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Faust hears the door to his room close, the familiar footsteps coming closer, his bedsheets ruffling. The fabric of Figaro’s coat brushing against itself as he removes the last of his uncomfortable clothing. The mattress feels heavy as he lays down beside Faust.
His back is turned to Figaro. That’s okay. He must be asleep.
Figaro leans in closely, wrapping his arms around Faust’s delicate waist. He buries his face into his back and takes in the scent of ash and candles. the oh-so-familiar smell of Faust Lavinia. He hums, content.
Faust speaks barely above a whisper: “It’s not like you to stay after dark. Or at all, really.” Figaro nuzzles into him despite the sharpness in his comment. “Don’t question me, just let me choose to stay?”
“...So be it.”
"May I also have one kiss? Just one." Figaro asks.
"Go to sleep, Figaro.." Faust tries to dismiss him, but he can't refuse when the doctor says "Faust, please..? I'm looking like quite the weak man right now."
He groans as he turns to face Figaro, but they both know he isn't annoyed. He's naturally grumpy but he doesn't mind Figaro's company whether it comes in the form of his lips, or the man himself.
Figaro draws his hand out to lovingly caress Faust's face, just barely brushing his fingers against his skin. Faust shivers at the feeling of his cold touch, but welcomes it. He leans into it and closes his eyes as he relishes in the innocence of their soft exchange.
He moves a bit closer, still resting his head on his pillow. Figaro takes the initiative to prop himself on his elbow, leaning over Faust to eventually meet his lips in a warm, thankful kiss.
Faust can feel his face heating up whenever Figaro's thumb strokes his cheek. It's incredible... truly incredible what a bit of romantic attraction can do for a person. Even someone as usually bitter as him can feel as if he's going to melt into a puddle whenever his lover touches him.
He chases Figaro as he pulls away only to steal one more kiss. Figaro laughs between their lips, "And you were pushing me away just a minute ago." He remarks.
"You always talk so much in times like this..."
"I can't help it. I'm filled with a thousand different words when I'm with you."
They separate and return to laying just as they were before, just as if nothing had happened.
"Sweet dreams, Faust."
Faust hums, and folds his hands over where Figaro's are, wrapped around his waist once again.