#abenthy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

skylarsblue · 4 months ago

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✞Sacrilege✞

Characters: Alexander Abenthy, Vincent Walker Content: Religious Imagery, cult, mentioned child abuse, smut. Small bit of angst, fluff. Worship kink, primal play (for a little), and you know I had to throw in my cannibalistic metaphors. Pictures from Pinterest, divider by @v6que

Note: These are OCs. Alex: Dark brown curly hair, hickory brown eyes, 5'8", average-slightly-thin build, tan skin. Vincent: Black messy hair, powder blue eyes, 6'5", muscular/bulky build, vampire pale-sickly, even.

Vincent wasn’t meant to be there. He shouldn’t have been, he had no tie to the creation of the complex building made in the image of a church. He had no affiliation with higher beings, or lower ones for that matter. He wasn’t blood, he wasn’t made. He was just left alone at the wrong time, and as he’d developed, he grew into the very traits that were sought for by the self-called “prophet”, Alder Forst.

A despicable and foul souled man, if he could be considered a man at all. A pathetic coward would be more fitting if honesty were required. But his ego was big, and he had a gift for speech. That’s all he ever really did, all he could do. Talk, and talk, and talk. Frivolously string together words into frilly promises he could never keep, and to souls more naive and desperate for salvation, that was appealing enough. He wasn’t a wolf in a sheep field, that would be too much credit to bestow upon the unholy man of cloth. More like a rabbit eating its young. Prey eating defenseless creatures, the only blood it could spill was the blood of things even smaller than itself. It wasn’t an impressive hunt. It took no skill and it held no righteousness. He didn’t need their bodies for a feast, he just felt he could. So he did.

Vincent was supposed to be a follower, one with a sad backstory Alder could use as a heartwarming salvation tale. He found this young boy on the streets, hungry and dirty, and brought him to the light. Gaze upon another saved soul, he’d proclaim. And Vincent would owe him his life, then listen to every word he said. Even if Alder would easily forget about him.

Well, that was the original plan. But Vincent was stubborn, even if he was only three when he’d been stolen. He didn’t buy into any of it. Not the Bible’s, he read those just fine. He didn’t hate crosses or even dislike the teachings of Jesus. It was only Alder who he seemed to deny. That could be fixed with time. Children sometimes were defiant, it could be fun sometimes. It didn’t take away from Alder’s image. If anything, sometimes it helped. Not only saving a soul but not giving up when the child was resistant. Persistence was a virtue of patience, as he’d once reassured.

But by the time Vincent was five, Alder noted traits he found…intriguing, for lack of a better word. A less questionable word. Physically, Vincent would clearly grow into a towering figure. He was already so big for his age, even without the nutrition truly required for his growing body. That could prove useful. As could his pension for athleticism and intelligence. But what made Alder so infatuated was simply the boy’s genetics, beyond those “useful” traits. Vincent never liked hearing about it.

Lovely bone structure. Hair always soft to the touch. Skin always smooth and eyes captivating. Burning with a passion of some sort, for life, perhaps.

Alder always said these things with adoration. Spoke about how he’d love to have them in his bloodline, they’d improve his lineage. Things that were spoken like praises made Vincent’s stomach turn, even young, he knew there was something sinister about it. It only strengthened his resolve in being resistant to Alder’s supposed teachings. He’d been constantly planning his escape, however, the one time he tried? Everything went downhill from there. Suddenly, he wasn’t salvageable. Not truly.

“This child is crafted from the hands of sin”, Alder proclaimed. “He is made of everything wretched and his body has been influenced by the devil.”

Vincent was now an example of the evil Alder promised to keep out of the congregation’s lives. He wasn’t seen without being heavily chained, like a rabid animal. Even if he didn’t act that way. Of course, even if they weren’t supposed to, the people asked why they’d keep him at all. He was evil, a minion of the devil. Kill him, slaughter him on the altar, make an example of him. Use his death to show the Devil how they wouldn’t be fooled by youthful cheeks and small bones, show God they wouldn’t fall for such tricks. Alder waived these questions away with a simple response.

“Consider him a long term project. The light of the Lord is powerful, perhaps one day, we could make this demonic child one of God. I ask you all what’s more telling. A sacrifice, or a living example of how potent the Lord’s teachings can be, to transform someone down to the make of their soul.”

They bought it, of course. So, while Vincent was now isolated and despised, he wasn’t harmed. Not unless it was under Alder’s direction. But his face was never seen again. Kept under various masks made specifically for him. Alder made them like gifts, but treated it like a punishment. It was always confusing whether or not Vincent wanted to get them taken off, let himself breathe and feel his skin exposed to the air without restriction. Or if he preferred it on, since every time it was off, it was so Alder could stare at his features like a dog drooling over a bone. Salacious and disgusting. Honestly, Vincent resolved to keep the masks on. However, there were times where he chose to take it off, and that was when Emmett arrived.

Emmett, the blood son of Alder. Therefore, the perfect specimen. He was made of Alder’s DNA, he had to be holy. What was more Godly than the son of the prophet. Alder went on and on about that, just short of calling Emmett the second coming of Jesus. Why he didn’t, Vincent wasn’t sure. Maybe he was actually worried it would finally get him smited for lying.

Regardless, Vincent adored Emmett. He wasn’t sure why he was allowed around the baby, especially since Alder had taught Irene that he was evil, but Vincent never hurt Emmett. He never would’ve dreamed of doing so. Emmett was the sweetest little baby, and he seemed to enjoy Vincent’s presence far more than his parents. Even if he didn’t know Alder’s reasoning, it was one of the few things he didn’t question. Lest Alder take the privilege of spending time with the baby away from him.

Emmett was his family as far as he was concerned. His baby brother.

Emmett was also the only young person in the congregation who didn’t despise or fear him. Even when he tried to be kind. He was allowed to wander the facility, if he was good, of course. He hated being stuck in one place for too long. And while he would’ve preferred lush forests and fields of flowers to roam through, he didn’t have much of a choice. So, he’d “stalk” the halls. Looking for anything to keep his resolve, his aspirations for escape. He wanted freedom and he knew he couldn’t let years of torment break him if he ever wanted to get it. So, he found little things to bring him joy.

An innocent love of the little peeks of life that would find their way into the colorless concrete was his biggest help. Be it a beetle or a bird. His favorite moment was the day he was able to hold a bird in his hands, feel the softness of its feathers and the warmth from its life. Even if it pecked him before flying away. Even the cut from its beak felt nice, because it wasn’t malicious. He often looked at the little scar it left on his thumb when he couldn’t find any color.

Ironically, it was color that made the chapel his favorite room in the whole building. Even if he was often subjected to humiliation there. It had a long red carpet, the pews were a dark oak with countless patterns for him to trace. The Bible’s had gold text on their fronts, shiny under the sunlight. It was the only room with such big windows. The rest of the rooms had slits near the ceiling, not enough to look out of, just enough to let light in. But the chapel had stained glass. If Vincent was lucky, he’d get to the room when it was empty and the sun was high, and he could see the floor get bathed in colors.

One day, when he’d entered the grand room of worship, he was lucky enough to have it empty and to himself. Only, it was raining, meaning the beautiful glass colors he hoped for weren’t possible. He didn’t complain. The sound of the rain on the glass made up for it, he liked storms for the ambiance. He looked at the droplets smacking the windows as he walked down the aisle, only drifting his gaze away when the sight grew boring. He looked around for something else to capture his attention, and he found it quickly. Growing from in between two stones that made up a wall, toward the back, in a corner, was a flower. Or, perhaps it was a weed. Regardless, it was life, and it was colorful.

He carefully picked one of the blossoms and lifted his mask just enough to sniff it. It smelt sweet in the way flowers did, a bit earthy. He pulled his mask back down and adjusted it so he could gaze at it through the eye holes, admiring it. Shades of warm yellows with little bits of orange on a long green stem. As he gazed at its shape, he realized he’d seen it drawn before, in a book. One of the few educational ones in the library, one about plants.

“What are you doing?” A soft voice came from behind him, he stood and turned quickly. He saw a young boy, around his age. Alexander Abenthy, he knew the name well, because the brunet’s father was often one who enjoyed tormenting him. Reginald Abenthy was a similar vein of disgusting as Alder, cruel and egotistical. But, Reginald was just as stupid as the rest of the followers, perhaps more. He followed Alder’s every word. A kiss-ass, to be blunt.

Alexander didn’t have much of a choice to be fair. Vincent never really held any grudges against the kids his age and younger for hating him. They were being led by corrupt people, people meant to guide them. It was hard to believe any different when everyone around you was telling you something. Alexander had this, though, he was never particularly cruel.

Reginald was a terrible father, unsurprisingly. Vincent had seen Alex getting smacked and scolded for things he hadn’t even done plenty of times. So, when there were times Alexander would denounce him and call him evil, he didn’t really gripe back. Sometimes Vincent had a sassy comment for the adults or Alder, but the kids always got the nicest version of him. Something he knew a lot of children felt confused about. Alex included, it seemed. Vincent hadn’t ever been distinctly nice to him, sure, but he’d been nice enough to get the brunet’s attention.

“I found a flower. See?” Vincent replied, holding up the plant between his fingers. Alexander was far away, picking at his nails as he looked past a mop of brown coils of hair. Alexander swallowed and glanced behind him before he hesitantly took a small step closer. Barely changing the distance between them. “A flower?” Alex asked. Vincent nodded. “It’s a Trumpet Honeysuckle. They’re flowers, they grow in the wild. What makes them special is that they're sweet.” He explained. Alex tilted his head curiously. “You can come closer. I won’t hurt you, promise.” Vincent held up his other hand, to promise. The other boy shook out his hands nervously and spared another long glance over his shoulder. If he was caught talking to Vincent he’d be hurt for sure, but, he walked closer, holding his breath with fear.

When Vincent didn’t move to hurt him, he slowly exhaled, and found a bit of comfort in looking at the flower. “How do you know it’s sweet?” Alexander questioned. “The book I read said so. It’s their nectar.” Vincent dabbed some on his finger to show Alex, who’s face twisted up in confusion. He didn’t know if it was a bad idea or not, but he leaned forward and tentatively touched his tongue to Vincent’s hand. Vincent blinked when Alex leaned back and hummed, seemingly surprised by how he’d been telling the truth. Then, the blue eyed boy snickered quietly. “What?” Alex asked. “You could’ve asked for the flower instead of licking my hand.” Vincent replied jovially.

Alexander’s face went a bright red and he looked down in shame as Vincent chuckled. “It’s okay, everyone does something like that every now and then.” The boy reassured. Alexander’s face continued to burn with embarrassment but he looked up from the floor at least. He watched Vincent’s eyes scrunch up under the mask in a clear display of joy. It seemed so genuine and kind, not something mocking and cruel, like a demon would be. Alex then flinched when the flower was held out to him.

“Here, you can have it.” Vincent motioned. The brunet stared for awhile, waiting for it to be some sort of trick. When Vincent only shook the flower slightly to ask Alex to take it did the boy do so, hesitantly though. He looked at the plant in his own hand now, felt the softness of the petals and the smoothness of the stem. He looked back up at Vincent with a questioning expression. “Why are you letting me have it?” He asked. Vincent shrugged and his eyes scrunched up again. “It’s pretty, so, I thought you’d like it.” He replied earnestly.

Alexander felt a warmth spread through his limbs as his eyes went between the Honeysuckle and Vincent. He slowly held the plant closer to his chest. “Why are you nice?” He then asked. Vincent paused and looked around for a moment, looking for an answer. It was a deep question for his young mind, but he wanted to answer it right. Not shallowly. Something honest and from his heart. The rain filled the silence as he contemplated, finally looking back at Alex.

“I want to be. And you deserve the kindness.” He finally said. Alex’s eyes went wide with shock. “You…I deserve it?” He emphasized. Vincent nodded. “You’re only a kid like me, in a place that’s cruel to you for doing…well, what all kids do. Ask questions.” Alex shook his head at that. “Kids shouldn’t. We aren’t supposed to.” He replied.

“Why wouldn’t you? You’re new to life. If you don’t ask questions, how will you ever get answers to what you don’t understand? Adults in this place seem to take it as disrespect, I’m not sure why. Every kid wants to know what’s happening, so, we ask who we think will know.” Vincent explained while brushing off his hands on his black robes, the sap from the honeysuckle leaving a sticky residue on his skin. He sighed somberly and gave Alex a look full of sympathy. “I’m sorry they hurt you for it. I hope you don’t grow out of asking questions. Curiosity is good, I think. That’s how humanity learns. We explore, we question, we find out. I think that’s a trait that’s good to have. I’d like for you to keep it, even if people around you tell you to stop.”

The words seemed so impactful, although Vincent wasn’t aware of it. Alexander swallowed and stroked the yellow petals, letting the words sink into his brain. He noted his heart felt quick and he was warm all over, but not in an uncomfortable way. Not like the humidity of Summer or the heat of fire. But pleasantly warm, like those few times his mother held him, or he got one of the thick blankets during his stint with the flu. It was lovely. He looked back at Vincent with a firm nod. “Okay. I’ll try to keep it.” He said softly. He felt the warmth double when Vincent’s eyes showed signs of a smile again.

That day was so pivotal. It was a moment of sweetness in a bitter life. Something that helped shape the two. Even when the time spent under Alder’s heavy handed thumb wore away at them. Vincent might’ve remained stubborn and, by extension, “evil”, but he didn’t keep that childish sugary sense of demeanor. He grew into something hulking and scary, with a cold gaze and deep set frown tucked behind thick porcelain masks. It was that intimidating aura that he used to keep Emmett as safe as he could, even if he was often physically restrained from doing so. He still tried. And the blond clung to him for that, whole-heartedly agreeing with Vincent that they were family.

Alexander and Vincent were never that innocent again. Though, every now and then, there were times they were alone that brought back a nostalgic longing for that day. Not even that, that singular moment, where they seemed almost normal. Like kids meeting on the playground. A silent truce, even if there were plenty of dips in their kindness toward each other. Mostly stemming from Alexander’s father and his hatred for Vincent, hatred mostly composed of a sickening envy. But somehow, despite those times, Alexander seemed to look at Vincent too intently for it to be hatred.

A gaze that doe-like couldn’t have been from a place of loathing, it wasn’t possible.

It was during a kinder patch of time that everything changed. Standing chained up next to the pulpit with Emmett at his side, Vincent stared at the stained glass windows for most of the “gospel”. There was something deep in the pit of his stomach that had been nagging him all day, but he couldn’t place why. His contemplation of the rainy sky came to a pause when he felt the burn of eyes against his skin. He knew who it’d be when he turned to find their gaze, settling on round, deep brown irises almost immediately. Vincent settled on staring back.

He wasn’t egotistical like Alder, he didn’t revere himself and he had come to terms with the idea of being more sin than boy. But he couldn’t help but note Alexander’s gaze always seemed…intense.

Not like the scent of death or the deep soreness of a broken rib. Intense like the sun, intense in the way the first breath after being submerged in water was. If Vincent were to ever compare himself to a God, he’d say Alexander’s eyes felt like worship. He didn’t like the idea of being that self centered, but admittedly, to imagine being adored that much after years of isolation and suffering? It sounded nice…if not a bit concerningly addicting. Vincent would’ve served as a kinder martyr than Alder, that was at least certain.

A sudden strange sound cut through the rain and caught everyone’s attention. A whooshing sound in a rhythmic pattern overhead. He was only fourteen, but Vincent moved Emmett behind him and steeled himself, as if he’d have to fight something. Then, as Alder struggled to calm his church, the loud crash of glass shattering and shouting voices sent everyone into a panic. What seemed like thousands of people dressed in all black armor, carrying big weapons and loud voices, swooped in on ropes and landed with heavy thumps.

That raid was the most pivotal moment in everyone’s lives, the children especially. Vincent had wanted freedom, he was happy to have it, but being separated from Emmett wasn’t his plan. Nor was he ready to be stuck in different facilities, peppered with questions and new experiences. He was polite, of course. Only having an outburst when some doctors tried to remove the mask he’d come to find as his security. They let him keep two of them after he ended up having a panic attack so violent he had to be sedated.

A good thing was being placed with his real family, blood relatives. His grandparents. His mother was seemingly impossible to find, though the social workers promised to keep looking. Lorraine & Marcus were kind, more than kind even. He didn’t take long to warm up to them. But he wasn’t happy, nothing they did would make him cheer up. Every time they’d ask what he’d want, he’d mention his brother. A few times, he mentioned his brother and his friend, but Emmett was the most consistent request. To their credit, they tried. The only problem was the blond was in witness protection, much like Vincent was, for his own safety.

Thankfully, because Emmett had demanded Vincent’s presence as well, eventually, the Walker’s received a letter from the Bauer residence. They didn’t hesitate to move down to a little mountain town named South Park, to get the boys reunited. A tearful reunion it was. Having each other made the transition a lot less scary, given how daunting it was. Learning everything they’d missed and unlearning everything they’d had drilled into them. But, with a lot of work and a lot of therapy, they’d grown normal. Normal enough. Enough to go into high school and gain friends, enough to develop their own music tastes and senses of fashion, enough to get hobbies and get some kind of personality beyond their roles in a cult.

Vincent still wore his mask, but he’d let some select people see his face barren. Emmett still held onto his cross necklace and prayers, but he allowed himself to create his own relationship with god. One less taxing and painful. Their problems seemed more trivial now. Not less painful, sure, but they were normal teenager problems. Struggles fitting in, grades, boys, etc. It was separated from the cult. The fearful looks over their shoulder and the aversion to the color white weren’t so common, and it seemed like nothing could go wrong.

Until, around Vincent’s nineteenth birthday, Emmett had a panic attack upon claiming to have seen someone in all white following him. Whether or not it was his PTSD messing with him, it didn’t matter. The house took it seriously enough to be vigilant. Emmett stayed inside more, though, he didn’t mind staying with his closest confidant Clyde. Vincent, however, hated that idea. Being backed into a corner, shoved back in the walls of what was his home because some false prophet wanted him scared. He wasn’t comfortable with the idea of coming to find his family’s house a new prison. So, although his grandparents were worried, he went out more. Usually with friends and in the day time, sure, but even at night he would be out.

Maybe he planned on an offensive approach. Seeking out this apparent stalker, hoping for them to slip up so he could…do something. Kill them, maybe? He hadn’t thought too hard about it. He didn’t really think about the cult at all, not by choice. Unless, of course, it was one of the few good memories he had. It wasn’t like there were many. He could count them on one hand.

One, Emmett being born. Giving him a reason to not fold to Alder’s pressures, giving him a sense of purpose: Two, that moment with the honeysuckle. The time he felt he made a difference on someone, a positive one. Where he was able to connect with another child like a child should. Three, the time Alexander had fixed his mask for him. It was the briefest of seconds, but it burned into Vincent’s young mind like a brand mark. He’d been put through some “holy water boarding”, as he joked about it, and his mask was full of water. In a split second as he was pulled up, Alexander slyly slipped his fingers under the edge of the covering and pushed it from his face. Breaking the water’s seal and letting Vincent get a full breath finally.

Vincent, a bit shamefully, found himself often looking for honeysuckle in Colorado. It didn’t have the same climate as Alabama, and he’d yet to find the right genus of the plant, excluding one he potted after buying it from a Home Depot. But finding it in the wild wasn’t possible. Still, he’d look. For some reason. He enjoyed the forests as much as he thought he would’ve. Camping alone wasn’t a luxury he could often afford, mostly for the sake of his family’s anxiety. But, now that he was a technical adult, not to mention admittedly massive, they didn’t have as much of a reason to say no. He was more likely to be harmed by a bear than a person at this point.

Vincent enjoyed the stars and the sound of wind running through the tall trees. He enjoyed the solitude, how it was by his own choice and out in the open. He loved the freedom of it. Sometimes, if he was particularly restless, he’d sprint through the woods with reckless abandon. Ignoring trails and risks for harm. It gave an adrenaline rush not much else compared to.

On this night, he used the light of a fuel lantern to see as he made a fire pit with stones. He’d felt the presence of someone watching him the last few days, really, he should’ve been inside. But he tempted fate anyway, just for some time under the dark sky and the scent of pine. He was focused in the set up of his firewood and timber when he felt the all too familiar burn of eyes on his person. His chest tightened when he heard the crack of a stick not far from him. A row of wild bushes lined some trees, clearly providing cover for the stranger.

Vincent huffed and dusted his hands as he stood, adjusting his tee shirt casually. He acted unaware as he meandered near the sound, as if he was just getting more fuel for his fire. Illuminated by the moon, his eyes scanned through the trees. He came to a stop just at the edge of trees. He stared into the dark woods, bathed in cool dim lighting. When he heard no movement, his patience thinned. Whoever this person was, they’d caused his family a spike in anxiety, put unrest in his home. All because a man claimed he was made by God. Vincent’s teeth clenched and he inhaled.

“I know you’re there.” He said into the brush. He listened intently, not expecting anyone to actually show themselves. “I do not find your stalking amusing. And your attempts at stealth are pathetic. I know why you’re here and I won't allow it.” He hissed. As he let out the growled sentiment, he caught the quickest peek at a sliver of white fabric. As he locked onto it, he caught sight of something too familiar to misplace. Suddenly, rage dulled and something indescribable rose. Not that he wasn’t still angry, he was, but the briefest glimpse of a doe-eyed gaze filled with a special kind of fear made it into something else.

Alexander tucked behind the tree he was using for cover again as soon as he made eye contact with Vincent. Whether or not Vincent actually saw him, he wasn’t sure. Not until he heard a chuckle, one quiet and breathy, mixed with aggression. Not the kind his father had, nor the kind he feared from God. Vincent’s anger was never something he feared. Every time it was directed at him, there was something underlying it that only made his blood burn. Alexander swallowed and shook his head as he recalled the teachings he’d been re-taught. He’d been out of the cult a full two years before his father found him again, brought him back. Without Vincent there, he found it harder to to hold onto that curiosity he’d promised to retain. He wasn’t there for something so childish as his own desires- no, his own curiosity. He was there to do a job.

“I must say, I’m very disappointed.”

Alex’s throat constricted when the voice hit his ears. Vincent had changed so much since he’d last seen the boy. Man, would be more accurate now, he supposed. Behavior and style aside, he carried himself differently. Something more intimidating, more stable, strong. He was strong physically too, Alex had seen. Alex had stared, really. His gaze was sharp, that hadn’t changed. He could feel the spark when Vincent caught him just a second before, the feeling Alex imagined a rabbit felt when spotting a wolf. Hunkered down to the forest floor with sharp teeth made for bloodshed. His words made it hard to breathe, Alexander inhaled shakily and found it didn’t feel like enough.

“This is how you repay me, Alexander?” Vincent heard a quiet hitch. “I show you nothing but kindness for so many years, give my advice with it. Earnestly hopeful for your development as you grow into a man, and you…what? Doubt me?” Vincent’s question got Alex to drop the camera he’d been provided to gather evidence. Hands clutching into his robe’s front near his chest. He heard a slow tongue click, a light scolding that made him weak kneed rather than apologetic.

“Does Alder honestly give you anything better than I do?” Vincent questioned, his voice deceptively sweet. He was still very much upset. Alexander put a lot of hard work in jeopardy, following Alder’s instructions despite the chance he had at freedom. But, Vincent was also sure it wouldn’t really be hard to get Alexander out of that mindset again. The brunet hadn’t ever been 100% invested anyway. That, and, admittedly. Vincent had come to terms with the fact he was more selfish than he originally liked to admit, in a healthy way, of course. But indulging every now and then was human, as his therapist had said. So, as he listened to Alexander heave behind the tree, he stalked closer. Slowly, like an animal.

“Really, Alexander. You confuse me.” He began again, his slight grin sneaking into his tone. “And here I thought the times you thought of me before bed were appreciated.” It wasn’t something he was unaware of, now that time had passed. They’d been younger the last time they’d seen each other, but at the height of the worst parts of puberty. And what he didn’t understand then, he knew now, and he was even more certain it’d only gotten worse for Alexander over time. After all, Alex always did look at him with reverence. One of the few things Vincent ever let get to his head, just for a tiny bit of the ego he’d grown to have.

Grown to deserve.

“Don’t I deserve a bit of compassion? Trust? I know it’s been quite a while since you’ve been in my presence, but surely, you didn’t think so little of me as to forget who I am. What I’ve done for you.” Vincent’s words struck Alexander in the chest. Like a bullet, and suddenly, every second spent in that disgusting faux church meant nothing. His hands trembled, he considered it being fear, but Vincent never really scared him. At least…not the way he should’ve.

He went to lean forward and insist he hadn’t, deny the claim of being a heretic. Something he’d done often, but not like this. Only to not see Vincent at all.

Confused, Alexander hesitantly leaned out more from behind the tree, hands tucked closed to his body. Scanning the dark woods for the tall figure he’d been following for weeks. He gasped and it caught in his throat when he managed to spot the glint of a polished mask under the moon. Vincent slowly tilted his head, the icy blue of his eyes striking something beyond simple admiration into Alexander’s body. “Well?” Vincent asked, quietly. Alexander shivered and shook his head, slowly at first, before he picked up in speed. A silent insistence.

Vincent hummed and slowly stepped. Not closer, more so around. That timeless wolf comparison seemed all the more accurate now. “Then why go against me? Follow the word of that pathetic usurper, huh?” His questioned went unanswered, as expected, he only got stutters in reply. Alex shut his mouth when Vincent chuckled again. “Ah, I know why. Poor thing, you’ve never been on your own. It must be so confusing to try and keep yourself right when told something so different. And I wasn’t there to correct you.” His voice dripped with sympathy like juice from Elderberries. Stinging yet deliciously sweet to the ears. Vincent placed a hand over his chest and bowed ever so slightly. “My poor thing, how hard that must’ve been.” He cooed.

Alex’s breathing was stuttered and uneven, but he didn’t feel that strange sense of panic now. Letting out a breath of relief when Vincent claimed to forgive him. However, his adrenaline spiked again when the man sighed. “Still, your actions caused quite a bit of harm.” He said. Vincent’s gaze grew sharp again, like he locked onto prey. “Of course, I prefer to play fair. Tell you what,” he stopped in front of Alex, a few feet away. “Make your best effort to last on your own.” He stated. The instruction was vague, of course, but Vincent didn’t mind elaboration. He pointed behind Alexander. “In that direction, past the field of wildflowers and trees, is the lake. “

“Quick thinking and decisions under pressure could see that you make it to the water.” Vincent’s words trailed off slightly. Alexander turned back to look at him curiously, feeling his knees nearly buckle when he met the man’s eyes. “Assuming I don’t make it to you first. You’ve doubted me, and I only ever encouraged you to ask questions. Let’s see if you can walk on your own, without me. Prove yourself. But, assuming you don’t make it…” His sentence came to slow stop as he noted Alexander already preparing to run. He wouldn’t win. They both knew that. Alexander whimpered in something not quite akin to fear as Vincent’s eyes scrunched up, a sign of a grin underneath the glass covering his face.

“I’ll give you a ten second head start, sweetheart.”

✞Smut✞

Alexander’s breath hitched as the words hit his ears. He struggled to get a proper deep breath, making him feel light headed and airy. His limbs were warm, full of blood and adrenaline as Vincent stared him down. A deep, sweet voice that sent a shiver down his spine spoke once more. Counting down.

“Ten…nine…eight…” Vincent went slow, he didn’t speed through the seconds. By the time he hit the first syllable of eight, Alex’s brain finally clicked in. Vincent felt a surge of pride as the brunet stumbled slightly but took off at a great speed. Cracking sticks and rusting leaves as the young man took off in the direction Vincent said to. There really was no point in giving Alex a head start at all. It wasn’t a fair fight, if you could call it a fight at all. A wolf letting a rabbit get away and get a taste of freedom didn’t mean mercy, nor did it mean the rabbit was faster. Vincent was on the track team, for Christ’s sake. Of course he’d win, they both knew that.

Alex still ran though. As fast as he could manage, despite the sore burn in his lungs. He wasn’t slow by any means, he was quick, but he wasn’t particularly athletic either. It didn’t help that years of being stuck in a building with a dust and mold problem seemed to wear down his lung stamina. Not to the point of asthma, but to reiterate, he stood no chance. But he knew that. As soon as he hit the tall stalks of wild flowers and grass, he could feel Vincent’s presence behind him. He didn’t need to look, the taller man had a presence about him he’d never seen in any one else. No one had an aura of something so powerful, dangerous, and yet, so approachable and sweet. Even if Alex’s heart hammered with something like fear, his blood throbbed somewhere else. It’d done that before with Vincent, even the thought of him made Alexander’s knees weak.

To Alex’s credit, he made it pretty far. Honestly, farther than Vincent anticipated. But, Vincent still caught him. In a flash, Alex was sent to the ground on his back with a choked yelp. He panted, heated breath creating light clouds in the air. It wasn’t cold enough to risk anything like frostbite, but the air had a biting chill from the mountains. Alexander’s body temperature had risen considerably too. In the speed of it all and the rushing adrenaline, he hadn’t noticed how his head didn’t throb from the impact of his fall. But, he did notice when Vincent’s hand left his cranium, and grass finally threaded into the frizzy brown curls on his head.

If he hadn’t been so focused on Vincent leering over him, situated between his parted legs, like he’d been caught in a snare and was ripe for the man above him to dig his teeth into. If he wasn’t so distracted by that, he would’ve found the fact Vincent protected his head from the fall adorably sweet. A classic move that truly showed how gentle Vincent could be, how gentle he truly was at his core. What made Alexander adore him so much to begin with.

Over him, Vincent remained with a quickened pulse and a wild mix of emotions he found enthralling. The adrenaline of a chase, no matter how short, and the light mingling of some left over anger, of which was mostly gone at this point. Beyond all that was a hunger. Something selfish and salacious. Ever the selfless man, very rarely did Vincent ever indulge. Sacrifice after sacrifice, self effacing to a fault. But there was something so mouth watering about the young man beneath him, something oh so enticing. His breath hot as it bounced off his mask, pupils widened.

Alexander swallowed. “What…what now?” He asked, voice breathy and a bit rough. The ragged nature of his breathing had worn at his throat, though, the soreness in the back of his esophagus wasn’t much of a current concern. Vincent’s hands rested by his head, resting against the earth as he leered. “Now? Now I appreciate the spoils of my victory. My prize, if you will. You lost, after all,” He began a new sentence and rose a hand to his mask. Something precious to him. Something Alex had, really never, seen him without. The brunet’s breath hitched as it slid up and off. In a moment of anxiety, formed from what, he wasn’t really sure, he squeezed his eyes shut. Listening to the light thud of the mask hitting the ground nearby.

When Alexander opened his eyes again, he let out a sound akin to a gasp and a whimper. Vincent’s bare face was something shown to a very few select people. Alex had never had the privilege. Mostly because of where they were, Vincent wouldn’t have minded showing him sooner if he could’ve. To be barren to him now only felt fair. But the grin Vincent wore, not sinister or aggressive, but more jovial. An almost childish sense of giddiness.

“H-how so?” Alex asked. “What prize?”

Vincent chuckled quietly and loomed a bit closer. Their foreheads nearly touching. “You, of course. My intention is to finally devour you. Slowly.” His voice dipped dangerously low and Alex’s jaw went slack. Wide doe eyes and shivering under the weight of the statement. Vincent gave a little tilt of his head. Cheeky, if anything. “Unless you had a better idea?” Even if he was fairly confident in what he was doing, he always gave Alex an out. At the risk of overdoing it all, he didn’t want Alex to see him as a new prison of sorts. If Alex truly wanted to run, he could, and Vincent wouldn’t stop him.

But the brunet shook his head, shivering when Vincent’s smile widened, acutely aware of the man’s hands now rested on the inner portion of his knees. Keeping his legs bent and out of the way. “Perfect.” Vincent replied, leaning down to kiss the bridge of Alexander’s nose. It was such a delicate motion for a situation so opposite. Not that Vincent left it there. When he said devour, he did mean it, but he wasn’t one to tear into a meal. He had manners. He took his time, even if he’d been starved for awhile. Lips pressing against every surface of Alex’s face. From his worry-furrowed brows to the mole under his eye, the bone of his jaw and the plains of his cheeks. He particularly liked the way Alexander’s cheek squished under the pressure his lips applied.

Something innocuous but adorable in his opinion. He’d always enjoyed squishing Alex’s face between his fingers when they were in their little spats, where Alexander denied their fondness and Vincent teased him for it. But no matter how sweet that was, it was nothing compared to the delicacy of a proper kiss to Alex’s mouth. The brunet’s lips were a bit chapped and dry, but overall plush and warm. There was a lack of experience that Vincent easily guided him past, and any fear of embarrassment washed away with a wave of desperation. Alex leaned up with a whine and his hands twitched against the grass beneath him, wanting nothing more than to reach up and grasp at the man. But he didn’t find himself worthy, and there was a hint of fear that he’d make the wrong move.

Vincent on the other hand, took his sweet time appreciating every curve his palms ran over. He fought a grin when Alex chased him for another kiss when he paused for them to breathe. As if his presence was worth more than oxygen. That amount of adoration was something he wasn’t used to, but something he selfishly wanted more of. He couldn’t help but chuckle when he nipped at Alex’s lower lip and received a whimper in response. Only for it to melt away as he focused on the taste of Alex’s open maw. Claiming whatever space he could with his tongue. Alexander’s hands finally left the ground and grasped at the short sleeves of Vincent’s shirt.

Dirt and grass had already stained the pristine white robes Alex had been shoved into. And Vincent still held a heavy disdain for the clothing. He knew personally how uncomfortable the fabric was, scratchy and terrible for keeping warmth in. Even if his were allowed to have pants, most standard robes didn’t. In the Winter, the only real layer given out was a pair of tights for the legs, which was mostly just given to the girls of the cult. But when the seasons turned frigid, any amount of fabric to keep the body warm was desperately needed, hence why Alexander wore them. But now everything was too stuffy, too warm, and he managed a huff of mild relief when Vincent popped one of the securing buttons on the front panel of fabric.

It truly did feel like he was being eaten alive. Feeling hot breath and deeply intimate kisses pressed against his skin, leaving his lips and making a trail along his jaw and neck. Alexander took a second to try and hold his breath, keep himself from hyperventilating. He failed when Vincent’s teeth lightly grazed his collar bone, letting out a flustered whine when hands slid further down the white fabric he wore. Popping open each button until his body was exposed to the chilly air. He didn’t really feel the cold though. Vincent bled so much heat, going cold wasn’t a worry. One of Alexander’s arms came up to hide his eyes while Vincent continued to leave searing kisses along his chest and abdomen. He gasped and flinched when the tights, meant to keep his legs warm, were torn roughly. Leaving large holes in the fabric, the sound of the threads popping under Vincent’s tugging mixed with a hitched & squeaky gasp while Vincent lightly nipped at the fat on Alex’s hip bone. Not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a light mark that would fade in a matter of hours.

Vincent’s hands trailed down Alexander’s legs, gently slipping his fingers into the mouth of the flimsy flat shoes everyone in the congregation had to wear. His lips pecked little moles and small scars left on Alex’s skin from the years. Unable to stop smiling with each kiss when the brunet twitched or squirmed. To know he had so much effect on Alex, it made something in his soul burst, like a flower coming undone under the moon.

Alexander’s next inhale was stuttered and he whimpered again as Vincent leaned back up to kiss him on the mouth. Brows furrowed as Vincent’s hands trailed back up his sides, palms pressing to his ribs, fingertips lightly digging into his skin as his back arched off the earth. He hesitated to rest his hands on Vincent, feeling unworthy. But his heartbeat stumbled when Vincent let out a quiet groan, feeling Alex’s nails dig into him through his shirt. The blue eyed man had a strange relationship with the biological signals of pain. One would think he’d fear it, given how much he’d been harmed, for so long and so callously. But the bite of Alex’s nails, denying his skin and leaving a subtle stinging, made him feel alive.

His friends loved to give him playful teasing about him being a masochist. He never argued against them. They were wholly right, after all.

Alexander whined again when Vincent’s mouth trailed to his temple. A deeply intimate kiss, full of emotions he was too hazy to properly discern, pressed to the space beside his eye. Only for him to feel Vincent’s teeth shift across the outside of his ear, threatening to nip at him. All of this was unfair. Vincent claimed to want to devour, but all he was doing was teasing. Playing with his food. Perhaps, like any other predator with its prey, there was something about high adrenaline that helped the final bite all the more satisfying. Maybe when the sharp teeth finally connected with Alexander’s esophagus, Vincent would find the lustful panic flowing in his veins to make his blood sweeter, more fruitful.

“I dreamed of you, you know.” The deep, rumble, growl-like voice of Alexander’s vice made his hips unconsciously shift. Grazing Vincent’s hands, which traced the skin lightly pushing through the holes in the tights. He could feel the sly & loving grin against his throat, the warmth of breath when Vincent chuckled quietly. “Even when I was unsure if I’d ever see you again, you never really left my mind. Never would. Like a pesky little magpie, chirping in my ear every morning.” He chuckled again at the analogy. He felt the way Alex swallowed, limbs trembling slightly as Vincent tucked his fingers into the holes he made. Delicate, even as he began to pull on the fabric again. Making fragile threads pop audibly as he moved slowly.

“Awfully quiet, pet. Don’t tell me I’ve caught you speechless.” He whispered teasingly. “What happened to all those brazen times you spoke so boldly to my face, hm? How much you hate me?” The word hate came out mockingly. Because Alex had never hated him, he’d never said it convincingly. He was only parroting what he’d been told, when it came to his own thoughts, his own wishes and wants, he got tongue tied and shy. Alex’s jaw shuddered a bit as he tried to speak, though he didn’t have the mind to form something meaningful to say. Only letting out another choked whine when Vincent pressed another kiss to his ear.

“I-…I never hated you.” Alex finally hiccupped. Vincent hummed in response, nudging the brunet’s head back for more access to his neck, more space to paint little love bite bruises on. “No? Not even a little?” He asked quietly, smiling again when Alex shook his head. “What was it you called me once? Upon our time hiding in that closet? The bane of your life?”

“Bane of my existence.” Alex answered. Vincent gave a quiet laugh, planning to tease, until Alex found the audacity to speak again. With closed eyes and a deep breath. “Bane of my existence…object of all my desires.” He exhaled, his heart following the words closely. Vincent paused for a moment. Only a few seconds but far too many for Alexander. One of the man’s hands left the crook of his knee and slid up his torso, over the bend of his throat, coming to gently grip his jaw. With delicate finger tips pressing into his rounded cheeks, tilting his head the way Vincent decided. Positioning the young man to make eye contact.

Alexander swore icy blue had never seen so full of fire. Not Hellfire, as many had claimed. But the fire that burned with life, warmth, passion. Dangerous but so vital for survival. For his sanity.

“Object of all your desires huh? What desires would those be?” Vincent asked softly. The brunet’s cheeks grew a deeper red, if that was even possible. His blood centered itself either at his groin or in embarrassment, in his face. Everywhere else felt tingly from the lack of circulation. Medically inaccurate as that was. Alex stammered some incoherent syllables, disjointed attempts at words that were hindered by shame. Vincent tilted his head slowly. How someone could look so kind, yet so terrifying, Alex couldn’t understand.

“Well? Tell me, little lamb. Such a faithful follower you’ve been, how I wish to reward you. I’d love to know what you dream of. Allow me to provide, sweetheart.” Vincent spoke again. Voice dripping with honey. Sticky and sucrose. Alex questioned if he was even breathing. “I…I want…” He shifted on the ground uncomfortably. His muscles hurt, ached. Desperate for touch. Teeth dug into his lower lip, pathetic wet eyes watched his false idol click his tongue sympathetically. Alex leaned slightly up when Vincent came down, grazing his mouth, taunting the idea of another kiss. “Do you want me, love?” Vincent asked. Alex’s breath hitched and he nodded. Slowly at first, then with vigor.

Vincent hummed in a positive tone as he felt Alexander squirm beneath him. As an act of good faith and true adoration, he gave Alexander the kiss he’d been taunting. Slower this time. One a little more love than lust, even if the latter was still very much present. As evident by Alex’s hands, albeit unsteadily, trailing the waist of the man above him. As if he could sneak his fingers under Vincent’s shirt without being noticed. Vincent smiled against Alex’s mouth, taking one hand to guide Alexander’s further beneath his shirt. A silent act of permission that the brunet seemed to be grateful for, given how delicately he began to appreciate Vincent’s skin.

From scars and sculpted lines of muscle. Alexander mapped them all with the same amount of reverence a congregation gave its savior. The feeling was about the same anyway. It was hard to breathe, but Alex couldn’t help but find it enlightening. The fuzziness in his mind rather joyous, something far more enjoyable than the constant swarms of anxiety and suffering. He didn’t have to fear anything, not under such a powerful force. A powerful being that he’d managed to, somehow, gain the adoration of. What he’d done to deserve such a sweet reward, a delicacy, he wasn’t sure. His soul certainly wasn’t worthy of much in a holy sense. But however Vincent loved his subjects seemed far kinder than any church.

Not that Alexander had any competition. He was a sole follower, of course Vincent wouldn’t take that lightly. He wasn’t selfish, not anymore than any human was.

He pulled back enough to let Alex inhale a full breath. The brunet’s lungs had been desperate for it, even if Alex’s soul was desperate for more. Hence the disappointment in Alexander’s whimper when his lungs filled at capacity again. The breathlessness returned however, when he heard the light clink of an undone belt. His limbs twitched. An air of finality fell upon him, and rather than panic or worry, he melted into the earth. Vincent hummed contently when Alexander, in a sudden bit of boldness, pulled him back down for a kiss. Full and joyous. Sin be damned, just as their souls. Years of brainwashing and conditioning sent out the window as Alex felt hands settle again.

He almost complained again when Vincent broke the kiss, but he was given a quiet hush noise, and a silent instruction by the light press of fingers on his lips. Somehow the taste of sweat and vanilla seemed to act as an aphrodisiac. As if Alexander’s biological systems were brought to their animalistic basics, leaving him salivating and desperate, more than before. Vincent kissed his forehead and said…something. The sentiment hit Alex but the syllables didn’t, he was too far gone at this point. He heaved oxygen into stinging lungs when Vincent’s fingers left his mouth, feeling loving pecks cover his cheeks and temples.

In the little thought Alex could have, he could only consider Vincent, and just how much he could be grateful for. How much he could adore. From the genuine caution exhibited from the man, when he could’ve taken. At the start of this, Vincent said he’d devour. This was meant to be a time for him to indulge, consume. Sink in his teeth, tear, savor. Alex expected and accepted the idea of Vincent taking his fill rabidly. All teeth, claws, and metallic crimson life. That outcome was fine. Just so much as it was himself that Vincent chose to eat.

But even when Vincent said he’d feast…he was still so loving. Prepping the boy beneath him cautiously, cooing and peppering him in kisses. All he had to do was take. But it felt like Alex’s reward, even when it should’ve been Vincent’s. Alexander was filthy. A coward, a liar, a heretic . A born bastard and a pathetic one at that.

But he felt like he was made of gold. Previous gems and rare metals. A delicately crafted rarity made to be cherished, admired, revered. He couldn’t bring himself to think about whether or not he deserved to feel that way, not when Vincent’s hands finally brought his hips up. He could feel Vincent, the most vulnerable parts of each other pressed so close, radiating incomprehensible amounts of body heat. Alive, breathing, full of warm, viscous blood. Intimidating really described all of Vincent. But how Alex seemed to thrive with the feelings his biology would label fear.

If he were a lamb, he’d be the easiest meal to take. Even when adrenaline was made for the survival of prey, giving them the incentive to run. Even on an instructive level, he leaned into it. If he were a lamb, currently, he’d be setting his neck into the open, salivating mouth of a wolf. As if it’d fulfill him.

And fill it did.

“Shhh shh shh, it’s alright. I know, deep breaths," Vincent whispered, heaving hot breaths across Alexander’s ear. The brunet wouldn’t stay still. It stung, no matter how slow Vincent had been. He didn’t want Alexander to hurt, and yet, Alex didn’t seem put off by the burn or the ache. Perhaps incentivized even. Vincent trailed more kisses across Alexander’s face, admiring the flushed skin as he pulled back to look at his little lamb in full. Splayed out on grass and pastel wild flowers. Bathed in cool, dim light from the moon overhead. Debauchery, a fitting description for the situation around.

Vincent’s hands seemed detached from himself for a moment. One slowly sliding across Alex’s heaving ribs, following the heavy, quick thumps of a rapid heartbeat. Slowly up to the brunet’s neck. He didn’t squeeze or press, just delicately held. Admiring. It felt like he’d plunged his hands into the elegant strokes of a painting. A piece of artwork in an extravagant frame, one made to be displayed with pride, made with an artist’s tender love and care. And here he was, touching it. Not on a canvas, but skin. Warm, breathing, alive.

All for him.

Alexander let out the loudest sound he’d had all night when Vincent moved. A single thrust, just to test, make sure everything was good to go. It sent a shiver up Alex’s spine, like an electric shock. And it felt like cresting over the surface of water after drowning, like the bite of fruit after starving, like a first breath. Vincent pressed a delicate kiss to the center of Alexander’s chest, teeth so close to what kept him alive. Though really, he supposed it was only fair. To have the two kinds of life so close to each other. What kept his body breathing, beating powerfully against his ribs, a soulful pattern to the being that made Alexander feeling alive. Living rather than surviving.

Vincent hummed a pleased noise as he repeated the motion. Still slow, careful. Patient. Alexander let out that sinful, song-like noise again, shaky fingers threading into his hair. Lightly tugging at fluffy black tresses as a rhythm started. Methodically at first. Vincent didn’t want to rush, as desperate as he truly was, despite how composed he’d been. But after a few minutes, with his patience starting to dip under his desperation. For once wants feeling like a need, and as Alexander grasped at him more. Yearning. It dawned on him that this wouldn’t be the last time.

The brunet had been in a limbo for years. Vincent unable to find him, unable to forget him either. The reality that Alexander would never be truly his was something he’d, honestly, feared having to accept. But then here he was. Heaving for breaths and clawing the skin of his back. Misty eyed and flushed. Here in his palms, against his ribs, as close as humans could physically get. Alexander was here and after this…

Alexander was his.

Not Alder’s, not his father’s, not the church’s. Not God’s.

His, Vincent’s. He was Vincent’s to hold, to crave, to lust and adore. He could home him, provide, shelter. Vincent could give him everything. Alexander had always seen him as more than a demon, more than some sinful scapegoat. Even when they’d fight when they were younger, Alex always came back to him. Fearfully, sure, but, it was Alexander’s hands who’d saved him from suffocating more than once. Who’d dabbed away blood from lashings. No one had shown him the devotion Alexander did. Like he deserved to be praised and deified. Vincent didn’t consider himself a god, Vincent didn’t have that ego.

But if Alex wanted him to be, then he’d be so. And he’d be the most of loving gods. Truly, not superficially. Since Alexander was his, for as long as they both breathed. Why should he have to take his time? They had all the time in the world, and this would happen again. Besides, Alexander clearly wanted more, teetering on the edge of something euphoric and new. Vincent was a provider, after all.

Alexander let out a squeal almost embarrassingly high pitched. Head tossed back against the grass, a noise pitching out with every frantic breath. He was crying but he wasn’t sure why, it was just so much. He hiccupped when Vincent held his face again, bringing him back for a moment in order to make eye contact. The image of Vincent above him, hair a mess, heaving deep breaths with great focus in his eye. He was so close, almost enough to kiss, but not enough. Alexander grasped at his wrist subconsciously, eyes crossing for a moment from a particularly well placed thrust. He blinked a few times rapidly to refocus his face when Vincent clicked his tongue.

He received a kiss to the bridge of his nose, then to his cheekbone. Straining to listen when Vincent nipped at his earlobe. “Look at the sky.” The order, while a demand, was just was sweet as ever. Alexander did so, finding a beautiful mosaic of glittering stars on a backdrop of deep blue, a full moon the brightest. It was cloudless and serene. Then, Vincent spoke again with another instruction, this time followed with a shift of their hips and a new feeling swarming Alexander’s nerves. More rapturous than before, somehow.

“Say my name.” Vincent exhaled. Alexander didn’t do it immediately, not to be defiant but because his mouth couldn’t form words. He let out a whiny, deep groan from the back of his throat as Vincent kissed his temple again. “Say it to the sky, I want God to hear who you belong to.” The words that followed sent Alexander to the precipice of cloud nine. And as he burned with passion, salacity, intimacy, and worship, he did as he was told. Something he’d always been good at. The last stretch being so quick, yet so slow. Like time stopped just to make the last few seconds count all the more. If anyone was around, in about a mile radius, they would’ve heard Vincent’s name. Echoing in between trees and into the air like a prayer. Like the music of gospel.

Then, a slow come back down to earth. Alexander felt boneless and empty…also a bit sticky. How long he’d been in the clouds, he wasn’t sure, but he finally felt the light kisses being pressed to his face. He let out a quiet noise as he leaned into Vincent’s palm holding his face. The air was suddenly cold again, freezing even. Alexander tried to remain as close to the warmth surrounding him as possible.

“Alexander…hey, c’mon sweetheart, look at me.” The brunet mumbled incoherently upon hearing the words, peeking his eyes open, barely.

Vincent smiled fondly at Alexander’s tired visage. Seeing the boy still a bit out of it, he blew some air in the boy's face, making Alex’s eyes flutter. “Come back to me, c’mon now. Deep breaths. Atta boy.” He whispered. Alexander’s eyes closed contently as Vincent kissed his forehead again. The blue eyed man cooed sympathetically as Alex shivered a bit from the cold. With a squeeze to the brunet’s hand, he removed himself, giving quiet reassurances at Alex’s discomfort. The aftermath was always a little uncomfortable, given the mess and all. He made sure not to lean back too far, lest Alex think Vincent was leaving him.

With the tights fully removed, Vincent carefully closed up Alexander’s robe. Noting he’d somehow tore two buttons off the flimsy thing in the heat of it all. When, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t bother rebuttoning his jeans, or his belt. With more light kisses, Vincent slowly stood, picking up Alex as he rose. Alexander’s arms wrapped around his neck and he was perched on Vincent’s right arm. Vincent picked up Alexander’s flats with his index and middle finger on his left hand. He walked back through the field, toward his camping site. Giving whispered praises to Alex along the way.

Alexander was exhausted, floating on endorphins and warmth. As Vincent reached the camp site again, he opened his eyes a bit while being set down on the sleeping bag in the tent. He felt a twist of anxiety appear in his stomach when Vincent leaned away, but it settled when he saw the man wasn’t leaving, just grabbing a bag. “Let’s get you in some better clothes, okay?” He smiled warmly.

His mask being gone was something Alexander still noted as particularly important. It filled his chest with something he couldn’t quite describe. But it felt wonderful, like he was special. Leaving him feeling pleasantly fuzzy despite his sore muscles.

And a sore ass.

“We’ll talk about what to do next in the morning. Where you’ll stay, new clothes, you know.” Vincent said as he carefully helped pull a pair of sweatpants over Alex’s legs. They were far too big for him, but they’d do for now. “You won’t leave me, right?” Alexander finally spoke again. His voice squeaky and hoarse. Vincent’s gaze softened, a bit sad. He leaned down to kiss Alexander again, sweeter and innocently this time. “No. Never again. I’ll find a way to have you stay with me, I promise. Don’t worry about the details now. I’ll have it all handled, love.” Alexander smiled tiredly as he got another series of kisses to his cheeks and nose.

“What now then?” He muttered. Vincent dropped slowly on his elbow, carefully pivoting to lay in his side, letting Alexander leech off his warmth. “Now? We sleep. …and we cuddle, because I’m feeling needy.” He said, letting Alex use his bicep as a pillow. The brunet blinked a bit before he snorted fondly. “Vincent, demon spawn, Satan’s work horse here to damn my soul. A cuddler? Who would’ve guessed.” He whispered. Vincent laughed a bit. “And there’s that sass. I was wondering where it went.” He praised, nuzzling into the messy curls of Alex’s hair. Feeling full of adoration and accomplishment. Full of love.

#original character #original male character #male character #oc x oc ship #oc writing #gay #gay everywhere #gay gay homosexual gay #smut oneshot #religous imagery #cw #oneshot #smut

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zippdementia · 3 years ago

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Part 96 Alignment May Vary: A Farewell to Friends

If you’re reading this post after having read all 95 other posts, bless your heart. This is truly the final post, the last one in the Alignment May Vary series. If you are just stumbling upon this randomly, you may want to go back to at least the previous post “The End of All Things” as this is a direct continuation of the final battle described there. Also, many previous posts are linked there to help give at least some context to the encounter. You may even want to go back to the beginning and read the whole epic story. It’s the internet’s most massive and complete campaign journal!

This ends with the final lines of our campaign. I will not say farewell then, so I will say it now. The goal of this journal was to bring some small measure of the enjoyment and wonder we felt making this story and playing this game for four years to you. I hope it achieved that, and thank you for reading.

The Destruction of All Things

Meteors, the debris of a hundred destroyed worlds, or maybe worlds that had yet to be destroyed in this timeline, rained down upon the Maakengorge tower, breaking it into dust, revealing the infinity of space behind it. Imoaza tried to pull a barrier around them, made of the weave, but the weave did not obey her here. It did not even exist here. Nazragul had cut its strings. Imoaza fell under a maelstrom of heat and rock. Milosh survived a little longer, smashing the rocks with Haggemoth’s forge hammer, Haggemoth’s greatest weapon. If he could only get a clear shot on Nazragul, he thought he might be able to unleash Primus’ power on him and end this now. But Nazragul himself was engulfed in flame and Milosh drew close only to be burned and fall away into ash.

Carrick was the last to struggle on. Imoaza’s fly spell died with her, and yet momentum continued to carry him towards Nazragul. He raised his blade, knowing he would only have time for a single decisive strike. Then from the flames a skeletal hand shot out and gripped his wrist, holding him. Nazragul leaned forward, his face a grinning skull.

“I win,” he said and held Carrick as the meteor swarm crashed through them both, sending Carrick to join his companions in death.

Darkness surrounds the players. Wonderfully, they think they have lost this fight. But in reality, they have won. They brought Nazragul down to the point where he had to use his most devastating attack in a desperate gambit to destroy them forever. It ripped apart his body, as well, but he can regenerate. The players cannot. Or so he thinks.

In fact, this would have been the end of the party, except for a particular deity they helped some time ago. Now, that deity appears to them on the border of life and death. Asmodeus, lord of the Devils, and his new queen, Alyss, come to the players in purgatory. When the call comes from darkness as to who would claim the souls of the players, it is Asmodeus who answers. And then, having laid his claim, Asmodeus grants their souls new life, a return to their bodies, each of them at a single hit point.

“This is my boon, my one and only repayment for the service you rendered me. You returned me to my body and my realm, now I do the same unto you,” Asmodeus says.

“Save my daughter. Bring her soul peace,” Alyss says.

And then they go back.

A Decision Made

The players return to a world destroyed, a universe ending, a time that could come to pass, but hasn’t yet. A space between time. And in this space Nazragul sits. The body of Abenthy that he wore is destroyed. What squats on the last remaining piece of ground in that floating nothingness is a shadow, a whirling of darkness.

And now, in front of it, stand Carrick, Imoaza, and Milosh.

“N-nooo....” the dark shape mutters. “Y-y-you are a-a-ll... d-dead...” it can manage no more. But its power is growing by the second, its body repairing, rebuilding.

There is no time to waste.

“One of us must be the shield, the sacrifice,” Carrick says. “We must take on the soul of Primus.” He holds up the Surveyor’s stone, containing the spark that can link Primus to one of them.

“It’s me,” Milosh says. “I’ve already lived a life. This is all borrowed time. It is what I was meant to do.”

“But I have lived a life as well,” Carrick begins to protest.

“No,” Milosh says, the half-orc shaking his head somberly. “You never got to live your own life. The Surveyor took it over from you when you were still young. It needs to be me.”

Except, it doesn’t, Imoaza realizes. It doesn’t need to be any of them. She is peering at the weave, magic made tangible to her special abilities. And in that weave she sees a line that has not always been there. It is like a silver thread, allowing for a different path. She recognizes the lifeforce in that thread as having belonged to Ruz. Ruz, who used her wish spell to save everyone at the Maakengorge, who has become part of the weave itself in order to work that magic. Now, the last remnants of that powerful wish are there for Imoaza to use. She grips it, and instantly she can see everything, the way the weave ties together not just magic, but the whole universe. She pulls on those threads carefully, for they are delicate and she could easily do more damage than good. She pulls, and three souls emerge from the darkness that is the thing in front of them, the thing Nazragul became, the Three who rule as One.

Nazragul is the first soul and this soul Imoaza chooses to be their shield. This will forever erase him and Primus from existence, which will also destroy Chaos. But even after this, Imoaza has a little of Ruz’s power left to use. She can, she realize, bring one of the other two souls back to life: either Karina or Abenthy. They are fading fast though and the decision must be made.

Abenthy and Karina stand now before the group, and I ask their players (who now play Milosh and Imoaza respectively) to give them voice, to have a conversation between them about what choice they should make. And so the players roleplay the moment as Karina and Abenthy get to see each other one last time.

“I am sorry,” Karina said, seeing Abenthy again, seeing his grim mission lifted from him. “I am sorry I could not save you.”

“It was never your fault,” Abenthy says back. He kneels and places his sword on the ground then, turns to Imoaza. “It is time. Rebalance the scales.”

This moment is too much for all of us at the table, and the tears start again. Also, Imoaza cannot decide which of them to save. The player ends up having to roll a die to decide for her, it is too heavy a burden to take full responsibility for.

And the die decides it is to be Karina.

And so, in the final moments they have before the souls retwine and the body of the Three in One rises again, the deed is finished. Milosh opens his chest panel and the power of the Inevitability of Justice emerges from him to engulf and destroy forever the souls of Nazragul and Abenthy, as well as Primus and Chaos. Karina is reborn into her body and lands next to them, naked. Carrick wraps his cloak around her.

Then, as the final wave of power leaves Milosh, the space time that they are in collapses. They are rushed back to the world they left behind.

They return to a world saved.

The portal opens, the mountain collapses. The four emerge in a sea of white snow, wondering if their actions doomed their friends outside, who may have been buried when the mountain was destroyed. But then the ships of the Githyanki land around them, and there is a great cheer, for the armies were loaded onto the ships, and their friends saved. The last Surveyor approaches Carrick and Milosh and tells them they are both free now. Everyone is free, free of the creators, Primus and Chaos, to form their own future. All bonds are broken, except those kept in the name of honor and of love. The Surveyor then lays down in a patch of snow and closes his eyes for the last time, telling them all to seek their destiny wherever they feel it is best found.

And so the companions do. Each player makes a choice as to what their character does next, and we get some wrap ups on some of the NPCs, as well.

Carrick speaks to Roger Krisp, saying he would like to join the Green Company to keep a promise he made to Aldric. Roger gives him the Anope and lets anyone who wishes to follow him do so. For Krisp, he has spent decades trying to return from Hell back to Faerun and he takes his second in commands, the adventurers who long ago trialed the Tomb of Horrors (and died doing so) and buys a new ship: the Mankey Bastard Mk II (AKA the Mankier Bastard). He returns to sailing the seas.

Carrick swears his services to Aldric’s daughter, Sasha, and says that he will be off to sail the galaxies with the Green Company to do good throughout the universe.

Imoaza has responsibilities here on Faerun. She approaches the Yuan Ti, who are unsure of what to do next. They ask her who they will be conquering next.

“No one,” she tells them, knowing this is a moment that will define the rest of her people’s existence. “We will find a new way, a better way. The way of the dragon. The way of peace.” And Hecate is the first to bow and swear fealty to her mother, now the mother of all Yuan Ti, Imoaza.

For Karina, this return to life is full of emotion. Verrick and her embrace. Verrick’s bonds that made him a Death Knight are broken, and he is able to resume a life with her. Karina also greets many old companions whom she has not seen in generations. Roger Krisp, Daymos, and Jade. Jade in particular Karina is overwhelmed to see, as she felt responsible for her loss to Nazragul in the first place.

Milosh’s chest plate is gone, his full body finally restored to him as a last act of Primus. He is given many choices now. Carrick says he could have a place among the Green Company, or if not, he would be happy to find his home planet of Eberron and drop him off there to resume his old life. Breathgiver the shaman offers him the Blackstaff, saying he could stay and rule Waterdeep, help rebuild Baldur's Gate, Ottoman’s docks, and the other cities which were destroyed by the Tarassque. Milosh thanks everyone and says he will decide in the morning.

But in the morning he is gone, and no one is quite sure where he left to.

Epilouge: A Farewell to Friends

This scene takes place 16 years after the final battle. The player characters are asked to come to Karina’s academy on the old island of Thudd, now called Oasis. It used to be a school for adventurers, trying to train people to eventually face a darker world, in case Nazragul’s plan came to fruition. Now it is a school of knowledge and philosophy and healing magics.

Karina was old before the final batle, and though restored to her body, she still only had scant years left. She is now passing, and everyone has been called to honor her in her final hours and say goodbye.

Of the companions, we follow Carrick, who arrives with the Green Company in the Anope. He wears shining emerald armor under a green cloak. Under one arm, he holds a small, wrapped package.

He finds some new additions to the school grounds. There is a hall named for Shando, one for Daymos, and one for Lee. And in the central plaza is a bronze statue of Abenthy, not as the final terrible thing he became, but as Karina remembers him at their first meeting, and their last. A noble paladin. On the plaque at the statue’s feet is inscribed the words: “Justice is Inevitable. Friendship Does not Die.”

“Swords are easy,” a familiar voice said behind Carrick. “Capturing the look in someone’s eyes? Now that’s hard.”

Carrick turned to see a smiling half-orc standing beside him, wearing a simple tunic.

“Milosh!” Carrick said and embraced his old companion. “Where have you been all these years?” he asked, once he had let him go.

“Learning the trade of blacksmith,” Milosh said. “It seemed an honest profession, and Karina agreed to let me stay on and keep my secret.”

“I would have thought you’d be ruling Waterdeep, or Baldur’s Gate, or out adventuring even. There is still always a place for you among the Green Company.”

“You are still riding with the company?”

“Mostly. I leave most of the running of it to Sasha. She has the knack for leadership. I have focused on teaching. I have created a new order of Paladins, based around the tenets of an old friend of mine who taught me some dear lessons when he was alive. The School of Remus.”

Milosh smiled and nodded. “There is much to be learned from old friends. Your offer is a kind one, but the night we defeated Nazragul, the Surveyor told us to seek our destiny where we felt it was most likely to be found. I realized then that I had spent more years than most people get to live fulfilling other people’s destinies, solving other people’s problems. I thought maybe it was time for me, for the first time in two lifetimes, to live a life for myself. I settled here with a wife and we have a child. I am living every day filled with a contentment that I thought was not mine to have.”

Carrick clasped his shoulder and smiled. “I have watched you go through pain and loss. It is good to see you gain something. Good to see you happy.”

“Have you seen Imoaza yet?” Milosh asked. Carrick shook his head. Milosh’s own smile softened, became a little sad. “I’ll take you to her.”

Together they walked into the main hall, the hall of Heroes, where a line of tapestries depicted famous events in the history of Faerun. Before one tapestry, which showed humans breaking free of Yuan Ti slavery in the days of yore, stood an old Yuan Ti Pureblood, her hair white, her skin wrinkled, one hand holding a quarterstaff to support her weight. On one shoulder fluttered a greying ball of fuzz, that chirped softly: “chi chu!”

“There’s a tapestry of us three,” the old Yuan Ti said. “In our final battle at the Jarlsberg. I think they went a little dramatic with me, though.”

“Imoaza?” Carrick asked. The Yuan Ti turned and nodded her greeting. She had always been reserved, Imoaza, and time had not changed that. But it also looked like she had aged seventy years in the fifteen since last they met.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Imoaza said. “All three of us cheated time when we left the Abyss and ended up back on Faerun. You two paid for it with your lives. This is now my price. I am not yet gone from this earth. Time has just caught up with me, at last.”

Carrick found his eyes watering. He wiped at them as discretely as possible, but Imoaza, who had always had the sharpest eyes of them all, of course noticed. “It is alright,” she said gently. “I have accomplished what I set out to do. My people will go on. They are not powerful, but they are stronger, and better. They walk the path of balance and of nature. We are farmers, gatherers, druids. Peace suits the Yuan Ti. We take to it as seriously and studiously as we took to war.”

Carrick nodded, then said, “I have something for you.” He held out the small package. “I made a special stop at an old favorite of yours on the way back to Faerun.”

Imoaza unwrapped the package to reveal a host of sweet pastries, beautiful in their presentation, the smell of cinnamon and baked sugars rising into the air. Imoaza giggled like a little girl. “Air pastries!” she exclaimed, and reached into the bag, tearing off a piece of one of the gooey rolls, leaving strands of maple training in its wake, then popped it into her mouth and chewed, her grin growing wider.

“I’m sad they did not make a tapestry for that place,” she said.

A door at the end of the hall opened then, and an attendant of the school hailed them.

“It is time,” the attendant said.

The players enter through the door to find themselves in a grand room with pillars open to the outside, looking out upon a fabulous view of falling waterfalls and green trees, maybe one of the greatest signs of change that Karina ever brought to the world, her successful changing of the Desert of Thud into the Oasis. There is a bed here as well and on it lies Karina, her white hair braided, a cool breeze blowing through the room caressing her brow.

Many people are gathered here to say goodbye.

Daymos and Jade are there, and with them Reeves the Quasit. The brother and sister hold hands, and both are crying. Karina had witnessed both of their deaths, but also their rebirths.

Hazelwood, Ruz’s daughter and the inheritor of the power of Esheballa, has come on behalf of the Changelings whom Kaerina once sheltered when no one else would.

Milosh and his family stand in the back of the room, his half-elf wife and child both holding his hands, hands which once were literally guns, now which create instead of destroying.

The Green Company is in attendance along with Carrick. Aside from Carrick, they did not know Karina personally, but they have learned of her deeds and come now to be her honor guard as she passes.

Imoaza is the only from the Yuan Ti here to say goodbye. Hecate was left to run the Yuan Ti kingdom in her absence. Imoaza uses her weave vision to see that Karina’s life is fading but she also sees the way that life has touched so many others.

Captain Krisp comes, with the full crew of the Mankier Bastard, his new ship. He tells Karina he will name a new brand of his cereal in her honor. “Karina Krisps?” he mumbles, liking the ring of it.

Immerstal the Red is present. Knick Knack comes in his fire form all the way from the Planet of Fire. A Red Wizard arrives, holding a framed portrait of Lhu Ee. Senator Nakir, once Karina’s Apprentice, arrives from Waterdeep, with Blackstaff Breathgiver. Traki's brother is here, as are many other elves, for Karina was a great ally to them.

There are monks here, too, from Abenthy's old monastery, as well as the sister's of Celaenos, come to honor the one who saved Abenthy’s soul and to record this moment in time.

Giants and kobolds and orcs and hobgoblins all arrive, those who repented after the final battle with Abenthy.

Most surprisingly, there are dwarves here: the distant descendants of Haggemoth’s line, who have heard of how their ancestor's soul was finally saved and their family line restored to honor. They are here to give thanks to those who helped that come to pass, which includes Karina.

And finally, there is Verrick, kneeling at Karina’s bedside, holding her hand. He does not know how long he might wander the earth without his love, and he cries to think of life without her. But he is also happy, for the life she lived and the time they were able to share. And he believes they will be reunited one day, even if only to rejoin the weave that souls are built from, and be knit together into a new story, a new life.

Karina looks around her, at all these varied people, all the lives she has touched. She squeezes Verrick’s hand. Then she closes her eyes, and smiles, and Karina who had once thought she would always be alone passes, surrounded by friends.

#Alignment may vary #Karina #Abenthy #D&D #5th Edition #5e #boss #boss fight #boss monster #ending #campaign journal #RPG #D20

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