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Cater had always told Deuce that the secret to a loving, happy relationship was eye contact.
As it seemed, staring really hard into someone’s irises until your own gaze started to water represented ‘deep trust’ and something about ‘sensual longing’, but Deuce may have begun to zone out the moment Cater started insisting they do an online tarot card reading together.
So, Deuce was pretty certain he and Ace were doing perfectly fine.
He narrowed his eyes, tracing the hue of his boyfriend’s pupil, then spiralled his line of sight outwards in a slow outline of his iris. Ace’s eyes were red-orange in a way that wasn’t quite red, or quite orange. It was like the shade of fruit punch, or strawberry juice, with a hint of lemon zest. No, maybe orange zest, instead?
His eyeliner—or whatever makeup term it was, Deuce didn’t know, perhaps he could consult Riddle or Vil—was redder. Like the fillings for Ace’s favourite cherry pie. Or his eyeliner bottle—no, wait, obviously—
Deuce’s eyes caught on the curve of his lashes, dark as his pen ink, then lower. Down the slope of his nose that had begun to scrunch up slightly—aha! Deuce was so winning this stare-contest, wait a second, this wasn’t a contest—and even lower, until his gaze outlined the curve of his lips. Ace wore lipstick—or was it lipgloss? Lip-something, he was sure of that—and it made his lips a little pinker, a little wetter, and when he opened his mouth—
“Y’know,” Ace’s mouth said, “this is all your fault.”
Deuce blinked. “Huh?”
Ace looked deeply unimpressed. If he was doing a Riddle impression, Deuce was sure their Housewarden would’ve been pleased. Or displeased, he couldn’t really tell sometimes.
“This.” Ace gestured vaguely with one hand, sending a small ripple through the bathwater. “This… situation. The reason I’ve been sitting in a bathtub for ten minutes while my boyfriend stares at me like he’s trying to calculate the circumference of my eyeball.”
“I wasn’t—” He didn’t even know what a circumference was, for Sevens’ sake!
“You absolutely were.”
“I was…” he scrambled for something somewhat romantic to reply with, “appreciating your… your eyes.”
Ace scoffed, inclining his head backward. A tiny bubble had landed over the pulse point of his throat, and Deuce pushed down the urge to pop it. “See? Weird.”
"That's not weird!”
“It is when you look like you’re studying for an exam.”
Deuce gasped, offended. “I do not.”
“You kinda tilted your head and squinted.”
“I was looking at your eyelashes.”
Ace stared at him in a way that made Deuce wish he hadn’t said anything eyelash-related. “…my eyelashes.”
Deuce swallowed reflexively. “…yeah.”
“You were studying my eyelashes.”
“I wasn’t studying them!”
“You said you were looking.”
“That’s different!”
Ace crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah? How?”
Deuce opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he opened it again. He huffed, mirroring his boyfriend’s pose. “Because I said so.”
Ace snorted. “Compelling argument, sweetheart.”
“Oh, shut up.” Deuce hated the way he felt his ears burn at the term of endearment. His mom called him that.
Ace grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
Unfortunately, that reminded Deuce of the actual issue. He shifted, their knees bumping against each other. The bathtub really wasn’t made for two growing teenage boys to sit in together. “You’re one to talk, anyway.”
“Excuse me?”
Deuce jabbed a finger at his chest. “This is your fault.”
Ace looked scandalised. “My fault?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Deuce huffed again. “You used all the hot water.”
Ace gaped like a fish. “I did not use all the hot water!”
“You were in there for forty minutes!”
“I was conditioning my hair!”
“You don’t even have that much hair!”
Ace gasped so loudly that water sloshed over the edge of the bathtub. “Okay, first of all, rude.”
“It’s true.” Deuce interjected.
“Second of all,” Ace leaned in, until their noses were almost touching, “I was taking care of myself. Some people here value hygiene.”
Deuce spluttered, pulling back. “Are you implying I’m dirty?”
“I’m implying,” Ace said, deadpan, “that you are several inches away from cleanliness.”
Deuce made a scandalised noise that rose sharply in his throat. “That is not what that means.”
“Well, it is now.”
“Ace!”
Ace’s grin sharpened into something downright wicked. “What? I’m just saying, if the bathtub had a ranking system, you’d be in the lower tiers.”
Deuce sputtered. “That makes no sense!”
“Neither does your hair after Track & Field practice.”
Deuce’s face went hot. “My hair is fine!”
Ace’s eyes flicked over him, half-lidded and smug. “Sure. If you were going for the ‘just survived being thrown off a moving aircraft’ look’.”
“I do not look like that!”
“Ehh, you kinda do.”
Deuce drew himself up with as much dignity as one could possibly have while sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in a cramped bathtub, knees pressed awkwardly against another person’s, water lapping at his waist. “You’re just saying that because you’re trying to distract me.”
“From what?”
“From the fact that this is your fault.”
Ace blinked. “Still on that?”
“Yes!” Deuce was going to win this. Something, something, battle, war, something.
“Wow. Someone’s committed. I respect that.”
“You started this.”
Ace pointed a finger at him. “Nope. You started this by looking at me like you were trying to memorise my face for a quiz.”
Deuce’s jaw dropped. “I was not!”
“You were too.”
“I was being affectionate!”
Ace’s mouth twitched. “By staring at my eyelashes?”
“They were there!”
“Deuce.”
“What—!?”
Ace leaned in just enough for his smile to turn infuriatingly warm. “You have the worst excuses.”
Deuce made a strangled sound like a chicken and retaliated the only way he knew how. He scooped a double handful of bathwater and flung it at Ace’s chest.
Ace gasped, half in outrage and half in delight. “Hey!”
Deuce grinned, utterly unrepentant. “It’s self-defence.”
“Against what? My undeniable charm?”
“Your arrogance.”
Ace immediately splashed him back.
Water hit Deuce full in the face.
He yelped, blinking hard, and Ace laughed—actually laughed, bright and startled and far too pleased with himself. Deuce stared at him, dripping and offended, then scooped up more water with both hands and launched it with all the force of his wounded pride.
Ace jerked back just in time to avoid the worst of it, but a spray still caught his cheek and chin. “Oi!”
“Take that!”
“Why, you little—”
Ace surged forward with a gleeful, murderous expression that would have been alarming if he weren’t still half-drenched and in a bathtub that barely fit the both of them. He splashed so hard the water slapped against the tiles, and Deuce squeaked when a wave broke over his lap. “Ace!”
“What happened to ‘self-defence’?”
“This is different!”
“How?”
Deuce made an indignant grab for the nearest source of ammunition. “Because now I'm winning!”
He threw the water with all the seriousness of a knight charging into battle.
Ace choked on a laugh and ducked, but not before a generous splash hit his shoulder and ran down his arm. “You are absolutely not winning.”
“I am too!”
“You've got the brain of a sea cucumber!”
“That’s not even an insult!”
“It is if I say it like that.”
Deuce narrowed his eyes.
Ace narrowed his back, which was probably not a phrase, but it happened anyway, and then both of them lunged at once.
Water went everywhere.
It arced over the rim of the tub, sloshed against the floor, spattered the walls. Deuce barely noticed the cold droplets on his arms because Ace had just succeeded in soaking his entire front, and Deuce responded by cupping the water and dumping it straight over Ace's head.
Ace sputtered. “Deuce!”
“What?”
“You got shampoo in my eye!”
“Good for you!”
Ace stared at him in utter disbelief, then broke into a grin so sharp and fond that it made Deuce’s stomach do something extremely inconvenient. “Oh, it is so on now.”
Deuce’s bravado faltered. “Wait—”
Ace grabbed a handful of water and splashed him hard across the chest.
Deuce yelped and immediately retaliated, laughing despite himself. The bathtub creaked ominously beneath them as they twisted and wriggled, both of them too competitive to stop and too stupid to care that they were already soaked through. Ace kept laughing, breathless and bright, and every time Deuce thought he had the upper hand, Ace found some new devious angle to drench him from.
“You’re impossible!” Deuce shouted.
“And yet you love me,” Ace shot back.
Deuce opened his mouth, ready with a blistering reply, but the words caught somewhere behind his teeth.
Because Ace was smiling at him again, red-orange eyes shining, wet lashes clumped into little dark spikes, soap and water clinging to his skin, and somehow he looked even more unfairly beautiful for it.
Deuce forgot, for one dangerous second, how to be angry.
Ace noticed.
Of course he did.
His grin softened into something smug and knowing. “Aww. There it is.”
Deuce frowned. “There what is?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you stare at me like you forgot we were fighting.”
Deuce’s ears went red so fast it felt almost violent. “I am not staring.”
Ace leaned back against the tub with a victorious little hum. “Mmhm.”
Deuce scowled, then, because he was already embarrassed enough to die twice over, he reached over and shoved a splash of water directly into Ace's face.
Ace yelped and splashed him back on instinct.
Deuce laughed, loud and helpless, and the sound bounced off the bathroom tiles with all the breathless chaos of a battle neither of them was ever going to win.
And somewhere between the splashing and the shouting and Ace’s triumphant laughter, Deuce realized something very important: they were absolutely going to be pruney by the end of this.
And that Cater had, unfortunately, been right.
Not about the fighting. Not about the bathtub. And not about the fact that this was somehow Deuce’s fault. (Even though it wasn’t.)
But about eye contact.
Because every time Ace looked at him like that—wet, bright-eyed, and entirely too pleased with himself—Deuce’s heart did this ridiculous little flip, as if it had decided to trip over its own shoelaces.
Deuce splashed him again just to cover for it.
Ace inhaled sharply. “Deuce!”
“What?”
Ace pointed at him, dripping and indignant. “You’re doing that on purpose now.”
Deuce lifted his chin, as though he had any dignity left to preserve. “Maybe.”
Ace's expression shifted.
Then he smiled, slow and dangerous and far too fond.
“Yeah,” he said, lowering his hand into the water. “You definitely are.”
And before Deuce could work out exactly what that meant, Ace scooped a fresh wave of bathwater and sent it flying straight at his face.