-Really- Late Valentine's Dump
Because I'd meant to do them on Valentine's day, but that blew up in my face. And then I'd meant to do them shortly after, but I'd forgotten how to write. So these are as much Pandora Hearts Valentine's fics as they are my trying to learn how to write again fics. Here's hoping whoever reads enjoys.
Pairings here include: Break/Gil; Rufus/Reim; Elliot/Leo
He lost track of time. There was really no helping it. With all of the work he did, all of the stress he put himself under, all of the lengths he was going to for someone who didn't seem to realize just how much work was required...It was sometimes a miracle he could tell night from day.
So, really, holidays were starting to pass him by. First they were just the little ones, like standard days off that all other members of Pandora were issued. But his slips got progressively worse. Soon he was forgetting plans he'd made that same morning, and at a point, he managed to forget his own birthday. But it didn't matter, really. Aside from the scoldings from Sharon for missing the occasional afternoon tea - or all of them of late - he didn't suffer too many negative consequences.
Until February rolled around.
The only reason he knew what month it was, was because the rain had picked up. The first two weeks of February were always wet and gray, interspersed with the random break of sunlight to keep one's hopes up. As if nature were teasing with the prospect of spring, always withholding it when he wanted to go out for a cigarette, and shining it straight into his face when he was trying to take a nap on his desk.
It had him in a less than pleasant mood when a certain someone crept out from under the desk he'd situated himself at.
“What a sour face, Gilbert-kun~,” Break tsked softly, looking up at him and blatantly ignoring the look of flustered indignity. “You know it will stick that way if you don't stop, don't you?”
The younger man grumbled under his breath, pushing his chair back so that the other's chin wasn't all but in his lap and keeping his eyes on his superior. “I'm not fourteen anymore. You can't convince me of stuff like that.”
Break sighed and slid easily to his feet, all but unfolding from underneath the desk in a way Gilbert was certain wasn't natural. “Well, believe me or not, you're most definitely going to wrinkle early if you keep frowning like that.” One pale finger jabbed him in the cheek, if in an oddly good-natured way. “I'm surprised your face isn't sore.”
“Who says it isn't?” Gilbert caught Break's hand, staring at it for a moment before pushing it away. “Now was there something you wanted?”
A moment stretched out between them, the albino standing there and staring at him, crooked smile in place as the gunman just...waited. Raven's contractor eventually began to squirm, feeling trapped under that gaze, waiting for the other boot to drop. He knew Break was doing this on purpose. He knew this game. But he always played it. This dance was impossible to avoid.
Eventually, the inevitable came to pass. Gilbert caved, collapsing like a house of cards as Break kept staring and smiling like he knew something the younger man didn't. And, as always, he damned himself in the process.
Opening his mouth to demand anything, he found himself with a lapful of the older man and a mouthful of a tongue that always tasted almost cloyingly sweet. Heat swept into his face immediately, his heart leaping up into his throat. Long fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head back until Break could all but choke him with that far too nimble tongue. A moan welled up in his chest before he could help himself, his own hands moving to take a tentative hold of the back of Break's shirt.
And then it was over. Just like the god damn mocking spring sunlight, as soon as he got invested in the feeling of Break pressed up against him, the older man managed to slip out of his arms and laugh at him.
He huffed shortly, frowning despite the painfully damning flush in his face. “Wh-Why would you do that?”
Break chuckled and traced pale fingers along Gilbert's jaw, tapping frowning lips with his thumb. “Happy Valentine's Day, you ridiculous boy. You oughtn't work so hard.”
Golden eyes stared back at a laughing crimson one, slack jaw opening and closing several times before the young man all but vaulted himself out of his chair. He rolled his sleeves up, turning sharply on his heel and making for the door.“
Gilbert-kun~? What are you doing now?”
“Making chocolates. I've still got time before the day is up.”
---
Rufus Barma was not one to encourage any endeavours of the heart. Love, as far as he was concerned, was entirely impractical, illogical, and worst of all, useless. What purpose did it serve, save to make great men make fools of themselves? What good were the heart's yearnings when all that came of them were lost hours of work and otherwise avoidable pain? The thought alone was enough to make his stomach turn.
He would never concede that these arguments stemmed from a single horrendous experience. He would never admit to having had his heart broken the one and only time he'd opened it to someone. He would sooner remove his own tongue than acknowledge that he had failed, he had miscalculated, he had been wrong.
Thus, love was at fault. Irrational, controlling, manipulative, distracting, unnecessary, frivolous, pointless, love. Men of stature such as his own knew better than to subject themselves to such foolishness.
At least a second time.
Understanding, unfortunately, that he was human, and hence had certain irrational physical needs that had to be satisfied, he conceded to the logic behind purely physical relations. What harm was there in the occasional tumble, if only to silence the irritating demands a human body was wont to make? He was never one to lie; after deciding upon a potentially satisfying partner for the activity in question, he made his motives perfectly clear. If they had any qualms with it...Well, he would simply go elsewhere. It could be a hassle, but it wasn't necessarily a hardship.
When he found himself faced with a relatively permanent and, more importantly, easily accessible partner, then, he'd have been a fool to turn the development away. It still was not a relationship; monogamy did not equate to love by any means. It was simply an act of convenience. He had, after all, better things to do with his time than wander about trying to find someone to satisfy a fleeting fancy.
That it was Reim simply made it all the more practical. The boy was as logical as he was, understood the importance of professionalism, and was all but obligated to do as he said. It seemed more than reasonable to assume that either of them 'falling' for the other was an impossibility.
He did so loathe being wrong.
Particularly when it should have been obvious. There had been tells. Evidence had presented itself fairly early on. And he'd somehow missed it. Or had he ignored it? No. That was unreasonable. That was illogical. Why would he possibly have fostered and permitted feelings he scorned to develop in one so useful to his household? It was a question he'd been wrestling with for some time. And the lack of answers was frustrating.
What was worse - as if such things could get worse - was that he hadn't yet done anything to dissuade the boy. Reim was still sleeping with him, both in the euphemistic sense and the literal. As it was, most of Rufus' vexed pondering was done whilst he found himself wrapped up in the younger man's arms, listening to the sound of his servant's breathing as Reim slept. He understood well enough that he was likely exacerbating the problem, drawing things out and stringing the young man along, but a part of him insisted on being dubious about the conclusion he'd long since reached.
Reim loved him, and a part of him - a very small part of him that he was coming to hate more and more - wanted to keep that. He really was getting old. He'd never been this weak before. He'd never been this...dependent on another. He'd never cared what anyone thought or felt about him, save for the one woman he'd never really let go. Yet part of him wouldn't push this boy away. When the thought presented itself, he'd set it aside on some kind of pretext that he didn't yet have enough evidence for the action.
Valentine's Day should have been the final straw.
The young man had gone out of his way to dote on Rufus. He'd been up early, had cooked personally, had brewed him his favourite tea...Really, his servant had gone above and beyond. And had made it more than evident that things had gone outside of the professional.
So the head of the Barma household - known for his cruelty, his lack of emotion, his distance from all those he interacted with - had prepared to be very blunt with his most useful servant. He would just be out with it. Love had no place in his household. Love had no place in his bedroom. And it certainly had no place in the mind of the young man who was otherwise admirably focused.
Waiting for Reim to finish with his hair, crossing one leg over the other and watching the boy's reflection in the mirror of his vanity, Rufus made to open his mouth and put things to an end once and for all. He was rather sufficiently silenced, a feat in and of itself, when the other caught him off guard with an embarrassingly simple gesture.
Reim ever so gently brushed his hair out of the way, careful fingers treating the strands like some kind of priceless silk, before he leaned down and pressed a near fleeting kiss to the column of his throat.
“Happy Valentine's Day, Master.”
A small frown touched Rufus' lips as he drew a thoughtful breath. Yes; this has gone on long enough. He'd allowed it to progress too far.
“Reim,” he shifted his weight enough to find the boy's eyes with his own, holding the other's gaze for a moment. “...Happy Valentine's Day to you as well.”
---
Valentine's Day was ridiculous. It was stupid. Especially when one was the son of a noble family, attending a private school full of other young, rich, people, all looking to earn their family extra status through whatever means necessary. It meant finding himself with armfuls of presents trying to win his favour, dealing with girls who'd otherwise paid him no mind, and being expected to reciprocate with at least some kind of friendly gesture in return. The first - and last - time he hadn't, several 'concerns' had been raised, and his father - not to mention the rest of his family - had had some choice words for him.
Thankfully, he had Leo.
His servant was far more organized than he was. The night before, the other boy would force Elliot to stay awake, signing card after card from a large pile that had been purchased for just this occasion. This same pile would then be deposited in Leo's school bag, and throughout the day, as the scion of the Nightray house was given gift after gift, his servant would put a card in his hand that he could then give to the girl of the minute.
It was a ridiculous routine, but for years, it had simply been the most practical way to go about things. It had also, in its repetition, taken away any meaning the holiday might have had. Elliot had come to see the day as a trial, something to dread. All of the chocolates, the cards, the poems and flowers...Weren't girls supposed to get these things?
The blond huffed irritably, glaring at the pile of cards that had been selected by his sister, wishing them and the impending day into oblivion. How he wanted to kick that stack over, to stomp on them and tell their intended recipients off. It wouldn't have bothered him if it had been sincere; it was all the lying, the fake smiles, the attempted manipulation, that disgusted him.
“Elliot, they aren't going to burst into flames just because you want them to,” Leo interjected matter-of-factly, tapping the noble on the knee.
Elliot swatted the bespectacled boy's hand away, turning his eyes instead to his servant. Ever patient with him, ever placid in the face of his anger - at least now - and always waiting for the opportunity to mock him. He could see it in the oh so subtle turning up of Leo's lips.
“I'm not doing it this year,” he snapped shortly, only just resisting the urge to reach out with his foot and knock the flowery monstrosities over.
Leo sighed heavily and shook his head, like a mother would in response to an unruly child. “You say that every year. And you always do it. Now why don't you save us some time, sit down here with me, and sign them?”
Someone who didn't know better would have said that Elliot was pouting. “Why don't you sign them? It's not like they mean anything to those stupid girls. I bet they won't even notice it's not my handwriting.”
“Do you really want to risk that?” Through the mess of the other's shaggy bangs, a quizzical eyebrow could be seen peeking over one rounded lens. “Some of them are pretty crazy. And you don't want to get called out on it again, do you?”
Elliot slammed his palm down against the thick comforter of his bed, refusing the move despite the lessened impact of his irritable gesture. “I don't know why I have to bother! They don't care, Leo! They don't give a damn about these cards or me or anything but titles and status. Why should I cater to that? It's stupid!”
Leo carefully got to his feet, moving to take a seat on the mattress next to the fuming blond. “What if one of them does care? Then what? What if you're lumping all of them together when one of them might actually like you?”
A sceptical beat passed, Elliot watching Leo for a trace of mockery before chancing the obvious question: “Do you know something I don't?”
The darker haired boy snorted and smiled thinly. “I know plenty that you don't,” he teased flatly, “You're going to have to be more specific.”
“You know damn well what I meant!” Elliot bit out sharply, refusing to admit there was any kind of colour in his face. “Do you know something about these girls that I don't? Is one of them...Does one of them like me?”
Leo cocked his head to the side. “Would it change anything?”
“Of course it would!”
“How?” An indecipherable look crossed Leo's face, the boy's large glasses sufficiently preventing his master from reading any deeper than the slight and momentary downturn of the other's lips.
Elliot frowned thoughtfully, opening and closing his mouth a few times before giving up. He'd never been good at articulating his thoughts under pressure, particularly when it was his servant on the other end of the question. Hence, he resorted to the usual. Short and sweet. “I'd have to make sure to ignore them then.”
Leo was rather obviously baffled by the answer. “What? Why would you do that? Weren't you complaining that the ones who don't like you ought to be ignored? That they don't deserve what little work you do because they don't care?”
“Yeah. And?” The faintest of smiles began to tug at Elliot's lips.
“Well, by that logic, the one who does care should be worth the effort, shouldn't she?”
The blond scoffed and shook his head. “I never said that, stupid. I want to ignore the ones who don't care because that's a waste of time. Why give things to people who don't even like me?” He carried on before the other could interrupt. “But someone who did care would have to be ignored so they didn't think that I cared.”
Leo always caught on quickly, even when he'd suffered one of his rare slips. “So you don't want to humour the fickle ones or string along a genuine one?”
“Pretty much.” Elliot nodded shortly, temper momentarily defused.
Shuffling ever so slightly closer to the taller boy, Leo looked his master directly in the eye. “Why's that?”
The blond resolutely ignored the steady heat building in his face, even as he turned and leaned in just shy of a kiss. “Because I already have a Valentine. I don't need them thinking I'm available.”
Leo sighed to hide his amusement, slipping his arms over the other boy's shoulders. “Good point...” He tugged on Elliot's hair, keeping his master from closing that last little distance between them. “But you still have to sign them.”
“God damn it, Leo...”
Pairings here include: Break/Gil; Rufus/Reim; Elliot/Leo
He lost track of time. There was really no helping it. With all of the work he did, all of the stress he put himself under, all of the lengths he was going to for someone who didn't seem to realize just how much work was required...It was sometimes a miracle he could tell night from day.
So, really, holidays were starting to pass him by. First they were just the little ones, like standard days off that all other members of Pandora were issued. But his slips got progressively worse. Soon he was forgetting plans he'd made that same morning, and at a point, he managed to forget his own birthday. But it didn't matter, really. Aside from the scoldings from Sharon for missing the occasional afternoon tea - or all of them of late - he didn't suffer too many negative consequences.
Until February rolled around.
The only reason he knew what month it was, was because the rain had picked up. The first two weeks of February were always wet and gray, interspersed with the random break of sunlight to keep one's hopes up. As if nature were teasing with the prospect of spring, always withholding it when he wanted to go out for a cigarette, and shining it straight into his face when he was trying to take a nap on his desk.
It had him in a less than pleasant mood when a certain someone crept out from under the desk he'd situated himself at.
“What a sour face, Gilbert-kun~,” Break tsked softly, looking up at him and blatantly ignoring the look of flustered indignity. “You know it will stick that way if you don't stop, don't you?”
The younger man grumbled under his breath, pushing his chair back so that the other's chin wasn't all but in his lap and keeping his eyes on his superior. “I'm not fourteen anymore. You can't convince me of stuff like that.”
Break sighed and slid easily to his feet, all but unfolding from underneath the desk in a way Gilbert was certain wasn't natural. “Well, believe me or not, you're most definitely going to wrinkle early if you keep frowning like that.” One pale finger jabbed him in the cheek, if in an oddly good-natured way. “I'm surprised your face isn't sore.”
“Who says it isn't?” Gilbert caught Break's hand, staring at it for a moment before pushing it away. “Now was there something you wanted?”
A moment stretched out between them, the albino standing there and staring at him, crooked smile in place as the gunman just...waited. Raven's contractor eventually began to squirm, feeling trapped under that gaze, waiting for the other boot to drop. He knew Break was doing this on purpose. He knew this game. But he always played it. This dance was impossible to avoid.
Eventually, the inevitable came to pass. Gilbert caved, collapsing like a house of cards as Break kept staring and smiling like he knew something the younger man didn't. And, as always, he damned himself in the process.
Opening his mouth to demand anything, he found himself with a lapful of the older man and a mouthful of a tongue that always tasted almost cloyingly sweet. Heat swept into his face immediately, his heart leaping up into his throat. Long fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head back until Break could all but choke him with that far too nimble tongue. A moan welled up in his chest before he could help himself, his own hands moving to take a tentative hold of the back of Break's shirt.
And then it was over. Just like the god damn mocking spring sunlight, as soon as he got invested in the feeling of Break pressed up against him, the older man managed to slip out of his arms and laugh at him.
He huffed shortly, frowning despite the painfully damning flush in his face. “Wh-Why would you do that?”
Break chuckled and traced pale fingers along Gilbert's jaw, tapping frowning lips with his thumb. “Happy Valentine's Day, you ridiculous boy. You oughtn't work so hard.”
Golden eyes stared back at a laughing crimson one, slack jaw opening and closing several times before the young man all but vaulted himself out of his chair. He rolled his sleeves up, turning sharply on his heel and making for the door.“
Gilbert-kun~? What are you doing now?”
“Making chocolates. I've still got time before the day is up.”
---
Rufus Barma was not one to encourage any endeavours of the heart. Love, as far as he was concerned, was entirely impractical, illogical, and worst of all, useless. What purpose did it serve, save to make great men make fools of themselves? What good were the heart's yearnings when all that came of them were lost hours of work and otherwise avoidable pain? The thought alone was enough to make his stomach turn.
He would never concede that these arguments stemmed from a single horrendous experience. He would never admit to having had his heart broken the one and only time he'd opened it to someone. He would sooner remove his own tongue than acknowledge that he had failed, he had miscalculated, he had been wrong.
Thus, love was at fault. Irrational, controlling, manipulative, distracting, unnecessary, frivolous, pointless, love. Men of stature such as his own knew better than to subject themselves to such foolishness.
At least a second time.
Understanding, unfortunately, that he was human, and hence had certain irrational physical needs that had to be satisfied, he conceded to the logic behind purely physical relations. What harm was there in the occasional tumble, if only to silence the irritating demands a human body was wont to make? He was never one to lie; after deciding upon a potentially satisfying partner for the activity in question, he made his motives perfectly clear. If they had any qualms with it...Well, he would simply go elsewhere. It could be a hassle, but it wasn't necessarily a hardship.
When he found himself faced with a relatively permanent and, more importantly, easily accessible partner, then, he'd have been a fool to turn the development away. It still was not a relationship; monogamy did not equate to love by any means. It was simply an act of convenience. He had, after all, better things to do with his time than wander about trying to find someone to satisfy a fleeting fancy.
That it was Reim simply made it all the more practical. The boy was as logical as he was, understood the importance of professionalism, and was all but obligated to do as he said. It seemed more than reasonable to assume that either of them 'falling' for the other was an impossibility.
He did so loathe being wrong.
Particularly when it should have been obvious. There had been tells. Evidence had presented itself fairly early on. And he'd somehow missed it. Or had he ignored it? No. That was unreasonable. That was illogical. Why would he possibly have fostered and permitted feelings he scorned to develop in one so useful to his household? It was a question he'd been wrestling with for some time. And the lack of answers was frustrating.
What was worse - as if such things could get worse - was that he hadn't yet done anything to dissuade the boy. Reim was still sleeping with him, both in the euphemistic sense and the literal. As it was, most of Rufus' vexed pondering was done whilst he found himself wrapped up in the younger man's arms, listening to the sound of his servant's breathing as Reim slept. He understood well enough that he was likely exacerbating the problem, drawing things out and stringing the young man along, but a part of him insisted on being dubious about the conclusion he'd long since reached.
Reim loved him, and a part of him - a very small part of him that he was coming to hate more and more - wanted to keep that. He really was getting old. He'd never been this weak before. He'd never been this...dependent on another. He'd never cared what anyone thought or felt about him, save for the one woman he'd never really let go. Yet part of him wouldn't push this boy away. When the thought presented itself, he'd set it aside on some kind of pretext that he didn't yet have enough evidence for the action.
Valentine's Day should have been the final straw.
The young man had gone out of his way to dote on Rufus. He'd been up early, had cooked personally, had brewed him his favourite tea...Really, his servant had gone above and beyond. And had made it more than evident that things had gone outside of the professional.
So the head of the Barma household - known for his cruelty, his lack of emotion, his distance from all those he interacted with - had prepared to be very blunt with his most useful servant. He would just be out with it. Love had no place in his household. Love had no place in his bedroom. And it certainly had no place in the mind of the young man who was otherwise admirably focused.
Waiting for Reim to finish with his hair, crossing one leg over the other and watching the boy's reflection in the mirror of his vanity, Rufus made to open his mouth and put things to an end once and for all. He was rather sufficiently silenced, a feat in and of itself, when the other caught him off guard with an embarrassingly simple gesture.
Reim ever so gently brushed his hair out of the way, careful fingers treating the strands like some kind of priceless silk, before he leaned down and pressed a near fleeting kiss to the column of his throat.
“Happy Valentine's Day, Master.”
A small frown touched Rufus' lips as he drew a thoughtful breath. Yes; this has gone on long enough. He'd allowed it to progress too far.
“Reim,” he shifted his weight enough to find the boy's eyes with his own, holding the other's gaze for a moment. “...Happy Valentine's Day to you as well.”
---
Valentine's Day was ridiculous. It was stupid. Especially when one was the son of a noble family, attending a private school full of other young, rich, people, all looking to earn their family extra status through whatever means necessary. It meant finding himself with armfuls of presents trying to win his favour, dealing with girls who'd otherwise paid him no mind, and being expected to reciprocate with at least some kind of friendly gesture in return. The first - and last - time he hadn't, several 'concerns' had been raised, and his father - not to mention the rest of his family - had had some choice words for him.
Thankfully, he had Leo.
His servant was far more organized than he was. The night before, the other boy would force Elliot to stay awake, signing card after card from a large pile that had been purchased for just this occasion. This same pile would then be deposited in Leo's school bag, and throughout the day, as the scion of the Nightray house was given gift after gift, his servant would put a card in his hand that he could then give to the girl of the minute.
It was a ridiculous routine, but for years, it had simply been the most practical way to go about things. It had also, in its repetition, taken away any meaning the holiday might have had. Elliot had come to see the day as a trial, something to dread. All of the chocolates, the cards, the poems and flowers...Weren't girls supposed to get these things?
The blond huffed irritably, glaring at the pile of cards that had been selected by his sister, wishing them and the impending day into oblivion. How he wanted to kick that stack over, to stomp on them and tell their intended recipients off. It wouldn't have bothered him if it had been sincere; it was all the lying, the fake smiles, the attempted manipulation, that disgusted him.
“Elliot, they aren't going to burst into flames just because you want them to,” Leo interjected matter-of-factly, tapping the noble on the knee.
Elliot swatted the bespectacled boy's hand away, turning his eyes instead to his servant. Ever patient with him, ever placid in the face of his anger - at least now - and always waiting for the opportunity to mock him. He could see it in the oh so subtle turning up of Leo's lips.
“I'm not doing it this year,” he snapped shortly, only just resisting the urge to reach out with his foot and knock the flowery monstrosities over.
Leo sighed heavily and shook his head, like a mother would in response to an unruly child. “You say that every year. And you always do it. Now why don't you save us some time, sit down here with me, and sign them?”
Someone who didn't know better would have said that Elliot was pouting. “Why don't you sign them? It's not like they mean anything to those stupid girls. I bet they won't even notice it's not my handwriting.”
“Do you really want to risk that?” Through the mess of the other's shaggy bangs, a quizzical eyebrow could be seen peeking over one rounded lens. “Some of them are pretty crazy. And you don't want to get called out on it again, do you?”
Elliot slammed his palm down against the thick comforter of his bed, refusing the move despite the lessened impact of his irritable gesture. “I don't know why I have to bother! They don't care, Leo! They don't give a damn about these cards or me or anything but titles and status. Why should I cater to that? It's stupid!”
Leo carefully got to his feet, moving to take a seat on the mattress next to the fuming blond. “What if one of them does care? Then what? What if you're lumping all of them together when one of them might actually like you?”
A sceptical beat passed, Elliot watching Leo for a trace of mockery before chancing the obvious question: “Do you know something I don't?”
The darker haired boy snorted and smiled thinly. “I know plenty that you don't,” he teased flatly, “You're going to have to be more specific.”
“You know damn well what I meant!” Elliot bit out sharply, refusing to admit there was any kind of colour in his face. “Do you know something about these girls that I don't? Is one of them...Does one of them like me?”
Leo cocked his head to the side. “Would it change anything?”
“Of course it would!”
“How?” An indecipherable look crossed Leo's face, the boy's large glasses sufficiently preventing his master from reading any deeper than the slight and momentary downturn of the other's lips.
Elliot frowned thoughtfully, opening and closing his mouth a few times before giving up. He'd never been good at articulating his thoughts under pressure, particularly when it was his servant on the other end of the question. Hence, he resorted to the usual. Short and sweet. “I'd have to make sure to ignore them then.”
Leo was rather obviously baffled by the answer. “What? Why would you do that? Weren't you complaining that the ones who don't like you ought to be ignored? That they don't deserve what little work you do because they don't care?”
“Yeah. And?” The faintest of smiles began to tug at Elliot's lips.
“Well, by that logic, the one who does care should be worth the effort, shouldn't she?”
The blond scoffed and shook his head. “I never said that, stupid. I want to ignore the ones who don't care because that's a waste of time. Why give things to people who don't even like me?” He carried on before the other could interrupt. “But someone who did care would have to be ignored so they didn't think that I cared.”
Leo always caught on quickly, even when he'd suffered one of his rare slips. “So you don't want to humour the fickle ones or string along a genuine one?”
“Pretty much.” Elliot nodded shortly, temper momentarily defused.
Shuffling ever so slightly closer to the taller boy, Leo looked his master directly in the eye. “Why's that?”
The blond resolutely ignored the steady heat building in his face, even as he turned and leaned in just shy of a kiss. “Because I already have a Valentine. I don't need them thinking I'm available.”
Leo sighed to hide his amusement, slipping his arms over the other boy's shoulders. “Good point...” He tugged on Elliot's hair, keeping his master from closing that last little distance between them. “But you still have to sign them.”
“God damn it, Leo...”