Word count: 373
Notes: Written for Lockon's birthday on March 3rd.
"Tieria is only half asleep when he hears the door to his room open."
Tieria is only half asleep when he hears the door to his room open. He doesn't need to open his eyes and turn around to see who it is; he already knows it's Lockon by the faint smell of Irish whiskey and the way the other pilot stands by the door for a moment, just watching him sleep.
Without moving, Tieria listens to Lockon shuffling about the room, undressing. A moment later he feels the bed shift and then a warm body is pressing snugly against his back, causing a small sigh of contentment to slip past his lips before he has a chance to stop it.
He feels Lockon smile against the back of his neck in response, and then the Irishman is burying his face in Tieria's purple locks, wrapping himself tighter around the smaller pilot.
Tieria hears the sniper breathe deeply in the smell of his hair for a moment before locating the column of his neck and lavishing it with warm kisses and nips. Biting his bottom lip, Tieria tilts his head a bit to allow Lockon better access to his neck, unconsciously pressing himself back against Lockon's lean body.
"I missed you today", Lockon murmurs, tilting his head to press kisses along Tieria's jaw.
Tieria lets out a regretful sigh, his hand seeking the Irishman's and carefully lacing their fingers over his abdomen. "I know, but Sumeragi thought Exia was a better back-up for you this time. And I was needed to supervise the computer updates here on Ptolemaios."
Lockon lets out a non-commital sound against Tieria's neck, his free hand sliding inside the purple-haired pilot's standard-issue pyjama shirt to smooth over warm skin. "But it's no fun celebrating alone", he complains, his voice mock-hurt.
"Well", Tieria hums, releasing Lockon's hand to roll over in the sniper's arms, his expression somewhere between shy and coy as his hands come to rest on Lockon's chest and he presses himself intentionally close, "I'm here now."
Much later, as Tieria lies in the protective circle of strong arms, his flushed and sweaty body draped half over Lockon's as the sniper's hand caresses his naked back, he presses a soft kiss against the taller pilot's collarbone and whispers, "Happy birthday."