“I thought you were a man of honor!”
Felix throws the dress back into Dorothea’s face, but it doesn’t wipe away her teasing smile. “Exactly, I am a man of honor.”
She rolls her eyes. “You lost our competition, I beat you fair and square.” Fair isn’t the right word for it, seeing that she had thrown sand in his face in order to secure her victory during their most recent spar. “Now, dress up. I need a companion dancer for the performance tonight, and the role is decidedly female.”
“You have female friends,” Felix grunts.
Dorothea shakes her head. “Ingrid has two left feet and you are the only person to ever beat me in a dancing competition.”
Of course, Felix thinks. She’s never going to let him live down that he won the White Heron Cup back at the academy. In retrospect the worst decision of his life, even if it did act as a catalyst for what would eventually lead to Dorothea joining the Blue Lions and becoming one of his closest friends.
“You made your own bed, Fraldarius. Now lie in it.”
She undoes the laces in the back of the pale green dress. It’s relatively conservative as far as dancer costumes go, and the high neck should be able to cover up his more masculine features.
The thing is, he is a man of honor, even if the same cannot be said about Dorothea. Felix curses under his breath and starts undressing.
If he’s being honest, this isn’t about honor. This isn’t even the first time he’s worn a dress. The first time was when he was very small, and Glenn had said something stupid - he can’t for the life of him remember what, only that it was enough to send him running to his mother in tears.
She had been out, probably doing his father’s job while he was in Fhirdiad. But her clothes smelled just like her, and dressing up was just another game to pass the time until Dimitri would visit.
His mother thought it was cute when the maid informed her that her youngest son had ripped her dress when he tried to put it on. Instead of admonishing him, she had scooped him up in her arms and showed him how to treat the lace so it wouldn’t rip.
A few years later, after she died and his father turned her bedroom into a museum, he had gone back and retrieved that same dress from the closet. His mother wasn’t tall, but he was only nine and far too small to fit in a dress made for a grown woman. Yet, when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t hate what he saw. His mother was still dead, yes, but he could feel her hands on his own, teaching him how to lace up the corset. For a brief moment, for one beautiful lie, he was not alone anymore.
In the present, he returns from behind the dressing screen, feeling oddly vulnerable.
Dorothea’s eyes widen. “Who knew you could pull it off, Felix! I’m half in love with you already!”
“Please,” he begs, but his voice comes out raspy, softer than usual. He crosses his hands in front of his chest, where the dress paints the illusion of a bosom, feeling eight years old again.
Dorothea’s smile fades, and Felix looks away. “I mean it Felix, you look great.”
That’s not what his father had called it when he caught him wearing his mother’s bridal gown. Her door remained locked after that, and it became just another thing they never talked about.
Felix shakes the memory away. “Let’s just get this over with,” he says quickly, hating the way the stockings underneath hug his legs just right.
“Alright, then. Sit down, let me do your hair. We’ll make a woman out of you, yet.”
The show goes without a hitch; his part is small yet essential, and a few minutes of dancing is nothing compared to what the professor subjected him to during the war.
Perhaps out of gratitude or out of consideration for their decade long friendship, Dorothea doesn’t comment on the fact that he never returns the dress afterward.
The dress remains his little secret for months, hidden deep on the bottom of the trunk of clothing he takes with him when he is in Fhirdiad, which is most of the time. His job as Dimitri’s right-hand man is demanding, but the real reason for his extended stay is that he much prefers the King’s bed over his own, cold one back in Fraldarius.
One night, after Dimitri has finally fallen asleep, Felix dares to tiptoe out of their bed and open the trunk. He fingers the light green fabric of the dress, so soft and fragile. It’s everything he can’t afford to be, and yet, some part of him hungers.
Dimitri groans in his sleep and Felix closes the lid so quickly he almost hurts his own fingers. What would Dimitri think if he saw him, like that?
Shame keeps him up all night, but the memory of lace and silk remains with him for far longer. It isn’t until he makes his biannual trip to Fraldarius that the dress sees the light of day again. Well, figuratively speaking, because Felix makes sure to lock the door and close the curtains this time, even if no one but the ghost of his father could catch him this time.
The fabric feels as soft as he remembers it, and when he wears the dress a part of him that is sharp and angry is covered with lace as well. He undoes his hair tie with trembling fingers and then braids it like his mother used to. It looks wrong, so he does it again and again, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. A woman looks back at him. He tries to smile - it somehow comes easier to the girl reflected back at him. It takes him an hour until he is satisfied with how he looks, and when the dress comes off he feels lighter than he has in months, if not years.
That evening he trains for hours and hours, if only to prove that he is still him. His bladework is better, his footwork smoother. None of his guards stand a chance. That night Felix sleeps a full eight hours, but when he wakes up his hands are trembling. Like an addict, all he can think of after that is the dress, now hidden away in his closet.
He is unfocused all week, until he breaks down and puts the dress on again. It quickly becomes a habit after that, and Felix finds himself unable to stop. There is an art to perfect, he tells himself as he paints his lips red. The color clashes with his pale skin. He’ll have to blend a lighter tone next time. Perhaps there are advantages to his father’s habit of preserving the spaces the dead inhabited.
Dimitri sends him letters almost daily. As autumn turns into winter, they grow increasingly more desperate.
To my most esteemed advisor, the Kingdom has been faring well in your absence, although it is sorely felt. Your voice in the council room is missed--
Dearest Felix, is something going on in your territory that is keeping you away from Fhirdiad? Are you unwell? You assure me that Fraldarius is flourishing, yet you haven’t left Fhirdiad for such a long time in years, and people worry--
Beloved, the days drag on without you, and I miss you more every day. Please, I despise asking you, but I beg of you; return to me at your earliest convenience. Whatever I have done to drive you from my side, I apologize. I cannot--
Felix feels a little worse every day, to the point that he doesn’t even read Dimitri’s letters anymore. But he doesn’t leave. Deep in the vaults of Castle Fraldarius, he finds the frocks that belonged to his great aunt, a tall lady, roughly about his size. The servants do not comment when he orders them to clean the dresses and bring them to his room. When he puts on the dark blue velvet dress, the warrior within him sheaths himself like a sword, allowing something he doesn’t dare name within him unfurl like a flower starved for sunlight.
He’s no stranger to wearing heels, but the lacy stockings are new. They brush against each other when he carefully walks circles in his room, barely daring to sway his hips a little with each step. His hair is long, longer than it has ever been, opening up a world of different hairstyles. During the day his long bangs frame his face, hiding the pearl earrings that used to belong to his mother.
Soon, this beautiful lie will have to come to an end. Felix knows this, dreads the day he can no longer put Dimitri’s letters off. He aches for his company, yet he doesn’t know how he will go back to being only Felix, the warrior, ever again. Just one more day, he tells himself every night. Every morning, the locked closet door beckons him to break that promise.
Dimitri worries himself sick, literally. He always feels like he has lost a limb when Felix leaves his side, but such is the fate of being King. Their relationship is a secret, although a poorly kept one. After three years of intimate moments interlaced with the occasional, heartfelt words, Dimitri claims a happiness he never thought he could have. Every day he feels a little closer to the man he wants to be, warmed by love.
Perhaps too much. Maybe it blinded him. In retrospect there had been signs. Had he not remarked to Ashe just the other month that Felix had become quieter and more distant of late? And sometimes a random object would catch Felix’s eye - a silver hairbrush, his step-mother’s hat, a lady-in-waiting’s dark green dress - and captivate him, making him lose track of the conversation.
And deep down Dimitri had always known that Felix couldn’t be happy for long with this arrangement, being the dirty secret of a man as broken as him. But Felix hadn’t said anything before he left to take care of his Duchy, and Dimitri had waved him off dutifully, thinking that their separation was only temporary. Then two weeks turned into a month, and a month turned into two.
When Felix’s letters altogether stop coming, Dimitri locks himself in his room, wondering for days what it is he did to drive Felix away. He ends up writing to him, asking him, but Felix doesn’t answer his question or letter. His ghosts have plenty of answers, Glenn above all. It becomes hard not to listen to him when there is nobody else to listen to. Dimitri doesn’t sleep for days until he collapses in the middle of lunch with Mercedes.
It is a stroke of luck that both she and Dedue are around when he breaks down, and together they nurse him back to health. It takes a bit longer for them to pry the reason for his episode from his lips.
“Well, Felix has never been the best at communicating if something is wrong,” Mercedes says gently. Dimitri agrees silently. “Why not ask him outright what’s wrong?”
Dimitri sighs. “I tried several times. He stopped answering my letters.”
“Has Sylvain or Ingrid said anything? The four of you are close friends, and Gautier is close to Fraldarius.”
Mercedes pauses for a second. “Then why don’t you go to him and ask? Even if he denies something is wrong, you’ll be able to see the truth for yourself.”
“I can’t. I have duties--”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Dedue interrupts him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You cannot perform your duties adequately if you are neglecting yourself. I could ride out to Fraldarius if you desire it--”
Dimitri takes one glance at Mercedes’ heavily swollen belly and shakes his head. “Thank you for the offer, my dear friend. But your place is here, with your wife.”
“Then at least allow us to take care of your duties in your absence,” Mercedes persuades him gently.
It takes a bit longer before they have him convinced, but when he leaves Fhirdiad with only a handful of Royal Guards by his side, he knows it was the right decision.
When he arrives at Castle Fraldarius a few days later, the staff is in an uproar, immediately answering the question of whether or not Felix read the letter he sent a few nights ago, announcing his visit.
The old steward has held the position since before Dimitri was born, but in all the years he has never seen the poor man so rattled. It’s not his first unannounced visit, so something must be wrong. Anxiety swirls in his gut.
His worries are proven founded when the steward eventually divulges that Duke Fraldarius has locked himself in his chambers, a habit he has developed of late. There is something the old man doesn’t tell him, so for once in his life, Dimitri uses the privilege his rank bestows upon him and orders the staff to lead him to Felix.
He hasn’t visited Castle Fraldarius since before the western rebellion, when he was just a boy and Rodrigue was still alive. He stayed in Felix’s childhood bedroom back then, their backs pressed together while he willed the hours of the night to give way to daylight. But they walk past Felix’s bedroom, and to his surprise, they also pass Rodrigue’s old chambers. Instead, the steward leads him to the rooms that once belonged to Felix’s mother, the late Duchess Fraldarius. He only knows this because the steward tells him so when he hands him the spare key. He has visited Castle Fraldarius a hundred times, but he’s never been in here.
Dimitri waits until the halls are empty before he knocks on the door.
“Felix?” He asks carefully. “Felix, are you in there…?”
For a moment there is a silence that is almost unnatural. Then: “Dimitri…? What are you doing here?”
His voice sounds off. Too high, breathy, soft. Dimitri’s chest almost bursts apart in worry. The metal of the door handle bends under his grip.
“Felix, you didn’t answer my letter, so I thought--”
“You thought wrong. I’m fine.”
His voice sounds high and indignant, and it does nothing to sooth Dimitri’s fears.
“It’s been months, Felix,” he begs, pressing his forehead against the wooden door. “It’s been months, you haven’t answered my letters in a long time and… And I-- I thought that you and I had reconciled our differences and sworn to stay together until the ends of our days.”
For a second there is no sound from the other side of the room. “We have. I did,” Felix says resolutely.
Dimitiri sighs. “And yet you left.”
“I have to do my job,” Felix hisses, sounding more like how he used to back at the academy. But Dimitri has grown since then, and he knows how to read the man he loves.
He shakes his head. “Felix. There is no need to lie to another. There is nobody here but you and I, and the distance you’ve put between us,” he says. Then, more softly, he adds. “If you… no longer wish to be with me, I will respect you wishes, even if it pains me--”
“It’s not that,” Felix interrupts him quickly. “Dimitri, no. My feelings have not changed.”
Dimitri’s traitorous heart skips a beat. “Then why all of this?”
Felix curses under his breath. “I can’t explain. Not now.”
“Open the door then. Let me in. Whatever it is, we can figure it out, together.”
“I…. can’t.” There is something so broken about the way he struggles to speak that has Dimitri’s heart breaking all over again. “I… you would hate me.”
“Never,” Dimitri vows, feeling the words resonate in his bones.
A short, mirthless laugh. “You say that now.”
“We have seen the worst of each other, Felix. There is nothing in this world that could make me hate you,” Dimitri says quickly, pressing his hands against the door, wishing to break through it. “Please, beloved. I have missed you so dearly that it’s driven me to madness.”
“Okay! Stop it already,” Felix says, sounding pained. “Keep your eye closed, and I’ll open the door.”
“Just do it!”
Dimitri does as he is told immediately. “I promise. My eye is closed. I could - ehm - put my eyepatch over it, if it would please you?”
“Don’t be foolish,” Felix hisses, but Dimitri hears the telltale sign of the door unlocking all the same. True to his word, he keeps his eye closed, even as Felix pulls him inside and shuts the door closed behind them.
He feels for Felix, pressing his fingers against his pulse point as soon as he finds it. Felix’s heart beats faster than usual, but it beats still. He brings Felix’s wrist up to his lips, fully intending to kiss it, only to brush them against something… frilly?
“Are you wearing something new?” He asks, pushing the fabric out of the way. It’s soft, a trace of lace. But he pays little mind to it.
“Shut up,” Felix says, his voice hushed, sounding nothing like himself. “Let’s just get this over with already, and we can pretend this never happened.”
He sounds resigned. Defeated. More than anything, that worries Dimitri, because his Felix never gives up, not without a fight.
Felix’s sigh sounds heartbroken. “Just open your eye, Boar.”
He does, folding to his beloved’s will as always. The first thing he sees is Felix’s beautiful eyes, looking everywhere except at him. They don’t look any different than usual, and Dimitri releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding all this time.
Then he blinks, and realizes that besides his eyes, nothing is the same. A woman stands before him, dressed in a very old fashioned but not unflattering dress that perfectly outlines her slender frame, billowing up just above the hips. He lets his eyes roam, tracing the line of her modest bosom to her neck, to that face he so adores.
He blinks, and then once more. “Felix?”
Felix’s long hair frames his face perfectly, giving it the illusion of delicacy that Dimitri knows is just that: a facade. Felix crosses his arms over his chest, frilly dark blue lace contrasting perfectly with his pale complexion. “Just… say it.”
Dimitri licks his lips. “Say what?”
Felix’s scowl deepens. “Don’t pretend to be stupid.”
“I… don’t know what to say.” How does one react to this?
Felix folds into himself, taking a step backwards. He looks small and frail but above all oh so very...
It isn’t until he sees Felix blushes prettily, that he realizes he said those words out loud.
“Shut up,” Felix says quickly, but his voice is soft, without the usual edge.
It shouldn’t arouse him, to see his partner like this. He likes Felix as he is, and despite his council’s insistence has no desire for a woman or a wife. But to see the one he loves wrapped up in silk and lace like this, his lips painted a subtle pink… well Dimitri would be a liar if he said it wasn’t doing things to him.
“I mean it,” he tries again, taking a tentative step forward. “This is what you have been hiding?”
Felix’s silence is answer enough.
The way Felix bites his painted lips is nothing short of mesmerizing. “Since I helped Dorothea out at the midsummer performance.”
Dimitri’s stomach sinks, and he steps forward, approaching Felix like one would a wounded animal. “That was months ago. Over half a year, even. Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Whatever this is.
“And how would that have gone down?” Felix bites back, his voice high yet deadly. “Dimitri, I - Felix Hugo, Duke of Fraldarius, the only remaining male descendant of my illustrious bloodline - like dressing as a woman.”
It’s almost a confession, or as much one as Dimitri probably is going to get. But that’s not all of it. That much is evident in the way Felix holds himself, hisses the words like a viper. He gets always defensive about the things he cares about.
Dimitri files it away for later, and instead crosses the distance between them, drawing Felix in his arms. He feels smaller, somehow. Maybe that’s just part of the facade. Or perhaps, putting on a dress finally allows Felix to freely let himself go, submit to the embrace, trembling from the wealth of emotion that apparently Dimitri had been too busy for a half a year to realize had been there. That perhaps had always been there. Felix used to cry all the time, he remembers, but he also used to smile and laugh. He was a beautifully expressive child, once upon a time. But he’s so much more now.
Pressed close as they are, it is inevitable that Felix feels the evidence of how much Dimitri does not mind his state of dress. His clothed erection brushes against the soft velvet, and involuntarily draws out a breathy moan. Felix stiffens immediately, and a fresh wave of shame washes over Dimitri.
“I apologize,” he says, quickly releasing Felix. “I must have missed you even more than I thought I had.” If that is at all possible.
Felix’s eyes are lined with kohl in a way that draws out the gold in the iris, and even the way he frowns is doing things for Dimitri. “You like this,” he says, sounding nothing short of gobsmacked.
Dimitri hangs his head in shame. “My apologies, but you are… a vision to behold.”
“You… like this?”
Like me like this, Dimitri hears underneath his words.
Telling Felix he would still worship him if he was dressed in rags is not the right thing to say right now, Dimitri realizes that much. He never considered himself a shallow man, but perhaps he was wrong because the way the dress sways when Felix steps forward is enough to make him want to simultaneously rip it off him and order him to never wear anything else.
In the end, he settles for a guilty nod.
Felix smiles, but not like he usually would. It’s petite, almost shy and demure, everything that Felix normally is not. When he reaches for Dimitri’s cheek, his touch is gentle. Dimitri molds himself against his hand, leaning into it. This is usually when Felix would hook his arms behind his neck and drag him down to his level, refusing to raise an inch on his toes.
But not this Felix, dressed in lace and smelling like strawberries. This Felix caresses his jaw, running his fingers over his cheekbones in a way that is so openly loving that Dimitri is caught off guard.
“Fe--,” he moans. “Felix, are you sure…?”
The glare Felix shoots his way is all sharp steel, and Dimitri quickly closes his mouth and accepts that sometimes reality is more beautiful than his wildest dreams.
“Kneel,” Felix commands softly, and Dimitri doesn’t even hesitate.
His breath catches in his throat when Felix gracefully hitches up the hem of his dress ever so slightly and raises one leg. He’s wearing stockings underneath, Dimitri realizes, feeling a little lightheaded. He’s always had a ‘thing’ - to quote Sylvain - for Felix’s legs and the way his thigh highs accentuate the lean body underneath. But this… this is different. The light blue fabric hides hard planes of muscles, shapes them into something that is unabashedly sensual. He can’t help himself: he presses a kiss against Felix’s ankle, and then another, a little bit higher.
He hears Felix’s breath catch, digging his painted nails into Dimitri’s shoulder, but he can’t stop himself. One more kiss, and then another, and the beast inside howls for more. He kisses the top of his knee, running his fingers even higher, until he finds the lacy end of the stocking. He dips under the fabric, tracing the soft skin underneath.
The moan that it draws from Felix’s lips is nothing short of divine, and not even a sane man would be able to control himself after that. He surges upward, hidden underneath Felix’s dress, and buries his face into his crotch, tasting his cock through the fabric of his lacy underwear.
One touch, and it’s Dimitri that’s about to ignite. “You’re…. so beautiful. So incredibly beautiful, my beloved,” he groans while he strokes his thighs, pushing the stockings down just an inch. Felix’s muscles are as hard as they always have been, because not even garters can change the man underneath.
Felix groans, his fingers clutching the back of his neck, weaving into his hair. “Don’t--”
“Don’t what?” Dimitri mouthes Felix’s quickly hardening length once more, tightening his fists into the fabric of the dress.
“Don’t - ah! - r-rip it.”
He hadn’t thought of it, but now that Felix mentions it, he wants nothing more than to rip open the dress, to lay Felix down like a ravaged maiden from Ashe’s books and then do exactly that: ravage him.
But Felix’s hands in his hair are trembling, and Dimitri has not forgotten the look on his face when he first opened his eye. The way that every hair had been carefully put into place, a full illusion starting from his high heeled shoes to the silver comb in his hair.
He reigns in the beast, and gently kisses the cock that is starting to strain the front of Felix’s underwear, and then - with great regret - draws himself back upon his feet.
“We don’t have to do this now,” he says, breathing heavily. “If you’d rather get undressed first, I will wait patiently.”
It is the wrong thing to say. The disadvantage of being able to read Felix like an open book, is that every pain he sees echoes back to him, like it was his own. He feels rather than sees the maiden in front of him stiffen, the pretty pink on his lips not matching with the scowl.
They have a long history of unintentionally hurting each other, but that also means they know how to make things right again. “Or I could undress you instead, if you’d like? It would be a waste of this beautiful gown you’re wearing, but if you don’t want to get it dirty...”
Felix’s blush becomes so bright, in a way Dimitri normally only sees in his dreams or during the highest throes of passion. “.... it’s fine like this,” Felix says, sounding meek.
“I love you,” Dimitri says, mostly because he doesn’t know what else to say that won’t set Felix off right now. He’s still so painfully hard, and it is taking away from his ability to think straight.
“I love you too,” Felix says far more easily than he usually would.
He kisses him deeply, unable to keep himself from stealing his lips again and again. He comes alive underneath Felix’s carefully questing fingers, slowly slipping down, undoing his buttons and clasps. He almost forgets his own name until Felix whispers it against his lips, and when his pants hit the floor he almost weeps from relief.
Usually, Felix would be up for a fight right about now, and would rather die than freely admit what Dimitri can already read in his eyes: a desire to be taken, to be put on his knees and filled until he forgets himself and all his reservations. But not this Felix. This Felix happily follows his lead, only hesitates for a split second when Dimitri lifts him up and carries him like one would carry a bride.
He always wants to treat Felix like the treasure he is, but Felix so rarely lets him. To be allowed to put him gently on the bed, his hair spread out over the pillow like a dark halo, is almost more than Dimitri can take.
“Let me show you how much I desire you,” Dimitri says hotly, and to his great surprise but equal delight, Felix nods.
“Please,” he whispers breathlessly, the word falling from his quivering lips. Dimitri has to bite the inside of his cheek not to turn him over right then and there and mount him like an animal.
What is it about the uncharacteristic gentleness in Felix’s gaze that draws out the beast within him? His hands are trembling from restraint when he pushes Felix’s legs apart, carefully lifting the skirts. “Hold these, won’t you sweetheart?”
Felix never allows himself to be called like that, but this Felix bites his painted lips and nods before doing as he is asked, bearing himself for Dimitri.
Dimitri almost drools. The head of Felix’s cock peeks out from underneath the lacy panties, red and swollen. His legs start shaking when Dimitri strokes him through the fabric, drawing small sounds from Felix’s lips.
“Fuck,” he mutters, speeding up, feeling intoxicated by the way Felix writhes into the sheets. He could come like this, untouched, bewitched by the sight of the love of his life so open and trusting for him.
“Dimitri,” Felix groans, the illusion of femininity almost breaking apart by the low pitch of his voice.
Dimitri surges forward and bites the inside of his thigh, and Felix keens.
“Again,” Dimitri orders, stroking him harder and harder, feeling precum drip down his fingers. “Make those pretty sounds for me again, beautiful.”
“Don’t..,” Felix pants, but his voice becomes even more desperate when Dimitri stops his ministrations. “D-don’t want to come like this.”
Dimitri licks his lips. “Whatever you want, my dear,” he promises, and hopes he can keep it.
Felix buries his head into the pillow and clenches his eyes shut, but it isn’t enough to hide just how flushed he is. “I… want you... inside me.”
Dimitri strokes the satiny smoothness of his long skirt. “Like this?”
“Like this,” Felix moans breathlessly, wrapping his arms around his chest, the dress giving the illusion of a small chest. “Please.”
Suddenly, his remaining clothes feel like a prison he can’t be freed from quickly enough. It’s a good thing Mercedes taught him how to mend clothing.
When he is completely bare, he kisses Felix again, loving the way his lipstick smears. It feels almost sacrilegious to invade his mouth, to rut up against those delicate stockings, but the moment his naked cock hits the lace, he almost comes then and there.
“The things you do to me…,” he hisses, and with more force than he had intended turns Felix around.
He likes it when Felix fights him a little during sex. But he also loves this: Felix willingly drawing himself up on his knees, his beautifully made-up face pressed into a pillow, and lace-covered ass presented for him to take.
Dimitri is careful to hike up the skirts, downright delicate when he presses one last kiss against the small of Felix’s back. But that’s how far his control goes. He takes the lacy undergarment between his teeth, and rips.
“I told you not to--” His complaints are swallowed by a stifled groan when Dimitri presses two fingers into his mouth.
“Suck,” he orders, his voice raspy. Felix complies, and how. His tongue circles the digits, savoring every inch of him like he is making love to him. Fascinated, Dimitri pushes them deeper, and deeper, and deeper, loving the way his painted lips part around his fingers. Imagining how they would look around his cock instead.
Maybe next time- if Felix will allow for such a thing - they could try that. But right now Felix wants him inside, and Dimitri is nothing if not his humble servant. He presses one and then a second finger inside Felix. He’s tight in a way he rarely is - their sex life is too active to allow it normally, but at least this separation is good for something - and it takes a while to make him open up.
By the time he has two fingers worked in comfortably, Felix is writhing again, his long hair a mess.
"Please!" he begs prettily, over and over again.
"Please what, my pretty?" Dimitri asks gently, a stark contrast with the way he savagely thrusts his fingers against Felix's prostate.
"Fuck me!" The words sound vulgar and wrong when spoken by such pretty lips, and it is driving Dimitri mad with desire.
"Proper ladies don't curse," he reminds Felix with a teasing smile, crooking his fingers in a way he knows will make Felix see stars.
The look Felix shoots him tells him exactly what he thinks of proper ladies, but no scathing remark follows it up. Instead a breathy, needy moan falls from his lips, and yet another string of "Please, please, oh please Dimitri!" follows.
Dimitri feels mad with power, and maybe a small ugly part of him wants Felix to suffer just as much as he did during their separation. "Beg nicely for my cock, and you might receive it."
Felix doesn't bite his head off, which is a clear tell how far gone he is. "Please, Dimitri, give me your cock!"
Dimitri has to clench his fist around the base of his cock to stop himself from spilling his seed then and there. "You can do better," he says between gritted teeth, pulling out his fingers with a wet 'plop.'
Felix cries at the loss. "Please!"
"Please take me already!"
Dimitri runs his hands down Felix's velvet-clad sides, gripping his hips until his bare ass is grinding against Dimitri's aching length. "Tell me… how much… have you wanted this?" He pants, trying his chances.
"M-more than anything," Felix whispers breathlessly, and Dimitri’s resolve breaks with the stutter in Felix’s voice. "I missed you, oh Dimitri, please! Please put your cock inside of me. I’ve missed you so."
The head of Dimitri's cock breaches his entrance before the last syllable falls off Felix's perfectly painted lips, because he might be a King but first he is a man, a mortal. Nothing short of a god would be able to resist Felix like this.
The sounds that fall off Felix's tongue are as desperate as they are high-pitched, but Dimitri is roaring when he slowly fucks himself deeper and deeper into that tight heat. He doesn't care if the servants hear; evidently they're good at keeping secrets.
"Missed you," he grunts when he finally bottoms out, loving the way his thick girth spreads Felix's rim in a way that must be painful. But Felix doesn't complain, only moans and shivers and takes all Dimitri has to give him.
When Dimitri starts thrusting into him earnestly, using the skirt as leverage, the effect of the dress is truly starting to show: Felix - his quiet, taciturn and closed off Felix - is for once downright vocal in the bedroom.
"Deeper, yes, yes! Like that, Dimitri, like that!" He cries, his eyes clenched shut in pleasure. "Please, please, oh! P-please don't stop!"
The lion within him roars, and Dimitri obeys the call of the wild and thrusts hard and deep within his lover, losing his mind about the way he clenches around his cock, drawing him in deeper. He's close, so close, spurred on the way Felix begs so sweetly. He can almost forget the world, forget himself, and unleash all of his strength just to claim his mate.
"Yes," he grunts, shoving his length in with as much force as he can muster. "Fuck, yes!"
Felix keens, voice high and-- wait. Dimitri's brutal pace falters. Is that… a
It’s like someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over him. "Felix…?" he asks hesitantly, folding himself over his love until his front is pressed against the laces of Felix's corset and his breath ghosts against Felix's cheeks. "Are you… crying?"
Felix shakes his head, his eyes clenched shut, but now that Dimitri is pressed against his back like this, still buried within him, there is no denying the wetness in the corner of his eyes.
Dimitri's heart breaks."Did I… hurt you?"
"Dima," Felix croons, still refusing to open his eyes. "Don't… don't stop."
"Please, Dima," Felix begs again, softly, almost sweetly. And suddenly an epiphany strikes Dimitri like lightning.
He kisses the corner of Felix's eye. "I'll take care of you, my sweetheart," he says softly before thrusting shallowly back into him. "Don't worry about a thing, my sweet little Fe. I'll always take care of you. I promised, didn't I?"
Felix nods stiffly, eagerly pressing back against him. But this time Dimitri doesn't slam back into him.
He likes their usual lovemaking. It's passionate and rough, like the men they've become. He knows Felix likes it best when Dimitri gives him no quarter, fucks him like a beast. But once upon a time, they weren't like this, and Felix used to smile prettily and say please and thank you all the time. That same Felix cried when he was sad, when he was vulnerable, and sometimes, when he was happy too. And Dimitri loved that boy long before he fell in love with the men he grew up to be. He mourned that Felix, his sweet best friend, lost to the Tragedy like so much else. He'd missed him like mad when Felix turned a cold shoulder to him. But maybe he was wrong, perhaps that Felix wasn't lost, merely covered up.
Dimitri slowly draws out of Felix and turns him on his back. He kisses a loving kiss against his lace-clad knee, and then another against his ankle. He nuzzles the inside of his legs, pressing kisses against lace as he slowly works his way upward.
This Felix should not be devoured, he thinks. He should be worshiped, coaxed out of his shell with gentle kisses and declarations of affection that normally Felix would never let him get away with. And so Dimitri does exactly that.
The result is instantaneous. Felix blushes prettily, spreads his legs willingly, squirming a little. Dimitri falls a little bit more in love with him every time a surprised gasp falls from his lips, drawn out by a single kiss or scrape of his teeth against his legs.
He doesn’t know who is enjoying himself more: Felix, who is being adored, or Dimitri, who is finally allowed to show all the love he holds within his heart without restraint.
Felix’s fingers twine into his hair, the strength of his grip the only thing that is similar to his usual demeanor in the bedroom. “Dima, please…,” he sighs, his voice soft and raspy.
"Are you ready?" Dimitri asks, lifting one of Felix's legs to rest on his shoulder, his aching cock pressed against Felix's gaping entrance.
Felix nods, looking almost demure. Dimitri's heart grows three sizes.
This time when he pushes his cock inside, it's smooth and slow. "Almost there, beloved," Dimitri praises, stroking Felix's thigh. "You're taking me so well, my love."
"Hush, my Fe. I promised I'd take care of you, didn't I?"
Felix nods, tears in his eyes, but softness too. He releases a breathy moan when Dimitri sheathes himself entirely.
"You are a vision to behold, my dear." His pace is gentle, intimate, and Dimitri doesn't know which one of them is closer to breaking apart because of it.
Felix's moans and the sound of the many layers of his skirt rustling with every slow yet powerful thrust is the only thing Dimitri hears. For what seems like hours, he keeps up his slow, torturous pace until tears are cascading down Felix's smiling face, and the deep love he feels for him has him floating in the clouds. He worships his legs, his arms, his sides. Loves the way the fabric brushes against his skin as he takes Felix apart, one thrust at a time. Their breathing synchronizes and the world fizzles out of existence.
He presses Felix's hand against his rapidly beating heart, overflowing with devotion, and says: "I love you, my Fe. Love you more than the sun and the moon and all of the stars combined. You're mine, aren't you?"
"Yours," Felix agrees breathlessly, looking delirious. The admission pulses through Dimitri's body, making him tremble with desire.
How long has he waited to hear those words, so readily spilled from Felix's lips. Now that he has them, he can never live without again.
"Say it again," he demands more roughly than he intended. He is at his limit, at last. "Please, my treasure. Tell me who you belong to."
"You, oh Dima, to you,” Felix chokes, his hands clawing for a handhold in the sheets.
Dimitri pushes deeper, heat gathering in his loins. He was close, so close he could almost taste it. "You're mine. mine and mine alone.”
He can’t stop himself anymore. He wants to be gentle with Felix, love him with all the softness and care that the world rarely allows them to feel. But to feel him tighten around him, Felix’s silk-clad legs wrapped around his waist, the way his mouth opens in a soundless scream every time Dimitri pushes deeper…
No, not yet. Felix’s pleasure must come first. It takes all his willpower to stave off the orgasm. It’s a losing game, but he’s not the only person who's long gone. Dimitri gently wraps his hand around Felix’s straining length. Felix releases a tortured moan when he starts pumping in time with his thrusts.
“Come for me, my beloved,” Dimitri begs, never halting his movements. “It’s okay to let go now. Come for me, won’t you.”
One more stroke, and that’s all it takes. The look in Felix’s rolled back eyes is pure sex, and when he unravels before Dimitri, he feels like he’s meeting an entirely new person. “Di--- Dima!” He cries, spending himself all over his petticoat, come staining on the light blue garters.
He shivers, trashes, and moans, a vision of ecstasy. It takes only a single, deep thrust within that tight heat, and Dimitri follows him over the edge in an earth-shattering orgasm that has him roaring Felix’s name like a prayer. He comes, pushing his seed as deep as he can within the man he loves more than anything in the world.
When the earth starts turning again, he is lying on top of Felix, both breathing heavily. The dark velvet dress is crumpled and wet with sweat and other body fluids, but Dimitri couldn’t care less, because for once Felix is not in a hurry to get clean. Instead he nuzzles his face into the crook of Dimitri’s neck, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against his skin.
“I love you,” Dimitri says, sounding like a prayer. “Fe, I love you so much. Never leave me again.”
Felix doesn’t answer him, but the way he wraps his legs around Dimitri’s legs is as much a promise as he can make. “I love you too,” he says instead, his voice soft and small.
Dimitri holds him tight for the rest of the evening, his hands tangled up in lace and velvet.
The next day, Felix is dressed like his old self again. He's twice as vicious during their morning spar and refuses to touch him a second longer than necessary.
Dimitri doesn’t say anything about it. He’s good at pretending nothing happened, so he dances this particular dance of Felix and waits. He recognizes the way Felix's brows are knit together, knows that he needs some time to make peace with what happened between them last night. When Felix is ready, they'll talk about this - whatever this is - and what it means for them and their future.
Until then, Dimitri is content to have this prickly swordsman by his side. Even after they settle back into the Royal Palace at Fhirdiad, a new routine forms. In the eyes of the people, Felix remains as he always has been: taciturn but noble, shrewd but just. But eventually, the curtains are lowered again and the Duke disappears underneath layers of silk and perfume, giving way to the Duchess. When he does, Dimitri welcomes her with open, loving arms and treats her like a queen.
He doesn’t care about the rumors, spun from the occasional smear of lipstick on his neck, and the puzzling trips to his seamstress. Nothing matters except the way Felix smiles at him behind closed doors, dressed in silk and velvet, wrapped up in lace. There are a thousand new rules he hasn’t quite figured out yet, what to say and what not, but it doesn’t matter. For the sake of that smile, he is willing to wait centuries.
Dimitri loves all of him equally - the soft skin and the hard muscle, his sharp mind and his velvet skirts - even if Felix can’t. Yet.