Chapter Text
“Wait…you hung this picture…in everyone’s tent?!”
“I won’t get stronger if I die from training too hard! I need a break, Frederick!”
“Gods, I’ve got to tear those posters down before anyone sees them!”
“You know what? I don’t think you even know how to relax!”
“Frederick!!”
“Frederick!!”
--
For whatever reason, Chrom and Lissa were both vexed with him. That in itself wasn’t unusual—after many long years of service, he had drawn their ire on more than a few occasions. But the fact that they’d both asked him to relax was troublesome. Of course, Frederick wouldn’t think to disobey, but he wasn’t sure what they expected from him. The way Lissa had described it sounded slovenly, and they couldn’t want that, could they?
But he was trying. For now, he’d settled on sharpening swords. It was simple work that had the benefit of being necessary. For whatever reason, other soldiers found it tedious. Having let their discipline slip during peacetime, they grew impatient and ruined their edges, or else left them half dull. But he found the rhythm of it satisfying, and he liked the familiar weight of a weapon in his hands. Maybe it wasn’t what Lissa would consider “relaxing,” but it was peaceful.
“Hard at work as usual, I see.”
It was peaceful.
Frederick looked up from his whetstone to see Robin at the barracks’ door. She was holding a precarious number of scrolls, just barely keeping them balanced against her hip. She was not here to pick up supplies, then.
“It isn’t particularly hard work,” he said. “But it must be done.”
“You’re not planning to sharpen all these swords by yourself?”
“That is my intention.”
“Would you like some help?”
“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”
“Alright,” Robin said, and it seemed natural to Frederick that their conversation should end there. But she lingered. Observing him. After a few seconds, he sighed and put his half-sharpened sword down.
“Do you have further business with me?”
“I do, actually, thank you for asking.” Robin grinned and placing her scrolls carefully on top of a crate. “I heard you’re under orders to relax,” she said, settling in.
“I suppose Lissa told you all about it.”
“She certainly did. I heard about the posters, too. Only heard about them—Chrom got into my tent before I could see it. You didn’t keep any extras, did you?”
“I believe they were all burned.”
“That’s a shame.”
It was a shame, although the fire itself had been quite splendid.
“What are you going to do?” Robin asked. “Are you just going to sit here sharpening swords until they’re satisfied?”
“I don’t see what else I can do,” he said. “Seeing as ‘doing’ appears to be the opposite of what they want.”
“Hmm.” She considered that, resting a finger against her chin. He had never seen her think so conspicuously before. “I think I may be able to help you after all.”
“With the swords?”
“No, not with the swords. With your mission to relax.”
It was a very strange offer, especially from Robin, who kept nearly as busy as he did. And the manner in which she offered assistance was just as strange, going out of her way to find him alone and delaying her point with obvious pretense. Frederick was no longer in the habit of suspecting her—she had more than proved herself in their victory against Plegia. But this was suspicious, and not even subtly so.
“That doesn’t seem like the most productive use of your time,” he said carefully, waiting for her trap to spring.
“Oh, I’m not so sure,” she replied breezily. “You know, a lot of the soldiers agree that it would do you good to loosen up a bit. They say…well, I’m sure you can guess.”
“They discuss such things?”
“Yes.”
He frowned. He was aware of his stern reputation, and he wore it as a badge of honor. But it a problem for soldiers to be gossiping about his private life. Perhaps Chrom and Lissa were right, and this was a more serious matter than he’d assumed.
“And how would you propose to help?” Frederick asked. “If it involves staring at clouds, I’ll have you know that Lissa already has me on a strict regimen.”
“Clouds?” A bemused smile slipped onto Robin’s face. “Well, I was going to suggest that we sleep together, but I guess I wouldn’t mind watching clouds.”
He froze, completely unsure how to interpret that. Because she surely didn’t mean what he thought she did? But Robin did not clarify. She was watching him, waiting for his response.
“I don’t appreciate jokes,” he said, fixing his brow into a glare.
“I’m serious.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I’m not really sure what there is to explain. You’re pent up, and I find you attractive. Sleeping together would kill two birds with one stone.”
“I am not pent up.”
She shrugged.
“You find me attractive?”
She shrugged again, and he began suspect that she wasn’t joking after all. Well. That presented a different set of problems.
“I…I do not have feelings for you,” Frederick said. He thought this was something that ought to be handled delicately, but she all but rolled her eyes.
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“Then…”
“Feelings don’t have to be involved in this. Like I said, it’s just a way to relax.”
He hadn’t considered it from that angle. When put like that, her proposal sounded well-reasoned enough—simply two problems with a common solution. Clean logic. Robin was, after all, a tactician.
“I…I suppose…”
For all his reservations, Frederick found himself unable to articulate them eloquently, his thoughts tumbling awkwardly against each other. Worse, he could feel his face begin to burn as he looked at her, the full meaning of her proposal starting to sink in. Robin spared him by looking away first.
“You don’t have to give me an answer right away,” she said, gathering up her scrolls. “I know I’ve put you on the spot. But I would like you to consider it.”
--
Robin did not raise the issue with him again. Days passed, and she acted as if nothing had happened. Maybe it had been a joke after all, Frederick thought. She had claimed to be serious, but could she really act so unaffected if she were? If it didn’t bother her, then he shouldn’t allow it to bother him, either.
But he could not banish the idea from his head. He could hardly even look at her without remembering her offer. Robin wanted to sleep with him, of all people. Why? After all, she was adored by many of the Shepherds. Surely if she wanted a partner, she could have one. But she had propositioned him. Because she found him attractive? What had she meant by that?
And what did he think of her?
As an ally, she was cunning and capable. But Frederick hadn’t thought of her in that way before. She was, he supposed, pretty, in an understated sort of way. She took care to keep her appearance tidy, which he appreciated. But there were plenty of women with larger eyes, longer legs, and more voluptuous figures. Still, he did like looking at her face. And after her offer, he realized there were other things he liked about her—small physical details that had previously passed beneath his notice. The way she covered her mouth when she laughed. The way she craned her neck slightly to the left when deep in thought. The way her shirt dipped when she leaned over a map.
Was that attraction? He had always struggled with the concept. If it was a powerful force that yanked lovers toward each other and emptied their minds of all reason, then no, he was not attracted to her. But he found her company pleasant and had grown quite conscious of her recently. When she entered a room, he noticed.
Did that mean he wanted to sleep with her? He hadn’t particularly wanted to sleep with anyone. He knew that sort of thing happened among soldiers, but after a couple of youthful fumbles, he had failed seen the appeal of keeping such messy relationships. Anyhow, it had all seemed inappropriate once he’d reached a certain rank.
But Robin had propositioned him. And, if he was completely honest, he was curious. Sex meant a great deal to other people, even when romance wasn’t involved, so there was probably something to it. And it wasn’t likely that the opportunity to experiment would present itself again—he was not young anymore. He liked Robin well enough, and he trusted her to be discrete. So what was the harm of it, if feelings weren’t involved?
Maybe he was pent up. After a week of stewing, he approached Robin while she was alone, leaving the barracks.
“I accept.”
--
“Here?”
“Would you rather it be somewhere else?”
“No, it’s just…” It was just that Robin had led him into the woods behind the barracks and was currently on her knees in front of him. “I suppose this wasn’t what I was expecting.”
She blinked up at him, her expression unreadable.
“What were you expecting, Frederick?”
In truth, he didn’t know. He’d figured a bed would be involved, and that it would be more…well, “romantic” wasn’t the right word. But he hadn’t anticipated that their first encounter would see him pressed against a tree. Was this how it was supposed to be? Maybe it was. They were just using each other to relax, after all. Why should there be any ceremony to it?
“We don’t have to do anything,” Robin said. “We could try again later, if this is too sudden.”
Her eyes dropped away from his face, and for whatever reason, that annoyed him. It was her habit with him—to provoke, then retreat. When they sparred, too, she would open with a lunge, then flit away, challenging him to meet her where she stood. Well, he had never backed down from that challenge before, and he wasn’t about to now.
“I want to,” he said. “Don’t you? This was your idea, after all.”
He had spoken confidently, but when she looked back at him, his heart was beating so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest, his neck, his head. Was she nervous, too? If she was, she hid it well.
Robin stared at him for what felt like a very long time. Finally, her lips quirked into a smile.
“Alright. I’ll take responsibility.”
Slowly, Robin pressed her hand to his crotch. Frederick felt his breath catch. She began to move her hand against him, and his body went taut as a bowstring. The quickness of his desire took him by surprise. It was strange and a little frightening, how easily his body responded to the slight press of her palm. It wasn’t the first time someone had touched him like this, but it had been a while. Years, even.
It was a warm day, and the smell of trees was thick with afternoon. The chirps of birds and insects hung silverly in the air, but the woods were otherwise quiet. The rustle of fabric was disproportionately loud. How incredibly awkward he felt, simply standing there while she got to work. Was there proper etiquette for this sort of thing? Where was he supposed to look? At the top of her head? Was he allowed to touch her?
…It did feel good, though. Another person’s hands.
Robin began to unbutton his pants, looking up at him for permission. What must he look like to her, he wondered as she slipped her gloves off and tucked them into her belt. She had only touched him for a brief while, yet he was erect when she took him in her bare hand. She was trembling, or was that him? If he had any sense, he might have been embarrassed. But his senses had all but left him.
She stroked him carefully, her touch lighter than he would have touched himself. Her hands were hot, and softer than he’d expected. Fleetingly, he recalled once seeing her rub some kind of softening cream into her palms. Something to keep the callouses off. At the time, he’d thought it frivolous—hardened hands were the mark of work and part of a soldier’s pride. But now…
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Your hands are soft” didn’t seem appropriate. But what was he supposed to say?
“It’s…nice,” he managed to choke out. And even that much was difficult. His breathing had grown labored, and his hands hung in tight fists at his sides.
“Nice?”
She looked up, and Frederick felt a shiver go through him.
“Yes, nice.”
“Nice…”
Evidently, that wasn’t what he was meant to say. Robin looked almost disappointed. Her hands stilled for a moment, and Frederick watched, transfixed, as she leaned forward and pressed her lips against him. Then her lips parted, and there was the sudden heat of her tongue, her mouth. At first, he was so shocked he hardly felt it. And then he did.
And then he really did.
He swallowed a groan, but just barely. She was steadily moving her mouth over him, one hand holding the base of his cock, the other braced against his thigh. Every now and then she allowed her lips to fall away from him with a quiet pop, catching her breath before taking him again. It was almost more than he could endure.
His hands, once clenched at his sides, were now on her head. Robin made a surprised sound, and he felt her voice more than he heard it. But she didn’t pull away from him, instead letting his fingers tangle and tug at her hair. She picked up her pace, and it was a sweet agony, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. There was only this closeness, this desire building and building inside of him.
Then she moaned quietly and glanced up at him, her face flushed, and he could endure it no longer.
“Robin—!”
If he had not been leaning against a tree, he might have dropped to his knees. When he regained his senses somewhat, Robin was spitting into the grass.
“I apologize,” he said. She shot him a look that was at once amused and sarcastic.
“A warning might have been nice.”
He tucked himself back into his pants as she stood, bits of grass clinging to her knees.
“You’re, um, more skilled than I anticipated,” he said. He felt it would be appropriate to say something. But the look on Robin’s face told him otherwise.
“I’m going to take that as a complement.”
“It…was.”
“If you say so,” Robin said. She began to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, but he caught her wrist before she could.
“Hey—”
“Allow me,” he said, producing his handkerchief. He held her face steady and dabbed at her chin, and she seemed surprised. A little shy, even, her eyes darting away from him. How funny that she should be embarrassed now, after she had just taken him in her mouth.
“Thanks,” Robin said awkwardly when he was finished. She was still flushed, he realized. Of course she was. She had brought him to climax, but he had not extended the same courtesy to her.
So, he thought, this was what she looked like when she was aroused.
“Shouldn’t I…touch you too?” he asked. It seemed only fair to offer, and wasn’t that how these arrangements worked? But Robin shook her head.
“Maybe next time.”
In truth, he wouldn’t have known what to do had she said yes. And yet, another part of him was disappointed. She had taken care of him, but he had done nothing for her. He wasn’t used to that.
Still, she had said “next time.”
“I’m going to go back first,” Robin said. “Could you wait here a few minutes? Otherwise, people might get the wrong idea.”
Frederick nodded, though technically it would be the right idea, wouldn’t it? They were involved in that way, after all. Of course, he appreciated her commitment to discretion. Neither of them had time to deal with a scandal. But he hadn’t imagined discretion would look like this—a flash of a smile and her quick footsteps, coat billowing out behind her.
Now he was alone, a little sweaty, and a little uncertain. A breeze cooled his face and tossed the thin branches above him. Light punched through the leaves, dancing golden upon the dry grass. How long these minutes were. He was not accustomed to standing still, with nothing to occupy his hands.
He would act as if nothing had happened. That was what they’d agreed upon, a clean separation between the sexual and non-sexual aspects of their relationship. It had seemed simple enough at the time. Well-reasoned. But now…
The memory of Robin’s face flashed unbidden through his mind, brow knit in concentration and lips glistening. The image stirred something in him. Not quite arousal, but not unlike it, either. Frederick rubbed a weary hand over his face.
This may be more complicated than he’d thought.