8. A crumbling wall

~Dimitri~

Maybe he's not thinking rationally or this is probably the most rational thing to do. But he found himself opposite Vincent's apartment again.

He wanted to turn and speed back to the penthouse but he shook his head. Being lonely had done more harm than good to him and he knew he could use a company right now. So, shutting all his ‘maybes’ away at a deep corner of his mind,he ascended the stairs and tried to turn the knob but it's locked.

He shook his head and knocked. He waited but no response. He knocked again but it's as if there's no soul in the house. Even the lights are off. He turned back, his eyes fixed on his car. That's when he heard it; the sound of the door opening.

He hurriedly turns back and he's met with a sight he least expected; Vincent stood before him, staring at him in bewilderment. He's naked from the chest and a small towel is draped on his neck while another towel hangs snugly around his waist. His blonde hair stuck to his forehead and droplets of water trickled from his hair, down his chest, and disappeared into the white towel that hung snugly around his waist.

The sound of Vincent clearing his throat tore his gaze away from his towel and he shifted it back to it. Vincent had gone red in embarrassment.

“What are you doing here?” Vincent asked.

Dimitri sighed and squeezed himself in then turned back to Vincent who silently closed the door. “I need company, will you offer it?”

Vincent was confused but said nothing as he walked deeper into his small living room. Dimitri followed.

“I will take your silence as an affirmation then.” Dimitri smirked, his eyes taking in his naked back.

Vincent turned to him as he reached the front of his room, his nose flaring. “You heard yes. I heard ‘leave me tf alone’.”

“Sassy. Love it.”

Vincent sighed and turned fully to Dimitri. “What do you want Mr Santini?”

“You, but before that, we need to change how you address me.” He stepped closer to him and Vincent stilled. Then, his hand turned the door knob of Vincent's room and he lightly pushed him in before he entered after him.

Dimitri assessed Vincent who looked like he's tongue tied and repeated. “You, I want you.”

“If I give you what you want, will you leave me alone?” Vincent asked, his eyes fixed on his feet.

Dimitri smirked and tilted his head, assessing him. “Maybe… maybe not…”

Then, in one moment, he's standing some meters away from him, and in the next, he's lifting his chin with his fingers and smashing his lips to his.

Vincent gasped, and Dimitri found that as an opening as he slipped his tongue into his. His kiss is slow, passionate, and consuming at first. It's like he's trying to test the waters and let out the feeling words can't express, the pent up frustration and everything. Then, he's devouring him. He's devouring his lips as if he can't get enough, as if it's a drug he's high on, as if he wants to break him and mold him.

Vincent tried to fight back but Dimitri's dominance easily towered over him and he clutched his shirt weakly as he devoured his lips, as he destroyed the wall he'd built in the shower. And if he should be honest with himself, this is the only kiss where he felt alive, as if he's really a part of a whole.

Finally, he kissed him back. Dimitri paused before returning his kiss. He met up with Vincent's pace as their tongue intertwined. He's kissing him so hard but slow that Vincent feels seen and heard and he couldn't hold back the tears that had gathered and he let them lose in between the kiss. It's the first time he'd cried since he was five and he didn't know why it came now after he thought he no longer knew how to cry, but he let them lose. And in front of his enemy at that.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss and turned his back to Dimitri. He sniffed, trying to keep it at bay. Dimitri engulfed him in a hug from behind, an unmistakable bulge poking him.

“Are you crying?” Dimitri asked.

He shook his head. “No.”

Dimitri turned him so he's facing him. His eyes are blood red and his nose is pink. He didn't really know how to pacify someone since he's not good with emotions but he drew him closer to his chest and Vincent's cries grew louder. Dimitri's palm halted in the hair behind him and with a sigh, he slowly patted his back.

How did he get here? He's a prey, a pawn on his chessboard so why does something squeeze in his chest when he sees him cry or why does he want to pacify him? He leaned back as Vincent's tears were still flowing and he peeked his tongue out, using it to take drop after drops of tears until they'd all dried.

Vincent lifted his head and gazed into his black soulless ones.

“T—thank you.”

Dimitri nodded and drew him to the bed before pushing him lightly. “Sleep.”

He stepped back and stripped until he's only in his boy shorts which stuck to him as if it's a second skin, his cock straining against it.

Vincent gulped as he took in his broad muscular shoulders and strong legs that's packed with muscles. His arms looked as if it could easily squash him. His hair which he'd thought was dark is actually dark brown and it's tousled as if he'd run his hands through it a million times. His black eyes fixed him as he stalked towards him.

“D–don’t—”

“I won't do anything.” Dimitri interrupted with a small smirk.

Vincent shook his head. “Are you spending the night here?”

Dimitri nodded and slipped into the bed which made Vincent gulp again. Nonetheless, he moved back and placed his head on the second pillow to the right. His bed is a little small for the both of them.

As Dimitri settled in, he drew Vincent closer. He struggled but he didn't release his hold and he soon gave up.

It's dark and the wall clock ticks softly, its sound permeating the air. Vincent is in his arms for the first time and he has that urge to take him to somewhere far away and lock him where only he could see.

“Vincent.” He whispered, checking if he's still asleep but his breathing pattern and body did not change.

Then, he began. He told him everything that had happened from the start. What he knew about Ava's death, how he felt today when Elora came to visit him, what grandpa Santini told him. Everything. He let them out.

When he's done, he sighed, and his lips lifted into a smile. The last person he'd vent to was his mother before her death and what he knew was that, after many years, it felt good to talk to someone even if the person was asleep. It still felt good to let it out.

Why did he do that?

He didn't know.

And maybe, just maybe it's because he's off limits, and he has none.