INCOMPLETE.
Who: Vincent, Duke.
When: tonight.
Where: their house.
Rating: TBD.
Warnings: TBD.
Summary: So. Duke's afraid that Vincent's going to sneak out in the middle of the night to find Rinoa. He remedies the situation by making Vincent sleep in his bed. ): GOOD PLAN, DUKE. GOOD PLAN.
Vincent slid into Duke's bedroom five minutes before the other Turk even arrived, quietly shutting the door behind him as dark eyes scanned even darker surroundings. It only took him a moment after that to check the door handle for a lock, to test it to see if it was working, and then to carefully make his way around the room, checking for other possible exits hidden in the rows of paneling along the wall that he might not have noticed before. Bare fingers dragged light and careful across the cool of the wall, pushing lightly in particular places, pressing the pad of his thumb against rifts in the hard word, testing for resistance, testing for vulnerabilities. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. The walls, and then the window off toward the middle of the back wall, and Vincent sighed as his palm dragged along the bottom of the frame, attempting to push it open and finding that it was swollen shut. Fine. All right.
The lower level was always dark, but when night fell, when the sun on the top plate faded away and the stars revealed themselves to all those on the upper level, those left in the constant murk and pitch black were thrown viciously into a type of dark that many of them had never before witnessed. Including Vincent, and that dark even reached inside the house, past the solid walls, into the room that he now stood in, and it had a habit of being entirely unsettling, of making his stomach twist and turn. It was a type of darkness that he only saw when he wasn't himself, when everything was shifting into a palette of reds and blacks, when he was turning into that demon that he couldn't seem to control himself. It was a darkness best left for desperation, and for desperate times, and Vincent shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably as he stood in the middle of the room, trying very hard not to glance toward the bed and failing each and every time his eyes darted off toward the corner wall.
It wasn't a big bed, he thought, but no. A lot of them weren't. It made sense. But, really, he was fine with sleeping on the floor. That was fine. Wasn't any better, of course, because he would have still been able to make out the sound of Duke's heart, and the sound of his breathing, and it still sent shudders and trembles curling down his spine. Noises like that shouldn't have been so loud, and Vincent wasn't sure why they were, except. Except he sort of knew, didn't he, and his fingers curled in against his palm as he contemplated just darting for the front door and hurling himself out into the cool night air.
Duke would follow him, of course. Duke would tackle him. Duke would drag him back inside. Duke would handcuff him to his own bed, and Vincent would get angry, because no one liked being restrained, and the demons that hissed and whispered behind the shell of his chest most certainly didn't like it, either. Definitely not. He couldn't blame them.
This would be a lot easier if you didn't love hi--
Shut up.
You're a broken record, Vincent.
He turned, then, and shuffled back over to the window, fingertips pressing down against the windowsill as he focused on the crumbling surroundings right outside the pane of glimmering glass. He was wearing a sweater again. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and he paused for a moment, thought, what if you touch him, your skin is bare there, can't touch him, and he immediately tugged them back down again until they covered his wrists, until the hem of the sleeves nearly brushed against the knuckles of his fingers. It's already a bad idea, his brain chided. Don't make it worse. It's already going to be horrible. Doesn't matter.
He moved his hand back up, brushed his fingers along the back of his neck, pushing strands of hair out of his way, and shifted uncomfortably again.
You're just a broken record.
When: tonight.
Where: their house.
Rating: TBD.
Warnings: TBD.
Summary: So. Duke's afraid that Vincent's going to sneak out in the middle of the night to find Rinoa. He remedies the situation by making Vincent sleep in his bed. ): GOOD PLAN, DUKE. GOOD PLAN.
Vincent slid into Duke's bedroom five minutes before the other Turk even arrived, quietly shutting the door behind him as dark eyes scanned even darker surroundings. It only took him a moment after that to check the door handle for a lock, to test it to see if it was working, and then to carefully make his way around the room, checking for other possible exits hidden in the rows of paneling along the wall that he might not have noticed before. Bare fingers dragged light and careful across the cool of the wall, pushing lightly in particular places, pressing the pad of his thumb against rifts in the hard word, testing for resistance, testing for vulnerabilities. Nothing. Of course there was nothing. The walls, and then the window off toward the middle of the back wall, and Vincent sighed as his palm dragged along the bottom of the frame, attempting to push it open and finding that it was swollen shut. Fine. All right.
The lower level was always dark, but when night fell, when the sun on the top plate faded away and the stars revealed themselves to all those on the upper level, those left in the constant murk and pitch black were thrown viciously into a type of dark that many of them had never before witnessed. Including Vincent, and that dark even reached inside the house, past the solid walls, into the room that he now stood in, and it had a habit of being entirely unsettling, of making his stomach twist and turn. It was a type of darkness that he only saw when he wasn't himself, when everything was shifting into a palette of reds and blacks, when he was turning into that demon that he couldn't seem to control himself. It was a darkness best left for desperation, and for desperate times, and Vincent shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably as he stood in the middle of the room, trying very hard not to glance toward the bed and failing each and every time his eyes darted off toward the corner wall.
It wasn't a big bed, he thought, but no. A lot of them weren't. It made sense. But, really, he was fine with sleeping on the floor. That was fine. Wasn't any better, of course, because he would have still been able to make out the sound of Duke's heart, and the sound of his breathing, and it still sent shudders and trembles curling down his spine. Noises like that shouldn't have been so loud, and Vincent wasn't sure why they were, except. Except he sort of knew, didn't he, and his fingers curled in against his palm as he contemplated just darting for the front door and hurling himself out into the cool night air.
Duke would follow him, of course. Duke would tackle him. Duke would drag him back inside. Duke would handcuff him to his own bed, and Vincent would get angry, because no one liked being restrained, and the demons that hissed and whispered behind the shell of his chest most certainly didn't like it, either. Definitely not. He couldn't blame them.
This would be a lot easier if you didn't love hi--
Shut up.
You're a broken record, Vincent.
He turned, then, and shuffled back over to the window, fingertips pressing down against the windowsill as he focused on the crumbling surroundings right outside the pane of glimmering glass. He was wearing a sweater again. The sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, and he paused for a moment, thought, what if you touch him, your skin is bare there, can't touch him, and he immediately tugged them back down again until they covered his wrists, until the hem of the sleeves nearly brushed against the knuckles of his fingers. It's already a bad idea, his brain chided. Don't make it worse. It's already going to be horrible. Doesn't matter.
He moved his hand back up, brushed his fingers along the back of his neck, pushing strands of hair out of his way, and shifted uncomfortably again.
You're just a broken record.