Chapter Text
Someday he’ll come along, the man I love.
And he’ll be big and strong, the man I love.
Alastor hums along to the pleasant tune as he pours two cups of coffee. The morning sunlight spilling in through the windows has warmed their home nicely, and his smile feels genuine and relaxed as he turns to set one of the coffee cups on the kitchen island behind him.
And when he comes my way, I’ll do my best to make him stay.
He’ll look at me and smile, I’ll understand.
Vincent does smile at him, eyes watching him - always watching him - as he accepts the coffee. There’s a deliberate graze of fingertips that sends a shiver through him, and makes his smile grow strained. He turns around quickly, focusing on finishing preparing their breakfast before Vincent allows himself to become distracted.
He hums again, louder this time, focusing on the pan sizzling on the stove instead of the weight of Vincent’s gaze as it drags slowly down his back. He does so dislike when their mornings turn… intimate.
Vincent's chair scrapes against the floor as he stands.
Alastor breaks into song in an effort to dissuade the advances.
“He’ll build a little home, just meant for two,” he sings, listening as heavy footsteps round the kitchen island and approach him from behind, a flicker of unease settling in his stomach. He suppresses a flinch as large hands settle on his waist. They’re gentle, they’re always gentle, but relentless all the same. They circle around him possessively before pulling him back to press against a firm chest. Alastor exhales and forces himself to relax into the embrace.
“From which I’ll never roam,” he sings, voice wavering slightly as he reaches to turn off the burner, lifting the pan from the heat before the eggs can burn completely. “Who would? Would you?”
Vincent’s mouth presses hot kisses along the side of his neck, unhurried and slow. He tries to keep the nausea from growing within him at the slide of wet heat, instead tilting his head back to allow his husband more room. This is what husbands do. This is how people show their love.
Their radio finishes the song, the last line spilling out into their living room.
And so, all else above, I’m waiting for the man I love.
Alastor doesn’t sing the last line, unsure he’ll be able to keep the discomfort from leaking into his voice. Still, he allows himself to be led to sway along with the dying notes. Vincent spins him carefully until they're facing one another. Alastor smiles up at him with his well-practiced and near perfect expression. He lets his hands rest around his husband’s neck as he’s pulled in for a kiss.
They are the ideal picture of a happy couple.
“You feeling okay, Al?” Vincent asks when they part, pausing for a minute as if debating how to word things. “You seem a bit distant.”
Alastor laughs softly and rises up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his husband’s mouth. He maintains his air of composure, despite the mild panic building in his chest. “I just didn’t want breakfast to burn… again,” he deflects, leaning back down and resting against the other’s chest, allowing himself to be pulled even closer, until their bodies are flush against one another. He swallows thickly, forcing his limbs to remain lax and gentle as Vincent’s hands smooth down his back. “But I know a lost cause when I see one,” he adds, knowing that the eggs are definitely going to be overcooked just by sitting in the hot pan for this long.
“Oh, don’t mind that. Who needs breakfast anyway?” Vincent says, pressing a kiss into his hair.
“You do, sir. Before you leave for work,” he says, extracting himself from the other’s grip before poking a finger into his chest.
Vincent relents with a sigh, rounding the kitchen island again before taking a seat. Alastor takes a deep, steadying breath as he turns to plate the overcooked eggs alongside the rest of their meal, turning to set the plate before Vincent with a smile before turning away once more to finish packing his lunch. Once he’s done, he sets his husband’s lunchbox alongside his briefcase. He glances up at the large grandfather clock standing near their front door.
“You need to leave in the next ten minutes if you don’t want to be late,” he says as he re-enters their kitchen.
Vincent sighs, before pulling out the chair beside him and patting the seat. “Come on, dear, eat with me.” Alastor’s smile grows fond as he approaches, kissing the top of the other’s head before sliding into the offered seat.
Vincent leaves for work, after a few minutes spent fussing over not wanting to leave Alastor all alone. It’s a conversation they have nearly every day, one which Alastor secretly enjoys. Eventually, after several kisses and a few gropes that earn Vince a swat on the head, he leaves, allowing Alastor to prepare for his day. He makes their bed and starts a load of laundry, cleans the kitchen and checks their pantry and fridge, forming a mental list of items they’ll need. Once the house is somewhat tidy, he changes out of his pajamas and dresses. Upon checking the time, he sees that he only has a few minutes until he needs to leave.
Ugh.
With a sigh, he turns off the radio and heads to the door, pausing just before opening it. He glances to the clock again, seeing that his time is almost up. If he doesn’t head outside now, the phone will start ringing. Or worse, his unwelcome company will decide to just show up unannounced to draw him outside.
Fucking Cindy.
He forces his smile to widen before opening the door, pausing as he sees the very woman he despises far too close, hand raised as if moments away from knocking.
Everyday, the same damned thing.
“Oh, good morning, Mrs. Cindy! How wonderful to see you!” He says with false cheer, watching as her eyes widen and her smile brightens.
“Oh, Alastor, stop!” She says, stepping backwards to give him space as he exits his home and locks the door behind him. “How have you been, dear?”
“Oh, nothing much has changed since I saw you yesterday,” he says, a bit of petulance slipping into his tone that he smooths away with a sharp smile and a gesture of his hands.
She laughs, holding out her arm. He takes it, leading her down the walkway and towards the bus stop.
“How’s Vincent? You two love birds still in the honeymoon phase?" She teases, pulling him a little closer by his arm and smiling up at him with a shit eating grin.
He laughs good naturedly. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’d dislike her as much if she didn’t insist on snooping as much as she does. Everyday their conversation feels much like an interrogation, always managing to circle back to his relationship with his husband.
“Oh, I don’t know what you mean! But Vincent is fine, as always,” he says, glancing around. Like usual, they are the only two outside.
“Oh, I think you do know what I mean if that hickey on your neck is any indication,” Cindy teases, reaching up to pinch his check.
He stiffens, swatting her hands away as gently as he can manage.
“Ha! Oh, I’m just pulling your tail, kid, you don’t have a hickey. Not one that I can see anyway,” she says, cackling at her own joke.
His smile is tight and strained. Why does he still escort her to run their errands every single day? Surely it wouldn’t be too big of a deal for him to laze around the house for a few hours and run these errands later in the day. But then he’d have to listen to her knocking at the door and calling their phone, asking why he wasn’t coming.
So he focuses on keeping his smile on his face as they approach the bus stop, just in time, like always. Like usual, Alastor helps Cindy onto the bus first, ignoring her teasing and compliments about how he’s such a gentleman and such a sweet thing.
Honestly, a part of him wants to push her in front of the bus instead, but he tries to shove those dark urges to the recesses of his mind.
They run their usual errands, bumping into the same people they usually do. Mr. Coxen is just as overly loud and touchy as always and Mr. Scott is as much of an ass as has come to be expected. Mrs. Justine is as judgmental and shallow as usual and Ms. Christina is as forgetful and dull as she always is. His jabs go right over their feeble little minds, which is the only enjoyment he gets out of his day. Honestly, he doesn’t understand why he puts up with any of them.
Once he has bought groceries and picked up Vincent’s suits from the dry cleaners, he turns his attention to helping Mrs. Cindy with carrying her items as well. They do splurge, stopping by the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine to go with the dinner he has planned. Cindy hardly drinks, and, according to her, never smokes, although she never seems to say no when he offers her a cigarette.
When they finally get home, Alastor is relieved to be able to finally be alone. It’s a blessing and not one that he’s gifted for long each day. He pours himself a finger of rye, sighing to himself as he flicks on the radio. It stutters for just a moment before notes of jazz filter through the speakers, lifting a weight off of his shoulders. He may be blessedly alone, but there’s still things to be done. He gets to work, unloading the groceries and hanging Vincent’s suits he’d retrieved from the drycleaners before they have a chance to wrinkle. He shuffles the laundry and begins preparing dinner, one finger of rye turning into two and then three as he works.
Drinking always helps the next part be easier, anyway.
He goes through the motions, folding laundry in between stirring dinner, and setting the table just as he hears the jingle of the doorknob indicating that Vincent is home. Just on time, like always. He lights the last candle before flitting back to the kitchen and out of sight, as the door opens.
“Honey, I’m home!” Vincent calls, voice bright and cheery like it always is for their nightly candlelit dinner. He hears the sound of a briefcase hitting the floor and takes a deep breath, downing the last of his drink before plastering a bright smile on his face. He peeks around the corner as if caught off guard by the other's arrival, letting his smile grow wider as he takes in the sight of Vincent, staring back at him with arms outstretched.
Alastor pulls off his apron, draping it over the back of the barstool as he steps towards his husband, allowing himself to be pulled into a tight, suffocating hug. He wills himself to relax into the embrace, a job made much easier as the arms encaging him relax and a gentle kiss is pressed into his hair.
“I missed you, today,” Vincent whispers into the top of his head and Alastor feels his smile relax into a more natural thing as he laughs against the others chest, letting himself be swayed into a mock dance.
“You always miss me, love,” he says fondly, with a dramatic roll of his eyes as if annoyed, betrayed as his smile grows as Vincent groans in mock offence.
“And you didn’t even miss me? What a cruel little thing you are,” he teases, hand carding through Alastor’s hair before catching on the ends and pulling his head back. Alastor laughs lightly as a kiss is pressed to his forehead, and then his nose, before finally those lips meet his. He tries his best to melt into it, stomach fluttering at the feeling of being encased in warmth and loved so unabashedly by another.
“Fine,” Alastor says in a pretend annoyed voice as he finally pulls away from their kiss. “I suppose I did miss you,” he says with a mock pout.
Vincent smiles at him tenderly, so much so that Alastor feels his breath stutter at the sheer honesty. Vince steps back a bit, pulling away from their embrace to grab his hands instead, pulling him smoothly into step as the radio picks up on a new song. Oh, Vincent loves this song and Alastor finds his smile growing as Ella Fitzgerald’s voice rings through their cozy little home.
How glad the many millions of Timothys and Williams
Would be, to capture me.
Alastor can’t help the small laugh that escapes him as he’s twirled, before being pulled back flush against Vincent’s chest.
But you had such persistence
You wore down my resistance
I fell, and it was swell
“Dinner smells amazing, dear,” Vincent says, pressing a kiss to the side of his face as his hands drop to rest on his waist. Alastor shivers as he feels the other’s hardness pressed against him.
“It’ll be cold by the time you eat it if you keep allowing yourself to be distracted,” Alastor says, head resting backwards against Vincent’s warm chest as he allows himself to be swayed in time with the song.
I've got a crush on you, sweetie pie
All the day and night time, hear me sigh
Vincent’s lips press against the side of his face again before dropping lower, until there’s a wet heat against the sensitive skin of Alastor’s neck. He turns to give the other more access, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he feels the light graze of teeth. He can’t tell whether he likes or dislikes the sensation, but he does so love when they dance, that he can’t find it in himself to complain or try and dissuade the other.
I never had the least notion
That I could fall with so much emotion
“D-dinner’s going to be-” Alastor starts before there’s a harsher nip against his neck that makes him keen, the bite of pain making his smile stretch.
“Fuck dinner, Al. I missed this. I missed you,” Vincent says, breath ghosting along the side of his ear and sending a shiver through him.
Could you coo, could you care?
For a cunning cottage we could share
Hands drop from his waist to his hips and pull him backwards. Al groans as he feels his husband’s erection press against him, arching his back and raising a hand to rest along the back of Vincent’s head, pulling him closer as kisses dance along his exposed neck.
The world will pardon my mush
'Cause I've got a crush, my baby, on you
As the song comes down from its dramatic swell, Alastor sighs. There’s another minute or so left on the song but the music won’t build like that again. The tension is so right, but the lull in music will do nothing but grate on his nerves and ruin this rare moment in which he finds himself enjoying the sexual aspect of their relationship. He feels himself reaching out, as if to change the song with his mere thoughts into the tune he’s thinking of, into another sensual song so they can continue.
He pauses, body growing ridged and smile slipping into something more muted. What a strange thing for him to attempt. He must not be as lax in Vincent’s arms as he had been, because he’s soon pulled around until they’re facing one another once more.
“You okay, love?” He asks, genuine curiosity sparking in those mismatched eyes.
Alastor forces his smile to stretch into something more pleased and relaxed, unsure how to express that he’d just attempted… what? Telepathy? Telekinesis? He doesn’t even know. How absurd would that even sound? He shakes his head lightly, deciding not to share the strange action with Vincent.
“O-of course, just hungry, love,” he says, smiling brightly and pressing forward into the other. He places his arms over his husband’s shoulders and cards his fingers through the short hair at the base of his neck before pulling him into a kiss.
Vincent hums for a minute against his lips before pulling away, staring down at him with a frown and a skeptical eye. “Then why don’t we eat, first, hm?”
The next morning, their routine is the same as always. Vincent wakes first, leaving Al to wake alone. He does, the sun warming his skin as he throws off the sheet that had barely been covering him to begin with. His bare feet hit the cool floor and he stretches his arms, before standing with a sigh. He snatches up a discarded shirt from where the clothing had been thrown haphazardly in their rush to get to the bed. He pulls it on, one of Vincent’s, he realizes, buttoning the dress shirt just enough to cover himself.
They had been rather… preoccupied the night prior, so the mess of clothes and shoes shouldn’t come as a surprise. Regardless, he can’t help but find that he’s disappointed, although he doesn't know why. It’s not like someone else is around to clean up after him. He’ll do it himself, like always.
He pads his way to the door, stretching once more and yawning as he exits the bedroom. He waves his hand to pull the door shut behind him as he passes through, stopping a few steps away at the sound, or lack thereof, of the door clicking shut. He turns, unsure as to why he’s surprised that it’s still open. He stares for a long moment before slowly stepping forward and reaching for the handle, pulling it closed with a soft click. Had he tried to close it with his mind? Like the radio?
“You okay there, Al?”
He startles, jumping and turning as if having been caught doing someone wrong. Again, Vincent looks at him with skepticism in his gaze.
Alastor smiles, letting his shoulders relax. “Oh! You scared me, Vince,” he says, shaking his head a bit as if to dislodge the uneasiness that had settled over him. He clasps his hands behind his back and tilts his head to the side, letting his smile grow as he steps forwards.
“Mhm,” Vincent says, clearly wanting to press, and Alastor has the brief thought that maybe he did do something wrong based on the look in Vincent’s eye.
The moment stretches, and Alastor feels his smile begin to wane before Vince clears his throat and smiles. “I didn’t mean to startle you, love. Come on, I made coffee,” he says, leading Al to the kitchen before pressing a delicious smelling cup into his hands.
“Oh, this smells wonderful, Vincent,” he says, letting his eyes slip shut as he takes a sip. Vincent smiles at him before stepping towards their back porch. Alastor follows, nearly bumping into Vincent as he stills just before opening the door, hand frozen on the doorknob as he looks at Al with suspicion.
“Are you sure you’re alright, love?”
Al smiles, hating how his grip tightens on the mug, but nods all the same with a dismissive laugh. “Of course I’m alright! Whatever would give you the impression otherwise?”
Vincent looks at him with an intense gaze, as if trying to read his thoughts. Al tries to maintain eye contact, but there’s a near instinctual warning flaring in the back of his mind to look away. He does, after a moment, smile dying until it’s something small and uncomfortable.
“Well, Al, I just didn’t take you for an exhibitionist,” Vincent says, eyes flicking down to his legs. Alastor freezes, only now feeling the brush of cold air against his bare skin.
“Oh! Oh gosh,” he says, setting his coffee cup down on the decorative table near their backdoor before darting through their home and into the bedroom, pulling on slacks and one of his shirts before returning.
He smiles warmly at Vince, accepting as he presses his coffee mug into his hands before opening the door. They drink their coffee on the porch, as always, curled up on their couch patio together in the coolness of the morning. Their conversation is charmingly idle, chatting about how nosey Cindy is and about how well work is going for Vincent.
Eventually, his cup runs dry and so he stands, collecting both empty mugs before reluctantly heading inside to start breakfast. He makes short work of it, having both of their plates ready by the time Vincent is dressed for work.
Fortunately, their meaningless chitchat persists through breakfast, allowing for a relaxing environment as they eat, with Vincent stealing kisses and innocent enough touches. Still, it was all much better than the distrustful looks he’s been getting lately.
Afterwards, Alastor gathers their plates, allowing himself to be pulled into a side hug as he reaches to grab the other’s plate. He washes the dishes, humming a tune under his breath as Vincent sits and watches him, like usual. Once he’s done, he returns to Vince’s side, pressing a kiss to his forehead before pulling his reluctant husband to the door.
“I don’t want to leave you here, Alastor. One day soon, I’ll take the day off so we can spend the whole day together, yeah?” Vincent says, allowing himself to be led to the door despite his prominent pout.
“I know, dear. And that sounds lovely. If you can, you should try and take a day. I know a way or two we could spend it,” Al says, pressing his lips to his husbands, loving how immediately the other pulls him close, until their bodies align with warmth spreading throughout.
“Oh, do you now?” Vincent says through a smile, and Alastor nods from where their foreheads are still pressed together.
“I could show you tonight, but…” Al says, voice trailing off as his eyes catch on the large clock hanging by their front door. He’s undeniably unsettled by its appearance yet can’t place his finger on why. It takes him a moment too long before the realization that it’s ticking but it’s not moving. He can hear the sound of the clock, but the minute hand remains frozen.
Out of batteries, perhaps?
Although, if that were the case, how would it still produce noise? Is the movement of the hand not what creates the noise to begin with? How is it even possible…
Vincent must see him staring, because he turns to see as well. But as his eyes land on the clock, the movement resumes instantaneously, in sync with the steady ticking sounding faintly in the background.
“Dear?” Vincent says, that damn suspicion lingering in his tone.
“Y-yes, love?” He says, eyes still carefully trained on the now functional clock even as Vincent turns back to face him.
“Are you certain that everything is okay?” Vince’s voice is carefully measured, as if attempting not to spook him. “Y-you’re not seeing things again, are you?”
Al balks, feeling the color drain from his face as memories wash over him. He can almost feel the phantom sensation of hands pressing down against him and of plastic being shoved into his mouth. There’s coolness on his temple from the press of the probes and sharp sensations of pain from claws sinking into his skin. There’s the heavy scent of burning flesh and vomit lingering on the air as the coolness on his temples change to pure heat and electricity.
The memories, if you could even call them that, are just mere flashes of color and sounds and sensations. He hears the echo of his own voice trapped in a scream, of baritone voices failing to soothe him. The hum of electricity as it festers.
The effervescent blue shining down on him with an orb of deep, hateful red bearing down on him. He can almost feel the slimy cold pressing into him before he’s burned from the inside out.
He shakes his head, his smile strained as he presses a hand to his forehead to chase away the phantom headache.
“N-no! I-I’m fine… love,” he tacks on as an afterthought. He forces himself to lift his eyes, confusion settling in at the face staring back at him for just a split second before it clicks. Vincent. Of course it’s Vincent standing here. Who else would he expect to see associated with his husband’s voice?
Vincent hums, low and contemplative as his gaze rakes over Alastor in a near accusatory way.
“Perhaps I should take the day off,” he says and Alastor takes a deep breath. He does not need Vincent to think something’s wrong with him. Not again.
“Oh, nonsense. I think I could just do with a few hours to relax. Yeah, that sounds good,” he says, relaxing his body systematically and encouraging his smile to grow brighter. “You wouldn’t mind if I stay in, would you? Even if that means we won’t have wine for tonight?” He says, hoping the distraction isn’t too obvious as he attempts to steer the conversation away.
He feels arms wrap around him and pull him forwards into a firm hug. “Of course not, love. I just want you to be okay,” Vincent says, voice sweet and loving. Alastor feels the guilt at lying rip through him but tries to keep his smile intact as he wraps his arms around Vincent to return the embrace.
The arms around him seem restrictive with their strength and he feels lips press against his temple. He flinches away violently at the slick sensation, unable to hide his blunder, nor able to explain why the normal touch momentarily repulsed him.
“O-kay, then,” Vincent says, voice deceptively calm, but Alastor can see the disappointment and hurt lingering in his expression. Al squeezes his hands into fists tight enough to hurt before forcing them to relax, eyes opening to level his husband with as dazzling of a smile as he can manage.
He steps forward, pressing himself against the other’s chest, tilting his head up to receive another kiss which Vincent hesitantly supplies.
“Alright, well… I’m going to head to work,” Vincent says, hands coming up to rest on his biceps before pushing Alastor away until they can see one another eye to eye. “Alastor,” he says, voice serious. “You will call me if you need to, okay?”
Alastor feels his face go lax, head nodding before he even realizes it, as if pulled on a string. Vincent smiles, the intensity that had enveloped them in a split moment shattering as Vince steps forward and presses a kiss into his hair. Alastor blinks in confusion, head feeling fuzzy as Vincent steps back with a smile, his large hand petting him on the top of the head as if he were a favored pet. He watches in a daze as Vincent turns to leave, the door clicking shut behind him.
Al blinks, trying to pull his vision back into focus as he’s suffocated in the newfound silence left behind upon Vincent’s departure. His knees wobble and he sways, catching himself against the wall as he finally pulls himself together enough to lift his head. His eyes focus back on the clock.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.
The minute hand mocks him with its stillness.
Al presses a hand to his temple, eyes slipping closed as a dull ache blooms behind them. In the resulting darkness, all he sees is the strange red that had lingered in Vincent’s eye.
H-he was imagining things. The swirling red in his husband’s eye… the underlying threat in his husband’s words…
Alastor shakes his head, arms coming up to hug himself as he turns away from the clock.
He’s losing his mind.
He has to tell Vincent, doesn’t he?