another sinclair brothers slice of life. i just love making them fight over petty shit.bold is sign as always.
*
“Look, I said I will tape it for you the next time it is on TV!”
“That isn’t the point though!”
“I know your point and you’re being stupid.”
“I’m being stupid? Turns out you can’t fuckin’ read apparently!”
They’d been going on like this since before dinner was ready and had paused it only once to bicker about Bo’s brisket carving technique, before continuing their main argument over the dinner table.
Since then, the table hasn’t been quiet; the constant rattling of cutlery as it is dropped and picked up again with Vincent’s yelling. Even Bo, who wasn’t one to be parted from a meal, would throw his fork down if he was particularly irate, signing messily but none the less furiously at Vincent, just to drive his point home.
Vincent slammed his own fork down in anger and quickly replied, “I can read, and there wasn’t one thing on that tape that said not to tape over it!”
“Itold you last week not to use that tape!”
“You have a million more tapes, it’s not like you have nothing to watch now!”
“That is not the point,” Bo repeats, “I liked that episode and I told you not to use my shit without asking!”
“Fuck you, you use my things all the time!”
“Like what?”
“My boots are still at the back door because you wore them last week and have not cleaned them!”
“That was for a practical purpose! And,” Bo jabs his fork in Vincent’s direction, “I will clean them. You can’t get my tape back.”
“I can’t believe you’re so hung up about this. Why are you so attached to that episode?”
“Episode of what?” Lester asks. He’s had no idea what this argument was even about seeing as it started before he even arrived at the house. Knowing Bo, there were two options: Star Trek or Knight Rider.
Bo answers Vincent’s question defensively, “I am not ‘attached’! What, is it a crime to enjoy a TV show now?” At the same time, Vincent replies “Star Trek,” to Lester.
Lester nods, though no one is really taking much notice of his opinion on this whole thing.
Bo goes back to his dinner, but keeps talking, “It’s the principle of the thing, Vince.”
“Whatever. I’ll tape it again for you.”
Bo grunts. Vincent grunts back.
Lester sits there in silence, glad that they seem to have come to an agreement, although he doesn’t quite understand what has just happened. He loves his brothers, he does, but their arguments can go around in circles for hours sometimes with no apparent end other than the moment they both get bored of arguing. Lester’s just glad they finally seem content to leave this one be. For now.
“They’re giving me more hours at work,” Lester says, throwing the fact into the room and awaiting a reaction.
“More?” Bo asks, “You’re already out there breakin’ your damn back every day.”
“I - We need the money.”
“We don’t need nothin’ we can’t get elsewhere. You need help wi’ money, you come to us, alright. We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s just a couple extra hours, Bo. Aint no harm.”
Bo raises a brow as he chews thoughtfully on his brisket.
The rest of the night passes uneventfully. The twins give up their arguing for the night and there’s a steady supply of beers in the fridge.
When it gets late enough and Lester has had his fill of eating the twins’ food, he makes to leave. Bo waves him goodbye from the couch with one hand, taking a swig from his bottle of beer, eyes still trained on the TV.
Vincent walks him to the door. He never normally does that.
“See you 'round, Vince,” Lester says, already opening the door.
Vincent takes a swig from his own beer bottle before putting it down on the side table to speak, glancing behind him to make sure Bo is still watching TV. “While you are out tomorrow, will you get a TV magazine for me? So I can find when that stupid episode is next on.”
Lester scoffs softly, keeping his voice down, “You really gonna coddle him like that?”
“Shut up,” Vincent smirks. “He’ll be on my ass about it if I don’t. ”
Lester shrugs, “Sure thing.” He pats Vincent heartily on the shoulder.
“You either in or you out,” Bo calls, “You’re letting all the heat out.”
“See you, Bo,” Lester calls back, finally setting out into the cold night and heading down the path to his truck.
kicking off the new year with a ‘sinclair twins being emotionally hopeless’ fic. warningbecause it’s a bit angsty but nothing more than my usual offerings and also there is alcohol mentioned. more notes in tags. bold is sign.
“You don’t ever leave here without me, you know better than that! Don’t be so stupid!”
The night that they almost died, that wasn’t the first time Bo had said those words to him and it wouldn’t be the last, Vincent was sure of that at least.
Bo didn’t like him leaving town alone and usually Vincent listened. If Vincent needed anything from the store, he asked Lester the next time he stopped by Ambrose to get it, or he’d put whatever he wanted on Bo’s list, or sometimes he and Bo would go together. Usually, he didn’t need much else beside what he had in Ambrose. Ambrose was his home, his work, his life was all there.
Sometimes, Vincent thought about Baton Rogue. Thought about the two years he had in his little breeze block dorm room. Thought about the late nights in the library and eating ramen in bed and listening to his roommate read his midterm essay aloud to him to get his opinion. Thought about the girl who lived down the hall who made the best pot brownies he’d ever had (ever will have, he thinks) and about the hangover he had after his 21st birthday, when his roommate dragged him out to a bar and he drank tequila like it was going out of fashion. Thought about how he called Bo drunk from the bar because he felt guilty that they weren’t together. It was their first birthday they weren’t together to fight over who blew out the birthday candles. Bo, to his credit, was just as drunk as Vincent, slurring his words as he slumped against the phone table in the hallway, trying to keep his voice down.
They’ve argued before about it. When he first came home it took a month for them to fall back into their old ways. For Vincent to give up his sulking, as Bo had said, and to settle back into what his life was always meant to be.
Nowadays, he pretends it was his choice to go back to Ambrose. To go back home. He does this to spare Bo’s feelings.
He does it because Bo is sensitive.
Bo didn’t like when Vincent left town alone. Because he cared about Vince, cared about his twin and wanted to do everything he could to keep him safe. Because if anything happened, he couldn’t forgive himself.
Vincent puts up with it. He doesn’t leave town enough for it to be a problem. Now and then he’ll take the truck out without telling Bo, only to drive to the outskirts of town for a while. He’ll come home and, if Bo has even noticed, he’ll be pacing the family room of the house. Their conversation can go one of two ways; “I was worried sick” or “Where the fuck have you been?”.
Vincent apologises, usually, and Bo feels bad because just look at him: Vincent has no where else to go, how can Bo be so harsh?
Sometimes Vincent just shakes his head, and says, “You’re not my keeper.” Vincent knows something that Bo won’t admit.
Bo won’t ever leave Ambrose. Not really.
He can go on supply runs and stop at bars and talk to girls. He can do whatever he wants, for a while. But he’ll never leave.
Bo’s scared.
Bo’s not got the balls to leave, not that Vincent thinks he ever could. Could never bring himself to leave his kingdom behind. No, no.
What they’ve built is safe and familiar. As lonely as they are, they’re the Kings of their castle, the crumbling house on the hill, and Bo is too scared to let it go.
Bo is always scared, so he keeps Vincent close and tells him it’s for his own good.
Vincent won’t leave. He couldn’t. Bo needs him, and if Bo wants to die in Ambrose, Vincent supposes he will too.
some tiny bo and vincent drabbles for erika because she’s going through some stuff.
vincent sinclair
Vincent often wonders how he got so lucky. With you sleeping so soundly beside him, curled into his side with your head on his chest, he can’t think of anything he’d rather be doing. Not his work, not with his brothers, not even sleeping himself. At his insistence (so you know it was bad) you left your worries behind, as much as you could, and fell into bed, drifting off quickly in the warm nest that was the sanctuary of Vincent’s bed. After being alone for so long, in the ghost town of his childhood, with only Bo for company, finding you had been a blessing. If he believed in something, anything, he might have even called you a miracle. Instead, he pulled you close and combed a hand through your hair, artists fingers working gently. Sometimes, he thinks, if he lost everything except for you, he wouldn’t care. If Ambrose fell to dust around him, if Bo ever worked up the courage to leave, if Lester got sick and tired of him and Bo and never came back, it wouldn’t matter. None of it would matter if he could still hold you tight and know you were his. Every time you kissed him temple or watched him work or brought him to bed, each time was like the first and it made him think: how did he gets so lucky?
bo sinclair
Bo took a lot of things for granted. Vincent, for one. Lester, for another. The privacy they had, forgotten out in the backwoods, for a third. But never you. Never you. Bo couldn’t afford to take you for granted, not when he was so fucking lucky to have you. Sometimes, Bo looked at you, watched you from across the room and a small part of him (the little angel on his shoulder, perhaps) told him that finally, finally things were coming up roses for ol’ Bo. Another part (the little devil on the other, he supposed) told him that you were just one more thing he had to lose. He tended to ignore these voices, because nothing could be louder than the way his heart hammered in his own chest when you smiled bashfully at him. Through every tear filled hug and late night breakdown, after every whispered “Bo’s got'cha” and “you’re okay, angel”, he knew he was lucky to have you, and no matter how strong the urge to self-sabotage became, he fought it off, because there was no way anything (not even himself) could keep him from you.
ahh i was going to wait until christmas eve to post this, but i got to excited once i finished it !! with great pleasure, i gift this christmas fic to @pharmacykeys !! ahh i hope you enjoy and have a very happy holiday season fem!reader x bo sinclair on christmas eve. and of course some domestic sinclairs content because i cant resist. this is a long one warning for smut.
You could have sworn that time moved differently in Ambrose. No sooner had the leaves started turning brown and drifting sadly from the trees, was the frost settling in every morning. And then, before you knew it, it was nearly Christmas and you’d done nothing to prepare.
It had taken you literally going into the next town over with Bo on a supply run for you to even realise the festive season had arrived. Strings of fair lights lined shopfronts and Christmas music was playing in every goddamn store you walked into.
“Wait,” you said, looking around somewhat bewildered, “Wait, what’s the date?”
Bo shrugs, “How should I know?” But he routes through the pocket of his work trousers and pulls out a quarter for the newspaper rack. He pulls out the paper and looks for the date, “December 21st.”
“The 21st?” you repeat, aghast. No way was it nearly Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas and you hadn’t even noticed? “We haven’t even decorated the house or bought – bought any food or,” you miss a beat in realisation, “We don’t have any presents!”
Bo was looking less than impressed as he tried to keep walking up the sidewalk, but you kept stopping in horror each time you realised something else you hadn’t done.
“Look, darlin’, we don’t really ‘do’ Christmas, or any of that crap,” he insists, grabbing your elbow to get you to keep walking. He had a to-do-list today and he didn’t want to be away from town any longer than he had to be.
“Aw, Bo, c’mon! We have to do something,” you complain, but follow him anyway, “I love Christmas! Please, can’t we do something?”
Bo grumbles, not wanting to have this argument right now. Christmas hadn’t been particularly awful for him as a kid, him and his brothers actually did pretty well, but there was always a tension simmering just below the festive façade his family put on that unnerved him. There was too much possibility of something going wrong for his liking.
“Look,” you persist, “I’ll sort it all, you don’t even have to lift a finger. If you let me sort it now while you’re getting the regular supplies then I’ll be finished before we have to start heading home. Deal?”
You look up at him hopefully. You see something cross his face, but you’re not sure what it is.
He hesitates before answering. “Fine.” He goes for his wallet, taking out one of two twenty-dollar bills that is in there.
“Thank you!” you squeal, kissing him on the cheek and practically hopping around as he hands you the money.
“We have a tree and decorations and shit back home, I’ll get ‘em outta the basement if you really want ‘em, so don’t go wastin’ that money. Meet me back at the truck at 4. You come even 1 minute late and there’ll be hell to pay, you hear?”
“Message received and understood,” you nodded firmly, before disappearing back down the sidewalk.
Bo watches you for as long as it takes for you to be absorbed by the crowd. He’s really started to regret letting you go off alone.
*
The ride home is probably more fun for you than it is for Bo. You chatter relentlessly about all your favourite things about the festive season and what you used to do as a kid and how the house will look so nice all decorated. Bo, to his credit, listens to you, nodding at appropriate times, but mostly focussing on the road ahead.
*
Despite your excitement, your festive plans are put even further on hold by an unexpected arrival. It took a few days for the atmosphere in town to calm down enough and for Vincent to finish up his new project before you could herd everyone into one place and force them to start enjoying themselves. By then it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.
“Okay,” you start, pacing around the family room in front of the twins who sit sullenly on the couch. You try to give your voice as much authority as possible because that was the only way you got taken seriously around here, “Here’s what’s happening: you two are getting the tree and decorations from the basement, Lester said he’ll be here in a half with the turkey and I will create some –,” you search for the right word, “atmosphere, in here.”
“Alright, Lil’ Miss Bossy,” Bo says. It sounds like he’s complaining but the way he gets up anyway lets you know that he doesn’t mind too much. If he was honest, he’d say he was even a little bit excited. Sure, he didn’t trust for the whole thing not to devolve into a fight (like it so often did when he was a kid), but for now he tried to trick himself. Trick himself into think that maybe, with you in charge, Christmas wouldn’t be too bad.
He tilts his head at his twin and Vincent gets up to follow him down to the tunnels.
You settle down on the recently vacated couch, picking up the stack of cassette tapes you’d located at the back of the video cupboard. Best Christmas Song Compilation. Festive Party Songs. Christmas Hits. So many to choose from, you thought, giggling with excitement.
As you took out one of the tapes and inserted it into the old tape player on the side table, you glanced at your phone, checking to make sure Lester hadn’t text saying a disaster had befallen him.
(The conversation with Lester regarding the turkey had gone something like this:
“Hey, we’re going to have Christmas dinner this year, you’ll come right?”
“Christmas? I dunno, what did Bo say?”
“He’s fine with it, he agreed! It was practically his idea. [Lord forgive you for a little white lie]. So, you’ll come, won’t you, Les?”
“Sure,” you hear the smile break across his face, “Sure, sounds good!”
“Oh, just one thing though,” you add, sweetly, before he hangs up.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think you could get a turkey from somewhere?” Then, quickly adding, “Preferably not one that’s been hit by a 16-wheeler.”
That gets a laugh out of him; a short, surprised one, like a dog bark. “Sure, I think I know a guy that knows a guy who has a turkey farm.”
You don’t question this. “Thanks, you can bring it round on Christmas Eve? And stay the night, if you like.”
“I’ll see you there.”)
Comfortable in the knowledge that Lester had hopefully snagged a turkey from somewhere, you relaxed again, humming along to the first Christmas song that started playing.
Looking around, you realised something was missing. Whistling lowly, you strained to try and hear Jonesy’s feet pattering. She must have gone down to the basement with Vincent, hopefully she wasn’t getting in the way.
It took a while (you supposed if the boys never really ‘did’ Christmas, like Bo had said, then the tree and decorations must be pretty deeply buried amongst the rest of the junk in the tunnels) but eventually you heard a commotion and you wandered down the hall and towards the study.
Before you even opened the door you could hear Bo yelling and cursing under his breath. When you walking in, you tried to stifle your laugh but it was no use. Bo was trying to drag the tree up through the hatch whilst, you could only guess, Vincent was trying to push it up from beneath.
Bo turns to you and snaps, “And what’s so goddamn funny?”
You press your lips together tightly but it doesn’t stop your shoulder shaking with laughter. “I’m not laughing, see, not laughing,” you manage.
“Like hell you’re not,” Bo grumbles, but lets it go in favour of returning to his attempts to heave the tree up through the trap door. “Vincent you’re not even trying,” he complains, even though you all know Vincent is far stronger than Bo likes to pretend.
The movement from below stops and you hear a rustling amongst the branches. Your laughter is kickstarted when you see Vincent’s calloused hand squeeze up through the trap door and flip Bo off.
After a long while of pushing and shoving and heaving, and a lot of complaining (though when did the twins do anything together and not complain about it every spare second), the tree, along with the few boxes of decoration, was out of the tunnel and situated in the family room, positioned under your expert direction.
“Now, this is the fun part!” you clap happily, beginning to rifle through the boxes. You pull out strings of fairy-lights and garlands of tinsel. Plastic baubles and evergreen wreaths. At the very bottom of one of the boxes, you find a smaller box, an old cookie tin. It took some prying but you managed to open it, finding inside a nest of smaller, much more intricate wax baubles.
You look over at Vincent, “Vince,” you hold up one of the ornaments, a turtle dove, “Did you make these?”
Both of them look over at you from where they’re sat on the floor. There’s something childish about the way they’re slowly pawing at the decorations as you take them out of the box. They silently bicker over holding one decoration or another, things passed between them as they start to remember the baubles that they’d been most attached too as children.
Vincent shakes his head, hesitating for a moment before signing, “Momma made those, back when we were babies.”
You nodded in response, “You could make more, there’ll be enough room for new ones, I think.”
He shrugs, “Maybe.”
You let it go.
There’s a rapid knocking at the door and you start in surprise. It must be Lester; you leave the twins to poke through the decorations some more and run for the door.
“Lester!” you greet him, pulling him into a hug while dodging the huge turkey he held by his side.
“Happy Christmas,” he smiles, “Well, almost.”
“Happy Christmas!” you gesture towards the turkey, “Thanks for bringing this!”
“No problem, got it cheap off a guy.” You don’t question this.
“Come on in, the twins are in a mood with each other after a tree debacle, go and cheer them up, would you?”
“Annoy them more is more like it,” he shrugs, though he’s still smiling.
You do your best hostess impression and usher him in. He diverts into the kitchen to leave the turkey in the fridge, you’d cleared space for it especially but just looking at it you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. At least you’d be taking it out later to start cooking.
When you go back to the family room, Bo and Vincent have made a start on decorating the tree. Vincent was trying to be careful, while Bo was half-heartedly draping some tinsel around the crooked green branches.
With the music still playing quietly in the background, someone must have turned it down while you were gone, you sway up behind Bo. “You’re doing a good job,” you say, trying to be encouraging.
He’d never admit it, but he liked the praise you gave him. Contrary to that, he muttered, “I ain’t a kid, I don’t need complimentin’ on every lil’ thing.”
“I know,” you shrug, arms circling his waist as you press your nose into the fleece he was wearing. His grandad fleece as you so often teased him.
Maybe you were just imagining it, but a soft air seemed to be spreading through the house, lulling you all into a content silence.
This was momentarily broken when Lester reappeared from the kitchen, a can of beer in his hand. “Merry Christmas!”
“It’s not Christmas yet,” Bo scolds, but the harsh tone of his voice is put on, and all of you know it. Bo just doesn’t like to admit when he’s having a good time.
Lester laughs him off anyway and starts root through the musty card board boxes, looking for anything that hadn’t already been claimed by the twins.
Things were going well. Surprisingly well, you might even say.
Bo seems relaxed enough in your arms, his own fingers working to string up one tinsel garland after another that you take a chance and let go of him, going over to the tape deck to turn the volume back up. The next song that comes on is terrible, a cheesy old Christmas song that played nonstop during every festive period of your childhood. It was also your favourite Christmas song.
You try not to squeal out loud, holding back only so much as to not start singing, but you sway happily to the tune, your hips swinging as you look around for the decorations that you’d put aside for yourself. Assured that everyone seemed content to get on with their own decorating, you hung your first baubles on the Sinclair Christmas tree.
*
It takes a few hours, all in all, to finish up. Between singing along with the Christmas music you were in full control of (you’re attempts to hold back going out of the window half way through your favourite song) and taking breaks to force Bo to dance with you, much to the amusements of his brothers, you managed to decorate the tree pretty well, and spruce up the rest of the family room into something festive enough for your liking. Standing back to admire your handy work, you clap happily.
“Great job, boys,” you jokingly praise them. A silly gesture, but they can’t help but feel just a little bit proud about actually doing something nice together for once, without it dissolving into bickering.
Bo has already left for the kitchen, coming back with an armful of beers. He passes them around before settling down on the couch. He takes the middle seat, with you on his left and Vince on his right. Lester, cracks his beer open, sitting down cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch. He was the youngest, after all, and had long since resigned himself to the floor when all other seats were taken. He doesn’t mind anyway, he tells you, the first time you had noticed him taking a seat on the floor.
With all your decorating done, you sink contently into Bo’s side. He’s warm and solid and safe and you wonder how you ever felt at home without him. Without any of them.
Bo flicks the TV on and searches the channels until he settles on something. Something he is certain enough wont start an argument.
As the time passes, you see Vincent start to fall asleep at the other end of the couch, his head dropping to his chest now and then before he jolts awake again. You can tell that Bo has noticed too, his eyes darting over to Vincent every time he jolts.
Eventually Bo must start feeling for his twin and he nudges him with a soft elbow. “Vince, go to bed would you? You’re just gonna keep fallin’ asleep on me.”
Vincent looks up blearily, glaring at both at Bo and at you, who leant forward to see past Bo.
“I’m not even tired,” he insisted, though his hands were slow and he still made to get up, uncurling the leg he had tucked beneath him.
“Sure you ain’t,” Lester piped up, but he wasn’t in any position to talk. Even if he hadn’t fallen asleep yet, he was close to it. You could only imagine what time he’d been up that morning, working his last shift before getting Christmas day off.
Vincent stood and shook his can of beer to double check that it was empty before heading off to the kitchen on his way upstairs. He turned to sleepily sign, “Night.”
Lester doesn’t reply, he’s fallen asleep, even after his teasing.
“G’night,” you and Bo reply.
Then just signing, Bo adds briefly, “I love you.”
Vincent nods, repeating the gesture before going upstairs.
Lester leaves not too long after, stumbling just slightly when he stands up. You hold back a giggle. Bo doesn’t, laughing even as his arm shoots out to catch Lester if he really did fall. He pulls his arm back just as quickly when he knows Lester has righted himself.
*
For a while, you and Bo sit in silence, his arm around your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles on the flesh of your arm.
Slowly, like you don’t want to startle him, your hand drifts across his chest, fingers fiddling with the zipper on his fleece.
“You getting ideas?” he asks, his large hand, the one not squeezing at you, comes up to cover yours, detaching you from his zipper to lace his fingers through yours.
“Might be,” you smirk, you pull your knee up higher, draping it over Bo’s lap so you can lean into him more fully. You’re feeling restless. The wait on Christmas Eve, on the cusp of Christmas day was always excruciating. Much to your delight, when you glanced at the carriage clock on the mantlepiece, you saw it had just hit midnight. Midnight. Christmas day.
Your hand still twined with Bo’s calloused one, you gestured at the time. “Happy Christmas, Bo.”
His smirk mellowed into a more genuine smile, a soft one like he only gave in the early mornings or late nights. “Merry Christmas, angel.”
“Do you want your present now?” you ask coyly. Bo knows exactly what the look on your face means and he hates being teased.
“If it is what I think it is, then definitely,” the arm around your shoulders pulls back until his hand is brushing you’re the back of your neck. His grip tightens only slightly and he pulls you in for a kiss.
He starts slow, because everything around him feels slow. Your soft hand in his and your warm body pressing into him. He doesn’t know how he got things so good. Its all coming up roses for Bo Sinclair, you’re your hot lips on his and you’re practically climbing into his lap.
His hands follow your movements, falling to your hips as he slouches down in his seat, gripping you tightly as if you might be going somewhere.
Soon enough, you don’t want it so slow anymore, your hands leave his chest you fumble with the hem of your sweater.
Sure, he thought some lovin’ was his Christmas present, but every present needed a ribbon on top.
At first he doesn’t notice, so insistent he is to return his lips to yours, but when he feels up your waist, over your tits, he pulls back.
Beneath his hands, you’re covered in red lace.
His for-once soft features twisted beautifully into a smirk. He stretched his fingers out over your tits, both thumbs over your nipples as they hardened from the touch. Moving further down, he tugged at the waistband of your pjamas, snapping the elastic against your skin. You yelp; you would have been annoyed, scolded him even, if you weren’t so insistent of him seeing what was underneath.
He pulled your pjamas down as far as he could with you still in his lap. Enough to see the red lace dip down between your legs.
“Lemme see you, darlin’” he patted your thighs, pushing his hips up to make you stand. Quickly you did as he wanted, stripping down to just the red bodysuit you had bought when you were last in town. Twenty dollars could go a long way when you needed it to. You point your toes, stretching up and posing for him. You almost get the giggles at how entranced he is with you, following the
“Oh angel, aren’t you just a perfect lil’ present…” he coos, reaching for your hand to pull you back to him, making you straddle his lap once more. “And all mine.” His lips dance over yours before dropping lower, teeth and tongue tracing your neck before latching onto skin, sucking. He was going to leave a hickey; you just knew it.
At that, you let out a whimper, he always knew exactly what to say – exactly what to do – to get you going.
“All yours,” you return, fingers gripping his fleece as you pulled him into another kiss. Hot and needy when you’d once been slow and savouring.
Before you can even think about it, he’s rolling you over, your back against the worn couch cushions and his weight pressing between your legs.
Keening into him, you moan again, his thigh firm as you try to grind into him.
He chuckles lowly, letting you writhe for a moment before sitting up, leaving you cold while he pulls his fleece over his head. Making yourself useful, you think, your hands go to his waistband, undoing the fly of his jeans and he shucks them off, as quick as he can without standing up.
He drops back down over you, fingers slipping beneath the lace to press against you. Your hips stutter and he slides through your wetness.
You don’t need to hold back, everyone else in the house is asleep, but you try to anyway. You kiss across his chest to give your mouth something else to do. Kisses turn into bites, which turn into your soothing tongue lapping at the bruises you leave behind.
“Bo, please,” you plead, “D-Don’t you want your present?” You hope the question will provoke him enough to get down to it, to finally give you what you want.
He just chuckles again, “Is this my present, or yours?”
“Yours.” His thumb works your clit and you can barely give your answer before your breath catches in your throat.
“That’s what I thought.” But he removes his hand, leaving you empty, as he pulls down his underwear and lines up against you.
You can stop the sigh of relief that leaves you as he pushes in, sliding in like you were made for him, before you whimper, feeling the stretch as he lets you settle around him. Whilst he waits for you, his hands, long fingers and rough palms, drifts to your neck. A pressure, just slight, against your skin. Your breath hitches, whether from the feeling of his cock inside you or his hand on your throat, you can’t tell anymore.
His hips twitch every time you clench around him, twitching until he builds up a rhythm. The thrusts start shallow and slow, building and building until he’s ponding you into the couch, his hand tightening around your neck, your legs tighter around his waist.
You never want this to end, Bo’s warm panting in your ear, his hands on you. Hands that can hurt but never do.
You don’t realise you’re over the edge until your already there. It feels like falling and his hand release your throat as you gasp for air, hips shaking with want even though you’ve already got it. Already got everything you might ever want. You’ve got Bo.
He shudders when he comes, a low groan in your ear and suddenly, everything is still. He rests against your chest, palming the soft flesh absentmindedly.
“I think I won present giving this year, don’t you?” you mumbled, combing a hand through his sweat-damp hair.
He shrugs, but you can see the smile tug at his lip, “Well, I was the one givin’ really, wasn’t I?”
You lean down enough to press a kiss to his temple, your thighs tightening around him, in an embrace this time.
You’d have to go up to bed soon, but for now you watch as the fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the house settles for the night with a happy family inside.
He won’t admit it, but he’s really glad you like to spoil him with such joy. He feels a something funny everytime you give him a gift.
The first time you tell him how much money you have,he isn’t going to believe you. It truly left him shocked when he saw how much zeroes had your bank account.
Anyway, he isn’t going to be shy in asking for new equipments for his traps. Better quality that he now can afford, with your card.Legit you froze him in place when you gave him your card and pin. That was the ultimate trust sign for him, and he…felt proud of that.
Once he was musing about which specimen he was going to buy, cause he didn’t have that much cash to spend. Until you waltzed right in.“ Have you seen something you wanted?”,followed by a quick nod. He wasn’t going to ask you to buy them, not directly at least.
“ How many are them? Only three? Asa you know I don’t mind how many you buy, if you like them just buy them, I’ll pay gladly for them”
He could have cried there and then, if he had been another man. But that night,you saw a more affectionate Asa. It was his way of thanking you for the gift.
He will be flustered everytime you spoil him,but he won’t abuse his power. Maybe.
He could have sworn that you were some God sent. He couldn’t believe it. And he married you,and he still couldn’t believe it.
He thought he had seen it all,but this, this was something out of this world. He was left stunned st the amount of new equipment he found in his garage.
“Ya did all of this, fer me?”, and if you heard the slight tremble in his voice,you didn’t pay it any mind. He was happy and that was all that mattered.
And wait until he saw the new parts for his truck. He hugged you so hard, you felt some of your ribs crack. But you could put up with it,his smile was worth the pain.
He felt like a kid in Wonderland, and everytime you brought back a package he couldn’t help but bristle at the idea of a new gift.
Well, you indeed saw a new Bo, and you were happy to see him smile so much. It suited him.
Unlike his brother,he is far more flustered than he let on. He was shocked to see his husband spend so much money on him.
Even of he told you not to, you did it the same. And his reaction never failed to make you laugh. He was too cute for his own good
And the new batches of wax you bought, the new equipments, the tools…god y/n, how could he not love you to the moon then?
And when you came in with all those boxes, and left there for him, he could have swore he saw heaven. All those art supplies,and such quality,all for him
Well, hope you don’t have anything to do for the next few days,cause prepared to be showered in love from your man.
He will show you how much he is grateful for what you do daily for him and his brothers.
Okay so this was partially inspired by my cousin Orian. They helped me figure out the song stuck in my head and then we came up with the idea of Vincent merged with the song. So I give you this— the song is Pretty In A CasketbyBlitzkidhope you guys enjoy :))
Threw this together since I’ve been thinking about making one for House of Wax, and @s1mping4slashers’ Randy video inspired me to actually do it!! Hope you like it
Song is Dahmer Does Hollywood by Amigo The Devil (Fixed an audio issue, hence the repost!)
Kind of written-out for today, but I still had the itch. Hope you like this :)
— ✉︎ —
Scrupulous eyes, a gentle touch—the hands on your face, you aren’t sure what they’re doing, but he’s remarkably focused. There’s warmth under his thumbs, not the cold of late travelers like he’s used to. That’s all the more reason to take his time. Slow. Calculated.
Then they’re gone in an instant, back to his work. Wire scrapes dried wax. Water softens the edge. It’s your shoulders and your eyes; but, oh, it isn’t you.
No, you’re the radiance of life behind him, the very essence of his soul. You’re his very last breath before he turns around; his faint smile.
thinking about how Vincent would’ve used Dalton’s camera if he had u know, more time;; just imagining him getting his hands on more tape and documenting his process, from the hunt to the final artwork. he would get shots of victims when they’re vulnerable and completely unaware of their looming death and then cut to said death. he would try to capture all the gory details like he did w Paige and replay them again and again out of morbid fascination and a twisted sense of self satisfaction.
but not all the videos would be about death. there would be that occasional home video, no blood or guts, just the mundane – Bo plopped down on the couch watching tv, the camera zooming in and out of his face until he tells Vincent to quit it. Lester in the distance unloading stuff from his pickup truck and then smiling wide and waving at the camera when he sees it’s pointed at him.
videos of Vincent are rare and fleeting though. sometimes he aims the camera at their pupper and all u see is his hand as he gives it lots of pets. other times, Lester steals the camera and manages to get a few clips of Vincent but Vincent tends to record over these when space is limited. it’s that or recording over his family, and that’s something he’d rather not do.
when he first gets the camera, he doesn’t have the luxury of organizing his footage, so the content of a single tape is pretty mixed. a clip of Bo working on a car could suddenly switch to one of Vincent sewing up a body. it’s one of the few times he let’s himself be on camera – when he’s down in his workshop (but even then it’s usually just his backside we see)
but yeah, Vincent capturing snippets of normalcy amongst the horror… wax man didn’t get a chance to start a fucked up home video collection
