It's a pointless endeavor.

The sidelong glances from Vincent tell him as much, but Leo ignores them, slips away quietly when he finally manages to rid himself of company for the evening. The Abyss, as per usual, is a surprisingly warm, comforting thing-thrumming and alive around him, a womb in its truest form.

Even still, he doesn't need to be here.

Even without the full arsenal of the 'standard' chains Glen Baskerville usually maintains, Leo knows he's far from helpless. Jabberwock alone is enough, and yet there's a certain pressure, isn't there, to have at least five of something. Drawing the red cloak tighter about himself, Leo lets him sink into that darkness, reaching, grasping for something.

Boredom, a sense of impassivity, dredges up the urge to reach and find far more than anything else-never mind the still-unpleasant ache of what he can't have, what he still thinks about having lost, even after a pair of years has gone and passed.

Something stirs.

It doesn't open eyes yet-it has no eyes yet, but it remembers what it was like to see.

Cast out of the world above, rejected by the darkness of the Abyss, it has waited, for something that it knows will never come.

Something has come.

It tugs at what would be a heart, if it still had a heart, in what would be a body, if it still had a body.

Something stirs, and regrets, and begins to ache.

And that's certainly something.

Even after two years, Leo hardly fancies himself as skilled and poised as any Glen should be-he is still Leo, he supposes, at his very core, much to the chagrin of his followers. It's with that thought in mind that he hesitates a bit to beckon, to touch and encourage the chain that he feels, more curious than anything.

He has not, after all, had to go fishing for one like this; not yet.

Regret brings memory.

It's not his own-he? is it a he?-but a memory nonetheless. Perhaps it's a part of the Abyss. Perhaps it's a remnant of what he once had been. That feels right, when he-yes, definitely a he, he remembers that-thinks it.

He remembers some of what he had been.

It hurts.

He doesn't think he has a body-not yet, not quite, just an elusive form that isn't anything yet. It feels the memories, and something changes.

Wisps of smoke-fog-mist coalesce, and there is form to it now, a long sword-arm and a pair of towering wings, ice and mist if not yet solidity.

Another bird?

Well, Leo supposes he is thinking along the lines of wings, so it would make sense-even if this chain feels everything but avian. He's curious, infinitely so, but rather than outright stare, he waits, shivering at the chill that follows the thing's appearance and huddling further underneath his cloak in the process.

"Do I name you?" he idly wonders aloud, "or do you come with one." I swear, Vincent is better at this than I am.

There is something he is supposed to be.

There is something he is supposed to remember.

He tries to look at the thing, at the person that has brought the feelings and form down into this place. He doesn't have eyes yet, but he can see nonetheless. He can feel Her pushing at him, urging him forward, telling him that this is it, this is the one he's been waiting for since before he knew he was waiting, since before he knew he was a he.

"It hurts to look at you."

The words are an odd whisper, carried on the currents of a breeze to make up for the fact that they were expelled from no lungs. For the first time since coming to the Abyss-since existence-he feels like he could, if only he had an image, take true is something he is supposed to be.

There is something he is supposed to remember.

He tries to look at the thing, at the person that has brought the feelings and form down into this place. He doesn't have eyes yet, but he can see nonetheless. He can feel Her pushing at him, urging him forward, telling him that this is it, this is the one he's been waiting for since before he knew he was waiting, since before he knew he was a he.

"It hurts to look at you."

The words are an odd whisper, carried on the currents of a breeze to make up for the fact that they were expelled from no lungs. For the first time since coming to the Abyss-since existence-he feels like he could, if only he had an image, take true form.

It isn't the words, not even the voice, but the way they're said that makes Leo jolt, flinching as if he's been slapped. Too familiar-too starkly familiar somehow, making him think suddenly and acutely of things that hurt him, down to the woven rug on the cold, stone floor of Elliot's bedroom, the heavy down comforter, dark wood and darker tea still that only the Nightray family seemed to favor-

His eyes are wet when he blinks hard, trying to chase memories away with a shake of his head and failing the more he thinks about it. Even his ears throb, two year old piercings making him want reach up and twist the damned posts, and Leo knows he would, if not for how his hands shake.

"Do it anyway," he whispers, rocking back onto his heels. Elliot was never afraid to look.

The words carry a tone of command, despite their softness, and his gaze intensifies. Something...something about this one, this single person in here by his own volition, is breakingly familiar.

The Will of the Abyss speaks to him in fluted tones, telling him that this is the man who can come and go through her chambers, but that has nothing to do with what he grows more certain of with every passing second, as another will presses on his, forcing him further into a shape that feels more than remembered, it seems right.

He's nearly shaped when his gaze, such as it is, happens upon those intense, startling eyes.

He has eyes now, and a strong arm with a cold-hilted sword, and in holding those eyes he has a face and chest and legs and toes and a small dot just brushing one cheekbone.

HIs voice is dry-he has a voice, has a throat, and his feet touch what would be the ground were they anywhere but the Abyss. "You...I know you. Have known you."

It's still a little bit of a question.

For a moment, Leo's not quite sure how to breathe.

He's actually not sure if this is what he wants, or if he's hallucinating or-well, it is the Abyss, who knows what is real or not half of the time? He exhales a sort of high, hysterical laugh, rocking backwards as he reels, dizzy, from the sight.

It could be Elliot-is Elliot, in the flesh, except older, stronger, broader at the shoulders, strong and sure and handsome and-

"You're not him," Leo finally manages, and he clutches tighter at his own cloak, sinking down into it. "For one, you're much too tall." Except Elliot would be, two years from when he died, wouldn't he?

Memory slams into him like a locomotive, a sudden gasping ache in every part of his new body, and he knows it's true. "I..."

It feels good to say "I." It feels like he's a person, instead of the idea he has been.

"A boy," he says, hushed, recitative, as the images crash over him in waves. "A boy, the last, loved those who betrayed him and books and the piano and the way cats look like they're about to come up to you but then run away gracefully at the last second-"

His head hurts, the first time in years he's had a head, and his eyes fix on the man who isn't the boy he knew. "You-glasses and secrets and always in the library and you could never wait for me to catch up, had to read ahead in the series even if it meant staying up all night, blood on my lips and-"

He loves the pain, because it feels like something again. "Name me."

Vincent is right-this is a horrible idea.

Worse still is how he can't look away, though; how it's Elliot, plain as day before him, except not. He's clad in white, cold and icy and glittering and very, very obviously a chain. Leo strangles a sound into the back of his throat, guilt so suddenly sinking into the pit of his stomach that he can't even think.

Elliot could have stayed dead, should have stayed dead, and yet-

"… You're… Elliot Nightray," Leo murmurs, gaze finally dropping, hiding beneath the heavy fall of his lashes. "Except not really, he's dead-I-" He swallows, slow and hard. "You're like a knight now, something out of a book. The White Knight."

Elliot Nightray, the White Knight, feels the moment his flesh settles, blazing brightest white for a moment before he blinks. Is this how being a chain is supposed to feel? Is he supposed to remember everything like this, supposed to he interested to see how Leo's cut his hair, supposed to feel like it's a little bit itchy under his shining new coat?

"Can't it be both?" he asks crossly, lowering the outstretched sword, thrusting it into the sheath at his belt. It feels natural, a motion he's practiced a thousand times, with muscles instead of magic.

"I never read any book about a White Knight, but you'd know better than I would, I guess." The strangeness of this place is oppressive, but it's something he understands. Part of it is a part of him, after all.

And all of him is focused on Leo.

It's a damn good thing he has so much practice in trying to look like he's not staring at his servant, even if the thought brings a little flush to his cheeks. Then, the implication of Leo here, in the Abyss, truly sinks in. "What are you doing down here? You're supposed to be alive!"

Leo's gaze snaps up, staring openly as everything seems to just-fall into place. This is Elliot: rough around the edges, brash and gruff and-even thinking about it makes his lower lip tremble, and so he stubbornly bites into it, standing strong with a frown as he tries to sort of-almost-attempt to figure this out.

He really is an awful 'Glen', isn't he.

"… I'm alive," he eventually manages, even if he hasn't felt like it for two years. "Elliot, you're-" He swallows, shakes his head to brush off that lingering ache in his chest. Looking at Elliot still hurts. It isn't quite Elliot, after all-perhaps just a part of him, if Leo understands how chains work correctly. It's enough, though, that he feels sort of shy and misplaced, not only dwarfed in the other man's presence, but having his hair cut, his face so obviously exposed, especially after having made such a fuss about it years prior, and so Leo shifts uncomfortably, looking away again. "You're the one that died, you know."

"I know that! You think I don't know that?" Irritably, Elliot pushes his hair back-it's longer now than he usually likes, but he ignores that, taking a tentative step toward his old servant, feeling awkwardly tall now.

He starts to reach for Leo, thinks the better of it, then catches the other man's eyes again and can't help himself, reaching out to rest a hand on Leo's cheek. He's cool to the touch, more than Elliot had remembered-and he does remember now, at least-and he strokes his thumb over areas of skin that Leo had always kept hidden, even from him most of the time. "Did it work, what I did? You didn't forget me, did you?"

It's difficult not to flinch at first, breath leaving him in a rush as that simple touch alone is enough to make him strangle a whimper. Leo's eyes shut as he sucks in a breath, as he sags forward against Elliot's hand before he can even think to stop himself, because god, this wasn't supposed to happen, but he's suddenly and acutely glad that it did.

"You're an idiot," Leo informs him on a whisper. This is weird, and he's not sure he likes it (except that he does)-he's not supposed to be the master, Elliot is. Elliot isn't supposed to be this tall (but he might like that, just a bit), and his touch isn't supposed to be quite this soft, and-there's a dozen other things, but Leo can't think. "A really big idiot. You think I could forget you? I stole your earrings, you know. They itch all the time, I can't stop thinking about you."

"You're the idiot, then. I'm the dead one, you're supposed to be having adventures for me, not missing me." Elliot wants to say that Leo doesn't even have pierced ears, but he can't. Obviously he does, and obviously it's been a while, since Leo looks so, so different. He wants to say that Leo looks good, and of course he does, but that's too inane and stupid and doesn't begin to cover what he wants to say, so he just pulls Leo closer, the only thing that's ever felt just right. He bends down, and it's a lot longer than he remembers, to rest his forehead against Leo's.

"Did you get my message?"

"… Y-yes." His lip trembles again and Leo stubbornly sets his jaw, eyes still squeezed shut. "Nothing for you to apologize about," he mumbles, and tentatively, he lifts a hand, reaching out from underneath his cloak to rest it against Elliot's chest. It's far broader, firmer than he remembers, even underneath starched clothing, and Leo curls his fingers against it. "I'm tired of having adventures, Elliot."

"I'm sorry anyway."

If he'd been himself, if he'd been a person instead of a collection of regrets for the last however-long-it's-been, he'd probably have spent the whole time feeling guilty about having to leave Leo. There were other things, a hundred things he'd wished hadn't happened, but Leo's the one who's been left alone all this time, and that's a deep ache in his chest that he's got to make up for.

Strong arms wrap around Leo, pulling him suddenly close, crushing him to his chest, and Elliot buries his face in that silky-soft hair. It's a good way to keep Leo from seeing the way he wants to start crying, so he holds him all the more tightly for it, easier now that he's bigger. "You don't have to have them alone anymore, all right? I've made you lots of promises about that."

"… Stupid," Leo manages, huffing out a heavy breath into Elliot's chest. If he wasn't so sure he liked the height thing before, Leo's decided it's all right now, especially with how effortlessly Elliot seems to be able to drag him close and hold him. He sinks into the hold, breathing in the other man's scent that he's sure is partly imagined, but it's good enough, enough to make that little twisting ache in his chest abate somewhat. "Don't want to talk about it any more," he murmurs, his hands dragging up to wrap into Elliot's hair, tugging, pulling to the root. "You're the worst. The last time I saw you, we…" He cracks a smile, weak and watery. "Your last words should have been about kissing and making up, at least."

"Kissing and making up? I said them to my brother, you know."

It's hard to stay angry when Leo looks so cold, like a fragile broken thing that Elliot has always, always wanted to protect, no matter what had happened. He feels delicate in Elliot's arms, feels like a shadow of his former self, even if he's older now. "But...I wouldn't mind kissing and making up now. If you're not going to scold me, I mean."

"As if your brother didn't know," Leo points out underneath his breath, but he's already lurching that much farther forward, stretching up on tiptoe. "I don't have anything to scold you about, anyway-you've a dozen things on me, but-"

Leo is too short now, and god, he was too short back then, and Elliot's probably a good six inches taller now. Leo had been cute back then, and Elliot still thinks he's cute, even with such an air of sad, cold distance between them. He stoops down to kiss Leo, and chuckles a little at how far he has to go. It's all right, because it's laughably easy to wrap his hands around Leo's waist and hoist him up, murmuring, "I was always terrible at scolding you," before claiming his lips in a possessive, almost frenzied kiss.

He's of the might to squeak, maybe protest being hauled up like he weighs nothing, but then again, it's hard not to like it, especially after so long. Leo groans, the sound lost against Elliot's lips as his arms lock around the other man's neck, as his hands wrap up in his hair, his legs too eager to wriggle free of the fall of his cloak and squeeze tight to Elliot's hips, possessive and eager all at once. It would be too easy to melt like this, to just cling and let Elliot have his way with him, and the thought of that alone makes Leo shiver. "How much, exactly," he breathes between kisses, "do chains remember?"

Elliot doesn't want to stop kissing to answer him, not when kissing Leo feels like the most right thing he's ever done, no matter how many times he's done it before. Holding Leo makes him feel like a man again, instead of the misty remembrance he'd been for so long, and the way Leo squirms in his arms-yeah, he doesn't mind that at all.

"Everything," he murmurs, and at least, he thinks it's true. Leo's sharp as a tack, he's got to know that Elliot can't possibly speak for all chains, even if he is one himself (and he's not sure he is). He breaks the kiss to nip at Leo's neck, sucking hard right over the throb of his pulse, just the way he'd always loved. "Everything about you, most of all."

God, it's probably true enough, from the way his pulse jumps underneath Elliot's mouth, from the way the other man's lips close just right over the perfect spot to make him shudder and wriggle more insistently within Elliot's arms, his head tipping back with a heavy, ragged panting breath. "Good-good, now just-" Leo's fingers are nearly claws as they flex into Elliot's shoulders, as he for the first time in years feels flushed and hot enough to want to shed that cloak and bury himself against something warm-and god, if Elliot isn't just that. "Prove it."

Elliot doesn't know-doesn't care-if his urge to have Leo right here and now is due to how much he's wanted his lover for the past years, however many there have been, or if he just isn't sure whether he's able to leave this place.

Either way, he has to have Leo now.

His teeth drag against the smaller man's neck, and he kneels fluidly, laying Leo on what there is of a ground in the Abyss, never wanting to break contact for a second. "If I'm a chain," he mutters, fumbling with the catch on his ridiculously fancy, complicated trousers-so familiar, so strange- "then you'd think I'd be able to just make my bloody clothes disappear when I want to be inside you. Damn it! Help me get these off!"

Leo snorts, unable to keep from laughing-god, when was the last time he even did that?-no matter how highly strung his nerves are. "You know," he drawls, first reaching a hand up to undo the clasp of his own cloak, blood red wool a puddle on the Abyss's floor as he pushes himself up, fingers dragging their way down Elliot's stomach, "I'm not sure it's proper for you to be ordering me around now." Or perhaps that's part of the fun. Leo shivers a little as his hand slides further south, cupping Elliot through his trousers, his breath hitching at how hard he is already-at how much bigger he feels. He can't help but wonder if somehow, his mind was quite that lewd when it came to recreating Elliot's form, but god, he wouldn't put it past himself.

His fingers fumble, undoing the clasp before his fingers reach inside, wrapping around Elliot's cock and pulling it free with a little hitch of his own breath. Oh. Well. Apparently his mind really is that lewd, and Leo feels his face heat accordingly as he points out to himself that Elliot's tall and grown and of course he'd be bigger here, hard and heavy within his grasp and already straining against his palm.

Elliot's breath hitches, and he pitches forward a little, thrusting into his old servant's hand as he rests his forehead against Leo's shoulder. He gives a little grin, the kind that Leo's always been able to bring out in him, and murmurs, "Old habits die hard, huh?"

Speaking of old habits, it's a good thing for his rusty reflexes that Leo hasn't changed his clothes much in the last few years, because Elliot's fingers remember even if they're brand new. He makes short work of the jacket, the shirt, unable to stop himself from sucking and nibbling on every bit of newly-exposed flesh, marveling that something so familiar can taste so new.

His hips jerk up, rubbing himself against that talented hand, even as he traces a hand down Leo's chest, down to palm him through his own trousers. "Y-your hand feels smaller," he breathes.

Leo swallows hard, his fingers squeezing with the upward jerk of his own hips, a breathy groan escaping his throat as his legs spread on their own accord, eager and welcoming. "That's r-really-" He sucks in a ragged breath, thumb and fingers dragging over the head of Elliot's cock, smearing fluid before dragging back down slicker, stickier. He strangles a little groan into the back of his throat, trying not to think about how much he wants a taste. "I think it's you… that's so much bigger, Elliot." Not that Elliot was ever small. No, hardly-Leo remembers well how pleasantly sore he'd be, how it felt to be stretched out around his master's hard, thick cock, his hands digging into Elliot's chest, back arched as he'd fuck himself on Elliot's cock.

Never in his life (except for that one drunk time they don't talk about) has Elliot needed help getting Leo naked. He doesn't now, and maybe he's a little uncareful in how he strips the smaller man, laying him out bare like a feast beneath him, groaning low in his throat at the sight. "Whatever I am," he murmurs, nuzzling into the softness of Leo's hair, lips brushing across his ear, "you helped make me."

Even without a contract, Elliot knows intrinsically, automatically, that he will do anything in his power to protect this man. Even like this, confused about what he is, about what he's supposed to be doing, about how this whole thing works, he's never needed any of that to understand how much he wants to be with Leo.

He hooks his arms under Leo's knees, hoisting his legs up, and god, Leo seems so tiny. Belatedly, Elliot realizes that this isn't home, there aren't little fragrant bottles of oil in the desk drawer, and he spits into his hand a few times, wincing at the idea. "I can't-I don't want to hurt you, but-"

But it's always been just a bit too much, even if Leo always seemed to like it, and now it's got to be more, and it sends a flush to his cheeks to see the thick blunt head of his cock pressed against Leo's tight little hole.

A heady whine pulls past Leo's lips, his legs spreading wider as if that will help as he wriggles down against Elliot's cock, biting his lip as it presses against him, but still doesn't sink inside. It makes him want that much more, makes him arch his back and rut down like some mindless, desperate thing, and god, for a moment, just that pressure is too much, making his own cock twitch and his hips jerk.

"It's fine-I'll be fine, just-" He has the mind to spit into his own hand, to reach down and drag that along Elliot's cock, his fingers slick as they squeeze around him, gently urging forward. "God, please, just put it in me-"

It's hard to say if it's his own desire or something else at work, something that makes him want to do as Leo says, obey his every wish as if it's an order, and Elliot doesn't care. The touch of Leo's hand, the sight of that face, the hot slick pulse of his flesh against Elliot's-it's too much, and he's never been so great at impulse control.

"God," he rasps, staring down, "your eyes are so beautiful."

Then he loses himself, crushing his lips to Leo's in a frantic haze of desire as he pushes forward, trying to be gentle, probably failing, as he sheathes the first few inches of his cock in that tight, slick heat.

It is too much, Leo's mind and body alike tell him that as he's spread open, left trembling around just that much of Elliot's cock as it sinks into him. His breath heaves out roughly, hands reaching up to desperately scrabble at Elliot's shoulders as he pants against Elliot's mouth, his legs weakly quivering as his body surrenders to that burn, to that overwhelming sensation of being too full before Elliot's even entirely inside of him.

He'd be a fool if he say he didn't love it, though.

"Please," he mindlessly groans, twisting, wriggling his way down against Elliot's cock, his own still rock hard, leaking over his stomach no matter the edge of pain, no matter how Elliot is too big and that it's been so long.

Elliot's breath leaves him in a strangled gasp, and he takes forceful hold of Leo's hips, trying to steady him before he hurts himself, not that it's easy to do when nothing, nothing in the world or the Abyss, life or death, has ever felt this good.

"Easy, easy," he grunts, trying to remember that one of them has to keep control. It's always been like this, one or the other, always a push and pull, and damned if that's not why they've always been so perfect together.

Leo's mouth is sweet and dark, his lips bruising red with Elliot's kisses, even as Elliot kisses him all the harder for it, groaning against him as he slides farther in. He gives up thinking then, lost in the blinding pleasure of Leo tight around him, the taste of his mouth, the feel of him shivering under Elliot's hands as he thrusts harder, filling him as far as he can, burying himself to the hilt inside his lover with a low, broken noise.


Leo sags beneath him, every muscle a trembling, twitching thing, his mouth falling open in some soundless noise as his breath catches in his throat. Elliot's never been so deep inside of him before, never felt so thick and never stuffed him so full, and Leo's sure that he can't even summon the thoughts to move, no matter how he wants to writhe himself down against that big cock, to be yanked down onto it and to ride it until he can't breathe.

It's with a whine that his hands flex into Elliot's back, toes curling as he summons enough strength to arch his back, rutting down like some animal no matter how it's too much, how it takes the breath out of him again and leaves him gasping. "Fuck me," Leo rasps out, hot and desperate against Elliot's mouth. "Just fuck me-"

A thousand thoughts cross through Elliot's mind-that Leo is stunning, a whore, beautiful, riding him like a slut, arching and whining like a cat in heat-but the only one he can think coherently enough to voice is "Yes."

He bites, sucks on Leo's bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth as he slams his hips up, driving himself deeper into the other man with every thrust, positive that Leo's never felt so tight around him. He yanks Leo's legs apart as far as they'll go, trying to ease the ache he must be feeling just a little, because he can't slow down, can't be gentle, probably couldn't even if Leo begged him, and all he's begging for is more.

With a wrench of his muscles, he hauls them back into a kneeling position, Leo's legs splayed out around his own, so he can lower the smaller man down hard onto his cock, filling him as deep as possible and holding him tightly, dragging a hand between them to curl around Leo's cock as he breathes, "Show-show me, how you look when you're mine, please, Leo-"

Leo can't breathe.

It's one thing being on his back, held down and with Elliot's cock shoved up inside of him-it's something else entirely like this, writhing atop the other man's cock, the angle and gravity pushing him in that much deeper as Leo sobs, his thighs trembling, body squeezing tighter still because it's so much.

He loves it.

Any other time and he'd try to put on a show-to be good for his master by riding him however Elliot wants him to, with his hands digging into Elliot's chest and his head thrown back as he pants out the other man's name. But now, the touch to his cock is far, far too much, and Leo groans, his hips rutting forward against Elliot's hand, writhing, humping down against Elliot's cock because it's all he can do when he's this hard, this needy, this full of cock. He feels far too spread open, muscles aching and twitching and clenching tight, and he comes with only another stroke of sword-calloused fingers, gasping and panting as he spills helplessly over Elliot's hand.

Elliot is lost.

At the same time, he's never felt so himself.

He wraps his arms around Leo hard, crushing the smaller man to his chest as his hips snap up into the unbelievably tight heat, and oh, he'll apologize later for how much he's probably bruising the hell out of the man he loves so much with every powerful thrust.

He buries his face into Leo's hair, tears pricking at his eyes as he groans, helpless, useless, able to do nothing but slam as far inside as he can get, no such thing as far enough or close enough when he's this lost, and he's truly gone, emptying himself deep inside his lover's body.

His arms feel locked in this crushing embrace, and he knows he's got to be squashing Leo, probably hurting him, but he feels too good to let him go just yet, breath shallow and fast, his cock pulsing with every heartbeat as he slowly, gradually comes back to himself. "I..."

He's not even sure what the words are.

"Missed you."

Leo shudders hard, squirming his way closer still-as if there's any distance left between them, as if he isn't plastered to Elliot by sweat and his own arms, tightly locked around Elliot's neck. Everything aches, and god, he doesn't want that to stop, no matter how he'll probably regret it later. "Missed you, too." The words come out all sorts of weak and watery and hoarse, and Leo huffs, burying his face back into the side of Elliot's neck, eyes stupid, uselessly wet. "It was my fault, I'm sorry, sorry-"

It hurts to see Leo cry, and Elliot pulls him back, tilting his chin up and kissing his face, kissing the tears away no matter that they're joined by a few of his own, splashing off his cheeks. "Shh-it wasn't your fault, it wasn't, it was my choice. I-I guess I wouldn't blame you if you were mad at me, though. I...made you a lot of promises that I didn't get to keep."

He remembers them, though. He remembers swearing that he'd take Leo across the ocean, all the books he was going to add to the library, to try and get him properly adopted by a good family, even if Leo had never seemed to care much for anything he'd offered-the point was, he'd promised.

"Stupid," Leo mutters, even as he shuts his eyes with a long, shaky exhale, unable to pull away from the soft touch of Elliot's lips. "I'm not mad. I'm the one that made all of this happen, it's my fault because I'm Glen-and now you're like this and I'm sorry, I should have just…" Listened to Vincent? God, that's something he doubts Elliot has ever heard.

"Glen?" Elliot's head tilts, mind still trying to make sense of everything even as the part of him that's the Abyss pulses, agrees, whispers that yes, of course he is. "Glen Baskerville? From Sablier? How can you..."

"Later," Leo interrupts, the idea of explaining all of that enough to make him want to start crying-and possibly start throwing things-all over again. "I… we should leave. Get cleaned up…" He flushes hot, trying not to think about how sore he is going to be (and at the same time, rather wanting to remember it).

It's easy to lift Leo off his lap, and a bit more complicated to get his trousers all squared away again. He ducks his head, a bit embarrassed in the aftermath, and wishing at the same time that he could go and grab the damp cloth from the basin in the washroom, cleaning Leo and himself as he'd always liked doing before. "All right. How do you want to do this? If you found a way down here, can you find our way out again? I don't know how easy it'll be for me to get out of here, but I'm sure I can protect us from however she tries to stop us," he says, sounding more confident than he feels, hand on the hilt of his shining new sword.

"… She isn't going to bother us," the smaller man wryly offers, biting the inside of his cheek to keep back a grimace as he wriggles his way back into his clothes, no matter the relative mess he's made of himself. He's still shaky, hair sweaty and mussed as it falls around his face, and Leo huddles himself back up into his cloak more as a shielding mechanism than any desire to actually be wrapped within it, considering how overheated he still feels. "It isn't as if I've done anything. If anything, you're something of a tribute to her power, so-" Leo hesitates, frowning a bit, remembering suddenly and very starkly that Elliot isn't exactly human. "It might be easier, though, if you're… well, wherever it is that chains go when we're not summoning you. I don't think there's a technical term." A pause. "Also, then you won't have to deal with Vincent."

There's a lot going on, and Elliot's honestly not sure how much of it he understands, and how much Leo is hiding from him. He understands a few things on instinct, and one of them makes him hesitate. "I...Leo, I can't bind to you. I'm not going to let you drink my blood. Don't you understand what it's like to be an illegal contractor? I'm never letting that happen to you."

Leo gives him a sort of put out stare before reminding himself that Elliot really, honestly, even as a chain, knows nothing. "Elliot," he attempts on a sigh, "I'm not just Leo now. Like I said before, I'm Glen-Glen Baskerville. An illegal contract isn't really an issue." He arches a brow. "If I say you're mine, you're mine."

The words-as little sense as they make-resonate inside of Elliot like a gong. He feels them, intrinsically, and knows them to be true even as he blazes white for a moment. "Don't blame me for not knowing what's going on," he complains, even as he sheathes his sword properly, following Leo like something of a puppy. "I've been dead. And why wouldn't I want to see Vincent? I mean, you know, aside from why anyone wouldn't want to see Vincent."

"He's going to ask if we had sex," Leo blandly offers over his shoulder as he turns away, striding through the Abyss as if there's an actual path lit up before his eyes.

"What? Why-even he wouldn't do that! Probably," he amends, thinking of some of the more uncomfortable moments from the past. "Again."

Even so, it comes naturally to him, melting into the ether that is Leo's presence, giving him the constant feeling he's lurking just behind Leo's shoulder. It feels good, like a place he's always meant to be, and he whispers, "I'm here. Whenever you need me," as they climb toward the light.