You Better Watch Out (Vincent/Apollo)
An early christmas gift for @bellafarallones, based on a discussion we had on discord. This fill is NSFW.
“I hate you.”
“I hate you more.” Apollo rolls over in his bed to look at where Indrid is staring up at the ceiling from his own, “and I hope Santa burns all your gifts in the fireplace.”
At age eight, this is the most heart-rending threat he can think of, but Indrid turns his head to look at him, “You said he wasn’t real.”
“And he’s not. But father is.”
Indrid does not argue this point, so Apollo considers it won. They’ve been at each other's throats all week, for reasons they will not be able to articulate for several more years (eight for Indrid, twelve for Apollo). Tonight, Apollo kicked Indrid under the table at Christmas Eve dinner because he was talking too loud and father was starting to notice, and Indrid kicked back, so Apollo jabbed him in his ribs with his spoon and Indrid had startled and knocked his water all over the table.
His twin was sent to bed, and Apollo thought he had won, that his father could see how good he was, and then he had to go and try to investigate the few presents under the tree and, in the process, sent several glass ornaments to the floor to shatter.
So here they lay, no dessert and only the gross, bland ham and potatoes to tide them over until morning. The party was over hours ago, and Apollo has more than once thought of sneaking down to the refrigerator. But father might catch him. Somehow. Maybe he can convince Indrid to do it.
“Indrid-”
“No” his brother hurls a pillow at him, “no, whatever it is, I will not do it.”
“You are such a baby.”
“I’m one minute younger! And you, you are a, a jerk.” Indrid rolls onto his side, back to Apollo, “I hate you, I hate this whole holiday, I hate it, hate it, hate it.”
“I hate it more.”
The windows blow open and both boys startle upright.
“There’s snow.” Apollo watches the flurry of white stick to his hand.
“It doesn’t snow here.” Indrid is doing the same thing while peering nervously out the window, “we should turn on the light. And close the windows.”
Apollo hops up to find the light switch. It stays dark no matter how many times he flips it.
“Stupid storm must have messed up the power.” He turns, “Bring me the flashlight from under my bed.”
“Get it your…your..” Indrid’s eyes go huge and he whispers, “Apollo, don’t move.”
Apollo turns to look in the doorway. There’s a massive, hooded shape, staring down at him with yellow eyes.
“Indrid and Apollo Cold” the monster rasps.
Apollo is not a baby, he should pick up the heaviest toy he can find and hit this thing with it.
He bolts to Indrid’s bed, his twin throwing the covers over them both.
“What is that?”
“I do not know, maybe it will go away if we stay quiet.” Indrid whispers.
Slow, heavy hoof-falls cross the floor. A tiny bit of moonlight makes its way in the window, enough for them to see the outline of the monster standing by the bed.
“I…am…Krampus. I visit…the bad…children. You have been…cruel…to each other. Ungrateful. Selfish.”
They both wince, and Indrid puts his arms around him.
“I am sorry, I do not really hate you, and I hope father gives the good Legos to you this year instead of me.”
Apollo cannot speak, simply nods to show he agrees, clinging to Indrid’s pajamas.
“This…is…a warning.” The creature murmurs, so close it must be under the covers with them.
Then they’re laying awake on Christmas Morning, the room exactly as it was.
From then on, no matter how bad things get between them, come December they enter into an unspoken truce. No insults, no fighting. It’s like when they were little.
After all, it’s better safe than sorry.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
The year Apollo turned 33, he took the wheel of his life in hand for the first, real time, and promptly steered the whole thing into the nearest rock.
He left his fathers company, cut contact as best he could, and found himself without a job, place to live, or purpose.
He got a job at the mall, at Tiffanys. Found an apartment. Turned his simmering, patricidal instincts into more time at the gym and Sunday mornings in the woods looking for birds and the occasional engineering project (“you have to have a hobby” Indrid had said, “you will be amazed at how much energy you have when you are not dealing with him”).
Then, last year, a week before Thanksgiving, he met Vincent.
“Excuse me, I was hoping you could give me some advice on a gift.”
Apollo turns to find an unremarkable man in a grey suit, lavender tie adding a tasteful pop of color. He’s a few inches shorter than him, appears to make decent money, and is going grey in a way that looks dashing instead of depressing.
He puts on his salesman smile, “I would be glad to. What are you looking for?”
“Earrings, ideally ones with some length. Elegant but understated.”
Apollo does not roll his eyes; has a man ever come in here wanting something subtle? Or flashy? No, they all want the same thing.
“Right this way. Are these for a wife, a daughter-”
“My sister” the man smiles, “she’s been promoted to C.O.O and I wanted to get her something to mark the occasion. Are there styles that are considered classic? She tends to favor ‘timeless pieces.’”
Apollo helps him choose a simple pair of simple drop earrings with pearls. The longer they talk, the more he swears he recognizes him, but he doesn’t know from where. Apollo hates not knowing things.
“This is an odd question, but do you work at the mall as well? I think we have met before.”
“My day job is in security. But on the weekends, you might have seen me there.” He tips his head toward where a poor facsimile of the North Pole is sitting at the center of the mall, “my father did it before me. I like keeping up the tradition.”
“I see.” Apollo cannot believe he spent the last twenty minutes helping a mall Santa.
“But let's just keep that between you and me.” Vincent winks as he takes his gift bag, and Apollo is forced to confront the fact that a mall Santa has very nice eyes.
Indeed, Vincent forced Apollo to confront a lot of things. Like his sexuality, which up until then he decided he could live with as long as he never acted on it (he took a match to that promise the first time Vincent kissed him and never looked back).
It’s been an exercise in the mortifying ordeal of being known. Yet Apollo does not resent it, the way he has in the past. He wants to know Vincent, and be known in turn, and he’s fairly certain that means he’s in love.
The December wind knocks the last leaves from the bushes as he hurries into Vincent’s apartment. Dulcinea, Vincent’s spaniel-adjacent dog, skitters down the hallway to greet him, and he picks her up.
“Hello, I know, it is only me. Vincent is working late. Yes, I hate whoever has caused that too, but we must persevere.”
He feeds her and takes her for a spin around the block, then considers the fridge and decides that once he has an E.T.A he will order something in for the both of them.
Vincent’s place has in-unit laundry, so Apollo busies himself with emptying the dryer and putting things away. Technically, they still live apart, but a whole drawer of the dresser is his to use, as is half the closet.
They really need to buy more hangers. He doesn’t have enough to get everything into place.
He pushes Vincent’s clothing carefully to the side, moving close to the back edge of the closet. Here’s his favorite goldenrod shirt, here’s the suit he wore this July when Apollo got promoted to store manage, here’s a massive, leather coat-
Apollo pauses, pulls the coat out into the room with him. It’s far, far too big for Vincent, the leather weather-beaten and lined with sumptuous, silver fur. He peers back into the closet, spies matching bag hidden in a corner.
“What on earth is this for, Dulce?”
The dog raises her head from the bed, tail wagging at her name.
“I am certain I can work it out. Maybe a costume? No, it is still too big for that. Did someone else leave it here? One of my predecessors?”
“Not quite, little bird.”
Apollo yelps, dropping the coat on the bed.
Vincent stands in the doorway, brows drawn in concern, “I’m a little glad you found it. There’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been waiting for the right time. Things are…serious enough between us that I hope you’ll stick around awhile. Which is why you need to know the truth.”
“Is something wrong?”
“You’ll have to tell me once you know. It may be a little startling so please try to stay calm. And, um” he blushes, “I’ll have to undress to show you so I don’t ruin my clothes.”
“Alright. Anything that starts with you undressing can't be all bad.” Apollo says with all the calm he can muster.
Vincent moves out the doorway to stand by the other side of the bed. He’s giving Apollo an escape if he needs it.
A wave of affection hits him, even as nerves well up intensely enough that he gathers Dulce in his arms for support.
Vincent pauses unbuckling his belt, “You may want to put her down.”
Apollo kisses the top of her head and sets her down, “Is something going to happen to her, too?”
“Yes, but nothing dangerous.” Vincent steps out of his underwear and takes a deep breath.
Then he’s gone, and in his place is a goatman, towering over Apollo. His fur is shaggy grey, his feet end in craggy hooves, curved horns sprout from its head, and he watches Apollo with glowing, yellow eyes.
He’s seen this before.
“You’re Krampus.” He’s eight again, hiding under the covers, he can feel himself shaking and has a horrible urge to hide his eyes.
“Yes, Apollo, I am.” It’s still Vincent’s voice, just deeper and with more of a growl to it, “Well, I’m a Krampus.”
“But you are still you?”
Vincent stays firmly on the other side of the bed and gives a slow nod, “Still me. My mind doesn’t really change. Not much, anyway. And no, I don’t actually kidnap children.”
A dozen thoughts flood his mind. The one that comes out is, “good, I don’t want kids.”
A soft laugh makes him relax; that’s Vincent's laugh, no question about it. Then he’s laughing too as a large, wet nose presses into his cheek. Dulce is huge and fluffy, with burning eyes and sharp teeth, and wagging her tail so hard it whams into the wall.
“Be careful, she still thinks she’s a lapdog.” Vincent rubs her flank, “she’s trapped me more than once.”
“She does that when she is small, too, because you are a pushover.”
“Very true. Though I’m not the one who made her a bespoke squirrel toy wind-up toy to chase around.” Vincent pats her again, “go to your mat, girl.”
The dog trots off, barely fitting through the door, and Apollo smiles at the thought of her trying to nap on her normal mat by the heater.
“You really aren’t scared?” Vincent cautiously steps forward.
“I…I am. A little. When Indrid and I were younger, something like you came on Christmas Eve. It was not the scariest moment of my childhood, but it made an impression.”
Vincent offers a hand and Apollo takes it. It’s rougher than usual, nails more like claws.
“You were never in any danger then; the worst we do to children is scare them. They’re young, they’re still learning. Adults may earn actual punishment, though a good scare works on most of them as well. More importantly” he brings their joined hands to his chest, “you’ll never be in any danger from me, in this form or any other.”
“I know.” And he does. A lifetime of proof against it, yet Vincent makes him believe he deserves to be safe. He spreads his fingers across a furred chest, “you are very soft like this.”
“You can touch me all you like. I can also change back if that would be better.”
“You do not need to. I, ah, I would like to get to know you in this form. After all, you have seen me at my most formidable and not flinched away.”
“You do have a knack for chasing off rude customers.” Vincent ushers them down onto the bed, letting Apollo rest comfortably on his chest. He chuckles, “it feels so strange. I’m never taller than you.”
“You are perfect no matter your height. But I do enjoy having to look up at you for once.”
“You’re sweet, little bird” Vincent kisses the top of his head, “good thing too, if you were bad I’d have to punish you.”
He’s joking, and it’s the fact that Apollo can be certain of that which makes him press closer, “How would you punish me?"
“Well, since you’re my darling boy, it wouldn’t be anything too bad. Maybe taking you over my knee for a minute or two.”
“Mmm, that does not sound unbearable.” He runs his fingers more deeply through the fur and Vincent groans happily.
“Have I doomed myself to spend every night like this so you can cuddle up and play with my fur?”
“Perhaps” Apollo grins and pets him more deliberately. Then he pauses, temporal math clicking into place in his head, “wait, if you are some kind of ancient winter spirit, does that mean your driver's license is fake?”
“I did take and pass my test. But if you mean the age on it, then yes. I’m considerably older than 45. Does that bother you?”
Apollo means to shake his head and simply say no. His accursed blood vessels give him away and Vincent spots the blush.
“Do you enjoy having a much older man wrapped around your finger?”
He nods, hiding his face in Vincent’s fur. Feels rough palms guide his right hand up so Vincent can kiss it.
“Good, because I enjoy being there. My Apollo.”
They lay there for awhile, Apollo idly playing with his fur while Vincent strokes his back and tells him about his day, then about how when he’s in this form, he feels more of an instinct toward justice, more of an impulse to deal out consequences for the misdeeds he views when brushing against people.
Were it anyone else talking about punishment so close to him in the darkness, where it was just him and them, especially someone so much bigger, he’d panic, lash out. But this is Vincent. Who doesn’t mock him for putting up his birdfeeders, who didn’t sneer when Apollo wore nail polish for the first time, who does so many things just to make him happy.
“You know” a pointed nail curves teasingly up his back, “Krampus can do rewards, too. It’s the season for them.” His hand skates over Apollo’s ass, then between his thighs, “and you seem to have one in mind.”
“In my defense, you are very attractive regardless of your form. And I feel…I feel so young like this. It’s exhilarating. Is that bad?”
“I don’t think so. Though I think my motives might be a tad selfish.” He gives Apollo’s ass a fond squeeze, “what do you want, darling boy?”
“I want…I want you to rent us a cabin somewhere. And I am there all alone and it is–wait, does Krampus have a holiday all his own?”
“Krampusnacht.”
“It’s Krampusnacht, and I am lonely and young and naive. And handsome, obviously.”
Vincent laughs, “Perhaps you've been so good that I can't help but take pity on a poor young man in his cold home?”
“Yes, yesyes, especially an innocent young man who clearly needs a lesson in the pleasures of the flesh.”
His boyfriend tips his face up to kiss him, “I’ll book us a cabin first thing tomorrow.”
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Conveniently, being in charge of his Tiffanys’ branch means Apollo does not have to beg or plead for a weekend off. He can simply pack his nicest lounging around clothing and let Vincent whisk him away.
The cabin is an elegant A-Frame, the interior catering to those on Valentine's Day getaways and second honeymoons. Apollo spent most of his day sprawled on the couch by the fireplace, reading, his head in Vincent’s lap. After a brisk walk around the nearby pond, they settled right back into the cozy bedroom to watch a movie.
Now it’s dark, a storm is kicking up, and he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in over half an hour. That’s all according to plan. Now he just has to get as close to sleep as he can with this much excitement thudding in his chest.
Apollo curls up under the blankets, grateful that the sheets are a pleasant flannel instead of an awful one. He’s in his underwear, but the bedding is so nice he barely feels the chill.
The warmth makes him doze. He’s nearly asleep when the lights all go out at once, leaving only the firelight to make sense of the shadows in the corners of the room.
He has a moment of genuine alarm when the bedroom door creaks open and a shadow blocks any remaining light from the living room. The room grows colder, the fire dims, and Apollo hides further under the covers just on instinct.
Purposeful hoofsteps cross the wooden floor, and then the covers are drawn back from his head.
Vincent stares down at him. Only his eyes are visible beneath the hood, and filled with an animal gleam, “Mmm, I was so hoping this house would have a lovely surprise waiting for me.”
“Please don’t hurt me, I promise I have been good.” Apollo’s voice sounds pathetically childish, even as he leans toward Vincent instead of away.
“I'm not here to do you any harm. My colleagues are not the only ones who can give gifts to the deserving” he lifts his head enough that Apollo can see the predatory grin beneath the cloak, “ you seem like you could use someone to help you keep warm on this long, cold night.”
He bites his lip, aiming for an innocence he has never possessed, “I have been cold… are you going to give me a magical blanket, or a hot water bottle or something?”
“Or something, yes. It's a very long night for me. I deserve a reward as well.”
Apollo squeaks when Vincent pulls back the covers to get into bed with him, but his boyfriend pins him in place with a gaze.
“Oh yes, now there's a sight for sore eyes.”
“Really?”
“Really. I like pretty things.” Vincent shrugs out of his robe, “you are very pretty. Now, are you going to be a good boy for me?”
He nods.
“Take these off” Vincent draws a finger along the front of his boxer briefs, “let me see my gift.”
Apollo does his best to wiggle alluringly as he tugs the fabric free. Vincent is naked, must have worn nothing under the cloak, and all the clever roleplay lines Apollo rehearsed in his head about how virginal and inexperienced he is die on his tongue. There’s no denying the creature staring down at him is strange. But it is undeniably Vincent, and so he brings his hands up to pet soft-furred cheeks.
“Something you want to say, little bird?”
“I have never done this before.” It’s not a lie; in all the times they’ve had sex, Vincent’s never been in this form.
“Lucky me, then, to get to introduce you to it.” Vincent scoots back down the bed and dips his head, and Apollo flops gracelessly back as he takes his cock into his mouth. He’d been expecting to be pinned, for Vincent to take him right away, so all he can do is weakly buck his hips as Vincent swallows him to the root.
“Ah! What, what a large mouth you have.” God he could slap himself for how he sounds sometimes.
Vincent raises his head and smiles, “All the better to tease you with” before licking a stripe up the shaft, “tell me, sweet boy, do you ever touch yourself?”
“N-no. I am good, I would never do such a thing.”
A low, rich chuckle, “No? You never lay in bed and imagine someone kissing you here” he sucks the tip of Apollo’s cock, “or touching you here?” The pad of his thumb presses against Apollo’s ass.
He whines, shaking his head.
“A pity. There’s no harm in it, and a pretty thing like you deserves to enjoy himself.” Vincent intersperses his words with more kisses to Apollo’s cock, “do you like your present?”
“Very much.” Giddiness bubbles up in his chest and he giggles, “you ought to have, have gift-wrapped yourself, or perhaps put bows on your horns.” He reaches down and takes a horn in either hand. They’re smoother than he expected, and he holds them tight as Vincent lovingly sucks his cock with a satisfied hum.
“I suppose I could have.” Vincent sits back on his heels, “the next time I visit, I’ll come all wrapped in ribbon for my good boy. But now” he gently rolls Apollo onto his stomach, then guides him onto his knees, “I have a new toy I’d very much like to use.”
Apollo moans as the blunt head of Vincent’s cock pushes into him, digs his fingers into the sheet beneath him, “It’s so big.”
A flattered laugh, “It’s just proportional, sweetheart.”
“Do not argue with me, old goat, I am trying to flatter youAH” he yelps into the pillows, “I am familiar with what your dick feels like and this is, is, ohgod.”
Vincent laughs as the game falls away a moment, “A lot? Yes, darling, I know. Imagine how it feels from my end. My perfect Apollo, tight and hot around my cock and so good he’ll let me do whatever I please.”
Then his voice is a growl in Apollo’s ear, “including carry him off in my sack and keep him with me forever. Would you like that, sweet boy?”
When he had been younger, it was all he wanted some days. To be taken away from everything, no matter where. “S-someone might notice.”
“And if they did? No one would come to take you from me. They understand you’re mine, my beautiful new toy, my Apollo” his nails dig into Apollo’s hips, “I’ll keep you wrapped in furs, warm and well-fed, safe no matter how dark and cold it gets, and you’ll be so good for me in return, won’t you?”
“Yes”
“Good boy” his movements are wilder than Apollo’s ever felt, and he lets himself be carried away by the sensation of Vincent draped over him, dwarfing him as his cock hits his prostate over and over again.
He cums with a whimper and Vincent kisses the shell of his ear, “That’s it, sweetheart, enjoy yourself, I’ll see to it that my gift to myself never wants for anything again” a bite instead of a kiss, “as long as he remembers who he belongs to.”
Apollo whines his name and arches into him as his boyfriend cums with a long, gratified groan.
“Are you alright?” Vincent murmurs, gingerly pulling out and letting Apollo collapse into his arms.
“Incredible.” He nestles closer, fumbles the blanket up to cover them.
“I wasn’t too intimidating? You know I’d never keep you prisoner.”
“I do” Apollo shifts upward so they’re face to face, “I never...I never felt like I could experience wonder. Or fear. In a way that was safe. You let me do both, and so much more, and I could thank you everyday and it would still never be enough. I…I love you.”
“I love you too, little bird.” Vincent cards his fingers into Apollo’s hair, “knowing you feel the same is the best gift you could give me.”
