Restlessly, Benedict paced back and forth across Vincent's bedroom. His footsteps echoed dully against the floor as his gaze kept drifting to the door. That Moz had brought him here without a word—and had disappeared again just as silently. The door wasn't locked, but Benedict had no illusions: he was almost certain he was being watched. Probably from more than one angle.
In the end, it was an insignificant detail. Escape wasn't an option anyway. He was here of his own free will. Because he had agreed to that damn deal.
Still, his mind refused to settle. Too many questions circled within him, pushing to the forefront, refusing to be suppressed.
He had already searched the bedroom twice—every drawer, every corner, every seemingly insignificant crack. He had also carefully inspected the adjoining bathroom. But he had found nothing. No clues, no hidden cameras, no obvious weaknesses. Nothing.
So eventually he had taken a bath, in the vague hope of calming his nerves. The warm water had relaxed his body—but not his mind for even a moment.
Quite the opposite.
His thoughts had taken on a life of their own. He wasn't afraid of what awaited him—but wasn't this also a damn good opportunity to infiltrate the underworld?
Benedict came to a halt.
This Vincent seemed to like him enough to want to sleep with him. On top of that, he appeared to hold a high position. So if Benedict played along now, he might finally be able to get his hands on some useful information—information his colleagues had been after for a long time. So far, every undercover cop had failed and been killed.
One way or another.
He liked the idea of becoming this Vincent's personal bitch—but he liked the idea of letting this opportunity go to waste even less. He had already lost any sense of self-respect when he agreed to the deal.
Slowly, he clenched his hands into fists.
He would make the best possible use of this situation. No matter what came.
"I see you've found something suitable to wear?"
Vincent's voice was suddenly right next to his ear.
Benedict flinched violently and spun around. His pulse shot up. He hadn't heard the door open, nor had he noticed any footsteps. Nothing.
Had he really been that lost in thought?
Or was Vincent simply dangerously good at moving without a sound?
For a moment, Benedict could barely think straight. His heart was pounding so loudly it seemed to drown out everything else.
"I—I just took one of your shirts," he finally managed, forcing himself to stay calm. "It doesn't really matter anyway. I won't be wearing it for long, right?"
A barely noticeable smile flickered across Vincent's lips.
"That's correct."
He stepped closer, his presence almost overwhelming.
"Shall we pick up where we left off?"
Benedict swallowed. For a brief moment, he struggled with himself—then asked the only question that came to mind, perhaps to buy time.
"Where were you, anyway?"
Vincent paused. A fleeting shadow crossed his face.
"With Isaac."
The short answer came without hesitation.
Benedict blinked in mild surprise. He hadn't expected that.
"Oh…?" he murmured quietly, as the next questions were already forming in his mind.
Vincent wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. His hands moved slowly over Benedict's upper body, deliberately exploring every inch, as if nothing else existed in that moment.
"He's not really doing well yet, as you know," he murmured calmly. "But he'll be sleeping for a while. As befits a princess. He needs to recover from his wounds… don't you think?"
There was a subtle provocation in his tone.
Benedict tensed involuntarily. The image flashed before his eyes again—the gunshots, the blood, Isaac's body collapsing. Guilt settled over his thoughts like a heavy veil.
"Are you worried?" Vincent asked softly, right by his ear. "No need. He'll be better again soon."
His hand slipped beneath the shirt, his fingertips brushing against Benedict's bare skin. The reaction was immediate—a barely controlled twitch of his muscles, a reflex he couldn't suppress. His other hand came to rest gently against Benedict's cheek, almost surprisingly tender.
"I hope I didn't hurt you earlier," Vincent murmured close against his skin.
Benedict let out a quiet snort, closing his eyes as he gave in to the touches.
"If you shove your dick down my throat that roughly again, you'll regret it," Benedict warned.
A soft, amused laugh vibrated in Vincent's chest.
"Again?" His voice had turned noticeably more seductive. "Thanks, but I'd rather move on to other things now. I'm not interested in another blowjob at the moment. Or do you want to see me again after tonight?"
Vincent didn't sound opposed.
Take the opportunity when it practically throws itself at you.
Benedict rested the back of his head against Vincent's shoulder and looked at him. It irritated him somehow that Vincent was taller than he was.
He's so damn tall.
"That depends entirely on how this night goes," he said, placing a hand on the back of Vincent's neck and pulling him closer. "And whether I get what I want out of it."
A challenging glint lit up Vincent's black eyes. His lips twisted into a crooked smile.
"I hope you behaved while you were taking that bath," Vincent murmured.
His hand slid lower, tracing over Benedict's abdominal muscles until it reached the waistband of his boxers. But instead of moving past the fabric, he paused, letting his hand rest there.
And made no move to continue what he had started.
Why isn't he going any further?
"W-what do you mean?" Benedict asked, confused.
"I told you not to touch yourself. Were you a good boy and followed that rule?" Vincent whispered against his skin.
He nibbled at the hollow of Benedict's neck—light enough not to hurt, yet firm enough to send a spark of pleasure through him. In that moment, Benedict realized that Vincent intended to consume him completely.
A pleasant shiver ran through his body.
"Don't talk to me like I'm some damn dog," Benedict hissed.
Vincent smirked. "Then what should I call you? You're a cop—a bloodhound who sinks his teeth into a criminal the moment he gets the chance," he said, amused. "Or am I wrong?"
Annoyed, Benedict exhaled. Vincent might have been different from Noctis, but he was no less irritating. He could slowly understand why the two of them were involved with each other. Birds of a feather flock together.
"Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't mind if you sank your teeth into me," Vincent continued.
His hand slipped into Benedict's boxers, wrapping around his penis, and he let out an appreciative whistle.
"Looks like someone's finally getting in the mood."
He sounded satisfied as he stroked Benedict's increasingly hard length. Benedict had almost forgotten how good another person's hand could feel—what it was like to feel someone else's warmth. And that, even though he still wasn't convinced by Vincent and was only doing all of this because it was exactly what he had to do to finally get to Dan's killer.
Benedict clenched his teeth, but a quiet moan still escaped him.
He didn't resist as Vincent pressed against him, nor did he stiffen when Vincent pushed his fingers into his mouth to moisten them. It felt surprisingly good to be touched by him.
"As impatient as your cock is twitching, I guess you didn't take care of yourself."
Benedict let out a quiet snort, trying to gather a clear thought.
How was he supposed to pleasure himself when his mind had been everywhere except on his libido? He had been too busy searching the bedroom for clues to spare even a thought for what had happened earlier in Vincent's office.
"Why would I do that in your damn bathroom?" Benedict managed.
His orgasm announced itself with a faint pulsing sensation. He let his head fall back against Vincent, another moan slipping past his lips. Vincent seemed to know exactly what he was doing—because at the precise moments Benedict was close to climax, the pressure of his hand eased, the right stimulation withheld just enough to keep the release from coming.
It frustrated Benedict immensely. He wanted to finally get rid of the tension that had built up inside him. Why was Vincent denying him that release? With a trembling hand, he tried to touch himself, only to be stopped by Vincent.
"Just let me come already!" he protested.
He couldn't take it any longer. If he didn't climax soon, he'd go insane.
"No," Vincent replied.
With one hand, he held Benedict's wrist, while with the other he pulled down his boxers.
"Why not?!" Benedict snapped.
He tried to break free, but even though he wasn't weak, Vincent had no trouble holding him in place. Vincent brushed his fingers against Benedict's anus, slowly massaging him with his moistened fingers.
"Because I want you to come when I'm touching the most sensitive part of your body," Vincent murmured in a dark voice.
He seemed to be enjoying the way Benedict writhed beneath him.
Damn sadist.
Benedict cursed under his breath, and yet he couldn't deny what Vincent was doing to his body. Despite all his earlier doubts, there was nothing he wanted more right now than for Vincent to finally continue and give him exactly what he was craving.
"Damn it, Vincent! Stop stringing me along!" he complained.
"I love how you resist while begging for more at the same time," Vincent said with clear enjoyment. He nibbled at Benedict's neck and bit down, making him flinch as his teeth pressed into his flesh without breaking the skin. "I'm really going to enjoy giving you so much pleasure that you won't be able to form a coherent word anymore."
Before Benedict could react, he found himself pushed forward onto the bed. A moment later, he felt something cold running down over him. Vincent's fingers rested at his entrance, while his free hand pinned Benedict's hands in place, leaving him unable to move.
"I can't wait to hear you scream my name from the pleasure."
Then he pushed his fingers inside him. Benedict felt his breath hitch.
"Show me where you feel it most," Vincent said calmly.
"You're hurting me, you damn idiot!" Benedict snapped.
But Vincent didn't let the complaint unsettle him. With an almost casual calmness, he explored him with his fingers, gradually stretching him. His movements were careful—even though he had pushed two fingers inside him without warning, fully aware that this was Benedict's first time in this position.
Show him where he felt it most?
He felt him everywhere, damn it—and he couldn't even describe what exactly he was feeling. It was strange. Unfamiliar. Damn it, he had never even used any kind of toy to stimulate himself there.
It pressed in an odd way.
It hurt.
It felt unfamiliar.
Vincent adjusted the angle of his fingers—and suddenly it was like a jolt of electricity shot through him. Apparently, Vincent had found what he was looking for.
And just like that, it didn't feel nearly as unpleasant as before.
With a muffled moan, his forehead sank into the mattress as his body reacted in a way he could no longer control.
"And? How does it feel now?" Vincent murmured close to his ear before lightly biting his earlobe.
It felt much better than before—though Vincent's attitude still irritated him. He could have been a bit gentler. What was the point if Benedict had agreed to this willingly, only for the guy to do whatever he wanted in the end?
"With that level of confidence, I assumed you knew what you were doing. But no one's ever touched me this badly," Benedict hissed in annoyance, even though his body betrayed his words by responding all too well.
Still, he wanted to move. If anything, he wanted to take an active role, not just be handled according to Vincent's whims. It wasn't in his nature to be passive in situations like this.
If Vincent would at least let go of his wrists…
…but the bastard only smirked. His lips brushed gently against Benedict's neck as his fingers continued their steady movement inside him. Involuntarily, Benedict let out a moan as another electrifying wave shot through his body. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have suppressed the sound.
"You're a liar," Vincent murmured.
He pressed another finger into him, massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves that was slowly but surely robbing him of the ability to think clearly. He was so close—so damn close to finally climaxing. Just a little more…
"How can you curse and lie with those erotic lips of yours when your body is so honest about what I'm doing to you?"
His movements grew firmer. Benedict pressed his lips together as another moan threatened to escape. What he was feeling was becoming uncontrollable—his body reacting on its own, his thoughts dissolving into nothing but sensation. His arousal pulsed insistently; all it would take was the slightest touch in the right place.
"Just admit that you like it," Vincent whispered, his voice low and charged right against his ear.
Benedict strained against his grip. Damn it—if he could just touch himself, just a little, it would be enough. But Vincent only tightened his hold.
"No. You don't touch yourself until you've had an orgasm from this."
There was something almost diabolical in his tone—and yet, unmistakably, desire beneath it.
"L-let me go…!" Benedict gasped, desperation creeping into his voice. "I can't take it anymore!"
"Then focus on my fingers," Vincent suggested, clearly amused. "Or imagine how, in a few minutes, something much bigger will be inside you. I could do it now."
His hand stilled abruptly, his fingers inside him coming to a sudden stop. What remained was a restless, demanding tension coursing through his body, an almost unbearable pulsing deep within him. He exhaled sharply, frustrated, his breathing heavy as every thought narrowed down to one thing—finally reaching release.
Vincent was still holding his hands in place.
He was on his knees, unable even to grind against the mattress. All he had were Vincent's fingers, still buried to the knuckles inside him, holding that perfect angle.
"Imagine how deep I'll be inside you in a moment. What do you think? You sucked me off earlier—you know exactly what's coming. How far will I shake up your insides? Up to your navel? Or even further?"
Why did his voice suddenly sound so erotic? Why could Benedict picture it so vividly—how far he would reach, how it would feel to be taken by him?
He wanted to find out. He wanted to feel him. He wanted Vincent to fuck him so hard his mind went blank and the stress of the past months finally disappeared. Benedict longed, just once, to be able to switch off.
Maybe it really had been a good idea to accept Vincent's deal. Maybe this one-night stand was exactly what he needed.
He had no feelings for the man dominating him.
So he could use him however he needed.
A little selfishness was acceptable, wasn't it?
After all, Vincent was nothing more than a criminal, and Benedict didn't have to be careful here. Even if he somehow ended up hurting whatever feelings lay behind that man, it would be fine.
And if he managed to get some useful information out of him along the way, even better.
Benedict glanced over his shoulder, straight into those dark eyes watching him with desire. He moved his hips, stimulating himself against the fingers that still held that perfect angle.
Even if he didn't feel much for Vincent, the man wanted him—and that was more than enough.
"Why talk about how deep your damn cock is going to go when you could just do it?" he asked breathlessly, shooting him an irritated look. "Just take it out already and fuck me—your fingers are starting to bore me."
Vincent's gaze locked onto him, a triumphant grin playing on his lips.
Without further warning, he pulled his fingers out of Benedict, though he still kept his hands restrained.
"Fine. If you want it that badly, you'll have it," Vincent said.
He released him, stripped off his clothes, and let them fall carelessly to the floor. Meanwhile, Benedict sat up, watching as Vincent revealed more and more of his scarred body.
And there were many.
His entire body bore the marks of every fight he had ever been in. Benedict couldn't look away. He memorized each scar, wondering where they had come from and what kind of life Vincent must have lived to have been injured so often.
But they all seemed old. No fresh wounds.
However, Vincent's physique drew him in despite himself. There wasn't a single ounce of excess on his body; everything was exactly where it should be. If Benedict had to criticize anything, it would be his very pale skin—he was convinced a bit of a tan would suit him.
Still, the overall image of the man named Vincent was beginning to pull him in.
A knowing smile played on Vincent's lips.
"Do you like what you see?"
Benedict let out a quiet snort. "As if."
Vincent smirked and sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. His erection was hard, hanging heavily between his legs.
The thought of having that inside him moments later still made Benedict uneasy. On the other hand, he still hadn't come, and he needed the stimulation to finally reach the release he was craving.
Before Vincent could get the idea of pinning him down again and taking control completely, Benedict decided to take matters into his own hands.
He climbed onto Vincent's lap. His body was still pulsing with urgent need, the emptiness left behind by Vincent's fingers almost unbearable. Strange, how he felt now—considering he had always been the dominant one during sex.
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So you want to take the initiative?" he murmured, shifting slightly to make it easier for Benedict to settle on top of him.
"Before you get any more stupid ideas," Benedict muttered.
A soft laugh was the only reply.
Straddling him, Benedict positioned himself. He was still slick from the lubricant Vincent had used, which would at least make things easier.
Probably.
He guided Vincent's length, positioning it at his entrance, counted silently to three, and slowly lowered himself. As expected, it slid in without much resistance—if he ignored the pain. Or rather, the pressure.
Damn it—whatever it was, it was uncomfortable and completely unfamiliar. His nails dug into Vincent's shoulder as the air caught in his throat. Vincent was too big. It felt like he was being split apart.
Benedict cursed under his breath, his face tightening.
No. This wasn't going to work. There was no way he could take all of him. How had it worked back then with Dan? He hadn't been small either. Benedict still remembered the tears, the fear that had suddenly overtaken Dan. And he remembered just as clearly how he had promised to be careful, to stop if it became too much. He had covered him in kisses and given him all the time he needed to adjust to his size.
Even though, in that moment, he had felt like he might come at any second from Dan's tightness, he had held back. He had loved him, and he had wanted his first time to be perfect.
But now, there was no love involved.
So how was he supposed to turn this miserable attempt into something that could even remotely be called sex?
Suddenly, Vincent's hand moved gently over Benedict's back.
"Do you usually try to take more than you can handle?" he asked quietly, leaning in to kiss the hollow of Benedict's neck. "Take your time. The night is still young."
Benedict frowned, annoyed, a shaky breath leaving him.
"…shut up…" he muttered.
But instead of replying, Vincent placed his hands on Benedict's hips and helped guide him lower. He moved him in slow circles, meeting him with soft, shallow thrusts, while his other hand traced soothing patterns along Benedict's back. His kisses wandered from his neck down to his nipples, where he gently sucked on them.
It wasn't an area that particularly stimulated Benedict, but Vincent's touch helped him relax—helped him take more of him in.
Until they were finally fully joined.
It felt as if his head were filled with cotton. His lower body went numb, and for a moment, he heard nothing but his own moan. The pulsing in his body was so intense that he briefly wondered how fast his heart must be racing.
His breathing turned heavy. His legs trembled. Everything felt strange—until he noticed the dampness at his tip. Only then did he realize that he was climaxing.
Just because Vincent was inside him.
Just because he filled him completely.
What the…?
He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. Alongside the sensation of being split apart, it felt overwhelmingly good. His body trembled from the aftershocks, and at the same time, he could feel that Vincent was still hard. He hadn't climaxed—and was already beginning to move again, without asking.
Benedict didn't feel ready to continue. His body was so sensitive that he could already feel the tension building again.
"W-wait…" he breathed.
His forehead sank against Vincent's shoulder, his breath warm and uneven.
"Don't move… or I'll come again…"
He heard Vincent's low, husky laugh. His shoulders trembled slightly, the depth of his voice resonating in his chest.
"Do it. Come as often as you like," Vincent murmured. Then he gave him a sharp smack on the backside. Benedict let out a startled cry and straightened up abruptly—only to find himself face-to-face with Vincent's aroused expression. "Just don't forget to move. I want to get something out of this too."
He tilted his head slightly. A few strands had come loose from his messy bun.
"At the very least, I expected more after the way you crawled onto my lap so decisively."
Benedict hit him on the shoulder.
"You bastard…!" he hissed. "Who said you could just slap my ass like that?!"
"Since when do you need permission for a little slap, officer?" Vincent asked innocently. "I just wanted to see if it's as firm as it looks."
His hands gripped Benedict's backside, kneading it.
"Feels pretty good, actually. Though a bit more padding wouldn't hurt."
"I already told you—I'm not into pain," Benedict shot back.
"You can hardly call a little slap pain," Vincent smirked, his gaze turning challenging. "I could show you a thing or two. Pain happens to be my specialty."
His words sent a faint shiver through Benedict.
"You talk too much," he muttered.
Carefully, he lifted his hips, biting his lower lip as he began to move. He was slowly getting used to the sensation of Vincent inside him. Besides, it was time to pick up the pace. Being in the receiving position was more exhausting than he had expected. If he wanted to prove—despite his earlier words—just how desirable he could be, he needed to put in some effort.
His choice of words so far hadn't exactly helped, and he had been more dismissive than seductive.
What the hell are you doing, Ben? Get a grip and satisfy this bastard beneath you so he'll never want to let you go—and so you can get every bit of information you need out of him.
So he focused on Vincent and on what they were doing.
It didn't take long for him to find a rhythm. Despite Vincent's size, it gradually became easier to move against him. His motions still felt unfamiliar, but his trained body helped him maintain a steady pace that was far from inadequate.
Damn, with every thrust he could feel another orgasm building. On top of that, he was still wearing that damn shirt. He was hot, sweat beginning to run down his forehead.
It felt good.
Benedict placed his hands on Vincent's knees and straightened his back. In this position he felt every movement more intensely, every tiny detail. It was as if everything inside him focused on this single moment. His legs began to tremble, an uncontrollable shaking that slowly spread through his entire body. It became increasingly difficult to keep up the pace.
His lower body throbbed intensely, an urgent, almost impossible-to-ignore desire. The closer he got to climax, the more he lost control. Again and again he thought he was finally crossing the threshold—and yet, at the last moment, he held back.
"That wasn't bad for your first time in this position," Vincent praised him. "Now it's my turn."
His words were a dark promise, and before Benedict could form a single clear thought, Vincent had grabbed his hips and thrust hard. Benedict cried out in pleasure. White spots danced before his eyes as the orgasm finally overwhelmed him. Before it had even subsided, Vincent had pulled out and pressed him onto the bed. He pulled him onto his knees and entered him again.
Benedict couldn't get out a coherent word. He had just climaxed, and already Vincent was thrusting into him again and again with powerful strokes. He could no longer tell up from down. It was too much.
Far too much stimulation.
He wasn't even used to being taken from behind! So why did it feel so damn good?
By now, Vincent's shirt clung to him like a second, very damp skin.
Vincent might have been thrusting hard into him, but he knew exactly how intense to be and how to move inside him so that Benedict could feel precisely how skilled he was at sex.
Damn… Benedict couldn't think straight anymore.
Why was he here again?
Dan… he moaned loudly, dissolving into a whimper of pleasure… right, he was here because of Dan…
He came again in heavy waves; behind him he heard Vincent groan, and shortly after he felt Vincent climax inside him. Hadn't he put on a condom? Benedict was pretty sure he had put one on before he had sat down on his lap.
Breathing heavily, Vincent pulled out of him. Benedict let himself fall onto the bed and rolled onto his back. He gasped for air. Between his legs it was far too wet—how much had that bastard actually come inside him?
For a moment, Benedict closed his eyes.
Exhaustion settled over him, heavy and yet strangely pleasant. It wasn't an unpleasant tiredness, but one that loosened him, made him feel lighter. For a moment, he felt free of everything that had been weighing on him before.
Something cool touched his cheek.
"Drink something. I don't want you passing out from dehydration," Vincent said.
He brushed the damp hair from his sweaty forehead.
"Thanks."
Benedict sat up and took several deep swallows from the bottle Vincent had handed him.
His lower body felt sore, but he didn't mind. Despite his initial concern, this had really been worth it. He lowered the bottle and wiped his damp mouth, then handed it back to Vincent. The shirt was now clinging to him quite uncomfortably.
"I'm going to take a shower," he said briefly, reaching for the buttons of his shirt to undo them.
But before he could even open the first one, Vincent leaned over him. With a quick, decisive movement, he grabbed Benedict's wrists and pushed him back onto the mattress.
"Who says we're done?"
Benedict snorted softly, an amused glint in his eyes.
"Are you sure you can still go? You've pretty much worn yourself out."
Vincent shot him a challenging look. "If you can still talk back like that, then you clearly haven't had enough." His gaze dropped to the still-buttoned shirt. "Besides, I told you not to touch those buttons."
Benedict had already had more than enough—any more and his backside would fall apart.
"Thanks, but—" he began.
But then Vincent's lips were on his again. He kissed him passionately while undoing the shirt button by button. Breathless, Benedict broke the kiss and looked up at the man above him, more or less in shock.
"You seriously want to keep going?"
"I've only come once, while you've already come four times," Vincent replied with amusement. "Don't underestimate my stamina." He raised an eyebrow challengingly. "Or do you want to give up, officer?"
Benedict cursed under his breath. "Damn bastard. Because of you, I probably won't be able to walk for a week."
Still, he didn't pull back. Instead, he drew one leg up in a provocative gesture and spread it slightly, leaving no doubt about his answer.
"Your performance so far has been… decent," he added. "So keep trying."
His gaze dropped to Vincent's hardened erection once more.
"Decent, huh?" Vincent asked quietly.
A moment later, he was over him again. He unbuttoned the shirt and kissed along Benedict's chest before entering him once more. Benedict hissed softly as Vincent filled him again.
"Then lean back and relax, and let me take care of you."
The slight pain faded quickly as he gave himself over to the man's touch.
From that moment on, Vincent treated him with a devotion Benedict had rarely experienced. It didn't take long before his thoughts dissolved, leaving only sensation behind.
He wrapped his arms around Vincent's neck and pulled him closer so he could kiss him.
A quiet voice inside him didn't want this night to end.