dream a little dream.

Xenogears (Billy/Bart)
Shounen-ai, PG-13
8/01

If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Billy wouldn't have believed it. Bart. That.. arrogant.. simpleminded.. pain..in..the ..ass...

He had been filled with a radiance, a glory that Billy had dreamt about since even before taking his place in the Etones. Wings of light, spreading out over them on the battlefield..

And now, the stained glass windows were puddling rainbow light around them, and one eye met Billy's gaze, blue and weary as the night. "It's nothin', right? All this?" Bartholomei Fatima made a sweeping gesture, that encompassed the Cathedral, but Billy knew what he was really talking about.

The fighting. It wore on even Bart's confidence like sand grinding away on bedrock. He stepped into the pool of light, brilliant hues dripping on golden skin, golden hair, taking Billy's breath away a moment before Bart's mouth closed on his, stealing whatever was left.

There was a glorious rhythm, the beat of a sacred dance echoing in his ears, their heartbeats. He was filled with it - a holy, glorious heat and light. The angel… his angel was asking for absolution in their union.

Billy reached for him, comforting, elevated by the embrace.

Until it felt like his angel had just whacked him with a crowbar.

He blinked in the dark, wondering where the light had gone. Confused and tangled in the sheets, the young priest rubbed his face before staring at the pillar of the bed he'd just lunged face first into.

Another stupid dream.

He looked over to where Prim was curled up in her bed, cherubic in sleep, and hastily bundled the sheets around him to hide the raging ache the dream had left him with in case she awoke.

(God damn you, Bart.)

A warm breeze scented vaguely of dates and olives blew in through the gauzy curtains. The gardens in the courtyard below.

(That's right. Bledavik.)

The brat's coronation, a symbolic gesture demanded by the people of the new free republic of Aveh, was tomorrow. Billy leaned out the window take a deep breath of the sweet air, and looked down into courtyard, a fountain sparkling in the moonlight.

Two figures sat on the white stone basin, their conversation a soft murmur amid the rustle of the trees. He squinted into the shadows, then ducked behind the windowsill, even though they couldn’t see him.

It was Bart and Sigurd.

With exaggerated stealth, Billy peered over the windowsill, watching their body language as they had some long discussion. There was an intimacy to it, the way their hair, like sun and moon moved as they laughed, the way their hands followed the same patterns when they spoke.

Sigurd was Bart’s older brother, Billy had late come to realize. Once upon a time, Sigurd had been his.

And Bart? Bart was an irritating, pompous, destructive brat.

And at that moment, Billy wanted nothing more than to be with them both.

Still bundled in the sheet, his feet carried him into the hallway before he even realized what he was doing.

It wasn’t until the night air touched his bare shoulders that awareness struck Billy again, and he came to the uncomfortable realization that he was out in open.

In a sheet.

The breeze carried Sigurd’s soft, deep voice through the rustling green, and Billy dove into the garden’s shadows before he could be seen.

Bart’s voice followed.

He never realized how clear it was. Like a choirboy’s.

It made him feel a shiver on his back that had nothing to do with the breeze.

“…been trying to prepare you from the beginning for this moment, Prince.” Sigurd was saying in what Billy recognized as “the big brother tone” – the one he saved for mild reproaches.

“Damnit, Sig.. I can’t even make my own coffee let alone run a country.. especially not Aveh.. She’s been ruined by war… A competent, elected Parliament will be able.. be able to respond to what people really need..” Billy closed his eyes, imagining Bart twisting his braid in frustration.

“What people really need is a symbol of hope, and like it or not, Prince, you’re it.”

“Sig..?”

“Hm?”

“When was the last time you called me by my name?” Billy peered through the leaves, only slightly less startled than Sigurd must’ve been at the change in conversational direction.

“When you lost your eye.” Sigurd answered after a moment of thought. “I forgot my place, in my fear.”

“Your place? What the HELL does THAT mean??” There was a rustle and snap of leather, Bart standing. “This is what I’m talking about! I’m nobody special!”

“You’re the King.. you’re MY King.. my … hope.” The warmth in Sigurd’s voice was something entirely different than Billy had ever heard, turning the shiver on his spine into a warm flutter in his stomach.

“Good night,……Bart.” He watched Sigurd stand, silver hair slipping like moonlight as he dipped his head. A goodnight kiss? Bart’s wiry arms seemingly materialized, sliding around Sigurd’s broad shoulders.

Billy bit down a sudden irrational surge of jealousy… but for which one, he wasn’t sure.

But it was over quickly, and Sigurd was retreating into the darkness of the sleeping palace, leaving Bart seemingly alone with his thoughts.

Billy weighed his options, not wanting to lose the reflected warmth of the other’s intimate moment.

“Bart?”

There was a whirl of golden hair and red leather as Bart nearly launched himself off his perch on the fountain, spinning around with a strangled squeak.

“Buh… Billy?” He sputtered, his one bright eye wild in the moonlight. “God DAMN, you scared the pants offa me.”

Bart cocked his head as Billy padded across the courtyard, the sheet slithering white behind him.

“Heard voices. Couldn’t sleep.” The young priest shrugged apologetically.

“Can I sit here?”

“Sure… sure..” Bart moved over, to allow him room.

“Good timing.”

“Mm.” Billy drew his knees up under the sheet, feeling his pulse do a shudder of anticipation. “Hey, brat prince?”

“Yeah, snotty priest?” Bart wasn’t looking at him, staring out across the shadows shifting across the flagstones.

“You are somebody special.” Billy said it as smoothly as he could. (Maybe I’m still dreaming. This is all just an elaborate dream.)

“… you’re full of it. I guess you heard…?”

“Your conversation with Siggy? A little.” Billy reached out, resting his hand on Bart’s forearm. It looked terribly fragile.. small and white, against Bart’s lean muscles. The prince looked down at the hand, wondering for a moment.

“I thought you didn’t like me very much.” He said with a combination of childish wonder and peevishness. “I thought..”

“You’re such a dope. What’s a normal person to make of you? You’re larger than life, brat.” Billy stroked his arm, feeling the soft golden hairs prickle. “You’ve got it all… the glory and the tragedy… I’m sure there’ll be all sorts of stories about you in a hundred years…”

Bart laughed, a short bright sound, his other hand covering Billy’s, in a quick gesture. “Billy… look… about Sig…” he started, and Billy heard a hundred different conversations start up and die in Bart’s throat in the span of a few heartbeats. “… he’s your… big brother too… I’m… sorry for being such an asshole… you know…”

Billy leaned forward, the sheet slithering to the courtyard stones as he did, his small, pale frame almost looking like part of the marble in the faint light. “Shut up, will you? I know…”

He cupped Bart’s face with his free hand, and kissed him before he either woke up or lost his nerve. The prince startled beneath him, then relaxed, his hand leaving Billy’s to travel along the priest’s soft arm.

Billy was surprised by the rough texture of it. Bart’s life hadn’t been much easier than his own, despite his royal blood. But he tasted like honey and strange, wild spices, and the anticipatory stutter in his chest moved into a full-fledged staccato drumbeat.

“I … I want to make a .. confession…” Bart’s voice rasped in his ear, broken by quickening breaths.

Billy leaned back, looking down as the Prince slid to his knees.

“Bart…”

“no.. listen, ok…?” Bart’s golden hands slid down to rest on Billy’s waist. “because I may never be able to say this again. But when I met you, I was so …freakin’ jealous. You’re… so… perfect. You’re smart and you’re beautiful… and I knew I couldn’t compete with that…” He ducked his head before Billy’s hands cupped his chin, lifting his face.

“You’ve got a piece of Sig that’ll never be mine.” Bart finished, whispering as Billy’s fingers caressed his face.

“Dope.” Billy bent until his pale bangs were brushing Bart’s face. “You’ve got the rest of him. He’d die for you… and he just wants you to have everything you deserve…” The priest closed the final brief gap between them, gently kissing Bart’s forehead.

“I know… now.” Bart murmured under the kiss. “But what I want… is just this… right now… someone to…” He slid his hands around to the flat, soft plane of Billy’s stomach. “just…”

Billy stopped listening somewhere, seeing the dream within this dream behind his eyes.

(looking for absolution)

The angel was looking for absolution and simple human comfort.

And in the sweet scented night, Billy gave him both.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warm sunlight streamed over his face like a golden kiss, and Billy opened his eyes with great reluctance. Slowly ordering his waking thoughts, he became aware, without any great panic, that he wasn’t alone.

From behind, a golden hand rested on his hip, and soft, warm breath tickled the back of his neck.

If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes….

Billy smiled, curling into the solid warmth behind him.

Another stupid dream come true.