It all started with a kiss.

Most things did, when it came to Elliot. The boy was awkward at best in most of his advances, no matter how Leo had attempted to coax him in the direction of something more practiced. Even so, Leo doubted he would like to have his master any other way – all fumbling, too-rough hands, grasping and pulling and shoving, fingers long and sure and twisting in just the right ways –

He tried not to let his thoughts wander to such things, even when Elliot was brushing up close to him, nuzzling at his neck with warm breath and sword-calloused hands prying at his collar.

A change of pace, this was. Elliot, pawing at him? Normally, Leo was the one wriggling his way into his master's lap, heatedly insisting that the noble put his hands places that proper noble boys didn't touch, to seal his mouth over his neck and feel his pulse beat fast, hot, hard as they rocked together, joined so very intimately.

Now, there were Elliot's clumsy hands, a little shaky, a little eager.

"Elliot – " Bemusedly fond as Elliot brushed closer still where Leo was perched at the foot of his bed, warm lips finding the corner of the noble's mouth, Leo attempted to lift a hand to grasp for him, only to have it brushed away, resolute no matter how he shook.

"Let me."

"Let you do what?" Leo tried not to laugh, no matter how mean the reaction was.

A hiss of frustration quickly followed the words and before Leo knew it, he was shoved back against the softness of a down coverlet, a strong hand to his shoulder as another fumbled with the cravat tightly wound about Elliot's own neck. Leo blinked, watching impassively through his glasses until those, too, were tugged carelessly away. Unsurprisingly, considering Elliot's preference to see them off and away –

Ah, but what was surprising was the rough, upward pull of his head by a hand in his hair – strong and sure and far more insistent than before. He gasped out a breath in spite of himself, the sensation of Elliot's fingers digging in close to his scalp more than enough to make his eyes flutter, his breath catch and his pulse thud, quickening with every twist and jerk of his master's fingers.

He felt rather inclined to be obedient in that moment.

Elliot didn't seem inclined to answer his previous question. Instead, the strip of material that was his cravat was laid over Leo's eyes, the darkly tousled mane released in order to have the silk tightly bound around the back of his head instead. With that, Leo's world was reduced to silky, soft darkness, blurred by the makeshift blindfold. His other senses sharpened instinctively – the pump of his own blood, quickening by the minute, beat hard and heavy in his ears, the scent of sweat and arousal thick in his nose and making him suck in a sharp, ragged breath, all the more eager when he felt, but couldn't see, Elliot slip up between his thighs, narrow hips wedged there as if they were puzzle pieces made to be fit together, his erection already straining through the thin material of his trousers.

What had brought this on, Leo wasn't entirely sure, but he certainly didn't mind.

"You never listen." Elliot seemed inclined to tell him what his reasoning was behind such an impromptu advance, no matter Leo's lack of care on the matter. "You never – let me do this."

He could almost imagine his master's huffy, put out expression that must have accompanied the words. "Ellio-"

"No." A hand was in his hair again, yanking his head back, drawing his neck to an arc that strained both muscle and breath. Elliot's lips were hot upon his throat and Leo couldn't suppress the sudden whimper. "Master."

Oh. And that as well he certainly couldn't complain about.

"… Master," he echoed, anticipation thick in his voice. A demanding, insistent Elliot was always an erotic thing, no matter the scenario, but this? A situation in which Elliot had no intentions of backing down, and every intention of asserting himself, demanding of him without any hesitation, taking what he wanted no matter if Leo gave permission or not and oh, god, considering such things over and over in his mind made his own arousal all the more acute, made him shift uncomfortably where he lay and pant like some high priced whore, splayed beneath his buyer's whim.

The sound of a belt being stripped away rapidly followed, and it was only another moment before it found its way around Leo's wrists, cinched and knotted as makeshift bindings. Leo expected to be strung up to the headboard, but Elliot obviously had other ideas as he was suddenly caught by the arm and rolled, flat onto his stomach, face shoved into the mattress and his hips hiked upwards by those same hands, suddenly damnably, accursedly confident.

Leo's back arched like a cat as he squirmed his way up onto his elbows, face turned so that his cheek pressed to the silken bedding. No matter how he moved, everything was hot – the bed beneath him, the press of Elliot's body above him, his own skin heated to an intense flush. His hair, mussed to an even further degree, spilled over his shoulders and into his face, sticking to his cheeks even as he attempted to dislodge it with a shake of his head, wishing so desperately that he could see Elliot and hating him for tying the blindfold so steadfastly that it remained unscathed from their movements.

Never before has he wanted Elliot's lips so badly. The connection of a kiss, so intimate and so accursedly affectionate – yes, that was what he wanted. He wanted to cry out for his master to do just that, to flip him over and claim his lips like Elliot so obviously wanted to claim his body, but Leo's entire being craved the weight of Elliot above him, the strength of his hands and the scent of his soap, simple and fleeting and masculine, thick in his nose. He could smell it in the coverlet his face pressed into.

He could smell it above him as Elliot's lips brushed against the back of his neck as if reading his mind, an indirect, but no less tender, adoring gesture in the midst of all of this assertion of mad, desperate need.

Leo's heart ached as much did his body.

Please was his mindless, needy whine. If he couldn't see Elliot, he wanted to feel him. If he couldn't touch Elliot, he wanted Elliot to touch him instead. And fortunately, Elliot seemed of the same mind – trousers yanked down, hands splaying over his bare skin, bottles of oil dragged from somewhere within their sheets and oh, god, those long, probing fingers, sliding and stretching into his body, making him gasp and arch like some harlot as they played him as surely as any piano. Leo felt like some fine-tuned instrument in his master's hands, then; every bit of his body, every bit of his mind, and every bit of his soul.

You never listen.

But he wanted to, then. He wanted to listen to Elliot as much as Elliot always listen to him. Leo's mind narrowed to that thought and that thought alone as Elliot's fingers were replaced by the hardness of his arousal, spreading him even further, making him cry out and bury his face back into the bed beneath him. Pale hands twisted within their bonds, fingers curling in mirror to Elliot's own grip upon his hips, that hold in and of itself tight enough to bruise.

He wanted to bruise.

He wanted everything from this other clumsy, stubborn teenager that was as temperamental as he, as careless as he, as in love as he.

Every lurch of their bodies was already too much. Leo felt himself shivering, trembling, quivering within Elliot's hold, clawing into the sheets as Elliot bent over him, lips upon the svelte line of his neck, the sinuous curve of his shoulder as their hips rolled and jerked, every movement slick and taut and maddening perfection in coils of heat and white-sparked pleasure-pain. Elliot wasn't gentle with him – Leo didn't want him to be – and when he struck that much deeper, grinding their hips together in tight, hard little circles, Leo sobbed and cried out with abandon, overstimulated tears pricking in his eyes and escaping past the banner of blindness that so tightly wrapped about his vision.

Elliot lost himself first. Leo barely heard his groans above the thudding of his own pulse, the quickening of his own breath as he felt Elliot spill himself deep within him. It was some base, carnal claim in Leo's mind – utterly and completely belonging to the one person that he had ever wanted to belong to.

And with such a thought, there was no way he could ever hold himself back.

He was a sobbing, boneless mess as he came, trembling and sagging beneath Elliot as his muscles seemed to simply give out from under him. Elliot's hands where there, however; grasping him by his sides, supporting him and holding him up against him, so warm and as strong as ever even in the midst of this random bout of lust and desire.

"Easy… easy." Elliot's voice – low and soft and gentle against his ear, soothing him as he came down from his high. Leo could have sobbed in relief from those simple words alone, and he was fairly certain he did as Elliot gathered him close, fingers working away the blindfold first so that Leo could see him as he was, to his relief, kissed: deeply and slowly and all of the things he ever loved about Elliot, intensified by overstimulated nerves and sweat-slick flesh and the heady mix of everything that was Elliot. "I love you – I love you."

Any other time, and Leo would have teased Elliot for turning an attempted act of domination, of claiming him and of everything else related to such stupid, mindless, lustful things into something so sappy. But now, his mind wrapped around everything about his master so intently, so acutely, such words had never sounded better.

As far as Leo was concerned, there was no better bondage than being in this one person's arms.