It isn’t that Felix is self conscious about his distinct lack of… experience regarding bedroom activities. No, he most definitely is not. He isn’t a prude – he knows what he likes and his hyper determination to master any skill that he attempts more or less ensures that anything he wasn’t good at in bed, he quickly learns and perfects in a way that makes Sylvain’s eyes roll back and his spine arch like a puppet. In fact, Sylvain often reassures Felix that if anything, he adores the fact that he was most of Felix’s first and only’s, which clearly reaffirms that Felix is absolutely not feeling self conscious at all.
If only he could get his gut to agree with him and stop trying to turn itself inside out as he listened to some irrelevant minor lords gossiping about his husband’s less than chaste history.
“He’s with the Duke Fraldarius now, you know.” One of the lords whispers to his female companion, as if Felix wasn’t standing a mere five feet away from them, well within hearing distance and also armed with a sword (ceremonial sword, but still sharp enough to stab).
The Lady titters. “Tsk. Such a pity. The end of two of the most prominent noble bloodlines, just like that.” Felix resists the urge to glare at them and instead focuses his gaze on the opposite side of the room, forcing his hands to unclench and his posture to appear nonchalant, as if he isn’t eavesdropping on a conversation dredging up old news.
“I remember hearing that the Margrave Gautier was quite the womanizer while at the academy. Strange how he has suddenly made such a drastic change.”
Dimitri wouldn’t retract his dukedom if he stabbed a minor lord in the middle of a crowded banquet hall, but he definitely wouldn’t be happy. And while Felix honestly thinks he could get away with a lot worse, the more rational part of his mind stays his hand for now albeit with great effort.
“Oh yes, I’ve also heard the rumors. Some of my close friends have personally told me of their experience with the Margrave – about his insatiability and… unique preferences.”
“Ha. I bet you anything that the Duke is a prude. They say that his personality is so barbed that none can stand him long enough to court him. The Margrave will surely tire of him soon and return to his loose ways, I am sure.”
Felix’s teeth grind, so much so that he can feel his jaw straining with effort. He knows that Sylvain would never cheat on him, not after everything they have gone through together, and especially not with the way that Sylvain unashamedly always looks at Felix like he hung the moon and the stars. But maybe deep down, Felix always has been a little self conscious about their sex life.
He is Sylvain’s husband, for crying out loud. He has a right to want their sex life to be fulfilling for the both of them.
Sylvain had always taken the lead in all things physical in their relationship. From their first kiss mere seconds after the fall of Enbarr, to every other day when Sylvain, the insatiable fool that he is, inevitably gets a bit too handsy in their morning routine and tears their clothes off just as soon as they are put on.
But as much as Sylvain is an insatiable fool, he had never once pushed Felix beyond the most… vanilla of acts.
And it drives Felix absolutely insane.
What, did he have to march up to the damn idiot and demand that he tell him his most depraved fantasies? Goddess, Felix would sooner choose death by burning in Ailell.
So of course being the rational, level headed Duke that he is, Felix simply downs his glass of wine that he had forgotten he was holding, and marches off in search of his old war-time companions.
“Forget it. This is stupid.” If there truly was a Goddess out there, Felix is confident that she has forsaken him and left him to die of embarrassment here before his friends.
“Feeeeelix,” Annette whines. She grabs his arm before he can get up and yanks him back down. Sometimes Felix forgets that the cheerful mage is also an axe wielder and much stronger than he thinks. “You can’t just bring up something like this and then change your mind.”
Blast it all, Annette’s grip around his wrist is stronger than steel and Felix wants to melt into the floor with mortification.
“You clearly trust us enough to bring up the topic, so let us help you for once,” Annette points out. She’s using those damned puppy eyes of hers and if he were a lesser man, Felix would have admitted that it was working. But alas, Felix is the Duke Fraldarius – the most skilled swordsman in all of Fodlan and he will not admit that his resolve is now just rubble on the ground.
From her seat across him, Dorothea sips on her cup of Albinean Berry Blend, a predatory grin creeping along her lips. “Trouble in paradise?”
“No.” Felix hisses.
“Oh? Then why even bring up the topic of needing a favor only we can help with?” The look in her eyes is more dangerous than Felix’s most polished knives, razor sharp against his throat like she’s already figured him out. “Why interrupt our little tea party at all?”
“Dorothea,” Mercedes chides. “I’m sure Felix has come to us for a reason and he can tell us in his own time. If he so chooses to at all.” She adds at the end, a gentle smile plastered on her ever-calm visage.
Felix glowers at the teacup in Mercedes’ hands, willing it to shatter under the sheer force of his glare and provide him with an escape from this hell he willingly walked into. But alas, no such relief comes, so instead he throws caution to the wind and mentally forces the words out of his mouth – after all, if he’s going to suffer either way, he might as well get the information he came here for.
“Tell me what Sylvain likes.” The words are rushed and mumbled so quietly that even Annette, who is plastered to his side, has difficulty hearing him and leans in more with her brow furrowed.
“Felix,” the red head huffs, “you’re going to have to speak more clearly if you want us to actually help you.”
“Tell me. What Sylvain likes.” Felix grouses out. When he receives a bunch of blank and confused looks, he clenches his hands and ducks his head to hide his hot face before tacking on, “…in bed.”
When his clarification receives just as little response, Felix is this close to just giving up his dukedom and disappearing into the woods forever to die of mortification.
Blessedly, it is Annette who breaks the silence first. “Um… Felix, aren’t you his husband? Shouldn’t you know? Why are you asking us?”
He pushes down the visceral urge to snap because he knows that this is Annette and there is no real accusation behind her words. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” He’s positive now that the color of his face would put Sylvain’s hair to shame.
As usual, Dorothea doesn’t even miss a beat asking, “So you want to know what his preferences are… based on what we’ve heard. Is that correct?”
Felix’s silence is more than answer enough for the songstress who hums thoughtfully to herself with a small smile on her face. “Well, I have heard a couple of things here and there from some of the girls he dated back at the academy… though, I am curious… why are you asking us? Why not just ask Sylvain?”
That’s a very good question. Why not just ask Sylvain? It would certainly be easier to do so, and certainly much less embarrassing. But the fact is that Felix has tried to do so in his own roundabout way. Sort of. Granted, almost every time Felix tries to bring up the subject when they’re in bed, Sylvain always manages to distract him with kisses that turn his brain to mush and words like you’re so perfect, Fe, so perfect just for me raising goosebumps along his skin.
Dorothea snorts in disbelief but Mercedes jumps in to keep things civil, “I’m sure you have, Felix. We would be more than happy to help you. I may not personally know as many stories but I’m sure between the three of us we could figure something out.”
Beside him, Annette half laughs half moans, “so basically, I just need to recall every story I’ve ever heard about Sylvain’s escapades then, right? And here I thought the days of hearing these things were in the past.” She buries her face into her hands. Despite being in a long term relationship with Mercedes, the mage is still easily embarrassed by anything remotely sexual, which makes Felix feel a bit better about his own situation even though he and Sylvain took much longer to get their shit together and stop dancing around each other like the lovesick fools everyone else made them out to be.
“Well then,” the clink of Dorothea’s teacup echoes in Felix’s ears like the decisive slam of a guillotine. “I suppose there’s no time like the present. Shall we dive right in?”
By the time Felix makes it back to his chambers, he’s pretty sure that he’s suffered enough humiliation to last three lifetimes. He himself had heard more than his fair share of stories regarding Sylvain’s escapades, but nothing he heard before could have prepared him for the plethora of information that Dorothea had unceremoniously dumped on him so casually, as if she were simply discussing the weather with him and not how his husband liked to fuck and be fucked.
“As far as I am aware, Sylvain generally prefers to be the dominant in bed. In fact, I hear he’s quite the generous lover…”
That one Felix has no problems confirming. To say Sylvain that is a generous lover would be an understatement. In fact, Felix would probably use the term ‘selfless’ to describe him, what with the way that he could spend hours between Felix’s legs driving him to the sharp precipice of pleasure again and again without so much as needing a single touch reciprocated. Even through his touch alone, Sylvain is capable of setting his nerves alight, sending sparks shooting up and down his spine until he’s reduced to an incoherent mess. The way that his large hands feel so rough yet smooth against the skin of his waist, wrapping so easily around his frame so that his fingers almost meet on his lower back, speaks volumes about the sheer strength that he keeps so very controlled when handling Felix.
Control that Felix would very much like to see snapped now that he thinks about it, pacing the floor in his shared chambers with Sylvain. The plush rug under his feet squishes pleasantly beneath his boots and sends his mind spiraling down a rabbit hole of possibilities – while he can’t deny that the idea of submitting and letting Sylvain have full control over his pleasure is an extremely tempting idea, given his reluctance to do anything but worship Felix, it doesn’t seem like a realistic goal.
“One girl told me that he let her choke him when she said she liked it…”
Now that was definitely a very gray area for Felix. Heaving a heavy sigh, he can’t help but finger at the draw strings of Sylvain’s sleeping shirt slung neatly over the armchair Felix has sunken into. It wasn’t like he had never heard of choking before, although choking, Felix supposed, was a poor word for it because it wasn’t so much choking as it was restricting and limiting air and blood flow to the head in a controlled manner (thank you Dorothea for such a in depth explanation). But just the idea of potentially hurting Sylvain felt… wrong.
Which is absurd in itself since Felix has no qualms beating up his husband on the training grounds.
Not that it would hurt Sylvain if he did it properly, but his lack of experience and education in the matter is enough to also remove it from the table entirely. Which leaves Felix right back at square one and groaning with frustration, letting his head fall against the heavy oaken back of the chair with a muted thunk.
Goddess, it really shouldn’t be this hard to fuck his own husband silly.
Outside, the bright sunshine filters through the open curtains to their room in a mocking display completely ignorant of Felix’s internal struggle. He goes through a couple more of the ideas on the list that his friends helped him compile and each one is more impossible than the last. It’s only after another hour of debating in circles that Felix finally realizes exactly why so many of these acts don’t seem to sit right with him.
While many of these kinks might seem like pretty run of the mill preferences, when it comes to Sylvain, it almost feels more like a punishment to himself, a way to let himself be used for other people’s pleasure just to hide the ugly self loathing that he wore like a second skin. But none of it actually sounds like what brings Sylvain the most pleasure.
The revelation hits Felix in the gut harder than if Dimitiri had thrown a javelin at him, and for a brief moment, he feels like he might actually be sick. Cognitively, Felix knows that Sylvain’s days of self loathing are mostly over now that they are together for good and they are living in Fraldarius, at least a day’s ride away from the shitty Margrave, but even Felix knows that the skeletons in the closet don’t just disappear overnight. It took years of abuse from Miklan and neglect from his parents to give power to that whisper in the back of his mind, and it will take years to erase it.
Felix loves Sylvain, loves him more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything, and it scares him a little to think that there might still be a small part of Sylvain who feels like he has to hide his own wants and desires just to be loved.
With that in mind, Felix rises to his feet and grabs his overcoat, sweeping it over his shoulders as he bustles out the doorway and into the winding halls of the Fraldarius castle.
He’s going to do this his way, and if there’s anything Felix Hugo Fraldarius is known for, it’s achieving whatever he’s set his eyes on, and this time, it’s Sylvain.
Felix’s first attempt at seducing Sylvain goes sideways rather spectacularly when Sylvain catches on to his little ploy. It had taken a week of late nights arranging and rearranging schedules before he could finally clear a whole afternoon for the two of them to spend together.
Despite how often Sylvain plays the fool, he really is quite observant and cunning, and Felix ends up being the one surprised when Sylvain knocks on his office door with a picnic basket and an expensive bottle of wine, claiming to have planned a secret picnic for the two of them for such a miraculous occasion where their scheduled free time happened to line up.
And of course Sylvain is stupidly charming the entire time, and the next thing he knows, they’re both halfway into one of Rodrigue’s secret wine stashes and smearing clumsy kisses along strawberry tainted lips. All thoughts of seduction are wiped from Felix’s mind as they drunkenly stumble back to their room in the bright glow of the summer Faerghus moonlight, any curls of want buried under the deep heartfelt kisses, smooth as the wine they imbibed, and they fall asleep tangled in each other’s arms and their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
When he wakes up the next morning to the obnoxiously bright sunlight shining directly on his face, it takes Felix a moment to remember what transpired the night before, or rather, what didn’t, through the pounding of what must be the bells of Garreg Mach right next to his damned ears.
“Son of a bitch,” Felix curses.
Not only did Felix’s hard work clearing their schedules go to waste (well, not entirely, they did still have a wonderful time), but now he has an ear-splitting hangover and no backup plan to boot.
Yet despite his plans laying in tatters, an exasperated smile manages to creep its way onto his expression as he looks to his husband sprawled out on the bed, mouth open and drool leaking onto the pillow below. Reaching out, Felix brushes back a stray crimson lock of hair and smooths it down.
“Sap.” He whispers the accusation fondly into the stillness of their room, allowing himself a catlike stretch before sinking back into the warmth of Sylvain’s arms.
Their work can wait just a little longer.
The second time…
Well, the second time things go south is just entirely Felix’s own fault.
The room is lit with the fading oranges and pinks of the Faerghus sunset, casting warmth and sharp shadows alike on the two occupants of the Duke’s office, both currently wrapped up so closely with each other that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Felix hums noncommittally, continuing his goal of decorating his husband’s throat with purple bruises in the most primal of claims. One hand buries itself in crimson while the other tugs impatiently at Sylvain’s collar, done up to the top button for his earlier trade meeting that ended not even half an hour ago.
“Sylvain.” His name slips out like honey and the older man gasps at the shocks that go tingling down his spine. It’s too much. Goddess, it’s too much and yet not enough, and Sylvain can’t get his hands on Felix fast enough without destroying his clothes beyond repair – which he remembers at the last moment not to based on Felix’s reaction last time.
A high pitched keen breaks the silence of the room as large, calloused hands finally find their way under tucked shirts (who wears three layers?) and sear a path upwards to cup Felix’s upper ribs, his thumbs flicking playfully at his erect nipples, hardened and peeking at Sylvain through the layers of clothing in a tantalizing invitation.
While Felix explicitly told Sylvain that he was no longer allowed to rip his clothing off, he never said anything about sucking. It’s almost laughable how easily Sylvain is able to hoist Felix up with his hands behind lean thighs, so that he can latch onto one peaked bud and lap at it like a man starved.
“Gonna fuck you so good tonight, baby.” Sylvain gasps between breaths. “Gonna make sure you know how much I love you. Fuck, fuck, I love you so much Fe-“
They almost don’t hear the three sharp raps on the door over Felix’s low moan, but years of war have trained them to be alert for anything and old habits are hard to break. They both freeze in place with Felix halfway to being undressed and a giant wet splotch on the front of his shirt, while Sylvain fairs no better, looking like he has run to Fhirdiad and back with his dishevelled hair, wild, dark eyes, and chest heaving over his husband, bent backwards over the desk.
“Your Grace? Lord Byron is here to see you.”
Felix stares at Sylvain wide eyes, confusion and lust illuminating his visage. Lord Byron? What the hell? Why is he even in Fraldarius at this late hour? He’s not supposed to-
Above him, Sylvain looks half bewildered and half amused. “Sweetheart. Did you forget about your meeting?” Kiss bruised lips press together, and Felix can feel his entire body tremble and shake with Sylvain’s barely contained laughter.
“No,” he replies reflexively and just the slightest bit indignant. “I didn’t book a meeting with him. I just… I forgot I sent a missive asking him to come at his earliest convenience to sort out the food shortage along our borders.” Felix’s breath is warm against Sylvain’s shoulders where he has his face buried, half heartedly hoping that maybe if he hides away from the world enough, the minor lord will fuck right off and they can go back to straight up fucking.
Another three knocks. “My Lord?”
Sylvain is the first to move, gathering Felix close with his arms with a gentleness that sometimes he still can’t believe is all for him, and bestowing him with a chaste kiss before murmuring against his lips, “You better go deal with our guest, Your Grace.” Like a proper husband, he runs his hands through midnight strands in an attempt to wrangle it into a half decent do. “Although I would maybe think about changing first. You know, making a good impression and all.”
Felix follows Sylvain’s line of sight down to the front of his shirt.
Whoever said that the third time was the charm clearly had never met Sylvain.
Or maybe they did, because there is literally no explanation for what happens other than Sylvain once again charming and seducing Felix until his mind is nothing but mush and leaking from his body in the form of sweat and precum.
“So beautiful…” His eyes are closed, but Felix can feel the reverence in Sylvain’s voice in the way he peppers kisses down his temple and stops to nibble on his earlobe. “So perfect just for me. Love you- love you so much-“ staccato moans punctuate his thrusts and Felix feels so full as Sylvain pushes in once again, his large cock splitting him open and spearing that sweet spot inside him with languid precision.
It’s hard to think when every synapse in his body is firing all at once. Everywhere that Sylvain’s body touches his burns brighter than the lance of ruin and leaves him feeling bereft when their bodies roll and their skins part. “Sylvain- Syl- Please, please-“ Felix isn’t even aware of the words that tumble out of his mouth and this is how Sylvain knows that he has him exactly where he wants.
“Please what, kitten?” Sylvain hums teasingly, sucking a hickey onto the patch of skin above his collarbone that makes Felix cry out.
It’s all too much. There are a million thoughts and nothing going through Felix’s mind right now, but the one thing that fights to the forefront of his mind first is the drowning need for the man before him. “Please… touch me. I need- I need-“
“Shhh. I’ve got you, Fe.” Sylvain whispers and thrusts again with deadly precision, causing Felix to wail. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
And he does. He takes care of Felix by dropping to his forearms and letting them fall on either side of Felix’s head, careful not to land on inky strands and caging him in, his hands diving into his roots and cupping his face with love so strong it brings a long forgotten sting to Felix’s eyes. Sylvain keeps the same unhurried pace with his hips even as he drives Felix closer and closer to his peak, evident by the growing number of red lines scoring the muscles on Sylvain’s back.
But in the entire time he’s dismantling Felix’s world, Sylvain never once touches him with anything but the utmost tenderness.
“Come on, baby. You’re close, I can feel it.” Sylvain doubles down and angles Felix’s hips upwards so he can move better, grinding down in little circles every time their hips meet and milking Felix’s prostate, causing his slit to weep a steady stream onto his abs. “Let go, sweetheart. Let me feel you – won’t you come for me, love?”
It takes one, two, three more thrusts before Felix is crying out, his vision going white and cock pulsing wildly as he comes in spurts. Above him, Sylvain watches transfixed with pupils blown out as the man beneath him unravels; his entire body tensing before falling limp, back arching perfectly with his head and torso liquid on the bed and his hips still elevated in Sylvain’s grip as he finally chases his own release.
I love you more than you will ever know, is what Sylvain thinks to himself when he finally hurls himself off the cliff into the ocean of feelings that is his heart. His lungs are working overtime as he gasps for breath, the smell of sex and sweat and something wholly Sylvain and Felix permeates the room, making him dizzy with want again even though his body feels like it’s been run through.
If Felix had any air left in his lungs, it would have been knocked out from the force of Sylvain collapsing on top of him, but as it is he’s already completely winded and barely coming down from the drug that is his husband. They’re both sticky with all sorts of bodily fluid, but moving sounds like a nightmare and despite how Felix may grumble about it, the weight and warmth of Sylvain crushing him is comforting enough that eventually, he feels his eyes drooping and eventually succumbs to sleep.
Which is exactly why exactly seven hours later when the first rays of the morning are beginning to creep into their room, Felix awakens feeling overheated, sweaty, and cursing his husband snoring away in his ear while his limbs clutch at Felix like an overly attached puppy.
“That’s it.” Felix mutters under his breath as he glares up into the canopy of their bed.
If Felix can’t properly seduce his husband because Sylvain is too fucking good at seducing him, then that is a problem. After three tries, Felix has had enough. While it may not be the most romantic ploy, he still has one option left – straight up commanding Sylvain to let him have his way and if this is what he needs to do to finally shift his idiot husband’s attention away from him so that Felix can finally worship him back, then so be it.
But first, he needs to put in an order for some equipment to ensure that next time, things will go as planned.
Two moons after the most mortifying teatime he’s ever experienced, Felix is finally at the end of his rope and all but ready to drag Sylvain into their room – propriety be damned.
He had planned this day for a while now and even spent extra time over the past week working late, sending replies to minor lords whom he hardly even cared to remember and settling disputes about trivial things, but for some reason all the urgent business that needed taking care of suddenly decided to land upon his desk today, thus chaining him to his duties as Duke and postponing his plan to seduce Sylvain.
Until now, that is.
He marches through the Fraldarius estate, checking all of Sylvain’s usual haunts. The servants of the castle don’t need to be told twice to keep out of his way as they have long learned to read the expressions on their Lord, and this is one that they know very well – Felix may not have an enemy before him or a sword in hand, but he is on a warpath and only a fool would try and stop him.
“Sylvain.” Of course it’s in the very last place that he looks that he finds his sap of a husband, tucked away in the corner of the library with his reading glasses perched upon his nose and a thick book on trade practices in hand.
Sylvain visibly brightens when he sees Felix. “Oh hey, Fe! What’s- wait, what’s wrong?”
Nothing other than the fact that I’ve been trying to seduce you for the past two months and failing horribly.
“I need to talk to you.”
There must be something in his expression because Sylvain doesn’t even try to tease him, instead closing the book in his hand with a quick snap and taking off his spectacles so that Felix is faced with the full force of his favourite brown eyes looking at him with so much concern it makes his heart ache. “Of course. What about, sweetheart?”
“Not here,” Felix flinches at how his words come out sounding sharper than he intended. He has to remember that he’s not mad at Sylvain, he’s just a little… frustrated. “Come with me. We can talk in our room.”
Apparently this is the wrong thing to say because immediately Sylvain goes rigid and Felix can see the beginnings of something dark creeping into his eyes, but before the lancer can open his mouth again to say anything, Felix grabs his much larger hand and gives it a squeeze. The reassurance is enough for now and Sylvain allows himself to be led quickly but quietly out of the library and down the hallways towards their own private wing.
They walk in silence, with nothing but the dulled footfalls of their boots on the rug runner to keep them company. Felix can practically hear the distress rolling off his husband who clutches at his hand like a lifeline, afraid that if he were to let go Felix would disappear forever.
Only when they are behind closed doors does Felix finally allows himself to give into the temptation to look at Sylvain. It’s clearly a mistake because his heart rends in two upon seeing the shiny glaze of unshed tears in Sienna burnt eyes.
“Fe…? Fe, what’s going on?” Sylvain’s voice wobbles dangerously as he searches for an ugly reality that exist only in his mind. “Did I- I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? I didn’t mean to make you mad-“
Sylvain is spiraling and something twists in Felix’s guts. He made him feel like this. All because he couldn’t just fucking grow up and communicate like an adult.
Sylvain’s brows tent in confusion, making him look even more pitiful. “Then what’s wrong, Fe? You- you’ve been distant for the past couple of weeks. You’ve been working later and-“ His sentence stops short with a muffled hrmph! when Felix places his hand over his mouth to halt his babbling.
He takes a deep breath to remind himself that it was his lack of communication that led to this in the first place and the only way out of it is to remedy that. “I’m only going to say this once, okay? And I need you to take me seriously.” He waits for a nod before he removes his hand.
“Okay,” Sylvain’s agreement comes out pathetically small and Felix feels his heart wrench again.
“You didn’t do anything.” Are the first words that come out of his mouth because Goddess smite him if he lets Sylvain go one more second believing that this is in any way his fault. “You didn’t make me mad. I’m just- I’m frustrated with myself.” Sylvain stays quiet, and Felix looks down, picking at the hem of his sleeve until larger, softer hands reach out and stop him from unravelling the thread completely.
“I… I talked to Dorothea, Mercedes and Annette,” Felix starts, and he can already feel the heat flood his cheeks. “I wanted to know… what you liked… in bed.”
The look of confusion is almost comical on Sylvain’s face. “You- I- what? What I like in bed?”
“At the ball in Fhirdiad, I overheard some Lords gossiping that I was a prude and how you would eventually get tired of me. And then I realized that I don’t really know what you like because you usually take the lead, and I just- ugh.” Here in this room there stand two idiots, and Felix isn’t quite sure which one of them is the worst offender – Himself for being so horribly inept at communicating with his own goddamn husband, or said husband for unwittingly foiling him at every turn and then immediately jumping to the worst possible conclusion once cornered.
“Felix. Why didn’t you just ask me?”
“I did.” Felix insists. “Or at least, I tried to. You just- you just always somehow turn in around so that you’re giving me what I want instead.” That’s not what he wants to say. “No, I mean- It’s not your fault. I’m just… I- I want to make you feel good too.”
For the first time since this horrible conversation started, Sylvain visibly softens and the usual sappy lovesick caramel returns to his eyes. “Felix. Anything with you feels amazing already. Way better than anything I’ve ever had with anyone else, and before you disagree with me, I swear on our promise that it’s not a lie.”
Sylvain shifts so he’s cradling Felix’s hands in his and he strokes his thumbs over the back of his knuckles reverently. “I love you, Fe. Sometimes I still can’t believe that you’re all mine. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you and I want to make sure you always know how much I treasure you.”
A twisted tangle of emotions rises into Felix’s throat and Felix resists the urge to default to anger. “You don’t have to do anything to deserve me. Goddess knows I’ve wanted you since we were children. Just- I don’t want to be like those other people, Sylvain. I don’t want to just take and take from you with you getting nothing in return.”
Tension lies thick in the air, heavier than the truth and suffocating in its reality. Felix watches Sylvain struggle, his mouth opening as if to say something, only to snap shut with an audible click, the wheels in his head grinding to a complete halt as he processes the weight of Felix’s words.
It’s more than Felix can take, finally muttering, “Stop being a thick-headed buffoon and let me fuck you stupid for once.”
“I…” His eyes are misty when Sylvain finally finds his voice again, but his lips quirk upwards in the beginnings of a smile. “Okay,” He croaks.
Just like that, the dam breaks and Felix crashes his lips against Sylvain’s with all the desperation of a man drowning. There’s no finesse to it, just raw hunger, and pent up frustration as Felix licks into his mouth and dives his hand into crimson hair.
“Felix. Holy fuck-“ Sylvain moans when Felix turns his attention downwards, trailing biting kisses down his jawline and throat. Everything about Felix is fighty, Sylvain knows this, so it’s no surprise either that when given the chance, the swordsman all but attacks him with his mouth, all the while pressing Sylvain backwards towards their bed.
Sylvain feels like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get his hands on Felix. While his husband is busy distracting him with nips and open mouth kisses along his newly uncovered collarbone, Sylvain strips Felix with well practiced efficiency. There’s an urgency to his actions and his hands tremble as they tear open the ridiculous amount of belt buckles that Felix wears. By the time they reach the bed, they’ve somehow managed to strip themselves down to their smalls, leaving a trail of clothing littering the floor.
Sylvain can feel himself flush down to his chest when the back of his knees hit the bed, forcing him to sit down, and Felix taking the opportunity to climb on, straddling his lap. He lets out a sharp curse when Felix grinds down in a particularly mean fashion, a near feral smile gracing his sharp features making him look even more beautiful in the dim lighting of their room.
“Tonight is my turn to make you feel good, okay?” Felix traces a tongue along the shell of his ear and Sylvain leaps from half mast to rock hard instantly at the low, suggestive timbre.
“Fe, baby, you always make me feel good-ah!” He’s cut off by another sharp thrust and the pleasure that snakes down his spine makes him shudder.
“The only talking you’ll be doing from now on is telling me what you want and what feels good. Understood?”
Holy Sothis’ fucking tits. “Yeah,” He gasps, and then dives back in for wet kiss, moaning in delight when Felix unashamedly whines into his mouth. He drinks the sound up eagerly and allows Felix to push him further up onto the bed to lay half propped up by their mountain of pillows, but then gets distracted again when Felix drapes his entire body over his own, entwines their hands up by his head, and mellows out their kissing to something more languid and deep.
Sylvain’s mind is a fuzzy haze, he can hardly think about anything other than the feel of kiss swollen lips sliding against his and the warm, heady taste of Felix. He vaguely registers Felix guiding his hands upwards, pressing them down in a silent command to not move, but beyond that his mind has given over completely to the eternal loop of Fe, Fe, Fe, making it hard to even remember to breathe properly until his lungs are filling his chest with a different type of burning.
When they both pull back for a much needed breath, Sylvain’s heart swells at the sight of Felix panting, flushed and needy above him, his face dusted beautifully with a blush that continues down, down, down to his chest where his nipples stand hard and perky from rubbing against Sylvain.
Nipples that Sylvain would very much like to touch, and Sylvain feels his body move automatically to reach out and cup the incredibly hot, toned pecs of his husband.
Except for the fact that his hands stop dead in their tracks with a light jingle by something restraining him just as he lifts his arms off the pillow.
“What the-?” Shackled around his wrists are two handcuffs lined with leather on the inside to prevent chafing. When did that happen?
“I did a little shopping,” Felix murmurs smugly, tracing his fingers along Sylvain’s pecs and teasing the rosy red buds under his index fingers. “I can’t have you distracting me with your hands.”
Sylvain is dead. That is the only explanation for what is happening because there is no reality or fantasy that his lust addled brain can cook up that compares to this and the very real weight of Felix sitting on his abs palming his chest with a look of absolute hunger. “Feeelix,” Sylvain moans, shifting his hips in a futile effort to gain some sort of friction against his cock. He’s never been so fucking hard in his life before and everything in his body screams at him to fuck his husband silly.
“You’ll be good for me, won’t you, Sylvain?” Felix dips his head down, whispering the words into the shell of his ear. “Won’t you be good for me?”
Felix presses the length of his body against Sylvain’s side and he can feel just how much the smaller man wants him as well. The sinful moan that Felix lets out is the final nail in the coffin and Sylvain knows he’s a goner. “Yes. Yes. So good. I’ll be good for you, baby. Anything for you.”
Hook, line, and sinker.
It doesn’t come as a surprise to Felix that Sylvain is weak for praise. From all their years growing up side by side, Felix can count on one hand the number of times that Sylvain was complimented genuinely for his abilities and character, rather than just his looks and crest. It’s easy enough for Felix to confirm his theory – watching Sylvain’s pupils dilate at the slightest mention of ‘being good’ is proof enough that this is something the lancer very much enjoys, even if he himself won’t say it.
“Anything, hm?” Felix hums and drags his nails lightly down Sylvain’s abs beneath him, feeling him arch into the touch. “Then let’s start off simple.”
Shifting slightly, Felix reaches behind to pull up Sylvain’s legs so that his feet are planted on the bed and Felix can lean back against his thighs.
Now for the hard bit.
“You’re going to sit there,” Felix feels heat flood his face even as his brows furrow in what he hopes is an authoritative look, “and watch me touch myself. And you will tell me what you want to see me do, okay?”
Sylvain lets out a low whine, breathing hard and staring at Felix like something holy, but quickly nods his agreement when Felix rises to his knees and pulls off his smalls, finally laying himself completely bare for Sylvain who eyes his hard cock hungrily, salivating at the sight of the bead of precum beading precariously at his tip.
“I want…” Sylvain wheezes out with great effort, licking his lips. “I want to see you stroke your cock.”
A simple request, really. But one that drives Sylvain up the wall judging by the slack jaw way he stares as Felix drags one hand slowly up and down his length, gasping in relief as he finally sates some of the tension in his body.
Felix isn’t aware that he’s biting his lips until Sylvain is rapidly throwing his second request of the night out. “Let me hear you. I want to hear you, Fe.”
Fuck, Felix moans loud and lengthy. This night is supposed to be for Sylvain, but shit if Felix isn’t also getting riled up as well. Knowing how much his husband gets off on watching Felix in the throes of pleasure, combined with the persistent throbbing of his erection nestled between his ass cheeks, is more than enough to get rid of any reservations Felix normally has about being vocal.
“Nnngghh-! Sylvaaiinn-!” Felix’s hips involuntarily twitch upwards when the tight circling of his thumb catches on the bottom rim of his head. “F-feels so good. Want more. Want your cock d-deep inside me.”
Sylvain makes a wounded noise, grinding his hips to the best of his ability against Felix’s ass without throwing the smaller man off balance where he sits on his lower abs. “Yes, yes, Saints, Felix. Get the oil. Gods, yes.”
Felix scrambles to obey, leaning up onto his knees to reach their bedside drawer and fumble around for a familiar glass bottle. Even though Sylvain knows what Felix is doing, he whimpers at the lack of contact and tries to chase Felix with his hips, the front of his smalls blooming with a growing wet patch that clings to the shape of his straining cock. Usually sharp brown eyes are now hazy with lust, a thin trail of drool running down the corner of his open mouth, slack jawed in a near constant moan, and Felix has never seen anything more beautiful. Any reservations and shyness are eradicated in his need to make Sylvain feel even better, to make him reach heights that he takes Felix to, just to watch him leap spectacularly off the precipice into pure unbridled pleasure.
Felix’s fingers tremble as they rush to unstop the vial, pouring oil over his fingers coating them liberally. He doesn’t care that the oil is still cold or that Sylvain usually takes the time to warm it up with his fingers – instead, he reaches back and fingers his rim before pushing a finger in, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sweet stretch that isn’t quite enough.
“Felix,” Sylvain gasps. “Let me suck your cock, please- please-“
Felix is too turned on to tease him and he quickly shuffles further up until his legs are straddling Sylvain’s head and the back of his legs tucked under broad shoulders. The head of his erection bobs tantalizing, just inches away from Sylvain’s hungry lips and he can’t help but stick his tongue out to swipe at the precum leaking down his shaft.
Goddess, there’s so much pleasure and Felix’s body doesn’t know what it wants more – he rocks back on his hand, increasing to two fingers and scissoring himself open, but Sylvain is a menace with his mouth and Felix can’t help but jerk his hips forward towards the warm wet tongue playing with his frenulum.
“Holy fucking-“ Felix sobs as molten heat envelops his dick and Sylvain starts sucking like it’s his life’s purpose.
Felix rocks back and forth, alternating between fucking himself on three fingers and fucking the redhead’s mouth, thrusting hard enough that he can feel himself bump the back of Sylvain’s throat and the garbled moans that result from it.
It doesn’t take long before Sylvain’s cries begin to increase in pitch and frequency. His arms strain with the effort of pulling against his restraints, and Felix can tell that Sylvain is nearing his climax with the desperate cant of his hips and coiled tension of his body.
Reaching back, he slides his hands into Sylvain’s smalls and Sylvain cries around a mouthful of cock when Felix grasps him firmly at the base.
“Not yet,” Felix pants with effort, reaching out his unoccupied hand and tenderly stroking a flushed cheek. “You can’t come until I say so. You said you would be good for me, didn’t you?”
He pulls his hips backwards so that his erection slips out of Sylvain’s mouth with a whimper.
“Come on, Sylvain. I need you to tell me. You’ll be good for me, right?”
“Yes, I’ll be good, I won’t come,” Sylvain sobs as his chest heaves with the effort of holding himself back.
“Mmm, so well behaved,” tears are streaming down Sylvain’s face and he looks wrecked in the best possible way. “I love you so much, I promise I’ll make you feel good, Syl.”
Felix keeps his grip tight on Sylvain’s cock until his breath begins to even out once more, distracting him with languid kisses and diving his tongue to taste the pleasure and desperation straight from Sylvain’s mouth.
“Tell me what you want.” Felix reminds himself of why he’s doing this in the first place, resisting the urge to simply take what his body is screaming at him for. Tonight is for Sylvain – anything he wants, anything he asks, Felix will deliver.
“Ride me,” Sylvain says, voice husky, and Felix feels his heart skip a beat at the hazy, half lidded smoulder that accompanies the request.
Felix can’t move fast enough and he all but tears away Sylvain’s smalls, freeing his cock that bobs up to tap the underside of his balls and gliding effortlessly along his taint from all the precum. Just in case, Felix grabs the bottle of oil once more and pours a generous amount over his hand and reaches down to slick up Sylvain’s dick.
“Not yet.” Felix says once again as a reminder, staring straight into Sylvain’s soul until the redhead gives a shaky nod, and then suddenly hot, silky heat is spearing through him in one smooth motion, making him feel so full.
“Fuck!” Sylvain bows outwards and howls in pleasure.
Felix gives him no reprieve, setting off in a brutal pace that has him bouncing on Sylvain’s lap like he might die if he slows down. Broken ah, ah, ahs punch out of him with every slap of skin on skin and Felix’s eyes roll to the back of his head. Completely overwhelmed, Felix lets his hands snake up his torso until they reach his nipples and he lets out a cry.
Seeing Felix so utterly unhinged above him makes something in Sylvain snap.
“Play with your tits, baby,” Sylvain’s pupils are blown wide and his voice comes out in a growl. He does his best to help Felix bounce in his lap, planting his feet slightly wider than before and angling his thrusts upwards to the spot that he knows makes Felix’s toes curl and white flash across his vision. “Goddess, you’re so fucking beautiful riding my cock. Do you like that, baby? You like the feeling of my thick cock filling you up over and over? Should keep you full all the time. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My beautiful little cocksleeve.”
The words that pour out of Sylvain’s mouth are absolutely filthy. He’s never spoken to Felix like this before but the way Felix tightens around him tells him everything he needs to know. Felix sobs with pleasure, unable to do anything but babble yes, yes, yes and obey as he pinches and pulls at his own tits, riding the razor thin edge between pleasure and pain until the feeling of his hole being filled over and over is the only thing he can focus on.
Abruptly, Sylvain stills his hips against the bed and slips out of Felix, making the younger man cry brokenly at the gaping loss. Felix is scrambling to fill himself again but he freezes when he sees Sylvain’s dark look. He’s never seen that expression on his husband before and he feels himself shiver from the raw, unbridled look of dark hunger.
“Grind yourself down on my cock. I want to see you milk yourself without your hands.”
Fucking hells. Felix is the one who started this, but at this point he’s not sure he can take much more. Sylvain doesn’t make any noise other than a sharp inhale when Felix sinks back down, sitting flush against his hips and begins gyrating in small back and forth motions, grinding Sylvain’s dick impossibly deep inside him and repeatedly hitting his prostate.
Every time Felix rocks backwards, he can feel his slit weep as it bobs up and down with is motion, smearing cum everywhere on his and Sylvain’s abs. “Oh fuck, fuck, Sylvain- Sylvain, I can’t-“
“Just a little more, baby. Let me watch you just a little more.” The sight of a red faced, sobbing Felix above him is one that Sylvain wants seared into his brain forever. Sylvain nearly forgets his own pleasure until a particularly hard grind has Felix’s cock spurting a little and increasing his speed as he begins to chase his final high.
“That’s it, sweetheart. I want to watch you come for me, and then I’m going to come inside you and fill you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, hm? Being so full of my cum?”
Felix lets out a wail and rocks faster. The pool of cum that had accumulated on Sylvain’s stomach overflows and leaks down his sides, jostled by the movement. It’s only a few more seconds before the last of Sylvain’s restraint snaps and he thrusts up with deadly precision just as Felix grinds backwards and that’s all it takes for Felix to come all over Sylvain’s chest screaming in pleasure, his dick twitching endlessly as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes through him.
Sylvain isn’t far behind and his vision whites out as Felix clamps down on him in a vice grip. He finishes with a shout that echoes off their chamber walls and he feels his soul leave his body when he finally manages to stop shuddering, sinking back down into the bed and groaning at the ache in his shoulders, sore from unconsciously pulling at the restraints.
“Holy shit.” Sylvain gasps. “That was fucking incredible.”
Felix is deadweight, laying completely exhausted on his chest, uncaring of the sticky fluids smearing all over their fronts as he reaches up to undo the cuffs. It’s all Felix can manage to unclasp Sylvain’s wrists before he flops uselessly prone once more.
“Yeah,” Felix agrees. His eyelids weigh a ton and it’s too much effort to open his eyes, but he feels Sylvain shift under him, rolling his hands around to relieve some of the built up tension, before settling them warm and heavy on Felix’s back.
“I’m sorry, you know.” Felix makes an inquisitive noise. “I didn’t know that I was making you feel self conscious.”
If he had more energy, Felix would have punched Sylvain in the stomach, but as is all he can manage is a half-hearted flop of his arm. “Don’t be an idiot. It’s not your fault. It’s okay to let me know what you like – I want to make you feel good too, you know? I don’t want to use you like those other people.”
“Yeah,” a chaste kiss lands on the crown of Felix’s head, “I know. You could never make me feel used, love. You’ve always seen me for me – you’ve always loved me for me.”
“Damn straight.” A rumble of laughter vibrates along Felix’s cheek and he can’t help but nuzzle deeper into Sylvain’s embrace. His body feels boneless and achy, different from when he trains himself into the ground, but equally satisfying and pleasurable.
Felix is drifting along the fringes of sleep when Sylvain shifts a bit to look at him, a mischievous smile plastered over his handsome face.
“Sooooo, I couldn’t help but noticed that you liked the dirty talk-” Sylvain is full on grinning and Felix feels his face heat up spectacularly. “-I think I know what I want to explore next.”