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If you asked III how long they’d been here, he could tell you exactly.
The idea had been his own: play one of their albums and fuck Vessel to it. III had chosen This Place Will Become Your Tomb, with one specific moment in mind. He knows Vessel better than he’s known anyone in his life, before or after deciding to serve Sleep. Despite this fact, he has no idea how Vessel is going to react to this. It’s more for III to send a message to stop the screaming in his mind.
Before getting inside of him, III had abused Vessel’s chest until he was whimpering and thrusting into the air between them. From where III is laid flat on the bed, he has a perfect view of Vessel’s painfully red nipples, the marks from III’s insistent mouth blooming all around them. He reaches out to pluck at them again, just a little, just enough to make Vessel beg him. He doesn’t know whether Vessel wants him to stop or continue, the other just saying breathless please s over and over as III rolls his hips lazily to the beat of the song.
The stamina Vessel has shown is truly impressive— their albums aren’t short. It’s mostly been languid, slow rolls of his hips, and he’s done his best to avoid Vessel’s prostate whenever he gets too close. He doesn’t always manage it, and they’ve had to take a couple breaks for Vessel to collapse onto III and breathe for a minute.
III watches now, as Vessel does his best to be good and just take what he’s given. He knows it’s hard for Vessel to keep himself from fucking down onto III, take control of the situation and get what he wants. With their typical dynamic, III appreciates the effort to listen and obey.
The parts of Vessel’s skin that haven’t been overtaken by grey are flushed a lovely red. Spots of his face, his neck, shoulders and chest, all pinked up for III. The grey pieces are darker where the blush sits, like the rushing blood is deepening whatever color it touches. It makes III’s teeth itch to bite.
Vessel throws his head back, moaning loud and low from deep in his chest. III knows he’s close again, but he needs him to last just a little longer. He changes the angle of his thrusts and Vessel whines, dips his head forward and whispers III’s name with desperation clear in his voice. III removes his hands from Vessel’s chest, gripping his hips and squeezing once.
“A little longer, sweetheart,” III says, squeezing again, “Almost there.” Vessel nods quickly, three shakes of his head like he’s trying to convince himself that he can do this as much as he’s telling III. When III takes his hands completely off of Vessel’s skin to prop himself up on his forearms, Vessel gasps, nearly a sob. Good Sleep, III wonders if he could make Vessel cry . It’s a pretty picture, tears tracking down his soft skin as he sobs for III to let him cum. If III weren’t on a mission, he’d play the album again and see how long it takes to get there.
The entire thing, all 45 minutes and 15 seconds, has led up to this moment. Really, everything else was an excuse to get to this. He’d intentionally started with Like That, needing the cycle to end on Mine. As soon as it starts, III sits up, wrapping his arms around Vessel, one hand in his dark hair, the other splayed down the curve of his neck. The change of position clearly shifts the way III is hitting inside of him, judging by the way Vessel’s breath hitches, his head tipping back to press into III’s hand in his hair. III tugs a little, once, just to hear Vessel moan again.
III’s not known for his singing voice, though he’s not awful either. Either way, he sings along with the song. He ducks his head down to lay kisses along Vessel’s collar bones and traps between lines. Vessel gasps, whines, groans, lets out sounds III’s not sure he’s ever heard from him.
With this song, III does his best to snap his hips a little harder, aiming for the spot that makes Vessel squeeze his eyes shut. By the heaving of his chest, the tremble in his fingers where they slide along III’s back, III knows he’s doing something right.
“Touch yourself,” III orders after the first verse, feeling himself get closer with the rougher thrusts. Vessel’s hand shoots down, fisting his cock like he’ll die if he doesn’t. He buries his face in III’s hair, whether to muffle his noises or because keeping his head upright is too much work right now, III doesn’t know. Either way, he lets him hide for a moment, quietly singing into his chest. The angle is hell on his neck, too tall to be hunched over like this, but he needs the feeling of Vessel’s skin against his lips.
As they near the end of the song, III tucks his face into Vessel’s neck, singing against him.
Did you not say we were made for each other?
Vessel sobs again, loud and raw. III uses the hand in his hair to tilt his face down, getting so close that their lips brush with the movement of his words. He cradles Vessel’s face in his free hand, pressing lightly just below his eye. Vessel takes the signal, opening his eyes to look at III. His eyes are glassy, hazy. III meets his gaze steadily, drinking in the grey-blue of his eyes, their noses bumping.
Did you not say we were made for each other?
Once the last line is out, III has to kiss Vessel, can’t wait one more second. What he’s not expecting is Vessel’s eyes to squeeze shut, his mouth dropping open against III’s as he cums. After so long, it’s almost violent, Vessel’s entire body shaking with it, his cum coating his hand, their stomachs, some of his chest.
It’s enough to have III following him. He buries himself as deep as he can, fingers tightening involuntarily in Vessel’s hair. He lets out a pained moan, III answering with his own. He’d been so anxious for the special moment that he’d been completely oblivious to his own pleasure, too distracted to realize he was as worked up as Vessel. It crashes over him in waves, his hips twitching like they’re trying to drive his cock into Vessel’s core.
When he comes back to himself, he’s still kissing Vessel. It’s devolved into small, sweet presses of lips between labored breaths. Usually, Vessel would be the one to clean them up and make III drink some water, but III figures he could use a break this time.
The whine Vessel gives when III pulls out is pathetic. It only makes III want to ruin him more. Maybe later. He lays Vessel down on the bed, his head on the pillow. Vessel reaches for him, tries to pull him down. III relents, laying himself on top of Vessel. It must be grounding, because eventually Vessel’s grip on his back loosens, eventually turning into him pushing at III.
“Go get me water,” he demands, still too out of it to truly be his bossy self. III just huffs a laugh, leaning back on his heels to fetch the glass of water on the desk next to the bed. Vessel sits up, but makes III feed him the water. III can’t help but watch the movement of his throat as he swallows, downing the entire glass in one go.
They’re gross as hell, so III goes to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. He uses one side of it to wipe himself off, needing to scrub a little at the cum that has dried while they laid together. When he emerges, Vessel is stretching. He’s spread out across the mattress, skin mottled grey to match the sheets, arms above his head and toes pointed down. He’s shameless, leering at III when he catches him staring. III sighs at him, walking over to start cleaning him off.
Once they’re adequately clean– III knows Vessel definitely doesn’t have the energy for a shower, so this will have to do– III crawls into bed. He moves Vessel around like a doll, arranging him exactly how he wants for maximum cuddling.
Luckily, the light switch is close to the bed, because III forgot to flick it off before laying down. He stretches up, smacking at the wall until he turns the flat switch off. The room descends into darkness, III’s eyes taking a moment to adjust. He looks down to Vessel’s head on his chest, only able to see his hair, but not caring in the slightest. Any part of Vessel is his favorite.
III closes his eyes and tries to sleep. It doesn’t take long to feel the pull of it, with all that he’s just exerted himself. He wonders if Sleep will visit him in his dreams tonight, tell him he’s taking good care of Vessel. Probably not, but it’s a nice thought.
“Hey,” Vessel whispers just as III is about to pass out. III shakes his head a little, tilting his chin down to look again at the top of Vessel’s head.
“What’s up?” he asks, voice already heavy with sleep. There’s a beat of silence where no one says anything. Vessel props himself up with a forearm next to III’s side, black hair falling in his face while he looks at III through the darkness. He dips down, laying a lingering kiss on III’s lips. When he pulls back, his expression is uncharacteristically soft.
“We were made for each other,” he says finally, so quiet, so shy, like it’s a secret he’s not sure he should share. Immediately, III’s heart swells, feels like it’s going to burst. Butterflies overtake his stomach, almost nauseous with the love bubbling up inside of him. It’s not the I love you that III sometimes fantasizes about, but it’s as close as he’s going to get.
“We were made for each other,” III repeats back to him. It makes Vessel smile, bright in the darkness. One day III will say the words he wants to, the words that try to fight their way out of his throat any time Vessel looks at him.
I love you. I love you. I love you.