Cloths of Heaven
(i)
Ran was dreaming. The world had the technicolour and sepia brilliance of a dream. In the dream he was back in Inabayama, in the beach under his mother's window but the sea was distant and the sand was solid, not shifting under his feet. He could hear the sea but there was no brine smell.
On the beach, skipping were three girls, as they skipped they were chanting a skipping rhythm, such as those that Aya had used.
“One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a death
And four for a birth
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a heart that's lost to the cold
Eight for heaven
Nine for hell
Ten for a secret you never can tell.”
Over and over again they repeated the rhyme as they turned the rope and the girl jumped in time.
Unsure what else to do he walked towards them.
All of the girls had long hair, pulled up in twin tails on either side of their heads. They wore short dresses with white socks and aprons. There were ribbons in their hair, but as he neared them he could see that there wasn't three girls. There was one. She was there three times. And they repeated the rhyme.
Now he was beside them he could see that their dresses were made of soft green lace and their shoes were shining black leather that slapped on the sand when the girl jumped in time to avoid the rope.
“One for sorrow,
Two for mirth,
Three for a death
And four for a birth
Five for silver
Six for gold
Seven for a heart that's lost to the cold
Eight for heaven
Nine for hell
Ten for a secret you never can tell.”
One of the girls turned to look at him and offered him a kind smile. There was a faint greenish tinge to her skin. Then she stepped out of the spinning rope and walked over to him.
Her skirt was scandalously short and her hair bobbed as she moved. In the pocket of her apron she had a mirror. It was a perfect circle and there was a scarlet rope with tassel on the back. Because it was a dream he could make these details out.
She laid her hand, which was cold to the touch, on his cheek and leant in against him and whispered in his ear, “three for a death.”
He awoke in Crawford's bed with a start.
Sometime since he had fallen asleep Crawford had turned and thrown his arm across Ran's chest. It was heavy and hot though Ran felt cold. His breathing was irregular and his stomach was turning circles. He threw off Crawford's arm and ran to the privy where he was violently sick.
Crawford came in behind him, sleep mussed and not really awake, he carried a cup of water and tried to rub his back but Ran shooed him away. “Just a bad dream,” he murmured even as he pressed his face against the wall, hoping his stomach had settled. “Just a bad dream.”
Crawford wiped his face for him, with a small square of silk edged in soft white lace, like he was a child and held out the water. He didn't say anything, he didn't ask him about the dream, nor did he touch him other than making sure Ran's fingers closed about the beaker of water.
(ii)
Ran was despondent for a few days after the wedding. He barely ate, and both Schuldig and Yohji closed ranks between him and his new husband. Despite Crawford's terrible reputation, and the shadowy form of his torturer occasionally in the halls of the mountain retreat, they were determined to do their best to protect the boy in their care, even if it was from his husband.
Ran would not talk about it either, which only fuelled their nightmares regarding what had happened. He went to bed, alone, early, but didn't sleep. Sometimes they heard him rise in the middle of the night and he would stand by the window, but he would tell them he was just sleepless and he wanted to watch the moon. That he stood with his arms about himself only worried them more.
Crawford never pressed him either.
On the eighth such day Manx came to the mountain retreat, she had left Omi in someone else's care and wrapped her arms about Ran and the storm that boiled within him shattered and he wept. It was only later that Manx told them the news that she had received in her mail that day, on the morning after he had been married his sister, Aya, had died, peacefully in her sleep.
Yohji was the one to tell Crawford, his apology for the things he had suggested of him, he kept quiet.
Ran changed that day, but Crawford was kind and patient and later that came to mean a very great deal to him indeed.
(iii)
Ran stood at the balcony with a light wool shawl about his shoulders. He hadn't even dressed for the day. It had been three weeks since Manx had told him of Aya's death and in that time he had lost weight, he had ignored his puppy that had been given into the care of Naoe and Omi who spoiled it relentlessly.
The moon had a halo that suggested upcoming frost but the boy stood in just sleeping pants and the shawl that Yohji had slipped around his shoulders. He ignored Yohji's attempts to make him eat and sent Schuldig scurrying with a glare. Unsure what else to do the two soldiers turned to Crawford.
He opened the door with an involuntary shiver at the cold. The fire had been let die down and with the balcony windows open there was no place to hide from the cold but the bed which had not been turned down. Just as Ran refused food he sent the maids away.
“Come away from the window.” Crawford said calmly, “you'll catch your death.” He stepped up beside the boy, ignoring his glare, which was, he had to admit, quite impressive. “Aya wouldn't want that of you.”
Ran turned and for the first time even acknowledged him. “What do you know of what she'd want?” He asked, “You never knew her.”
“No,” Crawford conceded, “but I know you,” he said softly, “and I know if you had been the one to die that you wouldn't want her to kill herself.”
“Manx told you to say that.” Aya accused.
“Manx cares for me less than she cares for Yohji.” Crawford corrected him; “in fact if there was even a suggestion that I had hurt you she would not hesitate to slip something nasty into my wine.” Ran didn't look at him but turned his attention back to the halo around the moon. “Would you like to return to Inabayama to say goodbye?” He asked.
At that Ran looked at him. “But,” he said, “my duty is here.”
“Your duty is with me.” Crawford corrected, “and so far you have done it admirably.” It was a salve to the boy's tattered ego, “but if you need to we can go to Inabayama. She was your sister, I am not heartless, Ran, no matter what they say of me. If you need to go to Inabayama I will go with you.”
Ran was silent but Crawford could see him working out what it must have cost Crawford to say it. “Is it the same moon over Eressea?” Ran asked suddenly turning back to the moon which was a brilliant white in a dark indigo sky.
“Yes,” Crawford said stepping in close behind him. “There is a legend here, in Eressea, about the moon. Apparently,” he wrapped his arms about Ran to warm him, a little surprised that the boy did not push him away as he had before. “There is a kingdom on the moon, and one day a princess fell to earth with only a shawl and the clothes she wore. She didn't speak the same language but the king of Eressea when he saw her beauty pressured her into marriage. She refused.” He wasn't sure when Ran had leant back into him but he was glad. “She told him that her shawl was one of the cloths of heaven, that it was the halo around the moon and without it that the universe would be thrown into chaos and she must return to her kingdom in the moon. He didn't believe her.”
Ran had settled into his arms and Crawford could feel his heart beat against his chest, steady and unbroken, but the body in his arms was limp and careless. “And he forced her into marriage regardless.
“But the moon princess, Tsukihime, hadn't lied. And as the year waned the frost didn't come, the winter was so mild it was almost summer and for one year that was not a problem. The second year came and went with no winter, and a third. The plains began to flood; the forests grew out of control, and the crops failed. The animals grew thin and confused. But still the king would not let her go.”
Ran was quiet as Crawford told him the story. He said nothing, just slowly stared at the corona of the moon.
“Armies came and ignored the island because it was poor, without winter the ground was as if it had been salted. Five years passed, and then ten, until the people were starved, and like all starving peasants do, they revolted. And in the centre of it was Tsukihime, pale and lovely, with her shawl of frozen moonlight about her.” Crawford stroked one of Ran's ear tails, twining it through his fingers. It soothed the boy. “As her champions stood over the body of her husband she told him what she had told him when she refused him marriage, that she had to return to the heavens, at least for part of the year. With no choice he allowed her, releasing her from her wifely duties. That year the winter came, but when spring returned so did Tsukihime.”
“I don't understand.” Ran said finally, “Why tell me this?”
“Because what the king learned was that sometimes, even if you don't want to, you have to let people go and trust that they'll return. I want you to go to Inabayama because you need to say goodbye, I will go with you because I nearly married your sister and I would like to pass on my respects too.”
At that Ran turned to look at his husband, turning in his arms so that he could lay his cheek upon Crawford's chest. “Thank you,” he murmured. “for being so kind.”
“Ran,” he tilted the boy's face up to look at him, “there is more to being a husband than making rules.” He said, “and more than what happens in the bedroom. I am supposed to be strong for you, so when you need to then you can be strong for me.”
“I don't know how.” Ran said, it was a broken exhalation. “I don't know how.”
“Then let me be strong for you.” Crawford said lowering his face for a kiss, breathing the words against Ran's mouth. “Let me show you how.” His lips were almost touching Ran's mouth.
“I don't know how.” Ran repeated.
“Just let me,” Crawford said, his lips mouthing the words against Ran's, “just give in.”
So Ran did, he opened his mouth for Crawford's kiss and gave himself willingly.
As he succumbed to the kiss Ran felt his knees weaken but it didn't matter because Crawford was there to catch him, and he did, the arms, which had been so comforting, were now strong and supported his weight, and without breaking that kiss, without diverting attention from his tongue, Crawford scooped him up, pushing shut the balcony door with his hip as he carried Ran to the bed.
He pulled away the shawl from Ran's shoulders like he was unwrapping a prize, baring the ice white shoulders to his hands and mouth. But he met Ran's eyes with his own, “tell me to stop and I will.” Ran didn't answer him, but his eyes were dead. His kisses tasted of duty but Crawford didn't stop. He kissed the pale nipples on his chest, he dipped his tongue into the boy's navel and although Ran cried out he didn't stop. He undid the points of the boy's sleeping pants as his tongue slipped inside. He looked up, Ran's head was cast back and his eyes were closed. “This is just another way to love you.” He said and then took the boy's swelling flesh in his mouth.
It didn't take long. Ran was young and inexperienced. He was biting down on the flesh of his hand as he came in Crawford's mouth, but he didn't tell him to stop. “So beautiful,” Crawford murmured even as he wiped a few stray drops from his lips, “so very beautiful.” He crawled up Ran's body, pressing kisses on the sweet white meat of his muscles, of his pectorals and abdominals before kissing him on the hollow of his throat. “Let me love you,” Crawford murmured even as he reached across his body, “just trust me.”
Ran didn't answer him. He took the small vial of oil from Ran's bedside table, it was shaped like a perfume bottle, with a wide neck but narrowed to a point, and he uncorked it quickly filling the room with the scent of briar roses. “Just let me love you, beautiful.”
Ran didn't answer him.
So with gentle touches Crawford started to touch him, running his fingers over the puckered entrance, and then slowly pressing in. Ran made no objection. He circled with one finger, pressing the oil into the hot moist flesh, noting as Ran's hips lifted but his face turned away.
Crawford took his time. He had promised Ran nothing but pleasure in his bed so he took his time even though he himself ached with arousal. He stroked the boy's prostate on every other thrust of his finger, and kissed away Ran's whimper when he added the second.
He spent over an hour preparing the boy, placing occasional kisses to his mouth, his throat, his chest, his cock. It was only when three of his fingers slid in and out that he took the oil and coated his own aching erection. He worried that he might burst if he took it quickly, so he carefully pushed himself inside.
Ran was hot and tight inside, and maddeningly, brain meltingly good.
He pushed and pushed as Ran bit into his finger, he murmured encouragements even as he almost pushed himself past his ability to reason, and it was only when he was fully seated that he took Ran's thighs in his hands and turned them over so Ran was above him. He might want to sate his lust and just pound into the boy until they both came but Ran was not ready for that. He would take it at Ran's pace. He pulled Ran's finger from his mouth, seeing the tooth marks embedded in the skin of his knuckle, and threaded those fingers through with his own. “So beautiful.” He repeated as putting both their hands on Ran's hips he started to gently raised and lower him unto his aching erection.
When he came he did so with an animal grunt, feeling the push and pull against as Ran found his own rhythm and rode him, he had cast his head back and the palms of his hands were sweaty and even though Crawford had come he didn't stop, he must have been close, Crawford thought, watching the blush build on his chest and throat.
When he came, after a few long moments in which Crawford just watched him, with his head thrown back and his eyes screwed shut he collapsed on Crawford's chest in such a way that he slipped out of him, panting and exhausted but would not let Crawford pull his hands away from his own. “show me how,” he murmured in Crawford's ear, “I need you to show me how.”
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