Work Text:
It was late at night, the kind of late where the monastery hallways felt hollow and the cicadas outside had gone quiet. Lloyd hadn’t expected training to drag on the way it did. The sun had long since set, but he and the others had kept pushing, he couldn’t let the new ninja slack off.
Still, training four ninjas had proven far harder than he’d anticipated, and sadly his uncle no longer was here to help him. He could feel his bones begging for rest. His muscles twitched each time he exhaled, and even his head seemed too heavy to hold up. He doubted the students felt much better, but at least they had the luxury of collapsing without worry. He had to hold himself together, even when no one was watching.
Dragging his feet through the darkened corridor, he slid open his door with the simple hope of finally sinking into his bed. But instead of peace, a scoff escaped him.
“What are you doing here?” His tired voice carried a hint of surprise, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward into a smile.
Ras was stretched lazily across his bed as if it belonged to him eyes half-closed but unmistakably aware.
“Took you a while,” Ras drawled, his tone low, deliberate.
Lloyd let out a weary laugh under his breath and sank down on the foot of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly beneath his weight. “Don’t you have your own room? I’m pretty sure I said end of the hall.”
Ras cracked one eye open and smirked. “Hmph. This bed is much better.”
Lloyd shook his head, strands of blond hair falling into his face. “Of course it is,” he muttered. Then, louder: “I’m too tired to argue with you.” With effort, he pushed himself back to his feet, groaning faintly. “Guess I’ll just take the guest room tonight.”
He had only taken a step toward the door when a hand caught his wrist. Ras’s grip wasn’t forceful, but it was enough to still him. Lloyd glanced back, startled, and found the older man staring at him, eyes softer than Lloyd had ever seen them, almost hesitant.
“Stay,” Ras said. His voice had dropped, the sharpness gone. It was quieter than he’d meant, almost betraying something he hadn’t intended to show.
For a moment, silence hung between them, thick with unspoken things. Lloyd’s lips curved slowly into a smile, this one smaller, gentler. He shifted, sitting back down, the tiredness in his body giving way to something else entirely.
“Fine,” he whispered.
Lloyd laid down on his back, stiff as a plank, arms crossed over his chest. The blanket rustled with the smallest movement, and he could feel the warmth radiating from the tiger across the mattress.
And for a while he stared up at the dark beams of the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than the weight next to him.
Ras’s voice broke the silence, low and steady. “You look ridiculous like that.”
Lloyd turned his head, meeting the half-lidded golden eyes watching him. He expected mockery, some smug jab, but instead Ras’s tone carried something closer to amusement and patience. The stripes across his fur caught faint light from the lantern in the corner, patterns softened in shadow.
“I’m fine,” Lloyd said quickly, his voice clipped.
Ras shifted, propping himself on one elbow. “You look as stiff as a plank.” His tail flicked once against the blanket, a restless motion. “That’s not rest.”
“I’m just… giving you space,” Lloyd muttered, though even to his own ears it sounded hollow.
Ras’s chest rumbled with a sound between a chuckle and a purr. “I don’t need space. Why do you think I came here for?”
The words sank into the air, heavy and deliberate. Lloyd blinked up at the ceiling again, his throat tight.
“Come here,” Ras said after a pause, softer this time. His hand patted the mattress closer to his side, claws barely grazing the fabric.
Lloyd’s still stalled, biting the inside of his cheek. His body screamed for rest, for release from the weight of the day, but his mind warned him against letting his guard down.
Ras tilted his head, ears twitching slightly. “You trust me, don’t you?”
Lloyd smiled
"Nope" then shifted slightly on the mattress, inch by inch.
When the gap between them finally closed, he felt the heat of Ras’s fur, thick and surprisingly soft, brushing his arm. The warmth was immediate, seeping past the rigid walls he had built in his body all evening. He hesitated, then let himself lean just enough for his cheek to rest against Ras’s shoulder.
The sensation startled him. The fur wasn’t coarse as he expected, it was dense, plush, almost impossibly comforting. The rhythm of Ras’s chest rising and falling beneath him worked like a slow tide, pulling tension out with every exhale.
“Better,” Ras murmured, his voice rumbling low, close to a purr.
Lloyd closed his eyes, almost afraid of how quickly his muscles loosened, how easily the weight of exhaustion slipped into something gentler. His hand twitched where it rested near the sheets, fighting the urge to hold onto something.
“It's… Fine,” he muttered again, this time less defiant, more like surrender.
Ras’s purr deepened, vibrations running through his chest and into Lloyd’s cheek. The sound was steady, soothing, resonating through the quiet room like a lullaby he didn’t know he needed.
“Told you,” Ras said, his tone smug but softened at the edges.
Lloyd’s hand drifted, hesitant at first, then braver fingers brushing Ras’s broad shoulder. He pressed gently, testing the firmness beneath the fur, the muscle that warred in battle.
The claws, the confidence, the leader’s posture, all of it remained, in a quieter way, when Lloyd touched him like this.
Ras let out a sharp exhale that became a rumble of approval. He leaned in slightly, shifting so his arm eased around Lloyd’s body, “Careful,” he rasped, but when Lloyd pet his fur again, truly petting, slow, respectful, Ras did not pull away.
Instead, he softened. Ears relaxed. The stripes on his neck ripple as the skin moves, Lloyd noted how those pink stripes seemed almost imperceptibly paler in the dim light. Ras’s tail curled over the bedspread, flicking to roll around Lloyd’s leg.
Lloyd laid his head on Ras’s chest, heart still fluttering with the awkward thrill of closeness. He felt Ras’s heart beat. His hand moved, running from Ras’s shoulder down his arm, feeling the coarse softness of the fur, the strong sinew underneath. It was safer than Lloyd expected, more comforting than he would have believed someone so fierce could be.
Ras’s free arm came up, wrapping more fully around Lloyd, pulling him closer so their bodies fit, Ras’s chest against Lloyd’s, his legs winding lightly under Lloyd’s. “You’re quiet,” Ras murmured, deep in his throat. “Not always easy to calm you.”
Lloyd gave a half-laugh, soft. “I guess… I’m trying.” He shifted to meet Ras’s embrace, arms slipping beneath Ras’s, allowing himself to be held, a reaction that felt strange and right all at once.
Ras pressed his muzzle into Lloyd’s hair. The scent filled Lloyd’s senses. He breathed it in, letting the night room dissolve around him, the fatigue, the ache, the expectations. In Ras’s arms, they seemed almost distant.
Lloyd hugged him back, one arm across Ras’s broad flank, the other curled beneath Ras’s shoulders. He rested there, vulnerable but unguarded, letting his weight press into the tiger’s strong body. Ras adjusted, not accustomed to softness, but he didn’t leave. Instead, his tail and arms wrapped more securely.
The silence between them held no tension. Just the hush of breathing. The faint creak of bed wood. The muffled rustle of sheets when Lloyd exhaled deeply, letting go of his defenses.
After a long moment, Lloyd whispered, “Thank you.” It was small. It was honest.
Ras’s reply was softer than Lloyd had imagine. “Don’t make it a habit,” he said, voice low.
Lloyd smiled against Ras’s fur. For once, he didn’t mind the tiger’s pride, letting himself slip into slumber.