[ the thing about triple moons is that he actually needs to prepare for it now. he's twenty-four going on twenty-five and like, yeah, he's not exactly old per se, but he's not nineteen anymore, either. maybe it's being on the front lines for five years straight without a day of reprieve that's to blame, or maybe it really is his age starting to catch up to him—sylvain tries not to analyze it too much. but on the week all the moons align, he goes out to get what him and felix need to last them for the duration of it and, well. they get to it.
anyway, it's the second day and they haven't moved very much outside of their shared flat, and while sylvain is honestly completely fine with lounging in bed with felix the whole day, even he's starting to get a little restless. so he leans down after a while, kisses the top of felix's head, the base of one fluffy ear, and then his forehead, gently extricating himself from the tangle of limbs before making his way to the bathroom. they got a claw foot tub at sylvain's insistence, obscenely and unnecessarily ornate, large enough to fit at least four people comfortably. it cost him no small amount of chroma but he doesn't remember the last time he actually indulged in anything for himself, during and after the war, and really, why shouldn't he? especially if it means he can be more comfortable during sanguis.
so here he is, settled on the edge of the tub as he draws a bath, a collection of fragrant oils lined up on the side as he picks the ones felix might like—sage maybe, eucalyptus and the bright tang of orange softened with vanilla. he lights a few candles for good measure, just enough to warm up the space, the light bouncing off the scales scattered in clusters of red and gold all over his body, turning the fins sticking up from his elbows and shins translucent and delicate. he's sure felix will follow soon enough, and when he does, he'll reach out for him, pulling him close to nuzzle and mouth along the delicate rise of his collarbone. ]
[Of course Felix follows. Not, like, right away; an empty bed means plenty of room to stretch, and so stretch he does, blinking away his drowsiness in the process—because he's been dozing for who knows how long, lulled into a half-conscious state by both Sylvain's warmth and the steady thrum of Sylvain's heart. It isn't like him to laze about, much less nap, but...
...Well. The moons in this world seemingly turn everything topsy-turvy, and Felix has... come to terms with it. Made his peace with it, because despite the stupid, stupid changes—his fluffy tail, his too-long ears, his overwhelming want—there are certainly worse fates, worse places to be.
After all, Sylvain is here, too.
It's the thought of Sylvain that ultimately spurs him to sit up, absentmindedly scratching around the base an ear as he takes in the distant roar of water and considers just how tangled his hair must be. ...Hmm. Best not to think about it; instead, Felix forces himself to his feet, hurriedly popping his back before crossing the room to quietly slip through the open door. Maybe some part of him is hoping for just a few seconds to admire Sylvain? To allow his eyes to drift down Sylvain's form, greedily soaking in every detail—but Sylvain holds out his arms and Felix can't help but to step into them, his fingers finding their way to that gloriously messy red hair of their own accord. Affection is easier, like this. Sylvain's lips against his skin send a shiver down his spine, but he smooth's Sylvain's hair back, leaning closer to press a kiss to his temple.]
Mm— [A quiet hum, before Felix presses another lingering kiss to (sweaty) skin.] Now you want to take a bath.
[How long have then been going at it, anyway? Who's keeping track.]
[ who's keeping track? certainly not sylvain, but with the pleasant ache in his limbs, he could likely hazard a guess. and it's only just the second day but honestly, even without the moons pushing him along, he could never keep his hands off of felix. everything here is just an added incentive, really. ]
I thought you'd might want to clean up a little, [ he says, low against his skin, one hand reaching up to slip his fingers into felix's hair and gently combing them through. it's messy but attractive, undone in a way felix rarely lets anyone bear witness to, except for moments like these, when it's just the two of them. and it's no secret that sylvain likes that, that he relishes being the only one to see him like this—soft and warm, loose and pliant and leaning into his touches rather than pushing away. ] You still got me for the rest of the night, you know.
[ and the day after that, and the day after that as well. they have all the time in the world now, and he trails his free hand down felix's side, down the notches of his spine until he can curl his fingers gently into the soft fluff of his tail. ]
[It will be nice to feel clean again, if only for, like, an hour, but the biggest draw is undoubtedly Sylvain himself? Sylvain fussing with his hair, Sylvain smoothing fingers down his side—and Sylvain touching his unfairly sensitive tail, which sends Felix's breath hitching as he instinctively arches his back. Just a bit! Just far enough to press into that touch while he dips his head, noses against Sylvain's cheek, because while he's rude and stubborn and fifty other things, when Iris comes into play... ah, well. He can't help but to be this openly affectionate. Responsive.
And as frustrating as it can be, Felix knows that Sylvain likes it; that makes it impossible for Felix to truly hate it, but it's one of those things he'll keep close and quiet! Something to pretend doesn't matter, just like he's currently pretending his face isn't warm, and that he didn't just encourage Sylvain to do more, more, more.]
I know, [he half-sighs, half-grumbles, because "sweetheart" is one of those things they both know he likes—but he must pretend that he doesn't.] Where else would you go?
[When he's here, needy in the worst—best?—way. But anyway: there's a patch of scales high on Sylvain's shoulder? Beautiful, in the dim light, and Felix gazes down at them through half-lidded eyes, soaking in the sight of them before he bends to kiss them, as well. They should climb into the tub, at some point, but when have they ever done anything the easy way...]
[ thank the goddess for iris, really, because sylvain can't get enough of openly affectionate felix. it's not that felix isn't on any other day, no; sylvain thinks they've come some ways since the middle of the war, where the years have softened them a little bit by bit, dulled their edges some. it isn't just sylvain kissing him in the mornings now, sometimes he wakes up to felix half-sprawled over him and slowly kissing him awake, soft brushes of his lips that gently tug sylvain back to consciousness. sometimes he wonders if this would feel the same back home, if felix would nose against his cheek like this; if he would allow sylvain to draw him even closer, palms covering the width of his hips. ]
Mm, there's some places. [ he hums at the press of felix's lips against his scales, lets his fingers tease around the base of his tail and fluffing it a little. it's cute, just like felix's ears that he always finds himself idly playing with, brushing through the soft fur, a contrast to his silky hair. ] But they don't matter if you aren't there.
[ sylvain would always follow him, that hasn't changed since they were kids and that won't change now. and if felix is content to stay right here, perched against sylvain on the edge of the tub, then far be it for sylvain to complain about that. not when he can tilt his head up to kiss one of those ears, savoring the feeling of the soft down against his lips. ]
[It's honestly unfair, the things Sylvain does to him? The way Sylvain knows what to touch, what to kiss, what to say, all with such perfect timing that Felix doesn't merely shiver; Felix shudders, a full-body movement that sends him turning his head, shamelessly nuzzling into the crook of Sylvain's neck. Yes, he's sensitive. The light pressure against the base of his tail is all that sends him shifting his hips, chasing something that isn't quite there, but it's hearing Sylvain give voice to what should be obvious that really gets him. The simple affirmation that Sylvain wants to be where he is...]
Sylvain—
[There's so much packed into those two syllables? Love and want and need, all while one of the hands in Sylvain's hair drifts down, blindly cupping the side of his face; the other tugs at Sylvain's hair, not roughly, but just enough to get his attention. Hey. Hi. The world is a hazy, hazy place, and yet Felix forces himself to focus, to press his too-warm face against the column of Sylvain's throat as he murmurs:]
Get in.
[Before we can't, that tone implies, because they're playing a dangerous game here.]
[ he tracks that shudder, feels the way it rolls through felix where they're pressed together and it makes him smile against his ear, a little toothily but just as fond. this is not their first triple moon or even felix's first iris cycle, but sylvain doesn't think he'll ever get tired of all the little reactions he coaxes out of him. felix is so invitingly warm, and sylvain would be content to stay like this, tucked up against each other with felix's warm breath on his skin.
but there's that shift of his hips, a subtle thing that makes sylvain's fingers tighten around him, or maybe it's the way he tugs at his hair. he hums an affirmative, pulls back just enough so he can lean down and catch felix's lips with his, kissing him slow and indulgent as he slides his hands down from felix's hips to his knee. he circles them back up, slipping his palms up the back of his thighs to cup the curve just under his bottom and lifting him as he stands. the water is warm where it laps against his legs, and sylvain breathes something between a sigh and a groan into felix's mouth when he settles in the tub. ]
Good?
[ there's more than enough space to accommodate them, but sylvain rearranges himself so that felix can fit more comfortably in his lap, his hands coming back around to hold him close against his chest. ]
[Sylvain picking him up is usually met with a grumbled protest, at least. Felix threatening to run Sylvain through, blah, blah, blah—but Felix is too lost in this kiss to care, only offering a mildly surprised noise when he's hoisted right off his feet. There is a clear purpose to this move? One that Felix wholeheartedly supports, and let it be known that it's less about getting into the tub and more about continuing this languid kiss. He could lose himself in this.
He nearly does lose himself in this, even as the sensation of sinking into warm water reminds him that he has limbs to adjust. It isn't the first time Felix has been silently—silently—grateful for Sylvain's ridiculous purchase; there's plenty of room on either side of Sylvain's lap for Felix to tuck his legs, and while it would be better, perhaps, to shift about, pressing his back to Sylvain's chest? Again: it's all about this kiss, all about Felix swallowing every breath as both hands come to rest atop Sylvain's shoulders.]
Better, [he agrees, all but murmuring the words against Sylvain's lips as he fully settles in his lap. Lazy.] Warm.
[It's a cold, cold world out there, thanks to the wonders of air conditioning. The parts of Felix not submerged in water are still feeling its effects, but he busies himself with kissing the corner of Sylvain's mouth, then moving down to his jaw, gently grazing his teeth along the line of bone. Hongry.]
[ it's soft, the way felix keeps kissing him, the way he barely moves away from sylvain's mouth even as he moves to straddle him. and sylvain, ever accommodating, shifts to make it easier—resettling his arms around felix's waist, hands skimming down his back beneath the water to wrap around felix's thighs again, tugging him up higher on his lap. felix is a pleasant weight against him, and like always, he finds himself savoring how good it feels to hold him like this, how he fits so perfectly against him and in his arms. maybe it's the chroma, or maybe it's just the consequence of years of repressed feelings that he'd never allowed to surface until now—maybe it's both, he doesn't really know. what he does know is that he's once again glad he insisted on getting this stupidly ornate bathtub, and equally glad that felix is just as willing to stay like this for as long as he is. ]
Yeah? [ he chuckles, tips his head up to give felix more room to mouth along his jaw, fingers squeezing his thigh gently. everything about this place is so indulgent, from the bathtub to the air conditioning; sylvain almost feels guilty, in a way, for taking advantage of it as much as he has. but that's the last thing on his mind at the moment, too busy being distracted by felix's lips and teeth, too busy sliding his hands back up his thighs to cup the curve of his ass. casually copping a feel, nbd. ] I thought you might be.
[ and if his voice dips a little lower, it definitely doesn't have anything to do with the way he spreads his fingers over felix's skin, thumbs slotting into the crease at his groin. ]
Tell me where else you're cold, babe. [ a lingering kiss to his brow. ] I'll warm you right up.
[There's no real reason to rush? It's only, what, the middle of the afternoon; they've certainly earned a rest, and yet there is, as ever, a hunger where Sylvain is concerned. Iris adds an element of necessity to it, sure, but the simple truth of the matter is that Felix always wants Sylvain in some way, shape, or form. Sometimes that want is quieted by Sylvain shooting him a quick, fond grin, letting him know that everything is fine, and other times it's quieted like this: Sylvain's hands slotting into place so, so easily as he tilts his head back, granting Felix easier access to this most vulnerable part of him.
Which Felix, Iris-addled though he may be, takes full advantage of, ducking down a bit farther to suck a fresh bruise to the (mottled) surface of Sylvain's throat. No teeth, this time; just Felix splaying his hand against the opposite side of Sylvain's neck, intent on adding a new color to this collage he's been working on for the past few days. It's art.
And focusing on something prevents him from losing himself entirely. The timbre of Sylvain's voice sent his head spinning, so stupidly, but as he swipes his tongue over this new mark, he's recovered enough of himself to hum before offering the ever-helpful:]
Figure it out yourself.
[A challenge, of course. A weak one, given that they're pressed so close together—and that Felix is half-hard against Sylvain's stomach, a fact made all the more obvious by both the experimental twitch of Felix's hips and the quiet sigh it produces. Hardly ideal, but, like, hardly terrible.]
[ who's the insatiable one now? is what he thinks, what he said the first time they dealt with iris and the triple moons together. and while he doesn't say it, it's there in the curve of his smile, in the way he relaxes further against the side of the tub and lets felix suck another mark among the ones he's already sporting on his throat. felix is a biter and it didn't surprise sylvain in the least when he discovered it, and like, maybe he's into it—a lot into it, if the way he encourages him is any indication. it's more than just the fact that it feels good, but there's something about felix marking him up, staking his claim where everyone can see that drives him a little crazy. for as much as sylvain is possessive of felix, sanguis or no, he's never had that sort of attention directed to himself; the idea that anyone could want him enough, let alone felix, is something that still catches him by surprise, even if it may not be as frequent as it was before.
and he should have expected that answer too, a crooked grin on his face when he looks back down at felix again, lashes fluttering as felix's cock drags across his stomach, the sensation dulled a little by the water. he can't even judge, not when his own twitches just beneath him, pressed against the seam of his ass, and it never ceases to amaze him how felix always makes him go from zero to sixty in no time at all. ]
Hmm, [ sylvain leans in, trailing open mouthed kisses down the side of his neck, more lips than teeth. he pauses at the base of felix's neck, nipping at a dark bruise he'd left near his nape earlier, biting down as if to renew it. ] You feel pretty warm here... maybe somewhere else, then.
[ there's a little dish of soap next to the oils that he reaches for, rubbing between his hands to get a thick lather going before setting his hands on felix's shoulders. there's no rush, despite the heat and the want and everything else just simmering between them, and sylvain likes this too: simply touching felix, running soapy hands over his skin, massaging out the little knots he feels along his back, sliding his fingers down his chest to tweak a nipple. he avoids his cock in favor of returning to his lower back, rubbing firm fingers along his spine just shy of his tail. ]
How am I doing? [ it's murmured against felix's lips, pressing a trail of kisses across to the point of his jaw as his fingers drift lower past the little ball of fluff, dipping into the soft skin between his cheeks. ] Am I close?
[Felix is a fighter, as they both well know. Generally too stubborn for his own good—but Sylvain bites down on that bruise and Felix surrenders, the last bit of tension eking from his body as he stifles a low moan in the crook of Sylvain's neck. He likes to bite, yes, and yet there are times when he doesn't mind being bitten? Another thing he could possibly blame on the Iris moon, even though it's not, mmm, entirely true...
...He's not thinking about it. He allows his mind to go perfectly, blessedly blank, instead, pressing his forehead to Sylvain's shoulder while hands wander over every inch of him. It's overwhelming, in a way that should be annoying; like, he's always hated others doing the simplest of things for him, always hated the thought of anyone thinking he isn't capable, but there's love in the way Sylvain slowly explores his back. Love, and clear lust. His breathing has picked up by the time Sylvain's fingers work their way back down to the base of his spine; he's so very close to panting as he lifts his head, cheeks flushed, pupils blown with clear want despite his half-lidded gaze. Sylvain has done nothing, which means that Sylvain has done so, so much.
But Felix could be dying in the desert and still give Sylvain hell for offering him a sip of water, hence the pointed pause as he tries, tries, to get his breathing back under control.]
Are you? [he murmurs back, pressing a kiss to Sylvain's bottom lip as he mirrors his earlier movement, arching right back into Sylvain's touch. It sends water sloshing awfully close to the lip of the tub, but Felix pays that absolutely no mind.] What do you think?
[One hand is still pressed to the side of Sylvain's neck; he slips it a bit farther up, fingertips resting, feather-light, against the line of Sylvain's jaw as he comes in for another slow, deep kiss.]
[ felix is a fighter in every aspect and sylvain didn't think that would change even in bed. he's rude and snappy sometimes (most of the time), and sylvain has always loved that; there isn't anything he doesn't love about felix, really, if he's being honest. what would normally turn people away, sylvain reaches for: that caustic tone, the stubborn push-pull of always trying to get the upper hand, yet it's less of a competition and more driving home the idea that he isn't going anywhere. felix can push and push and sylvain would still remain, because at the end of the day, he's just as stubborn as felix is. perhaps even more.
and so, despite what felix says, as sylvain openly admires his flushed cheeks and bitten-red lips, pupils blown so wide with desire only a thin ring of amber remains—he eats it up, all that attention directed solely at him, the knowledge that he's the cause of it all sending heat dripping down his spine. his arms and hands track the slow undulation of felix's hips, the arch and dip of his body against his fingers, a silent urge for more. it's a contrast to the soft touch at his jaw, the deeper, hungrier kiss that sylvain melts into, and he presses a little more firmly into his skin, a little more urgent as his fingers find that puckered hole, looser now from how long he'd spent stretching him open earlier. ]
Mm, I'm thinking that maybe you aren't cold at all. [ his voice sounds rougher when he pulls away, leaning down to sink his teeth into the sharp jut of felix's collarbone. just enough to leave a subtle imprint, another bruise for him to find later. ] You're so warm, Fe.
[ and he indulges by rolling his hips up, pressing their groins together. he rubs the pad of his finger against his hole rather than sinking it in like he knows they both want to. and maybe he's just prolonging the inevitable, but felix is good like this, hot and inviting and wanting in all the right ways, and sylvain can't get enough. ]
[Attending this meeting is an objectively terrible idea, given Felix's, ah, current condition. Or, well: Felix's condition-to-be, which has, as always, picked the worst possible time to rear its ugly head. Felix is stuck in Fhirdiad, for one thing; Sylvain is stick in Sreng, for another, so when his heat hits—and oh, it's going to hit—Felix will be spending the better part of a week in a familiar, yet unfamiliar room. Alone.
Wonderful.
But rather than think about that, Felix throws himself into his work with the single-minded focus he's known for? Refuses to allow Dimitri to attend a single thing without him, although there is something, mmm, decidedly annoying about the way the other people in the room tend to avoid coming any closer to him than is absolutely necessary. Even Dimitri makes a point of sitting farther away from him than usual, jaw clenched as he listens to his other advisors break down plans and proposals. Stupid. Stupid, Felix thinks. As though he's never been around someone coming into heat. As though Felix is in the thick of it instead of, like, a day or so away from it becoming truly problematic. As though the mark on Felix's neck, made all the more obvious by both the way Felix's hair is swept back into a braid and the loose-collared tunic he's wearing, doesn't advertise that he's untouchable.
So there's really no reason he shouldn't be sitting at this table with the rest of them, shuffling through his papers and piping up to shoot down any and all foolishness. He's warmer than usual, yes; his face is faintly flushed, and it's all but impossible for him to sit in his chair without fidgeting every five or so minutes, but he can still think. And truth be told, the fact that everyone is more or less avoiding him comes in handy, at times. He doesn't have to elbow his way through the advisors when they all stand around the war table to peer down at a map before breaking for the evening; he is, in fact, given a wide berth as he studies the proposed improvements to something or another, and that's why he barely notices the page that comes hurrying into the room. Let the others handle something, for once.
And they do, so far as he can tell—but then there's a whisper that makes its way through the assembled idiots? Something about Margrave Gautier, which sends Felix looking over his shoulder at last, frowning as people hurriedly avoid making eye contact. His first thought, naturally, is that something has happened. Sylvain has been in Sreng for... too long, by his estimation, and he isn't due to return for some time...
...But Dimitri is smiling. Dimitri looks almost relieved, honestly, and Felix puzzles over that for all of a second before the door opens once more. There's another page, bowing low as he enters the room, and behind him—ah. Ah. Felix's breath catches in his throat, one hand scrambling to grip the edge of the table, because how can he fail to recognize that blazing red hair. Sylvain! Sylvain, Sylvain, Sylvain.
Thank the goddess for Dimitri, in this moment; like, he automatically moves forward to take his friend's hand, pull him into a hug of welcome as the members of his council hurriedly gather their things, and all Felix can do is stand by the table and stare, wide-eyed, as so many things seemingly hit him at once.]
[ felix is stuck in fhirdiad and sylvain is stuck in sreng—or was, at least until about half an hour ago when he finally rode back into faerghus, leaving the bitter cold behind for... more cold, really. but while faerghus' winters are unforgiving, sreng's is dry and bone-deep, and when he finally sees the warm light of the castle coming up in the distance, it's enough to spur him to push a little further, a little faster. there's a fireplace and a warm bed, as well as an equally warm body waiting for him.
it's not late enough for the court to retire for the night just yet; sylvain has missed dinner, though he knows it's because no one was actually expecting him so soon. he was due to come back a few days later, but peace talks went a little more smoothly this time, thanks in no small part to a new agreement sylvain had spent a better part of two months drafting and rewriting and starting from scratch. there's still more work to be done, more improvements to be ironed out and areas to be rebuilt, but progress has been made, enough that sylvain finally allowed himself to return home. and if that just so happened to coincide with felix's heat cycle, well. coincidences aren't impossible.
he arrives with very little pomp and circumstance, which is exactly the way he wants it, and gets waylaid by a page halfway to the rooms he and felix are given. apparently, felix isn't in his study like sylvain had originally thought, and so he follows the page to the war room, finding himself enjoying this change after all the closer they get to their destination. what better way to surprise felix that to show up unannounced to his meeting? just picturing felix's look of surprise is enough to make him grin out of nowhere, but absolutely nothing prepares him for what he finds the moment the page opens the door and announces his arrival.
the scent hits him first like a physical blow, something warm and spicy and so felix, as close to home as he'll ever be. his eyes catch felix's first before he even sees dimitri, nostrils flaring just slightly as he takes a deeper breath, trying not to stumble into dimitri's arms when he greets him with a warm welcome. sylvain somehow has the sense to carry on the brief conversation and once the rest of the advisors leave, dimitri cuts the rest of it short with a brief glance to felix, patting sylvain's shoulder on his way out and tells him to come by tomorrow or the day after for a round of chess. he's only half paying attention to it and once the door finally closes for good, sylvain covers the distance between him and felix in three long strides, crowding him against the table until he lifts him up to set him on the wooden surface, sliding between his legs as he pulls him forward for a hungry kiss. ]
You little minx, [ he murmurs into felix's mouth, hands sliding down his loose tunic to trace remnants of winter chill and snow along warm skin. one arm slides around his waist, pulling felix closer until he's seated on the edge of the table, pressed flush against sylvain's chest and yes, he's manhandling him and he knows felix hates it, but can anyone blame him in this moment? when felix smells the way he does, face flushed and wanting and all for him? ] You just couldn't have waited for me, could you?
[ he doesn't sound the least bit offended at all, pressing the curve of his grin against felix's skin, brushing his lips down his neck blindly until he finds that mark and sinks his teeth into it again. ]
[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.]
[ he laughs quietly against felix's skin, low and husky from the way felix wraps himself around him, the way he smells and the way he sounds and the way he feels. the hand on felix's hip slides down to curl around one of his thighs, pulls it higher up his waist until he can feel felix against his groin, even through the layers of clothing between them. it makes sylvain groan into the soft curve of his neck, latching once more onto the bite to suck on it just shy of too rough. both of them know he wouldn't care anyway, not when felix is like this—so warm and open, loose and pliant and needy. ]
Imagine my surprise when I was informed that Duke Fraldarius still insisted on being present for the council meeting. [ except it's not a surprise at all, considering how stubborn felix is. it's at least ninety percent of why sylvain loves him, and it shows in his smile when he finally lifts his head, leaning into the warmth of felix's fingers combing through the scruff that he's collected during his time away. ] There goes my dream of you lounging in bed, waiting to welcome me home.
[ but is he disappointed? no, not in the least. because nothing compares to the feeling of having felix in his arms no matter where they are, or the surge of affection and desire in his chest as felix paws at his clothes. he sheds the thick furs and fabrics one by one, until he's left in just his shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up to reveal the new thickness in his arms, the broader width of his chest and shoulders he'd gained in his time away. and the pause is enough to cool the urgency, just enough for him to press a softer kiss to felix's mouth, one hand sliding up the slender length of felix's back. ]
Hey. [ his thumb smooths over felix's cheek, brushing gently over the swell of his lower lip. ] I missed you.
["Just shy of too rough" is precisely how Felix likes most things—but stupidly enough, it's Sylvain's smile that threatens to undo him? The clear affection that shines through. He wants to take Sylvain's face in both hands and study that smile, bask in its warmth—and yet he also wants to bury his too-warm face in the crook of Sylvain's neck, because Sylvain is too bright to look at, sometimes. Staring at him is a little like staring straight at the sun.
But Sylvain looks away first, hurriedly shedding layer after layer, and Felix's eyes roam over every visible inch of him before he finds himself distracted by yet another kiss. Slow and sweet, this time. Miles away from that opening bite, and yet Felix is pleased all the same, rolling his hips forward while ignoring the many, many reasons why they should put this on pause. A servant could come in to clean, or to stoke the fire. A council member could come back to pick up something they left behind, though Felix doubts any of them are truly that stupid. And the simple thought of falling back into their bed—
...Well. It would be nice, to welcome Sylvain back to the space they sometimes share; it will be nice, when they make it there, but Felix hears that short, simple sentence and Felix is gone, gone, gone, eyes closing on a sigh. I missed you. Such an obvious thing, but Felix abandons Sylvain's beard in favor of wrapping his fingers about Sylvain's wrist? Brings Sylvain's hand up, all so that he can press a lingering kiss to the center of that lance-roughened palm. Actions speak louder than words, in Felix's opinion; the meaning of this should be perfectly clear, and yet, after a quiet hum, Felix offers an even quieter:]
I missed you, too. [Which Sylvain should very well know, just like Sylvain should very well know that Felix is usually loath to say what is patently obvious. This is a concession—and it's followed by Felix cracking open his eyes, forcing himself to hold Sylvain's gaze as he brings that thumb back down to brush against his lips.] Welcome back.
[A hint of a smirk, then, before Felix sucks Sylvain's finger into his mouth, swiping his tongue along the pad of it. There's no lounging in bed... but there's this, at least. Felix goading Sylvain into wrecking him on this table.]
[ it will be nice when they make it there, if sylvain can keep his hands away from felix long enough for them to reach their rooms. but why wait when they have some measure of privacy now? there's no one here except for him and felix, and sure, they run the risk of getting caught at any moment, but isn't that part of the thrill? it's like he's nineteen again and back at the monastery, sneaking around with his girl of the week, taking advantage of all the little nooks and crannies of the grounds that he'd discovered over time. but this is not the monastery and felix isn't some girl he'd bedded and then forgot about, someone he'd allowed himself to feel a small measure of happiness with before he'd ended up punishing them both for it. it feels like a lifetime ago, feels like from another life entirely, as felix rolls his hips forward, and his hand that had slid back down to felix's flank tracks the slow undulation.
but more importantly, sylvain doesn't expect him to say it back. the kiss to his palm is achingly sweet, and they both know how felix has always preferred action over words. but it's even sweeter when he says it anyway, quiet and soft, like the way he'd said i'll miss you the night before sylvain was to depart. it's what kept sylvain warm on those cold and lonely nights, dreaming of felix and his midnight hair and amber eyes; this memory too, will be kept along with the rest: felix catching his gaze, the brief slant of his smirk before he parts those kiss bruised lips, drawing his thumb into his mouth, the velvet caress of his tongue making sylvain suck in a sharp breath as he carefully presses down against it.
so it works. sylvain's mouth goes dry and his mind turns blissfully blank, and suddenly, it doesn't matter that they're still in the war room with felix perched on the large table. nothing matters except that felix is wearing too many clothes and sylvain needs to taste him. he pulls his thumb away, replacing it with his tongue as his fingers curl into the waistband of felix's trousers, tugging him forward and all the way to the edge of the table by it before unlacing the ties. he sinks down to his knees, pulls felix's legs over his shoulders as he finds his cock, nuzzling the base of it and scratching up his inner thighs with his beard in the process as he kisses the soft crease where hip meets groin. and when he finally gets his mouth on him, he closes his eyes, taking him all the way down until felix nudges at the back of his throat. ]
[A reaction is expected, of course, but the speed with which Sylvain moves catches Felix by surprise? Sends his breath hitching in his throat just before Sylvain's mouth crashes against his own, because oh, that's good—but Sylvain kneeling before him is even better. Intoxicating, really, and Felix watches him, hungrily, through half-lidded eyes, lips parting in a whine as the contrast between the gentleness of that kiss and the roughness of Sylvain's beard against sensitive skin sends the last coherent thoughts racing from his mind. It's been so, so long since he's been touched.
And it's been so, so long since Sylvain has done this, swallowing him in one smooth motion, and Felix's eyes flutter closed. He just needs... a moment. A second. Goddess above.]
Sylvain—
[A breathy, almost wounded noise as Felix digs his heels into Sylvain's upper back, resisting the urge to buck into that warmth, that pressure. It's shameful, the way his thighs tremble with effort—but he ignores it. Focuses on twining the fingers of one hand through that shock of red hair as he slides his other hand behind him, knocking something over in the process. An inkwell, by the sound of it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this, and so Felix tightens his grip, wordlessly encouraging Sylvain to continue.]
[ felix digs his heels into his back and sylvain shuffles forward on his knees, leaning in and framing felix's hips with his arms, setting his elbows on his thighs to hold him in place. it's been a long time since he'd taken felix in his mouth, an even longer time since he'd heard those breathy noises, louder now as they echo in the quiet of the room. felix's fingers in his hair feels especially good as he lifts his head, slowly pulling off with a wet sound to tilt his head briefly into that touch. ]
Missed you, [ he says again, voice low and raspy, replacing his mouth temporarily with his hand. his fingers drag spit and slick down felix's cock, pressing his thumb gently into the slit as he sighs, as if this was the only thing he's ever wanted. and maybe it is. ] Missed how you taste.
[ he misses those whines too, leaning down again to coax more of them out while he sucks a bruise into felix's inner thigh, rubs his stubble along the soft skin there and just below his cock, soothing the pink marks leftover with his tongue. he's almost painfully hard in his trousers but he doesn't care, going back to felix's cock to take him in again, mouthing gently along the length. he'll take him apart on the table, fill the room with his scent, mark up felix's ass and thighs until he won't be able to sit properly; until every time he passes by this very room, he'll press his thighs together just from the memory of it. ]
[So this is how Felix dies, then: perched atop a table, breath coming in short, sharp bursts as he involuntarily squeezes his thighs around Sylvain's neck. It's uncomfortable, probably. Felix is somewhat aware of this much as his eyes slide open once again, focusing on Sylvain's face as Sylvain speaks, and damn, but if the sound of Sylvain's voice doesn't drag him even closer to the edge. He's been alone for weeks, now, and while there have been desperate nights he's worked fingers into himself and thought of this, of Sylvain taking him apart before painstakingly piecing him back together, nothing compares to the sight of Sylvain on his knees? To the feeling of Sylvain's beard scraping against oh-so sensitive skin, which contrasts so, so nicely with the plush warmth of Sylvain's tongue. It's— he's—
...Listen: Felix has always been stupidly sensitive. Get him in the bedroom—strip away his defenses, layer by stubborn layer—and it's amazing, how little will leave such a proud man a twitching, gasping mess. The key is memorizing what, exactly, draws the most minute reactions from him—and as Sylvain has spent years exploring every inch of Felix's body, it stands to reason that Sylvain knows precisely how much pressure to apply, precisely when a simple flick of his wrist will send a shiver racing up Felix's spine. It's only fair.
Except it isn't fair, not at all, but all that Felix can do is tilt his head back before the quietest of moans escapes him.]
I can't—
[—hold back, he means, because it's been so long, and Sylvain is so good, and Felix is only human, hence the noticeable twitch of his cock. A few more minutes of this and he's done—and he'll be ready to come again in far less time than he normally would, thanks to his impending heat, but it's the principle of the matter? The embarrassment that is coming down Sylvain's throat so soon after being reunited, which sends him yanking at Sylvain's hair even as an all-too familiar heat pools low within him. It feels as though he's pulled taut as a bowstring; he's set to either come with a cry or collapse in on himself, if Sylvain is cruel enough to pull away. It has been... the longest separation, do not at him.]
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moisturizer2020-05-09 05:10 pm
sharkvain time
anyway, it's the second day and they haven't moved very much outside of their shared flat, and while sylvain is honestly completely fine with lounging in bed with felix the whole day, even he's starting to get a little restless. so he leans down after a while, kisses the top of felix's head, the base of one fluffy ear, and then his forehead, gently extricating himself from the tangle of limbs before making his way to the bathroom. they got a claw foot tub at sylvain's insistence, obscenely and unnecessarily ornate, large enough to fit at least four people comfortably. it cost him no small amount of chroma but he doesn't remember the last time he actually indulged in anything for himself, during and after the war, and really, why shouldn't he? especially if it means he can be more comfortable during sanguis.
so here he is, settled on the edge of the tub as he draws a bath, a collection of fragrant oils lined up on the side as he picks the ones felix might like—sage maybe, eucalyptus and the bright tang of orange softened with vanilla. he lights a few candles for good measure, just enough to warm up the space, the light bouncing off the scales scattered in clusters of red and gold all over his body, turning the fins sticking up from his elbows and shins translucent and delicate. he's sure felix will follow soon enough, and when he does, he'll reach out for him, pulling him close to nuzzle and mouth along the delicate rise of his collarbone. ]
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...Well. The moons in this world seemingly turn everything topsy-turvy, and Felix has... come to terms with it. Made his peace with it, because despite the stupid, stupid changes—his fluffy tail, his too-long ears, his overwhelming want—there are certainly worse fates, worse places to be.
After all, Sylvain is here, too.
It's the thought of Sylvain that ultimately spurs him to sit up, absentmindedly scratching around the base an ear as he takes in the distant roar of water and considers just how tangled his hair must be. ...Hmm. Best not to think about it; instead, Felix forces himself to his feet, hurriedly popping his back before crossing the room to quietly slip through the open door. Maybe some part of him is hoping for just a few seconds to admire Sylvain? To allow his eyes to drift down Sylvain's form, greedily soaking in every detail—but Sylvain holds out his arms and Felix can't help but to step into them, his fingers finding their way to that gloriously messy red hair of their own accord. Affection is easier, like this. Sylvain's lips against his skin send a shiver down his spine, but he smooth's Sylvain's hair back, leaning closer to press a kiss to his temple.]
Mm— [A quiet hum, before Felix presses another lingering kiss to (sweaty) skin.] Now you want to take a bath.
[How long have then been going at it, anyway? Who's keeping track.]
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I thought you'd might want to clean up a little, [ he says, low against his skin, one hand reaching up to slip his fingers into felix's hair and gently combing them through. it's messy but attractive, undone in a way felix rarely lets anyone bear witness to, except for moments like these, when it's just the two of them. and it's no secret that sylvain likes that, that he relishes being the only one to see him like this—soft and warm, loose and pliant and leaning into his touches rather than pushing away. ] You still got me for the rest of the night, you know.
[ and the day after that, and the day after that as well. they have all the time in the world now, and he trails his free hand down felix's side, down the notches of his spine until he can curl his fingers gently into the soft fluff of his tail. ]
I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.
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And as frustrating as it can be, Felix knows that Sylvain likes it; that makes it impossible for Felix to truly hate it, but it's one of those things he'll keep close and quiet! Something to pretend doesn't matter, just like he's currently pretending his face isn't warm, and that he didn't just encourage Sylvain to do more, more, more.]
I know, [he half-sighs, half-grumbles, because "sweetheart" is one of those things they both know he likes—but he must pretend that he doesn't.] Where else would you go?
[When he's here, needy in the worst—best?—way. But anyway: there's a patch of scales high on Sylvain's shoulder? Beautiful, in the dim light, and Felix gazes down at them through half-lidded eyes, soaking in the sight of them before he bends to kiss them, as well. They should climb into the tub, at some point, but when have they ever done anything the easy way...]
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Mm, there's some places. [ he hums at the press of felix's lips against his scales, lets his fingers tease around the base of his tail and fluffing it a little. it's cute, just like felix's ears that he always finds himself idly playing with, brushing through the soft fur, a contrast to his silky hair. ] But they don't matter if you aren't there.
[ sylvain would always follow him, that hasn't changed since they were kids and that won't change now. and if felix is content to stay right here, perched against sylvain on the edge of the tub, then far be it for sylvain to complain about that. not when he can tilt his head up to kiss one of those ears, savoring the feeling of the soft down against his lips. ]
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Sylvain—
[There's so much packed into those two syllables? Love and want and need, all while one of the hands in Sylvain's hair drifts down, blindly cupping the side of his face; the other tugs at Sylvain's hair, not roughly, but just enough to get his attention. Hey. Hi. The world is a hazy, hazy place, and yet Felix forces himself to focus, to press his too-warm face against the column of Sylvain's throat as he murmurs:]
Get in.
[Before we can't, that tone implies, because they're playing a dangerous game here.]
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but there's that shift of his hips, a subtle thing that makes sylvain's fingers tighten around him, or maybe it's the way he tugs at his hair. he hums an affirmative, pulls back just enough so he can lean down and catch felix's lips with his, kissing him slow and indulgent as he slides his hands down from felix's hips to his knee. he circles them back up, slipping his palms up the back of his thighs to cup the curve just under his bottom and lifting him as he stands. the water is warm where it laps against his legs, and sylvain breathes something between a sigh and a groan into felix's mouth when he settles in the tub. ]
Good?
[ there's more than enough space to accommodate them, but sylvain rearranges himself so that felix can fit more comfortably in his lap, his hands coming back around to hold him close against his chest. ]
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He nearly does lose himself in this, even as the sensation of sinking into warm water reminds him that he has limbs to adjust. It isn't the first time Felix has been silently—silently—grateful for Sylvain's ridiculous purchase; there's plenty of room on either side of Sylvain's lap for Felix to tuck his legs, and while it would be better, perhaps, to shift about, pressing his back to Sylvain's chest? Again: it's all about this kiss, all about Felix swallowing every breath as both hands come to rest atop Sylvain's shoulders.]
Better, [he agrees, all but murmuring the words against Sylvain's lips as he fully settles in his lap. Lazy.] Warm.
[It's a cold, cold world out there, thanks to the wonders of air conditioning. The parts of Felix not submerged in water are still feeling its effects, but he busies himself with kissing the corner of Sylvain's mouth, then moving down to his jaw, gently grazing his teeth along the line of bone. Hongry.]
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Yeah? [ he chuckles, tips his head up to give felix more room to mouth along his jaw, fingers squeezing his thigh gently. everything about this place is so indulgent, from the bathtub to the air conditioning; sylvain almost feels guilty, in a way, for taking advantage of it as much as he has. but that's the last thing on his mind at the moment, too busy being distracted by felix's lips and teeth, too busy sliding his hands back up his thighs to cup the curve of his ass. casually copping a feel, nbd. ] I thought you might be.
[ and if his voice dips a little lower, it definitely doesn't have anything to do with the way he spreads his fingers over felix's skin, thumbs slotting into the crease at his groin. ]
Tell me where else you're cold, babe. [ a lingering kiss to his brow. ] I'll warm you right up.
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Which Felix, Iris-addled though he may be, takes full advantage of, ducking down a bit farther to suck a fresh bruise to the (mottled) surface of Sylvain's throat. No teeth, this time; just Felix splaying his hand against the opposite side of Sylvain's neck, intent on adding a new color to this collage he's been working on for the past few days. It's art.
And focusing on something prevents him from losing himself entirely. The timbre of Sylvain's voice sent his head spinning, so stupidly, but as he swipes his tongue over this new mark, he's recovered enough of himself to hum before offering the ever-helpful:]
Figure it out yourself.
[A challenge, of course. A weak one, given that they're pressed so close together—and that Felix is half-hard against Sylvain's stomach, a fact made all the more obvious by both the experimental twitch of Felix's hips and the quiet sigh it produces. Hardly ideal, but, like, hardly terrible.]
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and he should have expected that answer too, a crooked grin on his face when he looks back down at felix again, lashes fluttering as felix's cock drags across his stomach, the sensation dulled a little by the water. he can't even judge, not when his own twitches just beneath him, pressed against the seam of his ass, and it never ceases to amaze him how felix always makes him go from zero to sixty in no time at all. ]
Hmm, [ sylvain leans in, trailing open mouthed kisses down the side of his neck, more lips than teeth. he pauses at the base of felix's neck, nipping at a dark bruise he'd left near his nape earlier, biting down as if to renew it. ] You feel pretty warm here... maybe somewhere else, then.
[ there's a little dish of soap next to the oils that he reaches for, rubbing between his hands to get a thick lather going before setting his hands on felix's shoulders. there's no rush, despite the heat and the want and everything else just simmering between them, and sylvain likes this too: simply touching felix, running soapy hands over his skin, massaging out the little knots he feels along his back, sliding his fingers down his chest to tweak a nipple. he avoids his cock in favor of returning to his lower back, rubbing firm fingers along his spine just shy of his tail. ]
How am I doing? [ it's murmured against felix's lips, pressing a trail of kisses across to the point of his jaw as his fingers drift lower past the little ball of fluff, dipping into the soft skin between his cheeks. ] Am I close?
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...He's not thinking about it. He allows his mind to go perfectly, blessedly blank, instead, pressing his forehead to Sylvain's shoulder while hands wander over every inch of him. It's overwhelming, in a way that should be annoying; like, he's always hated others doing the simplest of things for him, always hated the thought of anyone thinking he isn't capable, but there's love in the way Sylvain slowly explores his back. Love, and clear lust. His breathing has picked up by the time Sylvain's fingers work their way back down to the base of his spine; he's so very close to panting as he lifts his head, cheeks flushed, pupils blown with clear want despite his half-lidded gaze. Sylvain has done nothing, which means that Sylvain has done so, so much.
But Felix could be dying in the desert and still give Sylvain hell for offering him a sip of water, hence the pointed pause as he tries, tries, to get his breathing back under control.]
Are you? [he murmurs back, pressing a kiss to Sylvain's bottom lip as he mirrors his earlier movement, arching right back into Sylvain's touch. It sends water sloshing awfully close to the lip of the tub, but Felix pays that absolutely no mind.] What do you think?
[One hand is still pressed to the side of Sylvain's neck; he slips it a bit farther up, fingertips resting, feather-light, against the line of Sylvain's jaw as he comes in for another slow, deep kiss.]
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and so, despite what felix says, as sylvain openly admires his flushed cheeks and bitten-red lips, pupils blown so wide with desire only a thin ring of amber remains—he eats it up, all that attention directed solely at him, the knowledge that he's the cause of it all sending heat dripping down his spine. his arms and hands track the slow undulation of felix's hips, the arch and dip of his body against his fingers, a silent urge for more. it's a contrast to the soft touch at his jaw, the deeper, hungrier kiss that sylvain melts into, and he presses a little more firmly into his skin, a little more urgent as his fingers find that puckered hole, looser now from how long he'd spent stretching him open earlier. ]
Mm, I'm thinking that maybe you aren't cold at all. [ his voice sounds rougher when he pulls away, leaning down to sink his teeth into the sharp jut of felix's collarbone. just enough to leave a subtle imprint, another bruise for him to find later. ] You're so warm, Fe.
[ and he indulges by rolling his hips up, pressing their groins together. he rubs the pad of his finger against his hole rather than sinking it in like he knows they both want to. and maybe he's just prolonging the inevitable, but felix is good like this, hot and inviting and wanting in all the right ways, and sylvain can't get enough. ]
don't look at me
Wonderful.
But rather than think about that, Felix throws himself into his work with the single-minded focus he's known for? Refuses to allow Dimitri to attend a single thing without him, although there is something, mmm, decidedly annoying about the way the other people in the room tend to avoid coming any closer to him than is absolutely necessary. Even Dimitri makes a point of sitting farther away from him than usual, jaw clenched as he listens to his other advisors break down plans and proposals. Stupid. Stupid, Felix thinks. As though he's never been around someone coming into heat. As though Felix is in the thick of it instead of, like, a day or so away from it becoming truly problematic. As though the mark on Felix's neck, made all the more obvious by both the way Felix's hair is swept back into a braid and the loose-collared tunic he's wearing, doesn't advertise that he's untouchable.
So there's really no reason he shouldn't be sitting at this table with the rest of them, shuffling through his papers and piping up to shoot down any and all foolishness. He's warmer than usual, yes; his face is faintly flushed, and it's all but impossible for him to sit in his chair without fidgeting every five or so minutes, but he can still think. And truth be told, the fact that everyone is more or less avoiding him comes in handy, at times. He doesn't have to elbow his way through the advisors when they all stand around the war table to peer down at a map before breaking for the evening; he is, in fact, given a wide berth as he studies the proposed improvements to something or another, and that's why he barely notices the page that comes hurrying into the room. Let the others handle something, for once.
And they do, so far as he can tell—but then there's a whisper that makes its way through the assembled idiots? Something about Margrave Gautier, which sends Felix looking over his shoulder at last, frowning as people hurriedly avoid making eye contact. His first thought, naturally, is that something has happened. Sylvain has been in Sreng for... too long, by his estimation, and he isn't due to return for some time...
...But Dimitri is smiling. Dimitri looks almost relieved, honestly, and Felix puzzles over that for all of a second before the door opens once more. There's another page, bowing low as he enters the room, and behind him—ah. Ah. Felix's breath catches in his throat, one hand scrambling to grip the edge of the table, because how can he fail to recognize that blazing red hair. Sylvain! Sylvain, Sylvain, Sylvain.
Thank the goddess for Dimitri, in this moment; like, he automatically moves forward to take his friend's hand, pull him into a hug of welcome as the members of his council hurriedly gather their things, and all Felix can do is stand by the table and stare, wide-eyed, as so many things seemingly hit him at once.]
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it's not late enough for the court to retire for the night just yet; sylvain has missed dinner, though he knows it's because no one was actually expecting him so soon. he was due to come back a few days later, but peace talks went a little more smoothly this time, thanks in no small part to a new agreement sylvain had spent a better part of two months drafting and rewriting and starting from scratch. there's still more work to be done, more improvements to be ironed out and areas to be rebuilt, but progress has been made, enough that sylvain finally allowed himself to return home. and if that just so happened to coincide with felix's heat cycle, well. coincidences aren't impossible.
he arrives with very little pomp and circumstance, which is exactly the way he wants it, and gets waylaid by a page halfway to the rooms he and felix are given. apparently, felix isn't in his study like sylvain had originally thought, and so he follows the page to the war room, finding himself enjoying this change after all the closer they get to their destination. what better way to surprise felix that to show up unannounced to his meeting? just picturing felix's look of surprise is enough to make him grin out of nowhere, but absolutely nothing prepares him for what he finds the moment the page opens the door and announces his arrival.
the scent hits him first like a physical blow, something warm and spicy and so felix, as close to home as he'll ever be. his eyes catch felix's first before he even sees dimitri, nostrils flaring just slightly as he takes a deeper breath, trying not to stumble into dimitri's arms when he greets him with a warm welcome. sylvain somehow has the sense to carry on the brief conversation and once the rest of the advisors leave, dimitri cuts the rest of it short with a brief glance to felix, patting sylvain's shoulder on his way out and tells him to come by tomorrow or the day after for a round of chess. he's only half paying attention to it and once the door finally closes for good, sylvain covers the distance between him and felix in three long strides, crowding him against the table until he lifts him up to set him on the wooden surface, sliding between his legs as he pulls him forward for a hungry kiss. ]
You little minx, [ he murmurs into felix's mouth, hands sliding down his loose tunic to trace remnants of winter chill and snow along warm skin. one arm slides around his waist, pulling felix closer until he's seated on the edge of the table, pressed flush against sylvain's chest and yes, he's manhandling him and he knows felix hates it, but can anyone blame him in this moment? when felix smells the way he does, face flushed and wanting and all for him? ] You just couldn't have waited for me, could you?
[ he doesn't sound the least bit offended at all, pressing the curve of his grin against felix's skin, brushing his lips down his neck blindly until he finds that mark and sinks his teeth into it again. ]
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...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.]
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[ he laughs quietly against felix's skin, low and husky from the way felix wraps himself around him, the way he smells and the way he sounds and the way he feels. the hand on felix's hip slides down to curl around one of his thighs, pulls it higher up his waist until he can feel felix against his groin, even through the layers of clothing between them. it makes sylvain groan into the soft curve of his neck, latching once more onto the bite to suck on it just shy of too rough. both of them know he wouldn't care anyway, not when felix is like this—so warm and open, loose and pliant and needy. ]
Imagine my surprise when I was informed that Duke Fraldarius still insisted on being present for the council meeting. [ except it's not a surprise at all, considering how stubborn felix is. it's at least ninety percent of why sylvain loves him, and it shows in his smile when he finally lifts his head, leaning into the warmth of felix's fingers combing through the scruff that he's collected during his time away. ] There goes my dream of you lounging in bed, waiting to welcome me home.
[ but is he disappointed? no, not in the least. because nothing compares to the feeling of having felix in his arms no matter where they are, or the surge of affection and desire in his chest as felix paws at his clothes. he sheds the thick furs and fabrics one by one, until he's left in just his shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up to reveal the new thickness in his arms, the broader width of his chest and shoulders he'd gained in his time away. and the pause is enough to cool the urgency, just enough for him to press a softer kiss to felix's mouth, one hand sliding up the slender length of felix's back. ]
Hey. [ his thumb smooths over felix's cheek, brushing gently over the swell of his lower lip. ] I missed you.
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But Sylvain looks away first, hurriedly shedding layer after layer, and Felix's eyes roam over every visible inch of him before he finds himself distracted by yet another kiss. Slow and sweet, this time. Miles away from that opening bite, and yet Felix is pleased all the same, rolling his hips forward while ignoring the many, many reasons why they should put this on pause. A servant could come in to clean, or to stoke the fire. A council member could come back to pick up something they left behind, though Felix doubts any of them are truly that stupid. And the simple thought of falling back into their bed—
...Well. It would be nice, to welcome Sylvain back to the space they sometimes share; it will be nice, when they make it there, but Felix hears that short, simple sentence and Felix is gone, gone, gone, eyes closing on a sigh. I missed you. Such an obvious thing, but Felix abandons Sylvain's beard in favor of wrapping his fingers about Sylvain's wrist? Brings Sylvain's hand up, all so that he can press a lingering kiss to the center of that lance-roughened palm. Actions speak louder than words, in Felix's opinion; the meaning of this should be perfectly clear, and yet, after a quiet hum, Felix offers an even quieter:]
I missed you, too. [Which Sylvain should very well know, just like Sylvain should very well know that Felix is usually loath to say what is patently obvious. This is a concession—and it's followed by Felix cracking open his eyes, forcing himself to hold Sylvain's gaze as he brings that thumb back down to brush against his lips.] Welcome back.
[A hint of a smirk, then, before Felix sucks Sylvain's finger into his mouth, swiping his tongue along the pad of it. There's no lounging in bed... but there's this, at least. Felix goading Sylvain into wrecking him on this table.]
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but more importantly, sylvain doesn't expect him to say it back. the kiss to his palm is achingly sweet, and they both know how felix has always preferred action over words. but it's even sweeter when he says it anyway, quiet and soft, like the way he'd said i'll miss you the night before sylvain was to depart. it's what kept sylvain warm on those cold and lonely nights, dreaming of felix and his midnight hair and amber eyes; this memory too, will be kept along with the rest: felix catching his gaze, the brief slant of his smirk before he parts those kiss bruised lips, drawing his thumb into his mouth, the velvet caress of his tongue making sylvain suck in a sharp breath as he carefully presses down against it.
so it works. sylvain's mouth goes dry and his mind turns blissfully blank, and suddenly, it doesn't matter that they're still in the war room with felix perched on the large table. nothing matters except that felix is wearing too many clothes and sylvain needs to taste him. he pulls his thumb away, replacing it with his tongue as his fingers curl into the waistband of felix's trousers, tugging him forward and all the way to the edge of the table by it before unlacing the ties. he sinks down to his knees, pulls felix's legs over his shoulders as he finds his cock, nuzzling the base of it and scratching up his inner thighs with his beard in the process as he kisses the soft crease where hip meets groin. and when he finally gets his mouth on him, he closes his eyes, taking him all the way down until felix nudges at the back of his throat. ]
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And it's been so, so long since Sylvain has done this, swallowing him in one smooth motion, and Felix's eyes flutter closed. He just needs... a moment. A second. Goddess above.]
Sylvain—
[A breathy, almost wounded noise as Felix digs his heels into Sylvain's upper back, resisting the urge to buck into that warmth, that pressure. It's shameful, the way his thighs tremble with effort—but he ignores it. Focuses on twining the fingers of one hand through that shock of red hair as he slides his other hand behind him, knocking something over in the process. An inkwell, by the sound of it. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters but this, and so Felix tightens his grip, wordlessly encouraging Sylvain to continue.]
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Missed you, [ he says again, voice low and raspy, replacing his mouth temporarily with his hand. his fingers drag spit and slick down felix's cock, pressing his thumb gently into the slit as he sighs, as if this was the only thing he's ever wanted. and maybe it is. ] Missed how you taste.
[ he misses those whines too, leaning down again to coax more of them out while he sucks a bruise into felix's inner thigh, rubs his stubble along the soft skin there and just below his cock, soothing the pink marks leftover with his tongue. he's almost painfully hard in his trousers but he doesn't care, going back to felix's cock to take him in again, mouthing gently along the length. he'll take him apart on the table, fill the room with his scent, mark up felix's ass and thighs until he won't be able to sit properly; until every time he passes by this very room, he'll press his thighs together just from the memory of it. ]
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...Listen: Felix has always been stupidly sensitive. Get him in the bedroom—strip away his defenses, layer by stubborn layer—and it's amazing, how little will leave such a proud man a twitching, gasping mess. The key is memorizing what, exactly, draws the most minute reactions from him—and as Sylvain has spent years exploring every inch of Felix's body, it stands to reason that Sylvain knows precisely how much pressure to apply, precisely when a simple flick of his wrist will send a shiver racing up Felix's spine. It's only fair.
Except it isn't fair, not at all, but all that Felix can do is tilt his head back before the quietest of moans escapes him.]
I can't—
[—hold back, he means, because it's been so long, and Sylvain is so good, and Felix is only human, hence the noticeable twitch of his cock. A few more minutes of this and he's done—and he'll be ready to come again in far less time than he normally would, thanks to his impending heat, but it's the principle of the matter? The embarrassment that is coming down Sylvain's throat so soon after being reunited, which sends him yanking at Sylvain's hair even as an all-too familiar heat pools low within him. It feels as though he's pulled taut as a bowstring; he's set to either come with a cry or collapse in on himself, if Sylvain is cruel enough to pull away. It has been... the longest separation, do not at him.]