"After Hours," FFXII/TotA, Asch/Vossler
Title: After Hours Author: Laylah Fandom: Final Fantasy XII/Tales of the Abyss Pairing: Asch/Vossler Rating: not worksafe Prompt: weapon kink A/N: Ideally there will be a few more prompts in this everyone's-a-gangster crossover before I'm done with the month. *works hard!* ^^
After Hours
They lock the door again after Tifa leaves, a good ten minutes after the last of the speakeasy's customers -- "Don't worry about me," she says, and smiles, "my boyfriend's waiting" -- and Asch wants to relax now but he's not sure he can, not with the way Vossler's been --
Asch turns back from bolting the door and Vossler's staring toward the back room, the fucking pervert. As if Miss Kirijo would -- as if it'd be any of their business if she did anything with -- Asch can feel his cheeks flushing. It's Vossler's fault, for making him think about it.
"You should be ashamed of yourself," Asch says, sharp, angry.
Vossler flinches like it was a punch, and turns to glare at Asch. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"The way you watch the boss," Asch says.
"What about it?" Vossler growls. He telegraphs his moves -- always has; it's one of the differences in both the way they fight and what Miss Kirijo wants them for -- and right now he wants an excuse to take a swing. What the hell, Asch figures. Just because Vossler throws a punch doesn't mean he'll land one.
"You want to be the one getting in her skirt pretty bad, don't you?" he says, and jumps back when Vossler takes the offer and swings at him.
If Vossler could land a solid hit on him, it'd get ugly pretty quick, but Asch is faster and lighter on his feet. He dodges, keeping track of where the tables are, how close he is to the wall.
"Hold still, you brat," Vossler says, moving to corner him. The look in his eyes isn't real anger, though, or isn't just anger, and Asch makes his choice that fast. Vossler wants some way to let off steam, does he? Well, he's not the only one.
"All right," Asch says, "if that's how you want it." He steps into the next punch, not away from it, catches Vossler's fist against his shoulder -- because he's drawing with his other hand, blade flickering out and ready as he brings his left hand up -- tingling in the nerves all down his arm, because Vossler doesn't pull punches for anybody -- to grab the lapels of Vossler's jacket.
Heat flares in Vossler's eyes and that's before Asch gets the bare edge of the straight razor against his throat. "What are you trying to pull?" Vossler demands, not flinching -- Miss Kirijo's men never flinch -- but cautious, moving slowly as he tries to pull away from that edge. He's seen Asch work, knows why Asch gets "the Bloody" tacked onto his name by people who just know his reputation.
"I'm taking your mind off it," Asch says. He moves with Vossler, and damn the man for being so fucking tall, so that Asch has to look up the whole time he's doing this -- backing Vossler up against the wall, pressing with the blade until Vossler has to tilt his head back, can't meet Asch's eyes.
Vossler's throat works when he swallows, when he speaks -- Asch has to tilt the blade slightly so the razor's edge won't bite. "Taking my -- ah, fuck," Vossler says, when Asch lets go of his lapels and reaches down instead to grope for his cock. "You son of a bitch."
"Don't move," Asch says. His heart beats hard, but his hands are steady. He unbuttons Vossler's trousers and reaches into his shorts, pushing fabric aside. Vossler hisses when Asch's fingers close around his cock but he holds perfectly still, and he's already hard.
"What are you waiting for?" he asks, when Asch doesn't move at first, just holds him. "You've made your point. Fighting gets me worked up."
Asch smiles, since Vossler can't look down and catch him at it. Sure, it's the fighting. That's all. "Keep quiet," he says, "unless you really want the boss to see you like this." He starts stroking as he talks, in case he guessed wrong, but from the shudder that runs up Vossler's frame he's pretty sure he's right on the money.
Still, whatever he wants, Vossler doesn't make a lot of noise, just sharp, staccato breaths as Asch jerks him off left-handed. He's tense all over, his hands curled tight in the drapes on the wall behind him, his cock thick and hard in Asch's hand.
"You want it faster, don't you?" Asch asks. Vossler's hips almost rock, despite the pressure of the blade at his throat.
"You know I do," Vossler growls.
This is going to cost him. Vossler's pride is every bit as fierce as his. "I don't care," Asch says. He strokes harder, but not faster. Fluid slicks his fingertips. "This is going to be enough anyway, isn't it?"
Vossler's breath hisses between his teeth. "Don't you dare fucking stop," he says.
Asch laughs shortly. "Don't tempt me," he says. He doesn't want to stop, not really, but he will if he has to make a point. He's not good at taking orders from thugs.
Vossler doesn't make any more demands, though, so Asch doesn't stop, not this time, and this is distraction enough, so he doesn't even realize he's not listening for noise from the back room anymore until he has Vossler hissing curses and shaking and almost -- if Asch were just a little less quick to change his grip -- getting cut by the razor right as he comes.
Now comes the tricky part. Asch lets go of Vossler's cock but doesn't lower his blade. He reaches for the buttons of his own trousers. "Now," he says. "Move slowly. I'm not done with you yet. Get on your knees."
"You arrogant little brat," Vossler says, but Asch can hear the difference between that and 'no.' He eases back the pressure of the razorblade just enough to let Vossler move, and when Vossler's knees bend enough that Asch can look him in the eyes, he doesn't look pissed. He looks admiring.