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With a sharp intake of air, Alexis startled awake, his eyes wide as they adjusted to the dim light in the room. Tension laced his body and as a result his hands were clenched in fists. His body mirroring the tension in his mind as it replayed the scene over and over again. He could still see the shadow of his dream overlapping with his vision but gone was the phantom sensation of lips against his, of cold ceramite against his hands, of a somehow familiar scent which now was so distant.
Now only the chill of the night reached out to caress his exposed skin and his hands felt the comfortable sheets, as he forced himself to relax.
A dream, it had only been a dream, yet his fast-beating hearts seemed to ache at the realisation.
“Alexis? Are you alright?” the all too familiar voice came from another corner of the modest room. He heard the whining of old servos and then armoured steps approached the bed. The masked face of the Warsmith looked down at him, his head tilted in concern.
Right, he was not alone. He had not slept alone since their agreement to keep the other company when one of them laid down to rest. They had found that both of them slept better when someone they trusted was close by. In the wake of the rebellion, where oaths and promises seemed to mean nothing, such trust was not easy to come by.
Alexis saw the twitch of the armoured hand close to his head, as if Barabas had meant to reach out. For a moment Alexis wished he had, his dream reminding him of how it could feel, but he pushed the thought away.
“Alexis?” he heard the concern in the other’s voice and realised that he had not replied yet.
“No, I am fine... just a dream.” He sat up, coming up to eyelevel with the other. His voice sounded breathy to him, showing his uncertainty of what to say. He would not tell the other of his dream, for now he didn’t even grasp the implications the dream had himself. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, in an effort to not look at the other, he nearly flinched away when he felt a hand settle on his shoulder.
“You are troubled…”
Alexis heard the silent offer of counsel, of conversation, but what would he even say? That he had dreamt about seeing the other’s face? The one thing his friend would not share. That he had kissed him? That he wanted to kiss him?
Taking a deep breath, the Imperial Fist ordered his mind into order. It had been a dream, one he could not share with the other. He was glad that their unlikely friendship had held out until now and he would not risk it on a dream. So he shook his head, keeping his hand to himself. He had wanted to reach out and cover the cold hand on his shoulder with his own, not wanting to let the contact end.
“It is alright Barabas. I just need a bit more sleep, I still have nearly an hour.” He tried to sound convincing, seemingly successful as his friend (regretfully) pulled his hand back and nodded.
Barabas watched silently as his friend settled back down, the knowledge that something troubled Alexis, troubling him. Returning to his chair, he carefully settled down, his body aching alone from this simple movement. With a huff that was swallowed by his helmet, he took up the datapad again, continuing his survey of the newest collected data about the performance of the Pharos.
Distracted by the others unregular breathing and elevated heartbeat, he glanced at the other who he knew to still be awake. Alexis was facing him, eyes seemingly never able to fully close, Barabas wondered if the other was watching him. He had noted the unusual look in Alexis’ eyes earlier, before he had looked away.
He had hoped the other would tell him what troubled him, he had done so only a few times. But even those few times seemed to lighten the burden on Alexis’ shoulders a little.
Since they had agreed on this arrangement, Barabas had learned that it was not uncommon for Alexis to have trouble sleeping, plagued by memories and bad dreams. Sometimes he could hear the name of the seventh Primarch, spoken like a plea, sometimes names of others, who Barabas assumed to be brothers of Alexis.
He thought it had gotten better since the beginning, but it still troubled him deeply when the other turned anxiously in his sleep or called out in distress. It seemed so unlike who Alexis was when he was properly awake. An Imperial Fist through and through, but his troubles came out when he slept and Barabas took it as a sign of trust, that he was allowed to see him like this.
He still wished he could do more to alleviate the burdens the other carried, but for that it was necessary that Alexis would be more accepting of his offers to help.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Barabas decided to try something. He stood up again and took his chair with him as he moved to stand beside the bed again and settled there. He did not say anything and neither did Alexis, but after another adjustment the other seemed to settle down and relax.
As Barabas resumed his work, he always took note of the other’s heartbeats and breath. Smiling weakly as they climbed down steadily to a resting state. Waiting a bit longer to make sure Alexis was truly asleep, Barabas turned off the datapad, turning to watch the other.
Carefully and as silent as the servos of his armour allowed, he lifted one hand, brushing a strand of hair out of the others’ face. Gently he smoothed out the tense creases on the sleeping face and something inside him ached as the other unconsciously leaned into the touch. Pulling back more abruptly than he meant to, he didn’t miss the unsettled twitch in the other’s face but hoped that he had not woken him up.
He didn’t move until it was clear that Alexis was still asleep, sighing as he looked at him. His gaze, as so often was drawn to the others hair, it always looked soft, but though his armour he could never feel it.
He had done this often in the past weeks, when it had been at first a personal longing, he had discovered that the other seemed to calm when there was a simple touch, something that connected him to someone else. But even with that effect, Barabas could never completely shake the feeling of guilt.
If he were awake, Alexis would not accept such touches. So he thought. He too, was unwilling to risk the bond between them with pushing something unwanted on the other, even if he felt that sometimes, just sometimes the other was perhaps not as averse to it as he thought. And if that was not the case, he could not help but cherish these moments, always wishing he could tell the other, show the other how he cherished him.