Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3395489.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Pandora_Hearts
  Relationship:
      Leo_Baskerville/Elliot_Nightray
  Character:
      Leo_Baskerville, Elliot_Nightray
  Additional Tags:
      Established_Relationship, Hand_Jobs, Bathtubs, No_Plot/Plotless, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Play_Fighting, Teasing, Hair_Washing
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-21 Words: 2547
****** Ripples ******
by tastewithouttalent
Summary
     "Leo calls attention to the gap between expectations and reality more
     to see the way Elliot smiles at him than out of any hope for change;
     there’s something thrilling about drawing that smile up at a word,
     something exciting about having the power to call all Elliot’s
     attention to him on a breath, and Leo has never been good at
     resisting Elliot’s temptation." Elliot disregards his role as a
     noble, and Leo points out the discrepancy.
Elliot has always been terrible at fitting into his role.
It’s hardly as if Leo hasn’t been aware of this. Elliot has never reacted the
way he was supposed to to Leo’s barbs, never kept the half-disgusted distance
he should have from servants. Even now, when Leo is supposed to be his
bodyguard, more often than not it is Elliot who moves first, who throws himself
between Leo and the threat of danger.
It’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, for their roles to invert so much, and Leo
might not like social norms but that doesn’t mean he can’t recognize them. He
sees how people look at Elliot, cares far more about the whispers about the
other boy than the dismissive glances their relationship earns him. But Elliot
doesn’t care, no matter how many times Leo points it out to him, and if Elliot
doesn’t care then Leo doesn’t either. There’s only one good opinion he wants to
maintain, after all. At this point he calls attention to the gap between
expectations and reality more to see the way Elliot smiles at him than out of
any hope for change; there’s something thrilling about drawing that smile up at
a word, something exciting about having the power to call all Elliot’s
attention to him on a breath, and Leo has never been good at resisting Elliot’s
temptation.
He’s no better at it now than he ever was.
“You’re doing this backwards,” he points out as Elliot opens his cupped palms
over Leo’s head to let water cascade over the other’s dark hair. It’s barely
enough to dampen the strands but it’s the intent that counts, the motion of
Elliot’s hands for Leo’s benefit instead of the other way around. Leo tosses
his head, flicks the damp hair away from his face to he can gaze at Elliot’s.
“I’m supposed to be the one bathing you.”
“You’re supposed to do what I want you to do,” Elliot retorts. The words come
out soaked soft with affection, warm as the gaze lingering at Leo’s eyes,
shoulder, lips. “And I want you to let me wash your hair.”
“You’re an idiot,” Leo says, careful with the weight of sincerity on his
tongue, and Elliot shoves at his shoulder to push him back into the water. Leo
can’t resist the force with the slip of the tub under him; he topples
backwards, drops underwater for a moment, and when he comes up he’s breathless
and drenched.
“You ought to be nicer to me,” Elliot says while Leo’s eyes are still shut.
There are fingers at his hair, the slip of liquid across the top of Leo’s head,
and then the faint spicy smell of Elliot’s shampoo as the other boy works the
soap into Leo’s hair. Leo keeps his eyes shut -- Elliot is exactly as good at
this as he is, which is to say not, and it’s better to forgo vision for the
sake of keeping the soap out of his eyes. It’s remarkably pleasant in the dark,
with the warm of the water lapping against Leo’s skin and the gentle press of
Elliot’s fingers against his scalp, rubbing the soap into his hair and
sensation into his skin at once. Elliot is careful with his motions; in that
respect, at least, he truly is better suited to this than Leo’s half-bored
impatience. Or maybe it’s just that it is Leo he’s touching that is drawing his
movement slow and lingering; he keeps going long after what should be
sufficient, trailing his fingers down through the ends of dark hair over and
over until Leo sighs and splashes water up over his face to rinse the soap off
so he can blink at the other boy.
“What are you doing?” he asks, although he doesn’t need to. Elliot’s leaning on
the edge of the tub, gazing dreamily at the motion of his fingers through the
other’s hair, and it’s ridiculous for him to look so soft but it still brings
Leo up short, even if he didn’t expect anything other than this.
“Washing your hair,” Elliot says without looking up at Leo’s face.
Leo scoffs incredulity. “You’re playing with my hair, not washing it.” Elliot’s
sleeve has come unrolled from his elbow, is draping dangerously close to the
surface of the water. Leo reaches out to hook his fingers into the cuff, drag
it down so it starts wicking up the warm liquid into the fabric. Elliot doesn’t
notice for a moment; then the fabric gets heavy enough to drag at his wrist,
and his attention finally falls from Leo’s hair to the tug of his fingers
instead.
“Hey!” He snatches his arm back, flicking water up at Leo’s face as he moves.
Leo grins at the way Elliot’s forehead creases in irritation, drops himself
back into the water to rinse the soap out of his hair and dodge the sound of
Elliot’s shout at once. He’s half-expecting the way Elliot splashes water over
his face, ducks under for a moment to avoid the impact of the wave. When he
comes back up to shake his wet-rinsed hair back and blink his eyes clear,
Elliot has pulled his hand back, is toying with the wet sleeve of his shirt as
he glares at the other.
“You got my sleeve wet,” he says, as if Leo isn’t perfectly aware of this.
Leo shrugs, leans back in a show of unconcern. “So what? It’s just a shirt, you
can change it.”
“You should be the one helping me change,” Elliot snaps, his voice jumping into
the petulant noble tone that always makes Leo feel like he’s won a victory.
Leo grins, the expression tugging sharp at his lips as he lifts a foot from the
tub to kick gently at Elliot’s shoulder. “You’re the one who wanted to wash my
hair for me.”
He’s not expecting Elliot to reach out whip-quick to lock his fingers around
his ankle, is doubly not expecting the other to maintain his hold when Leo tugs
away and towards the water. There’s a splash, Elliot’s arm dunking into the tub
and sending a wave of water up against his face, and for a moment they both go
still, Elliot with his eyes shut in an instinctive flinch from the splash and
Leo caught in watching the droplets trickling across the strands of Elliot’s
hair.
Then “Damn it, Leo!” and Elliot is moving, reaching out for Leo’s shoulder and
closing his fingers hard against the other boy’s skin. Leo is expecting Elliot
to push him under the water again; he’s not expecting the other to move,
leaning in against him and toppling over the edge of the tub and into the
water. There’s a wave at the impact, spilling over the edge of the tub and onto
the floor, and Leo yelps some startled protest as Elliot’s weight lands across
his legs. There’s water everywhere, across the floor and catching in Elliot’s
hair, turning the white of his shirt translucent so Leo can make out the lines
of his undershirt across his shoulders.
“What are you doing?” he manages as Elliot gets his knees under him and shifts
his weight so he’s straddling Leo’s legs instead of crushing them.
“I was already wet,” Elliot says, reaching to slide his fingers in across Leo’s
damp shoulders. “I can always change, right?”
“You’re an idiot,” Leo says, calm with complete certainty. “Your pants are
ruined.”
“Shut up,” Elliot orders, his voice falling into the lilt of expected
obedience. Usually that is the fastest way to bring a retort snapping to Leo’s
lips, but he barely has time to open his mouth this time before Elliot is
leaning in against him, shoving him back against the back of the tub and
pressing his mouth to Leo’s to catch the sound on his tongue. His lips are
warmer than the water, warmer even than the friction of his hands dragging
across Leo’s back, and Leo shuts his eyes instead of protesting, reaches up to
tangle his wet hands into the damp-sticky hair at the back of Elliot’s neck.
Elliot parts his lips, opens his mouth wider in invitation, and Leo licks
against him, catches the other’s heat onto his tongue and tugs until he’s
leaning back against the tub with Elliot’s weight resting against him. Elliot’s
hands are up against his hair, the other’s fingers tangling knots into the wet
strands, but Leo doesn’t pull him away; it’s worth it for the press of Elliot’s
fingers against his scalp and the soft of Elliot’s hair on his palms.
It’s Elliot who rocks in closer as Leo starts to go hard, Elliot who pulls away
to take a shivering inhale as he slides forward an inch to press them closer.
The water’s too high in the tub, they can barely move without sending another
splash over the floor, but Leo doesn’t care and Elliot doesn’t look like he
does either. He doesn’t even voice the shape of a protest when Leo lets one of
his hands go, dips it under the water so he can push the button of Elliot’s
pants loose. It’s harder to manage with the fabric gone heavy and waterlogged,
but then it’s coming free, the zipper following, and Elliot’s arching forward
to meet Leo’s fingers before the other has pulled the edge of white shirt
loose. Elliot bumps himself in against Leo’s knuckles, the water splashing
against them from the movement, and when Elliot whines it’s against Leo’s
mouth, encouragement to speed the motion of Leo’s fingers at his clothes.
“We’re going to make a mess,” Leo points out, though he’s not pulling his hand
away. Elliot’s shirt comes loose, the trailing edges floating through the water
like a veil, and Leo drags his fingernails in against Elliot’s stomach, draws a
shudder of reaction from the other boy before he fits his fingers into a gentle
hold on his length instead. Elliot’s head is ducked, his eyes half-shut and
mouth open like an invitation, but Leo leans back instead of in, watches the
way his mouth works on half-formed words as Leo’s fingers tighten in around
him. Just because it’s easy to shatter Elliot’s composure doesn’t diminish the
pleasure of it, the heat of appreciation enough that Leo’s not anxious for
reciprocation.
Elliot catches up after a moment anyway. Leo is sliding his thumb up, feeling
out the shape of the other boy against his palm since the drape of the shirt is
hiding his vision, when Elliot’s hand tightens at his shoulder, Elliot’s
fingers tug free of his hair and reach down under the surface of the water.
“Wait.” Leo can see the attention in the set of his mouth, the attempt at
resolution tight across his lips even as his breathing catches fast under the
stroke of the other boy’s hand. “This isn’t fair.” His fingers trail across
Leo’s hip, touch oddly tentative even now, even after all this time, and Leo
laughs sharp and unsurprised.
“Don’t be stupid,” and he leans in, sits up and into Elliot’s space. The other
tips back, instinct overriding conscious thought, and Leo lets his hold go to
shove Elliot’s hand away. It’s only for a moment, barely long enough for
Elliot’s expression to fall into confused protest; then Leo’s tipping his hips
up, arching in close to the other and when he closes his hand to draw his own
cock in to press against the other’s Elliot has to throw his hand out to brace
himself on the edge of the tub instead.
“Leo,” he manages, a weird choked sound, and Leo huffs a laugh around the surge
of heat in his veins.
“This is better,” he says rather than asks, strokes up over them at once.
Elliot’s shoulders curl in, bring his forehead in to drop heavy at Leo’s, and
Leo reaches for Elliot’s hip with his free hand to hold him in place. He can’t
move much, with Elliot across his lap as he is, but he can rock his hips up an
inch, thrust up into his hand to match the slide of his fingers, and the rush
of sensation is more than enough to counteract any concern at the way the water
splashes off the sides of the tub at the movement. There’s hardly enough space
for Leo to move himself, and none at all for Elliot to manage, but Leo can feel
the way tension collects against Elliot’s spine, can hear the way the other’s
breathing starts to catch as Leo keeps stroking over them. The water’s spilling
over the edge of the tub, Leo’s fingers are catching against the trailing ends
of Elliot’s shirt, and Elliot is gasping, huge desperate breaths at Leo’s
shoulder as the waves of heat under Leo’s skin surge higher than the radiance
of the water.
Elliot lets the tub go, arches in close against Leo’s chest; his hands are
digging into Leo’s shoulders, bruising fingerprints against the other’s
collarbones, but it doesn’t matter anymore than the water splashing out of the
tub matters. What matters is the way he’s shivering himself pliant, the way his
breathing is forming into half-voiced pleas, and then Leo jerks up sharply over
them and Elliot melts against him. Leo can feel the ripples of pleasure washing
through the other, the little involuntary movements where they’re pressed
together, and he can’t breathe, it’s like his lungs are filled with heat
instead of air and he can’t take a breath. Elliot is gasping his name over and
over, “Leo” tearing from his throat in counterpoint to the tremors of his
orgasm, and Leo has to let him go, has to close his fingers on himself and jerk
up with desperate speed. He’s not expecting Elliot’s hand to drop from his
shoulder to tangle the other boy’s fingers with his own, but he doesn’t care;
the extra friction is welcome, the off-rhythm sensation more help than a
hindrance. In the end it’s Elliot’s hand that does it, the slipping pressure of
his fingers dragging over the head of Leo’s cock that sends heat flashing into
pleasure in his veins. Leo jerks, thrusts up in a last helpless reflex, and
then he’s coming under their fingers, gasping breathlessly into Elliot’s
shoulder.
Leo collapses boneless against the back of the tub while aftershocks are still
shivering under his skin, his hold sliding loose and exhausted, and Elliot
follows him, pressing his mouth in against the curve of Leo’s neck and
breathing against the damp of his hair. After a moment Leo lifts an arm, lets
the weight of it fall around Elliot’s waist in some half-formed approximation
of an embrace.
“You’re dirtier than when we started,” he points out, tipping his head back to
gaze at the ceiling.
Elliot shoves at his hip, his knuckles digging in against Leo’s side and
knocking the breath out of him for a moment. “Shut up,” he snaps, his breath
warm at Leo’s neck.
For once, Leo listens. They’ll have to get out eventually, strip Elliot of his
ruined clothes and work the knots out of his own hair, but for now the water is
warm, and Elliot is warmer, and Leo shuts his eyes and lets the heat soak into
him.
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