kinkfest | Who Watches the Watcher? (D.Gray-Man, Link/Allen, R) (Reply)

Title: Who Watches the Watcher?
Author:

sophiap
Rating: R
Warnings: implied masturbation, voyeurism
Word Count: c. 1,600
Summary: Allen is convinced he's being watched.
A/N: For the prompt D.gray-man, Allen/Link: vouyerism - 'Is it really necessary to even watch me shower?'

"Is it really necessary to even watch me shower? Really?"

The outburst startled Allen more than it startled Link. This might have had something to do with the way Allen's voice shot up an entire octave on the last word.

That sort of thing had been happening much more frequently of late. So had certain other things.

And so, the current impasse.

Link just stood there, towel over one arm and bar of soap in his hand, waiting for Allen to calm down and head to the bathroom already.

Apparently, a pained stare was the only answer Allen was going to get.

"Fine." Allen stomped down the hall and into the shower ahead of Link, knowing full well that Link would stand there like a stump until Allen moved.

Really, this was getting ridiculous. At least Link had drawn the line at following Allen into the toilet, although after one minute and thirty seconds, Link would knock and pointedly ask Allen if everything was all right in there.

Allen had timed him.

Once in the changing room, Allen shucked off his clothing as efficiently as possible. He stole quick glances to make sure that pervert Link wasn't watching too closely. The bastard was a little too tightly wound for Allen's taste. All about rules. All about regulation. All about being perfectly pulled together and unruffled.

Although it could be kind of fun to ruffle him. It might be a bit like baiting Kanda.

Allen idly wondered what would happen if he reached over and undid the tie securing Link's hair. He'd wondered the same about Kanda, but Link's reaction was a little harder to imagine.

Link was taking his time getting undressed, Allen noticed. Every time Allen peeked over his shoulder, Link was looking away. If Allen didn't know better, he might assume Link wasn't looking at him at all.

But Link was a clever bastard. Not as clever as Cross, of course, but close. It was one of the things Allen li-... hated about the guy. He only seemed intent on removing each article of clothing so as to avoid wrinkles (jacket sliding off shoulders that still surprised Allen with their breadth--he was clearly more than just a clerk-turned-watchdog, gloves coming off carefully so as not to turn their long, slender fingers inside out) folding them and placing them on the changing room shelves just so even though Allen was done and ready to go into the shower.

Allen knew better, though, thanks to last night's dream. Now, Allen didn't put too much stock in the idea of dreams as prophecy, but he had learned to trust the hints they gave him about things that might otherwise escape him in waking life. He might not remember specific details, but the next morning, he'd notice things that would tell him that a certain roustabout was really, truly bad news, or that the new acrobat's offer of friendship was a honey-baited trap. They also let him know that despite everything, he could trust Cross when it came to the important stuff.

Last night, his dreams had whispered warnings about his unwelcome and ever present guardian.

Allen had woken up mid-dream with a gasp and in a sweaty, messy tangle of sheets. And, when he picked up his shower kit that morning and Link did the same, his heart and breath seemed to stop. There wasn't anything specific that came to mind, just a brief morning... shower... Link... and a heart rate that jumped from a standstill to just about ready to break through his chest. He might not remember the dream, but when he woke up in the middle of a dream, the dream feeling held tight for a while.

He had received a warning. A clear one. He had to watch out for Link. Link the pervert. He knew, now, what was going on. Oh yes, did he ever.

Allen had never even kissed anyone, but he was only technically an innocent. He was hardly ignorant of sex, or of all the many, many things that two (or more) people could get up to together. He could thank the bawdy show at the circus for some of that education. He could thank Cross for the rest.

He knew damned well all of the perverted things Link could be thinking about right now. His memory and imagination conspired to show him all of the sordid details.

And so, even though he had never had any problem with Link showering with him before, Allen was now hyper-aware of the way Link so very, very carefully did not peek at him getting undressed. Allen kept close watch, and caught him a few times. Once, when reaching over to hang up his jacket. Then, a quick, almost panicked look when Link finally pulled down his briefs (and damn, the guy was almost as well built as Lavi).

When Link was finally ready, he stood far back against the wall and waited for Allen to go into the showers ahead of him. No doubt planning to enjoy the view, Allen thought darkly. The blush on Link's face and his determined looking off into a far corner was as good as an outright admission of guilt.

Like every other time before, they showered together in silence. Unlike every other time before, the silence seemed tight, as if either one was just on the verge of speaking. Allen had to fight from asking Link what his problem was, and no doubt Link was just dying to make some perverted suggestion (May I wash your back for you, Allen? Or your front?) or the kind of innuendo his aunties in the bawdy show had tossed around. A few appropriate phrases bubbled up to the front of his memory and he had to repress a chuckle.

The fact that Link would no doubt say these things with a pinched, serious expression just made it that much funnier.

And oh, hell, these days upon days of being watched every second and having timed bathroom breaks was starting to get awkward. Even though it meant not being able to confirm he was being spied on, Allen turned his back to Link and turned the hot water down while he waited for things to settle down. As it were.

When he finally dared to look back over his shoulder, he noticed that Link had finally unbraided his hair. It was thoroughly wet now, darkened to the color of old oak, and it made interesting patterns as the strands followed the water sluicing down Link's back, or matched the subtle motion of muscle and skin as Link worked the soapy cloth over his arms and torso. Allen's eye followed automatically, cutting up just in time to see that yes, Link was watching him. And he seemed annoyed and flustered at being caught.

Allen turned away with a humph. Served the bastard right. He should feel guilty.

Link finished his shower and went back into the changing room very quickly after that, and left Allen to his own devices. Once alone, Allen took matters into hand, so to speak, and ruthlessly dealt with several days worth of frustration.

Somehow, imagining that peeping Tom standing there waiting, eye on the second hand of his pocketwatch, made it go that much faster.

He spent a bit longer than he should have, afterwards, shuddering and panting, left hand and forehead leaning against the cool of the shower wall. Water pelted down on his back, and try as he might, he couldn't stop picturing Link standing there, watching. A multitude of rauchy comments played in the back of his mind.

Obviously, he was going to have to keep a closer eye on the Vatican's watchdog. A much closer eye.

Allen wasn't going to stop watching him until he had proof that Link was up to no good.

And perhaps, not even then.