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It’d barely been a week since they’d taken back the capital, a fact that Felix, pressed up against Sylvain on his tiny cot in the early hours after his birthday, still couldn’t quite believe. They had a day’s ride to get back to Garreg Mach, delayed after an unfortunate run-in with demonic beasts. Looking back, Felix should’ve known better than to go out hunting in such unfavorable conditions, but after everything that’d happened, he can admit that he hadn’t been thinking clearly.
It wasn’t just the aftereffects of their recent victory—that Dimitri himself had led their charge with both ferocity and humility, or that for the first time since the war started, it seemed like they actually had a fighting chance. That finally, after five years of barely scraping by, they could feel the tide shifting.
It was also that, in the wake of their victory, Felix hadn’t exercised his typical caution, despite knowing full well how unforgiving winds or seiches or ice shoves could turn the tides right back around on them. No, instead he’d decided on a bit of an impulse that he could stand to be a little less careful—so he’d let himself get swept up in the current, dragging Sylvain right along with him. The triumph, the end of the war seemingly in sight, the higher stakes that came with it…it’d seemed they’d each had enough, and had managed to admit that whatever they’d been tiptoeing around for moons (years?) was more than just friendly camaraderie. They’d done so with only so many words, but the few nights they’d managed to spend in each other’s tents as they started their trek back to Garreg Mach had seemed to affirm it.
Even their confinement in the infirmary tent over the past day and a half hadn’t stopped them from testing the limit. They’d proved to each other that it’d take more mangling than a few broken legs to keep them from dipping back in the water, and that bed rest was no match for their need to make up for lost time.
Though, of course, they were glad when Mercedes and the others had caught up to their small scouting party yesterday. She’d gotten their bones set back into place just in time for them to join their camp’s night of revelry in the name of Sylvain’s birthday. Felix had found it a little easier to throw himself into the sea of cheerful company than he typically cared for. Their old class had all sat by the fire and exchanged stories (and in Byleth’s case, gifts, since she somehow always had something thoughtfully packed away for such occasions as these), and they’d even indulged Sylvain in some birthday song and dance. In return, Sylvain had regaled them with the tale of Ingrid and Ashe’s heroics in saving both their hides, embellishing only slightly for the sake of good storytelling. The strong spirits hadn’t hurt, but if Felix was being honest with himself, he’d say his conviviality probably had more to do with the way Sylvain’s smile shone in the firelight every time he’d happened to catch his eye.
With the combined potency of both healing magic and drink, they’d ended up cutting the night a bit short. Sylvain had hoisted himself up, waving thanks to everyone with his lopsided smile and crinkles around his eyes. He’d hesitated slightly and looked back at Felix, questioning. As if it were really a question. Felix nodded enough for Sylvain to get the idea and gave the others a similar excuse, meeting him at his tent before he’d gotten fully inside.
Their inebriety had prevented them from doing more than pulling each other out of their clothes and aimlessly fumbling around a little before they’d settled themselves on Sylvain’s cot and collapsed into sleep. Now, in the dim light before dawn, Felix knew he didn’t have much chance to try to doze off again. Not since he’d become aware of his arm draped around Sylvain’s torso, the soft puffs of air rolling back at him against his freckled shoulder blades, his fingers just shy of raking through the hair on his chest.
He felt emboldened after their little affair in the infirmary tent. The echo of Sylvain’s yours had been rippling in his head since then. How Sylvain had so easily just let him take the lead. Like he wanted to be taken apart; was so eager to please.
Stirred by the memory, he pressed his face to one of the scars on Sylvain’s shoulder, just one mark among dozens—of years’ worth of birthdays-past when they hadn’t had the luxury of keeping an eye on each other. He shifted in the early light to kiss it while he curled his hand to Sylvain’s chest, moving closer and feeling the warmth, the steady pulse underneath his palm, the proof of existence still ticking underneath all the scar tissue.
The dawn chorus had begun in the trees around them, but camp was still quiet. Inspired by what had been left unfinished last night, Felix pressed himself closer against Sylvain’s back, tucking himself behind his knees, aiming to ease him out of sleep before progressing too much further. Felix wasn’t normally one to interfere like this—sleep being so hard to come by, especially for Sylvain—but he just couldn’t help himself in snaking his hand further down his chest and stomach, venturing even lower as he started to stir. He figured that given the choice, there was a better-than-decent chance that Sylvain would prefer this over dozing anyway. At least to hold him over until they got back to the monastery and Felix could give him the gift he’d refused to bring along, unwilling to consider the possibility that they wouldn’t make it back alive. What better way to bask in it, he thought as he continued pressing his mouth across Sylvain’s shoulder and up towards his neck where his pulse steadily thrummed.
Sylvain murmured a quiet question and Felix answered with a soothing graze over his hip. As Sylvain moved to roll over onto his back, he seized the opportunity to duck lower, dragging his hand down, taking hold of him, starting to stroke gently as he began to fill out.
“Felix?” Sylvain asked groggily as Felix shifted, raking his other hand down his trunk, his thigh, until he settled himself down between his legs. Sylvain sat up slightly, still dazed and charmingly mussed from sleep, maneuvering himself into better view of where Felix was slowly closing his mouth around his cock. Felix flexed his fingers on his thigh as he felt his dick start to get hard against his tongue. He sank lower to take more of it.
“What’re’you…?—Felix—holy shit,” Sylvain gasped, reaching for him, breath already heavy. He stretched to caress his face as Felix began to move in earnest.
Another shaky exhale—the awe in it—was like a spur in Felix’s side. He gripped the base of his cock and rotated his wrist around it as he rose, only to plant a series of wet, sloppy kisses back down its length, now fully hard. He paused long enough to make sure Sylvain was looking before he slowly dragged his tongue back up the underside. Sylvain groaned—head falling forward, eyes snapping closed.
A part of him knew they should probably keep quiet. It was early. Sound would surely carry across camp. But swept up in the heat of it, all Felix cared about was doing whatever he could to continue drawing more noises out of him. And it was working—Each moan and bewildered plea as Felix hummed around his cock or picked up the pace continued to narrow his focus to his task of taking him apart. There was a special thrill to it—how quickly he could reduce Fódlan’s most notorious philanderer to thoughts of only him. A part of him wanted to ask him directly: how many others have tried? Hmm—how laughable. That they could ever possibly think they’d compare to this. He sucked again at the head of Sylvain’s cock as he rolled his hips down on the thin mattress beneath them, too far gone already to pretend like it wasn’t affecting him.
He lost himself in it for a moment until he felt Sylvain’s fingers wind into his hair. It’s not like Felix minded it—quite the opposite—but a thought that’d been nagging at him—a test of sorts—gave him pause. Staring down the path of some newly discovered instinct, he deliberately slowed down and pulled back, letting Sylvain’s hands naturally fall to his shoulders. Sylvain whined questioningly.
Not breaking eye contact, Felix grabbed his hands and brought them down to his sides. Slowly, he inched them up the cot until they settled, willingly pinned just underneath his back. “Be good,” Felix said.
“And what if I’m not?” Sylvain whispered. Desire flickered in his eyes even as he tested him. His attempt at defiance was belied by how breathless it came out.
Felix ghosted his lips back over his cock and smirked up at Sylvain when he felt it twitch. He noted that Sylvain hadn’t made any intentional moves to shift his hands or hips, and recognized the admission—the invitation—for what it was. Felix remained close enough to ensure that Sylvain would feel the tease of every movement as he spoke. “Oh, you don’t want that,” he said. “We both know it.”
He pulled back slightly and was pleased to see that Sylvain appeared to be struggling with what to say in response. Felix took a chance again, tracing his fingers lightly up the muscle on his inner thigh. “Do you want it or not?”
Sylvain nodded, jaw slack and eyes pleading. Felix rewarded him by licking the precum that’d beaded up in his absence, pressing the flat of his tongue downward before swallowing the length of his cock back again. He hummed approvingly when Sylvain threw his head back on his pillow with another deep moan.
“I can’t believe—oh fuck—fuck, Felix.”
Felix hummed again and didn’t let up even when he felt Sylvain tense—like he was about to free his arms but thought better of it. In an effort to reward him, Felix looked up and moaned. The sight of Sylvain, enraptured and utterly debauched, hands clearly clenched in fists underneath him, was almost too much for him. He pressed down against the mattress again as he continued to reward Sylvain, dropping one hand from the base of his shaft to cup his balls, then pressing a bit lower.
Sylvain squirmed at the contact. “I can’t,” he panted. “I’m gonna—Please. I’m—”
In a feat of great willpower, Felix pulled himself up and off, relishing in how Sylvain whined at the injustice of it. Again, he wondered how many others had really ever seen him like this. Guard down, this desperate. Felix groaned as he repositioned himself on top of him. “Want you to see—,” he whispered into his neck as he lined them up and took them both in his fist. “What—you do to me.”
Sylvain’s arms were around him now, pulling him closer, melting into him—and Felix didn’t care, not bothering to keep up the game—focusing instead on the way Sylvain desperately drew him down for a kiss as they rocked against each other in rolling, breaking waves. Because he knew, without a doubt, that if he asked, Sylvain would yield. Yours, he had said. Said again—here now into his mouth. In how he etched it onto his back.
Felix broke away with a gasp, resting his forehead against Sylvain’s, too overcome with the feel of closeness, of his cock dragging against his. Only to discover that the pleasure washed on Sylvain’s face was just as overwhelming. Their breath mingled and hitched in the small space between them, and with the way Sylvain anchored himself into his shoulders, begging with his whole body to keep him there, with the noise he made as Felix answered mine on his neck, he could just tell that what they had was something different.
“So good—Sylvain,” he found himself whispering. “Want you—to come on my cock.”
Sylvain cursed, long and low, scrunching his eyes shut, pulling him closer as Felix felt him spill between them. The sight and feel of it didn’t give him a fighting chance, and soon he had joined Sylvain in the surge that’d taken them both under. He crashed again against auburn waves, breath like storm swells as he rode through it.
They lay there together for a moment, letting their breathing slow as they became more aware of the unfortunate sounds of clanging metal and vague chatter carrying around camp. Felix momentarily regretted how careless he’d been about noise, but he supposed they’d have to deal with everyone sooner or later.
After taking a moment to wipe themselves off, Felix settled back down on the cot. Sylvain shifted onto his side to accommodate him, resting his ear on his chest even though it meant that his feet were left to dangle off the edge. Felix pressed his lips to the crown of his head and stayed there, pulled into the tired contentment he so rarely experienced in the morning, if ever.
“Sorry to wake you,” Felix murmured into his hair while he traced a line on his shoulder, avoiding the smooth patches of old scar tissue where he could. “Hope that was okay—”
Sylvain let out a small, incredulous laugh against his chest. “Are you kidding?” he asked. “Love of my life wakes me up with the most incredi—”
He stopped abruptly and only had the slightest moment to try to backtrack before Felix guided his chin upwards and surged toward him. Sylvain relaxed into him as Felix stroked his thumb across his cheek and wove his fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Felix had long told himself that this—this closeness and all the vulnerability, the overwhelming sense of goodness—would just be a liability, but now that he seemed to have it, he figured maybe it’d just been wishful thinking. It was nice, hearing it. Kissing Sylvain. Celebrating another birthday and another year lived. Being able to savor it for a moment without having to completely rush.
When they pulled apart, Sylvain’s eyes searched his, still with some hesitancy. “Hope that was okay…,” he whispered. Felix didn’t know if he was referring to the kiss or the admission or both. Didn’t matter, as Felix nodded and moved down for more, feeling Sylvain smile as he nodded again.
The interruption of the mess bell clanging from across camp made them reluctantly pull apart. Felix sighed and hoisted himself up, stretching as he scanned the floor for his clothes. He turned back to Sylvain, still lying on his cot, arms draped behind his head. Simultaneously preening and unabashedly admiring him as he started getting dressed.
The sight already had Felix thinking some unsavory thoughts for next time, but, unfortunately, he knew they’d need to pack up soon if they were to make it back to Garreg Mach by nightfall. It's not like the war would wait for them.
“I’ll grab you a plate,” Felix said, handing over Sylvain’s breeches and shirt from the ground. “Think Dedue was on mess duty, so it should be good.”
Sylvain sat up and pulled him down for another kiss, but Felix pressed a finger to his lips. It seemed to surprise him, and that same thrill thrummed in Felix’s veins at the prospect that he’d be left wanting for the length of their march today. When Felix withdrew, he reveled further in how Sylvain tipped forward in an attempt to chase his hand.
“Come find me. When we get back.”
“Like you even have to ask,” Sylvain said.
Felix grinned to himself as he turned away and slipped through the tent’s opening, squinting against the sunrise and how bright it all was. He made his way over to the mess tent and filed in line beside Dimitri and Byleth. They glanced up from the parchment they’d been pouring over as he approached, and the knowing look Byleth cast him made Felix realize that he was still grinning.
If everything went according to plan, they’d have some time to prepare before their cavalry call up to Derdriu. Their army stood on the cusp of pushing the Empire out of the north for good. Felix knew they couldn’t lose focus now, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to some scraps of downtime that would surely be a lot less lonely. Of daring to entertain thoughts for what could come next after all this…
Yes, the tides seemed to be shifting. And now, as he joined their class again by the fire, handing Sylvain a plate and knocking his leg against his, catching his sleepy, sheepish smile and responding by leaning in further, Felix could admit that there was something to be said about taking a break from trying to fight it.