kinkfest | Burning Bright (07-Ghost, Frau+Teito)

Title: Burning Bright
Author/Artist:

nekokoban
Rating: G
Prompt: 07-Ghost, Frau/Teito: sleepless nights - the stars are burning bright
Word count: 696
Summary: Sleep, and let the stars light your path to good dreams.

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He hadn't expected for a bed to feel quite so wide or empty, with Capella gone. In his mind, he could clearly recall a point in time when even the thought of someone within arm's reach would have kept him up and alert for hours--but try as he might, he couldn't seem to recall the feeling of how he'd once slept alone, when he'd slept at all. Even Mikage had given up on him after a while, leaping from the bed to the windowsill with a huffy little pya! and curled up there; when Teito rolled over, he could see a small snugly-curled ball, and while he didn't envy his friend, there was a certain wistfulness that Mikage could sleep so effortlessly even now, whereas he--

"Oi, brat," Frau said. "Quick kicking."

"I'm not," he snapped, halfheartedly. "How would you even know, you're not--"

The bed sagged abruptly under sudden new weight. Teito squawked and scrabbled his way half-upright, tangled in blankets, and glared. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Frau looked at him, unconcerned by Teito's embarrassment. "Move over," he said. "The beds are too narrow."

"Then get off! Go back to your own! What the hell do you think you're doing?! Pervert Bishop! Get--"

A large hand settled on his chest and pushed. Startled and off-balance, Teito flailed for a moment before he caught himself, staring first at the hand still on his chest, then up at Frau's face. In the dimness, only one eye was really visible, as well as the thin slash of his mouth. All he said, though, was, "I said move over."

Wordless now, Teito scooted until he was nearly perched on the far end of the bed. He watched Frau arrange himself on the mattress, neat as a corpse: long legs hooked at the ankles, fingers laced over his chest. He kept both eyes open, meeting Teito's own, and he said, "Come on, brat."

"Don't call me that," Teito mumbled. He had to duck his head as he moved closer, putting one hand on Frau's broad shoulder to brace his weight as he laid down, tucked himself into the narrow space between arm and chest. Frau unbent just enough to give him that room, then settled his arm into place again, a cold hard band around Teito's waist. His chest moved in a slow steady rhythm that nearly mimicked the proper pattern of breathing. Teito put his own hand onto Frau's chest, roughly where a living man's heartbeat would be, feeling the chill that seeped through the thin layers of cloth. Capella had been warm to the point of hot, a soft squirmy little bundle that had been everything he'd needed and then some--pressed up against Frau, it felt very different.

"... It was the right thing," Teito said in a small voice. "He'll be happier with her, she'll be able to take care of him, he--"

"Teito," said Frau, not unkindly; he settled one hand on the back of Teito's head, long fingers sliding into his hair and curling faintly. "Just go to sleep."

"I was sleeping, jerk, until you--"

"'Sleep, and let the stars light your path to good dreams,'" Frau said, the sharp edges of Raggsian consonants tripping off his tongue with unfair grace; Teito sucked in a sharp breath, his head lifting. Frau's eyes were closed and his expression was calm, almost solemn in repose. "That's how the prayer goes, right?"

"I." Teito wet his lips, suddenly nervous. "I don't know. Say it again."

Frau took a breath, and Teito moved closer, leaning his head against the older man's chest, his ear where his hand had been, over the absent heartbeat. This time, when Frau recited the prayer, kinder in the dark than he'd been the other day, he could hear the shape and rumble of each word, and it felt like the individual syllables were sinking into him, anchoring him securely into place as surely as a father's embrace.

Teito closed his eyes, and dreamed of the white walls of a palace, the dark stretch of the night sky overhead, and the soft half-remembered murmur of his father's voice.