Chapter Text
You don’t remember how you got to Victor’s. The gunshots are still ringing in your ears, your heart still hammers in your chest. You breathe, deep breaths.
Victor’s holding your hands. When did you sit on the couch? He’s talking, but you still just hear buzzing. Your body is vibrating with anxiety.
“Angel…” You blink back into the present. His thumb goes across your cheek; it’s red out of the corner of your eye. You still have Marcus’s blood on your face. “Hey.” You meet his eyes. Then rise, abruptly.
“I need to…I need to get clean.” You shift past the coffee table and go straight up the stairs, pulling off your shoes and clothes as you go. The marble tiles in his bathroom feel cool under your feet as you cut his shower on again and step in, closing your eyes and letting the water rinse away the blood and the memory of the last few hours.
Victor chained three men up and tortured them. For a week. For you. He tortured them in between sessions of nursing you back to health, and then let them starve for three days while the two of you fucked.
The same hands he used to torture them, he used to cut fruit for you to eat, change your bandages, hold you.
And you’re okay with it. You’re fucking okay with it.
You thought you weren’t, when you saw them chained up. You know you’re being hypocritical; you’ve killed people before. But you were precise, fast, your victims didn’t suffer. Victor wanted his to. For you.
And then after all that, you killed them.
And you’re fucking okay with it.
More than okay. Elated. Delighted. Thrilled.
When you were a teenager, you asked your mother why she stopped doing covert missions after 20 years of it. She’d fallen quiet, standing above the stove as she cooked. Your father’s fingers tightened around the handle of the charcuterie board on the other side of the island. She turned a little to look at you then, peeking through the halo of curls around her face and said, impassively, “I was afraid of the person I turned into.”
“This is what she meant,” you whisper, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You breathe; those men tried to kill you but that shouldn’t matter. They were going to kill Madison but that shouldn’t matter. Victor saved both of you, you saved you but that shouldn’t matter.
You still tortured and murdered three men. In cold blood. And you enjoyed it.
Victor isn’t good for you. In the ways that should matter but don’t.
Can you be okay with that?
You feel a hand on your shoulder and you jump, turning to swing on the person behind you. Victor catches you by the forearm and you relax, only a little. He reaches around you, leans forward a little, kisses you softly and pulls away, holding up some of his body wash.
“You’re just standing there,” he opens the bottle and squeezes some onto a loofah, then starts to scrub you down, briefly pausing in his ministrations to tease you a little as he cleans between your thighs. He works his way back up and picks up the body wash bottle again as he nudges you back underneath the stream of water.
“Top left,” he says. You look up, and chuckle. There’s a new bottle of your preferred skin cleanser sitting on a shelf next to two orange bottles. You step close, the water beating down on your neck, and grab the bottle. You open it and clean your face. Victor nudges you out of the way and ducks into the path of the shower head, hissing as the water hits his chest.
“Hot water is bad for your skin, you know.” He resumes his spot behind you as you turn the water lukewarm and rinse your face.
“Fascinating. I’ll think about that the next time I take an extremely hot shower.”
“That sounded sarcastic.”
“It was,” you reply, turning to smile at him.
“There’s blood in your hair, smartass.” He’s holding one of the orange bottles in his hands; he takes your braids out of your high bun, squeezes some of the bottle’s contents out and lathers it between his hands. The smell makes you smile, a little.
“Why do you have Cream of Nature in your shower?” He shrugs as he steps forward and gently massages the lather into your hair.
“In case you needed it.” You shiver a little as you relax into it.
“When did you get this stuff?” You sigh; tension slowly winds out of your body.
“A couple days before the museum benefit,” he murmurs, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder. You smirk.
“Well weren’t you confident?” His thumbs slide down the back of your neck and back up into your hair; you let out a soft, low moan.
“Yes, maybe unreasonably so,” he chuckles. He turns you around and guides you underneath the water. You sigh again, as the water beats down on your scalp, makes your braids heavier. Victor presses against you, reaches behind you and pulls your braids forward, over your shoulders.
You let out a sigh as he turns the water off and wrings your braids dry for you, then hands you a towel for your hair as you both get out of the shower.
“Here,” he says; he lays a soft, fluffy robe over your shoulders and kisses the back of your neck. “Face moisturizer is in the cabinet.” You pull the robe on, then turn and hop on top of the counter, your legs swinging as you pull the cabinet open. Once you apply the moisturizer to your face, he pushes a bottle of body lotion over to you.
“You thought of everything, didn’t you?” You laugh, taking it and rubbing it into your skin.
“I want you to be comfortable,” he replies; he brushes his hand across your thigh and takes your hand. The hand that unloaded a clip into a man’s legs not even an hour and a half ago. You pull your hand away, then hesitate. Then reach forward and squeeze his hand. Victor shifts toward you, stands between your legs. He gently nudges your chin so you’ll meet his eyes.
“Hey,” he says, gently. His lips look amazing; you want to touch them with yours, more than anything.
“How are you fe—” You cut him off, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. You pull him forward and wrap your legs around him. His arms go around you and he pulls away from you, his stunning gaze fixed on you. “Hey…” his thumb goes across your cheek again. “Hey.” You meet his eyes. “You haven’t said anything. That’s uncharacteristic of you.” Your mouth descends on his again, and he gasps as you slowly grind against him.
“Fuck me,” you groan against his mouth. Victor grasps at the back of your neck and he pulls you away from his mouth.
“What?” You reach down and touch him, knocking his towel loose from his hips.
“You wanna know how I’m doing?” You murmur; you bite his bottom lip, hard, and he grunts, gently. “I don’t know yet. But what I do know is that I’m fucking horny. And the fact that you were so fucking concerned about my wellbeing that you held three men hostage while you were taking care of me is, against all sense, just making me hornier. So, if you really are this worried about me, I need you to fuck me until I stop thinking.” Victor watches you for a long minute, his thumb going across your chin.
“Do you need this?” He whispers, softly. His hand goes underneath the robe, warm as it trails down your back. You nod.
“Please,” you say. Victor kisses you, picking you up. He takes you across to his bedroom, laying you down on the edge of the bed. You move to rise. “My hair is still—”
“Shhh…” he presses you back down and follows you, laying flush against you and kissing you again, biting your bottom lip. Fondness flutters through you as he kisses you, as he pushes the robe off your shoulders. You touch his face and he meets your eyes.
“Please don’t be gentle,” you beg, your voice gently cracking. Victor’s eyes narrow as he looks at you. He brushes his fingers across your jawline, and nods.
“It’s okay, angel,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of you.” Victor violently grips your hip and flips you over, shoving you into the mattress. He claws into your shoulder and shoves his cock into you, hissing as you quiver around him. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust; he just rams into you, sharp, hard, fast, curling his hand around and under you to grab one of your breasts.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You feel so fucking good. You feel good, sweetness?”
“Don’t call me that,” you sigh. Victor’s hand on your shoulder moves to your neck and he yanks you upward, changing the angle, thrusting harder and deeper into you as he curls over your back.
“Answer my fucking question, sweetness,” he snarls into your ear. His voice makes you feel hot all over. You shake, nodding as much as you can with his hand around your neck, the overwhelmingly tight press of him as he splits you open. “Speak.”
“Yes,” you sigh immediately, your fingers clawing into his sheets.“Yes, it’s so fucking good.”
“Gonna fuck the life out of you,” he grunts; he reaches between your shaking thighs and works your clit, hard, hauls you higher up, to face the mirror across from you both. “Gonna make you come so hard you’ll beg me to stop.” Your arms swing; you reach behind yourself to grab his hips for leverage. He forces your head to turn, to look up at him.
“Put your hands on my arm,” he commands. You hesitate, for half a second; his right whips out from between your legs and comes down on your ass, hard, harder than he’s ever hit it before. You let out a loud sharp gasp, your hands flying up to grasp his forearm.
“Sweetness,” his voice is raspy, low as he starts again, thrusting slow, painfully slow, hard, his eyes locked on yours in the reflection. “When I tell you to fucking do something, I expect you to do it. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you can feel your wetness dripping down your legs, you can see Victor’s dick gliding in and out of your tight heat, his fingers raking up your thigh and slapping the side of it. You let out a sharp yelp.
“Good,” he inches down, to your opening, draws a slick finger up to your clit, and gently, lightly glides over it, his hand at odds with the viciousness of his thrusts. You’re gonna lose your fucking mind like this; you need to come; you just need a little more pressure, a little tighter grip, a little more— “You really wanted me to fuck you rough, hm? Choke you, spank you, order you around?”
You’re silent; you know he won’t like it. He slaps your thigh and you jolt against him, briefly knocking him off rhythm. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” you sigh, immediately. He applies a little more pressure to your clit, just a little.
“You should have asked, sweetness,” he sighs, pressing his mouth to the spot below your ear, bites it. His hand drops to your opening again, to where he’s slipping in and out of you, hard and tight and rough, then back up to your swollen clit, giving it the lightest of touches. Fuck. “I’ll fuck you any way you want me to, as long as I get to fuck you. As long as I get to lay you out, make you take my dick, make you come on my fingers, on my tongue, make. you. fucking. scream.” you let out a quiet “fuck!” as he punctuates each word with a sharp, deep thrust, “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Please,” you sigh. “Please…I need to come. Please, Vic. Please.”
“Say my name,” he groans.
“Victor.”
“Beg me.”
“Please, you’re so good, you’re so fucking good, I’m gonna die if I don’t come, please.” You’re babbling, panting, letting out soft little screams when he changes his rhythm, edging you out but never letting you tumble over. Your mind is gone; his grip tightens on your throat, his fingers come down harder on your clit, he moves, faster, his thrusts sharper and you gasp, shaking as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. He works you through it, fucks you through it, ignoring your begging as he drags you up the incline of another orgasm, whispering to you about how fucking tight you are, how good you feel around his cock, how you belong on it, how he wishes he could tie you down and fuck you 24/7.
His nail digs a little sharply into you and your hands drop, to his hips, on impulse. Victor tsks; he shoves you down into the mattress, catches your arms, grips them against your back, and fucks into you.
“If you can’t follow orders, I’m not touching your clit, sweetness,” he grunts. You let out a sharp cry; it’s too much, and not enough. He’s deeper now, slamming across your g-spot with every stroke. You want to reach down between your legs and stroke yourself but you can’t. Fuck.
“Come on,” he sighs; you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Hurry up and come, sweetness.”
“I can’t!”
“You can.”
“Please, I can’t!”
“Yes. You. Can.”
“Fuck!”
“Gimme one more. One fucking more.”
“Vic,” you whine; his hand is at your overstimulated clit and you clench around him, hard as you come again. He curses, ramming into you, harder and harder and fucking harder until he lets out a string of curses, rolling his hips, fucking you until he’s spent. He’s still rolling his hips against you, rubbing your clit slow, grinding, making you shake against him.
“Vict—”
“Shush,” he snaps. He slides his dick out of you and turns you over, holds your legs open, pressing them down hard enough to make your hips crack, his fingers digging into your thighs. He grins up at you. “I’m not done having fun yet.”
You’re sore when you wake up later, nestled in the crook of Victor’s arm, your back to his chest. Even breathing hurts a little. You twist in his embrace, rotating until your forehead is against his collarbone, your arms wrapping around his chest. He pulls you even closer, burying his face in your hair, gently stroking your shoulder.
“You smell nice,” he whispers. You laugh.
“I smell like you,” you reply.
“I have no hair, so I don’t smell like your shampoo, angel.”
“Touche.”
“Did it work?” He says after a moment.
“Hm?”
“Did you stop thinking?” Your blood runs cold. He probably feels it; he pulls you closer to him, presses a soft kiss to your hair.
“Yeah,” you reply, after a long stretch of silence.
“Really?” You pull away a little to look up at him, then smile, softly.
“Really. It happened right around the fourth or fifth orgasm. I lost count after that.” Victor smirks.
“I hoped so. You were begging in Latin twenty minutes after I started eating you out.”
“Right,” you sigh. “Once you started fucking me again after that, I was pretty much gone.” His hand trails down your spine, softly. He brings his thumb up to your cheekbone. “Latin?”
“Etiam,” he laughs. He flips onto his back, and you follow him, your ear to his heart.
“Huh…” you prop your head up on his chin. “Classical or Vulgar?”
Victor just looks at you, brow cocked. “What do you think?”
Ding!
Victor’s eyes harden immediately. He gestures for you to go to his bedside drawer. You open it and pull out two guns, then hand one to him. He pulls his phone off the charger; a few light taps on the screen and he’s scrolling through camera footage.
“Fuck.” He wordlessly holds the phone up for you to see. Falcone is standing on Victor’s doorstep, flanked by two bodyguards. “He doesn’t know you’re here.”
Ding!
“Do you want me to be here?” Victor’s eyes lock on your face, darting over it. Then he’s out of bed, pulling on boxers and a pair of trousers. He hands you his shirt, gestures to the overnight he packed for you.
“Yes. If you want to be.” Victor reaches into his closet and pulls out another button up, and throws it over his shoulders, doing up the buttons as he walks into the living room. “Get dressed.”