The first thing Sylvain thinks upon waking, his nose pressed into Felix’s hair, is: damn, we really won the war. Nice to know he didn’t dream that up.
The fact that Felix is still in his bed is possibly even nicer. Usually Felix slips out at the crack of dawn to train, or glower at Dimitri, or whatever else it is he does when he’s not in Sylvain’s direct line of sight. Apparently all it takes to get Felix to indulge in a proper lie-in is defeating an entire empire. Sylvain’ll have to remember that.
Of course, though he’s deigned to stay in bed, Felix is already awake. The day he sleeps in later than Sylvain, they’ll have to have done something much, much more momentous than defeating some all-powerful Emperor.
Sylvain curls an arm over him and slides a hand up into his loose hair. “Morning,” he mumbles against the crown of Felix’s head.
Felix shoves him off, only to roll heavily on top of him and burrow in closer. Sylvain cheerfully wraps both arms around him. “You certainly took your time waking up. If we had a battle today, we would’ve left you behind,” Felix tells him sternly, as though he’s not speaking into the space between Sylvain’s jaw and throat. His breath is warm.
“But we don’t,” says Sylvain. “No more battles ever again! Or maybe for a month or two, at least. I’m sure by the time I get back to Gautier territory there’ll be some new problem they need a commander to solve.” Not that Sylvain is any hurry to get back. After all: Felix is here.
“I suppose,” Felix says. He’s so relaxed. They need to win wars more often. Sylvain gathers him up and kisses him, slow and languid the way they never do, because they’re always in a rush. There’ll be things to rush about soon enough, sure, but for now they have time. Sylvain intends to make the most of it.
Felix snorts against his neck. “Insatiable as ever,” he murmurs, shifting against Sylvain where he’s getting hard. As if there’s any other sane response to Felix, warm and pliant and only the tiniest bit prickly in his lap.
“Only for you, babe,” Sylvain says, and laughs when Felix elbows him in the side. “Come on. I think a celebration is in order, don’t you?” Felix rolls his eyes, but rolls his hips down lazily and bends to kiss Sylvain’s neck. They settle into a rhythm, comfortably and lazy, in no real hurry to get anywhere. Sylvain could really, really get used to this.
“I think I like post-war society so far,” he says contentedly. “Do you think His Highness will be able to calm down now?”
“I doubt it,” Felix says, nipping at Sylvain’s jaw. Sylvain grabs his ass and drags him closer, letting Felix do most of the work. He’s had more time to wake up, after all.
“Guess now Dimitri can freak out about the coronation instead,” Sylvain says. Felix makes a vague noise, like he’s done with talking, but Sylvain’s in a chatty mood. The war is over and Felix hasn’t insulted him yet this morning. Obviously it’s a day for miracles. Might as well bring it up now. “Mm, maybe you can finally do something about the way you’re always looking at him.” Complex plans don’t really go well with Felix grinding down against him, and anyway: with Felix, it’s usually just best to be straightforward.
Felix goes still above him. Sylvain slides a hand in his hair to try to pull him back down, but he won’t go. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, is this going to be a whole thing?” Sylvain asks. “Are we going to pretend you haven’t been head over heels for the guy since we were all the same height?”
Aww, he’s blushing. That’s always fun. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Sylvain sighs. “Felix.” He runs his hand up Felix’s back. “You know I’m not that dumb.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Felix mutters, looking away. Joke’s on him, because it just gives Sylvain a great view of him in profile, red creeping up his cheeks.
“I’m just saying,” Sylvain says, “it’s a whole new world. Fodlan is our oyster. And Dimitri has his head on straight these days, which is definitely a point in favor of you fucking him.”
“Ugh. Of course you have to put it like that.” Felix’s mouth twitches. “Always so eager to get rid of your conquests, aren’t you?” he says dryly, reaching down to palm at Sylvain’s dick. When they were younger this is probably when Felix would’ve decided Sylvain was just screwing with him and stormed out of the room; thankfully they’ve been doing this romance thing for a few years, and he’s found healthier ways to deal with his aggression. He squeezes roughly, and Sylvain thunks his head back against the pillow, groaning.
“Nah,” Sylvain says. He runs his hands up Felix’s back under his nightshirt. “I’m keeping you, don’t worry. I’m more interested in sharing.”
“Oh,” Felix says, shivering a little, like that hadn’t even occurred to him. He can be so cute sometimes.
Sylvain sits up, steadying Felix in his lap with an arm around his back. “It’d be fun,” he says. “And also definitely get him to relax for once.”
“If I agree, will you shut up?” Felix asks. He punctuates his point by getting his hand on both of their dicks, which totally isn’t the reason that Sylvain nods in frantic agreement.
“Sure thing,” Sylvain says, as Felix starts to stroke. “He’s got such big hands, hasn’t he? I bet he could hold you down like it was nothing. I could tell him just how to touch you, you know. He has that puppydog thing going on, he’d probably be into it.”
Felix hits him for that, sure, but he also shudders and comes first, open-mouthed against Sylvain’s shoulder, so Sylvain knows who the real winner is.
Even in the aftermath of their victory, Felix can only stand to stay in and cuddle for about ten minutes before he gets antsy. Sylvain savors every second of it before Felix wriggles out of his hold to get dressed.
Once he’s finished, Felix sits back down on the edge of the bed, clothes on but with his hair still down. Sylvain reaches up to run his fingers through it. He’s beaming like an idiot, probably. Felix only ever leaves putting his hair up for last when he’s in a good mood.
“Sylvain,” he says, almost a sigh.
“That’s me,” Sylvain agrees. “Sure I can’t convince you to come back to bed?”
“Not all of us can sleep the day away,” says Felix. He’s got that look he gets when he’s thinking something over. Sylvain tugs him down for a kiss to give him a little more time. If he doesn’t spit it out now, it’ll be bothering him all day.
“Okay, okay, I really have to go.” Felix sits back, removing Sylvain’s hand from his hair.
Sylvain levers himself up, laying his arms across Felix’s shoulders, resting his hands on his collarbones. “Let me do your hair?”
Felix snorts, but he produces his hair tie from one of his pockets and drops it in Sylvain’s hand.
It helps. Felix always finds it easier to say things when he doesn’t have to look Sylvain in the eyes. “Are you really okay with this?” he asks, finally, after Sylvain has wasted several minutes playing with his hair.
Sylvain gives his hair a tug. “You know I love it.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Felix says. “Idiot.”
“Yeah, yeah. You mean about Dimitri?”
“Obviously. Are you really okay that I—” Am utterly and desperately in love with him, Sylvain fills in for him. He knows Felix too well to ever expect him to say something like that out loud. It’s so clear, anyway, in the set of his shoulders, the tension he’s holding in his neck below Sylvain’s hands. He’s not so hard to read if you know what to look for. Dimitri understands that too.
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I wasn’t.”
Felix tilts his head back, fucking up the very serviceable ponytail Sylvain was in the middle of. “Is that so? Your self-destructive tendencies are legendary.”
Ouch. Not wrong, but still: ouch. “Well, okay, thanks for that, but I promise this isn’t me self-sabotaging.”
“Good,” Felix says. “I won’t let you do that. I’m rather pleased with how things have worked out; I won’t let you ruin it.”
It’s truly incredible how many rude ways Felix has found to say I love you. He’s had plenty of practice with Dimitri, Sylvain supposes. “Is it so crazy to think I want you to be happy? And Dimitri, for that matter. You two have been making eyes at each other for over a decade at this point.” Felix shuts his eyes, looking pained. “Really, I’m just being selfish, it’s getting unbearable to watch.” And Felix isn’t the type who can bear to just ask for what he wants. Not until you give him a nudge.
Felix opens his eyes, inspecting him closely, looking for the lie. Sylvain blinks back at him, maskless. “Okay,” Felix says finally, turning back around. Sylvain gathers his hair up again. “I just—you know—this isn’t like you and your. You know what I mean.”
“I know,” Sylvain says. He rubs his thumbs against Felix’s nape. “I get that you’re serious about it. I really don’t mind. You loved him before we even met. I’m not going to hold that against you.” He finishes tying off Felix’s hair and darts in to press a kiss against his cheek. “Besides, he and I have a lot in common.”
Felix snorts. “And how is that?”
Sylvain tucks his face into the crook of Felix’s neck and wraps an arm around his middle. “Guess.”
Felix shrugs him off to stand, scoffing, but he’s smiling just a little. Sylvain watches him and wonders if it feels like this for Dimitri, too: something alight inside his ribs.
Sylvain rolls out of bed with a groan. “And wait up, I’ll come with, I need breakfast. You really helped me work up an appetite.” He winks. Felix throws his shirt at his face.
“Hurry up or I’m leaving you behind,” he says, but of course he waits.
Sylvain knows how he would go about seducing the King of Faerghus for them, but so does Felix, and thus, he strictly refuses to let Sylvain bring up the subject with Dimitri. It’s for the best: neither of them needs to know in exactly what manner Ingrid would kill him for slinging an arm around Dimitri’s shoulders and asking if he wants to fuck. He’d absolutely expire on the spot, and then where would any of them be, after they worked so hard to get him on the throne?
Honestly—and it truly pains him to admit this—Dimitri would probably turn him down, anyway. Sylvain loves Dimitri, sure. He’d lay down his life for him in a heartbeat. But he doesn’t love him like Felix does, desperate and yearning. Just the way they look at each other sometimes is intense. It makes it feel like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.
It’s not like Sylvain’s never wondered if Dimitri and Felix ever managed to work out any of their tension back at the monastery. He has, at extremely pleasant length. He’s even considered asking Felix about it. In the end, he always decided against it. Not because he doesn’t want to get his head bitten off—that’s never been a problem for him. Felix needs someone to explode at every once in awhile or he gets bored. But whatever memory the question might dredge up is either going to be good or really, really bad. They’ve all got enough bad memories dogging their heels without asking for trouble.
But Dimitri isn’t totally crazy anymore and Felix calls him by name about half the time and when they growl at each other it’s almost always for show, so Sylvain doesn’t feel too guilty for imagining it. Sprawled on the ground in the old training yard, maybe, Felix victorious, a sword at Dimitri’s throat until he cast it aside to kiss him. Angry, like he always was with Dimitri back then, biting and scrappy the way he only sometimes allows himself to get with Sylvain, when he’s wound up and frustrated and needs someone to dig his claws into. Dimitri would be looking up at him reverently, and Felix would snarl at him and grind down against him sharply until Dimitri’s composure broke and he flipped them, and they’d be off then, rolling around in the dirt—
Anyway. Felix says he’ll take care of it, and Sylvain figures that very well might be the end of it. He shouldn’t have doubted; Felix has never been any good at letting things go.
Sylvain stumbles across them in the middle of a conversation in the library. He’s not eavesdropping, when he ducks back into the stacks before they can see him. He’s staging a strategic retreat.
“Dimitri,” Felix is saying, voice gone tight like he’s nervous or pissed. Or both, always an exciting combination from him. “If you’re going to mock me—”
“I’m not,” Dimitri says. “I promise I’m not.”
“Hmph.” Ah, it’s going well then. Sylvain knows exactly the expression Felix must be wearing: face turned to the side, nose in the air. Annoyed but willing to be wooed out of it.
“Felix. You must know how deeply I admire you. It is only…”
“It was Sylvain’s idea, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Felix says. “He always has the worst ideas.”
Rude. Dimitri laughs. “Unsurprising, though that was not my concern. I know you’re a man of honor.”
“Ugh. Don’t say it like that. And whatever it is, spit it out.” Boar, Felix might have said, even these days. He really is making an effort.
“I’m just surprised,” Dimitri says finally. “That you would want—with me, I mean. After everything.”
“You really are an idiot,” Felix growls. “You think that I of all people would be content to simply dwell on the past?”
“I would never presume your forgiveness,” Dimitri says, so terribly grave. A king through and through, that one.
“I missed you,” Felix says, sudden and rough. “Every day I missed you—and then you were gone and I only missed you more—”
Someone knocks someone into the other side of the bookshelf Sylvain’s stuck behind, and then there’s the unmistakable sound of kissing. Sylvain should know, he’s an expert.
“I see,” Dimitri says, measured and low, and then—and then Felix laughs, a beautiful sound Sylvain doesn’t hear nearly often enough. He grins at the books in front of him, some sort of treatise on Heroes’ Relics. Whatever.
He stages an actual strategic retreat at this point, because he does have some standards. Also, he wants to be able to do research in the library again without having to know for certain if Felix and Dimitri have made out on whatever table he’s using.
Felix drags him to dinner with Dimitri the next night. The whole affair has the awkward frenetic energy of a first date, which is almost kind of nostalgic. Except it’s nothing like any first date Sylvain has ever been on: for one, Dimitri brought his paperwork with him, because apparently being king is a huge pain in the ass, and two, Felix keeps arguing with him about it, ever the contentious advisor. Sylvain is tempted to sit back and watch it like a training match, but then Felix turns to him with sharp eyes and demands his opinion.
Also, the food is way more amazing than it ever was at Garreg Mach. “Okay, which one of you guys convinced Ashe and Dedue to cook?” Sylvain asks.
They glance at each other. “It was a joint effort,” Dimitri says. So, he asked Dedue, and Felix asked Ashe. A pretty reasonable division of labor.
“Honestly, this reminds me of eating with the professor,” Sylvain says. “She was always arranging meals like this.”
“I swear I saw that woman eat five dinners in a row one night,” Felix says. “It was impressive. No wonder people think she has some kind of divine power.”
“She literally came back from the dead,” Sylvain says. “Like, twice.”
“She’s the archbishop,” says Dimitri.
“And she could still eat us all out of house and home if she were here,” Felix says. “Now, tell me again why your plan for the new land tax isn’t completely stupid.”
Afterwards, they make their way back to Sylvain’s quarters. The atmosphere goes tense once they enter. It’s that same air-sucked-out-of-the-room feeling that only these two seem able to produce. It leaves Sylvain a little breathless. He maybe, just a little, might have been fooling himself into thinking this was all for Felix’s benefit.
He isn’t in love with Dimitri. But he is a little bit in love with the way Felix is around Dimitri, the way they are around each other: intense and dedicated and shockingly earnest. Sylvain is loyal, but he isn’t loyal like that. He’d like to be, someday. He’s sure if he sticks around them long enough he’ll learn.
“So, this is me,” Sylvain says. “All the mess is Felix’s fault.”
It’s true, actually; Sylvain’s things are put away neatly, but Felix never seems to have the patience for tidying up. He’s always losing hair ties, and Sylvain is always finding them in odd places.
Dimitri looks around, probably ascertaining the truth of it for himself. After all, the untended piles of junk strewn about are all distinctly Felix’s belongings: half empty bottles of sword oil and the jacket he tore last winter and a packet of smoked fish he keeps to feed to the palace cats when he thinks no one’s looking. “So I see,” he says, a smile in his voice. He pushes his hair out of his face, in what Sylvain thinks might be a nervous habit.
Felix ignores both of them and walks right up to Dimitri. He glares up at him, almost challenging. “Well?” he demands. Waiting always makes him tetchy, and small talk is even worse.
Sylvain shrugs expansively to no one, and follows him, pressing in close against his back. He gives Dimitri his most charming grin, not that it matters: all his attention is on Felix. He raises a hand and ghosts his fingers against Felix’s cheek, like he almost doesn’t believe he’s allowed to touch.
“Get on with it,” Felix snaps. He’d have his arms crossed, probably, if he didn’t have one hand fisted in Dimitri’s shirt and the other gripping his waist. He glares up at Dimitri, utterly beautiful in his impatience, his hair brushing Sylvain’s collar.
Dimitri is looking down at Felix like he’s been given a gift he really, really wants but has no idea what to do with. Sylvain thinks about spinning him around and kissing Felix himself, if neither of them are going to get their act together, but he’s a nice guy. He can lend them a hand.
Sylvain presses two fingers under Felix’s chin, tipping his head back for him. “You could help him out a little,” he says against Felix’s ear. “He is your king, after all.”
“Shut up,” says Felix, but he doesn’t move, and honestly, Sylvain is pretty impressed he doesn’t get his fingers bitten off. Or maybe not. He felt the way Felix swallowed when he said the word king.
Dimitri, thankfully, finally gets with the program. Sylvain doesn’t even have to bring up how he would never leave someone so pretty waiting, which is good, because it would absolutely get him kneed in the dick, and also ruin the mood. Dimitri cups Felix’s cheek, holding him more gently than Sylvain could ever get away with, and he bends down. Felix gasps like he didn’t see it coming, leaning more of his weight back against Sylvain. It’s a deep kiss, the kind of sweeping romantic gesture Sylvain’s always been great at faking, and is only lately learning how to do for real.
Sylvain keeps his hand on Felix’s jaw as they kiss, which is maybe a little weird but is also a lot hot, and anyway, Dimitri and Felix are pretty dead to the world. Felix keeps making these little noises that Sylvain has sworn to never tell him about, because then he’d try to stop, and Dimitri has a look on his face that’s best described as worshipful.
They both have it so bad. It’s cute. It’s a good thing they have Sylvain here to take care of them.
Felix’s cheeks are starting to heat, and Sylvain knows from experience that when he gets really worked up his ears will go red. He tucks his head into the curve of Felix’s neck and slides an arm around his waist. He presses the heel of his other hand between Felix’s legs, holding on tighter around his middle when he shudders.
Sylvain squeezes, laughing into his shoulder when Felix grunts, surging forward to bite at Dimitri’s lip. Dimitri stumbles forward, and they all teeter for a moment, but Sylvain holds them steady.
Thankfully, everyone knows Sylvain’s an idiot, so surely the metaphor is lost on him.
“Bed, probably,” Sylvain declares cheerfully. Dimitri pulls back from Felix blinking and flushed, his lips bitten red. He’s staring down at Felix like he’s just been gutted. But like, in a good, sexy way. Sylvain knows the feeling.
Felix is looking back, eyes wide. He pushes a hand up through Dimitri’s hair, tucking it behind his ear. His other hand reaches up and slides the eyepatch off.
Both he and Dimitri are breathing hard. Felix runs his thumb just under the scar tissue, mouth a hard line.
“Thank you,” says Felix. “For coming back to us.”
Dimitri blinks at him, something painfully stunned in his expression. He puts his hand over Felix’s, thumb sliding along his wrist.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Felix says, a little snippily. “I’m not expecting some speech.” He cuts himself off abruptly when Dimitri tugs Felix’s hand to his mouth, kissing his palm.
“Thank you,” Dimitri says, in a rumbling voice. “For waiting for me all these years.”
Felix nods, a jerky motion, and Dimitri lets him dig his fingers in his hair and pull him down. It’s a devouring kiss, for all that Felix refuses to budge a single inch up onto his toes. Sylvain loops his arms around Felix’s waist and enjoys the show.
Eventually Felix lets Dimitri go. Sylvain nudges his chin up and leans in. Felix only bites his lip a little before he lets Sylvain kiss him properly. The angle’s not doing his neck any favors, but like always, it’s worth it. Felix is pushier with Sylvain, a little more vicious. Fair enough: Sylvain isn’t the king, and he gives as good as he gets. And maybe Felix has been vicious enough with Dimitri for a lifetime.
When he pulls back, Dimitri is watching them intently.
“Like what you see?” Sylvain asks, mostly just to say something.
Dimitri nods, and he leans into Felix like he’s being pulled, kissing him quickly and firmly before dropping to his knees. Sylvain hides his smile in Felix’s hair.
Felix makes another one of those quiet noises at the sight, his breath hitching. He touches Dimitri’s cheek again, tracing the line of his mouth. “Well?” he demands, in haughty tones, but Sylvain can tell there’s nerves underneath.
Dimitri takes his hand and kisses his palm again. Felix makes that same flustered noise, and Dimitri keeps going, folding up his sleeve and kissing his way up Felix’s wrist.
“Wanna make him feel good, your Highness?” Sylvain busies himself getting Felix’s pants open, since they’re both occupied. He’s helpful like that.
Dimitri meets Felix’s eyes, still holding his hand, a determined cast to his features. “Yes.”
Felix pushes the hair out of Dimitri’s face. He swallows. He was twitchy like this too the first few times he was with Sylvain. It’s hard for him to put his guard down. The fact that he works at it is, as ever, extremely and devastatingly hot. “Go ahead.”
Sylvain perches his chin on Felix’s shoulder to watch as Dimitri swallows him down. Felix would complain, probably, if he wasn’t busy getting his dick sucked. Sylvain holds him by the hips and watches Dimitri hollow his cheeks and wonders, idly, if he’s ever done this before. With Dedue? Or Ashe, he’s always been pretty starry-eyed around Dimitri.
Or Felix, maybe, but Sylvain is getting the sense this is definitely a first. Dimitri has that reverent expression on again, his eye blissfully closed, moaning around him.
Felix gasps when he does. He reaches an arm back, digging his fingers into Sylvain’s scalp. He buries his other hand in Dimitri’s hair. Sylvain presses a hand to Felix’s collar, fingers brushing his throat. “There you go,” he says, a little nonsensically. “You look so good like this.” He’s not sure who he’s talking to and it doesn’t matter, anyway; they both groan at the words, Felix shuddering against him. Sylvain thrusts a little against him, his cock aching in his pants, and he gets his free hand in Dimitri’s hair too for good measure. What else are you going to do when you’ve got the king on his knees? He drags him forward and Dimitri just takes it, which: nice. Sylvain is feeling pretty smug about this whole situation right now.
Felix has given up on trying to watch Dimitri, and he has his head tipped back to the ceiling, most of his weight on Sylvain. He’s pretty quiet—it takes a lot to make him loud—but he’s started making these small breathy moans, ah ah ah, the way he always sounds when he’s close. Sylvain tugs Dimitri back, gently, and gets his other hand around the base of Felix’s dick, squeezing before he can come.
Felix tosses his head back. “Sylvain—fuck you, fuck—” he says, and Sylvain catches him by the jaw and tips his head back, pulling him into a biting kiss. Dimitri pulls off with a wet sound, and Sylvain presses his hand flat against Felix’s stomach, keeping him still.
Felix bites his lip sharply one last time before breaking away, lolling his neck back against Sylvain’s shoulder and panting.
Sylvain winks. Not at anyone in particular, just at the world in general. “Like I was saying before we all got distracted,” he says. “Bed.”
“I hate you,” Felix says, but he leans down and drags Dimitri to his feet. More or less gracefully, they manage to lose their clothes and make it to the bed. Felix grumbles at him when Sylvain yanks out his hair tie, but he shuts up pretty quickly once he catches the way Dimitri is staring at him. Sylvain gives him a companionable pat on the shoulder. He knows the feeling.
Felix shoves Dimitri back onto the bed and clambers on top of him, which seems to be about as far as his plan went. He sits back on his heels, pushing his hair out of his eyes, and turns to glare at Sylvain. “Are you coming, or are you just planning to stare all day?”
Beneath him, Dimitri starts to laugh. When Felix turns his sharp gaze on him instead, he only shakes his head and laughs harder. “You’re just exactly the way I expected,” he says. “My apologies.” Still so reserved and polite for a guy who just had a cock down his throat. Sylvain’s impressed, honestly.
Felix looks like he doesn’t know whether Dimitri is making fun of him or not. Sylvain intervenes before he can decide. He lifts Felix up by the waist and tips him back onto the bed, earning only a kick in the shin for his trouble. “So, thought about this a lot?”
Dimitri catches Felix’s eye, running a hand lightly up his back. “A time or two,” he admits. “Under different circumstances, perhaps.”
Yeah, he and Sylvain definitely both had the same idea about the training yard. Sylvain raises an eyebrow at Felix, who is losing a fight with his tendency to blush. “Let’s just get on with it,” he says, as romantic as ever.
“Great idea,” Sylvain says, turning to Dimitri. “Wanna fuck him?”
“One of these days I really will kill you,” says Felix, while Dimitri chokes, covering his face with one hand.
“Is that a yes, your Highness?”
“Yes, if Felix isn’t opposed,” Dimitri says, long-suffering. “But I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. Especially considering…”
“Uh huh,” Sylvain says. He gives in to temptation and leans over Felix to kiss Dimitri, because he’s going to start feeling weird about it soon if he doesn’t. Dimitri makes a muffled noise against his mouth, surprised, but he catches on quickly enough. Dimitri’s lips are a little swollen, which is hot, and when Sylvain pulls away Felix is watching them, his pupils so wide his eyes are nearly black, which is extra hot.
“There,” Sylvain says. “Now you’re just Dimitri.”
“If only I had realized that’s all it takes,” Dimitri says dryly. “Perhaps I’ll mention that to—nevermind.”
Interesting, but a question for another time. “Well, Felix? Are you opposed?”
Felix groans, rolling over to bury his face in one of Sylvain’s very nice pillows. “Obviously not, can we please stop talking about it?”
Dimitri runs his hand up Felix’s back, either in a soothing gesture or just because he wants to touch him, which: fair. Sylvain goes for the oil in the nightstand with half an eye on them as Dimitri starts kissing Felix’s back and shoulders, his hand huge over his spine.
“Try the back of his neck,” Sylvain says companionably, settling in behind Felix and dragging him up onto his knees by his hips. Felix makes an inarticulate and offended noise into his own arms, as if he doesn’t love being manhandled.
Dimitri holds Felix’s hair out of the way and dips his head, kissing up his nape. Felix shivers, and exhales softly when Sylvain presses a slick finger into him. Dimitri keeps touching him all over. Felix buries his head deeper into his arms, his hair sliding forward to hide his face. Sylvain keeps opening him up, as slowly as he thinks Felix can stand.
“If you make me wait again I will hurt you,” Felix says, turning his head so they can hear him. “Hurry up.”
“Whatever you say,” Sylvain says. “Turn over, though, I want to see you.”
Felix grumbles about it, but he lets Sylvain flip him over. He tosses an arm over his eyes immediately, but Sylvain will take what he can get. Dimitri removes it, anyway, so he can kiss him, a little sloppy and frantic now. Felix moans into it when Sylvain presses two fingers back into him.
“C’mon, help me out here,” Sylvain says to Dimitri. “He won’t break.”
“I’m right here,” Felix grits out. His voice trails off into a gasp when Dimitri presses a finger inside him alongside Sylvain’s. Tentative at first, but he gets the hang of it soon enough.
Felix has pretty much gives up on dignity, finally. He tips his head back, his eyes barely open, red all the way up to his ears.
“Here, like this,” Sylvain says, crooking his fingers. Dimitri follows his lead, and Felix whines, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head. “Please.”
Dimitri and Sylvain look at each other. They don’t always see eye to eye, but Sylvain’s pretty sure they’re both thinking the same thing right now: he’s beautiful.
“So, you should probably fuck him now or one of us is definitely going to die.”
“That’s definitely happening—fuck—that’s definitely happening anyway, you asshole,” Felix snarls at him. Sylvain pulls his fingers out and kisses him on the knee. Felix shoves Dimitri over and climbs on top of him, holding a hand out imperiously to Sylvain for the oil.
“Your majesty,” Sylvain says, handing it over. Dimitri laughs, his hands squeezing Felix’s thighs.
Felix ignores him and pours some of the oil on his hand. He wraps it around Dimitri’s cock, giving him a few long slow pulls. Sylvain settles in behind Felix, resting his hands on his hips.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Sylvain asks against his ear.
“Shut up,” Felix says. He gives Dimitri’s cock a squeeze, and Sylvain watches him swallow a groan. “Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”
Felix raises up on his knees and starts to sink down onto Dimitri. Sylvain keeps hold of his hips, forcing him to go slow.
Dimitri reaches up, his fingers dancing along Felix’s cheek, getting caught in his hair. “Sweetheart,” he says in that lovely deep voice of his, like he’s tasting the word. Sylvain can’t see Felix’s face, but he can imagine it: wide and shocked open. Felix moans, helpless, finally settling down flush against Dimitri’s thighs. Dimitri’s hands join Sylvain’s on his hips as Felix starts to move. He’s fast about it—Felix never takes things slowly unless you make him. He gets his hands all over Dimitri, running up his arms and stomach and his chest, scratching him up. Sylvain’s not into that sort of thing himself—it’s fun when Felix is rough with him sometimes, sure, but in his opinion, blood in the bedroom is only for special occasions.
Dimitri, unsurprisingly, is definitely into it. He shudders under Felix’s hands, thrusting up and bringing Felix down to meet him.
“Hold him harder,” Sylvain says. “He likes it when you leave marks.” Dimitri’s fingers tighten on Felix’s hips, his thumbs digging in, pulling Felix back down. He’s so terrifyingly strong. Felix bites out something probably rude directed at Sylvain, but it melts into a moan at the way Dimitri’s handling him. Sylvain wraps his arms around him, one hand at his stomach and the other at his chest, rubbing at a nipple and feeling the way he shudders. He’s probably going to die from how hard he is, watching them both, but that’s fine; at least he’ll have gotten to see this first.
Dimitri sits up halfway, wrapping a hand around the back of Felix’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss, the other one still gripping his hip bruisingly tight. Felix goes, falling forward to wrap his arms around Dimitri’s shoulders. He kisses him on his mouth and cheek and jaw, whatever he can reach as he moves.
“For so long,” Dimitri says, groaning as Felix worries at the hinge of his jaw with his teeth. “I wanted you for so long, Felix.”
Felix shudders, and brings himself down hard against Dimitri, over and over again, letting out these choked little sounds. His thighs must be burning. Sylvain wraps a hand around his cock—he’s not cruel enough to ask Dimitri to let go of him long enough to do it himself.
Dimitri buries his face in the crook of Felix’s neck as he comes, his nails leaving welts along Felix’s back. That, Sylvain thinks, is what tips Felix over the edge, crying out loud and shocking; he’s always been a little in love with the beast.
For a moment there’s no sound but their breath. Sylvain runs his hand up and down Felix’s chest, happy to chill for a minute. This isn’t really about him, after all, and beneath them both, Dimitri looks pretty wrecked. Felix, typically, has other ideas.
“Come on,” Felix says, rolling off of Dimitri and onto his back beside him. It’s not particularly graceful, considering how many grown men’s legs he has to work around to do it. But Sylvain can’t deny that he looks amazing, sprawled out and freshly fucked on the sheets. Dimitri turns to look at Felix, and then raises an eyebrow at Sylvain.
“Come on what?” Sylvain asks.
Felix gives him the kind of look meant to communicate that he would be hitting Sylvain upside the head if he hadn’t just taken the King of Faerghus’s dick and really, really liked it. “Do you want to fuck me or not?”
As if the answer to that isn’t always, emphatically, yes. He climbs off Dimitri, feeling him start to snicker. Even the king, it seems, is not immune to relaxed post-sex laughter.
Sylvain leans in close, mouth just beside Felix’s ear. “You sure?” he asks. Felix shivers when he presses two fingers inside him, oversensitive. “It’ll probably hurt.”
“I don’t care,” Felix says, without his typical heat.
If Sylvain were a nicer guy, maybe, he’d probably press the issue. But it’s actually unbearably hot, Felix demanding that Sylvain fuck him after he’s already fucked Dimitri, wanting to ache for him. And anyway, Felix knows what he can handle. So Sylvain rearranges them, with Dimitri’s minimal help—the guy might be a good tactician, but Sylvain has way more experience getting people’s limbs in the right place in the bedroom, and also, he didn’t just come—until Felix is sprawled out on his back, Dimitri curled beside him, murmuring something Sylvain can’t catch in his ear, stroking his hair. It’s a total mess. Felix always has the absolute best sex hair, not that he ever wants to hear that.
Sylvain, only a little distracted by the picture they make, manages to find the oil where it was cruelly abandoned among the sheets. He strokes himself leisurely, watching them kiss. Dimitri has Felix’s jaw cradled in one big hand, stroking his thumb against his cheek.
They break apart when Sylvain hitches one of Felix’s legs over his shoulder. Felix whines when Sylvain pushes in, his voice gone all breathy, squirming against the sheets. Sylvain groans.
“You good?” Sylvain asks. Pants, maybe, might be a better word. Fuck, Felix feels incredible around him.
“Fuck me already,” Felix demands, like his voice isn’t shaking. Dimitri runs his thumb over his mouth, and he bites it.
“If you insist,” Sylvain says cheerfully, and he gives the man what he wants. Slow, at first, because he doesn’t actually want to break him. “Hold his wrists,” he tells Dimitri. Dimitri does, and he’s a quick learner, too: he presses them down hard in one hand, holding fast until Felix starts to settle, relaxing into the hold. Sylvain loves it when Felix does that, when he melts into it, letting himself be utterly possessed. They’re doing the long romantic eye contact thing again, until Dimitri dips his head for another kiss.
Sylvain speeds up. Felix tips his head back, a little too far gone to do anything but gasp and whine as Sylvain fucks him and Dimitri holds him down.
It feels great—obviously, it always feels great—but mostly Sylvain is interested in watching Felix, the way he can’t keep still, shifting constantly under Dimitri’s hands. His eyes have gone glassy and wet, and he can’t keep quiet at all. He can’t even try, which with Felix, is how you know that you’re really doing something right.
Sylvain turns to kiss his knee, and Felix pushes his face into his arm, his hair falling into his face as he moves. He makes this beautiful choked gasp that Sylvain wants to listen to forever.
“Come on—oh, fuck, fuck—come on, sweetheart,” Sylvain says. “Let us see you.”
Dimitri brushes Felix’s hair back with his free hand, and Felix whines and turns his face into it, a flower reaching for the sun. He’s crying, just a bit, Dimitri’s thumb brushing the tears away. “Felix,” he’s saying, over and over again, voice gone low and rough.
It’s a little terrifying, how open Felix is being. It makes Sylvain want to gather him up and keep him safe.
Sylvain fits his hand over one of the bruises already forming at Felix’s hip and squeezes. Felix shudders underneath him, and oh, he feels so good, he’s so beautiful like this, letting them have him, all of him—
“Touch him,” Sylvain says, and it comes out sounding like he’s begging for himself. Dimtri does, reaching down to wrap his hand around Felix’s cock. Felix’s voice cracks when he moans, twisting his wrists under Dimitri’s grip like he can’t help it. That’s about it for Sylvain. He comes, shuddering and brilliant, digging his fingers into Felix’s hip and his thigh.
“Sylvain,” Felix gets out, and then Dimitri does something with his hand that Sylvain doesn’t really register, what with the orgasm and all, and Felix is shaking apart underneath him, his voice breaking on, “Dimitri, shit, Sylvain, Dimitri—”
They all collapse into a pretty objectively gross sweaty pile after that, but Sylvain is pretty sure none of them care. All in all, another brilliant plan from Sylvain Jose Gautier, if he says so himself.
Dimitri curls an arm around Felix, telling him how wonderful he was, how beautiful, and Felix is, wonder of wonders, too blissed out to complain. Since Dimitri’s got that part covered—without even having to be told!—Sylvain handles to cleanup. Also, frankly, they’re too cute to disturb like that. Hair everywhere. Sylvain is never going to grow his out, but he sure as hell appreciates that they did.
He flops down behind Felix once he’s finished, slinging an arm over him beside Dimitri’s. Felix makes a discontented noise that Sylvain, an expert, correctly interprets as a request for a kiss. He leans over and obliges him. Felix's mouth is slow and soft. When they break away, he burrows into Dimitri's chest. It is very possibly the sweetest thing Sylvain has ever seen.
He strokes Felix's side for a bit, and then he reaches out to pat Dimitri’s flank.
“Something to say?” Dimitri asks.
“Don’t get him started,” Felix mumbles into Dimitri’s collar. He only sounds about half awake.
“Thank you,” Sylvain says. He doesn’t mean to be serious, but maybe Dimitri just brings that out in people. He rests his hand on Dimitri’s cheek. “For coming back to us. He’d never have forgiven himself if you didn’t.”
Dimitri looks between them both. Sylvain’s not sure how to categorize the look on his face. It’s not the reverent look he reserves for Felix alone; it’s something else, something more comfortable. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”
“Stop talking about me,” Felix says. “I can hear you, and it’s disgusting. Go the fuck to sleep.” His voice is soft though, blurred at the edges. He can’t even come close to sounding like he means it.
“You heard the man,” Sylvain says, and in short order, he obeys.
The next morning, Dimitri and Sylvain both wake up before Felix does. He’s sleeping soundly curled up between them, utterly and blissfully dead to the world. Sylvain kisses the back of his neck and he doesn’t even stir.
Nice job, Sylvain mouths at Dimitri, before leaning over Felix to give him a kiss on the cheek. And, what do you know: the King of Faerghus blushes all the way up to his ears too. Sylvain is the luckiest guy in Fodlan.