[It's astonishing, how quickly the others advisors leave. Normally they like to linger, laughing and patting one another on the back for the most worthless things—but Felix watches, dazedly, as they gather up their paperwork and all but flee? Notes the way Dimitri keeps Sylvain occupied as they disappear into the hallway, and oh, but Felix is well aware that Dimitri is doing them both a favor. He owes Dimitri for this, rankling though it may be, and later he'll find an (awkward) way to repay him. Insisting Dimitri hand over half his day's paperwork, perhaps. Ordering him to go take a nap, as though Dimitri isn't his king.
...He'll workshop it.
Later, though, because Dimitri leaves the room and Felix's good sense follows? His focus narrowing to Sylvain and Sylvain alone as the heavy door clicks closed, as Sylvain all but surges forward. It is, in a very real sense, exactly what Felix wants; it certainly saves him from saying something shamefully stupid, because his mind suddenly feels so hazy, so sluggish, that finding the right words seems impossible. It's, far easier to simply tilt his head back and surrender to this kiss, pressing both hands flat against Sylvain's chest before he's lifted right off his feet—and yes, they're both well aware that he hates relinquishing control without some semblance of a fight, but...
But. Sylvain's hands are delightfully cool against him, and Felix instinctively tilts his head to the side, granting Sylvain access to the mark he'd made so very, very long ago. Hoping. Tempting, really—and of course Sylvain knows just what Felix needs. Doesn't he always? Of course Sylvain bites down on tender skin, and Felix, quiet Felix, doesn't even attempt to stifle his sharp cry as pain and pleasure meld together. There's no point; the room is empty... and even if it were full, he is Sylvain's, and Sylvain is his, and everyone knows it.
And they have been apart for quite some time, haven't they. There's a want beneath this need, which is ultimately what slowly, slowly, pulls Felix back to himself, world seemingly spinning around him as slips a hand up to Sylvain's cheek. There's a new, ah, addition, he's noticed, and he absently scratches through it while he collects himself enough to murmur:]
I did.
[For days and weeks and moons, all while Sylvain was off doing important work, Felix knows. Felix reads the reports—but he's selfish, in his quiet way. Misses Sylvain in so many ways, and so surely he can't be judged for wrapping his legs about Sylvain's, the heels of his boots pressing against strong calves as he slides his free hand as far down Sylvain's chest as he's able. How many layers is Sylvain wearing? Felix's normally deft fingers feel strangely thick, but he searches for openings, eager to feel the warmth of Sylvain's skin after so long. Fair's fair.
And Yet.]
You can't wait until we're in our room?
[Like he's not holding Sylvain in place. Listen, he's about two minutes away from being unable to say a damn thing, let him have this.]
no subject
...He'll workshop it.
Later, though, because Dimitri leaves the room and Felix's good sense follows? His focus narrowing to Sylvain and Sylvain alone as the heavy door clicks closed, as Sylvain all but surges forward. It is, in a very real sense, exactly what Felix wants; it certainly saves him from saying something shamefully stupid, because his mind suddenly feels so hazy, so sluggish, that finding the right words seems impossible. It's, far easier to simply tilt his head back and surrender to this kiss, pressing both hands flat against Sylvain's chest before he's lifted right off his feet—and yes, they're both well aware that he hates relinquishing control without some semblance of a fight, but...
But. Sylvain's hands are delightfully cool against him, and Felix instinctively tilts his head to the side, granting Sylvain access to the mark he'd made so very, very long ago. Hoping. Tempting, really—and of course Sylvain knows just what Felix needs. Doesn't he always? Of course Sylvain bites down on tender skin, and Felix, quiet Felix, doesn't even attempt to stifle his sharp cry as pain and pleasure meld together. There's no point; the room is empty... and even if it were full, he is Sylvain's, and Sylvain is his, and everyone knows it.
And they have been apart for quite some time, haven't they. There's a want beneath this need, which is ultimately what slowly, slowly, pulls Felix back to himself, world seemingly spinning around him as slips a hand up to Sylvain's cheek. There's a new, ah, addition, he's noticed, and he absently scratches through it while he collects himself enough to murmur:]
I did.
[For days and weeks and moons, all while Sylvain was off doing important work, Felix knows. Felix reads the reports—but he's selfish, in his quiet way. Misses Sylvain in so many ways, and so surely he can't be judged for wrapping his legs about Sylvain's, the heels of his boots pressing against strong calves as he slides his free hand as far down Sylvain's chest as he's able. How many layers is Sylvain wearing? Felix's normally deft fingers feel strangely thick, but he searches for openings, eager to feel the warmth of Sylvain's skin after so long. Fair's fair.
And Yet.]
You can't wait until we're in our room?
[Like he's not holding Sylvain in place. Listen, he's about two minutes away from being unable to say a damn thing, let him have this.]