The White Knight

by Galiko

AU. Written with Corinna aka daphnerunning. Set two years after Leo becomes Glen, he summons what remains of Elliot back to become his chain, the White Knight. Even with Elliot 'back', however, Leo still is far from himself, and still bent on restoring the balance of their world... all while keeping Oz sealed within Pandora's dungeons. Elliot/Leo, Vincent/Gilbert, Vincent/Ada, etc.

9. Chapter 9

The last place Vincent wants to be is here.

Honestly, he's tried everything. He's had sex with the girl-well, as much as she'll let him-and even tried to offer her a proper room to stay in, not this dungeon. That had lasted for all of a night, and when her cooperation still seemed to be lacking, back within cold stone walls Ada went, leaving Vincent with the urge to bang his head into the nearest wall.

Now, however, he has little choice but to face her down again. The phrasing of such a thing sounds like a fight, and in reality, it is. He doesn't want to be here, doesn't want to deal with this, doesn't want to acknowledge the command from his master to wheedle the information they need out of her once and for all, and yet here he is, sighing as he peels off his coat and offers it to the girl in an initial attempt to be nice.

"It's freezing down here, Miss Ada."

Ada ducks her head in gratitude, giving Vincent a wan little smile as she takes the coat. It barely stretches around her shoulders, but it's a breath of much-needed warmth in any case, and it smells like him. "Thank you, Mr. Vincent. I'd like to offer you a place to sit down, but..."

There had been no preparing for this in training with the governess, let alone at school. Of all the ways Ada has learned to receive a nobleman, "in a dungeon" is hardly one of them.

Vincent's smile is wry. "I understand, trust me. I'd really rather not have you kept here, but… that isn't up to me."

With that, he kneels, reaching out to gently take one of her hands within his own. "Surely you know by now that continuing this is pointless," he murmurs, running a thumb over the back of her hand.

A flutter of eyelashes accompanies the hitch of Ada's breath, even as her hand tightens on his. "Thank you for thinking of my welfare," she says with a little smile, "and I'm very sorry Mr. Baskerville is angry with you. I hope you aren't in too much trouble?"

Not even a single budge. Vincent briefly bites his tongue out of frustration. "Nothing I can't handle for such a beautiful woman as yourself," he replies without missing a beat. "I am far more concerned about your well-being, after all. If you had any information to offer him, I am certain he would become much more pleasant to deal with."

At that, at least, Ada can smile. "You don't need to worry about me, I promise. I might not have chains like all of you, but it's not so bad, in here." It's no worse than the storage houses and attics and cellars where she's been shunted the last two years, everyone terrified of the information she holds. "I'm glad he lets you come and see me sometimes. It's so nice to have company."

Women. God, he hates women. "… Miss Ada," Vincent sighs, feeling overwhelming as if he's slamming his face into a brick wall, "you realize he will not entertain your silence for much longer."

Ada gives him an apologetic little shrug. "There isn't much I can do about what he wants. Perhaps you can keep me company until then? Tell me about some of the things I've missed since I went into hiding?"

Ugh. Really, this is the last thing he feels the need to deal with today, and yet Leo has actively given him no choice regarding it. It's punishment, of course, though for what, Vincent isn't quite sure-not that Leo needs a reason, nor does he need a single, particular act to be punished for.

Then again, the fact that it is viewed as punishment to begin with is infuriating. This woman-

He shouldn't care.

"As much as I would love to do that, Miss Ada," he murmurs, slowly withdrawing as he makes to stand, "my master has instructed me not to talk with you at length unless you intend on divulging at least some sort of information. Otherwise, I've been told to extract it from you by any means necessary."

Slowly, Ada withdraws her hand from Vincent's, firming her chin as much as she can, giving a brave little nod of acquiescence. "I understand, Mr. Vincent," she says, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. It was always going to come to this, as Uncle Oscar had warned her. "Do your worst."

There's that frustration again.

"Why won't you just tell us?" He doesn't mean to blurt it out like that, at least in such a way that makes him sound so annoyed. It's hard not to wipe a hand over his face in obvious irritation. "Miss Ada, with all due respect, but what do you have to gain from withholding this? I don't-" understand or want to do this or deal with this or-

Prepared for torture and receiving none, Ada opens one eye cautiously. It's not his fault, of course, and Ada can't help taking a little step forward, though she wishes she'd had more chances to bathe properly and fix her clothing before their meeting. This isn't how she wants him to remember her, when it's all finished. "I'm just...doing what I think is right," she offers in a small voice. "Aren't you doing the same thing?"

"I can't accomplish anything until you tell us where the key is!"

Vincent doesn't mean to say that, either, and he leans his weight back onto his heels, sucking in a slow, calming breath. It isn't the first time that this girl has thrown him off-kilter and ruined any attempts at an upper hand, but god, it needs to be the last. "Leo," he mutters. "I meant Leo. He can't accomplish anything… until you hand over the key. Miss Ada, you do understand that there is no possible way of sealing Jack-of saving your brother until he has all five feathered chains within his possession?"

"How do you know?"

It's an earnest question, without artifice or malice, Ada's eyes wide as she leans forward. "That's what Leo told you, right? But so many things have happened that I don't understand, and I don't think anyone really understands them."

She gives a tremulous little smile. "If he really is trying to save everyone, he could be nicer about it."

"I-" Vincent exhales, a hand lifting to briefly press to the bridge of his nose. "I doubt even my master can explain why he needs the chain in your family's possession, Miss Ada, but I am certain that the hundreds of years of experience that the previous Glen Baskervilles are offering him is rather accurate. And I think you know as well as anyone that he is rather awful at being nice as of late."

"He used to be such a nice boy," she remembers wistfully. "I wish I could hear him and Elliot play the piano again. You weren't at school with us, but you lived in this house with them, you must have heard them play."

"Can you… stop changing the subject?" Vincent has to turn away, lest he grab her and shake her. "Miss Ada… the last thing I want to do is hurt you."

It should bother him more, really, that it's not entirely a lie.

"I know," she says quietly, and carefully, almost shyly (odd, given all the things she's let him do to her, all the things she's done with him) lays a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I don't want to make you do things you don't want to do."

"Then just tell me." Every other trick in the book has failed at this point, and Vincent knows, perhaps better than anyone, that any sort of physical violence isn't going to help. Begging has a better chance, really. "If there's something I can do in exchange, I'll do it," he settles for instead, turning back to grasp for her hand, clasping it between his own. "Please."

At times like this, Ada almost wishes there were something that she wanted so desperately she'd give up anything, even her family's secrets, even the one thing she's ever been entrusted with, just to achieve. Maybe then she wouldn't feel so guilty for not being able to help. She sighs instead, squeezing Vincent's hand. "I wish I could. I'd like nothing better in the world than to help you."

And here Vincent was so certain that would work this time.

"Don't you get it by now?" His grip changes, and it's with a firm, though not rough shove that he pushes her, her back hitting the cold stone of the dungeon wall. "If you don't give us something, Ada, he's not going to kill you. It'll be your uncle first, and then he won't care about your brother any longer. He'll do what needs to be done without saving him, and there won't be anything left for you."

A startled breath escapes Ada, and she squirms under Vincent's firm grip, flinching away from his words more than his touch. "Y-you say he's the one I should trust," she gasps, looking up with tears filling emerald-green eyes, "but he's going to kill my family if I don't give him what he wants?" A tremor of fear goes through her, and the tears spill down her cheeks. "I...I don't even know if Uncle Oscar is still alive..."

Damn it, he hates it when women cry. Vincent sucks in a slow breath, his grip loosening, but only slightly. "You don't have to trust him-trust me," he lowly insists. "I won't let him do those things if you just tell us something, anything at all. I'll even find out how your uncle is."

Ada reaches out, fisting her hands in the front of Vincent's coat, drawing him close just to feel the warmth of him, the solidity of even his slight frame, resting her forehead against his chest. "You told me once," she says quietly, hiding her face until she can get the tears under control, "that you wouldn't stop until my uncle and my father accepted our love."

This is going to be one of those conversations.

"… You make it sound as if I have stopped." She isn't Gilbert, or anything like him. In fact, Ada is about as different as anything as his arms slide around her. She's soft and warm and curvy, with her hair tickling his fingers as it drapes down her back, and it's hard not to wind his fingers through it a bit. Vincent likes women-or at least, the aesthetic of them-well enough, but 'like' isn't quite the word for how pleasant it is to have her pressed against him, huddling into his arms.

This is about to get very, very annoying.

"If you don't trust me," he murmurs, tilting his head down, his lips ghosting the top of her head, "I can't do anything to fix this."

Be brave, Ada.

She remembers her uncle's last words to her all too well, and sniffs hard, trying to keep the tears at bay. It's what she wants, more than anything, but which is more brave, trusting the man she believes in, the man she loves, the man who everyone else says is evil but she knows she's seen the heart of-

-or being strong enough to push him away?

Uncle Oscar had told her not to trust anyone. Oz had told her to give the key to the Baskervilles. "You say...that it's best to give the key to Mr. Baskerville?"

God forbid if he's actually getting somewhere. "Yes," Vincent simply replies, exhaling a slow, measured breath as his arms tighten about her, just slightly. "If you do that… I know he'll be able to help your brother, and everyone else."

"How?"

The question is simple, even as Ada lays her cheek against his chest, listening to the comforting slow pulse of his heart. "What will he do, exactly?"

"… He hasn't told me all the details," Vincent admits, slowly frowning and glad that the girl can't see it as his fingers drag up through her hair, brushing against the back of her neck. He shouldn't like the weight of her against him quite so much. "As soon as he can take possession of Gryphon, however, I know he will take Raven from Gilbert as well. With all five of those chains, Duke Baskerville should be able to properly silence the Will of the Abyss… and subsequently take Jack's power away."

"So...you don't know for sure what he's going to do."

Ada's fingers curl against the lapels of Vincent's coat, flushed and embarrassed at the state of her hair as he touches it. It's not like before, where she'd been able to spend three hours with her chambermaid before going on one of their walks, making sure everything was exactly perfect for him. She misses that, when her biggest worry was whether he'd find a hair out of place, or that she'd spill something on her gown before seeing him. "You'll let him kill Gilbert? Even though you don't know what's going to happen? I thought the two of you were very close."

Vincent snorts at that, giving a gentle tug upon her hair before he can stop himself. "He wouldn't kill Gilbert. He's… my master has already promised to grant one of Gilbert's wishes, as well as mine, and it wouldn't do either of us any good if Gilbert were dead for it."

Ada does relax a little at that, nudging her cheek against him, bumping the top of her head against his chin affectionately. "I'm glad. I didn't know he was so powerful he could grant wishes. I'd hate to think he was lying just so you and Gilbert would do what he wants, especially if it killed poor Gil to have his chain ripped away."

"He's a Baskerville… it's not going to kill him," Vincent reminds her, sighing as he drops his head forward, chin propped atop her head. God, if Gil could see him now. "The extent of Glen Baskerville's power runs very deep… I daresay there is little he cannot accomplish, when the full power of the Abyss is granted to him. That's why we need your cooperation."

"I'm afraid." It's a quiet, shivering confession, her hands clenching on his lapel as she leans in further, as if he really could protect her from all of this. "I'm afraid he's lying to you, and he's only going to do bad things with Gryphon. And if he's as powerful as you say...could you really stop him?"

"… Ada, there's little I could do to stop him, but that being said, there's nothing he has to gain by lying to us," Vincent murmurs, fingers slowly stroking down her back. He rather wishes he hadn't given her his coat-not because of the chill that runs through his own bones, but because he'd find some entertainment in plucking at the lacings of her dress, and watching her blush because of it. "Leo has everything to lose, too."

"I think," Ada says softly, burying her face again, "that this would have been easier if he weren't threatening to torture and kill my family. And me. It's hard to believe he's trying to do the right thing when he's being so cruel." Vincent does smell good, always does, a little sweet and wild and dangerous, like nothing she's ever been allowed for her own health.

Vincent's expression twists wry, and it's with a little shove that he pushes her back into the wall again, his hands dragging up to cup her face. "I won't claim to condone his actions or his methods-" Even though I have done far, far worse, and 'threatening' you is the least of all cruelties. "But at the very least, you have to realize that he did lose everything. And with your refusal to cooperate… what else was he to do?" One hand slides away, and he undoes the button of his glove with his teeth, pulling it off shortly after to put flesh to flesh, thumb stroking over the line of her jaw. "If you help us… I know he won't hurt you."

"And you?" Ada breathes, her chest straining against her bodice as she looks up at him, heart racing the way it does whenever he touches her without those gloves, with nothing but skin between them. "The other girls told me you're dangerous, and you said you were going to hurt me." If only they were in a tower, instead of this dank dungeon, then it would truly be like one of her gothic romance novels, pilfered from the home of a similarly fascinated friend.

"… Do you believe them?" That part is amusing, at least, and proof that not all of his previous conquests are as stupid as they look. His thumb drags over the swell of her lower lip, and it's difficult not to cast his gaze downward, watching the damned way that she breathes. "Have I ever hurt you before?"

Ada's breath catches at the touch of his thumb, and she leans forward, body pressed against his as she looks up, mouth parting slowly. She draws in a breath, then admits, "You aren't...the man I thought you were, when we first met." Her hand comes up to cup his cheek, and she smiles. "I'm glad."

The problem with liking the aesthetic of women is that Ada meets every requirement perfectly.

This is the point when he'd push any other woman into something, over something, kiss them sweet or fast or however they liked, but with Ada, he has to wait, and damn it all, that's annoying. Vincent draws in a slow breath, unable to stop himself from swiping that thumb over her lips, against the flick of her tongue as she speaks, and it's all the more distracting when she's pressed into him like this. "I'm not quite sure what that means," he admits with a low chuckle, "but if you like it, then I suppose I cannot complain."

Ada nods, flushing at the way his thumb presses against her mouth, even giving it a quick peck with her lips before smiling up at him. "When I first met you...I thought you were a very sweet, very handsome man," she confesses, ducking her head as she blushes. "I...am surprised at how good and kind and strong you really are."

Isn't that a pleasant guilt trip? "And here I was thinking your opinion of me must have devolved," he murmurs, trailing his fingers away to toy with a strand of her hair instead. "I'm sorry to say that I really am not so good or kind or any of those things, Miss Ada."

"But you are." Ada's hand on his cheek cups, brushing her fingers across his cheekbones. "The way you care for Gilbert...the way you care for me even when I can't tell you what you want to know...I think it's very noble. I only wish you could explain why you trust Leo so much, maybe then I could..."

"There's no reason that would make sense to you." Damn it all, if she could just be like every other woman that stupid took things at face value for once. Vincent's head tips forward to nuzzle against her palm, to place a kiss to the inside of her wrist as a hand winds its way about her lower back. "First and foremost, he is Glen… and being who-what I am, his word is absolute. I have no reason to doubt him."

Ada pulls back, suddenly feeling very small, very alone. Even Vincent's arm around her waist feels too strong, not quite right. "You don't doubt him even if he tells you to hurt me?"

Damn it. "I didn't say that. In matters dealing with the Abyss, I have no reason to doubt him. With you, it's-" Vincent loosens his hold, feeling her withdraw. "Remember, the night he ordered you captured-I did try to help you escape." He smiles wryly at that. "Little good that did, but even still-the last thing I want to see is you hurt."

"Then help me again!" Ada seizes onto that scrap of hope, eyes fluttering as she looks up at him, pleading. "You and I-we could get my uncle and leave this awful place, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if we got married if you were the one to rescue me-"

"Ada." Vincent's hands lift, grasping her by her shoulders, and he does give her a little shake then, frowning. "What good is that going to do if the whole world has been dragged into the Abyss? We can't keep Jack sealed forever, surely you know that." Never mind the marriage part, no thank you.

It was worth a try, anyway. Ada shivers under Vincent's hands, nodding meekly. "I-of course, you're right. M-maybe if you could tell me how Leo is going to save the world, or better yet, what's going to happen to my brother after he deals with Jack?"

He's talking in circles. "Ada," Vincent patiently attempts, "I've already told you that the intricacies of what my master intends to do are rather unknown to me. All I know is that your brother will be fine, because Gilbert has specifically requested as much."

Ada blinks at that, startled. "That was his one wish?" The tears are back, though this time she tries to blink them away, dabbing at them with Vincent's borrowed handkerchief. "He was always so sweet. What did you wish for, Mr. Vincent?"

"To make sure Gilbert was safe and happy." It's not a lie, and she certainly doesn't need to know the full details of his wish.

Her smile is watery, but genuine. "The two of you are so selfless. I wish...I could be more like that, sometimes."

A wave of dizziness surges through her, and she sits down hard on the bed, blinking rapidly. It's been more and more frequent, over the long years without proper sunlight, without proper food sometimes, or the laughing companionship of her youth, and suddenly she feels very, very tired. "Do you ever want this all to be over, Mr. Vincent?"

Yes. Every day.

Vincent follows after her rather than say that, taking a seat to her side and gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It will be over," he tells her gently, "if you just help us."

Forgoing propriety, Ada simply lets her head flop down to his shoulder with a sigh. If it weren't her most important thing, literally the only thing she's ever been entrusted with her entire life...

"What then?"

"… Then you'll be free to do as you like, and after Duke Baskerville succeeds, have a long, happy life," he says, finding it oddly… cute how she simply leans against him, and carefully adjusts to wind an arm about her waist. "I'd understand if you preferred to stay within our care, however, so we could keep you properly safe."

"In the dungeon? Or somewhere else?" It's not exactly the interrogation she thought she was going to get, but right now, folded up in his too-small coat, curled against his side, she can't exactly mind. "What about you?"

"Of course not in the dungeon, assuming you actually assist us," Vincent sniffs. "And me… well."

I won't be here, and you won't remember me.

The fact that it bothers him at all is troublesome, and so to silence such thoughts, he tilts her chin upward with a gentle tap of one finger. "Perhaps what is left of my life would be better spent with you."

"You're so brave," Ada whispers, leaning up close enough that her nose brushes against his. "I know you've risked a lot to keep me safe, and I...I want to repay you, somehow...if you'll let me..."

For once, Vincent hopes it has nothing to do with sex. Well, he does, but somehow there are more important things. "For now," he murmurs, tilting his head so that his lips brush the corner of her mouth, "focus on the task at hand. Help us fix all of this, Ada. You're the only one that can."

Ada shivers under his kiss. She always does, no matter how many times she's tasted his lips, and leans up for another before ducking her head, cheeks pink. "How do I know your master will keep his word? You said yourself you can't stop him if he wants to do something..."

"Mm," Vincent muses, tongue briefly flicking out to trace over his own lower lip as he straightens slightly. "Before, I would have been quite willing to agree about his fickle nature… but now, if he doesn't manage to stop Jack, then he'll lose everything all over again. Ah, or what's left of it, I suppose-the chain he's made Elliot into. He won't risk it."

That, for once, gives Ada a brief spark of hope. Maybe, if Leo has his friend back, he truly will have their best interests at heart. Perhaps...a test is in order. Not of Vincent, of course. Leo, however...

"If I tell you," she says quietly, shifting a little closer to him, "will you bring my uncle here? Then after you see it's real, you'll let us go?"

Finally. "I'll go and find him this very day if that would assuage some of your worry," Vincent replies, his fingers loosely curling about her hip, giving her a gentle squeeze as she draws closer. "As long as you tell me, and everything goes as planned, that shouldn't be a problem."

Ada's breath catches, and she squeezes her eyes shut, prepared to make a big mistake. It isn't as if she can go on like this forever, after all. "It's...on the Vessalius estate. In the place...that Gil and my brother found the day of Oz's ceremony. Gil knows where." And now, the bones are cast.

Vincent tries not to look like a cat that's found the cream. "Good," he exhales, and he leans down, ghosting his lips over her brow. "Very good. Obviously, you know we'll have to go see for ourselves, and I'll have to leave to go and find your uncle… but that's good, Ada."

"You promised," she reminds him, hands fisting urgently in his shirt, clinging tightly. "You promised, you'll bring my uncle here? Then-if you need me to show you exactly where, I can go with you..."

"I promise I'll bring him here," Vincent repeats, and he lifts a hand to stroke soothingly over the back of one of hers. "Just give me a day. I can have you moved out of here in the meantime, more than likely, but you'll still need to wait and behave yourself while we confirm everything."

Ada nods, heart fluttering in her ribcage. She's playing with fire, she knows, but with as few weapons as a woman has, she needs to know how to use them all. "I just-" She swallows hard, leaning up close, pressing against him. "The only thing that worries me is that...that place...Jack knows about it too. Not that I hid it there, but..."

"He won't find it," he reassures her, and damn it, now it's easier still to be distracted by the press of her body against him, now that he has the smallest sliver of something to work with and relief flooding his system. "We'll take care of all of it. I just need you to stay safe in the meantime, just in case we need more of your help."

Ada sighs out a long breath, relaxing against Vincent's body. "I hope I made the right choice," she says quietly, scooting a bit closer to his warmth. "I want you to be right about Leo, Mr. Vincent."

She hesitates, then looks away, even the tips of her ears flushing pink. "If...if you bring my uncle here tomorrow, it will probably be quite some time before we're alone again."

It's cute when she's this forward. Vincent's lips curl into a slow smile as he leans forward, making full use of the way her head is turned aside to ghost an open-mouthed kiss to the side of her neck. "And what a shame that will be," he murmurs, a hand coming to lightly rest upon her knee. "I'll have to start missing you all over again."

There's no keeping down the hitched, nervous giggle that wells up in Ada, even as her pulse pounds just from the nearness of him, the ghost of his touch, the heat of his lips. "I-I wish I could have properly-it's so difficult to make myself presentable for you down here," she whispers, her hand trembling as it comes to rest on his chest, fingers splayed out. "I'm afraid I don't look like the kind of girl who's worthy of your attention."

"Ah, now that's really not the case at all." It's stupid how eager he is to nuzzle his face into her hair, to drag his lips to the edge of her ear and nip, tug at the lobe of it as he exhales a hot breath against her skin. "No matter how you present yourself, you're more than worthy… and right now, I can't say I find you any less beautiful than usual."

"Oh-Mr. Vincent, I..." Ada lets out a squeak, a shiver running up her spine at the scrape of his teeth, the heat pooling low in her belly, making her squirm in her seat. No matter how many times she gives in, succumbs to his feather-light too-warm touch, it never fails to make her heart race. She leans into his touch, daring to wriggle her fingers under the neck of his shirt, beneath the buttons to touch the surprisingly soft skin there-she's found most of his skin surprisingly soft, and can't help but enjoy it.

It's far too difficult to resist, especially when her voice is breaking like that, when she's actually bold enough for once to lay a finger on him. Compared to most women and the way they grab for him, it's nothing, but perhaps that's part of the appeal-certainly enough to make Vincent's weight shift forward, a hand on her shoulder pushing her back and down until her back hits the mattress.

"The things you do to me, Miss Ada…" Vincent's hand drags up from her knee, catching her skirts in the process as he leans over her, nuzzling into the side of her neck. "If you'd let me," he breathes, "I'd have you right here. I'd take good care of you."

For a mad moment, Ada wants with all her being just to give in, to let the beautiful young man take everything she is, to fill her with himself and wash the innocent girl away, making her into the woman she's always dreamed of being.

But...

A slender hand closes over Vincent's, holding it on her thigh, but not allowing it up any farther. "N-not here, Mr. Vincent," she pleads. "Our-when you-when I-not in a dungeon."

God, but he can't remember the last time he's been so frustrated. Vincent heaves out a breath, lips parting as his tongue flicks out over the thud of her pulse. "Do you have any idea how much I want you?" He's played this game with her for far too long to lose now, and while he won't do anything, he won't, he can't resist sliding that much closer, a thigh of his own sliding between her legs, his thumb rubbing lazy circles where he grips her thigh. "I'll take you out of this dungeon, to my bed, where I can properly have you."

She should say no.

It's weak of her, pathetic that she wants to give in, to just shudder under his touch and let him do what he's obviously wanted to for so long, as she's wanted him to for so long...

Even if it has been two years since someone's properly spoken to her, since she's taken a long walk outside, since she's had a man put flowers in her hair and tell her she's lovely, since she's been able to do anything without worrying that she'll be found and used against her own family.

And after all, he's hardly going to want her tomorrow. For all she knows, tomorrow she'll be dead.

Slowly, her breath unsteady, Ada nods. "A-all right. I'd...like to see your room, Mr. Vincent."

It's not the response he expects, but damn if it isn't the response he wants.

He smoothes over the surprise in his expression, rewarding her instead by grasping her chin, pulling her up and into a slow, soft kiss. "Thank you," Vincent breathes, and it's hard not to move too fast when he honestly does want this badly. It's disgusting how he can't stop thinking about it, how Ada is so soft and warm that she'll feel like honey wrapped around him, how he can make her squeak and whimper in that little voice of hers-

One step at a time. Vincent reminds himself to breathe as he rises, helping her smooth her skirts as he takes her by the hand, drawing her up from the bed. "It's an honor, you know," he says, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, "to be even afforded this much of your presence."

Ada grips his hand as firmly as she dares, as firmly as is proper for a woman-probably a little more-to keep him from realizing just how much she's shaking. She can't deny how much she wants this, to spend her last night in this man's arms, and spends the journey up the staircases wondering just how it'll feel. She's heard that it hurts, but that's all right, she's a strong girl.

She remembers the feel of him in her hand, on an occasion when she'd been more excited than prudent, and of him slipping up between the cleft in her chest when she'd been really excited. He'd been like velvet over steel, slippery-hard and oddly soft, strangely vulnerable at the same time he was virile, and the desire to have him inside of her makes her steps quicken.

It's not nerves, but a quivering anticipation that makes her grab him in the hallway, craning her neck up for a stolen kiss before they even reach his room, shy and hungry for the taste of his mouth.

That's about the end of Vincent's own prudence as he catches her by the shoulder and pushes her back into the door of his bedroom, his mouth hot on hers, teeth catching her lower lip for a gentle, though eager tug. His hands drag down her sides, closing about her hips as he presses close, unable to help himself as his hips press into the swell of her thigh, and a little groan is lost against Ada's lips, that same eagerness making it difficult for him to reach over and unlock the door.

Vincent doesn't want to stop kissing her to pull her inside, but he manages all the same, sucking in a steadying breath as he turns away to draw the curtains as well, open windows with glaring light and prying eyes the last thing they need-

And then he freezes, stomach twisting into knots. "Ah," Vincent manages, trying to keep the shake out of his voice as he addresses the man he's just now realized is situated in one of his chairs, "Gilbert…"

The cigarette falls out of Gilbert's mouth, and he scrambles to grab it before it burns a hole in anything important, like his own legs. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, staring at something that, while he hadn't been able to avoid imagining it, he'd never wanted to see. He coughs, red-faced, standing and grabbing his coat. "Sorry," he mutters, looking at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere except the girl who's been like his little sister for years wrapped around his little brother. Huh, maybe this is how Elliot feels when he sees Vincent try to sit on my lap. "I'll just...leave you two..."

Mortified, Ada wriggles out of Vincent's arms, cheeks flaming. "I...ah, yes, your room is very nice, Mr. Vincent," she says loudly, an edge of shamed hysteria in her voice. "B-but I think I'll wait for my uncle in the dungeons after all, I'll find my own way back!"

God dammit.

There's really no saving this at this point, but he does manage to catch Ada's arm before she can flee. "Not the dungeon," he firmly insists, and fumbles with a key in his pocket, pressing it into her hand. "There's a room I had prepared for you, down the hall, three doors on the right. Stay there, and I'll check on you later after I see what is so pressing here."

Actually, he can't quite remember a time he's been annoyed with Gilbert, but there's always a first for everything. "Don't leave, brother," he cheerfully says, turning to grab Gilbert's arm. "If there's something you need, please, do tell."

After Ada disappears out the door, Gilbert does relax slightly, though he has to raise his eyebrows at his little brother. "Sorry, I didn't know you'd be so upset to have me in your room. I'll remember that. Next time I'll leave a note in case you're, uh, busy."

A strangled sound of frustration leaves Vincent's throat. "I'm not upset. I just-do you have any idea how long I have been trying to have that girl?" he lowly growls, turning partially away to rake a hand through his bangs. "She's so damnably troublesome, and for once I actually got something out of here, and then this…"

At that, Gil can't help but scowl, folding his coat over his arm. "I like that girl," he reminds Vincent on a low growl. "She's worth more than the social butterflies you tumble in the gardens, and I somehow doubt you're planning on doing right by her."

"Oh, do save it, Gil, I was planning on treating her quite well, thank you very much," Vincent grumbles, and god, but it's difficult to get the image of her heaving bosom out of his mind, the way she'd splay out beneath his hands, the sweetness of her mouth-dammit. "What did you want, anyway?" he exasperatedly settles upon instead.

Gil bites his cheek, trying not to just spit out, She's not the kind of girl you roll once and leave, she's the kind of girl you marry or Oz and I will hang you upside down out a window. He grabs for a cigarette, lighting it up in annoyance. "There was an-issue with my room. I didn't think you'd mind if I worked in here," he mutters, indicating the piles of fabric clustered next to the broken, torn-up dolls.

Vincent nearly grabs the cigarette from him and smokes it himself. "No, that's-that's fine." He wipes a hand over his face, resisting the urge to collapse back into the nearest piece of furniture. "Well, you're here now, at any rate. Take a break."

Gil does as he says, a little too quickly, sagging down into the loveseat. "Thanks. I can't take much of a break, Leo wants this dress finished as soon as possible and he's...a little weird, the last few days." He shudders, thinking of what he'd found when he'd returned to his room after picking up more purple thread from town.

"… He's always weird," Vincent dryly points out, even as he collapses down next to Gilbert. He can't help it, not when his blood is still pumping so hot and so fast, and he wriggles his way closer immediately, a hand snaking up the inside of Gilbert's thigh and his mouth on the side of the man's neck. "What did he do this time?"

Well, honestly, Gil hadn't expected to get too much work done after Vincent returned in any case, though he does make a game attempt to wriggle away, shoving at Vincent's hands. "He-something about wanting to give Elliot a present, there's a stupid diseased alley cat stinking up my room and I think he caught it himself, he was filthy-Vince, do you have to-"

It would almost be cute if Vincent didn't know he'd be cleaning up said cat later. "Our master is attempting to be a good lover, let him bask in the glory of it for once," he purrs, his fingers hooking their way into Gilbert's trousers before the man can wriggle away too far. He grabs at Gilbert's other hand, dragging it forward to press it forwardly between his own legs, all while arching up into the touch with a sigh. "Yes, I have to. You interrupted us, Gil; what else am I supposed to do?"

"N-not paw all over me!" Gil snaps, trying to squirm away, somehow only ending up underneath his little brother. Vincent's in rare form tonight, most likely because of what he's interrupted, and to be fair, it's probably better that it ended this way instead of with Ada in here. He can only imagine what Oz would have had to say about that...

"Stop it, Vince, I'm-" He bites off a protestation, not wanting to say something stupid, something trite. "You can't just use other people this way-"

"The other night, you liked it when I used you," Vincent complains as he sucks on the side of Gilbert's throat, groaning as he wriggles closer. "The things you asked me to do to you-god, Gil." His hips buck forward, cock straining against his trousers as he ruts down into Gilbert's hand, still held firmly in place. "I want your mouth again."

"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!" He does, remembers all too well how good it had felt to feel Vincent's hand in his hair shoving him down, Vincent hard and thick inside him, driving him down into the mattress-

But they aren't things that are good to remember, so he just stammers, "I was drunk, I didn't know what I was doing, that's not the kind of thing-"

At least Vincent doesn't know about the way Leo had held him down, abused him until he'd shamed himself, even if a tiny dark secret part of him does want someone else to know.

"God, you're a liar." Vincent pulls back, even though he's still grabbing for Gilbert, dragging him close, his breath hot against the curve of his ear. "I won't tell anyone, brother. You should know that by now-you can be yourself around me. I'll make you feel good." His hand fumbles languidly with the fastenings of his trousers, and it almost hurts pulling himself out, with how hard he is. "Get on your knees, and I'll remind you how much you liked having my cock in your mouth."

The shame is a sick, twisting thing in his belly when Gil feels his cock fill and swell at those words, at the breathy, commanding tone of them. He's disgusting, he knows, with the way he groans, sinking down to his knees on the floor, mouth suddenly gone dry. He looks up at Vincent, not sure whether it's worse to protest when it's so obvious what he wants, or to give in like the basest whore. "I..."

"Shh," is Vincent's croon to follow as he tangles a hand in Gilbert's hair, puling his head back slightly as the tip of his cock rubs over his parted lips. "It's fine, Gilbert. I know what you like. Go on, open your mouth, and I'll give you what you want."

God, he shouldn't be grateful for this.

Grateful is the last thing he should feel when Vincent tugs him forward, rubbing the thick, dripping tip of his cock over his lips, and he can't help but open his mouth, dragging his tongue over them for a taste. "Vince..." he breathes, golden eyes flicking up to meet his brother's, tugging back against that hand.

Make me.

Vincent shudders, the gaze that Gilbert locks him with so obvious, so damnably obvious that there's no helping the way his hands tighten in Gilbert's hair, dragging him forward with a firm, unrelenting yank. The way his cock slides between those lips, stretching them wide, to the way it drags over Gilbert's tongue, everything so hot and wet-it's obscene, and Vincent groans, his hips jerking up, shoving himself deeper down Gilbert's throat until he's holding Gilbert's head down, pressing his cock in so deep that he doubts his brother can properly breathe.

"You're such a whore," he pants out, his eyes fluttering, hands loosening only slightly when he feels Gilbert gag and choke, even though that feels good, too. "Go on, Gil. Suck me like one, or I'll hold your face down and make you." His hips rut up at that, pulling back just slightly to savor the wet, sloppy shove forward again. "Or would you like that?"

Gil's so hard he hurts.

He doesn't touch himself, though. It feels good to hurt like this, to be shoved down until he can't breathe, Vincent's cock stretching him out and bumping painfully against the back of his throat as he chokes, struggles for air. His hands come up to scrabble helplessly at Vincent's thighs, tears filling his eyes as he gags, nonetheless straining up for more whenever he forgets not to.

The taste is everywhere, filling his mouth as the scent of the man fills his nose, and for an urgent second, Gil lunges forward, choking himself more as he takes as much cock as he can, the tip of his nose brushing against Vincent's stomach before he has to pull back, coughing, struggling against Vincent's hands-though honestly, he doesn't struggle very hard. He's stronger than Vincent, knows it, and perhaps that's even better, knowing that he's here because he wants to be, a depraved, degraded creature sucking a man's cock on his knees.

"You're so good at this, Gilbert." Vincent can't help but shove his hips forward, can't help but drag Gilbert down into each thrust, not when Gil so obviously wants it, craves it, even between the struggling against Vincent's hands and the desperate inhales through his nose. He only has the mind to draw back once or twice, all to rub over those swollen, bruised lips, slick with drool and precome, all to savor that silde back down Gilbert's tongue before he bumps the back of his throat, feeling Gilbert writhe and squirm the whole way, as if he wants to get away.

God, it just makes him harder.

"You're being such a good boy, sucking me off like you've done this all your life. You really are a slut, aren't you?" His fingers twist and fist into Gilbert's hair, holding him down for the next relentless thrust down his throat, all while his booted foot slides between Gilbert's legs, pressing down against the hardness of his cock. "Look how turned on you are. I bet you'll come just by having me shoved down your throat."

For a panicked, blinding second, Gil thinks Leo's talked. How else would Vincent know exactly what to do, stepping down on him-useless trash, that's all you are, a voice hisses that sounds too much like his own-in a way that shouldn't feel so good, should hurt, shouldn't make him quake as if he's about to pass out?

But no, Leo knows better than to tell Vincent anything. Everyone does. Vincent's too good at using things against people, just as he's doing now, using every reaction, every rutting up of Gil's hips, every sloppy, messy, choked slide of his lips against him in the cruelest, kindest way. The moan that he lets out around Vincent's cock is positively depraved, a whiny, needy thing as he sucks and slurps, dragging his tongue over every bit of cock he can reach as his hips grind up, as he looks up with nothing but pleading in his eyes, curling his tongue around the head of Vincent's cock as he moans.

Vincent curses, and his grip in Gilbert's hair is viselike, twisting and pulling until he's sure he's taking out hair in the process. Not that he cares right now, not when Gilbert looks positively sinful at his feet, sucking on his cock like he needs it, and god, if that isn't enough, nothing else ever can be.

He doesn't warn Gilbert when he comes, and instead pulls out just enough that the head of his cock still slides between his brother's reddened lips-all the better to spill over his tongue, to make him cough and choke even more as his hands hold Gilbert in place, cock twitching and pulsing as he drips down his lips and chin with a satisfied groan.

The noises Gil makes are closer to some wounded animal than a man, keening, gasping, coughing as he tries to swallow, lapping and suckling at the head of Vincent's cock as long as he can, probably longer than is entirely comfortable for the other man. His hands ball into fists on his thighs, and he groans, straining forward for more, his tongue flicking out to drag through the mess on his face.

When he releases Vincent's softening cock, it's with a whine, and the shaky plea, "Vince...please, I...h-haven't I been...good for you?"

He's so hard he's going to pass out, with only the flat of Vincent's boot to rut against, and god, he aches.

"So good," Vincent breathlessly agrees, his hands releasing Gilbert's hair to haul him up and off of his knees, dragging him forward into Vincent's lap with his hands grabbing for the fastenings of Gilbert's trousers. "You're perfect, Gil, just perfect," he mumbles, licking a stripe up Gilbert's chin to his lips, tasting himself as his hand finds its way around Gilbert's cock. "God, you're so hard. If you like it that much, I'll put you in your place more often."

Gil's face flames, lurching into Vincent's touch, letting him take his cock out then slapping his hands away, tangling his own in Vincent's hair. "Don't be like that," he pants, hands twisting so tightly it's got to hurt, dragging his head down. "Just because I got off on that-I want your mouth."

Vincent laughs at that. "Oh, do you? Do you really think you were that good, Gil?" He shoves Gilbert onto his back, splaying him over the chaise. "It's a good thing," he breathes, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he bends down, tongue flicking out to drag a hot, sloppy lick over the head of Gilbert's flushed cock, "that I love the taste of you. Otherwise, I'd punish you for being so rude."

Gil's half of the mind to shove Vincent down onto his knees, holding his head still and fucking his face until he cries-until that sinful slick tongue drags over his cock, and Gil stops thinking about anything.

He tangles a hand in Vincent's hair, but it's gentle, stroking, even as his hips thrust up, bumping the head of his cock against Vincent's lips, rubbing a wet streak along one pale cheek. "You'll take care of me, right, Vince?" he breathes, urging him down.

Rather than reply, Vincent shows him, his lips parting as he mouths Gilbert's cock, draws the head of it into his mouth and then swallows him whole in one long, slick slide of his mouth, groaning as his hands loosely wrap about Gilbert's hips and he nuzzles down into his brother's belly, a fast, eager breath drawn in through his nose. Gilbert is so hard, pulsing against his tongue, and Vincent sucks hard, slurping as he pulls back to draw a short, fast breath, lapping at him all the while.

"You're so perfect, Gil," he hoarsely breathes, "so perfect. Don't hold back, let me taste more of you already-"

It's almost a bad thing, how good Vincent is like this, eager and skillful and so, so hungry it makes Gil harden until he's dripping, thick and swollen in Vincent's mouth. "Yeah," he grunts, and shoves Vincent's head down hard, the way he knows he loves it, guiding him with both hands as he thrusts up, pulling out with every long stroke until just the head is stretching pretty lips wide, then in until he's buried down Vincent's throat. "Always the genius," he mutters, so close to the edge he can nearly taste it. "Always so good at everything, aren't you? Perfect cocksucker." His voice is a soft rasp, and he groans as he loses himself, head falling back as he yanks out, doing something he rarely permits himself and covering Vincent's cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his chin, even his eyelids as he wraps a hand around his own length, stroking slowly until he's finished.

"God," he groans, for a mad second imagining just how beautiful his master would look like this, before banishing that image with the rest of everything he's thought that's too perverted to see the light of day.

Vincent shudders hard, his tongue flicking out over his lips, licking them clean first before he lifts a hand to wipe over his eyes and face, fingers brought to his mouth shortly afterwards to be sucked clean. "You really… are just perfect, aren't you?" he breathes, wriggling his way up Gilbert's body, tracing slick fingers over the other man's lips. "You know just how to make me feel good, too."

Just because he knows he shouldn't do these things with his brother doesn't mean Gil doesn't want to do them, and there's even the ghost of a smile on his face when he parts his lips easily, closing them around wet fingers even as he drags Vincent onto his lap, stroking a long-fingered hand down his back. He pulls his head back just to place a kiss on Vincent's cheek instead. "You're really a pervert, little brother."

"You seem to like it well enough," Vincent purrs, contently draping his arms over Gilbert's shoulders and nuzzling himself into the other man's grasp. "We always take care of each other like that, I suppose. Mmn, I'll even help you with the, ah, problem in your bedroom, as soon as I feel like moving…"

That of all things shouldn't bring a little shudder of relief to Gil, but it does, and it's good enough to hold Vincent tighter, sort of enjoying the smell of him, the feeling of the younger man in his grasp. "Thank you. Oh, and you said you finally got something out of Ada? That is, assuming it wasn't just..."

"She told me, theoretically, where the location of the key is… though I'm not sure if I believe her," Vincent murmurs, trailing his fingers absently down Gilbert's chest. "She'll probably talk more after I fulfill my end of the bargain-that is, bringing her uncle to her."

Gil can't help but chuckle at that, relieved that at least they've made progress. Maybe he'll be able to look after Ada after all, something that he'd thought a lost cause. "People should know better than to lie to you. Are we not going to get the key? I sort of doubt Duke Baskerville cares about things like bedtimes when it comes to something like this."

"It was too easy," he elaborates on a sigh. "She claims it's in some 'place' that you all found on the day of Oz's first coming of age ceremony. I highly doubt something of that importance would be kept so… mm, well. It's a location so obscure to the Vessalius family, and so very strongly within Glen's grasp of power that I have a hard time believing Leo wouldn't have sensed it there by now. So we'll get the key, but I doubt it's there."

Gil sits up, a little quicker than he'd intended. His mind traces back through that day, as if there's anywhere else it could possibly be, even when he knows there isn't. "I know it," he says slowly, though he flinches away from the idea of the place. "I...I didn't recognize it at the time, because I didn't remember anything from back then, but...do you remember that grave at the Baskerville place? Master Glen's sister's, the one no one but Jack would tell us about?"

"… Hard to forget, considering all of the nonsense he's spouted about her in recent times," Vincent quietly snorts, expression sobering as he leans back, straightening his own clothing with a sigh. "More importantly, I'll need to have Oscar brought here by tomorrow evening, or she'll never trust another word out of my mouth. Hopefully, our master will be… amenable to this."

"Why should he care? Oscar isn't a threat." It's an uncomfortable subject; he's still not entirely happy with Vincent for what had happened to the man, no matter whose orders it had been under. "Besides, what will you do if she's lying? I...I don't think I could let you kill either of them. Just so you know."

"Because it gives into the girl's demands-come now, you know this is a power struggle more than anything," the younger man says with a wave of his hand. "Of course she's lying-there's no debate about that, but she does know where it is. She just is testing us at this point."

"So this is one of your chess games. And you're deciding whether to give up one of your pawns to take a queen." Or something. Gil's never had much interest for games, not like Vincent.

Vincent's lips curl into a slow smile. "I'm not giving up anything, Gilbert. Believe it or not, but I'd rather not see any harm come to her. You are quite fond of her, after all."

Gil grabs a cigarette, lighting up with a shrug. "Whatever reason you need. She's a good girl, Vince. The two of you might even make a nice couple, someday. She seems to like you."

That makes him twitch a bit. "Most women do."

Oho, has he hit a nerve? That's unusual, for Vincent, and Gil is intrigued enough to press. "I mean, you couldn't ask for a prettier girl, probably. And she's rich. And she wouldn't run around on you. And she's sweet, you know. She'd make a good wife."

This again. "Gilbert, I've had to entertain her ideas of eloping enough for one day," Vincent grouses, and god, he nearly steals a cigarette. "Do me a favor and stop talking about marriage."

"I'd like to see you married. I'd like to see you happy. I'm your big brother," he reminds Vincent, even if he does follow it with a more-than-brotherly tug of Vincent's hair. "It's my job to make sure you're taken care of."

"I don't need a wife and I certainly don't need it to be Ada Vessalius." It comes out as a bit more of a defensive snap than he'd like, and he bats Gilbert's hands away with a snort. "I have you, and that's all I need."

"I'm not your wife," Gilbert growls, and he takes an annoyed huff of his cigarette, nearly dumping Vincent off his lap, but thinking better of it at the last second. "What are you going to do when-"

He stops himself. He'd been about to ask what Vincent was going to do when this was all over, when Gil moves on and there are no wars to fight, but he remembers. "Never mind," he mutters, the sudden cold settling over him. Vincent is so warm in his lap; it's easy to forget that he doesn't intend to stay there forever.

Vincent merely offers him a smile as he wriggles away, not bothering to touch on that particular subject further. "You know, if I didn't bother taking care of our master's cat, you could just stay in here with me."

Gil lets him go, resisting (barely) the urge to pull him back. It's harder to be intimate with him when they're not being intimate, usually because Vincent's so prone to pawing over him whether it's appropriate or not-but just now, it's a bit too cold without the warmth of his little brother nearby. He takes another drag on his cigarette, scolding himself for...well, everything, really. It's a rare day he can't think of something. "It's peeing on my bed," he mutters. "I'm sure it is. And aren't you going to need this room free when you track down Ada?"

"I seriously doubt it's doing anything to your bed," Vincent sighs, and he looks back at Gilbert, amused. "So interested in having me spread her legs, brother? I thought you would relish the idea of preventing it."

"More like I doubt she's staying where she's told. As much as I'd like to help her, I really don't fancy the idea of tracking her down again." For someone without the ability to run faster than a close-legged trot, Ada's been damned hard to locate, time and time again.

Vincent's eyes roll to the ceiling. "Just follow the sound of her bouncing-never mind," he mutters, waving a hand in dismissal. "I can find her easily enough, it isn't as if there's anywhere she can escape to. At any rate, I do need to head to Pandora and retrieve her uncle… if you weren't working on that dress, I'd actually ask you to do it, as I'm sure he's going to be so happy to see me."

Gil worries at his lip, thinking. Doubtless Oscar wouldn't be much happier to see him, but that's nothing compared to the welcome Vincent is likely to get from that quarter-which is no less than he deserves, of course, no matter how necessary the information he holds. "What's it worth to you? The dress is easy enough, it's not as difficult as making one for a real woman."

"Honestly, I don't think it will matter much either way… and I don't want you to have any more on your plate, Gil." Vincent leans in close, planting his hands to either side of Gilbert on the chaise, and pressing his lips to the curve of one cheekbone. "I'll deal with this. Just be prepared to go on a wild goose chase regarding the location of this key once in awhile."

"That's all I do anyway." Still, he can't help but smile as he settles in, tugging the mannequin over in front of him to work on the waistline. "Be careful, all right? He might not have a chain, but Oscar's..." He trails off, realizing with a little sick twist of his stomach just how little he has to warn Vincent, and how much it should be the other way around.

"Aren't you sweet, being worried about me." Vincent's smile is genuinely fond as he makes for the door. "Enjoy your dressmaking, Gil."

Leo's up to something.

It's always been easy to tell. Maybe most people aren't good at reading what's behind the messy hair and glasses-or at least used to be-but Elliot has always at least been able to tell when there's something wrong. Of course, it's a bit easier now that all he has to realize is that Leo hasn't summoned him for three days.

He shouldn't, shouldn't be thinking of how he'd seen Leo draped around Vincent's neck, clinging to his elder brother like a lifeline. Leo's supposed to cling to him like that, not his brother, not Vincent.

It's enough to make him cagey. Once upon a time he would have grabbed his black-bladed sword and headed to Pandora at a time like this, demanding to be knocked flat on his ass by the master swordsman Xerxes Break. Now he doesn't even have that luxury, can't even pace, and instead resorts to sending annoyed mental touches out at Leo.

Poke.

Pooooke.

As if he isn't distracted enough.

The mental prodding is enough to drive him mad, and Leo growls, briefly going through a list of everything before even considering letting Elliot out and about. Not only has he been in and out of Gilbert's vicinity for fittings-how did women put up with this on a regular basis, really-but there's that little surprise he's had stowed away in Gilbert's room for a pair of days now, one that he's had to bathe and nurse back to health before even considering it suitable as a present.

Never mind that Ada Vessalius is a pain as per usual, and he's less than comfortable with having sent Vincent away to Pandora, all to achieve her uncle.

As a distraction from less than favorable distractions, Leo coaxes the cat into the washroom-what better place, at any rate, for just a few moments?-and locks the door, sighing as he leans back against it and frowning at the scratches he's acquired down his arms. Really, one would think the animal would be a bit more grateful…

"What?" he finally grumbles, shoving at his bangs. "Do you have any idea how annoying that is, White Knight?"

It feels like nothing so much as the turning of a key on his prison cell, and Elliot forms in the air with a groan of relief, stretching arms he hasn't even really had until now. "You think that's annoying?" he snaps, scanning the room quickly to make certain there's no danger. "Try being locked inside your mind for three days. Where is-everyone?"

It's a near thing that he doesn't ask where a certain man is in particular. He'd promised, after all, even if he hates the ugly way the suspicion twists inside of him.

"Vincent is on an errand to Pandora, Gilbert is… resting," Leo dryly replies, his eyebrows arching high at the manner in which Elliot appears. "There's been a lot going on over the past few days-I thought you would appreciate a break from it all."

"You were wrong." Elliot sheathes his sword, though he does relax quite a bit at hearing that they're alone. It's always been a relief in this house, and knowing that there's no one to mind if they lock the door is even nicer, something they'd never been allowed as teenagers. "It's annoying in there with Jabberwock. You should at least let me go to Pandora if you're going to give me a break."

That makes Leo look at him, decidedly put out. "Let you go to Pandora? Why in the world would you want to? And be nice to Jabberwock, she's very sensitive."

"Jabberwock is a bully," Elliot mutters, nursing what would be a scratch if he'd had the body to receive it. He cranes his head, trying to look out the window. "I'd like to see Oz. And...whoever else is still...around," he says, trying for casual, trying not to get that pleading tone in his voice he knows shows up whenever he's looking for information he doesn't really want.

"You can't just go and sit with Oz and chat like you used to, Elliot," Leo reminds him on a sigh as he pushes away from the door. He artfully avoids mentioning anyone else. "There's a reason why we keep him sealed within Pandora, you know. If Jack willed it enough, he could break through Gilbert's seal upon him again."

"He didn't break through the whole time he was here," Elliot points out, tugging on Leo's sleeve to bring him close. "Why would he want to? Come on, you saw how unhappy Oz looked. Maybe he'll be able to keep Jack down easier if he's got a little encouragement, you know?"

"Or he could cause a huge mess like he did only a couple of days ago yet again," Leo points out with a frown. "Elliot, I don't want you in the crossfire of that. B-Rabbit isn't just any chain, but a chain specifically meant to destroy anything connected to the Abyss-that includes other chains."

Somehow, Elliot swallows down the observation that it sounds a hell of a lot like The Mad Hatter. He hadn't mentioned his father, and it had turned out worse than he'd imagined-but not mentioning Gil had turned out all right. The longer he puts it off, the longer he won't have to know if something...less good turns out to be true. "Can you take him?" he asks instead.

"Without all five chains, it's… a less than desirable match, but I won't die," he allows, frown deepening. "What does that have to do with it?"

"You could come along. For insurance. If you're really that worried about me." Elliot blinks at him, pleading. "He didn't kill me before, Leo. I can hold my own. I just want to talk to him, chain to chain."

"It's really not a good idea," Leo exasperatedly replies, turning away with a shake of his head. "Look, Elliot, in case you haven't noticed, the Baskervilles are not exactly accepted by most people just yet. There's a reason I stay cooped up in this place, regardless of Jack."

"How am I supposed to notice things?" Elliot demands, grabbing Leo, hauling him back. "You haven't let me leave Nightray Manor except to go get Ada Vessalius, and you don't tell me anything. You've been too busy hanging around Vincent, I guess..."

"What is that even supposed to mean?" the smaller man snaps back, swatting Elliot's hands away. "He's my servant, I'm telling him things to do."

"I guess you told him to put his arms around you, then?" Elliot doesn't mean to bring it up, but he's had nothing to do for days but think about it, stew about it. "If I hadn't shown up when Jack was in the courtyard, with him putting his hands all over you-"

Leo settles on a flat, blank stare. "You're kidding, I hope." He snorts, shaking his head. "The last thing I wanted to do was end up in a situation like that-it wasn't my choice to start clinging to him, you know."

Elliot's face flushes, more angry with himself for being bothered than with Leo, though Vincent is still suspect. Still, it's been said now, he might as well finish it. "I don't like seeing him touching you! You said yourself there was no reason for him to be touching you! And then you didn't let me out, I thought-"

"He was protecting me, Elliot-that's his job, and believe it or not, he does a fairly decent job of it," Leo interrupts with an irritated snap. "I promised you nothing was going on, and I meant it. There's no need for you to be so damnably jealous of him."

"It's hard to tell what there's a need for and what there isn't when you don't tell me anything! I've said before that I don't want to be protected from the truth any longer! And Vincent is a pervert," he ends, irrationally, irrelevantly.

"The truth is that you're a fledgling chain and have no real chance against B-Rabbit, so you need to stay the hell away from Oz until we have this situation properly under control!" Leo spits back, forcibly resisting the urge to pick up a nearby lamp and throw it. "Demios is one of our most effective weapons against him right now, so of course he would take the forefront in a situation like that-and Vincent is too busy trying to get between Ada Vessalius' legs, so just stop assuming things."

"What the hell else am I supposed to do?" Elliot shouts, and if he can't throw things at Leo anymore, he can at least still loom over him, more effectively than ever with his new height. "You tell me he's after Gil, then he's too busy chasing Ada Vessalius? You're trying to make me believe the worst of him so I won't suspect the truth!"

"You just said it yourself, didn't you? He's a pervert," Leo snidely drawls, glaring up at Elliot with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "Why would I even look at him now that you're here? So much for your noble ego."

"I don't know, why did you leave me in that prison for three days? What the hell were you doing that I couldn't see, huh? What are you hiding?"

Really, he could just open up the washroom door and reveal one of them, but it's the principle of the damned thing. "It really bothers you when I don't tell you every single little detail, doesn't it?"

"Given how it's turned out in the past when you hide things from me, I think I'm entitled to be a little nosy!" Elliot snaps. "Or is this something that's going to kill me too?"

Leo flinches back as if he's been slapped-and what better equivalent is there to it, honestly? "Fair enough," he mutters, the will to argue suddenly sapped from him as quickly as anything. "I suppose it's only fair that you'd want to keep your wife in line like every other noble, all things considered."

Elliot's face twists into a snarl, one hand slamming hard into the wall, the other grabbing at Leo's hand. "Fine, then give me the ring back, if that's what you think of me and my family!"

"You don't want to know half of what I think of your family," Leo hisses back before he can properly bite his tongue, wrenching his hand away as his vision clouds red. "But you're supposed to be different! Stop being such an idiot, I wasn't doing anything to hurt you, and if you'd take your head out of your ass, maybe you'd realize that!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Elliot roars, too far gone to see sense at this point, even if it is something he knows in the back of his mind he'll regret later. "I'm not the one keeping secrets around here! I'd rather be on that damned leash than locked up in that prison but you want me out of the way!"

It's a miracle the nearest piece of furniture doesn't make it into Elliot's face, but damn if the washroom's door doesn't nearly make it off of its hinges when Leo wrenches it open. "Secret number one," he snaps as the cat dashes out, seeing freedom and securing comfort by immediately leaping up onto Leo's bed. "I've spent the last couple of days nursing him back to health, you're bloody welcome."

The abrupt change of subject and tone rocks Elliot back on his heels, staring confused at the flash of fur until it lands. His eyes go wide, confused, darting between Leo and the cat and back again, with that sinking feeling of dread that lets him know that yes, even by his own standards, he's in the wrong.

He turns away, arms crossed, trying to catch his breath as he cools down. Come on, Elliot, be an adult for once. An adult doesn't wait until too late and apologize through a third person, he does it like a man. "I'm sorry." The words are forced, but no less genuine for that.

Leo shrugs, stiff and forced. It's no small amount of effort to keep his jaw locked so that his lower lip doesn't tremble like he's five. "You were right. You have every right to be wary of what I hide from you."

"But..." Elliot's hands ball into fists, and he turns, shoving Leo up against the wall, bare inches from his face. "But you don't need to hide anything from me! Whatever you don't tell me, I'd understand!"

"Not everything." Leo shuts his eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath. "There's nothing else to tell right now, anyway-unless you're counting the other half of your present that I'd really rather not have ruined. Now let me go, Elliot, before I hit you."

Slowly, with a tremendous effort of will, Elliot lets him go, backing up several paces. His cheeks are ruddy with shame, shoulders sagging. "I'm sorry," he says again, and even if the words feel like broken glass coming up, it's better to have them out. "You trusted me when I wanted to go off by myself, and I should have done the same." What's worse is that Leo's right, he really is no different from any of the high-and-mighty nobles who don't mind who they step on, as long as they get what they want.

Damn it, I was supposed to be better than that.

Worse still is that he knows Leo has good reason to dislike his family, knowing that after all, it had been his death they were plotting, and the disgrace of that still aches, years later. "You have every right not to want to be a Nightray. I wouldn't either, if I were you."

Another shrug, and Leo looks pointedly away, unable to stop his lower lip from trembling this time. "It really doesn't matter." And it doesn't, not really, not when he's just tired of this and it's honestly true what Elliot says about how he hides things. He should have known better. "Just-forget about it, and go play with your cat. It's not a ring, but that would just hinder your swordsmanship, anyway…"

"I..."

Didn't mean to make you cry.

"You should just throw stuff at me when I get like that," Elliot grumbles, sort of wishing Leo had. He sits on the edge of the bed, eyeing the little cat, and god, it's a cute thing, giant eyes and paws too big for its body. "Besides, you wearing my ring is all the ring I need."

"Didn't want to break your damned heirloom furniture," Leo crossly mutters, crossing his arms over his chest as he still lingers a few paces away, less than inclined to initiate physical contact just yet. At least Elliot looks cute like this, sitting with the little tabby cat that Leo had plucked off the street, and the animal simply looks at him, staring wide-eyed until it reaches out a paw, tapping at the crest upon Elliot's chest.

"I'd prefer that than hurting your feelings, I didn't-"

Elliot's breath catches in his throat at the way the little cat looks at him, the soft pad of a paw nudging at his chest, and he feels the scowl drop off his face in a sudden surge of...

He swallows hard, a grin tugging at his lips as he reaches up to unfasten the ribbon from his hair, dangling it just out of paw's reach for the little kitten.

"It doesn't matter," Leo quietly repeats, gaze lidding as he sighs, giving into the urge to sidle closer once more and drop onto the bed opposite Elliot. "… So you like him?" he deviates, reaching out a hand to idly pluck at the tail of the cat between them. "I figured because you could never have a cat before, now was a decent enough time."

It's hard to keep the smile off his face when the kitten is batting at his ribbon, even as the hair falls down loose over his shoulders. He jerks it back up, laughing, watching the cat roll over onto its back to strain upwards. "I'm surprised you remembered," he says softly. "Though I guess I shouldn't be."

At that, Leo snorts. "I have a much better memory than you with most things," he points out, and it's with a half-hearted prod of Jabberwock that a little burst of black feathers appear, giving him enough of a chance to snatch one from midair and poke the kitten with it. "You were always after Ada's cats, don't think I didn't notice."

"I-I wasn't after them-they used to come up to me," Elliot protests, though it's hard to sound too convincing when he's grinning ear to ear, tickling the writhing ball of fur rolling around on his lap. With his other hand, he lays it on Leo's, squeezing just hard enough to feel the imprint of the ring. "You're too nice to me when I'm an ass."

"Your fuse is just shorter," Leo tiredly returns, frowning as he glances down at Elliot's hand, though he makes no attempt to pull his own away. "… If you really want to see Oz," he reluctantly begins, "I could have Gil increase the seal temporarily. But it's still not a good idea. We're better off staying here."

"It's not even that I want to see him," Elliot admits. He brushes the ribbon over the kitten's tail, then rolls it gently over onto its side, closer to Leo. "I just know the look of a guy who's losing all his hope. Leo, he...when Jack was out, he couldn't attack me. Oz couldn't. I don't want him to lose that battle he's fighting."

"There's not even a battle he can fight," comes Leo's exasperated response, even as he watches the kitten snag hold of a feather and bite down into it. "We're the ones doing it, not him. I'm not sure what you think visiting him is going to accomplish."

"But he is fighting." Elliot pokes the kitten with a finger, letting the little thing bite at it for a few seconds. "Just because it's hopeless doesn't mean he should give up. I'm glad he's fighting. But if there's some other way you can think of to help him..."

"If there was something, I wouldn't still be spinning my wheels after two years," Leo mutters. "Tell his sister to be more forthcoming and perhaps this will end quite a bit sooner. Until then, all I can do is wait and hope Jack doesn't somehow gain more power."

Deciding that the earlier fight is as good as over, Elliot leans over and brushes a quick kiss across Leo's cheek. "You've been spinning your wheels because you're half a team. You've got me back now. I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this."

Leo's expression twists wry. "This isn't a 'mystery' you can pick apart and solve, Elliot," he sighs, rolling the kitten back over towards Elliot as it starts to nod off. "Jack has put himself in a perfect position and he knows it. It's just a game to him at this point."

It's hard to keep his composure when the kitten is yawning, and god, Elliot hadn't even known kittens could do that. "Yeah?" he asks absently, stroking a gentle finger over the little cat's ears. "Then why hasn't he won yet? You think he likes being in prison?"

"Because we've been careful, and Gilbert is bound and determined not to let anything happen to Oz. That's why he expends so much energy on those seals," Leo explains, exhaling a slow breath and starting to relax-eventually. "Also… I bet he wants a chance to talk to the previous Glen before me, if he can manage it…"

That startles Elliot, blinking, confused. "Can you do that? Let the rest of them...talk through you?" He shifts uncomfortably. "Do they...are they always around, seeing what you see?"

"Dunno." Leo can't help but be amused. "Sometimes, they influence things, though… or at least, I think they do. It's hard to explain. I thought you liked the thrill of an audience, Elliot."

"Th-the possibility of it!" Elliot turns back to the cat, trying not to look quite as suddenly panicked as he feels. "Not people I've never met staring at me while I-I mean, am I-when we-are they all-"

"Your prowess is greatly admired." More accurately, Leo simply enjoys torturing him-revenge for their fight, as far as he's concerned.

If there weren't a kitten sleeping on his lap, Elliot would probably have run from the room. As it is, all the blood drains from his face, and he focuses on anything, anything but Leo's face. "I-that's-how many are-Leo, that's the kind of thing you should tell a person!"

"Dozens," Leo deadpans. "Maybe more. It's awfully noisy in my head sometimes." Which is the truth, of course, but certainly not when he's having sex. Being with Elliot makes it quite easy to block that sort of thing out, though really, Elliot doesn't have to know that right now.

"Is it-can they see everything? Or can they...everything everything? Can you...when we're...can you close your eyes next time?" Elliot finishes in a small voice, not quite able to promise that it's never going to happen again, even if the idea makes him cringe right now.

Leo blinks up at him, terribly innocent. "Now why would I do that? You always look incredible when we're together, Elliot. There's no need to be shy."

If it's possible to turn any redder, Elliot doesn't want to know about it. "That's-only-I don't want anyone else to see me like that! Especially not weird murderers I've never even met!"

"… Murderers?" Leo drawls, a slim brow arching. "Please. And anyway, I might just be teasing you."

Elliot gives Leo a one-armed shove, weighing his chances of moving the kitten without waking it, deciding he'd better not. "The last Glen did have his followers kill everyone in Sablier," he points out. "The Baskervilles told us, the first time we met them. Whatever the reasons might have been, there's blood on his hands, and a lot of it."

"All because if he hadn't killed them, they would have been pulled into the Abyss and turned into chains courtesy of Jack," Leo swiftly defends, a brief, amused glance tossed down at the kitten now splayed out over Elliot's lap, fast asleep. "Would you have had them all suffer instead?"

Elliot shoots him a suspicious glare. "Is that him talking to me right now? How would I know if it is?"

The next stare Leo offers is decidedly put out. "One of these days, you're going to have to start trusting what comes out of my mouth, you know."

"Hey, you're the one who didn't tell me we always have an audience!" Elliot argues. "If you hide things from me-" But that's too close to their earlier fight, and he bites off the rest of that sentence, trying not to start it again. "I just mean...you caught me off guard."

"I was teasing you," Leo blandly replies, not allowing himself to get riled once more. "Trust me, they have little interest, and the only time they want to provide some sort of input is when I'm about to die. Generally, that isn't during sex."

Elliot sighs out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, finally taking his chances, scooping up the furry body keeping his thigh warm and depositing it on the bed, somehow managing not to wake the kitten. "Good. I want you all to myself." And that's the crux of it, anyway.

"If they were spying on me, trust me, you would have heard me complain quite a bit more," Leo returns with a sniff. "And how many times do I have to tell you that I am all yours?"

"It's not...the kind of thing we used to talk about."

It had been all stolen kisses and hastily-locked doors, springing apart at the sound of footsteps, hands shaking with nerves and clumsy, unpracticed kisses back then, constantly worried that they'd be found out, that things would change, that it would end. Now that they have forever, as twisted as it is...

"I'm just...realizing that we didn't really know each other as well as I thought we did." Not that it's a bad thing, necessarily. Just different.

That shouldn't bother Leo as much as it does.

"Just because I didn't tell you about a few things that happened… doesn't mean that I didn't-" Tell you about me, about what I liked and how I liked you. Leo frowns, shaking his head dismissively as he flicks away a few stray feathers with a sigh. "Never mind. I know it probably seems like… I changed a lot."

"Honestly? I can't tell." Elliot swallows hard, tucking his legs up onto the bed. "You were always so good at keeping secrets, I can't even tell if you've changed or if you just never showed me this part of you. I miss when you used to smile and talk about books." He smiles, a little sadly. "Guess you kept a lot hidden behind those glasses."

A little shrug follows, and Leo slowly lets himself flop to the side, pressing his cheek into the mattress once he hits the bed properly. "There wasn't much to smile about until I brought you back… nor have I exactly had the time to enjoy a book properly."

"Tell me." Quiet, but insistent, though Elliot refrains from poking Leo like he'd been doing mentally, during his three days of confinement. "Do you think you've changed? Or were you always like this? I...you don't need to worry. I love you like this too." There's probably not a way Leo could make him take that ring off Leo's hand, no matter how angry he gets.

God, he doesn't want to talk about this. "… There wasn't anything before I met you, and I was fine with that," he slowly offers nonetheless. "I was used to it, and so it was easy. But then to go from that to being at your side, to nothing again…" Swallowing hard, Leo briefly shuts his eyes. "I'm just really tired, Elliot. I didn't want any of this-being Glen, I mean. But I don't have a choice, so I can understand if it's… just not the same to you."

Slowly, trying not to disturb the cat-got to name it, he thinks idly-too much, Elliot moves to Leo's side, sitting with his back against the headboard. It's a few long moments of thoughts before he says, "It's not the same. Not really. But I'm not the same either." Tentatively, still wary of their earlier tension, he slides his hand closer over the bedspread. "If you can still care about me as a chain, why would I mind that you're Glen?"

"Because I don't just get to sit in a library all day anymore," Leo dully replies, his fingers curling loosely into the bedspread before inching closer as well. "Because I'm not your servant, I can't be. Because I'm doing a dozen things you don't agree with and I'm too tired to even repeat the reasons why I'm doing them. You're a chain, but you're still Elliot. You're not so different."

The sound of Leo so tired, so hurting, tugs at Elliot's heart, makes him wince. He scoots his hand just close enough that his fingertips brush over the back of Leo's hand-a silent invitation to contact, something too embarrassing to say aloud. "Yeah, well, I can't be any kind of master to you, and I don't have...any of the things that made me who I was. I don't have my family, or my pride, or any goals because the only thing that matters to me is keeping you safe. I could understand if you wanted...someone...real."

"You're stupid," is the immediate, breathless admonishment to follow. "All I've done since you've been gone is throw myself into this horrible excuse of a dukedom, hide in this room, and write pathetic piano scores." Leo's fingers lift, just slightly, enough to twine themselves loosely through Elliot's. "I'm not even good at pining. Why would I ever want anyone else? I just wanted to die."

That touch, no matter how slight, is all the invitation Elliot needs. He reaches over, grabbing Leo and hauling him close enough that he can wrap both his arms around the smaller man, burying his nose into the juncture of neck and shoulder. "Stop it," he whispers, "and I'll stop too. We're too lucky to get back here to be stupid at each other, even me, and I was always better than you at being stupid."

"I don't know, I've kind of taken the cake at this point," Leo laughs, the sound watery as he buries his face into Elliot's shoulder with a quiet huff. His hands lift to grasp at Elliot's coat, fisting tightly into his sides. "If I ever lose you again… I don't know what I'll do."

"You can't." He's said it before, but it's the kind of thing that bears repetition, and it's nothing he minds saying in any case. "You can't lose me. You own me. Hell, I live inside you." One long-fingered hand strokes up and down Leo's spine, soothing gently. "I told you. Forever. I don't care if we're just the ghosts of ourselves, I'm never letting you go."

"But-" God, it's not even worth talking about technicalities, and how if a certain chain wanted Elliot gone, Elliot would be gone. Leo shivers, curling himself up closer. "I'm sorry… that I brought you back like this." He sniffs. "Not sorry I brought you back, though."

Elliot frowns, then starts pressing gentle kisses against the softness of Leo's hair. It wouldn't be the first time it was the only way to calm him down. "You mean...what, taller? Or am I really that different?"

"I mean…" With his face still pressed to Leo's shoulder, he slowly shakes his head. "I'm selfish. I brought you back in a way that makes you stay here, you know."

"You have to stay. You think if I'd had the choice, I would have chosen to abandon you? I thought I told you to stop being stupid."

"… I figured you might hate me for everything, so who knows?" Leo sighs, headbutting Elliot's shoulder. "Sorry. I'll stop now."

Elliot grins at that, against Leo's hair, stroking one hand through it. "How could I hate the man who went out and got me a kitten?"

"You haven't even named him," comes the immediate accusation. "I'm starting to believe you don't really like cats."

"Sir Edwin," Elliot answers without a second's hesitation, casting a fond look at the fierce creature slumbering gently on the bed.

"It was between that and Edgar, wasn't it," Leo deadpans.

"Edgar? That useless waste of space?" Elliot sniffs. "I'm going to do you the honor of pretending I didn't hear that. It was between Sir Edwin and-nothing, I mean it was always Sir Edwin," he finishes hastily.

Leo's eyes roll toward the ceiling. "Uh huh. Well, I'm glad to see the honored beast is well-appreciated. He certainly likes you more than he likes me."

"Sir Edwin can sleep in the bed, right? I mean, just until he gets big enough for his own bed. He gets lonely when he's on his own, I can tell."

"Yes, and thank you for the concern regarding the bodily harm he bestowed upon me earlier, Elliot." Of course, now that all of that is resolved, Leo can't help but feel a smidgen of anxiety returning concerning… other parts of surprises. Ugh. "I suppose I should get the thing a monogrammed pillow or something…"

It's just as Elliot is placing soft kisses on those scratch marks, soothing them with the touch of his lips, that his eldest brother opens the door quite without ceremony or warning. "Master, it's ready when-oh," he cuts off, eyes widening as they fall on Elliot, and doubtless their rather compromising position-not that they're terribly involved, simply that the two of them are together, and on a bed of all places. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean..."

The scowl on Leo's face couldn't possibly be more aggravated. "Do you and your brother really need a lesson in learning how to knock?" he growls, and it's a pillow that flies off the bed, thumping into the doorframe next to Gilbert's head. "Not now, Gilbert."

Gil ducks, though he doesn't really need to, long years growing up in the Nightray house giving him plenty of practice avoiding thrown objects from pretty much every inhabitant except Vincent. "You said you wanted to know as soon as possible!" he points out defensively, and gives Elliot a little nod of greeting.

Not the time, Elliot tries thinking hard at him, and at least Gilbert takes the hint, bowing once more before leaving, shutting the door behind him.

Elliot's mouth curves into a grin, but instead of pressing the subject, he murmurs, "Oh, that bastard woke Sir Edwin up."

Leo's frown deepens. He could have at least left it, annoying bastard. "Of course he did, he's the most annoying out of all of them," he grumbles, even as he sags back down into the mattress, dropping his head into a pile of pillows. "And he almost ruined it, too. Before you ask, no, I'm not telling you yet."

"I didn't ask!" Elliot protests, injured even as he submits to being walked on, explored by the kitten. "This was supposed to be me trusting you, are you trying to ruin it by ordering me to trust you?"

"I'm just making sure!" Leo eyeballs the kitten in question. "You know, he's not allowed to sleep like that. That's my pillow."

"My lap is your pillow?" Elliot considers protesting, then thinks better of it, reclining back against the headboard, tugging Leo close against his side even as Sir Edwin, growing braver, tries to pounce on Leo's hair.

"You're my pillow," Leo grumbles as he scoots closer all the same, his head coming to rest against Elliot's shoulder as he frowns down at the kitten. "Rude. My hair is off-limits, also."

"Can't blame him," Elliot says with a grin, tangling his own hand in Leo's hair, stroking through the softness of the strands. "It's a lot of fun to play with." Nevertheless, he tries to roll the kitten off to his other side, with poor to mild success.

"No one else gets to touch it," is the following murmur as Leo's head tips into the other man's hand, a little sigh leaving his lips. "Tell your kitten to mind his manners."

Elliot kindly refrains from making some reference to the fact that Leo is just as cuddly and feline as Sir Edward, with a hell of a lot worse manners. Instead he just presses a little kiss to Leo's hair, letting the kitten attack his own boot. "Both of you, behave," he says instead, making a silent vow to try and do the same from now on.