Chapter Text
It starts like any other day: Sylvain throws his arm around Felix's shoulder on the way to the bathhouse after a long day of training, head tipped to the side, voice conspiratorial. "A few of us are going out after we get cleaned up. You should come."
"No," says Felix.
"Aww, c'mon." Sylvain gives his shoulders a friendly squeeze. "You need to loosen up. I swear, you'd be sooo much easier to get along with if you'd just get laid."
"You know that saying? Give a man a hammer and every problem is a nail?" Felix replies. "That's you and your dick."
"Maybe!" Sylvain laughs, winks at Claude, who's already on his way out of the bathhouse since archery classes are the first to end, over as soon as the light begins to fade. "Doesn't mean I'm wrong."
"You are."
"Well, what are your plans for the night?" Sylvain asks, kicking off his shoes in the lobby and collecting a towel from the pile. "If we get back early, I'll stop by and say hello."
"I thought I'd go swimming," he admits, leaving his shoes beside Sylvain's and taking the next towel in the pile. He enjoys swimming. The silence in the water, the... touch of it, the weight. And since doing laps works his arms and shoulders, improves his stamina, he can justify the indulgence.
"In the reservoir?" Sylvain squawks. "With all the fish?"
"The groundskeepers clean it every day," says Felix. "And the fish don't bite."
Sylvain shakes his head, baffled. "If you say so."
They enter the steam room. Wash away the stink of sweat, the crust of salt, emerge fresh and pink and new. Sylvain goes one way, preparing for a night out. Felix goes another, quiet and alone.
A completely ordinary conversation. They'd had it, or one just like it, dozens of times since arriving at Garreg Mach. Old friends grow apart, become different people. Childhood ends, life goes on.
Later, after he's eaten, spent a few hours in the library on the book work he couldn't avoid, Felix changes into his swim trunks and pads barefoot to the reservoir. The moon is high, the air chill, the water still warm with all the heat it absorbed during the long day. Early autumn, might as well be summer. Felix enters with a dive, all at once, and begins his laps. One after another; he never stops before he's done one hundred and rarely before he's reached two.
He likes the silence. He likes the pressure, the resistance, the silky feel of being underwater. It is touch without questions or consequences or demands, without intimacy or emotion. He cuts through the darkness, lifts his head above the surface to take a breath, and--
"It's pretty, isn't it?" Sylvain, using his seductive voice. Sweet as a toothache. "Romantic, with the moon and the stars reflecting off the water."
A girl, a voice Felix doesn't recognize, coos in response.
Felix ducks his head under the water, kicks against the rough stone wall, shoots like an arrow across the reservoir. Lifts his head again as he reaches the opposite side, because he doesn't have a choice.
Moans. Wet, smacking noises. They're kissing.
Duck. Kick. Arms working, each stroke smooth and mechanical. Breathe.
"Do you hear something?" asks the girl.
"It's just the fish," Sylvain answers, punctuating each word with a kiss. "They're probably as excited to see you as I am. See? Feel that? Yeah, just like that. I bet they're hungry, too. I know I--"
Duck. Kick. Felix isn't as smooth as he ought to be; he finds his rhythm by sheer force of will. Reaches the opposite wall and stays low, under the water, until his lungs are burning and he has no choice but to breathe or drown.
"Shouldn't we go inside?" The girl is panting now, no force behind her words. "What if someone sees us?"
"We're all alone here." Sylvain's voice drops to a husky bass. "Don't you want to make love on the pier? Don't you deserve a setting as beautiful as this?" Then, crooning, "I want to taste the moonlight on your skin. I want to see the stars in your eyes when you come."
The girl can't resist such pretty words. She sighs like a damsel from a courtly tale, but what follows is obscene: clothes rustle and the two bodies are easier to see once they're naked, pale flesh bared to the night. Sylvain coaxes the girl onto her back, wood creaking as they settle.
She caresses him, enraptured. Sylvain looks up, head swiveling as he searches the dark, and though he should not be able to see Felix, motionless at the edge of the pool with his body submerged, he does. Their eyes meet, or seem to.
Felix is very, very aware of his erection. But it's hidden, doubly hidden, by the water and his shorts. He's safe.
"Baby, I'm going to make you feel so good," Sylvain promises, still looking at Felix. "You want that? You want me to make you feel good?"
Felix ducks under the water. He kicks, swims, but he forgot to take a breath. He makes it halfway across the reservoir before he has to come up for air. He hears moaning, Sylvain saying, "Delicious, I could do this all night," and then Felix submerges again, hot and furious.
He reaches the far wall. Clings to the wet stone, presses his forehead into it hard enough to leave an imprint on his skin, doesn't try to swim anymore. He listens. He hears it all: the girl's whimpering cries as she comes, her startled gasp as Sylvain penetrates her. Sylvain babbling praise until he can't anymore, because he's grunting with effort instead. His thrusts grow frantic, stacatto slaps that echo in Felix's ears. The girl squeals, arms scrabbling desperately against her lover's naked body, needy and clinging until she comes again and Sylvain can finally let go.
Felix slips from the water while they pant through the aftermath. He moves silently, something he's very good at, slinking from shadow to shadow until he reaches the dormitory. He jogs to his room, locks his door, falls to his knees and fists his cock. He tries to keep his mind blank and fails. He hears Sylvain crooning, "Baby, I'm going to make you feel so good," and he hears Sylvain's grunts of effort and he comes so hard he blacks out.
***
The next day, Sylvain throws an arm over Felix's shoulder--same as always--and says, "So, have a nice swim?"
Felix twitches loose.
Sylvain repeats the move, takes a firmer grip. Felix could throw him off, but he'd have to throw him. Which he'd gladly do, except that he'd have to put his arms around Sylvain to get him on the ground. Grappling isn't for the shy. Not a problem, generally, but right now? Felix doesn't trust himself.
"I hope so," Sylvain continues, friendly and companionable. "I had a great time. Met a nice girl, took her back to the monastery for some alone time but then, strangest thing"--Sylvain's voice goes low and velvety--"it turns out I really like having an audience."
Felix grabs the wrist dangling by his chin. He twists, following the motion with his body, maneuvers Sylvain's arm behind his body and holds it pinned against his back, cranked to the point where a single wrong move will snap it like a twig.
"Hey!" Sylvain yelps. "Let's not get crazy here! Nobody got hurt, right? Let's keep it that way."
"Listen, asshole," Felix snarls. "If you ever do that again--"
"I really want to do it again."
"If you want to fuck over every girl in Fodlan that's your business." Felix torques the twisted arm a little, to communicate his feelings on the matter. "But you leave me out of it. Understood?"
"I want to bring a girl back to your room," Sylvain whines.
"Wrong answer."
"Just leave your door unlocked." Sylvain is panting now, face all twisted up. "That's all you have to do."
Twist. Yelp. "No," Felix says flatly. He releases Sylvain's arm and shoves the heel of his palm into Sylain's back, right over his kidney, and sends him reeling. "Fuck no."
He stalks away before Sylvain can recover. He is furious. He is disgusted. He wants nothing to do with Sylvain's insatiable appetites, his self-loathing rampage through the female population, his honey-coated lies.
He is so angry that he forgets to lock his door that night.
Forgets. He forgets.
***
He is in bed when they arrive. Lying on his side, facing the window, pretending to sleep. He has ordered himself to get up and lock his door repeatedly, and then used his tiredness as an excuse not to. He's so warm under the covers. So comfortable. He doesn't want to get up, and surely Sylvain doesn't have the energy to go fishing for strange women two nights in a row. Felix will remember to lock the door tomorrow and that will be enough.
He knows that he is lying to himself because he is not at all surprised when the door clicks.
"There's someone in here!" the girl exclaims in a sharp, urgent whisper. A new girl, a new voice.
Sylvain answers, wheedling as always. "I know, I told you--"
"He's asleep!"
"He won't be for long." Sylvain chuckles. "Come on, where did we leave off?"
"I'm not sure--"
"I am," Sylvain interrupts, close now. The mattress dips. "I'm positive."
"But--"
"I thought you said you were into it?" Sylvain interrupts. "Two guys at once? A fantasy of yours?"
"It is, but--" The girl is uncomfortable now. If she'd been in the mood before, it's gone. "Two awake guys."
"We're going to wake him up," Sylvain promises. "But let's make it nice, right? Ease him out of one dream into a better one." Sylvain's voice gets low, syrupy, seductive. "And when he sees you, naked and beautiful and right next to him? I promise, sweet thing, he won't believe you when you tell him he's awake."
Felix knows he ought to say something. Stop. Enough. Go to your own room. Instead he plays along. He pretends to sleep while Sylvain and the girl make out right next to him. Soon the girl is sweet and pliant and Felix shifts onto his back, blinks slowly as though he's been roused from slumber, finds himself looking into Sylvain's knowing eyes.
"We've got company," Sylvain murmurs. "Say hello?"
The girl, head propped on his spare pillow, faces him. She likes what she sees. Felix can read that much in her eyes, though her smile is shy.
"Hello, stranger," she says.
"A friendlier hello," Sylvain urges.
She touches his arm, skims her fingers down and takes hold of his wrist. She guides his hand to her breast, plants his palm on the ripe flesh. Still holding his wrist she takes a deep breath so that her breast overflows his cupped hand and he cannot resist the temptation to squeeze.
The girl moans. Her eyes drift to half-mast. Felix looks to Sylvain, who has one hand busy between her legs and the other firm on her hip, his attention entirely fixed on Felix.
Felix curls his upper lip into a sneer.
"How about a kiss?" Sylvain glances meaningfully at the hand Felix can't see. "I'll take care of the hard part. You can be the cherry on top."
Felix doesn't move.
"Hey, honey? Sweetness?" Sylvain's arm flexes and the girl releases a surprised, breathy moan. "Show him what you want. He won't be able to resist."
She reaches for Felix's neck. That leaves his hand free but he doesn't reclaim it. He squeezes her breast again. She pushes it into his hand, he pushes back. She tugs his head close, their lips touch. Hers are soft and plush, a pillow for his mouth. Her tongue is hot, wet, eager. They are kissing--he sinks one hand into her silky hair, it parts like water around his fingers. Her whole body trembles from the pounding of her heart.
He does not think about Sylvain. He is like--like a bird trapped in a cloud--surrounded by endless softness, blinded by it, frightened but plunging ahead all the same. He grinds his cock against the girl's hip, excited by her startled gasp. He wants more--he wants her to touch him, her hands are so small, without a single callus--
A strong hand tangles in his hair, drags his mouth off of hers. Felix snarls reflexively; he doesn't like to be thwarted.
"Just helping out," Sylvain says, then tugs. Hard. Felix turns a narrow-eyed glare on his friend, one hand already curling into a fist. He sees Sylvain crouched between a pair of plump thighs, his naked ass in the air, red hair a tousled mess, mouth and chin glazed with her arousal.
Felix takes a deep breath. He feels--he feels--anger, it has to be anger--and then Sylvain tugs again, forcing Felix's head around. It is level with her breasts now. He opens his mouth, drags his tongue over the girl's nipple, hears a whispered, oblivious, "Yes, yes," and his fury spikes again. But it fizzles; he is distracted. She is writhing, her back arching as she rocks her hips, makes desperate, anguished noises.
Felix sucks at her nipple, he massages her other breast. He helps push her to the brink and over. But all along, out of the corner of his eye, he is watching Sylvain. Just like Sylvain, with his mouth thoroughly occupied, is watching Felix.
Felix figures his part is over. Next he'll be expected to lie quietly beside the pair while they fuck, maybe urge them on while he finds what satisfaction he can with his own hand. (It will be plenty, not that he'd ever say so.)
He is wrong.
After a minute, Sylvain is talking again. Gentle, coaxing, speaking only for the girl. "Push the covers down," says Sylvain. "That's right. Make sure my friend is hard. He is? How hard? Yeah? What do you think of his dick? Do you like it? Do you want to suck it?"
The girl answers but Felix doesn't listen. He feels her hand on him, as soft and small as he'd imagined, and he feels her mouth, too, tentative at first, soft lips and humid air, a wet tongue flicking at the underside of his cock, before she closes her mouth around him and sucks.
"I wish you could see his face," Sylvain continues, shifting the girl onto her knees. "He loves it. Oh, man, watching you suck him off is making me crazy. I've never seen anything hotter in my life. You're so fucking sexy. Just... take him a little deeper, yeah? More than that, you can... yeah, like that, fuck that's hot, I am so into you right now..."
Sylvain does not mean a word he is saying. He does not care about the girl at all. Felix knows this. And yet, when Sylvain positions himself at the girl's entrance, pushes slowly inside of her, Felix cannot help a gasp of his own. He can almost feel it, Sylvain's hot slide into her body but also the girl's startled acceptance. Each slow thrust pushes her mouth deeper on Felix's cock. Indirectly, through the link of this anonymous girl, Sylvain is fucking him.
And while Felix is surprised by this strange intimacy, Sylvain is not. Felix has never seen a look of such intensity on his friend's face, focused and deliberate like he ought to be on the training field, on the battlefield, but never is. Sylvain fucks her slowly at first. She moves with him, pliant and moaning on Felix's cock, a vibration that he feels all the way to his balls, the base of his spine.
Felix is the first to break. He looks away; he refuses to understand what's written clear as day on Sylvain's face. He closes his eyes, shuts out everything but the sensation. A woman's mouth on his cock, sloppy and eager. That's all. He ignores the rhythmic advance and retreat, the jerk of momentum not her own, the familiar voice saying, "Just a little more, he's almost there, you look gorgeous with his cock in your mouth... most beautiful thing I've ever seen... so fucking perfect..."
Felix comes harder than he ever has in his life. He is only half aware as the girl comes a second time, one forearm braced on his ribs as Sylvain fucks her, but he listens for the stuttering grunts that signal Sylvain's orgasm. Felix opens his eyes a slit, watching, then closes them again so he can pretend he didn't.
The girl kisses him. He tastes himself on her, bitter and mineral, and says, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" she asks.
"Nothing," intrudes Sylvain. "He's confused--I think you really rocked his world. Probably down for the count. My room? Round two?"
"It's late," she answers, rising from the bed. "I can't stay all night..."
"I'll take you home. You shouldn't be wandering around alone at this hour. Here, is this yours? Do you need any help with the buttons?"
Sylvain bundles the girl away. Felix lies still. He doesn't have a name for most of what he is feeling, has absolutely no desire to examine the tangled knot of emotions carefully enough to pick out individual threads, but he isn't tired at all.
***
The next day, after training, Felix is exhausted. Even though he did not sleep at all, he pushed himself hard. Nothing can get in the way of his training. Nothing can interfere, nothing can distract him, no matter how much it hurts. He has no choice. If he fails, he will die. Or someone else will die, someone he could have saved, and that is unacceptable.
Sylvain throws his arm over Felix's shoulders. Sylvain is tall, lanky, and he moves with a careless grace that makes such gestures seem natural. Felix realizes, as the weight of his friend's arm settles on his shoulder, that Sylvain only touched him once during the night: that brief moment when he'd grabbed Felix by the hair and tugged. Already today, during their single sparring match, they have had far more extensive contact with one another. In fact, at one time or another, Felix has had his hands on almost every part of Sylvain's body. Even his dick--once, briefly, by accident. And yet...
"So," says Sylvain, cutting off his train of thought. "Not bad right?"
Felix twitches Sylvain's arm loose and doesn't answer. He walks quickly but Sylvain has long legs and keeps pace with ease.
Sylvain chatters on, undeterred. "Kinda fun? Bit of a good time?"
They reach the bathhouse. Felix yanks his boots from his feet, puts them on the rack, grabs a towel. Sylvain does the same, follows him into the dressing room.
"I thought you'd have loosened up a little bit by now," he says. Then, more cheerfully, "Maybe it'll take a few tries? If you're game, I am."
Felix undresses, wraps the towel around his waist, proceeds into the bathing room. He drops the soft cotton beside the nearest pool of hot water before sinking into it. Sylvain does the same, sits opposite in the same pool. This is not unusual. The baths are communal. Just like it would be polite to choose a different pool if one is occupied by strangers, it would be rude to choose a different pool if one is occupied by friends.
Felix has seen his friend naked many, many times before. He has even reacted to the sight, on occasion. Stirred, twitched, directed his attention elsewhere before the situation became awkward. Sylvain is, as he is so fond of observing, very handsome. Broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, long-legged. Beautiful thighs, with a gentle curve that--because he's so light on his feet--always puts Felix in mind of a gazelle.
Felix has an erection. Sylvain is not looking, which means he has definitely noticed.
Grimly, Felix recalls every single gruesome battlefield that he's walked since arriving at Garreg Mach. He forces himself to remember his brother's body in its coffin, one leg and one arm of his pristine uniform stuffed with balled up cloth because the limbs hadn't made it home. When the erection has subsided, he rises from the bath and grabs his towel.
Sylvain also grabs the towel. He holds it in place, holds Felix still, long enough to say, "Tomorrow. If the door is unlocked..."
Felix gives the towel a yank. He does not answer.
He does leave his door unlocked.
***
Felix does not sleep much over the next few weeks. Sylvain comes to his room every few days. The girl is never the same. The... configuration... is always different. Sometimes the girl sucks Felix off, sometimes he fucks her. Sometimes Felix pretends to be asleep, sometimes he is awake and waiting. Sometimes the couple arrives with a bottle of wine, sometimes they don't.
Sylvain is always in charge. Never loud or aggressive--he sticks to wheedling and coaxing, getting what he wants with his soft voice and extravagant compliments--but he always knows what he wants when he arrives and he always gets it. He rarely touches Felix, never in a sexual way, but he doesn't have to. Sylvain is so present, so involved, that Felix cannot separate him from a single sensation. The girls are just... instruments. Tools.
During the day, Felix acts like nothing has changed. At night, it is harder and harder to pretend. This is because Sylvain won't let him. Felix always knows that Sylvain is the one who decides how and when he will feel pleasure. Just like he always knows that Sylvain is reacting to his pleasure; goaded and encouraged and frenzied by it.
But so long as they don't talk about these threesomes... so long as they all take place in the dark, in secret... so long as the girls are in between and Felix can pretend to be reluctant... he lets them happen.
***
And then, all of a sudden, the threesomes stop.
Sylvain doesn't bring them up. He throws his arm around Felix's shoulder at the end of the day, as usual, and he makes conversation. "How'd you beat Dimitri just now? I thought he had you for sure," or "Ingrid is really coming along, don't you think?" or "I wish they'd stop with the spicy food days, you're the only one who likes it." Normal conversation. No innuendos, no suggestions.
At first, Felix is glad. He wants his days to remain focused, routine. At night, he catches up on sleep. He needs it.
After a week, he starts to wonder what the delay is. Is Sylvain tired? He has been doing most of the work--it can't be easy to find girls who fantasize about threesomes but don't insist on meeting the third member of said threesome before agreeing to it. Maybe he needs a break. Fair enough.
After two weeks, Felix realizes that the break is over. Sylvain is going out again. Making plans with Claude and Caspar and Raphael, venturing forth on his own, coming back late. Their rooms are not quite next to one another. If Felix leaves his door open a crack he can hear Sylvain returning in the wee hours, whistling softly to himself, drunk.
He tells himself that he is glad but this time it's not true. Proper self-deception requires a bit more plausibility. So, for the first time and only because he has no choice, he examines his feelings. He lets them swell up, unrestrained, so that he can tell them apart.
He's feeling sad. And... disappointed. And... hurt.
So. Those are his feelings. He stuffs them back where they came from. They'll go away if he's patient.
He can be patient.
***
Another week passes. Two. It's been a month since the last threesome and Felix is feeling better. He is, after all, no stranger to sadness or disappointment or hurt. They're familiar, which makes them easier to bear.
Sylvain, on the other hand, is growing snappish. He throws his arm around Felix's shoulder at the end of the day, as usual. And then he says, "Did you really have to hit Leonie so hard? Sometimes you're a real bastard," or "Professor Byleth really had you eating dirt today. Fun to watch, man. Fun to watch."
"The only way to improve is to fight people who are better than me," Felix replies, outwardly calm. "And I want to improve."
"At killing people," Sylvain snaps. "It's the only thing you care about, isn't it? Killing people."
Felix stops in the middle of the courtyard. He takes a deep breath. The other students amble past, a few of them casting curious glances their way.
"If it's the only way to survive?" He hears too much in his own voice. He should stop talking. "If it's the only way to save y--others?"
Sylvain's eyes narrow. They are the color of milk chocolate, a substance which Felix hates but most girls seem to love. Once he's had this thought, Felix has a strong desire to poke out Sylvain's eyes with this thumbs. It takes an effort to keep his arms still, at his sides.
Sylvain steps into Felix's space. It's a threatening move, an aggressive move, and Felix is glad. He has a vision of his fist smashing into Sylvain's nose. Blood will spurt everywhere--on his knuckles, on his pristine white shirt. While Sylvain reels, Felix will get a grip under his arm, kick his leg out from under him and bump his hip. He will throw Sylvain to the ground, kneel over his prone body, and he will punch him again and again and again--
Sylvain kisses him.
Felix tries to break free, but he's startled and there's no force in it. Sylvain gathers him close, tilts Felix's head the way he wants it. Sylvain's mouth is large, his lips are firm, his tongue muscular. Felix is not prepared for this; he is stunned. He'd mixed up the girls with Sylvain. If kissing the one is practically the same as kissing the other, then surely... but no, it feels nothing alike. It is new.
"Why do you make this so hard?" Sylvain whines, walking him backwards, shoving his back against a wall. "Why can't you be normal--just one time? Is it really too much to ask?"
Sylvain presses his whole body against Felix's whole body. He rubs up and down, leaning hard enough to squeeze the air from Felix's lungs. His hard cock, which Felix has seen thrusting into a woman's body or swallowed by a woman's lips, is like steel against his hip.
Felix does not reply. Most of the time, he knows how people want him to behave. He chooses to do otherwise, on purpose, for reasons he would explain if given the opportunity. Not in this case. He has no idea what a normal person would do if one day, their best friend cajoled them into participating in many extremely intimate threesomes and then, just as suddenly, abandoned the practice.
"I thought I'd have you on the hook, begging for more." Sylvain nips the lobe of his ear. "I thought I'd have you right where I want you." Sylvain whispers the next words, his voice raw with the cruelty which has always been the hallmark of his endless, meaningless sexual escapades, "At my mercy."
Felix laughs, just as cruel. "In your dreams."
"Yeah, I get that now." Sylvain's mouth crashes onto Felix's; they kiss like they are trying to fight. It does not feel good but it is very satisfying. Sylvain cuts his lip and it starts to bleed; he tries to wipe it clean on Felix's cheek. "I waited for you to get angry. You're always angry."
"Not this time," says Felix, which sounds as mean as he could hope but it's just the truth. He hadn't been angry. He'd been miserable.
Sylvain palms Felix's cock and groans. "How are we going to make it to your room?"
Felix freezes. "Oh, fuck."
Sylvain gives him a squeeze and his grip is strong; noticeably stronger than Felix's own. Because he's a lancer--lances are so heavy--swords are much lighter. Felix has to be nimble; Sylvain just has to be strong. And, thank the four saints, he is. It feels so good that Felix's eyes roll back in his head.
"You like that?" Sylvain squeezes even harder. "You want a man handling your cock? You want it to hurt a little? I can do that. I can give you exactly what you want."
Felix plants his palms on Sylvain's chest and shoves with all his strength. Sylvain stumbles, arms windmilling, eyes wide open and stark with shock.
"My room," says Felix, adjusting himself as he walks past. "Remember?"
Sylvain catches up. Skips ahead, spins, walks backward. "As soon as we get there I'm going to--"
"Stairs," says Felix.
"Looking out for me?" Sylvain hops backward down the stairs. "That's sweet of you."
"Can't fuck in the infirmary."
A huge grin splits Sylvain's face. "Wanna bet?"
Felix glances at the looming bulk of the monastery to his left. The infirmary is on the second floor; his room is closer. "Focus, Sylvain."
"Focus? I'll have you know--"
"Planter," says Felix.
Sylvain dodges the planter. "--that I've wanted you--"
"For a couple of months?" Felix interrupts. "I know. Impressive for a man with the memory of a goldfish."
Sylvain snags Felix by the waist and pulls him into a kiss. A new kind: slow and deep and sweet.
"For most of my life," Sylvain finishes.
Felix blinks. That is... not something he'd expect Sylvain to say. To anyone. "Don't lie," he says, sounding feeble. Weak. Which he hates more than anything, and if Sylvain is doing this to him for a lark--
"For most of my life," Sylvain repeats, tugging on his arm, pushing him toward the shadowed entrance to the dormitory.
"You sleep with anything that moves." Felix reaches for his key, takes the steps two at a time, fumbles as he fits it into the lock.
Sylvain leans against the wall. "And why do you think that is?"
Felix flicks a single, sharp glance at his friend before the tumblers click and the door swings open. "I have no idea."
Sylvain follows Felix inside, kicks the door shut, and strips off his blazer. "I thought you liked girls!"
Felix, who had a few seconds head start and used it to get his vest off, throws the garment at a chair and grimaces. "Why?"
Sylvain props his shoulder against the wall and yanks at the buckles of his boot. "Because I didn't think you liked boys!"
Felix can feel his whole face wrinkling up like an apple left too long in the cellar. "Why not?"
"Because you never like anyone!" Sylvain gets his boot off, throws it at the chair, and then starts on the other foot. "How was I supposed to know?"
Felix counts silently to ten and then, flatly, out loud, "You could ask."
"I did." Sylvain gets the other boot off, sends it flying after the first. "You told me to go fuck myself."
He doesn't remember the conversation but, "Sorry."
"It's for the best." Sylvain starts on his shirt. "Now I'm so good in bed you'll never want anyone else. Perfect plan."
Felix tosses his shirt on top of Sylvain's and gets to work on his belt. He snorts.
Sylvain pauses, cocks an eyebrow. "Don't believe me?"
Actually, he kind of does. "I'm reserving judgment."
"You are such an asshole." Sylvain drops to his knees, reaches into Felix's half-unbuttoned trousers, frees his cock and takes as much as he can into his mouth. It's a lot, and there's no toying around. Sylvain sucks, cheeks hollowing, and Felix's knees turn to water. He'd have stumbled if Sylvain hadn't threaded their hands together, fingers intertwining. Somehow that's enough to keep him upright.
Felix is gasping, eyes closed, head tipped back, when Sylvain releases him with a wet pop. "Finally figured out how to make you shut up," he taunts, walking Felix backward to the bed.
That's intolerable--mostly because it's true--and Felix retaliates. He spins, twists, bumps his hips into Sylvain's at just the right moment to send him toppling onto the bed. Sylvain pulls him down, too; they wrestle. Or Felix wrestles, since it turns out Sylvain is just maneuvering him into position. They're lying on their sides, heads pointing in opposite directions, when Sylvain braces himself and takes Felix's cock into his mouth again.
Felix hisses, startled, then does the same. It's... strange. It is not comfortable to have a cock cranking his jaw wide and nudging insistently at his throat, but it turns him on. A lot. He licks and sucks, takes so much he gags and sputters, does it again. He cannot help himself; he feels drunk. So does Sylvain, apparently, since he is whimpering frantically around Felix's cock.
Felix understands those noises when bitter liquid floods his mouth. Sylvain had been trying not to come; trying to hold back. Felix swallows, quickly, and lets his head drop to the mattress. But soon it's his turn--he clings to Sylvain's leg, bites his thigh--it is taut and firm and feels good on his teeth--and then everything goes white and he is briefly afraid that he has died.
Sylvain shoves and prods at him until Felix's back is resting against his chest. He loops an arm around Felix's chest, sighs happily.
"We're gonna do this every night," Sylvain says, sleep slurring his words.
"No, we're not."
Sylvain nuzzles his nose into Felix's neck. "Every night."
"We'll see, goldfish."
"This is my bed now."
Felix groans. People who don't listen are hard to argue with.
"Gonna have so much sex in my new bed," Sylvain adds.
Felix stiffens despite himself.
"With you." Sylvain bites his neck. "Idiot." Then a yawn. "Just as soon as..." Deep, peaceful sigh. "...I wake up."
Felix lies awake for a little longer. Maybe it is Sylvain's bed now. Maybe he can't resist for very long. But he can make Sylvain work for the privilege, and that thought is pleasant enough to ease him into a peaceful slumber.