Cloths of Heaven
(i)
After that Ran and Crawford were inseparable, or more accurately, Ran followed his husband around like a lost lamb. Although he would retire late at night to his own bed he would rise after an hour or so and walk past his champions with a robe about his shoulders and go to Crawford's room. Crawford's personal guard, a frightening one-eyed man, just opened the door to the boy. Then he would shuffle, without saying a word, and stand sentinel at the side of Crawford's bed until the blanket was pulled back and then he'd climb in and snuggle up against Crawford's broad chest.
He never asked if he could do that, and if Crawford asked if he wanted to go to bed with him he just refused.
Yet night after night, just after midnight, he would be drawn to Crawford's room. Sometimes all he wanted to do was lie there, Crawford supposed it made him feel safe, and sometimes he made his wants known in a thousand simple ways. Sometimes it was a light kiss, or sometimes he would toss and turn until Crawford took the hint and kissed him.
Crawford liked to believe the boy was inherently horny, yet during the sex Ran was often desperate, clinging to Crawford tightly, and he never looked at him. Afterwards he was affectionate, often stroking Crawford's face or running his fingers through his chest hair. He never took a dominant position and he never touched Crawford without his hands being guided.
Sometimes Crawford spent hours in foreplay and yet Ran never begged. He would kiss Ran until his lips were swollen, he would kiss his nipples, his throat, the insides of his elbows, the knob of his wrists, the bone of his ankles. He left no part of his body undiscovered in an attempt to make Ran call out. He never did.
Yet he clung to him like an anchor, and sometimes when Crawford was deep within his body, when Ran's back was arched and his thighs spread, sometimes the boy cried. It wasn't pain, for Crawford was far too careful for that, but he would often wipe away tears from his cheeks and then kiss his eyelids.
He wondered if this was the way Ran found to grieve.
This new licentiousness was not limited to the hours between midnight and dawn however. Ran would accompany him to his offices, he would sit silently at his side as he did his business, he would be polite and charming to the other lords of the privy council that called on him, and he would either give into Crawford's lustful stares, walking across the room with dead eyes as he undid his shirt, or even seduce him himself.
Crawford liked to believe that the boy was just inherently horny, as most boys that age were.
Ran allowed him every liberty with his body, and in very strange ways made clear his intention, so there was no room for mistake in Crawford's eyes, and the boy never told him to stop, oft times he would move his hand to a place that Ran preferred to be touched.
Yet the only non-physical sign of his enjoyment, and it was clear that he did enjoy it, was the breathy grunt when he came.
Sometimes Ran would sit at his feet, like a dog or a slave, and lay his cheek against his thigh.
If he conducted an interview then Ran would leave with Yohji, who would often wait outside the office, and they would return maybe an hour later. Sometimes Yohji had thought ahead and bought them food for left to his own devices Ran wouldn't eat. If he placed food before him however he did.
Sometimes he just sat on the couch in Crawford's office with a book in his hands, that he pretended to read when Crawford worked.
Ran was mourning, Crawford thought as he put in place the last few measures that would allow him to take the boy home to Inabayama, and he couldn't question his behaviour.
(ii)
Crawford had never cared for sea travel. He found it drawn out and boring, hence when his king had needed a general who would travel between Eressea and the battlefield Crawford instead had taken the position of Inquisitor General. The journey between Eressea and Inabayama was just over a week and in that time Ran stood at the prow, staring out to sea looking for the endless towers of the capital.
Yohji and Schuldig stood behind him like statues, neither said anything and sometimes Crawford would look up from the work that he had brought with him, in the care of his chief torturer who had made a passable manservant, to look at the boy.
Ran stood ramrod straight, his hair was growing out as Crawford had asked him to do, but just looked shaggy but whipped about his head and face. Yohji had convinced him to wear a cloak, probably by pinning it on him himself, and Schuldig stood downwind of it, like a pillar to the side of the boy.
There was something lost about Ran as he stood there, something desolate. Crawford found his eyes drawn to it as it slowly added to the boy's beauty.
In Eressea the boy had been his shadow, on the boat he was more a figurehead. Crawford half expected him to dive from the prow into the water, but his two knights would have followed him down. Crawford knew the laws of their duty, of how far they would go, but he suspected that Ran's gentle naiveté and warm heart meant that the two of them would follow him into hell. His own manservant feared Crawford enough that he would have dived into the water too.
At night Ran slept wedged between Yohji and Schuldig, his hand pulling on his ear tail. Crawford supposed it was better that way.
(iii)
Ran sprinted into his mother's arms, falling to his knees before her and burying his face in her skirts. She lowered her hands to his hair, but remained firm. She was a lady of the realm and in the face of her son's husband she would not waver, even if all she wanted to do was collapse into her son's arms and mourn with him.
His father was stern and thin, it was obvious that Ran had inherited his mother's beauty. “Thank you.” Ayako said in her quiet voice, “for bringing him home.”
The statement made Crawford irrationally jealous, “This is no longer his home.” He said in a clipped manner, “he needs closure, I brought him to Inabayama to mourn with his family, in one month we will return to Eressea.”
“Nevertheless,” Ranmura said, “we are grateful that you could bring him.” His voice was soft and rich, like Ran's. “Lodgings have been arranged for your entire party here at the Fujimiya estate but I ask you to bear in mind that it is a house in mourning.”
“Certainly,” Crawford said, “I will leave Ran in your care,” he said, “for now.”
(iv)
Crawford found the king of Inabayama to be a thoughtless boor. He sat at his desk as if at a throne and gave the idea he was wearing an imaginary crown. Crawford had dealt with him, by mail, arranging the marriage contract in his role as one of the privy council to his own king, but he knew with absolute certainty that Inabayama would fall to the forces of the Nemesis for the simple reason that the king was an idiot.
“What brings you to Inabayama, is it in an official capacity? Is that why you brought your chief torturer?” The king asked. If it had been his own king the Privy Council would have surrounded him, and it said something about this man's arrogance that he disregarded all the advice that he might otherwise have had.
“I am here with my bride,” Crawford said simply, “I am returning him to the bosom of his family at this time.”
“Bored of him already,” the king laughed, “the Fujimiya are pretty but staid.”
“no,” Crawford said, knowing he would never tire of Ran, “the family is in mourning, I brought him home to mourn with his family, he asked if I would accompany him.”
“Perhaps you didn't want to leave his sweet ass for the six weeks a journey entails.” The king said with a leer, “as I recall he was a comely lad.”
“He is mine,” Crawford said with a hint of steel, “and my king asked that I check the state of your defences as the Nemesis' forces are less than a hundred miles from your walls and your trade is important to us. He wanted to know if we would have to send forces to bolster your own.” He was biding his temper. A fool ruled Inabayama.
“Is that why you hold Mamoru hostage?” the king said leaning back to make himself seem more impressive. It didn't faze Crawford in the slightest.
“Mamoru is a guest in my home, he has struck up a friendship with my young son, he could leave at any time he wants, in fact I asked if he wanted to return with me. He refused. He is enjoying the Eressean winter.” It was true; Omi wasn't a hostage, yet.
“If all your king sought was knowledge of our armed forces then why did he send his chief interrogator and torturer?” Perhaps, Crawford thought, this man wasn't as much of an arrogant idiot as he appeared.
“Because I once served in his armies, I commanded the legion at Herensea.” Crawford told him, “and I was coming anyway, accompanying my bride.”
“I can assure you, and your king, that there will be little need for his assistance, as I'm sure you noticed the Heaven's Guard are undefeated and peerless in battle. Inabayama will fall either to the Nemesis or to your king, if he so chooses to attack us. We are well defended on land and sea.”
Crawford resisted the urge to snort in disbelief. The Heaven Guard were good but the forces of the Nemesis were almost numberless, and even if they managed to defeat them there was always the army of Estet to fear in their shadow. The man was a fool, it was something he hadn't noticed when he had arranged the marriage contract. The man was arrogant, he knew that Inabayama had been the home of the gods and he had the misconception that that was obviously enough to protect it. “I am having supper tonight with some of my more intimate friends,” the king said loosely, “you're welcome to come, and bring your bride.”
“He is in his time of mourning.” Crawford said stiffly, “he will not attend.”
“Oh yes,” the king said, “his sister, it got a little messy, towards the end.” It was more than enough.
Crawford slammed his hand down on the king's desk. “I am a guest of the Fujimiya, majesty, not you.” He grated, “and my manservant often takes offence on my behalf and once he is unleashed I can not rein him in.” It was a badly veiled threat, the king paled. “And his reputation precedes him I see. I may not have known Aya Fujimiya but I know her brother well, and such words will cause him hurt that he does not need. I am fond of the lad and will not see him hurt over one man's careless words. Shall I tell Farfarello to keep his knives sharp? When the knives are sharp one doesn't feel the cut.”
“You're a brave man, Crawford,” the king said, “to threaten the king in his own study.”
Crawford's smile was slow and sinuous, “just a warning, majesty, just a warning.”
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