The first time it happens, Felix thinks nothing of it.
It’s Ingrid’s birthday. They’re sprawled over her shitty couch—Ingrid herself has been unleashed on a buffet table and Sylvain is somewhere out the back setting himself on fire for a girl’s entertainment, which Ingrid is too intoxicated to deal with and Felix not intoxicated enough.
Dimitri is… there, which Felix does not yet know to be the recipe for disaster it will become.
Felix is four drinks deep, which is two drinks too many; Dimitri has begun to glow, in the way that Sober Felix knows to dim his eyes to but Intoxicated Felix hasn’t mastered. Dimitri smiles at him—he’s holding half a beer in his hand and it’s going lukewarm, because he’s slow, and he’s had enough. His eye’s a little hazy. His smile’s a little loopy. And nice. And warm. And nice.
Shit , thinks Felix, fuzzily, with none of the intellect it takes to dwell on what this means for a years-long and slightly fraught friendship and all the blood in his body gone distinctly southward from his brain at the sight of Dimitri’s large, large, (large, large, large…) hands. Stupid toned chest. Arms Felix’s drunken brain can’t summon the words to describe, like a mortal faced with a Greek god.
And that goddess-damned smile .
Felix knocks the beer from a startled Dimitri’s grip and replace it with his own hand, and drags him in. Kisses the surprise off his cute rosy face and rips the first few buttons off his shirt. Stumbles up the stairs, Dimitri in tow.
Stupid , chants the tiny part of his brain that’s still functioning, reckless, selfish, you’ll regret this , but though he’s sobering up from the alcohol he’s probably never going to sober up fully from the smell of Dimitri pressed up against him, Felix’s nose buried too firmly in the crook of his neck; from the way his amused chuckle rumbles up from somewhere deep in his chest and sends shudders through Felix’s entire body, connected at every plane and making him press desperately closer; the intoxicating taste of Dimitri’s skin as Felix laves slack, open-mouthed kisses up the side of Dimitri’s throat. Dimitri’s fingers are gentle through his hair, pulling away the tie and flinging it to the floor with a carelessness he’ll never inflict on Felix himself; his other hand is firm and quick and wanting in a way that makes Felix want more , gasp louder, pant harder, faster, Dimitri, Dimitri —
“ You ,” Ingrid shrieks at him the next day, tinny and furious over the phone, “ fucked, in my PARENTS’ BEDROOM? ”
Honestly, Felix thinks, setting the phone carefully down on the countertop and letting Ingrid scream her heart’s content to the vent in the ceiling—if Ingrid’s rage is the only consequence of what was honestly a pretty fun, harmless one-night stand with one of his oldest and frankly hottest friends—well, it could be way worse.
Note to self , Felix will furiously scrawl on the inside of his brain in the months to come, the only time anyone says ‘it could be worse’ is when it’s about to get worse.
The next time, Felix reasons, happens because turnabout is fair play and Felix deserves to see how Dimitri looks laid out on his back with his legs pushed apart, gasping as though for his last breath of air on earth.
Again. By all appearances this is the opposite of a problem. It is very difficult to consider Dimitri a problem when he looks like this. Felix leans down over him and presses Dimitri’s knee against his chest, loving the willingness with which he goes, loving the way Dimitri’s already-open face crumbles a little further and he gasps out, “ Felix ”—loving, actually, the way that sounds, his name, from Dimitri’s debauched lips. He bites another kiss against Dimitri's jaw, because he's learned that Dimitri does not object to this particular tendency of his, not at all—and sits back in satisfaction when Dimitri hisses, writhes, scratches at his back in the manner that reminds them both how he's earned his new mantel.
("You," Felix had gasped, the last time, clothes torn away and Dimitri’s fingers snarled harsh in his hair, "you’re—oh fuck —you’re such, so," keened violently as Dimitri scraped teeth over his collarbone, growled, mouthed and bit all down his chest, "just—just—fucking S eiros, for the goddess' sake, you fucking wild boar —" and only Dimitri was more embarrassed than Felix about how much he kind of liked that.)
Dimitri continues now, “Please," pulls Felix's hair, tries to tug him close, to kiss him, "please, Felix,” and Felix acquiesces, because Felix is sometimes kind. Dimitri howls. The sheets tear.
In the following minutes, which involve cleaning up and navigating the return of Dimitri’s hysterically awkward politeness, Felix regains some use of his logical faculties. Enough to reconstruct the events in the lead-up and ask himself, Hey Felix, what the fuck?
What the fuck?
“That was nice,” Dimitri smiles, in the way you might expect to hear after someone has been served a decent pasta dinner, or a screening of that movie Enchanted which Annette made him watch, and distinctly not in the way you might expect to hear from someone who’s just had their brains fucked out and drooled all over your pillow about it. Felix expresses his disdain by grunting, because they are laying on clean and un-Dimitri’d (read: whole and not torn) sheets and Dimitri’s big muscular arm is nice and warm and heavy around his torso and he’s comfy.
“Truly, I appreciated it,” Dimitri continues, in the way you might expect to hear after someone has been presented with an upper-middle class Christmas hamper and not from someone whose ass you just had your entire dick up. “I really do enjoy your company, Felix… especially in this form.”
His voice has dropped. Was that supposed to be sexy ? Dimitri is the worst man alive.
“Are you conscious?” Dimitri sounds amused now.
“Stop,” Felix grits out, “being weird , about me fucking you.” This gets a raucous laugh from Dimitri, who pulls him closer, which is really comfortable and the worst . “We’re friends . This was just—I don’t know. A fluke.”
“Of course,” says Dimitri, and occasionally it really sucks knowing him so well, because Felix can hear the mild disappointment nearly everyone else would miss. “I—I would never want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Stupid,” Felix mutters, and smacks him half-heartedly in the torso. “Relax about it. It just... happened.” Pause. “It was good,” he adds grudgingly. “I had fun.”
With Dimitri’s feelings taken care of, Felix returns to: What the fuck? A one-time thing, that was what he’d told Ingrid, and Sylvain, and himself, and Sylvain again when he wouldn’t shut up about it. This time wasn’t any less casual, but as bad as Sylvain tells Felix he is at math, he does know one thing: two is not one.
A two-night stand? Is that a thing? Could it be a thing?
Dimitri is falling asleep. Felix can tell because he’s starting to snore against the side of Felix’s neck, which is annoying, but fine.
How had they gotten here, anyway? Hastily retracing the evening again now that Dimitri isn’t interrupting him with affection and insecurity or whatever—Felix recalls Dimitri coming over to play video games, then Dimitri opening his mouth to say some dumb joke that only he thought was funny, then the texture of Dimitri’s jeans when Felix ripped his fly open.
Is he missing a step? No, that’s it. Dimitri laughed once, then Felix jumped him.
Dimitri chokes on Felix’s hair, snorts violently, and continues snoring.
Felix stares at the wall.
Okay, whatever. He can interrogate this when he’s not all sweaty still from fucking his best friend into his mattress, not that there’s anything to interrogate. A fluke, happened twice. Not gonna happen again.
Felix: it happened again
Annette is not judgy by nature, but she is super judgy also, and in this case Felix honestly does not blame her, because he is really judging himself right now.
Annette: TELL ME EVERYTHING BUT NOT THE DETAILS THOUGH
Felix: no i have to go and have a crisis.
Annette: YOU ARE A CRISIS
Annette: HOW DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE THREE TIMES
Felix does not dignify this with a response and chucks his phone onto the sofa on the other side of the room. Then he has a crisis.
Dimitri’s hair is really soft.
That had been the problem. It looked really soft, so obviously Felix had to get his hands in it to check. Then somehow Felix’s hands were more places that were not Dimitri’s hair, and Dimitri’s hands were also places, um, and then Felix gave him a blowjob. Okay, slow down.
What is there to slow down about , Felix’s brain screams at him , you put his dick in your mouth!
Shut up , Felix tells his own brain.
Maybe you'll shut up if you put another dick in your mouth.
Felix stops arguing with his own brain and resumes his crisis.
Why is this happening ? His relationship with Dimitri has not changed. He is one hundred percent sure of this. They are still best friends. Just. Friends . Who have had sex three times. Like friends do, in a friendly way.
Felix gives up. This is not a normal friendly arrangement. He is not, for example, having sex with Ingrid. (Felix pauses his crisis to shudder about having sex with Ingrid, who is mean and predominantly sisterly and also would most likely eat in his bed and get barbecue sauce on his sheets.)
But this is also not an actual arrangement . Friends with benefits, maybe, if he had to put a name to it—but it’s not like he and Dimitri have ever actually spoken about this. They’d barely spoken at all, actually, that last time. Felix due to having his mouth full of cock and Dimitri due to using his mouth to moan and plead, unnh, Felix, you feel so good, blah, et cetera, et cetera. Obviously Felix is good at blowjobs. He’s good at everything . Especially swords .
No, this isn’t an arrangement. It is also, Felix grudgingly admits to himself, not Dimitri’s fault, which means he can’t be mad at Dimitri about it. This is all Felix. For reasons he cannot seem to explain, he is increasingly unable to resist yanking his best friend’s pants down and having his way with that unreasonably big dick. God, but it’s stupid good. Felix loses his train of thought for a second. Why does he keep having sex with Dimitri.
And (for fucks’s sake ) now he’s just thinking about Dimitri’s fucking cock which is distracting as all hell especially since he had it down his throat not an hour ago and kind of really loved it, especially when Dimitri touched his hand to Felix’s throat with that awed look on his face and felt himself there, which made Felix moan around him at the feel of Dimitri’s hand on his neck, which made Dimitri’s hips jerk, which made Felix choke and moan again, which made Dimitri come down his throat and halfway across his face, like the most R-rated Rube Goldberg machine of all time. Also then stupid Dimitri got sentimental about Felix immediately getting himself off to Dimitri getting off, still with Dimitri half-hard in his mouth and groaning about it, which was almost as embarrassing as the look on Dimitri’s face. It was very soft, and wondering, like Felix was something ethereal.
Felix swallows at the memory. Swallows again. Another time, because the taste of Dimitri has apparently not quite vanished.
Damn it, fucking Seiros . Felix gets up and stomps off to his bedroom and slams the door so he can shove his hand down his pants in peace.
"Maybe you should give yourself some distance," Sylvain suggests—well, it's his second suggestion, the first having been maybe you should do sex more and then you'll freak out about it less you baby and also then you'll be having sex .
This (the second one) is actually a sensible suggestion—by Sylvain's standard definitely, and even by a normal human standard it is fairly logical—so Felix nods and immediately decides it's time to set himself a personal challenge.
"Which I'm guessing involves Dimitri," Ingrid says wearily.
"Let me guess," Sylvain offers. "Spend time with Dimitri without looking at his dick?"
Sylvain receives a glare for this.
"Or touching it," Sylvain amends. "Since I guess you don't have to look. Especially since you probably know your way around down there pretty well by now—"
(—and for this, receives a smack.)
Irritatingly, Sylvain isn't actually wrong (which makes two times in one conversation that Sylvain made sense and this is troubling in itself) as this is in fact the challenge Felix has set himself, being extremely predictable and stubborn and insistent to Sylvain's bafflement that continuing to be on or around Dimitri's (Dimitri voice) endowments , for the he's-lost-track-teenth time, would actually be a bad thing. Yes, a bad thing. Yes it feels good. Yes it makes Dimitri feel good, which is also good. Yes it is overall a fulfilling experience, or at least a full feeling experience, ha ha am I right, shut up Sylvain, but no , it is not something that should be continued because 1) it would probably at some point involve some interrogation of feelings that Felix doesn't want to perform, and 2) it's kind of fucking weird and also stupid to not be able to be around your best friend without jumping him especially when sometimes Felix just wants to play Mario Kart and eat Cheetos or something, and 3) Dimitri is very sensitive and gentle and if Felix's past experience with feelings and feelings comma talking about is to be believed, this thing continuing the way it is will run some serious risk of actually hurting Dimitri, which would be… bad.
Felix frowns briefly at the thought of a hurt Dimitri. The betrayed little puppy dog pout he can already see makes his mind up for him.
Operation: Don't Have Sex With Dimitri, and its outcomes:
Felix sits on Dimitri's couch, having obtained a mantra. The mantra goes: I will not have sex with Dimitri.
I will not have sex with Dimitri.
"Game," announces Super Smash Brothers Ultimate announcer Xander Mobus.
I will not have sex with Dimitri , who by the way was playing Donkey Kong and Felix was playing Jigglypuff because Dimitri insisted Felix needed a handicap of some sort or else Dimitri would never win and then Dimitri lost anyway. I will not have sex with Dimitri . Donkey Kong claps politely while Jigglypuff, like, jiggles, or whatever in victory. I will not have sex with Dimitri.
"Would you like a drink, Felix," asks Dimitri.
"I will not have sex with Dimitri," Felix says out loud, and Dimitri stands there and blinks at him in his nice white polo shirt and blue jeans. "Orange juice."
"Oh," says Dimitri, and looks at him, and says, "Oh," again, and goes to get some orange juice.
Felix will not have sex with him.
"Is the orange juice alright," Dimitri asks, one minute later. He had handed Felix a glass and asked if he would like ice, and then asked if pulp was alright because they also had pulp-free? To which Felix said, in order: "What kind of fucking coward needs pulp-free juice," and then, "Also I'm not having sex with you."
"Okay?" says Dimitri.
"Just saying," Felix informs him. "You can't just give me orange juice and get sex."
"Like some backwards vending machine for sluts," Felix adds.
Dimitri is looking increasingly baffled and a little upset. He leans forward. "Felix," he says earnestly, "at risk of making you feel like I haven't been enjoying our—er, arrangement—and I have been, a great deal! But I do feel I need to clarify that—well, if I have ever made you feel that our… unions, have been, transactional in nature, or if you feel that you somehow owe me, well, I would rather put a stop to these goings-on than ever risk you feeling like I don't respect you completely—" and then he stops talking because Felix has launched himself into his lap and straddled his stupid legs which are wearing nice jeans. "Um, Felix?"
"You," grumbles Felix, who had at least remembered to gently place his orange juice on a coaster before diving for Dimitri's pants again, "talk too fucking much." And shoves his tongue into Dimitri's mouth as a means of shutting him up.
They tumble into Dimitri's bed again and this time Felix yanks Dimitri down on top of him and whispers demands in his ear until he's growling and pushing Felix hard into the mattress until he's helpless to do anything but strain uselessly against Dimitri's unbreakable grip. Part of Felix hates how much he likes this side of Dimitri; the other part is too busy getting hard.
"Felix," Dimitri rumbles; Felix shivers, because Dimitri's voice goes so low and rough like this and it does something odd to the core of him. Turns it to jelly. To a million buzzing bees. To something sexier than jellied bees. "Felix. Are you sure?"
"What," Felix gasps, breathless already, mindless always, under Dimitri's hands. "What?"
"Are you sure," Dimitri says urgently, like he's holding himself back and won't be able to much longer, like it's an unwilling transformation he undergoes from gentleman to beast at the full moon and the moon is Felix's ass. "Are you sure you want this? You said—"
"Yes," says Felix.
"It sounded like you didn't want—"
" Yes ," Felix says, more emphatically, struggling more fruitlessly because Dimitri is holding down his wrists and holding down his hips and goddess be damned he's so fucking big , "Dimitri, I'm saying yes , for Sothis' sake fuck me before I lose my mind."
Dimitri's eye darkens at that and he goes for Felix's throat with another low growl. Felix is baring his neck before he knows it, arching his back and tossing back his head to give Dimitri free reign, to allow the way he's mouthing at the underside of Felix's jaw and nipping at the soft skin there. His hold is unyielding as ever and Felix squirms but Dimitri keeps him still, presses him even harder down, and the message of this combined with the marks he's sucking into Felix's neck is clear, so clear. Felix likes it. He likes it a lot.
"Come on ," he hisses, "tease me any longer and you'll lose your second eye, boar," and Dimitri's laugh is so edged that Felix shivers again even before Dimitri bites into his throat and makes him yelp. " Boar ."
"Tell me what you want," says Dimitri against his jaw. "Tell me, or I won't know."
Is he still afraid? Worried he'll overstep? It's to be questioned later—for the time being Felix is more than happy to take charge if that's what the boar wants, so he tangles his legs around Dimitri's to get a thigh between his own legs and rocks against it, and breathes out, "Get started, then, you know what I want."
Obediently, Dimitri reaches around and fumbles somewhere beneath his bed for a bottle, drizzles its contents over his fingers in a gesture neither of them really needs at this point, not with how frequent an occurrence this has become. But Dimitri knows as well as Felix does how much he loves this part. Loves it as well as he does, in fact. Loves how Felix still writhes at the intrusion, how his mouth gasps open, how he rocks down against Dimitri's hand and sobs when his pleas are granted, when he's given more. Sometimes Dimitri will make him come like this before they get anywhere else—sometimes they don't get anywhere else, Dimitri being too enamoured with making Felix come untouched and then come dry and then how he curls exhausted into Dimitri's torso after. Felix does not complain, though he later often feels he should—in the moment, it's difficult to find fault.
Felix closes his eyes when Dimitri presses two fingers into him. The weight of Dimitri's upper body is still hard against him, keeping him still and down, but his hands have been freed and he wraps his arms around Dimitri's neck and breathes in the light, inoffensive smell of his soap while Dimitri prods and twists and curls. He only sobs a little, and a little more, when Dimitri finds his prostate and curls his fingers eagerly into it again and again, having confessed many a time how much he liked it when Felix cried.
"Enough," Felix pants a moment later, "enough, boar, I—"
"Dimitri," Dimitri murmurs against his ear. "Please."
Felix swallows. "Dimitri," he whispers back. "Dimitri. Come on. Do it already."
Obedient again, Dimitri slips his fingers out and strokes his clean hand gently against the side of Felix's face when he winces at the loss. It's too tender a gesture and Felix resists the urge to turn his face away, but can't quite escape the look in Dimitri's eye, inscrutable and cautious and a little too raw.
"Don't hold back," Felix demands, harsh, "make it hard. But go slow. Okay?"
"Okay," Dimitri whispers. “Okay, Felix,” and it’s too earnest for what this is, what they have, and Felix has to shut his eyes.
True to his word Dimitri fucks into him deep and unhurried; wrings long, drawn out sounds from somewhere deep within Felix’s body, strung through his throat and pulling the rest of him taut. He feels—off. Not quite present. Dimitri’s hands running gentle along his sides, moving so slow, so hard, and Felix feels too much. Entirely too exposed, like this. He keens again, too loud, too open, too vulnerable—too aware, that Dimitri is seeing all of him, inside and out, and Felix is letting him.
It's wrong. It's too intimate.
Dimitri strikes him deep and he cries out—“There,” he pleads, “again,” so Dimitri does. “Harder. Hold my wrists—” and Dimitri does, because Dimitri always does, always goes where Felix wants him, where Felix needs him, follows what Felix asks of him—“ touch me —” and Dimitri does, gasps out, “ Felix ,” and Felix comes.
It’s a moment before the world fades back in. He can hear someone panting, feel a rapid heartbeat, and he starts when he realises that it's his, that it's him. There’s a dampness on his stomach and he squirms a little, feeling Dimitri’s grip tighten on his hips. His wrists have been freed; he flexes them, dazed, wincing at the soreness. Dimitri makes a low, involuntary growl from the back of his throat and Felix feels him twitch, still buried deep within him.
“Felix,” Dimitri breathes, burying his nose into Felix’s neck, so Felix whispers in a voice too hoarse to be his own, “Keep going.”
“Keep going,” Felix says again, “ please ,” and watches Dimitri’s throat bob as he swallows, and then the next thing he knows is the harsh press of his neck into the pillow when Dimitri pulls roughly out and thrusts back in and Felix throws his head back and nearly screams—overstimulated, close to sobbing, surrounded and overpowered and entirely taken.
Dimitri is muttering nonsense into his ear; it sounds like his name, warped and spun into a reverent chant. Felix buries his fingers in Dimitri’s hair and digs his heels into his back, and Dimitri bows over him, pressing him more firmly into the mattress by the weight of his whole body. He’s so big . So big. So strong. Felix’s hand finds Dimitri’s, braced against the headboard, and Dimitri falters for a moment; Felix whispers, “Put it on my neck,” and Dimitri’s eye goes wide.
“Felix,” he says—and is he ever going to say anything besides Felix’s goddess-damned name, Felix can’t hear it anymore, not the way he says it, not like that —
Felix growls, “Do it, boar, I want it, I want you to,” and Dimitri swallows again and nods—folds to Felix’s will the way he folds Felix’s body. Effortlessly, helplessly, an instinct he couldn’t control if he wanted to. One of those massive hands finds its way to Felix’s throat and presses, gently, and Felix feels himself twitch back to life.
“Don’t stop,” he mutters. Dimitri’s pace resumes. More brutal now that he’s seeking his own pleasure and not serving Felix’s. Felix almost likes it more like this. More when Dimitri can use him without reservation.
His vision is starting to darken around the edges. He barely registers when Dimitri pushes his legs up by the backs of his thighs, hiking one over his shoulder to increase the intensity, rhythm growing unsteadier by the second; Felix lets his eyes roll back and his body go limp as Dimitri’s increases the pressure slightly on his throat—pushes his knee against his chest and hikes his hips back—hits his prostate, again, again, again—
A strangled, drawn-out keening, which Felix vaguely registers as coming from his own throat—
His hips jerk once and he’s coming again—untouched, without warning. Tightening around Dimitri until Dimitri stutters out a long, low moan against Felix’s skin and empties within him.
His hold on Felix’s neck loosens. Felix breathes, deep and shuddering.
Dimitri is pressed a firm line against Felix’s body, all but collapsed on top of him. He’s heavy. Felix noses into his hair and inhales again, matches himself to Dimitri’s steady breathing, slowing and evening out by the moment.
It’s dark when Felix opens his eyes again. They’ve shifted in their sleep. Dimitri is curled around him. The warm bulk of him is almost enough to distract from the dreadfully uncomfortable stickiness on all sides.
He squirms, extremely displeased by the damp spots on and around and—eurgh— in him, and Dimitri’s rough voice says, “You’re awake.”
Felix shouts and elbows him in the gut.
“Shit, sorry,” he whispers when Dimitri yelps. “Sorry. You startled me. I didn’t know you were up.”
“If I wasn’t, I would be now,” comes the disgruntled reply. “If you wanted to kick me out, you could just use your words.”
“You just surprised me, don’t be like that,” Felix starts, annoyed, but Dimitri is chuckling. Felix shifts to face him. The moon is gentle on his pale hair and his face is soft. “How long have you been awake?”
“An hour,” Dimitri murmurs. “Give or take.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You seemed tired.” Dimitri reaches for him, and Felix braces for—something—what?—but Dimitri just strokes his hair back and tucks it behind his ear. “You look peaceful when you’re sleeping.”
Felix scowls. “Do I not look peaceful now?” he says, but Dimitri is chuckling again. “Don’t just watch me sleep. That’s creepy.”
“Sorry,” Dimitri says softly. “Are you okay?”
Felix doesn’t say anything for a second. “Sticky,” he decides. Dimitri smiles.
“Sorry,” he says.
“It’s not your fault.” Not exclusively , anyway. “Are you?”
“Okay,” Felix amends.
Dimitri hesitates. “Yes,” he says. “I’m fine.”
Felix props his head up and squints at the wall clock. It’s impossible to see in the dim moonlight. “What time is it?”
“Why were you awake?” Felix asks.
Dimitri fidgets a little.
“Just a nightmare,” he says at last, voice easy, if a little tight. “It wasn’t anything to worry about.”
“Could you not get back to sleep?”
“I slept enough.”
Well, that’s a fucking lie. Dimitri must see the disbelief in his face because he adds, “I slept better with you here than I normally do, so I’m okay now.”
Felix digests this. “I’m still tired,” he says instead of addressing it.
“I’m fine,” Dimitri reassures him. “Go back to sleep.”
“Not if you’re going to look at me all night with that googly eye of yours,” Felix mutters.
He squirms closer to Dimitri and nudges him over, leading him to amusedly say, “What are you doing?” which Felix ignores in favour of wrapping an arm around his waist. “Felix?”
On second thought. Felix pulls away. “Change the sheets,” he orders. “I’m going to shower.”
“And then you’re going to… cuddle me?” Dimitri says, struggling to keep the laugh out of his voice.
Felix flushes. “If it helps you sleep,” he mutters. “Change the sheets. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Dimitri says, ever agreeable to Felix’s whims. He hesitates some more.
“What’s the problem?” Felix asks.
“Nothing,” Dimitri says hastily.
Not fooled, Felix says, “Dimitri,” so Dimitri says, “Well—” and Felix waits.
Dimitri struggles for another moment and then says, “We’ve done this a few times now.”
“Yeah,” Felix says, trying for casual and winding up with pained.
“I just,” says Dimitri, visibly uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure—well, I wanted to know what you… What we...”
Felix knows what he’s asking. He always knows, when it comes to Dimitri. Can’t say he wasn’t expecting a conversation like this, at some point, and can’t decide if it’s better that it happen in the middle of the night when he’s still kind of covered in gross dried cum or not.
“Felix,” Dimitri says, prompting, tentative, so Felix opens his mouth to tell Dimitri they’re friends, and uses it to kiss him instead.
“I thought this was a casual thing,” says Ingrid after twenty entire minutes of informing Felix that she didn’t want to hear the details of his sex life with Dimitri and then badgering him non-stop about it anyway.
“It is,” Felix grunts.
“But,” she starts, and Felix says more emphatically, “It is .”
“ But ,” she says, undeterred, “does he know that?”
“Yes,” says Felix, not at all confident in this.
“But,” she says again.
“Butt,” Sylvain adds, helpfully, from the couch. Ingrid throws a cushion at him.
“He’s fine,” Felix says. “We talked.” This isn’t a lie. Talking was done. They just hadn’t said anything.
Ingrid is not convinced. “What did you talk about?”
“Come on, Ingrid, you wanna hear their pillow talk?” Sylvain makes a face. “I bet it’s swords.”
“He just wanted to know what we were.” Felix makes a face. “Seiros, I sound like a fucking high schooler. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Well, what did you say ?”
“I’m starting to think you just like the gossip, Ingrid,” Sylvain says, amused.
“I’m concerned .”
“She’s gossipping,” Sylvain says to Felix, who says, “I know .” Ingrid swats him.
He can sense that Ingrid is about to hassle him again so he says, “We’re friends, it’s nothing.”
“So that’s what you said?”
“I’m getting a drink,” Felix says loudly, and Ingrid groans, and Sylvain says, “Bet you five bucks they just made out instead of talking,” so Felix gets up and pours himself a drink and comes back in the room and dumps it all on Sylvain’s head.
And for the record, they did not just make out , thank you very much. They'd made out and then done some kind of sex-adjacent activity in the shower at three in the morning and then changed the sheets together and fallen asleep with their limbs all tangled up.
Which was better.
They break apart, panting, Felix's hand against Dimitri's chest where he'd lightly pushed him back. "I have to shower," he says.
Dimitri's voice is rough again. "Right," he says. His eye is all hazy with lust and his lips are swollen, which isn't helping Felix's cognitive function any.
"You're coming with me," Felix tells him.
Dimitri looks momentarily startled, then melts into a pleased smirk. "Right," he says again, and Felix drags him to the shower, where he —
—gasps, jerked back into real time, too literally. Slumps panting against his own shower wall and watches the evidence spiral down the drain and thinks it looks familiar to his mental state.)
Annette: so wait why DIDNT you tell him you just want to be friends
Felix: i dont know
Annette: do you not want to be just friends????
Felix: i dont know
Annette: well what DO YOU KNOW
Felix: macaroni and cheese is overrated
Felix: four is the worst multiple of four
His phone keeps buzzing, but he puts it down. She’s used to his bad replying. Also, he has to have another crisis.
Does he not want to be just friends with Dimitri.
No, that’s stupid. Stupid. It’s Dimitri . Best friend. Tall and foolish. Just happens to have a stupid big dick (and Felix mentally adds this to the list of facts he knows). That’s all. It’s fun . Fun. Felix is having fun.
He pauses to try and scrub the scowl off his face, because Annette keeps pestering him about frown lines.
“Please don’t like Dimitri,” he says out loud. His cat looks up and mrrps at him—his cat who, unhelpfully, loves Dimitri. He scratches her ears.
He does not want to like Dimitri. He doesn’t. He does not. He doesn’t know how to be in a relationship and he doesn’t know how to love Dimitri , like that, and he doesn’t know how to use an iron. Will he have to iron? Clothes? What if he has to cook food that isn’t meat? He can’t drive a car.
What if Dimitri expects him to use a broom? Or make the bed? Or call him “baby”, or “sweetie”, or maybe they’ll have to kiss in public—
Is that bad? That’s bad. That’s supposed to be bad. Why doesn’t it sound bad.
(Well, the “baby” part is bad, but Felix thinks he could manage—like—"love”, or something, if he had to—no, actually, still no.)
Why’s he on logistics. He doesn’t like Dimitri . Not like that. Not like that. He can’t—he couldn’t be that for Dimitri— with Dimitri. Could he? He couldn’t. They are best friends, who sometimes kiss and put their hands on each other’s unreasonably large dicks, by which he means dick, by which he means Dimitri’s, which is unreasonably large. Goddess, he is really having a crisis. He goes to pick up his phone again to relay some of this absolute nonsense to Annie and let her put it in order by way of wailing at him, but it rings , and he drops it on his foot.
It’s Dimitri. Speak of the devil. The angel. Incubus. Best friend to whom useful appendage is attached. Felix hesitates for only a second before he answers the call. He’s a mess, not a coward.
“ Felix ,” comes Dimitri’s deep voice, and Felix thinks, damn it, I wish I were a coward.
“What,” he says.
“ It’s me ,” says Dimitri. “ Dimitri .”
“I,” says Felix, “know.”
“ I want you ,” says Dimitri. Oh. That’s not what he was expecting this call to be. He was really expecting it to be something more along the lines of Felix, I dropped my keys behind the fridge and my arms are not slim enough to reach them because I am built like a truck, and of course I could simply lift the fridge with my tree trunk arms but I might snap it in half the way I could snap you in half and this is getting kind of out of hand. Oh, Dimitri is talking again. “ Physically, I mean ,” he is saying, slightly more uncertainly..
Felix winces. He was silent too long and now Dimitri is fumbling terribly. “ I want you to come over, to be clear. ” This is horrifying. Why isn’t he stopping this? Dimitri’s voice is dropping in what is obviously an attempt to be sexy and Felix isn’t sure he can survive the experience. “ I crave the feel of you ,” Dimitri purrs, actually purrs, and Felix almost combusts on the spot and the worst part is he’s not sure what he’s combusting with .
“ Um, if it is convenient to you ,” Dimitri adds, after another moment. “ And you are in the mood. ”
“Stop talking,” Felix orders.
“ Okay ,” Dimitri says promptly.
Something clicks which really should have already but Felix’s brain got put on hold when he took Dimitri’s call. “Wait, is this a booty call?”
“ Um, ” says Dimitri. Felix can hear the blush. “ Y-yes? I—it is supposed to be… ”
Felix resists the urge to rake his hand down his face.
“ I’m sorry ,” Dimitri apologises. “ I really am not good at this. I would like to be—um, to be sexier for you, but I —”
“Stop talking,” Felix orders again, and Dimitri says, “ Okay ,” even more meekly than the first time. And then, “ Sorry ,” in a smaller voice still.
Felix loses the battle and drags his hand down his face.
“I’ll be right over,” he says. “Don’t—just, I’ll be right there.”
“ Oh ,” says Dimitri, sounding legitimately startled, like he’d half expected Felix to rebuff him violently and then move across the country. “ Oh, really? I mean—that’s wonderful. I’ll—I’ll prepare, then. ”
“Stop—it’s sex, you don’t need a fucking—cheese platter,” Felix says, enraged that he still blushes at the word ‘sex’. “I’m hanging up.”
“ Okay ,” says Dimitri, happily. “ I’ll see you soon. ”
Felix grunts and hangs up.
It's on the ride over that Felix realises he was actually incredibly endeared by this pathetic display and— wow —kind of legitimately turned on, are you serious, and—okay, he might actually be in some kind of trouble, here.
The first thing to note is that Felix is not wearing underwear, because as far as he sees it there’s no reason to when it just makes another thing for Dimitri to literally fucking destroy for no reason and honestly he’s gone through so many shirts and pants in the past few months it’s kind of ridiculous. (He pays for them, so, whatever. All the beast and none of the fiscal inconvenience.)
Dimitri always stands in the same spot by the door when Felix arrives, though he lets himself in with the key Dimitri had offered him four sleeps in (weirdly intimate for what they are, but fine for best friends, he justifies, and certainly convenient). It’s good manners, Dimitri had said. You have to greet your houseguests, even when said houseguests are here to attack your collarbone with their teeth. Anyway, it means Felix can pinpoint exactly where Dimitri is going to be to launch himself at him when he opens the door. Dimitri starts to say “Hello, Felix,” and Felix is pressing their mouths together before he can finish, finding a handhold in Dimitri’s soft hair, because why waste time when they both know what he’s here for—
Wait. That’s definitely a crisp wool fabric under his roaming hand and not Dimitri’s usual comfortable jersey. Not even the cotton of a well-worn polo shirt. And also silk. Two bits of silk.
Felix pulls back. “Are you wearing a suit?”
“Um,” says Dimitri, who is definitely wearing a suit. And a tie. And there’s also a matching pocket square—it brings out his eye.
Felix gapes at him. “Is that a bouquet?”
It is, in fact, gorgeous and a little squashed from where Felix tried to climb him immediately upon entry which really is on Dimitri because Felix has greeted him the same way the past three times he’s been over and Dimitri should have seen it coming. This is a lot of roses. Beautiful despite their recently crushed petals, vibrant red and sprinkled with a number of other pretty blooms Felix is neither knowledgeable nor coherent enough to identify.
Dimitri (again: wearing a suit ) clears his throat. “Felix,” he says.
“I’m in jorts,” says Felix, wearing jorts.
“What?” asks Dimitri, then takes in the jorts. “Oh. They’re nice. You look lovely in your jorts.”
“Shut up,” says Felix.
“Oh,” says Dimitri. “Um, but can I say my piece?”
“You’re wearing a suit,” says Felix. “Why.”
“Well,” Dimitri says meekly, “that’s actually what I would like to—”
“I thought you craved the feel of me ,” says Felix, infuriated that he’s committed that atrocity of a booty call to memory already.
“I do,” says Dimitri immediately. “I always do, Felix”—and there goes the award for the least horny way to tell someone you’re horny—“but I really must tell you something, and I—”
“Are those for me,” Felix interrupts, gesturing at the roses and miscellany, and Dimitri blinks.
“Oh,” he says, “yes.” And hands them awkwardly to Felix, who now regrets speaking, because he’s going to have to endure the rest of whatever the fuck this conversation is while holding a bouquet of flowers like a stupid fairy princess . “I hope you like them.”
“They’re,” says Felix, who sort of loves them, “nice.”
“Continue,” says Felix.
“Okay,” says Dimitri, who now doesn’t seem to know what to do with his recently freed hands. “Um. Felix.”
And then, to Felix’s utter—something, to Felix’s, some human emotion, which he experiences, as a human—Dimitri seems to decide that the best thing to do with his hands is to take one of Felix’s.
“Felix,” Dimitri says again, more gently, more terrified. “Felix, I know I may not ever be the best—b-b-boyfriend,” and Felix thinks oh, Sothis, holy shit , “and you deserve much better than—than this,” and here Dimitri gestures down at all six-foot-two of himself like he’s not built like a god with the heart of twenty, like Felix isn’t going fully numb realising where this is going, “but I would like you to know that… Well, I have feelings for you, and if you would be patient enough to deal with someone like myself, I would like to enter into a relationship with you—romantically, that is—and as low-stakes and underwhelming as it may be, and although I have no experience, I would always do my best to make you happy, Felix.”
Halfway through his little speech Dimitri’s voice had started to get a little panicky and breathless, but the further he gets from speaking about himself and the closer to speaking of Felix, the more it slips into something a little more earnest and contented. Genuine, and heartfelt, and beseeching by the end of it, like to make Felix happy would be the greatest of favours Felix could grant him. Dimitri’s hands tighten on Felix’s and his smile is small and terrified and heart-rendingly sincere.
Felix can’t speak. He may have lost his tongue, now that he’s not jamming it into Dimitri’s mouth.
“I—I am sorry for springing this on you,” Dimitri says awkwardly. All at once Felix is very aware that they’re still standing in the entrance hall of Dimitri’s apartment and he hasn’t even taken off his shoes. And also he’s in jorts. “The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, and I assure you there is no pressure. I understand you probably don’t feel the same way. If you would just like to continue our current arrangement, or—or if you would like to stop it, I would understand completely.” He hesitates. “But I hope—Felix, I hope we can still be friends. I would never forgive myself, if my saying this has hurt our—”
“Shh,” Felix says.
Dimitri blinks. “Uh?”
“Shush,” says Felix. “Shhh.” He’s a little frozen in place. Hand clenching around the rose stems. Other one limp in Dimitri’s gentle hold. Waiting at the brain station for a thought to pull in, seven minutes late.
Dimitri opens his mouth, and closes it again. “Felix?”
“You,” says Felix. “You’re worried about disappointing me ?”
“I,” says Dimitri, clearly fumbling. “Um, yes?”
“I can’t drive a car,” says Felix.
“That’s,” says Dimitri, “fine? I can drive.”
“I’m a bad cook,” says Felix.
“I can’t taste,” Dimitri says, looking a little lost.
“I don’t—I don’t clean,” says Felix. “And everything I own is covered in cat hair? And—”
“Felix,” Dimitri interrupts. “Are you—can I ask—do you feel—”
“Apparently,” says Felix.
“Um,” says Dimitri.
“I thought it was a bad idea,” says Felix. “I thought we shouldn’t—that, I didn’t—” Good grief, he’s stuttering. “I like you.”
Yes. He does. He likes Dimitri.
He likes Dimitri.
This makes sense. It explains, for example, why that booty call was sexy, when it wasn’t. Or why the catalyst for fuck.exe wasn’t something respectably sexy, but was the sound of Dimitri’s laugh, or his gentle smile, or the sight of him holding orange juice in nice jeans. If he lets himself think about it—actually think about it, without the denial—this makes the most sense.
It makes sense? To like Dimitri? To want to kiss him because of who he is, and not because of—vague gesturing at dick area?
(So is Felix turned on by Dimitri being—happy? No, he can interrogate that later.)
“I like you,” Felix says again, out loud, just to test how it feels. It feels pretty good. Pretty right. “I like you.”
“Oh,” breathes Dimitri, rapidly turning into the sun before Felix’s very eyes, blinding him, in the best possible way. “Oh, really? Oh, Felix.”
The roses get crushed a second time, but that’s okay, all things considered.
(“Wait,” says Felix, forty minutes later and not even one billionth into how long he wants to spend kissing Dimitri for the rest of his life. “Why’d you fake a booty call to confess?”
“I thought you might not want to see me if not for—for sexual reasons,” Dimitri says, guiltily.
Felix takes this in. Takes in the sight of Dimitri, mussed up from kissing and still glowing in a way he’s never looked before, never through any of their encounters , beaming up at Felix like his mere existence is a gift beyond all natural life, all time and space and beyond.
“You are so fucking stupid,” Felix informs Dimitri, to his quickly growing and unforgivably fond grin. And returns to kissing him, deeply and unflinchingly, which doesn’t help the cause.)