Nightmare

second in the Found Series
scribblemoose

The first nightmare took Aya by surprise. He'd expected it, of course; they all had nightmares on a regular basis. It was as much a part of Weiß as the uniform and knowing how to get blood stains out of any fabric you could name.

But he hadn't expected it to be like this.

The first thing he heard was whimpering. A tiny, pitiful, heart-wrenching sound that filled his heart with hurt and made him want to do something, anything to make it stop. But it didn't.

It wasn't quite dark; the first grey light of a London morning was filtering through the heavy hotel curtains, revealing harsh outlines of furniture.

The whimpers were punctuated every now and then by sobs that made the bed shudder. Aya reached out a hand and touched clammy skin. Yohji's body jolted at the feel of him, curling in tighter on himself. He was on his knees, hunched over, head cradled in his arms as if he was expecting the world to fall on him at any minute.

"Yohji, it's alright," said Aya softly. "You're dreaming. I'm here. Wake up, Yohji."

The first nightmare took Aya by surprise because it wasn't his. He realised, as sleep fell away and he knew for sure he was awake, that this was real. Yohji was back, and in his bed, and terrified. It wasn't his nightmare at all.

He flung the covers back, and put his arms around Yohji's painfully-thin back, draping himself over his shaking body, trying to warm the chilled skin, nuzzling into his hair. "Yohji, shhhh. It's alright."

"No," Yohji whimpered, curling tighter still. But one hand reached out with long, bony fingers to touch Aya's hair, trembling through thick scarlet strands until they brushed his face, finally settling around the back of his neck, holding him close, desperate.

"It was a dream. Come on, Yohji. Wake up, love. It's alright."

Yohji just cried and curled and whimpered.

"Yohji. Stop it. Don't be an idiot." Aya somehow managed to make his voice cold and hard, and showing nothing of the pain he felt inside at Yohji's misery.

Yohji stilled at last, the trembling coming intermittently now, lungs heaving as he forced air into them. "Aya?" His voice was shaky, muffled and hidden in the foetal curve of his body.

"I'm here. You're safe. You're with me."

"I... I don't know... it..."

And then he howled, and the fingers at Aya's neck dug in so hard it hurt.

Aya sat up and tugged at his middle, forcing him to uncurl and turn around. It was frighteningly easy: Yohji was so thin and weak, even though he was trying to resist he didn't stand a chance. Aya cupped Yohji's head in both hands and kissed him, firm and strong and ignoring Yohji's yelp of protest. Kept kissing until Yohji yielded, tongues tangling, lips warm and soft pressing together, the wet of Yohji's tears splashing onto Aya's thumbs as they brushed his cheeks.

"Aya..."

"It's me. It's alright. You were dreaming."

Yohji slumped, his forehead bumping against Aya's. He let out a long, hitching sigh. "Shit. I thought... shit."

"You want to tell me?" Aya wasn't sure he wanted to know. But he wanted to help.

"Sometime," said Yohji. "Not now. Too much to explain." He wrapped his arms around Aya, kissed him briefly. "Bad," he added.

"I can see that." Aya found himself rocking Yohji gently, nuzzling his hair. Like he'd done with Sena once or twice, when the dreams got too bad for him. Like he'd done for Aya-chan when they were children.

He'd never done this for Yohji before. He'd never been like this for Yohji before. He and Yohji had been about Takatori and revenge and a refuge from the killing, having no room for love but loving anyway. Grudging and physical and frightened.

This was different. He was different.

Yohji was different.

"I can't tell you yet," Yohji whispered. "I'm sorry. It's too..." and another sob racked his thin body, "I can't."

"It's alright. It'll pass."

Yohji gave a bitter little laugh that sent a shiver down Aya's spine. He held Yohji tighter, closer, pulled the quilt up over his shoulders when he felt goose-pimples on his skin. After a while Yohji started to relax a little, his breathing evening out, his hands softening their grip on Aya's shoulders.

"I think there was a time," said Yohji eventually, "after Takatori and Schrient, when we stood at the crossroads. When you had Aya back, and I knew for sure that Asuka was dead, and everything was possible... and nothing was possible."

"Hm," Aya agreed, stroking Yohji's shaggy, growing-out hair, feeling Yohji's heartbeat thumping strong against his own chest.

"I think we parted company then," Yohji said. "You got better, stronger, and I fell apart."

"That seems a fair assessment," said Aya softly. Kissed his neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry I tried to kill you when I should have been covering your back. I'm sorry-"

"You made a choice. You found something you thought you wanted. We all have to follow our own path, Yohji."

"I wish I hadn't," said Yohji, so quietly Aya barely heard him. "I wish I'd never gone looking for her. I wish... I wish I'd let her go before. When I first found you. That's what normal people do, right? They let go. But it wasn't until she told me..."

Yohji held him tight, and Aya felt tears on his shoulder.

"Teach me, Aya." His voice tight, with an edge of desperation. "Teach me how to be strong."

Aya was choking down the lump in his own throat now.

"Of course," he said, roughly tugging Yohji's head back so he could make a promise and see it in Yohji's eyes. "You'll get better. You'll be strong. You will."

Somewhere under the hurt Aya could see a flicker of hope at that.

Good.

"Aya..."

"Yes?"

"I don't want to go back to sleep."

"That's okay. It's nearly morning anyway."

"Make love to me?"

At one time that would have confused Aya, or made him angry, that Yohji could want sex as a simple distraction. But not any more. Somewhere along the line he'd started to understand how Yohji worked. Sex was a lot of things to Yohji: entertainment, excitement, punishment - and security. Comfort. The warm, real, everyday kind of love as well as blind lust and passion.

So he didn't say anything. Just lay Yohji gently back on the bed and started to kiss him, brushing the hair out of his eyes, parting his thighs to kneel between them as he set about kissing Yohji's jaw and neck and chest, settling on one already stiff little nipple, teasing and nipping with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. Brushing the other with his fingertip, making Yohji groan and rock his hips in such a way that Aya's own body instantly responded, his cock jerking to life, adrenaline flowing. Pleasure mounting.

"Aya... I want... I..."

He knew what Yohji wanted, and he wasn't about to argue, however much it might have been better sex if he'd teased and stroked and ignored Yohji's pleading. It didn't matter. He prepared Yohji quickly and slipped inside him, filled him with hard, heated flesh. Yohji's legs crossed high on Aya's back, his hips bucking, taking Aya as deep inside him as he could, squeezing, holding, keeping him there.

It felt so good. So right. Aya felt strong and alive and awake for the first time in months, years maybe. Yohji was back. Frail and haunted, maybe, but back, and his, and Yohji again.

Aya fucked him with long, slow strokes, soothing him and tormenting him all at once, bringing warmth to his fragile-seeming body. Fucked him through the sunrise and by the time he finished, spilling slick life deep inside Yohji's body, Yohji's cock jerking wet stripes across his belly, the room was warm and light and solid and real. Danger passed.

"Do you have to call Omi today?" Yohji asked a while later, as they lay in each others arms in the growing warmth, legs tangled together, fingers stroking, Yohji's smoke drifting up to the ceiling in lazy spirals.

"Tomorrow," said Aya, as he had done for three days now. "It'll be time tomorrow."