Kidding.”
All he could do was hastily pack his own stuff up, and he followed Sabine to the short line at the register. As they conversed, all Vincent could think was how much he’d miss the conversation and how frustrated he’d be, trying to find someone this interesting in tonight’s swipes.
//
Friday, May 5th, 8:30pm.
“Good evening, Primavera! How lovely it is to meet you tonight,” Vincent greeted his date for the night, all sultry eyes and devilish grins, or at least he tried to. Whatever it looked like, his date giggled as she batted long eyelashes towards his direction. “How are you doing? I’ve been nervous personally.”
A half-truth, half-lie sort of statement. Not exactly black, not exactly white; just some ratio that turned into some shade of gray.
After the meeting with Sabine on Monday, he had spent all day furiously swiping across all of his dating apps. He received enough matches just fine and could schedule first dates with almost as much ease as Sabine did, but it was always the second date that eluded him. No matter what he did, he was always ghosted after the first date.
Primavera Guzman was a woman of a short and curvy stature according to her shared photo for her dating biography. Beautiful locks of brown hair drowned her face as it cascaded over her shoulders, and long lashes framed pretty, green eyes. ‘Not as sparkly as Sabine’s though,’ he added.
They sat at the counter of a packed bar, reruns of shows from earlier in the day playing on the tvs scattered through the bar. The lighting was dim but warm, casting the two of them in a soft, warm light; Primavera decidedly looked pretty against the golden hues.
Vincent donned a crisp, white button-up underneath an ironed, navy-blue vest. It hugged his figure tightly, and he preened at the appreciative gaze of Primavera that roamed all over his upper body. It calmed his jitters some.
“Aw, why were you so nervous? You’re a pretty li’l thing, and if I could, I’d eat you up right now!” She giggled again, and Vincent’s lips twitched. Her giggles weren’t bad sounding, but if her every response was decorated in giggles before and after… “Tell me about yourself!”
Vincent inhaled and exhaled. He just had to relax, and this date would go just fine. Besides, this was going better than some previous dates already; other dates didn’t even bother to get to know him. Maybe he’d get lucky enough to at least take her home, or maybe he’d finally get the elusive second date.
Right when he was about to speak, the waitress appeared. She gave a brief introduction of herself, Claire, and the special menu, to which Vincent thanked her and offered a smile, making polite conversation over what she would recommend.
“Excuse me!”
Vincent paused, mildly startled at how loud of an interjection Primavera voiced. Rubbing at his ear, he asked, “Yes, what is it? Is something the matter?”
Primavera shook her head no, but the frown and creases didn’t lessen any. She narrowed her eyes at the waitress, bristling, and Vincent felt sorry with the way she wilted under the glare. Vincent coughed to get his date’s attention away from the poor waitress. “Let’s get an appetizer or such? Let us order while she’s here, after all!”
The frown did not go away, but Primavera did avert her gaze to instead peruse the menu. Instead of appetizers though, she eyed cocktails, and Vincent listened with eyes bulging at the three different drinks she ordered. She had even asked to keep the drink menu just in case, after which Vincent ordered two appetizers and a glass of red wine.
“Are you okay, Primavera?” Vincent kept his tone low, trying to be reassuring. He didn’t know what set her off when the waitress appeared. “You ordered quite a bit of drinks.”
“Is that a problem?” She snapped, and fuck, was Vincent not willing to deal with this today. This was slowly becoming more and more of a strain than a fun night out on him.
He could at least sit through dinner for the food though, if the company was lacking. Maybe he’d still somehow get a second date out of this; he didn’t have to accept it after all, just the thought of being asked to return again was a nice concept in his mind.
//
Friday, May 5th, 10:30 pm.
Vincent tried to rid away terrible feelings from the failed date, from drinking himself messy when he got home to texting Ryo about his lack of luck in dating. Not the most clean ordering of plans as texting quickly became difficult, but Ryo would understand. Besides, he always had a high tolerance.
Ryo (10:31 pm)
she got drunk and tried to fight the waitress?
Vincent (10:33 pm)
Jabbed the waitress’s chest. Said she “didn’t enjoy how the waitress looked at me.”
Vincent (10:34 pm)
I believe this is what you call, ‘dodging a bullet.’
Ryo (10:38 pm)
one way to fucking say it. sucks that your date sucked.
Ryo (10:40 pm)
what about the nathaniel guy? two weeks ago?
Vincent groaned. Nathaniel Ludwig was a recent find on a gay dating app, and it quickly revealed itself to be a mistake during the first date. From the almost impressive lack of hygiene to cluelessness, Vincent struggled to find anything positive to mention about him besides the pretty face; it was the only reason Vincent swiped right. Even the conversation over text to plan the outing was mediocre at best, and in-person conversations felt dull.
A long time ago he thought he’d be able to survive a spouse as long as they were pretty enough, but he changed his tune quickly. He needed someone interesting more than someone beautiful in his life, but he was the type to go for both whenever possible.
Vincent (10:45 pm)
Don’t mention his name. Awful. Ghosted that one on my own accord.
Ryo (10:48 pm)
wow. must’ve been really bad. sucks.
Ryo (10:48 pm)
what’s the plan now
Vincent (11:03 pm)
Drinking. Though not to my last date’s extent.
Vincent (11:05 pm)
She ran me 60 dollars in terms of drinks only. It wasn’t even good alcohol, which is the worst part.
The date had gone well for approximately five minutes, until the waitress appeared. A nice enough woman who introduced herself as Claire, she was a red-haired woman with lipstick and eyeshadow to match. She was beautiful, which Vincent did not voice, but maybe he stared for too long anyway. Primavera didn’t seem to think highly of Claire based on her initial glare. Whatever she thought, it had her sneering at Claire and ordering drinks in a haughty tone and without discussing payment first.
Vincent figured the date was irrecoverable when Primavera started berating the waitress for no reason, ignoring his interference, and even standing up to jab a finger to her chest. A move that had the waitress calling for security, Vincent stepping aside to let the date get forced out as she shrieked, and leaving behind a 50% tip for the mortification exhibited. Hard to believe Primavera was four drinks in by then.
He was still getting texts from the woman, and the few texts he read were absolute ravings from a woman furious at his lack of chivalry and gentlemanliness. He didn’t have the energy to open the app to deal with that at the moment.
Exchanging texts for a while to lament his misery with dating, it was around 1 a.m. and half an hour since Yoru’s last response when Vincent decided to call the conversation over. Yoru was never the type to sign off or say goodbye; the conversation simply ended.
Vincent’s last thought, as he slunk off to bed sobered down to tipsy, was that his date was nowhere near as interesting or civilized compared to Sabine. Sabine wasn’t as enthusiastic or as giggly as his date had been, but she had been polite and fascinating, understanding enough of Vincent's presence. It was obvious she cared about people overall as humans from the general respect shown to him. Basically, the work meeting ended up being better than the date.
How miserable was his life at the moment that such a thing was possible? Vincent groaned as he tucked himself into bed, laying down on his side like how his old college roommate used to tell him. He felt shitty already, even before the hangover tomorrow.
Thinking back on it, he supposed it didn’t hurt either that Sabine was attractive in an intimidating ways. Her proportions were model-like with smooth skin and a sleek haircut that framed her face so sharply. For a tattooist, it was curious that Vincent found no visible tattoos, but it was still quite chilly in the mornings. The long sleeves and pants made sense.
Vincent wondered if he’d be able to inquire about the tattoos next. They had ended up making plans to meet at the shop itself, so Sabine could give him a tour; he was confident Ling and Zyanya would be amenable to hosting the wedding elsewhere and then hosting the reception instead at the tattoo parlor. He moved ahead with the tour.
Now, in approximately a week and a half, he’ll be face to face with Sabine, and maybe he’ll be able to talk about his projects again. Another intelligent person — a technical fellow, at that! — who was polite and amusing and—Stop. Vincent had to stop that train of thought immediately.
Vincent shook his head. ‘Sabine is technically a vendor right now. Think professionally.’ He could do it, after all, he had done so with every person during his business career. This was like any other vendor, and he would act professionally, of course; this would be a simple, everyday thing. Great, glad the situation was sorted!
(It was not sorted.)
He shut his eyes at a particularly painful rumble of his stomach, uncaring if it came from thinking too hard about Sabine, his unlucky streak with dating, or the impulsive drinking as a coping mechanism; his throat felt like it was on fire, like he was inhaling heat directly from a blaze, and he wished for a bottle of water to appear. Nothing happened.
“Mon dieu,” he grumbled with a pout.
Everything felt terrible, and he just hoped he could go to bed soon.
Viper has a thing for competence. She can’t help but step into the light.
“What do you mean? I’m sorry by the way, never coming back down.”
The mission goes well.
It’s a relief for everyone involved, especially with travel between the two dimensions of Earth opened up now. Omega-Earth, despite a few visits from some agents, remains largely unknown — they only know of the life support system, the superhero franchise centered about them, and that the mirror versions of themselves would do anything to stop them.
It’s a mixed bag, Omega-Earth’s opinion on the Alpha agents, of course.
The mission finishes with no casualties and only minor injuries. As the lead, Viper feels the greatest relief — she trusts all of the agents to do their jobs, and to do it well, but Viper always worries. She’ll never say, but there’s a worry that behind every choice she makes, she leads her agents closer to death.
As much as most of the team wouldn’t want to admit it, the success of the mission had been largely carried by Chamber on today’s mission. In a type of grandeur and flashiness expected from him, he was precision incarnate. It was as if he knew where everyone was coming from, and he was already pre-firing certain angles, teleporting all over the field without blinking an eye, and generally out-doing everyone — including Viper.
The man was a good shot, especially as a former marksman for the French army, but even Viper could tell he was of a different form that day. Everything seemed to be going his way, every shot seemed to be landing, and every movement seemed calculated. Even when he was injured once or twice, the man was focused on hitting his shots rather than his injuries.
Chamber was a very good agent today, Viper notes as she sits in her office, writing the mission report. She makes sure to set a reminder to visit the man after his visit with Sage.
//
It’s midnight by the time Viper finishes writing the mission report. While the mission itself hadn’t necessarily been a big or crucial one, more so recon, it was one that involved cross-dimension travel and ran risks of running into clones of themselves — Brimstone had always been strict on mission reports, and he had only gotten stricter ever since they could travel between the two Earths now.
While writing a mission report is always tedious and annoying, she understands the necessity of information and detail. Besides, writing a mission report would never be as bad as the work she had to do during her time as a postdoc student and all the reviewers she had to endure.
(A shiver at those suppressed memories.)
She sighs as she checks her phone. Chamber had been waiting for a while now in his room, after multiple texts correcting herself on when she would be free from her writing prison, and she knows the man can get impatient.
Viper makes her way to the Frenchman’s room, just across the hall and a few doors down from Viper’s own room. His room is situated in the newest wing built to accommodate the protocol’s ever increasing numbers, with the front of Chamber’s room cleaner and more contemporary-looking versus the gray industrial appearance of the older wings.
With a heavy hand, she knocks on Chamber’s door in a quick, three-note rhythm. It’s late, but she’s never seen Chamber fail to stay up for her after her mission reports — the man would do anything for her, she muses as the door opens to reveal the person in question.
“Sabine,” he breathes out.
As he emerges from behind the door, Chamber dons nothing but a loose pair of pajama pants colored dark purple and a pair of white, soft slippers. His chest is exposed, alongside the golden metal that runs from his head to his upper body, and glistening from what seems to be droplets of water.
Viper can’t help but glance at the exposed skin before she darts her eyes upwards to a breathless Chamber.
It’s been a few months of this…situation of theirs, and she’s still been unable to imagine she’d be in this sort of position. It’s not something the rest of the agency would believe their ‘cold-hearted, authoritarian Viper’ would participate in, after all. Hell, she usually wouldn’t anyway.
Yet here she is, pushing Chamber to walk backwards as she strolls into the room as she locks the door behind her. She walks on and on until she sees the familiar sight of Chamber’s bed in his dim bedroom; without asking, she shoves the man backwards to fall flat on his back against the bed.
“Has Sage healed you?” Viper asks, ignoring the surprised noise that reaches her ears.
Propping himself up by his elbows with what seems to be a curse in french, Chamber stretches out his left arm. It’s the spot where Viper had watched a bullet graze against him, but instead of the bright red and oozing sight from before, it’s replaced by a flat plane of pale skin. His bicep is spotless, no sign of any scarring or injuries left over; Viper had always been impressed by Sage’s capabilities, but Sage found ways to continuously outdo herself.
Viper nods, content with the outcome of Chamber’s healing.
“Good.” She plants herself down, sitting on Chamber’s lap and her palms against his chest.
He had looked so comfortable on the mission earlier, a golden twinkle in the dark cover of unknown permeating everything else. Shot after shot, callout after callout — he had been a whirlwind of a force across the field. Without the injury to his arm, it would have been the perfect performance one could expect from an agent.
Nonetheless, a reward is in order, Viper thinks. She lays herself down on Chamber’s body, and her shoulders relax as the man wraps an arm around her and settles his hand against her lower back. The weight of his hand is warm and comforting, palms rough and calloused from his time working with weapons despite his soft-looking appearance.
“Good job, agent,” Viper murmurs into Chamber’s neck as she moves closer. She shuts her eyes at the sound of Chamber’s warm chuckle, interlaced with soft sighs. With a gentle bite to the man’s neck, she hears the softness turn into a breathier, gruffer sigh.
“Thank you, captain,” Chamber breathes out between the nips and nibbles planted along his skin. He tilts his head back, a cry caught in the back of his throat as he bares it. Smooth and pale, Viper thrives off the noise that escapes Chamber when she starts to leave lovemarks all over his throat.
“Hah…captain,” he manages to utter out between moans.
Both inside and outside the room, Chamber is not a quiet person. His moans are loud, almost echoey, but each one sounds so demure, so willing. Staring down at the man, a feeling of pride and power seeps into her. This man, formerly a decorated marksman in the French military and head of design at Kingdom Defense, should not be underneath her. For all of his behavior on the field today, Chamber should be above her and requesting her to perform.
The man is strikingly competent, and his body beneath Viper stokes a fiery warmth inside her.
It gives her a preening feeling she wants to bask in for the rest of her life.The way the title rolls off his tongue delivers a thrill that settles deep into her gut; she feels a warmth start to bloom all over her body at how pretty Chamber looks underneath her. How his chest rises and falls in an unsteady pattern from her small kisses, how he squirms already. How is she supposed to stop herself when her prey looks so gorgeous laying in the palm of her hand?
Viper just wants to tear into him.
“Do you want to do this tonight?” Viper asks. She can already feel the burgeoning erection below her, pressing hot and hard against her lower half, and the warm flush slowly overtaking Chamber’s cheeks — all objective evidence of his growing desire, but the feeling of hearing him say yes?
She needs it at this moment.
“Vincent,” she calls out again. “Do you want to do this tonight?”
“Yes, captain,” he answers with a small, breathy smile. He looks radiant against the bed, his golden met accents covering him in a soft glow. Somehow, he always seemed to glow even in the dark.
She moves off of Chamber’s lap and settles into a lying position on the bed. Her nails scrape against the man’s scalp as she goes to grip his hair, sees how his eyes roll back for a moment, as she brings his face farther down and watches him settle between her legs.
She locks eyes with Chamber, her breath hitching at the look in his stare. His eyes gleam almost golden, even in the dark of their room; his gaze is molten and intense, and it only makes her crave the man more.
A simple push to his head, and he starts to pull the garment from her lower half. The piece of fabric gets thrown somewhere — somewhere probably annoying like usual — but that was an issue for tomorrow. The issue today was being resolved in the form of quiet sighs escaping Viper.
He starts slow. Teasing. Knows that even though Viper’s the one in charge, it doesn’t mean Chamber is always without power — he chooses to give his power to her. Anything for intelligent, dangerous Viper; the most beautiful woman in the world, whom Chamber would give up everything for. Has almost given everything up for her.
His tongue presses flat against her entrance he licks up in a slowpath, just before he flicks his tongue over her clit. His tongue is soft against her core as he repeatedly laps his tongue over her clit, over and over again, until Viper bucks her hips into his mouth gently with an impatient noise. He gives a small peck to the inner thighs of Viper and a return nip in exchange for all the ones from before.
A moan gets stuck in her throat as Chamber sucks on her clit. He’s still gentle, still slow, but the contact sends a tremor through Viper. His mouth is warm and wet, a welcome heat that Viper can’t help but get closer with a groan at another flick of Chamber’s tongue.
She doesn’t try very hard to muffle her noises, knows that Chamber likes to hear the evidence of his work, but the moaning comes to fruition when Viper feels Chamber’s tongue slide inside her cunt; her moans get louder and rougher as Chamber starts to eat her out.
His spit and her wetness mixes in a pool beneath her, but she can’t find it in herself to care about the mess her ass was sitting in the middle of. She shuts her eyes as she tugs at the man’s hair twice, earning a quiet noise of confusion as he pulls away from her.
“Good boy,” she sighs out in a mildly fazed tone. Her legs feel a little weak, her lower half is sticky, and sweat is starting to bead up. She sometimes forgets what other uses his mouth could have besides flirting with her.
“Thank you,” Chamber replies, his grin forming from wet and shiny lips.
“Come here.”
Viper drags the other man up, so their faces nearly line up with each other. Their lower halves grind slowly and lightly, a tension growing from the expectation of what’s upcoming, until Chamber grinds deeper; as sudden as a bubble popping, a sharp moan escapes Viper.
“Go put on a condom already,” Viper huffs in between a moan and a sigh when she finally manages to push the other man’s hips far enough to sidle away. Annoying, annoying man. With a shove, she steers the man towards his nightstand before she flops back onto the bed. “I’m getting impatient, agent.”
Chamber straightens up, eyes wide at the name. “I apologize, captain,” he mumbles, almost like a scolded puppy. It would have been an adorable sight if it hadn’t been for Viper’s lower half throbbing for a while now, filling her with an impatience for anything that wasn’t Chamber inside her.
She watches the man, somehow, handle a condom with grace. A familiar sight over the last few months with them, Viper’s breath still picks up the moment Chamber yanks down his pajama pants; it reveals nothing but Chamber’s dick, mostly hard and tip glistening as it’s freed from the fabric. He slides the condom on, gives himself a few tugs with a quiet groan, and Viper’s desire only skyrockets even more; the way his eyes roll back, his hand curling in a tight fist as his other hand grips onto the nightstand for stability—
“Hurry up,” Viper commands, stretching an arm out to yank the man back close to her. Her fingertips dig into the flesh of Chamber’s side, feeling soft skin and then firm muscle underneath her nails, as she pulls Chamber above her again.
“Sabine–!”
“That’s not my name.”
Chamber flushes bright red. His mouth snaps shut, and Viper watches his throat bob with a heavy swallow. ‘Captain,’ leaves his mouth next, breathy and wide-eyed, and it takes everything in Viper not to devour him in an instant.
She leans forward to capture Chamber’s lips in a heated kiss, their lips sliding against each other in a frenzy for each other; Chamber’s lips are still wet against Viper’s, and she moans at her taste left over on Chamber’s tongue. She feels his hands moving to grip her own waist tightly, a shiver following behind the trail of his heavy hand.
Chamber tugs at Viper’s bra, a silent question in the motion that Viper only responds to with a nod. She lets the man fumble with her bra for a few moments, chuckling all the while, before she undoes the clasps herself.
Before she can finish taking off her bra completely, Chamber pushes Viper’s hands away from the piece of fabric to finish removing it himself. His eyes are molten gold, the demure look in his eyes replaced by a hunger in his gleaming gaze as he exposes Viper’s chest.
“Finally,” he mumbles right before he buries his face into Viper’s chest, teeth nipping at firm flesh.
Viper rolls her eyes, but she sits there and basks in the attention being given to her anyway. While amusing, Viper can’t deny how much she likes being showered in attention, how it feels like Chamber’s sole purpose had been to please her, and that is one hell of a thought.
She lets the man play with her chest for a little longer, until she huffs with a sulky demeanor. She pushes Chamber’s upper half away from her, spawning a whimper and defeated look in his gaze before she wraps her legs around the man’s waist.
“Hurry up.”
Not a request, nor a favor. A command.
“Yes, captain,” Chamber says with a grin as he pushes himself upwards and goes to apply lube.
After a moment, Viper feels his hands move back to her body as it roams down, a light but noticeable touch against her body. She shifts her hips into the calloused, open palms of Chamber until she feels Chamber’s hands cupping her ass, almost like a seat. With a few squeezes as the only warning, Viper shuts her eyes at the feeling of Chamber’s tip pressing against her core.
The initial slide is tight, a consequence of the downtime between their activities, but Viper still groans, loud and almost guttural, as her back arches at the slow push of Chamber’s dick into her. She grips the sheets with a tight, white-knuckled grip while her toes dig into the mattress; she moans at how filled she feels.
Chamber doesn’t stop until she’s seated on his dick fully, their hips in contact. Viper’s eyes must be wide, the feeling of him inside her is still a feeling she can’t get used to. As much as he had always come off as cocky and arrogant, Viper can’t deny some of it is well-warranted. It’s the way Chamber handles her, how he knows just how to make Viper feel alive for a brief time — a resurrection in a way that Sage could never bring her with her geomancy.
A groan is punched out of her with a sudden movement of Chamber’s hips. “Hey—!”
Her words are cut off by Chamber beginning a steady rhythm of thrusts, still slow but each one deeper than the last. A firm weight from his palm pressed against her lower stomach, the heavy thuds from contact against each other, and the contant rhythm of his hips drilling her — it’s all things that make Viper’s head hazy and cloudy. She has to remind herself to quiet down, lest someone finds them fraternizing and being a disturbance, as she places a free hand across her mouth to muffle her noises.
“Captain,” Chamber murmurs, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth across her skin in a comforting pattern. “Tu es très ravissante.”
Viper doesn’t know much French, but she’s picked up on a few words — most of them of the complimenting variety, as it was the most likely occasion for Chamber to start speaking French — and she flushes bright pink. She didn’t know what exactly it meant, but the way Chamber looks at her tells her enough; his eyes are hooded, barely covering the desire that swirls hazy and heavy in his gaze. His grip tightens on her.
“You can go faster, you know,” Viper eeks out between noises.
As if he had been starving to hear those words, another noise — a whine more than a groan this time — is punched out of her as Chamber’s hips pick up the pace in an instant.
He looks so pretty like this, sweating and flushed, as he hovers over Viper’s with his own. Heat emanates from his body, friction between them as their bodies graze each other; Viper’s lungs feel so small, pressed down with the tension in the air. The space between them suddenly feels too much, and Viper yanks the man down to press their chests together and brings the man in for a harsh kiss.
Chamber whines into her mouth, and his hips drive into her even faster pulling a noise with each thrust. His grip tightens, eyes begin to flutter, and rhythm starts to get unsteady — he’s close, and he just needs one more push from Viper.
She pulls away from the kiss to cup Chamber’s face with her hands, eyes just as half-lidded and hazy as the man’s. Pressing their foreheads against each other, Viper looks into the man’s eyes — molten gold meeting verdant green. Viper bears down on Chamber, her cunt tightening around Chamber’s dick as she watches how the man’s body ripples with muscles tensing. His face is flushed and sweaty as he hurries his pace – back and forth, in and out, his hips move in a frenzy fueled by the heat between the two of them.
Moments like this remind Viper of how genuinely attractive the man is; the way his large, roughened hands lift Viper’s hips like it’s nothing, stamina keeping up as he only seems to fuck Viper quicker and harder instead of withering. His face is sharp and pretty, golden eyes glimmering with the golden veins that litter his scalp.
Her thoughts are broken when Chamber rubs his thumb in small, gentle circles over her clit; her hips squirm, not much distance covered when Chamber holds onto her so tightly, at the light feeling. She moans as the pressure deepens, and she tries to press her hips closer to the man’s touch – she wants more, more, more.
(It’s good that she’s found a man who’ll give her everything.)
“Come for me, Vincent,” she huffs. “That’s a command, agent.”
For a few seconds, Viper loses all awareness of her surroundings as each thrust, rougher and harsher than before, sends stars to Viper’s vision; with one more thrust, her brain is disconnected as she cums — her hips twitch, tightening and relaxing in a frenzy around the man’s dick while Chamber continued to fuck her, and her legs tremble even as they try to wrap around the man’s waist to bring him in closer.
His hips only move for a few seconds longer before his own climax hits him; he seats his dick fully inside Viper when it happens, eyes blown wide as his body trembles. He’s glowing bright golden, the brightest it’s been all night, as he rides his climax, and Viper can only watch tired eyes as she comes down from her own peak.
“Good boy,” Viper breathes out as she watches Chamber’s body racked with tremors from coming. She runs a hand through the man’s hair, and she presses short kisses everywhere she can reach with each kiss joined by a word of praise. His body is burning hot underneath her lips.
Chamber’s moans turn into quieter and quieter noises as his body approaches the start of his comedown. His body is still shaky but no longer trembling, while Viper’s is quivering; getting up to clean themselves is going to be a difficult task, she thinks, but is it really an issue for the moment?
When the moment consists of the Frenchman naked and glistening with sweat, her body feeling as if it’s floating after the man’s touches, and both of them staring at each other with still half-lidded gazes — Viper doesn’t think this is the end of the night, but it certainly is the end of this round.
She shuts her eyes. “Good job, agent,” Viper says with an airy chuckle, a lightness in her chest that she hasn’t felt in a while. She’s splayed on the bed on her back, and strands of her hair are sticking to her sweaty skin. “Very good, indeed.”
Chamber can only manage a proud, tired grin as he cuddles closer to Viper. Almost like a puppy, Viper can only look on in amusement as Chamber tucks his face into the crook of her neck and wraps his arms tightly around her upper half.
“Let’s give ourselves a moment before we clean up,” she murmurs, pride and affection blooming in her chest as she kisses the top of Chamber’s head.
“Anything for you, mon cherie,” he responds softly, muffled by Viper’s neck.
↳ Description: Behind closed doors and finished with work for the night, or however close one could get to it, a bottle of wine shared together isn’t out of the ordinary for Vincent and Sabine. The follow-up isn’t so odd either.
On the other side of the couch, across from Sabine’s sight, Vincent sits with face propped up by his arm. Sabine notes the identical pair of boxers on Vincent but stays silent, instead letting her eyes continue to roam to his bare chest and up. She admires the lean muscle that ripples beneath his skin with every motion alongside the broad shoulders and the start of a five o’ clock shadow.
Vincent only chuckles, as if he could sense the scrutiny. His hand automatically reaches for the bottle of the Bordeaux red wine they’ve been sharing all night, and he pours the remainder of the bottle for Sabine.
“Thank you,” she croons before taking a sip. Sabine’s expression glows brighter as sighs, content at the taste. “A very expensive choice for tonight.”
“A good choice though, yes?”
Sabine scoffs. “I wouldn’t have had most of the bottle myself if I found it terrible. Not enough time in my life to tolerate bad alcohol.”
Vincent laughs as he replaces the empty bottle with his own glass of wine, his only serving compared to Sabine’s four. Despite the imbalance, there hadn’t been a single peep of discontent from Vincent.
Instead, he had only seemed glad to serve as much of Sabine’s requests as possible. No look of resentment present, just a warm gaze towards Sabine. The way Vincent looks at Sabine reminds her of teenagerhood, how her best friend talked about feeling butterflies and tsunamis in her stomach and Sabine replied, in disbelief, about needing to see a doctor. She thinks about it now, and neither of them had been wrong — Sabine feels the butterflies, tsunamis, and an overwhelming desire to see the doctor at the same time.
Somewhere, through the sentiment clouding her senses, she hears Vincent crack a joke. Sabine huffs in humor to be polite, still enduring the natural disaster occurring in her gut. In an attempt to flush it out, she downs the remainder of her glass only to hiccup at the end of her spontaneous chug. She frowns and swipes at the stray wine dripping down her chin, only for another hiccup to ruin her attempts and Vincent to step in instead.
Vincent pats the drops dry with his handkerchief, and Sabine feels warmth blooming in her cheeks at the gentle motion. The handkerchief is soft, made of some absurdly niche material that only Vincent could afford most likely, against her skin. He kneels next to her spot on the couch, his own glass finished and set aside. His eyes look on in concern and care as he finishes cleaning up Sabine’s mess and puts away his handkerchief. Sabine’s heart pounds away at her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment; she’s not used to this type of care.
“Perhaps that last glass of wine was unnecessary,” Vincent comments with mirth in his tone. He cups Sabine’s cheek as he kisses her with a smile, moving his free hand to roam Sabine’s leg. “Or necessary. You enjoy your wines quite a bit, after all.”
“Whites for refreshing, reds for relaxing.” Sabine clicks her tongue, flustered at the touch, but she does nothing to stop the man nor point out his ridiculously obvious ploy to touch her. She stretches her legs out, watches how Vincent’s eyes follow the motion; her robe pools around her thighs, frames them like the star of a photoshoot, and she sees the bob of Vincent’s throat.
Sabine has always been aware of Vincent’s appearance, considered conventionally attractive with a charm lethal for other women. She doesn’t deny how pretty of a man Vincent is, and she’s reminded of this again by the sight of Vincent kneeling by her side. His eyes are smiling at Sabine, and she wonders if he can hear her heartbeat.
The wine must be getting to her.
“You look beautiful in my gift, Sabine. I’m very glad you liked the robe,” he says. He takes one of her hands into his and presses a trail of kisses down the forearm, ending at her knuckles, before his hands move to drag Sabine to him.
Sabine lets herself get pulled closer and rearranged, and she pretends she’s not flustered by Vincent pinning her down. His hold on her is tight, and he does so with nothing more but his sheer strength; it’s a quiet show of dominance over Sabine’s own muscles. She stays still under the touch, and she stays still even when one of his hands creeps up to tug down her boxers.
Sabine allows the request, and Vincent is back to holding her thighs down with a new show in front of him. She doesn’t fight against the touch, instead shutting her eyes as she feels roughened palms part the sea of fabric and soft lips graze her inner leg. A ticklish feeling travels across her skin as he leaves gentle pecks on her knees, a trail light of nips on her inner thigh, and a warm exhale over her folds.
This isn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, but Sabine flounders at the wave of hot breath that hits her. Her cheeks bloom red. “I feel like I’ve been bought out with wine.”
“Because you have. A worthwhile trade, non?” Vincent grins, all sharp teeth and sharper tongue. He gives a teasing flick of his tongue against her clit, says, “The wine tasted magnificent, but you will taste like ambrosia.”
Vincent pulls Sabine closer to the edge of the couch and buries his face against her cunt. Whether he didn’t hear or simply chose to ignore her, Vincent’s mouth continues working at Sabine’s core as small noises escape her. Every broad sweep of his tongue drags out a slow moan, a soft suck at her clit has her hand yanking his hair, and the steady lapping of his tongue inside her cunt has Sabine’s thighs wrapping tightly around Vincent’s head.
“You are my favorite meal,” Vincent exhales with a breathless grin, barely able to come up for air under the crossed legs of hers. His lips are glistening, shiny with spit and arousal. “Thank you for the meal, my love.”
Before she can stop him, Sabine is gasping under Vincent’s mouth eating her out; as if a thirsty man desperate for the last drops of water on Earth, Vincent is a man vying to feast on every part of Sabine. Her hands grip tightly onto the man’s scalp, her body shuddering and hunching on itself as Vincent’s tongue thrust deeper. Around her ass are his hands, nails digging into plush flesh, and she wonders if she’ll find crescent-shaped dimples tomorrow.
Sabine reaches out, searching for Vincent’s hands. It takes a while, hindered just a bit by Vincent’s rhythmic flicks of his tongue, but she pries Vincent’s vice grip on her ass to instead her hand. His hands, marked up with years of the French army and gunsmithing, are large and broad compared to hers; Sabine’s hands are softer and tinier, more useful for lab work and more dextrous.
Her back arches at a long swathe from folds to clit, a soft whine escaping, and she crushes the hell out of Vincent’s hand as he follows up with devouring her cunt. Sabine chokes out Vincent’s name, with not much success, before she yanks at his hair to stop, the man himself coming up soon after with a coy smile. “Annoying,” Sabine murmurs as she cups Vincent’s face with her hands. Her legs feel fuzzy like static, her head following suit.
“Dedicated is the preferred term,” he retorts. He tilts his head to press a kiss against Sabine’s palms, and half-lidded eyes peer up at Sabine.
After months of fraternizing with Vincent, and eventually evolving into a full-blown relationship, Vincent had managed to figure out what he needed to do for Sabine’s pleasure. While a fantastic outcome in the long run of this relationship, an unintended consequence was that Sabine found herself coming quicker than Vincent at times — appreciative of the fact, she still needs a moment to slow down.
Sabine looks down to see a pretty set of brown eyes, warm and rich as it gets illuminated by the diffused light. Drawing her stare away, Sabine can’t help but admire the golden markings on Vincent as well. She’s still not quite sure how anything of Vincent really works, but she’s seen enough to know gold glints brightly and gloriously. Heavenly even, if Sabine believed anything could ever be.
Unknowingly, her hand veers toward the precious metal, and it’s with a hitched breath from Vincent that draws her attention to it.
For as warm of a golden hue it is, the actual markings are bitingly cold. It sends a chill through Sabine’s spine from where her fingertips meet the metal, as if she had been flash frozen almost. She wonders if Vincent feels as cold as her fingertips do, but it seems to bother the man not at all.
She focuses on the slow swipe of her thumb against the gold that sends a visible shiver through Vincent. Full-bodied and intense, Vincent’s eyes fall shut, and his head droops to rest against Sabine’s stomach; with the new contact between them, Sabine feels Vincent’s breath exhaled out in a sigh, the rise and fall of his chest, and his shoulders relaxing.
Vincent melts at the touch. Sabine had never seen him so pliable and relaxed, and she can’t help but keep the drawing shapes with her fingertip. At heart though, she’s a scientist — she observes, analyzes. She gets tired of the same data eventually, she wants a new variable to study.
“Sabine…what—?”
She runs two fingers along the same metal path instead of one, covering more surface area. This time, it’s an audible gasp and a trembling of the body. A whine, soft, barely noticeable, tumbles out Vincent’s mouth as she continues a slow, steady swipe. The motion coerces quiet, drawn-out moans. If she moves to other gold imprints, she finds each one has a different sensitivity instead.
A touch at the base of Vincent’s neck, and he lays his head directly into Sabine’s hand. Stroking his shoulder down to his chest is a soft, intermittent pant dripping from his mouth. Near his lower back, his back arches beautifully, and he quivers.
There is a beauty found in seeing Vincent in the palm of her hands, his eyes half-hooded and clouded in desire as he moans low. Despite the haze, Sabine can see the spark of a small blaze and as heated as a scorching inferno. Sabine finds herself swallowing a dry lump in her throat, and she looks away from the growing intensity of Vincent’s gaze.
She tries to keep her eyes to the pathway carved onto Vincent’s body. She pretends she doesn’t know what effect her touch has on Vincent, and she runs her fingers from scalp to shoulder. Vincent is panting now, a red flush spread across his face as he gazes wantingly up at her. His gray boxers sport a bulge that he palms at.
Sabine’s had enough of observing, done with her break. “Vincent.”
It takes two calls of his name before the man snaps out of his stupor, suddenly tense compared to before. He doesn’t apologize for finding himself at Sabine’s chest — not that Sabine finds it out of the ordinary anyway — but he does flush a bright red.
“Ah, pardonnez moi , I’m simply not used to someone touching me…like that,” Vincent says with a flustered cough, offering a shy smile afterward. “Even I did not know it would produce such an effect on me. Please, let me focus on you again.”
“Come up here,” Sabine orders, ignoring the request and the shy smile that makes her stomach flip. A confident man naturally, Vincent is the type to radiate and bring attention to himself. To see him try to hide from the attention is new. She’s endeared by how happy the man is to comply as he scrambles to get up and lay down on the couch, sheepish demeanor forgotten. But Sabine figures it’s the promise of her body sitting down on his, by the way Vincent’s hands grab greedily at the exposed skin. “Calm down.”
Sabine returns the favor and rids Vincent of his boxers, a hand following up and wrapping itself around his cock. She starts slow with a small pumping motion. With one hand she plays with Vincent’s dick leisurely as she observes the man beneath her; her other hand leaves a gentle touch of a trail across all markings, top to bottom, and she watches how he shudders and how his eyes roll to the back of his head.
He becomes louder and louder, getting harder at her touches, and the almost-dull gold begins to glow. Not dazzling or blind, but soft and diffused — a yellow, warm hue overtakes the previous dimness of the room as it swallows them up. Sabine feels dizzy almost at how beautiful Vincent is, the light himself, and she could feel sentiment on the tip of her tongue.
She focuses on bending down and taking Vincent into her mouth, basking in the throaty groan that leaves him. Her mouth bobs up and down at a medium pace as she stabilizes herself with hands planted on Vincent’s waist. Drool spills from her mouth as her tongue swirls around the man’s shaft, sucking at the dicktip every time she bobbed up. She digs emerald green nails into squishy skin first then firm muscle, and Sabine pauses to listen to Vincent’s moan.
Sabine shifts in her spot, realizing how much warmer the room felt. A thin layer of sweat had built up across her back and forehead, and Vincent is in no better state than her. Between her thighs, she can’t tell between her wetness and Vincent’s saliva. She does her best to ignore the mess, remembers that it’s a small price to pay for pleasure.
Taking a deep breath, she swallows all of Vincent in a few, smooth movements. She relaxes her throat to take more in, her nose pressed against the base of Vincent’s cock. Sabine’s eyes flick up to meet Vincent’s own, a heated stare scrutinizing every inch of her face.
“My love, I would love to feel much more than your mouth at this moment,” Vincent coos, a hand gently tucking a loose strand behind Sabine’s ear. His shy smile and flustered demeanor from before had disappeared, instead replaced with a low, sultry voice and a nice-feeling dick throbbing down her throat. His hand pulls Sabine off his dick gently, and she watches Vincent jerk off to spread her spit around. “Sit on me.”
A weakness in her knees at the tone. She attributes the shakiness of her body to that reason, and she pretends Vincent’s terrible attempt in feigning ignorance of that sight is real as she adjusts herself. She prepares herself for a small bit of tightness, — the woes of saliva as lube — but the small stretch isn’t unwelcome. The small sting kickstarts a sensation like a lightning strike, electricity flowing through her nerves. She shifts her hips, and she appreciates Vincent’s hold on his desire to let her adjust for a moment.
She appreciates Vincent in general, honestly.
She grunts and gives the signal of ‘ready’ when her hips start up a steady rhythm. Up and down, up and down, her hips ride Vincent’s dick. Sabine props herself up against Vincent’s chest as she leans down to draw the man into a heady kiss, muffling a moan shared between them. She could still taste herself on his lips.
Sabine has known from the start of his admiration of her that Vincent is a passionate man. From romance to work to his craft, Vincent devotes all of himself to what he does; it’s an admirable trait, one of the few reasons that had drawn her eyes to him in the first place. Vincent is no different in this matter, the way he leads the kiss automatically and relentlessly.
“Kiss me more,” Vincent commands, breathless, when Sabine pulls away for air. His eyes are blown-out, smile heady and suggestive, and it leaves no room to doubt the desire bursting out of the man.
“In a moment,” Sabine replies.
It earns half of a grumble from the man, impatient and needy, but any possible complaints die under Sabine bracing herself. Without a word, she picks up a brutal pace, both of them moaning, growing louder and louder, as she increases the pace. Vincent moves his hands to hold Sabine’s ass, and his sudden thrust up punches a noise out of Sabine — she huffs, but she doesn’t complain when Vincent repeats the motion. Each thrust is deep, rattling Sabine’s head and filling her up. She closes her eyes.
She grinds hard, slamming her hips down and pinning Vincent’s for a moment. She seats herself as much as possible on Vincent’s dick, and she tightens around the man a few times. Moans tumble out of his mouth at the flexing feeling, and her own following as Vincent starts to fuck her through the tightening cunt. She doesn’t realize just how loud she had gotten, but she gets the memo when Vincent brings Sabine into another kiss, a smile gracing Vincent’s lips as he does so. A soft grunt follows his nipping on Sabine’s lower lip.
Her heartbeat picks up, his chest heaves, their hips are in sync. Sabine’s own symptoms are present in Vincent as well; he’s close, with the way his desperation leaks through his current frenzy. His pace picks up, Sabine squeezes tightly around his dick, and it’s with a choked moan that Sabine feels Vincent’s dick pulse inside her. A few more thrusts and domineering kisses shared, Sabine follows suit with a small moan.
Vincent’s dick throbs as the last of his cum shoots into Sabine’s core, and Sabine mumbles something under her breath at the sensation. Warm slick dribbles down her thighs, Sabine can’t help but groan when she feels Vincent slip his softening dick out. She eyes the mess that spills from her cunt and all over Vincent.
In the cloudiness that names itself wine-drunk and post-coital , Sabine decides this is a deal for later as her legs give out underneath her. She settles for laying atop Vincent’s chest, avoiding the pool of bodily fluids as best she can, and she takes comfort in the noises of him regulating his breathing. A sign of life.
“Mon amour,” Vincent croons. Exhaustion bleeds through his voice, but the drawl is dangerous with its low and heady tone. Vincent mouths at Sabine’s neck as a calloused hand grabs onto her ass, nails digging in as fingertips played with soft flesh once more. “A terrible gentleman I have been, I should have taken care of you better.”
Vincent rolls the two of them over, his body hovering over Sabine’s. The small glow from his markings faded a bit after his climax, but Sabine could see the flickers of a flame about to shine brightly. “Just a small break, then I’ll take care of you properly.”
