Title: Last Ascension (4/4)

Characters: Leo, Vincent, Gilbert, Glen (Oswald) Baskerville, mentions of Elliot and Oz

Pairings: Elliot/Leo, Oz/Gil, Vincent/Gilbert, Gilbert/Vincent

Rating & Warnings: M for smut (incest), metaphysical (and very physical) angst

Kinks: bondage, voyeurism, mind-control

Summary: In the midst of his grief over losing Elliot, Leo wants to ruin everything once associated with the Nightray Dukedom. Including its last Heir. AU. Post-Retrace 70.

Note:

In light of the events of Retrace 74, (if you didn't know before), this is an AU. An AU where Oz isn't bleeding in a field somewhere, and Gil is still fighting for his free will and has more of a chance at breaking that horrid brainwashing. Where Vincent's heart needs to be mended and reassured that his older brother still loves him. Where Oswald hasn't controlled Leo's body (yet) and Leo struggles over his own loss with Elliot. An AU where sex can solve all grief and angst (more or less). So come (and come) with me and enjoy!

For of-blades-and-marionettes (Sammie) on tumblr.

"Closer" ~ NIN

Chapter 4

my whole existence is flawed
you get me closer to god

As Vincent tumbled into Gilbert's arms, a sudden fear gripped the raven-haired man. Now that Gilbert had kissed Vince, making the first move, the possibility of pushing further terrified him.

Some sort of block settled deep in his mind as he moved forward to hold his brother. Gilbert saw the edge of some sort of standard – taboo, shame, indecency, ruin, guilt – and some part of him resisted, recalcitrant in spite of his determination. An urge inside wanted to throw himself off of it desperately. This death drive, this ceaseless need toward simultaneous salvation and desecration made Gilbert wrap his arms tight around Vincent's shoulders and pull his younger brother on top of him.

I want to love you, protect you, save you, not… Is this is enough? thought Gilbert as their lips met once more. The blond man shuddered in his hold, floundering as he clawed at Gilbert's shoulders, smothering him in a fury of tiny blossoming kisses along his face and down his neck.

Behind them, Gilbert knew Leo watched and despite his will for freedom, Gilbert's cheeks flushed. They were still doing what Leo wanted; they were encaged to his will, but this time, the moral chains were being wretched loose; they were falling. All of them were falling.

But it was a glorious descent.

Gilbert's heart beat frantically in his chest as he licked along Vincent's neck, making him stop his kisses to grip Gilbert's sides. A shaking moan rose from his little brother (something new, something Gilbert never witnessed before – oh gods, what's happening, what am I doing to us?)

Vincent's hands pulled at his clothes, eagerly, and Gilbert bucked his hips and pretended not to care about the black-haired boy silent in his chair, watching them rut on the floor like animals. This is to save Vincent, this is to save me, Gilbert thought to himself as he let Vincent take the lead, even as his younger brother kept making those whimpering noises (so loud, why was Vincent so loud and weak-voiced? Oh gods, Gilbert did something terrible, because he never knew Vincent to be this way and he didn't know what to do about it, what to do…)

"Vincent," Gilbert said and his brother, wild-eyed, had almost a savage look to him as he glanced up that contrasted sharply from the refined seductive gestures from before. Gilbert was suddenly struck by how much he didn't know about Vincent after all these years.

"Big brother," he whispered, "Y-you really want this?"

That look, that plea. "Yes," he couldn't help but gasp.

xxxxxxx

Glen's words repeated in Leo's head, even though the spirit had vanished into the depths of his mind. "While you are alive, Leo, you will always have a choice. Once you are dead, that thread of freedom will be taken away. Remember that."

Even if Leo were finally to die, his soul remained part of that abomination known as Glen. Even if heaven were to exist, he'd be trapped in that purgatory mass of twisted souls, roaming the earth as a pack of hungry ghosts until the next cycle began.

This wasn't fair.

He hated the gods, or God, or the Abyss. He hated everything in the world that allowed him and only him to be condemned in such a preposterous way. This was the worst sort of grim fairy tale, a never-ending story of pain and damnation.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair, it wasn't-

"Master," Gilbert's ragged plea interrupted Leo's thoughts.

"Ask him," Vincent urged as he gripped the side of Gilbert's waistband, hooking elegant fingers beneath the fabric. "Ask him, and you know he won't deny you, dear brother."

Gilbert's blushing face, a mask of confusion and desire which he tried to obscure by averting his eyes as he murmured his request. "Is this permitted?"

Leo had never seen Gilbert reduced to such a pathetic state and both of them knew it. Gil was looking for some emotional loophole, some deliverance that would pardon this behavior, allowing Gil to let this happen without being destroyed entirely by it. He wanted someone else to blame for his weakness, though he knew deep down his own failings caused this. Leo was intimately familiar with this logic by now, having used it so many times on himself.

Leo flicked a hand their way and said in an indifferent voice, "Let him."

Vincent yanked Gilbert's trousers and drawers down past those sharply-defined hips. Gil collapsed against his brother's chest, emitting some sort of relieved cry of submission. In an endearingly protective gesture, Vincent tangled his fingers in Gil's hair as he buried Gil's face in the front of his shirt.

"Isn't Master Leo so kind?" he said. "Only he allows such pleasures to those who serve him."

xxxxxxx

Gilbert had kissed him. He had kissed him.

Vincent had no idea such a small gesture could mean so much—he had kissed many people before and done far more lewd things to them without feeling the way he did when his older brother had done something far, far more innocent. A dam had cracked inside Vincent, because Gilbert acted adamant, determined to feel something true, and it cut through all of the lies and deceit and manipulative webs that Vincent had draped around them both. Years and years of repression became unleashed and Vincent couldn't help but move so much faster yet so fleetingly: graceful little kisses coupled with a firm grip that pressed his fingernails into his brother's sides. Gentleness and roughness. A rush of desire and relief that was almost too much for him to control.

No, he couldn't control himself, he couldn't, not when it was Gilbert that had undone him. No, he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop this, ever-

"Does Gil want to touch me more?" he asked hopefully, as he pressed Gilbert's head to his chest.

"Vince…" Hesitation caught in his brother's voice, along with a fearful eye, and immediately, Vincent's heart sank. No, he didn't. That kiss was permission. Only permission. A sudden anxiety slammed into Vincent, making him ease his hold.

He overreacted.

He had pushed too much.

How many barriers Vincent had to lift before he could get what he truly wanted?

Vincent ran his fingers through his brother's hair and watched his brother's eyes dart toward that boy again, his flushed cheeks betraying a sense of apprehension. But hadn't Gil risen from the bed with such a willful look on his face to grab Vincent and lock him in his arms? Where was that flame of strength than made Vincent crumble?

Gilbert tiled his chin upwards, straightened up, and hugged him close, feeling that solid breath as their chests rubbed against each other. Vincent nuzzled his head against his brother's shoulder, making sure that Gil faced away from Leo, to keep the illusion that they were alone.

"We can do this…" Gilbert murmured, as if trying to convince himself of something. "W-we can…." He stroked Vincent's cheek, and Vince pressed that palm to his face.

"Tell me this feels real." Not a demand like Vincent prayed for, but a plea. Gil wanted Vince to tell him how to feel. He wanted Vincent to control him.

Which means his older brother remained a servant, remained only willing to play a part….

Vincent made a mistake, he read too much into Gilbert's gesture. Maybe Gil only tolerated this intimate physicality in order to survive, just as Vincent tolerated the fat noble hens he took to bed for information, or tolerated pleasuring Zwei or Lottie to affirm his loyalty to the Baskervilles: all of these were gestures were distractions from his true heart. Just because Gilbert instigated a moment of assertiveness didn't change anything.

Fuck, why was Vincent such a fool to believe his brother would change his mind about him so quickly?

Only Vincent would be allowed this. Only this and never anything more.

Stop making us do this, he wanted to snap at the black-haired boy sitting before them. Even now, Vincent wanted to slap the youth to draw his dazed expression to focus on them. What do you want, you pitiful boy? Vincent wanted to scream. Do you want to make us all as unhappy as you?

His position shifted. Vincent rammed down his elated joy, meagerly gathered the remains of constraint around his cracked ego.

I'm an idiot, Vincent shuddered.

He swallowed hard and tried to smooth out the ragged hitches in his voice. "Oh, of course we can," he said, in a quiet, easy tone. "I can do whatever it takes to make big brother happy," Vincent soothed, letting Gilbert go, feeling almost a sharp embarrassment now that made his limbs move awkwardly as their bodies parted.

Gilbert lay on the carpet, panting and squirming, but angling his head up to prevent from looking at Leo, who seemed to have turned to stone. Curiously, Vincent glanced at the boy's crotch and noticed that he wasn't even aroused.

Then what is the point of all of this? he thought bitterly. Facing his supine brother on the ground, a renewed sense of dedication filled him. Us. That was the point. That had always been the point.

Vince undid the front of his trousers and pulled them down to expose his erect member before them. How odd it was, for Vincent to still be fully clothed while Gilbert sprawled almost nude beneath him, covered only in the torn draping of his shirt and bandages. Was this a sign that Gilbert was obeying his Master still, because he hadn't made a move to see Vincent fully before his eyes?

That's fine, that's fine, Vincent thought disappointingly. But this wouldn't stop him, no, this wouldn't prevent Vincent from pleasuring his brother to the fullest.

He grabbed the bottle of oil that Lottie had sent tumbling to the floor earlier and dredged up the last of it over his gloved fingers. The oil seeped into the silk, staining it a smooth honey color. Vince heaped on the lubricant, rubbing his clothed fingers together until the fabric was completely saturated. And old trick he used on older women (and men) who weren't as fresh as they used to be. He had to prep Gilbert, but wanted the sensation to be as smooth and luxurious as possible.

Crouching down between Gilbert's parted knees, he played with his brother's parts down below with that slippery hand and his brother bucked, biting his lower lip to contain the whimper.

"Vince, what's-" he glanced down to see what his little brother had done and a quiet sound of satisfaction came from him again as Vincent gripped his brother, hard, and leisurely pulled down his length again.

"That's- that's, that's so good, good," he panted, bowing his head so his chin nearly touched his chest and clenching his eyes shut.

A smile crossed Vincent's face at his accomplishment. He pulled back the foreskin of Gilbert's shaft, exposing the glistening head, and Gilbert arched again, stuffing his fist into his mouth and moaning between his knuckles. Vincent tongue darted out and lapped at the head of Gilbert's cock, causing his brother's spine to arch into a perfect bow. Vincent took that moment to thrust three of his silk and oil covered fingers into the perfect anise-shaped pucker of Gilbert's entrance.

Alarm and elation burst across his brother's features as Vincent's fingers slipped past that tightness and entered him in one smooth push. The trick worked perfectly. Gilbert took him in immediately, letting Vincent's long fingers enter all the way to the third knuckle without resistance. His brother bounced his pelvis, his knees splaying wide, accepting him so quickly, so deeply-

"On my gods, Vince, oh my gods, you're, you're-"

Expertly, Vincent extended his hand just a tad further, pressuring the knuckles against the soft, full flesh of Gilbert's rear, just until he could brush the underside of that special place inside his brother-

"Vincent, Vin-!" And the rest of Gilbert's cry was lost, drowned in his own silent, open-mouthed gasping and he threw his head completely backwards to look at Leo upside-down, not caring that the youth was staring at his flushed face and parted mouth and –

This was too much for Vincent to bear any longer.

"Ready?" he gasped, yanked out his gloved hand and positioned himself to plunge into his brother, holding his brother under his knees and hoisting his legs up slightly to spread them even further apart. But before Gilbert could reply, Vincent pushed his cock inside, breaking through that rim of muscle and flesh and bathing himself in hot, slick, wet heat.

Pure and complete penetration. Wracking, voiceless sobs shook through his older brother's trembling body and Vincent realized that this was probably the fullest Gilbert has ever felt; that the Vessalius brat would never be able to compare to Vincent's size-

Gil retracted, helplessly, pounding his fists against the carpet as Vincent held his hips in place. He begged in a strained tone: "Vince- oh, oh, please…"

"Does it hurt?" he asked. He sunk himself in further against Gilbert as he moaned and resisted, wheezing with sharp intakes of breath which released themselves as drawn-out groans.

"Oh gods, this is you, you…"

Vincent halted. "Brother, relax." He kissed the inside of his thigh. Another inch pushed in to trigger a full-throated groan. "Please relax and it won't hurt as much."

"I-I know," Gilbert said, voice torn apart, shuddering all along his body. "I know, but," as Vincent sunk in deeper, Gilbert wouldn't relax, and he screamed again, arms reaching out over his head toward that wingback chair.

"Master-"

Immediately, Vincent withdrew and dropped Gilbert's hips abruptly onto the floor. Gil cried out as his pelvis hit the carpet, and went limp from the shock of sudden emptiness, chest heaving.

Traces of oil and blood coated Vincent's length. He ripped off his gloves and pressed the heels of his palms into the eyes, horrified.

I taint everything.

xxxxxxx

Elation and fear: oh gods, this is happening, this is happening—

Vincent moved too quickly (and yet not quickly enough) for Gilbert, readying him even before Gilbert could say a word in edgewise, but even then, as soon as his younger brother's fingers pushed inside, Gilbert arched back, accepting, willing himself against the uncertainty and nervousness—

Yes, this is what I want, I want to save him, oh gods—

The intensity of the sensation as Vincent stroked him in that precious place within made Gilbert see sparks of light (a memory, the Abyss), and that moment he reveled in until he felt Vincent's length take him relentlessly. A fleeting urgency rocked through his body (too far, we're going too far), and Gilbert glanced over at panting, thrusting brother, that untamed expression on his face as tendrils of cornsilk hair flew about his face.

Little brother…

Words stumbled out of Gilbert's mouth in confusion and need as his thoughts collided with each other. This was his little brother, this was real, this connection was for them, only them, but no one should be watching, they will witness themselves, why was Master there, why-

And in a moment of anxious urgency Gilbert had to go and ruin it all. He swallowed his sobs, blinking back tears of disappointment and self-blame as his hips ached from the collision with the carpet. Why did he cry out for Master? Who the hell was that person anyone? Why did it even matter?

He fell behind. He had tried to break free, but he failed his brother. Again.

Gilbert shut his eyes as the blurring visage of Leo hovered over him.

Damn you, he wanted to say. Damn you, Leo, Gilbert cursed rebelliously as he lifted his head and rose to his hands and knees to witness Vincent edging away from him, pressing his back against the footboard of the bed, his stained gloves cast aside.

"Vince, I'm sorry," Gilbert said weakly, hastily wiping the back of his hand over his face. "I didn't mean it, I-"

His younger sibling curled in on himself, his fists balled up to his face, but Gilbert couldn't see any tears. Gilbert, moving gingerly because of the pains along his backside, crawled to place himself beside his brother and wrapped an arm around his shaking shoulders.

"Talk to me," he whispered, pressing his forehead to Vincent's. "Please."

Vincent shuddered harder. Gilbert raised his head to glare daggers at the boy in the chair across from them. Leo wasn't there, however, and to Gil's surprise, saw the Baskerville heir had wandered to the curtained and barred window on the far side of the room, facing away.

Master? Gilbert thought, but, resisting the urge to go to Leo's side, he clutched Vincent even more strongly. A slow hand (ignore Leo, ignore the boy, he has no part in this) instead, parted Vincent's hands from his face. Vince let him do so and gently, they fell to grip his knees. Gilbert leaned over and kissed Vincent's closed, but dry, eyelids (something he always did to reassure Oz; no, don't think of this boy, he has nothing to do with this…). That stiff, frightened aura resided momentarily as Vincent gasped and raised his head.

Vincent's lips parted, but for once in his life, Gilbert watched them tremble in silence, fighting to gather the words. When they finally emerged, delicate to the point of crumbling, Gilbert felt an ache rise in his chest.

"Y-you… you don't want me, brother. You never wanted me."

"Hush," Gilbert said, frowning, wondering whether Vincent's remark referred to what just happened, or the history of their entire relationship. He decided to answer the former, but made his voice indicate the latter as well. "What happened… took me by surprise. T-that's all." He swallowed, trying to firm his voice as he continued: "But I enjoyed it, Vince. A lot."

This wasn't a curse, a taboo, an abomination. He wasn't a monster for wanting this connection.

Or, on the contrary, maybe they were both wretched monsters. But only the damned could understand the damned, and perhaps this was the best choice to end whatever misery that been imposed upon their lives.

A moment of silence as Gilbert came to a decision about what he had to do. This was more than protecting Vincent from Leo's machinations or the Baskervilles' plans. He realized that his brother had to be rescued from the lies that had accumulated in their lives, tangling them in their thorny grasp. Gilbert took a deep breath, mentally reached out, and began to undo them one by one.

Gilbert wasn't a man for words, like so many of the people he had known in his life. Words, he realized (all too clearly) were dangerous. That can be distorted and twisted, becoming maligned. Pledges can be overturned. Commands can be manacles that imprisoned your brain and shackled your body. The one way to destroy words was through actions. Though sheer will and desire linked to a touch, a taste, a smell. An embrace.

"Help me remember, Vince," he said, voicing the process in his head. "Help me remember us. Before Ma- before Leo. Before Oz." A nudge closer. His bare palm cupped Vincent's chin. "I'm sorry for being such a terrible brother. I…I want…" Another sigh and then, a murmur. "You. Entirely."

xxxxxxx

What had he done? Leo felt a dagger twist inside him with every pained expression on Gilbert's face and as soon as the dark-haired man yelled at him, Leo jumped from the chair, stricken, and moved off to the end of the room. He crossed his arms, hearing Glen's voice (Or was it only an echo? Leo couldn't tell anymore).

"Legacy…"

Leo's knuckles paled as he held himself tighter and inevitably, the image of Elliot came to his mind (shut it away, shut it off, it hurts, it hurts) and hot shame filled Leo from the outside in. Guilt slammed into him from all sides: he was responsible for this, this was all his fault, everything rotten and wretched and cruel manifested from him. That look flashing in Gilbert's eyes reinforced this feeling: it was not one of submission, or pleading, or fear. The look was passion and condemnation; Gilbert's cry was meant for Leo to go away, and in that moment, Leo was overcome by how much Gilbert had embodied… something… that Elliot once had.

Will power. Elliot had wielded his will like he did the Nightray sword: constantly and without regret. Despite that embarrassment and awkwardness, Gilbert was determined to have this moment with Vincent, and damn Leo for getting in the way.

A brush against his mind.

"He was worthy, you see," Glen said, and Leo could tell that the voice contained no judgment against this social taboo behind committed behind him. "Even in this, he carries himself well. My precious servant."

The shame that drove Leo off soon faded into nothingness again, and Leo tried grappling at that feeling, if only for the ability to feel something more than loss and anger. Those emotions that propelled his cold rage ate away at him too much. He felt undeniably empty, even as the noises behind him softened as the two brothers took to whispering.

Leo remained standing by the window, sensing Glen hovering somewhere nearby. The ghost made no attempt to speak again and Leo shut his eyes, feeling his awareness dip down into that realm between the self and the soul, that place where the not-waters rippled.

Glen stood there, in the pooling folds of his red Baskerville cloak. Both of them faced one another. Leo wanted to admit something important in that moment, but remained speechless and instead, slumped down into the not-waters of his mind.

Would this cold, commanding figure even understand anything that Leo had shared with Elliot? In a sense, Leo knew that Glen had witnessed everything at least, caged in Leo's soul the way he was. Though he never commented (none of the Glens did) when Elliot was there, they also knew everything about their relationship. Leo hated that fact: they witnessed every private moment, every intimacy that he ever shared with the youngest Nightray boy.

That was why Glen found his tactics so irresponsible, Leo realized: because Leo was becoming a watcher before his time. And not even a respectful one, but a heartless one. He bowed his head.

His feet touched something and he glanced up to see velvet red. The Baskerville cloak. A spare one had manifested out of nothingness – or perhaps it had always been there as well, waiting for him. With cold fingers, Leo tied on the red cloak and hugged his knees. Glen sat down beside him and the two of them stared away from each other. Leo wanted to think of nothing, and Glen respected this meditative silence.

From far, far away Leo could hear the whispers progress to lingering moans and then to uncontrolled cries of elation. Who was it? That sound felt so unlike anything he had ever heard from Gilbert or Vincent. His response was neither embarrassment nor shame nor perversity. Leo wondered if it was because the world had turned so numb since Elliot's death, or because when taking refuge beside Glen, everything else became distant and unattached to Leo's experience. Sounds echoed out into the blank vastness of his soul as he and Glen remained there, together, waiting as the human drama played out in another world.

xxxxxxx

"I want to see you," Gilbert demanded, his voice stronger.

He saw Vincent's eyes widen and his hands unconsciously tug his shirt around himself. "What?"

Gilbert tried to figure out how to express what he meant and not sound like an idiot. "I… I don't know you anymore. I hadn't for… a long time. And if I want to know you… then, well…" He ducked his head again. He never had to ask Oz for this – the boy had always been the instigator, and Gil had always willingly complied – but now it felt peculiar to approach a man – never mind his own flesh and blood – even as his desire sat peaking between them.

(Stop asking,) said the second Gilbert from within. (Go and have him respond. This needs no words now.)

Pressing his lips together in gentle determination, Gilbert slowly straddled Vincent's lap. His movements were stilted from the pain that was slowly ebbing away from Vincent's mounting and he tried to hide the awkwardness by moving slowly, sensually. He ran his hands up along Vincent's forearms as he settled himself down in front of him.

Something seemed not to process in Vincent's head, and Gilbert would've laughed if he hadn't felt so self-conscious. "W-what?" he repeated, bewildered.

Despite his sadness, the drooping erection Gilbert had stirred as he brushed against his younger sibling. He wiggled in his seat and Vincent bit his lower lip and gave a choked noise in response. "Show me," he said.

Gilbert started unbuttoning Vincent's shirt, feeling the younger man's breath become shallow and his arousal harden again. Vincent remained absolutely still as Gilbert undid the row of mother-of-pearl buttons, pulled the silk shirt to expose that pale flesh, and pushed the cloth away from Vincent's shoulders. His brother got the point halfway through and tugged the rest of the garment off, before eagerly grasping his trousers to yank them further. Gilbert was in his lap, however, and for a moment, a chuckle escaped his lips and he took Vincent's wrists in his.

"Not yet," he said, gaining confidence in his movements, seeing his little brother under his control. The switch came so easily but startled Gilbert nonetheless to see how his brother became willing and obedient, as if he had waited for so long for finally stop resisting. And himself – in someone else's lap and giving orders! If only Oz could see...

Gil pushed away memories that rang familiar to this one and kissed Vincent fully on the lips, rubbing his hands against that too-skinny chest. His fingers caught in the golden chain that held the blood seal for the Dormouse, and Gilbert pulled it over Vincent's head and tossed it away. No more interference from anyone.

Fingers played upon cool skin and Gilbert shoved Vincent into the wooden foot board as their kisses lengthened and deepened. Gilbert opened his mouth and their tongues wrestled in wild abandonment as those hungry sounds emerged from Vincent again (who'd ever suspect his sleepy brother to be so loud?). Gilbert rocked his hips to thrust against Vincent's as the other man reached down and gripped Gil from behind. Gilbert emitted his own little cry as their mouths broke apart.

Panting, they stopped for a second, and Vincent took that chance to wiggle the trousers and drawers down his legs further, but not far enough since Gil remained in the way. Immediately, Gilbert grabbed the tops of Vincent's thighs and messaged that muscled flesh and leaned in, closing the space between them.

He gripped his own cock and Vincent's in his palm, and jerked them together. Another elated exclamation from his younger brother and Gilbert cracked a small smile. This was new side to Vince, and Gilbert had to say that he was starting to like it immensely.

Vincent thrust wildly, clawing at Gilbert's covered shoulders as Gilbert fondled them and made quieter, but intense utterances in the back of his throat. Oil from Vincent's lubricated length rubbed onto Gil and he gave a soft moan in contrast to the increasing volume from Vince. Gilbert bent forward and gave a playful nibble on Vincent's chin before rising quickly to his feet to grab another unopened vial of oil next to the medical supplies.

Taking advantage, Vincent tossed the rest of his clothes off and watched, eyes gleaming in almost an innocently expectant way as Gil yanked the cork out and drizzled some of the fragrant contents into his hands.

Rubbing his fingertips together, Gilbert moved to be on top of Vince, kneading and rubbing every inch of flesh beneath him. "Yes," Vince whispered. "Please…"

That was magical almost, to reduce his usually manipulative and unyielding brother into compliance. The power made Gil flush and his arousal intensify.

"Big brother, Gilbert, yes, please, touch me," came the rush of words and Gil worked his hands down the length of the younger man's body, his golden gaze on Vincent's face, feasting upon all of the nuances of expression he had never knew Vincent could contain.

xxxxxxx

Vincent rarely blushed, but felt the heat rise to his cheeks as his brother surveyed his naked body. He had seen Gilbert become focused before: practicing at the firing range of Pandora; in the mirror, scowling as he tried to tie back his hair; at Yura's party, watching that abomination dance with that annoying Alice across the room. The intensity of that stare, whether in discipline or frustration or jealousy, were expressions that Vincent was used to from his moody brother. Yet this – that deep and yearning need in his eyes… Vincent never knew Gilbert's stare could render him this way.

This was too much. Gil was going to take everything away, and as much as Vincent wanted this, the terror of having what he wanted and having it go wrong (everything went wrong with Vincent) made him wish his brother would stop, despite all of the rippling pleasures that radiated up and down his body.

As Gilbert undid the final invisible binds that locked Vincent's heart with every stroke, every lick, every inch of flesh he possessed, Vincent felt that final cord of defensiveness flare up. He willed himself to muffle his reactions when Gilbert's grip came to his waist, fingers tracing little circles above his hipbones.

"Big brother doesn't-"

Suddenly, Gilbert was pinning Vincent to the floor. "Shut up," he snapped, bearing down his weight. "I want you like this," he said throatily.

Don't lie! Don't lie! Vincent tried to scramble out from under Gil, not wanting to make his big brother go through this torment any more. "Don't lie…" he breathed into Gil's ear, too scared to let his voice rise any higher. "I don't want Gil to be unhappy because of me anymore-"

"Shhhh…" Gilbert's mouth was on his, his tongue, commanding and invading. Vince felt two sides of him warring, very much like the feeling he got from his duelling Chains at times. Desire and denial. Violence and seduction. The subtle and the loud.

That fear gave one more attack (lying, lying) and Vincent narrowed his eyes and broke their kiss. "Does Master Leo like your performance?" he hissed, throwing out that last spear of doubt masked as cruelty.

Gilbert's grip turned to iron in a way that Vincent experienced very recently, when Gilbert yelled at him on the cobblestones. "Fuck Leo. This is for you."

From his position on the floor, Vincent angled his head toward the wingback chair to realize clearly that Leo had left to sequester himself in the corner of the room. Looking up at Leo, who was immobile, as if captured and pulled into his own head again (the Glens?), heedless of them both. Vincent wondered if this was what the Baskerville heir wanted. If this is what Gil wanted. If… if…

The questions distracted Vincent long enough to startle him when Gilbert let go and grabbed his torso to flip him flat onto his stomach. Vincent felt his brother part him from behind and then lay flat against him, rubbing his length against the crack of his rear. He made a startled gasp that trailed off into a lengthy groan as Gilbert licked behind his ear.

"You are mine, Vince."

Brother, brother, yes, yes, yes-

Vincent must have muttered this aloud, for he heard Gil reply: "That's what I want you to say."

Gilbert's hips thrust forward and Vincent felt his older brother's stiffness parting his cheeks. The heat bloomed from the contact, and Vincent thrust upwards in return, rubbing his dripping cock against the plush carpeting in the process.

"Feel me," Gil whispered in Vince's ear. "I'm right here. I'm here for you."

For me.

Gil is here for me.

Rising pleasure, rising pleasure...

"Look at me."

And suddenly Vincent shifted position, thrown onto his backside and Gilbert was the one to grab his legs and heave them over his shoulders. Vincent braced himself on his forearms and raised his neck to tuck into his chest to relieve the strain on his spine.

"Look at me!" Gilbert commanded. Shock and wonder encapsulated Vincent's expression. His mismatched stare snapped open and there was Gilbert, the flush of desire overturning any traces of former self-consciousness. His gaze – that golden heat – and his grip – steady and strong. Vincent reached down and parted his rear to expose his entrance.

The rest proceeded in an unspoken flow of motion and Vincent moved as if in a hypnotized haze, captured by his brother's will. Vincent started to finger himself before Gilbert knocked his hand aside and put his own inside, plunging his digits in deep. Vincent gave a whimper as he was stretched, but he could only think of his bobbing erection and how the pull of Gilbert's hand seemed to connect straight to the very root of his cock.

There were no words now. There couldn't be. A moment passed between them and Vincent swore electricity sparked between them as Gilbert's hand slipped out and his member sank in its place. Gilbert entered, letting his eyes drift close, gritting his teeth as a line of sweat dripped down his forehead.

Brother...

Elongated moans unleashed themselves as Vincent succumbed, feeling the utter fullness of his older brother. The tightness and pull of him, that sensation of being widened in a burning intensity. Vincent began to yell, his voice rising louder and wilder than he could ever imagine. No, this was not like the casual fucks for information or the foolish flings with the Baskervilles. He was always coolly silent during those, or cruelly demanding in a silken drawl. There was nothing of that collected tone anymore as Vincent shouted in raw desire. He had never remembered screaming that loudly out of pure pleasure before.

Vincent tried hammering these sounds into words, but was unable to. His hips rolled, trying to gain a rhythm, and he started groaning and uttering nonsense in time to the motion of Gilbert's thrusts. He braced his fingers into the carpet and his legs started to flail. Gilbert's hands gripped Vincent's knees to steady them both and as his older brother thrust even deeper, Vincent cried out, surrendering, his toes curling.

"Gilbert," came the name – once, twice, three times, again and again like a martyr's chant before the unfurling of the first arrow – "Gil, Gil, Gil…"

Instead of expecting death and nothingness, however, Vincent – eyelids fluttering, hair flying, lungs aching from his cries – felt suddenly, desperately alive. Living and filled to the brim. His Gilbert, his one and only brother, made him want to survive and flourish and exist.

A question flung out unbidden during a moment when Vincent could finally gather enough thought past this onslaught of passion.

"Does brother want to keep me?"

"Always," came the growl. Another push and a helpless mew came from Vincent's lips.

Always.

He didn't want this moment to vanish in time, this moment of pure revelation. He didn't want to become nothing anymore, because then if he did, Gilbert would lose him, and his big brother wanted to have him forever. As childish as that logic was, in any other situation, Vincent would've been able to argue himself out of it. Yet, in this very brief slice of forever, captured and lost in the cresting wave of desire, he believed. The thought sustained Vincent, nourishing that emptiness in his soul.

Vincent wanted to live and let his brother have him.

The blond man had used every ounce of self-control not to cry beforehand, even in the throes of crushing disappointment. At his brother's reply, though, that final barrier (the one in himself, the one he had guarded since forever), came loose. A trembling gasp. His face contorted in pleasure and pain. A hot pressure that was growing in Vincent's chest dissolved into a thousand rivulets of emotion. Fiery and cool at once, the tears brimmed at the corners of Vincent's eyes.

No, he thought, this can't happen. Big brother would be sad. I can't make him sad anymore-

But Vincent failed and began to cry, clawing against the carpet as he lost his voice again and again.

xxxxxxx

Out in the world, there was weeping. And shouting. Leo lifted his head in his mental realm. How long did his blankness last? Glen met his eyes, expressionless. The air seemed to rock in motion with the names that were being shouted in that distant land of the real world.

"Gil, Gil, Gil…"

"Gods, Vince, Vince, my Vince-"

Slowly, Leo rose to his feet and wordlessly, the dead Baskerville leader mirrored his actions. He had to know, not out of a perverse longing for sexual display. This wasn't a yellow lithograph or a brown-papered novel. What these two men shared before him couldn't be written off as simple titillating pleasure or a sickening punishment concocted by a vengeful mind.

This was human life. Leo had to discover what he felt about life.

Leo left Glen, standing and silent, and walked toward the light. Bit by bit, details of the bedroom came to Leo's awareness and the shouts changed from echoing to solid and sharp.

Leo's footsteps felt too heavy, even on the thick rugs as he returned to his seat. Before him, Gilbert and Vincent were lost in another world as dramatically different as the one Leo had just escaped from. Gilbert, spine arched, dark hair hanging in tendrils from exertion, pressed against Vincent, who had tears dripping from the corners of his clenched eyelids, sobbing uncontrollably and scrambling for anything to hold onto. Sounds of heavy breathing contrasted with the incomprehensible, begging pleas, but both brothers had each others' names on their lips. Their names and ragged shouts for the divine.

The voices in Leo's head went silent. They paid homage to the primal essence of humanity – one person embracing another – and at the same time, there existed a dimension of something elevated and holy in this defilement. Because this moment, so intimate and raw between two human beings, this feeling was real, was torn and broken and utterly, savagely resplendent in its glory.

Though Vincent's eyes remained shut, Gilbert's, heavy-lidded, caught Leo's return. He didn't change the rhythm or the words on his breath.

"Gods, gods, gods, Vince, oh gods..."

Gilbert stared straight into Leo's eyes, defiantly, while mounting his mewing, flailing brother. Signs of the old faith, the faith of utter darkness and indescribable beatitude seemed to shine for a moment in the man's eyes and suddenly, Leo knew. Leo knew all about the heavens and the Abyss and how this world ran deep, the Hundred Year Cycles that continued longer than history, and how the chains that covered the world was linked to life, to existence, to the flow between the dimensions, between here and the Abyss and elsewhere—

"Yes," whispered Glen. "Yes, yes. You understand."

As the two men before him cried out in their climax, Leo felt something: his soul lift and rise. He knew what he suspected all along—that he was above this. Elevated onto some higher, vacuous plane hollow of emotion. An enlightened detachment from reality.

This didn't matter.

Not even this display of human passion provoked anything. Not disgust nor ridicule nor hate nor lust nor anything. Not because he was empty, but because he was transcending.

Even that petty wish to destroy the Nightray name was a child's resentfulness. Leo realized that because revenge – like happiness and love and hatred and wickedness – were mere ideas drawn from humanity.

Leo was above humanity.

He was never truly human to begin with in the first place, but a human plus something more: plus the power that flowed through him from the Abyss itself, plus the strength of his Chains, plus the countless lives inside him. By becoming Glen, he needed to slough off what remained of his humanity like a butterfly crawling out of the chrysalis.

The pair finished their copulation and collapsed against each other. The sounds of panting breath filled the air for several minutes. Carefully, Gilbert withdrew and gathered Vincent in his arms. Tiny gestures were exchanged between them: a tender caress along the face, the brush of one's nose along the hollow of the other's neck, the tightening hold of arms around shoulders. The family ignored Leo entirely. Leo didn't mind, for he had nothing to do with the simple affairs between men.

Two sentences, whispered between two souls still existing in that realm of mortal connection, a level that Leo knew he could never descend towards ever again.

"I missed you," Vincent confessed, timidly. "So much."

Gilbert kissed his little brother on the forehead. "I missed you too."

Leo's fingers curled over the armrests. "Elliot," he whispered. Nothing.

"Elliot. Elliot."

Only a name.

No reaction.

No pain.

Nothing.

"Elliot."

Leo closed his eyes, feeling that lightness fill his being.

Finally, Leo sighed, sitting back, enthroned in that humble chair. He had arrived. Climbed the mountain of human suffering and, at the summit, he looked down to see how very small all of them had become. Their bodies. Their lives. Their very existence, in all of its joys and horrors.

A pair of invisible hands touched his shoulders and but Leo knew this wasn't a ghost of his lover, but the presence of his predecessor. And kinsman.

Now Leo comprehended what Glen had told him. He will always be alone in this terrible power. But Leo would be reassured that he had never been the only one to suffer such a fate.

A calm remark slipped out from the shade. "This is the truth," murmured the last Baskerville lord, the one who had lain in pieces for a hundred years like relics of a long-forgotten ritual. "This is what you should never forget."

Leo sat and watched, reveling in his newfound status: the mortal god whose existence bridged the faiths of the ancients and the harbingers. The youth who existed as a singular and as a multitude. The boy who contained a pantheon.

He lifted his face to watch the lights float over this domain and noticed Gilbert, the Baskerville House's prodigal servant (and Glen's legacy and Leo's sacrifice and Vincent's savior), raising his golden eyes to follow Leo's distant gaze while he cradled his brother in his arms.

For this is mine kingdom, and my power, and my glory, for ever and ever.

Fin.