He smiles at that, almost doting, before he heads to the bathroom and starts fussing with the tub and the faucet. It's a small space with nothing too fancy to speak of, but it was comfortable and it would do.
The sound of the water pours out in a rush, filling the room with its echo. Steam begins to dampen the air. Alecto takes this moment to wipe himself down (his stomach and ass and thighs, cleaning them of any proof of sweat and leftover cum) and look at (read: admire) himself in the small mirror, turning around so he could see his backside littered with red streaks. His wrists sport the beginning of bruises and his throat as well have started to erupt into dark rings of color. The sight of it all, this tableau of markings, makes Alecto's breath catch in his throat and his heart leap. It excites him to know that he got to wear these marks as a result of his willing submission to Josh, as proof of his trust in him, and his l -
No. Not love. It's not love.
Right?
Once the tub is close to full, he slides back out, taking Josh's hand in his, gently lifting his fingers from his own skin. The man looks so small like this, so vulnerable...
"Come along now," Alecto's voice remains soft. Although he was not a warm man by any means, he did his best to try and communicate a sense of that at least. "Let me wash your hair for you, hm? Doesn't that sound nice?"
He nods silently, following after Alecto without a hint of hesitation or trepidation. His eyes are still a little glazed over, but he seems steady enough with the clear direction, and climbs into the bathtub after only a brief moment of hesitation. He keeps turning his head to look at Alecto, apparently trying to keep him in his field of vision, but not sure how to voice the want. The sigh he lets out as he sinks into the just-hot enough water is long and heartfelt and he murmurs, "Thank you," softly, blinking up at Alecto as he tilts his head back into the water.
It's been such a long time since something like this has even vaguely been an option - voluntarily naked and vulnerable in front of someone else, sinking into the depths of a tub filled with hot water, without any kind of protective identity or medical procedure as an excuse - and Josh feels unmoored in a completely different way. But Alecto's voice is so grounding and soothing, a familiar foundation, even unwontedly soft and gentle as it was right now, and he can't help the smile that touches his face as he gazes up at him, his eyes flitting briefly over the marks now littering his skin, and he reaches out for Alecto's wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over some of the marks from the belt that had been used to restrain him. That Josh had used to restrain him.
"Sorry," he says, a little vaguely, but there is pride in his tone; that he'd apparently done a good job, earned a compliment, was something he could still grasp, even in his unbalanced state of mind. "Just... You look so beautiful."
Alecto freezes but it's barely noticeable other than the way his hand goes a little limp in Josh's grasp.
"You don't have to be sorry about anything," he murmurs. "You did a great job tonight," he repeats, still trying his best to straddle that line of being neutral but encouraging and vulnerable. Tenderly, he moves his hand away and back into the lather being worked up in Josh's hair.
The soft sound of water flowing once more and Alecto rinses the two of them off. His arms hesitate for just a moment before finding their place again around Josh's body, keeping him secure and constantly in touch. "How are you feeling now?" he asks, dipping his head just a bit so his lips are near Josh's ear, his voice a soft whisper.
There's a part of Joshua that knows the right answer.
It's the stronger part of him, usually, the part that's used to caution and intent, the part that moved to the forefront when faced with something unexpected, the part that kept him as sane as it was possible for anyone to be in this particular line of work. The part that - oddly enough - had somehow taken on some of Alecto's voice and mannerisms, at some point. The part that knew that what was happening right now was entirely out of the ordinary, against protocol and best practices and good sense, that he needed to get it together and pull the tattered remnants of his poise and self-control back around himself and present himself as an intelligence officer, an agent again.
But that wasn't the part that was in control right now.
"'m feeling good," he replies immediately, obedient and alert in a very particular way - attuned to Alecto rather than anything else about the situation, including himself and his own reactions. He shivers - he's not sure at what, or why - and then he turns his head, lips brushing over Alecto's cheek - so close, he was leaning so close - in a chaste whisper of a kiss.
"You were amazing," he murmurs, and there is no mistaking the sincerity in the declaration. "Are amazing. I just... Thank you." He blinks, feeling something out of place, but also a deep, abiding feeling of rightness. He barely notices his vision blurring, tears and steam mingling in his eyes, spilling over down his already warm, damp cheeks. He doesn't feel sad at all, but light and uncharacteristically at ease.
The moment gathers, stretches, swells; like a too full cup, the only thing keeing things from spilling over is the natural tension and order that governs all their interactions.
Joshua Archer blinks the last lingering tears from his eyes and tilts his head up to look at Alecto, upside down.
"How long was I out?" He's not all the way back to his usual self; there's a softness still to the way he looks at Alecto that has nothing to do with their professional relationship or any of the layered cover identities they were operating under.
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no subject
The sound of the water pours out in a rush, filling the room with its echo. Steam begins to dampen the air. Alecto takes this moment to wipe himself down (his stomach and ass and thighs, cleaning them of any proof of sweat and leftover cum) and look at (read: admire) himself in the small mirror, turning around so he could see his backside littered with red streaks. His wrists sport the beginning of bruises and his throat as well have started to erupt into dark rings of color. The sight of it all, this tableau of markings, makes Alecto's breath catch in his throat and his heart leap. It excites him to know that he got to wear these marks as a result of his willing submission to Josh, as proof of his trust in him, and his l -
No. Not love. It's not love.
Right?
Once the tub is close to full, he slides back out, taking Josh's hand in his, gently lifting his fingers from his own skin. The man looks so small like this, so vulnerable...
"Come along now," Alecto's voice remains soft. Although he was not a warm man by any means, he did his best to try and communicate a sense of that at least. "Let me wash your hair for you, hm? Doesn't that sound nice?"
no subject
It's been such a long time since something like this has even vaguely been an option - voluntarily naked and vulnerable in front of someone else, sinking into the depths of a tub filled with hot water, without any kind of protective identity or medical procedure as an excuse - and Josh feels unmoored in a completely different way. But Alecto's voice is so grounding and soothing, a familiar foundation, even unwontedly soft and gentle as it was right now, and he can't help the smile that touches his face as he gazes up at him, his eyes flitting briefly over the marks now littering his skin, and he reaches out for Alecto's wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over some of the marks from the belt that had been used to restrain him. That Josh had used to restrain him.
"Sorry," he says, a little vaguely, but there is pride in his tone; that he'd apparently done a good job, earned a compliment, was something he could still grasp, even in his unbalanced state of mind. "Just... You look so beautiful."
no subject
Alecto freezes but it's barely noticeable other than the way his hand goes a little limp in Josh's grasp.
"You don't have to be sorry about anything," he murmurs. "You did a great job tonight," he repeats, still trying his best to straddle that line of being neutral but encouraging and vulnerable. Tenderly, he moves his hand away and back into the lather being worked up in Josh's hair.
The soft sound of water flowing once more and Alecto rinses the two of them off. His arms hesitate for just a moment before finding their place again around Josh's body, keeping him secure and constantly in touch. "How are you feeling now?" he asks, dipping his head just a bit so his lips are near Josh's ear, his voice a soft whisper.
no subject
It's the stronger part of him, usually, the part that's used to caution and intent, the part that moved to the forefront when faced with something unexpected, the part that kept him as sane as it was possible for anyone to be in this particular line of work. The part that - oddly enough - had somehow taken on some of Alecto's voice and mannerisms, at some point. The part that knew that what was happening right now was entirely out of the ordinary, against protocol and best practices and good sense, that he needed to get it together and pull the tattered remnants of his poise and self-control back around himself and present himself as an intelligence officer, an agent again.
But that wasn't the part that was in control right now.
"'m feeling good," he replies immediately, obedient and alert in a very particular way - attuned to Alecto rather than anything else about the situation, including himself and his own reactions. He shivers - he's not sure at what, or why - and then he turns his head, lips brushing over Alecto's cheek - so close, he was leaning so close - in a chaste whisper of a kiss.
"You were amazing," he murmurs, and there is no mistaking the sincerity in the declaration. "Are amazing. I just... Thank you." He blinks, feeling something out of place, but also a deep, abiding feeling of rightness. He barely notices his vision blurring, tears and steam mingling in his eyes, spilling over down his already warm, damp cheeks. He doesn't feel sad at all, but light and uncharacteristically at ease.
The moment gathers, stretches, swells; like a too full cup, the only thing keeing things from spilling over is the natural tension and order that governs all their interactions.
Joshua Archer blinks the last lingering tears from his eyes and tilts his head up to look at Alecto, upside down.
"How long was I out?" He's not all the way back to his usual self; there's a softness still to the way he looks at Alecto that has nothing to do with their professional relationship or any of the layered cover identities they were operating under.