i'll get you, my pretty, and your little rats too

Vincenzo laid on him for a long while, a small smile on his face, warming his cold fingers with Milo's warm hand. He kissed his fingers fondly from time to time. He didn't need anything beyond this, really. The world beyond his cold bed didn't have Milo or several layers of blankets in it, so what was the point?

"I almost killed you," he said softly, filled with quiet regret. His chest tightened every time he remembered. "Last night, I almost killed you. I'm so sorry. I did it because I was afraid."

That was difficult to admit, his chest was clenching, but he did it. Vincenzo was normally very self-aware of his behavior. He knew when he was hurting people, but he never once regretted it until now.

Expressing remorse was a whole new concept entirely. It was, at least, easier to admit when he told himself that he was still learning. If he stubbornly went against new information, he would be a very bad scholar. He smiled a little. Yep. He might've been getting older, but it was good to know that his growth wasn't stunted yet, and he could still change and evolve.

Evolution, not clinging to past ideas, not death. Science was respectable as a field because it embraced new information. Why should he be any different? Growing was hard, but if there was anything he learned today, it was that he was still capable of it. He wasn't ever going to be normal, but he could be better than what he was now, and that was all because of Milo. Milo told him not to thank him, but he wanted to, over and over again.

Instead of gushing, he peeked up from the sheets. "You said something about... pancakes? I would like that."

"Special?" Vincenzo repeated, a blush creeping to his face. Milo very quickly established himself as the center of his universe, and all the words in the languages he knew wouldn't be able to properly express how much he loved and appreciated him. He chuckled and looked down, flustered. "I wish I had better words. But yes, you're special. I've never... felt like this for anyone before."

Maybe there were parts of them that were the same. Vincenzo recognized the same emotional scars in Milo, the way they were both forced to become what they were, but Milo seemed to have handled himself better. He was, aha, a complete wreck really, but he was getting there. At a crawling pace, but he was getting there.

There were so many more things he wanted to tell him, but instead, he settled for a thoughtful silence, went over to his closet, pulled an ornate robe on, and went over to Milo. He wrapped his arms around him from behind and rubbed his face on his back, placing a small kiss there. God, he was so tall. Who allowed him to be so tall? "Strawberries and cream? I have ingredients in my fridge because I, ah, like making desserts. How do you feel about macarons? Pavlova?"

He couldn't believe he was already fantasizing about surprising Milo with desserts for lunch. Would he like that? He was going to be the cutest girlfriend, and he'll be so proud to kiss him and hold him hand in public. People would look at them and go, wow, what a cute couple! Or maybe they'd shit their pants in terror. Either way, it was desirable.

He was getting a little dizzy thinking about all that. He clung to Milo's arm as they made their way to the kitchen, a small content smile on his face.

"They're mine too," he agreed with a smile. He was content to chatter a bit about his culinary hobbies, which was something he'd never brought up in conversation before. Vincenzo was very curious, very smart and very lonely, so he'd accumulated a number of skills to abate the loneliness, and he found he had a penchant for cultured and delicate areas. He was so glad he was going to be able to share them with another person. It was getting maddening existing like he did.

As soon as they stepped into the kitchen, Vincenzo's heart dropped into his stomach. He sped ahead of Milo, grabbing a thick, colored plastic from one of the drawers and opened the fridge just enough so his body was covering the contents. He pulled the Tupperware full of parts into the plastic and tied the ends together.

Milo probably already knew what he was fussing over, and that made him feel embarrassed, ashamed. Last night, he had all these grand plans to hurt and infuriate Milo. At the time, there was nothing he wished more than for Milo to hate him. Now, the very prospect made him sick. He didn't want Milo to be disgusted with any part of him, no, no.

Without even looking at Milo, he opened the backdoor and threw that piece of plastic into the trash. He washed his hands carefully after. "L-leftovers. They were getting moldy." And that was that. End of discussion. If he was going to be chopping anything this morning, it would be strawberries, not dead animal parts.

"So, shopping bags. I've studied them a bit. They enchant the machinery that mass produces them with holding magic, but they can only be used once, or else everyone would be carrying them around. That's consumerism for you," he said, voice clearer.

He joined Milo at the counter to help him.

Vincenzo scrubbed his hands at the sink until they stopped smelling faintly of death, and when he noticed Milo's appreciation for what he did, he sighed in relief, blinking a couple of times to get the gloss out of his eyes. He didn't normally care what people thought. Leave him, hurt him, love him — any reaction was a good reaction, fascinating subjects of study to poke and prod at. The only thing he felt strongly about Milo was that he wasn't allowed to leave.

The next thing he pulled out of the fridge was cream and a tupperware of strawberries, and they didn't smell as rancid as the corpses did. He started chopping them one by one.

"Um, hm. I do. Who wouldn't?" Vincenzo flushed and made looping finger movements from his cheek to his shoulders. "I use spells for hair extensions, cosmetics, and sometimes to make my waist smaller because it, uh, needs a lot of work to be your authentic self." It was an odd thing talking about that sort of thing out loud, after he discovered he was sometimes a woman when he tried on his mother's wardrobe all those years ago. Milo knew what that felt like, and that made him feel... safe. He breathed in and turned to him, a hand on his hip.

"Dull? Talking about my area of study? More like, do you want me to talk your ear off just on the topic of magical holdings and pocket dimensions?" He stepped forward, circling a finger around Milo's apron. "Besides, with your voice, you can read me the yellow pages and I'll still want to jump you." He winked.

This felt so domestic, didn't it? It was a surprise he wasn't feeling sick to his stomach with all of this. He wondered what sort of bitterness was going to happen after the honeymoon phase. He guessed he'd have to wait and see.

"Ah. I've read from your records that you were one of the fair folk, and you're definitely fair, but I didn't know you were a changeling." Fascinating! The smell of his blood was so natural, like fruit. Invasive questions was part of the relationship package, wasn't it? It was too bad he grew up with humans. It would've been more scientifically relevant if he grew up with them.

When Milo moved closer to kiss him, Vincenzo's claw latched to his waist like a hook. He wasn't going to let him get away with just that. He got on his tiptoes and stole a few more kisses, laughing at the idea that he was a fae's chosen. "Oh, Mr. Fae, fallen into the wiles of a beautiful human, huh? Whatever shall I do? I guess I'm stuck with you for all eternity." He sighed mockingly, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. "What a terrible, terrible faith."

For Milo, maybe. Their dynamic was more the opposite, really. Vincenzo was sinking his fangs into him and never letting go. He'd treat him like a king. He could give him the best life. He just wasn't allowed to leave, not after all this. The claw on Milo's waist squeezed him a bit possessively before getting back to work, gaze lingering.

He latched onto Milo's back with hands around his stomach as he took care of the pancakes, leaving kisses down his spine. "Courting? Dating? And then what happens after? You bring me to your kingdom, take me as your bride?" In a much smaller voice, "You're not fucking with me, right? I'll never forgive you if you are. That's what we agreed on here, you're mine now." He sighed dreamily. "You're a masochist, and me, I'm needy. We're both fools."

It was appealing, dating someone as expressive as a brick wall melt with kisses and light flirting to the point his ears turned red. Vincenzo still held those old sentiments that Milo was easily manipulated, and he was the type of sick douchebag to take advantage of that, but now it was just. Endearing, more than anything. Qualities that made him better. Milo's urges were depraved but he was still so innocent, and Vincenzo would be lying if he said the adoration in his eyes when he looked at him made his knees tremble.

There were so many things to ask, concepts to explore. He wanted every single thing about Milo from his exact height to his favorite desserts, his flaws, his perfections, his quirks — every detail that turned him into the human he was today. The things he learned during stalking wasn't enough. He always wanted more of this man. His inquiries were, however, cut short when he realized his light petting turned his poor boyfriend into putty, and Vincenzo was already half hard against his ass.

Please?

"Breakfast can wait," he said, voice thick and breathy. He kissed him on the shoulder.

He was his. How was he supposed to resist? It wasn't like he wasn't thinking about it. Vincenzo licked his lips, pressing him against the counter. A hand traveled down to Milo's underwear and circled his clit, letting his lips travel all over an expanse of warm, bare skin. It didn't take much to get Milo going, and that was great, really. Sex was one of those things that was better when it was a novelty.

He grinned into his back and knelt down, slipping Milo's underwear down to his ankles and gently urging him to spread his legs and rest his knee on the counter. He grabbed handfuls of his ass and started eating him out.