The White Knight

by Galiko

AU. Written with Corinna aka daphnerunning. Set two years after Leo becomes Glen, he summons what remains of Elliot back to become his chain, the White Knight. Even with Elliot 'back', however, Leo still is far from himself, and still bent on restoring the balance of their world... all while keeping Oz sealed within Pandora's dungeons. Elliot/Leo, Vincent/Gilbert, Vincent/Ada, etc.

4. Chapter 4

"Master."

It feels wrong, the word on Gilbert's lips for this man. Even though Duke Baskerville is, perhaps has always been his master in some way, it still feels wrong. It's the kind of thing he only lets himself think about at night, steeling himself to remain in bed, to not run down and use Raven to smash the doors to the basement, clawing his true Master out of his bonds with his bare hands.

He won't make that mistake again.

Every step is familiar, every breath the same slow ache as before, when he'd waited ten long years for Oz's return. This, Duke Baskerville has promised, is no different. Just as before: all he has to do is wait, be faithful, and become the kind of man that can save his master from his torment.

It's with that sole thought in his mind that he kneels at Duke Baskerville's feet, head bowed. His voice is dull as he reports, "I have news, Master."

Leo barely even looks up.

Far more attention-grabbing at the moment is the steam rising from his tea, some foreign rooibos fragrant enough to make him breath in deeply before each heavily sugared sip. It's a pleasant day for once, even around this particular manor; storm clouds aren't brewing, the roses bloom brightly, and so why not enjoy a cup of tea in the garden?

Vincent lingers at his side, ever watchful, though Leo knows his attention is far more focused upon Gilbert at this point. It's always the same, every single time that Gilbert slips from his post to report some tidbit to him-and because such a thing is so rare nowadays, Vincent looks like a man starved.

"News?" Leo pokes at a slowly dissolving sugar cube with his spoon. Look, Elliot, your other brother is here. It's almost like a family reunion. "Of what sort?"

It's better not to use her name.

Then she won't feel like a person, like someone he's known for more than a decade, someone who used to tug on his coat sleeve and tag after him and Oz in the gardens and cry on his shoulder when Oz was gone and give him his hat and-

"The...girl." Yes, better not to use her name. "The Vessalius girl. We found where her uncle has hidden her."

Best not to use his name either. Then he won't feel like he's betraying the closest thing to a father he's ever known. They're not his real family, after all. No, his real family is standing just slightly behind Duke Baskerville, and even without looking up Gil can feel the intensity of his stare.

"Pandora is making preparations. They'll move by tomorrow evening."

Leo decides to ignore the quiet, strangled sound that escapes Vincent's throat, especially when the blond does his best to obscure it with a polite cough. Really, Vincent should be a bit happier about one of his goals coming to fruition… or that is what Leo can only assume Vincent is telling himself. "Oh? But Pandora will simply scare her off again, that really won't do."

"That's why I came to you." Gil raises his head, ignoring Vincent, staring straight at Glen Baskerville's soul. "If...if she's the key you think she is..."

He swallows hard, then pulls out a carefully folded sheet of paper, laying it on the little lawn table. "I know a man who used to work security on the building where they're keeping her. We could move tonight."

At best, Gilbert Nightray-Baskerville-whatever-gets on Leo's nerves.

It's in the same way that Vincent does, actually. That obsessive, neurotic tendency to latch onto one thing and never change… well, it's something that Leo pointedly refuses to adhere to. He dealt with the loss of Elliot, after all, for better or for worse. Gilbert and Vincent, on the other hand…

"Sit, and let Vincent pour you a cup of tea," Leo sighs, making an idle gesture towards the chair opposite him. "There's someone I'd like you to meet. I think he would be quite useful in this situation."

There's nothing about this that doesn't feel wrong.

Still, Gil hauls himself up, sitting in the chair, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it is to have his little brother waiting on him like he's nobility. Then again, it's one of the least uncomfortable things Vincent's ever done for him, even though it sort of makes his skin crawl to have Vincent acting like his servant.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not." Gil takes a sip of the tea, avoiding Vincent's eyes. "We've agreed that the less I know about your movements, the better, just in case Pandora ever learns the extent of my involvement."

"Really, I think you'll enjoy this." Probably not, Leo adds dryly to himself as he drops his chin into one hand. For Vincent's sake, he ignores how the man scoots just a bit closer to Gilbert, veritably hovering. "It's a family matter, after all."

Leo shifts, a hand outstretched to the side with a little crook of his finger. "White Knight."

Family matter?

Though he doesn't really want to after all that's passed between them, Gil shoots a look at Vincent, wondering what he could be planning-

Elliot rises from the ether, hand on his sword at his Master's call, nearly drawing when he sees that Leo isn't alone. He stops just in time, breath catching in shock as he sees exactly who Leo is having tea with.

A hundred thoughts flit through his head-he'd thought Gil was dead, thought everyone was dead, and that leads to a thousand more questions-but before he has a chance to voice any of them, Gil's teacup goes flying through the air as he, his back, and the wicker chair all hit the floor in a heap. "You-you can't-you're dead, you can't-"

Elliot wants to snap that of course he's not dead, but stops himself. He is, after all. Instead, he shrugs, shooting a glare at Vincent and Leo for obviously not warning Gil. "I am. I'm just...here to protect Leo."

"Brother, you really should be more careful-" Vincent immediately stresses, darting to gingerly grab hold of Gilbert's arm, to coax him up and to his feet once more. "It's just Elliot, after all."

"The White Knight is his name as a chain," Leo mildly offers, unable to even be amused as he thought he'd be at Gilbert's reaction. With a sigh, he turns back to his tea, swirling the cooling liquid about in his cup. "Elliot, would you like to see Miss Ada again?"

A chain.

Probably the worst, most shocking thing of all, thudding dully through Gil's mind as he lets VIncent help him up, too stunned even to bat his hands away, is how Leo's acting as if this is perfectly normal. As if Elliot is himself, instead of some trick that he's conjured up out of madness and loneliness-not that he can really blame him for that. He knows the pain of losing his own master, twice over.

The young man standing proud and tall and older, as if he's got all the strength and virility of the man he should be at this age, tears at Gil's heart. It's his brother as he's supposed to be-and yet, with a glass sword around his waist, with a deferential nod of his head to Duke Baskerville, he isn't, at all. "Elliot..."

Elliot ignores Gil and Vincent, being weird as usual. It's even stranger when he remembers Leo's words, about Vincent's fixation with their elder brother. Instead, he brightens at his master's words. "She's all right? Is she here?"

He doesn't know, Gil realizes, and only just keeps from saying something.

Ah, in the back of his mind, Leo sort of hates himself for this.

And yet his smile isn't forced at all as he looks up at Elliot, fingers laced primly about his teacup. "Well, not here here, exactly. There's been quite a bit of discord, and she went into hiding. You can't blame her, of course. It would be good, though, if we could pay a visit to her… to insure her safety."

He's gotten a little too good at this lying business.

So good that Vincent looks at him with a startling, sharp look of contempt, for all of a moment because he knows Leo wants to do anything but take care of the girl. Well. That isn't exactly true-he'll take care of her well enough, assuming she provides a necessary service. After all that has happened, Leo supposes he shouldn't be surprised at how good he is when it comes to lying to Elliot in particular.

The thought makes him shudder, just slightly.

For the moment, Elliot's too grateful for a bit of good news after all this time to think too hard about what it might mean. "Yeah, that would be...I mean, I wouldn't mind seeing her again. She's never been too good at taking care of herself, you know?" He grins, reaching over to tug on a strand of Leo's hair. "Remember that time at school she got herself locked in the bathroom on opening night of the play?"

Somehow, Gil's never realized just how far Leo's fallen until this moment. He realizes, standing with Vincent, that he'd believed that if Leo found some measure of peace, found Elliot again, he'd be, well, better.

He doesn't seem better.

Leo's smile wavers a bit, but he catches the expression and allows it to simply soften instead. "Mm. I remember, Elliot." He lifts one hand, absently brushing his fingertips along the back of Elliot's hand. "I know she'd be especially happy to see you, no matter the circumstances."

Elliot wavers, a little embarrassed in front of his brothers, but allows the touch. It's not exactly compromising, after all, and...well, Gil might not know, but Vincent obviously does. "When can we go see her?"

Gil shifts, just slightly, enough to make eye contact with Vincent for the first time in months. He's often thought it's frightening, how easily his little brother can read him; now, he hopes for it. Does this bother you too?

"As soon as we have it planned out, of course," Leo cheerfully replies, casting a sidelong glance in the direction of the two brothers opposite him. "I believe you mentioned as early as tonight as an option?"

"… We will do our best to arrange it, my lord," Vincent allows, gaze flickering away from Leo to gratefully focus upon Gilbert, even if it's for a moment. His lips twist, just slightly, into a sort of weary smile. Even if it does, what am I to do about it?

Just for a second, it's good to have a brother, someone who knows him so well, someone who knows even his unvoiced thoughts. Just for a second, as dangerous as it is, Gil lets himself feel a tiny bit less lonely. "Yes, tonight," he says, eyes darting back to the map on the table. "They're trusting to secrecy, and there's only one guard on the Eastern door."

"Wait," Elliot interjects, frowning at the map. "If she's being hidden, won't we risk endangering her by going there? What if someone follows us?"

Gil bites his tongue so hard he draws blood, wishing he dared glare at Duke Baskerville.

"Hardly," Leo huffs, gaze lidded as he casts it away from Elliot for a sparse moment-first to the map, then to Gilbert. "They wouldn't dare. And even if they did… I'm sure you're fully capable of protecting her as well as me, Elliot."

"If you would allow us the afternoon to make the arrangements, my lord-"

"As long as they are done so quickly."

Vincent is glad that he, at least, is so used to Leo's mercurial moods and penchant for snippiness that he doesn't even feel the urge to roll his eyes or bite his tongue. "Of course. Gil, shall we?" At least let me put some distance between the two of you before you do something stupid.

It hurts to watch his little brother swell with pride at being told he's capable by someone who Gil can see only wants to use him, use him for what he's become, no matter what he'd been at the beginning.

He doesn't even protest, bowing before picking up the map, letting Vincent hurry him away. "What is he?" he demands, trying to keep his voice low, not able to keep the fury out of it. "I've seen a lot of chains, and I've never seen even a Glen Baskerville with one that questions his master's plans, so what is he?"

"As much Elliot as he still can be, I suppose," Vincent murmurs, sparing a lingering glance over his shoulder before striding quickly away and back towards the manor. "Our master won't tell me much, but-from what I can infer, it seems his desire for Elliot's presence, coupled with the need for an accessory chain for protection created… that." He offers Gilbert a shrug and a small smile. "Duke Baskerville has, at least, been much more pleasant to deal with lately."

Gil stops walking, grabbing Vincent's shoulder tightly, trying to find some trace of the horror in his own expression in his brother's face. "What if it is him? What if it's...what's left of him, summoned by Baskerville's power and shaped into a chain? He deserves better than that!"

"… That is probably what he is," Vincent slowly replies, eyes sliding as he casts a glance down at Gilbert's hand and then back up to the other man's face. "They both seem happy. I'm not sure what is better than that for either of them at this point."

With the gritting of his teeth, Gil forces himself to relax. Slowly, he releases Vincent's shoulder, letting his hand hang at his side, shoulders drooping. "Sorry," he mutters, fumbling in his pocket for a cigarette. "It was a shock. I wasn't expecting...you didn't tell me."

Vincent smiles, a dismissive shrug following. "You don't need to apologize, Gil. I didn't have the opportunity to warn you, after all; you've been very difficult to get in touch with as of late." His hands fold behind his back as he leans forward. "At least you've learned not to smoke around our master, but you really should stop for your own health at some point."

Gil snorts at that, a puff of smoke escaping his nose. "My health is about the last thing I'm worried about. This...I didn't plan for this tonight. I was just going to take care of the guard and go in and get her. I'm not sure how he wants to incorporate using the White Knight, or whatever he's calling Elliot."

He pointedly ignores the comment about being hard to reach. Vincent knows perfectly well why that is, and why it isn't going to change.

Ah, things Vincent doesn't want to talk about. His smile turns a bit terse. "You know very well that she'll put up far more of a fight if it's you that retrieves her. Really, you should consider this merciful on our master's behalf."

Gil shrugs. "If he wanted to be merciful, he'd have you go get her. Say a couple pretty words, tell her she smells nice or whatever it is you tell girls to make them follow you around like puppies. Having Elliot go is just cruel."

"I don't want to talk to her."

The words come out sharper than he intends, and so Vincent pointedly continues forward. "If nothing else, this will help Elliot realize what he's come back into. Let our master deal with this as he sees fit, it has nothing to do with us."

"And you're fine with that," Gil says quietly, then shoves his hands in his pockets, staring down at the ground as he trudges alongside Vincent. "I don't even know why I bothered to ask, of course you are."

This is half of why I never come here.

Vincent should bite his tongue.

He really, truly should.

And yet-"If it truly bothers you, then go ahead and say something to him about it." Vincent's gaze casts sideways and away. "Never mind the consequences."

Gil flicks his cigarette down on the ground, crushing it out with his foot, and turns up the collar of his coat. He should. For the sake of his little brother's soul, he should say something.

Deep underground right now, his master waits, desperate for someone powerful enough to save him.

"I made my choice a long time ago," he mutters, buttoning his coat up to the top. "We'll move at eleven. Send that chain in to get her out, back by midnight. Should be easy. If you can use Dormouse on the guard, that would make less mess. If not..."

Vincent has the mind, at least, to be annoyed with himself for tossing away the chance to be a bit more-well-congenial. He inclines his head in agreement all the same, and he lifts a hand, wavering for a moment before touching gloved fingers lightly to Gilbert's back, just between his shoulderblades.

"You won't stay, not even for an hour? I've the coffee you like still; I know tea doesn't suit you."

Why he does this to himself when in the end it will be nothing, never have been anything, is really beyond him.

God, Gil hates himself for wanting to say yes. It's been a shock, seeing Elliot's face on top of steeling himself for what they're going to do tonight, and even the unease Vincent's lingering touches bring him feels preferable to the cold waiting for him everywhere else.

His fingers clench in his pockets, voice bitter as he says, "What's the point? If you get your way, it'll never have happened, right?"

"I'm inclined to believe that if my master is allowed to indulge now, then so am I." Vincent's fingers curl, just slightly, fisting a bit into Gilbert's coat to give it a light tug. "Besides, that'll be some time yet. In the mean time, I'm still allowed to miss you."

Vincent has the devil's own tongue, has always been able to talk himself out of any situation, and no one has the mind to see it. Gil's different. He can see the webs Vincent spins, the gambits, the lies.

And it's a rare day when he doesn't let them work anyway.

"One cup of coffee," he allows, sighing, wishing he hadn't put out his cigarette. "If you come tonight. It'll go easier if you're there."

"If Gil wants me to come, then of course I'll come."

Vincent's mind sort of reflexively goes to double entendres, regardless of his intention not to at first, and it's with a hum that he lurches forward, dropping his chin atop Gilbert's shoulder from behind. "Would you like to take it in my private chambers? The coffee, that is."

Damn it, he never should have agreed.

Still, he's already said it, and it's with a token protest that he wriggles away, snapping, "Why the hell do you have coffee in your room, anyway?"

Vincent beams immediately. "For you, of course!"

For his own sanity, Gil should have stopped being surprised by any of the crazy shit that Vincent does a long time ago.

Still...

How much can it really hurt, to drink a cup of the coffee he so rarely gets to taste, to talk to someone for just a bit that isn't only interested in how they can exploit his weaknesses? Vincent is just as calculating, to be sure, and at least as cruel, but it's a different kind. Maybe a change will be as good as a rest, and give him the strength he needs to fight another day.

Besides, he's family. It doesn't matter how many chances he messes up. Gil's pretty sure you have to keep giving chances, if it's family. "Do you mind if I smoke in your room?"

"Not at all." If anything, Vincent wants him to. The smell of smoke has long since faded from the drapes and carpet and bedspread, and there's nothing of Gil left there. It's all mustiness and shredded curtains and cool, honed metal slicing through them, and Vincent wants that to change. "Come then," he rather brightly offers, stepping ahead to open the manor doors and lead Gilbert properly inside.

He supposes he should feel guilty, lingering about with his brother, serving him coffee in the solace of his own bedroom while his master is out alone on the lawn, but-that's what Leo wants, apparently, considering how quick he was to shoo the two of them away. Vincent breathes deep, perches himself upon one comfortable chaise, and enjoys the scent of cigarettes and coffee in his room for the first time in ages.

"It smells like your apartment in Larouille used to," Vincent wistfully notes.

"Huh. I guess it does." Gil hasn't been back to Nightray Manor much since it stopped being home, started being full of only things he hadn't wanted to remember. Every place turns out like that, after a while. Sablier, the Vessalius place, this place, and probably Pandora, when he eventually leaves there.

He shies away from that thought, unwilling to let himself even think about what it's going to be like when this whole thing is over. Instead, he takes a sip of coffee, eyes sliding shut in enjoyment. "For someone who's always falling asleep," he notes wryly, "you make one hell of a cup of coffee."

"I learned for you, of course," Vincent returns, fairly beaming at the praise. The urge to snuggle himself up against Gilbert's side is strong, but the desire to simply have him here is even stronger, and so Vincent waits-fidgeting, eyes forever trained upon the other man. "I have a couple of your favorite blends. I kept them, just in case."

The coffee is delicious, the room feels just a little like home, and Gil gives in to temptation, just for a minute, resting his head against the back of the couch, relaxing a bit. This Vincent-creepy, clingy, eager to please and needy-he can deal with, as uncomfortable as it makes him. It's just when it looks like he's stopped feeling anything at all that Gil wants to run away and hide. "Are you going to have one? Shame to drink it all alone."

He refrains from offering a cigarette as well. No matter how messed up things get, Vincent is still his little brother. There are some habits he just shouldn't encourage.

Vincent takes the chance to wriggle just a bit closer-only enough to lean his head against Gilbert's shoulder, to breathe in slowly the other man's scent. "I'll just have a sip of yours if I want it," he murmurs, a hand sidling over to rest atop Gilbert's knee. "That is, if you don't mind."

Gil knows he should hate the way Vincent smells. It should remind him only of bad things, bad times, moments he should have stopped, would never let happen again.

"I don't mind," he says, taking Vincent's hand from his knee and curling it firmly around the coffee cup.

It would be so easy for it to be right between them. Even after everything that's happened, the good and the bad and the things he never wants to think about (the things he doesn't want to want to think about), it would be so easy. There's no reason, none at all, that they can't enjoy a cup of coffee together. It would probably be a little more normal if they each had one, but at this point, for a moment of solace, he'll take what he can get.

It's a longshot not to pout, but Vincent tries, at least, even as he takes a slow sip of the coffee in question and rather wishes Gilbert was personally delivering it into his mouth. "You can stay until we have to go out tonight, you know. If you want to take a nap, even, you can just rest in here."

Gil doesn't bother looking for much of an excuse that doesn't exist. It actually feels nice to relax, and who would have thought that he'd be able to find that here, of all places, on such a day?

"Yeah," he sighs out, trying not to admit how much he's needed a bit of human contact, how little he's had. Maybe what frightens him the most about Vincent's fixation on him is how well he understands it, after all. He knows what it feels like to be without anything, ties to anyone, except the one strange one he was born with.

And damn it all, he doesn't hate his brother, even when he does.

He turns a bit, reaching out almost to touch Vincent, then pulling his hand back. "I...you know, I...hate this. What you're working for. What you want. I hate it, and I want you to stop wanting it."

Vincent feels his breath hitch harder than it should at the mere thought of Gilbert touching him. Never mind that it doesn't happen, that Gil pulls his hand away at the last second; it's the thought that leaves him reflexively leaning closer, chin propped atop Gilbert's shoulder as his eyes slowly lid.

"Without me, your life would be so much easier. None of this would have even happened." Vincent smiles tiredly. "You know, it's really sweet of you, brother, to want me to stop… but I won't."

Maybe it's enough for Vincent to know, that he doesn't want this. Maybe when the time comes to make the choice, when Leo is enough Glen Baskerville to free Oz and grant his wish, he'll remember this moment, and he'll hesitate. "Just..."

Gil growls a little in frustration, lighting another cigarette even as he leans a little to the side, resting his head against Vincent's. "You're an idiot. I don't want you gone. I just want you to behave yourself."

"I'm not good at that," Vincent sighs, tipping his head forward just a bit more to nuzzle into the side of Gilbert's neck. "And besides, it was never a matter of behaving myself that caused all of this, you know…"

"For someone who doesn't want to exist anymore, you sure think a lot of yourself," Gil grumbles, reaching up to push Vincent's head away. His hair is so soft, like spun silk in the golden afternoon light, even if he doesn't want to think like that, and he doesn't wind up exactly pushing him away so much as resting his hand on his brother's head. "Sometimes I think this weird wish of yours is just a big search for compliments. Would that change your mind? If I tell you good things about yourself? Is that what you want?"

Unfazed, Vincent merely butts his head back against Gilbert's hand, leaning heavily into the touch with a sound not unlike a purr. Really , this isn't a new thing, Gilbert's quest to tell him to behave and that there's no need for him to disappear. Vincent has simply gotten better at ignoring it over the past two years. "No, I don't want that. You can keep touching my hair, though; I might go to sleep."

Gil doesn't pull his hand away, twining a few strands around his fingers, always conscious that with every move he makes, Vincent might accept it at face value-or might twist it until it means something different, unintended, with consequences that he's not prepared to deal with.

Yet...

"You can sleep if you want, for a few hours. You look..." He trails off, staring down at his empty coffee cup. "You look like a kid again when you sleep."

"Not here," Vincent murmurs, withdrawing just slightly, enough to feel the slow pull of Gilbert's hands through his hair. "In the actual bed. That's what it's for, after all-and it's large enough for the both of us."

There's really no other way to respond, short of saying outright that he doesn't trust his little brother, than agreeing. Maybe...

There's always a maybe, with Vincent. There's always a chance, a shot in the dark, a snowball's chance in hell that this time, it'll be different. This time, he'll screw his head on straight and go back to being that cute little kid he used to be, the man Gil had thought he'd grow up to be. He remembers now, remembers how proud Vincent had looked in the uniform Master Jack had given him, how hard he'd tried, and god, he's still trying hard.

And if there's stuff wrong with him, that's my fault, because I should have protected him better. Even if I didn't want to, it was my job.

He doesn't strip off completely, just down to his shirt and slacks before doing as Vincent suggests, flopping down on the bed that, yeah, is big and soft enough for probably three or four people instead of just the two of them. "You actually going to let me sleep?" he asks, keeping one eye open in spite of everything.

"If you're actually tired," Vincent says, lashes low as he slides his way onto the bed, nestled up close to Gilbert's back. His face immediately presses into the other man's curls, into the back of his neck, and his arms find their way around Gilbert's waist, squeezing just slightly. "I want you to be well-rested, after all."

"I'm always tired," Gil mutters without meaning to, sighing out a breath as he wriggles around, trying to get enough room to be comfortable. "You said yourself this bed is plenty big, go sleep on your own side."

"It's cold in here, though." A long, lean leg idly finds its way slung over Gilbert's. "Don't you want me to keep you warm?"

"Vincent..."

Gilbert shoves at Vincent's leg, steadfastly ignoring the way his body protests that it's been too long, that Vincent smells good and feels soft and like home. "Knock it off. I thought you wanted me to sleep."

Vincent pouts against the back of Gilbert's neck, even as he scoots back a sparse few inches. "I do. I'm trying to be nice, you know. You should let me take care of you more."

"This isn't taking care of me. This is...you. Doing that thing again." He shuts his eyes, trying to remind himself that he doesn't need to guilt himself into letting Vincent sprawl all over him. That he's even here should be enough. "Try to get some rest. You're usually good at that."

Normally, Vincent would feel inclined to poke and prod and goad Gilbert, just a little bit, into better explaining what that 'thing' actually is. For now, though, the blond merely sighs, still resting his face into the back of Gilbert's neck, but otherwise deciding not to cling to him so very much. "All right, brother. Get some rest."

Of course, 'rest' for Vincent is a relative thing-he isn't quite so narcoleptic these days, but he rarely finds the urge to sleep for hours and hours upon end. The occasional nap with his eyes open does the trick, especially when one has such a troublesome master to look after, and now is no exception, no matter how he wishes he could sleep the afternoon away at Gilbert's side.

Well, it's been a couple of hours, at any rate, and he's still sort of drowsy from what nap he did manage. He can call that a success, he supposes, and success deserves a reward. Vincent sighs as he stretches, long and luxurious and wriggling ever close to Gilbert in the process, his breath warm against the side of his brother's neck. The hand that slips down Gilbert's stomach, to the fly of his trousers really can't be helped, nor can he help himself from dragging that hand between Gilbert's legs, cupping and squeezing languidly.

It's rare these days that Gilbert doesn't wake up in a cold sweat, reliving some past nightmare that's probably shy of any of his real horrors. It's beyond luxury to wake up like this, warm and drowsy in a place that smells like coffee and home, nestled against a soft body, his body rousing to-

-to a very insistent hand.

For a moment, just a moment, Gil keeps his eyes closed. He's still half-asleep, enough out of it to think that this might not be such a bad idea, to let someone take care of him, rub him off the way no one's done for far too long, coax him into a sleepy, easy orgasm, even if that person is...

"Vincent..." He murmurs the name, his hand coming up to sleepily push at Vincent's hand-not, to his shame, anywhere near as hard as he probably should, as his cock fills and swells under his little brother's touch. "You-shouldn't..."

"I told you… you have to let me take care of you, Gil," Vincent sighs into his neck, sliding his own body closer, his lips warm as they close around the lobe of Gilbert's ear. It feels good like this, to simply wriggle against his brother, his own cock hard and straining against his trousers as his fingers sleepily fumble with the fastenings of Gilbert's, all the better to slip inside and drag a thumb over the head of his cock. "You're already so hard…" A slow, firm squeeze follows the words. "Are you sure you don't want to just… enjoy yourself for a change?"

God, he's the worst brother in the world for even considering such a thing, for not being more repulsed at Vincent's lips on his ear, at his touch, at his words. He can feel the hardness of Vincent's cock pressing against him, and shies away from that thought, face flaming at the sheer wrongness of the situation.

And yet...

Gil can't help the twitch of his hips up, thrusting against his brother's hand, his own hand tightening on Vincent's wrist, and god, he's right, enjoying himself would be a change. He closes his eyes, shuts them tight against his own disgrace, giving a quick, ashamed little nod that he knows Vincent will see. "Just-quickly."

Please.

"You're sure you want to like this?" The words escape as a hot exhale against Gilbert's throat even as Vincent's fingers tighten insistently, even as he smears the fluid leaking, dripping from his brother's cock down the length of him, making each stroke of his hand sticky, slick. "I like it when you fuck me, you know."

Vincent's own hips jerk forward at the thought, and he bites his lip for a moment, drawing in a shuddering breath to calm his own racing pulse. "I like it when you slide so deep inside me that I can't breathe, brother. You could use me however you like, I don't care. I just-mmn-want you-"

Gil's breath comes fast and hard, his face flaming as he gasps, "You shouldn't-god, you shouldn't talk like that, you-"

You make me want to-

Vincent knows where all his buttons are, and just how to press them. Vincent knows, and he's always liked playing with fire, never caring if he gets burned, and damn it, it's his own fault if people aren't gentle with him, isn't it?

For all he is dangerous, Vincent isn't the most physically powerful man, and Gil knows he's stronger, uses it to his full advantage as he turns, grabbing Vincent's wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand, grinding his hips down, hard cock rubbing against Vincent's as he lets out a hiss. "Spread your legs then," he whispers, voice low and dark, hating Vincent for driving him to this, hating himself for not being able to stop it.

God, it's hard not to simply lose himself right there, with Gilbert's gaze so intensely trained on him, only him, and his voice sending chills down his spine that make him that much needier. Vincent trembles, panting out a high, desperate little sound as he hastens to do as he's told, his legs spreading wide, thighs splaying to either side of Gilbert's hips as his fingers clench into fists.

"There's…" He gulps, sucking in a calming breath, though it does little to calm how eager he is. "There's a bottle of oil underneath a pillow… if y-you want it, to make it better for you."

It's worse, somehow, that Vincent doesn't struggle-or maybe that makes it better after all, having him straining up and positively begging to be fucked, like every kind of whore. It even makes Gil angry that he's got such a thing as sweet body oil, floral and spicy when he opens the little bottle, spilling it over his cock without any regard for Vincent's sheets. He's only got the patience to slick himself with one stroke of his hand before he's pressing against Vincent's hole, thrusting deep inside him like he's asked for, begged for like the harlot his little brother is.

Gil holds his wrists bruisingly hard, not caring who sees them tomorrow. "You shouldn't-let men do this to you. Not me, not anyone."

Vincent's groaning, arching as Gilbert slides inside of him, his thighs clamping to either side of the man's hips to drag him in, to only encourage him to fill him deeper. "Just want you," he huffs out, letting his head loll back as he pants shallowly through trembling lips, his arms reflexively straining against Gilbert's hold, wanting to bury into his hair or claw down his back or just touch the man anywhere. His cock twitches with just the slightest movement of Gilbert inside of him, and Vincent whines, body lurching upward. "I-if-if you wanted it to just be you, I'd stop, I'd just be yours-"

God, it's hard to focus on the things he wants to tell Vincent-the things he's supposed to say-the things he's supposed to be to the younger man when he's so tight, so hot, so willing and pliable and sensually hungry beneath him. "Don't-don't say things like that," he mutters, burying his face into Vincent's neck.

He wants, wants so much and his cock is so hard that it's impossible to remember the other things, like be a proper man and stop acting like this and don't be such a whore on your back for god's sake when he's close to the edge simply because Vincent is those things, willing and pliable and it's far too nice to be wanted for once. It feels better than it should, thrusting hard into that trembling heat, feeling Vincent writhe at every press of his cock, and this isn't the kind of thing that should make his cock swell and twitch, but oh, it is.

"Could I finish you like this?" he murmurs into his brother's ear, finally releasing his hold on Vincent's wrists to grab his ass with both hands instead, spreading him wide, yanking him down onto each thrust. "Without a touch? God, you're so hard."

The walls in this damned place are thin, and so Vincent has the mind to clamp a newly freed hand over his own mouth when he nearly shrieks, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Gilbert slides in so deep, strikes him just right, and leaves every nerve singing, every muscle trembling. He manages a frantic nod, panting, half-sobbing, half-groaning into his own hand before letting it slide away, his breath catching on a harsh, heaving sigh.

"Feels good, so good," he mindlessly babbles, his back arching to better grind his cock up against Gilbert as best he can, leaking over his own stomach as every thrust makes him twitch. "Please, Gil-help me, I can't-"

It's far too late for anything like modesty, and Gil is reduced to nothing but brutal, punishing thrusts, all the anger and confusion and concern he feels pouring out through his body with every slam of his hips deeper, deeper as he moves, holding him down with the weight of his body. "Yes you can," he grunts, spreading Vincent's thighs wider, splaying him out like a damned sacrifice. "You made your bed, now lie in it."

It's not pity, just more anger that makes him roll his hips, hating himself for knowing exactly how his little brother loves to be fucked, exactly where to hit him to make spots explode behind his eyes, exactly where that spot is deep inside him that he loves having Gil's cock drag against.

It's so good that it nearly hurts, and Vincent finds himself reduced to whimpering, desperate little noises after awhile, screams and moans choked down into his throat as he just sags beneath each perfect slide of Gilbert's cock deep inside of him. A hand clamps to Gilbert's back, wrapping up in the material of his shirt that still clings to his skin, clawing into it with each thrust that leaves him trembling, aching all the more.

When he finally does come, Vincent can't even breathe, can't catch his breath as he spills over his stomach, lips parted as he gasps for breath, deep and ragged. Everything aches-muscles drawn so tight that it hurts, trembling, twitching as he writhes his way down against Gilbert's cock, something between a sob and a groan escaping his lips.

Gil can't even breathe. It's too tight inside Vincent, too overwhelming, and it's been too damned long on top of everything else. He leans back on his elbows just enough to stare into Vincent's face as he reaches his peak, overwhelmed, desperate, thrusting so hard he's got to be hurting the younger man, forcing himself to look, to look at what he's done, to look at what he can't resist, can't be better than, at what he's corrupted.

It doesn't help. It never does. It always ends the same way, with Gil gasping as Vincent clenches down tight around him, hot as a furnace, a needy, hungry thing desperate for his cock, and Gil is panting by the time he falls over that precipice, groaning out something he hopes isn't a name when he spills deep inside his brother, sagging down onto his chest, sweating and drained.

God, he hopes it wasn't a name.

Vincent, thankfully, is content to ignore anything and everything save for the weight of Gilbert against him, the heat of his breath, the smell of his hair as he buries his face into it, cigarettes and something just clean and almost linen-y, even if it is a name.

"Always… always so perfect, Gil," Vincent mumbles, nuzzling his face into Gilbert's neck, his arms wrapped tightly around him, refusing to let him pull away just yet. "So good, so very very good…"

Gil doesn't bother pulling away yet. As he'd said-he's made his bed, more literally than metaphorically. He might as well lie in it for as long as he can forget the rest of the world.

His head bows down to rest on Vincent's shoulder, unable, unwilling to stop himself from placing a kiss there, pulling aside the cloth to press his lips to the smooth bare skin. "Stay," he whispers, everything still spinning, still perfect. "Stay with me, please, you're all I've got."

Vincent's lips curve into a tired, sated smile, and his fingers wind up through the other man's hair, stroking through the mussed, sweaty mess of it. "I'm not going anywhere yet, brother," he murmurs. "And besides, once I do, you won't remember it, so it won't hurt."

No matter what Vincent says, it hurts now, and makes him furious that Vincent can't see that. Furious, but not now, not when he's satiated and bonelessly draped, cooling sweat and still-shivering muscles, and once they're this far, pressing a kiss to Vincent's mouth isn't the worst thing he can do, is it?

He's within an inch when he pulls back, disgusted with himself. Bad enough that he's here, he's been weak again. Worse if he keeps trying to coax Vincent back from that edge with what he doesn't have to give.

Vincent does his best not to frown-or pout, actually, because really, after all that, a kiss would be nice. It's with a sigh that he simply leans up himself, stealing a kiss from Gilbert's lips before the other man can pull away, and he smiles as he sinks back down, looking quite pleased with himself. "I can draw up a bath for us, if you want."

"I'm not your lover." It's hypocritical on his tongue, when he's hardly pulled his cock out, and god, if Vincent is off in the head, Gil's easily as bad, and knows it. "I..."

He swallows hard, resting his forehead down against Vincent's. "I don't understand what you do to me."

"You did just make love to me," Vincent mildly points out in rebuttal-not accusingly, but more amused instead than anything. His eyes lid as he looks up at Gilbert. "Love doesn't have to make sense or be easily understood, Gil."

Gil hisses out a breath through his nose, wishing he could understand how they end up here time after time. Then again...

If he is going to lose his brother forever, there are probably worse ways to spend their time together. "Yeah. I could use a bath. Just don't splash out my cigarette this time."

"Only if you share it with me; I could use one after all of that," Vincent languidly sighs as he gives Gilbert a gentle push to ease him up, and follows shortly after onto his elbows. "I think I have some of your clean clothes from the last time you were here…"

Gil strips off his clothes, wrinkling his nose at the state of them. "I'll need them, christ. You could at least have gotten them off me first. And you're not smoking, it's bad for you."

"Hypocrite," is the easy toss over Vincent's shoulder as he wriggles free of his own clothing as well, ribbon pulled from the mess of his hair and leaving the mussed length of it to trail down his back as he drifts across the room and into the attached washroom. "I'm breathing in the smoke, anyway, if I'm sitting near you."

Shouldn't be looking, he knows he shouldn't, even if Vincent slinks like a girl and that's never been anything he's ever cared about...

He still can't help crossing the room in a couple long strides, tangling a hand in Vincent's hair, tilting his head back for a proper kiss this time, the one he should have given earlier. Just because I don't understand it, because I hate it, doesn't mean I can stop.

And it doesn't mean I hate you.

"Not too hot," he says instead, cheeks pink as he grabs for his cigarettes. "You tried to boil me last time."

Vincent beams, a hand lifting to absently brush his fingers over his lips, obviously savoring the lingering touch of Gilbert's. "Whatever you want, brother," he murmurs, making to turn away entirely again. "I'll make sure it's perfect for you."

Gil shakes out his own hair, lighting up a cigarette before climbing into the tub. He can't quite keep from staring at Vincent's backside, slick and shiny and god, he's dripping, and Gil should really feel worse about himself right now. "You uh, seem better. Than last time."

"Better? How?" The water is warm, but not too hot, no matter how Vincent prefers it to be scalding, himself. He sighs once it's run and he sinks down into it, fumbling over the side to find a pin to properly hold up the mess of his hair as he bundles it up onto the back of his head. "I'm just happy you're here, Gil," he idly adds, stretching out a foot to poke at Gilbert's leg.

"Just...better. Calmer. Less..." Murdery. "I don't know. Better." He takes a long drag on his cigarette, idly running a finger up the bottom of Vincent's foot, flicking one of his toes. "I've been remembering a lot of stuff lately. You probably never forgot any of it. Remember the old tub at the Baskerville place?" Their first bath in years, and the servants had had to drain the tub twice before the filthy street children were clean.

Vincent squirms even as he reclines, leaning his head against the rim of the tub as he props one foot up onto Gilbert's knee. "Mmm, the old clawfoot one? It was pretty, with all the carvings and things in it. Everything here at the Nightray estate is so plain."

"Yeah. It was always so cold, though. I...there was that woman, who always made us sit in it before it started running, even when it was cold..." Gil shakes his head, trying to clear it of the old cobwebs as he strokes a hand down Vincent's calf and shin, fingers tracing along his ankle. "Do you remember the first night in that bed, all clean and everything?"

"If you keep doing that-" Vincent warns, his leg jerking slightly as he twitches, trying not to have an awfully ticklish reaction and failing. "Brother, you certainly are remembering some of the rather sentimental things, aren't you?"

A grin tugs at Gil's mouth, feeling rusty and unfamiliar on his face, at Vincent's reaction. He brushes his fingertips over Vincent's knee, then the underside of it, knowing how that gets to him. "I guess I am. I...I'm sorry. That I forgot you, all those years."

Vincent bites his lip to keep back something of a shriek, even as he squirms and splashes. "This is how your cigarettes always end up put out," he points out on a huff, even if he sounds far from annoyed. "And you didn't forget me, Gil. It was only a matter of time, after all."

Gil can't help but laugh, crushing out the butt of his cigarette himself before flicking it out the window. God, he remembers when Vincent used to be cute, used to be a little bratty, a lot clingy, but a good kid, and remembering that kind of stuff fundamentally changes the strange, shaky relationship they've forged in the last several years. He reaches over casually, running his fingertips up Vincent's other leg before giving it a little pinch. "Maybe if I'd remembered sooner...I don't know. I could have straightened you out."

A pair of elegant eyebrows climb. "There's not much to be 'straightened out' at this point, you know. Perhaps I rather like being something of a circle."

"You're ridiculous."

It's easier to be annoyed than to be frustrated, angry at Vincent's refusal to be saved by the person who should have been there with him the whole time. Gil pulls his hand back, raking it through his hair, brows drawing together in a frown. "You should listen to your brother, you know."

Vincent's smile twists a might bit weary. "I should. Then tell me what you would do to 'straighten me out', Gil-would you have me as yours, and only yours?" That's all I wanted, you know.

Gil leans forward, bracing his arms on the tub as he leans over, face close to Vincent's. "I'd tell you to stop being so...so out there all the time. Stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault, depend on me a little more." His hand comes up to cup Vincent's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "You're my only family. Seeing you like this..."

You remind me of everything I've ever failed at.

Vincent heaves a long sigh, even as his hands reach up to wrap into Gilbert's hair, dragging him forward and down. "You still don't get it," he murmurs wistfully. "How much trouble I've caused you, how much I've hurt you-let me take care of you, and let you depend on me for a little while, at least until I'm gone."

That drags a bitter little laugh out of Gil, even as he lets Vincent pull him close, bracing one hand on Vincent's chest, feeling the pulse of his heart even as he leans in. "You think I don't know? I was there, you know. Believe me, no one knows better than me about the trouble you cause me." He brushes his lips across Vincent's, a soft, chaste kiss for once. "That doesn't mean I want you gone."

"It'll be better, though, if I am." Vincent's head tilts slightly to the side. "If I weren't there-I bet Jack would have just picked you up, and you would have been some sheltered noble's servant. That sounds a lot nicer compared to everything else, doesn't it?"

"And if I wasn't? You know what happened to Break. What if-" Gil almost breaks off at the thought of mentioning it, but pushes on nonetheless. "What if I'd just stayed with our parents? Or were you too young to remember them?" Gil sort of wishes he had been. "No matter what, we'd have all died in Sablier. Is that what you want? You're the only one who saved me from that."

"Or maybe, if I hadn't been there to open that gate, Sablier would have never happened," Vincent lowly points out, giving a shake of his head. "Either way, if I hadn't been there… it would have been better."

"You don't know that. I..." Gil breaks off, a little growl of frustration even as he turns with a huff, relaxing back onto his brother. "You want to take care of me, fine. Wash my hair." There's no use arguing, not when Vincent is so unreasonable, and he does have talented hands.

He really can't help the sigh of relief that escapes, not when the conversation simply becomes uncomfortable nowadays. Honestly, Vincent is too tired to repeat himself, to become something of a broken record, and so he gladly reaches for the soap, kneading it through Gil's hair and scrubbing his fingers along the man's scalp. "Anything for you, Gil," he murmurs. "When will you realize that?"

Except do the one thing I want you to. Or anything, really. But that's Vincent, and really, what's the point of trying to cling to his brother if he's not going to accept the way he is?

He leans back into the touch, eyes sliding closed. He means to say something encouraging, something to make Vincent relax a bit himself, but what comes out is "I don't want to do this shit tonight, Vince."

Vincent's fingers don't as much as pause. "I can make up an excuse for you. Duke Baskerville needn't be any wiser."

"Not like that. I...I don't want it to get done. I don't want to go after her." He slumps back against Vincent's hands, wishing he'd brought his whole pack of cigarettes with him, with the kind of day this is turning out to be. "I'm sick of hurting people I like."

"… If our master wants it done, then we don't have a choice," Vincent quietly points out, gently coaxing Gilbert's head to tilt back into the water, just enough for him to wash the soap free. "I-" I don't want to do it either, I don't want to see her, don't want her to see me. "If you're there, there's a good chance it won't be quite so… traumatic for her," he settles upon. "If you can convince her to talk…"

"Yeah. I know." Gil lets his brother guide his head, wishing the rest of his worries would wash away as easily as the soap, submitting rather gratefully to the gentle touches to his scalp. "You know, we used to joke around..." He trails off, suddenly aware of just how true just that part of his sentence is, and his chest clenches tight. Can't think about her. Can't use her name. Can't remember what she used to be like as a little kid, not if I'm going to deliver her to Duke Baskerville in a few hours.

It's not easy to shake the images, and Gil's hands dig into Vincent's knees as he winces. "Hate this."

So do I.

Vincent exhales slowly, his fingers sliding down to Gilbert's shoulders, methodically kneading. "Just come, and help convince her to open her mouth and talk. I'll deal with our master as best as I can. If he's in a good enough mood, it won't be so bad."

Gil snorts, then groans at the way Vincent's fingers work his muscles, head lolling forward at the skillful manipulation. "Should be in a good mood," he mutters, eyes almost rolling back in his head at how good it feels. "God, Vince, that's good-he's got to be in a better mood now that he's got Elliot back. Or, you know, mostly Elliot."

"Considering what I've walked in on and almost walked in on several times now…" Vincent drawls, digging his thumbs in harder when it comes to an especially tense bunch of muscles. "But, you know Duke Baskerville-he always has something to brood about. Sometimes, I'm reminded of you."

Gil bristles a little at that, only to relax into a moan when Vincent works over the knots in his back, shuddering and going pathetically limp. "N-not fair. I don't plot like him. That's the kind of thing you and him get off on. And when you say walk in on...you mean like back when they were kids? That time in the music room?"

"I mean like animals rutting on the floor," Vincent murmurs into his ear, working his fingers back up the back of Gilbert's neck as his head lolls. "And I can tell you a dozen things that I get off on far more than plotting… except you already seem to know them well enough."

Gilbert sort of wants to bristle at that, but damned if he doesn't feel good. And honestly... "Good, let them have their fun. Not like either of them have much of a reputation to worry about at this point." He braces his hands on Vincent's spread legs, mouth curving in a little smile. "You're pretty shameless about the things you like. Especially when I'm doing them."

"Mmhm." It's difficult, really, not to take the chance and run with it-and so Vincent does, wriggling just enough to slide his half-hard cock against Gilbert with a little, hitching sigh. "It's hard not to be, when I get to see you so infrequently now…"

It's always something of a shock, though it shouldn't be, to feel Vincent's cock pressing against him. Not that Gil's imagining a girl or anything; it's just different, being reminded that his little brother is a man, after all, with the same needs and demands as any man, for all his strangeness.

Well, after all, Vincent's been doing lots of taking care of him today. Gil sighs, resting back against Vincent's chest, arching his back a little. "Yeah? Go ahead, then. Be shameless."

At this point, Gil should really know better than to give him any leeway.

At the same time, Vincent is eternally grateful that he still hasn't learned.

"What if I want you to fuck me again?" The fact of the matter is, Vincent knows exactly how lewd he sounds-husky and breathy around the edges, needy as he nuzzles into Gilbert's neck. "What if I wanted you to flip me over and shove me face down into something, anything… maybe mount me like some animal-you could use my hair as a handle, even-" He shivers, his arms sliding down, low about Gilbert's waist as his hips jerk up, his cock grinding slowly against his brother's lower back. "I like it… when you use me like I'm yours, Gil."

God, he should have known better.

Gil lets out a strangled noise, hips jerking forward as his cock hardens no matter how startling, how degrading the request-or, despite himself, because of it. "V-Vincent! I-" He swallows hard, hands digging into Vincent's thighs, saying with a shudder, "I don't know why you can't want something less crazy for once."

That doesn't make his cock any less hard, and he lurches forward and out of the tub, grabbing a towel and rubbing himself down. When he looks back over his shoulder at his brother, his golden eyes blaze. "Hurry up, then. Before I remember why this is a bad idea."

Vincent doesn't need to be told twice, and really, what's the point of drying himself off when he'll be so warm courtesy of his brother in only a few moments? He fumbles with the pin in his hair as he pulls himself from the tub, dripping as he stumbles over to Gilbert, nuzzles into his chest as his arms wind their way around the other man's neck. "Instead of that," he murmurs, nipping gently at Gilbert's collarbone, "maybe you can be reminded of why it's a good one."

If this is what Vincent wants, is cracked enough to ask for, then it's what he's going to get.

He grabs Vincent by the hips, spinning him around and shoving him into the wall, grinding the hardening length of his cock along the cleft of his brother's ass. "You said something before about rutting on the floor like animals," he breathes, hands digging in so hard he'll probably leave bruises. "You'd know all about that, wouldn't you, Vince?"

"Yes," Vincent gasps out, of no mind to keep his voice back as his hands slam into the wall, nails scratching at the wallpaper as he arches his back, grinding back against the hard line of his brother's cock. He whines low in his throat, his head bowing forward as he draws in a shuddering breath. "Only-I just-only want it with you-"

Gil's teeth nip at Vincent's shoulder, latching onto his neck, sucking hard enough to break the skin. "Liar," he mutters, sliding his cock forward, letting it catch against that little hole before pulling back. "I've heard way too many men talking about how they've had you." Girls too, of course, but that had never bothered him, thinking that Vincent could find a nice girl who might change him into something more normal. But to hear those lowlifes call his brother a whore...

Vincent groans, his hips jerking back, a desperate little noise leaving his throat as Gilbert doesn't put his cock in, doesn't stuff him full, doesn't leave him writhing and begging for more of it and instead still so empty. "I'm n-not lying," he manages, panting out a hot, fast breath. "Just because I was with them… that doesn't mean I didn't want you, that I wasn't thinking about you."

"You...you humiliated me, Vince," Gil breathes against his ear, holding him tighter still, keeping those narrow hips in place. "Did you think I didn't know? Didn't see you coming back late with your hair and your clothes all messed up, crawling into our bed and smelling like a stranger's cologne?"

He shoves forward, spreading Vincent around the head of his cock, then pulls out again. "Or were you trying to make me jealous?"

The sound that leaves his throat that time is more akin to a sob, and Vincent bows forward, shuddering, his body twitching, trembling at the loss from just that much. "I-I wasn't-I just…" God, he's going to have bruises, and savor them later-not only on his wrists now, but his hips, too, and Vincent knees nearly knock, threatening to buckle at the thought of how tightly Gilbert's going to hold him when he finally shoves in and fucks him. "Please, please, please-"

Whatever's wrong with his brother has to be genetic, a family thing, because damned if Gil isn't right there in hell with him. There's no point to forcing any words out of Vincent when he's like this, too far gone for anything but fucking, and with a long, slow stroke to his hair, Gil obliges him, slamming home with a powerful thrust, groaning because it shouldn't be that tight still, and god, he can feel some of the mess he'd left before, still deep inside. "Tight," he gasps, hands trembling, and he holds Vincent's hips all the harder for it. "God, you're so-"

Vincent's body sags, his hands clawing at the wall as he shudders hard, mouth falling open at how deep Gilbert is inside of him, how it aches being stretched so wide and full by every inch of his cock. He nearly rocks onto his tiptoes with the drag of Gilbert's hips, and whimpers, wriggling backwards, twisting within Gilbert's hold to fuck himself back harder onto that perfect, perfect cock.

"Y-you said…" His voice is little more than a hoarse, desperate thing. "You said you'd-use me. So just do it, Gil-"

That's more than enough encouragement at this point to snap what little self-control Gilbert has left. He lets out a noise, choked, helpless, and fists one hand hard in Vincent's hair, holding his face against the wall as his other hand tightens on Vincent's hips, dragging him back into every savage thrust. "Shut up," he growls, slamming deep inside faster and faster, thinking of nothing but how good it feels to let go, to finally, truly sate himself without concern. "You wanted this, now take it, show me what a whore you are for everyone but me-"

Vincent wants to obey, wants to shut up, but it's easier said than done when every hard, rough thrust leaves him sobbing, his knees buckling and his body held up by his brother's demanding hands, his cock shoved deep inside of him. His hips jerk back on their own accord, desperation leaving him to try for more, to be Gil's harlot, Gil's whore once and for all-and god, if that doesn't feel good, being at Gil's mercy, trapped beneath Gil's hands as his cock stretches and fills him and leaves him writhing back for more.

It's difficult-no, impossible to feel bad about what he's doing when Vincent is begging so hard for it, thrashing on his cock in a futile attempt to take more than what he's already being given, and god, Gil sort of wants to hurt him. "You're so-nice and clean," he hisses, nails digging in to the soft skin of Vincent's hip, yanking back on that golden-red hair. "Maybe I should see how much of a whore you are, make you lick me clean when I'm done with you. Are you that shameless, little brother?"

He's beginning to suspect that he is, after all.

A strangled, mindless groan leaves Vincent's throat as his hips buck, torn between grinding back against Gilbert's cock and rutting against the wall. It's almost too much, how Gil is holding him, how he's pulling back into every thrust, making it hurt with how he claims him, and Vincent can only nod desperately, his breath stolen and his chest heaving. "I-if that's what you want-" Or more accurately, please, please, please, anything you want.

Gil doesn't even know what he wants anymore, wants to punish Vincent, wants to protect him, wants to never see him again, wants to fuck him through the wall, and he's not gentle.

He nearly lifts Vincent off the ground when he loses his mind, just his toes still touching the floor as Gil holds him up, fucks him hard, holding him too-tight and yanking him back by the hair into every brutal thrust, knowing it's got to be agonizing to be trapped between his body and the wall and just not giving a shit.

He doesn't have the stamina he wants, not now, and he loses himself in Vincent's body, a shameless cry leaking from his lips as he ruts hard, slamming in as deep as he can possibly go, and this time at least the name on his lips is Vincent's.

Vincent hears himself sobbing into the wall even if he doesn't quite register it, feels his toes curl until they're painful, feels every muscle tense and trembling as he comes, full of Gilbert's cock and come and god, it's good, being this used and sore and so very, very spent that he can do little but shake as he sags into his brother's hold, panting raggedly.

"God," Vincent manages breathlessly, fingers twitching as he lurches forward a bit, just enough to lean into the wall for some form of support, and whimpers at how he hurts-pleasantly so, in a way that he knows will last.

Gil drags him back for a kiss, then shoves him down to his knees, threading a hand through his hair. "You heard me," he breathes, still trying to catch his breath. "Go on."

Vincent has the mind to flush, at least, because this, out of all things, really is all sorts of debauched. Still, he obeys-tongue flicking out to lap at the head of Gilbert's cock, then the rest of him, inch by inch, all while precariously balanced on shaking, wobbling knees, his hands lifting to rest against Gilbert's thighs.

There's got to be a special place in hell for the man who's made Vincent Nightray blush. Just now, Gil doesn't mind being the one destined to occupy it, not with how his little brother looks sucking a messy cock on his knees. He sighs, running his hands through Vincent's hair, brushing it back from his face as he starts to go soft in Vincent's mouth. "Good. God, sorry, I...I shouldn't have..." The shame starts to settle in over him, but damn it all, Gil's too tired for proper shame. "Come back to bed, Vince."

"… Wanted to, don't apologize," Vincent manages after another, breathless moment, after he's pulled back and made sure Gilbert is clean. He delicately wipes his mouth as he climbs to his feet, still wobbling a bit as he straightens, and in the end gives into the urge to sag forward against Gilbert, nuzzling his face into the side of his neck. "Gil," he breathes, "were you jealous, all those times?"

It's painfully obvious how much Vincent wants him to say yes. Gil steers them back to the bed, easing them down onto it, tucking his brother's head under his chin as he considers his answer. "I...I don't know. I hated them. You never seemed happy when you came back, and I hated that."

He presses a kiss to the top of Vincent's head, wrapping an arm around him. It's more affectionate than he's been in years, but tonight, it feels all right. "I hate anyone who would hurt you."

It isn't the answer he wants, not exactly, but it'll do for now, at the very least.

Vincent nods, curling himself into a ball against his brother, contently settling against him, aching muscles and bones and all. "Same," he sighs. "I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, Gil."

"Idiot."

The only one hurting me is you.