Title: Last Ascension (3/4)

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

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

Rating & Warnings: M for smut (incest), non-con, dubcon, mentions of (kinky) underage sex, 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: Finally have this out! XD Thanks to Sammie (of-blades-and-marionettes) and corvusintra on tumblr for their inspiration that helped me finish up this chapter.

Lyrics: "Kinda I Want to" ~NIN

Chapter 3

i'm not sure of what i should do
when every thought i'm thinking of is you
all of my excuses turn to lies
maybe god will cover up his eyes

Leo watched, face impassive, as one brother overpowered the other with that forked tongue of his. The scene played out like one of the many in those illicit books he had snuck into Lutwidge, those dime-novels full of pleasures and scandal (the cries of "wait, wait," the predatory lover's beg to "please, don't fight it" the stumbling, clumsy grasps between tussled sheets, the whimpers and subdued objections melting away into " gods" and "ah yes" and "oh").

Leo remembered how much perversity shocked and attracted him when he first stumbled upon his first pornographic books hidden in the back of Ernest's closet – the House of Fiona never stocked materials like these. And after reading one – with its euphemistic title The Inescapable Downfall of Lady Magdalene – Leo knew he had to get his hands on more.

A pile of books, each papered in nondescript buckwheat-colored bindings to mask their florid titles, grew in a corner of Leo's own closet at school. The urge to read about those licentious antics intensified – the bad ones he kept for laughs, the good ones he kept and masturbated to whenever Elliot was too busy. Leo even got those lithographs on the crinkling cheap yellow-paper (here was Vincent, as dashingly villainous as a figure from those images, ripping off his frock coat and cravat in his fervor, as his brother flexed wantonly beneath him).

The Baskerville Heir was familiar with images of men and women, women and women, men and men, limbs entangled, mouths gasping, printed exclamations dragging across the page alongside the illustrated swirls of various bodily fluids. He was no stranger to perverse notions of any sort that lurked in the human mind (like these two locked in forbidden incest, and Gilbert, shamefaced, covering his eyes with a forearm in denial).

When Elliot, red-faced and fidgeting, first asked Leo one night during the holiday break at Lutwidge last year whether they wanted to "you know, go further," Leo couldn't help but smile a little and joke, "Hey, I've got some ideas."

Many nights after the first, awkward tumble, they did explore other avenues in order to "become more informed" about their possibilities. Elliot eventually got over his embarrassment (look at Gil, turning his head away from Leo's inexpressive stare, those cheeks burning in such a similar way…), and he got adventurous. Their trysts became more than fast and furious schoolboy romps, but controlled, sophisticated, and devilishly-clever.

Vincent seemed to be an expert at those as well; Leo wondered what that blond-haired man had done over the years to gain such experience.

Leo expected to feel joyful ridicule, reveling over that sickening way the last of the Nightrays were humiliated, a dual revenge that pitted one brother against another by their own terrible desires.

Or, if not triumph, perhaps arousal.

Or even some high-held magnanimousness, for the mercy of letting them have each other, even under these circumstances, as opposed to killing them.

Instead, only emptiness gnawed at Leo, as if all human passions sifted through him like sand in a sieve.

xxxxxxx

You are beautiful, you are so beautiful, Vincent couldn't help but think – or perhaps forced himself to think, to concentrate solely of the physical joys of assaulting his brother so he wouldn't think about the emotional consequences beyond his lust.

There was a way that the man lay on the sheets, receptive, as Vincent's touch roamed across the flat, hard muscles of his chest, skirting the crimson-stained wrappings, brushing down the soft definition of his abs, rubbing along his thighs through his trousers. He turned his head, covering his eyes with a forearm, but angled his neck just so that Vincent could kiss and suck at the nape, letting the downy hairs brush against his cheeks. And as Vincent threw off his coat and cravat and waistcoat, yanking his shirtsleeves over his elbows, Gilbert uncovered his face, the torn ends of his white linen shirt floating aside as his arms moved like the spreading of broken wings by a dying bird.

The first layers of his clothing gone, Vincent pressed his brother's wrists down against the bedspread and slipped his tongue into his brother's open mouth, and a moan escaped them both; but both their eyes remained open, locked, until that initial, heated moment passed and Vincent saw how Gilbert's gaze drifted to the side, past Vincent's shoulder, at the silent watcher across the room.

Was Gilbert resigning himself into accepting Vincent's touches? Was every roll of the hips, every presentation of a limb ready for kissing or biting or licking, every little wonderful sound that passed through Gil's lips only a sign of his devotion to his Master? In Gilbert's head, was an endless line, "For you, Master, for you, for you," goading him into accepting Vincent as he did in a mix of reluctance and desire?

Maybe that was so, and when Gilbert eased off, panting, and pressed his hands against Vincent's chest to ask, "But, Master...," Vincent let go. This will be a seduction, he vowed, not a rape. He'll undo his brother like all the pillow-biting noble wenches he did before, though Gilbert was worth a hundred of those aristocratic hussies. So Vincent paid no mind when Gilbert pushed him aside and addressed Leo worriedly, "Master, do you forgive me?"

Leo had his head lowered, becoming as immobile as a cornered animal right before it struck. Vincent recognized that pose from so many long-ago memories: this was himself as a child, locked in a carnival cage, denying the world around him. He brushed Gilbert's shoulder, but his brother, concerned and lacking tact, pressed, "Is Master all right?"

Both men on the bed turned to the person in control: Gilbert, expectant, brow knitted, and Vincent, gently placing both hands on his shoulders as a reminder of restraint. Gilbert was in that headspace, he realized; his brother didn't have any sense other than his concern for the Baskerville leader. Ha, once again, even in this situation, Vincent was prioritized last.

A sharp bark of a laugh as the boy raised his head. "You really are an idiot, aren't you?" Leo snapped. "Everyone here's a sniveling idiot. I hate that. I hate it!"

Despite Leo's rage, Gilbert saw through it, even in his brainwashed state. "Please, Master, I don't like seeing you so upset," he said kindly. Gilbert must've identified Leo's grief as akin to his own sense of loss. A moment before Vincent could stop him, Gilbert asked, "Is it Elliot?"

That name.

The tension in the room cracked.

Leo rose from the chair and pushed it over. The heavy wingchair crashed to the floor with a grievous thud. "Never say his name! Never!" He kicked at the underside of the chair so hard at the thin layer of gauze that shielded the bottom frame of the chair ripped.

Immediately, Gilbert made to jump from the bed toward the boy (idiot loyalty), but Vincent grabbed him from behind and sat him, hard, back on the mattress. Taking heavy steps, Leo approached them, the snarl intensifying in the boy's voice.

"You may be one of us, but you were a Nightray before. The Raven's Contractor. And he thought of you as his older brother." Leo shoved his face in Gilbert, forcing the other's neck back. "He had such a positive attitude, because he was such a kind person, but in the end, I knew how much it destroyed him inside when you left. You never cared, you tossed it aside-" Leo reached out to grab Gilbert by the top of his hair-

Vincent pulled Gilbert aside. "You do not get to touch my brother like that."

Leo retracted his hand an inch and smiled. "Are you really? After everything I've promised you?"

Vincent stared, not saying a word.

Gilbert's gaze dropped, his body growing limp. "So this is what this has been all about?" he said. "This is for… him? Because he hated me?" Something tiny and brittle broke, clean and sharp, in Gil's voice as he said it. Vincent looked at the failing strength in Gilbert's frame and let the ugliness of it all twist his stomach. With sudden clarity, Vincent remembered the moment Elliot first came home from Lutwidge and asked about Gil, and he had replied, almost dismissively:

"Oh? Gilbert's gone. He never liked being a noble anyways."

Childish jealousy about Elliot's fondness for his older brother motivated those words, and so many more after those. Elliot was the only one who could make Gilbert smile in this dark, somber mansion, after all, and it was a gift Vincent appreciated and envied. And now, years later, those words had returned to torment him ….

Vincent caught Leo's knowing look and glared.

"He could never hate anyone. Not truly." Leo smirked. "He'd get mad but that's not the same."

Gilbert glanced over his shoulder, the self-admonishing guilt rising up in those lovely eyes. His open shirt had slipped down his shoulders, revealing milky pale flesh. "And you believe this too?" he asked Vince in a small, small voice. "I never thought…"

Disbelief swept across Vincent's face. "No, brother," he replied fiercely, "Why did you have to bring him up? This is for us, for us and for our master." Vincent cupped Gilbert's cheek but the dark-haired brother resisted, addressing Leo again.

"Does Master not forgive me?" Gilbert asked brokenly. "For… hurting... him and the Nightray House-?"

"The Nightray House?" Leo grabbed the front of Gil's shirt with both hands and in increasing rage, yelled, "The Nightray House is nothing! He dedicated himself to nothing! Don't you understand?" Leo's arms shook as he released him. "You are nothing except a servant to Glen! And I am now Glen!" He gripped Gilbert's jaw. "Why are you asking such stupid questions?" he growled. "Aren't you disobeying me?"

"No…" Gil shook his head. "I won't… this can't…"

Leo let go and stumbled to his red-lined chair, propping it up again and collapsing into it. "Vincent, continue."

Vince would do whatever it took to save his brother, but Leo was getting out of hand, ready to boil over into pure recklessness. Vincent had to rein him in and subdue the youth's grief somehow before it was too late.

Gilbert started, "Vin-"

Vincent said under his breath, "Please stop acting insubordinate."

"I-I wasn't acting insubordinate!" Gil retorted and caught himself. A part of his old self broke from the state of obeisance; Vincent could tell from the sudden straightening of his shoulders, and the hint of protest as he spoke. "Wait, Master, Vincent… this doesn't help anyone. Punishing me wouldn't change any-"

The word stabbed Vincent; his brother did suffer his touch, it was a punishment for Vincent to hold him…

"Oh, I could make it so much worse for you, Gilbert," Leo interrupted snidely. He tapped his fingers along the edge of the armrest and propped one fist beneath his chin. "That Raven belongs to me. Instead of letting you live, I could've snapped your blood mirror in half and shot you in the face and been done with it. Or have done worse things to you for your long-standing crimes against the Baskerville House."

Vincent said in a rigid voice, "Master-"

"Oh, Vince, you know I'm joking," Leo said in a tone that he absolutely was not. "I'd never truly harm Gilbert." Addressing the other, he added, "You belong to us. You always had. You were supposed to replace the last Glen, remember?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Vincent saw the door creak open. Why would Lotti and Zwei be waiting outside other than as Leo's trusted guards? What would happen if Leo ordered them to help out in Gilbert's defilement? Lotti would surely jump at the chance (that was why Leo ordered her to attend to Gil—it was a warning to Vincent, not merely her own vengeful whim….). Or worse—what if Zwei took charge, Doldrum's strings at hand? A chill snaked down Vincent's spine at the thought of hearing his brother's voice wrapped around Zwei's elated cries. They would expect Vincent to cooperate enthusiastically. And he would have no other option.

A sense of terrible déjà vu hit Vincent. They were trapped, once again, in the foulness of the Nightray manor, lying between daggers. Like years ago when they were first reunited, they could not escape this gilded cage but merely tolerate and obey and lie and survive.

Gilbert must've thought that too, the real Gilbert beneath the programmed commands, and he sank into Vincent's arms, head sunken in despair.

Meantime, Vincent watched Leo's expression change from anger to distraction. Were the voices saying something in his head? How could he defuse this situation before it got out of hand?

"Shut up!" Leo shouted, suddenly, speaking to no one.

Vincent disentangled his arms from Gilbert and, moving carefully, crossed the room to kneel in front of his Master. "Master Leo…."

"Go," Leo had his eyes shut, hands pulling at his hair. "Leave me alone!"

Damage control. He had to do something to regain his command of this situation, even while having to serve another whom he staked his salvation upon. Slipping into his old state of seduction, Vincent humbly bowed his head, letting the ends of his golden hair brush against the rug. From his subservient position on the ground, he touched Leo's trouser leg.

"Does my master seek relief?" he offered. His fingers snaked beneath the edge of the cloth and started to rub the side of Leo's ankle.

xxxxxxx

"You selfish, foolish boy! Clear yourself of that anger!" A tall, dark figure loomed in Leo's mind and with a flick of a red cape before his eyes, Leo felt the grip of a fist as Glen Baskerville grabbed him by the collar in the realm of his mind.

"Shut up!" he shouted aloud, but internally, the youth struggled in the former leader's grasp. Leo was uninjured in this world, but the physical connection with his body still weakened him.

With an abrupt toss, Leo was sent to the floor of his head as Glen Baskerville replied curtly, "Remember your duty, Leo."

"Is it because he was yours?" Leo asked silently. "Are you angry that I'm misusing your chosen vessel, Glen?"

Again, Glen towered over him, the ghost of a man making the atmosphere suddenly darken. None of the other Glens said a word; they all seemed to vanish inside deeper recesses of Leo's consciousness. Were those voices, in their way, giving silent agreement for this Glen to speak for them all?

"Your servants should always be treated with kindness, brat. And that man was more than a vessel; he was a legacy. As you are now. As the leader of the Baskervilles you have a duty toward your kinsmen-"

"I never chose to have them as my kinsmen! I have nothing!"

A bitter scoff as the man knelt down and took hold of Leo's chin, much in the same way he had done to Gilbert only minutes beforehand. Leo stared into the man's violet gaze. "You have us. And you will always have us, boy."

Leo turned his head away; in the physical world, he crouched down, gripping the sides of his skull. Leo shouted, desperately hoping that making actual noise can banish this silent conversation. "Go! Leave me alone!"

A sigh from the dark-haired man. He rose to his feet, and Leo could see the ripples of water emanate away from his footsteps as the last Glen left him. His final remarks echoed solemnly: "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."

"Does my master seek relief?"

Vincent's question jarred Leo back into the world. He glanced down as saw the blond man slipping his fingers up Leo's trouser leg to massage his ankle.

That hedonistic slut – that sneaky opportunist, that-

"No," Leo jerked his foot to shake him off. It wouldn't be the same, he thought. No one would be the same as Elliot. He was so bright, so noble, so much better than all of our wretched selves.

So the voices cared about the choices Leo made. Fancy that. Leo looked at the bitter display of vengeance before him. Mistreating them? He wanted to scoff, and yet a tendril of shame snaked its way up Leo's neck.

Don't listen to those stupid voices, he retorted to himself. But Glen's warning remained, for that was Leo's fate – to become a voice like them, eventually.

He threaded his hand through Vincent's hair. "You asked me to fulfill your true desire in exchange for your dedicated service. Doesn't this count?" He sneered at Gilbert and said sternly, "Maybe I won't forgive you, Gilbert. You worked with the enemy. I nearly died again because of them."

Gilbert fumbled, "Master, I…"

Leo went on in a shallow, consolidating tone, "There, there, don't worry. I was only in a mood. Can't help that." A dry, cold giggle. "But you can make it up to me. With your dedication."

With that remark, Leo grabbed Vincent's follicles and twisted sharply, lifting Vince's head violently. The blond bore the hair-pulling stoically until, with another laugh, Leo cast him aside. Vincent didn't even acknowledge any pain as he calmly retreated backwards on hands and knees until Leo ordered, "Stay. On the floor." Then, making a sweeping gesture with open fingers, he asked, "Will you join your brother, Gilbert?"

xxxxxxx

What is Vincent doing…? Gilbert thought as he witnessed his brother leave him to approach the young Baskerville heir. The intensity of Leo's shouts and threats left his stomach in knots, and the headache lingered only seemed to grow worse. Desire and need pulled at Gilbert – his brother's touches had been pleasurable, but thinking about that too much only make his stomach convulse and the pressure in his head mount even more. Was it good, Gilbert contemplated, to feel Vincent move on top of him? And how much of that sensual joy was stoked by that lingering idea that "Master Leo forgives you"?

But no, Master didn't forgive him, and Gilbert was cast off once more. He didn't have a master. He didn't know how to please anyone. He was useless, utterly horrible, and now, some sort of perverse monster, because-

Gilbert yanked the sheet over his stiffened member, which had risen again from Vincent's fondling. A whore, Lotti had called him. Gilbert was nothing but an attention-starved wretch, willing to prostitute himself for any sort of tenderness.

No wonder Master Leo hated him-

(Stop it)

- and Elliot must've grown to despise him too -

(Shut up)

- and Vincent only touched him because he was ordered to -

(Wake up)

There is was that voice again, that silent whisper from another Gilbert, the one that was the liar, that wanted him to disobey…

(Don't let them control you; listen you idiot, can't you see what's happening?)

Gilbert raised his head warily, but his attention snapped into focus upon seeing his brother and Master Leo. That proposition, shot down instantly by the shaggy-haired teenager.

(See what Vincent is doing.)

Gilbert grimaced. His brother, always doing inappropriate things. What was he trying to do, seducing Master Leo…?

"Maybe I won't forgive you, Gilbert. You worked with the enemy. I nearly died again because of them." Leo said tauntingly. And then he was yanking Vincent by the hair, a cruel gesture that Vince had stopped from being done to him-

That was it.

In a rush, a memory: in the bright, unforgiving lights of a circus cage, and both of them were dressed in rags and deemed to be "foreign devils." The spectators would reach out to grab and touch them, laughing or taunting but Vincent never made a sound, nor shed a tear. But the small child would shake all over until Gilbert pushed those hands away, lashing out all the swears he knew, and shielded Vincent with his torso, hugging Vincent tight until the ringmaster stepped in to pull them apart.

(Understand now?) said the old Gilbert from before.

Yes, he thought as Vincent was thrown down onto the carpet. His little brother was protecting him all these years. Using his body and his words as his only weapons of defense much like Gilbert had for him as children. Gilbert remembered now. He understood.

That epiphany, instead of draining what emotional reserves he had, sparked a small flame of purpose. A second wind stirred inside Gilbert's soul and he muttered under his breath, "Don't you dare hurt him."

Don't you dare hurt my little brother, repeated the thought, and it was said by both Gilberts, the young one and the old, in solid determination.

That feeling was always there, before Leo, before Elliot, before even Oz.

Gilbert knew that he had always cared about Vincent, the one person that fate designated no obligation for Gil to feel anything for.

The revelation stunned him.

"Will you join your brother, Gilbert?"

"Vince…"

If Gilbert wanted to be free, he couldn't trust those emotions provoked by Master Leo or even those stemming from Oz (oh gods, where was he now, was he looking for him, did he hate him? Stop, stop thinking those things.)

Being a Baskerville shouldn't matter.

Leo shouldn't matter.

Oz shouldn't matter.

Being real mattered. Knowing what was true.

Gods, he really was a simple man at heart, wasn't he?

"Vincent," he repeated.

This was another show, another performance before a heartless spectator. I can do this, Gilbert coached himself. He had done it before. This should be easy.

And it will be. Because he had to protect him. Gil had to save his little brother.

A renewed sense of purpose prompted Gil to rise from the bed. He lowered himself upon the plush carpeting before Vincent, who watched, wide-eyed, with an expression that Gilbert recalled from years and years before, on the visage of a little boy clinging to his hand. Vincent never lost that look after all: one from someone who so badly wanted to be held.

Gilbert traced his fingers along Vince's jawline. "I… I finally…" he started to say, but cast off the rest of the sentence. Instead, willing every ounce of sincerity to break through his touch, he lowered his lips and pressed them against Vincent's, letting his eyes close. His brother didn't know how to respond and Gilbert felt him retract.

Don't leave, he thought and grabbed the back of Vincent's head in one hand and wrapped his other arm around Vincent's neck. He let their kiss deepen, and, unlike that lustful and false one he had done for his Master, this kiss he did for no one but himself. Vincent's lips, instead of hard and aggressive, turned plaint, receptive. A little whimper that came from a broken place rose up from his little brother's throat, and the sound made Gilbert grip him harder.

Letting go, Gilbert said, hoarsely, "Tell me this feels real."

Vincent blinked, surprised, and Gilbert noticed the bottom lip tremble ever so slightly. Several moments passed as Gilbert peered searchingly into his brother's eyes. Tell me, tell me, tell me, please, Vince tell me…

Time unspooled endlessly as their gazes remained connected to each other. A tiny change, the softening of Vincent's expression at the corners of his eyes, and Gilbert knew that it was Vincent's front of manipulative lust crumbling and falling away. For a moment, Vincent truly resembled his lost child self, and Gilbert didn't mind thinking of that comparison at all, even after having kissed him. For what Gilbert was reminded of was a forgotten frailty that Vincent possessed from before, long ago, an authentic vulnerability that provoked such fierce protectiveness within Gil.

"Y-yes." Vince finally answered, the word barely rising above a whisper. He reached out for his older brother and fell against Gilbert's chest. "Yes, yes, yes…."