Quite a Catch

by CrystalSerpent

Summary:

After weeks of begging, Alastor finally caved in and agreed to take Vincent out hunting with him. He probably should have mentioned how messy the ordeal would be... not that Vincent seems to mind though.

(If you dont like gore and just want to read smut, you can just skip to ch. 2 and not miss anything. its just pwp)

Notes:

CW: Gore/Cannibalism

(I'm gonna regret posting this later🫠)

Chapter 1: Field dressing 101

The corpse sprawled across the cabin’s old wooden floor wasn’t twitching anymore. That was good. Vincent’s hands trembled as he wiped the blood from his knife onto his ruined slacks, leaving dark streaks against the fabric. His breath came in ragged bursts, his throat raw from screaming, though he couldn’t remember when he’d started.

Alastor stood perfectly still beside him, studying the mess with detached interest. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, smeared with a single droplet of red. He didn’t seem bothered by it. Didn’t seem bothered by much of anything, really.

Vincent, on the other hand, was a wreck. Hair matted with sweat, shirt clinging to his back, one sleeve torn where the man had clawed at him in those last, frantic moments.

"Did I–" Vincent swallowed, throat clicking dryly. His voice cracked like a teenager's. "Was that… good?" His fingers twitched toward Alastor’s sleeve, then stopped himself, remembering the rules. No touching unless permitted. Still, his gaze flicked up, desperate and searching for approval.

Alastor tilted his head, considering. The droplet of blood on his glasses caught the dim light from the single hanging ceiling lantern, refracting like a tiny ruby. He exhaled softly. An amused hum vibrated in his throat as he reached out and gave Vincent’s cheek in a fleeting pat. "Mhm. Very good." The praise, casual as it was, sent a violent shiver down Vincent’s spine. He nearly whimpered.

Then Alastor’s hand retreated, adjusting his glasses in a calm manner. He nudged the corpse with his foot, wrinkling his nose slightly at the squelch. "Though," he mused, "you made quite a mess of his throat. Bit dramatic, darling." The pet name dripped like syrup, sweet and sticky, and Vincent’s stomach twisted with longing.

Vincent scrambled to explain, words tumbling out in a rush. "He– h-he grabbed you. I– I couldn’t just–" His hands flexed at his sides, still slick with drying blood. He’d seen that man’s fingers curl around Alastor’s wrist, seen the way his grip had tightened possessively, and something in Vincent’s head had snapped.

Alastor arched a brow. "Oh?" He tapped his chin with a finger. "So it was my honor you were defending then?" His lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. Vincent’s pulse stuttered at the sight. "How gallant." The word dripped with mockery, but Vincent clung to it anyway, hungry for the crumbs.

Vincent swallowed thickly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Alastor’s gaze drifted over the body again, slow and assessing. Then he sighed, plucking a red handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab at the smear on his glasses. "Clean yourself up," he murmurd without looking up. "You’re filthy."

Vincent’s breath hitched at the order, fingers twitching toward his own ruined clothes. "Y– yes. Of course." He fumbled for his own handkerchief, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it twice before pressing the fabric to his face. He rubbed furiously at his cheeks and forehead, smearing the blood rather than cleaning it. Honestly, he was probably just making it worse.

Alastor rolled his eyes and gestured lazily toward the cabin’s rear door with a flick of his wrist. "You’ll need more than that. There’s a shower out back. The water’s cold, but it’ll do." His lips curled at the edges, not quite a smirk, but something predatory all the same. "Strip before you go in. Put the clothes in the bag by the door outside. I’ll wash them later." He spoke with casual indifference– as if this were any other Saturday. As if Vincent hadn’t just carved a man open like a holiday ham for him.

Vincent nodded and turned on unsteady legs toward the back door. The adrenaline was fading now, leaving his muscles jittery and weak. He made it halfway before the sound of strained breath and shifting fabric snapped his attention back. Alastor had crouched beside the corpse, fingers hooked underneath it, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His forearms flexed, corded with lean muscle as he attempted to lift the dead weight. Vincent’s breath caught.

"Al–" The name tore out of him before he could stop it. He raced forward with his hands outstretched. "Let me– please, I can–" His voice was strained, high and frantic. Alastor paused mid-motion, shoulders stiffening, and turned just enough to level him with a look so withering it burned hotter than any blade. His glasses gleamed in the dim light, obscuring his eyes, but Vincent didn’t need to see them to know the irritation simmering beneath.

"You’re overstepping," Alastor said, voice cold and clipped. "Again." The words landed like a slap to the face. Vincent froze, hands hovering uselessly in the air, fingers twitching as if grasping for something that wasn’t there. His breath stuttered in his chest, pulse thundering so loudly he was sure Alastor could hear it. "Dont make me regret bringing you along this time." Alastor continued, rolling his sleeves up higher.

Vincent’s stomach plummeted. He stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to retreat. "I– I’m sorry," he choked out, voice ragged with desperation. "I didn’t mean– I just–" The excuses died in his throat. He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms, and turned on his heel before he could humiliate himself further. The back door slammed shut behind him with a bang, the wood rattling in its frame.

Alastor watched him go, lips curling in silent amusement. The man was truly pathetic– a feral beast one moment, a whimpering mess the next. And all for him. The thought sent a warm, tingling sensation down his spine. He adjusted his glasses one final time before finally turning his full attention to the corpse at his feet. He wiped his hands on a stained rag, eyeing the jagged tear in the man’s throat with clinical detachment. 

Vincent had been… enthusiastic. Too much so. The wound was uneven and messy. More like something a wild animal would leave than the precise, calculated cuts Alastor preferred. But he couldn’t deny the flutter in his chest at the memory of Vincent’s snarling face, those mismatched blue and green eyes going black with fury. For him. Always for him.

Outside, the shower hissed to life, the pipes groaning loudly. Alastor’s lips twitched. He could picture Vincent now; standing rigid under the icy spray, fingers trembling as they scrubbed at his skin raw, desperate to wash away the evidence of his devotion. Pathetic… Yet so undeniably his. Alastor had the great and powerful Vincent Whittman wrapped around his finger. The thought settled sweetly in his belly.

It was almost funny, really. The way Vincent carried himself on screen– chin up, shoulders back, that smooth, charismatic voice commanding attention like a king before his court. Women swooned when he flashed that practiced grin; men straightened their ties, hoping to earn a nod of approval. They all thought they knew him. But they didn’t. Not like Alastor did. Not the Vincent who whimpered when Alastor’s fingers brushed his wrist, who melted at the barest hint of praise, who’d just killed a man because someone dared lay a finger on what was his. 

That carefully constructed mask of control was a farce, and he was the only one who got to peel it away layer by layer. He’d seen it crack the first time he’d met Vincent off-set– how the man’s breath hitched when Alastor ignored his outstretched hand, how his voice frayed at the edges when he realized his usual charm wouldn’t work here. It had been delicious. Like watching a lion realize it was nothing more than a housecat when the right hands gripped its throat.

There was a bit of a struggle trying to move the body. It was much heavier than Alastor anticipated, but he’d never been one to shy away from dirty work. His fingers dug into the cooling flesh beneath the armpits, and with a grunt, he began to drag it across the floor, leaving a thick, wet crimson trail in its wake. That’ll be a bitch to clean up–he’ll just have Vincent take care of it later.

Alastor hummed under his breath as he maneuvered the body toward the rusted hooks hanging from the ceiling beams. One sharp tug on the pulley system, and the corpse dangled limply, swaying slightly like a grotesque pendulum. Alastor crouched beside the body, fingers deftly working at the belt buckle. Leather creaked as he tugged it free, followed by the rasp of a zipper. The pants slid down stiffening legs with minimal effort, pooling around the ankles in a heap of stained fabric. He rolled them into a tight bundle and set them aside. He'll burn them later.

The metal basin scraped against the floorboards as he positioned it beneath the swaying corpse. From his back pocket, he produced a slender boning knife, the blade thin, precise, and freshly sharpened. He tested its edge against his thumb, then, without hesitation, drew a deep, curving incision just above the pubic bone. The flesh parted with satisfying ease, still warm beneath his fingers.

Blood cascaded in thick, rhythmic pulses, splattering against the basin’s rim before settling into a steady stream. The scent of iron filled the cramped space. Alastor inhaled deeply, savoring it, before stepping back to watch. His glasses reflected the lantern light, obscuring his gaze, but his smile gave him away. He was enjoying this. Watching the blood drain from his freshly slaughtered victims had to be one of his favorite things- second only to carving them up, of course.

He turned on his heel, humming softly under his breath as he made his way to the workbench tucked against the far wall. The surface was cluttered with an assortment of gleaming instruments, bone saws, rib spreaders, scalpels, all meticulously arranged. He selected each tool with care, fingers brushing over polished steel before slotting them into a worn leather roll. He’d had this kit custom-made years ago, and it had served him well. Bloodstains darkened the stitching in places, but that only added to its charm.

The corpse above him dripped steadily, the basin beneath filling with a sluggish, syrupy deep, almost black, crimson. Alastor glanced at his watch– he’d give it about four more minutes. Enough time to prepare. He tugged on a fresh pair of latex gloves, snapping them against his wrists before rolling the tools onto the steel table. The metal clattered faintly, echoing in the cramped space. He adjusted the overhead lamp, casting a stark white glow over the dissection area, and wiped down the surface with a quick swipe of antiseptic.

When the dripping slowed to almost a complete stop, he removed the basin with a grunt, setting it aside near the door. The weight made his arms tremble slightly. Vincent probably would have been better suited for this task, what with his brute strength, but Alastor was stubborn in his ways. Even if it was hard work, he enjoyed getting his hands dirty. Though, perhaps next time he might consider letting the man help, if only just to watch him struggle. Vincent would probably be overjoyed at the opportunity as well. quite the eager and obedient pup.

The pulley groaned ominously as he lowered the corpse, the rusted chain protesting under the weight. Halfway down, the mechanism jammed with a metallic screech, leaving the body suspended awkwardly mid-air, swaying slightly as if caught in an invisible breeze. Alastor clenched his jaw, giving the chain a few firm tugs before it finally jerked free, sending it plummeting the remaining distance with a wet, meaty thud. A spray of residual blood flecked his trousers, dark against the pristine fabric. He exhaled sharply through his nose but said nothing. No use getting angry over a little mess.

Grabbing the ankles, he dragged the corpse over towards the prepared table. The body was a bit lighter now, but still heavy enough to make Alastor’s arms ache from the strain. He really needs to get back into shape after this. His indulgent last several months working with Vincent had made him weak. When was his last hunt? Had to be last October– much too long. 

A small smirk appeared on his face as he recalled the look on Vincent's face when he caught Alastor removing the organs from his previous kill. He had prepared himself to take him down as well to keep the man quiet– but what an astonishing surprise, instead of fear, Alastor saw something much more interesting. Awe. Devotion--

Lust. That had him the most intrigued.

The corpse slid onto the table with a wet thump, fingers dangling limply over the edge. Alastor adjusted the body’s position with quick, efficient movements, arranging the limbs just so. He reached for the bone saw first, fingers curling tight around the worn wooden handle. The serrated blade glinted dully as he positioned it above the ribcage.

Just as he was about to make the first cut, the sound of the back door opening made him freeze momentarily. Vincent stood there, naked and wet, water dripping down the lean planes of his chest. His skin was pink from the cold, nipples pebbled tight, and his breath came in shallow puffs that fogged the air. He looked like a drowned rat.

Alastor’s gaze raked over him, lingering a beat too long on the way water darkened the trail of hair leading down from his navel before he let out a sharp, derisive laugh. "Christ, you look pitiful," he muttered, nodding toward a wooden hook on the wall where a deep red robe hung. "Cover yourself up. Then come give me a hand– if you can manage not to get in my way."

Vincent's entire body lit up like a struck match. His lips parted, eyes widening as if Alastor had just offered him a prize instead of a grunt task. He scrambled toward the robe, nearly slipping in his haste, fingers fumbling over the fabric in a frenzy. The fabric was thin silk, and it hugged around him like a second skin. It was too short as well, likely meant for only Alastor. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, leaving too much of Vincent’s legs exposed. Not that he really cared. He was already stepping forward eagerly, bare feet slapping against the bloody floorboards. "What do you need?" he breathed, voice rough with badly contained excitement.

Alastor tossed him a pair of gloves without looking, watching from the corner of his eye as Vincent caught them midair. "It needs to be gutted first." he said, tapping the corpse’s swollen belly with the tip of his knife. "Careful not to puncture the intestines. I hate the smell." Vincent nodded, swallowing hard. Alastor didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed, or the sheen of sweat that suddenly appeared at his forehead despite the cold. The man was definitely nervous– maybe a bit scared as well. Still, Vincent didn’t hesitate. His hands trembled only slightly as he made the initial incision, following Alastor’s murmured instructions with surprising precision.

As hesitant as Alastor was to let Vincent help, he was quite surprised at how quickly he got the hang of it. With precise, careful movements, Vincent removed each organ as instructed, his fingers trembling only slightly as he placed them into separate sterile, metal bowls. Alastor watched him closely, noting the way his jaw tightened when the scent of bile and copper hit the air. He was getting nauseous, yet his hands never faltered. It was amusing, really. This man could barely stomach the stench, yet he still obeyed without question.

"Label that one." Alastor murmured, nodding toward the liver he had just wrapped in wax paper. His fingers were slick with blood up to his wrists, like gleaming, red gloves. Vincent obeyed without hesitation, though his nostrils flared as he carefully marked the organ with a trembling hand. The stench was thick, but Vincent didn’t gag. He wouldn't allow himself. His jaw clenched tighter, his breathing carefully shallow.

Alastor watched him with quiet amusement. The way Vincent's eyelashes fluttered when the scent hit him, the way his throat worked as he swallowed back bile, it was all so very entertaining. But beneath that, there was something else. The feverish devotion in Vincent’s eyes, the way his hands steadied when Alastor praised him, it was almost endearing. Almost.

"What are you gonna do with them?" Vincent asked suddenly. The question was innocent enough, but Alastor’s eyes narrowed from where he was looking down at his hand that delicately held a freshly removed kidney.

Alastor rolled the organ between his fingers, considering the question before answering plainly, "I plan to eat them." He watched Vincent carefully, waiting for the inevitable disgust to twist his expression. Instead, Vincent’s breath hitched, his pupils dilating so wide they nearly swallowed his irises. His lips parted slightly. "Fuck... Seriously? That- That's..." Vincent's voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.

His fingers twitched where they hovered over the liver, fingertips lightly brushing against the paper covering it. The light caught the sheen of sweat covering his skin along with the rapid flutter of his pulse beneath his jaw. Alastor watched, fascinated, as the horror never came. He only saw that familiar, feverish devotion, tinged now with something much hungrier. 

My, was that... lust?

Alastor tilted his head, the small organ in his hand dripping steadily onto the metal table. "Surprised?" he murmured, voice low and honeyed. "I thought you knew what kind of man I was." He placed the kidney carefully into a metal bowl, watching Vincent's reaction from beneath his lashes. The way Vincent's breath quickened, the way his fingers twitched, it was laughable.

Vincent swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. "I... suspected…" he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But I never thought you’d really–" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Nevermind." His gaze flicked down to the mess of viscera between them, then back up to Alastor's face. There was something feverish in his eyes now, something that hadn't been there before. Alastor found himself intrigued.

Suddenly, Alastor leaned forward, tilting his head like a curious bird. "Would you like to try it?" The question was so casual, as if he'd asked if Vincent wanted a bite of his sandwich. His fingers tapped idly against the steel table. "Human flesh, I mean. You can start small– maybe a bit of muscle–"

"No!" Vincent recoiled instantly, shaking his head with such force that water droplets flew from his damp hair. "N-no way. No." His stomach lurched at the mere suggestion. Alastor chuckled lightly before going back to his task. He suspected as much that Vincent wouldn't have the stomach for it, but admittedly he found himself a tad bit disappointed. Why? He wasn't so sure.

More for him.

Vincent bit his lip, watching Alastor's hands move diligently as he separated tissue from bone. He hesitated before whispering, "But... I'd like to watch you eat it." The words hung between them. Alastor's fingers stilled for just a second, so briefly Vincent might have imagined it, before he resumed his work.

"Oh?" He murmured. "And why would you want to watch that, hm?" His voice dripped with amusement, low and teasing. "Is this another one of your sick little fetishes?"

Vincent's breath hitched. A deep red flush bloomed across his cheeks, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath the silk robe. His silence was answer enough. Alastor froze mid-slice, scalpel hovering above the corpse's spleen. Then he laughed, a sharp, mocking sound that echoed off the cabin walls. "Ah," he breathed, delighted. "That was it, wasn't it? The thought of me eating human flesh gets you hard."

Vincent's fingers twitched where they gripped the table edge, knuckles whitening. "Shut up." he muttered, voice thick.

Alastor's grin turned razor-sharp. "Watch yourself, mutt." He dropped the scalpel with a clatter, leaning across the steel table until their faces nearly touched. "You don't dare speak to me like that." Vincent's throat bobbed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Alastor watched the way his pupils dilated, the way his breathing became unsteady. A filthy, wonderful idea took root.

"Look at me." Alastor murmured. Vincent obeyed instantly, eyes locking onto his. Slowly, Alastor reached into the corpse's gaping chest cavity. His fingers curled around the still-intact heart, slick with congealing blood. Vincent's breath hitched. Alastor wrenched it free with a wet *schlorp*, veins snapping like overstretched rubber bands. He brought it to his lips–

And bit down.

The muscle resisted at first, then yielded under the pressure of his teeth with a satisfying pop. Metallic warmth flooded his mouth, thick and coppery. The texture was unpleasant, very rubbery and fibrous, but the way Vincent's eyes darkened, his lips parting in a shuddering exhale, made it almost delicious. 

Alastor chewed slowly, relishing the way Vincent's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his own tongue darting out to wet his lips unconsciously. Then Vincent moaned. Alastor’s smirk turned maniacal at the desperate sound, lips smeared crimson as he swallowed the chunk of heart. He’d almost been upset; wasting such a precious cut on a performance, but the way Vincent’s breath stuttered, the way his knees shook, made it so worth it.

Alastor bit into the organ again, slower this time, teeth sinking into the rubbery muscle with a wet squelch. Vincent’s eyes stayed locked onto his face, unblinking, as if terrified to miss even a single millisecond. Another moan slipped past Vincent’s lips, high and needy, and Alastor’s gaze flicked down.

Ah. The silk robe was tented obscenely at Vincent’s crotch. He was very aroused. Alastor chuckled darkly after swallowing, dragging the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth. "You disgusting freak." he murmured, tilting his head. "You’re getting off on this? On me eating some poor bastard’s heart like an apple?" 

Vincent’s throat bobbed, his voice wrecked when he whispered, "Yes."

Alastor tossed the half-eaten heart onto the table with a wet *plop*, watching as Vincent flinched at the sound. "Pathetic," he purred. "Utterly shameless." He slowly dragged his tongue up the length of his index finger, collecting the thick smear of blood along the digit with languid strokes. Vincent made a choked noise in the back of his throat. His knuckles white where they gripped the table's edge. His hips twitched forward unconsciously, silk robe straining.

Alastor’s lips twitched. He sucked the blood from his thumb next, humming mock-thoughtfully as if tasting fine wine. Vincent’s knees actually buckled this time, his breath coming in shallow, ragged pants. "God," Vincent whispered, voice wrecked, "you’re so fucking hot." The sincerity in his tone made Alastor’s stomach twist with something dangerously close to delight.

"You’re deranged." Alastor murmured, licking a stripe up his palm obscenely. Vincent groaned deep in his throat, his hips jerking forward against the table’s edge. The robe slipped slightly open, revealing his flushed, hardened cock. "Tell me," Alastor purred, tilting his head, "what exactly is going through that sick little head of yours right now?"

Vincent’s breath hitched. His fingers flexed against the steel table, leaving smears of blood where they gripped. "I want–" he swallowed, voice wrecked, "...to pin you down. Right here. On top of him." His eyes flicked to the gutted corpse between them, then back to Alastor’s face. "Fuck you into the mess. Watch you get covered in it. The blood, gore, everything. I wanna ruin you." His voice cracked on the last few words.

Alastor blinked. Then he threw his head back and laughed hard, his shoulders shaking. "Christ!" he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes with a blood-streaked wrist. "That’s certainly… creative." He licked his lips slowly, savoring the metallic tang. "But no." He gestured lazily to the dissected body. "I’m not wasting good meat on your depravity." He trailed his fingers along the exposed ribcage. "Though, perhaps..." He paused, tapping a finger against his own chin. "If we find a less appetizing prey later... I might consider it."

Vincent’s breath hitched. His cock throbbed, twitching visibly through the gap in his robe. Alastor eyed it with a curl of his lip.  "Good lord, Vincent. Cover that thing," he snapped. "Unless you want me to cut it off." Vincent whined but his trembling fingers obeyed, hastily retying the sash until the fabric strained over his hips. The damp silk clung obscenely, still betraying the shape of him, but Alastor pretended not to notice.

"Good boy," Alastor murmured, turning his attention back to the corpse with a dismissive nod. "Now let’s finish this up." He traced a fingertip along the corpse’s throat, smearing blood in deliberate arcs. "If you behave," he added, voice dropping to a purr. "I might consider rewarding you afterward."

Oh, that was all Vincent needed to hear to get his act together. 

 

Notes:

This was originally going to be a one shot, but it just started becoming too long so I'm splitting it into 2. Smut will be in the next chapter.

...So uh... Yeah. I feel like I need to apologize for sharing this. Mb guys. (Lowkey I wonder if it's even as bad as I'm making it out to be lol)

Obviously, I've never killed and butchered a person *shifty eyes*, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. I think I may be on a government watchlist with the crazy kind of research I had to do. I promise I'm not a serial killer, nor do I condone the acts of them.

This is my first time doing anything "dead dove" so let me know how I did.

follow me on x: @Da_SquidFatha