Title: Anointment (1/1)
Characters: Vincent, Gilbert, mentions of Break
Pairings: Vincent/Gilbert.
Warnings: blood kink, slight corpse fetish, incest.
Summary: Blessed be the meek: tonight, Gilbert receives his confirmation from the hands of his cherished brother. Kink meme fill. Vincent/Gilbert.
Note: Kink meme prompt. "Vincent/Gilbert: Blood-bathing and/or splatter. Bonus points if it's in the context of killing someone, for Pandora or the Nightray House."
NOT related to my Borderlands series whatsoever, but I couldn't resist this.
I couldn't resist the Christian symbolism either. It's sacrilicious. Apologizes to the faithful.
Disclaimer: Jun Mochizuki and Square Enix own everything.
Anointment
He shouldn't have gone on patrol alone. Silly Gil, didn't he know how dangerous that was?
A soft grunt came from the illegal contractor sprawled beneath Vincent. A weak gush of blood from the slash across his jugular. His eyes – so blue, so quickly clouding – flickered upwards one last time. With a gloved finger, Vincent took a bit of gore from the man's severed neck and dabbed it on the criminal's forehead.
Vincent had snuck up on him from behind, open scissors in hand. It was like a moving to a song, how the man struggled to the beat in Vincent's head. But the moves weren't as refined: the stranger kicked out and they fell into the dirt of the alleyway as soon as Vincent's blade cut across the flesh. The man was taller than him, yet Vincent was quicker. Metal flashed in the moonlight as he took the scissors and stabbed again at the back of the neck, into the hollow of his collarbone, into the soft, fleshy cheek. The man had stiffed in shock. When death was almost upon him, Vincent had clambered on top of his chest and coolly watched that final rattle shake the life out of his lungs.
The red streak on the man's pure unblemished forehead stood out like a priest's blessing. Vincent was doing the dog a favor. Better a violent death in this world than to be dragged off to a worse one below in the Abyss.
Leaning against the brick wall, panting, Vincent went to remove his handkerchief to wipe his scissors clean. His holstered Pandora-issued revolver banged against the wall as he reached into his pocket.
Oh yes, that's right, he had a gun. He had the Dormouse too, that Chain whose presence was a constant hum in his brain.
But this had been so much more fun.
Vincent sheathed his scissors back into his pocket and searched the man for anything worthy of taking (once a street rat, always a street rat). He grabbed at a leather bag and opened it to see the glint of silver. He counted quickly – twenty pieces. What a prize.
Tucking away the money, Vincent looked across the road. This was a bad part of town, where even the lamplighters refused to go. Perfect for petty criminals to hide out. And illegal contractors.
The people Gilbert had been assigned to take in were both: a trio of thugs that, in desperate poverty, contracted a set of Chains to aid their muggings. Of course, the stupid commoners hadn't been able to handle a Chain's bloodlust, and that was how they were detected under Pandora's watchful eye.
Gilbert, with the track record of thirty-one confirmed kills in the last eight months, had been sent in alone to handle them. Unusual, to say the least. Break must've some hidden agenda. Between the three of them, Vincent knew that barely a third of those hits were made by Gilbert by himself.
And how did Vince know? Because he was there for every single one of them.
Maybe the white-haired officer suspected that not every dead man, woman or child who turned up prone and bleeding after a shootout or frantic chase was a victim of Gilbert's marksmanship. Perhaps he wanted to test his older brother, which is why he feigned sickness and made Gilbert take the job on his own.
What a cruel old man. Didn't he know what trouble his older brother could've gotten into if Vincent hadn't been there?
Across the street, he watched Gilbert enter the alleyway toward the rear entrance of the gang's hideout. Rising to his feet, he flicked away the long blond hair that had fallen over his eyes. One cur down, two more to go.
Vincent adjusted his cloak to cover his bloodied clothes and counted to 500 before crossing the street. In those five minutes, Gilbert would've swept through all of the lower floors and headed upstairs. Vincent had tracked the trio earlier that week and knew their pattern. Always one man was sent out in the evening to barter their stolen goods on the black market, while the other two drank away the previous day's earnings on the second floor. By now, they would be passed out drunk.
Gilbert knew this too, of course, which is why he waited past midnight to apprehend this trio. What a smart brother he had.
Entering the abandoned building, Vincent ducked beneath some fallen rafters by the threshold. He could hear the dull creak of decaying floorboards above. Straight ahead past ruined furniture, garbage, and street filth, he focused on the broken stairwell. There was the elongated shadow of his brother, drawn out by the slanting moonlight. Vincent moved forward, quickly.
Just in time to hear a woman's scream.
Interesting.
A series of muffled shouts from above and loud bangs. Vincent ascended the steps slowly, his revolver drawn. A hurrying, petticoated figure appeared at the top of the stairs. The whore rushed down, head bowed and shrieking, her arms flapping behind her almost comically.
He grabbed her by the waist with one arm and twisted her wrist upwards in his gun hand. The sudden impact slammed them both against the banister. Vincent gripped her harder around her hips as he turned, descending down the creaking steps in a ragged waltz step. The whore, surprised, stared into his eyes in frozen terror as they reached the lower landing.
Vincent dipped her low, letting her wrist drop before pressing the revolver to her forehead.
"Hello, darling," he whispered and pulled the trigger.
His shot silenced the commotion above. Vincent let the whore go in a twisted heap. He licked his lips, tasting warm iron from the blood that flecked onto his skin, before sprinting up the steps.
The stench of unwashed bodies, dust, and alcohol hit his nose as he arrived at a hallway. At the far end a lantern light glowed from an open doorway. Vincent ran into the room, just in time to see Gilbert slam his revolver handle into the skull of the man he held in his grip. Gilbert's eyes flashed as the man went down. "Vincent?" he exclaimed, lifting the brim of his hat and putting away his weapon. "What are you doing here?"
"Rescuing you."
"Y-you followed me?" Gilbert took a step forward, and then hesitated, assessing the state of his clothing with wide eyes. "W-what-?"
"I got the thug who was returning to the building. He was earlier than usual." Vincent brushed his hair back and opened his cloak to reveal the bag of silver he took from the dead man's pockets. "With this amount of money, I'm not surprised they wanted to splurge a little tonight."
"Splurge-" Gilbert glanced at the doorway and gasped at the realization. "I let her go. She had nothing to do with them."
Oh, how forgiving his brother was. It was too adorable. "Well, that slut attacked me. I had no other choice." In the far corner, Vincent saw the body of the third man slumped over a pile of dirty bedding. The front of the corpse's trousers was undone; it looked like he was enjoying himself thoroughly before being shot in the head. His exposed cock remained hard, probably from rigor mortis. "What a little death that was," he said jokingly.
Gilbert turned toward the man and raised an arm across his face. "Gods be damned, I didn't notice-" He stomped over and picked up a corner of one sheet to throw over the body.
Vincent doubled over in laughter. "Didn't notice when you shoot a man whose getting his cock milked by a whore? Now, brother, no need to lie. We're the only ones here." Vincent stepped forward and pressed a bloody glove against his brother's shirt to stop him from covering that perverse human carcass. "Is Gil too focused on his work to notice the obvious?"
"Vincent," Gilbert hissed. "This isn't proper."
"Now dear brother goes on to talk about propriety." Vincent snatched the cloth from Gil's hands and tossed it carelessly at the corpse. "Fine. Let the dead bastard keep his pathetic illusion of dignity."
Over Gil's shoulder, Vince saw the other man twitch. "Will you let that one keep his too?"
His brother spun around. "Geez, we have to bring him to Pandora." He grabbed for some twine that hung from his belt. "Break wanted to question them-"
Again, Vincent stopped him by slipping an arm through one elbow. Leaning in, he whispered, "Why?"
"Well, I have to-"
"Don't keep lying to yourself." Vincent tsked his tongue and replied playfully, "You wanted to kill them all tonight, didn't you?"
He watched his brother's face go pale at the words before slowly blushing. "No!" he snapped, shaking his head. "I-I was only carrying out the assignment."
"Of course. Your assignment was to bring in these naughty little commoners. Never to kill them. But you offed that one there, when he was certainly not able to defend himself. Hmmm… isn't that interesting?" Vincent's grip tightened as he started to massage Gil's bicep. He could feel how tense the muscles were beneath the canvas jacket.
"No, I only... I couldn't expect to apprehend three men by myself-"
"What, brother thought he couldn't handle two drunks and their hussy? He who wields the Nightray's black blade?" This denial thrilled Vincent deep to his core, if only because he wanted to undo it all. "Even if they outnumbered you, they're nothing compared to the strength of the Raven."
Gilbert freed himself from Vincent's grip and unhooked the twine from his belt. The younger man chuckled again, all too amused as Gilbert bound the man's hands and feet before he fully regained consciousness.
Vincent kneeled beside him. "Aren't you worried that Pandora would question why only one survived? They'd be… upset… to discover you went too far tonight." When it was obvious that Gilbert was ignoring him, Vincent snatched the hat off his head.
His brother glared at him (delightful, that indignation!) and muttered, "I'll tell them it got out of hand. That they jumped me-"
"Until this oaf tells them the truth. Wouldn't that be so improper of them to hear?" Glancing over at the third man with the hard-on, he added, "The report for this one will be quite scandalous no matter how you go about it."
Gilbert gave a frustrated sigh and threw his hands down. The vagabond stirred, emitting a whimper. "J-just shut up! I'll figure out something."
"Big brother acts so clueless, but he knows better." Vincent wrapped his arms from behind Gilbert. Less than half an hour before, he had embraced another man in this exact same way as he gurgled and thrashed. How different this was. Unlike that stranger's feistiness, Gilbert receded, almost gracefully, into his arms in his resignation. Another reluctant partner for another blood-draped dance.
Propping his head on his shoulder, Vincent said softly, "You suspected that someone was helping you all along, didn't you? And you wanted to prove to Break that you weren't weak?"
"Vince-"
"Prove to him how strong you are, big brother." Vincent's hand slipped down along Gilbert's side, and began to rub down the front of his thigh.
"Vin-" A small sound; his brother flinched but Vincent only held on tighter with his left arm. His right snaked down ever slowly, kneading that toned, tense limb.
A quiet, embarrassed protest came from his dear older brother as Vincent continued his caress. "Hm, did the dead man and his cheap cocksucker turn Gil on?" he murmured. "Is that why big brother fired right between the eyes?"
More touches, more roughly this time. He slipped his other hand beneath Gil's jacket and started to rub his chest. "Or is it seeing me like this, adorned so prettily for you?"
"Not now," Gilbert pleaded. "Not now-" He became limp in Vincent's grip, except for his left arm, which bent to pin Vincent's arm to him. Vincent kissed Gilbert's neck below the ear.
"Of course. You have your assignment to complete."
In front of them, the bound man started to regain awareness. Vincent brushed his fingers across the front of Gil's groin and was pleased to find his brother ready for him.
"Aren't you the wicked one?" he cooed. "Getting off from killing, Gil?"
"N-no…don't say that-" The entire length of Gilbert shuddered as Vincent moved in closer so Gilbert could feel his own erection pressed behind him.
"Maybe it's because of all of this messiness. It feels so wrong, doesn't it?" Vincent darted his tongue out to lick Gil's earlobe. "Almost as wrong as every time we fuck."
"Vincent!" Gilbert turned his head, the anger finally overcoming his ministrations.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I mean, when we make love." Vincent smirked and captured his brother's mouth with his own. His brother moaned throatily and immediately, his tongue forced his way past Vincent's lips. Vincent gave a low purr of pleasure. He loved it, he loved it when he could push Gilbert like this, push him into his real self. Beneath that veneer of gentleness his older brother was so cruel, so heartless. So his.
As they kissed, Vincent reached down to grab Gilbert's revolver from its holster. He tucked the weapon's warm metal body into his brother's sweat-soaked glove. He slowly positioned his brother's fingers around the handle. Gently but firmly, he guided Gilbert's right arm up as the man before them, fully awake, started to blubber hysterically.
"Mm-mercy, good sir, mercy, please, please, please-"
Their lips parted. Gilbert faced the captured thug, eyelids lowered. Vince didn't even need to say anything else.
The point-blank gunshot rang out into the night. Flecks of blood and gore splattered on them both as the man tumbled over. Brain matter hit the gritty wall.
Wordlessly, Gilbert lowered both his arms as Vincent carefully untied the lacing of his trousers. In silence, they watched the messy grey and crimson chunks drip down the wall as if witnessing a blessed act.
As his dear brother began to buck under his touch, muttering holy names – and Vincent's – in his cresting excitement, he smiled. "Congratulations, big brother. Number thirty-three."
Fin.