Vincent wants it to be Gilbert, more than anything, hurting him like this.
That will never happen, so this just have to do.
It's a soft pressure at first, a sort of fleeting tickle of roughness as Leo's boot drags over the inside of his thigh, as Vincent shifts closer between his lord's spread legs, nuzzling between them, lapping a stripe up his cock. Leo's breath shortens, and his foot presses down, leaving Vincent to groan, whine underneath his breath as he spreads his own legs further apart, planting his knees on the cold stone floor, his lips wrapped around Leo's cock as the kid steps between his legs, grinding his heel against the hard length of his own cock.
It shouldn't feel so good.
Vincent inhales a ragged breath through his nose as Leo's fingers twist into his hair, rough and unyielding as he yanks, forcing Vincent's head down. He never pegged Leo as someone this aggressive, but god, he's got it in him, and Vincent likes it when the kid isn't clinging to him, begging him for things he can't give, and instead taking what he wants, using his mouth and fucking up into it with short, fumbly little rolls of his hips, panting hot and sloppy as he all but curls around Vincent's head. His heel digs in harder, and Vincent's hips buck, gagging when Leo thrusts too deep, too fast, and he pulls back when Leo yanks on his hair again, just enough for Leo to aim for his mouth as he comes, miss, and drip down his cheeks, down his lips, staining the pristine, starched black color of the jacket Vincent is wearing that day.
"Please," Vincent mumbles, uncaring, licking at his lips for a taste of it and mentally comparing it to Gil, Gil, Gil. "Please, let me—"
For once, Leo doesn't turn his nose up in disgust. He laughs, though, full of contempt, and for some reason, that makes Vincent harder, especially as Leo grinds his heel down against him, rubbing it between his legs, and Vincent shamelessly rocks his hips up against it—burying his face into Leo's thigh, gripping at the side of the bed, panting, moaning like some animal as he comes in his own trousers like some teenager, sticky and messy and hot and too much.
"You're making a mess everywhere, Vincent," Leo whispers, his own breath ragged and too-short. "Lick it clean."
This time, his master doesn't blush, doesn't scream, isn't flustered when Vincent's mouth touches his shoe, licking up the leather like he just had done with Leo's cock.
Vincent isn't sure what he prefers—not that it matters, either way.