Work Text:
"Verlaine... Oh Verlaine..."
Rimbaud's voice echoed in the room, he was laying on the sofa, having his head set on the handle, he covered himself in blankets, hugging a random bottle of wine that he happened to find in Verlaine's office. It's a stupid simple thought, not that stupid though. The alcohol kept him hot, or maybe just warm, the least to say, but it was a mistake to get him drunk. He's just brutal and... wild when he does. Maybe the cold was the only thing able to keep him down, trembling every single minute, seconds he was still breathing.
Verlaine looked up from his paperwork with a loud groan, letting Rimbaud take the bottle to make himself drunk was his idea in the first place, in fact, he suggested it to Rimbaud. He looked at his sweetheart and set the pen down, same endearing tone of voice he usually used, but Rimbaud, either he was delusional or he felt annoyance in it.
“Yes, my Rimbaud?”
“I want sex, Paul.”
“...”
Rimbaud was that wild, but never around anybody else but Verlaine, his Paul Verlaine. Dirty, insane, maniatic. And Verlaine was in love with that Rimbaud, his Arthur Rimbaud. His voice echoed,
and all Verlaine could hear…
“Verlaine…”
“Yes, Rimbaud?”
“I want you…”
“I want your body.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss your touch.”
“It’s cold and lonely here, Verlaine.”
“Come and warm me up.”
“Verlaine…”
“Fuck me.”
“...”
And Verlaine understood him well. He finally set his pen down, closed his notebook and laptop, calmly sorting out his paper, placed them all aside, taking his time before walking over to the drunk figure which was curling, wrapping himself inside the thick layers of blankets. Verlaine sat onto the sofa, aside from Rimbaud. He reached out and took the bottle away from Rimbaud and then took a few chugs of it himself. It didn’t take him that long to finish the whole bottle, his face was all red by then and he was tipsy. He then turned to Rimbaud, who was smiling and having a hopeful look on his face. Rimbaud reached his hand out, expecting his lover to grab it, and he did. Verlaine took Rimbaud’s hand, lips smashed into each other, passionately, too passionate in fact, it was almost aggressive of Verlaine to treat his lover like that, until he did. The kiss lasted long, Verlaine didn’t even pull away when Rimbaud tapped his shoulder, pushed him away and yanked his hair but the man didn’t even budge, Verlaine only pulled away when Rimbaud bit his lower lips, he tasted blood. Verlaine looked at Rimbaud as he licked the blood on his lips then looked at Rimbaud’s. Rimbaud was blushing, eyes glimmering in embarrassment, was that even embarrassment? Still, Verlaine smirked at the sight. And a loud slap, the sound of it echoed the whole room, Rimbaud let out a painful yelp as his lover slapped him and cried out when Verlaine grabbed him by his chin tightly. The grip was painful but Rimbaud didn’t even bother to pull away.
“You asked for this and now you’re trying to get away? Why are you like this, Rimbaud? WHY?!”
Another slap, Rimbaud just sobbed as he reached his arms up to cover his head. It hurt, it obviously was, but Rimbaud was smiling, he enjoyed this side of his lover. Verlaine just looked at Rimbaud, his cheek was red because of the slapping, he then leaned down to kiss Rimbaud again, and he bit Rimbaud’s lips this time, licking, sucking the small amount of blood on their lips. The metallic taste, it’d be disgusting if it was anyone or anything else but this was Rimbaud’s, and Verlaine didn’t mind. Verlaine then pulled away, only to see almost half of Rimbaud’s face because the man was still covering. And so he slapped Rimbaud again, harder this time. He grabbed Rimbaud’s by his hair, gripping onto it tightly and pulled him up, some of the blankets fell off Rimbaud’s shoulders and landed on the sofa’s mattress and then Verlaine pulled, forcing Rimbaud to run after him to the bed. He would yank it hard whenever he heard Rimbaud whined or screamed out in pain, pleading Verlaine to stop, or at least be more gentle. The screaming only stopped once Verlaine threw Rimbaud onto their shared king size bed, Rimbaud’s body met the mattress, sinking down by both his and Verlaine’s weight. And they just started kissing again. Rimbaud reached his hands out, undoing Verlaine’s shirt while Verlaine just pulled Rimbaud’s harshly, the trench coat was almost ripped off if Rimbaud didn’t move himself after Verlaine. Cold air hit Rimbaud’s skin, making him shivered again and then got replaced by warmth soon again when Verlaine’s hands and lips trailed, pressing his skin onto Rimbaud’s. Skin pressed against each other, soon nails and teeth sank in, painting red onto the white skin.
The two wasn’t just simply fucking, they were fighting. Not simple touches, soft touches and cuddles, no. They were tearing one another apart. But it was love, their love, and so they took it.
Verlaine was rough, he bit down every here and there. One hand, Verlaine roughly grabbed Rimbaud’s chest and squeezed it, pinching his nipple until it was hardened, erected and red, swollen. Meanwhile, the other was slithering into Rimbaud’s pants, fingers were touching, teasing the rim by rubbing it, pressing in but not enough to actually shove at least one knuckle in. As Rimbaud grumbled, telling Verlaine to hurry up, Verlaine only chuckled and continued the teasing, only when Rimbaud had let his guard down when he actually shoved his fingers in, moving at a slow but harsh pace. Rough fingers rubbing, pressing against Rimbaud’s sensitive walls, he expected Rimbaud to be a little bit more dry but he was well prepared. This turned Verlaine on even more.
“Gosh, you went all that way preparing yourself for me? You actually looking forward to me fucking you that much? You’re such a slut, Rimbaud… a slut for me and me only…”
Rimbaud moaned under Verlaine’s touches, and of course, under all those words, he did not even fight back once. Simply because he was truly a slut for Verlaine…
Rough preparation, it was barely enough for any of them, but they’d just ignored it. Loud, painful groans escaped Rimbaud’s lips, Verlaine raised his hand and stroked his lover’s hair, kissing his cheek, the side of his eye and then his forehead, soothing him as his hips were still moving, thrusting himself into him. Rimbaud’s sobs and moans were nothing but honey to Verlaine’s ears, maybe that was the only thing that softened Verlaine, for him to stop hitting him. Their sex was quiet and loud at the same time. None ever said a word, well, only Verlaine would, and of course it’s only dirty things. And loud because their moanings, groanings and the sounds of skin slapping against each other, sloppy, and loud, echoed into every single crack of the room. If the noises ever leaked out, one would think the two were nothing but perverted brutes and sadists… but isn’t that what they are?
As Verlaine picked up the pace, Rimbaud knew what’s about to happen. He muttered out a weak “Wait…” before he shifted, turned and got into a more comfortable position, well, not that much, but at least it’s an easier position for Verlaine to thrust into Rimbaud, deeper. Rimbaud had his face and chest buried in the silk bed sheet while he had his ass up for Verlaine to derange. And Verlaine immediately leaned down and started marking Rimbaud again, this time on his back. Faster and rougher thrust, groaning and moaning, sobbing and gasping went on and all stopped when Verlaine released himself in Rimbaud, deep inside him.
By this time, Rimbaud’s throat was dry as he had moaned all night, the alcohol he drank previously did not help at all. Verlaine was groaning as he pulled out, string of semen and so did some leaking out. Verlaine kissed Rimbaud’s hair as he caressed him and tucked him in before he got off the bed, later came back with a small pot and a towel, he wet it, squeezed the water out before once again he removed the blanket over Rimbaud.
“Don’t… Cold…”
Rimbaud muttered, his grip on the blanket stayed as he pulled it up again, but Verlaine stopped him.
“Don’t. Come on, just a few mins. It'll be quick, I promise. I don’t want you to have a stomach ache tomorrow, OK?”
He said as he leaned in and kissed Rimbaud again, Rimbaud groaned but sighed, and Verlaine started cleaning him. And it took 10 minutes.
When Verlaine was done, he left for the bathroom again, this time cleaning up himself. Soon enough, he came back and joined Rimbaud on the bed. Rimbaud was already half asleep, but as Verlaine joined, he immediately turned over and hugged him, snuggled in for cuddle, seeking warmth from Verlaine, and the latter chuckled. He wrapped his arms around Rimbaud, kissing him and cooed.
“I love you.”
“Mm… Love you too…”
“Goodnight, love.”
And their night ended.