Work Text:
People usually close their eyes to kiss and to pray, as a show of faith in something bigger than oneself. Mitchel had never been a religious person, despite his upbringing and the lovely church community he'd become acquainted with throughout his early life. Now, however, if love could be equated to belief, he knew himself as Christian's first and most devout follower, and akin to prayers were his kisses.
How juvenile of him to think less of others who preached the word of God and say they felt His presence whenever they prayed, when, for all he knew, Mitchel's entire being was purified by the press of soft lips against his own chapped ones or by the gentle touch of a being that had gone through so much more than he let on. It was sacrilegious to hold idols, Mitchel knew that. There was, however, a difference between an idol and a true deity; a part of a star that had taken human form before it fell down onto Earth, and into his arms.
His fingers gently combed through Christian's silky, golden hair, which he deemed proof of his saintliness or starkin. The warm light of his bedside lamp poured gently over them, enveloping the two into a blanket of something that felt like purity, then bounced off of Christian's cheek and the tip of his nose in a way that made his already soft features become dangerously disarming.
Why would Mitchel be afraid of him? Christian had expressed concern about it whenever he'd first told him about his true nature, but Mitchel never saw it that way. Maybe his upbringing did have an effect on how he saw the world – there was no being undeserving of affection and care; or, his most preferable idea, that maybe he was the only human who'd opened their eyes to see the truth.
After all, a God can only become a terrifying conception if people believe He will deal harm; circumstances become insignificant, as the damage is the same. As long as Christian held Mitchel in his arms as closely and as tightly as the first time, and his hands never lost their gentleness handling the fragility of a mortal existence, there was no doubt in Mitchel's mind that foul intentions never existed as a possibility.
They were being quiet – at least, as quiet as they could be. While Christian's house was certainly a safer option for an impromptu night over, Mitchel's parents would have his head if they ever found out he dared to sneak out on a weeknight, especially because he was certain he wouldn't resist the comforting lull of sleep and probably would not complete the drive home and still have time to pretend he just slept in a bit. So Christian took the risk; he'd climbed in through Mitchel's bedroom window and would probably leave through the same entry point before dawn.
Christian briefly glanced down at Mitchel, smiling with his eyes – the corners crinkled ever so slightly, in the way they did only when the vampire looked at him. He tucked his chin against his chest to press a small kiss to the top of Mitchel's hair, messy from getting washed and allowed to air-dry in its own haphazardly manner. The boy sighed through a smile and pressed his cheek further up, to his lover's shoulder and he curled up against him.
The serenity of this stolen moment, which was so far detached from the chaos of everyday life, made Mitchel eternally grateful for what they had. He knew Christian would out-live him by a long time. He knew what they had was temporary to Christian, but to him it was forever, and forever meant everything to a man ready to put his life in the hands of his lover. Mitchel was Christian's sole devotee, he would prove himself worthy of the title through whichever way his beau ideal decided he would need to, if he ever did.
The bittersweetness of the fact was, Mitchel would've been willing to get bitten. He had no qualms about the fact that, if given the choice, he would spend eternity by Christian's side. It was, however, far too idealistic, and he knew it. Mitchel was a kid. Despite how much time had passed since he'd become immortal, Christian technically was, too. He still lacked certainty in his own decision-making, he was far more impulsive than he would've liked to admit, and that was all due to his own biology; and, truthfully, Christian could never forgive himself for denying Mitchel the beauty of growing old.
He'd seen it everywhere, throughout his life. He'd been to countless funerals despite his promise to himself to not keep strong attachments to people. Christian lied whenever he said he truly practiced that; he loved too deeply, his heart too open. After seeing so much suffering in every place he'd moved to over the past century, he held a soft spot in his soul – if he even had one, anymore – for humans. Mortal beings. They lived short lives, and yet they spent that time dedicating themselves to a cause to give themselves meaning.
Mitchel had done the same, with him. Christian had noticed long ago; despite himself, he was entirely in the same situation. The boy he was currently holding in his arms, his blood singer, their sacred bond... That was the cause Christian decided to dedicate himself to. Immortality was but a detail, the rest of his far-too-long life would revolve around this short resolve, the measly eighty-or-so years they would have together, like the moment a person who's drowning manages to surface and breathe deeply, to fill their lungs with fresh air before getting pulled into the depths once again.
Mitchel truly thought, for the longest time, that faith was just not for him. He wasn't the type to hold idols, much less follow scriptures written so long ago or believe blindly. Ever since Christian had come into his life, he discovered that he had been wrong all along. There was something comforting in the way Mitchel allowed himself to be engulfed by the feeling – it was heavy and proud in the loving way – and the safety of Christian's arms.
His own fallen star. Mitchel could still see the remnants of his true home, the Sun, in the glimmer of Christian's eyes.