Chapter Text
Peter let the door close behind him and took a breath in.
He didn’t stand still for long, continuing at a brisk pace in case Elias had a mind to join him. He could just see him putting on a coat, coiling his arm around Peter's.
He didn’t want to spend his time indoors, in some café that reeked of artificial warmth. No. While that would usually do, not today. He pressed on, grabbing a tea to go. He felt a sort of vindictive satisfaction when he hated it, under sugared and bitter. He was glad to escape that comfort of Elias, who made him a mug of tea whenever he made his own, leaving it perfectly doctored in the kitchen.
Not that Peter drank it after the first few times. He knew it was a display of affection, mixed with his need to have power over someone else.
He wondered which part of it was stronger for Elias. The need to control him, or the attraction he had. He ambled as he considered.
Both played on each other, like two chemicals, creating a larger reaction the more extreme they were. By the time he finished his tea, tossing the cardboard cup into a public bin, Peter had spent too much of his free time thinking of Elias.
He sneered to himself, before it almost unconsciously bled from his face. Don’t twist your face like that, love. The memory of the sentence combined with the broiling of his stomach.
Training not to resist. He couldn't even make his own expressions freely. Elias's grip was too tight, too overwhelming.
He needed to turn the tide somehow.
He needed to get an edge over Elias before he was reduced to some... nothing. A pet monster.
Peter could hook onto games and bets, but that could dig him deeper if his luck turned.
He could...use the affection.
He’d considered it. Peter felt how Elias wanted him. Even despite the retreat at his bite. He could use that somehow.
But, now he was thinking of Elias again. He brought those thoughts to a comfortable end, wrapping himself in a harsh, numbing fog that had him forgetting almost everything but his purpose. The needs of his god, the rituals he’d been missing. He could feel the proverbial clock ticking, and he followed a businessman down an alley.
When he emerged from the other side, alone, he felt the tugging in his gut. A quick glance at his watch told him why. He’d been out for almost the entire allotted time. He considered not turning around, and the responding retch made a passing woman start. He gripped the stone of the building beside him, hand over his mouth. She gave him a wide berth, picking her pace up. Peter realized it was to avoid a potential...splash.
He glared after her.
Peter straightened, after deciding graciously to live by his promises. (Nevermind that he couldn't break them, even if he wanted to.)
His eyes wandered up, trying to abate the light-headedness, looking through an apartment window.
A solemn little face bordered by tight braids looked back at him. Fingers were pressed to the glass, trying to get someone’s attention. For what, he didn’t know. The face broke into a cheerful smile, when she saw him looking at her. The child cupped her hands, fogging up the window. She dragged her fingers through the fog, drawing a crooked little smile.
It reminded him of something, and he could almost hear the voice through the glass, but with a more familiar pitch to it. Lighter braids. A second figure next to her, smaller and younger.
His blood turned to ice, thrown violently into an old memory.
“Peter!” Laughter. Running feet, small and quick. A hand tugging on his own. Hauntingly painful. He was small. As small as her. Matching in appearances, except the hair he'd chopped off. Her voice echoed almost horrifyingly around the quiet halls.
They were going to be in so much trouble, Peter knew he couldn’t be there when they were found, a bubbling panic overtaking him as he felt the premonition of descending coldness on the three of them. No. No. He had to be alone if he was found. He fell behind, and the arm tugged on his again.
“Come play with-” Peter ripped his arm back, and ripped back from the voice of memories, drawing the Lonely around him once more. He picked up his pace. Too fast to think. Too fast to remember.
As it turned out, he returned to the house early by a couple of minutes. He took a moment to gather himself, shake off the last memories of faces from childhood. He walked through the door only when the last minute came to an end, and wandered to the kitchen.
Eyes from the table snapped to him and followed, making him more solid as they did, as he raided the cupboards for a snack.
But, of course. Elias didn’t snack. He barely kept anything that would qualify, and spare ingredients didn't lay around. Elias's cooking was passable, but it didn’t go farther past simple meals. Repeated ones. Healthy ones. Peter supposed it was to keep up his physique. Elias had broad shoulders, and he clearly had some muscle underneath the suits, if his strength was anything to go by.
Peter, on the other hand, was tall and less built. He'd lost weight since this whole mess started. But on his own... he was not particularly concerned with how healthy food was, and he liked to cook. Moreover, he liked things to taste good. It had started young, once he'd left Moorland and the silent and invisible staff who left pre-chosen food at his door each day.
Hiring someone to cook for him meant having someone he had to speak with to ask for meals. That had never appealed to him, and even the written instructions to the cook on the Tundra were too much for him.
So, he’d learned to cook.
Since he’d been trapped here, he’d snuck making very few things himself. Only when he was certain Elias wouldn’t catch him. He could just see that going south, either criticizing what he’d made, inching closer to show him how to do it properly, or even worse, loving it. Asking him to do it again.
Peter would rather eat Elias’ bland cooking and too-healthy meals than become the relegated cook of the house. So, since he was in Elias’ presence, and would much rather cook himself a nice breakfast, he instead reluctantly took an apple and began to slice it.
There was a snort from the table. Peter ignored it, knowing it had something to do with his choice, and began to eat the apple slices. He spared a glance about halfway through the apple, hoping not to meet the gaze of Elias. To his luck, Elias was reading something, glasses low on his nose and coffee cup cradled close to his body. There was a suit jacket draped behind him, and he was neatly dressed.
Peter glanced at the clock. It was a little past eight.
Peter was rarely out of his room this early, so he wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though Elias was preparing to go back to work. He tilted his head, wondering if he should ask.
“Stop thinking so loud.” Elias murmured into his drink, putting the book down and fixing him with a blank look. “If you want to ask something, ask. Spare me the headache of pulling it from you.”
“...” He’s not going to waste his questions on something so trivial. “Why do I have to stay here alone when you leave the house?" Peter said carefully. It struck him that this was one of the first conversations he’d started of his own accord. Chipping away at the wall he’d built up these few weeks.
“Oh? Do you miss me?" A quirk in Elias’ lips. The shift showed off scabbing on the soft inside, just past his teeth. Peter smiled back, but only at the latter revelation. He was glad it hurt. Elias continued. “I thought you enjoyed being alone.”
“I don’t want to stay in your house all day.” He ignored the taunt. There was always a difference between being alone and being trapped. Between purposeful isolation, and intentional semi-isolation meant to bring two people together. He can’t fade to the Lonely, and everything here reminded him of Elias.
“Our.” Elias said quietly. He took a sip of his coffee. “Our house. Bored of your walks already? You’ve only had the one.”
He rose, passing by Peter to refill his mug. Instead of sitting back down, he turned to him, leaning against the counter. “You’re free to come to work with me, Peter. And then, if you can prove to me that you can be trusted , we can talk.”
It was a trick, clearly. Or a way to embarrass him further. Peter shouldn’t listen. ...But. Going to the Institute didn’t seem too bad. He could probably work on some things, plans he had thought of. Contact details, architecture, and contracts. It was going to be wonderful, if he ever got around to it. He visibly cheered at the idea. “Fine! But if I do well, you’ll let me do what I want while you’re at work.”
Elias was eyeing him, seemingly considering something, and then his eyes dropped to his watch. “Give me something I want, I don’t do blind favors. You have 2 minutes to convince me.”
“If you love something, you should set it free?” Peter tried, laughing.
“No.”
“...Dinner?” Peter offered after a moment. Elias’ smile quirked up further. Oh. Bingo.
“Go on.”
“A nice dinner, at a nice restaurant. That I’ll pay for?”
“You’ll dress up nicely, and you’ll be on your best behavior?”
“Yes.”
“Make it weekly.”
Peter shivered at the thought, and narrowed his eyes. “No.”
Elias’ interest waned, and he glanced at his watch again. “Mm. Thirty seconds.”
“Bi-Weekly.” Peter caved.
Pursed lips, a consideration. “Fine. Dinner at least every other week, for the foreseeable future. And you can have all of London while I’m at work. Now, we really should-” Elias tried to step around Peter. Peter put a hand on his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the movement or the touch that made Elias stop, but he did. Elias looked tense, as if he was unsure of Peter’s thoughts.
Oh. He hadn't been this close to him since the bite. Perhaps he thought Peter was going to hurt him?
Good. He was still a scary man, and the leash on him will snap one day. His smile was cold as he spoke.
“Promise it. You said before you weren’t sure if you’d honor your last one. Promise.”
Elias’ posture relaxed, just a little, eyes staring into Peter’s. Maybe he was going to protest. Exert some of that power by pointing out he didn't have to promise Peter a thing. But he sighed, conceding. “I promise.”
Peter brightened. “Wonderful!” When Elias moved to step around him again, Peter stopped him again. Irritation, this time. Elias opened his mouth, no doubt to tell him off.
Peter leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know, if you gave me more instead of being so controlling, this could be more tolerable for both of us.” He whispered against his cheek. He pulled back, pretending not to see the shock, or the tiny flush. He’d made the correct assumption. And now he knew he could use it.
"I’ll meet you by the door!” He said cheerfully, leaving Elias clutching his empty mug in the kitchen.
He felt that intense gaze burn into his back on the way out.
---
Gertrude was walking into the Institute at the same time as Peter and Elias, much to Peter's distress. He tensed as they approached her. She paused, waiting for them to catch up, and nodded to them both. “Mr. Lukas, Elias.”
Peter tried very hard not to meet her eyes. It was like trying to avoid a wave crashing into the sand. Or against the rocks. There was certainly danger enough in it. Something about her made him as equally nervous as if caught behind that wave. She was like Elias, but it felt like she would snap easier.
Dangerous. He reluctantly met her, frankly distressingly piercing, brown eyes and forced a smile. “Peter." He corrected. "Hello, again!”
As the wave crashed, the undertow pulled him into her orbit. He felt pinned, trapped under that gaze. He was an unwanted presence here. Interfering with plans of decades, going by her age. It was just as worse to be under that gaze a second time. Watched, motionless-
-He started when he felt a hand on his back.
“Gertrude.” Elias said, sounding amused. “And how are you this morning?”
The eyes dragged reluctantly off of him as Gertrude and Elias began to engage in small talk.
Elias didn’t look away from the conversation as Peter slid away from the two of them and walked deeper into the Institute.
Peter was able to find a small office space after a short while, and he made his calls to architects and scribbled plans with relative ease. The only thing he couldn’t provide was another time to speak. While frustrating, to be honest, he wouldn’t provide one even if he had better circumstances.
He wrapped up most of his business around noon, and wandered his way to the canteen. He stole someone's sandwich off their plate when their back was turned, and then took it with him as he began to snoop the Institute.
He didn’t stay visible, that wasn’t a condition he was given by Elias. He didn’t want to engage in small talk, or questions about what he was doing there, how someone could help him. No.
He wandered down towards the basement, and had scarcely turned the handle for the door to “The Archives” before a hand reached from behind him and pressed the door shut again.
“Peter.” Elias said casually. “Not yet.”
Peter felt irritated, but stepped back from it, turning to the shorter man. “Why not?”
A tight smile. Patronizing. Peter felt more indignant irritation bubble in him as Elias simply said: “Come away from the door, it gets busy down here.”
Peter stepped obligingly back, and almost immediately a gaunt man with a mess of blonde curls came bursting out. He looked like he was about to cry, balancing a load of papers and a bag, and he barely gave the two of them a glance before running off. Peter pressed firmly to the wall as the door opened again and Gertrude’s voice called after the retreating form.
“And hurry, Michael! We don’t have a lot of time.”
The blonde man (Michael? Peter would forget his name before long) was already gone, and the door began to swing closed again. Before it could shut it was caught, and it was swung open wide. Gertrude glared at them both. Peter shrunk back. Elias didn’t move a muscle.
“Elias. ...Peter.” Her voice was full of disdain. “What do you want?”
“Hello, Gertrude. Peter wanted to see the Archives. Do you have a moment?”
Gertrude looked very much as if she was going to say no, but didn’t have the immediate words to do so. Peter wondered if it was Elias, Peter’s family name, or something in the middle. Either way, she didn’t look happy about it.
“Excellent, I’ll leave you in her capable hands.” Elias said, patting Peter’s shoulder and turning to go. “...Ah, yes. Do meet me in my office when you’re done.”
And then he left. Peter wished he hadn’t. He felt a brief moment of panic at being abandoned with this woman. Maybe he could slip away. Maybe she wouldn’t care to- Gertrude fixed that cold look on him, and opened the door wider. “Come on, then. I don’t have all day.” Her tone was rough, brusque.
Peter just wanted to explore on his own. He followed after Gertrude as she explained the few things she would, and this place was a mess . Peter stepped on a few statements and she didn’t even seem to notice or care. She talked fast, walked fast, and by the time she opened the door to an office, where even more papers were scattered. The lighting was poor, the room was a mess. Peter was certain he was going to die here.
That wasn’t an exaggeration. Anything he said seemed like a personal affront to her, and he didn’t dare ask any questions. She looked at her watch, clicking her tongue. It had barely been ten minutes.
“I have to go. I trust you can find your way out?” The narrow-eyed glance he received just made him nod. Gertrude sped off, and Peter was left surrounded by papers that basically screamed of other entities.
He felt the tug at his chest, sinking into his stomach. Ah. He was supposed to go see Elias when he was done. Well, he wasn't done. He was going to look at these items, from a safe distance, and then go. The tugging feeling went away at the thought.
He grinned.
He didn’t touch any of the statements. He just stood down there, surrounded by the calls of other entities. The high pitched buzz of his own drowned them out before long.
It seemed to echo louder and louder around the empty room.
---
Peter was out, he’d left when he knew Elias was going to be at work. He crossed the threshold of Elias's house that night and knew his coat wasn’t there.
---
He started using the kisses more for leverage. Chaste things, on his cheek, on the top of Elias's head. Touches, ones that sometimes made Peter’s own skin crawl, or even worse, ones that made his skin warm. If Elias was suspicious, he said nothing.
Peter got things he wanted.
---
The next time he stepped foot in the Institute, he felt it. His coat was there. He wasn’t surprised.
---
Elias curled a hand around Peter’s tie, dragging him down to his level. Peter stooped, not wanting to cause a scene in public. He fixed his eyes onto Elias’ hair, ignoring the warm breath across his face. Elias quickly untied the knot, shaking his head. “Did no one teach you how to tie a tie?”
“No.” Peter responded, quite honestly. He grimaced, feeling slightly choked. Elias was not being gentle, his irritation at performing such a task had him tugging harder and tying tighter. He released him. Peter cleared his throat, tugging himself a little bit of breathing room, then felt the need to explain a little. “I never wear them.”
“Ridiculous.” Elias murmured. But, as he smoothed his hands out across Peter’s lapels, they lingered a little longer than they should have. His expression softened, lines smoothing around his mouth and his eyes. Peter was close enough to see it, and stayed very still.
It tingled. Pins and needles again, spreading through where the hands touched down to Peter’s own fingertips. The tingling turned to an itch, a twitch that begged for him to do something back. He moved his hands, a tightening of sharp claws around his heart at the mere thought of caving to that itch.
But the waiter reappeared. Peter stepped away from Elias, from that touch. Relieved.
...Disappointed?
What followed was the extremely overpriced dinner, that seemed to simultaneously frustrate and satisfy Elias. The food, atmosphere, and service were perfect. Peter’s company was purposefully less so, disturbed by the feeling of disappointment he'd felt. He evaded prompts, giving the shortest answers possible and not returning the favor to find anything out about Elias. Elias looked unhappy, and had had quite a bit of wine in return, by the time they began the trek home.
“You could at least try.” Elias snapped, throwing his jacket angrily over the banister.
“Why?" Peter replied lightly. "That wasn’t part of the deal. I dressed up, I paid. I was cordial. We’re home.”
“You’re infuriating.”
“Of course! You give me no incentive to be anything else!” Peter cheerfully shucked his own jacket, throwing it next to Elias’.
Elias glared at him, then sighed, walking up the steps. Peter followed after him. At the juncture, where Peter would go right and Elias left, Elias paused. Peter, still behind him on the steps, rolled his eyes.
Elias turned, facing Peter. Looking down at him. Peter could see the flush of the wine on his cheeks, some of his hair falling over his face, mussed out of it's neatness.
He remembered how handsome he had found Elias the first time he saw him. That hadn't changed, but now he shoved that aside.
The red face was contemplating something. He had his hand on the wall, blocking the way forwards. Peter knew, in that moment, Elias was going to ask something stupid. Or devastating.
“Come to bed with me.”
There it was. Both.
“No?”
Elias frowned, eyebrows lowering in genuine puzzlement. “Why.”
“That’s a stupid question!” Peter said cheerfully. Elias’ expression tightened.
“Is it?” Elias looked at his face, searching for something there.
He didn’t find it, because he sighed, removed his hand from the wall, and turned around to continue up the steps. Peter didn’t move.
The question, now brought back to his mind as Elias walked away, sifted down into an answer he wanted to throw from his body. It disgusted him, and intrigued him, and fed his god as Elias went around the corner, door to his room closing behind him. Peter stayed on the steps until he heard Elias get into his bed, because if he walked up those stairs before his answer was settled, he knew what he would say.
Yes.
---
Peter was up before Elias the next morning. A rare event, and it was pushing nine when Peter went downstairs. He stared at his mug of tea, eyes drifting as he tried not to think of his narrowly avoided catastrophe last night. If Elias had asked again… Peter’s grip tightened on his mug, and he glared at the stove. That brought a new wave of irritation over him. He’d been living here. For... time passed so quickly, he had no idea how long.
This was something he could at least control. He slammed his mug down, smoothed his expression out, and began to cook.
Elias came down the stairs as he was finishing up. Of course he did. He could hear his footsteps approaching, and Peter tensed, turning his back to him to drop the dirty pan in the sink.
“...Now this is interesting.” Elias said, sounding genuinely surprised. Peter could see without seeing the exact expression that tone of voice accompanied. The raised eyebrows, the glimmer in his eyes.
...When had he started paying that much attention to Elias?
The sound of a chair pulling out followed his words. It scooted back in.
“...Don’t consider it a regular occurrence.” Peter shot back cheerfully, back still turned.
A pause.
“...Oh? Is this for me?”
“Not originally.” Peter muttered. He moved his plate to the sink. “...But there is extra!”
There was. Peter had only two slices of the quiche, and he hadn’t been able to find a smaller dish to make it in.
Or so he validated to himself. If he’d stop to think about it, he’s sure he would have realized he could have used many of the same ingredients for an omelette, single serving and all. He didn’t stop to consider.
There was a long pause, heavy with anticipation, or Sight, or perhaps both. After what seemed like an eternity, he heard Elias cut into the quiche, knife hitting the porcelain.
Oh, no. He could think of nothing worse than sitting through Elias eating his food. He abandoned the dirty dishes. Peter made for the door, just in time to hear Elias murmur, in pleased surprise.
“This is good.”
The words were like an assault on him. Digging into his chest and dislodging the gentle, comforting cold. And leaving him motionless in...warmth.
His heart hurt. It felt like it was swelling, rising like the wave of pleased emotion washing over him. It bubbled and it sent Peter practically running up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him.
He leaned against it, hands shaking, and slid to the floor. He smiled.
And then buried his face in his hands.
Oh, no.