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Zero’s hands are careful where Leo can see them in the mirror. Leo knows this finesse, somehow so different from what he’s used to, and yet still entirely befitting of someone like him-- his fingers tug clasps undone as they navigate over the folds of familiar clothing. This is a routine they both know, now-- clothes peeled away from skin, plates of armor set aside delicately.
Under his touch, Leo shudders and comes apart.
He's already breathing hard, skin flushed and pulling tight into goosebumps as Zero strips the dark, smooth glove from his hand and drops it behind them. It's the last layer, and now he's laid bare before him, back pressed firmly up against Zero’s front. “Are you comfortable, milord?” Zero asks, all pleasantries, and Leo huffs out a breath through his nose.
Everything feels hot and slow, molten and gathering in the pit of his stomach as he watches Zero’s reflection in the mirror in front of them move to grab a length of silk cord perched unassuming on the pillow behind them.
"Ah-- that's right." Zero muses aloud, drawing Leo's attention back to him with a snap. "You can't answer right now. My apologies." A tut, before he's tracing a fingertip along the line of Leo's jaw, shifting to follow a path of soft fabric to where it nestles firm and snug between his lips. The gag's already wet with saliva at the edges, stretched tight and tied possessive around the back of his head, like Zero’s trying to catch him, like he’s trying to keep him close and captive. (But, gods, it's nice to feel wanted. ) Zero taps the front of it with a fingertip, dragging over the curve of his lower lip before it’s dropping to bring the silk cord closer. Leo can't see him, but he can almost feel the weight of his smile dragging down his body.
Like this, Leo can only watch their reflections in the mirror-- leaving little shivers rippling along his skin, Zero reaches around to take his bare wrist in hand. There’s another pause, unexpected, Leo’s skin jumping as Zero smooths a hand up between his shoulders to curl fingers into his hair. Even just that-- just that grab is enough to make his cock twitch, achingly hard and untouched between his legs.
"Apologies." Zero says once more, and Leo hardly has a moment to catch his breath before Zero pushes his head down, shoving his face into the plush, dark coverlet. His body responds automatically, faster than he can think-- hands jerking forward to catch himself, breath hitching hard in his throat-- but Zero's faster, and he releases his hair to grab both wrists with deft precision.
There's a pause in sound even as he feels Zero tug his wrists together, cord coming to wrap tight, tight, knotted to lock his hands helpless behind his back. Like this, he's defenseless-- spread naked in his own bed, bound and hard with domineering hands on his skin. Behind him, he can hear Zero laugh something under his breath, before his fingers come up to clench in his hair once more before he's rubbing Leo’s face into the velvet, grip punishing against his scalp. There's no suppressing the feeble noise that escapes him, muffled by the thick gag and the blanket mushed against his cheek.
It's exhilarating . Everything in him thrills with the excitement of it: the taboo of a lowborn manhandling royalty with ease, claiming and rough like he's no more than an object. Euphoria blooms warm in his stomach, settling deep and soaking through him, and he feels his muscles sag one by one.
Like this, he's no prince. Like this, there's no responsibility of war heavy on his shoulders, no shadows of siblings cast long and dark through his entire life-- like this, he can shed himself until there's almost nothing left. Relief. Release .
"How does that feel, milord?" Zero's voice is a distant rumble, sparking heat down his spine-- he stiffens when a hand comes to his hip, knee nudging between his thighs before Zero pushes close, fabric rough against bare, sensitive skin. When he rocks his hips into him, teasing, rolling slow, Leo squirms under his hold. Want strikes him hard, then, and he feels his legs shake as Zero digs fingers into his thigh, grinding up against the bare curve of his ass. "Does it feel good?"
The heat of Leo's own breath catches in the blanket still under his face-- yes, you fool, he wants to say, but the gag and the mass of molten heat choking through him renders him nigh unable to respond. He can feel where Zero is hard, cock outlined through fabric and pressed hot against the back of his thigh. There's the sound of a click of a cap from behind him, and his ears burn red before the hand on his thigh moves away.
Leo squirms again, impatient-- there's something empty yawning in his gut, frustrated with the slow pace, the deliberately restricted touches-- he hears another laugh from Zero, before there's another audible shift of fabric and Zero brings his palm down against Leo's thigh with a resounding slap. Leo gasps around the gag, jerking against the hold still in his hair, skin smarting-- that makes him hotter, somehow, and he feels his eyelids drop halfway as heat strikes him dumb.
"Patience is a virtue." Zero says, and Leo can hear the grin in his voice. A wet noise reaches Leo's ears, then, and he stiffens again as cool, slippery fingers nudge up against him, slicking against intimate skin. His skin crawls with heat, bones soaked through with it-- when the hand in his hair loosens to curl around his throat, he swallows hard, pressing back against the fingers rubbing teasing circles into his skin. There's a flash of motion, then, and Leo's breath catches in surprise as Zero tugs him up and back flush against his front with the grip on his neck.
Without preamble, Zero nudges a fingertip into him, slow, and all his attention zeroes in on that. The magma in his stomach flares, head tipping back onto Zero' shoulder with a muffled groan. For a moment, he lets himself revel in it-- lets himself go, mind shedding thoughts except for how good it feels when Zero pushes two in, slick, pumping in and out at a pace that makes his toes curl.
Leo trembles.
Melts.
He'd never let anyone else take him apart the way Zero does. No one else alive knew the things they did-- no one else alive had the trust Leo put in him, in Zero's lips curled against his ear, the quick thrusts of his fingers. Under him, he's floating, untethered, adrift only in the sensations he lets him feel. Sometimes Zero knows him better than he knows himself, he thinks, groggy with arousal.
When Zero crooks his fingers just so, Leo's back arches hard, pleasure spiking hard and scattering over his nerves. The whimper in the back of his throat is caught by the gag, mouth working around it, quick breaths huffed out through his nose. Zero laughs again, airy, pushing a kiss to the curve of Leo's ear. Those fingers move harder, faster, bed almost shaking with the force of it and he loses his breath as stars burst behind his eyes.
"Prince," Zero croons against his ear, low and airy. His fingers slow, curling, deliberately teasing-- Leo huffs a breath out through his nose, hips twitching forwards into nothing, against nothing. "Prince Leo-- ah, what would people say if they saw you like this?" His fingers curl tight around Leo's throat, enough to make his breath hitch. Precum beads clear at the tip of his cock as he shudders again, torn between pushing back onto Zero’s fingers or maintaining some semblance of dignity.
As if sensing this, Zero laughs again, low, pulling his fingers out with an obscene squelch. Leo heaves out a stuttering breath.
"Do you think they can tell you like this kind of thing?" He continues, almost matter-of-factly. There's a rustling of fabric, then, and Leo hears his breath catch, then another wet noise. "Just by looking at you, milord, I don't think anyone would be able to tell." His voice drops to something gravelly, and he shifts-- Leo feels the blunt head of his cock nudge up against him, then, and desire dusts red over his skin. "That you like to spread your legs for lowborns ." It's almost a taunt, dick pressing close and hard but not where he wants it-- "Like a common whore, milord."
Fingers dig into his hip as Zero pushes into him, slow, dragging thick and hot before he bottoms out with one quick thrust. Everything in him goes haywire at that-- the words that make him shake, the sudden sensation of fullness that makes heat coil and spike hard enough for him to choke. For a moment, there's stillness, breaths heaved unsteady through his nose, Zero’s lips brushing ghost-like over his ear.
"Ah, milord--" Zero starts, all breathless pleasantry, hand shifting from his throat back into his hair. With a quick movement, he tugs his hair once more, forcing eye contact. The other hand holds a vice grip on his hip, holding him still, close, disallowing movement. A bead of sweat trickles down Leo's temple, and he swallows. Zero's eyes crinkle at the corners as he watches, smile fond, amused. "You're drooling."
The hands move again before he has time to process that-- Zero pushes him down once more, halfway, a strong hand gripping his bound wrists. He's suspended in a half-state this way, Zero pulling his wrists back to make a pretty arch, cock dragging hard inside him, distracting, thighs straining to keep himself up. The edges of the gag are wet, skin shining with the beginnings of sweat, chin spit-slick-- Zero was right, he thinks distantly, breath rattling where it catches with shame.
There's no warning when Zero pulls back, then thrusts back in-- Leo's breath leaves him, and he doesn't have time to catch it again before Zero does it again, then again-- a hard jerk of his hips, before he's picking up a pace, rough and unrelenting.
Leo cries out through the gag, eyes watering with the force of it-- there's no mercy behind it, no gentleness in the white-knuckled grip Zero has on his wrists, all force with how he fucks him breathless. Each thrust forces a cut-off breath from him, struggling to inhale through his nose, hair sticking to his temples-- the rhythm makes his legs tremble, thighs shaking dangerously. It's shameful. He's raw, stripped down to the bone, just from this-- this, more than battle, more than cutthroat politics-- this is enough to reduce him to something shivering and loud.
He'd wanted it. He'd asked for it-- asked to be brought low, to watch it all in the mirror rolled close to the bed-- approached Zero with a stiff voice, determination strong in the baring of his shoulders. Now, it's the same strength being taken away, falling apart piece by piece, an exquisite and entire breakdown. Leo's aware of his voice catching on the fabric again and again, sloppy, heat spiraling so hard up through his abdomen he's briefly afraid he'll burn up.
Zero is brutal. He's always been brutal, nails digging in, laughter tinged on the edges of his own hard breathing. On a particularly hard thrust, he tugs Leo's arms back sharply, forcing a harder arch, a deeper angle. Leo chokes on his own breath again, muscles aching with the strain of keeping himself upright, of keeping himself sane with every thrust that blows thoughts from his mind like wind. His gaze snaps up, fogged, to where the mirror still stands proud and slim in front of them.
Leo's distracted from his own thoughts as his eyes travel down to the mirror, catching his own eye-- for a moment, he halts breathing entirely, arousal slamming into him hard enough to wipe him clean. In the mirror, he sees himself-- sees himself bent over, sweat shining in the dips of his temples and collarbones, sees the gag wet and thick in his mouth, Zero offering a breathless grin just above him. He thrusts again, hard, angling just right and Leo shouts out a muffled curse, vision going spotty.
"Watch yourself in the mirror, Prince," Zero says, voice breathless and smile all teeth. "This is what you look like. This is what you are."
He ramps up the pace again positioned just the same, just right every time-- Leo feels his eyes nearly roll with it, completely overcome, voice blown out hoarse with the harsh whines forced from him with every thrust. It's close-- he's close, he thinks, eyes fixated hazily on the mirror. His entire body jerks every time Zero pounds into him, cock bobbing hard and untouched, leaking-- there's a red bruise on his shoulder, indents of teeth a claim, hair mussed beyond control. It's sickening to watch himself like this, so debauched and vulnerable, but at the same time he's sure he's never been this turned on in his life.
"Come on," Zero urges, voice increasingly less steady, impatience edging into his words. "Let go, milord."
Those words sink into him as he watches-- watches himself come undone so perfectly, so entirely, with sweat and sex and vulnerability and Zero slams into him hard, one time, and Leo lets go with a muffled shout as he comes like a match strike down his spine. Pleasure rolls through him like a wave, wiping him clean, body trembling and jerking as he spurts white sticky down onto the sheets below.
Zero keeps going-- at some point, through the haze, he finishes with a grunt, spilling hot and thick inside Leo, hips rolling erratic and jerky. Leo sags in his grip, raw, empty, and Zero lets him collapse onto the soft blankets underneath.
It's nothing. He feels like nothing. Like air, like clouds, lost somewhere apart from the person he'd constructed himself to be.
There's a breath of movement, and his skin jumps when Zero draws near-- he shifts close with a murmur, brushes hair from his forehead, and begins to put him back together again.