Chapter Text
Alastor was soaked.
His clothes clung to his skin, a wet, sticky grip from both the rain and his victim's blood that had (mostly) washed away. His feet dragged heavily on the floor, his back hunched in exhaustion. This particular one had put up a good fight, and that's without considering how heavy his body had been to drag around…
Alastor opened the door to his shared apartment. He knew Vincent wasn't around this time of night, probably out doing business things he frankly couldn't care less about. All he wanted to do was take a nice, long, hot shower and sleep. Maybe even prepare a good meal with some nice wine…
His thoughts came to a full fledge stop as he made eye contact with his roommate, who was sprawled on the couch watching TV.
"Hey Al, you won't believe this thing I sa— what's on your shirt?"
Vincent's eyes dragged to Alastor's collar, which had a minor stain of blood. Thankfully the rain had erased most of the evidence, yet a small teensy patch couldn't help but stay. Alastor’s expression was unchanging, his smile still stretched without even a hint of a twitch at the remark.
"Oh it's nothing my dear, just a pesky little stain. Tell me— what did you see that was so interesting?" He put his coat up to hand, turning his face away as Vincent blabbed on about a new shark fact. He turned to hide his expression, wide with panic.
Why on earth was he home? He was lucky to get out of it relatively easily, well— no. Vincent was much dumber than perceptive.
Alastor relaxed, straightening himself out. He was fine. He would simply walk himself to the bathroom, calm and collected, and then wash his clothes when he came out. He just couldn’t let his roommate get close to him. He would definitely be able to smell the reek of organs and blood all over him—
“What’s in the bag Al?” Vincent was behind him. Not only was he behind him, close to him, definitely close enough to smell him, he was also inquiring on the contents of his bag— his very illegal bag full of bloody knives and tools. It was getting harder to keep calm now. Alastor instinctively push Vincent away, his hands coming to his chest to put some distance between them.
"Please, a little space. I've just had a tiresome night— I'd enjoy a bit of time alone, if you don't mind." Vincent took a step back, eyebrows twisted with confusion. His heart tugged ever so slightly at his words, a pinch of hurt painting his features.
Now that he really looked at him, Alastor was a mess. His hair stuck out of place, his usual smooth curls coming out in a frizz, his breath— Vincent noticed— drew short. He smelled faintly of sweat and— was his shirt unbuttoned? And the red stain on his collar—
Vincent froze, dead in his tracks. Alastor had been with a woman.
Of course— that was far from the truth. Alastor had done no such thing. The most eventful activity of his night had been slicing open his victim's neck after being so openly disrespected.
"Did you...get laid?"
Alastor's smile twitched into something almost comical, eyes wide with absolute and utter bewilderment.
"What on earth made you think that?" He asked, tone laced with shock and a slight hint of confusion. Vincent merely pointed.
"Are you kidding me? You're a mess! Your hair, your smell, your shirt— hell I can even see the lipstick stain! Oh my God Alastor are those hickeys—?"
Alastor pulled his shirt closed. No— they were in fact not hickeys— but a mangled mess of scratches his feisty victim had made. Still, it wouldn't be a bad excuse for Vincent to think that. It definitely seemed believable, so if he played into it right he could get away with it. Alastor straightened up, dusting himself off.
"Well Vincent, I don't see how it could be any of your business what I get up to on a Sunday evening. Frankly I find it quite rude to ask. Do you see me inquiring of your own... endeavours?"
Vincent stuttered, eyes wide with what seemed to be something similar to panic.
"W-Well— No but—"
"Then hush, my dear, and let me go take my shower in peace." Alastor walked towards the bathroom door without even letting the other answer, the door shutting with a small click!
Vincent simply stood, mouth slightly agape as he just starred. Alastor had gotten laid. Alastor had gotten laid and it was from a girl.
Probably a nice pretty one too, he thought.
He shook his head. No. It couldn't be. He refused to believe it. But deep down, the twisting in his gut told him something entirely different— that Alastor had gotten laid by some lovely broad— a beautiful broad-- a broad he was unbelievably and so utterly jealous of. Vincent plopped back on the couch, his lips forming into a small pout as he continued watching his shark documentary. Whatever. He knew it was going to happen eventually. Alastor was just so calm and his voice so melodious and actions so fluent.
Meanwhile, the man in question was in the bathroom practically shaking with laughter. The look of utter bafflement on his roommate's face was one he's sure to remember for years to come. Coming down from his little victory, he began peeling off his clothes, and after a long night, finally took his long, hot shower.
Vincent had blood everywhere.
Gods curse him. His victim had been absolutely horrendous that night, the meeting hadn't gone as planned, and the amount of paperwork he had to do could be considered a punishment for his killings. Vincent Whittman was completely and utterly exhausted.
His white shirt and new suit was splattered red. A messy cut right in the neck had sprayed it everywhere on him. Vincent wasn't as methodical as Alastor. He killed a bit carelessly, his knife simply in the fold of his jacket. When he walked in the shared apartment, he assumed Alastor would be on his late night journeys as well.
The business man scoffed. Alastor was probably out dancing and drinking and having fun. Maybe that's why his killing had been especially rough that night, his anger manifesting through harsh knife stabs. To his surprise, a delicious smell wafted through the air when he stepped foot inside. Turning his head, he saw Alastor in an adorable apron, humming away jazzy little tunes as he cut up some meat. The man turned to meet his eyes, his smile ever-so-present.
"Ahhh, Vincent my dear! Just in time for..." His eyes dragged up and down his bloodied clothes.
"...Dinner."
Fuck. He was so cute. He was so fucking cute he didn't know what to do because all he could focus on was Alastor in the goddamn apron. The shark apron he had gotten himself because he had spontaneously decided one day to learn how to cook only to have abandoned it. But it didn't matter because Alastor was wearing it—
"What's on your shirt, my dear?"
Vincent looked down.
"O-Oh! It's nothing Al things just got a little... messy at work. You know how the business industry can be sometimes, haha!"
Alastor narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"I don't believe business endeavours have anything to do with the large amount of blood splattered all over you, but yes, do go on..."
Ohhh shit. Shit shit shit motherFUCKER he was screwed.
"N-No it's not—! Look I'm not supposed to say this— company policy and all— but someone had an accident today. Robert, my co-worker. I was walking with him, and I had just turned away for a second when he started convulsing. Obviously like the good man I am, I went to go help him— when he started throwing up blood all over me. The paramedics were called but it was too late. He was gone when they arrived."
Vincent put on the best fake story he could manage, the words coming out surprisingly genuine. His tone shifted with every phrase, his face contorting into one of pure sympathy and pain, as if it had truly hurt to see his boss go through something so horrendous.
Vincent was a business man. He might be careless with his kills, but boy was he good with his face.
Alastor's suspicion died down as the story progressed. It made sense, he guessed. Plus, Vincent being the crybaby he is around Alastor— he doubted he had the guts to voluntarily hurt someone, let alone kill. An image flashed in his mind of Vincent potentially finding Alastor out, screaming like a frilly little girl and running for his life. Alastor repressed a chuckle at the thought. It's not like he'd get very far, either.
"Oh, I see. My condolences then. Wash up and come quick, dinner is almost ready."
Vincent made a show of tiredly nodding, dragging his feet to the bathroom before shutting the door. The second he was alone, he put a hand over his mouth and repressed a groan, biting his lip so hard he swore he'd make himself even more of a bloodied mess. Relief washed over him like a cool wave on a blazing summer day, making his muscles lax as his back slid down the door.
Holy fuck. That was a close one.
Finally letting himself begin to relax, he let his mind focus on the other thing at hand— Alastor in the apron. His shark apron. Fuck.
Was he a perv for getting hard at the sight? Maybe, but he couldn't find the will to care anymore.
Alastor and Vincent took turns doing the laundry. It was a meticulous, organized plan made by the radio host himself. He was someone who constantly had to have everything in order, a bit of a control freak— if you will.
This week it was Alastor's turn. He never really enjoyed taking care of Vincent's things, always scrunching his nose in disgust at certain items of clothing.
"Good gosh why does he never—" Alastor's words caught in his throat.
His fingers trailed over the familiar shape of a knife as he went over the businessman's suit. Pulling it out, his eyes widened. A sharp, butcher knife. One similar he used to murder his own victims.
And it was bloody.
A beat passed before Alastor's smile stretched wide. "What an interesting little find, Mr. Whittman..."
A few hours passed. Vincent was out, late at night once again, and Alastor was relaxing with a nice glass of wine. The bloodied knife was right on display on the table, a sore thumb within the clean space of the kitchen.The radio host simply waited for his roommate to get home, chuckles threatening to erupt at the mere thought of his reaction already. When Vincent finally did arrive, Alastor could tell his day had been anything but good. His hair was ruffled, exhaustion painting his under eyes a deep purple.
"Al you won't believe the shit day I had at work—" His eyes caught on the knife.
"Hello, my dear! Yes— do go on— how was work?"
Vincent's jaw was comically open, panic surging through his eyes. Alastor simply hummed.
"Hmm, oh this? Yes, I found it in your suit jacket. The same one you wore on your colleagues unfortunate passing. I was hoping you could explain this as well."
Oh gosh the look on his face was absolutely priceless. This was something he could use to better sleep at night.
Vincent Whittman, a businessman of such rigour and power, was rendered absolutely helpless at the evidence layer bare in front of him. What could he even say? What excuse could he give that he hadn't already? He was utterly screwed, completely and utterly screwed—
"I- just- M-My...Coworker gave it! A-As a gift!"
God. That was pathetic.
Alastor's smile widened, a glimmer of something bordering amusement gleaming in his eyes.
"A gift you say? Well, what a gift indeed! Tell me, how did this coworker of yours come up with such a thing to give you?" He was enjoying this way too much. They way the other man's legs visibly trembled, his already pale complexion becoming borderline transparent, he could do this for hours.
"W-Well— I— It just— It's a tradition! Of sorts... I-It's a business thing you wouldn't get Al—" His words began to shiver the same way he did. Alastor could practically hear his bones clattering against each other.
A small, teensy weensy amount of pity pinched at his heart, his hand coming up to stop him.
"Alright alright, I see. I guess it is something I just wouldn't get. Go wash up now, dear, dinner is ready. Don't make me take your portion, now."
Vincent visibly relaxed, his muscles practically going slack. He mumbled something incoherent as he stumbled to the bathroom, the door shutting. Alastor began prepping the plates, letting his laughter spill out as softly as he could. His stomach physically hurt from having to push it down, tears accumulating in the corners of his eyes.
My gosh, what fun this was.