Chapter Text
Vincent’s movements were slow and drawn out as he hobbled over and collapsed into his arm chair. He didn’t even bother taking off his jacket or his tie, he just let it sprawl out under him and wrinkle as he tilted his head back.
He felt like shit.
Which didn’t make sense, because he really had no reason to feel like that. Everything had been good at the studio, he murdered a guy last week, literally nothing could be better. Still, he felt tired and overworked.
His day had been a whirlwind. Everything had been moving so fast and he couldn’t wrap his head around anything. It probably had to do with the little sleep he’d gotten the night before, but his reaction time had been a little slow. With all the people crowding around him today, everything felt a little bit like a fever dream. He’d even slurred some of his words when speaking to the camera. It was an understatement to say his sleep schedule was just a little fucked.
He was probably being selfish. He should go kill someone.
His legs took him up, but he didn’t go out the front door to go find a target. He didn’t want to stir up much, anyway. Had to be discreet. He went into his kitchen instead, pouring himself a whiskey.
The alcohol would either help or make things worse. He was willing to bet on it, he felt like he couldn’t get more exhausted right now. He took a large gulp from his cup. It burned a path down his throat as it went down.
He slammed the cup of whiskey back on the table and wrestled himself out of his tie, throwing his jacket on the floor. Usually he wouldn’t be so sloppy, but at this point he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He managed to untie the knot of his tie through frantic movements and threw it on the floor as well with his jacket. He continued gulping down the whiskey.
By his third drink, Vincent already felt pretty tipsy. He decided he didn’t need to get blackout drunk right now, so he set his glass on the counter and leaned against it heavily. He felt warm and relaxed, a little flutter in his chest let him know that he’d probably curl up on the floor to go to sleep before he made it to his bed.
He wasn’t a lightweight, he swore. He was just a little…susceptible to the effects of whiskey.
He stood there for a good while, staring at the counter and looking away when it started to spin. He exited his kitchen, leaving out the bottle and cup of whiskey on the counter. He made his way to the door, but not to go murder.
It was dark outside. It had started to move into the colder months, so it got dark a lot quicker. The weather was clear. No clouds covered the sky. Good, because he’d need to be peeking into alleys for this.
As he climbed into his car, a single, rational thought flitted through his brain. It was probably a bad idea to drive while he was a little tipsy, right? Well, it’s not like he was too drunk…
He’d be fine.
The drive was shorter than he’d thought it’d be. He’d expected a lot more slowing down on the streets. He’d expected a lot more looks to be sent his way from the few pedestrians. Surprisingly, he’d found what he was looking for pretty quickly.
As he slowed down to a stop, a figure approached. Vincent didn’t look at them immediately, but instead glanced around. Not many people were outside, and the few people that were kept their gazes ahead, not paying any mind to him. Good, he wasn’t about to mess up his reputation by doing this.
He looked back to the figure, who was now crouching slightly to look through his rolled down window. Vincent got a good look at him.
Darker skin, braided and undoubtedly dyed hair, a big red coat flaring behind him, freckles scattering across his face, and just a peek of the tallest and most outrageous heeled boots he’d ever seen, paired with fishnets that covered the rest of his legs before the coat swallowed him up.
Vincent couldn’t deny this man was very attractive.
One look at him, in the dark, no less, was enough to make him falter. Vincent was no stranger to being attracted to men. Hell, that news reporter guy he’d killed was an extremely hot guy, but the guilt still came with it.
He liked men. He liked men and that was bad. It wasn’t his fault they were so fucking hot, though. Curse god for making him drool every time he got just a peek at some guy’s legs in tight, tight pants.
The man in front of him placed his hand on the rolled down window. Vincent rolled it down a bit more.
“Hey, baby. You lookin’ for service? I got some here, where and what are you thinki–”
Vincent interrupted him. “How much for a hug?”
The man blinked at him dumbfoundedly, clearly struck by surprise. “A…what?”
“A hug.” He repeated. “And maybe some of your time. Do you sell that?”
There was a long period of silence. Vincent shuffled in his seat. He was half expecting the guy to walk away, but he spoke up again.
“Get out of the car.” He sighed out, rubbing a hand down his face and stepping back.
He did as he was told, kicking the door open with his foot. As soon as he was on his feet, the man dragged him by the wrist into the alleyway.
His first thought was defiance. No one dragged Vincent Whittman on a whim and got away with it. Hell, no one touched Vincent Whittman and got away with it. He deflated, though. This guy probably wasn’t looking for an argument. He let himself be dragged.
He was shoved against the wall once the two of them were swallowed in darkness. Instinctively, he held up his hands, but when he didn’t touch him again, he slowly lowered them.
“You’re the weatherman on channel thirty,” The man remarked.
“So?”
The grin he received was visible even in the dark alleyway. “I didn’t know you were gay.”
“I’m not.” He huffed.
“Oh, please. Only a gay guy would know where to seek me out.” He looked Vincent up and down. “Even for…things I don’t usually do.”
He frowned. “Cut the shit. Do what I asked for and I’ll pay you.”
“Deal.” Arms wrapped around him immediately. He was caught off guard, and for a moment, he stood there like a statue. Eventually, he leaned into him.
It felt weird to hug a man. He’d hugged plenty of women before. Relatives, his mother occasionally, and some fans that just insisted. None of them were men, though. Maybe they were scared of being called a slur. He’d never hugged his male relatives or his dad. It wasn’t supposed to feel different, but it did.
The guy was skinny. Like, really skinny. And tall. Very freakishly tall. Vincent was a proud five feet and five inches tall. Nothing hefty, but nothing shabby, either. Vincent’s head only reached to this guy’s lower chest.
He was also soft. Too soft, probably. His coat had tufted fur on the edges that were the color of a stripey dalmation. He also had the same type of fur around his neck, though it didn’t have any black stripes. Vincent buried his face in it, breathing deeply. He smelled like incense.
“What’s your name?” He asked, muffled and barely comprehensible.
“I don’t give out names willy-nilly." He replied curtly.
“Just tell me.” His tone shifted to a commanding bark.
The guy pushed him off of his chest, clearly not liking being addressed like that. Vincent was a bit surprised; not many protested like that.
“Valentino. Or just Val.”
Vincent grinned. “Got it.”
“You got what you wanted. Can you go now?”
“I asked for time.” He backed away a little bit from the hands still holding his chest. He backed right into the wall.
“Time for what?”
“You asked about my day?”
“No I didn’t—-”
“Ohhh, where to even begin?” He leaned dramatically against the wall. “Well, first I stayed up all night working on a personal project. I didn’t get any sleep, so I was like a zombie. I got a hoard of people surrounding me as I came into the studio. Crazy, right? Well, my segment went all wrong because I had forgotten what I was supposed to say, so I improvised a little, but I don’t think I did a very good job…”
He continued for about ten more minutes. Val listened the whole time, crossing his arms and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“...and that’s all. Whew! Feels good to get that off my chest.” He sighed, running his hands down his shirt. It was then he noticed he’d gone out without his jacket and tie, he was just wearing his plain white button up. He suddenly felt very cold.
“Uh–huh.” Val said thoughtfully, looking at his nails.
He didn’t even notice his disinterest. He felt lighter than he had before he’d pounded that whiskey. He wanted to do a lot of things. He wanted to run a few blocks. He wanted to kill someone just for fun. He wanted to go to bed.
“Here’s your money.” He put on his best charming grin and reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of uncounted bills.
As Val’s gaze scanned over the bills in his hand, his eyes widened. “Wait, you’re really paying me this much?”
He shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I got money to spare.”
Val’s surprise faded to a slow, devilish grin creeping up his face. He was disinterested before. Now he was the exact opposite.
“Oh, what a sugar daddy you are~” He purred, leaning down to reach his height.
Vincent blinked in confusion. He had no idea what the fuck that meant.
“Oooh, I should’ve watched the news more often, with what a catch you are.” Val reached into his own pocket and handed Vincent a scrap of paper. “Call me. If you ever need to trauma dump on me again, or whatever.”
Vincent looked at the number in his hand in surprise. He’d planned for this to be just a one time thing. It wasn’t like he regularly searched for hookers in his area, he just thought it would be a good outlet. Or, that’s what his drunken mind had told him.
“Wait, you just have your number on hand—?” He looked up, but Val was already gone. He looked around him rapidly, but he was standing alone in the alley.
He sighed and ran a hand down his face.
Well, fuck him.
~
This was quite possibly the weirdest night Val had ever experienced, and some pretty weird shit has happened to him in his lifetime.
When that weatherman pulled up in his ugly ass car, he’d been eager to know what he wanted. He’d be exploring the kinks that guy had? That guy who always told him the weather? Not to mention he didn’t even know the fabled Vincent Whittman was even into guys. Val prided himself in having a very good gaydar, but for some reason Vincent hadn’t registered on it.
Sadly, nothing kinky happened in that alleyway. The only thing that had happened was pity.
The guy looked tired, sue him. Anyone who pulled up and asked for a hug in a tired and maybe just a little bit drunk voice was gonna get a little bit of pity from him.
Hah, imagine. Valentino the sex worker showing pity for some sad weather guy who looked like he’d just stumbled through a bar and had some drinks the whole way.
The only reason he’d given him his number was because he gave him a shit ton of money. Maybe a little less better than pity, but that guy was loaded! He’d sit through an hour of venting from him if he got paid that much. Also, his eyes were nice. Just a definitive fact.
That was why his pity continued when, the very next day, Vincent had called him and asked him to come over again. He didn’t sound drunk, probably, but he did sound like shit, so he figured he could spare another day for that pathetic little white man.
He knocked politely on his door and waited for him to answer. He shouldn’t have been surprised at the sheer size of his house, but he was anyway. It was big. Like, really big. He didn’t even know anyone could have a house bigger than two apartments.
He wasn’t wearing the same thing as last night; just a simple white shirt with a big collar that showed his chest, some black pants that tapered at his ankles, and simple heeled boots that were a little smaller than the ones he wore the night before. He also had a white scarf around his neck that wasn’t tied, just draped over his shoulders. What could he say? He liked variety. He would’ve worn a nice dress today, but he’d walked here and he didn’t want to risk it.
Vincent answered quickly. A little too quickly.
“Hi.” He said, breathless as though he’d just ran through his whole house. “You’re here.”
“I am here.” He agreed, leaning against the door frame. “I said I’d come if you needed me.”
“Yeah…yeah…” Vincent ran his hand through his hair and down his face. He noticeably wasn’t wearing his glasses. He looked more sleep deprived without them. “I guess I just…didn’t expect you to…” He trailed off, looking down at the ground. His gaze snapped back up and he gestured inside. “Come in.”
Val raised an eyebrow, but obliged and ducked through the door and into his house. It was big, it was vast, nothing he couldn’t expect from the outside. A staircase was placed right next to the door. He tried to peer up at it, but Vincent hurried him along.
He was sat in the living room. It was a nice sitting arrangement; a couch and two armchairs with a coffee table in the middle. All of the seats were facing a table with a television on top. He raised an eyebrow at it. He’d thought Vincent got enough action with that kind of thing in his studio. Maybe he was just that self centered.
“You want a drink?” Asked Vincent. His voice sounded strained.
Val rested his elbow on the couch’s armrest and looked up at him with the best doe eyes he could muster. “What’cha got?”
“Whiskey. Wine, both red and white. Water.”
“Red wine, thanks.”
Vincent nodded and went to retrieve it from the kitchen. Val blew a kiss after him. He didn’t think Vincent saw it.
He came back with the wine and thrust the glass into Val’s hands. He didn’t complain, but he narrowed his eyes at him. His fingers curled comfortably around the stem of the glass and took a small sip. He hummed in contentment. Usually he had the cheap stuff right out of the bottle. This was fancy.
Vincent watched him drink the wine, eyes fixed on him like his reaction was all that mattered. As soon as Val seemed to like it, he finally forced his gaze away.
He took another long sip. “So?” He finally asked, sighing after he’d swallowed the red liquid. “Lay your problems on me, papi. I’ll listen. Maybe.”
He thought he’d hesitate more, but all Vincent did was raise an eyebrow before sprawling dramatically across Val’s legs. He tensed briefly, ready to shake him off, but he’d already started his rambling and he didn’t think he could stop him. He relaxed his legs.
He listened the entire time. Or, well, he tried his best to. Eventually it all started to filter out of his mind and translated into buzz. His wine was gone quickly, and he had nothing else to do as he listened. His fingers unconsciously made his way to weave through Vincent’s hair, messing it up. The man laying on his lap didn’t even falter.
He studied him carefully. His eyes were closed, full focus on the story he was telling. Something about how he killed a guy today. Fun. Vincent’s outfit was casual, more casual than what Val considered to be. It was a plain black shirt and light blue sweatpants, but at least he’d decided to be modest.
At least half an hour had passed. Vincent finally opened his eyes and fixed them on him, waiting for an answer to something.
“Hmm?” Val blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yes?” He guessed.
“I asked you how you’d kill the guy if given a chance.” Vincent clarified, sounding mildly terse.
“Oh.” Val tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Never killed anyone before, but I’d probably choke them. Unless they’re into that. Stabbing would be a good option. Guess I’m not very creative, huh…”
“...unless they’re…into that?” Vincent repeated, sounding adorably confused.
“Don’t worry about it.” He grinned. “Keep going.”
He received an eyebrow raise before Vincent closed his eyes and continued. Val tuned him out again, but his hand went back to his hair.
Honestly, Val didn’t quite know why he was doing this. Or, well, he did. The money, the pity. But…he didn’t have to let Vincent lay on his lap and tell him about his problems. He didn’t have to be here at all, actually. He could be doing much better things. He had a painting he needed to work on.
Well, it wasn’t like he could leave now.
Vincent’s ranting eventually ceased. He breathed deeply, calming himself for a moment, before opening his eyes and peering back up at him. Val quickly snatched his hand back.
“Thanks.” A loose smirk tugged at Vincent’s lips that didn’t seem fake, but it didn’t seem completely genuine and warm either. He sat up. With his previous attitude, Val half expected a comment about how it was kind of gay that he’d laid on his lap like that, but it didn’t come.
He watched him as he rolled his shoulders and let out a pleased sigh. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out more money to put into Val’s hand. “Payment.”
“Thank you.” He returned the smile. He felt like this was the best cash grab in the world that he’d stumbled onto.
He stood up, albeit a bit shaky from sitting in one position for so long, and cast a quick goodbye over his shoulder before leaving. No pleasantries, no conversations.
No sex.
Why was he doing this if they weren’t even fucking? He didn’t know. He just wanted to go home and paint. Nothing made sense, so why ponder over it? Pondering was for losers, anyway.
He strutted down the street and basked in the glances he received from doing so.
~
Vincent had to admit he liked Val’s company. Well, that was why he had him come over, wasn’t it? The guy was nice. A little flirty, but not forcing or anything. He didn’t talk too much. He let Vincent ramble and didn’t interrupt him. Sometimes he was teasing and playful. Vincent couldn’t say he hated it, but he didn’t like it, either.
He’d started to call him over almost daily. Sometimes he ranted about other things that weren’t just shitty days. Sometimes he ranted about sharks, as to which Val called him a nerd, but allowed him to keep speaking. It was nice to have an outlet. Nice to have someone he could finally talk to. It’s not like anyone at the studio would tolerate him talking about stuff like this.
The only thing Vincent worried about was being close to Val.
Laying across his lap had been different. He hadn’t been thinking about it, not until Val had actually left and he was alone with his thoughts. The times after that, he made sure to sit next to him and not be touching at all, or even sit in a different chair altogether. He was not going to touch him.
Yes, he had hugged him when he was drunk. So what? He was not gay.
What made it worse is that sometimes Val would scoot closer to him when they sat apart. He didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose or on accident, but all of his defenses flared up every time it happened. He scooted to the other end of the couch. He didn’t care about being discreet, he had firm boundaries in place.
Yet Val always seemed to break them.
Little brushes, little touches of their hands, sometimes Val would even run his gloved hands through Vincent’s hair when he was laying down (apart from him, this time) and he couldn’t even scoot away without snapping his neck or changing his position.
He sighed as he stepped into the kitchen. It was never good when he was in the kitchen at night, he’d started to learn. He searched his cabinets. The wine was almost gone because Val always had some every time he came over. He’d have to buy more.
All he had was whiskey. He poured a glass, but no more than one glass. He watered it down, too.
Every time he did something like this, he always felt a surge of victory. He was being responsible with his alcohol. Yay.
The urge to call Val over hit him fast, but he quickly shoved it down. It was late and he was wearing nothing but his underwear. He didn’t feel like getting dressed and Val was probably sleeping. Or fucking someone. Both made sense.
Sleep had been horrible lately. It took hours for him to even try and when he finally did fall asleep, he had nightmares that he couldn’t recall after they jerked him awake. It was doing numbers to how his brain was functioning, and his vision too, though that might’ve been because he hadn’t really been wearing his glasses lately.
Probably good he wasn’t drinking too much tonight, then.
He put the whiskey bottle back in the cabinet. He picked up his glass, intending to put it away too, but it slipped out of his fingers.
Crash!
The glass shattered on the floor.
It sent little shards everywhere. He stayed completely frozen. The sound had basically jolted him completely awake. He was petrified for just the smallest moment, heart pounding.
Slowly, he tried his best to step over the glass to get a dustpan and a broom to sweep up the glass. He still stepped on some shards, though. Numb flashes of pain shot through his foot, but he ignored them.
He crouched down and swept up the glass. Hah, wasn’t this a funny sight? Vincent Whittman sweeping up broken glass off the floor at three in the morning in his underwear. Sometimes he was glad cameras weren’t always on him.
He swept up the glass and managed to remove the stray shards in his feet with some hot water and tweezers. He felt like he was going to pass out and die if he didn’t get to bed right now.
Vincent ended up falling asleep on his armchair before he made it into bed.
~
Val usually didn’t get concerned for people. His range of emotions went from pity, to greed, to lust, to flirty, to irrationally angry. But some people were worth the concern, in his opinion.
He sure as hell didn’t expect Vincent Whittman of all people to be on the concerned list.
He’d thought that him being tired was a one time thing from when they first met, but he’s stayed like that throughout all the time they’ve known each other. He had the suspicion it was getting worse, too.
Today when he answered the door, he looked fucking insane.
“Val! Come in!” He greeted, more enthusiastically than normal. His movements were quick and jerky. Val followed uneasily as he led him into his living room, just like he always did.
Vincent didn’t sit down like he usually did, instead pacing back and forth in front of a rather awkward Val as he sat on the couch, watching him.
He started ranting about how he’d gone to bed so late and woken up so early, and that he’d had a drink the night before that ended with broken glass driven into his foot.
Val couldn’t help himself from nervously piping up. “Did you go to the doctor for that?”
Vincent stopped pacing. “Huh? What? No. I got it out myself.” He waved a dismissive hand and continued.
He listened to the rest of it without interrupting. When he was done, however, he spoke again.
“Vince, honey, I think you need to sit down.” He suggested weakly.
“Hell no. Sitting is for weaklings. I’m far from a weakling, Val.” He was no longer pacing, but he was swaying slightly on his feet.
“Uh–huh.” He replied dryly, and then kicked it up a notch or two. “Bitch, if you don’t sit down right now I’m going to force you.
Vincent blinked in surprise before hesitantly doing as was asked. He sat and faced him, crosslegged and fingers tapping rapidly against the couch cushions.
Usually Val didn’t give advice. He was here to listen, nothing else, but this was a new level of concerning, even for Vincent.
“I think you need to take some melatonin, or something. And like, do some breathing exercises.”
Vincent blinked dumbly at him. “Why?”
“Because you look like you’re going to kill an entire family and then pass out on the floor after.” He said bluntly. “Baby, you’re a hot mess. Did you go to work like this?”
“...well, yeah, but—”
“Take a day off and sleep the whole day, or something.” Val sighed, a bit exasperated.
“Um, hell no. I need to do my job.”
“No,” Val reached out and poked his chest. “You need sleep. Murder is fine when you’re not sleep deprived, makes you more dumb.”
“Mmm, fuck you.” Vincent yawned. “Fine. I’ll take the day off. But only because I’m tired.”
“Thank you.” He said smugly, glad that he’d finally gotten through to him. Because this whole situation was a little freaky, and not the good kind of freaky.
It was later in the day. The evening was starting to peek in through the windows, orange beams drifting through and bathing certain spots of the room. Vincent was the one most affected, with light behind him and to the side of him, it highlighted his eyes and lit him up in a way that was hard to explain.
They stared at each other for a moment. His eyes softened while Vincent’s widened slightly and looked back and forth between his facial features. He leaned forward slightly. Vincent did as well. He moved closer and closer until—
Vincent snapped his head the other way in a sudden movement. If Val wasn’t careful, he could’ve bonked his forehead on the side of his head.
Val pouted and pulled away, crossing his arms. Okay, not the right time, then. Whatever. Fuck this guy. He didn’t even care anyway.
He stood up, avoiding eye contact. “Gotta go.” He said simply.
“‘Kay.” Vincent’s tone sounded almost wistful. “Bye.”
“Bye.” Despite his bristly tone, he shut the door gently on his way out.