Garreg Mach truly lives up to its name as a prestigious, holy school for nobles, even five years after being brought to ruin. Its greenhouse is a sprawling land of fresh herbs, rare flora, and a batch of specialty cacti along the walls. Within it lies a special batch of greens not found anywhere else in Fodlan, or even outside the country. The origin of them is unknown, the name unknown, the effects? Largely unknown.
Well, unknown to everyone except Claude.
The golden lord hums as he moves from row to row, carefully snipping off the leaves to some herbs, picking off two vivid berries from another, a hue of blue to purple from the stem to the bottom. They fall into a basket, seemingly unorganized, though knowing Claude, each has its own place. When he finishes out the row, he stands, brushing off the dirt from his pants and returning to a small table in the back, accessible only through a glass door hidden behind two overlapping trees. It slides shut behind him.
Alone, well and truly secure, Claude empties his stash. A dozen varieties of flora fall onto a wet cloth laid out onto a white table, adjacent to another desk with a variety of tools on it, including a juicer, a pestle and mortar, a small burner. Finally, opposing, is a smaller desk besides a glass two tier cabinet. The cabinet houses an assortment of books, hardcover with gold ink, labeling different recipes. The final desk is the messiest in the room, simply occupied with row after row of clear vials made colorful by the concoctions within them.
Poisons, or, at least how Claude prefers to refer to them, potential.
A yellow tinted one that causes dreadful stomachaches the next day, used on Lorenz once before a midterm exam. A pink one that causes heart palpitations, sweaty palms, and heavy breathing, given to Hilda as a love potion—given the caution, of course, that an over dosage could lead to some… disastrous results. A creamy white one that can be whipped up and hold its form in room temperature that smells sickingly sweet and tastes it too. Most of its ingredients are commonplace, more akin to a treat given to a child, though several herbs placed in it are known for their bitter taste, and their properties for long life. It also contains a crushed white and red flower Claude’s never identified outside of Garreg Mach.
He has a bundle more of those flowers on hand now, some just bloomed, some still a bud, some wilted. The buds are brought over to the mortar, and he strips of his cape, pulling on a small tassel band with a trim of pom-poms to cover his mouth as he begins to crush them in place.
A nasty concoction that causes severely nasty running noses and drool, in the name of Sylvain, to cleanse the system of excess mucus. A colorless, odorless poison thought to cause muscle relaxation, as well as critical headaches, never slipped into anyone’s tea. A bloody red thing that can be poured onto open wounds, causing searing pain, but ridding the risk of infection. He never got close enough to Edelgard to administer it on her, stopped multiple times by Hubert and Ferdinand alike, though Edelgard had caught his eye once and thanked him softly. He made a version with this flower’s bulbs, and though he shared tea with her twice more, Hubert had always stayed in the area, watching.
A narcotic for Marianne. He thinks she had begun to suspect him for her oversleeping sometime into year three, but she never had the courage to ask, him the courage to confess. It was just easier to shrug off her glances.
Claude’s never liked being the center of attention. Too many eyes, too many hands. Grasping him, holding him, digging into his skin. Spit in his face, nails under his eyes, the silent shattering of something under the pressure of a thousand more.
He grinds the bulbs until they are a soupy pulp, and sets them aside. Two pink spotted leaves make their way into a pot of water, as well as a cinnamon stick, a mint, and a leaf with soft hairs on it. He sets it over a fire and busies himself with taking the withered flowers, cutting them down.
He had made this for Lysithea, originally. It was… an experiment, to say the least. Claude had always suspected Edelgard’s interest in her wasn’t an out of the blue surge of maternal affection, and it wasn’t exactly a far reach to determine the cause. After he had first messed with the hidden row of plants in the back of the greenhouse, they had mysteriously disappeared the very next day.
It took him three weeks of chatting and sneaking and wandering before he had mapped it all out again. He has the map now, still tucked in the back of his notebook back in his old student dormitory, noting where each herb had gone. Most had been hidden away in Hanneman’s room, though numerous more where in Catherine’s, Shamir’s, even Manuela’s, though he knew that she had no idea what they were for. When even some had been placed in Byleth’s room, Claude had been unable to hold in his laughter. How much more obvious could they get?
He had been the first, and for a while, the only subject. Bouts of dizziness, hysteria, stomach poisoning. He had fainted once, three steps out of his room, and when he had come to Hilda had scolded him in tears, telling him she thought he was dead. A historical fever, complete with shivering wracking his body, a dizzy haze that couldn’t differentiate light from dark.
Professor Byleth had visited him every day that week. It was the first of many times Claude would spend alone with him, eyes fluttering shut, fingers carding through his hair. Funny, thinking back now, Claude almost wishes Byleth were here now, to hold him close.
Well, he’d be getting that soon enough, provided he gets this right.
Dimitri had never been as well-guarded as Edelgard. Well, sure, Dedue was awfully loyal, and his band of misfits were awfully protective of their prince. But Sylvain was an easy fool with the aid of Lorenz and Ferdinand’s natural obtuse natures, and even Felix was easy to draw away with the temptation of training with Professor. In the end, it had been between Ingrid and Claude, and she never could stick around long with his joking mannerisms.
So he poisoned Dimitri, once or twice. Or five times. Maybe more. Definitely more. Well, who’s counting? Not Claude, for sure.
Seven times in three years, and of those five in the third year with this. Claude pours out half the boiling water into a vial, tinted just slightly green, and places a spoonful of the pulp into the remainder in the pot. It hisses, a rancid smell overtaking the room for a moment, as Claude pokes at it, watching the pulp disintegrate. By the time he can return to placing the cut withered stems into a bowl, the pot smells of nothing at all, a shiny liquid left behind.
Claude pours the liquid into a fresh vial, a little skinnier than the rest. As soon as its full, he turns around and hastens to drop it into a larger bowl, filled with a red powder. The mixture begins crackling immediately, ice forming along the rim, steam coming up as the red powder bubbles. Nothing unusual, which in itself is a statement about Claude’s life.
By the time the poison cools, he pours the rest of the liquid set aside into the withered stem pieces. They bubble, hot to the touch, and he watches as the pieces suck up the liquid mercilessly. By the time they’re done, every cut shard is a bursting bubble. Claude drops them back to the pestle and mortar, and gets to work, smashing them until they are a waxy syrup. They go into another vial, two in a tray, and Claude hums.
He shouldn’t, not really, but temptation is too much. He measures out just a spoonful each of the pink vial, and drips them into the clear liquids, swirling it in.
Two crest suppressors, freshly made and tailored to order.
Dimitri is, unsurprisingly, still in full armor when Claude approaches the door, tea in hand. He raises an eyebrow to his friend, who looks remarkably well-prepared for troops to burst into the door at any moment. It’s almost a shame that they’re at truce, discussing peace agreements, restricting Claude from cheering Dimitri on from the side.
Ah, well, there’s always other ways to support Dimitri. Perhaps Claude should adorn his dancer outfit again, just to see the look on his face. Hah.
“Oh, there you are.” Claude grins, turning to the source of the voice, only to have his face flatten immediately. Byleth is also in full battle garb, apparently also unaware about this thing called relaxation. Tempted as Claude is to roll his eyes and walk out, he instead takes another step into the room, placing the newly boiled tea onto the table besides the small tray of biscuits and scones made earlier.
He can’t really complain, given that he’s in battle gear as well. But, well, he actually was at risk earlier of dangerous fumes and side effects. Byleth and Dimitri just don’t know it yet.
“Tea?” Dimitri murmurs, as though he wasn’t the one who suggested the idea. Claude shrugs, tipping the pot over to pour into the gold lined blue tinted cup, Dimitri’s favorite. He passes it over to waiting hands, as well as an empty plate to be filled with sweets.
“Look for yourself, your princeliness.” Claude retorts, pouring out another cup of tea to hand Byleth’s way. Byleth takes slow steps over, hovering over the tower for a moment for grabbing the candied peaches and a scone, breaking it in half with his hands. Claude whistles.
“Is that how we’re doing this? I don’t mind.” Dimitri snorts at his words, reaching over and breaking a scone himself. It shatters with remarkable ease just between his thumb and forefinger, and Claude echoes a second whistle. He gestures to Byleth to sit, and, finally pouring his own cup of tea, sits as well.
“So,” he prompts, raising an eyebrow across the table. Byleth and Dimitri chew in silence, eyes on him, and he rolls his eyes. “Guys. Peace. I just wanted to ask how your days are going.”
“I went fishing.” Of course Byleth did. Dimitri nods, attentive, as Byleth explains the activity for what must be the tenth time today. “I had leftover bait, and was looking for a yellow or red fish. Unfortunately, I only managed to get blue ones today.” Dimitri’s face falls at the words, and Byleth flusters, waving his hands out. “Not that blue ones are bad! They’re very good. The best.”
Claude rolls his eyes, even as Dimitri beams. Goddess, he has to sit through this small talk for how long? A part of his wishes he had gone all in and just juiced the fresh flowers, but, as far as he was aware, it tended to result in heavy headaches and mild cases of depression. Not fun.
Waiting game, then. He’s good at that.
He speaks about Hilda, and Ignatz, and shares a few conspiracy secrets about how much money he’s willing to bet that Ignatz has a painting of Hilda as the goddess. Byleth chuckles at that, which Dimitri knits his brows together in confusion. Then they’re off, a talk about the church, Fodlan, their former classmates turned war buddies. Byleth commends Dimitri on his agility, causing him to flush, and then to Claude about his handling of his wyvern. Claude plays it off with a chuckle, patting Byleth on the arm, wondering if his skin is enough to hide the pink that undoubtedly dusts his face.
“And so,” Dimitri pauses, coughing into his hand, eye twitching. “Erm, and so, Felix had been,” he coughs again this time, pounding his chest twice. Byleth reaches over to touch his arm, brows pinched in concern, before he sneezes sharply. He looks remarkably confused for a moment, rubbing at his nose as Dimitri continues his short coughing fit.
“Why is my nose so itchy?” Byleth murmurs, scratching at it before sneezing twice. His arm comes down onto the table, and for a moment, Claude thinks it’s going to flip and their wonderful tea and sweets are going to capsize out the window.
Instead, it just rocks in place, as Byleth groans and touches his stomach. Dimitri’s coughing fit has finally subsided, though he looks a little woozy, red in the face. They stare at the table for a moment, looking so similar in their confusion that Claude can’t resist barking a laugh. Immediately, sharply, their eyes are on him, waiting.
“Sorry,” Claude wheezes, even as excitement bubbles within him. “You two just looked so lost, just now.” It’s working.
Byleth frowns, clearly something prickling at them. They sit back in their chair, though now their hand is a little shaky, the tea in their cup sloshing from side to side. Dimitri’s a little more hesitant, refusing to even touch his cup, hands firmly pressed together. They’re suspicious. Wary.
Too little, too late. Claude takes a sip of his tea, nudging Byleth, unable to hide the flash of his teeth when Byleth hesitantly nudges back.
Conversation is slow to start again, but it does. Dimitri speaks about Dedue’s latest role taking care of Ashe and Annette, only to be interrupted by Byleth who kindly informs him that this is no new development. Claude regales them with tall tales about Cyril’s monstrous growth, shot down twice by Byleth’s knowledge about Ashe and Cyril’s endeavors. Well, alright, and no one has the will to talk down Byleth when he goes on another tangent about the joys of fishing, least of all when he mentions it was Jeralt who first taught him how.
It’s awfully sweet, made sweeter by the slow reddening of Dimitri’s cheeks, the way Byleth’s fingers tighten around the cup with every passing minute. Claude leans back, waiting, watching, coaxing sweet words from his companions as their voices modulate, dipping between normal speaking tones and a lower, breathier register.
It’s Byleth who breaks first, sweat beading at his face.
“I can’t hear her!” He startles, jumping up. Claude and Dimitri scoot back in their chairs, Dimitri grabbing for it as a weapon, Claude preparing to duck under the table. Byleth turns from side to side, brows knitted close in concern, as he pats his ears. “I can’t—I can’t hear her anymore!” Her.
“The goddess?” Claude intones. Dimitri turns from him to Byleth, face pinched, when Byleth nods. Claude hesitates, biting on his lip, when Byleth continues his flailing.
“Sothis! Sothis! Please don’t be mad,” ooh boy, so this was a long time coming then, “Sothis, please, come back! Don’t leave me again!” Okay, okay. Claude sighs, climbing out from under the table, crossing his arms behind his head. Cool, casual.
“She’s not gone, teach.” Byleth freezes, turning to Claude with wide eyes, chest panting, and oh, it really is working, isn’t it? It’s hard not to grin at them, so he doesn’t, letting the cocky smirk tug at his lips. “She’s just, uh, sleeping. She’ll be back, don’t worry about it.”
They’re silent for a moment, Dimitri lowering his grasp on the chair, as Byleth places his palm on his chest. He’s still, just his hand moving along his breastplate, before his eyes move back up to Claude.
“What,” Byleth’s snarling, “did you put in the tea?” Too little, too late. Claude rocks back, biting down on the chilling sensation crawling up his spine telling him to run. Even without her goddess’ protection, there’s no telling whether or not Byleth will be able to wield the sword of the creator, and Claude is not looking forward to being in that thing’s path. Instead, he uncrosses his arms, letting them hang by his side, sighing.
“Don’t worry teach. Just a little… suppressant. It’s safe!” Claude adds, at the very pointed look Byleth looks him. He points to Dimitri. “I used it on Dimitri before, it’s fine.”
“You what?” Dimitri startles, hand suddenly tight on the chair again. He releases it as quickly as he gripped it, but his hand comes back clean, not a splinter of wood broken off, and he and Byleth alike gapes at it. Claude whistles.
“Look at that. Told you it’s safe. In fact,” his mouth stretches wide into a toothy grin, “you two might be the safest you’re ever going to be.” Realization finally settles into Byleth’s eyes, flickering between him and Dimitri, swallowing sharply. Dimitri’s breathing has deepened, his shoulders rising with every intake, face growing to be a pretty pink.
Claude’s heart might burst, with how hard it’s beating.
“A… crest suppressant? Is that, is that even possible?” Byleth murmurs, eyes wide, as his hands roam his chest. Dimitri has settled for placing both hands on the table, every labored breath a display of his muscles.
“Why,” Dimitri growls, eye flitting to Claude, narrowed, “do I feel so warm?” Byleth nods, absent, punching himself in the stomach only to pull away hissing, nursing his pinking knuckles. Claude barks out a laugh, unable to quell the excitement any longer. It’s working. It’s really working.
“Crest suppressant, made by yours truly,” Claude purrs, hands sliding up to unhook his cape, placing the armored cover on the table. “And aphrodisiacs, made by yours truly.” Giddiness overtakes his tone, unable to swallow it any longer. He got it right. He really, actually, got it right.
They’re going to have so much fun.
“Aphrodisiacs?” Byleth barks, sharp, as Dimitri groans, placing his head in both his hands. Claude shrugs, tugging loose his sash and waist band, folding them carefully before placing them on top of his armored piece. Dimitri shoots him one more wary look before following suit, letting his fur piece slide off his shoulders to crumple onto the floor.
“It’ll fade,” Dimitri assures Byleth, coughing when he registers how throaty his voice has gotten. His face is truly pink now, a pretty hue from ear to ear, and he scratches at his neck. “I, uh, I would know.”
Byleth sighs, groaning, though he too unhooks his cape and waist belt. It’s almost an awful shame to see them slip out of uniform if not for the fact that Claude’s been waiting for this too long, desire bubbling in his stomach. It’s been an awfully long time since he’s had Dimitri really go at him last, coaxing the beast out with pretty words and careful angling, and it’d be nice to have him and Byleth both relaxed to… participate in activities.
“So,” Claude coughs, gesturing to the bed after kicking off his boots, “who first?” Really, Claude just wants them to fuck him. He’s a simple man, easy to please.
And he really is pleased when Dimitri doesn’t bother hiding his groan, stomping over to grab at Claude’s blouson. His teeth bite into Claude immediately, gnawing at his lips, tongue slipping in, letting Claude moan into his mouth as his hands come up to grapple with the blonde locks. Claude pulls sharp, rearing Dimitri back so that he can better angle his head, sweeping a tongue along Dimitri’s bottom lip.
There’s a hand sliding along his waist, riding up his shirt to pinch at his skin, and Claude groans, eyes flickering back. Byleth’s panting, pressing their jaw to the back of Claude’s neck, before crooking their teeth into the skin. Claude squeaks, arching forward, but it just sends him closer to Dimitri, quick to bite and lick into his mouth again.
“Okay, Okay!” Claude yelps when a hand scratches at his shirt. “We’re too dressed for this! Can we please just strip first?” Dimitri growls into his mouth, hands fisting Claude’s shirt and pulling. When the fabric doesn’t immediately tear, Dimitri’s jaw drops slack, allowing Claude to grasp his jaw and pull him back, grinning. “Crest. Suppressant.”
“I don’t see the benefit to this,” Dimitri spits. So snippy, this one, even as he tears off his armor plate, letting it fall to the floor without flourish. Claude hums, approving, making quick work of his pants and blouson before moving to the bed, considering. He could take off his underwear now, make it quick.
It’s just that Byleth’s already nude and waiting, and Claude kind of wants him to take it off with his teeth.
“Your schemes are awful,” Byleth intones, as though his face isn’t perfectly flushed, nipples and dick hard. He’s weeping, truly, precum leaking a trail onto the bed. Claude laughs, leaning in close to kiss at Byleth’s lips, sweeping his arms down his chest. Byleth sighs, moans, lets Claude cup his face as his hands crawl down Claude’s spine to pull at his ass.
“My schemes,” Claude corrects, panting as Byleth pinches his ass, palming at the space between his cheeks, “are fantastic, thank you very much.” Byleth hums, looking remarkably unimpressed for a man twitching and barely resisting to thrust against Claude’s thighs. The bed dips behind them, a hand immediately clawing at Claude’s side, blonde hair tickling his face as Dimitri leans in to press a kiss at Byleth’s cheek.
“I agree with Byleth. You are awful,” Dimitri comments. Claude rolls his eyes, chuckling, as Dimitri joins Byleth in sliding his fingers under his underwear. He’s as nude as Byleth, dick throbbing and wet, and Claude licks his lips. Fun.
“Don’t be mean now,” Claude purrs, craning his neck when Dimitri bends down to bite at his skin. He shouts when Dimitri bites down hard enough to break the surface, drawing blood, only to turn away for Byleth to lick at the fresh wound. Claude shakes, moaning, his hand tightening to Dimitri’s hair to pull him close for a sloppy kiss.
“You’re the mean one,” Byleth groans, lining his crotch near Dimitri’s, their dicks just brushing. They shiver in unison, picture perfect, and Claude takes the moment to lean back to appreciate the view.
“Now, now, we don’t have time for such words. Come on, Dimitri,” Claude coos, sliding his hands down Dimitri’s stomach until he reaches his stomach, twisting his palm on the head of Dimitri’s dick. Dimitri trembles, biting down on his lip, as Byleth leans over to take a nipple into his mouth. Hot. “Let’s take care of you first, okay?”
“This, this isn’t fair,” Dimitri pants, his hands coming up to paw at Byleth’s shoulders when Byleth turns to bite at his chest. “Nn, Byleth, Claude, w-wait.” Claude grinds his thumb down against the slit of his dick, the other hand trailing loose fingers around the base of his dick, flicking, stroking. Dimitri really is awfully wet, back arching already, drool forming at his lips.
“Hah, hah, wait! It’s, it’s,” his eyes screw shut, hands trembling as though resisting the urge to bury themselves in Byleth’s hair. A pity, and Claude is quick to correct him.
“No crests, remember?” Byleth and Dimitri both flicker to him, wary, aroused. They look awfully delectable, lost. “You can’t hurt him. Can’t hurt me.” His grin stretches from ear to ear as he pinches at Dimitri’s ball, earning him a shiver. “Go wild, king.”
Dimitri yelps as Byleth bites harder at his flesh, hands finally clenching Byleth’s hair, tugging hard. Byleth grunts at the feeling, pain and pleasure flashing by his face, before darting up to pull Dimitri into another kiss, hands grappling at his waist. Claude slides his hands along the shaft of Dimitri’s dick, waiting, knowing that he’s already on his edge. He’d call him a quick shot, but, well. He’ll play nice, just this once.
“Wai, ha-ah, Claude,” Dimitri groans, pushing at Byleth’s shoulders even as the other is relentless, forcing Dimitri to bend his spine back. “I-I’m going to—haa!”
Cum squirts onto his hand, wet, sticky and warm. Claude blinks in surprise—he knew it was coming, but, hah, Dimitri really was cumming. Byleth freezes in equal shock, staring as Dimitri’s hips thrust in the air, cock shooting semen onto Dimitri’s stomach, Claude’s hands, even catching onto Byleth’s thighs. Yet, still, Dimitri’s cock remains hard.
“What?” Byleth breaths, a low mutter under his breath, eyes flickering from Dimitri to Claude. Claude smiles, putting on his most innocent doe eyes. It does absolutely nothing but make Byleth’s own narrow.
“Come on,” Claude murmurs instead, crawling over to pinch at Byleth’s dick. His professor swallows, as though suddenly aware of the heat coursing through his body. “I’ve got plans for you two, teach.” He drags Byleth’s hand down to the band of his underwear, before sliding onto Byleth’s thighs, crooking his lips onto Byleth’s shoulders. “So let’s get started already.”
“Schemes, hm?” Byleth raises an eyebrow, though his chest is still heaving, rising and falling with every gasp as Claude slides his hands lower. He pulls Claude’s briefs sharply down to his thighs, scratching at Claude’s skin, prompting a moan. “Why don’t I trust you?”
“You don’t have to,” Claude suggests, glancing back to the sudden pressure of two hands against his back. Dimitri glares down at him, cheeks still a lovely red, and Claude laughs, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Teach, come here. Let me suck you off.”
Dimitri and Byleth alike moan at the words, Byleth crawling back as Dimitri lets Claude fall against him. Like this, it’s easy enough for Claude to lick at his dick, causing Dimitri to hiss and shift. Sensitive, overly so, though that alone doesn’t stop Claude from playing with his balls, nipping at the skin of his cock. Dimitri shivers and moans, murmuring, until Byleth slaps at Claude’s hands, hips hovering overhead.
“Stop playing.” Always lectures with Byleth. Claude would roll his eyes if he weren’t salivating, pulling Byleth down to properly sit on his face. He doesn’t have this chance often enough, usually pushed around by Byleth and Dimitri’s handling arms, due to their sheer strength. Well, here, he’s a little more capable, and he grasps at Byleth’s hips and swallows down his cock in one swallow.
“Claude! Why—nn, that’s, ugh,” Byleth groans, unable to stop the natural thrusting of his hips. His balls bounce on Claude’s jaw as he moves, pubic hair itchy at Claude’s face, and he adjusts Byleth so that he’s properly buried in his throat. Byleth shouts, unable to quell the beginnings of a shiver within in, his hips quick to pick up speed.
“This is—ridic, hah, culous! Claude,” Byleth’s voice warbles in the air, his head tossed back as he thrusts, “w-why are you s-soo,” his hands come down to grapple at Claude’s neck, thumb pressing down, and Claude gasps, throat spasming at the sudden cut of air. “Scheming so often!”
Claude moans, his eyes lidding, coughs bubbling in his lungs from the stifling flow of air. Byleth’s cock continues its thrusts inside his throat, though now Byleth’s properly pulling out, fucking his mouth, dick hitting the back of his jaw. Claude’s hands steady him, drool and precum beginning to spill from the sides of his lips, intent on keeping Byleth balanced.
Then there’s a tongue poking at his ass and he yelps, choking on Byleth’s cock.
“Fuck, hah, ugh,” Byleth’s shoulders shake as his thighs squeeze around Claude’s head, eyes rolling back. “You’re so—you’re so good at this. Such a,” he’s panting, loud, whiny, “such a good hole.” The praise goes straight to Claude’s dick, bobbing hard against his stomach, though he’s just the tiniest more preoccupied by the wet tongue licking stripes from his ass to his balls, a slick finger drawing circles on his entrance. He should have known Dimitri wouldn’t stay put.
But, well, this is also fun. Especially so when Byleth’s hands tighten in Claude’s hair, grinding him into the bed as Byleth’s hips straighten, screaming as he orgasms. His cum hits the back of Claude’s jaw for just a second before Byleth’s slipping out, upward, streaks of semen marking stripes along Claude’s cheeks, his eyes squeezing shut before it hits his eyelids. The sound of Byleth’s screams are suddenly cut off as Dimitri’s weight settles on Claude’s stomach, no doubt swallowing Byleth’s shouts with his mouth. Claude breaths, slow, careful, coughing lightly as cum continues to soak into his face, dripping along with his spit along the sides to pool onto the bed below him.
“Dimitri,” Byleth’s sighing, and then there’s a hand brushing at Claude’s face, wiping the cum from his eyes. Not very well, clearly, because when Claude opens his eyes there’s cum in his lashes, drooping, pulling them downward. Based off Dimitri’s sharp intake of breath, however, it’s not a bad look on him.
He’s always known Dimitri liked his face wet and coated in cum. Call it intuition, or perhaps just the number of times Dimitri pulled his face back to properly cover him. Claude grins, flashing a victory sign at Dimitri, the other smiling back before pressing his face into the crook of Byleth’s arm.
“Oh,” Claude intones, eyes dropping down. They’re hard, still hard, cocks bobbing against their stomach and wet still, Byleth’s significantly more so with cum and drool soaking his pubic hair. Nice.
“This is your fault,” Byleth reminds him, though his tone is hardly scathing. He pulls Dimitri flush to him, their dicks rubbing. They moan together, breathless, and Claude swallows at the noise. “What—what was your grand scheme? This?”
It wasn’t, and they all know it. Byleth’s just reminding him to stay on task.
“Don’t be mean, teach,” Claude grins. He slides his hands downward, leaning back, knowing that Dimitri and Byleth’s breathing is quiet, sharp, waiting. Watching. Claude stretches his legs out, pressing his hands into his thighs to allow them a better view of his ass. Dimitri groans, hand on his dick, Byleth swallowing. Claude could laugh. He’s always been good at delivering a show.
“I, uh, prepped before. But you might want to stretch me some more, if, well, you want to fuck me together.” It’s hard to give them a pleasing smile when pink flushes his cheeks, the words sounding filthy as they pass his mouth, even more so with how well fucked his throat is. Byleth and Dimitri alike stare at him, animals frozen in heat, until Dimitri relents, covering his red face in his hands.
“Claude,” he croaks, shoulders shaking, “you are awful.” Yet, he’s the first to scoot a little closer, shy eye peering out from his fingers, staring at the nudity spread before him.
“Agreed,” Byleth murmurs, and then he’s turning from the bed, eyes glancing around the room. Claude huffs out a chuckle, reaching out to pet Dimitri’s head, pulling him close to trace the shell of his ear.
“Sash,” Claude calls out, kicking one leg at his pile of neatly folded clothes. Realization flickers in Byleth’s eyes, before narrowing dangerously, climbing off the bed.
“The one time you fold your clothes,” he grumbles, “and it’s for this.” Claude would laugh if not for Dimitri leaning over to properly kiss at him, nails digging into Claude’s chest, tweaking his nipple. Claude moans, letting Dimitri pepper him with soft kisses, hands stroking upward at his muscles along his arm to underarm. It almost tickles and Claude smiles against Dimitri’s mouth, squirming.
The pressure of Byleth returning to bed is Claude’s only warning before he’s pulled forward, a wet finger pressing at his entrance. He yelps, Dimitri turning to Byleth, even as Byleth simply crooks his finger and presses a knuckle deeper.
“Hah, wow, B-Byleth,” Claude moans, arching his back when Byleth presses another finger to his entrance, pushing in with little resistance. “Not, nn, going gentle?” Byleth snorts, scissoring his fingers and pulling another string of gasps and curses from Claude’s lips. Dimitri slides back, dick pressed against Claude’s chest, eyes flickering back to Byleth.
“Gentleness is reserved for those who deserve it. And besides,” his fingers crook, earning him a jolt and pant from Claude, “you don’t want to be treated gently.” He doesn’t, not today especially, high on giddy excitement and curdling heat in his stomach. Dimitri bites down on his lips, slowly grinding against Claude’s chest, and it’s so easy for Claude to lean forward to mouth at his dick. Dimitri moans, thighs squeezing Claude sharp.
Byleth squeezes a third finger into Claude, hard, fast, fucking his hole relentlessly. Claude’s certain that his legs are shaking as Byleth holds them down, panting, crooking and spreading and pounding Claude’s hole with his fingers. Claude shouts when Byleth smacks his hand against Claude’s entrance, startling him forward and spilling Dimitri’s cock from his mouth, smearing at his cheek. Byleth’s cum, still drying on his face, sticks to Dimitri.
“Oh, oh, fuck,” Claude pants, eyes wide as Byleth inserts a fourth finger inside him. He hisses, biting down on his cheek, a wave of pain washing over him. His previous stretching clearly not enough, and it takes Dimitri poking at his mouth again with his dick before Claude can unhinge his jaw, licking at the tip.
“Are you sure?” Dimitri prods, hands playing with Claude’s hair, brows knit together in concern. Always a worrier, despite the blood he’s shed in the battlefield. Claude nods, moving his hands upward to stabilize Dimitri, craning his neck forward to battle take him into his mouth. Dimitri moans, hands scratching along Claude’s scalp, hips trembling.
“Oh, oh, hah, Claude…!” Dimitri whines, legs clenching. Claude wants to take him all the way in, fuck his throat again, but it’d be an awful waste when he’s so close to being prepared. As though listening in, Byleth squeezes his fourth finger past the second knuckle, careful now to spread his fingers against the resisting flesh, crooking and pressing in Claude’s inner rings. Claude jerks, resisting the urge to bite down with Dimitri in his jaw, closely rotating his hips to better adjust to the stretch. He can do this. He can do this.
He manages to kick at Byleth with one of his feet. Byleth stills, clearly contemplating, rotating his fingers twice more before pulling out, oiled fingers dripping along Claude’s hole onto the sheets. He shuffles forward, placing a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder and tugging him back, slipping his dick out of Claude’s mouth yet again.
“Dimitri,” patient, kind, as though he’s not pink from ears to shoulders, chest heaving with every aroused breath, “why don’t you enter first?” They’re all blushing now, flushed from desire, from excitement, and though not a single drop of aphrodisiac touched Claude’s tongue he can’t help but feel a dizzying heat within him at the proposal. His eyes lid, a hand sweeping up Dimitri’s hip to pinch at his ass.
“Yeah, Dimi.” Cool, casual. “Fuck me.”
Dimitri groans, relenting, shifting further down the bed. Claude curls, tipping his head forward as he shifts onto his elbows, watching as Dimitri pulls his legs apart to better glance at his hole. He’s wet, he just knows he is, but the sight of Dimitri visibly swallowing down a moan at the sight warms the embers dancing in his stomach.
“I, Claude, are you—sure?” Dimitri murmurs, as though his hand isn’t creeping close to Claude’s hole, prying it open, drool pooling at his lips. As though Dimitri hasn’t fucked him before, rough against brick walls, scratching up Claude’s uniform, his back, walking him back to his room with scratch marks along his thighs, indents the size of fingertips dipping into his hips. Dimitri must be thinking the same, licking at his lips, guilt and arousal pulling at his features.
“Yeah,” Claude breaths, feeling Byleth’s fingers tangle into his, “yeah. Fuck me.” Dimitri bites down on his lip but finally, finally, he’s lifting Claude’s hips up, angling himself to slide into the warm and wet hole. His head presses into Claude, just the tip, and already Claude moans, knows that he’s flushing, knows that his hole is twitching around Dimitri, greedy. Wanting.
He’s so fucking hard, dripping against his stomach.
“Go on, then,” Byleth presses, hand digging into Claude’s palm as he leans forward to watch. Dimitri falters, shyness evident for just a moment, before he digs his fingers into the indents of Claude’s hips and pressing further in. They moan, in stretch, in tightness, at the sight of Dimitri and Claude coming together. Byleth runs a single hand along Dimitri’s arm, coaxing, and then Dimitri’s tugging Claude just a little closer, fitting a little snugger, shivering and whimpering at the wet warmth surrounding his aching cock.
“Hah, come, come on, Dimi. Fu-uck into me already.” Claude’s grinning, panting, fluttering his lashes knowing that Byleth’s cum is still on his face, painting him pretty. Dimitri moans, hips faltering, before he presses in a centimeter more, then another, and a third, until finally, finally, his balls hang low against the curve of Claude’s ass, fully seated in.
Claude hisses, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, eyes twitching at how full he feels, and just with Dimitri alone. Byleth squeezes his hand, gentle, and Claude squeezes back, gasping, legs already shaking with the knowledge that he’s going to be fitting Byleth within him.
“We don’t have to,” Byleth murmurs, eyes soft. It’d be remarkably sweet if not for the leaking dick, flushed an angry red, hard against his stomach. Claude swallows, managing a gritted grin, pushing himself fully upward. Dimitri gasps, shaking, the angle pressing him even further into Claude, until Claude is hovering overhead, nearly seated on his lap.
“This, this,” Dimitri swallows, tears beginning to brim at his eyes. Early crier, sensitive, overwhelming, and Claude kisses at his eyelids. Dimitri quivers, hands encircling Claude’s back, laying his head against his neck as he steadies his breathing. “Byleth, h-huurry, please!”
“You heard him, teach,” and oh, how much Claude enjoys this, the wet feeling of Dimitri shivering against him, the shaky tenseness of Byleth’s feeble attempts to hold himself back, “come on over and fuck me well.” Byleth’s lips pinch, red, angry, horny, and then he’s coming forward, grabbing at vial of oil and pouring a generous helping onto his fingers.
“Fine, but you two wanted this,” Byleth snaps. His finger smears against Claude, sharp, and he and Dimitri shoot forward alike, moaning. Claude grasps at Dimitri’s jaw, prying his mouth open, kissing and kissing and kissing, swapping spit as their teeth bump. Byleth’s finger rocks within him, sliding along Dimitri’s dick, stretching him out even further, and then another fingers poking a knuckle into him, making him shiver.
“Oh, aah, Byleth! Hu-rry up!” Claude growls, his back bowing sharply when Byleth crooks both fingers within him, stretching, pulling, the slap of his fingers against his hole audible. His fingers scramble for purchase on Dimitri, scratching, pulling, drawing thin angry lines on the skin below him. It’s odd, so terribly odd, to be marking up Dimitri when the other is normally as hard as brick to dent, and yet, Claude can’t help but find his reddening skin so awfully pretty.
“Byleth, ah, ahh, Byleth, Claude, hnn, please, please,” babbles spill from Dimitri’s mouth, his hands pinching hard around Claude’s waist, head bobbing with every push of Byleth’s fingers. His hips twitch and shift without his consent, natural need pushing him to rock just slightly against Claude, unable to swallow the burning desire seeping out of every pore.
“Fuck, fine, fine.” Technically, Byleth should be stretching Claude more, getting him actually properly prepped for this. But he’s red and angry and flushed, the aphrodisiac still churning in his system, making his heart thud in his ears, and it’s no other fault than the one presenting his dripping hole his way. Byleth hisses, hand palming at his dick, balancing his weight onto his knees.
“C-come onn, nnhah!” When the head of his dick presses against Claude, they moan in unison, hot, slick with sweat, with cum, with drool and tears. Byleth bites at his lips, feeling grunts and shouts bubbling within his chest, steadying himself onto Dimitri as he presses a centimeter more. Dimitri shakes, sliding back, and then they’re falling onto the bed, Byleth slipping far further in than he intended. Dimitri sobs, tears overflowing, mouth agape as drool and snot begin to form. Claude is still, remarkably still, sans the quaking that shakes his shoulders, his face turned away.
“Dimitri, Claude, Claude, what,” Byleth’s panting, eyes screwing shut, as he braces himself against the bed, pressing in just a little further. Dimitri’s dick is so hard against his, every brush drawing a moan from his mouth, but it’s the wet heat of Claude squeezing them both that makes every movement starry, his eyes hazy as his legs shake, determined to make it just a little further in. “I, I, ugh,” his thigh slips besides Claude, sweaty, loose, and he could almost slip out, “Dimitri, Dimitri, pull out just a little.”
“I, hah, I don’t think he can,” Claude’s laughing, just a loose shaking of his shoulders, and then he’s crooking himself upward, forward, letting Byleth slip the tiniest bit further in. He presses a kiss against Dimitri’s wet face, and then, finally, turning to see Byleth. The sight makes Byleth’s heart thud, his dick twitching.
Claude’s smeared his cum onto Dimitri’s face, though much of his semen is still coating his face, his lashes, right along his mouth. Claude’s panting, jaws loose, sloppy, tongue poking out as spit spills from his mouth along Dimitri’s chin, wet from his own tears. Hazy, blurry eyes stare blankly at Byleth, Dimitri clearly already far gone, unable to do much besides whine and pant and cry with every rocking motion of Byleth pushing in.
“Come on, teach,” and oh, how many times has Claude’s wink ruined Byleth’s demeanor, making blood flush dizzying fast to his head, “hurry up and fuck me already.” Byleth grits his teeth, sneering, and then he’s crooking his hips, angling in.
“Sure.” His hips snap up, finally, finally, burying himself fully into Claude against Dimitri. The movement shifts them all upwards, drawing a cry from Dimitri, a shaking gasp from Claude, his entire frame quivering from the movement. Byleth moans, hanging his head, jaw clenching just as he tries to hold onto himself for just a moment, knowing that he’s on the barest edge of cumming just from the wet warmth of being buried inside Claude. He needs to adjust, cool down, just enough to let them tip toe away from the cliff.
Then Claude is squeezing them tight, muscles tensing in, and he can’t help the way air is punched out of his lungs, his hips immediately pushing back and fucking their way in again.
“Hah, hah, nn, ahh!” Dimitri’s sobs echo in the room, tongue too heavy to form any words as his jaw works to push out drool overflowing. Claude kisses at his lips, every pant a drag from his lungs, kissing and biting and nipping at the red flesh, shaking as Byleth pushes out and fucks back in. He’s full, he’s so fucking full, full of Dimitri and Byleth alike, and it takes just a shift of his hips before Dimitri’s pressed against his prostrate, forcing a strangled cry from his throat.
“B-Byleth! Haah, nn, wai, wait!” Claude’s fingers grapple with his, clenching, pupils blown and eyes glassy. Byleth gasps, grinds his teeth together, unable to quell the shaking of his hips, pressing just a centimeter further, just a little tighter, making them squirm and shake beneath him. Claude kisses at his fingers, biting down on his knuckles, before releasing them, unable to stem the flow of moans spilling out of him.
Close. He’s so fucking close, every shift, every movement, a litany of pleasurable sparks setting off inside of him. Byleth pants against his ear, the nape of his neck, hands sliding along and groping the various pulls of the muscles flushed against his back and Claude keens, feeling so flushed that he could almost imagine that he had drunken the aphrodisiac himself, high and dizzy off nothing more than the scent of Dimitri, Byleth, the grind of teeth against him and the sound of sobbing beneath.
“Cumming!” Dimitri’s scream rings in the room, his arms suddenly swinging up to snap Byleth and Claude flush against his chest, eye pinched shut, hips tense as he fills Claude impossibly more. Byleth grunts, hands scratching at Dimitri’s shoulder, Claude’s back, finding the barest purchase in the pull and snap of their skin, as Dimitri’s hips thrust without rhythm, greedy, pushed beyond extremes.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Claude howls, burying his face against Byleth’s shoulder, grinding his jaws as tears finally begin to leak from his eyes. It’s too much, he’s so full, getting even fuller as Dimitri’s back tenses with every thrust inside of him, pulling Byleth out, pressing him further in. So much, so fucking much, Claude certain that he’s a single touch from breaking in half, stretched to his limit.
Then Byleth is biting down on his shoulder blades, hips stilling with a grunt, cum squirting inside him, and Claude can barely register himself scream.
This, he imagines, must be how cows feel when they’re bred, filled to the very brim, pounded without a shred of mercy. His fingers claw at the sheets, a hard press against Dimitri’s muscles, his throat bobbing when every heaving breath in his shuddering chest. Claude is dying, surely, floating away to a greater realm, death by being fucked too hard.
A hand cups his chin, turning him to the side. Claude manages a warbling groan, eyes flitting just as soft lips press against his. Breathing, sighing, a hand stroking his hair, another coming around to circle his waist. He sighs, lids heavy, exhaustion sagging heavily at his limbs.
“Claude,” it’s Byleth, circling his jaw, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, the center of his forehead. His head lulls back, suddenly too heavy to keep up, and Byleth lets him fall against Dimitri’s shoulder, murmuring softly. “Dimitri. We need to clean up.”
“No.” Dimitri’s word is little more than an exhale, voice soar and nasally, undoubtedly from the tears he shed when Byleth had begun to press in. It earns him a sore chuckle from Claude and Byleth alike, and then Byleth’s raising his hips, spilling back.
“Oh, oh, fucking,” Claude hisses, forcing his eyes open to stare at Byleth’s offending dick, slow in its leaving. Dimitri groans beneath, hand covering his mouth, prying his own eye open to watch as Byleth finally pulls out, his dick soft and wet where it hangs between his legs. “Goddess, Byleth, help me.”
“Princess,” Byleth teases, though his hands do close around to grip onto Claude’s arms, hauling him upward. His legs quiver, sudden feeling of loss flooding him as Dimitri’s dick slips out, bringing with it the pooling of cum released into Claude, dripping out of him. Claude whines, panting, eyes on the sight of Byleth’s and Dimitri’s cum mixed together, spilling out.
He’s tempted to make Dimitri eat him out, though his thighs squeeze, protesting. He’s too fucking tired for this. Byleth’s weight shifts the bed when he returns with wet rags, wiping down himself before Dimitri’s warm form slick with sweat and snot, and Claude’s own, a finger crooking within him to properly catch more cum. Claude sighs, still on the brink of overstimulation, hand pushing at Byleth’s head.
“Okay, okay,” he murmurs, wincing at the hoarse quality of his voice, “we’re done here. I may have,” an eye flickers to the slow rise and fall of Dimitri’s chest, arms spread, well and truly worn out, “miscalculated. Just a little.” Dimitri wheezes out a laugh, something that might have been a scoff from anyone else. His arm comes up to smack at Claude’s hand until he manages to weave their fingers together.
“A little, indeed. I wonder, how will you sit through our council’s tomorrow?” Dimitri’s rumbling tease is met with Byleth’s joyful laughter. Claude huffs, rolling his eyes, soreness already seeping into his worn limbs.
“Peace treaty cancelled. Everyone go home, Fodlan is under Leichester Alliance rule, now.” Dimitri barks a protest, shoving at Claude’s shoulder, and he yelps at how easily his body flies against Byleth, who crooks his arms around to catch him. They freeze for a moment, caught up in careful breaths, until Dimitri breaks it with a wince.
“I’m sorry! That, I, I didn’t realize,” his voice cuts when Claude raises a weary hand, mouth crooked in a grin.
“It’s fine, it’s fine. Forgot to warn you about the time active, my bad.” True to his words, Byleth stiffens, eyes tracing the room until they still. Dimitri and Claude alike wait until Byleth’s shoulders droop, relief evident on his face. Only a moment later his cheeks flush, eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Sothis says that she enjoyed her nap,” Byleth intones, refusing to look either in the eye. “She also mentions that,” oh, he’s really blushing now, “we ought to do this again. Because she doesn’t want to see anything.”
Dimitri sputters, face certainly pinking, though Claude bursts into laughter instead, giggles wracking his frame as he slides out of Byleth’s arm to properly bury himself in the blankets. Byleth groans, a hand dragging down his face.
Two weeks. It’ll take him two weeks to gather up new flowers, old stems, a sprinkle of pixie dust. It’d be best to make a few variations, some from dried bulbs, other from crushed leaves. Claude hums, crossing his arms behind his head, eyes shifting between his lovers. Fun.
“Anything for the goddess.”