Work Text
“Come on. I know you’re here.” Vincent’s voice is soft, with a slight hint of mocking. Hearing no answer, he turns toward a secluded corner of the room. “If someone spies on me, they’d think I’m crazy, talking all alone like this.”
Another minute of silence.
Vincent begins strolling toward the dark corner.
“I bet it would make you laugh so bad hearing people talk about me as if I was some madman.” The young Count stops, his right arm extended slightly upwards and his head tilted. “Wouldn’t it, Undertaker?”
He hears a muffled laugh, and the taller man comes forth, his long hair falling over Vincent’s face.
“The mere idea that people would find the great Phantomhive Earl crazy is laughable.” Vincent laughs and closes the distance between them, his lips grazing the other’s. “You’re so good at fooling everyone. It’s even funnier since I know the truth. I know
all
of your secrets.”
Vincent brings his hand over Undertaker’s fringe, but he’s promptly stopped.
“Not all of them. Just a very significant portion.”
“The Phantomhive family does not hold secrets for me, I know things about your ancestors that you could never imagine.”
Vincent slips away from him, with a half turn and goes toward the sofa in the dimly lit room, stretching his legs and resting his elbow on the armchair. Undertaker follows him and ungraciously throws himself on his lap.
“I’m talking about my personal secrets, not my family’s.”
Undertaker’s hand starts stroking Vincent’s cheek, then goes to his neck, his long nails softly scraping the tender flash.
“Hm? Like how much you like having intercourse when in close proximity to a corpse?” Undertaker’s fingers trace the shape of Vincent’s lips, silently asking him to let him in.
“You’re talking as if you didn’t enjoy it just as much as me. I would even say that you orchestrated the whole thing in advance. I am just a victim.” Vincent slips his tongue out, using it to envelop the other’s thumb in his mouth. Undertaker hums in response and presses his finger over his tongue.
“For sure you are.” He snickers mockingly.
“And to think your sister is even thinking you’re finally becoming a responsible adult now that you stopped messing around with her handmaiden.”
Undertaker lets their foreheads touch, never breaking the eye contact with the Earl.
“I wonder how she’d react if she knew he’s started messing around with the undertaker instead. I bet that would be hilarious to watch.”
Vincent grabs Undertaker’s hand and lounges up suddenly to kiss the man on top of him. It seems chaste on the surface but the way the nobleman lingers near his lips afterward suggests otherwise, like almost everything else involving Vincent. The upstanding prefect of the Sapphire Owl House who was able to bring his cricket team to their first victory ever since the prestigious Weston College was founded. That would have been an astounding feat if Vincent didn’t cheat his way to victory shamelessly. Oh well, Undertaker has to admit he is fond of his Earl being a little mischievous.
“You don’t want to see my dear sister angry. While I’m the one good with mind games, she’s the genius with the sword. That’s why Dee’s fag is so into her.”
At the Green Lion prefect’s mention, Undertaker’s breath changes slightly and Vincent feels his nails digging more into his neck.
“Speaking of him, shouldn’t you be downstairs, celebrating your
rightfully earned
victory? I didn’t know you were so good at cricket.”
It’s Vincent’s time to laugh this time. Undertaker caresses his hair lovingly. If he could he’d put his laugh in a jar and keep replaying it endlessly.
“I am a man full of surprises. Although, Tanaka gave me a big hand.” Vincent winks and smirks.
“Oh Earl, I wish I could put you in a cage and stare at you every day,” Undertaker blurts out, his hips grinding on Vincent’s waist. “Or maybe stuff you, embalm you, and put you on display. You’d be the highlight of my shop.”
Undertaker suddenly stops, bringing one hand to his chin, deep in thought.
“No, no. On second thought, I’d love to keep you hidden in the basement. You know, where I have my workshop. No one will be allowed to see you, otherwise they’d think about stealing you.”
Vincent shifts under him, lying down on the couch, grabbing Undertaker’s hair, and crashing their lips together. This time their kiss is longer and slower. Vincent tries to scoop the other’s hair from his forehead once more. Undertaker lets him this time, half-lidded emerald eyes reflecting in azure ones. Vincent kisses him again, nibbling at his lower lip.
“Hmm, what was all that? Feeling romantic today?”
Another kiss.
“And here I thought you’d just keep a lock of my hair in your mourning lockets like you did with Mother. I’m honored. What about my soul?” Vincent laughs heartily.
“Your soul’s mine too. Especially your soul.” Both of Undertaker’s hands surround Vincent’s neck, tightening their grasp.
“Your soul is mine for the taking, Earl.” The man on top keeps repeating, and it almost seems he's trying to convince himself. “You promised me, in front of your Mother's grave. Even if I let that damn Queen keep her leash on you, I’m--”
Undertaker’s breath becomes ragged as he sinks his long nail into the pale flesh of the Phantomhive Earl. Vincent should be affected, he surely is since his pants become noisy and the small vibrations of his vocal cords against Undertaker’s fingertips tell him as much, but his gaze is relaxed, his ever-present smile directed at him. His navy blue eyes are still fixed on his face.
“--you're the only one I would let choke me.”
Vincent’s voice is barely a whisper as he completes the sentence, and Undertaker presses his thumbs down to the younger man’s neck. Vincent starts coughing but the tight grasp around his neck muffles his sounds. Undertaker grinds their hips together, taking in a deep breath. His face draws closer to Vincent’s once again, he takes in his delicate features which are so deliciously unfazed by his hands constricting his breath. It looks like Vincent wants to say something, his swollen lips moving slowly but no sound comes from his mouth. Undertaker laughs while his long hair falls all over their figures, enveloping them in a soft embrace. Vincent’s eyes start getting cloudy, so Undertaker releases his throat. The young Earl coughs and closes his eyes as he regains his breath while his lungs are filled with air again. It's a good moment to capture his lips in a kiss, to which he responds with the same intensity as always.
“You didn't take my soul this time either.” Vincent's voice is low, still recuperating, soft words spoken against Undertaker's lips.
“Do you want to die this badly, Earl?” Undertaker laughs again, his voice reverberating in the empty room.
“Not really. But I know that I would die happy, without regrets.” He raises his eyebrows, his voice sultry and teasing. “Besides, I know a certain someone who would take excellent care of me afterward.”
Undertaker sighs heavily, while he brings Vincent's hands on his hips.
“There’s no need. I'm keeping you alive forever, Vincent.”
The Earl blinks twice at his name being spoken by the other's voice. He props himself up with his elbows and traces Undertaker’s scar with his fingertips, before trailing down to graze at the one on his neck. Before he can encircle it in his hands, the older man stops him, albeit gently, softly intertwining their fingers together.
“I believe in reciprocation as a basis for any healthy relationship.” He whispers, his voice tinged with sadness. “But in this case, it would be… difficult and inconvenient.”
Undertaker pouts at Vincent humming mockingly. He slips his hand away from Undertaker’s, reveling in the way his chest muscles tensed under his touch. Then, Vincent slides a thumb under the other's trousers with a coy smile.
“Fine by me, for this time. But I still want my reward for winning that cricket’s game.”
His hands reach for the button and he undoes it in a swift motion.
“Shouldn't you ask this to your German friend–”
Undertaker can't finish his sentence because a loud thud to the door stops him. Then several others follow.
“Phantomhive, are you in there? Everyone is looking for you.” Diedrich growls against the door, clearly annoyed. Undertaker stares at Vincent, the latter’s hands covering his mouth, muffling his laugh. He still doesn't make a move to free the man under him.
“I'll be there in a second, Dee.” Vincent answers swiftly, fist hitting weakly against Undertaker's chest. His eyes widen as he hears the door clicking to be opened.
“Oh wait, wait! I'm– uh, changing? I didn't know you wanted to see me naked that badl–”
“Bloody hell, Phantomhive, that's preposterous!” Diedrich slams the door closed once again and Vincent can almost see the faint blush on his cheeks at the mere implications of his words.
“I would love to see you naked, dear Earl.” Undertaker lowers himself to whisper in Vincent's ear and promptly stops his hand when he tries to silence him. “I bet he would too. Then again, who wouldn't want to see the head of the Phantomhive family without his clothe–mpf!”
Vincent presses his whole arm against Undertaker and silences him with his elbow. They stare at each other for a little too long, before Vincent remembers there's someone else on the other side of the door.
“Don't wait for me, Dee. I'll be downstairs in five minutes.”
Vincent can't help but sigh in relief when he hears Diedrich’s footsteps fade away. He shots an annoyed glare to Undertaker, who giggles in return and pinches his cheek.
“You’re such a liar, Earl.”