Title: Clawfoot
Author: phobiaplague
Chapters: 1/1

Warnings: Er, mentions of nudity/language?
Rating: PG-13

Summary:  What happens when two men fight over who has dibs on the only tub in a very small room?

Disclaimer: I own not a single thing.

Comments: The spam begins. This is actually a present for evilgeniuskoji because today officially marks the first day we met. So I figured I'd do something a little silly to mark the date. I've dragged her into a ton of things, DOGS fandom being only one of them. Thanks, love. You're amazing. <3











The old pipes rattled against the walls with a great production of noise and steam. They had been a polished bronze once, but condensation had long ago stained them into a dull ocher with lighter streaks of greenish blue, orange rust caked around their bolts. They made a horrific noise as shudders ran down the length of them, creaking and whining with a sound that Heine had once bitterly complained of as 'earsplitting.' The quiet gurgling rush of water from the upper floors slowed into a steady ticking not unlike the noise of a cooling engine as Badou deftly twisted the tap of the clawfoot tub. There was a pregnant pause of several seconds before, with a shuddering, spitting noise, the spigot  released a rush of warm water from the pipes.  A  satisfied expression settled onto Badou's face, and he quickly reached down into the tub, lifting up the stainless steel stopper from where it rested against the drain, and inserted it into the drain with a low rattle of the small, bead-like links of it's chain.

Within minutes, the small bathroom began to fill with the first haze of vapor, billowing in lazy currents towards the ceiling. Condensation began to form and bead against the glass of the bathroom mirror mounted on the outside of the medicine cabinet. Badou wasted no time in shedding his soiled clothing--carefully folding both his shirt and pants into prim, tidy squares and setting them on the the back of the toilet. Only then did Badou lift a foot over the surface of the water, one toe curling in on itself as he gingerly dipped it into the steaming bathwater, testing the temperature.   A small grin of pleased anticipation touched his lips, and he swung his leg up and over the wide edge of the tub, followed by the next. In no time at all he had fully submerged himself in the balm-like warmth that the tub provided, the faintest of sighs escaping his lips.

His back slid against the cool porcelain backing, his skin prickling slightly at the harsh contrast between cold and warmth, coaxing a shiver to thrill down his spine. His head tipped back then, neck resting against the edge of the tub as the water lapped gently at his shoulders and collarbone. It had been a long, tiresome day, and his clenched and aching muscles relaxed almost at once the instant he was submerged--the water so warm it was almost physical pain against bruised muscle and skin. His gaze traveled to the ceiling--to the spiderwebbed cracks in the plaster and the darkened stains of water spots. Badou thought it gave the place a sense of rustic charm. Heine, more bluntly, called it a dump.

What does Q-Tip know, anyway?

He thought to himself, scooting down further into the bath. Sure, the pipes squeaked at night, and when they weren't, they were leaking and there were  fifty-to-fifty percent odds that what came out of the tap would either be water or dried clumps of unidentifiable black masses of sewage and air. But it was home. The bathroom was the darkest room--windowless and cramped. The few light bulbs that Badou periodically changed out quickly grew dim as the water from the ceiling dripped into their forked filament. But even in the poor, weak and yellowed light, the dark discoloration of bruises stood out starkly against his skin--and not all of them were the result of the day's strenuous activities. Some of them--such as the one on his shoulder--an angry red with a darkly blue center shot through with purple--were clearly in the shape of bitemarks, some of which still bled freely--thin trickles rolling down his skin only to dilute in the water, unraveling like thread from a spool.

His lips quirked wryly. Those were courtesy of Heine. It had been a rough sort of night, as well. He sighed quietly and reached for the soap, carefully turning it over in his palms until it lathered before running it over his skin. It was only the grit that came free. That was the thing about Underground. No matter how hard you scrubbed, it burrowed under your skin. He replaced the soap back in it's holder and settled back once more, his eye closing gently. He must have dozed, because the next thing he knew with a start was the heavy, curt hammering on the bathroom door.

"Badou," came Heine's voice, just outside the door.. "You've been in there an hour. Did you drown or something, Eyepatch?"

"Fuck you!" Badou called back.

"I would like to use it. So you'd better not be masturbating in the bathwater."

"Hold on, hold on, cocksucker!" he shouted back, having no intention of getting out of the bath. With a smug smirk on his lips, he sank further into the tub.  After several more seconds of silence from the redhead, Heine spoke again.

"Don't make me come in there, Badou," he said, his voice suddenly low and even in tone.

Badou, clearly unperturbed by the threat, cheerfully rose a dripping hand from the water and aimed a middle finger towards the door over his head lazily. A slow grin spread across his face as he listened in satisfaction to the heavy tread of Heine's footsteps receding.  As if that were the catalyst, there was a sudden, muffled report of a gunshot. The door to the bathroom heaved unpleasantly in it's frame, the wood splintering slightly with an inward buckle. Pieces of wood and the outdated handle and screws alike went airborne, sailing across the bathroom and landing with a clatter where they may. Badou whipped around, the force of his motion causing small waves to rock wildly against the sides of the tub.

"What the--Heine, stop ruining my goddamn doors!"

Heine, who stood in the doorway, said nothing, although the barrel of the single gun he held still smoked tellingly. His face was impassive as his gaze leveled on Badou.

"Badou. Get out of the tub."

"No," he countered stubbornly.


Heine's shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug then, as if to say 'well, I tried.'' In three long strides, he made his way from the ruined doorway to the tub, where he stood looming over the bathing redhead.

"It's my turn," he growled.

"Oh, like hell."

Heine's lip curled back then, his expression caught halfway between a smirk of amusement and a snarl. Without a word, his hand shot out and seized hold of a fistful of Badou's hair, quickly dunking his head underwater. Badou began to thrash wildly against his hold, but Heine looked the very picture of unconcerned indifference as he calmly held the man's head under water. Just as suddenly, he jerked up on his waterlogged hair, pulling his face out of the water once again.

Badou gasped for air, water streaming down his face, several strands of wet red hair plastered to his cheeks and forehead, looking for all the world like open gashes. Heine's eyes tracked the way the water beaded along the hollow of his chest and collarbone, running down his skin in languid trail, with a hint of appreciation. He found him oddly attractive that way--soaked to the bone and struggling for air, water racing along his pale skin in streams.

"Asshole!" Badou gasped. It earned him an immediate second dunking. He held him under a bit longer than the first time, so that when he came up at last, he was coughing and sputtering on water as much as air.

"Out."

"Fine."

Badou quickly rose, stepping out of the tub, shoulders hunched as he sulked over towards the towel rack. He had just managed to pull one free from the metal bar, turning to gather his clothes, when Heine reached out and grabbed the corner, tearing it from his grasp. He quickly twisted it then, arm pulling back and snapping forward, smacking him across the ass firmly with the damp end, causing the redhead to jump and yelp in a most undignified way.

He turned to glare at Heine, but the look was lost on the man, as he was in the process of dragging his shirt over his head. Sighing, Badou headed for his clothes once more.

"Don't. Leave them. Go back to bed. I'll be there soon."

As Badou headed towards the door, he supposed there could be some things worth nearly drowning for.