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cupid stuck me with a sickness

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The weight pressed down on Felix was as familiar as it was unfamiliar.  His chest heaved from exertion, the edge of a training sword pressed against the delicate skin of his throat.  Pinning him from the waist down was somewhat of a familiar face, features sharpened from hardship and black leather over what was missing.  What was unfamiliar, at least in the physical sense, was the bulk that Felix was absolutely certain hadn’t existed the last time they had sparred together.


And the last time, every time they had trained like this beforehand, it was Dimitri he was looking down at; his face flushed, lance knocked out of his gauntlets, the dark-haired boy sneering at him with a foot on his chest.  It had always been something he’d been proud of - the ability to bring the crown prince himself to his knees, the skills to subdue the beast if he ever ( when he, Felix had always been quick to correct himself) lost control again.  He may not have had all the things Glenn had possessed - chivalry, charm, all that damned knightliness - but he was strong, and quick on his feet, and he’d carve and claw his way through any fight - that was all that mattered.


But for the first time, Dimitri had bested him, and beyond the sting of shame - he’d trained until his body felt like it would fall apart, only to be defeated by an animal able to grasp a sword - a whole host of other undesirable reactions rose in his chest to amplify it.  The training hall felt… hotter than it used to be, somehow - but maybe the torches were just burning a little brighter than usual, maybe the heat in his cheeks was merely from the physical exertion of their match. The awareness of Dimitri’s body so close to his own, the heat of him radiating through both their clothing where his knee pressed against Felix’s inner thigh - that was just a warrior’s natural reaction, to take stock of every detail of the enemy, every point of advantage he might use.  That was all .


That was all.


Slowly, he turned his eyes back towards Dimitri above him, and that was a mistake.  The prince’s face was flushed as well, and despite the nearly effortless way he’d just knocked Felix to the ground, his breath came in shallow pants.  If it weren’t for the blade held at his throat and the layers of fabric between them, Felix thought wildly, it would be almost as if-


The thought sent him scrambling to his feet, kicking the practice blade from Dimitri’s hand in the process.  “I’ve got to- I need to leave.” The words spilled from his mouth in an uncharacteristically nervous rush.




There was concern etched on Dimitri’s features, and Felix wanted to rip the mask right off, scream in the beast’s face - how dare he wear those expressions, like he was still the boy Felix had grown up alongside, like there was room left in his long-rotted heart for anything but vengeance?  That sudden thought was enough to clear his head of... of whatever was suddenly clouding it - he refused to pinpoint a name for the feeling, to give it that power - and gave him the push he needed to move .


He didn’t stop, not even with Dimitri’s confused calls of his name following him down the hall from the training grounds.  Thankfully, with the weather keeping most of the current inhabitants of Garreg Mach outside - fishing, supply runs, or simply enjoying the mild sunshine - the path to his dormitory was mostly deserted, but with each of the few people he hurried by, his face burned redder, brighter.  He was sure that they could somehow see the thoughts swimming in his mind, or worse, the heat churning in his stomach. It felt as though his knees would buckle with relief when, finally, his old, familiar door appeared in sight, and he nearly collapsed against it, the back of his head hitting the wood with a soft thunk .


It’s natural to be thrown off, he tried to tell himself, his own words ringing hollow inside his head.  It’s been a long time, you were just taken aback, you weren’t-  it wasn’t anything else.


As if he could believe that, when even now the memory of Dimitri pressed against him lingered on his skin.  When those same parts of him felt like they were still aflame .


Okay.  Okay, so you’re getting turned on by your childhood best friend turned… whatever the hell you are now… being all… hulking and strong and able to kick your ass, and that’s unacceptable, but on the grand scale of things, haven’t you been through worse?   He sunk down onto the bed and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm his still-racing heartbeat and rationalize.  You just need to… get it out of your system.


And exactly how am I supposed to do that? he asked himself, but - of course - the part of his mind that had so firmly come to this conclusion was faster, and it was already directing his hands downward to the fastenings of his trousers.


The fabric now shoved clumsily around his knees, he laid back against the pillows with an exasperated sigh.  If only training wasn’t the problem - he could easily clear his head with a few hours of hard exercise, until the ache in his limbs and his bone-tired exhaustion chased all the stupid , complicated thoughts from his head.  He’s never had any trouble admitting - at least, to himself - that he’s done as much uncountable times before, whenever his own emotions or desires become… inconvenient.  This would have to do, considering that the training grounds were full of fellow soldiers and watching eyes and Dimitri .


Even thinking the name made his heart skip a beat, made the heat pooling below his stomach pulse hotter.


Dimitri, warm and solid against his body, the new bulk of him holding him in place, just like before - only this time it isn’t cold stone against his back, but the soft rustle of bedsheets-


Felix paused, fingers half slid inside his undergarments.  A bed felt - wrong, far too intimate. An impatient beast like that - he’d probably take me right on that training ground floor.   Holy shit , but that thought made his skin feel as though lightning was running under it.


Okay , he thought, shivering as his fingers continued onward, brushing experimentally against himself, sure .


The cold of the floor is seeping through his tunic, but Dimitri’s thigh is warm where it’s pressed between his legs, his hand the same where it’s resting against Felix’s throat in place of the practice sword.  His breath is warm, too, his breathing shallow and his eyes wild - not the empty, violent wildness that fills them on the battlefield, but as though he wants to ruin something only so he can keep it all to himself.  He shifts, and it takes every ounce of strength Felix possesses not to let his back arch at the friction against his clit-


Outside his fantasies, he mimicked the same action, biting down on his lip to muffle an extremely unbecoming whimper.  Usually, when he took matters into his own hands like this, he could at least remain stoically quiet; his voice now sounded, to his own ears, pathetic.  Weak.


I want him to make me feel weak , he realized, with a dull stab of guilt somewhere in his gut - and a stronger, sharper twinge of lust.  I want -


The scene in his fantasies shifted.  He’s on his knees, cheek pressed to the stone, clothing askew and pushed aside to leave him exposed and defenseless.  Dimitri holds both his wrists behind his back in the grip of one strong, gauntleted hand, the other gauntlet discarded, his calloused fingers digging into the flesh of Felix’s thigh.  “You look good like this,” he says, and Felix, out of breath and out of witty words as he is, still manages a strained bark of laughter.

“What, half-naked?”

Dimitri’s voice is a near-growl.  “On your knees, ready to make yourself useful to your king.”


Sure, the dialogue wasn’t very realistic - half cobbled together from tawdry novels they’d all furtively passed around during their school days, half from his own studiously-repressed imaginings - and he couldn’t, realistically , imagine them coming out of Dimitri’s mouth even now - but Goddess , the thought of Dimitri speaking to him that way drew another desperate noise from his throat.  No longer bothering with any pretense of just getting this over with, he let his eyes flutter closed, tilting his hips up against his own hand in a manner that would be best described as-


“Shameless,” he says, and his voice makes Felix damned glad he’s not standing, because that goading, gloating tone makes his knees go weak.  His hand slides between Felix’s legs, a finger dragging through the slickness gathered between them; Felix doesn’t even bother pretending that he doesn’t shift back into the touch, practically aching for the larger man to touch him properly.  “You’re this wet, just from-”

“Shut up,” Felix rasps, the words choked off at the end as finally, fucking finally , Dimitri’s fingers slide inside him, spreading him open, so much larger than his own-


His free hand flew to his mouth, palm pressed to his lips to hold back the satisfied moan as he slid two fingers inside himself.  It took a minute of readjustment of his wrist to find the proper angle - on the other occasions he’d had the need to relieve his own tension like this, it had rarely gone this far, preferring to get the damn thing over with through his clothing against his hand or the edge of a pillow - but when he did, oh .  The pads of his fingers rubbed against a spot that made his vision halo with white light, and the greedy way he lifted his hips into the contact would have shamed him, if he weren’t already so far gone on lust and imagination.


Dimitri’s fingers aren’t exactly willowy, but still, they’ve done little to prepare Felix for when his cock enters him; still, despite the little gasps of pain he’s making, the stretch and burn of it isn’t entirely unpleasant.  The crown prince is only careful for as long as it takes to slide fully inside him; once his hips are flush to Felix’s body, he only waits a moment before he pulls back and thrusts , hard and animalistic, fucking into Felix without any regard like - like the mindless beast he’s become.  Like Felix is only a hole to be used, and-


Another finger, added to the desperate heat between his legs; three was about all he could manage without any sort of preparation, and it was barely enough, not enough to split him open like Dimitri easily could.  He was long past the point of caring what he looked like, sounded like, sweat plastering strands of hair to his forehead as he whispered the prince’s name in a low, breathless tone.


“Fuck, Dimitri, Dimitri-” he babbles, pleasure chasing any coherence from his words as the man in question’s grip tightens on his thigh, nails digging into the flesh hard enough to leave red crescent moons as he takes what he wants from Felix’s body.  What he wouldn’t give to have his hands free - to rake his nails over Dimitri’s hips, to leave his own marks, angry red scratches and fingertip bruises, among the scars etched into his skin - but his wrists are still held in that bruising grip. He can’t do anything but to take what he’s given, and what he’s given is demanding and rough and perfect .

When Felix’s hands finally are released, he almost topples forwards, but Dimitri’s hand slides into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him close and upright, Felix’s back near-flush against the broad muscle of his chest.

“Dimitri,” he says again, breathy and nearly inaudible, “Mitya-”

With a low moan, Dimitri’s teeth sink into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his grip on Felix’s hips tightening to the verge of painful when he comes.  The feeling of it dripping down his thighs, the feeling of being filthy and filled, as Dimitri slumps against him is what sends him over the edge into his own orgasm with a strangled curse.


Dimitri ,” he groaned aloud, half-curse and half prayer, and one last stroke of his thumb against his clit combined with his fingers continuing to work against that spot inside of him made a field of stars explode behind his eyelids, made his thighs shake as pleasure like white-hot lightning shot through his very bones.


He collapsed, chest heaving, back against the mattress; the moment his eyes opened, taking in the familiarity of the room, the reality of what he’d just done hit him with the proverbial force of a cavalryman’s shield slamming into his chest.  Do you feel better now? a taunting voice in the back of his mind asked.  Do you feel relieved , now that you’ve… thinking about him ?  Like that?


“Shut up,” he hissed, pressing the palms of his hands against his ears, before chastising himself for reacting.  This damned place doesn’t need anyone else answering to the voices in their head.


Besides, he told himself, with false conviction, his hands - and imagination - had served their purpose, clearing his head of any… unfortunate thoughts he might possess, and that had been the whole point, hadn’t it?  To get it out of his system, so to speak. He would be fine. He would shake this… madness from his mind, and he would steel himself when his shoulder brushed Dimitri’s in passing, and he would soldier on.  Just as he always had.


And, he decided, he wouldn’t be sparring with the future king of Faerghus again, any time soon.