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Noé had been crying for a while.
It was damn annoying too.
Not because of the volume of it — It wasn’t particularly loud, being muffled by the pillow Noé always held close to his chest and all. But in the empty stillness of their small hotel room, Vanitas could hear every agonizing breathe, every wheeze, every high pitched whine, and especially every attempt at a muffled choked sob.
It’s not that it entirely woke Vanitas up either. Because truthfully Vanitas was bound to wake up anyway with the nightmare he was having. (And for a disgusting moment he had to process who was even crying.)
What truly annoyed the raven haired boy was now that he found out what was happening, he felt this overwhelming guilt to do something about it.
Now he could — let the guilt eat away at his core — and pretend he never heard anything. Or he could and most likely would, do something about it.
If not for Noé but for an excuse to stay up. So he wouldn’t have to go back to bed just to have vivid grotesque images of being sliced to death, only for the doctor to bring him back to life.
Although he left that life physically years and years ago, it still existed very prominently in his mind mentally as if it were still there.
In his dreams he’s still with him, still doing those little experiments — still trapped in hell never to be saved.
But he was saved — which allowed him to be here, with his idiot best friend crying his eyes out 5 feet away from him.
As Vanitas pretends he doesn’t hear a thing.
After an alarming time of being trapped inside his own mind, the raven haired boy had gotten up to accompany his friends bed. He gave up on trying to warn Noé first, or ask if he was alright before getting into his personal space — because after all Vanitas doesn’t do that.
He doesn’t do emotionally exhausting talks, even if proven to be beneficial.
But what he could do was slip beside his pale haired friend in the small bed hardly meant for 2. Their legs bumping into eachother and with the way Noé was in fetal position clinging to his pillow, there was no room for Vanitas. yet he still wiggled his way in, still made it work — copying the pose Noé was doing and sliding right behind him.
Of course only after he wacked Noé’s face with his own pillow in hand. To A. show he wasn’t there for a mushy invitation of talk and B. To get back at Noé for “ruining” his night.
“What was that for?” The vampire’s voice was raw and stuffed up behind a poor croak of words.
“For keeping me up.” Vanitas tsked. His face was shoved into the spine of Noé’s back and now (lucky for him) he could feel every minuscule shudder going through the taller man’s fragile form.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” The voice, slender and squeaky and dreadfully painful spoke with such concern and guilt, Vanitas was convinced Noé was crying a new wave of tears for an entirely new reasons as of now.
As if Vanitas could sleep with the headspace he was in tonight. Noé wasn’t the only one having it hard right now. If Vanitas wore his emotions on his sleeve like Noé did, he’d probably be as pathetic as him half the time if not more.
His own demons were strong, constantly filling his brain and rotting away at his core both physically and mentally. His gloved hand (even worn now during sleep) served to remind him of the proof of his existence being one big curse. That’s all he was. A hidden curse, dressed as a hero to fight for good until he died.
Noé was probably having demons of his own. They both had bad childhoods. Both had reasons for dangerous thoughts to brew inside of their traumatized corrupt minds in the stillness of the night.
So really — without a doubt, coming to Noé’s rescue tonight would help both of them ‘cope’ before morning rays shone through the dark auburn windows of their hotel room.
“As if I care that you woke me.” Vanitas said snappy although softer than usual. Making sure to lace every syllable with a hushed whisper. He saved this tone he held most around Noé, a tone showing tonight. It was that of a “I worry for you but not enough to say it” way that Noé could easily pick up on.
A sob — a deep and all uncontrollable sob came out of the pale haired vampire in that instant, as he stuffed his face in his pillow to mask the severity of it. It was a wail he could only show in the safety and vulnerability that was shown to him. All thanks to the one gently breathing on his bare back.
Vanitas promptly and without much thought — because with thought surly he’d have backed out the second he started — began to push himself impossibly closer to Noé’s curled up form. Gently wrapping a hand around the crying boy to serve as comfort but to also keep him on the bed as he was still half hanging on.
It sure did warm him up. Fitting behind the slot of Noé’s tender body. Letting the shaking and trembling of that shirtless form heave and wail and sniffle grossly into his pillow for as long as he needed to.
Do whatever he needed to do until he eventually fell asleep from exhaustion. Vanitas knew it was a much easier thing for Noé to do now. To fall asleep quicker now that he was with him.
Not that it still wasn’t hard. Vanitas grounding him and rubbing his hand up and down Noé’s arm absolutely made it easier, but undoubtedly the things making Noé cry in the first place were still going to be hard to get through — He just didn’t have to do it alone now.
Vanitas never had enough courage to ask what was wrong.
He wasn’t like Noé.
He couldn’t comfort with voice like Noé could.
He doesn’t have the talent to pry or know the right things to say in order to make others feel better. He’s not gifted with being gentle with his words and patient enough to listen. This would have to do, rubbing small circles in Noé’s boney arm and squeezing him tight after a particularly harsh sob would have to do.
But after a while both of them were tired of the crying.
“Noé, sit up.”
He sat up without question and turned around to face his friend. Vanitas knew he would. He was that kind of person after all. Always one to follow commands. (Even the wrong ones.)
Vanitas sat up with him.
It was late, Vanitas was exhausted and Noé looked even more worn out than him.
Both their hair stuck out of place in a static array and Noé giggled at the raven when both sets of bleary eyes made contact, and a puff of black hair fell dramatically into view.
It was good to hear Noé chuckle, even in a brief moment of idiotic appearance.
Vanitas gave a small smile back, and tucked his black hair behind his ear.
He got a good look at Noé’s shiny eyes. Tear tracks blotched his face in a terribly pathetic way. His nose and cheeks red from all the rubbing.
Noé let out an exhausted sigh, never breaking eye contact as he let his eyes droop to a half lidded sight.
In a very intimate way, Vanitas wasn’t thinking straight when swiping his thumbs on either side of Noé’s cheeks to catch those tears and wipe them away.
They still came back into view. Tears still squeezed out of Noé’s slowly crumbling face as his eyebrows creased in and lip wobbled dangerously close to another pathetic whimper.
If Noé whimpers now, Vanitas might have to kiss him to shut him up.
Luckily Noé kept his lips tight, creating a thin line to trap any noise from coming out.
It hurt to see Noé like this. To see such a happy and hyper man be reduced to such a sad sight.
Vanitas would do almost anything to make it stop. It’s why he thinks he allowed the next thing to happen.
He broke their longing gaze on each other and looked down. He tapped on Noé’s legs and pulled at his waist, guiding the vampire to sit on top of him as they faced each other.
In the small gap they had set, Noé took the initiative to rest his burning forehead ontop of Vanitas equally burning one. (They must have both had headaches by the temperature the touch caused alone.)
They both closed their eyes in the peace they had maintained within such close proximity. Noé’s hot breath landing on Vanitas neck with each shaky exhale.
Salty tears were dripping from tanned cheeks onto a white shirt. Soaking into the fabric and tickling Vanitas chest.
Vanitas let out a warm puff of breath and boldly decided to slowly unbutton his shirt, letting the fabric loosen and reveal one of his pale shoulders.
He’s not sure what he was thinking, clearly wasn’t thinking at all — wasn’t sure what he even wanted to happen or what he meant by doing this.
But he trusted Noé to take over from here, to choose what he wanted to happen.
Because he knows Noé would be the one to make the right choice.
Noé opened his eyes, licking at his salty tear stained lips as he looked down at his best friends innocently smooth shoulder. Even with how bleary his red tinted eyes were, they had become calculated — observing the naked skin with such skill you’d think he could see right through it.
After a rather erotic though and a heavily deepened blush, Noé gently rested his aching head on Vanitas exposed shoulder.
He could never do what he wanted to do so desperately right now.
Sink his fangs into the warm flesh of his best friend.
No matter how enticing it seemed.
But he could kiss that area. Keep his fangs hidden away as he put small gentle pecks on all the places he wanted to bite. Noé was as careful as he could be, even more so with all the tensing Vanitas had done. It was obvious none of them were very practiced at this soft kind of intimacy being shared tonight. Not one of forced manipulation or desire to obtain something.
But one of consent, of tender pleasantry and achieved safety in another. They were simply both here consensually, to make each other feel better.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Noé left his mouth pressed into Vanitas neck unmoving, breathing in the natural scent of his hair. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. His fangs barely grazing the tops of Vanitas pale skin, leaving no trace they were there. He was so gentle, so calculated when pushing his tongue out to lick that pale neck as slow as he could.
Vanitas only moved his head even further to the left, giving Noé more access to the area.
Noé started to suck, not tear — never draw blood, but he had started to kiss a bit more affectionately being mindful of his sharp fangs on such delicate pristine skin.
He treated Vanitas as glass, as if the slightest touch of prominent sharp teeth would rip into the white clean skin and pierce all the way to the other side. (Some part of him wished it could, that he could blame the chance at sucking such sweet blood on the mer fact that Vanitas skin really was “As fragile as glass” and that it was impossible to avoid.)
But Noé was being trusted enough to have even this, he would never allow himself to be selfish enough to ruin it.
The affectionate kissing, paired with Noé’s eager tongue — turned into something even more aggressive than before. He pulled at the tender skin, sucking at it as if mimicking the feeling of sucking at the sweet crimson blood only inches from his mouth in between a few layers of skin.
It’s all that separated his fangs from the thousands of memories laid inside of Vanitas scarred and frighteningly mysterious mind.
Jeanne’s mark was painfully there on Vanitas tainted shoulder and woefully avoided. With Noé having dozens of his own marks circling in place all around it.
His marks weren’t as elegant. There was no pattern or skillfully etched design when leaving a hickey. Yet although very human like these marks were, they still served to show that Vanitas was his.
Every other inch of skin was his own to claim and he’d have to respect that.
He switched sides when there was more raw hickey than pale skin, and started licking Vanitas neck up to his ear. He was working quicker than he was at the beginning, becoming a bit more needy now that he knew what he could have.
Vanitas sat there quietly, mouth agape as he leaned his head on the bed frame taking it all in patiently. Holding onto Noé’s bare back and gripping onto him tightly as the vampire marked his skin. He let Noé rock back and forth passionately, numbing his tinnier legs as all of the vampire’s weight was pressed into him.
None of them said a word, heavy breaths filled the air as the last of Noé’s salty tears dropped down his face and onto Vanitas marred skin.
It’s when Vanitas moaned and gripped at pale hair that Noé knew he needed to stop.
The moan being unintentional and powerfully lustful, hips buckling and shifting forward all at once as bright blue orbs rolled to the back of his skull in a strong wave of pleasure. — It broke the silence with how loud and wanting it all was.
It served as a reminder that there wasn’t much further to go until Noé would regret his actions.
Vanitas tensed the moment Noé pulled that silk button up shirt to his neck, hiding the evidence as much as possible.
Noé buttoned it up with shaky hands, not because he was nervous but from all the exertion of crying and rough playing he had done in such a small period of time.
He sniffled one last time and looked up at Vanitas lust filled eyes. Those vibrant blue orbs still not ready to rest as that blush adorning his pale cheeks only heightened in color.
Noé could tell the raven haired boy didn’t want it to end. No one did. But they didn’t need to explain why it had to end tonight, that it was dangerous to go any further. That Noé resting his fluffy hair on top of covered shoulders would do. Nuzzling his nose in the crook of Vanitas swollen neck and hugging him tightly as they lay back down for rest was and always had to be enough.
“You’ve always been so warm, Noé.”
It had a sad note to it. Was passionate and loving and equally as empty.
Noé hummed not wanting to say anything more for the rest of the night.
Vanitas let out a solemn sigh and held onto Noé, wanting so badly to kiss the top of his head but never once allowing himself to before they both fell in a safe and pleasant slumber. Noé softly snoring into his ear.