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his kiss is my impossible wish

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They are used to each other’s company. So much so, that the two walk, looking as though they are constantly linking arms. That may or may not be the case for most heroes summoned to Askr, because Lyon especially doesn’t talk much of his relationship with Ephraim outside of the blatant flattery towards is skills with the lance. Perhaps a word or two of something more was slipped to the Summoner, but even then, Lyon is quiet

“You do enough talking in the chambers,” Ephraim says casually, narrowly avoiding a jab to the cheek from Lyon’s fork. The two are sitting in the mess hall, which is becoming increasingly crowded, much to Lyon’s dismay. Ephraim only chuckles when seeing how nervous Lyon looks, and Lyon frowns back.

“Hush,” he says, embarrassed, “there’s nothing to laugh at.”

“Your cheeks,” Ephraim says, “they’re going red.”

Only Ephraim would point something out so casually, and even go as far to call it cute. Lyon immediately looks down, his cheeks puffing as he jabs his fork into his food. 

“I do wish you’d take more care to what you say, and when you say it,” Lyon says. 

Ephraim continues to grin mischievously, and eventually, Lyon grins too. He knows what he’s doing; Lyon is smitten. Ephraim reaches his hand across the table to take Lyon’s gently.

“Later, we should go back there,” Ephraim says, in a hushed voice.


“My chambers.”

“Oh.” Lyon can feel his face getting hotter. Ephraim’s smile widens.


Lyon has always found Ephraim beautiful. For years and years, his feelings had been condensed and squeezed out, rather than spoken outright in full honesty. There of course was also… a lot more. Lyon is still plagued by nightmares, still intimately knowing the tip of Ephraim’s lance, and wincing every time he lifts it. But he can’t complain, not when he was the one who had thrown everyone into chaos. He still knows the Demon King’s voice well. It still speaks to him when the lights are dim. He still exists in the crevices of his mind, teeth baring, sinking into the fragile feelings of inferiority. Lyon hears him, even in the sunlight. When he stands next to Ephraim, and marvels at him, that voice returns. It’s more ghostly now, like an echo, but there nonetheless. Lyon still wakes up in cold sweat, both in Ephraim’s bed and his own. There have been days and days without sleep, days where Lyon won’t so much as leave his chambers unless ordered to. Lyon has come to accept that there are some things that won’t ever go away, some issues and problems that won’t ever be resolved. He has found a new peace, of course, but Lyon will never know peace at its fullest.

He never has, and he’s okay with that.

Because seeing Ephraim laying next to him with their hands intertwined, is worth the amount of pain he still endures. 

After all, it’s his punishment.

There’s a newfound beauty in Ephraim that Lyon hadn’t ever discovered before, when seeing him hover over him for the first time, skin flushed, and his breath felt warmly over his face. 

Lyon cried during their first time.

“What is it?” Ephraim asks. He’s hovering over Lyon again, both hands at either side of his face, knuckles pressed into the sheets. Lyon is staring at him, his lip trembling slightly. He reaches up to brush the back of his hand along Ephraim’s neck. There’s a scar there. 

“....It doesn’t hurt,” Ephraim says, softly and reassuring. Lyon ignores him and continues to stare, pressing his fingers against it next. It stretches from Ephraim’s jaw, down to his collarbone. Lyon frowns.

“Looks like it does,” Lyon says. “It’s hard to tell with you, since you hardly ever complain.”

“It was a good fight,” Ephraim says. “Challenging. Perhaps that’s why the summoner had called for me. I don’t-”

“-pick fights that you can’t win, I know,” Lyon says. He looks dissatisfied with Ephraim’s answer still. He continues to smooth his thumb over the scar, before reaching up to press a soft kiss against it. Ephraim exhales.

“Be careful,” Lyon says gently.

“You’re starting to sound like-” Ephraim stops for a moment.

Lyon blinks. “Sound like what?”

“....Like how you used to,” Ephraim says slowly. Before the disaster, before the Demon King. When he raised his lance only for sparring, but would still get scars. Lyon of course didn’t kiss them back then, but he still tended to them. His fingers against Ephraim’s skin still felt intimate back then. The only difference was that they both couldn’t even so much as make eye contact.

Now, Lyon finds himself unable to stop staring, and Ephraim looks so confident in doing so. 

“....You’re beautiful, Lyon,” Ephraim says.

Lyon had longed to hear those words for years. Before Askr, and even the first few months of being in Askr, were tough. He couldn’t even face him after everything. Even now, as they intertwine their fingers, Lyon sees his lance. He sees Ephraim’s expression, broken, his skin bloody and torn. 

Lyon lets out a breath and blinks. He sees Ephraim’s gentle smile again.

“....And you,” Lyon says. “You are always beautiful, Ephraim.”


Every time feels like their first time. Lyon’s chest is still tight, weighed down by the amount of guilt he suddenly feels when getting this intimate with Ephraim. He’s slow at first in his movements, his hand raising to cup Ephraim’s cheek, gliding down, over that scar, down to his chest before pressing his palm there. Ephraim is beautiful in so many ways, and it leaves Lyon breathless.

“...I didn’t mean to tease you today,” Ephraim says, before taking Lyon’s hand from his chest and holding it, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No, it’s okay.” As easy as it is to banter with Ephraim, Lyon can’t ever be mad. Jealous? Sure, that part of him is still a thorn in his side too, but he owes too much to ever get angry. 

Lyon watches as Ephraim’s eyes meet his again, his lips still pressed to his hand. Ephraim is gorgeous; Lyon can’t take his eyes away. It’s unfair.

“Touch me,” Lyon says, a bit too confidently, as he quickly looks off.

Ephraim smirks. “What was that?”

“You heard me,” Lyon huffs, “I say it all the time.”

Ephraim chuckles. Lyon’s expression immediately softens again.


Gently, Lyon is pushed back deeper into the sheets. Ephraim’s hands are firm on his shoulders, his face looking more intense, and eyes more hungry, the longer he stares. 

It’s hot. Lyon suddenly feels impatient.

Slowly, Lyon wraps his arm around Ephraim’s neck, tugging him closer before pressing his lips softly against his. Ephraim responds immediately, his hands moving to rub gently at Lyon’s sides when positioning himself comfortably. Lyon sighs.

“I can feel them,” Ephraim mutters against his lips.


“You’ve been fighting too.”

Despite how strong Ephraim is usually with the lance, his fingers are gentle when they graze over Lyon’s scars. His hands rub to his thighs before gliding up again, across to Lyon’s stomach, earning another sweet exhale. 

And then there, right under Lyon’s left rib. His most intimate spot, and it’s been kissed over more times than he can count. Epraim feels he owes it to Lyon. After all, he did this.

He kisses there again, his hands moving up and rubbing at Lyon’s arms soothingly. 

“Ephraim…” Lyon murmurs. He’s told Ephraim he doesn’t need to feel anything in the past. That that spot in particular didn’t need any special attention, but of course Ephraim continues regardless, his kisses more slow and sweet. Lyon can’t help but stare, his fingers carding slowly through his teal locks. Secretly, he’s grateful. Perhaps Ephraim knows.

“If I could kiss your nightmares away, I would,” Ephraim says. 

“There’s no need,” Lyon replies, “you do more than enough for me. As always.”

His nightmares, even if Ephraim is in most of them, are something personal. Ephraim does plenty as is, Lyon’s sure he has no idea, the impact just one of his kisses has. Perhaps he ought to show him instead.

Lyon gives a gentle tug to Ephraim’s hair, and Ephraim looks up, frowning.

“Come here,” Lyon says, a finger under Ephraim’s chin as he guides him closer before their lips touch again. This time, Lyon is a little more hungry, his fingers resuming sifting through softness, slowly slipping in his tongue, and drinking in Ephraim’s very subtle noises. He wants to please Ephraim, at least, to give him something in return, because Ephraim spoils him enough. Lyon is someone who very easily loses himself when unguarded, his fingers moving more as he bites on Ephraim’s lower lip, hearing a groan.

Gods, Lyon,” Ephraim says, breathless. 

“For you,” Lyon says, “I think it’s my turn this time.”

Ephraim is actually fairly easily to tackle when taken by surprise. Lyon feels a little triumphant when managing to shift himself from under him, holding his arms and maneuvering himself so that he’s on top of Ephraim, his hands finding purchase either side of his head, a mischievous smile now given.

Ephraim scoffs: “You’re going to have to earn it then, beautiful.”

“Oh, I will,” Lyon says with a newly found confidence. Ephraim can confidently declare how ruthless Lyon actually is, for this reason alone. “I said I’d be the one spoiling you this time.”

“Then do it.”

It’s Lyon’s hands now that roam down Ephraim’s sides, fingers soft and grazing marred skin. Every line and bump is beautiful, every curve, over his chest, down to his hips. Lyon smirks as he trails his hand around Ephraim’s lower stomach, staring at Ephraim’s intense glare.

“I want to hear you,” Lyon says. “I want you to sing.”

“Then make me,” Ephraim says, softer. “I know you can do it.”

Again, Ephraim’s words of encouragement comes natural, as they always do, even when on the battlefield. Hearing Ephraim’s voice always brings Lyon a sense of euphoria - as if for one moment, there is no such thing as the Demon King, and Lyon is the king of Grado, standing as courageous and tall as Ephraim does. 

He feels as he did, years ago.

Lyon is smiling.

“You look radiant,” Ephraim says warmly. He raises a hand again to sift through Lyon’s hair, fingers tangling in his already messy purple locks, gently letting his fingers card through where they can. 

Lyon promised himself he wouldn’t cry this time.

“And you,” Lyon breathes. 

“I love you,” Ephraim says.

“....I love you too.”

Lyon lowers himself, chest to chest, his lips brushing the surface of Ephraim’s, hearing both their breaths quicken, one leg inserting between two. 

Lyon’s skin feels hot.

“...I’ll show you how much I love you,” Lyon whispers. 

Then, he begins to move.

He gently shifts himself, his leg rubbing against Ephraim’s clit, the first feeling of friction earning an exhale. Lyon hears him clearer now, unable to help his grin as he rubs again, his cheeks feeling more hot with Ephraim’s breath upon it.

“Ah…” Ephraim sighs, almost inaudible. Lyon thinks: He sounds incredibly sweet.

“I’ll show you,” Lyon whispers again, before his lips press against Ephraim’s neck, “just how much I do, and always will, love you.” 

Lyon begins to press kisses along Ephraim’s neck as he rubs his leg against him, the sweet breathy sounds he hears encouraging him to kiss harder. Ephraim is a tough nut to crack when it comes to getting any reaction, but Lyon has become skilled in giving Ephraim pleasure over their time in Askr. For Ephraim, it was fairly easily - Lyon is really noisy in comparison. 

“You sound.. amazing…” Lyon murmurs, his kisses soft and long, trailing from the base of his neck, up to Ephraim’s jaw. 

He hears Ephraim sigh again, this time something murmured. 

“What was that?”

“I said: More ...”


Lyon bends his knee as he grinds it harder against Ephraim’s clit, earning a louder groan then.

“Like that?”

Exactly like that.”

It isn’t competition to Ephraim, so long as he’s the one who asks for it. Ephraim closes his eyes as he groans again, his fingers still locked in Lyon’s hair, nails beginning to dig into Lyon’s scalp, which arouses Lyon more.

“Harder…?” Lyon breathes as he grinds his knee again. 

Ephraim nods his head vigorously: “ Harder .”

Lyon shifts himself to grind again, this time picking up a rhythm, going harder as Ephraim continues to moan more. He can feel Ephraim’s clit getting more wet, the feeling alone driving Lyon more wild, his momentum picking up to a faster and more vigorous pace. Soon enough, he’s groaning too, both of them singing, Ephraim’s nails scratching along Lyon’s scalp, and him sinking his teeth into Ephraim’s neck.

He’s become fairly good, only because he knows what Ephraim likes.

Lyon grinds, the friction almost unbearable, and he can hear Ephraim’s moans become more desperate. Lyon stops.

“Don’t stop…” Ephraim huffs, strained. “Don’t-”

“Wait. Just let me…”

Lyon moves his leg, swinging it over so that both are either side of Ephraim. He then slowly sinks lower, aligning his clit against Ephraim’s, his eyes locking onto Ephraim’s, which are heavy-lidded. The way in which Ephraim can lay beneath him looking like this makes Lyon’s limbs tremble.

“Are you ready?” Lyon asks.

“More than ever,” Ephraim replies.

Lyon rubs himself again, this time heat instantly pooling, and both of them groan out.

“That’s it…” Ephraim moans. “That’s…”

“Hah…” Lyon sighs as he grinds his clit against Ephraim’s again, everything feeling so warm and wet, Ephraim’s breath hot against his. 

Ephraim lifts his hands to Lyon’s hair again, this time pulling, earning a louder moan. Unlike Ephraim, Lyon likes having his hair pulled.

“Harder,” Ephraim says.

Lyon rubs himself harder, more heat pooling as their clits rub against each other, the sounds filling his ears. 

“G-Gods…” Lyon groans. Ephraim pulls again.

More .”

Lyon quickens his pace, the friction and feeling both building up, the inability to control himself growing stronger. He sinks his teeth into Ephraim’s neck again to keep himself quiet, hearing Ephraim’s broken cry, his neck marking up.

By now, Ephraim is rolling his hips back, the intensity becoming overbearing. Lyon clenches his fists as he rubs again, the pleasure a sharp feeling as he hits at a certain spot. 

And then, he sees stars.

Lyon orgasms first. He feels Ephraim grinds his hips a few more times before growing slack, too, unable to keep himself up as he gently lowers himself onto Ephraim, his limbs shaking from how good it felt.

After a moment, he feels Ephraim’s arm wrap around him, tucking him closer. 

“That.. felt good,” Ephraim says quietly, catching his breath.

Lyon lays still for a moment, his chest heaving against Ephraim’s, his vision clearing again.

“...I hope it was enough for you,” Lyon says. “I hope I satisfied you.”

It’s always seems easy for Ephraim, but Lyon is easy. Ephraim is a lot more challenging… not that it’s something bad.

He feels soft lips press against his cheek, and turns to see Ephraim smiling lazily at him.

“It was amazing, Lyon,” Ephraim says. He presses another softly to his hair.

“You’re amazing.”

As always, it takes only a few words to clear the clouds of doubt. Lyon smiles back before pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you, Ephraim.”