🪶Live To Laugh🪶

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"What were you thinking, you idiot!?" Alastor snarled in his face, eyes brimming with rage. Alastor had never lashed out at him like this. He was furious.

Vincent took a shaky step back, his hands up like he was surrendering. "Al, I-"

"How many times have I told you to watch where you're putting your hands? Or your feet? Are you blind?!"

Vincent could barely open his mouth to respond.

"I was trying to tell you to stop but you weren't listening! Anyone with eyes could've seen there was a cottonmouth on that branch and you just grabbed it anyway! Do you realize what kind of bite that snake has?"

"I wasn't-"

"Venomous! Deadly! It could have killed you, Vincent!" Alastor was practically screaming in his face, stepping forward as Vincent backed up. He jabbed his finger in Vincent's chest. "You didn't listen when I told you to wait, and you didn't listen when I told you to move! Open your fucking ears and pay attention!"

Vincent's throat closed up with a whine, his eyes starting to sting.

"Don't give me that, acting like a pathetic dog to beg for sympathy."

"I'm not. I swear, I-I just-"

"I'm too exhausted for this. Just go home. I'll finish checking the traps myself." Alastor's eyes were blazing with rage. Vincent took a shaky breath and turned away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as he began his trek home. 

Alastor didn't answer, simply turning and walking towards the hoop nets. 

It wasn't even 6 AM yet and the day had been awful.

Alastor and Vincent had a late night last night, barely getting into bed by 2 AM. Then there was a brawl on the street outside where the cops got involved, a loud enough ruckus to wake anyone from slumber around 4 AM. Knowing they wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, they decided to go check the traps in the bayou early before they had to go to work.

They were both tired and stressed. Maybe that exhaustion is why Vincent missed the cottonmouth snake on the branch he had grabbed. The snake hissed and turned to him. He floundered as Alastor sprung into action, yanking him away. Vincent had stumbled, hearing Alastor shout for him to move, but hadn't. He was shoved away as Alastor grabbed a branch from the dirt, got the snake onto it, and threw the stick and the snake into the water. 

Then Alastor had yelled at him like he never had before. It cracked something deep inside him, something small and scared. It froze him, made him stammer and shake like he was a little kid again, hiding from his dad after a drinking binge. 

When he got back to their house he stood for a moment in the kitchen. A glance at the clock told him he had 45 minutes before he had to leave for work.

So, what could he do? He changed into his work clothes, put on his foundation, combed his hair, and started cooking breakfast. 

Two omelettes, one for him and one for Alastor when he got back.

He sat alone in the kitchen and ate his breakfast. It was quiet. And cold. Across from the table sat the plate with Alastor's omelette, ham and cheese with peppers and onions. 

Right as Vincent was about to leave, the back door opened. Vincent turned, approaching to say something, but Alastor simply held up the palm of his hand.

"I don't wish to talk right now, Vincent. Just go to work."

Vincent didn't dare speak for fear of his voice cracking and giving away his emotional state. He simply nodded and took his leave. 

Traffic was worse than usual. Of course it was. That was just how the day was going. He ended up being 5 minutes late, which his supervisor made sure to give him shit about. 

Despite the bags under his eyes yelling for sleep, he put on his crowd-pleasing smile and filmed his shows to the best of his ability. The audience loved him, his producers loved him... it seemed maybe things were going better.

Until...

He was called to the office of one of his directors, Fred. It was abrupt and he had an unusual leer when he told him to come in.

He was instructed to sit down in a frightfully serious voice as the door was shut and locked behind him.

Then he tossed a folder onto the desk.

The contents made Vincent's blood run cold.

Two pictures of him with hickeys, and a picture of him at a speakeasy with Alastor. They were usually so good about appearing professional in public, but they had gotten a bit tipsy.They were sitting much too close than two men should, with Vincent leaned in close to his neck, flushed in the face.

"Should've known you were a faggot the moment I looked at you. Never settling down, always a bachelor, yet having some love marks you just can't seem to hide perfectly. Then one of my subordinates spied you out and about with... that. Being a homosexual is bad enough, but with one of their kind? You could've been the perfect star, Vincent. But you threw it away over a black man. You could've had the perfect life, the perfect wife; Heaven knows there's enough dames who'd wanna be Vincent Whittman's sweetheart. Any bitch in this building would have spread their legs for you, and you go and do this?”

Vincent was frozen. Truly stunned. The world was falling down around him. It's like he could see the end of everything, and it was right on this desk. Everything he'd built, everything he'd loved. He could go to jail for this. He'd murdered dozens, and what finally did him in was homosexuality. 

"What are you trying to do?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Honestly, if I was a better man, I'd turn you in myself. A studio like this should never associate with someone of your kind. But, well, you don't get this far without knowing how to spy an opportunity. So here's the deal. Every week, you pay me 75% of what you make, and I keep my mouth shut."

"75%?" he breathed out shakily.

"Surely you and your little boy toy can make ends meet without sucking money away from a good and pure studio like this? We shouldn't be funding your homosexual activities."

He had to think fast. Now.

Time to turn his acting skills to good use. 

He ducked his head, fiddled with his buttons, looking up at him like a small child, afraid and easily pushed around. "Okay, okay... I can get you the money. I keep most of my cash at home. I can drive back and meet you somewhere. Maybe behind that Italian restaurant nearby? In the back alley?"

"Good man. Be there at 5:30. Exactly. If you're late, this might just find its way to the CEOs desk, or maybe even the sheriff's." Fred scooped up the folder and waved him off. "You're dismissed."

Vincent shuffled out of there. His chest was aching from the rapid pounding of his heart and sweat was dripping down his back. His hand shook as he closed the door behind him. Today could decide the rest of his entire life. Everything was at stake–his job, his freedom, his relationship… it could all disappear in an instant. 

He had to play this perfectly. 

...

Fred came into that alley expecting a fat wad of cash to line his pockets with.

Instead, he got an experienced killer whose immense stress had boiled into explosive rage. 

He had worn such a smug grin as Vincent approached. 

Vincent's expression kept a mask of submission and anxiety, barely holding back pure fiery determination.

There was no warning. The first punch he threw crunched Fred's nose back into his skull with a loud crack.

Maybe it was because Vincent was so tired, so stressed out of his mind, that he wasn't able to block Fred's retaliatory blow, colliding with his eyebrow.

It only fueled his rage

The next punch took less than a second, digging into his opponent's eye socket and blackening the whole thing. He was so disoriented from the blow to the eye, he took the third punch without a fight.

Then another punch. Another. Another.

Blow after blow, Fred never got a chance to even breathe. 

Neither of them spoke, it was just a cacophony of crunching bone and cartilage, teeth clattering to the ground, and eventually stomping a dead body into pavement. 

By the end, Fred was nothing more than a smear of blood and bone on concrete. 

It was quiet for a moment. One could faintly hear a car occasionally drive by the alley, or the caw of crows overheard, eyeing some spare meat to scavenge. 

Vincent's bruised hand slipped into the crumpled coat of his victim and pulled out what he could: his wallet, keys, and business card.

Then, silently, Vincent threw what was left of Fred into the nearby dumpster, and walked back to his car. 

...

Alastor wasn't home when he got there.

Usually his partner stayed over with him at his house–what they've come to refer to as their home–but on rare occasions he stayed at what was technically his home across the bayou.

Tonight was, apparently, one of those rare occasions. 

Vincent was shaking, bruised, and oozing blood from the split in his eyebrow. His work clothes were bathed in blood all the way down to his shoes. His face throbbed with pain. And he was completely alone.

But it could always get worse.

A low rumble from the sky, thunder. 

No. 

Please, no. 

Not tonight. Any other night but tonight.

Vincent had always been scared of thunderstorms, ever since he was a little boy. The sudden noises and light that he could never predict filled him with a crushing dread and terrifying startle. At the first sound of thunder he'd always crumble like a terrified toddler, his whole life. 

He couldn't do this. Not tonight. Not after everything.

The flash of lightning.

Please no.

...

Alastor smothered his cigarette in the ashtray beside his arm chair. His mind was abuzz and he needed the nicotine, though it had barely helped. 

It had been a rough night, bare of sleep for the most part. Then, early in the morning, he had the fright of his life.

Vincent could have died. The snake... its fangs had been so close. It was a rookie mistake, one he had hoped Vincent would never make. 

He had ended up blowing up at Vincent, yelling and shouting at him in rage. At first he thought it was the sleep deprivation, but no, that wasn't the truth.

Alastor had never cared about another to the degree he did with Vincent. He hadn't felt fear like that since his mother died. The fear of losing a loved one. It was an unsettling terror deep in his chest. It made him lose his composure in ways he seldom had. 

In that moment, he watched as the most precious thing in his life almost disappeared. The fear was so consuming, so nauseating, that as soon as it settled it sparked into something more familiar and easier to process:, anger. 

And he had lashed out terribly, unleashing all that rage on the very person he was scared to lose. 

Seeing Vincent look at him like that–so guilty and scared–twisted something awful in him, so he had doubled down and yelled even more. 

And when he finally got to the house, he refused to speak with him. Not because he was still mad, but because he didn't want to confront what he had done wrong.

Alastor was a coward, he was too ashamed to give Vincent the apology he was owed and admit to his own fear, so he acted cold and shoved him away.

He went to work, masking his concerns with a smile as he always did, and instead of returning to Vincent's house, their home, he went to his own. He ran like the coward he was. 

So he sat there in his armchair, smoking and listening to the radio until he was finally ready to be honest with himself.

He owed Vincent an apology. He wasn't going to be a coward anymore. 

He stood, and walked to the backdoor. He grit his teeth as he spied the incoming thunderstorm. Not ideal, but he'd worked under worse conditions.

...

This was odd. 

Vincent's car was in his driveway, so he must've been home. The man insisted on driving everywhere, even just around the block, but all the lights in the house were off. He entered slowly, letting the door creek open as he stepped through the threshold. 

He drew his pocket knife. He didn't like this. Something was wrong. He listened closely for any sign of an intruder, eye darting through the darkness for anything unusual. 

With careful steps, he crept through the house, scanning each room.

His ear twitched. There. He heard something. A whimper? Undoubtedly Vincent's. He followed it to the master bedroom... but there was nobody there. The bed was made just like they left it this morning. 

He heard it again, clearer. It was coming from... the closet?

"Vincent?" he called softly. He heard a sharp gasp, but no response. "Vincent, I'm opening the closet door." He sheathed his knife and slowly peeled open the door. 

The sight that met him stunned him completely, all thoughts screeching to a halt.

Vincent was still in his work clothes, covered in blood, but worse, his eye was blackened and his eyebrow was bleeding and swollen with a large, oozing cut. 

His eyes. Those beautiful mismatched eyes were wide with fear. Terror. He trembled as their gazes met. 

"Vincent..." he gasped. "What happened?" He reached his hand forward and Vincent flinched violently.

"N-No! I'm sorry! NO!" His voice was strained and laced with fear.

"Darling, it's me-"

In his apparent panic, Vincent reeled back and launched his fist forward right as Alastor finished his sentence.

"-Alastor."

The fist came to a screeching halt less than an inch from his face. 

Alastor didn't flinch. He stayed completely still as he watched recognition flicked in his irises.

"Alastor?" he said breathily. It was like he thought he was someone else.

"Yes, it's me, Alastor. Squeaks, what in the world happened to you?"

Vincent jerked his fist back to his chest, cradling it like he was protecting Alastor from it. "Bad, bad bad... bad things... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

His partner was an absolute wreck. He was babbling. Babbling like a small child hiding from his-

Alastor's breath hitched. This was just like that night after his father had visited. He was acting like a little boy with a violent father. He hadn't recognized Alastor at first because he was scared of his dad. This was a trauma response.

That changed a lot.

"One moment." Alastor stood and turned on the bedroom light. He had been nothing more than a shadowy figure uncovering Vincent from his hiding place. No wonder he had panicked. When he returned he sat himself down to appear smaller. 

Vincent was slowly starting to seem more there, more present. 

"Vincent, darling. It's Alastor, your life partner. If this is partially because of what happened this morning, I... I owe you an apology."

Vincent looked completely flabbergasted at that. Alastor didn't blame him. He almost never apologized for anything. 

"I shouldn't have yelled at you or insulted you like that. I was just... scared. I care about you a great deal, so much that it scares me. You were so close to being bit. It would've killed you. I would've lost you. I was just so scared, and it came out as anger. I should've been able to control my emotions better. I'm sorry."

His eyes weren't as wide, his face not as pale. When he spoke it seemed more controlled.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen and that I freaked out."

"I've long forgiven your mistake, Vincent. It could happen to anyone. Even seasoned outdoorsmen can overlook things. I shouldn't have lost it like I did. You didn't deserve it."

Vincent sniffled and nodded. "I... I forgive you too."

"Now, I'm not mad, but please tell me what has you covered in blood and injured in the face?"

Vincent's face crumpled, tears building up in the corners of his eyes. Alastor slowly put his hand over his and squeezed.

"Someone at work had a photo of us together at a speakeasy. I got too careless. It was pretty damning."

"Oh no," Alastor breathed, suddenly feeling cold.

"And with some photos of some love marks and my single marital status... He said if I didn't pay him hush money then he'd leak the info to the CEO and maybe the police."

"I'm assuming, and hoping, the blood is his then?"

"Yeah. I met him in a back alley and beat him to death, but not without getting hit myself. Dumped his body in a dumpster. Sorry I didn't bring it back for you, but I kinda let loose and he was a mess anyway I know you like your bodies relatively intact and-"

"Don't apologize. I'm just glad you're okay and he's dead. Did you confiscate the photos?"

"He didn't have them on him, but I got his keys and wallet. We can raid his place another day."

"Good. That was very good of you."

Outside, a flash of light. Ah, the thunderstorm was still going on. What surprised him was Vincent flinching like he'd been punched, then throwing his hands over his ears and shaking like a leaf.

"Vincent? What's wrong?"

Vincent simply shook his head with his eyes squeezed shut. Moments later, the sound of thunder rolled and the man whimpered. 

Come to think of it, Alastor had never spent time with Vincent during a thunderstorm.

"Are you... afraid of thunder?"

The responding whimper told him all he needed to know.

"You poor thing," Alastor cooed. He slowly crawled further into the closet, giving Vincent time to push him away, before cradling him in a hug. 

"You've had quite the day, haven't you? Almost no sleep, threatened by a coworker, a nasty blow to the face, a fearful thunderstorm, and your partner so foolishly lashed out at you." He rubbed Vincent's back soothingly as the man shook. 

"I'm sorry you have to see me like this," He whined.

Alastor clicked his tongue. "Many men would have crumbled much sooner than you, at more dire points in time. You survived the day, did what had to be done, then crumbled here, at home, when everything was taken care of and you were safe." He gently kissed his head. "I'm proud of you."

Vincent cracked, breaking into quiet sobs he was clearly trying to suppress with no success.

Alastor continued petting his back. "Seeing you like this is not a wrongdoing on your part. I'd much rather see you happy, but if you're not, I'd like to be there to help." He carded his fingers through his hair as he cried. "You're my partner. I care about you, even when you're not at your best. Let me take care of you tonight, alright?" He buried his face in Vincent's hair. It still had product in it, but the smell of blood mixed nicely with Vincent's natural musk. "It'll be my pleasure." 

Vincent shuddered and nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Another gentle kiss to his head. "Let's run you a bath, shall we? Wash the crusted blood off and take care of that injury to your pretty face."

Vincent huffed something with a passing resemblance to a laugh. It was a start. 

He held out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Vincent took it. They stood and left the closet.

The lighting made Vincent look even more pitiful, like a stray dog in an alley, hurt and scared. It just pulled Alastor further in. He wanted to fix it, make that man smile again. 

Another strike of lightning and Vincent stiffened with wide eyes. 

"It's okay, Squeaks." Alastor hugged him, feeling the way he trembled. "You're alright."

The thunder rumbled and Vincent whimpered. After a moment Alastor pulled away.

"Come. Bath time." 

He made sure the bath was nice and warm, almost steaming. Set to the side were body wash, a washcloth, fresh towels, a cup, and shampoo. He turned from the tub to see his partner looking uncertain and sheepish. He smiled.

"Let's get those nasty clothes off, shall we?" Alastor enjoyed the way his words made Vincent blush a pretty pink. He started fiddling with his buttons but Alastor made a disapproving noise, prompting a confused look. "No, no, dear. I'll take them off." Another rush of blood to his cheeks. Adorable.

Alastor took his sweet time undoing the buttons of his shirt and peeling it off, making sure his hands ran across his skin as he did so. 

He'd never get tired of seeing Vincent shirtless. The man's body was gorgeous, perfect. He was wide, broad, and soft in all the right places. A Perfect blend of muscle and fat. Obvious strength with comfortable padding. 

His hands found Vincent's fly, making the man squeak shyly. Alastor chuckled and unzipped it. He made quick work of his belt, quite familiar with it at this point, and slid it out of his belt loops before tossing it carelessly to the floor. Then, with both hands around the hem of his pants, he tugged them down in one fluid motion, prompting a sharp gasp.

He ran his hands up those thighs, thick with muscle and fat, and ended at his boxers. 

"May I?"

"Always."

One final yank and the man was bare as the day he was born. Alastor wasn't surprised he was at half-mast given Alastor's little tease, but knew with his stress and the uncertainty of thunder he wouldn't be ready for anything substantial. 

His partner could be as sex-motivated as any other man at times, but his drive was often smothered by large amounts of stress.

Vincent stepped out of the clothes sitting on the floor, still blushing adorably.

"In the tub."

It was a command, but gentle and soft. Vincent obeyed without question, stepping into the warm water and sitting down. Alastor dipped the washcloth into the water and began gently bathing his partner, wiping off the crusted blood with soft strokes. He hummed a soft tune, something random and made up on the spot, as he worked. Vincent's eyes shut as he let himself be cared for. He flinched momentarily as he cleaned the cut on his eyebrow, but eventually eased back to a relaxed position.

Another crash of thunder. Vincent jolted and squeaked, suddenly tense all over.

"It's okay, Squeaks." His voice was gentle and reassuring as he continued the bath. Soon he squirted the body wash into the washcloth and began a more thorough scrubbing. Up and down his back, his torso, his thighs. 

He snickered, knowing the next location. "I'm going to have to clean your underarms, dear."

Vincent squeaked, smiling nervously, before lifting his arms.

"I'll try to be firm." 

As soon as he started scrubbing, Vincent squirmed and grinned that goofy little grin of his. Soon he broke into silly giggles that made Alastor’s smile soften. It seemed he was too ticklish there even for this. It was painfully adorable. 

He switched to the other underarm which elicited a squeal and even more giggling. 

"Aaaaand, done." Alastor lifted the washcloth and Vincent instantly relaxed. 

A few more places got him giggling, like his neck and feet. If Alastor were actually trying to tickle him he'd be splashing the water everywhere, but he was not seeking hysteria right now. 

Next, shampoo. He used his cup to scoop some of the bathwater and pour it over his head, soaking his thick hair before scrubbing in the shampoo with gentle scratching and massaging.

Vincent groaned and sunk further into the tub, eyes fluttering shut and face slack. 

"Hm, interesting. I'll have to remember this reaction for later,." Alastor cooed mischievously. It was intriguing seeing how affected he was from a simple head massage. 

He washed his hair very thoroughly, rinsing every so often and watching the slight red and milky tint of the water cascading off his head until it was perfectly clear. 

Once he was 100% sure it was clean, he planted a soft but firm kiss to his scalp, enjoying the fresh smell of lavender. 

"You ready to get out?" he hummed softly into his ear. 

Vincent mumbled, clearly coming out of his relaxed and half-asleep state. He nodded and stood up, looking much more fresh and at ease than before. Alastor gave him a hand to step out and started drying him off with one of the towels. 

"You're being so sweet," Vincent said softly, almost in disbelief.. Alastor didn't blame him; this wasn't exactly his usual behavior.

"I'm quite enjoying this," he said honestly. "Being depended on... being looked to for help... it feels nice."

"Being taken care of feels nice too."

"I'm glad."

Soon Vincent was dry and dressed in a nice clean pair of pajamas. 

"Let's head to the kitchen. You haven't eaten anything for dinner, have you? I can heat up some leftover gumbo."

He sat him down at the table as he pulled the pot of gumbo from the fridge and placed it on the stove. He looked out the window.

"Seems the thunderstorm has stopped."

"Oh, thank God," Vincent sighed. 

The stove flickered to life and Alastor began stirring. "I'm curious, why the fear of thunder?"

Vincent was quiet for a moment before speaking. "It's startling. You never know when a loud noise will happen. I just get so filled with dread and then it happens and it scares the shit out of me. Over and over. I just get more and more freaked out about an inevitable loud noise and I just drive myself crazy with anxiety."

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement. 

"Did me being there help?"

"Yes. A lot."

"Good. I'll do my best to be there for every thunderstorm from now on."

The dinner was served in comfortable silence. Usually they'd talk about their days, but neither wanted to relive theirs. Occasionally they'd make eye contact and smile, or Alastor would reach over and squeeze Vincent's hand. It was quiet. It was nice.

With comfortably full stomachs, the pair turned in for the night. Alastor dressed himself in pajamas and crawled into bed with Vincent. 

Alastor laid on his back and beckoned Vincent close with a single finger. "Come here, darling."

With an eager smile, Vincent crawled over and laid on top of him. The man weighed a lot, but it was a pleasant weight, solid, somehow relaxing. 

He propped his head up on Alastor's chest, looking up at him with big adoring eyes. The sight endeared Alastor to lengths he never thought possible. He was like a puppy resting its head on its master's thigh.

He brought a hand to his head and gently pet and scratched his scalp, making him melt like butter with a happy hum.

Alastor cared for him so much it almost hurt. His heart ached with adoration.

It wasn't just care. It wasn't just simple affection. It was...

"I love you," Alastor whispered.