Oz is amazed he gets to stay this long.
Admittedly, it's barely over a day and a half, but being able to see Ada again, to actually talk to her and touch her-that's more than he ever bargained for, and so for that, he supposes he does have to begrudgingly thank Jack. If not for his insistence on stirring things up-again-he wouldn't have had a chance to see her again.
Then again, the other half of Jack's actions only seem to make things worse.
Case and point is Gilbert, and Oz finds himself, at current, in a locked carriage with the man, squirming a bit with every second that passes by in awkward, tense silence, and if he knows anything about Gil right now, it's that silence is perhaps the worst possible thing.
"… Are you still going to be allowed to visit me?" he finally blurts out. It's about as neutral as he can get, right?
"No."
Even grinding out that one word makes Gil's stomach churn, though he's committed to seeing this through. This, at least, he can do, before he returns to the Nightray mansion. Leo will be a better contractor for Raven, he's sure. Then it'll be as it should have been a hundred years ago, and maybe even Vincent will feel like giving up his poisonous dream.
Gil sure as hell feels like giving up.
He doesn't meet Oz's eyes, sick and terrified and ashamed of what must be there. He just watches the scenery roll by as he explains dully, "I'll seal you in. The next time someone comes, you'll be put to sleep first."
Ugh. The thought of it makes Oz feel sick, because he knows how lonely it already is. Missing even a shred of human contact at this point is enough to make his stomach twist, and he glances to the side, swallowing hard. "Oh. Not that I can blame you guys for… not taking chances, and all of that."
And yet still, he has to ask. "Do you hate me? I mean, after what happened-I-you know I wish I could have said that it wasn't me, but there wasn't anything I could do, and… you're mad at me, aren't you."
More than anything he's heard in the last couple days, that startles, Gilbert, and he jerks upright, finally making eye contact for a brief second before looking down, as if the shame won't let him hold his head up for longer. "I could never hate you. It wasn't you. It was Jack. And me. But you won't have to worry about that again."
No matter how much I want to stay by your side forever, because now I know I don't deserve even that.
"… How was any of that your fault?" Oz exasperatedly replies, leaning forward with a frown. "Leo better not have told you that. Look, Gil, it's okay if you're upset with me-a lot happened and this whole situation… I mean, it's not like I can do anything to make it easier, Jack is just…"
All Gil can do is stare, incredulous. "How is it...how is any of it not my fault? I'm the one who let him trick me. I'm the one who took you out of there. I'm the one who-"
Well, it's not as though he's got the right to be a blushing maiden about it now, not after what he's put Oz through. "I'm the one who...made you do those things when you didn't want to. Leo's right to blame me."
Oz's face reddens and he sinks back once more. "I think we all know by now how manipulative Jack can be. No one is immune to it, so you can't say it's your fault when anyone else would have fallen for the same thing. And the rest… well, ah, you're certainly a lot more enthusiastic in bed than I ever thought you'd be, but that's, um, not really a problem."
Gil chokes at that, cheeks gone pale as he clutches at the seat. He still aches inside from the backlash of his seals being shattered, but this...
"I-"
Enthusiastic?
"I never-"
Not a problem...
Is there a chance, no matter how slim, that Oz actually doesn't hate him?
"But-you have to know-" Somehow he's on his knees in the carriage, looking desperately up at the boy. "You have to know I never would have-done any of that if I knew-I'd rather die than hurt you, Oz."
The wide, green-eyed blink that follows seems rather confused at Gilbert stating the obvious for what feels like the umpteenth time. "I know that. You didn't hurt me, though… other than the imprint of that gun on my back, I still have a bruise," he complains before adding with a wry grin: "I was hoping you'd kiss it better, but you've been too busy moping. Geez, Gil, I thought we were past this."
"But..." This doesn't make sense. "But I betrayed you. I-I should never have, have used you like that."
God, they have been here before, haven't they? Except at least back then, he'd had some semblance of propriety, keeping those feelings buried, keeping them locked away where they belong. "Even if you can forgive me for what I did, I should never have said what I did."
"… There's not really anything to forgive," Oz reiterates on a sigh, lifting his hands with the clink of his chains to rub at the bridge of his nose. "And what are you even talking about? The… uh… sex part? I don't remember a lot of what you said, but I'll go ahead and admit that I haven't exactly given the number of, um, services that Jack has in his lifetime, so I can't exactly vouch for my prowess in that area or if you were complaining or-"
Oh god, there has to be a way to erase the last few seconds, there has to, because hearing those words coming from Oz's lips...
"N-no!" Gil fairly yelps, scrambling backward until he's seated somewhat properly on the seat once more. His face is so red it hurts as he babbles, "I-it was-I mean, more than fine, it was better than I'd ever-not that I'd thought about-it was always me, should have been me, you don't belong on your knees to-"
He clears his throat, on the verge of nervous laughter, and wrestles the hysteria down. "I didn't mean that, anyway. I just-you don't have to-just don't worry about it, okay? The-what I said after. I know you didn't mean what Jack said, so-"
Oz's brow furrows in confusion for a moment longer before it clicks."Oh. Oh! After. Right. Why would I worry about that? I've known about you loving me for a long time."
The sound Gil makes is highly undignified, but it's nothing compared to the face he makes, part horror, part shock, all confusion. "But-but I-but how-"
A light shrug follows. "You're not exactly subtle, you know. That being said, you never said anything, so I figured you wanted it to be a secret."
A sound akin to a whimper comes out, and Gil finds himself wishing he were a child again, just so he could curl up and not have to face anyone, burying his head in his knees. As it is, he slumps forward, head in hands. "I...I'm sorry. I never meant to." God, what Oz must think of him.
"You're giving me a headache," Oz grumbles, stretching out one leg to promptly kick Gilbert in the knee. "Why are you apologizing? I'm not mad, I don't hate you. I was asking you if you were mad at me or hated me, you know!"
Gilbert scowls, rubbing his knee, shoving him back on reflex. "It's not exactly normal, you know! I mean-you're my master, I'm your servant, and we're both men. I know it's wrong, and I didn't want you to know I'm some kind of..."
"Pervert?" Oz mildly suggests, looking decidedly unfazed. "Look, Gil. Let me just set you straight. I don't hate you. You're still my best friend. And I think we both know… that this is probably the worst possible time to ever talk about relationship-type things, considering I'm a chain and technically in prison."
The relief that courses through Gil is palpable, taking a painful weight off of his soul, and he hisses out a breath, sagging back against the seat. "Yeah," he says quietly, with a little nod. "Look, I-even if you don't, if you never feel anything like that, I'll never stop wanting to..."
Protect you. Help you. Be by your side.
But Oz is willing to let it go as a flaw in timing, of all things. It's more of an escape than he'd ever thought he'd get. "We can...talk about it later, though. When we've taken care of Jack. Right?"
Relief floods Oz's own expression, and he nods earnestly. "After we've taken care of Jack. Until then… try not to stress over it, okay? I don't hate you." It's something that he knows he's going to have to repeat three or four times until it really clicks in Gilbert's head. "And you know, if I wasn't going to be put to sleep whenever you come to check the seals… I wouldn't have minded maybe fooling around…" I've been locked in a dungeon for two years, human contact is a good thing.
Gil's mouth is suddenly dry, the blood draining from his head to somewhere decidedly lower. "Y-you can't just-you don't even-look, I know you like girls!"
The look on Oz's face is positively indignant. "Yeah, so? Are you really turning me down?"
"I-no! God, Oz, you can't just say stuff like that as a joke. It's not very nice," Gil finishes in a mutter, folding his arms.
Oz huffs as he flops backward against the wall of the carriage. "Do you not think I'm pretty, is that it?" Now he just can't help but mess with Gilbert.
For all that it's horrifying, it's familiar, being tormented by his old master, and Gilbert can't help but squawk. "That's-I never said that! You're making things up!"
"Everyone says I am." Oz's head tips to the side. "All the guards that come down there say it all the time, it's kind of creepy."
"What? What guards?" Gil's hand goes to his gun before he thinks, eyes blazing in defense of his master, of the idea that anyone might dream of staring at Oz or possibly doing more.
"… Well, they aren't exactly here right now, so you can stop grabbing at your gun," Oz drawls, openly amused. "Gil, calm down already. I'm just teasing you."
Gil huffs out a breath, sinking down lower in his seat. "This is as bad as that time you locked me in the cabinet with Ada's kitten." It's the same thing, when it comes down to it. Learning about his fear of cats, learning about this-there are reasons, and good ones, that he's kept his secrets hidden for more than a decade.
Oz tries not to laugh at that, though it's difficult. "Just calm down already," he sighs, leaning backwards. "Stop being such a giant ball of stress. I don't hate you-" That's at least the third time, isn't it? "So you don't have anything to worry about. I am going to be mad if you don't bring me chocolate like you promised, though."
"Of course I'll bring you chocolate," Gil mutters, even his nose turning pink now. "I was going to cook you something when you were at Pandora, but..."
But I thought you hated me.
"I won't let him out again," he says instead, looking up suddenly. "You'll have to trust me. I won't be able to see you until Leo figures this out, but trust that I'm trying to help you."
"God, it's going to be even more boring," Oz mumbles, his lower lip jutting in an open pout. Better to talk about how boring it is rather than how lonely, lest Gilbert worry even more.
"You think that's bad, try being stuck at Nightray Manor," Gil grumbles, wincing as he remembers that he's got to stop in town on his way back to pick up a lot of purple brocade.
"You have people to talk to, at least!" Oz protests. "And Elliot's back-how could you possibly be bored?"
"Elliot is-" Gil bites his lip on someone else's secret. It wouldn't do to start a chain reaction of revealing exactly what others get up to in Nightray Manor, after all. Leo knows far too much that could seriously change Oz's opinion of him. "Busy," he finishes instead, lamely. "Today is only the third time I've seen him, Leo doesn't summon him very often around other people."
Oz nods slowly. "After all that's happened, I'm not surprised Leo would want him all to himself… still, you're his brother. You should ask Leo if you can talk to Elliot sometime, it might do you some good."
"Maybe," Gil allows. Maybe if they could talk when they weren't doing errands for the Baskervilles, fighting for the Baskervilles, planning for the Baskervilles, it would be different. He'd like that, probably. "Did you get a chance to talk to him? I know he's been wanting to see you, talk about chain stuff."
"… Not really," Oz admits, his pout quickly resurfacing. "I think Leo must've been too wary to let him come back. I guess I can't blame him, after the stunt Jack pulled… and Elliot's such a new chain-" His expression twists wryly. "The last thing he needs to do is deal with B-Rabbit. Then Leo would really never get him back."
Gil winces at that, nodding. He hesitates, then leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Oz...you know that, even now, I can't trust a hundred percent that you're not Jack. And after yesterday, I'll probably never be sure until this is over."
"Which is exactly what Jack wanted, no doubt." Oz sighs, offering little more than a shrug. "I don't blame you. There's nothing we an do but get rid of Jack faster, right?"
Despite everything-the lies, the murders, the betrayals, the manipulations, the cruelty-something tucked deep inside Gilbert flinches at the idea of getting rid of Jack. It's worse since the veil had lifted from his memories, letting him remember Vincent, but bringing with it the memory of that golden smile, those happy days in Sablier with his first master.
Of course, Jack is responsible for taking that away from him, too-but he's still the one who picked him and Vincent up off the streets, brought them somewhere they'd be treated properly for the first time in years, where he didn't have to steal or starve, where no one hurt them.
He sighs, tilting his head back against the carriage wall. "Right, Oz."
Really, this is beneath even Gilbert's dignity.
He'd sucked up his own pride and made the damned dress, though, and Leo had seemed approving enough, at the end of the day. There are only a few minor details to change, and for those, he needs another fitting. "I wouldn't need to do so much work while it's on you if you'd modeled for me earlier," he complains, sticking a few pins in his mouth as he adjusts the piping in the back. "Just hold still, I need to make sure it's sitting right before I take up the hem."
Again.
His master is a petite little thing, after all.
"If you had taken my measurements correctly in the first place-" Leo cuts himself off with a huff of breath, his face burning as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest, head ducked reflexively as if he still has the fall of his hair to hide beneath. It's one thing if he's doing this-wearing this for Elliot. Even knowing from the start that Gilbert would have to see him in this dress at least once, it doesn't make it any more pleasant; this was for Elliot, only Elliot, and really, the whole thing was just… embarrassing.
Sometimes, he needs to stop having ideas.
"Just hurry up already." At least Gilbert wasn't crying on him.
"I did take your measurements correctly," Gil retorts, giving a lightning-quick baste to the overlay surrounding the back paneling. "It's just impossible to tell how you're going to breathe in it. Are you going to be wearing a corset underneath? That would change the fit."
He's rather impressed that he's managing to say such things with a straight face but hell, this whole debacle was hardly his idea.
"Probably?" Too many questions. He hasn't thought that far ahead, anyway! "I mean-if Elliot-never mind, things you don't need to know," Leo mutters.
Actually, this is sort of fun. Gil is beginning to see what kind of glee Oz takes out of tormenting him, watching Leo blush and stammer. "Master," he says, trying to look as innocent as possible, "I can't fulfill your wishes if you don't tell me. If I make it for a corset and you don't wear one, you'll be bursting at the seams."
Oz would look good in a corset, the sudden thought comes to him, and his finger nearly slips on one of the pins.
"Oh, just make it for one already!" Leo snaps, face absolutely flaming, his shoulders hunching in an attempt to compensate for lack of something to hide in. "And stop smirking, this isn't a joke."
Gil forces the smile off his face, then slips a pin in to mark where he'll take the waist in for the corset. Not too far, not if Leo isn't wearing one all the time, and it's pretty obvious he isn't, deviant pervert though he is.
"Done back here, master. Could you step on the crate so I can see to the hem?"
Unbidden, the image of Oz in a maid's uniform surfaces. He'd looked so cute, and for a moment, Gil hadn't been ashamed to tell him.
Scowling, Leo gingerly does as he's told, a fleeting glance stolen to the nearby window. Really, if they didn't need the light, he'd have the curtains drawn already-knowing the rest of this damned family, they were probably spying him. Or at least, Vincent probably was.
"… Just keep your mind on this and get it done and over with," Leo mutters, shifting uncomfortably. At least with Elliot being his chain, he didn't have to worry about the idiot waltzing in unannounced and making this even more awkward.
Hmm, this brings up another question. Gil kneels at Leo's feet, tugging gently on some of the ruffles, making certain that all the gathers sit as well as they're intended. "Master, what shoes do you intend to wear? How much heel are you planning on showing? It does make a difference."
Leo nearly puts his foot into Gilbert's face. "I-" The flush starts to creep down to his neck. "You know, I don't intend to do much walking in this thing."
God, Gil really can't help but smirk at that, even with the pins in his mouth. At least he manages to refrain from making a comment about how his time will be spent on his back, though it's a near thing. "As you wish," he says instead, choking down the laugh, and shortens the hem another inch.
A little growl wells from Leo's throat, and he gives into the urge to lift one foot, jabbing it pointedly into Gilbert's shoulder. "I already told you not to laugh. What I do in my free time isn't any of your business, anyway; all you have to do is do as you're told!"
Gil ducks his head, as much to hide the sudden flush of his face as to bend to the task of underpinning the petticoat. It's far, far too easy to imagine being on his knees for Oz instead, feeling one of his boots shoving at him, and really, these images shouldn't be so damned hard to get rid of, he's not a damned teenager anymore. "Sorry, Master," he mutters, knee-walking over to the other side.
"Good," Leo mutters, his arms stiffly folding again. He watches Gilbert out of the corner of his eye, not terribly inclined to meet the man's gaze, but hoping perhaps a bit of a stare will encourage him to hurry the hell up, anyway. "… You've done this far more often than you like to let on," he accuses.
Leo's stare is not making this any easier. Gil is starting to feel decidedly uncomfortable under it as he admits, "When I first arrived at the Vessalius household, the seamstress took me under her wing. Master Oz had a lot of lessons that a common-born orphan couldn't be expected to understand, so..."
"I expected you to tell me you had made him something along these lines," Leo drawls, an eyebrow arching.
"Oz isn't a pervert," Gil snaps before he thinks better of it.
Leo stares directly at him now. "So I am?"
Gil swallows hard, then rephrases. "Oz doesn't like wearing women's clothing," he tries, though god, the memory of him in that maid's uniform is enough to make an uncomfortable situation even worse.
"… But you wish he was," Leo deduces, one corner of his mouth turning up into a faint smirk. "So that makes you a pervert, too, doesn't it, Gilbert?"
Oz had looked so cute, so innocent and winsome in that outfit, yet with that blushing, protesting face-
It's all too easy to imagine him in an outfit like this-maybe with shoes even higher-maybe looking down on him just as Leo is now.
Gil clears his throat, shifting forward in what he hopes is a subtle attempt to turn his bottom half away as he pins up the hem. "I just want Oz to wear whatever suits him best."
"So if Oz wears it, it's because it suits him," the younger man sniffs, cocking his head to the side. "But if I do, I'm a pervert? Aren't you a rude servant."
"Sorry," Gil mutters. Then again, it isn't terribly hard to remember a dozen scenes or more from the Nightray Manor, even during the brief time they'd all been together, that he'd seen Leo with his nose in a book with a too-plain cover, or seen him sneaking into Elliot's room after dark. "Of course I'd never imagine calling you such a thing. I'm sure no one would."
"Except you just did, five minutes ago," Leo moodily sighs, shifting to pointedly jab Gilbert with his toe again. "I should make you apologize for that more profusely. Then again, you might like that, considering how red-faced you already are."
Shit, this is the kind of thing Gil really doesn't want to talk about, doesn't want to be obvious about, doesn't really understand himself. "I just-you're talking about embarrassing things," he blusters, hunching over farther, trying not to enjoy the prod of his master's boot.
It's a miracle Gilbert can see when he's curled into a ball like that-and obviously, he can't very well, considering how the next pinprick nicks into Leo's skin. It doesn't hurt, not really, but it's enough to bring the reflex of the back of his hand smacking across Gilbert's face, a sharp enough slap to leave skin reddened in its wake. "Focus on your work, then. If you prick me with another pin-ah, I shouldn't threaten you, should I? You're already in a poor enough state."
Gil's face burns.
Not just with the slap-though Leo hits hard, sending a wave of sharp clear pain shooting through him, and Gil sucks in a breath, flinching away. It's usually been Vincent on the other end of Leo's rages like this, and Gil has to wonder, with the tiny part of his mind not currently flustered from Leo seeing his cock tenting his pants at the rough treatment, whether Vincent has the same reaction.
"I-sorry, Master, I'll just-" he mutters, making to rise and hurry away.
"Sit back down."
It's fun again, now that he isn't the one flustered and being teased (as much as Gilbert is able to tease a person, anyway). Leo twists slightly, frowning down at his dress. "Are you finished? You probably should double-check, so you don't have to make more alterations later."
It's only because he's so recently been such a disappointment to his master that Gil does as he's told, slowly kneeling back down at Leo's feet. Even being forced to stay is affecting him, in this state, and he bites his lip, bending to his task. He swallows hard, hoping that at least Leo won't make it any worse. "It looks straight from down here."
"Good." Leo pauses, glancing down, his lips curving into a slow smirk. "Then-" His fingers curl into his skirts, hiking them up just slightly so that he can better lift one leg, propping his booted foot against Gilbert's shoulder and leaning his weight down against him. As small as he is, it isn't much, but it's enough pressure to remind Gilbert that he's there, that he's essentially using the man as a footrest while he kneels at his master's feet. "Would you prefer to help me out of this… or just stay down there, behaving yourself?"
Gil's breath catches, and he finds himself leaning into the foot, just a little, enough to make it ache. He starts to rise, then sternly reminds himself who he's dealing with, and stops, confused. "I...I don't think that's very appropriate, Master."
"What isn't? Staying where you're put, or helping me change?" Leo's head tips to the side, his heel languidly grinding into Gilbert's shoulder. "If it's the latter, then I suppose I'll just call Vincent in to help. You can stay right where you are, like a good servant."
"N-no!" His knees are starting to hurt from being down here for so long, not to mention his shoulder, not to mention the throbbing of his cock between his legs. "I'll help, please don't call Vincent in when I'm-"
"When you're what?" His voice drops, a little breathy husk as he smirks openly. "This turned on?" Leo's weight shifts, his foot dragging from Gilbert's shoulder to nudge at his throat. "I haven't even done anything, Gilbert. Or maybe that's just it-you'd rather get off on sitting at someone's feet, being their little pet. I gave Elliot a collar, you know. Maybe I should get you something similar, if you're really well-behaved."
There's no stopping the groan that wells up in Gil's throat, or the way he lurches forward, hand twitching from the desire to press up between his legs, and it's a close, close thing that he avoids it. His thoughts are swirling, chaotic, a confused jumble of things he hadn't even known he wanted, images of being leashed and chained and kept. He wants to say something, to protest something about how Leo's his little brother's lover and this is all sorts of improper, but he can't make out a single word, head tilting back to expose his throat, lips parting as he looks up helplessly at his Master.
It's actually kind of disturbing how good Gilbert looks on his knees.
Leo swallows, a shove pushing Gilbert back just slightly, even as Leo bends, just enough to fist a hand into the other man's hair. "You're certainly being good now," he murmurs, and it's with a hum that he elegantly drops himself down to sit on the crate, one leg extended to drag his booted foot down Gilbert's chest, stomach, nudging at the inside of his thigh. "Why don't you tell me what you want as a reward? Or is sitting here at my feet like a dog good enough for you?" Leo's eyebrows arch. "Because that's all you are, Gilbert. My dog."
This is a thousand kinds of wrong, perverted, depraved, and damned if Gil feels up to stopping it. That insistent pressure is close, close to something he wants, and even the idea of how wrong it is doesn't make him any less hard. If anything, it just makes his cock swell more. He strains a little at the hand in his hair, but it would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he just likes to feel the pull, the tug of Leo's hand on it, especially when it hurts.
"I..."
His knees shift just slightly, splaying a few inches farther apart, even as he shudders at the humiliation of it. "N-nothing that could-I don't want to hurt Elliot-" Because his little brother is the best of them, always has been, and there's love purer than any Gil has ever felt in his eyes when he looks at his old servant.
But oh, he aches.
"Then," Leo murmurs, the toe of his boot pushing against the inside of Gilbert's thigh, splaying them further apart and rather liking the way Gilbert shivers from it, "I won't lay another hand on you. You're right, Elliot needn't be hurt by what a pervert you are… nor do I want my hands dirty in the first place. You can do the work yourself."
"...M-master?" Gil asks, husky, confused. His hands tremble, and he doesn't dare reach for his pins, never knowing what they'll wind up sticking next if he tries to do anything in this state. "What work...?"
If someone were to see him like this-
If Oz were to see him like this, splayed out and hard and only getting more worked up with ever condescending, disdainful sneer that falls from Leo's lips-
He wonders if Oz would laugh at him. Worse, that only makes him harder.
"Do I really need to spell it out for you?" His foot comes to press between Gilbert's legs, dragging along the hard outline of his cock. "You and your brother both… you're really not any better from every other filthy noble, are you? I didn't even touch you, and you're like this. Touch yourself, I want to see how easy you are."
Gil's not completely sure that this is something Elliot would be fine with, really.
Then again, he's a lot more sure that he can't refuse.
With a low shudder, Gil does as he's told, groaning as he pulls his cock free of his trousers, his other hand raking his hair back from his face. He can't look up to meet Leo's eyes, looks down instead, watching his own long pale fingers squeezing and stroking over the length of his hard, flushed cock.
Leo leans back, then, weight resting on his hands as his legs cross at the ankle. Drawing a slow breath, watching Gilbert's fingers squeeze and drag slickly from root to tip, he lowly orders: "Tell me what you're thinking of… or is it a who? Oz, maybe, prettied up in a dress like this?"
Gil's hips jerk up into his hand, and he hisses out a breath, nodding quickly. Oz would look better in the dress than Leo does, he thinks wistfully, though he'd alter it to show off the boy's assets, some shade that brought out his eyes-
"Oz," he confesses in a whisper. "Talking-like that, to me." He ducks his head, and the last part is almost inaudible. "The-collar. Like you..."
"Oh, so you liked that idea?" Leo's voice is laced with mocking laughter. "You're the worst. All you want is to kneel at his feet all day, a pretty collar around your neck and a leash on his finger. I bet he'd pull on it, yank it so hard that you can barely breathe. Maybe he'd sit there and watch you jerk off, just like I am." He leans in closer, his gaze lidded. "He's probably nicer, though. I bet he'd actually let you come."
Gilbert moans, every word dripping from Leo's lips shooting straight to his cock. He pumps it slowly, twisting his hand, squeezing the head, rubbing his thumb over the fluid dripping freely now, trying to be good and take his time, because it doesn't sound like Leo will appreciate it if he rushes.
He can imagine it so well, everything Leo's voice conjures up. Kneeling at Oz's feet, knees bruised and cramped from holding the position for hours, being led around like a pretty little pet by a strip of leather around his neck, slapped and punished and mocked, and none of this should be nearly so arousing, should make him thrust up into the stroke of his hand so much. "Please," he begs, head bowing in surrender. "I'm-master, it hurts-"
"Whore," Leo mutters, a hand fisting its way back through Gilbert's hair, fingers twisting in close to his scalp to wrench his head back. "That's all you are, aren't you? All you want to be?"
His palm connects solidly with the side of Gilbert's face again, sharp and swift and Leo knows that probably, it would have been enough to send the man reeling, if not for his hold still tight within Gilbert's hair. "Come all over yourself, then, if you're that pathetic."
Gil can't tell if it's the order or the slap that pushes him over the edge, the pain sending his mind reeling, making him cry out as he comes, spilling hot and explosive over his hand, his clothes, the floor in front of him. He aches, his mind reeling with the aftereffects, and he slumps forward, head resting against one slender thigh. "Th...thank you, Master," he whispers, eyes sliding shut as his hand slows, milking out every drop of his release.
Leo's face twists in disgust, and his boot connects firmly with Gilbert's chest, pushing him back and off of him with a hard shove. "Gross. You really don't need to touch me after all of that." He snorts, amused. "You really are just like your brother. Worse, actually."
Gil climbs slowly back up to his knees, giving a shaky nod. It's true, after all. Maybe it runs in their family, whoever their family really is. They can't be worth much, if they're from the sort of people who toss their children out on the streets to starve. "Sorry, Master. I'll just...clean up," he mutters, finding a scrap of cloth he'd cut off the dress to be discarded. There's no helping the mess on his own clothing, but he does his own washing anyway.
"Don't tell him, or he'll end up jealous," Leo mildly retorts, picking up his skirts as he rises and steps away. "Then again, you're pretty tell-tale now, with your face that red. Is this going to be a thing every time I ask you to make a dress for me?"
Gil scowls, a bit of his old grumpiness returning as he shoves himself back into his trousers. "You started it," he growls, gathering up his sewing basket. "And how many more dresses are you going to make me sew for you, anyway?"
"I started it? You're the one that got turned on at the slightest thing, all I did was talk at you," Leo sniffs as he examines his nails. "Anyway, you'll make as many dresses as I want you to." Assuming Elliot likes this one. "Now, help me out of this and you can go."
Deft fingers make their way down the intricate fastenings of the back, something Gil's actually rather proud of. After a moment, he asks quietly, "Master, can I ask you something?"
Leo heaves a long-suffering sigh, even as he tugs his hair out of the way of any fastenings. "What is it?"
"Master Glen. The...last one, before you." Gil swallows hard, pulling out a straight pin, removing one of the fasteners, and threading it back through nimbly. "How much is he...there?"
The question brings Leo some pause, and he turns his head to look at Gilbert, contemplative. "… It's rare that there's only one voice, you know, and I don't like listening to them if I can help it. Why?"
Not for the first time, Gilbert wonders exactly how much Leo knows, from the Glen Baskervilles of the past, from Vincent, from whatever Jack's said, about his own past and Sablier. He gives a brief, sad little apology of a smile, bending to his task. "I wanted to tell him I'm sorry for letting Jack out again. He...if I hadn't trusted Jack, he'd probably still be alive. Well, not now, but..."
"The other day, when you woke up and I was there," Leo quietly puts in before anything else can be said, "that was mostly him. Sometimes, they don't shut up until I do certain things-like watch out for stupid servants that keep thinking with their pricks," is the dark addition. "At any rate, I don't think he blames you."
That drives a little laugh out of Gilbert, and he blinks quickly, hand tightening on the fabric before he reminds himself to smooth it out. "Thank you, Master," he says softly, not quite sure which Glen he's talking to. It's more of an absolution than he'd expected, from a dead man. "Here, step out, I can do the rest on the mannequin."
Leo does as he's bid, snatching up his cloak the second he's out of the dress in order to huddle down into it. "Any idea as to when you'll have it finished by? I'd like to be able to make plans, obviously."
"Two days," Gil estimates, looking down at how much he still has to do. "Or longer if you've got errands for me. Any faster than that and I'd be rushing it, and if I'm going to be a seamstress I'm going to at least do credit to my old teacher," he finishes in a grumble.
"Your brother can run errands for once," Leo sighs as he fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. Dressing underneath a cloak is really less than enjoyable-and honestly, rather ridiculous, considering a moment ago he didn't exactly have this much shame. "Don't rush it. It… I do want it to look nice, of course."
Gil can't help but find it a bit cute, the way Leo goes from the cruel calculating master of before to this child, barely more than a blushing student getting ready for a secret stroll with a hidden lover. "I'm sure Elliot will find you most beautiful," he says, a hint of a blush in his own cheeks for the praise.
And then, because something tells him that he'll rarely see Leo like this again, and because maybe they've shared something, he asks, "It's odd, isn't it? To suddenly be a noble?"
Leo isn't sure what's more awkward, the way his face reddens or the fact that Gilbert is trying to be some level of friendly with him. "… No odder than having half a dozen voices in my head at any given time." He drags his cloak tightly about himself once more. "I'm not… really made out for this sort of thing," he admits tiredly.
Gil gives him a weak little smile, carefully bundling up the dress so it won't wrinkle, then leaning back against the doorframe. "I remember that," he admits. "Everyone always thought Vincent was the strange one because of his eyes, but..." He tilts his head back, sighing. "If everything hadn't gone wrong, I'd be one of those voices in your head."
"… So I've been told," Leo dryly replies, eyeing Gilbert with a faint hint of amusement. "You would have made a very strange Glen, anyway. Perhaps it's for the best. Also, I am certain I would never want you in my head."
Gil snorts at that. "I'm not really sure what would make me a strange Glen. You're about as different from my old master as I can imagine, you know." Tall, quiet, strict, fair, kind to small animals, patient, slow to anger, cold when he finally did-
Yes, Leo's about as far from the Glen he knew as he can imagine.
Leo's nose wrinkles. "From what I can garner, that's a good thing. He sounds boring to me." He sweeps his cloak about himself as he heads to the door. "Well, take some time to yourself, anyway, and finish that thing," he says with a nod to the dress in Gilbert's arms. "You need a bit of recovery time still when it comes to Raven, anyway. Let's try to avoid trouble for a few days for once, shall we?"
"He wasn't boring, though," Gil says softly, out of some old sense of loyalty, but he doesn't bother insisting on anything. He tucks the dress under his arm, giving Leo a bow. "I'll let you know when it's done. Good night, Master."
"Good night, Gilbert," Leo quietly returns, parting ways with a nod of his head and looking terribly forward to his bed for once.
He really should learn to not tease his servants one of these days. Where he gets that from, he's not sure he wants to know.
Collapsing back into the mattress, Leo scarcely remembers to kick his boots off, and rolls to the side, effectively encasing himself into his cloak. "You can come out, White Knight."
There's an anxiety, a hesitation before Elliot emerges. Instead of drawing his sword immediately, he appears behind Leo, brushing his lips over the Duke's ear. "I got you a present," he says, almost shyly, glad that Leo isn't looking directly at him.
"One that isn't yourself?" Leo drawls, rolling slowly over to glance up at Elliot. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it's nice. What are you so nervous about?"
"I'm just not sure you'll..."
Elliot huffs out a breath, trying to put his thoughts together. He strokes his hands over Leo's arms, trying to warm him with body heat he's not entirely sure he has, and murmurs, "I got it before Jack showed up, it's at the foot of the bed. I'll just-call me back after you open it, would you?" he asks, then starts to fade into the ether.
"Elli-"
Leo stops himself with a sigh, briefly rubbing the bridge of his nose as he pushes himself up, unwinding from his self-made cocoon to crawl to the foot of the bed as directed.
It's a small chest-old, obviously, and from the familiar carvings, probably something that has been in the Nightray family for generations. Immediately, Leo feels awkward. He's no noble, no matter what he's 'inherited', and he's certainly no Nightray, in spite of being the servant of one for a pair of years.
He opens it anyway.
Strange. It's really strange, thumbing through the contents, almost afraid to touch anything, especially when the linens feel far too fine to be beneath his hands, the veil-yes, that's definitely a wedding veil, and it sort of makes his heart thump too hard, too fast-so delicate that he's afraid even a fingernail will tear it, and the rest… well, jewelry he understands a bit better, even if there's a carefully carved ring box that he's too afraid to open, and if he isn't mistaken, the carefully folded clothing is for a child, presumably Elliot's-
"… Get back out here," Leo mumbles, his face flushed hot as he sits back onto his knees. "White Knight."
Elliot fades into view, hanging back awkwardly, waiting to see Leo's reactions. He'd deliberated for days, going back and forth, sure it was a stupid, trite, sentimental idea, finding himself oddly driven to it nonetheless, finally deciding that if Leo hated it, he could just pretend it had never happened.
He'd gone over every bit of the chest, making sure every item was present and accounted for-it wouldn't do to find he'd fallen victim to looters after his death and not even known about it-before hauling it up here, and every item had made him blush. He tells himself for the hundredth time that it's not what each item means on its own, but what the chest means as a whole that he's giving Leo.
He only wishes he'd understood enough to do it back when it had really mattered.
"It's your choice," he says, trying to remember to be brave. He takes a deep breath, then says as steadily as he can manage, "I think you know what it is. You can put it back in the vault if you want, I won't be offended, but I'd like you to have it."
The laugh that escapes Leo's lips is wet. "Now that's a lie. You'd be incredibly offended. Elliot-"
There's a dozen things he could say, all expounding upon the fact that he really isn't good enough for something like this. He's not just a common-born street rat, but he's of the worst sort-one his own village didn't want, one that his parents didn't want, one that was only wanted as a commodity, bought and sold into the House of Fianna and even then, he still managed to ruin everything for everyone.
The problem is that Elliot doesn't care, and so all that Leo manages to blurt out is, "This is supposed to be for your wife. I'm not-" He swallows hard. "I'm not even a woman, you know."
"I know." There's really nothing he can say to that, when it comes down to it. Leo isn't a woman, and it was always a risk that he'd be more offended than pleased. "Look, you can just forget it. I swear I won't be offended."
Slowly, he picks his way forward, worrying his bottom lip between straight white teeth. "But it doesn't have anything to do with you being a woman. Just so you know. It's because..." He frowns, rummaging for the words he'd practiced, and not finding them. "Before I died, I wanted to spend my life with you. Now, I just want to spend whatever I have left with you."
It's sappy, it's corny, he knows it, so he turns away, folding his arms and scowling. "If you don't want it you can throw it in the lake for all I care, it's not like anyone else is going to need it."
"I never said I didn't want it!"
His face is so red that it hurts. Leo jerks backward, huddled beneath heavy red velvet, and he looks up at Elliot, trying, trying not to let his eyes become so wet that he can't help but cry. "I want it-you more than anything in the world. I…" he chokes on his own words for a moment, sniffling to regain his composure. "I thought once… if maybe I had been born a woman, maybe you would have married me, even if I wasn't a noble. Even though I'm really not the kind of person you should marry-but-still-"
Now he's rambling. Leo huffs, his gaze downcast again, fingers trembling a bit as one traces the edge of the chest. "At least a bond between a contractor and chain is a lot harder to destroy than a piece of paper saying we're official. That… that's close enough, right?"
"You're an idiot," Elliot says, but there's no malice and a hell of a lot of relief behind the words. He can't keep away, so he comes up behind Leo, sliding an arm around his waist, resting his chin on Leo's shoulder no matter how he has to bend to do it. "Of course I would have married you if you were a girl. I told you, didn't I?" he asks, nuzzling against Leo's cheek.
"You were everything I was always looking for."
He nudges the chest with his other hand, dismissive even as he's reverent. "This...this is formality. I belong to you. I just thought you might want to do the same for me. You know, the way it would have been."
"… I want to wear the ring."
Leo tries not to cry. Really, he does, but it's sort of a losing battle at this point, no matter how he sniffs and blinks and tries not to just curl up into Elliot's chest and give up. "I'm sorry," he adds, rather on reflex at this point. "I'm really sorry. If all of this hadn't happened-y-you would've been a really good duke, you know, though I-I know I would have been an awful wife-" He's really pathetic, when it comes down to it.
Elliot can't help but grin at that, reaching around Leo and picking up the old engraved ring box. "If none of this had ever happened," he reminds Leo, with a soft, warm kiss on his jawline, "I would have been an itinerant fourth son lucky to find work as a clerk somewhere."
He sits on the bed, pulling Leo into his lap as he opens the ring box, presenting it to him. "And I'd be getting really good at dodging the things my wife threw at me."
"You should have been a duke," Leo stubbornly mumbles, curling himself back up against Elliot as he feels suddenly, intensely overwhelmed all over again. That's not supposed to be his ring, it's supposed to be Elliot's wife's-because he should have been alive, not like this, not ever like this.
He draws a shuddering breath. "Well, put it on me already." Before I really start bawling like I'm Gilbert and drunk.
Damn it, Elliot feels tears welling up in his own eyes, no matter how he blinks them back. He'd thought he was ready for this, but maybe it's the kind of thing you're not supposed to be ready for.
Carefully, because Leo's going to remember this and he wants it to be right, Elliot slides out from under Leo, kneeling at his feet as he draws out the ring. "This has been a Nightray family heirloom for three hundred years," he says quietly, and kisses Leo's hand softly before sliding it on. "And if I were a Duke, I would want nothing more than to make you my Duchess."
That's about the end of it.
The metal is surprisingly warm as it slides on, not as cool and cold as Leo expects from everything else in this damned mansion-except Elliot. It's fitting, of course, that something from Elliot wouldn't chill him to the bone, and his breath hiccups, simply unable to look away at the sight of that ring on his finger, at Elliot kneeling in front of him and saying things like that.
Leo sucks in a breath before flinging himself forward, his arms tightly cinched about Elliot's neck as he buries his face into the other man's shoulder, giving in and just crying.
It means more than he'd thought it would, to have Leo wearing the ring. The wave of relief that crashes over Elliot at the idea that Leo hadn't laughed, hadn't called him a fucking idiot, hadn't just laughed at him is nothing compared to the swell of happiness at seeing Leo put the ring on.
And then his arms are full of the other man, and he's kissing Leo's hair, holding him as tightly as his arms can manage, actually laughing through those embarrassing tears, and there's no tighter circle than the one made by his arms, not even the metallic one binding one elegant, slender finger.
"You're not allowed… to go anywhere, ever again," Leo eventually chokes out, worming his way against Elliot, his fingers cinched into the tail of his hair as he buries his face deeper into his neck. "I-if you keep coming back with things like this, you're going to kill me, I can't-"
Elliot has to laugh at that, hauling the both of them back onto the foot of the bed. "Where am I going to go?" he asks, incredulously. "And if I could, I sure as hell wouldn't want to go without my...without you." It's probably too early to start thinking about Leo as his wife, but damn it, he is wearing the ring.
To cover for the slip, he turns to the chest, setting the box carefully back inside. "You know what the rest of this is? It's all yours, too."
Leo scrubs a hand over his eyes, managing a nod no matter how he still shakes. "Just so you know, though," he waveringly replies, "I'm not having kids any time soon. Jabberwock's as good as you're going to get for now."
Elliot snorts, setting aside the baby clothes. "He's a little big for these, I think. Then-ah, my mother told me and Vanessa that a real noblewoman's veil has to be fine enough to be drawn through her wedding ring, tip to tip." He pulls out the delicate lace, laying it on the bed. "Obviously you don't have to wear it or anything, but I'm pretty sure it's one of the good ones."
"… Thought that was just something women said in books," Leo admits, reaching out a hand to gingerly run his fingers over the lace. "I'm not sure I'd do it any justice, anyway…" He can't help but laugh. "I guess I should apologize for not being a virgin the first time we went to bed together, too, let alone that it was far before any wedding night. So much for being a real noblewoman."
Elliot brushes his fingers under Leo's chin, bringing him up for a soft, sweet kiss. "I'm pretty sure a real nobleman would have the courtesy to show up to the wedding alive," he points out. "I'd say you're still ahead."
There's more in the box, jewels his mother had squirreled away when Ernest and Claude started cooking the books, a pocketwatch from some great-grandfather, a few golden pendants for the children they're never going to have, and one more item, tucked into the very bottom. He lifts it out slowly, the only new item in the chest, one that hasn't been handed down from anywhere but handspun for Elliot's wife at his birth. "I, uh, don't know who handled my burial," he confesses, "so I don't know how much this means, but...you know what this is?"
Leo manages a nod, and though he lifts his hand to touch it, he can't quite bring himself to actually lay hand to a funeral shroud. It's too stark a reminder that Elliot is actually dead, and what he has now is remnants, at the very best. "… I don't know who did, either," he murmurs, fingers curling as he withdraws his hand. "I… was being held in Pandora at the time of your burial. I've never… I thought I'd ask Vincent, once, if he would take me to your grave, but I could never do it."
Elliot nods once, firmly. "I bet it was Gil. He's...I mean, he's technically the heir to all of this, after all. He's the oldest and he's got Raven." His mouth twists into a frown. "Honestly, as his master, you should get on his case about getting married and continuing my family name."
He sighs, closes his hand over Leo's, and lays them both on top of the shroud. "Death isn't anything to be afraid of," he says quietly, firmly. "Everyone dies. It's how you go that matters, and what you do first."
"… You're going to see me rot away into nothing," Leo quietly replies, his fingers trembling underneath Elliot's. "Assuming I somehow manage to stop Jack, and restore balance to everything." He laughs, unable to help himself at the next thought. "But what you aren't going to see is Gilbert ever marry a woman. Vincent, maybe."
Elliot lifts those slender fingers, kissing each one of them. "I'll have bandages ready," he promises. "And if everything goes like you say, you'll live on in the next Glen, and I'll be one of the chains handed down forever. Forever," he repeats, looking into those beautiful eyes he's so rarely had a chance to see. "More than most mortals can say."
Leo draws in a slow, shaky breath, his fingers curling beneath the touch of Elliot's lips. It's not something he wants to think about, not now, not ever, but it's phrased well enough, said to him well enough that it doesn't hurt. "Good," he finally says. "That's good. They should be honored… having you as a chain."
Elliot smiles, hand tightening on Leo's. "We thought it was over before, and now you're here wearing my ring. Don't worry, Leo. There's nothing that can take me from you again." His mouth twists then, in slight confusion. "And why the hell can't Gilbert get married?"
"… Here's a little secret about your brothers, Elliot," Leo can't help but sigh out in amusement, even as his fingers lace with Elliot's to gently squeeze. "Every single one of them like men."
Elliot glares, giving Leo's shoulder a nudge. "Now you're just making things up. Do you have any idea how many women I've seen Vincent sneaking out with? Besides, what does it matter? He doesn't have to love her. He's a nobleman."
"How romantic," Leo dryly retorts, and with that, flops himself backwards, dragging Elliot with him. "Just because a person likes women doesn't mean he can't like men, too. But what matters," he sighs, stretching out a leg and idly dragging it between Elliot's legs, "is if that wife is going to end up pregnant. What's the point of a loveless marriage if it doesn't produce heirs, correct?"
A slow grin creases Elliot's lips, and he rolls over, pinning Leo beneath him. "You're saying," he says slowly, leaning down to brush his lips along Leo's neck, "that my big brother is such a queer he wouldn't be able to continue the family name? What a disrespectful wife you are of my family."
"I'm not just saying it, I know it," he snickers, his hands lifting and winding their way through Elliot's hair, fingers tugging as he deliberately arches his throat against the drag of Elliot's lips. "Unless, maybe, they were tall and leggy and blonde… and flat as a board."
Elliot snorts harder than he means to, laughing against Leo's shoulder. "God, he always was so obsessed," he agrees, nipping affectionately at Leo's collarbone. "Guess we'll just have to hope one of my other brothers has a bastard floating around somewhere. At least they weren't..." Something makes him look up at Leo, suspicious. "Were they?"
Nope nope nope, not thinking about this. "I didn't pay attention," he lies, because he always pays attention, always, especially to things like that and when eyes linger a bit too long on him. Leo shoves the thought from his mind, his hands dragging down Elliot's back and fisting into his coat as his legs splay, thighs neatly pressed to either side of Elliot's hips. "But they had enough 'fun' with the maids, I can assure you, so that's close enough."
If Elliot weren't currently being distracted by the way he's nestled between his lover's parted thighs, he'd probably have realized that Leo always, always pays attention, to everything. "No one coming forward to claim the Nightray fortune yet, though," he grunts, rocking down against Leo, one hand going to lazily undo his trousers even as he plays with Leo's hair with the other hand. "If you'd been a girl, would you still have slept with me? As my servant?"
Disaster avoided. A content sigh escapes Leo's lips as he tilts his head back, nuzzling back into Elliot's touch as his fingers stroke down the other man's back, trailing around his sides to pluck at the fastenings of his coat and shirt underneath. "I can't help but think you would have been more reluctant," Leo teases, "but I can assure you, I would have been more than willing. What would you have done if you had been the virile one in your family and gotten me pregnant, hmm?"
Damn, but Leo's probably right, and it would have been different if he'd been a girl. Then again...Elliot can't really see turning Leo down, no matter what he looks like. After a second's thought, he grins, pulling back just for long enough to discard his coat, yanking at some of the buttons. "I'd probably have gotten you pregnant on purpose. If it was hard to convince my family to take you as my servant, I'd have needed all the help I could get to get them to let me marry you. A child would have helped."
"Would you even know what to do with a girl?" Leo laughs, his hands quickly moving southward to Elliot's hips, biting his own lip as he tugs, dragging the man forward with an arch of his own hips, legs spreading wider with each slow grind. "Mm, you know… my mother, she was kind of a small woman, but quite well-endowed," he purrs, grabbing at Elliot's hands next to bring them to the buttons of his own shirt, and rather pointedly over the flat planes of his chest, at that. "I never did imagine you liking that sort of thing…"
The idea isn't anything he thinks about too often, but Elliot's face flushes at the insinuation that he wouldn't know what to do. "I got plenty of advice on that count," he grumbles, flicking open the buttons, pressing his mouth to that smooth chest, closing his teeth gently around one nipple and tugging. Oddly enough, he can sort of imagine it, Leo curvy and soft, pliant and squishy under his hands, and his hips grind down just a bit harder into Leo's, feeling the hard line of his cock. "If you were so well-endowed, what would you want me to do with your body?"
A shudder rakes down Leo's spine, bringing him to lurch up with a sigh, his lips parting with the groan that follows. "You could slide up, right here," he murmurs, lifting a hand to drag a finger down the middle of his own chest. "I bet you'd like it, the way something that soft and warm would feel around your cock," Leo purrs, a smirk slowly curling over his lips, "and maybe you'd like it even more if I could get my mouth on you."
That image is oddly arousing, and Elliot follows Leo's finger with the tip of his tongue, tracing up the crease in the middle of his chest, up his neck, the underside of his jaw. "I like your mouth plenty now," he points out, capturing it for a kiss.
His hands slide down, spreading Leo's thighs wide, sliding up to cup between his legs, squeezing and stroking. "I wouldn't need oil," he murmurs. "You'd be all...wet and ready for me all the time, all I'd have to do is shove inside you."
The thought of that makes him flush near-painfully hot, his hips jerking up to press his cock up into Elliot's palm. All Leo's mind can focus on is how his trousers need to come off, how he needs to start grabbing for the bottle of oil in question now, but instead he finds himself rutting shamelessly into Elliot's touch, a mindless groan pulled from his lips.
"Ready enough for you anyway," Leo pants, and he twists, reaching back over his head, clawing underneath a pillow for the oil. "Sometimes I wish…" he trails off at first, the blush lighting a path down his neck as well. "I wish I was that kind of servant, so you'd have me here in bed, whenever you felt like it-so I'd never not be full of you…"
That makes Elliot's breath catch in his throat, a low rumble of approval in his chest as he grips Leo's hips, flipping him over onto his stomach with a single swift motion, all teasing gone with those last words. "Maybe it's you who'd wear the leash then, hmm?" he says, low and breathy against Leo's ear, yanking the Duke's trousers off, rubbing his own cock against that tight little ass. "I could keep you chained to my bed-but I wouldn't need to, would I? You'd be glad to be here, just waiting for me to take you."
The next sound that dares Leo's throat is better muffled into the sheets as he bites down, face buried into an arm as his hips arch back on their own accord, thighs quivering as he sets his knees that much further apart. "Yes-" Every word seems to go straight to his cock, leaving him twitching, breath escaping in a hot, heavy exhale. "If you never wanted me to leave your bed, I wouldn't," he groans, writhing backwards, sighing out at the length of Elliot's cock grinding against him. "I'd be good for you, I promise-"
Elliot's hand closes around Leo's, grabbing the little bottle of oil away from him-full, he notices, torn between embarrassment and amusement, knowing that Vincent has been out buying exactly this for them. He slides a slick hand down, teasing a couple fingertips over that tiny hole before wiggling them inside. "I'd still do this," he breathes, twisting and scissoring them, other hand stroking gently over Leo's back. "Even if you were always ready for me, I still love the noises you make when I do this."
"God-" Leo knows it's exactly along the lines of the sounds Elliot likes, breathy and high and nearing a squeak at the end when those long fingers stroke inside of him just right, enough to make him wriggle backwards, flushed face burying its way down into the sheets. It's slick and hot and perfect, and it's hard not to imagine Elliot making him squirm just as easily if he were a woman, snaking a hand up his skirts, hiking them up in the hallway around some dark, private corner-
He nearly loses himself with just that. Leo trembles, whines, twisting his head around to shoot Elliot a heavily lidded glance. "Elliot-please-"
Those eyes staring at him aren't even fair, and the naked hunger in them makes Elliot shudder. He drags his hand free, knowing he hasn't done enough, too far gone to really care, and slicks up his cock before leaning forward, covering Leo's slight frame with his much larger one. He twines his fingers with Leo's, rubbing a thumb against the warm circle of metal, hooking his chin over Leo's shoulder. "Slow," he says softly. "Even if you aren't virgin for me, it's still the closest thing we'll ever have to a wedding night."
A shaky, breathless laugh escapes Leo at that, and his head tilts back, cheek rubbing against Elliot's. "Every night for the rest of whenever can be our wedding night," he breathes, shivering as he presses his hips back in a slow, but no less eager grind nonetheless. "You just feel so good, Elliot…"
"The rest of forever," Elliot corrects, tightening his hand on Leo's. God, he wants to draw this out, wants to make it the perfect sweet thing it should be, but he's never had much self-control when it comes to Leo writhing under him.
With the ease of long practice and the shaky breath of first-time nerves, Elliot guides himself inside, pressing in deep, hissing at the tight slick slide as he buries his head in Leo's shoulder, chest heaving, shuddering. "G-god..."
Leo is left shuddering that much harder, his body arching as much as his knees set themselves further apart to accommodate the stretch. That first, aching slide always takes his breath away, leaves him whimpering and panting with each inch that fills him, and his fingers squeeze tight around Elliot's, holding on as if he's a last lifeline.
Might as well be.
He lurches back, unable to stop himself from writhing, no matter if Elliot's told him slow. "Good-good, just-please-"
There's no request from his master Elliot wants to fill more. His lips seal against the pale skin of Leo's neck, marking him in body as much as soul, feeling the flutter of his pulse as he slides deep, so deep inside. There are words for this kind of moment, probably, but Elliot's never been the best with words, and he snakes his free arm around Leo's waist, drawing him closer than ever, pushing in until he's as deep as he can possibly go, holding Leo steady and rocking gently into him. "Mine," he breathes.
God, nothing better could have been said.
With Elliot so deep inside of him, it's like he can barely even breathe. Leo's mouth falls open, a heady, shaky little groan pulled from his throat, words rather intent on failing him when there's nothing more that he can do but enjoy. Every slide of Elliot's cock, every brush of Elliot's skin against his own, his mouth on his neck-his skin twitches beneath just the slightest of touches, every muscle drawn tight as he wriggles back, breath escaping hotter, faster as every little shift and nudge of Elliot inside of him feels better still, a lingering, too-pleasant ache. "Yours," Leo uselessly agrees, his head bowing forward again as his lips part with another, hitching sigh.
The hand wrapped around Leo's waist trails farther down, wrapping around his cock, giving a slow, firm stroke from base to tip with every long thrust of Elliot's hips. He rocks, holding Leo as tightly as he can, hand curling around Leo's, that thrill of possession at feeling the ring and knowing Leo is mine, mine, mine.
Every thrust only takes him out an inch, rocking right back inside, not wanting to leave his lover empty even for a moment, and his breath is ragged, urgent against Leo's neck as his speed picks up. There are no words, nothing for this that hasn't already been said, and better, by the ring around Leo's finger.
Nothing could be better than this. Every touch, every slide of Elliot's body against his own leaves Leo quivering, panting into the sheets and clutching tighter at Elliot's hand. He's even more lost when Elliot's fingers wrap around his cock, when he's left to worry his lower lip, whimpering as he ruts against the other man's palm and exhales a hitching sigh with every perfect little drag of his fingers.
That's the end of it, really, no matter how Leo doesn't want it to be. He's too full, too overwhelmed, touched just right and left melting into the mattress, his face buried into the sheets as he comes with little more than a whimper, none of his usual shrieking or begging or praises even able to wring their way from his throat.
Elliot's breath comes in a low shudder as Leo tenses and quivers in his arms, around him, beneath him, and it's all he can do to draw this out. Leo's skin tastes like home, and he tries to keep his hands gentle as his hips move, still slow, still rocking gently inside him. "Do you mind if I...keep going?" he asks softly, tugging on an earlobe with his teeth.
I want to stay inside you forever.
He wraps his arm back around Leo's waist, holding him still, trying to be gentle, trying to keep his wits when everything is slick tight hot perfect, and above all, when it's Leo.
"No-god, don't you dare stop," Leo groans, twisting his head to the side to press his cheek into one of his own arms, no matter how he keeps trembling, keeps shivering like some useless, pitiful thing. Everything is hypersensitive now, and he can feel every inch of Elliot inside of him that much more acutely, leaving him to tense even tighter around him. "Elliot, you're just…"
Slowly, trying not to jostle him too much, Elliot leans them forward, splays Leo out onto his stomach, covering him with his body. It's easier like this to just rock slowly together, every shivering twitch of his hips driving him deeper, until it's difficult to tell where he ends and where Leo begins, running his hands over every inch of the other man's body. "Good," he groans out, burying his face in the back of Leo's shoulder. "God, I-need you more, I-"
He's not making sense anymore, and he doesn't even care.
God but it's nice like this, splayed out beneath Elliot like some kind of an offering. Leo just tries to nestle himself back against him, his breath a low, measured huff as he stretches, a long, luxurious thing that leaves his toes curling, his teeth biting into his lower lip once more to keep back a broken little squeak at how deeply Elliot pushes inside of him. "Just… just tell me what you want," he breathes, voice little more than a rasp. "I'll do it, whatever it is-"
If it were possible to be even closer, Elliot would want that too. He turns Leo's head for a deep kiss, tasting every bit of his mouth before murmuring against his lips, "Tell me."
He traces his thumb over the ring again, sighing as he thrusts in, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of going so slowly. "You'd-tell me what you'd do for me, as my-"
There's a twinge that goes up Leo's spine, leaving him to rock his hips involuntarily down into the bed, groaning lowly at how it feels to just rub his already spent cock against the fine linens. "Anything," he shudders, and his body squeezes tight around Elliot, coaxing him, begging for him "Anything you could think of-I… I'd want to always be ready for you, slick and dripping so you could just-pick me up whenever, sit me down in your lap and let me do all the work so you could watch, whenever you wanted-"
At that, Elliot's cock jerks, hardening further than he'd thought possible, hands clenching on Leo's as he groans. "Love your stories," he grunts, rolling his hips, body moving slick and hard against Leo's, his chest pressing against Leo's back. "God, you always know what to say."
He can imagine it more easily than he wants to admit, and he twitches inside Leo, jerking forward as he thinks about how good it would be, how perfect, how hot to just summon Leo whenever he felt like it, letting him make those beautiful faces, take his cock so perfectly...
"Do it next time," Leo pants out, his own pulse jumping at the thought, and the blood seeming to go straight to his groin, making him twist, squirming back into Elliot's next thrust. "Don't want you to ask, just grab me, put me where you want me-I'll be good and take all of you, I swear it. I w-won't even come until you tell me to, I'll just be your plaything-"
One hand fists into Leo's hair, yanking his head back so Elliot can meet his eyes, driving in as deep as possible with one hard slap of his hips. "More than that," he breathes, and his motions turn savage, desperate, hungry. He bites at Leo's neck, fists tightly in his hair, driving in hard, fast, almost brutal no matter how careful he tries to be. "I can-god, I can have you whenever I want, you belong to me." He nips at his neck again, growling, "My wife."
The sound that pulls from Leo's throat is something akin to a sob, his hands clenching into the bed as his eyes flutter. "Yours," he agrees on a hot breath, and the next thing he says is little more than a whine, broken and needy. "Just yours, your wife-god, Elliot, just use me, make sure everyone knows-"
That's all it takes.
Elliot's breath comes out in a strangled groan, his teeth sinking in deep, uncareful for once as he sucks hard on the part of skin that isn't covered by that familiar collar, the thought of everyone seeing, realizing, looking at Leo and seeing how thoroughly he's been used-
It's less of an explosion than a gentle slide into bliss, all the more powerful because of it, washing over his body, engulfing him until he's a shuddering, trembling mess, draped over Leo, holding him so tightly he's sure it's got to be uncomfortable, gasping for breath as he sags down, sated, useless. "Leo..."
Elliot filling him like this, hot and slick and perfect, leaves Leo shuddering all over again, as shaky as Elliot as he sinks down into the bed, grateful for the weight of the man above him to ground him, to remind him that he's here and safe and wrapped up in everything that is Elliot.
"… Not fair," he eventually manages, still out of breath as he forces the words from his throat. Even the throb of the marks on his neck are good, enough to make his pulse jump and twitch. "Just… like this, you're so…"
"Perfect," Elliot murmurs, nudging Leo onto his side with a minimum of movement so he can stay curled around him, even as they relax into sleep. "Let's do this again...forever."