Somehow, they're wrapped around each other again – Leo's back pressed to the bed, his freshly cut hair a tousled mess over fine silk and velvet, cheeks flushed and pale limbs tangled around Vincent's. Vincent doesn't know how these things keep happening, but one minute they're talking, the next they're fucking, and he just tries not to think about it too much because this is what his master wants.
Except then Leo's hands are in his hair, yanking viciously at red-tinged gold, and Vincent hisses through his teeth, jabbing his hips in deeper, harder, making Leo snarl in turn as his heels dig into Vincent's lower back with renewed vigor.
"You're not doing it right."
Vincent wants to laugh at him. Nearly does, but curbs it in with a mindless inhale instead. "My lord?"
"If you're going to fuck me, do it like Elliot used to."
Ah. That's a sore spot. Vincent grinds his teeth and tries not to let his gut twist and any bit of arousal he might have felt tear away at the seams. "And how did he do it, exactly?"
"Harder. And way better than you'll ever be."
Vincent does laugh, then, and Leo hits him, bloodies his lip in the process, and Vincent gives into the urge to just hold him down and fuck him, take all of his frustration out on this boy that is his only chance at salvation and fuck, fuck does that make him angry –
They both end up coming, anyway – hard and messy and left breathless and tangled as they pant into one another's ears. No apologies needed, and Vincent gets up and leaves after asking if Leo would like him to draw him a bath. Silence is his answer, and so he does it anyway.
It'll feel good when he no longer exists.