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gilded morning

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They offer each of them a room, and Felix objects. Devoid of Dedue, of any of Dimitri’s kingsguard, he is the only line of defense between any ill-wishers and the King of Faerghus. They’ll share a room, Felix insists, partially because he doesn’t want to sleep away from Dimitri and partly because there are half a dozen other travelers trying to weather the storm who need a warm place to sleep, same as they do. The innkeep and her partner share a look that he cannot decipher.

The innkeep’s daughter shows them to their room and curtsies her exit, leaving Dimitri with the key. The door opens to a small table and its chair, a small fireplace, a bedside table and… one bed.

Dimitri barks out a laugh. “One bed… ah, how familiar that is! Do you remember when the four of us would crowd into one bed on those blissful occasions we all got to see each other? Cuddled up like a quartet of bear cubs waiting out the winter. I suppose we’ll have to share, my dear Duke Fraldarius.”

Felix scoffs, unbuckling his sword belt and setting it against the door for safety. Dimitri stokes the stubborn fire and is rewarded nothing for his efforts, and Felix gripes, “Don’t think I actually want to share a bed with you, Boar King. He crosses the room and nudges Dimitri affectionately with his shoulder to soften the blow of what was once an insult and surveys the bed. It’s not tiny, but it’s not huge, either, big enough to accommodate them both, but not comfortably.

Were the circumstances different, were he crawling into bed with a freshly bathed Dimitri in his luxurious four-poster bed at the capital, then maybe he wouldn’t be so irritable. But this? He’s to crawl beneath the blankets with a Dimitri who has been riding towards Fraldarius territory for days without a proper bath, a Dimitri who smells of sweat and leather, which isn’t normally a smell Felix turns away from, but when coupled with the stink of horses and stale, unwashed clothes it’s unpleasant at best.

But, it’s share the bed or freeze to death. Even the most comfortable accommodations that a small, lesser territory village can offer is not ideal in the middle of a late-winter blizzard.

They leave their clothes on to sleep, huddled under the scratchy travel blankets they’d each had in their horse’s saddlebags and Dimitri’s heavy fur cloak. The village’s citizens and innkeep alike had offered their savior king extra blankets, their own cloaks, even their own rooms, all of which Dimitri had refused. Just the type of kind, kingly thing Felix would expect.

(And just the kind of thing he cherished, because it wasn’t bullshit chivalry; Dimitri was just that way, now. Always had been, now that the beast inside his mind wasn’t driving him to the brink of madness.)

It feels like the temperature drops immediately when the sun sinks down, giving no preamble and no warning, just wind that goes from “moderately tolerable” to “absolutely unbearable” in a matter of minutes. It howls like a pack of wolves outside the inn, and the snow drifts against the windows of the their room, and Felix can already feel the chill settling into his bones. He’s no stranger to the cold, but he’s not like Dimitri or Sylvain - they are built differently, bred differently; warm and right at home in even the coldest climate Faerghus has to offer. He is smaller, swifter, but he pays for it with his slighter build and he already feels numb.

Dimitri faces the wall that the bed rests against, Felix the outside, and they curl up beneath their blankets with Dimitri’s cloak between them for extra insulation. Dimitri says fondly, “Good night,” and Felix answers with a grunt, because it hurts his face when he even opens his mouth, cold and uncomfortable. When the moon is high in the sky, the temperature has chilled to far below freezing and Felix’s teeth click together as he yawns. He tosses a cursory glance over his shoulder to see his king even though he can feel his weight on the mattress, hear him breathe, smell his unwashed skin. He’s scooted closer, but not touching, and Felix falls back asleep with his legs curled up and his sock-clad feet tucked under the warm bulk of Dimitri’s thigh.

When the first slants of sunrise paint the smoothness of the untouched snow in watercolor swirls and show through the window, Felix wakes, to Dimitri’s closeness. Dimitri has his arms around him and Felix is cuddled close against his broad chest, head tucked under his chin.

Even as he’s snuggling into the embrace, he’s teasing, “That’s why you didn’t protest when I said one room would be fine. So you could relieve your ridiculous nostalgia and-“

Slowly, as Dimitri blinks his bleary eyes open, Felix becomes aware of what is the press of Dimitri’s cock against his hip. “And wake me up with that nonsense.”

Dimitri clears his throat of the chilled dryness the winter air has plagued it with, kissing the top of Felix’s head as he murmurs, “Forgive me, Felix, I know it’s hardly the time.”

Felix scoffs his agreement. They’re in an inn with paper-thin walls and countless cracks for sound to slip through, they need to get up and get going to travel as far as they can before winter steals the sun from them once more… and not to mention they might freeze the fun parts off if they dared to take their clothes off for a moment. Dimitri knows it, knows that realistically he’ll rub one off as Felix goes to fetch some breakfast from the innkeep and pay for the price of his momentary hedonism with a loss of all the good meat portions of the morning’a breakfast. Felix knows it, as sure as he knows from experience just how nice of a nuisance it is to try to fuck half-clothed regardless of the fact that it makes him giddy with lust.

They both know it, and still, Felix’s hand moves between them to press against the bulge of Dimitri’s cock in his tight trousers. He presses his face into Dimitri’s chest for fear his lover will see how flushed his cheeks are, the damnable blush he still can’t control just because Dimitri wants him in such an obvious way, just because Dimitri is letting his body talk the way Felix loves to listen.

Felix lifts a leg up over Dimitri’s, offering more space between them for his confident hands and questing fingers. Dimitri heaves a moan against Felix’s hair and presses his hips forward and pleads, “Felix, please.

“It’s not as if you can go anywhere with that,” Felix quips, and Dimitri knows it to be true just as much as he knows it to be a point Felix chooses to make because, goddess forbid, it’s his idea to interrupt their morning routine.

Dimitri’s fingers are cold when lift Felix’s shirt and loosen his laces just enough to slip down the front of Felix’s tight trousers. Felix swallows back the yelp at cold fingers against warm, wet flesh, settling for beating his fist against Dimitri’s chest in protest.

Dimitri’s fingers are slow, clumsy, wrist bent at an awkward angle in an attempt to touch him proper, to run fingers over his hardness and the slick hole between his legs. Felix answers them with practiced flicks of his wrist honed by sword training and… king pleasing, alike, palming him greedily as their arms fight not to trip over each other in the (lack of) space between their bodies.

When Dimitri works his cock between his fingers in a way that makes him moan, he repays him in earnest: lifting Dimitri’s linen undershirt to place his hand palm down against Dimitri’s belly just to laugh at his sharp intake of breath. He loosens the laces on Dimitri’s pants and delves a hand inside,curls his half-frozen fingers around his cock.

It’s cold, but it’s not so cold that he’ll end up with frostbitten skin if he just… reaches down and tugs his trousers off one leg, hitches it back over Dimitri’s so his king can cup his cunt and work his fingers inside. He sighs in relief when Felix grinds against him, bumping his forehead against Felix’s until he can get the man to look at him. He wants to see Felix’s lips part and eyes flutter when he curls his fingers inside of Felix’s eager body.

“You know,” Dimitri offers with a sort of derisive smugness that makes Felix want to tell him shit up, “this is probably the most effective way to warm our hands that we could have devised.”

“Shut up,” Felix says, giving in to his desire to hush him... but Dimitri does not miss that his voice is high and reedy, breathless as Dimitri works him wide around his fingers. Felix’s hand on his dick is almost enough to hurt, fingers chilled to the bone and icy cold, but it’s a pleasant sensation - the not-inconsequential strength of Felix’s grip combined with such a shocking difference in temperature and Dimitri tucks it away in his mind under things to remember.

Felix always wants to fight him, to tell him to shut up and stop that and how dare you… perhaps just for the show of it, but when Dimitri rubs him just right he calms, like the eye in the center of a storm he’s momentarily pacified and damn near purring under Dimitri’s touch.

As he should, for what is a kitten to a lion?

Dimitri’s fingers curl inside of Felix, like he’s beckoning him closer, thumb pressing hard against his cock to make him squirm. “Felix, old friend… I must say, you are not putting up a very good performance of someone who didn’t want to even sleep in the same bed with me.”

“I am not above regicide,” Felix cautions, but, as horribly improper as the thought might be… Dimitri wonders how one might end a king’s life when one couldn’t even stop grinding down against his hand. Dimitri’s cock is bumping against Felix’s thigh, his hip, his toned stomach, and it only takes a bit of maneuvering to withdraw his fingers and slot himself up with his entrance and slide in.

Felix muffles another moan into Dimitri’s chest, fingernails digging half-moons into Dimitri’s arms. It’s too long and too thick to really be a comfortable fit… just the way he likes it. It’s a delicious sensation that makes Felix tremble, far from the first time since they had climbed into the bed together that it’s not from the cold.

He melts against Dimitri, leg tightening over his, clutching him closer and drawing him deeper. Dimitri is content to lay beside him with their bodies slotted together like two halves of a whole, to let his cock slide in and out in shallow thrusts that let Felix really feel it.

He’s content, at least for a while. Felix is mewling into his chest, soft pants that make him sound needy and wrecked already, and Dimitri would be a fool not to take the chance to have Felix pliant in his arms. It’s cold, but not that cold, and Dimitri makes a decision as Felix’s fingers roam over his balls and skitter back up his cock. The decision is that his bare ass and balls will just have to be a little cold because goddess, if he doesn’t shove Felix onto his back and get his legs up over his shoulders, he might die.

He expects a fight. He expects Felix to hiss out damn boar or the ever-coveted, angry Dimitri! but he receives no protest. Felix is folded near in half with his legs tight around Dimitri’s bulky body. He whines out Dimitri’s name as his lover kisses the inside of his ankle, up his leg, the back of his knee, so disarmingly nude without its careful encasing of thigh-high leather boots.

Dimitri has been scolded plenty of times for going too deep, too fast, for only when Felix wants to be fucked stupid does he want to be truly pounded to the point of pain. He fucks Felix shallow, lets the head of his cock tease the edges of his hole, makes him pant in fluttery little moans and growl when he thinks Dimitri might pull it out and leave him wanting.

Felix will kill him. He honestly will, if he doesn’t hurry the hell up and finish this already, make him come, make the both of them come. He makes Dimitri’s arms a mess of welts and scratches, souvenirs from nails he trims short but keeps still capable of painting Dimitri’s back with the trophies of his pleasure. Felix comes in a rush, one moment wound up so tight he can’t do much but let out low, quiet whines, the next minute stumbling over the tipping point and shuddering his climax beneath him.

Dimitri pulls out and comes on Felix’s thighs because he knows how Felix hates to be messy, hates to feel it dripping out of him, dampening his tight leggings and making horseback riding an altogether unpleasant experience. Felix pants as Dimitri climbs off of him, tucking his cock back into his trousers and lying back down beside him. He lifts his cloak to allow Felix sanctuary once more under it and Felix obliges, grumbling as the cold air bites at his naked hips and thighs. Stubbornly, he uses a corner of Dimitri’s cloak to wipe the come off of his thighs, shooting Dimitri a petulant glance that says do something.

“I’ll get up and get my clothes once you warm me up,” Felix announces, although Dimitri now recognizes it as a thinly veiled excuse to snuggle up with him for just a moment longer. Felix tucks his head back beneath Dimitri’s chin, lips pressing against his chest in something that might be a kiss or a half-hearted bite.

“You know… coming from Faerghus, I’ve always liked the cold well enough… but with you, Felix, I think I like it even more.” Dimitri can feel Felix scowling as he says it, but the feel of him, warm and close and his are more important than worrying if he’s said something to make Felix go all prickly.

“Don’t think you’ll get your cock wet every time we have to cuddle together to not die, you damned boar king.” Felix spits, but the blow is softened a bit by the kiss he plants to Dimitri’s stubbly chin.

“I would never be so presumptuous with my beloved Shield,” Dimitri vows. Their business in the Fraldarius territory can wait… if Felix is in agreeance, they’ll stay another night at this remote inn.