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Kinktober 2019 - Fire Emblem

Chapter Text

“Professor, please… such actions… upon holy grounds are… s-sacrilegious…”

Byleth ignored the saint’s words and continued to attack his neck with his lips, teeth grazing over the hyper-sensitive skin. It had been years – centuries even – since Seteth had been touched like this and he had never been touched by another man in this way before. The thought was exhilarating and made the dragon’s blood course through his veins like a wildfire, igniting every inch of skin the professor’s lips touched.

The man was as stoic as ever, even with his hands roaming across Seteth’s bare chest. How and when his tunic had come undone was unbeknownst to him but he was not about to complain; instead, he keened into the touch of the younger professor, arching his back from the door to which he was pinned so the leather could glide across his skin.

The feeling of it was fantastic and thrilled Seteth; he could feel the heat pooling in his groin, much to his shame. He groaned and kept his head tilted back with his own hands fisted tightly but pulling weakly at the front of the professor’s black tunic. He was unrelenting in his attack, biting and sucking just across his collarbones – thankfully, the professor had enough mercy to leave marks where no-one would see and Seteth would be able to easily hide them.

“Imagine if everyone saw the archbishop’s right-hand covered in such lascivious marks,” Byleth hummed against Seteth’s pale skin, bruises blooming beautifully against the whiteness. Seteth’s breath caught in his throat and though the idea of it filled him with fear, it was a white-hot, burning fear that mixed with another feeling – humiliation. Goddess, he almost wanted other people to see.

“Professor… I c-cannot…” he murmured weakly but let his voice crack when Byleth’s gloved hands tweaked his left nipple. His hips jutted out and connected hard with the other man’s and the pair of them groaned softly, Seteth slightly louder.

“I never knew a man such as yourself could be so sensitive, Seteth,” Byleth said, voice lilting teasingly with humour, though his eyes were as blank as ever, focused on eliciting more gasps from Seteth’s body. The older man trembled and pulled even tighter on Byleth’s tunic, shutting his eyes tightly.

“It is not… that.”

“No? Then pray tell.”

“Your…” Seteth took a steadying breath and then exhaled through his nose, long and deep to compose himself. “Your gloves.”

Behind closed lids, he felt Byleth pause and was almost afraid to open his eyes and look upon the other man. Would he finally show emotion on that stony face – an expression of disgust, humour or anger?

A single rough leather-clad digit came and traced its way along Seteth’s face, along his cheekbone, dusting and skimming along his sideburns and down to the patch on his chin, tickling the prickly hairs there. He shuddered. Goddess, how on earth could such a single emotion reduce him to practically nothing?

“My gloves?” Byleth pondered. Seteth still had his eyes shut and head leaned back against the door when Byleth danced the hand on Seteth’s firm chest deeper down his body, tracing the fine green hairs just beneath his bellybutton, fingering the hem of his breeches. “I must admit, you surprise me, Seteth. How utterly depraved.”

The advisor groaned shakily and hissed through his teeth when Byleth boldly pushed his way beneath his breeches and took a firm hold of his hardening cock. The texture of the cool leather wrapped so firmly around his blazing dick was indescribable. Scrabbling for respite, Seteth’s fingers flexed and unflexed in the fabric of the younger professor’s shirt and he clutched tightly at the other’s upper arms instead.

“That feels…”

“Good? How does it feel to have my glove wrapped around your cock, Seteth? I wish to hear what filth can fall from such holy lips.”

B-Byleth…” Seteth stuttered, the cold friction of the leather glove against his cock, dragging the foreskin in such a way that it felt painfully good. The saint’s toes curled in his boots and clumsily, desperately, he clawed at the front of the professor’s clothes, too far gone to even begin to think about how many codes of practice in the monastery’s rule book this escapade broke.

“Eager? I like to see that,” Byleth said, circling the leather pad of his thumb over the head of Seteth’s cock, smearing the precum that had collected. The saint shuddered and his head hung forward, leaning against Byleth’s shoulder as he grit his teeth as hard as possible, trying not to lose himself in the intense feeling of the glove against him.

“I must feel you too,” Seteth admitted, pushing aside the front of Byleth’s dress and pulling at his breeches until the professor’s half-hard cock bobbed out. It was impressive, even in this state and Seteth, for a moment, thought about dropping to his knees and worshipping what lay before his hungry eyes. But he could not bring himself to tear away from the glove wrapped around him.

With a shaky hand, Seteth wrapped his hand around Byleth’s cock and trembled when he heard the usually stoic man gasp. That noise, such a simple breath of air had him shaking in his boots. Byleth’s hand quickened and he managed to free Seteth’s cock too so that both were exposed to the cold air. Seteth panted hard against Byleth’s shoulder, watching shamefully as the younger man expertly twisted his wrist and brushed his leather fingers over the head in expert motions.

“I already… I cannot…” Seteth stammered out.

Byleth leaned in closer, tilting his head so that he blow hot air into Seteth’s ear. Letting out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise, the other shuddered, especially when Byleth bit down gently on the pointed tip of his ear.

“So soon? Though I imagine it is the feeling of my glove around your cock that is bringing you to climax, yes?”

“Y-Yes, yes… professor…” Seteth moaned. Byleth’s hand squeezed around the base and then pumped quickly and firmly. The fly of quick leather against his dick, harsh and almost painful brought new heights of desperation upon Seteth he had never felt before.

Byleth’s spare hand came and roamed up Seteth’s chest, dancing over the firm muscles, flicking over rosy bud nipples and caressing over his marked throat, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging softly at the hair at his nape, murmuring into his ear, encouraging him.

“Let it take over you… focus on the feeling of my gloves against your skin… how hot it is… cum for me, Cichol.

With a harsh cry, shocked by his true name falling from the professor’s lips, Seteth came. He managed to keep his eyes open so that he could watch his own cum spurting out and landing on the floor of his office between them before it dribbled between those black leather gloved fingers. He groaned loudly, knees almost buckling at the sight of his cum spending, balls emptying its contents all between the other’s fingers. The gloved hand slowed, much to his dismay, but his stuttering hips and overwhelming pleasure soon thanked him.

Seteth was panting and his wrist was beginning to ache when finally, the professor clenched his teeth and the hand wrapped around his own cock tightened for a second. With an almost inaudible cry, barely above a broken whisper, Byleth came, moaning ‘Cichol’ ever so quietly that Seteth was unsure if he even heard it at first.

The younger professor thrust up one last time into Seteth’s hand as he too came, dribbling cum between the advisor’s fingers. He watched, fascinated and increasingly aroused as those hips gave gentle thrusts forward into his hand until the last bead of cum was squeezed from the tip.

Both men panted and moaned into the other’s shoulder when Byleth drew up and moved the hand at the back of Seteth’s neck to his chin, tipping the other man’s head up. The saint knew he looked debauched; probably flushed scarlet, pointed ears burning the same shade and sticking through his unkempt hair, lips apart and panting hopelessly.

Silently, Byleth brought his cum-slicked glove up between them and both looked at it. Without thinking, without asking, Byleth brought his glove to Seteth’s lips and hungrily, he accepted the cum-covered digits. His tongue rolled over the synthetic fabric, enjoying the taste of it more than the saltiness of his own cum washing over his taste buds but he moaned all the same. It was the texture of it, his tongue rolling over each deep crease and into the wrinkles of the black leather, slightly worn from constant use but still in impeccable condition.

He drew back from the fingers and instead lathed his tongue over the back of Byleth’s knuckle and over his open palm, eyes closed to savour the sensation and taste of the leather and cum against his tongue. He swallowed between desperate breaths and finally opened his eyes, blinking against the light.

Byleth’s face was different; brow furrowed slightly, his mouth was agape and a light dust of pink bloomed across his cheeks. Seteth straightened up and coughed, trying to clear his throat but all he could taste was his own cum and leather.

“Well… professor…” he began.

“You really are a depraved man, Cichol.”

Burning darker pink, Seteth tucked himself back into his breeches and re-did his tunic, re-dressing himself and trying to avoid the professor’s hard stare. He almost began to prefer the stony face and stoic expression he usually wore, this one of arousal unnerving him somewhat.

“It has been a long time since I have indulged myself in such physical luxury as the touch of another,” he said, mumbling quietly. Seteth swept his hair back over his ears and regarded the professor at last. Thankfully, that last lusty expression was gone.

“That does not excuse your sinfulness.”

“Sinfulness?” Seteth quirked an eyebrow and watched as Byleth also tucked himself back away and straightened up as if nothing had happened between them mere moments ago save for the two spatters of cum on the floor.

“Your greed for my glove is unmatched by any other I have seen before. Some repentance may be in order,” Byleth said and Seteth swore he could see the flicker of a smile quirking at the corner of the other’s lips.

“Perhaps… you are correct, professor.”

Chapter Text

The sound of his wife’s beautiful singing flowing through the open door to the bathroom drew Ferdinand in. He followed the sound of her voice, echoing around the bathroom, and stood in the doorway as he watched her.

She had her back to him and was standing in the centre of their sizable bathtub. It, and the rest of the room, were made of a pale sandy-coloured granite and the walls rolled with condensation. Ferdinand could see the steam rising from the surface of the water where his wife stood, beautiful, like a statue of the goddess herself.

Her skin was smooth, not a blemish or scar to mark her perfectly pale body which was as smooth as lily petals. Her hair had been tied up into a delicately messy bun at the top of her head, but some loose curled strands still tumbled down the nape of her neck. Her carefully manicured and elegant hands rubbed the scented bathwater into the back of her neck and over her shoulders, skimming down her own arms so that they crossed over the front of her bare chest, which Ferdinand could not see.

“Is that a new song, my darling?”

Dorothea glanced over her shoulder and smiled softly at Ferdinand, bright green eyes twinkling. “Yes. I have been working on it for some time.”

“Well, it certainly merits praise; it is beautiful,” he said, stepping into the bathroom, the soft leather of his boots’ soles almost silent against the damp floor. He placed his hands on the edge of the bathtub and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up; it was something he wore when he had no official business to attend to but nonetheless, it was elegant. It was a deep scarlet colour and embroidered with loops and twists of golden thread down the front, along his collar, button-line and cuffs. He folded them up over themselves, careful not to crease the fabric.

“Thank you,” Dorothea hummed, glancing over her shoulder at her husband rolling his sleeves up. She took his unspoken invitation and sat down against the stone bench built into the bathtub so that she was sitting almost against his chest. His hands came and skimmed over her shoulder, dancing over the moist skin and the smell of roses invaded his nostrils.

“Hmm, this is my favourite bath oil too… are you tempting me, my sweet?” Ferdinand hummed, leaning down and nosing against the dry skin at the back of Dorothea’s ear. She smiled gently and tilted her head slightly to the side and brought one of her wet hands to place it against Ferdinand’s cheek behind her.

“It certainly is not my intention,” she laughed softly, enjoying the feeling of Ferdinand’s soft lips pressing into the skin behind her ear. “Though you are free to join me.”

“As enticing as the thought is, I have already bathed today… though I am not against helping my dearest wife.” The red-head’s voice dropped an octave, low in his chest and Dorothea positively shuddered despite the boiling water washing against her. She could feel a heat building between her legs and a coy smile danced over her lips.

“Then please put your hands to use, dearest husband.” Immediately, Ferdinand’s hands sank into the hot rosy water and he splashed water up against Dorothea’s lower abdomen. At first, he thought about teasing her because despite the heat of the water, her areolae were puffy and her nipples stood alert and proud, pointing straight outwards with arousal. He looked over her shoulder, his chin skimming the skin, as he dared dance his fingertips along the underside of her breasts.

She said nothing for the time being and sighed contentedly, closing her eyes and leaning back against her husband’s shoulder, head tilted back slightly. Ferdinand’s fingers were ghosting over her skin, tantalizingly slow but she allowed it, easing herself into the heat of his touch.

His hands came to cup the underside of her breasts and he brought his palms upwards, heaving the heavy weight of her chest into his hands and he watched, mesmerized as they moulded to the shape of his hands but still spilled to the sides. Ferdinand kissed Dorothea’s shoulder, peppering feather-light kisses along the moist skin and he could taste the oil against his lips.

“Dearest, do not tease me so,” Dorothea complained, and Ferdinand stifled a laugh against his wife’s skin. He shifted down onto his knees, uncaring about the water that seeped through the fabric so that his back no longer ached in his stooping position. He showered her with his love, his devotion to her rolling down her skin and flooding her entire being.

“I apologise… I cannot help but want to; your blushing face stirs my heart,” he said, murmuring against her skin. Finally, his hands came up and squeezed over her breasts firmly, her nipples peeking through his fingers and when he applied pressure, his fingers squeezed the pert nipples. A quiet, delicate, almost melodic moan slipped from Dorothea’s slicked lips and Ferdinand felt heat pool in his dress-trousers.

He pushed her breasts together, enjoying the shine of water and oil sliding over the supple skin, fingers sinking in and becoming lost in the plushness of her chest. He could feel the puffiness of her areolae against his palms and he groaned against her skin.

“Are you sure you are not trying to tempt me?”

“Hmm… n-no… I believe it is you who is tempting me,” Dorothea retorted. Ferdinand’s hands quickly became greedy, rolling her plump breasts in his hands, eliciting more harmonious noises from his wife. He wanted to hear all of her noises and experience her vocal range; her singing voice was one that he had heard plenty of times -though he would never tire of it- but he wanted to hear more of her wanting voice. Ferdinand wanted to hear her tiny whimpers, lusty moans, hitching staccato breaths, and vibrato cries of his name.

He sank his hands deeper into the bath, humming pleasurably at the heat of the water enveloping his hand and arm. Quickly, he gripped at Dorothea’s thigh and she jumped in the water, splashing the front of his shirt though he didn’t bat an eye, instead focused on the comfortable and supple slide of his hand against the flesh of her milky thigh. He squeezed and when that earned a heady moan from his wife, he slid his fingers between her legs.

“Oh, Ferdinand…” Dorothea moaned, turning her head slightly so that she could see his face. Her cheeks were tinted a rosy red, lips parted and slick with moisture and Ferdinand could not resist leaning forward and capturing them in a slightly awkward but chaste kiss.

Expertly, as he had mapped out her body hundreds of times before, his fingers skimmed against her folds. She trembled against his lips and whimpered when he teased her, barely a ghost against her most intimate place. She wanted to clench her legs together and rub her thighs to achieve the friction she ached for, but her husband was not so cruel.

The heat of the bath was swimming in her head, the smell of roses infiltrating her every sense and she could only feel Ferdinand’s fingers easing between her folds. He could tell she wanted him, even in the water of the bath, he could feel the familiar slick slide of his fingers against her pussy.

“Your most delicate parts desire me so,” Ferdinand breathed against her lips and he could see her long lashes fluttering at his words. “To think that such a heavenly body, that which mirrors the goddess, would come apart at the touch of my fingers.”

“Ferdinand, hurry, please,” Dorothea whimpered. His words sent her heart racing and she thought it might beat out of her chest. In all truth, sometimes, his poetry inspired the lyrics to her songs though she would never tell him. Her eyes slid shut as finally, his fingers breached her quivering folds, sliding against her entrance.

Her mouth opened to moan and beg but Ferdinand could sense her neediness, sliding one finger inside of her easily. She always welcomed his fingers, always greedy for his touch and it wasn’t long before he slid in a second finger, using both his middle-finger and ring-finger to curl inside of her and using a beckoning motion, he quickly turned Dorothea into a shaking mess.

Her fingers tried to clutch at anything, unable to find respite in the sloshing water and against slippery tiles. She twisted her body slightly so that her breasts squished against one another and against the edge of the bath, the hiss of cold searing into her burning skin. Hiking one of her legs up, she was able to push her legs further apart and Ferdinand could finger her better.

Expert fingers curled against her inner walls, brushing against one of her most sensitive and favourite spots. Ferdinand brushed his lips over his wife’s, torn between capturing those sweet lips with his own and allowing her to spill more alluring dulcet tones to stir his heart and his hardening cock.

“Your voice sounds astounding. Let me hear more of your sweet songful sounds, my love,” he whispered, unable to hold back any longer and pushing his lips to hers in a needy, passionate kiss. Dorothea moaned into the kiss, groaning with satisfaction and swiped her tongue along her husband’s lower lip eagerly. He opened up to her easily and plunged his fingers in as deeply as he could, wiggling them slightly.

Dorothea tensed and Ferdinand could tell she was getting close; her legs always spasmed and tightened when she was close to reaching her peak. Her breath always began to stutter, hitching in short gasps before she would cum, and her eyes would cloud over and he could see those tell-tale signs before his very own chocolate eyes.

Dorothea clutched at his shoulder and moaned desperately, fluctuating in tone, ascending and descending musical scales with ease and with one final thrust of his fingers, Dorothea came undone. She tossed her head back and her loose hair whirled around her as she cried out with pleasure.

“Oh gods, Ferdinand! Y-Yes!” She sang his name to the heavens, a perfect pitch echoing around the bathroom and it made Ferdinand’s ears tremble with pleasure, his dress trousers tightening uncomfortably at this point. He watched her orgasm, her breasts heaving and bouncing with unsteady and shaky breaths and her thighs tightened around his wrist.

She went limp against the edge of the bath and slowly, her eyelashes fluttered, and her emerald eyes opened again. She gave him a gentle but slightly coy smile and brought the hand fisted in his shirt up to his face, brushing some damp hair from his cheek.

“Hah… thank you,” she whispered, still panting. Ferdinand’s eyes roved over her body and he swallowed thickly. She was the very image of grace, like the goddess of beauty, half-submerged in warm rosy water, nipples pert and alert though her breasts still pressed into the cool tiles of the edge of the bath. Some more of her mahogany hair had tumbled loose from her bun and cascaded in soft, feather-like wisps to frame her captivating face. A peachy flush painted across her face and she still gazed up at him with a passionate expression.

“Anything for you, my muse,” he said, kissing her lips chastely again. He tried to avert his gaze from her body, finding his resolve slipping the longer his hungry eyes lingered. Dorothea must have sensed it for she traced a finger down from his face and fingered the first button of his scarlet embroidered shirt undone and let her wet fingers rub over his bare chest and trace his collarbone. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, teasingly.

“If there anything else you wish to do with me, my husband… I am yours to take.”

“But… your bath…”

“Then we both may bathe for a second time together.”

With a quick huff, Ferdinand scooped Dorothea into his arms despite her startled cry, and held her soaking, dripping, naked body to his chest. He could feel the silk of his shirt sticking to his skin and the heat of her body radiating through and burning him. With one arm supporting her back and another under the bend of her knees, he briskly made his way from the bathroom and to their adjoined bedroom, gently laying his wife down upon their marriage bed and hurriedly unbuttoned his shirt. Her eyes wandered down his body and her fingers tantalizingly skimmed down her stomach and back between her legs. Goddess, he was truly blessed by the heavens to have such a captivating wife.

Chapter Text

He wasn’t sure if she knew.

He wasn’t exactly being discreet about it any longer, but he found that he didn’t care.

In fact, the thought of her knowing and doing nothing to stop him was exhilarating.

Byleth paced between her desk and the chalkboard, using her long pointing stick to gesture at her written notes and ideas, describing the power and fragility of Pegasus knights and Wyvern riders but Sylvain was lost in his own strategy of mentally undressing his professor with his eyes.

He imagined her growing hot in the classroom, fanning herself desperately with her hand and tugging on her corset so that her full breasts and deep cleavage line were pulled down before his eyes. The pink blush spreading across her face and the sweat beading along her forehead only made him want to imagine running his hands over her sweaty and slightly sticky body, defined hard with muscle from long battles.

Sylvain couldn’t stop his hand from squeezing around his half-hard cock even more in his pants, legs spread wide beneath his desk. His right hand was twirling his quill between his fingers, scratching uselessly at the papyrus as he was too pre-occupied with busying his left hand in his smallclothes.

He rubbed himself slowly, wanting to draw it out for as long as he possibly could; the thrill of being caught touching himself made him want to take as long as possible. The pads of his fingers were rough, calloused from lance training and he loved the feeling of his own harsh touch, drawing his foreskin up and over the head of his cock.

The thought of his professor shucking off her coat and baring her shoulders, rolling them and arching her back to try and ease the tense muscles in her strong back made him throb. He watched her and for a moment, her gaze flickered to his.

Cold turquoise eyes met Sylvain’s brown ones and his hand stilled around his cock. Her eyes seemed to analyse him, scanning over his entirety and at the thought of it, his hand moved again, slowly, tauntingly, hoping that she would catch the movement. He wasn’t sure if she did because not a flicker of emotion crossed her face before she turned back to her book and continued lecturing.

He wondered if she would make the same stony expression if he were to bed her. Sylvain’s mind wandered to the thought of taking her back to his room, maybe slightly inebriated, maybe drunk on lust, his hands roaming over her body. His hand quickened in his pants and he squeezed around the base of his cock, stifling a moan by bringing his free hand to his lips.

Laying Byleth down on a bed, he wondered if she had ever been touched before – she was part of a mercenary group during her younger years; was it possible that mercenaries took their turns with her? Sylvain fought hard to bite back a heady groan picturing his professor being filled with multiple cocks, pressing impatiently against her, into her, onto her. His hand sped up just picturing his professor making an empty and vacant expression pumping a cock against her tongue whilst handling another in her hand and taking two -maybe even three- into her lithe body.

Byleth glanced his way again and this time, she didn’t miss it. Her eyes darted to the underside of his desk, but Sylvain did not relent. She stared hard for a few moments and he swore the corner of her lip quirked up into a sly smirk. His toes curled in his boots and he shifted uncomfortably against the hard, wooden bench.

Had it always been so painful to sit at his desk or was it the dull, pleasurable ache of his balls tightening up that was making him uneasy?

A hot tongue darted out to wet Sylvain’s dry lips and Byleth caught the motion. She blinked slowly, as if telling Sylvain she had not missed the action, and brushed her hair back over her shoulder.

Was she… tempting him?

Sylvain twisted his wrist greedily and let his eyelashes flutter against his high cheeks, giving up on hiding his actions. Thank the goddess he sat at the back of the class and that Ashe, who usually sat in the seat beside him, was absent today. He could freely touch himself and thrilling thought crossed his mind.

What if he… exposed himself?

With a cheeky smirk playing across his own lips, he shook his head at his own incredulousness, half-unable to believe that such a thought had crossed his own mind. But his fingers were already dancing down the front of his pants, unbuttoning and allowing his bulge to push freely against the cotton of his small clothes, no longer confined to the tightness of his uniform.

With a bold flick of his wrist, Sylvain tugged down his smallclothes and let his cock bob into the cool air of the classroom. He stared at the back of the heads of his classmates and bubbled with excitement; if any of them turned or glanced over their shoulders, they surely would not miss his arm’s movements and the bright red head of his aching cock.

He ran his eyes over Byleth’s strong legs, scantily clad in very indecent stockings and he wanted to rip them off her. If he had her sat at the edge of his bed, he would use his teeth and take the delicate black threads and tear holes in the fabric. He wanted to run his lips over her milky, strong thighs and mark her with bruises and bites – would she react then?

His hand was flying over his cock now, pumping quickly and without care, staring at the back of Byleth’s head. He wanted her to catch him, wanted to see if he could get her eyes to widen even just a fraction if she saw him touching himself during her seminar.

A breathy sigh passed his lips and Byleth head twitched, almost cat-like in its reflexes and finally, she turned fully. Her eyes scanned the room and finally came to rest on Sylvain. Her mouth still moved but Sylvain had long blocked out any noise, anything reaching his ears now turning into just a dull vibration of nonsense. She continued on about the perils of flying units being caught by arrows but her eyes focused hard on Sylvain reaching his peak.

He was staring at her, meeting her empty gaze as he pumped his weeping cock beneath the desk, thumb skimming over the head to help lubricate himself more so that the slide was smoother. He bit down on his lip hard to try and stifle a moan, but it slipped past, hissed between his clenched teeth

For a moment, he froze with fear, afraid that his classmates would catch him.

But no one flinched.

Relief washed over him, mixed with a new heightened sense of arousal when he saw the smirk on Byleth’s lips. She knew. She knew he was afraid of being caught by his classmates. And yet, he didn’t mind being watched by her empty turquoise eyes – he wanted it. Sylvain wanted to have her empty stare upon him, unimpressed as he worked himself to completion by gazing at her body.

It turned him on immensely to know that, perhaps, for once, a woman was uninterested in him.

A stifled groan breathed past his lips and finally, his hand tightened around his cock and he shuddered forward, almost snapping his quill in his hand as he came. He clamped his hand over his mouth as he maintained eye contact with his professor and she watched him cum before her, at his desk, in the middle of her lecture.

He came hard, breath shuddering and making his palm sticky as he panted and dribbled his seed between his fingers. It rolled between the digits, spilling onto the stony floor between his spread legs. His orgasm hit him hard, balls tightening, cock spasming against his palm and he milked himself through it, trying to draw it out as long as possible.

Byleth smirked openly, cocking her hips to the side almost tauntingly as she watched Sylvain. Gods, yes, this is it; this is what he had wanted to see. Some sort of emotion on his professor’s face and it wasn’t one of disgust but rather one of arrogant satisfaction; she knew that he was cumming for her, and her alone and she was proud of that.

With an almost deafening clasp, Byleth shut the book in her palm and rapped the end of her lecturing baton hard against the board. She dismissed the class and watched sadistically as Sylvain scrambled to tuck himself away into his pants as his classmates stood, the scrape of their chairs reminding him he was mere seconds away of being caught with his dick out in class.

He barely managed it when Felix turned and faced him. With a sneer, he regarded him and briskly left the room. He might have thought that he was caught if that were not Felix’s permanent expression.

He waved off Dimitri who asked if he would like to train with him and he was soon left as the only one in the class. Almost shamefully, he glanced up at Byleth who was sat atop her desk, legs crossed, one foot kicking about idly, and her skirt rode up indecently high. His throat tightened when she beckoned him forward with one finger.

Rushing and clambering to his feet clumsily, Sylvain left his fly undone but tucked himself away as he approached his professor, each step of his boot against the stone floor bouncing about in his head.

“I did not think a lecture on Pegasus knights and Wyvern riders would be so… exhilarating to you, Sylvain.”

Boldly, he grinned a reply, running a hand up his professor’s stockinged leg, relishing in the feeling of the lace against his palm. “Maybe it has something to do with the person delivering the lecture.”

She hummed smugly and brushed her boot against the inside of his leg. “As engaging as my lecture apparently was… be sure to pay attention in future.”

Byleth cupped Sylvain’s chin and brushed her thumb against his chapped, waiting lower lip, suddenly stony-faced and serious. “I’m putting you forward for a wyvern knight examination next week.”

Chapter Text

“Is this alright?”

“Hilda… you can tighten it more. You will not hurt me.”

With a gentle tug and looming over her lover on their shared bed, Hilda pulled a little tighter on the red rope binding Marianne’s wrists together above her head. They tied to the headboard of the bed and Hilda’s fingertips skimmed over the tight twists of the rope that held Marianne down.

She looked beautiful like this. A shy and coy smile tickled her lips and her long wispy blue lashes fluttered against her rosy cheeks, almost bashful and too shy to meet her lover’s gaze. Marianne shifted on the bed and her wrists rubbed against the rope and the gentle burn felt pleasant.

When she writhed her body against the soft silky sheets of Hilda’s bed, she felt the contorts of the rope sinking into her pale skin, squeezing her breasts like two large globes. She felt the twine sink between the keys of her ribcage and wrap around her slim and supple waist. It looped and was tied in intricate knots so that a diamond shape of rope framed her bellybutton and Hilda’s hands secured the rope so that it wasn’t so painful against her hips too. The rope continued between her legs, nestling in the grooves between her pussy and thighs and then wrapped around the back of her legs.

Then, it twined underneath her knees and hiked her legs. The ropes tied to one another, securing the ties around her knees to those around her shoulders and the tight pull of her legs tugging on her shoulders made Marianne shudder pleasurably. Her toes curled, flexing and unflexing in their sheer stockings. Besides those, she lay completely bare before Hilda’s lustful pink eyes.

“You look… beautiful tied up like this,” she said quietly, brushing the palm of her hand against Marianne’s face. The shy blue-haired maiden leaned into the touch, only able to move her head and neck freely and she was grateful for that.

“Mmh… it feels… better than I thought,” she admitted, cheeks pinking, and she glanced to the side, unable to meet the bubble-gum-haired girl’s eyes.

Hilda stared down at her lover who laid on the sheets beneath her. She straddled the other’s hips, sitting atop her in a white lace bralette that barely contained her fuller breasts and matching lace underwear that was now clinging to her sticky pussy. She could feel the slide of her white nylon stockings against Marianne’s when she leaned forward and rubbed her warm, oily palms against the other’s flat stomach.

The slide was pleasant and hot, and Marianne could almost feel the heat searing through her skin, collecting in a pool in her lower abdomen. She wanted to writhe even more and rub her thighs together but when she tried, she felt the rope pull, drag and burn against her skin in a satisfyingly painful way.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Hilda asked again.

Marianne nodded. “Yes, of course. I do not think I could have asked anyone else to do this with me. I love you, and I trust you.”

Leaning down, Hilda pressed a long but sweet kiss to Marianne’s lips. They were intoxicatingly sweet and addicting and she wanted to stay there forever but knew there was more to be asked of her.

Drawing back up and skimming her hands over Marianne’s bare breasts, she finally put a confident smirk on her lips. She saw the expression on Marianne’s pink face change, eyes widening ever so slightly when she saw the girl sitting atop her drawing her lip between her teeth to bite down teasingly.

“Mmh, how does it feel? To be tied up?”

“Really good… thank you,” Marianne whispered. Hilda hummed appreciatively and ran her oiled-up hands over Marianne’s flat stomach again, enjoying the bumps of rope against her palm. The room smelled thickly of roses, the scent of oil filling up both women’s senses and mixing with the warmth of flickering, burning candles, dancing in the setting sunlight that streamed through the open window. Netted curtains billowed in the spring breeze and made Marianne shiver when the air cooled the oil slicked against her white skin.

Hilda’s manicured and painted pink nails raked down Marianne’s skin lightly, not even deep enough to leave marks. She skimmed down her stomach and then raked her nails back up, smoothing her hands over the enlarged and tied up breasts, round and plumped by the tight rope.

“Look at how swollen your breasts are… so sensitive too,” Hilda mused aloud, brushing her fingertips over Marianne’s puffy areolae and pert pink nipples. She flicked one teasingly and her smile widened when she saw her legs spasm in their bindings.

“Hilda! H-Hah!”

Very sensitive,” she teased, rolling the pad of her middle finger over the alert nipple and then repeating the ministration on the other. Marianne could feel every inch of her body becoming electrified, charged with a hot fire wherever Hilda touched and at that moment, it was sparking in her chest. Her body wanted to buck and arch into the feather-light touch but the tight ropes just burned against her skin even further with every twist.

“Please…” Marianne whispered. Hilda raised an eyebrow, cupping her lover’s face in her hand and leaning in so their lips brushed over one another, but not enough to kiss. The blue-haired girl trembled and whimpered pathetically, focused solely on the pink shiny lips so tantalizingly close to hers. She tried to push her face forward but Hilda only leaned back.

“Please what? Use your words.”

“Please… t-touch me… a-anywhere…”

“Of course,” Hilda said, kissing Marianne’s jaw chastely. The other whimpered having not felt the familiar comforting warmth of Hilda’s plush lips against her own but instead was graced with the privilege of having her lover’s teeth scrape over her collarbones, bite against her chest, and suck on her nipple.

A warm mouth wrapped around her nipple and her arms uselessly struggled against her bindings, the smouldering pain against her skin was too good to resist and she let out a loud moan, tipping her head back.

Hilda kept her gaze focused upwards as she sucked hard on Marianne’s puckered nipple. She flicked her tongue back and forth quickly and enjoying the tiny trembles and jolts she managed to elicit from the usually quiet and shy girl.

Marianne had never been so vocal before. Always so shy and reduced to just quiet gasps and whispers of Hilda’s name before she came, the pink-haired girl had been determined for a long time to try and make Marianne feel truer pleasure. She wanted to make Marianne cry out with pleasure and moan until her throat was hoarse and raw. When she thought about it, Hilda realised it was a sadistic kind of want, but one born of the truest and deepest love she held for the other girl.

“Let your voice out, Marianne,” Hilda said in between sucking on her nipple and carding her free hand down her body, skimming over her smooth stomach, dipping between her thighs.

“It is… embarrassing…”

“Then I will have to draw more of those adorable noises out of you,” Hilda replied. She sat upright and away from Marianne’s body, gazing down at her; the contrast of the scarlet coloured rope against her porcelain skin, which was flushed lightly pink at this point, was stunning. She could certainly get used to such a sight before her.

Straightening up, Hilda reached for the equipment on the bed beside her.

It had been embarrassing and a tale in itself going about purchasing such a thing. In fact, she had to approach a mysterious red-haired merchant who had a cheeky glint in her eye and could seemingly read her mind when she gestured Hilda over. As if by magic, she presented her with exactly what she had been looking for, took her payment and quickly disappeared, almost as quickly as she came.

She took the contraption in hand and tied the leather straps around her waist, just above her hips. The leather of the fabric rubbed against her damp pussy with pleasurable friction, the synthetic fabric making her shiver inwardly. She buckled herself in at her lower-back and adjusted the length protruding from her front, running her hand over the strange feeling texture.

It was artificial, almost not real, not made of wood, metal or glass; it was made of something else entirely, something she had never encountered before. But the texture was smooth and with oil now liberally coating it, she knew that the slide would feel almost as good as a real cock.

With Marianne’s legs spread wide and almost pressed to her own stomach, Hilda shifted on her knees and held the artificial cock in her hand, stroking it slowly.

“Where did you… f-find such a thing?” Marianne gasped out.

Hilda shrugged and tapped the side of her nose with a wink. “A lady never reveals her secrets.”

Marianne’s pout quickly disappeared when she felt the head of the cock rub up against her folds. She was wet, wetter than she had ever been before and her thighs quivered when she gazed up at Hilda, breath heaving and with each gasp, the rope tightened around her breasts.

“Hilda, please,” Marianne pleaded.

“Come now, I told you; use your words.”

“Please, take me. I need to feel you,” she said, and Hilda could not hold back any longer.

With a gentle brush forward of her hips, the head of the cock slid inside of Marianne, parting her wet rosy folds. The other girl moaned again, loudly and Hilda hissed through her teeth, growing hotter and hotter. She had longed to hear these noises from her lover; this is how she felt when she truly let go.

Thrusting forward more, sliding in inch by inch, Hilda’s strap-on was fully sheathed inside of Marianne. She planted her hands on her lover’s milky thighs, rubbing the skin where the rope sank in and admiring the soft red marks that were going to left for hours afterwards.

“Marie… you’re so beautiful, I love you,” Hilda breathed, and Marianne’s lower lip trembled. She often got tearful when they made love but for the first time ever, real tears spilt over her cheeks and Hilda sucked in a sharp gasp. She was breath-taking with reddened eyes, puffy lips and a trembling body, all tied up in a bright red rope.

Hilda slowly began to move, drawing back and when she thrust forward again, she let out a small moan of her own. On the inside of the leather straps wrapped snugly around her pussy, was a hardened nub of the small material the artificial cock was made of. It rubbed against her clit and she hissed quietly, fingers sinking into Marianne’s thighs tightly for a moment.

The whole evening had initially been set up for her lover, a night of pleasure and satisfaction and a chance to truly let go but feeling the hot coil in her stomach when the nub rubbed over her clit, Hilda couldn’t help but start to feel selfish.

Her hips started to thrust more earnestly, pumping in and out of Marianne at a steady pace, not too fast and not too hard, just perfect. The two women moaned in unison, Hilda’s moans breathy and cracked whilst Hilda’s were louder and shorter. Hilda kept her eyes open to watch Marianne’s body jolt with every thrust when her hips met her ass, pushing the cock in as deeply as she could.

“M-More, more!” Marianne cried out, tipping her head backwards. Her usual blue braided bun had been undone and brushed out by Hilda hours ago and was now cascaded across the white sheets and pillows. Stray aqua blue hairs clung to her sweaty forward as she writhed on the bed.

“More? Oh Gods, Marie… it feels good for me too,” Hilda managed.

“Like this… I-I… I feel even closer with you… it’s… h-hah, my heart…! I cannot… a-any longer, oh, Hilda!”

Suddenly, Marianne’s thighs shuddered violently, and she threw her head back, baring her pale throat to Hilda, crying out with a loud moan. Her voice cracked and eventually gave way to nothing, becoming a breathy whisper of her lover’s name, dying on her parched lips as she came. Hilda watched enraptured, captivated by her lover’s orgasm.

It was more intense than anything she had seen before, earth-shattering and ground-breakingly intense. Red burns appeared at Marianne’s wrists, thighs and around her breasts where she had been writhing in the tight embrace of the ropes, but she knew her lover would bear those marks with pride.

Continuing with her thrusting, chasing selfishly after her own pleasure, Hilda gave one final thrust and keened down hard against the ridge in the leather so that she too came, climaxing in unison with Marianne. Her voice was loud and turned into a heady groan, growling raspy in her throat as she felt the tight hot coil in her stomach finally come free.

“M-Marie! Y-Yes! Ah!”

The two women swam in the other’s climax, drowning themselves in the other’s passionate cries. They came down together, Hilda collapsing atop Marianne though she didn’t protest the sudden weight bearing down on her, not immediately.

They panted and gasped for breath. Truly, this was an experience that both women wanted to re-create.

Chapter Text

“I’m afraid I might fall!”

“You will not, my dear. The only walking you will be doing tonight is all over me.”

Leonie fidgeted awkwardly and tried to stand steady on her feet, holding onto Lorenz’ forearms. Despite the high heels she now wore somewhat uncomfortably upon her feet, Lorenz still towered over her, gazing down at the adorable frown and pout on her face. She was concentrating hard, focusing on not stumbling and Lorenz’ lavender eyes flickered between her face and the black pumps on her feet.

He remembered approaching her earlier in the day. With a warm cup of tea and a few dazzling smiles, he had managed to somehow convince Leonie to embrace her femininity. She had confessed long ago about wanting to be able to express herself more delicately, acknowledging that despite her independence and her strength, she sometimes wanted to be cuddled and held warmly by another… another man, specifically.

Lorenz immediately took it upon himself to guide Leonie through the role of behaving like a lady. Of course, commoner folk had long lent their aid to the nobility, giving them the fruits of their labour but since the pair were not close friends, Lorenz felt the growing, compelling need to help the young woman, not as noble and commoner, but as equals.

That was how this situation had arisen; Leonie wanted to learn how to walk in heels. Shocked initially by the revelation, it was only when Leonie admitted to admiring Hilda and the professor’s capability of fighting in heels that she found a respect for it. She wanted to imagine herself firing arrows, dashing into the fray with an axe, and dancing around enemies with gauntlets all whilst in high heels. She said it looked to her like a powerful statement on female power, from what Lorenz could recall.

The sight of Leonie stumbling around like a baby duck trying to find its footing for the first time was endearing and adorable. Never before had he looked at Leonie in this way but the concentrated expression upon her face was charming.

“Lorenz, are you sure about this?”

“Yes; I can tell you I have not been more sure of anything in my life if my name is not Lorenz Hellman Glo-”

“Alright, I get it! Please, just… don’t laugh,” Leona said quietly, turning her head to the side so that she didn’t have to meet Lorenz’ eyes. He put a hand on her cheek and leaned their forehead together, gazing at her downwards cast gaze.

“I promise. You are granting me a service by indulging me in such a lascivious fantasy,” Lorenz admitted, drawing back from her and settling his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed them reassuringly as Leonie took in a steadying breath and then she finally met his eyes, hardening her stare.

“Then get on your knees.”

With a bow, Lorenz acquiesced, and sank to his knees. Leonie swept her loose ponytail back over her shoulder and spread her legs apart so she was in a much more stable stance, hands on her hips to ascertain her authority – perhaps not for Lorenz, but to reassure herself, that she was the one in charge for the next few moments.

His lavender eyes immediately skimmed down the tomboy’s strong muscled legs, every inch of a tough exterior until his eyes came to rest on her feet. The black heels that fit snugly around her toes and hugged her heel made something inside him swim with desire. He had never looked at Leonie this way before, but he found his thoughts running wild imagining her using her feet against him.

“What will you have me do?” Lorenz asked, hands settling in his lap and thighs, gazing up at Leonie. He could see her falter for a moment before attempting a smirk.

“Lick my shoe,” she said. Lorenz swallowed dryly. Already thrust deep, it seemed. He nodded and returned his gaze to the polished black right heel, shining with a dull orange glow as it caught the flickering candlelight of the room. He placed his hands on the floor, sinking into the carpet and brought himself down low, opening his mouth letting his tongue roll out from his lips like a red carpet.

With a long stripe, he licked along the front of Leonie’s heel. She made no noise – of course she wouldn’t, why would she? But Lorenz let out a shuddering gasp, the taste of leather satisfying against his usually exquisite palate.

He had always fantasized about being in such a lowly position but thought he would never admit it – not until he met Leonie and the arrangement was made. He had always wanted to be on the floor and beneath a noblewoman’s feet, licking, kissing, caressing, massaging and simply running his hands over every inch of skin that he possibly could.

He never thought, not even for a moment, he would be beneath a mere commoner’s feet.

But the thought was thrilling and absolutely filthy.

“How does it taste?”

“Wonderful,” Lorenz muttered, intently focused on Leonie’s shoe.

“I think you should have another taste.” Lorenz tight slacks felt impossibly tighter and he staggered out a breath, sweeping his purple hair behind his ear. He leaned down again, running his tongue from the pointed tip of the heel along the front and he followed the shape of the shoe to the side.

Leonie watched him and truth be told, there wasn’t much excitement bubbling inside her that she had anticipated. Looking at Lorenz beneath her, literally licking at her shoe, she thought she would be burning hot with arousal, but she felt the same as before.

It wasn’t until Leonie, balancing on a single shaky leg and with great concentration, raised one foot and used the pointed heel to tilt Lorenz face up to her that she felt the first thrill of arousal. His cheeks were tinted a wonderful pink colour and saliva was pooling in the corners of his mouth and indecently, also down his chin.

The point of her heel under his chin made him shudder and his fists curled in the carpet. Looking up at her like this was exhilarating.

“I didn’t think a nobleman could look so good at my feet… but you look really good, Lorenz,” Leonie said, lips curling into a smile.

“Ah… it is not a position I thought I would ever be in, but one that I secretly longed for.”

“Are all noblemen as depraved as you?” Leonie tilted her head slightly and kicked gently with her foot so that the pointed heel dug deeper into the underside of Lorenz’ jaw. He jumped up from the floor and pushed upwards slightly so that he could stare in awe upwards. He did not expect Leonie to take on her role so well and so easily.

“I am… unsure…” Lorenz swallowed.

With a quiet hum, Leonie wobbled backwards in her heels and sat down on Lorenz’ bed. The sheets were immaculately clean and smelled like lavender – how befitting of such a man. And yet, Leonie felt a rush of excitement thrum through her body when she saw Lorenz crawl towards her, on all fours, across the carpet so that he was on his knees before her. How ironic.

Leonie crossed her legs, one knee above the other. She wasn’t used to such a position, still practising it after Lorenz told her about the elegant poise it gave an individual. But at that moment, she did not feel elegant but powerful.

Sitting before him, Leonie kicked one of her shoes off but let it dangle from her toes, hanging in the air. Lorenz watched enraptured, eyes focusing on the sole dangling precariously in front of his face, almost becoming dizzy with want. He could see the shiny sweat glistening in the crevices of Leonie’s foot too and he felt himself salivating.

Caught completely unawares, he jolted when he felt the firm press of her other heel against the front of his tight trousers. The pressure weighing down on him, a little too gently for his liking at the moment, was still enough to elicit a shaky gasp from him.

“Is this alright?” Leonie asked, persona slipping for a moment. Lorenz nodded, for once in his life, unable to come up with a coherent answer, too busy ogling the sole of the foot mere inches from his face.

“Yes… more than alright,” he eventually managed out when he saw worry cross Leonie’s face. She smiled gently and then pushed down a little harder with her foot, tauntingly wiggling her toes so that the heel in Lorenz’ face wavered and almost tipped off completely.

With shaking hands, Lorenz held onto the dangling heel with one and then wrapped the other around Leonie’s foot. His thumb pressed into the wrinkled, sweaty underside of her foot and he took in a steadying breath. Gods, this was… far more intense and humiliating than he had thought.

Yet, there was a liberating freedom in Leonie’s gentle, unjudging expression.

“May I?” he ventured, and Leonie nodded.

Swallowing and drawing up saliva, Lorenz opened his mouth and tipped his head so that he could run his tongue along the sole of Leonie’s foot, whilst the heel still dangled off her toes. He could taste the salty muskiness of her sweat against his taste buds and he groaned aloud.

Leonie flushed bright red; she didn’t realise before how good, almost ticklish, the underside of her feet felt, but the reaction that Lorenz gave was unlike anything she’d ever heard before.

His eyes were closed, and he was kissing down the centre of her foot, to her heel where he dared to even suck. Leonie jolted at the strange sensation and her foot against his cock, pressed down even harder.

“Forgive me… I am… losing myself,” Lorenz laughed breathily. Leonie shook her head and rubbed the foot on the front of his trousers down even harder, in a back and forth motion, applying ample pressure. Slowly, Lorenz came to realise his hips were rocking upwards, keening into the heel pressing against him and he hissed loudly when he feel the sharp stiletto point press down on his balls.

Lorenz was ashamedly close. The smell, the taste and the feeling of Leonie’s feet and heel against him was already almost too much to bear. He groaned and withdrew from her foot, tossing aside the heel that was balancing, teetering on her toes.

“I am unable to hold myself back any longer. Forgive me, I am at my limit,” he murmured before taking Leonie’s toes into his mouth. The tomboy gasped, jerking her other leg so that the heel pushed down hard against Lorenz’ cock once more and he moaned loudly around her toes.

They were small and better kept than he thought and so sucking on them drove him even closer to the brink. They tasted salty, and the scent pervaded his senses, clouding every rational thought left in his brain. All that was left for him to do now was the suck, lick and clean the toes pressed down hard against his tongue.

“Lorenz! Ah! That feels…!” Leonie couldn’t finish her sentence, fingers clutching at the sheets as she watched Lorenz lose himself in his desire. She was almost invisible to him now as all he could focus on was the steady grind against his clothed cock, the almost painful stab against his tightening balls and the taste of Leonie’s toes in his mouth.

He coiled his tongue hotly around each toe, sucking and making noises totally indecent for a man of his position but it was far too late to think of nobility now – he was on his knees before a common woman, licking and sucking her toes, almost climaxing.

The thought of it was filthy and he loved it.

Leonie could see how much Lorenz was enjoying it and so, gently, she pushed her toes just a little deeper and down more against his tongue. The man moaned greedily, and his fingers came and clutched at the foot in his hand, supporting her sole and her ankle, caressing and squeezing.

“Lorenz… you’re close, aren’t you?” Leonie ventured.

The lavender-haired noble just groaned louder around her toes, not wanting to take his mouth away from its service. The heel rolled forward against his cock more so that the tip of it pressed against the head of his cock in his pants.

“I want you to… let it out,” Leonie whispered, embarrassed by the words that came from her mouth. Lorenz sucked in a deep and shaky breath through his nose as finally, with her words, he came hard in his trousers. His small clothes became damp with his cum, rope after rope dribbling out and he could feel the hot slimy liquid slide against his skin and down his balls.

His orgasm washed over him like a burning wave, submerged in a base sense of pleasure – here he was, on his knees, before a commoner, cumming in his smallclothes, with her foot in his mouth. Lorenz moaned louder, immaculately groomed eyebrows coming together to frown with the sheer force of his orgasm.

He couldn’t continue sucking on Leonie’s toes and so finally parted his lips to moan and take in a much-needed gasp of air. His starved lungs filled, and he panted out, finally coming down from his height of pleasure.

For a few long seconds, Lorenz did nothing but keep his head tilted slightly upwards, close his eyes, take in steadying breaths and idly massage the now saliva-slicked foot in his hand. The heel pressed against his cock had now relented slightly and was doing nothing more than leaning against him.

The discomfort of his slowly cooling cum against his skin soon stirred him from his stupor and his purple eyes tried to adjust to the lighting in the room, low as it was.

“How was it? Are you alright?” Leonie asked.

It had been a long time since he had heard her voice, too lost in his own selfish pleasure, having drowned out the sounds of her quiet gasps and tentative voice. He blinked up at her and gently let her foot down so that it rested against his knee and nodded, whipping a handkerchief out of his shirt’s breast pocket to dab at his mouth, as if finishing a delectable meal.

“Yes… quite. Very much more than alright,” Lorenz smiled, still slightly embarrassed. Both parties couldn’t bear to look the other in the eye even though they both wanted to.

“I’m glad…” Leonie whispered back. She nibbled on her lower lip and shifted on the bed. Somehow, during the course of Lorenz’ selfishness, Leonie had found herself becoming hotter and hotter with arousal though she did nothing to accommodate herself, instead allowing Lorenz to indulge himself in his fantasy. But now, she was acutely aware of how wet she was and how badly she needed to feel something between her legs.

“Can I… take the other shoe off now?” she asked. Lorenz laughed and nodded, gently taking Leonie’s ankle in his hand and he slid the shoe off as a butler may serve his mistress, admiring the delicate goldenness of her toes. He smiled up at her.

“Honestly, I wish to thank you… I did not think I would ever be able to live out this fantasy of mine, let alone confess it to anyone. You have my eternal gratitude.” Shifting so that he was now kneeling on one knee, he took one of Leonie’s hands in his own and gazed up at her. “I wish to repay the debt to you. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Flushing scarlet, Leonie did not hesitate in response. “Well, there is something I want…”

Chapter Text

Mercedes’ hands skimmed down the front of the sapphire blue dress in her hands, hanging from some sort of hanger that she had procured from her wardrobe. It was stunning, and Ingrid had never seen anything quite like it; thousands upon thousands of tiny glittering crystals were embedded into the dress, along its bodice and in intricate, glimmering patterns down the front of the gown, even where the blue fabric skimmed the wooden floor.

Ingrid’s hands came to her mouth as she gasped, placing a hand over her chest.

“Oh, Mercie, it is beautiful,” she said in awe.

The kind girl smiled in return and nodded. “Thank you; it took quite some time to complete.”

“Complete?”

“Yes. I sewed the crystals on myself.”

Ingrid’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Mercy, I cannot believe it… all of them? That must have taken you days!”

The gentle-natured girl swept her long hair over her shoulder and nodded, rubbing the pad of her index finger against her thumb in gentle circles. “Yes, it actually took me several months. Between classes, tending to the gardens, dinners, fighting, tea with the professor… it actually took me longer than I had thought to sew all the crystals on. I also managed to injure myself several times.”

Mercedes laughed breathily but Ingrid’s eyes were too intently focused on the dress before her. Months? It had taken her months to sew this dress? The Pegasus knight was breathless, captivated by Mercedes’ persistence and determination; she knew that the other was a patient and pious girl, even she did not get frustrated with Felix’s outbursts nor Sylvain’s bawdy behaviour. Instead, she was a calm and soothing soul to be around, hands usually clasped in a silent prayer and lips moving to her own mantra.

“Months? Mercie…”

“Oh, worry not, Ingrid. I do believe it was all worth it.”

Mercedes brushed her hand down the front of the dress again and then stepped forward, holding it out towards her friend. Sitting on the bed, Ingrid blinked at it a few times and then up at Mercedes’ delphinium blue eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“It is for you, Ingrid. You need a dress for tonight’s ball, do you not?”

“I-I do but… this… I cannot wear something so beautiful, I would not do it justice,” Ingrid replied, shaking her head so that her braid swished back and forth against her back. Mercedes’ usually soft smile turned into a frown and she took one of Ingrid’s hands so that it held onto the wooden hanger, letting go of the dress so that if it fell, it would cascade to the floor and Ingrid would not allow such a thing to happen.

“Please. It would make me happy to see you wearing it.”

“I… I would love to but… Mercie, honestly, something so beautiful would look far better on you.”

Mercedes insistently shook her head. “I made it so that it would fit you. It would wound me if you did not wear it.”

Ingrid could see the pleading expression across Mercedes’ face and found herself unable to say ‘no’ any longer. The sad and downturned eyes, the worried frown of her brows and the gentle pull of her pink lips tugged at Ingrid’ heartstrings, like a harp played with poignancy. Sighing softly, Ingrid stood and then kicked off her boots, wriggling her toes into the plush carpet of Mercedes’ room.

“Very well but… I will need your help. I know nothing of accessorizing or make-up.”

An angelic smile floated across Mercedes’ lips and her hands clasped together happily. Seeing the brightness that illuminated her friend’s face, Ingrid’s heart tugged even harder. She inwardly cursed herself, blaming the fluttering in her chest on nervousness and nothing more. But the butterflies inside started to beat their wings faster when Mercedes stepped up to Ingrid, standing before her so that the two were practically eye-level.

“Let us undress you.”

The words falling from the holy woman’s lips made Ingrid’s cheeks burn red, but she nodded, tucking her chin into her chest to try and hide her flushed expression.

Ingrid’s fingers came to her blazer, nervously fumbling with the buttons. She had never been so nervous before, not around any other person, not even when she took the Pegasus knight exam. Mercedes cold but gentle hands came to rest over hers and she took over, unbuttoning the blazer slowly and Ingrid wished she would hurry.

Her heart thundered in her chest like a war drum and she thought that Mercedes could hear it but was simply too kind to say anything about it. She undid the final button and pushed the fabric of the blazer open, revealing Ingrid’s pale skin to her.

Burning pink, Ingrid’s emerald eyes avoided Mercedes’ beautifully deep blue ones and she suddenly felt how awkward it was that she was still clutching the dress. Offering herself a quick moment to catch her breath, she turned away from Mercedes and set the dress down on the bed as delicately as she possibly could, hoping not to crease the cobalt coloured fabric.

Inhaling to try and steady her racing heart, Ingrid turned to face her friend again, this time wearing a shy smile. Mercedes returned it warmly, and opened the blazer once more, bearing the paleness to her friend’s eyes.

She wanted to shy away and cover herself but then thought – why? This was her friend, one of her closest friends, whom she had known for a few long years and who was so gentle and kind it was almost sickeningly sweet. And so Ingrid surged with uncertainty and conflict – why did she feel the flutter of her heartbeat so painfully against her chest?

Mercedes fingers skimmed over her shoulder lightly as she dropped the blazer away, bringing it down over her arms and she folded it over her arm before draping it over the back of her desk’s chair.

Ingrid stood in nothing more than her lace bra and the hush of cold air that blew through the room made her shiver. It was eerily quiet, with not a sound to be heard throughout the dormitories save for Ingrid’s quickened breathing and the hooting of owl’s far off in the distance.

“I did not know you had such fine taste in small clothes, Ingrid,” Mercedes said, as if she were trying to diffuse the tension but it only served to increase it more. Ingrid’s cheeks turned even more pink when gentle fingers skimmed the strap of her white bralette, down to her bust and over the frilly white lace.

“I did not think anyone would see me in them for some time,” the blonde replied, trying to laugh but instead a strange choked sound came out of her throat.

Mercedes laughed gently, a quiet giggle that was barely more than a breath from her rosy pink lips. Her gentle caress shifted towards, ghosting over the hem of the bralette’s lace, skimming over the pale and smooth skin. Mercedes’ hands were gentle, and they circled over the sizable mounds of Ingrid’s breasts that were no more than a handful.

The two young girls seemed lost in one another’s hushed breathing, nothing more than ebbs of hushed waves on the ocean and the grace of one’s gentle fingertips, soft like silk, upon the other’s breasts. Both wanted to dive deeper into this new feeling, but both were too afraid to take the plunge. Mercedes found she was leaning in closer, fingertips daring to slide beneath the thin layer of slim lace, and it wasn’t until she was mere millimetres away from grazing over Ingrid’s nipple that she stopped.

“Ah… forgive me… you are just… too beautiful to ignore any longer,” she whispered, cool breath washing out and fanning across Ingrid’s slightly parted lips.

The blonde swallowed hard, saliva rolling down and doing barely anything to lubricate her parched throat. Her eyes could not be drawn away from Mercedes’ mouth and she found the growing, almost unavoidable need to know how Mercedes tasted.

With a boldness that surprised even herself, Ingrid leaned forward and pushed her lips to Mercedes’. The other girl let out a shocked squeak but did not recoil. It was over as quickly as it started but Ingrid could still feel the scorching heat of the kiss against her lips, tingling like fire.

“I… I apologise… I do not know what has come over me…”

“Ingrid…”

Gently, Mercedes cupped the other’s face in both her hands and brought their lips back together, tilting her head to the side so that their lips could slide together easier. It was smoother this time, softer and more coordinated and Ingrid sighed contentedly, deciding to battle with her emotion later, at another time. For now, she only wanted to savour the sweet purity that was indescribably Mercedes.

Sweeping a tongue over Ingrid’s lower lip, she parted her mouth and let their tongues meet between them. Both girls jumped, electrified by the sudden contact and Ingrid’s green eyes flew open. She stared back at Mercedes, who was blushing equally as furiously as she was and ventured a shy smile.

“Please, do not apologise for granting me something which I have longed for.”

“Mercie… you…?”

“For some time now… you think I would spend so much time sewing a dress for anyone else? No… only you.”

Ingrid’s lower lip trembled, and she threw her arms around Mercedes’ neck, pulling the other girl close to her in a tight embrace. She realised the conflict within her had dissipated the moment that Mercedes kissed her again and that all self-doubt and anxieties had melted away. Mercedes wrapped her arms around Ingrid’s waist, caressing the back of her head.

“I do not know what to say.”

“Then say nothing,” Mercedes whispered, kissing the side of Ingrid’s head, through her blonde hair before pulling back. “Come, let us get you dressed. We may enjoy ourselves during the ball.”

Ingrid smiled, wiping a tear away from her eye and took the hem of her skirt between her fingers, finding a bravery in her that was not there before. Mercedes watched her intently and also reached for the edge of her skirt, leaning in and whispering lowly.

“We may also enjoy ourselves after the ball, too,” she winked and Ingrid’s scarlet face, babbling incoherent words and flustered expression made her smile brighter than she ever had before.

Chapter Text

“Felix, I think you have had enough.”

“Do not talk to me about my own tolerances,” Felix spat in reply.

Ashe recoiled and frowned to himself, settling his hands back around his tankard. He was still on his first drink of the night despite having been in the tavern with Felix for several hours and the scowling man was easily downing his seventh drink. Felix knocked the tankard back so forcefully that the metal rim clanked against his teeth and Ashe winced watching him but still said nothing.

It had been three days since Rodrigue’s death and Felix was more bitter, angry and irritable than ever. He was breaking swords when training almost as often as Dimitri had and had also resorted to drinking. Ashe had never seen Felix drink before, not even during the ball and various festivities from five years ago… but a lot had changed in five years and more had changed in Felix’s life three days ago than ever before.

Ashe nursed his drink as Felix slammed his tankard back down onto the counter. The smaller boy jumped a little, started by the loud noise but the other patrons didn’t even cast Felix a second glance. Men with thick beards and stomach equally as large grabbed blushing women, pulling them into their laps, chortling heartily. There were a few tables of more quiet banter, men and women drinking together happily and the barmaids cleared glasses almost non-stop. It seemed the flow of alcohol was as free as any river in Fódlan.

“I don’t think you will find any answers at the bottom of a tankard,” Ashe said quietly to Felix.

The other man whirled his head around, brows knitted deeply together in a furious glare. “What do you know of loss? Nothing,” Felix spat.

Ashe returned the glare, though not nearly as powerful. “I have also lost my parents, Felix. I understand how you feel.”

The navy-haired man scowled and tutted, turning back to his empty tankard. He tilted it, stared into it disappointedly and signalled to the barmaid for another. “You lost your parents to a mere disease. My father died before me saving that fucking boar. He could not even give his life for his own son.”

Ashe did his best to ignore the attack on his parents. “It was not you in danger, Felix. Had you been, I am sure Rodrigue would have thrown himself to protect you too. He was a good man.”

“He was a foolish man. Foolish to believe that there is any hope left in that disgusting boar of a man. Foolish to think there was any redemption left for him.”

Ashe’s lip curled inwards with annoyance. He reassured himself mentally that Felix was only speaking out of drunken anger, even if his words were not much different from when he was sober.

“You are speaking out of anger.”

“I speak the truth,” Felix spat angrily again. The barmaid set the frothy tankard down before him and he forcefully slapped a gold coin into her hand. She took it and gave Ashe a sympathetic frown and he offered her an apologetic smile. Immediately, the tankard was against Felix’s lips, frothy bubbles tipping over the edge and running down his chin.

“You have been drinking yourself numb for hours. I believe it is time we get you home.”

“I am not finished here,” Felix said between hefty gulps.

“I tell you that you are,” Ashe said, a little stronger. He turned in his barstool and reached out for Felix’s forearm, trying to pull the drink down from his lips but Felix’s arm did not budge. “We should return. The professor and others will be worried about y-”

“Worried? About me?” Felix slammed his drink down and it sloshed about messily, staining the already filthy wood. His amber eyes were swimming, both bright with anger and dull with inebriation, trying to focus on Ashe. He leaned forward towards Ashe and reduced his voice to a snarl. “Since when has anyone worried about me? It has always been that boar prince. Always him, everyone is so devoted and worried about him; even now, as I grieve for my father -foolish as he was- the others safeguard that fucking prince, as if it were his father who died.”

For a moment, Ashe was silent. He couldn’t quite formulate a response; Felix was not wrong, in all technicalities. After the party returned to the monastery, gloomy and sombre following Rodrigue’s death and Felix stormed off on his own, it was only Ashe who had followed him. The others, presumptuously, were taking care of Dimitri.

“I am worried about you,” he said quietly.

Felix scowled returned to his half-full drink, cupping it again and letting the froth soak through his gloves. “Then you are the only one.”

“That is not true, Felix, and you know it. You are angry and drunk, though you have every right to be. Please, just return to the monastery with me. There is nothing for you here.”

“There is nothing for me there either, except the ghosts of my brother and now my father to haunt me.”

A woman approached them; she was voluptuous with heavy breasts that were barely covered by her scarlet corset and bodice and a narrow waist. Her hips flared out wide and the sway of them was almost mesmerising and Ashe felt his mouth go dry. Felix paid her no attention, still staring at the dull amber liquid in his tankard.

She laid a hand upon his shoulder gently, barely touching him and he whirled to face her. He didn’t care that she was beyond beautiful or the sultry look that she gave him, and he leered at her.

“Get out of my fucking face, you damn whore,” he spat, and he stood immediately, pushing himself to his feet although he wobbled dangerously, and Ashe thought he might fall if he did not catch himself on the bar.

The woman scoffed, offended. Felix barged past her, knocking his shoulder painfully into hers and she yelped in pain. Ashe jumped to his feet, apologising profusely to the woman and followed Felix as the door to the tavern slammed open so violently is practically shook the entire building. None of the other patrons noticed and so Ashe simply followed Felix out into the cold night.

“Felix, please, wait! Where are you going?”

Felix did not reply, swaying on his feet and even Ashe’s jogging could not keep up the brisk strides Felix was taking. He stumbled and leaned into a passing building, using the wall to support himself as he slid down into an alleyway. Ashe watched him and followed him, catching up with the now stumbling man and gripped his wrist.

“Come on, the cathedral is this way. We should get you into bed.”

Felix tilted his head back so that his tousled navy ponytail tickled down his back and he stared up at the starry sky. His gaze was empty. “To bed? For what reason? To wallow in my nightmares?”

“No, I just… want you somewhere safe and warm. I will spend the night with you if I must. To take care of you.”

“Spend the night… with me,” Felix repeated, still with his back to Ashe so that the young archer could not read Felix’s expression.

With a lightning quick whirl, Ashe was thrown into the wall, back slamming with such a force it made him cry out. His head knocked back against the hard brick and he winced at that too. Immediately, Felix was upon him, holding both of Ashe’s wrists against the wall and he slid a leg between both of Ashe’s, pinning him there.

“To think a boy as virtuous as you would have such thoughts,” Felix mumbled, low and slurred under his breath.

Ashe twisted his head away, revulsed by Felix’s alcoholic breath, thick and offending against his sensitive nose. “Virtuous? What are you talking about? Felix, unhand me this moment.”

“Do not play coy with me, Ashe. You have revealed your true intentions.”

“True intentions? What on earth are yo-”

Felix snarled and ground his leg up higher against Ashe, brushing forcefully against his soft cock. Ashe choked on his breath, bright green eyes going wide and throat catching on nothing. What was going on?

With his head twisted away, Felix took advantage, latching onto Ashe’s neck with his lips. The unexpected move caused Ashe to jolt violently, almost breaking free from Felix’s crushing grip but he slammed him back into the wall, bruising the delicate archer’s wrists.

“Don’t-” Ashe tried to gasp out, but Felix silenced him with a hard bite to the side of his throat, using nothing but teeth to draw painful cries from the other.

“Such immoral sounds,” Felix murmured. Ashe swallowed hard, staring at the stone wall opposite him, trying to gather his thoughts and root himself in reality. Here he was, pinned to a wall in a filthy alleyway outside of a tavern, with his friends’ angry mouth attacking his neck. It must have been the anger and alcohol talking, taking over Felix’s inhibitions.

“Let me go, Felix. We can f-forget about all this and just go back,” Ashe stumbled out, breathing hitching and he flushed with humiliation. He couldn’t help the slight catch of his breath when Felix lathed his tongue over the bite mark deeply embedded into his throat.

“You wish to go back and have me bed you somewhere warm and comforting? I apologise, Ashe, but that is not how I fuck,” Felix replied, bringing both of Ashe’s hands up above his head and he easily pinned the two wrists together under one of his hands, strength unwavering. They were eye-level, of equal height and Ashe’s frightened green gaze searched Felix’s blurry amber eyes for any sense of rationality but he found none.

Only hunger.

Only anger.

“No… I do not… that is not what I want,” Ashe breathed out, trying to turn his head away when Felix came to cup his chin between his thumb and forefinger. He could smell the ale that had absorbed into the leather of Felix glove beneath his nose.

“Is it not? You wish to be fucked somewhere so filthy, where anyone could catch you?”

“No!” Ashe shouted and Felix clamped that same hand down over Ashe’s mouth forcefully, eyes burning with impatience. The young archer’s breathing was ragged, bordering on hyperventilating as he met Felix’s ravenous gaze. He had only seen that look one other place; the battlefield. The fire of adrenaline racing through Felix’s veins empowered him when he danced around and cleaved through enemies and at that very moment, Ashe could see it burning darkly in those eyes that bore into his. Felix wanted to cut through him, he wanted the thrill of a fight.

Panic began to set in when Felix ground his thigh harder against Ashe and a pathetic whimper escaped his lips, muffled by the glove over his mouth. Felix rocked into him, bumping his hips into Ashe as he stared him down, hoping that his fiery gaze alone would be enough to strip Ashe’s defences.

“You want this, Ashe. Your mouth may protest, but your body is so honest,” Felix cooed, and Ashe’s stomach knotted at his words, a mixture of humiliating arousal and petrifying fear. He wanted to argue back but the hand was too firm across his mouth. “In fact, let us put your mouth to a much better use.”

Felix quickly removed his hand and then his lips crashed into Ashe’s. Unexpectedly painful, Ashe squeaked into the kiss when Felix immediately bit down on his lower lip. With a cry, he opened his mouth and Felix seized the opportunity to plunge his tongue into the other’s mouth. He searched every inch of it, tasting the disgustingly purity of Ashe’s mouth; he was sweet, virginal and tasted marginally of alcohol. Felix hated it and yet, he could not bring himself to pull away.

He let go of Ashe’s hands and roamed his own down the other’s slim body, ravenous in their search. He clutched at Ashe’s shoulder, crushing slightly with his fingers before tearing through the front of Ashe’s jacket, pulling at the toggle buttons to reveal the undershirt beneath. He growled in frustration and he yanked it up, untucking it from Ashe’s trousers so that his fingers could run over the smooth skin.

“F-Felix!” Ashe cried out, managing to tear his mouth away for just a moment to suck in a breath.

Felix made guttural noise that almost sounded like a moan, but it was more animalistic that Ashe had anticipated. Felix’s fingers were heavy, uncoordinated in his movements as he roamed over Ashe’s chest.

Ashe’s hands came to rest on Felix’s shoulders, and he tried to push away. “S-Stop, please.”

“No.”

Felix’s reply made Ashe tremble a broken whimper came from his lips. The drunken man let go of Ashe for a moment and the pair stared at one another; no, there was still no sign of the Felix that Ashe knew in those blurry eyes. His fingers came to his own belt, fumbling with it until he pulled it undone.

“Suck my cock.”

Ashe’s cheeks turned scarlet and he felt his heart leap in his chest. He shook his head, nonetheless. “Felix, no… this is wrong. We can forget all this, pretend it never happened, just please, let us r-”

“Oh, shut up.”

With a forceful push and a quick swipe at Ashe’s legs with Felix’s foot, the young archer fell to his knees. He caught himself with his hands and felt the cold slimy stones against his palms. He recoiled and pushed himself back onto his knees, hoping to scramble quickly to his feet but Felix took a step closer, caging Ashe in between his exposed cock and the wall.

It was hanging low, only half-hard – probably unable to get hard all the way because of how drunk he was. Felix’s hand was running over it lazily and he stared down at Ashe; god, he looked beautiful like this, on his knees, frightened eyes staring up at him with tears wetting his fair eyelashes and his lower lip was trembling.

“Come, Ashe, put that pretty mouth of yours to use,” Felix said, rocking his hips forward and urging it towards Ashe’s face. The other boy turned away, frightened. He had never done such a vile thing in his life and thought that he never would.

“Please, do not do this,” Ashe pleaded. But it was no use.

Felix tangled his fingers into Ashe’s hair and shoved his cock forward. It pushed against Ashe’s firmly shut lips, tight and refusing to open. Ashe made a soft noise of disgust and wanted to pull away but the harsh tug on his hair was too much to ignore. Felix yanked again but Ashe still would not open his mouth.

“Pity. I was hoping I would not have to hurt you.”

A hand came across Ashe’s face and it sent his head careening to the right. A broken cry escaped Ashe’s lips and he felt the sting of the leather scorching into his skin. Felix had hit him. Hard. He never thought Felix would lay a hand on him with the intent to hurt him and the tears rolled down his face more freely. He turned to look up at Ashe and flushed red with humiliation when he saw the smirk playing across Felix’s lips. It was criminally cruel, but Ashe could not ignore the electricity sparking in his stomach, pooling in his trousers.

“Gods… do not tell me… you like to be hit?” Felix laughed. He pulled Ashe to face him fully again and then slapped him again in the same place, intensifying the burn. This time, Ashe did not hide the debauched crying moan that tumbled from his lips.

“You do. I cannot believe it.” Mouth hanging open with panting breaths, it was all the invitation Felix needed to thrust his half-hard cock forward. Reluctantly, Ashe allowed it, too dizzy with pain and arousal to acknowledge the weight now pressing against his tongue, pushing deeper into the wet cavern of his mouth.

Felix stifled a moan, head swimming with drink but he was acutely aware of the velvety warmth wrapping around his cock. Ashe’s eyes were half-lidded, and he felt the swell of pride in his chest; he liked to be hurt. In all truth, Felix wasn’t surprised; such an innocent and virginal boy was unused to the feelings of pleasure another could bring and so the feeling of anything against him felt good, even if it was an open palm stinging against his face.

“You take cock so well, Ashe,” Felix said down to him. The archer blinked through the tears, vaguely able to make out the silhouette of Felix before him through blurred tears. He couldn’t make out his expression and so instead closed his mouth more firmly around Felix’s cock, hoping for several things; that the ordeal would be over quickly, and that maybe Felix would strike him again.

“Hmm,” Ashe hummed, not moving but just sucking softly. Felix could feel the inexperience practically emanating from Ashe. The nervous was blatantly apparent in the harsh sucking and tiny muffled mewls but he did not care; anything would do to blunt the pain of his father’s death.

Felix swept Ashe’s hair away from his face, holding it firmly in his hand as he tugged and started to help Ashe bob back and forth. It felt better than he thought; had it really been that long since he had felt someone’s mouth around his cock? Apparently, because he was quickly bucking with fervour.

Ashe was choking, gagging every time Felix thrust against the back of his throat but he loved it. That painful feeling, the cut off from oxygen drove him dizzier than before. He didn’t care for the soaking slimy feeling seeping through his legs and knees as he knelt on the alleyway’s floor, raising one shaky hand to clutch at Felix’s hip to try and steady himself.

“You are filthy, Ashe. Nothing like the pure image you paint yourself as,” Felix panted, laughing breathily. “I wonder what the others would say if they saw you like this.”

Ashe blinked up through his wet lashes and gave Felix and truly desperate look; his eyes were half-lidded, brimming with tears and even in the low light of the alleyway, Felix could see the scarlet flush across his freckled cheeks and the shine of spit and saliva messy around his mouth. He pulled out for a moment, afraid of finishing too early and Ashe greedily chased the cock with his lips.

“Look at you… fucking disgusting,” Felix said. He loomed over Ashe, one hand planted on the wall to steady himself as his vision swam and the other remained tangled in silvery tresses. “Touch yourself. Do not deny yourself what you so desperately want.”

Ashe wanted to ignore his words, desperately wanted them to be untrue, but his free hand worked at his belt and he pulled his cock out too. It was nowhere near as impressive as Felix’s, smaller and pinker.

A revolting thought crossed Felix’s mind; he thought Ashe’s cock looked cute.

Disgusted with himself and unable to cope with his own emotions, he slapped Ashe’s face hard again, using the same hand. The archer cried out, unable to disguise his arousal as a moan tore from his abused throat. He bit his lip and hissed through his teeth as he tried to steady his breathing, hand clutching at his cock, making a tight ring around the base. Ashe started to slowly work his cock, smearing the precum over the head and he bucked his hips upwards.

Felix did not miss the action. “Fucking filthy. Just how obscene can you be, Ashe? Here you are, on your knees in some alley, sucking my cock and touching yourself… you truly are disgusting.”

His words hurt but Ashe loved the sting of them. They burned in his head, his heart, and his cock and his fingers quickened. He opened his mouth up for Felix obediently, hoping he would push his cock back in and fill him back up. Thankfully, Felix wasted no time and thrust straight back into the hilt until Ashe’s nose pressed against the curly, coarse navy hairs at the base of Felix’s cock.

The uncoordinated rhythm began again, and Ashe tried to match it but found it futile. It was impossible to predict Felix’s movements; sometimes the thrusts were shallow, sometimes they were deep and sometimes they jabbed against the side of his cheek.

Quickly, the two men were moaning to one another. Felix’s brow was furrowed, as it always was, trying to see through his blurred drunken vision to drink in Ashe’s expression. His eyes were shut, and he wanted to see them.

“Open your eyes. Look at me when I cum,” he managed out and Ashe obeyed. Those beautiful eyes stared up at him, red with crying, face tear-streaked from crying and his mouth and chin were smeared with saliva.

Felix grit his teeth and cried out loudly one final time, hitting the back of Ashe’s throat until the smaller boy choked violently but Felix held him there by his hair. His cock spasmed, emptying and spending every last drop of his cum down Ashe’s throat. Ashe’s bright green eyes rolled into the back of his head as he tried to swallow, unable to cope with the violent pleasure overwhelming his virginal body.

His hand tightened around his own cock and moments later Ashe came too, cum dribbling pitifully between his fingers. He could feel it seeping through his gloves, but he did not care, devoting all his focus on breathing through his nose and swallowing around Felix’s cock shoved so deeply down his throat.

With an obscene pop, Felix pulled out. Cum dribbled down Ashe’s chin and the boy violently coughed, almost retching. Felix stared down at him with a mixture of arousal and disgust, as if he had not been feeling a complicated culmination of those emotions for the last hour.

Ashe spat against the floor, cum and saliva pooling in a white puddle before him. He let go of his softening cock, unsure of what to do with his messy hand. His mind was reeling, unsure if what had happened really did happen. Felix had fucked his throat out in the middle of a dirty alley… did anyone see? He wasn’t sure, he had been too busy having his throat abused.

“You look good with cum on your face,” Felix said, letting go of Ashe’s hair at long last. Ashe’s scalp burned with a dull pain, but he keened into Felix’s touch when he ran his hand down his face and cupped his chin, forcing his gaze upwards. He blinked, dizzy and nodded, brain still fuzzy.

“Yes…” he whispered.

Felix sneered down at him and slapped Ashe a final time. The archer mewled and a powerful shudder ran through his body. Felix took a step back and stumbled, unstable on his feet and he crashed into the back wall, fingers clumsily trying to tuck himself away; Ashe could see that the buttons were mismatched and uneven.

Slowly coming back to reality and with a wave of realization crashing over him, Ashe stared down at the ground. He too tucked himself away and with disgust wiped his hand against the slimy wet floor, only adding his seed to the filth. His knees hurt and ached where he had been kneeling for so long.

Using the wall to help, he managed to get himself to his feet, feeling equally as unsteady as Felix though he knew he was only drunk on his orgasm. He took a step towards Felix and he saw the other man flinch.

Felix flinched.

“Do you hate me?” Felix murmured, barely more than a terrified whisper.

Ashe did not hesitate. “No.”

“You should hate me.”

“But I do not.”

“You should. I am… what I have done…” Ashe could see Felix begin to crumble and so the archer stepped forward, holding Felix’s face between his hands, trying to bring the dizzy gaze to meet his.

“We will not discuss this here. I wish to get you home. I wish for you to be safe.”

“… yes,” Felix acquiesced, smiling gently, allowing Ashe to touch him, wrap an arm around his middle and guide him from the alleyway. Neither dared look back at the filthy place but both were still thinking about how good it felt to finally let go.

Chapter Text

Hushed whispers washed over Dimitri’s raw skin, sticky with a burning sweat that bathed him in ice when the cool wind blew in through his window. Fhirdiad winters were never kind. Dimitri knew this.

Dedue was gentle and Dimitri hated that.

He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to feel the burn of his vassal’s teeth sinking into his throat, breaking the skin, spilling blood. He wanted to feel those strong calloused hands pulling at his body, manoeuvring him and making him pliant. He wanted the scorch of lips over every inch of his body. He wanted Dedue to hurt him.

But he never would.

“I am not as weak as you think, Dedue. Please.”

“Your Highness… this is one request I am unable to oblige.”

Dimitri growled in frustration and threw his head back against the pillow, tossing his filthy blond hair against the pristinely clean sheet. Dedue didn’t care. He knew that Dimitri needed him at that moment, and he would give his all to his friend, his king, his everything. The young king had not bathed for some time and so his skin smelled of thick musk, a stench of stale sweat coating him and the coppery taste of blood lingered on Dedue’s tongue as he kissed over Dimitri’s chest.

He didn’t mind.

“Please. The pain makes me know that I am alive.”

“I cannot grant you what you seek, Your Highness… allow me to show you another way that you are alive.”

His thin lips came to Dimitri’s chest again, kissing the sternum and the gentle dip between the prince’s chest muscles. They were thick with muscle, carved by the gods themselves in their image, Dedue thought. His tongue lathed over the filthy skin, a thick and bitter taste soiling his tongue, but it was so indescribably Dimitri and that Dedue began to breathe heavier.

The prince tasted of war. There was no other way to describe it; it was all sweat, blood and virility. Dedue moved down onto his elbows, giving his aching palms a rest and his body came to lay above and against Dimitri’s with a light pressure, still holding himself up partially.

His mouth closed over Dimitri’s nipple and he sucked softly. Dimitri moaned quietly and raised a hand to his face, tangling a hang in his hair and pulling so hard for a moment Dedue thought he’d tear it from his own scalp. He was frustrated, impossibly so, but couldn’t vent it. It was bubbling away inside of him, threatening to explode like a lit explosive and he wondered how long he would be able to contain it before erupting.

“Dedue, I would not normally sink so low but please… I beg of you, hurt me,” Dimitri pleaded, voice quiet.

Dedue shook his head and kissed his chest again. “It is not a bad thing to request something of another, however, I have my reservations, Your Highness.”

Dimitri lifted his palm from his functioning eye and levelled his gaze with Dedue. He took a steadying breath and then sat upright, pushing Dedue upright and he gently ran a hand against the other man’s cheek. His fingertip followed a deep white scar, a mark of loyalty engraved into his golden skin.

“I would not ask this of anyone else. I trust you with every ounce of my being and…” Dimitri swallowed hard, unable to speak over the words restricted in his throat. “I admit that I have grown increasingly f-fond of you. More than a prince should be fond of his vassal.” There was a brief pause where Dedue opened his mouth to speak but Dimitri continued, raising his hand to silence the other. “I realise these are reprehensible emotions that I harbour, but the pain of knowing I am unworthy of someone as ardent as you, it is enough to sustain me for now. Knowing that I will never be able to give you what you deserve -a life of happiness and fulfilment- rots my heart; it hurts each day and I feel it decaying within me, more and more.”

Dimitri laughed breathlessly, hanging his head. “And yet, I cannot help but be selfish for, in truth, the slow rot of my heart reminds me that I am alive. The haunting voices, they taunt me, call me a dead man walking and I know it to be the truth for my days are numbered. So, I ask of you, no… I beg of you, Dedue, remind me that I am alive. Hurt me.”

He couldn’t breathe.

Not when his prince hung his head before him as if he were beneath him as if he were nothing. To Dedue, Dimitri was everything. With a gentle hand, he cupped Dimitri’s chin between his forefinger and thumb and brought the other’s gaze up to his; pain glittered in that lone sapphire eye and Dedue crumbled.

“Are you sure that this is what you ask of me?”

“Yes.”

“I will not be gentle.”

Please, do not be.”

Swallowing hard, Dedue crashed his lips against Dimitri’s. He kissed him hard, harder than he had ever kissed him, bordering on violent. He held Dimitri’s face in his large hands firmly, forcing the prince to tilt his head so that their lips could slide against each other better. Dedue bit down hard at the prince’s lip and he groaned aloud, a low rumble reverberating from deep within his chest.

Both men could taste blood in their mouths, shared between their hot tongues and saliva. They weren’t sure whose it was. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were tearing one another asunder, hands tearing, lips bleeding, teeth biting.

Drawing back from the kiss, Dedue’s teal eyes stared back at Dimitri. He had to be sure that the prince wanted this; he would not be able to live with himself if he had intentionally hurt Dimitri more than what he was anticipating. The prince’s blue eye was watering, wobbling and threatening to spill tears and before they had a chance to fall, Dedue swiped his thumb over the prince’s eye, rubbing the tear away.

“Take me,” Dimitri whispered.

Dedue gripped the prince harshly by the hips and flipped him over on the bed quickly with such force that even Dimitri cried out in surprise. He whirled his head back to watch Dedue loom over him, running his hand over his bare cock, smearing what little pre-cum that had beaded at the top down the length.

Thick hands came and slapped down hard on both of Dimitri’s cheeks, spreading him wide and he felt the painful stinging stretch along his crack as his hole was borne to Dedue’s eyes. They had seen one another like this countless times and yet there was a fiery ravenous look dancing in his vassal’s eyes that turned his stomach hot.

Dedue spat against Dimitri’s hole and the prince moaned with desperation.

. This is what he needed.

“More,” he breathed.

Dedue obliged.

With another harsh crack, he brought his hand back down on Dimitri’s ass cheek, admiring with a guilty satisfaction the blooming red handprint that began to grow there. It was a strange sensation, Dedue thought. He liked the fact that he was marking the prince and yet couldn’t help the hot wave of guilt crashing down his forehead and tightening in his throat. But it was what was asked of him and he would always oblige Dimitri.

He used his thumb to spread his saliva over Dimitri’s hole and pushed his thick digit in. Dimitri’s body curled into the mattress, even more, back arching so that his stomach pressed flat against the sheets and his hips angled more upwards, to Dedue’s hands.

“Does it hurt, Your Highness?”

Yes,” Dimitri hissed as Dedue’s thick thumb rubbed inside of him. It was nowhere near satisfying and yet the slightly dry burn was what Dimitri needed.

“Do you want more?”

“Goddess, yes, Dedue, please. Take me, hurt me, mark me – I beg of you, please.”

With a feral growl, Dedue lined himself up with Dimitri’s unprepared entrance. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he could truly do this to his prince and hurt him so much in such an intimate place. But Dimitri reached back, one hand coming to Dedue’s hip and pulling him forward until the vassal had no choice but to push past the tight unstretched ring inside of Dimitri.

The prince’s mouth fell open, cheek pressed into the bed so that he could look at Dedue from over his shoulder. He admired that determined expression on his face, ever loyal and stalwart even during such intimate moments. Dimitri’s fingers sank into the hardened skin of Dedue’s hip and he forced the other forward more until with a painful ‘pop’, the head of Dedue’s cock slipped in.

Fuck, yes…” Dimitri hissed again, breathless. Dedue took a steadying breath and with the prince’s desperate eye locked with his, he eased his cock in, inch by inch, gritting his teeth as he felt just how tight Dimitri was.

“You are… impossibly tight, Your Highness… I… I am u-unsure if I-”

“You will fit. Make it fit,” Dimitri commanded and Dedue’s dick throbbed. Yes. Yes. He had to oblige his prince.

Gripping Dimitri’s hips with both hands, he sucked in a quick sharp breath and then pushed in. He was almost flush to the prince’s reddened ass when the other wailed in pain. He couldn’t even thrust in balls deep, as he had wanted, it was far too tight.

“This is… as far as I can g-go,” Dedue stuttered, hands kneading the soft but muscular skin of Dimitri’s ass.

“Move then. Make it burn.”

With a groan, Dedue nodded vehemently and drew back with a painful slide. What if Dimitri tore? What if he bled and stained Dedue’s cock with scarlet blood? With shame, Dedue moaned aloud at the thought; it was a malevolent and filthy thought and yet he knew that if such a thing were to happen, Dimitri would probably laugh and enjoy it.

Thankfully, there was no blood and so he kept easing his hips back and forth, shallowly at first until eventually, Dimitri’s hole learned to take the thick cock pushing into it. At first, his asshole was protesting against the intrusion but with each thrust deepening, it was opening up more, becoming looser.

“Is this what you wanted, Y-Your Highness?”

“Gods, Dedue, yes… yes!” Dimitri cried out, hiding his face in the sheets as he cried out the other’s name. The painful, high-pitched lilt and crack of the usually powerful voice made Dedue’s stomach knot and his heart flutter. He cried so pitifully because of him, and because of his cock.

He sped up, leaning over Dimitri so that his chest was flush to Dimitri’s sweaty back. He was burning up, slick and sticky with the effort of accommodating Dedue. The vassal leaned over the other, his mouth coming to Dimitri’s shoulder.

“I wish to mark you.”

Dimitri couldn’t even make a noise, face still buried in the sheets but Dedue could hear his scream loud and clear when he sank his teeth into the skin. Despite being marked and scarred by blades, arrows and axes, the sting of Dedue’s teeth was perhaps the most painful and delicious of them all.

Pain blossomed in Dimitri’s shoulder and his hips bucked back against Dedue, forcing him balls deep. The golden-skinned man gasped, hand sinking into Dimitri’s ass as he tried to control himself; he was close already, every sensation heightened by the intimacy of being allowed to hurt his prince.

“You are mine, Your Highness,” Dedue whispered, sucking hard into Dimitri’s shoulder at another spot, leaving a constellation of violet bruises between the silver scars.

“M-My name,” Dimitri gasped out, cock leaking against the bed, but he dared not reach for it; he did not deserve such pleasure and would only take what pain Dedue bestowed upon him.

“Oh… D-Dimitri… you are m-mine,” Dedue trembled. He forced his body against Dimitri, losing himself in his own pleasure and he knew he would regret it immediately afterwards but, at that moment, he did not care. He crushed the prince with his weight into the bed, using one elbow to support himself and let his other broad hand come to Dimitri’s hair. He gathered the filthy greasy bangs in his hand and yanked hard, forcing Dimitri’s head back.

The prince cried out pitifully, mouth agape, a bright red flush across his face. Dedue could not see his expression from here and, goddesses and gods, he wanted to; what kind of lewd face did Dimitri make when he was being fucked so roughly?

“Y-Yours,” Dimitri echoed, throat raw, voice cracking.

“Y-Your H-High-… Dimitri, Dimitri…” Dedue whispered the prince’s name over and over again like a prayer, keeping a firm hold on the prince’s unwashed hair, lathing his tongue with force over the marks peppering Dimitri’s right shoulder. He bit down again, at the nape of his neck, kissing, biting, sucking, alternating between each motion wildly.

“I… Dedue… I am close…”

“Let go for me, Dimitri… let out all your pain… c-cum for me.” The word felt filthy on his tongue and yet, it felt right. Dimitri’s body went taught and completely untouched, motivated and commanded solely by Dedue’s gravelly deep voice whispering in his ear, he came. He leaned his forehead against the bed and let a broken cry come from his mouth, dissipating into nothing but a cracked whisper.

The force of his orgasm hit him harder than any punch. It sucked all the wind out of him, and his balls tightened and pulsed as rope after rope of cum spurted out onto the sheets beneath him, smearing between his body and the bed. He did not care for how filthy it was that his own seed stained his already filthy skin, relishing in the euphoria and brief moment of bliss.

Dimitri felt like he was floating. No voices whispering in his head, no twisted desire to spill blood, no uncontrollable rage, simply felicity.

Dedue shuddered above him, drawing him back to reality and his vassal groaned loudly, crying out his name as he emptied himself inside, as deeply as he possibly could. This was what he had craved; even as Dedue’s hips stilled and he was left only twitching inside his prince, Dimitri could feel the sting of his asshole and knew he would feel it for days afterwards.

The burning of his neck and throat was also hard to ignore but like his battles-cars, he knew he would wear the violet bruises and deep incisions with pride.

“Your Highness…” Dedue breathed, nosing at the skin behind Dimitri’s ear. Sapped of all energy, neither man could move. Dimitri hummed softly in response. “I apologise for any harm I may have caused you.”

“It is quite alright… I asked it of you.”

“Nonetheless… I cannot help but feel guilty for injuring the man I swore to protect.”

“Dedue, please… I asked it of you. We will not speak of it anymore.”

Dedue fell silent and Dimitri could feel him nod against his back and he kissed the sticky skin chastely. Dimitri could feel his one eye sliding shut until Dedue pushed himself up and with a wince, pulled his cock out.

“I have done… oh…”

A gentle smirk crawled across Dimitri’s lips and he glanced at Dedue through fair lashes. “Is it an admirable sight?”

The golden-skinned man’s face turned an embarrassingly deep shade of red at Dimitri’s words and the prince chuckled quietly. “Your Highness.”

“Dimitri,” he reminded.

“Ah… Dimitri,” Dedue said. The name still tasted foreign on his lips but hoped that soon he would acquire a taste for it. “I believe that we should get you cleaned up.”

“It has been some time since I have been clean… I have forgotten when I last bathed.”

Dedue said nothing, without judgement, and stood slowly, reaching for his discarded trousers and pulling them back on. “Do not fall asleep quite yet, Dimitri… I will carry you to the bathhouse.”

“I am quite capable of walking, Dedue.”

“Forgive my impudence, but after… that… I do not think you can.”

Chapter Text

Jeritza was not the only man in the monastery to wear a mask.

That new professor, Jeralt Eisner’s son, he was a mysterious man. Jeritza had started to watch him since he first set foot in the monastery. There was an indescribably mysterious aura around that man; he had turquoise hair and matching eyes so that he looked nothing like his father. Rumours briefly circulated about the legitimacy of the professor being Jeralt’s son, but Rhea herself quickly quashed the drivel.

His name was Byleth. Byleth. What a strange name. Jeritza tasted it on his lips and found that he did not dislike it.

What he did dislike, however, was how taciturn the new professor was. He barely spoke and Jeritza could probably count on a single hand how many words he had heard the man utter. He could not even remember what the man’s voice sounded like.

Plenty of times the professor was with his students, nodding, shaking his head and humming deep in thought. He probably spoke often to his students – how else would he be able to lecture? He also saw the stoic professor dashing around the monastery with an impressive amount of stamina, returning lost items to students.

Jeritza tutted and scowled. What a pathetically charitable cause.

Still, he could not deny that his curiosity had been peaked by the new arrival. The professor said little, expressed little and no-one knew much about them except that they were Jeralt’s son, they were a mercenary, and that they were called the ‘Ashen Demon’ because of the lack of emotion they displayed during battle.

Apparently, they were merciless. Bathing in the blood of their enemies, the new professor apparently gave no indication about whether or not they cared for the lives they took. They simply did their job. Jeritza could admire that.

So when he asked for a sparring match and, wordlessly, the professor accepted by nodding, he felt a strange rush. A bolt of energy coursed through him and settled in the pit of his stomach, tickling his fingertips, aching to take his sword in hand.

What on earth was that?

Excitement? Anticipation? Thrill?

Jeritza scowled from behind his mask and took his sword in hand, unsheathing it and spinning it deftly between his fingers. The professor glanced over at the rack of weapons, staring at the wooden training swords but Jeritza shook his head. He would communicate equally as wordlessly. The professor understood and drew out his own steel sword, holding it before him in a ready stance, both hands firmly wrapped around the hilt.

Jeritza darted forward quickly, lunging with his sword aimed at the professor. This was not a fight to the death, just a test. He knew that the professor would read him and that was precisely what he did, dancing quickly with a twirl so that he spun away from the blade, darting forward with his own sword, bringing it towards the blade-master in a crescent sweep.

The blond-haired man easily ducked beneath it and sprang back to his feet, charging once more at the professor. Their swords clashed, the sound of metal against metal echoing up through the amphitheatre dome of the training grounds, calling up to the skies. Both men were quick on their feet, dashing and skimming against the gravelled ground, kicking up dust in their wake.

He was skilled, there was no doubt that. Quick with a blade and even quicker with his mind, Jeritza felt he was matched for once. The endeavour to narrowly avoid the point of Byleth’s blade was sending an exhilarating rush through his body. It was an alien feeling, one that Jeritza was unaccustomed to; he had never been pushed to this point of exertion whilst sparring before and the sweat beading at his brow felt uncomfortable. He had never felt himself actually sweat whilst sparring. His teeth grit together painfully, grinding slightly and his mask was slipping from his face.

The sweat collecting along his hairline was causing his mask to become uncomfortable against his skin. Jeritza could feel the frustration washing over him, empowering his movements, making him sharper and cleaner, focused on catching the professor off-guard.

As his mask slipped, he also wanted the professor’s to slip too.

That stoic expression… it had to be an act. It had to be. Just a way to appear as someone unshakable, someone unperturbed by anything. Jeritza wanted more than to defeat the professor in battle; he wanted to shatter that mask.

Dancing around one another, both men were panting but neither stopped nor relented, intent on outlasting the other. Their stamina was impeccable, equally matched.

With a quick dash forward, Jeritza placed a foot between the professor’s legs and pulled himself into the space, sword skimming the professor’s side. For a fraction of a second, his eyes widened. Yes. That was what Jeritza had wanted to see.

Fear. Uncertainty.

A cruel smile crossed his lips as he met Byleth’s turquoise eyes and used his free hand to fist into the front of Byleth’s uniform, clutching at where the coat was buttoned together at the front, draped over his shoulder like a cape. Violently, he shoved him backwards and the professor crashed into the wall behind him, a sharp gasp of pain tumbling from his lips.

So that was what he sounded like when he was hurt.

Jeritza liked it.

Byleth hung his head but his eyes remained trained on Jeritza who paced towards the younger professor slowly. Their eyes were locked, unblinking. Byleth’s eyebrows furrowed together slightly when Jeritza stood mere inches from him, staring down at him, hand still clutching at his sword.

“You are good,” the blade-master said, placid and quiet, trying to control his breathing.

“As are you.” Byleth’s voice was deep, uneven breathing tainting the usually stoic voice. Byleth raised his head back up but still, Jeritza towered over him by a considerable amount, casting a looming shadow over him. The younger, shorter professor attempted a glare and Jeritza sniggered; it was a pathetic attempt.

“You are, in fact, exceptionally talented,” he said, sheathing his sword back in its hilt. Byleth kept the other’s stare, still not letting his guard down and from the corner of his eye, Jeritza caught the professor’s hand tightening over his sword, still.

This time, Byleth said nothing. Annoyance flared through Jeritza. He rarely gave out compliments and this small man before him disregarded it completely.

Jeritza’s hand shot up and clamped over Byleth’s throat. It was narrower and more delicate than he had thought, leather-clad hand tightening quickly as he gripped. The professor’s eyes widened again, far more noticeable this time and he let go of his sword. It clattered against the stone floor loudly as his fingers flew to try and release Jeritza’s iron grip.

“That mask of yours,” the blond mused. “Perhaps it is not as unbreakable as you make others believe.”

“Mask?”

Jeritza growled lowly. Feigning annoyance; it grated him. His grip tightened.

“This impassive persona you have created… I see right through it.” Jeritza stepped closer, bringing his face in so that he could see every sliver of sweat along the professor’s sticky forehead and every wispy eyelash. “Do not think you can fool me, professor.”

“Fool? I do not understand,” Byleth managed out with the hand still clamped over his throat.

Jeritza snarled. “Do not play coy with me, it serves you no advantage. Who are you? Truly? You are not who you claim to be.”

Byleth’s lips quirked into a smirk. A smirk. “And neither are you, Emile.”

Jeritza froze. No. There was no way he knew; it was a wild arrow in the dark that had miraculously sought and hit its target. But the cocky smirk plastered across the smaller man’s lips made an icy wave of fear crash over him. He knew. Somehow, he fucking knew. He squeezed harder and hissed through his clenched teeth.

“How dare you speak that name. Who told you?”

Byleth coughed and his eyes fluttered for a brief second before they refocused, as hollow as ever. “You are blatantly transparent, Emile. Do not think you can fool me either.”

Fury raging in his eyes, Jeritza lunged forward, capturing the professor’s lips in a brutal kiss. It was more teeth than anything, biting at the other’s lower lip and pulling at it to make it bleed. The professor said nothing and made no noise, simply allowed the enraged man to attack him – he could barely move with the hand across his throat, crushing his windpipe, regardless.

The taste of copper flooded Jeritza’s mouth and he groaned into the kiss. It was violent, exactly the way he liked it. His tongue lapped up the blood and he forced it into the professor’s mouth, searching out the other’s tongue. It greeted him, pliant and passive.

The professor’s kissing technique was totally mismatched against his fighting style; elegant and confident with a blade, Byleth fumbled cluelessly as Jeritza quickly dominated the kiss, rolling his tongue in the other’s mouth. The younger professor simply accepted it, taking what little pleasure he could from the ferocious kiss, learning along the way.

Jeritza tore away from the kiss and gazed at Byleth’s lower lip; it was slick with saliva and reddened by his blood. He could see it seeping through the wound he had created with his teeth and he swallowed.

“Tell me… is this your… secret technique, Emile?” Byleth taunted. His air supply was becoming dangerously low and his head was swimming but before the masked professor, he dared not let his composure slip.

Jeritza glared furiously. “Silence.”

With a quick kick to the professor’s feet, he spread them apart and the blond attacked the stoic man’s belt. He was angry; he had never felt rage like this before. He had always thought he was playing his part well, biding his time until he was called upon, but this new man, this imposter of a man, a demon in human skin, saw right through his act. Just how much did he know?

Unable to express his frustrations properly, he decided he would attack the professor in the cruellest way he knew how. It also satisfied a sadistically curious part of him.

Jeritza’s gloved hands yanked the professor’s trousers and small clothes down quickly. The limp and small cock was borne to his lavender eyes and he scoffed. His fingers came to hold it, examining it, before he let it go.

Pathetic,” he murmured, flickering his gaze up to the professor. A light pink blush stained the tips of the other man’s ears and Jeritza was grateful for the mask that covered his own face for he was sure that he was equally as pink. In all truth, he was also flustered holding the professor’s cock in his hands; he did not anticipate things would come to this when he rose from his bed that morning.

“Emile…” Byleth breathed.

Jeritza hesitated for a moment, gazing back at the professor. The mask had slipped; teal brows were knit together, scarlet painted his cheeks, and parted lips panted, stained with blood. No. He could not tolerate such an expression staring back at him.

He spun the professor around and forced his chest against the stone wall. This was much better; now, Jeritza didn’t have to stare back at such an earnest expression.

Perhaps it was better if Byleth kept that stoic mask on.

But it was too late to stop now, Jeritza had already breached that barrier and was determined to finish what he had started.

“Do not gaze upon me with such a pitiful expression,” Jeritza whispered into the professor’s ear, having to lean down slightly. “It only makes me want to hurt you more.”

Byleth sucked in a sharp breath when Jeritza’s leather-gloved hand came to his ass, palming at the soft, pale skin. The blond swordsman slid a finger down the crack, admiring the perfect curve of the professor’s supple, muscular behind. He had never given it much thought before but knew that the image and feeling of it would be forever burned in his mind.

Jeritza put his gloved hand to his own mouth, spat over his fingers and did his best to lubricate them before bringing them back down between Byleth’s legs. The younger professor tensed and clutched at the wall, seeking respite, especially when the blond let his gloved finger slide into the first knuckle. The feel of leather inside his ass was uncomfortable, but not unpleasant. Byleth needed movement.

The other man readily obliged, pushing his finger in just a little before pulling back. Steadily, he built up a rhythm, pumping one finger in and out of Byleth’s tight hole. Goddess, he was impossibly tight.

“Have you ever been touched here before, professor?”

“No… never,” the other man gasped out.

Jeritza sniggered confidently. He was the first to see the man this way. “How does it feel to have your façade broken? I have seen your most honest expressions now… look at yourself; your body is more honest than your mouth.”

“E-Emile,” Byleth stuttered.

Jeritza’s lip curled up in contempt and he cruelly forced a second finger into Byleth’s ass. The professor silenced a cry by biting down on his wounded lip, but the other man could see how much pain he was in. It was satisfying the heartless side of him and he relished in that distressed expression.

Two fingers slid in slowly, met with some resistance but quickly the professor’s body opened up. Spitting against the professor’s exposed hole, the fingers moved in easier and soon, Jeritza found he could no longer hold himself back.

“I am not the only person in this monastery that wears a mask… but soon, I will be. I will tear yours apart and shatter you into a thousand pieces,” he whispered hotly against Byleth’s ear. The smaller professor trembled, and Jeritza had to close his eyes behind his own mask, afraid that if he gazed upon the professor’s face, he would lose control.

Unbuckling himself and shoving his breeches down just enough to expose his cock, he lazily worked his glove up and down it. Pressing the head to Byleth’s hole, he took in a breath and then let it all out as he shoved in.

“E-Emile!”

Byleth’s voice cracked as he cried out and Jeritza grit his teeth. No. He could not take such honest vestal noises. He was a man of violence, of blood and war and such noises attacked him in a way he had never felt before.

He wrapped one hand around Byleth’s mouth, silencing him and soon, he started to move. Jeritza’s hips were slow at first, granting himself the chance to become accustomed to Byleth’s tight ass but, soon he was pistoning himself in and out. Mirroring his fighting style, Jeritza was quick and forceful, slapping against Byleth’s ass.

The moans were largely muffled by the glove wrapped over his mouth, but Byleth couldn’t help the cries that tumbled forth. Jeritza was glad he had silenced the man; he was not sure if he could tolerate hearing his true name coming from the younger man’s lips.

“Professor… no… Byleth… oh, if only you could see yourself, your true self,” Jeritza groaned, biting at the shell of the other’s ear. To compare the man being fucked against the wall beneath him to the man who he had sparred with mere moments before was a startling contrast. The man with a sword in his hand was a force to be reckoned with, a flurry of iron and power but with a cock up his ass, he was a pitiful excuse for a mercenary.

“I will tear you asunder… I will break you… o-oh, f-fuck-” Jeritza grit out. His teeth felt like they might shatter as his movements, still rhythmic and controlled, came harder. Byleth was shoved up against the wall with each forceful thrust, chin skimming the cold hard stone. His eyes were shut but his moans and gasps and cries still tumbled forth.

Jeritza removed his hand for just a brief moment, allowing Byleth to suck in a deep breath. “Oh, it feels… I… h-hah, this…”

A dark chuckle came from the swordsman’s lips. “Lost for words, professor? How ironic.”

“I… c-close… so close…” Byleth panted. His hands were braced against the wall before him, and Jeritza had one hand on Byleth’s hip and the other was leaned on the wall beside Byleth’s. He would cum untouched.

Byleth… hah, so this is what type of man you are… very well, let it all out. Let me hear your honest voice.”

With a cry, Byleth came. His cock bounced in the air, spurting shot after shot of cum against the stone and it rolled down to the floor. His dick throbbed and balls tightened around nothing, the ruined satisfaction of his orgasm coursing like wildfire through his veins.

Jeritza had never heard such a noise before. It was broken, a shattered cry from a ruined man, exposed and ruined. Thrusting once, twice, three times, he pulled out quickly and his gloved hand flew over his cock and he emptied himself on the floor between Byleth’s legs. His cock jumped in his hand and Jeritza bit back a moan, grunting as he pumped himself through his orgasm.

Jeritza had never felt anything like that before. As vulnerable as Byleth felt, Jeritza too, felt like his defences were shattered. He had let his guard down to taint and soil the young professor, to vent his frustrations and exert his anger out on the lithe but strong body. He had left himself open to an attack he took a staggering step back, clutching at his own head and hair; how could he have been so careless? How could be have been so foolish as to give in to carnal desire?

Byleth pushed himself into a standing position, no longer leaning on the wall for support, but Jeritza could see the tremble in his legs. Both men tucked themselves away and Byleth crouched down to pick up his discarded sword, sheathing it with his back still turned to Jeritza.

“Thank you for the spar,” the swordsman said coolly.

But when Byleth turned around, an icy shudder ran through Jeritza when the usual stoic mask returned to the professor’s face, as if nothing had happened. “No, thank you.”

Chapter Text

“You are absolutely certain of this?”

“They don’t call me ‘Thunder Catherine’ for nothing!”

Shamir rolled her eyes and tightened the leather straps binding Catherine’s wrists together. She pulled on them and when Catherine gave her a quick nod, she yanked tighter, securing the metal buckle so that the tight pressure remained so firm around the other’s tanned skin, Shamir could see the bulge of skin around the restraint.

“Too tight?”

“No. It’s fine,” Catherine smiled. Even like this, bare upon the bed and tied up so that she almost entirely powerless, she smiled brightly. It was a lop-sided grin, flashing pearly white teeth back at her partner. That was what they were; partners.

Shamir settled back onto her knees and ran her smaller pale hands over Catherine’s strong thighs; they were thick and strongly muscled, golden in colour and probably strong enough to crush a man’s head between them. Knowing her, she would likely attempt such a thing in battle if given the opportunity. Lightly, Shamir raked her nails over the skin, skimming up and down as she watched Catherine’s legs twitch and she let a breathy chuckle past her lips.

“Come, love, I’m not that sensitive. You can be rough with me.”

“You will regret those words later,” Shamir retorted, picking up the leather riding crop and rubbing the leather end of it against the inside of Catherine’s thigh.

O-Ooh, I did not know this was how we would be playing tonight,” Catherine laughed again, throat hitching feeling the leather against her skin. Her partner had implied something about being extra adventurous that night, but she had not anticipated this. They had used restraints in the past, it was one of their agreed-upon flavours in the bedroom but this, the crop, it was new. And Catherine was already salivating.

The sensation of the leather creeping along her skin coupled with Shamir’s steady lavender gaze made Catherine tremble and that did not happen often. Her taught stomach twitched with anticipation when the crop skimmed over her bare pussy, through the short blonde hairs and over her body.

With a sharp movement, Shamir slapped the crop against Catherine’s stomach. The sword-master gasped and then exhaled, trying to laugh away the arousal that was pooling in her stomach and cunt. Shamir eyed the other woman up, admiring the light flutter of the muscles twitching in Catherine’s golden stomach, pulled tight with anticipation, waiting for the next slap.

“Count them.”

Catherine nodded quickly and hissing between her teeth, she gasped out after each quick slap against her skin. It was sharp and painful, but she enjoyed it, the electrifying feeling of being struck and the shudders it sent down to her pussy. Her legs wanted to close and clamp together, but Shamir positioned between them made sure that she couldn’t do it.

“You did wonderfully,” Shamir praised, skimming her leather-gloved hand over Catherine’s quivering thigh, trying to soothe the war-maiden. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m on fire… touch me,” Catherine asked, eyes ablaze with want. Shamir darted her tongue over her lips and nodded quickly, manoeuvring Catherine’s legs so that she could slide between them.

With one leg still flat on the bed, Shamir shifted and raised one leg over Catherine’s hip and flipped Catherine’s other leg over her own hip so that the two women sat scissoring one another. Their pussies were achingly close to one another and Catherine swore she could feel the heat radiating off Shamir against her own aching cunt. Her head tilted back against the bed and her arms weakly pulled at the restraints, closing her eyes to try and steady herself.

“The great ‘Thunder Catherine’ is crumbling already?” Shamir mused teasingly.

“Not a chance,” Catherine retorted, fixing her face with a more determined expression, a confident grin across her lips but it faltered quickly when Shamir moved that little bit closer so that her pussy pushed flush to Catherine’s.

Both women moaned, Catherine throwing her head back once more to stare at the ceiling. She wrenched her eyes shut when she felt Shamir rock her hips and another moan tumbled from her lips feeling Shamir’s delicate leather hands caress her thigh, the one laying over the other’s hip. Those gloves, goddess, they did things to her; she never realised she had such a thing for them until Shamir had forgotten to take them off one time during their intimate moments and from there, it spiralled into something Catherine needed in order to get off.

“Touch me,” Catherine gasped out and Shamir eagerly obliged. Her leather gloves roamed over the strong golden skin, squeezing and kneading as she rocked her hips upwards, canting into the slippery heat of Catherine’s cunt. Both women were soaked, and the mixture of their juices made the slide that much easier for both of them.

More,” Catherine begged again.

“So impatient,” Shamir tutted. “I will not be through with you soon. There will be plenty of time to touch you.”

“Goddess, I need you now, Shamir…”

Bucking upwards, Shamir gasped sharply feeling her clit rub hard against Catherine’s pelvic bone. The pressure was immense, something her body had been aching for and she had to slow down. She could not finish so soon, not when she was the one in control. She wanted Catherine to be the first to come undone.

So, Shamir picked up the crop again and with a gentle slap, brought it down on Catherine’s clit. The war maiden's hips bucked upwards hard, coming clean off the bed as she cried out sharply. The burning fire that sparked within her clit when the leather came down upon her was scorching. It felt good, far too good.

“Shamir… goddess, do that again.”

She did. Bringing the crop down with a firmer smack, she hit Catherine’s clit once more and the woman cried out beneath her. Her golden body glistened with sweat and Shamir raked her nails down the strong thighs again, deeper this time to leave scarlet tracks in her wake.

“You like the pain,” Shamir commented.

“No… it’s the leather,” Catherine admitted, head still angled backwards, mouth agape and panting. “I love the feel of it against my skin.”

“Is that so?”

Yes. Your gloves, the restraints, the crop… everything, it feels so good.”

With the other’s head tilted back, Shamir allowed herself the chance to smile. She loved it when Catherine was honest, lost in own dizzying haze of lust she did not know what she was saying. It was interesting to say the least, to know that Catherine enjoyed the feel of leather so much; Shamir could do plenty with this information and tease her partner relentlessly over the coming weeks and months.

She pressed the end of the crop into Catherine’s clit, holding it there and rocked her hips again. Soon, the rhythm became steady, quickly building into a constant gyrating of hips, moans becoming louder, gasps of breath shorter. Shamir admired the golden glisten of her partner’s skin, nails raking over the abdominal muscles laid bare before her eyes like a work of art.

“Goddess… I’m… close,” Catherine panted.

“So soon?”

“Y-Yes, it feels… so good, Shamir, please… more, hit me again.”

Shamir cracked the leather down on Catherine’s stomach, to the left of her bellybutton. The woman whimpered; that was not where she wanted to feel it, but it stoked the blazing fire in the pit of her stomach regardless. Shamir’s hips never relented, rocking and bucking, sliding against her cunt. Another sharp crack came to the right of her belly button, slightly lower this time, and then a third, directly against her short pubic hair.

“Sh-Shamir, I’m… almost there, come o-on, I-”

Finally, at long last, the leather of the crop connected with the hardened nub of Catherine’s clit and that was all it took. A bolt of electricity shot through her and her body arched off the bed, wrists straining against the leather of her bonds. Shamir’s name came from Catherine’s throat, echoing around the room and both women were sure that whoever else was in the monastery had heard her cry.

Gazing at Catherine coming undone, Shamir rocked more earnestly. She wrapped both her arms around Catherine’s thick thigh, pressing her lips into the skin but not concentrating on kissing, instead focusing on chasing her impending orgasm. It was knotted in her stomach and then, it unravelled.

Shamir came too, quivering against her partner’s body and she felt her arousal gush from her cunt, soaking and sliding against Catherine’s. Their slicked mixed juices coated their thighs, dripping down to their perineum and over the bedsheets.

Letting go reluctantly, Shamir placed a real kiss to the inside of Catherine’s knee.

“Hah… that… my wrists hurt,” Catherine breathed.

With a gentle sigh and quick heave, Shamir leaned over her partner -her lover- and unclasped the metal buckle, letting Catherine rub at her own sore wrists. She still sat with her legs hooked over the other’s, smoothing her gloved hands over the skin.

“My gloves excite you that much?” Shamir asked.

Catherine looked up and nodded quickly, reaching with one hand towards Shamir. The azure-haired archer took it, untangling her legs and laid beside Catherine. A golden finger traced the deep line of her cleavage where her breasts squished against one another and a kissed was pressed to her forehead.

“Yeah. They… really get me going,” the quiet voice came.

“I will be sure to tease you with them relentlessly from now on.”

Catherine spluttered and shook her head, but her cheeks were turning pink. “No! Don’t! I might not be able to concentrate on the battlefield and then I’ll really get killed. I’ll end up dead!”

Shamir laughed and nestled into the soft but strong body of her lover. “For some reason, I doubt that.”

Chapter Text

“Petra!”

“Claude, stay away. I am knowing what you are looking for.”

Petra folded her arms over her chest and swept her long fuchsia hair over her shoulder despite Claude coming to soothe his hands over her arms, smiling at her. He kissed her cheek and she turned her head away.

“My flower, you are beautiful today,” Claude murmured against her golden skin and Petra tried to ignore the ticklish sensation ghosting along her neck. His hands were skimming over, but she still stood defiant.

“I am knowing what you want, Claude. It is not time.”

“Aw, come on, my petal,” Claude kissed at Petra’s neck again and this time she turned and scowled up at him, pointing up at Claude’s face. He raised his hands and laughed slightly, trying to defuse the situation.

“It is not time. It will still be hurting.”

“They don’t hurt! You can give me another!”

Petra whirled on the spot and decided to march to her room. Claude had been pestering her for the last few months to pierce his nipples. It was an outlandish and strange request, something Petra did not expect to ever hear coming from the Almyran. He approached her, asking about Brigid traditions but she quickly realised that he had something specific to ask and that he was not merely curious about her culture. He asked her about her tattoos and their significance and if piercings had any meaning in her country; she explained that though some did -studs embedded into the upper-chest for warriors to show strength, or glistening diamonds into the side of the nose to show marital status for women- not all piercings meant something.

He then asked her if she would help to pierce him.

She remembered her mouth hanging open and confusion welling up inside her. Why her? Why not someone who was actually trained in it all? True, the pair had been together for several years now, though had not tied the knot because of busy schedules across both their ruling countries, so it was clear he trusted her. But she did not know the first thing about piercing another’s skin unless it was with a sword through the heart.

So, she read up on it, devoting hours and days and weeks of her time reading up on how to properly and safely make incisions upon her partner and lover. It was a strange thing, she thought.

Nonetheless, it was done. And despite her rigid and firm reminders about aftercare and keeping his new nipple piercings clean, Claude still pestered her about more.

Petra threw open her bedroom door and tried to shut it when Claude jammed his foot in the doorway. The Brigid princess scowled and moved to take out her earrings and lay them upon her dresser, back still to the Almyran heir.

“They don’t hurt anymore, Petra. I took care of everything like you told me to,” Claude said, arms open in a relaxed gesture, half-shrugging.

Petra took out one earring using the mirror, glared at Claude’s reflection. “It is not the hurting I am worried about. It is the cleaning of it. What if you are going to get an infection?”

“Then I’ll get Manuela or Marianne to fix it,” he grinned, approaching her again, gazing at her through the mirror, kissing her temple, hands caressing over her shoulders once more, then dancing to skim her ribs and his fingers tickled the sides of her breasts, where her skin was revealed and not covered by her outfit. She swatted his hand away.

“Do not be getting Marianne in this! She is innocent! You cannot show her your body!”

“Why, my love?” Claude smirked, leaning down and kissing the nape of her neck, brushing her hair out the way so his lips could trail over her tanned skin. “Are you… jealous?”

Petra flushed red and tutted again, annoyed with Claude. She brushed past him and sat on her bed, unlacing the intricate laces of her furry leather boots. Claude knelt before her and took the boot in his hands instead, giving her a genuine smile and she tutted, allowing him to do it instead. She still had her arms folded over her chest.

“Have I hit the nail on the head?” he grinned.

“What nails are you hitting? There are no nails in my boots,” Petra said. Claude blinked a few times then erupted into laughter, shaking his head, removing one boot and then kneeled upwards so that he could kiss his partner’s lips chastely.

“You are adorable,” he smiled.

“Ah,” Petra turned light pink. “I have been misunderstanding again, yes?”

“It’s a tricky one that, don’t worry about it,” Claude said, reaching for and starting to undo Petra’s other boot. She watched him with her deep brown eyes; he was being gentle and kind with her, but she couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he was already plotting something new. He always was; scheming, watching, calculating, even when it came to her. Claude’s kindness never came without a trick.

“I never tire of touching or looking at your body, my flower,” Claude murmured, kissing the inside of Petra’s calf and her knee. She had tattoos marking her body, more than she had when she was a student during her brief return to Brigid. She came back when she heard that her old professor would be waging war upon Edelgard and reuniting with all her old classmates felt better than sitting upon any throne in arid badlands.

“You are wanting something,” she said quietly, but Petra nonetheless enjoyed the feeling of Claude’s lips against her skin, dancing up her right leg. She felt the curl of his lips against her thigh and he looked upwards at her.

“You know me too well,” he admitted.

Petra sighed and shook her head. “I will not be touching of them. It is too soon.”

“Please, my dear, just a little,” Claude begged, rising from his kneeling position so he could put one knee on the bed, beside Petra’s hip and as he leaned closer to her face, she leaned back, still frowning. He was pushing her, trying to get her to give in. His breath was hot in her face and all she could see were his bright green eyes, twinkling with mischief.

“If I am touching them, then you will stop asking?”

“… I might,” he winked, kissing her lips sweetly. Petra huffed a sighed and tutted, but she gestured for Claude to move up onto the bed more. He excitedly jumped up, kicking off his boots with no grace and lay flat on his back, arms behind his head as he settled against Petra’s pillow as if it were his own bed. The Brigid princess tried to frown but couldn’t help but smile at her partner; he was always so strange around her.

“You will tell me if it hurts,” she reminded him, raising a finger pointedly. Claude nodded quickly. He was dressed down, out of his usual garb and in nothing more than his khaki coloured loose breeches and a loose white tunic, which billowed as he walked. The strings used to tie up the front were undone, hanging limply at his chest; he dressed his way on purpose.

Petra’s eyes narrowed as she gazed at his shirt. “I told you to wear tight shirts. It helps with the piercing. Keeps them in.”

“I am. It’s underneath,” Claude winked. “Strip me and take a look for yourself.”

Petra shifted up on the bed and straddled Claude, fingers pulling at his shirt and he arched off the bed to help her slide it over his head. She tossed the white tunic aside and hummed appreciatively when her hands came to skin over a tight black vest underneath. She was firstly pleased that Claude was following her instruction -for the first time ever- and more so pleased by how firm his body was.

It had been a while since she had touched him as she wanted his nipples to heal. Skimming her hands over the black cotton, Petra enjoyed the feeling of his taught stomach under her fingers. She loved his body, even if she didn’t say it often, afraid it would inflate his ego more than it already was. Her eyes were focused hard on the black fabric because, at his pectoral muscles, she could see two tiny bulges where the piercings were.

“You have been taking care of them?”

“Yes,” Claude breathed. “Just like you said.”

“Good. I am pleased,” Petra said, untucking the shirt from Claude’s breeches. She rolled the shirt up and off his body; it almost stuck to him with how tight it was but it revealed inch after inch of hard golden muscle to her hungry eyes and she couldn’t help but salivate at the sight of it. She brought the roll of fabric just beneath his pectorals and skimmed her hands over his stomach again.

Petra took in a breath and then kissed just above his bellybutton. Claude sucked in a breath, perhaps where the pressure of her breasts came to rest directly above his cock. Her bronze eyes flicked up to Claude’s face and she saw the strong outline of his jaw and chin with his head tilted back. Some hair still fell into his face and she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest before her like a golden plane of beauty.

“Touch me,” Claude gasped.

“You are wanting,” Petra noted, skimming her mouth further up her lover’s strong chest, dancing over the fine black hairs that tickled his sternum. She lifted his undershirt so that it didn’t pull at the piercings and pushed it up towards his chin. He brought his face down to gaze at her and Petra saw how red he was.

“Y-Yes,” Claude breathed. Petra blinked a few times; Claude was a passionate lover, always managing to make her cry out and moan in pleasure in ways she never thought possible. But this was the first time she had seen him looking so debauched, so needy and so… wrecked.

“I barely touched you.”

“I want you to more.”

“Where?” she asked coyly, and Claude groaned. It was low and rumbled in his chest. Petra felt the vibrations with her breasts squished up against him, the feeling of beaded necklaces, leather and fur all tickling his bare body and there was something exciting about being stripped before Petra’s predatory gaze whilst she was still clothed that excited him.

“You know where,” he grit out between clenched teeth. A cheeky smile crossed Petra’s lips and her fingers came to brush over Claude’s right nipple. Immediately, his voice caught in his throat, breath hitching, as she skimmed the brown nub. There was a metal bar going through his nipple and she admired her own handiwork. It seemed that Claude was true to his word because the hole was closed with no blood around the metal or on his skin.

“Is it here?”

“Petra! Y-Yes! Gods, that-” Claude laughed a little, running a hand over his forehead and into his hair, fisting his own thick, unruly brown locks. He gazed down the length of his own body at Petra and felt his stomach grow hotter when he saw her smirk grow wider.

“You are still sensitive? Perhaps… I should be stopping,” she said, bringing her fingers back and Claude whimpered. He actually whimpered; a whiny, high-pitched noise that he didn’t even know he could make. Petra stopped too and then laughed, bringing a hand to her mouth to try and hide her own amusement but it was futile. Claude was already blushing red and he turned his head to the side.

Petra leaned up and over Claude’s body and for a moment, he thought that she might kiss him, but instead, her breasts just hovered before his face.

“M-My love?”

“I am searching,” she said. He realised her hand was fumbling around in her bedside table until she procured a small glass bottle, sealed tight with a cork and some clear liquid inside. Claude shivered when he heard the cork pop. Petra dribbled some of the liquid into her hand and recorked the bottle, drawing her palms together to coat her hands in the oil.

Claude shivered again, more violent this time in apprehension.

“You are impatient.”

“Y-Yes… I can’t help it, I want you to touch me,” he gasped out, eyes entranced by the rhythmic and slick movements of her shiny golden hands wrapping over one another and he wanted his cock between those hands so badly. But instead, she pushed her hands against his flat stomach and then moved upwards, towards his nipples. He felt his cock strain harder against his breeches, aching and pushing up against Petra’s mound but she gave no reaction.

Her fingers rubbed over the pert, alert nipples. They were hard already, though Petra was unsure if it was because he was turned on, it was slightly cold, or because of the metal bar going through his skin. She pressed down a little firmer on the brown nubs, testing Claude’s sensitivity and a pleasurable moan tore from his throat.

O-Oh, oh, Petra… more,” he asked. The Brigid princess hummed quietly, and she started to rub the pad of her middle fingers over each nipple in circles, the oil making the movement quick and slick. Claude’s hips jumped off the bed, bumping against Petra and she gasped quietly.

“Your body is reacting,” Petra said. She cocked her head to the side then pushed down harder on Claude’s nipples. The cry that came from him this time was anguished, cracked with pleasure and he shook his head back and forth. “Is it too much?”

“Yes, yes, it’s too much but… goddess, it feels so good… please…”

Petra had never seen the Almyran heir crumble before her so quickly. Usually, he was the one in charge, though he did allow her the chance occasionally, only to swiftly retake control. This time, lying on her bed, hands fisted in hair and bedsheets, his hips were bucking like an animal in heat against her.

“Too much? But you want more?”

“Petra, please!”

“What is it you are wanting?” The princess had never felt control like this before. The power was almost suffocating, it felt good to hear Claude plead for more like this.

“My cock… I want to cum, I’m already…” he laughed quickly, “too close.”

“Your nipples have become so sensitive since I pierced them… and you say you want more?”

Claude groaned and nodded, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat. Yes, yes, he wanted more piercings. That sharp biting pain he felt when Petra pierced his nipple with an arrowhead was addicting; she daubed off the blood when it happened and when she inserted the metal bar it hurt again, searing and scorching through his chest hotly. When he had his ears done, he felt nothing. But his nipples, goddess, that was electrifying.

And ever since that day, Claude wondered where else she would pierce him.

Obliging her partner, Petra pulled Claude’s breeches and smallclothes down enough just for his cock to bob out. It bounced and slapped against his stomach, leaving a small dab of precum just beneath his bellybutton. Petra smiled down at it.

“Already like this when I have not been touching it,” she said. Her hand came down to Claude’s cock, slick and oiled up fingertip pressing into the bead of precum. “How long will you last?”

“N-Not long,” Claude moaned. Petra grinned, pride welling in her chest as her fingertips scratched and rubbed only over the head of Claude’s cock. His hips were bumping up against hers and she took her hand off his cock to hold him down by his hip against the best.

“If you are moving, I will stop. Be still,” she commanded. Claude nodded quickly and eagerly, breathing a sigh of relief when Petra’s fingers rubbed over the head again, rubbing her palm over the tip. He moaned louder, biting his bottom lip to try and stop the whole monastery from hearing his debauched cries.

Finally, finally, Petra gripped onto Claude’s cock, wrapping her hot oily hand around the length. She twisted her wrist upwards, pumping slowly, agonisingly slow and she saw the knuckles of the Almyran go white with how tightly he was pulling at his own hair.

His breath was coming out in slow breaths as her hand moved, lethargic and tortuous. Already bubbling away, Claude knew it wouldn’t take long for him to cum and he wasn’t the least bit ashamed. It felt too good to feel shame, he had given in to the pleasure a long time ago.

Petra’s spare hand came back to Claude’s left nipple. She rubbed at it again, pushing the pad of her finger against the nub and she could feel the bar of cool metal under her fingertip through his skin. He groaned and violently bucked upwards into her hand. Petra allowed it, knowing he couldn’t control himself any longer.

“Your penis… it is wonderful,” she said, praising him. “You are doing good.”

“Goddess, yes… I…. I’m already a-almost-”

Claude’s breathing was short as Petra’s hand quickened. She was twisting her wrist upwards, sometimes skimming her thumb against his tight frenulum, circling her thumb over it. He shook his head again and Claude’s back arched up and off the bed, into Petra’s hand over his nipple as finally, he came.

Petra pinched his nipple lightly, not too harshly with the sensitivity of the new piercing, but it was all it took to send Claude over the edge. She milked his cock, hand still moving at an eager pace and his hips rocked up to meet her fist.

“Petra! F-Fuck, y-yes! Milk my cock, touch my body… oh g-goddess…” Filth tumbled from Claude’s hips, lost in a burning delirium of ecstasy as his orgasm washed over him. His stomach became streaked with white, pooling in his bellybutton, sliding and glistening against his oily stomach. He cried out her name and she watched him.

He had never been so vocal before, usually only cumming with quiet but low grunts. But the way he cried out her name and came hard, the remnants of his seed dribbling over Petra’s fingers and coating her rings, it made the Brigid princess burn with want too.

Claude collapsed back against the bed, jolting as Petra still milked him through his orgasm until finally, her hand stopped. She let go and stared at her hand for a moment and then brought it up to her lips. Claude only caught her licking and cleaning up the last drop, able to lift his heavy lids at last. He hadn’t felt this exhausted in a long time.

“Was it good?”

“So good… you are… too kind to me, my flower,” he laughed. Claude swallowed though his throat was still dry and his voice was still raspy. Petra smiled happily and then climbed off her partner, laying beside him, still fully clothed. Her fingers wandered over his chest, playing with his seed and drawing idle patterns in it. Claude didn’t seem to mind and let go of his own hair to play with Petra’s dark pink strands, fiddling and running his thumb over one of her braids.

“Perhaps I will be piercing you again,” she said quietly.

Claude hummed, quirking an eyebrow sleepily. “You will? Oh, thank you… anywhere in specific you are thinking?”

Petra smirked and her fingers gripped at Claude’s softening cock. She pressed against his frenulum and that tight chord of skin that was pulled taught under her touch. Claude jumped.

“Perhaps here?”

The Almyran shuddered, sucking in a sharp breath, and Petra swore she could feel his cock pulse in her hand.

“O-Oh… that would… mmh, yeah, I think I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

When the red-headed girl said to Ashe that she had some ‘really sweet deals’ that he wouldn’t want to miss out on, then, well, who was he to decline such an offer?

Maybe following her into her small pavilion tent where she had set up shop was not the brightest of ideas, however.

Within seconds of Ashe stepping into the woman’s tent, she had shoved him onto the ground, kicking and sweeping his legs out from beneath him. He tumbled onto the straw floor, gasping sharply when his head hit the floor. He winced but she was already climbing on top of him, using her hips to hold his down and her knees came to crush his wrists.

“H-Hey!” Ashe cried out.

The strange woman put a single finger to her lower lip and laughed coyly, tilting her head slightly. Her ponytail tumbled over her shoulder and started to tickle Ashe’s face when she leaned down over him, one hand supporting herself at the side of his head.

“Really, you are way too cute,” she said, winking at him. Ashe’s cheeks turned bright red and he tried to babble some sort of response.

“Y-You better let me go! If this is some kind of j-joke, then… my p-professor will not be h-happy about it!” It was a pathetic threat and one that made Anna smile all the more, eyes narrowing. She leaned down a little further and brushed the tip of her nose against Ashe’s in an endearing and playful way and the smaller boy felt his cheeks heat up even more.

“They won’t be coming for a while,” she said.

“H-How do you-”

“They’re off raiding a bandit camp, with the rest of your class.”

“M-My class! How do you know about-”

“Those bandits have been troubling my shipments for weeks. I’ve lost so much money and merchandise, it’s a real shame… I sent a note about it to that green-haired man at your monastery and I guess your professor took up the cause!” the woman smiled again and then clapped her hands together, sitting back upright even if she still had Ashe’s small body pinned. The boy’s mind was a whirlwind.

“W-Who are you?” he cried out.

“Me? Well, I’m Anna! I travel all sorts of places and set-up shop wherever I please. Pretty cosy place you have here, by the way, nice little kingdom and all that. Shame about the war though…” she sighed dejectedly but then that bright cheeky smile was plastered across her lips. “Which means you’ll have to stock up on plenty of weapons and tomes and potions and- ooh! I even have these super rare seals that’ll help you learn new things! Your professor has already been by once and bought quite a few, but I guess you haven’t taken your exam yet since you don’t look much different from the last time I saw you…”

Ashe’s bright green eyes widened. Goddess, the woman could talk at length. “Since you last saw me? Have you been watching me?”

“Watching, stalking, spying, call it what you will!” she laughed. Anna traced a finger down the centre of Ashe’s chest, brushing down the lapels of his school uniform and her tongue came to dart out across her lips.

“You… w-why?”

“I think you’re adorable. Plus… I hear you’re good with your fingers,” she winked, starting to tug Ashe’s blazer’s buttons undone. He tried to resist her, but his wrists were still pinned down by her strong knees. She was stronger than she looked; with narrow shoulders and hips with an even slimmer waist and an attractive face with long fluttery eyelashes, Ashe didn’t expect this type of strength to come from her.

“P-Pardon?!” Ashe exclaimed.

Anna laughed coyly and fingered the rest of Ashe’s blazer undone, opening it to reveal the navy hooded shirt he wore beneath. She started to pull it loose from where he had it tucked into his breeches.

“Good with your fingers. I’ve heard you’re an admirable lockpick,” she winked. “What were you thinking?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing! I just-”

“Oh, you are way too cute to ignore,” Anna said, shoving Ashe’s hooded shirt up. Her fingers were warm, Ashe realised, as they came to rest on his soft stomach. He wasn’t as chiselled as Dimitri or Felix, but he still kept in good shape sparring with Sylvain using lances when he wasn’t using his bow. His green eyes were wide, and his breathing was becoming even more shallow.

“Have you ever been touched like this before?”

Ashe shook his head, unable to speak with his mouth so dry. Anna made a high-pitched squealing sound, bouncing against Ashe’s hips, giddy with excitement.

“I have just the thing! Trust me, you’ll love it! Now be a dear and get on the bed for me. Oh, and take your shoes off; don’t want you trekking mud all over my wares now, do I?”

Anna quickly jumped off Ashe and left him lying on the floor, stunned and bewildered. What on earth was happening? He was sent to procure some supplies from a strange merchant woman outside of Garreg Mach and here he lay, blinking up at the tent’s roof, thrown on his back. And he wasn’t sure what compelled him, maybe it was a hot curiosity, but he did as he was asked, climbing onto Anna’s makeshift bed. It was nothing more than a few fluffy goose-down feather pillows all shoved together with blankets piled messily on top.

Ashe sat and kicked off his shoes, setting them aside the bed neatly, hands fidgeted nervously in his lap. There was something about the red-headed woman that made him want to listen to her and obey her every word. The coy smiles, cheeky glint in her magenta eyes and the hypnotising sway on her long ponytail tumbling down her back had Ashe in a trance.

She was rifling through a chest on the floor, crouched down and she tossed things out onto the ground. Bottles of goddess-knew-what, crowns, tiaras, rings, books, all sorts of things… until she made a happy sound and leapt back to her feet, twirling delicately and coming to face the nervous young boy.

“Are you ready?”

“F-For what?”

“To sample some of my best stuff, the rarest things I have! Trust me, you’re going to love it.” Anna smiled and settled in Ashe’s lap, one leg on either side of his thighs and Ashe didn’t know what to do with his hands. They were clammy, cold and hot at the same time, sweaty and very uncomfortable. He tried to wipe the sweat away in her blankets, fisting them instead.

“You know,” she continued, “I don’t usually let my customers sample my stuff before buying but… I can make an exception for you.” Anna winked down at Ashe and then everything went black. Quicker than he could catch, Anna wrapped a blindfold over Ashe’s green eyes until he was cast into darkness. He couldn’t see anything, and he impulsively reached up to try and remove the blindfold, but Anna caught his hands.

“Hey, let’s try it first. You never know you might like it.” Her voice was close and a lot lower than before, ghosting against his cheek. Ashe swallowed and once more, found himself obeying the woman, nodding and dropping his hands back down to his sides.

“Good boy,” she said against his lips and Ashe tensed up, sharply inhaling. He felt the skim of her lips against his as she spoke and he turned an even brighter shade of red, the blush working its way up to his ears and down his neck. Goddess, since when did it get so hot? Maybe it was Anna’s body coming ever closer to him, shifting in his lap until her chest was close to his.

“Why are you… doing this?” Ashe asked timidly.

“I told you… I think you’re adorable.”

“That’s a-all?”

Ashe heard Anna pause behind his blindfold. “You need another reason?”

“W-Well, I…”

Anna laughed coyly again and with a gentle hand on his chest, she guided Ashe to lay down on the soft pillows and blankets of her tent. She continued to straddle him, taking both of his wrists in her hands and lay them above his stomach, together. “Don’t tell me; you’re a virgin and you wanted your first time to be special with someone that you love, and you will marry one day?”

Ashe swallowed dryly down his throat. Yes, that was exactly what he thought and wanted. He nodded slowly.

Oh, you’re killing me, kid,” Anna said. “You are way too cute. But don’t worry, I’ll still make your first time special. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even come to love me too!”

L-L-Love?!” Ashe cried out. His eyes shrouded in darkness, his senses heightened, it was too much to take already. His body was scorching hot and he was starting to feel uncomfortable in his clothes. Of course, Ashe was a virgin, but not dumb; he read plenty, had unfortunately overheard Sylvain far too many times, and knew exactly where this would be headed. He was slightly afraid, yet, he felt at ease at the same time; this woman clearly knew what she was doing and the fact that he was blindfolded was strangely comforting. It meant that she didn’t expect him to do much and that she would probably take charge.

“I’m gonna touch you now, is that alright?”

Ashe said nothing and Anna hummed, caressing his forehead and brushing his hair out of his face.

“You can talk. I know I kind of threw myself at you but… you can say no. I’m not gonna hurt you or rape you or do something you don’t want to do. I’ll untie you and let you walk away if that’s what you want.”

Ashe hesitated for a second and then minutely, he shook his head.

“I’m alright. I’m just… n-nervous,” he said, speaking upwards, not knowing where Anna was except that she was above him somewhere with the weight of her hips against his. Gentle lips came to his forehead and she kissed down the bridge of his nose, but not against his lips. Ashe felt disappointed when she didn’t.

“Alright… just, let me know if you want me to stop. I’m gonna touch you now.”

Anna took off Ashe’s blazer, sliding the sleeves down his arms and she dropped it aside somewhere. Her fingers pushed his hooded undershirt up again and Ashe’s shivered under her gentle touch. He had never been touched by anyone else like this before though he had imagined it plenty of times; warm feminine hands or calloused masculine ones, anything would have felt good to him.

She was gentle, caressing as she moved her hands upwards and then she came to his nipples, brushing over them lightly. A tiny mewl escaped Ashe’s lips and he couldn’t see it, but Anna grinned widely.

“I didn’t know you were sensitive here,” she said.

“N-Neither did… I-I… ah…” Ashe panted in reply.

Her fingers came up again to brush over the tiny sensitive pink nubs, fingertips barely anything more than a graze and yet he still arched and bucked off the bed. Ashe’s fingers reached out to grip at Anna’s hips, where he knew he would find her and he held onto her hard as he fingers swirled over his nipples, coming to pinch them.

Ashe cried out louder this time and Anna laughed quietly. It was as if, without being able to see the person who was doing this to him, Ashe felt less shame in letting out his voice. He couldn’t see anything and so couldn’t see the face and magenta eyes of his newfound partner touching him, though a part of him wondered what kind of expression she was making.

Anna’s fingers pinched at Ashe’s nipples and his back arched sharply off the bed. A cry tumbled from his adorable pink lips and Anna watched his face. She could tell he was a virgin, everything about him screamed it; the averted gaze, the blushing face, and most of all, his honest body. She loved that she was the first person to see him like this.

“Does it feel good?”

“Y-Yes…” Ashe panted out.

“Do you want more?”

“P-Please… please, A-Anna…” Ashe managed out her name and it felt strange to say, given that he had only learned it minutes before. It was weird to call her name out and beg her to touch him more, in places he had never been touched before but… he couldn’t help how impatient he felt.

“I’m going to use my mouth. Is that okay?”

“Yes, yes… i-it is, goddess, yes, please…” Ashe had no control over his mouth, unashamedly canting his hips upwards so that they bumped up against Anna again. She moved off of him, climbing away and his hands fell to his sides. He heard her stand and shuffle around and even though he could have sat up, pushed the blindfold off and watched her, he didn’t. Ashe lay completely still on the bed, listening as intently as he could to try and decipher what the mysterious merchant was doing.

Anna came back onto the bed and taking one of Ashe’s hands in hers and winding the other around the back of his neck, she helped him to sit up. He stilled as she moved around him, drawing both of his hands together behind his back.

Suddenly, a tightness worked its way quickly around Ashe’s wrists. The tearing sound he heard made it sound like some sort of adhesive, a tape of some kind and whilst it was tight, it wasn’t painful or exceedingly painful, so Ashe allowed her to bind his hands together with nothing more than a surprised gasp.

“I hope you don’t mind me tying you up… you are far too cute, and I just want to take care of you, y’know?”

“It is alright…” Ashe said. He had no experience with intimacy, let alone being tied up but strangely, doubtlessly naively, he trusted her. She tied off the tape behind his back and then helped Ashe to lay back down, positioning his arms and wrists in the small of his back so that it wasn’t too uncomfortable.

“I’m gonna take these off,” Anna said, her fingers coming to Ashe’s breeches. He nodded quickly and her fingers hooked into the waistband of his breeches and the leggings he wore underneath, tugging them both down and off each leg with care, dropping them off the edge of the bed.

Ashe felt cool air wash over him and was suddenly aware of how naked and exposed he was. He could hear the trundle of carts passing by the front of Anna’s tent, the chatter of idle people and merchants not too far away and he was afraid that someone could walk in at any moment. What if his classmates came back early, searched for him, and found him like this, naked and bare before a strange woman?

His anxieties were quickly pushed from his mind, replaced by nothing but a hot mush when Anna’s hand caressed the front of his smallclothes. Her palm was gentle but with a small amount of pressure, he groaned. It felt good, better than when he did it himself – maybe it was because he was tied up.

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes… I want you t-to…”

Without being able to see her, Ashe swore he could hear the smirk in her words. “Yes? Want me to what?”

“Touch me… t-touch my… a-ah, I c-can’t say it…” Ashe said breathlessly. The woman giggled again, and she swiftly pulled his smallclothes off, letting his cock bounce against his stomach. It was an average sized cock but very adorable, pink and beading with precum already with the foreskin wrapped snugly around the head. Anna made a gently cooing noise and Ashe felt his face flush again.

“It’s the cutest I’ve ever seen…” Anna said, finger ghosting along the underside, following the thick muscle that stood out from his erection.

“A-Ah… I can’t…” Ashe said, and his arms pulled at the tape tight around his wrists. He wanted to hide his face, even though he couldn’t see, and the blindfold shielded his eyes. He could feel the heat washing over him in waves, cascading down his face and neck, pooling in his stomach and cock and he could feel it pulsing underneath Anna’s touch.

“It’s alright, just let it go whenever you’re ready,” Anna said quietly, pressing a kiss to Ashe’s right hipbone. He mewled when her lips pressed against his skin, kissing and fluttering across his pelvis and hips to meet his cock. Anna’s soft lips kissed the head and Ashe whimpered again.

He was apprehensive, he was nervous, he was anxious… but more than anything, he was excited. The merchant woman was gentle with him, even if he was tied up; it wasn’t in a cruel or tortuous way, but a gentle way, allowing her to completely take control and make him feel good.

And he gasped when a rush of pleasure warmed over the head of his cock. Anna opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the tip, circling it and wetting it with her saliva. Ashe arched off the blankets again, hips driving deeper into the sheets as his back came up. Goddess, he didn’t know that anything could feel as good as this; it usually didn’t take him long when he used his hand and some oil and so he wasn’t sure how long he’d last inside Anna’s mouth.

O-Oh, it’s so hot… it f-feels, ah, nnh-” Ashe babbled, words falling freely from his mouth. He felt that he had to fill the silence because the sounds of Anna suckling at his small cock was too much to bear. It was as if she was playing with his ears too, the sounds tickling in his eardrums in such a way he felt the pleasure thrumming there too.

Her mouth sank down deeper and she took him in more. Her nose came to nestle in his curly white pubic hair, unkempt and untrimmed and she loved it. Of course it was unkempt, why would a virgin have to or even know about trimming down there? She inhaled his scent; he smelled clean but very faintly of sweat, the smell of a young man. It was intoxicatingly sweet.

“A-Anna… ah! Ah! I c-can’t…!”

“Yes, you can, it’s alright. You’re doing so well for me, so well, keep going,” she soothed, lips brushing against the underside of his cock until she reached the base. Anna ran her tongue all the way back up the length, and Ashe writhed on the sheets, tossing his head from side to side, silver hair sticking to his head.

“It’s t-too much, my… o-oh, ah… nnh-!” Ashe’s voice was high-pitched and keening when Anna swallowed him back down. Her mouth wrapped hotly around him and Ashe’s pulse thrummed in his temples. He could feel it pulsing throughout his body, in his head, his ears, his throat and in his cock pushed down Anna’s throat.

She hummed softly around him, gazing up at the adorable boy. His body was so pale and smooth, feminine, in a way. His nipples were alert and standing upright, like two small roses adorning his pale flesh. His legs were spread, and she was leaned between them, one hand on his hip and thigh to try and keep him still, the other as a circle around the base of his cock.

Anna sucked more, bobbing her head back and forth, building up a quick pace. Her cheeks were hollowed out, but her lips were soft, nothing more than a slick hot slide up and down the length of Ashe’s cock. He was moaning uncontrollably, hips canting up a little into her mouth.

Easily and comfortably, Anna took Ashe’s entire cock to the back of her throat. It pushed against her soft palate and she gagged slightly but did her best to hold it there, especially when she heard Ashe’s desperate cry. It was broken and when she cast her gaze upwards, even with a black blindfold covering half his face, she could see he was utterly wrecked.

His mouth had been hanging open for the better half of the last few minutes, saliva dripping down his chin and down his cheeks. He was bright red and his hair was mussed up. With his hands bound behind his back too, he looked so precious, like one of her most valuable wares, something worth protecting and looking after.

“Anna! I’m… I’m c-close…!”

She said nothing, keeping up her movements and she just hummed around his cock. The vibrations tickled pleasurably, and Ashe flexed his fingers in his bonds. Anna’s hand moved from his hip to his balls and she fondled them, caressing and rolling them delicately in her hand; they were tight and covered in a silver fuzz. She massaged them and gave them a soft squeeze and Ashe cried out.

“I’m… A-Anna, ah, hah-!” The young boy cried out and his whole body went tight as he came. His cock spasmed in Anna’s hot wet mouth, emptying his seed down her throat. She swallowed it all readily, moaning softly as the salty taste slid down, sucking to ease him through his powerful orgasm. His legs were shaking, and he was panting uncontrollably, breaths coming out short and ragged.

Anna pulled off with a gentle pop, using her hand to milk the last few drops from the slit at the head of Ashe’s cock. He mewled weakly when her tongue slipped into the slit and she kissed the head.

“Oh… oh goddess above…”

“Hey, hey… you did so well for me, kid, you were so good,” Anna soothed. She crawled up his body and she kissed all over his face, pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks, nose, chin, forehead and over where his eyes would be through the blindfold.

Ashe was still, body limp and lax against the white sheets as Anna caressed his hair. She pulled the blindfold up from his eyes and watched him.

He scrunched his eyes up tightly and then blinked several times, readjusting to the brightness. The room seemed to be cast in a golden glow, but it was just the colour of the tent’s fabric bleeding into the room with the sun shining overhead. He could see a chest full of objects open and messy and then he turned his head a little more.

The merchant smiled softly at him, magenta eyes twinkling brightly. Her hair tumbled over her shoulder and his heart leapt in his chest. Ashe tried his best to return the smile, shutting his eyes once more when her head came to his forehead, sweeping his silver locks from his face.

“How was that?”

“It was… w-wonderful… I have never felt anything so i-intense before…”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Anna paused and then traced a finger idly over Ashe’s chest in small circles. “How about the blindfold? The tape?”

“O-Oh, uhm…” Ashe tucked his chin into his chest and tried to wriggle his arms but still, to no avail. “It was… good. I l-liked them.”

Anna kissed his forehead again. “I’ll give you a really good deal on ‘em, if you like ‘em so much.”

Ashe paused for a few moments and then found the courage to speak, even though his voice was hoarse and dry. "I... I thought that you were going to..."

"Hmm? Going to what?"

He turned pink again and buried his face into Anna's shoulder and chest, arms still bound behind his back and he wanted her to let him free but still found himself too shy to ask. "Going to... t-take... m-my v-v-virginity..."

Anna blinked a few times and then laughed quietly, kissing at the crown of Ashe's silver hair. "No... as much as I like you and you are way too cute for your own good, I won't do that to you. You clearly want to wait for someone who you love and who is special to you so... I respect that. I hope you don't mind that I did this to you, though," she added sheepishly.

"I... I wouldn't mind if you... also t-took it," Ashe admitted quietly. It was now the merchant woman’s turn to be stunned; had he really just said that? Did he mean it? Was he still hazy and dizzy from his orgasm and just talking nonsensically? With a gentle hand guiding him to sit up, Anna started to pull the tape undone from Ashe’s wrists, pondering his words in silence. When the tape came off and Ashe was able to rub his wrists, she opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off.

“Sorry… that was… silly of me to say.”

“Hey, no! It’s… it’s okay, if you mean it. I’d love to… do that with you, but only if you’re sure of it. Don’t feel forced, kid,” Anna said, patting his shoulder. He nodded slowly and then turned to face her, taking one of her hands in his and squeezing. Her hand was actually larger, and Anna’s heart swelled in her chest.

“I do mean it. But… can you wait for me? I do not think I am ready quite yet.”

Anna nodded happily and intertwined their fingers. “Of course, I’ll wait as long as I can for a kid as cute as you.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Ferdinand…”

Hubert breathed out, rolling his hips forward even more, grinding his cock up against the slick entrance of Ferdinand’s waiting ass. The red-haired nobleman was on all fours, head and chest pressed down against the bed by Hubert’s strong gloved hand. It had been a long day, many troops had fallen and so Ferdinand was feeling tense, aching for some sort of relief.

The kind of relief that only Hubert could provide.

With a knife dancing along his throat, he shivered. The nobleman knew that he was completely safe even with the cold steel digging against his skin; Hubert would never hurt him, but it was the thrill of it, knowing that just a slip would spill his blood.

“H-Hubert…”

“It has been a long day, has it not? I am sure you are in need of some… relief,” Hubert crooned, smoothing his hand over Ferdinand’s back. Both men were still clothed, breeches pulled down just enough to expose what they needed. The nobleman was flushing bright red, breathing and trying to scrabble against the bedsheets whilst Hubert dragged the tip of the dagger over the bobbing Adam’s apple in Ferdinand’s throat.

“Y-You know what I need… it is y-you who I crave… please, give me what only you can grant me, I cannot withhold my desires any longer for I-”

“Oh, Ferdinand, do shut up,” Hubert laughed, holding the edge of the dagger against the Adam’s apple that froze in Ferdinand’s throat. The nobleman’s chocolate eyes were wide, and he bit down on his lip, a shuddered breath escaping the sides of his mouth as he tried to control his excited breathing. The feeling of Hubert’s cock grinding up against his entrance made a fire course through him and he had to try his hardest not to keep speaking out, begging and pleading for Hubert to finally plunge his cock into him.

“You can be quiet… I did not think it would be possible.” Hubert chuckled darkly again, removing his hand from Ferdinand back to hold his cock in his gloved hand, stroking and keeping the rose-scented oil slick so that it wouldn’t dry out as he teased Ferdinand’s sloppy, spread entrance. He was already gaping, stretched from four of Hubert’s fingers, and clenching desperately around nothing.

Hubert admired his handywork, using his hand to spread the pink hole. It was fluttering and he could see down into the darkness, wanting to plunge his cock as deeply as possible into that red heat. He dipped his thumb in, stirring up the lube that was dribbling out of the hole.

He knew his gloves would be soiled, covered in Ferdinand’s essence but he didn’t care. Ferdinand also loved it, knowing that a man as poised as Hubert would allow his gloves to become sullied by his filth… it was an arousing thought. Ferdinand’s lower lip was starting to hurt, threatening to slip under his teeth as he worried it over and over again.

The head of Hubert’s cock came to rest against Ferdinand’s hole, and he teased it, knowing that he could slide in easily any second. A violent shudder coursed through Ferdinand’s body.

“Please… do not tease me…”

Hubert swiftly wrapped his hand into Ferdinand’s thick auburn hair, yanking hard. Her forced the other’s head back, eliciting a sharp and pained cry from the noble’s throat. It was debauched and loud and Hubert tutted; other people would surely hear it. Well, it didn’t matter how loud he made the other cry now then.

“You just cannot keep your voice in, can you?”

“I… I apologise, it just… I am unable to hold myself back much longer,” Ferdinand rasped, his neck aching with the firm grip forcing his head back. His amber eyes were forced forward, staring at the pile of neat books at Hubert’s desk and he tried to distract himself by reading them, but the head of Hubert’s cock finally slipped into his ass.

He let out a breathy moan, letting his eyes shut as Hubert finally gave him what he ached and yearned for. He was forced upwards and was supporting himself on his palms with the yank of his hair forcing his back to arch and his neck back, but his arms were trembling, and Ferdinand was unsure how long he would be able to support himself.

But he could not let himself fall because he knew that the dagger would carve into his throat if he did.

“Would you like me to… fuck you, Ferdinand?”

“Goddess, yes… H-Hubert, please…”

With a hum, Hubert plunged deep into Ferdinand’s waiting ass. The slide was easy, slick and hot, easily stretched out from his fingers earlier and without using his hands to guide himself, Hubert was balls-deep in the other man. Ferdinand groaned and breathed out through his nose, afraid of swallowing in case the bob of his Adam’s apple made the dagger cut into his skin.

“Come, let your voice out… if you are unable to hold it in any longer, then feel free to let it all out,” Hubert said. With a cruel smirk, he yanked harder on Ferdinand’s hair, drawing another pained cry from the nobleman. The pain prickling across Ferdinand’s scalp was masochistically good, it made his cock throb even more, bobbing and hanging in the air where his hips were spread.

“No… it is… it would be most u-unbefitting of a n-noble…”

“And since when have you ever been the perfect image of nobility, dear Ferdinand?” Hubert jeered, relishing in the gasp and the sharp twist of Ferdinand’s head as he turned to glare at the other man. He knew the words were all in jest and yet, it stung and hurt his pride. Hubert leered down at the other man, tilting his head back so that he looked down his nose at the other man writhing in his touch. He wound his hair even more into the thick locks, tangling into the ginger hair and tying knots and he pulled once more. Ferdinand choked.

“Correct… imagine if other nobles knew how obscene you were… on your hands and knees, swallowing up the cock of another man with your loose body… I wonder what they would say.”

Ferdinand’s eyes fluttered. Goddess, he loved it when Hubert spoke down to him, treating him as less of a man than he knew he was. He was the son of von Aegir and knew he was of a high social standing, he knew it deep down in his heart, and yet, being told how filthy, obscene and salacious he was stoked the fire kindling in the pit of his stomach.

“O-Oh… Hubert, please… m-more…”

With a dark chuckle, Hubert acquiesced, drawing his hips back and then pumping forward. He was slow and gentle in his movements, not granting Ferdinand what he so desperately craved. The nobleman was already gasping, his eyes still focused over his shoulder as he stared at Hubert, trying to wordlessly tell him what he wanted.

The knife tickled along his throat again and dipped slightly lower, pressing firmly against his neck between his skin and collar. His breathing hitched and he choked when with a quick flick of his wrist, Hubert tore through the white fabric.

“Gods…!”

Hubert’s knife ripped through the expensive fibres, ripping the silk with the clean edge of his dagger. He slipped the edge of the knife underneath the scarlet cravat and flicked that away too where the giant golden brooch landed against the bedsheets. The knife caught against his skin once more and traced along it.

“Now, is this not more exciting.”

Ferdinand moaned louder when Hubert snapped his hips up, dagger against his flesh, leaving faint white trails in the porcelain. His head was still being held backwards by Hubert’s unrelenting grip and Ferdinand’s mouth hung open.

“Hmm… I wonder what other delightful agonies I could inflict upon you, Ferdinand,” Hubert said, hips picking up their pace. Ferdinand wanted to fall forward so badly but his arms would not allow him, the tip of the dagger pointing down into the sensitive spot of his throat, where his breath kept catching and he was soon dizzy with a lack of oxygen.

“G-Gods… d-deeper, harder, please… Hubert!”

The dark man obliged, pounding away so that the sound of skin on skin was echoing throughout the room and most likely down the hallways of the dormitory. The hand in Ferdinand’s hair was still tight, the blade still pressed and then Hubert leaned down so that his clothed chest was pressed to Ferdinand’s back.

“I want to cut you… mark you, see you bleed and taste it… would you like that?”

“Y-Yes, yes, … oh, a-ah… nnh-”

Hubert’s hand flicked the torn fabric of Ferdinand’s shirt and blazer away, pushing his collar down his shoulder so that his mouth could latch onto the bare porcelain of the nobleman’s shoulder. He sank his teeth down hard, deep, like a vampire would drink from its victim and Ferdinand whimpered. It was a shuddered sound, high-pitched and broken and it made Hubert go wild.

The taste of copper danced across his tongue and he let go of the knife, tossing it aside and both men heard it clatter against the hardwood floor. Hubert lathed his tongue over the fresh open wound, hips stuttering when he tasted Ferdinand’s blood. Even his life-source had a dignified taste to it, clean and salty.

“Where do you want it?”

“I-Inside… inside me, goddess, please, Hubert, fill me… I want to feel it all…”

“Show me where.”

Hubert let go of Ferdinand’s hair and the rest of his body, leaning back upright. Allowing himself to fall flat on his chest but keeping his back well-arched like a lithe cat, Ferdinand reached behind himself, spreading his own ass cheeks wide for the tactician. The sight of his cock so snugly fit inside of Ferdinand’s pink and slick ass made Hubert take in a breath.

It was breath-taking, a sigh that he was glad that no-one else would be able to see. No-one else would be able to experience Ferdinand like this; filthy and obscene, begging for cock and cum like it would sustain him. Hubert rocked his hips up, enjoying the sight of Ferdinand’s hole rolling and coiling as he pushed himself in tighter.

“You want to be defiled, don’t you? You want to be filled with another man’s cum, nothing more than a common whore… you are filthy, Ferdinand…”

The red-head’s eyes rolled and fluttered into the back of his head, gloved hands adjusting over his ass cheeks to make sure he was spread as wide as possible, the crack of his ass burning with how far he pulled. He nodded wordlessly as Hubert snapped his hips back up again, pounding away.

Both were chasing their release, eager to reach their peak. One hand steadied itself on Ferdinand’s hip and Hubert, mercifully, granted Ferdinand the privilege of wrapping his gloved hand around his weeping cock. The submissive man moaned loudly, almost crying from the pain and pleasure overwhelming him. His cock throbbed, his ass burned, the bite-wound on his shoulder stung and it was all too much.

With a cry, Ferdinand came, shooting ropes of sticky cum across his bedsheets. He throbbed and pulsed in Hubert’s gloved hand, which only squeezed tighter, making him buck his hips forward and backwards like an animal, unsure of what he wanted; the thrust into the hand on his cock, or to rock against the dick in his ass.

“F-Ferdinand… you are depraved… but so good, so honest, for me… oh, nngh—”

Choking himself on his words, Hubert finally came too, slamming forward one last time and in that moment, he thrust directly into Ferdinand’s prostate. The redhead practically screamed, muffling himself into the soiled sheets and Hubert himself let out a loud groan. He was never this vocal in the bedroom but the sight of Ferdinand so honest, pleading so well and the taste of blood dancing around his mouth meant he could not hold back much longer.

Ferdinand let go of his asscheeks, collapsing against the bedsheets and his body went limp. He lay in his own seed but didn’t care, eyes heavy and sliding shut. His legs twitched with the aftershocks of his orgasm and where he lay, he could feel Hubert’s hot cum dribbling out. Goddess, it was going to stain his clothes.

But he couldn’t find the strength in himself to move.

A cold hand came and traced lightly over the deep bite mark on his right shoulder. He realised Hubert had taken his glove off and he scooped the tiny droplets of blood beading through the wound. The raven-haired man brought his finger to his lips and sucked, sighing contentedly.

“Ferdinand… do not simply lay there. Your clothes will become filthy.”

“It would… suit me well then, would it not?” he grinned, letting a breathy chuckle pass his lips. Hubert chuckled too, wiping his half-hard, softening cock against Ferdinand’s ass cheeks. He tucked himself back into his smallclothes and sat calmly at the edge of the other’s bed, hand coming to rest on the back of one of Ferdinand’s thighs, stroking through his breeches.

“I am not jesting; it would not do you well to walk around in soiled clothes. What would the others think?”

“I care not what the others think,” Ferdinand said, curling onto his side and cracking one eye open. The sting in his scalp was still present, like a ghost, a memory of Hubert’s control over him and he shivered. “Let them think, let them talk. Though… I am sure there is little room to debate what we did given how loud we were.”

“How loud you were.”

“Really…” Ferdinand closed both eyes and settled into the damp sheets content and exhausted. “You should have heard yourself.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, c’mere, it’ll be easier if you-”

“Wait! R-Raphael…! D-Don’t just- ah!”

With a swift arm wrapped around his middle, Ignatz was hoisted into Raphael’s lap, his small bottom nestling comfortably in the criss-cross fold of Raphael’s legs. The bigger man smiled, a bright goofy smile down at the blushing boy. Ignatz adjusted his glasses on his nose and let his hands and tiny palms come to rest across the enormous tanned and muscular planes of Raphael’s body.

He was hairy too; soft blonde curls spanned the breadth of his chest and Ignatz was lost in the touch for a moment. He had no body hair at all, only a little armpit hair and pubic hair and his small chest was bare. Pressed flush to the other’s giant body, it made him a little embarrassed.

“Don’t go gettin’ all shy on me now!”

“Well, l-look at what we are doing, Raphael!”

The bigger man let out another hearty laugh and leaned his head down against Ignatz’ smiling at the other body. Both were naked, stripped of their clothes and they were thrown into a messy pile in the corner of Raphael’s already chaotic room. Ignatz was small compared to Raphael’s muscular body, dwarfed and shadowed by the looming form but the hands resting on his hips and creeping around to his bare ass were warm, calloused but gentle.

“You wanted to!”

“I-I did… I-I do, but… I am just…”

“Do you want me to take over?”

Ignatz shook his head and sucked in a breath, retaking his small cock in hand and trying awkwardly to re-wrap his hand around Raphael’s simultaneously. It was a daunting task, the one which he took upon himself, but he wanted to do this with Raphael more than anymore; he trusted the bigger man to be kind and patient with him, even if it was the most embarrassing thing he had ever done.

He also had zero experience.

His hand was small and barely able to grip both cocks at the same time; Raphael’s was almost twice the length and girth of Ignatz’. The small bookworm’s cock was pale with a foreskin that helped shy away from his pink shiny head but Raphael’s… Ignatz had literally gasped and salivated at the sight of it. It was thick and long, and he couldn’t fit one hand around it, he needed to use two. It was tanned, like the rest of him, a perfect golden colour with an equally red-gold coloured head standing proud at the tip.

The size difference between the two cocks made Ignatz turn an even brighter red. His glasses were beginning to steam up simply from their shared body heat and he struggled to see through the mist.

“Does it… am I…”

Ignatz was stuttering, unsure of himself though he was determined to do his best. His hand was working slowly and tightly up and down the length of their cocks, massaging and rubbing them together. Sitting in Raphael’s lap certainly made things easier, even if he was still embarrassed by the position. He pressed the length of his small cock up against Raphael’s huge one and shuddered hard; goddess, the size difference… it was too much to bear.

The oil between them was thankfully still slick and hadn’t dried up yet but the slide was still a little tacky. Raphael could feel this and so he found the bottle, uncorked it, emptied a liberal amount into his palm, capped it and tossed it aside. Joining his hand on the other side of the pressed cocks, Raphael wrapped his large hand around both of their aching dicks.

“Let me. My hand’s bigger.”

Ignatz let out a gasp and Raphael hissed, his other hand still holding tightly onto Ignatz’ hip. He shifted his legs slightly and Ignatz moved his hand further up Raphael’s body, over his thick shoulder and to the immense breadth of his neck. He held on tightly as Raphael started to move his hand over both of their cocks.

“R-Raphael… that feels… so good…”

“Yeah? It feels good for me too… I-Ignatz…”

Both young men were breathing in each other, gasping and Ignatz’ hips started to rock upwards, sliding up against the length of Raphael’s cock. It felt heavenly, unlike anything he had ever heard before and so he just let go of their cocks and allowed Raphael to work them both.

His hips started to buck up more, drawing the foreskin back and Ignatz tilted his head back. Raphael pulled the smaller boy into his body, leaning down into the pale neck and peppering it with kisses, letting his tongue press into the soft skin. The green-haired boy had never known intimacy like this and so his heart was pounding so hard against his chest he feared Raphael would feel it with their bodies so close to one another.

A hot whisper ghosted over Ignatz’ ear and he whimpered. Raphael kissed at the skin between his ear and his cheek and stroked upwards one last time. With a sharp cry, the bigger man suddenly hunched forward, gritting his teeth and burying his head into Ignatz’ shoulder. It wasn’t until he could feel the hot cum pooling over his own cock that Ignatz realised Raphael had cum.

“I’m sorry… when you make noises like that, I can’t… hold it in…”

“R-Raphael…”

The larger man drew back and pressed a hand to Ignatz cheek. He skimmed his palm down, over the slim neck and chest, brushing over the tiny pink nipples and over the small of Ignatz’ back. He made the smaller boy arch forward into him and even though he had already climaxed, he wasn’t about to let Ignatz go unfinished.

“Y-You don’t… h-have to-! I can, ah, finish m-myself… o-oh… ah!”

“Nonsense. I want to hear more of those noises from you,” Raphael said, low and far too arousing for Ignatz to handle. With a flick of his wrist, a thumb over the head and a kiss to his neck, Ignatz shuddered too, letting out a broken whimpered cry and he spilt over Raphael’s calloused large hand. His hips were rocking up, legs spasming as the force of his orgasm shook him and he sank his blunt fingernails into Raphael’s neck and shoulder.

“Yeah, like that… you sound so good…” Raphael murmured into his pale skin.

The pair relaxed, panting and holding one another, Raphael’s large thumb drawing and soothing circles over the bone of Ignatz’ hip.

“How was that?”

“R-Really… g-good,” Ignatz breathed out, slowly lifting his head and meeting Raphael’s gentle gaze. His eyes were made of the brightest amber, glistening with a soft warmth Ignatz knew he would never be able to capture on canvas. He blushed under his friend’s gaze and returned a smile.

“Shall we… go eat?”

Ignatz laughed, bringing a hand to cover his mouth as he giggled. “Yes… I think some food would do us some good.”

Chapter Text

Seteth felt ashamed.

Sitting at his desk, his quill held tightly in his one hand, it was trembling. The perfect white plume of the owl’s feather was shaking in his hand and he was trying his damnedest not to let the ink scratch over the important parchment and papers on his desk.

His other hand was fisted over his cock, pumping quickly and desperately beneath his desk. His robes were undone and pulled apart just enough for his aching cock to be freed.

He was filled with shame.

And yet, Seteth could not tear his hand away. His thumb brushed over the tip, smearing the precum around a little more and he let his eyes slide shut. Thankfully, it was late evening and there was little to be heard along the upper floors of the monastery with everyone down at dinner eating. He was free to do as he pleased in his office and it humiliated him that he ended up caving in to his most carnal and physical desires.

That new professor.

The sway of her hips, the slenderness of her shoulders and neck and her indecent outfit. That bodice that barely contained her full breasts, exposed her navel and clung to her curves was very much against the staff’s dress code and Seteth knew he would have to speak to her eventually about it but he couldn’t even think about her without feeling the heat pool in his stomach and his heart raced in his chest.

Seteth hissed between his teeth when his thumb came over the head again, slowing down as he hunched further over his desk. He thought about her thighs, those impossibly strong milky thighs contained within lacy and intricate tights and wondered how they would feel wrapped around his head. He pictured her sat in his very seat, legs spread with him on his knees, worshipping her dripping cunt and he speculated how she might taste; delicate and feminine, or thick and heady with sweat? Either way, his body shook with desire.

What would her face look like? She was so stoic and unchanging, nothing ever fazed her. Would she blush, gasp, or moan under his touch and against his tongue?

Seteth groaned and slumped his shoulders against his desk, hand flying over his worked-up cock quickly. He was chasing his orgasm and he was dangerously close. All he had to do was think about her spread legs and muscular body and—

The doorknob to his office rattled.

Without a second chance, the door blew open and she stepped in. Dress flowing behind her, hand running through her hair and walking in without a care in the world, the woman took no notice of Seteth initially. She lifted both her hands up and above her head, stretching and letting out a high-pitched keen. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor and her feather-boa cloak slid against the floor as she walked in.

“Seteth, I do apologise, but do you have any—”

Manuela froze, eyes opened wide as she stared at the archbishop’s right-hand man. He was scarlet, face burning with his emerald eyes wide in fear and humiliation. She could see the white-knuckled grip on his quill and then his other arm was disappeared beneath the desk.

An awkward but sly smile crawled across her lips and Manuela raised her painted orange nails to her lips in a coy gesture. “Oh my, have I walked in on something private?”

“M-Manuela, leave. This is— do not think that—”

“I think it is exactly as it appears to be, dearest Seteth.”

The saint bristled and he felt the tips of his ears prickle with heat, hidden beneath his verdant hair. Manuela clicked the door shut behind her and unclipping her cloak, she let it drop to the floor in the centre of the room.

Seteth hurried to sweep his robes back over his cock but it did nothing to hide his aching erection, proud and alert. He cursed himself beneath his breath for being so careless and not locking his own door.

“This is not… a regular occurrence. Please do not think that I am a depraved man for committing such a filthy act,” Seteth murmured beneath his breath, unable to meet Manuela’s narrow-eyed gaze as she sauntered around the edge of his desk, orange nails and delicate hand sweeping over the papyrus parchment. He watched the movement far more intently that he wanted to, trying to keep his head bowed. Manuela hummed beside him.

“I do not think such a thing, Seteth,” she began, standing beside the man with her hip cocked outward and a hand resting on the desk. “It is in fact… enlightening to see, I would say.”

“E-Enlightening?” the saint queried.

“Hmm, very much so. It shows that you are human after all and that you are not just an untouchable cold statue,” Manuela said gently. Seteth could sense her drawing one of her arms up and over the back of his chair, leaning forward slightly and out of the corner of his eye, he could see the dangerous bounty of those plump breasts barely contained within the thin straps of her dress.

“Cold statue?” He sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head. “People think such things of me?”

Manuela laughed delicately and Seteth bristled again when he felt her fingertips come to skim through the hair at the back of his head. “Some do. Though now I see that you are a man in every sense of the word.”

Seteth grumbled and kept his eyes shut, trying to control himself and ignore the teasing nature of Manuela’s words. Her voice was lilting and fluctuating with a playfulness that unnerved him and the fingers playing in his hair also made him uncomfortable, but he made no move nor voice to ask her to stop.

Her fingers carded through the thick locks a little more, manicured nails scraping at his skull slightly. Seteth held back a pleased sigh and he felt the warmth of Manuela lean down closer to him.

“I apologise for intruding. Do not feel like you have to stop on account of me.”

Seteth’s eyes shot open wide and he whirled to face her. He jumped back a few inches in his seat, finding that her heavy pale breasts were immediately in his face. He was sure that his office was not usually this warm; his fire was not even lit. But he was burning up, breath hitching in his throat as Manuela loomed even closer.

“What on earth are you insinuating?”

She giggled and moved the hand on the desk over Seteth’s arm, still clutching the quill and down his chest, dancing over his robes with a grace and elegance he would not have expected of the usually drunk woman. He might have thought she were inebriated judging by her actions, but he could tell by the seriousness of her golden eyes that she was stone-cold sober.

“I will insinuate nothing and say it plainly then; touch yourself.”

The saint spluttered and coughed, shocked and horrified by the professor’s words. She still had a coy and sly smirk across her lips, slick and shining with a lipstick she must have recently applied. He turned his head away to avoid her gaze and instead fisted the fabric of his robe tightly in his right hand above his thigh. Her hand was light, nothing more than a ghost and a sick part of him wished she would touch him with more insistence.

“How can you… s-say such a thing so brazenly? Have you lost your mind?” he asked, trying to steady the anxiety in his voice.

“It has been so long since I have seen a man like this, Seteth… would you deprive me of such a privilege?”

“I… I should…” he managed.

Manuela’s hand roamed over the tent of Seteth’s robes and he clutched tighter at the fabric, nails sinking into the flesh of his thigh. Her palmed rolled against the flat head of Seteth’s cock and he hissed between his teeth. The woman sighed softly; it was intoxicating to see another man crumble beneath her touch, at long last, let alone the archbishop’s unwavering right-hand. Seteth was revered as being someone untouchable and yet, here she was, hand across his throbbing cock.

“You should… and yet, you will allow me.”

Seteth’s eyebrows knit together in concentration and frustration. He struggled with himself internally, torn between duty and desire, pride and want.

“My resolve is… weak,” he admitted, and Manuela smiled victoriously, sliding her hand beneath his robes to finally wrap her hand around his cock.

The saint hissed and hunched forward more, almost tearing the fabric of his robes on his thigh. Her hand was cool against his scorching cock, and it felt borderline sacrilegious. Such pleasure out to have been sinful, the way her hand started to move up and down slowly, coaxing him back towards his peak.

“Tell me, what were you thinking of before I came here?” Manuela whispered, leaning down to Seteth’s ear. The weight of her breasts heaved against his shoulders and he could hardly contain himself any longer. Her words tickled him in a humiliating way that turned him on even further.

“I… I cannot speak of it… such thoughts are reprehensible…”

“Come now, I wish to know,” she murmured hotly and for a moment, Seteth was fearful she would figure out his secret. No, not about what he touched himself to, but about his ears; the pointed ears he had hidden for aeons so well beneath his hair. But thankfully, she leaned down more, away from his ear and pressed her forehead against his head so that her hot breath ghosted over his face and eyes, forcing them shut.

“No… I cannot…”

Tell me,” she encouraged one final time, hand twisting on the upstroke and eliciting a throaty groan from the saint. His mouth was open, panting and dry. Seteth had not moaned so unabashedly for centuries, the feeling of another’s hand on his cock a pleasure he had long denied himself. His mind wandered and soon, the image of Manuela leaning over him transformed into that of the new young professor, turquoise hair dusting against his neck and it was her plump breasts against his shoulder instead.

“The… n-new professor…”

Manuela hummed and did not stop, quickening her hand. “Oh? She is a pretty thing, I suppose. What about her gets you like this?”

Seteth breathed and leaned back in his chair, his hunched back aching and he sighed with relief as he straightened up. From this angle, Manuela could access his pulsing cock easier, still pumping and she could finally see it. She cooed through her plump lips, breathy hot want escaping; it was long and thick with a redhead beading with precum. It had been far too long since she had laid eyes upon such a delicious cock.

“Her… it… her everything… her hair, her grace, her… m-mmph, her breasts…”

“You are that sort of man,” Manuela smirked, feeling a swell of pride in her heart. She turned a little so that her breasts dragged down Seteth’s chest from his shoulder a little, flush against him, pressing up and pushing up with more insistence. Seteth groaned again, lower lip drawn between his sharp teeth and his eyebrows twitched, self-control wavering the more her hand worked his dripping dick. “You like full breasts, Seteth?”

Y-Yes,” he breathed, admitting it before his mind had a chance to catch up with his mouth. Manuela laughed softly again, pressing her chest up further into Seteth’s chest, moving to shift so that her breasts dragged upwards and settled comfortably just beneath his chin and if Seteth were to tilt her head downwards, he would be able to bury his face deep into her ample cleavage.

“You seem… awfully pent up, Seteth… you can let go. Call out her name, it is quite alright,” she reassured him, enjoying the debauched and weak expression across Seteth’s face. It was wonderful to see a man crumble before her, Seteth’s expression one that would be ingrained into her memory for a long time. She had never regarded the saint in this way before, ever, thinking him a prude old man, but now, that blushing face and those half-lidded hazy eyes, she knew she would touch herself religiously over the next coming nights.

“I… o-oh, Byleth… h-hah, Byleth…” The name fell from his lips and it felt so right. She was everything he wanted and craved; a young virile woman, powerful and graceful, controlled and unknowing (or uncaring) of her own sexuality. It made Seteth shudder and his cock tensed up in Manuela’s hand one last time and he cried out.

Ropes of cum spilled out of his dick, dribbling over and between Manuela’s slender fingers. She let out an impressed sigh, cooing sultrily when Seteth bucked once upwards into her fist. He was chasing his high, wanting his orgasm to last as long as possible; images of the young professor flashed before his eyes, unwinding and coming undone beneath his touch.

Finally, he collapsed and relaxed into the chair, Manuela’s hand slowing down. Through his bleary vision, Seteth could see his seed coating Manuela’s fingers and a wave of shame washed over him. It was hot, like a fire, and he wanted to shrink away but was afraid if he moved, the cum would stain his robes.

Manuela cradled her own hand so that none would drip, and she brought her fingers to her mouth. She darted her lithe tongue out to taste Seteth’s seed, and she shuddered. It was salty and thick, the taste of a man who was pent up and had not released himself for a long time. It was intoxicating and she lapped her tongue over her own fingers, popping them into her mouth and sucking them clean.

Seteth watched the obscene display open-mouthed. He would not have expected anything less from Manuela and yet seeing it was another experience entirely; it stirred a shameful heat inside of him and it twisted in his stomach in a way he half-enjoyed and half-hated.

“Mmh… you taste good,” Manuela said.

“Do not say such obscene things,” he grumbled, trying to regain his composure and hide his cock away into his smallclothes and beneath his robes once more.

Manuela laughed coyly. “You say that after what we just did? How ridiculous.”

Seteth put a hand to his forehead and leaned against his desk. Manuela fell silent beside him and then ventured quietly, “Did you at least enjoy it? Please, be honest.”

Seteth sighed and swallowed his pride. “Yes, Manuela. As is clear to see, I enjoyed it.” He hesitated. “Very much.”

She smiled happily and then swept a hand endearingly over the crown of Seteth’s head. He had not felt such a gentle touch in a long time and he froze until Manuela wandered past him to the centre of the room, picking up her snow-white cloak and buckling it around her. She made sure her hair was back in place and that her breasts were secure inside her flimsy dress. She gave Seteth a wink before turning on her heel.

“Manuela, wait,” Seteth called out to her. He hadn’t the chance to catch himself before he spoke, and Manuela turned with her hand on the doorknob. Seteth scrambled for words and then finally spoke. “What did you come here for?”

“For some wine. I know you have the best reserve in your room… but I got something far more intoxicating,” she winked. Seteth scrunched up his nose and picked his quill back up in his hand with a much more relaxed grip.

“That was awful. Almost as bad as Alois.”

She giggled loudly and then slipped out the room, her cloak disappearing behind her before the door click shut behind her and Seteth was plunged into peace and silence.

Chapter Text

“I… I am not sure I quite understand, Lady Edelgard.”

The Empress sighed and cast her gaze to the side awkwardly. It had been hard enough saying it once, let alone a second time to her most trusted advisor and friend. He stood before her like a statue, tall and poised, without flinching and moving an inch with an arm folded at his waist and behind his back.

“I would hate to say it again,” Edelgard said, cheeks pinking. Hubert had never seen her flush before him and yet, he had not been able to wrap his head around her request. Her fingers came up to her crown, and she took it off her head, sighing as the physical and metaphysical weight came off. She set it aside, atop her dresser and gazed at her own reflection, turning her back to Hubert though she could still see him in the mirror.

Her fingers came to her hair and then she stopped.

“Hubert.”

“My lady?”

“Help me undress.”

It was Hubert’s turn to flush red and his mouth opened and closed like a dumb goldfish. He wanted to say no, to deny her request and tell her such things were inappropriate and yet his devotion and loyalty to her was unwavering.

He swallowed his pride over the hard lump of arousal in his throat. “Of course, Lady Edelgard.”

Hubert’s fingers came up to her hair, tangling into the silvery strands as he sought to undo the ties holding everything in place. He pulled as gently as he could but noticed Edelgard’s head moving with each pull. She said nothing and he saw her lavender eyes closing in the mirror’s reflection, mouth falling open in a silent pleasurable sigh. He could not help how flustered he got when he saw her in this state; it was a rare occurrence, to see Edelgard without a heavy frown shadowing her beautiful face.

“I still wish for you to do it,” she said quietly.

Hubert’s fingers faltered. “I…”

“Are you not loyal to me?”

“Of course, I would never leave your side.”

“Then you will do as you are asked.”

Hubert’s lips tightened and he nodded, bowing slightly as his fingers fell tangled tighter in Edelgard’s hair. “Yes, Lady Edelgard.”

With a guilt-wrenching tug, Hubert pulled on her silvery hair. Edelgard gasped, shocked and surprised at the strength with which he pulled and her bright purple eyes flew open wide. She stared at him in the mirror, watching as he then swept her long tresses over her one shoulder, revealing her skin to his golden eye.

“You will tell me when to stop should it become too much, will you not?”

“Yes. However, I trust you.”

Hubert’s lips pursed again, and he hung his head. “Should you need me to stop… call out…” He pondered for a moment, then smirked. “Call out Fhirdiad.”

Edelgard let a smile grace her lips too, a sly one, bringing one of her scarlet gloved hands up to Hubert’s sharp and pale face. “Such a thing should not be said during such intimate moments.”

“All the more reason for it to be the word to stop me.”

“Are you sure it will not merely drive you forward, towards your goal?” Edelgard grinned again, watching as Hubert leaned over her shoulder and nuzzled his nose into her neck. She could see the sharp bumps and angles of it as he bowed his head and he took a long breath, inhaling her scent. She smelled womanly; clean and delicate, like flowers, but she had her own scent too, something Hubert could not describe as anything other than intoxicating.

“Rest assured, I will stop should you tell me, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert’s mouth closed over a small patch of vulnerable skin at Edelgard’s neck, kissing lightly, a ghost of his lips, a spectre of breath floating across the paleness. She shuddered and closed her eyes, her own fingers coming up to unbuckle the buttons at the front of her gown. Hubert’s lips busied themselves with lavishing her neck as his fingers also undid her cape, letting it cascade to the floor.

“Please, when it is just us… just call me Edelgard.”

“My lady… I-I… I mean, Edelgard.” It felt borderline blasphemous to call her name without the title before it, but she had asked for it and so that was what she would have. Hubert’s hands skimmed up her sides and Edelgard breathed in.

“Tell me,” she said and although she didn’t finish her sentence, Hubert knew exactly what she sought.

“You are… most beautiful… so stunning, so delicate,” he began. The buttons at the front of her dress felt open and soon, the whole garment was sliding down her arms, her slender waist and her hips, dropping to the floor in a crimson coloured ripple at her feet. She was still wearing her boots and navy leggings but neither cared at that moment.

“Hubert,” Edelgard whispered.

His lips came to her skin again, caressing more of the exposed flesh with soft butterfly kisses. Had she not experienced it herself, Edelgard would have laughed in the face of anyone who said that Hubert had the capacity to be gentle. He was tender, slow, loving, everything she had asked him to be. He peppered her collarbones, shoulder and neck with his lips, tiny kisses of adoration.

“So strong too… such a woman… so strong, allowing me to hold her,” he hummed, the vibrations tickling the skin of Edelgard’s shoulder, dancing down a tightly strung cord straight to her abdomen. Her legs quivered at his words and her head leaned back against his shoulder. Hubert kept her hair swept over her shoulder and then held onto her arms, gently manoeuvring her.

They stood face to face. All breath left Hubert’s body in a great whoosh as he stared down at his Empress. His face was a rosy pink, silver hair cascading all around her face like a pearly waterfall, bathing her in a white light, giving her skin a brilliant glow. His golden eye scanned her body, taking in every inch of milky pale skin, marred only by a rare pink scar over her abdomen and arms.

He sucked in a breath, refilling his lungs when his eyes came to rest on her breasts. They were pert and he hadn’t touched them yet but judging by his estimations, they would probably not even fill his large palms. They were topped with a puffy pink areola and soft nipples, almost inverted.

“So beautiful,” he breathed. “I have never seen anything so radiant in all my life.”

Edelgard shivered again, tilting her head so that she had to gaze upwards at Hubert. She reached up and tangled a hand into his raven-hair wanting nothing more than to crash her lips against his and drink him in.

“Allow me.”

Before she had the chance, Hubert stepped in closer but ducked his head so meet her body and chest once more. Using her free hand to steady herself on her dresser behind her, Edelgard’s body arched up into Hubert’s wandering mouth, curious to explore and taste new skin. When she had originally requested this of him, he was both fearful and excited, apprehensive. But now, with his lips and tongue drowning in her taste and scent, he was glad he was an obedient man.

Ah…” Edelgard breathed, her quiet moan like a perfect melody in Hubert’s ears. He wanted to hear more of her voice and so he lathed his tongue over her body, stooping slightly to reach her breasts.

He was sure it was just a trick of his mind, but she seemed to taste sweeter there. Her nipple fell into his mouth and he sucked eagerly, other hand coming to circle and cup her other breast. She keened upwards, almost going onto her tiptoes even in her heeled boots so she could be closer to his hot mouth.

Edelgard had always thought Hubert a cold man; calculating and unperturbed by anything, she wondered if his heart was ice, sometimes. But his hot mouth sucking, kissing, licking over her nipple, drawing it alert and hard, she had no doubts any longer. Hubert was a fire, a quiet burn that could scorch and burn at a moment’s notice.

“You taste wonderful,” he murmured, popping off her one breast and eagerly turning to the other. Edelgard cried out, tugging sharper at Hubert’s hair and he grunted.

“Hubert!”

“Hmm, you are doing so well,” he said again, teeth dancing around her nipple though he never bit down. The thrill of it made Edelgard shiver but he just kissed her breast again, claiming both mounds in his hands, pressing them together and kissing the small cleavage that appeared there.

“Hush, hush… it is alright…”

“Please… I… want more…”

Hubert hummed, as if he was considering her request but he already knew he was going to give her exactly what she -what they both- wanted.

“What do you ask of me?”

Edelgard’s face turned an even deeper shade of red, almost matching her gown as she stuttered out between haggard breaths. “Your… y-your m-mouth… upon me.”

Hubert groaned again, running his tongue hotly between her breasts, relishing in the hot slide of his frothy saliva. “Since you have done so well… of course.”

The man sank to his knees before his Empress and yet she was the one who cowered and trembled before him. Her grip on her dresser turned her knuckle white, nails sinking into the deep cherry coloured wood though Edelgard didn’t care. Hubert kneeled before her, fingers pulling at her navy tights but she could feel he was not tugging at her underwear.

“Hubert… you can…”

“Patience, Edelgard,” he said, falling into his role with much more ease the way Edelgard begged him. He always loved power, the fear and intimidation he instilled in others with just his mere presence to hold power over the woman he was devoted to -the woman who he loved- it was another thrill altogether.

Hubert tugged down Edelgard’s navy tights and admired every inch of new milky skin born before his eyes. The empty canvas of her legs ached to be marked and painted with lips and so he did just that. The raven-haired man leaned in, kissing Edelgard’s thigh directly, hands resting on her hips once her tights had fallen to her ankles, restricted only by her boots.

His lips were hot against her and Edelgard moaned again, bordering on a whimper or a whine. She thought to herself; she had never sounded so weak in all her life and yet, it felt right. To have allowed herself to be so vulnerable before Hubert, it felt right. Yes.

“So good… you are doing so well for me,” he whispered between kisses. “So pretty, so good… do you agree?”

His golden eye shot upwards and Edelgard was stunned by the piercing gaze. She nodded vehemently, biting on her lower lip and released her hold on Hubert’s head a little to just caress his thick locks. His lips returned to her skin, hot and wandering, mapping out every inch of her thighs, dancing between both, mouth drawing closer and higher up each time.

Hubert paused at the hem of her underwear and Edelgard whined again, louder and more high-pitched. “Please,” she breathed.

“Do you wish for my mouth against you? Do you wish for my tongue to spread you open and make you cry out to the skies above?” he whispered, teeth nipping at the black cotton. Edelgard’s nails pierced the wood.

“Yes! Hubert, I beg of you… I… I have been w-well-behaved so-”

“Mmh, such a needy Empress,” he hummed and Edelgard absolutely moaned at that, loud and needy, throaty and desperate. Her title playing across his lips made her weak in the knees.

“Please, please… I have… you a-are…”

“Hush, it is alright. I will give you what you want; you have been so good for me after all.”

Hubert dragged his teeth down her body, pulling her underwear with them and Edelgard felt torn; she wanted to cover herself with her hands and simultaneously, she wanted to thrust her hips outwards so that Hubert could take her already.

The tactician’s brain ceased to function for a moment. All circuitry seemed to malfunction as he gazed at Edelgard’s sex… no, her pussy. It was pink and shiny, slick with arousal and Hubert had to swallow hard and remember that he was the one who had caused that. Her pussy was aching, sopping wet and sticky strands connected her thighs because of him.

He growled deep in his throat and eagerly dove in, wrapping his arms under each of Edelgard’s thighs so that he cupped her behind and pulled her to him. Her pussy met his mouth in a burning fire and Edelgard tossed her head back, nails scratching deeply into Hubert’s head. He didn't care and groaned again, vibrations sending bolts of fire through Edelgard’s body.

“Hubert! Ah, y-yes! Th-Thank you-”

The man drew back just a moment to recollect himself, control himself and he spoke quickly. “You have no need to thank me. You deserve this, Edelgard.”

She whimpered and nodded quickly until Hubert closed his golden eye and eagerly returned to her pussy. It tasted wonderous, better than any meal he had ever eaten, and he knew that he would soon become addicted to her taste. It was thick and womanly, delicate and heady, indescribably Edelgard.

Hubert’s tongue swept between her dripping folds in a steady motion, sweeping upwards repeatedly before kissing and sucking at her entire sex. Her hips jolted violently against his mouth and Edelgard felt him smirk against her. It made her crazy with desire.

“Oh… f-fuck…” she gasped.

Hubert opened his eye again and drew back to catch his breath, shiny slick coating his sharp pointed chin. “Who would have thought the Empress of Adrestia to have such a filthy mouth?”

Hubert…

“What a pretty mouth it is too,” he sang, giving her clit a quick graze of his teeth. Edelgard’s lavender eyes went wide and she choked on her own breath, body burning. She was embarrassingly close, fuelled on by Hubert’s words just as much as his actions.

“Please… I want…”

“Of course. You have been so good, so good, you deserve everything,” he whispered. Between deep licks and gentle sucking, Hubert granted praises up at Edelgard who keened and bucked at his words and against his tongue. Both Empress and minister were lost in one another’s touch, the tangle of fingers deep in onyx black hair and the taste of desperation rolling down a throat.

“Hubert… I cannot—I am almost—”

“Ask for it.”

It was something Edelgard request that he do. So, when she was almost there, so close to tipping into the throes of her climax she cried out, nearly crying. “Please! Please! I need it… f-fuck, I need to—oh, Hubert, I cannot--!”

“Alright, hush now… such a good girl,” Hubert murmured against her pussy, and for a moment, he wondered if he has crossed an unspoken line when Edelgard said nothing and silence washed over them. But then she was crying out, screaming his name and shuddering against his tongue.

Oh, Hubert! Your tongue is so good! A-Ah! Hah, mmh—!"

The man beneath her almost reached his own climax, trousers uncomfortably tight around his rock-hard cock. Her moans swam in his head like a drug, twisting and swirling about his brain like an addiction he would not be able to shake. The way his name fell from her lips made him shudder and he couldn't help the way his fingers sank into her behind and her hips when he pulled her as close as he could.

She gushed against his mouth and he eagerly lapped every drop up, almost like a dog. He doted on his Empress and would do anything and everything to serve her properly, including cleaning her up. So it was no arduous task for him when that is exactly what he does, pulling back from her plump pussy, admiring the shine of it, saliva and desire mixed as one.

He kissed over her clit, letting his teeth graze it teasingly again and her hips shuddered and bucked upwards. Finally, his eye reopened, and he glanced up at his Empress.

Edelgard was panting heavily, chest heaving with every deep breath she sucked in and her face was still scarlet. Her silvery hair clung to her large sweaty forehead, her neck, shoulders and back and her eyes… oh, those eyes. So bright but half-lidded with desire, hazy with want, Hubert lost himself in them.

He swiped a finger around his mouth and sucked on it, tasting a mix of leather from his glove and Edelgard on his tongue. He stood, knees creaking and he towered back over the smaller woman.

Edelgard shuddered again, letting go of Hubert’s hair and instead rest her hand on the front of his broad and strong chest.

“I hope that was… something akin to what you asked for,” he said eventually, smiling down at her. Edelgard still seemed to be in a daze and she nodded slowly. Hubert let a smile grace his face – an honest spread of the lips, nothing sinister about it- as he stared at her. His hand came to her hair and he soothed it gently, unsticking it from her skin.

“W-Was I… good, Hubert?” she ventured, tilting her big purple eyes upwards at him. The man swallowed and nodded.

“Of course. You were so good for me, so deserving… I am proud of you, my lady.”

“Mmh,” Edelgard hummed happily. She was exhausted and still dizzy, pulling on the front of his black blazer. “Will you take me to bed?”

“Of course, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert said, slipping back into his role as her vassal and protector, scooping the small woman up in arms and making his way to the bed. As he laid her down upon it, she gazed at him with glassy eyes and he hesitated, hand smoothing over her hair.

“Hubert…”

“Yes?”

“Will you… stay the night?”

The man turned pink and swallowed his pride. “If that is what you wish.”

Edelgard smiled easily and raised her one leg weakly into the air. Immediately, Hubert came to sit down on the thick bed, sinking into the plush mattress and scarlet sheets, taking Edelgard’s leg in his hand and unclasping the boot from her ankles, repeating the ministrations for the same leg. He tugged her tights and underwear down and let them fall to the floor for the time being. They would be dealt with in the morning.

“Hubert?” Edelgard asked quietly again.

“Yes?”

“Will you… hold me?”

“Of course.”

“And… kiss me?”

Hubert turned and swallowed again. He stared at Edelgard’s lips and his body moved automatically, slowly closing the gap between them.

“Of course, my lady.”

Chapter Text

“Well, well, well… what a pretty little thing we have here.”

Ingrid’s head was spinning. Knocked from her Pegasus knight, she tried to push herself up onto her knees so that she could gaze at the man who stood before her, sneering at her. She saw his feet first, grotesque toes with yellowed nails twisting and curling from his sandals and his fat ankles. Ingrid’s face immediately twisted with disgusted as she followed the rest of his body upwards.

He was disgusting. A fat bandit leader with thick purple lips, tiny eyes that were nothing more than black specs and a wide nose that took up most of the area of his face. His grin was lop-sided, cruel and curling at the corners of his lips. His lackeys flanked him, smirking down at Ingrid too, one on either side of him and Ingrid shuddered.

“You landed a nice hit there,” the brigand leader said, turning to look over his shoulder at one of his underlings, a thin man with a gaunt face and a bow hoisted over his shoulder proudly. His smile was equally as disgusting, a proud sneer plastered over his face.

One of the men leaned down and gripped Ingrid’s upper arm. She wrenched it out of his grasp and scrambled backwards, armour scraping against the dirt. She bumped into something, halting her retreat but she didn’t bother to look back at it, instead focusing on the threats looming ever closer as the group of men closed in on her.

“She looks like a virgin,” one of the men said.

“Hey? Nah, look at her, she looks like she’s had cock before,” another said.

“Yeah, I bet. She’s probably taken a few hundred by now,” a third jeered. Ingrid felt bile rise in her throat.

“Nah, look at her eyes,” the leader said. He crouched down to her face and grabbed Ingrid’s petrified face in his grubby thick fingers. He leered at her, smirking cruelly as he stared her down. Her verdant eyes were wide, brimming with a fear that the bandit leader did not miss, even if Ingrid was trying to face it with rage and intimidation. “Look at her. She’s frightened, the poor thing.”

“We won’t hurt her though, will we boss? That is, if she plays good,” the archer said, letting his bow drop. When his hands moved to his hips and started fiddling with the frayed leather of his belt, that was when Ingrid’s heart stopped.

Her throat tightened and she tried to shake her head free from the man cupping her face, but his grip was strong. She glared at him, trying to shoot daggers with her eyes but he did nothing, and she could see the other men reaching for their belts and breeches too.

No. No. Not like this.

Ingrid spat in the face of the bandit leader. It landed on his cheek and he cried out in shock, revolted. Ingrid seized her opportunity and rolled, pushing off from the ground to try and make her escape. Her boots kicked up dust and she scrambled to run away, leaving her lance on the ground. She would hopefully have no need of it should she be able to escape.

But a firm hand shot up and gripped at her cape. She shrieked as she fell back to the ground, landing hard on her back and cracking her head on the hard earth beneath her. Her eyes shut and they swam when she opened them again, the sky spinning above her.

“Little bitch,” a cruel voice spoke.

She could barely make out the silhouette of one of the bandits coming and wrenching a hand in her hair. Ingrid cried out again, trying to pry his dirty fingers out of her short blonde locks but he did not relent and instead yanked her to her feet, dragging her along the ground.

“You fucking bitch,” the leader said, wiping her spittle from his face. He stood before her, tall, fat and intimidating. Ingrid’s eyes were bleary with tears from dizziness and pain and the bandit leader ripped his breeches off, exposing his putrid cock.

It was thick and heavy, much more girthy than it was long with a foreskin that wrapped entirely around the head. Ingrid was revolted; she could smell it even from here. Surely, even for bandits, this was disgusting but it seemed that the man would use her mouth for cleaning as she took over the hold of her hair from his comrade.

“You’ll fucking pay for that. Spit on something worth spitting on, why don’t you,” he snarled. Ingrid was dizzy but not submissive, glaring still up at the man with tightly pressed lips. She refused to even open her mouth to speak, knowing that if she did, his cock would be at her lips in an instant.

“Ooh, she think she’s tough, boss,” the archer said, stepping up beside his leader. His cock was out too, equally as filthy but not as thick, much slenderer and paler. His boss cast him a sideways glance of agreement and turned back to Ingrid.

“I didn’t want to mark up such a pretty face… but I guess I have no choice.”

With that, the brigand leader drew his hand back and brought it across Ingrid’s face. Her head whipped to the right and stars danced in her vision. She had never been hit so hard before, not even when swords clashed against her lance or bounced off her armour. The power behind the man’s arm was unlike anything had ever felt before and her neck throbbed with the whiplash, making its way down her spine.

Her mouth fell open and he took his chance. His putrid cock pushed past her pale lips and into her mouth. Ingrid wretched around it, the acidic burn of bile singing her throat as she tasted days –perhaps weeks- old grime against her tongue. It was salty, bitter, earthy and absolutely vile.

“That’s it, much better,” he sneered.

Ingrid could do nothing; she wanted to bite down on his cock, perhaps even try tearing it off with her teeth, but the thickness of it made it impossible, locking her jaw open painfully. She squirmed and had one hand on the leader’s thigh, the other in her hair, trying desperately to free herself. The cruel man did nothing but laugh, his comrades joining in, sickening laughter echoing around in her brain.

“Boss,” the archer said. “Ain’t she one of those students from the monastery? I’m sure I recognise her.”

“Well, well… I think you’re right.”

“Yeah… she’s with that green-haired professor. I’m sure she had a boyfriend up at that monastery,” the archer sneered, stepping up with his cock in his hand, slapping it against his palm. Ingrid wanted to turn away, to hide, to shut herself off from it all but no matter how much she wanted to ignore it all, she couldn’t; the pain prickling through her scalp, the locking ache in her jaw and the whiplash coursing up her spine kept her burning and alive in the moment.

“How do you think he’s gonna feel knowing you’ve sucked some other man’s cock now? He ain’t gonna want you,” the bandit leader cackled loudly, fat belly bouncing with each chortle. Ingrid whimpered pathetically and it only served to motivate him. His hips drew back, and he plunged his cock into her mouth deeper.

Ingrid retched around it, gagging with disgust. It tasted awful but it was the cruel depravity of the act that sickened her the most. She was being raped. Raped by a group of filthy Brigands. Her eyes opened, watering and the brigand leader cooed down at her.

“Ain’t those some pretty eyes,” he said, caressing the back of Ingrid’s scalp with a calloused thumb. The Pegasus knight sobbed and shuddered under his touch, still attempting to wriggle free from his iron-grip. The other brigands had long released their cocks too and they were all stroking them in earnest.

A third man stepped up on his boss’ left, Ingrid’s right and a petrifying cold shiver ran through her body. The dark skin, the silver hair, the broad shoulders… the man was from Duscur. She would recognise the strong forehead, heavy brow and broad nose anywhere. Her nostrils flared with fury and fear, shoving with all her strength against the leader’s hips and finally, she broke free.

Coughing, gagging and almost vomiting, Ingrid panted violently. She wiped her mouth against the back of her hand and spat at the ground, trying to clear her throat of such a filthy taste. Her blazing green eyes never left the dark-skinned man now stepping up to her. He had his cock held in one hand, thick and dark with a terrifying purple head and a dagger in his other.

“Take your clothes off,” he ordered. His voice low, thick and deep and it made her shudder.

“Never,” Ingrid spat.

“Ooh, feisty,” the boss said, still lazily pumping his cock now lathered with Ingrid’s spit. “Cut her out of them.”

The Duscur man stepped forward and Ingrid tried to scramble away again but in two quick strides, he was upon her, tearing away her armour and stripping her of her clothes. He used his dagger to tear through any laces and easily snapped off any latches that held her armour together. Piece by piece, she was stripped of her protection, breasts bare to the lecherous eyes of the brigands cheering on the Duscur man’s actions.

He threw his dagger aside and Ingrid had half a mind to reach for it and use it but he saw her gaze flit towards it and with the back of his dirty boot, sent it careening away.

“Don’t even bother fighting. It’s useless,” he said, steady and cold. “You won’t get away. You’ve got no escape. Your Pegasus is dead.”

Ingrid’s heart sank in her chest and she shook her head. No. Not her horse. The Duscur man tilted his head just to the side and Ingrid followed the motion with her wide eyes. Behind her, the very thing stopping her retreat, was the slaughtered body of her Pegasus. Blood stained its white body, dribbling down and pooling on the ground, seeping into the earth. Its wings were clipped and low, feathers ruffled and in total disarray. The arrow that had shot it down was still lodged deep in the breast of the horse and Ingrid’s bare hand came to rest on her friend.

No. No.

Hot salty tears spilt down her face and she whirled her head around, eyes burning with fire. For a moment, the brigand leader looked frightened, but that smirk returned, and he stepped back up.

“Face it, you’ve got nowhere to run. If you play nice, we’ll let you go, let you go back to your pretty boyfriend,” he said, shrugging slightly. The archer stepped up on his right and the Duscur man on his left, leering down at Ingrid’s naked body. She trembled with fury; her hands balled up into tight white-knuckled fists.

“You disgusting fucking bastards…” she swore, voice hoarse. She wanted to scream and fight but knew that she would be easily crushed beneath the men. “Fuck you.”

The Duscur man sighed dejectedly as if disappointed with her response but the archer and the bandit leader both cackled like a pair of murderous vultures. The leader stepped up and pulled Ingrid up onto her knees, holding her by her hair again. Without a moment’s hesitation, he slapped her hard across the face – once, twice, thrice.

Ingrid’s skin burned, both cheeks stinging with pain. For a moment, she thought he had fractured her jaw with the force of his hand, but she could still move it. Not that it was useful since his cock ploughed straight back into her mouth, locking it place once more. This time, his hand came down and pinched her nose, cutting off her breathing.

Scorching tears burned down her face and she screamed in her throat, muffled. The force of her shriek puffed her cheeks out and she managed to suck in a quick breath around the filthy cock plunging back and forth into her mouth. He held her nose tightly and Ingrid’s fists balled, punching as strongly as she could against the thighs of the brigand leader. A tight grip on each wrist soon stopped her and she felt her hand forced onto each cock.

“Don’t even think about hurting either of us. We’ll kill you quicker than you can cry for your boyfriend,” the archer sneered. Ingrid resisted as best she could until the diminished flow of her oxygen left her growing weaker and weaker. Her head began to spin, and her green eyes fluttered, hands relaxing out of their tight fists.

Both archer and Duscur man placed their cocks into each of Ingrid’s hands and helped to move her hand. Ingrid was going dizzy. Darkness was closing in on her. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe—

And then it all came rushing back. Her eyes opened, oxygen flooded her lungs and she was coughing, retching violently. Her throat burned, her mouth felt filthy and her grip impulsively tightened around each of the cocks in her hands. The brigands all around her laughed, but their voices were just a dull garbled mess now.

She was losing herself. Trying to detach herself from the situation. So Ingrid barely noticed when hot streaks of filthy cum landed in her short hair, painting across her tall forehead and streaked across her cheeks. Her face may have flinched, but her heart and brain barely reacted.

“Shit boss, I think she’s broken,” the archer laughed, still using Ingrid’s hand and helping her to work himself. The Duscur man grunted beside them. The bandit leader forced Ingrid’s head back and before where there was once a blazing fire, there was nothing but a dull emptiness, tears tumbling down her cum-covered face. He sneered.

“Doesn’t matter. Get your share boys, use her up, and leave her there. I’m sure someone will find her eventually,” the brigand said, tucking himself back away and stepping aside, allowing the next man to take his turn

Chapter Text

Sothis’ tiny dainty fingers came to her mouth in an obscene attempt to hide her laughter. She giggled, a high-pitched trill in her throat and her bright green eyes blinked back at Byleth who sat at his desk, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides with his head tipped back.

She ground herself more against his lap and laughed quietly again.

“Honestly, I cannot believe how desperate you are,” she said softly, eyelids fluttering, lashes brushing against her puffy cheeks. She wore a lop-sided grin but Byleth barely noticed it, dizzy with desire.

He had been achingly hard for hours. Sothis had been torturing him for hours. She said that over the last five years he had been unconscious at the bottom of the ravine, she had nobody to talk to and that there was only so much time she could spend sleeping. And so, when he awoke, the first thing she did was exact her ‘revenge’, as she called it… initially, Byleth was suspicious about calling this a revenge -grinding up against the small goddess’ round ass didn’t exactly seem like a punishment- but as the hours dragged on, he could wholly understand why she had called it exactly that.

“Then again, being unconscious for five years, I suppose some things just build up, don’t they?” she laughed again, rocking back with a particularly long grind.

Byleth groaned again, head rolling again his shoulder to the side as he gazed down at Sothis in his lap. She was so small, slender and petite, nestling comfortably between his spread legs and thighs, grinding up against his bare cock with her round ass. Despite her small frame, her ass was phenomenal and breath-taking; quite literally.

He was breathless, chest heaving. Stripped bare of every inch of his clothing, Byleth could feel the burn of the rope against his wrists tying him down to the chair and all he could do was flex his hands impatiently.

“S-Sothis… Sothis, oh…”

“Hmm? Did you say something?” she said teasingly, the twitch in her long ears not going unnoticed.

“Please, please, it has been hours…”

“Yes… quite a while… but nothing compared to five years,” Sothis mused, winking over her shoulder. Her feet couldn’t quite reach the floor and so they kicked about above the ground where she sat in Byleth’s lap. Her small hands were placed on either of the professor’s thighs, using her own body weight as leverage to rock back and forth up against his dribbling cock.

It was almost an excruciating pain coursing through his body at this point. Byleth’s back was stiff and sore against the hard back of his wooden chair, his wrists were raw, and he knew that he would have red burn marks that he’d have to explain in the morning too. His cock was throbbing, sliding against the crack of Sothis’ cute ass.

She had shifted her dress to the side, sweeping it around her back so that the professor could get a good look at his punishment for leaving her alone for so long. She was rocking back and forth and though her ass was too small to fit his cock between the cheeks comfortably, the mere sight of it, the repeated rocking and grinding and sometimes the slick skim of her pussy against his dick was enough to drive any sane person mad.

“I cannot… hold back much longer-!” Byleth cried out.

Sothis puffed out her cheeks and her eyebrows flattened in a disappointed expression. She shuffled forward just a little, so his cock only leaned against her ass and lower-back and she no longer ground back against him. His cock throbbed, balls tightening, and he almost tipped over the edge with an excruciating cry.

“Uh-uh! Not yet!” Sothis sang, watching as Byleth’s cock bounced and pulse against her lower-back, twitching cutely. She grinned widely and Byleth grit his teeth hard. It took every ounce of his concentration not to spill himself right there and he panted hard, chest heaving. His head was spinning, he was delirious with desire and every muscle in his body was pulled tight like a bowstring.

A cat-like giggle, high-pitched and far too cute for the situation reverberated in his ears. His eyes opened slowly, hazy and blurry with hot tears and he tried to see through them to look at Sothis’ face.

“Aww, poor thing… look at you; you want it so badly, don’t you?”

Byleth nodded, dizzy, submissive, pliant, everything Sothis wanted him to be. The small girl laughed again in his lap.

“Hmm… I’m sure you can wait a little longer. What’s a few more hours compared to five years?”

Chapter Text

Midday, most of the students were wandering around the courtyards of Garreg Mach, free to do as they pleased with their time before the second session of lessons began after lunch. Some students liked to go fishing, some went to the greenhouse, some offered to help cook, some were even devoting more of their time to training. There were plenty of students also just sitting around in the courtyards and outside the dormitories, enjoying the warmth of the Blue Verdant sun.

But hidden away, locked behind the doors at the uppermost floor of the monastery, in the archbishop’s private quarters, a sin most obscene took place.

The archbishop herself, Lady Rhea, gripped onto the edge of her standing floor mirror, the grooves and intricate carvings of the wood sinking into the flesh of her palm. She stood on her tiptoes, wobbling dangerously and precariously as she stared at her own reflection.

Bent at a sharp ninety-degree angle, the archbishop’s expression was one most unbefitting of a lady of religion. Eyes half-lidded and her plump pink lip drawn between her teeth, she the very image of sacrilege. Her mint coloured hair clung to her face, sticking to her forehead and at the corners of her mouth where they almost fell inside, and she would have to spit them back out.

But she had been instructed.

Lady Rhea had been instructed to stare at her own reflection and nothing else.

The long stripe licked up along her pussy, burning against her crack and hole made her tremble. She had never been made to feel so powerless before, not in aeons. Her fingers sank deeper into the wood, splintering under her nails and her mouth fell open. Her blush only darkened as she stared back at herself. Had she really fallen so low? Had she really been reduced to such a wanton woman, driven only by pleasure and desire?

Apparently so, for another long drawn out moan tumbled from her rosy lips. The tongue lapped at her pussy again, licking long stripes along it, from the crown of verdant hair to her asshole, over the filthiest place on her pious body. She trembled again and opened her mouth to speak.

“Please… S-Sothis dearest… I cannot bear to look at myself any longer-!”

The young turquoise-haired woman crouched behind the archbishop drew back for just a moment to take in a breath. She ducked her head between Rhea’s legs so that she could stare up at the woman in the mirror. Their eyes met and Rhea’s heart thundered in her chest. The sight of the new professor, on her knees but still fully clothed with her arousal dripping down her chin was too much to bear. The fact that she also didn’t wipe away the slick juices made it even more intense.

“You refer to me consistently as Sothis… I am unsure who that is. Until you learn my name, I will continue.”

Rhea trembled and tried to formulate a response but Byleth’s mouth quickly came upon her once again. That voice, that response… it was so cold, so detached and so calculated, almost as if it had been rehearsed, practised… predicted.

How long had Byleth sought to do this?

The hot tongue probed back within Rhea’s folds, lips kissing, pressing and sucking with more intensity than before. Rhea’s held fell, her chin tucking into her chest and she tried to stay upright. The balls of her feet were aching from tip toeing for so long, Byleth’s hands massaging over the globes of her ass cheeks.

“Make sure you keep your head lifted. You must keep looking at yourself.”

“S-Soth—”

“Look at yourself.”

Rhea lifted her head back up and gazed back at her own bleary-eyed reflection. She had been stripped off everything; every piece of sacred robe, her jewellery, and her headdress, and she was laid bare before her own eyes, searching in her expression for answers.

She had believed so strongly that this new professor was Sothis… there was no doubt about it. Rhea could feel it and yet, when asked and when questioned, the professor only regarded her with a cold and confused stare, revealing nothing. For many weeks, the archbishop had tested her hypothesis, much to the chagrin of Seteth, but she was so sure. She sent Byleth on missions she knew to be dangerous and yet, every time, she returned totally unharmed and her students often commented on her strength and fluidity in battle.

It had to be. It had to be the gift of the mother goddess.

Rhea’s brows furrowed but she kept her eyes open as she gazed into her own reflection. The name of the mother goddess kept falling from her lips. It was something she could not control.

She yearned for her so badly that even as the young professor bit down into the soft cheek of her ass and left a small indentation, she moaned with her mother’s name upon her lips. She needed her.

Rhea stumbled, staggering and her knee knocked into the mirror. Byleth took this as a moment to allow Rhea to collect herself.

“You will not be allowed to cum until you call me by my name.”

The archbishop drew her lip between her teeth again, worrying it until it became red and painful. Such a simple request asked of her, yet it was almost impossible to complete.

“But… I cannot stand much longer… my legs are restless and painful,” Rhea wept, almost turning her head over her shoulder but Byleth’s fingers sank cruelly into the skin of her thigh as a warning. The woman turned her head back to the mirror and stared down between her legs as the professor soothed the squeezed skin.

“Then be sure to call my name quickly.”

Byleth’s mouth dove back in but this time, to the hole located higher up. Rhea’s eyes widened and her tongue fell from her mouth is lascivious desire. It was filthy, it was obscene, it was sinful and everything she should have abhorred but the guilty pleasure coursing its way through her body made her shudder more. The hot tongue lapping at her asshole was a sensation she never thought she would experience, but one she would come to ache for.

Ah! Please! That place is dirty and should not be… o-oh… hah, graced by such a holy mouth,” Rhea stammered, gripping onto the mirror again. She hated staring at her reflection because it turned her on far too much than she would ever admit; not only was it because she could see Byleth’s form disappear into the plumpness of her ass, but because of her own face. Rhea had never seen herself so depraved before, not in her whole life.

She was a holy woman, a goddess, who had been reduced to a mewling whimpering mess under the mouth of her believed-to-be-mother, locked away in the body of another.

It was a convoluted situation.

Byleth’s one hand wandered to the dripping folds of Rhea’s pussy and her fingers sank between her pink lips. Two fingers slid in easily, curling and waving in a slow rolling motion so that she pressed down against every inch of Rhea’s insides. She pressed against her most sensitive spot and the woman above her trembled. The professor could see the shake in her knees and her other hand came around to lock around her kneecap and hold her there, doing her best to support her.

“Do not fall.”

“B-But… S-Sothis, I—it is too much!”

Byleth hummed. Rhea heard it; low and disapproving. No. That name had fallen from her lips again. It was an automatic response and rewiring such a habit would be difficult.

With a harsh suck again her asshole, Rhea quivered and cried out loudly. She wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth to silence her cries -what if Seteth came running?- but she knew if she let go of the mirror, she would fall. And so she allowed herself to be loud and cry out, overwhelmed with a burning, building heat.

The fingers working inside her pussy and the hot mouth closed around her ass was too hot. It was burning, like the fires of the Red Canyon deep in the pit of her stomach. She could feel an explosion building inside of herself and she did nothing to stop the impending outburst.

So c-close—”

Call my name,” Byleth encouraged. Her tongue pushed past the ring of tight muscle, working it hot and loose so she could probe deeper. The woman tasted like chastity; a clean and sacred taste against her tongue that Byleth could barely describe but it was a pleasant taste. She moaned in satisfaction, burying her face and nose between the plump cheeks. Her mouth lapped greedily over Rhea’s filthy hole and the archbishop cried out.

“O-Oh… oh, ah… p-professor! B-Byleth! Byleth, yes! I am almost— ah!”

The professor doubled her efforts and pushed her tongue in as deeply as she could, thrusting and pumping her fingers quickly. Rhea’s entire body shivered. Her heavy breasts hung low as she was bent at this angle and her hardened nipples sometimes skimmed her thighs as her body buckled and bent with the intensity of her pleasure. Her hair fell into her face, obscuring her vision of herself in the mirror but she could still see.

Gazing back at herself, she came. Her eyes fluttered and her mouth fell open in a desperate cry of pleasure, cracking as she reached her climax. The pit in her stomach exploded into a fire, spreading though her veins and burning in her pussy. Her insides contracted around the professor’s fingers and even her asshole reflexively tensed up, tightening around the hot tongue buried deep.

Byleth moaned, humming and sending vibrations tingling through Rhea’s legs. Her fingers slipped and almost lost their grip on the mirror, but her forehead knocked against the glass. Sticky with sweat, she held herself there, panting so heavily that the mirror misted up with her breaths.

Caressing her ass cheeks lovingly, Byleth drew back. Her mouth was covered in a mixture of saliva and juices, Rhea’s arousal dribbling down her quivering thighs. She withdrew her fingers and sucked them into her own mouth, licking them clean and Rhea watched in the mirror. She could no longer support herself and she fell to her knees, heaving for breath.

She hunched forward so that her forehead still leaned against the mirror and she felt Byleth move just a little behind her.

“I… I apologise, professor…” Rhea began. Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. Oh, how low she felt; no regalia or power left in her having been stripped of everything. “I cannot help but call out her name when I gaze upon you.”

“Do I look like her?”

Rhea shook her head and lifted it from the mirror, tucking her legs into her chest and wrapping her arms around herself to try and warm herself. She suddenly felt cold now that the gentle waves of her pleasure had ebbed away.

“No… you look nothing like her, in fact,” Rhea said. “But you remind me of her. Your aura is the same as hers.”

“My aura?”

“Yes…” Rhea turned to look over her shoulder and she finally was able to look at the professor’s real face and not just the reflected image. She looked exactly as she always did; calm, restrained, and as if nothing had happened mere moments ago. Her mouth and chin were wiped clean, there was no blood in her face and her breathing was normal. “Your aura is the same as hers.”

“Who is she? Sothis?”

Rhea pursed her lips and shook her head, reaching for her discarded cape and gown, pulling it over to wrap around herself as a makeshift blanket. “It is not something so easily explained. It will have to wait.”

Byleth paused. “I see.”

“Forgive me. You will come to know everything soon enough but for now… please allow me to collect my thoughts and arrange the best way of telling you.”

Byleth nodded and shifted closer, wrapping Rhea’s cloak closer around the archbishop, calloused fingertips skimming the softness of the other woman’s breasts.

“Then I shall wait.”

Chapter Text

“Ah, my lord.”

Lambert turned and looked over his shoulder to see Rodrigue stood at his bedroom door. The two men shared a gentle smile and Rodrigue raised the small bucket in his hand. In it, there was snow and ice cubes, piled high with a bottle of wine perched inside. He held two small glasses in his hand and wiggled them at the king who chuckled quietly.

“You know just what a king needs after a long day.”

“I hate to see you look so overworked, my lord. I thought that it was the least I could do.”

Lambert smiled and gestured towards his dresser for Rodrigue to set everything down. The navy-haired man walked into Lambert’s private bedroom and set the glass flutes and ice-bucket down on the wood. He returned to the door and shut it, clicking the lock softly shut behind himself and made to undo his thick blue cloak, trimmed with a soft white fur.

“The council meeting was difficult today, I assume?”

Lambert sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shedding his own cloak, hanging it over the back of a wooden chair that faced his desk. It was strewn with papers, documents and important reports that he had taken from his study to work on during his private time. Rodrigue admired that, yet he also admonished it, insisting that the king was working himself too hard over the last few months.

“Very much so. The other houses will not relent.”

“You think the motion for an attack will carry through?”

“I believe so, yes. Though it is very much against my wishes.”

Rodrigue’s brow knitted closely together and he focused on the stone floor of the room. His mind raced, trying to think of anything he could offer up to his king as advice or an alternative idea. He was jolted from his thoughts by a warm and strong hand on his shoulder. He lifted his head and Lambert gave him a third smile, though this one was notably sadder.

“I will do as my people ask of me.”

“Even if it goes against your heart?”

Lambert sighed again and shook his head. “It is not so simple. Even you know this.”

Rodrigue turned to the dresser and twisted the gold foil of the cap off the bottle. He unscrewed it and filled the two glasses approximately halfway, watching the golden bubbles dance and fizzle across the surface, recapping the wine. “Come, let us not discuss such bleak prospects any further. I wish to enjoy the company of my king.”

The Fraldarius man handed Lambert a delicate flute of wine and the king took it gratefully. Both men locked eyes and tipping the ends of their glasses to meet with a soft ‘tink’, they brought their glasses to their lips. The taste was delicate, fruity, and ice cold. Rodrigue shuddered as the cool liquid rolled down his throat and he tipped his head back to enjoy the taste dancing over his taste buds.

Mmh,” Lambert hummed contentedly. “This is a particularly fragrant blend.”

“My vineyards have, fortunately, been bountiful, this year, my lord. I hope it is to your liking.”

Lambert took another swig of the wine and Rodrigue watched as the man rolled the liquid around in his mouth. His cheeks puffed and he sucked his lips inwards, savouring every last droplet as he swallowed it down. The king turned and set the flute down on his desk, fingering through some papers and rifling through them, as if arranging them. He spoke over his shoulder. “It is very much to my liking. I would enjoy it if you could bring another bottle the next time that we meet like this.”

Rodrigue smiled. “Of course.”

Silence fell in the room, but it was comforting and calm. The night was dark, but the room glimmered with a low orange glow, sconces on walls and candles on tables lit. The cold winds of Fhirdiad rolled through the high open window and it caused Rodrigue to shiver now that he was without his thick cloak. Still fully clothed, he could feel the bite of winter against his skin, nipping at his gloved fingers, the tips of his ears and the end of his nose. He sipped more of the wine.

“My lord.”

Lambert hummed in affirmation, still sorting through the papers, hunched over his desk, wine glass forgotten.

“I do not wish to be so prudent, but please, leave it be. Working yourself into the late hours of the night will not bring about a resolution any sooner.”

Lambert planted his hands flat on the desk and sighed. Rodrigue was right. He was always right. Reading, writing, scribbling and poring over yellowed parchment papers as midnight took over would not do him any favours and he hung his hand. He straightened up and Rodrigue smiled when he saw the king take his wineglass back in hand.

“You are right.”

Rodrigue laughed quietly. “You must learn to relax.”

Lambert sipped his wine and sat at the edge of his bed, kicking off his light greaves. He was dressed down, as if he was half-ready to go to bed, but Rodrigue knew that if he hadn’t arrived, he would have spent all night at his desk, shivering in the cold, draining himself. The king wore a thick navy night-shirt, woven from the wool of the sheep of Fhirdiad. It was renowned for its capability for keeping people warm in the winter and the farmers and seamstresses were often busy during these months. Lambert himself had put in several orders for his family, knowing his growing son would need a bigger size this winter.

“Learn to relax? I’m sure the Margrave Gautier would be able to advise me in such a field.”

Rodrigue laughed and brought a hand to cover his mouth, almost embarrassed to be laughing so honestly at joke at another’s expense. Lambert’s sapphire eyes creased and crinkled with his own laughter and he patted the space on the bed beside him.

For a moment, the Fraldarius man hesitated but he saw the earnest look in his king’s eyes. He delicately held his glass between two fingers as he took his king’s boots and set them side-by-side at the foot of his bed before removing his own, thick socks muffled against the cold wooden floor of the bedroom. He sat precariously at the edge of the bed beside his king, taking another sip.

The two men sat together in quiet for a few long moments. The hooting of owls was all to be heard, the rest of the castle was silent. Lambert’s fingers detached themselves from his wineglass and they came to sweep some of Rodrigue’s long hair from his face so that he could better see his Shield’s face. It was handsome, to say the least; he had a sharp and pointed nose and chin, with high-cheekbones, narrow almond-shaped eyes and wisps of navy facial hair decorating his upper-lip and down the sides of his mouth.

Lambert’s fingers skimmed Rodrigue’s pale face and the man sighed, his eyes sliding shut. He lowered the glass to his lap and fingered the base of it idly. “My lord.”

“Rodrigue.”

“How long must we hold up this façade.”

Lambert hummed quietly and coiled a finger into Rodrigue’s curly blue hair. It was soft and loose around his digit, coming away in soft fly-aways, too silky to be held. “I apologise.”

Rodrigue shook his head, downed the last of his wine and put the glass at Lambert’s side-table, having to lean over the other man to do so. He put a hand on the king’s thigh purposefully, pressing down with a slight pressure and when he drew back, his face was barely inches from the other’s.

“Do not apologise. I am grateful for the time we have together.”

“Then what disappoints you, Rodrigue?”

The navy-haired man brought his gloved hand up to his king’s face, skimming over the thigh blonde sideburns framing the chiselled jawline and he could feel the hairs prickle even through his white gloves. “I merely wish we did not have to bother with such formalities before… this.”

Lambert quirked an eyebrow. “Rodrigue… you are many things – loyal, intelligent, caring – but impatient,” the king shook his head, chuckling, leaning their foreheads together, “is not a word I would have used for you.”

Rodrigue smiled twisting his body on the bed so he could face his king more readily. “I am beside myself lately… my mind strays to such illicit thoughts of you, my Lord.”

Lambert hummed lowly in his throat, leaning in so his nose could brush against the edge of Rodrigue’s throat. The skin there was cold but the king’s hot breath warmed it, fanning out over it like a warm wave. “Pray tell what they are.”

The navy-haired man shivered and not from the cold. His fingers on his king’s face moved swiftly to the other’s shoulders, fisting in the thick navy wool. “Hah… they are most improper, my Lord-”

“Call me Lambert when we are like this.”

The name made him shudder and Rodrigue swallowed hard in his throat. He was growing even more impatient when he felt the tempting brush of his king’s lips against his smooth throat. How had he been so lucky -so blessed- to be in such a relationship with the king? No-one knew; the maids, the other lords, not even the king’s new prospective wife, Lady Patricia von Arundel of Enbarr.

He had to push thoughts of others from his mind when he was like this, when Lambert’s lips were pressing into the thin skin of his throat.

“L-Lambert…”

“Come, tell me about these thoughts of yours.”

He was always so talkative. Born with a silver tongue, Lambert practically oozed charisma; his handsome face, bright blonde hair and blue eyes were nothing compared to the way he worked his mouth. His lips moved over Rodrigue’s neck more, kissing upwards to the sharp jawline of the smaller man and Lambert pulled on the other’s thigh to try and pull him closer.

“These thoughts…” Fraldarius was breathless. “You are upon me, ravishing me…” Lambert’s mouth graced Rodrigue’s cheek, climbing higher and higher. “You are, mmh… touching me with your hands.”

“I am?” Lambert shifted back on the bed, settling up against the headboard. He offered a hand to Rodrigue who gazed at it for a moment, but he reached out and took the bare hand with his own gloved one, interlacing their fingers together as he crawled up and over his finger. Slowly, he made his way forward and their eyes were connected the entire time.

The energy in the room shifted.

The pretence of king and shield was slowly dissipating with each inch that Rodrigue took towards his king. He suddenly felt hot. The hungry eyes of his king taking in his form was slowly burning him up and his breath was coming out shorter as he approached Lambert. He was in his king’s lap and he straddled the other man but nothing about their positions felt awkward.

It felt right, especially when Lambert shoved his hands under Rodrigue’s long dress, shoving it up so that his fingers could skim over the burning skin. Lambert’s fingers were icy against his skin and Rodrigue hissed.

“Was I touching you like this?” Lambert asked, leaning upwards so that his face came up close to Rodrigue’s again. He stared down at his King and he held back a groan and a hiss when his king’s hands moved further up his chest, skimming over scars.

“Y-Yes… you were also…” Rodrigue flushed, a rare occurrence but Lambert delighted in it. A bright smile worked across his lips and he nosed beneath Rodrigue’s pointed chin.

“Go on,” Lambert prompted.

“You… kissed me,” the man finished. Lambert laughed breathlessly, and then held onto the other’s face. He pulled Rodrigue down to him and pressed their lips together in a long kiss. Their lips just held against one another in a gentle press, pouring their everything in the touch of their lips. Lambert angled his head to the side a little more, so that his nose didn’t bump against Rodrigue’s anymore.

Their lips were sliding against one another with more ease now, Rodrigue letting out small huffs when Lambert’s tongue slipped into his mouth. It was hot, scorching like lava against his own tongue and the rub of their tongues sent a powerful bolt of electricity through his body. He jolted and shuddered in Lambert’s lap, and the king laughed into the kiss.

“You love it when we kiss,” he noted. Rodrigue stared breathlessly down at his king, pulling impatiently at the knitted nightshirt, wanting to be rid of it as soon as possible. He was burning up, and he thought Lambert must have been too.

“Too much… it… makes me hot, I must admit,” Rodrigue whispered. Lambert’s hands retracted from beneath the other’s gown and the navy-haired man grumbled in disappointment and protest. The king laughed again. That laugh. That smile. It made Rodrigue’s heart skip a beat and his stomach flutter, overcrowded with too many butterflies. The fingers of the king came up to the front of Rodrigue’s thick gown and he started to unbutton it, dancing down quickly.

“Then allow me to make you cool once more.”

Lambert continued to unbutton Rodrigue’s gown whilst reaching for his forgotten wineglass on his bedside table and he swallowed the last of it. He swished it around in his mouth, all the while still undoing the gown; such dexterity impressed Rodrigue. He quirked a grin down at his king and then, his lips were claimed once more in a kiss.

He gasped immediately, feeling the chill of Lambert’s lips against his own. The tongue worked its way past his lips, and he shuddered, groaning loudly into the kiss when Lambert’s cold tongue rubbed against his own. The intensity of the temperature made him fist in the front of the knitted sweatshirt, pulling it, stretching it.

Lambert finally finished undoing the gown and pushed it off Rodrigue’s shoulders, fingers cool from gripping the wineglass brushing over his skin like snowflake kisses.

“L-Lambert…”

“Mmh… my name sounds good coming from your lips,” the king murmured, drawing back to admire the light pink blush covering his companion’s face. It wasn’t often that he got to see Rodrigue like this; usually the man had a scowl plastered across his face -it was no mystery where Glenn got that from- and his lips were usually pulled thin. But like this, settled so comfortably in his lap with his snow-white chest born before him, Lambert thought he looked beautiful.

Please,” Rodrigue pleaded. “I wish for more.”

“You are very impatient today, it seems, my dearest.” That silver tongue, once more, sending a thrill through Rodrigue’s body. If he did not meet his demise at the end of a blade or arrow, he would surely be on the receiving end of that talented tongue. He groaned and tilted his head back when Lambert pressed into his chest with his cold lips.

“C-Cold,” Rodrigue gasped out when Lambert’s lips came to close around his nipple. He sucked softly, his hand soothing up and down the man’s side. His body was slender, narrow but toned and he felt like he fit perfectly like a puzzle piece into Lambert’s palm. He arched himself into those cool lips, fingers tangling into his king’s hair, pulling without a care anymore.

“Mmh… I would… like to try something,” Lambert murmured, pulling back to press a kiss to the rosy nipple before gazing up at Rodrigue for permission. The navy-haired man nodded quickly; he would do anything for this man and had no qualms about being his test subject for the night. Lambert manoeuvred the smaller man down onto the bed, sweeping a hand through his navy tresses as he sat and walked to the dresser.

Rodrigue missed the warmth of his king’s body but he quickly returned, holding the ice-bucket and wine-bottle in hand. Lambert unscrewed the cap and took a heart swig straight from the opening, offering it to Rodrigue. The other also swigged from it, taking one, two, three, large gulps before returning the bottle. Now his mouth was cold too.

Lambert pulled at Rodrigue’s breeches, pulling them to his ankles and for a moment, he thought about removing the man’s socks too. He thought it too cruel in the winter to do such a thing and so he kept them off as he stripped Rodrigue entirely, laying in nothing but white gloves, white smallclothes and thick woollen socks. A part of the nobleman felt silly for not stripping entirely but he was grateful to keep his socks on, knowing the cold would be nipping at his toes soon enough.

The king’s hand smoothed over Rodrigue’s flat, pale body, tracing constellations of scars. “You truly are beautiful, Rodrigue,” he said softly, eyes skimming over the canvas of his white body. The Fraldarius man turned pink again, fisting the lavish bedsheets beneath him and he turned his face away, too embarrassed to face his liege.

“Do not say such kind things. I do not think my heart can take it,” he murmured. Lambert quirked an eyebrow and chuckled, leaning to press a flutter of kisses over the left side of Rodrigue’s chest.

“Then I shall be sure to kiss it better, as many times as needed for you are,” a kiss, “truly,” another, “the most beautiful thing I have beheld.”

Rodrigue turned scarlet at that, covering his face with his hands and he heard Lambert laugh again but he leaned away. Peering from between his fingers, he watched as Lambert reached for an ice-cube in the bucket. He held it between his fingers and admired it for a second, turning to Rodrigue.

“You said that my kisses leave you hot,” he began. Rodrigue had already figured it out and his eyes widened a fraction, but his erection stood proud, tenting in his thin smallclothes.

Lambert…

“It is, therefore, my duty to cool you down,” he said, bringing the ice-cube to Rodrigue’s body. He placed it against his sternum and the smaller man gasped sharply. It was colder than he thought, even though he had anticipated the literally icy sensation. Lambert’s idle finger remained atop it, guiding it in a slow path down Rodrigue’s twitching body, circling each nipple slowly and the man beneath him hissed.

“Ah! Forgive me… b-but is it not my d-duty to serve you?”

Lambert smiled. He continued his course with the ice-cube, moving over the narrow expanse of Rodrigue’s white chest, dipping down to his stomach, running along the waistband of the other’s smallclothes. The Fraldarius cried out sharply, fisting tighter in the sheets. “I serve you not as a king tonight… but as a lover.”

Groaning, Rodrigue tipped his head back. The ice seared cold against his skin, like a white electricity burning against his abdomen. Gods, he wanted more. The combination of his scorching skin with the ice was unlike anything he had ever felt before and that smile, that smile, that Lambert was giving him was making him more than desperate.

“Please…! I am already nearing my limits of patience,” Rodrigue hissed. Lambert picked up the ice-cube and, incredibly, popped it into his mouth. He held it between his teeth as he came to kneel properly on the bed, pulling at Rodrigue’s smallclothes until they came down and off his legs. His erection bobbed against his stomach, slender and pale, topped with a pink head that was already leaking.

Then Lambert leaned down.

The cry that erupted from Rodrigue’s lips was unlike anything he had ever produced before. Torn between a moan and gasp, he keened embarrassingly high with pleasure when Lambert’s freezing mouth wrapped around his cock. The ice-cube slid over the head of his head and he shivered. His legs immediately parted to let his king serve him.

It felt so wrong, but oh so good. He never would have thought when committing himself to his king for the first time ever that their relationship would come to this, but he was so glad it had.

The heat of Lambert’s mouth and Rodrigue’s cock melted the ice-cube and the frigid liquid coiled around his cock. It was almost too much to bear and even doubly so when the ice-cube had finally melted and Lambert had no choice but to swallow the water, sucking harshly at Rodrigue’s cock.

Lambert! Oh, L-Lambert…! Hah, ah—”

The king drew up from Rodrigue’s cock and quickly tossing away his nightshirt, his fingers pulled at his own breeches and smallclothes hastily. The king’s face was also now painted a dusty pink and Rodrigue’s heart leapt, his stomach knotted, and his cock throbbed.

It was not the first time he had seen his liege naked -and he hoped it would not be the last- but it still left him breathless. Lambert was perfect, sculpted by the mother goddess herself; he was flawless and every scar that decorated his body was only another tale to tell and another mark to kiss. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, chiselled to perfection from years of dedicated training. His hips were slender but flowered outwards into thickly muscled thighs that twisted and moved as he shuffled his breeches down and off his legs. He, too, kept his socks on.

Rodrigue’s bright blue came to rest upon Lambert’s cock. It was thick and a large vein curved its way up along the underside of it. Countless times had he had that heavy muscle weighing down on his tongue, but he still ached to taste it.

Quickly reaching for his drawer, Lambert retrieved his oil. He uncorked it, coated three fingers with it and tossed it aside. He was hasty in his movements, still very much in control, but quicker and more desperate. Rodrigue was grateful for it.

A finger brushed over Rodrigue’s hole and he tensed impulsively, willing himself to relax. Wordlessly, Lambert’s finger pushed past the first ring of muscle and Rodrigue bit his lip.

“Do not hold back your voice.” Lambert’s voice was low and gruff, a deep rumble in his chest as he leaned over Rodrigue. He kissed him quickly on the lips and then dove into his companion’s neck. Rodrigue automatically tilted his head back to give his king more room, panting loudly to the ceiling. He stared upwards at it but was focused on nothing, instead concentrating only on loosening himself up so that Lambert could push his fingers in deeper.

The digit slid it more and soon a second joined it. They scissored and Rodrigue moaned again, arching his back off the bed and pushing his hips downwards to meet Lambert’s fingers. He could feel his king’s lips pressing harder, sucking more intensely on the skin just beneath his collarbone, low enough so that his clothes would be able to cover any marks.

He wished, oh how he wished, he could bear those bruises to the world and let everyone know who he belonged to and who he devoted himself to. But no, they had appearances to keep up and he respected the king’s position enough to understand that such a thing would never happen.

Instead, he was content to just be the man who he made love to.

Lambert forced a third finger into Rodrigue’s body, curling slightly. The oil was slightly cold still, chilled from Lambert’s fingers and the navy-haired man cried out again. His hands flew from the sheets to the king’s back, sinking into the marked flesh. The blonde grunted and bit down particularly hard against Rodrigue’s chest.

“Ah! Oh, Goddess, please take me, take me, Lambert… I need you,” he begged.

Lambert drew up and nodded hastily. The king was drowning, losing himself in Rodrigue’s voice, his beauty, his devotion, his everything. They both knew he was more than ready enough and so retracting his fingers, Lambert quickly lined himself up with Rodrigue’s entrance. He gazed down at the other man, shadowed by his large form, his skin glowing gold in the candlelight and the king smiled.

He reached down for the man’s one hand and Rodrigue thought he was wanted to tangle his fingers with his but Lambert shook his head. He instead reached for the glove and pulled it off, repeating the motion with the other. He then laced their fingers together and sighed contentedly.

“Much better. Now…” Lambert shifted and began to push in. “Let me take you.”

“Oh, please, y-yes… Lambert,” Rodrigue breathed. His chest was aching, his heart was thundering and all he could hear was Lambert’s gentle voice and the blood rushing through his ears, hammering against his eardrums. The first breach was always the most painful, no matter how well-prepared he was, it always burned. It burned even now, as Rodrigue cried out and his legs automatically circled around Lambert’s middle.

The king groaned and squeezed the other’s hand, supporting himself with his other as he slid in more, inch by inch until he was fully sheathed inside. The cold air howled through the window but both men were dripping with sweat, lost in one another’s embrace.

“Gods, you feel… incredible,” Lambert hissed, drawing back and then thrusting back in. It made Rodrigue bounce against the headboard, the pillows cushioning everything and making sure he did not hit his head when the thrusting began at a steady pace. He stared up at his king, mouth agape to continuously gasp and moan, cries tumbling from his lips.

“M-More… I want to feel you, as deeply as possible,” Rodrigue said, hooking his ankles together around the back of Lambert’s body, his heels digging into the small of the other’s strong back. The king grunted and quickly spread up his movements, ploughing as deeply and as quickly as he could.

The royal bed creaked with every smack of hips. Moans echoed around the room, a mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through Rodrigue’s body. His eyes were wrenched shut tightly, unable to bear the pleasure any longer. He reached down his body, fisting his cock and he started to pump feverishly, desperate for release. The knot in his stomach was too tight and he wanted to tear it apart.

“Rodrigue, oh, R-Rod-rigue… you are beautiful… nnh, yes, yes…”

“Lambert, please…”

The king grit his teeth and the painful squeezing on his hand forced Rodrigue’s eyes open. Lambert was hunched over, his forehead centimetres away from crashing into his with the powerful reckless thrusting. They stared at one another, breathing in the same hot air with their mouths so tantalizingly close to one another. Rodrigue could feel Lambert’s sweat dripping from his forehead onto his but he didn’t care.

“I need to… I want to… can I?” Lambert asked. Ever the gentleman, he still asked permission, even though Rodrigue said yes every single time. He nodded.

“Yes, please… fill me, Lambert… o-oh, goddess, m-my lord… oh… hah, ah!”

Rodrigue shuddered and came, yanking Lambert down with a harsh tug of hair, crashing their lips together. It was all teeth and tongue, hot and desperate as Rodrigue worked his way through his orgasm. It was shattering and stars danced in his vision behind his eyelids. His cock throbbed in his hand and he felt his cum land up his body and even though he couldn’t see, he was sure he had also painted Lambert’s chest white.

The king cried out too. He grunted and thrust as deeply as he could, slamming into Rodrigue without abandon to bury himself in. His cock throbbed, painting the insides of his companion white, ropes of white-hot cum streaking the velvety walls. Lambert moaned Rodrigue’s name into the kiss, pressing the full weight of his chest down into the other man so that his fingers could wind into the navy hair beneath him.

Both men panted into one another, breaking the kiss to breathe, the need for oxygen becoming overwhelming. Lambert’s fingers were gentle, carding through the sweaty navy-haired locks. Rodrigue’s eyes slowly cracked open and he gazed at the crown of golden hair nestled into his neck, perched above his chest. He kissed it gently.

Bathing in their afterglow, Rodrigue mustered the strength to untangle himself from his king’s body, letting his legs come to rest on the sheets.

“My lord.”

Lambert just hummed, exhausted.

“Please, do not fall asleep upon me. Your weight is… insurmountable.”

The king laughed and pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could gaze down at Rodrigue. He was sweaty and his face was sticky, but still, he was handsome. He kissed him chastely on the lips and then rolled to the side, pulling out in the process. Lambert gasped and Rodrigue hissed, clenching his legs together automatically, somewhat embarrassed as he felt the hot seed trickle from his entrance.

“I should leave,” Rodrigue eventually croaked out, throat parched and sore from crying out. “It would be most unwise for others to catch us together at this time.”

Lambert grumbled something nonsensically and without even opening his eyes, reached over and pulled Rodrigue into him.

“My lor-”

“Let them talk. I wish for you to stay.”

“But I…” Rodrigue swallowed and whispered. “I must wash.”

“In the morning. Stay.” Lambert kissed the back of Rodrigue’s head and settled into the bed, above the sheets uncaring about how the cold winter winds howled through the window, more than content with the warmth of his companion against him.

Chapter Text

back and forth, eyes poring over the pages of his book when the door was thrown open. Any other man would have bolted straight from his skin but Linhardt only sighed.

Caspar strode into the room, as loud as ever. He threw his arms up into the air and stretched, arching his back. His shirt rode up and revealed the chiselled muscles of his stomach. Her certainly had flourished and grown over the five years the two men hadn’t seen each other and Linhardt’s eyes were drawn to the other.

The blue-haired boy lifted the glass pitcher sitting atop Linhardt’s desk and swigged greedily from the water, some dribbling down the corners of his mouth and down his neck. Linhardt could see the bob of his Adam’s apple and the strength in those taught neck muscles as he gulped down mouthfuls of icy water.

“Oh, by all means, do come in. No, no, I do not mind whatsoever that you drink my water,” Linhardt said offhandedly, sweeping his verdant hair back over his shoulder. He gazed up through his wispy lashes at Caspar. The brawler let out a loud, happy, quenched sigh, wiping his mouth against the back of his hand and grinning brightly at Linhardt.

That stupidly contagious smile.

Linhardt’s own thin lips quirked into a slight smile as he returned to his book, eyes flying over pages faster than a Pegasus could soar. Caspar sauntered and paced about the bookworm’s room, reaching into the other’s dresser and taking a towel out. Linhardt would have opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it; that would require effort, and he knew that Caspar would not listen.

The other wiped the towel over his face and through his blue hair. It was soaked, wet and slick with sweat and dressed down in his sportswear, Linhardt thought he looked particularly good. He always looked good after training.

The shirt was just a little too tight and stretched across Caspar’s broad chest, contorting and melding to every muscle, especially now that it was drenched with his sweat. The red fabric was darkened across his upper chest, his sternum and along his abdomen. The pits of his shirt were also stained a dark scarlet with sweat and Linhardt bit his lip. His eyes raked over the other eagerly, following the curve of the muscular ass and the thick thighs, straining with muscle having just worked out. His calves were strong too but his arms.

Oh, Caspar’s arms. He had certainly filled out during the five years and he was so dedicated to his training now that he only continued to look better. His shoulders were broad and like boulders atop his body, strong and round. Following the twist of his arm’s muscles, Linhardt’s face started to heat up. He could see the veins popping in Caspar’s forearms when he flexed his fingers and twisted his wrists around, tousling his hair with the towel.

“Like what you see?”

Linhardt gasped softly, surprised he’d been caught staring, and finally met Caspar’s gaze. He was wearing a cocky grin, hips cocked to the side and the towel hung loosely around his neck. Linhardt put on a small scowl and turned back to his book, trying to bury his nose in it.

“Yes, actually. You are quite the pleasant sight,” he replied.

Caspar spluttered, caught off-guard and Linhardt grinned to himself. He loved to make the other boy fluster; he had been showering him with compliments since they had been reunited and it never ceased to make him smile or laugh when he caught Caspar’s expression. His eyes would always go wide and he would dumbly try to think of a response.

This time, he had one ready.

“Well, come touch me then.”

The bookworm raised an eyebrow and dropped his book to the bed, leaning his chin into his palm as he laid on his stomach. Caspar was trying to appear confident, but his lips were tight, and his one eyebrow was twitching with nervousness. Would Linhardt take him up on his offer?

Should he?

“Pardon?”

“You heard me!” Caspar flustered again, losing all his confidence in that moment, hands pulling at the towel around his neck nervously. He averted his bright cerulean gaze to the floor and kicked about nervously, mouth pulled into a pout. Linhardt enjoyed the expression on Caspar’s face and slid his crimson bookmark between his pages before shutting the book. He pushed himself up from the bed to sit and shed his long robe, wearing a light white button-up and dark forest green breeches. He’d long kicked off his boots and he wiggled his toes.

He stood, tall, and stepped towards Caspar. He saw the other man flinch, but his feet didn’t shift from their position on the floor and soon, the two were face to face. Caspar was bright red, whether from his workout or from Linhardt standing so close, neither of them were sure. They were almost the same height with Linhardt only a fraction taller and he grinned at Caspar.

“I can touch you?” Linhardt asked again. He knew exactly what Caspar had said, he had heard him loud and clear, but he wanted to tease him just a little more. The blue-haired man scowled and nodded.

“Yeah, don’t make me say it again. You know it’s embarrassing,” he grumbled, turning his head away as Linhardt’s beautiful and pale hand took the other’s. Caspar’s hand was bigger, his fingers were thicker and more calloused, worked and rough from wearing his gauntlets day-in and day-out. Linhardt’s fingers danced over the rough skin of the other’s palm, working their way up the forearm, stroking over the skin, feeling the bump of veins beneath his fingertips and he had to stifle a soft breath. There was something about Caspar’s sweaty and muscular form that made Linhardt lose his self-control just a little too quickly for his liking – though he’d never admit to the other man.

“I love your arms, Caspar,” he said quietly, admiring the strength in them, bulging through the muscle.

“Y-Yeah?” the other didn’t really know what to say, trying to remain still even though Linhardt’s finger were so gentle it was almost tickling him.

“Mmh… you have been training hard,” Linhardt continued, wrapping his hand and palm over the thick appendage, giving it a tentative squeeze and this time allowing his breath to flow as he felt how hard it was, barely giving beneath his fingers. The sheer strength hidden in those arms aroused him immensely.

“Yeah, I have to… to keep everyone safe. To keep you safe.”

Linhardt glanced up at Caspar and laughed quietly. “Me? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself on the battlefield, you know that.”

“I just like to protect you, alright?” Caspar rubbed the back of his head with his hand, scratching at his scalp with his blunt and squared fingers, embarrassed. He continued. “Besides, wouldn’t it be less effort for you if you just let me protect you?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Linhardt’s hand skimmed higher, wrapping around the immensely thick upper arm, giving that a much firmer squeeze and he relished in the resistance his fingers met. He sank into the tense, hot, worked muscle rolling his fingers into it. “It sounds so tempting.”

“Lin…” Caspar breathed. His hands trembled at his sides and Linhardt could practically see the cogs and gears turning in the other’s head, trying to think of what to do, battling between what he wanted to do and what he should do.

“Show me how strong you are,” Linhardt breathed, taking another step closer. Caspar sucked in a sharp inhale and met Linhardt’s bright blue eyes, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat.

“Sh-Show you?”

“Yes. Why don’t you…” Linhardt’s voice trailed off and both his hands came to rest on the front of Caspar’s broad, sweaty chest. He could feel how wet the shirt was beneath his fingers, but for once, the bookworm didn’t care. He rather enjoyed it and being this close to the other, he could smell him too; a thick, musky, manly smell that was mostly sweat but also slightly metallic, probably from his armour and weapons rubbing off against his skin. “… manhandle me a little?”

The brawler positively staggered at that, eyes bulging and eyebrows drawing upwards in a panicked and confused expression. “M-M-Manhandle you? Lin, what’re you-”

“I love your muscles, Caspar.” The green-haired boy stepped into the other’s personal space so much that their bodies were flush against one another. Gentle hands roamed across the broad expanse of a sweaty and muscled chest, working over the solid shoulders and over both arms, back down to roughened hands. Linhardt took Caspar’s hands and guided them to his hips, grinding upwards into the other. “I really love them.”

“L-Lin…” Caspar groaned.

His hands gripped too tightly at Linhardt’s hips, but the gentle man just hummed, enjoying the feeling of pressure pulling at his hips, grinding him into Caspar. He brought his hands back to Caspar’s chest and raked his longer nails down and through the fabric though he knew Caspar could feel it as he tilted his head back and hissed.

“You want me to… manhandle you?” Caspar repeated.

“Yes. Do not think you will hurt me… I trust you,” Linhardt said breathlessly, gazing back into Caspar’s blown pupils. The black almost totally eclipsed the bright azure irises and Caspar huffed a groan.

Quickly and without warning, he shoved his hands down and under Linhardt’s thighs, pulling him off his feet. With a swift kick, Caspar booted the door shut and threw Linhardt up against it. The green-haired man groaned loudly, knocking his head back against the wood and he hooked his legs impulsively around the other’s middle.

He held Linhardt’ up easily, one arm wrapped underneath his thighs and ass, pinning him to the door. Caspar’s breath was heavy, panting into his open mouth and they stared at one another. Without warning, Caspar lurched forward, forcing their mouths against one another in a clumsy clash, banging their lips together with their teeth knocking, a tangle of hot and desperate tongues. Linhardt groaned.

He loved this roughness, this callousness that Caspar treated him with. The way he held him up against the door so easily with one hand whilst the other pulled on his hair, tugging the ribbon free so that he could tangle his large hand into those silky emerald tresses he had brushed not minutes before Caspar entered. Knowing that his work would be undone would ordinarily annoy him but knowing that his hair was ruined and mussed because Caspar had pulled on it recklessly, it turned him on immensely.

“Oh, Lin… the things you do to me…” Caspar groaned, breaking apart from the kiss and he leaned their foreheads together. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing hard, sucking in the very breaths that Linhardt exhaled. Linhardt could feel Caspar thrusting up against him, the swell of his cock pressing through those shin sports shorts against his ass.

Linhardt looped his arms around Caspar’s neck, dragging his nails over his shirt, tugging it up with each pull. The shirt rolled up the sweaty back and he ripped it over Caspar’s head, mussing up his bright blue hair.

“Mmh, Caspar… be rougher with me… you will not break me,” Linhardt begged. He did not often beg but now that he could see the scarred expanse of Caspar’s sweaty chest, he no longer cared for his pride. He arched his back off the door so push his body into Caspar’s more and the other groaned deeper, burying his head into the bookworm’s pale neck.

He mouthed at whatever skin he could reach, not really concentrating on what he was doing as his hips were instead now grinding up more frantic than before. The head of Caspar’s cock was pushing up against Linhardt’s hole through his breeches and he trembled. Caspar’ squeezed the thigh wrapped around him and he rutted up more, like an animal.

“F-Fuck, Lin… you’re so gorgeous…”

“C-Caspar… I want…” They kept rutting against one another, desperate, Linhardt’s own cock straining against his breeches. He was panting

“Tell me.”

Goddess, I want to suck your cock.”

The brawler growled and practically dropped Linhardt and with a forceful hand on his shoulder, pushed the other to his knees. The green-haired man quickly acquiesced regardless, yanking at the fabric of the thin shorts. He dropped them to Caspar’s ankles and rubbed his face over the front of the sweaty underclothes.

They were damp between his thighs where he had been sweating and at the top of the waistband, where his cock had been beading pre-cum. Linhardt mouthed over the bulge, relishing in the throaty groan that fell from Caspar’s lips. He blinked up through his wispy green lashes and met Caspar’s hungry gaze.

“You still want to be manhandled and pulled around?” he asked, reassuring himself. Linhardt hummed and nodded. Caspar swallowed and wound a hair into Linhardt’s hair, forcing his face as close as possible into his cock through his small-clothes, small and delicate palms coming to grip at his strong thighs for grounding. The mage’s eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of his head, every sense filled with the intoxicatingly thick and masculine scent of Caspar’s sweat, skin and cock.

“Let me know if I do get too rough,” Caspar said, pulling his own smallclothes down and letting them fall so that his cock sprang free. It bounced in the air, straight and proud, with no curve to it whatsoever. It always managed to poke straight at Linhardt’s prostate whenever they fucked, and he shuddered just remembering how good it felt. But that was for another time.

At present, he had something to choke on instead.

Pulling his face into his cock, Linhardt opened his mouth and just ran his slick lips up and along the sides as Caspar wished, helping to move him with his hand in his hair. He could feel the strong muscles in the brawler’s thighs quivering as his hot mouth worked over the equally scorching cock. It tasted thick on his tongue and he loved it. It was absolutely filthy and depraved but never had he felt so turned on.

Staring up at Caspar’s naked body, he drank in every inch of muscle. From on his knees, he could the curves of his abdominal muscles, see the flex in his bulging arms and feel the trembling in the athletic legs under his palms. He mouthed at the cock until Caspar grunted and couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Open your mouth, Lin. Lemme see your pretty tongue.”

Linhardt obeyed, mind spinning with arousal. His mouth fell open and his tongue lolled out of his mouth, long and pink, dripping with saliva, the way Caspar always liked to see him. He let out a shaky breath and eagerly pulled Linhardt forward onto his cock, sliding straight into the back of his throat in one thrust.

Blue eyes fluttered and rolled into the back of the mage’s head, moaning in arousal. Gods, he would never tire of the thick hot weight of Caspar’s dick against his tongue. He loved it and he began to suck already, earning another sharp breath from the man towering above him. He felt good on his knees, like this is where he belonged, servicing a strong man who would, in return, protect him.

“Yeah, that’s it… oh, you’re always so good with your mouth… mmh, that’s it…”

Caspar’s encouraging words made Linhardt broil with heat. His breeches were too tight, and he wanted to fist himself and spill himself already, but he much preferred the feeling of the thick muscle of Caspar’s thighs under his palms. He raked his long nails over the scarred legs, dragging his fingers down and then back up. Caspar hissed.

“Ooh… y-yeah…”

His fingers tightened in Linhardt’s green hair and he started to tug him back and forth with a steady pace. His hips started to move too, meeting his own movements, the head of his dripping cock brushing against the back of Linhardt’s throat. He luckily had a strong gag reflex and so very little made him choke – perhaps it was because he was so used to sucking on and taking Caspar’s dick down his throat.

Batting his lashes upwards, he met Caspar’s gaze. His face was flushed bright red, his brow was dripping with even more sweat than when he first came in and it rolled in rivulets down his head, cheeks, jaw and throat. In a moment of pure depravity, Linhardt thought he might want to run his tongue over that sweat, taste it, and lick it all up.

“You’re so beautiful, Lin… fuck, your mouth is so good too… think you can take more?”

Linhardt nodded and readied himself. With two hands, Caspar held onto the silky green tresses and tangled them over his thick digits as he best he could to get a secure grip. He started to pump his hips in and out of Linhardt’s obedient mouth, slamming into the back of his throat every time. At first, the mage’s eyes widened but he quickly relaxed, accustomed to the violating feeling and kept his eyes trained upwards.

Fuck, fuck… your eyes… your little mouth… you’re so good, so g-good, Lin… so pretty…” Caspar was babbling uncontrollably now, brow furrowed in concentration as he loomed over Linhardt, practically leaning against the door for stability as he fucked into the mouth beneath him. The mage trembled and shuddered at his praise, cock leaking in his clothes. He wanted to cum and he briefly wondered if he could cum simply from having his throat fucked.

Humming, Linhardt relaxed his jaw so that it could go as slack as possible and the head of Caspar’s dick slid just that little further down his throat.

“I’m gonna cum, mmh… I’m gonna f-fill your throat, Lin… is that what you want? Ah, y-you gonna swallow it all for me?”

The green-haired boy nodded eagerly, half-moaning, half-crying around the throbbing cock pulsing against his tongue and punching down his throat. He was totally lost, drowning in Caspar; his muscles, his scent, his everything. If he could speak, he would plead and beg to taste him but couldn’t move back, not with such a powerful grip tangled in his hair.

Caspar lurched forward a few more times and then cried out, eyes wrenching shut tightly. His thrusting staggered and he slammed in as deep as he could, forcing Linhardt’s eyes to roll into the back of his head one last time. He tasted the cum only briefly a Caspar emptied himself at the very back of his throat. The load was heavy and heady, almost choking but Linhardt opened his throat to allow the thick white cum to roll down his oesophagus.

He grunted and let out small noises that dissipated into breathy groans, his iron grip on Linhardt’s hair slowly relaxing. He practically collapsed forwards, leaning his forehead against the wood of Linhardt’s door, chuckling.

“Gods… I don’t think… I have ever cum so hard before, Lin,” he smiled, eyes still closed. He recollected himself before opening his eyes. His heart lurched in his chest.

Linhardt was palming himself desperately over his breeches, nuzzling against Caspar’s half-hard cock, kissing and biting over the skin of his strong thigh. He hadn’t noticed the feeling of lips and teeth against him initially, too lost in his post-orgasm haze.

Shakily but confidently, he reached down and wrapped an arm under Linhardt’s thighs, where he was sat upon them and held him in a bridal style hold. He threw him onto the bed and ripped off the other’s breeches, tearing them from the other’s body. His hands and greedy fingers blew to the buttons of his shirt and in his haste, he tore them off, gold glinting and pinging around the room.

Linhardt shivered with arousal. Goddess, yes.

“I’m not done yet,” Caspar said, grinning breathlessly. “I want to manhandle you some more.”

Chapter Text

Yanking the parcel from the hands of the courier, Bernadetta slammed the door in the gentle face of the man, who stood stock-still and stunned.

Now with the eclipse of darkness comfortably shrouding her room, she held the package to her chest tightly and tried to calm her panicked and racing heart. He was just delivering the parcel, he was only doing his job, Bernadetta reassured herself, gazing down at the brown box, woven tightly with string and her dormitory’s address stamped on the front in blood-red ink.

She had managed to do it. Finally, she had managed to order what she had wanted.

It wasn’t easy, of course. She had handed a note to Petra, who thankfully, couldn’t very well read her handwriting or understand what was written, and asked her to hand it to a specific red-haired merchant woman. It seemed that Petra had done what was asked of her and Bernadetta, was half-grateful, and now, half petrified.

What she had ached for was in the box in her hands. She trembled slightly, apprehensive and afraid to open it but she was also desperate to finally see it. She threw the box onto her bed and clung onto herself for a few long moments, staring at it, as if she were waiting for the box to burst open and for something to erupt out and attack her.

But nothing happened. The box sat on her bed, unmoving. Bernadetta unwrapped her arms from around herself and tucked some hair behind her ear before decidedly stepping forward.

She crawled onto her own bed and nervously, with tiny trembling fingertips, Bernadetta undid the rope bow tying the box together. Shakily, she opened it up and then gasped, finally laying her eyes upon what she had wanted and yet feared.

It was a toy. Well, to put it a bluntly, a sex toy.

Her face turned scarlet just gazing at it, without even touching it. It was a phallus-shaped object -Bernadetta couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it- and it was a reasonable size, but to her, it was terrifyingly huge. With a gentle curve, it arched, laying upon loose wood-shavings at the bottom of the box, unmoving and unthreatening but Bernadetta’s breathing was already picking up.

She had done it. She had done it. She had gotten herself something so illicit and lewd that no man would ever want her again.

And a small part of her was glad of that.

To put to waste all of her cruel father’s ‘training’, as that was what he had called it. To ruin everything that he had instilled in her and become her own woman, to become someone who she wanted to be and not who someone else wanted her to be. She was afraid to take that step, but, purchasing this new toy, maybe it’d help her start on that journey.

Her small hands reached out and she took out the toy. It was lighter than she thought. It was an onyx black colour; she didn’t want to draw attention to herself by purchasing the toy in a bright expensive colour like red or purple. She turned it over in her hands, tiny fingertips tracing over every little detail. It was made of wood, dunked in layer upon layer of resin so that it was slick and polished and smooth. It felt pleasant in her hands, almost like marble with how smooth it was.

She shivered with delight as she reclined on her bed, laying back and nudging the box to the bottom of the bed with her foot, gazing up at the object. She could barely make it out in the darkness of her room, a single orange flame dancing on her bedside table and she turned the polished toy over in her hands, admiring it.

No-one was there. No-one could see her. She could indulge in this, for just a little bit… right?

Bernadetta opened her mouth, just a fraction. She was hesitant as she brought the toy down to her lips and she kissed the head. It didn’t taste of anything so, she kissed it again. It wasn’t unpleasant at all. In fact, kissing the tip of the toy sent a thrum of heat through her body. She shivered again, legs rubbing together on the bed.

She hummed, letting her tongue give a kittenish and shy flick. Again, there was no taste. Perhaps she could get used to this. Perhaps she could even use it as practice…

The thought shocked her. Alone in her room, Bernadetta gasped. Had she already become so wanton and depraved she was thinking that she could use a sex toy as practice for her future husband? Would a husband even want her if she penetrated herself with such a thing?

Petra, Dorothea and even Hilda had all reassured her that sexual activity with one’s self was perfectly healthy and normal. Even if she did it, there was no way for a man to know. If Bernadetta wanted to touch herself, she was allowed to do so – it was her body after all.

It was a difficult thought to grasp at first, to recognise that her body was her own and that she owned herself and that she could do whatever she wanted. No other person, no man, no woman, not even her father, had control over her. She could do this.

Taking a steadying breath, Bernadetta’s tongue flicked out at the head of the toy again. It felt liberating to do such a lewd thing, so she flicked over the head once more. She kissed over the head of the toy and then tentatively, opened up her mouth so she could put it to her lips.

She suckled just a little, holding the toy with one hand as the other started to work down her body. Bernadetta’s hand came between her thighs and she pushed beneath her tight shorts, above her underwear. She couldn’t bring herself to touch her own… sex without a barrier, afraid that she would be breaching a barrier that could never be rebuilt as if someone else would know that she had touched herself and then no-one would want her.

So she settled for rubbing herself through her cotton underwear. She was nervous, unsure of what she was doing but whatever her fingers were doing, it started to feel good. She had heard from the other girls in her house, and other houses, what it felt like to do this – to masturbate.

Even the word made her moan to herself. It felt so dirty, so perverted, unlike anything she had ever done before and it was thrilling, in an exciting and scary kind of way.

Holding the head of the toy just beyond her lips, Bernadetta began to suck on it. She let her eyes shut and images danced before her black eyelids, fantasies that she had briefly thought and then shoved from her brain in case anyone could read her mind.

Images of faceless men, strong, warm bodies, holding her close, allowing her to bury her head into their chests. Some were blonde, some were brunette, some had dark skin, some were tall… all different types of men, but they all had one thing in common; they were all gentle. She imagined their hands over her body, firstly against her face and her shoulders and arms, caressing her gently.

Bernadetta hummed and sucked on the toy more, fingers pressing against the front of her underwear with more insistence. The faceless men started to transform into other students at the monastery; a brown-haired boy she often saw at the dinner-hall, a dark-skinned boy who was in the library when she dared to venture outside of her room.

And then she imagined the professor.

Goddess, what forbidden thoughts plagued her mind, but she couldn’t stop. The professor’s stoic face, always so gentle, without expression but never harsh or cruel. The way his gloved hand felt on her head of purple hair when he praised her made her entire body burn. Her heart thundered in her chest as she imagined the professor giving her one of his rare smiles, tousling her hair and telling her what a good job she had done.

She sucked the toy further into her mouth, as far as she could comfortably manage, echoing the sound of the professor’s voice in her head, soft murmurs of ‘good girl’ and ‘well done’ dancing about her fuzzy brain.

What if his hands moved… elsewhere?

Her body burned, her fingers starting to move in circles across her wet sex, middle and ring finger working in tandem as she imaged the professor skimming his leather-clad hand down her arms and perhaps resting on her lower back, where she had never been touched by another man before. She imagined the gentle weight of it against her body, doing nothing more than brushing back and forth.

Her legs jolted and shuddered when a particularly powerful shock of pleasure raced through her body. Bernadetta pulled the toy from her mouth and stared at it, breathless and panting. If she had come this far… she could say what it was. Yes. It was a cock, and it was in her mouth.

Images of other monastery members danced before her. Alois. A kind man, large and broad, strong and almost like a bear. She imagined resting in his arms, wrapped in his warmth, nestled in his lap like a small flower, being protected from the harsh outside world.

She pushed the cock back into her mouth and this time, with some apprehension, she imagined that it was Alois’. That it was his cock. He was always so kind to her and he never hurt her, she wanted to show him how grateful for that she was. She sucked the resin-coated cock into her mouth, sucking and pulling it back and forth as if Alois were shoving it into her mouth.

She wondered if he would be gentle with her even then; if he could control himself with his cock down her throat. Would he caress her head, brush her hair from her face and tears from cheeks and tell her how beautiful she looked? Or would he lose himself, grip her head and chase his release? Bernadetta realised, that either way, she didn’t mind; the idea of allowing Alois to do as he wanted with her body was a thrilling concept to her.

To allow herself to be submissive and be at another’s mercy, so vulnerable… and yet, know that he wouldn’t hurt her, it made her heart swell.

Bernadetta could feel how wet she was through her underwear now, the sticky slickness coating her fingers, but she didn’t relent in her movements. She was chasing a high that she had never experienced before but even she knew that it was going to be shattering, feeling an unusual tightness forming in her lower abdomen.

Her mind raced through exhilarating thoughts, images of her being held gently, kissed on the forehead, interlacing fingers with another and a gentle hand wrapped around the waist, mostly. Her heart thundered in her chest and a moan tore itself from her throat around the cock pushed between her saliva-slicked lips, high-pitched and broken.

Felix. That man from the Blue Lions house, the swordsman who always had a hard scowl painted across his face but that one time, so many years ago he had smiled at her. That smile. It sent her heart aflutter like no other. Her fingers quickened against her underwear thinking about Felix’s smile, that gentle relaxed brow and the quirk of thin pale lips.

In a moment of pure degeneracy, she wondered how it might feel to kiss Felix.

Would he be gentle with her too, like she imaged Alois the professor the be? Or would he be rough with her, as he always appeared to be? He was afraid to bring down his walls too, always putting a front of anger and annoyance, whereas Bernadetta simply ran, a shield of fear protecting her from anything and everything. But perhaps, perhaps if just once, if she allowed those walls to come down, she could taste Felix’s lips.

The tightness in her core became unbearable. In a flash of panic, her fingers pressed against her underwear and Bernadetta cried out around the resin-covered cock down her throat and in her mouth. She moaned around it, writing on the bed, her legs tucking up to her chest and her toes curled in their socks. She arched her back up off the bed and she became flush with heat and sweat.

She imagined the professor’s hand on her head, patting her with praise, Alois’ hearty laugh tickling her ear, and Felix’s gentle smile beaming at her. She cried out, body trembling as fire burned through her. She was terrified for a moment, mid-orgasm, but suddenly realised that it was not pain that was coursing through her veins, but a scorching physical pleasure she had never felt before.

Collapsing against the sheets, she pulled the cock from her mouth, saliva dribbling down the sides of her mouth. She let her eyes fall shut, a hand across her stomach and the other still beneath her shorts against the front of her underwear.

Her eyes cracked open, blinking against the low orange candlelight. It had almost completely burned out and she would have to get another soon. Turning to her side, she retracted her hand and stared at her own fingers. They were still moist and wet with her filthy desire and arousal and shamefully, she wiped them against her bedsheets.

Bernadetta didn’t know how to feel. She felt… guilty. As if she had betrayed everyone by indulging in such a filthy act; her professor, Alois and Felix, mostly. She had tarnished their image, imagining them touching her and goddess forbid, kissing her. She felt she had betrayed her father too.

But then she remembered what he had done to her, for years and years. Her lower lip trembled in anger and she buried her face into her own pillow to try and wipe away the hot angry tears that were forming. No. No longer would she be his prisoner. She was free now, to do as she pleased and be who she wanted to be.

Bernadetta would become a woman worth something.

Chapter Text

Their hands were all over him.

Minutes away from finishing his shift as gatekeeper, the young man was thrown against the wall by both professors.

The new male professor and his twin sister both stared at him, deep azure eyes blinking in unison up at him. They each held onto one of the gatekeeper’s arms, pinning him to the wall by his wrists and the flustered man tried to formulate a response.

“A-Ah! G-Greetings professors! N-Nothing to report this evening!”

The male Byleth -the twins shared a name, how strange, the gatekeeper thought- blinked at the young man pinned to the wall. They were shrouded in darkness, the moon casting silvery shadows across all of Garreg Mach, but it left the two professors and the blushing gatekeeper covered by a blanket of shadow cast by the Goddess Tower.

“I-Is there… something amiss, professors?” the brown-eyed man asked, blinking innocently back at the stoic-faced twins. They glanced at one another and shared an expression, nodding at one another and then, like predators catching their prey, they moved.

The female professor stepped up the gatekeeper and held his face in her one hand, still holding his wrist against the wall with her other. She swept some of cute loose mousy-brown hair from his face with the back of her fingers and the young gatekeeper froze under her touch. He had never been touched like this by another woman before and she was so beautiful in the moonlight.

Her eyes were stunning, glimmering with silver as she drew in closer and the gatekeeper swore that he could see the stars in those orbs. Her face coming closer and closer and he could smell something sweet on her breath; was it perhaps the apple tart that she had for dessert at dinner? He could smell it cooking all day and was about to head to the mess-hall ready for some warm food when the professors stopped him.

Her face drew closer until finally, her lips were upon his in a soft brush. The gatekeeper froze and squeaked, high-pitched, his eyes going wide and he stared back at Byleth, whose eyes were still open, staring back at him, unblinking. Her lips brushed over his repeatedly, in soft, gentle movements with some sort of rhythm to them.

The gatekeeper wanted to push her away, wanted to hold her close, but couldn’t move at all not with the professor’s lips against his own and her brother still pinning him to the wall by his other wrist. Her lips were so soft against his, gentle, but then, she began to press with more insistence against the gatekeeper’s lips.

“Mmh!” the young man moaned, eyes wrenching shut tightly. As soon as her lips were against his, they were gone, and a firm gloved hand on his chin forced him to turn his head to the side. Another pair of lips were upon his, different this time; still soft but narrower. Cracking an eye open, he was met with the same starry eyes, but they were more slanted, the eyelashes shorter. He realised he was now kissing the male professor.

The gatekeeper choked into the kiss, twitching against the hands pinning him to the wall. He had never kissed another man before and strangely… he wasn’t against it. Maybe it was the piercing hardness of the male professor’s eyes freezing him to the spot, or maybe it was his twin sister’s mouth working at what little neck she could access. All the young gatekeeper knew, was that he didn’t want whatever was happening to stop.

“H-Hah… p-professors… what has… b-brought this o-on? Mmh,” he gasped out, his head tilting back to hit the cold stone wall, light brown curls tumbling about his pixie-like face. His caramel eyes were shut, and he tried to collect his breathing whilst the female professor still kissed over his neck whilst the male moved to his ear. The adolescent gatekeeper shuddered and let out a cracked silent moan when he felt Byleth’s breath over his ear, whispering sweet nothings and just hushing hotly over the shell and against his skin.

“P-Professors! Please!” the gatekeeper cried out, but he didn’t even know what he was asking for. His fingers were curling into fists, clenching and unclenching and his legs started to tremble like weak timber. He felt he might collapse any second and it was as if the professors could read his mind as they let go of both wrists simultaneously and placed a firm palm each against the gatekeeper’s hips.

Keeping him pinned to the wall, Byleth returned to kiss over the gatekeeper’s lips, sliding her tongue into the young man’s mouth. He jumped and startled, squeaking in surprise and he was thankful for the cover of dark – he would have been humiliated if anyone heard him make those noises. What kind of guard makes such embarrassing sounds?

Apparently, him because the gatekeeper moaned into the kiss, half-startled, but frighteningly aroused when both professors attacked him at once. Byleth’s tongue slipped past his lips, into his mouth and her hot tongue rolled against his, trading saliva, greedily swallowing all of his desperate little whimpers and gasps without so much as a squeak from herself.

Her brother’s hand palmed the front of the gatekeeper’s breeches forcefully. It almost slapped against his half-hard cock, gripping and rubbing back and forth, massaging him through the fabric of his slacks. The gatekeeper whimpered, mind racing.

“P-Puh… please…!” the gatekeeper cried out. He drew back from Byleth’s intense kiss, panting, his hands coming to rest upon both of her shoulders. Her lips were puffy and pink, even in the moonlight he could see her eyes swimming with desire – finally, an expression from her. She looked beautiful, truly radiant with the silver moon shining against her head of silky turquoise hair, chopped awkwardly and at haphazard lengths as if she’d gone at it herself with her sword.

Her brother, oh goddess… he sank to his knees.

Kneeling before the gatekeeper, the timid man froze, trembling, still pinned to the wall by his hips. He dropped one hand from Byleth’s shoulder and insisted fisted in his own tunic, pulling at the puffy patchwork directly over his heart, hoping to catch it in case it erupted out of his chest.

Byleth, on his knees, tugged down the gatekeeper’s slacks and smallclothes in one fell swoop. Never a man for trivialities, he simply gazed up at the gatekeeper, gauging his reaction.

The man was trembling, his legs were shaking, his face was burning, his heart was racing… everything, everything in his entire body at once was working at twice its capacity. He thought he might faint seeing the handsome professor on his knees in front of his half-hard cock and he was momentarily embarrassed.

Letting go of his tunic, he reached down to pull the hem of it over to cover his cock, but Byleth’s hand shot out and gripped it tight. His grip was strong and elicited a tiny gasp from the gatekeeper. His sister took it from him and slammed it back up into the wall and he was held in place by both professors; the female professor holding his arms beside his blushing face, the male pinning his hips to the wall, on his knees, inches away from his cock.

“P-Professors… I have never… d-done such a thing before…” he mumbled out. Finally, they spoke.

“It is quite alright,” Byleth said, her lips soft against his jaw as she kissed up his cheek, reassuring the nervous man.

“We will be… somewhat gentle, with you,” her brother said, a flash of hunger glinting in his azure eyes. He brought his face close to the gatekeeper’s cock, nuzzling along the underside of it and letting the length brush over his face, against his nose, cheeks, chin and lips.

The gatekeeper gasped sharply, knocking his head back painfully against the wall and Byleth’s nails sank into his wrists. She kept kissing at his jaw, murmuring sweet hushes into his ear, sweeping some of his wispy brown hair with her nose out of the way of his ear so that she could close her lips around his earlobe. The shy man whimpered and mewled, hips canting upwards impulsively so that his balls rested against the male professor’s face.

Ah! P-Professor! Mmh, hah… o-oh…” he breathed, unable to stop himself from moaning. The professor on his knees said nothing and allowed the gatekeeper’s body to thrust forward then pushed back on his hips to pin the smaller man back to the wall. His sister busied herself with the boy’s ear, sucking on it, breathing hotly into it as he finally leaned forward.

Byleth opened his mouth and took the head of the gatekeeper’s cock into his mouth. Immediately, the man cried out.

“Ah! Your mouth…! It’s… s-so… so hot!”

“I never knew you were so vocal,” the sister breathed into his ear and the gatekeeper swore he could feel a smirk against his ear and cheek. Her mouth ghosted over his neck and kissed over it again, working over the soft skin, up to he soft and rounded jawline back to his face.

Byleth sank down further onto the cock, hardening further within the hot confines of his mouth. His tongue expertly coiled around the length, swirling over the sensitive head and Byleth kept the other man pinned to the wall when his hips impatiently thrust forwards.

Goddess, the gatekeeper had never thought Byleth would be so good with his tongue. He hardly ever thought of either professor with anything more than the light of admiration; they always spoke to him, no matter how busy they were returning lost items, shopping, fishing, looking after students, fighting, anything. They always made time for him and he always admired them and was, perhaps admittedly, just a little fond of both professors.

But to feel the hot tongue of one sliding between his parted lips and the scorching tongue of the other wrapped around his cock, he was in paradise. He wasn’t sure if there was an afterlife, but he was sure he was dead and currently there.

Strangely, the thought of having another man on his cock didn’t bother him. It was the professor, someone more than a mere man in the gatekeeper’s eyes. His mouth was like a melting heat, turning him into a pliable mess to be moulded into whatever either professor wanted.

Byleth bit down on his lip the gatekeeper cried out. She smirked into the kiss, pushing her tongue deeper, exploring and tasting every inch of the gatekeeper’s innocent mouth, loving how he tasted of purity. He was moaning uncontrollably, all the sweet noises like a delicacy to both professors.

Fingernails sank into his wrists and his hips, and the man on his knees quickened his movements. He sucked more earnestly, blinking upwards at the gatekeeper but the timid man had his eyes wrenched shut and his face tucked to his chest. He couldn’t bear to open his eyes, afraid he would explode any moment.

Byleth popped off the cock and pumped it quickly and tightly in his gloved hand, flicking his tongue with small kittenish licks over the head, whispering up.

“Do not be afraid. Let go,” he said.

“Let your voice out. We wish to hear you. Cum for us,” Byleth cooed into the gatekeeper’s ear, biting down on the shell and then all too quickly, embarrassingly soon, the gatekeeper came. His cock throbbed in Byleth’s hand, spurting across the professor’s face, landing across his forehead, between his eyes, over his nose, cheeks, lips, chin… he was liberally covered with it.

The female professor hummed in awe into the gatekeeper’s ear, making his orgasm all the stronger. The feeling of her hot breath tickling his ear and sweeping over his neck made him tremble. He was almost crying with the sheer pleasure of it, finally opening his eyes when the waves of his orgasm had finally washed over him and ebbed away.

The sight of Byleth’s face would be etched into the gatekeeper’s memory forever. He would never be able to look at the professor with the same eyes ever again, seeing the man covered in his cum, a tiny smile curling at the edge of his lips. That smile. Coated in cum, the professor had the audacity to smile.

He stood up slowly, towering over the smaller man and turned to his sister. The professor gazed at one another for a moment and then, all breath left the gatekeeper’s body.

Byleth opened her hot mouth and ran her tongue up from her brother’s chin, over his lips, collecting the gatekeeper’s salty cum. She followed the dribbling white trails over her brother’s face, kissing, sucking and licking everything up. She kissed her brother’s forehead once it was clean, over each cheek and then she turned back to the gatekeeper.

She opened her mouth and showed him the collection of cum pooling in the dip of her tongue. And then again, the gatekeeper couldn’t believe his eyes.

The professors kissed. Twin brother and sister, they kissed one another, exchanging saliva and cum between them, a tangle of tongues, in a choreographed dance they had done hundreds of times before. Fingers clutching at the cold stone behind him, the gatekeeper staggered a response.

“P-Professors… this is…”

“Hmm…” Byleth said, turning his head to face the gatekeeper, breaking the kiss from his sister.

“Is something wrong?” she said, swiping a finger over her lower lip to make sure she didn’t miss any of the gatekeeper’s sweet cum.

“N-No… n-nothing to report.”

Chapter Text

“Dimitri, dearest, come here.”

The young tiny princeling stepped into the room, closing the door behind himself and he swept some short blond hair behind his ear. He eyed up the woman on the large bed before him nervously; she was naked, gesturing towards him with a gentle open palm, and her green eyes half-lidded. She had a soft but sinister smirk playing on her plump lips and her wet tongue darted out across them as Dimitri stepped further into the room, tiny feet taking hesitant steps.

“Y-Yes, Lady Cornelia?”

“Be a darling and massage my body.”

“Y-Yes, Lady Cornelia.”

The prince bowed his head a little towards the lady, grateful for the opportunity to cast his gaze away from the naked woman, finding that gazing at the cold stone floor of the bedroom was much easier than staring at her curvaceous body. Her breasts were heavy, hanging so low that the way she reclined on the bed meant they rested on her stomach. Her areolae were large and puffy, nipples soft in the centre of the dusky pink circles, pointing downwards with the sheer weight of her breasts.

Hesitantly, Dimitri climbed up onto the enormous bed. He had to half-jump, it was just that big and luxurious. Cornelia was an indulgent woman who only enjoyed the most expensive and extravagant things; plush beds, countless pillows, and cute young princelings. She eyed the small boy up as he climbed onto the bed and she pushed herself up onto her one elbow, still holding out one palm to the young boy.

Shakily, Dimitri laid his palm in hers. Her touch was hot, and she wrapped her slender manicured fingers around his wrists and pulled the young boy closer until he was shuffling forward on his knees towards the nude woman. Her crimson coloured hair fell in graceful ringlets around her face and down her back and she gazed up at the small boy with her hooded eyes.

It was not the first time they had done this. In fact, it was starting to become a routine. When Cornelia had first arrived at the castle, she took an instant liking to the young beautiful boy, being sure to tend to his every need almost like one of the maids; she often brushed his hair, ate with him, watched him practice his swordplay, and eventually, it evolved into her bathing him and tucking him into bed.

The woman took any intimate possible moment she could with the small prince. Her soft touches would often leave the boy feeling confused and hot; his body reacted in such a way that he had never felt before and so, around her, he became nervous and shy, head cast downwards, afraid to look her in the eye in case that hot feeling rushed over him again.

However, today, Cornelia would take it further than either had before.

She handed the bottle of rose-scented oil to the prince and he uncorked it, as he always did. He emptied some of it into his palms and rubbed his small hands together. Those small hands… the feeling of them felt so wonderful across her skin. They were so tiny that it meant he spent longer touching, massaging and oiling up her body.

“You remember how to do it, yes?”

The blonde prince nodded, and Dimitri moved just a little closer, his hands quivering before he laid them upon Cornelia’s chest, just beneath her throat. He was gentle, always timid as first until his hands warmed up with the oil against Cornelia’s hot skin, starting around her throat and collarbones, his nervous hands working over her shoulders.

She watched him concentrate, brow furrowing in concentration, focused on the task at hand - quite literally.

“Mmh, you are so good, Dimitri,” Cornelia murmured, bringing a hand up to sweep the hair from the prince’s blushing face. His blue eyes blinked up at the woman who was smiling so contentedly, he thought to hurry up already.

His hands came down her body, smoothing out across the broad expanse of her heavy breasts, coating them with the scented oil. It was heavy, swimming in Dimitri’s senses and making his mind hazy, his inexperienced body reacting so earnestly to the curves of Cornelia’s body. He had seen her naked plenty of times by now, but there was something building up behind each incident, a fire being stoked deep in the prince’s body.

Cornelia’s eyes caught the front of the young boy’s breeches, noticing the tiny tent pitching there. How cute. She thought she would not do anything for now and instead, continue to rile up the prince.

“More, press harder, dear prince,” she whispered, caressing his cheek and Dimitri nodded, skimming his hands down lower. He took handfuls of Cornelia’s breasts, sighing softly and his face relaxed as he finally gave in. Dimitri welcomed the heat washing over his body like a blanket, allowing it to envelope him as he kneaded at Cornelia’s heavy breasts, face turning an even deeper shade of red.

His hands were almost swallowed up by the skin, sinking into her breasts. He could feel her nipples harden against his small palms and he sighed again, leaning up on his knees a little higher so that he could loom over her body.

Yes, this is where she would strike.

“Dimitri, my sweet… would you like… to taste them?”

The tiny blonde boy gasped and whipped his head up to the temptress. She was caressing his cheek so gently and giving him such a kind expression, that Dimitri found it hard to say no.

“I-I… Lady C-Cornelia, I…”

His voice was trembling, and so the woman pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling at him. His body was honest, so, with a gentle brush of the back of her palm against the front of his breeches, she grazed over his cock. The boy’s body bucked up into the touch and he gasped sharply again. His fingers impulsively squeezed into the thick breasts and Cornelia herself let out a long breathy gasp.

“It is quite alright. Do not be shy, use your mouth upon me, dear prince. Think of it as part of the massage,” she cooed, giving the front of his breeches another gentle brush but this time, she left her palm there. With a gentle back and forth motion, Cornelia caressed Dimitri’s clothed cock against her palm and the prince trembled.

He fell forward against her, his tiny body cushioning against her breasts. His small mouth latched onto one of her puffy nipples immediately, sucking as if it were his natural instinct. The prince’s body laid across the enchantress’ and she laid one hand on the back of his head, caressing his hair as he suckled at her breast.

“That’s it… you are so good, young prince, so good,” Cornelia breathed. Prince Dimitri trembled and his hips bucked against the side of her body, rutting into anything his virginal body could find, chasing a newfound sense of pleasure.

“L-Lady Cornelia,” Dimitri panted, lifting his head for a few moments from her swollen, hardened nipple. His face was scarlet, saliva was slick and messy around his mouth and face and he looked so adorable, so wrecked already. “I-I feel strange.”

“It is quite alright, let it happen. I will take care of it for you,” she said, turning onto her side and helping the young prince lay beside her.

She was so much bigger than him. The small boy laid beside her on the bed, sinking into the scarlet silky sheets and a luxurious gold-trimmed pillow supported his crown of blonde hair. He blinked curiously and innocently up at Cornelia, who smoothed a hand over his clothed chest, dancing down his body, lower and lower.

“You are always massaging me, young prince… allow me to return the favour, just this once,” she said, plump lips curling around every word. The small boy blinked, tucking his hands to his chest nervously and nodded, allowing Cornelia to do as she pleased with his body. She was always so kind to him, she wouldn’t hurt him... right?

The provocative woman was smirking at the prince. She had him right where she wanted him, pliable and submissive, obeying her every word as if it were gospel. She pushed the hem of his breeches and smallclothes down, exposing Dimitri before her eyes. Since bathing him, she had seen him naked plenty of times before, had seen his small cock, but it was the first time she had laid her eyes upon it when it was hard.

It was not much better than when he was soft, small and unimpressive and Cornelia loved it. She salivated at the sight of it. It was tiny, with a shy pink head poking out from behind a loose foreskin, probably never pulled back before and Cornelia bit her lip hard. She would be the first woman to expose him like this.

“Oh, Dimitri, dearest, look at you,” she hummed.

“I-Is it bad, Lady Cornelia? Have I misbehaved?” he asked tearfully, gazing up at her. She shook her head and smiled, caressing the top of his golden head as her other fingers wrapped around his cock. He was so small that two fingers and her thumb was more than enough to encompass the small boy and he trembled when she touched him. She was also likely to the first person to ever touch him like this – not even he had probably touched himself like this before.

“No, of course not, you could never misbehave. Busy yourself, suck on my breast again,” she reassured him, and the naïve prince did just that. He turned his head, level with her heavy breast and slipped the soft thing into his mouth, suckling and nursing from her nipple. He looked so cute like this, so young and so trusting of her, he didn’t even realise what she was doing to him.

Cornelia bit down on her lip. It felt good to sully the prince like this; a sadistic energy coursed through her veins, a cruel and pleasurable feeling from tainting the prince’s innocence. She worked at his small cock with her two fingers, pumping him gently for his first time and he mewled with his mouth wrapped around her nipple.

“That’s it, so good for me… m-mmh, does it feel good, Dimitri?” she asked. The small boy whimpered and nodded, both of his hands shifting from playing nervously with each other in front of his chest to hold onto the heavy breast and bury himself into it, eyes wrenched shut tightly as he lost himself in the new feelings running through his body.

The virginal prince had never felt so good before. There was a pleasurable thrumming coursing through his body when he sucked on Cornelia’s nipple and he could feel the oil on her breasts. The cosmetic and artificial taste of roses danced on his tongue, but he didn’t mind; the feeling of her body against his made Dimitri feel like he never had before.

“Does your cock feel good?” she ventured. The prince broke away from her breast, and gasped, panting for breath, his tiny lungs starved of air.

“Y-Yes! Yes, Lady Cornelia! M-My… my penis feels good!”

“Mmh, I am glad. You can call it a cock, you know. That’s what it is called,” the temptress said, brushing her thumb over the head of the young boy’s dick. The prince’s face was contorted with pleasure, his hands grabbing and scrabbling desperately for her breast, unsure of what to do or how to feel. “So tell me, Dimitri, how does your little cock feel?”

“I-It… ah! It feels w-wonderful, Lady Cornelia! Hah, ah!”

The mage smirked, a bolt of fire darting down her spine and pooled in her stomach. His hips were bucking into her two fingers, she was stroking him quicker now, nursing him through his first handjob and he was so perfect throughout it. He was moaning so openly, hands grabbing at her thick body for some sort of stability. Dimitri’s bright blue eyes shot open and he stared at Cornelia, frightened.

“I feel strange! S-Something is c-coming…!”

For a moment, Cornelia wondered what to do. Should she allow the little prince to cum for the first time, to spend his seed over her fingers or… was there something else she could do with him?

Cruelly, she slowed and stopped her fingers. Dimitri whimpered, practically sobbing as his climax was robbed of him, hips still thrusting up off the bed, chasing something that would not come to him. With kisses across his golden hair, she reassured him and hushed him, putting a hand over his scrabbling tiny ones on her breast.

“Hush, hush, it is alright… I will give you something better,” she said. Cornelia turned onto her back and pushed her legs apart, using her painted green fingers to draw her pussy apart, exposing her slick pink folds. Dimitri sat bolt upright and stared between her legs curiously, face burning red, lashes wet with frustrated tears.

“L-Lady Cornelia…”

“I want you to put your cock in here, Dimitri.”

“W-What?!” the prince gasped. He was frightened and he tugged nervously at the front of his tunic again. Cornelia hadn’t hurt him before, in fact, what she had done to him felt better than anything he had ever felt and so, he could trust her with this, couldn’t he? Yet, there was something playing with the back of his prepubescent mind that made him doubt himself, that made him reconsider how serious the situation was.

“In here, in my pussy. That’s what this is called. It will feel unimaginably good, believe me… I will guide you through everything, there is no need to be afraid,” she murmured to him and almost like a spell, he followed and fell into her words. The prince crawled around the bed on all fours and allowed himself a few long seconds to gaze curiously at the pink folds drawn out before him. He thought it might look like an exotic flower at first. Cornelia opened her arms out to him as if she were about to embrace him and he moved between her legs.

“W-What do I do?”

“Allow me, Dimitri.” His name fell from her lips, dripping with desire but the boy was too innocent and too naïve to detect it. She held onto his small cock with her hand, guiding him closer until the head brushed over her soaked pussy. She breathed deeply, excited and burning with exhilaration. She was about to take the prince’s virginity, and goddess, if it didn’t feel good to do so.

Guiding the small boy forwards, the head of his cock breached Cornelia’s walls. She could feel him, if only slightly, but the prince cried out with pleasure.

“It’s hot! It is so hot, Lady Cornelia!” Dimitri’s hands fell to her thighs, covering them with a slick oil that still coated his tiny palms. His fingers sank into her pale porcelain skin, gripping hard. His head tossed back in a cascade of gold, mouth parted, and a high-pitched cry fell from his pink lips.

“Mmh, yes… just a little more,” Cornelia encouraged, her long lashes fluttering against her high cheekbones. Even she was starting to feel impossibly good. His cock was small, in all honesty, Cornelia could feel something, but it was nowhere near the size, girth or pleasure of an adult’s cock. And that was what turned her on the most; the inexperience, the virginity, the corruption of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed angelic little boy.

With one quick thrust, Dimitri was fully inside of Cornelia, a pitiful three inches within her pink folds. It was hot, almost like lava, and Dimitri felt like he was melting. He couldn’t hold onto her legs much longer and so he collapsed forward, panting and burying her head into her breasts. His small body could barely comprehend the intense pleasure burning within him.

“Oh, Dimitri, you are so good, such a good boy,” she whispered, smoothing over his head. He whimpered into her skin, sobbing with the intensity of the heat wrapped around his cock. She wrapped her arms around his head, almost suffocating him with her heavy breasts. “Move your hips for me. It will start to feel good soon.”

Dimitri, like an obedient boy, nodded and started to rock his hips back, almost drawing out completely but Cornelia moved her foot to help guide him back in and, as ever the quick learner, Dimitri learned to stay inside of Cornelia, but to move back and forth as much as he could. His cock pushed in and out of her quickly, desperately and frantically.

“L-Lady Cor-nelia…! Ah! M-My… my cock! It feels good!” the young prince moaned out. Cornelia cupped his face in her hands and guided him to her breast again, encouraging him to suckle like he had before. He latched on quickly and obediently, like a puppy, and she stared down at him, eyes swimming with lust. He was so reckless in his thrusting, his hips slammed into her hard, the slap of skin and skin echoing about the private chamber.

“Yes, that’s it,” Cornelia hissed, still stroking his head, keeping her legs wrapped around the small boy. “Your virginity is mine… oh, what a good boy you are, hah, k-keep going.” Even her breaths were becoming uneven. Dimitri’s sucking on her breast intensified and his hips were bucking with wild abandon, fingers crushing into her body with a strength that betrayed his size. Cornelia knew the boy was strong and finally, she was experiencing it.

It was a thrilling feeling, seeing the usually perfect prince become reduced to a trembling, blushing, thrusting mess. He was dribbling over her breast, brow creased in concentration and his small cock was pumping in and out of the older woman.

O-Oh, it’s there…! That f-feeling! L-Lady Cornelia, what do I do?” Dimitri panicked, lifting his head to stare at Cornelia. She held his beautifully wrecked angelic face in her hands and caressed his cheeks with her thumbs, hushing him.

“Let it go, Dimitri… I want you all inside of me, understand?” Dimitri nodded and whimpered, fresh hot tears falling from his eyes. Cornelia wiped them away, holding his innocent blue gaze with her own emerald ones. Finally. She had imagined this moment for so long, how small his body would feel compared to her thick and curvaceous one, and she had wondered what kind of noises he would make when he climaxed for the first time.

“I-I cannot… a-any longer, Lady Cornelia… h-hah, ah, yah! Mmh, ah!” the tiny princeling cried out and collapsed forward, wrapping his entire body around the mage, bucking wildly like an animal into her dripping pussy.

“C-Call me… call me mother,” Cornelia gasped.

Dimitri shuddered violently and suddenly, that was it for him. “A-Ah, mother! Mother!” An intense feeling washed over the prince and he felt fear and pleasure flash through his body like white-hot lightning. He clutched tightly onto Cornelia’s breasts, moaning out her name as he tried to push as deeply inside of her as possible.

She moaned around him too, holding him tightly to her body. She was unsure if the young prince could even cum yet, if he had even hit puberty but she could feel something hot pooling inside of her. Goddess, was that his first load, buried deep inside, seeping into her womb? Cornelia’s back arched off the bed and she thrummed with excitement.

Dimitri collapsed down against her, panting and sobbing into her.

“Hush, hush, dearest prince… it is quite alright, I am here…”

“…” the small boy sobbed. Cornelia smiled but her body was still burning hot. Having him call her mother was a spur of the moment decision, but she had never been more turned on in her life. She hadn’t climaxed yet but could feel Dimitri’s first ever load of thick seed spilling from her.

“How did it feel, prince Dimitri?”

“W-Wonderful… Lady Cornelia, though… I-I am… e-exhausted,” the prince whimpered, yawning, shivering, still crying. He was a mess but Cornelia pitied him. Keeping her legs firmly wrapped around him, Cornelia brushed his hair from his face, kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes to relax against the bed.

“Rest, dear prince… we will clean up when you awake.”

Chapter Text

There was a gentle knocking at her bedroom door but Lysithea made no attempt to get up from her desk and answer it. She knew that knocking and she was far too engrossed in her work to even think about getting up, nibbling away on another sugar-coated shortbread biscuit.

Her door opened and some soft feet entered her room, closing the door behind themselves. The person approached her, resting their hands on her shoulders and they were rough and calloused, worn from sword-practice. He’d taken his gloves off for once.

“Mmh, all done training?” she asked, speaking with her mouth full, crumbs falling from the corner of her pale lips across her papers and into her lap. She brushed them away as the rough hands smoothed over her bare shoulders, pulling her long silvery hair away from her face, sweeping it over one shoulder so the person behind her could lean down and press his lips to her skin.

“Yes.”

“For now, or for the whole day?” she grinned, tilting her head to the side so that her nose brushed against Felix’s and he laughed lowly, a mere rumble in his muscled chest as he swiped the tip of his nose back and forth against Lysithea’s. It was unusual to see the man smile, but Lysithea got to see it often for he only smiled for her.

“You know me too well… I will probably train later with the boar,” he said, kissing at the bare skin of her shoulder and then he stood up, walking over to the mirror to check his messy ponytail. He carded his fingers through his navy hair, rearranging it as best he could after his gruelling training regime. Lysithea liked the dishevelled and messy look on him; too often Felix was prim and proper with a hard scowl on his face so seeing him a little messed up from training was nice as if he were vulnerable.

“Oh, you should be nicer to Lord Dimitri. He has come a long way from where he once was… I am glad the professor was able to help him,” Lysithea smiled, snapping another piece of shortbread and popping the sweet biscuit into her mouth. She crunched it noisily, picking up her quill again and scratching more at her parchment. Felix spied her from over his shoulder in the mirror.

“He will always be a boar prince to me… but that doesn’t matter. What are you working on?” he asked, sauntering back over. Lysithea tensed slightly and hunched over a little more, trying to protect her papers as best she could from Felix’s eyes. He quirked an eyebrow at her suspiciously, a light grin toying at the edge of his lips. “Must be very important for you to hide it.”

“I-It’s not ready!”

“What isn’t?”

“M-My research!”

Felix let out a breathy laugh and folded his arms over his chest in an arrogant gesture, staring down at the little silver-haired mage. “Research? Tell me, what are you researching?”

Lysithea’s eyebrows knotted together and she angrily chomped another portion of biscuit off, crunching on it and nodded feverishly. They stared at one another and Felix laughed a little again. She was simply too cute to ignore when she was like this; frowning at him with half the power of a glare that he could muster, cheeks puffed out in a pout but still moving around the treat in her mouth, narrow white eyebrows pulled together. If he were to speak to his younger self about how he would find the capricious little girl cute, he might have stabbed his future self.

“N-None of your business!”

“Something tells me it is, at the very least, you are not researching battle plan,” Felix grinned, stepping closer to Lysithea who threw her arms forward over the desk and covered her paper. From what he could just make out, she had drawn up some sort of table with numerous numbers and scribbled notes, arrows flowing from one place to another. Were he none the wiser, he might have guessed it was a tactician dossier, but, he was wiser and he knew that Lysithea would never spend her precious time working on something so dull.

“You can’t see!”

“Come now, I want to see your work.”

“No!” Lysithea pouted, cheeks turning pink. “You will… laugh at me.”

Felix stood still for a moment, blinking down at the small girl. Her rosy eyes were averted to the ground and she had finally swallowed the piece of the biscuit she had in her mouth though several more laid on a plate nearby. He sighed gently and then placed a hand atop her head, mussing up her silky silver hair slightly as he petted her head. She mewled quietly and blinked up at him.

“I would never laugh at you for something like that. If you truly do not wish for me to see, then that’ll be alright,” he offered. Lysithea considered his words for a moment and then decided to lean back in her chair, offering the paper up to Felix. He gave her a gentle thank you and then took it, eyes scanning over the writing.

Well, it certainly was detailed, he would give her that. But he was right, it was not a battle plan. Not even remotely close.

It was a results sheet. For her sweet treats.

It looked like to Felix that Lysithea kept detailed notes on every treat she tested and tried. There were columns filled with names of cakes, biscuits, treats and fancies, some he had never even heard of. In the next column, she kept notes on her opinion of the treat, describing its taste, texture, messiness factor and appearance. In the final box, she gave the treat a score out of ten and recommended anything that she could do to improve the flavour of the treat in any way. On the other pages of her paper, there were countless other notes, recipes, scribbles, doodles and meticulous types of note-keeping that fried Felix’s brain slightly.

He couldn’t help but notice that almost every treat hadn’t been given a score lower than eight.

He grinned a little and Lysithea let out a frustrated cry, putting her face to the desk and wrapping her arms around her head, embarrassed. “I knew it! You are laughing at me!”

“I am not laughing at you. I am… impressed.”

The small girl removed her hands from her head and looked up at Felix, hopeful. Her bright pink eyes were glimmering, and she clasped her hands in front of herself, almost in a prayer and beamed up at him.

“You are?”

“Yes, I must admit, these notes you’ve kept are very thorough. They are incredible and might even rival the professor’s strategy planning notes,” he laughed, using his finger to indicate to particularly lengthy paragraph about a strawberry tiramisu. He had yet to try that but had no doubt she would force one to his mouth someday.

“F-Felix! You actually said something nice!”

The swordsman tutted a little and shook his head, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “I am nice to those who deserve it. Though, if I may be critical,” he continued, approaching Lysithea and holding the paper so that both of them could look at it. His finger skimmed down the rating column, highlighting the numerous eights, nines, and tens that decorated the paper and he turned to Lysithea, whose face was mere inches away from his and his lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Your data seems slightly… biased.”

Lysithea snatched the papers from his hand and threw them back down on the desk, whipping her head away from his, and she turned her nose upwards. “I think you will find my data is completely accurate. I can’t help it if everything tastes wonderful!”

Felix laughed and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek, nosing against her ear hidden behind her hair. She tensed up a surprised mouse-like squeak escaped her when he leaned into her a little more.

“Forgive me, I just love to see you looking so flustered.”

Lysithea huffed and as quickly as she had turned away, she whipped back around to face the golden-eyed swordsman, doing her best to glare up at him but her face was flushed pink, betraying the severity of her stare. “You probably bully Lord Dimitri as relentlessly as this too.”

With a quick swipe and far too quick for Lysithea to even register, Felix had lifted her from her chair and sat her up on the desk so that he could take her place, seated before her and between her legs. His arms wrapped around the back of her body, resting comfortably and without any ill intention on her behind. She cried out, surprised and shocked by the lightning speed of his manoeuvre. He grinned teasingly up at her and his usually hard features were softened by his smile. As much as he flustered her, she loved his smile.

“I only fluster you, my dear,” he said, the pet name rolling off his tongue and Lysithea bristled and tensed up again. His smirk only grew wider when he saw how embarrassed she got and if he had not been leaning forward so that his head laid upon his elbows which were pressed across her thighs, she would have kicked him.

“S-See! You are laughing at me!”

“Yes, but it is not for your work. It is because you are too adorable to not laugh at when you turn so pink at my words.” Felix’s rough hand came up to Lysithea’s cheek and even though she glared at him, she leaned into his palm and nestled against his touch. They gazed at one another for a few long silent moments, Felix enjoying the bright red complexion of the girl sat on the desk before him until she huffed.

“Well… a-are you going to let me continue with my research?” she huffed, crossing her arms over her flat chest. Felix hummed, gazing up at her and then leaned back in the chair, running his hands up Lysithea’s delicate stockinged legs. They were smooth and the feeling of the nylon against his calloused hand made him shiver a little. He ran his hands up her pale thighs, fingertips skimming under the hem of her dress.

“Not quite yet.”

Lysithea’s breath hitched in her throat when she felt Felix’s rough hands reach the edge of her stockings and over her bare thighs. She pushed her legs further apart, but only just a little, encouraging Felix to continue to move his hands over her legs, soothing over the immaculate skin.

“You have… something else in mind?” Lysithea whispered, her voice trembling in anticipation. Already, she was feeling slightly warmer with Felix’s calloused hands skimming higher and higher under he was at the edge of her white cotton underwear.

“Yes,” he simply replied, the breathiness of his voice making her shiver. Lysithea nodded, swallowing, and she leaned back on her palms on the desk, pushing her legs even more apart to welcome Felix between them, whose hands pulled her closer to the edge of the desk. He settled comfortably between her legs, face peaceful and calm as he kissed up her thighs, the nylon feeling good against his lips.

He sometimes nipped at her white skin, making her jolt under his strong hands, teeth leaving tiny red petals as he danced higher up her thighs until he face to face with her underwear. Felix shot his amber eyes at Lysithea who was panting and wordlessly urged him to continue.

A thumb came and pressed against the front of her, pushing into her clit and Lysithea jolted. Her eyes went wide and she gasped loudly, fingers raking against the desk as she scrabbled to find something to hold onto. Felix was gentle and tortuously slow, rubbing the broad pad of his thumb over her clit in steady circles, watching her face as it twitched and flushed with pleasure.

Lysithea’s hips bucked up off the desk, wriggling closer to the edge and she leaned her feet on Felix’s thighs. He took in a sharp breath when she raised her legs just a little and he got a much better look at her; he could see tiny marks blooming along her perfect thighs and the front of her underwear was slightly damp, contorting and moulding to the curve of her small pussy.

Felix ran his tongue over his lips and then leaned forward.

He ran his tongue over the front of her underwear and Lysithea let out a long moan, high-pitched and quaking for as long as he licked. It had been some time since he had last used his mouth on her, but it felt heavenly to experience it once more. Felix lathed his tongue up the front of her clothed pussy and kissed at the crown of her clit.

“F-Felix…” Lysithea breathed and the man flicked his eyes upwards. He held her half-lidded rosy gaze and drank her in. She looked far too adorable with a flushed face and heavy chest and he wanted more of her. His throat was parched and only her taste could satisfy him.

Tugging her underwear aside, Felix eagerly dove in. His mouth came over Lysithea’s hairless pussy, sucking and kissing at it, savouring what wetness was there and one of her small hands flew from behind her to his hair, latching on tightly. Her nails scraped against his head and he groaned deep in his throat.

“Mmh, you taste so good,” he hummed, parting his lips so that Lysithea could see how his tongue slipped between her folds, spreading her and he probed deeply. He slid his tongue against her, lapping up everything he could, insatiable. Lysithea trembled, tilting her head back for a moment to let her eyes flutter and drown herself in the pleasure Felix was granting her before staring down at him again.

“M-More, Felix… please…”

The swordsman’s hands came to the outside of her thighs and he pulled her as close as he possibly could to his face so that she was practically balanced on the edge of the table. His nose swept over her clit and he felt her tense beneath him, nails pulling at his hair and he knew it would all come loose from its tie, but he didn’t care. He closed his eyes to concentrate full on Lysithea, giving her his full attention.

Ah! F-Felix! Oh, hyaa… mmh…” Her moans were like nectarous honey to him, so deliciously sweet they swam inside of him. He wanted to hear more of her voice. Felix drew back for a moment to breathe and whispered.

“You may ride my tongue. Move your body,” he urged her and Lysithea, ordinarily, would have been embarrassed by his words but she was too far gone to care any longer. Bringing her other hand forward, she tangled both of them into his navy hair and started to rock against his mouth, Felix’s strong hands supporting her so that she didn’t fall off the desk.

The leverage of the table was perfect and from where Felix was sitting in the chair, Lysithea could easily grind against his eager tongue. It was hot, melting between her slippery folds and he moved to suck at her clit. She threw her head back and let out a high-pitched cry and Felix could feel her toes curl against his thighs.

Her rocking became more insistent as he gave attention to her clit, sucking at it, rubbing his tongue through her cunt until it swiped at her clit again.

“Felix, Felix… hah… I-I’m going to—”

With a harsh suck and a reaffirming squeeze against her thighs, Lysithea came. Her chin tucked into her chest and she grit her teeth hard, hissing through them as her body tensed up. Finally, she let go and her whole body relaxed, her juices flooding Felix’s mouth and with a satisfied groan, he hummed, sending vibrations through her hypersensitive pussy.

Her orgasm overwhelmed her and Lysithea clung onto Felix’s hair for dear life, holding him as closely to her as she could and underneath her ass started to feel uncomfortably sticky. She let go, fingers tight and painful from how hard she had been gripping and if her throat weren’t so parched, she might have apologised to Felix.

The swordsman was licking his lips, her arousal spread around his mouth and dribbling down his chin. It was an embarrassing and an arousing sight and Lysithea panted, gazing down at the wonderful man. He wiped his face clean with his palm and then wiped that against the side of his leg, soothing over her shaking leg with his other hand.

“How was that?”

“F-Felix… hah, it was… amazing…”

“You taste almost as good as your cakes,” he laughed, kissing her kneecap and Lysithea half-frowned, still exhausted.

“D-Do not say such silly things… especially after you j-just…” she trailed off.

Felix chuckled again, kissing up her thigh lightly. “I apologise. But you are just too adorable to resist teasing.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, dearest professor-”

“Byleth… call me Byleth.”

Edelgard nodded weakly, tears stinging at her eyes as Byleth rubbed the length of his cock up against her dripping slit, rocking his hips forwards and backwards, the slide against her so frustratingly good he wanted to thrust in more than anything. But he enjoyed seeing Edelgard like this, so desperate and wanting, supported by his hands wrapped beneath her ass, holding her to the wall.

Here he had the Empress of the Adrestian Empire in his hands, begging and literally crying for his cock. Her face was bright red and her hair had been pulled free from its usual intricate double-bun style, tumbling in silvery waves down her back, tangled up in Byleth’s fingers a little. She was stripped of everything with no clothes, gloves or jewellery to protect her from Byleth’s loving gaze.

She felt far too vulnerable but being in his arms made her feel safe. This feeling of exposition was new to her and her heart was thundering against her chest so violently she thought it might burst out. Keeping her legs hooked around her professor’s hips, she pulled herself into him, arms wrapped around his neck so that her chest could press against hers and she thought maybe her heart wouldn’t erupt from behind her ribs.

Her professor nosed his face into her neck as she buried her face into his shoulder, eyes closed tightly.

“Say my name,” he breathed into her ear, rocking his hips against her slick folds once more, brushing through the small crown of mousy-brown hair at the top of her pussy. Had he never seen it, he would not have known about her real hair colour, but it was cute, seeing the small tuft of different coloured hair adorning the top of her pubic area.

“B-Byleth… Byleth…” Edelgard whispered, repeating the name over and over again until it fell silent on her lips, and her mouth only moved around the letters of his name. He hushed her gently, holding her as closely as he possibly could, enjoying the warmth of her soft breasts pushed so firmly against his strong chest.

“I wish to… enter you…” he breathed into her ear and Edelgard shivered, nodding quickly.

“Y-Yes, please… I want you…

Byleth’s breath hitched and Edelgard’s heart lurched in her chest when she heard him let out a cracked quiet groan. Guiding himself up without using his hands, he pushed the head of his cock against her slit. He held it there for a moment, and then with a gentle buck of his hips, the head of his cock slipped inside of her. She hissed into his shoulder, fingernails raking down her professor’s broad back leaving angry red marks in their wake.

“Oh, Byleth…” Edelgard panted. Byleth was holding himself back, trying to keep some semblance of self-control as he inched in slowly, driving deeper into Edelgard and with the angle that he held her, the curve of his cock slid along ever curve of her velvety pussy walls. Edelgard’s mouth opened in a wide ‘O’ and her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks.

She was overwhelmed. Never had she felt so exposed and so weak, but so full at the same time. His cock was stretching her, despite how wet she was, and it burned in a pleasurable way. She canted her hips upwards, shifting around as best she could, locking her one ankle over the other behind her professor’s back so that he would stay as close as possible.

“Edelgard… I am going to move…”

Please,” she simpered.

Byleth drew his hips back and then thrust back in, though still not all the way. He could feel her tears pooling against his shoulder and so he wanted to take his time with her, be as gentle as he possibly could. His hands shifted as he supported her, her ass resting on one of his arms, the other arm wrapped around her middle and his fingers sank into her slim waist.

“You feel amazing, my love… I wish to take it slow, and savour you,” Byleth whispered, mumbling lowly against her ear, “You deserve so much… so much love… I will give it all to you.”

“B-Byleth… hah, ah…”

Edelgard began to sob, hiccupping as Byleth sped up his thrusts into her, setting a wonderful rhythm that made her body bloom with pleasure. Her pussy felt tight, stretched around her loving professor’s cock and even though they’d made love plenty of times before, there was something about that position that stirred deep within her. Maybe it was the fact that he was completely and totally supporting her with ease, maybe it was his hot breath against her ear, or maybe it was the fact that she could feel his heart against her own, beating as furiously as hers.

“I love you, with a-all my heart, Edelgard,” Byleth panted, thrusting up harder, losing himself in her hot skin. She was too perfect like this, so open to him, so trusting and it was that which made him shudder. It was not her parted legs and hot body that made him burn, but her total willingness to give herself over to him.

Byleth, I… I…”

“It is alright,” Byleth murmured. She couldn’t say it, her voice too broken, her hiccups too strong and that was okay. Byleth’s movements were harder, deeper and faster than before, bouncing Edelgard against his hips and he shoved her up harder against the wall with each thrust.

Her nails raked up his back, clawing, leaving deep scarlet crescents along his already marked back. He loved it when she scratched him up like this, leaving trails of her desperation into his skin. It was a mark of their love which he bore proudly alongside the ring around his finger.

Byleth drew back from Edelgard’s shoulder and she did the same and finally, he got to look at her face. Her high forehead was shiny with sweat, her face flushed a dusty pink colour that spread up to her ears and down her neck and over her beautiful chest. Her lips were parted and dry, practically begging to be kissed and have his tongue run over them.

But her eyes. That look of longing and pure love glimmering in her lavender eyes was too much for him. He bit his bottom lip and Byleth’s lips staggered.

“Seeing you like this… you have no idea what you do to me,” he said, using one leg to lean against the wall to slow down his hips, bringing the arm around her waist up to her face so that his hand could cup her cheek. Edelgard trembled under his touch, crumbling completely as she sobbed.

“Byleth… oh, you are my everything, my everything… I w-would not b-be where I am w-w-without you… please, do not leave me,” she begged and Byleth’s breath hitched in his throat. She was collapsing in his very arms, hot tears tumbling down her cheek and he wiped them away with his thumb. His hips hadn’t stopped moving but they were considerably slower.

“I would never… I could never… I wish to be with you forever,” he hummed, leaning his forehead to yours.

“Let us… m-make a family,” Edelgard whispered.

For a moment, she thought she had crossed an unspoken line by the way Byleth’s hips stopped and faltered for a moment. She opened her mouth to apologise profusely but Byleth suddenly slammed up and into her, pounding away even harder and faster than before. He tore a scream from her and Edelgard’s fingers pulled at the hair at the nape of his neck and scratched down his back more.

“Y-Yes, a-a family…” Byleth breathed, eyes staring into Edelgard’s as if he could see the future and see the family he could create with the Empress. Inside of her, his cock throbbed painfully and he grit his teeth, eyes wrenching shut tightly as he chased his pleasure.

“Please, fill me… f-fill me with your cum… oh, I wish to h-have your -ah! – your child!”

Edelgard was gone. She couldn’t control her mouth and knew that all of Enbarr would be able to hear her, but she wanted them to know. She wanted them to know that she and her professor -no, Byleth- would soon have a family together and that they would be happy raising their little one and they would soon conceive another child and—

She shuddered and trembled, doing her best to move and roll her hips with Byleth’s erratic thrusting. He was dripping with sweat; she could see it rolling down his sharp jawline and beading along his bare chest and shoulders. His thrusts were powerful and falling out of rhythm but the hand on her face was still gentle.

It skimmed down her face, down her body and still, impressively, with one hand supporting her under her ass against the wall, Byleth’s circled his fingers harshly against her clit. It was uncoordinated and hasty, but it made her body thrum.

“I will make you mine, all minemy Empress… m-my wife, the mother of my child…” Byleth hissed between his teeth. His fingers were quick on her clit and his cock was pumping into her with such ferocity that Edelgard screamed. Her voice cracked, diminishing into a weakened moan.

“Y-Yes, fill me, make me r-round with your child… oh Byleth, yes… ah, hah!” Edelgard cried openly when finally, finally, her orgasm claimed her, and she tightened up around Byleth. Her pussy walls spasmed, clenching around his thick cock and she allowed the pleasure to overwhelm her and take her. She had never come so hard before, that, even though she wasn’t a believer, she was sure she was the Goddess.

Blinding white stars danced behind her eyelids and her body was still sensitive but Byleth still didn’t stop. Ever relentless and with stamina that could test time itself, she whimpered in his arms. She collapsed against his chest, fingers still combing over his back to leave pink trails. He held onto her as tightly as he could, almost crushingly so.

“Please, Byleth… I-I cannot—”

“C-Close— I am, so close… oh, Edelgard… bear my child, I am going to f-fill you up—!”

Finally, Byleth’s hips shot straight up into hers and she let out another choked scream with the intensity of his thrust. She could literally feel his cock pulse and empty inside of her, pulsing as rope after rope of his cum painted her insides. Her womb would be flooded with his hot cum and soon, they would bear a child. Her legs shook, weak and quivering around his centre.

The professor huffed heavily into her shoulder and with what little strength he had left, he laid his Empress down on the bed behind them. She sank into the silky sheets and he pulled out of her as slowly as he could to be sure that as little cum leaked out as possible. As if to reaffirm this, Edelgard clamped her legs shut and squeezed them, hoping the cum would remain plugged inside.

“Oh… oh, Edelgard, forgive me… I have lost myself—”

“No, dear Byleth,” Edelgard interjected. She was weak and exhausted, cold tear tracks cooling against her burning face, but she lifted a hand to her lover’s face, admiring the silver of her ring glinting against his pale face, almost matching it. He laid down beside her, half-facing her, equally as tired. “It is quite alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.” Edelgard squeezed his hand gently and the two lay side by side for a few long moments, simply recovering and gaining their breath back, heart slowing to a comfortable beat. Byleth’s eyes were beginning to slide shut when Edelgard spoke again.

“It is rather humorous, however.”

“Hm? What is?”

She turned to face him, lavender eyed shining with happiness as she gazed at her former professor. “I am more terrified of being a mother than of taking down an entire church.”

Byleth laughed quietly, placing a hand atop her stomach, soothing it with his thumb. “I do believe the former to be much harder than the latter, my love.”

Chapter Text

“But anyway, I just thought of something you can do for me. You can take a nap with me.”

Hilda jumped onto her bed, landing softly and she stretched her arms up and behind her head, a tiny noise escaping her lips with the satisfaction of having stretched her spine. Annette stood nervously before her, twirling her fingers through the orange ringlets in her hair.

“A nap? But I’m not done with my chores...” she said, glancing towards Hilda’s bedroom door. The bubble-gum haired girl just shrugged, waving her hand dismissively and blew a raspberry with her lips, a ‘pshh’ noise as if disregarding the rest of the work Annette had to do.

“Yeah, but I could use a little shut-eye, and it feels nice to snuggle up with someone.” Hilda kicked off her boots and shifted around in her bed so that she lay on the pristine white sheets with her back pressed to the wall. She patted the empty space on the bed beside her and shot Annette a cheeky grin as if trying to persuade her to abandon her chores. “So, why don’t we lie down for a bit?”

Annette continued to fiddle awkwardly with her hair, pulling some strands loose, glancing between the door and the bed where Hilda lay. The other girl’s breasts were pressed down against the bed, heaving with the weight to the side as she laid, the curve of her body accentuated by the tightness of her black skirt, following the narrow dip of her waist and the flare of her wide hips. Annette swallowed over the growing lump in her throat when her eyes reached Hilda’s thighs, strong but soft, milky white and where her thigh-high navy stockings indented into her skin, oh, it made Annette feel strange.

She was already warm from having performed some of her chores but now she was significantly hotter. Biting down on her lip, Annette huffed and made her choice. She started to unbutton her jacket and Hilda watched her for a moment with her curious pink eyes. Annette shrugged her jacket off and laid it over the back of Hilda’s desk chair, smoothing down the crinkles in her white button-up blouse. She removed her boots and set them aside neatly too, toes sinking into the soft rug of Hilda’s room.

Nervously, Annette climbed onto the bed on all fours and shuffled close to Hilda. The other girl gave her a gentler smile and raised her arm so that Annette could snuggle down on the bed beside the other. She laid stock still, nervous and unsure of what to do. Suddenly, Annette was unsure of how to lay down on a bed and relax.

Hilda’s arm came and rested above her stomach, over it and soothed her side. She propped her head upon her elbow with her palm and gazed down at Annette. The pink-haired girl could plainly see how nervous Annette was by the darting of her eyes and nervous twisting and fumbling of her fingers in front of her chest.

“Are you sure it’s OK to nap right now? I still have stuff to do for the professor…” Annette mumbled.

Hilda’s hand skimmed up the other small body, over the tiny bumps of her breasts and up to her face. Gently, and with shockingly soft hands, she brushed Annette’s bangs from her face, soothing over her forehead. The other girl’s eyes fluttered immediately, enjoying the sensation of Hilda’s gentle touch. She didn’t realise how good it felt to be touched and petted like this, the gentle carding of fingers through her hair.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine. Later, I’ll help you with your stuff, and it’ll be done in no time.” Hilda said, half-lying. She wanted to help Annette, knew it’d be the right thing to do, but the prospect of busying herself and possibly working up a sweat made her aversive to the thought.

With those words, Annette’s whole body relaxed. Her shoulders released all their tension and sank into the bed and her fingers stopped twitching over themselves with anxiety. She took in a deep breath so that her lungs and whole diaphragm were filled, and then she let it out in a staggeringly long breath as if blowing out all the tension in her body. Hilda smiled down at the small girl, soothing over her forehead and hair still.

“Oh fine, Just for a bit.”

Annette opened her eyes and gazed up at Hilda. She had always thought the other girl to be pretty and far more talented with makeup than she was, but up close like this, she truly thought she was stunning. Her eyes were big and pink, a light dusting of eyeshadow in the crease of her eyes accentuating the rosy hues of her irises. Her eyebrows were perfectly groomed and trimmed too into a fine arch. Maybe she was wearing rouge on her cheeks too, but it was so faint, it looked almost natural, if not for the slight shimmer dusting across her high cheekbones. And her lips, they were so pouty and pink and kissable—

 

Annette’s breath hitched in her throat and she tore her gaze away from the golden deer girl. She stared up at the timber beams holding up the ceiling and wished she had something as strong as that holding her self-control together. Her heart was starting to beat faster and yes, it was definitely getting warmer in the room. Maybe it was the plumpness of Hilda’s breasts so close to her body, or the shifting of Hilda’s legs that caused her skirt to ride up just that little higher that made Annette feel warmer.

She swallowed again and tried to look around the room for anything to distract herself with.

“The sunlight coming through the window is awfully nice…” she said steadily, trying to control herself, focusing her blue-eyed gaze on the fluttering of the lacy white curtains. Sunlight streamed in through the open window, letting in a pleasant summertime breeze and a long stripe of sunlight streamed across Hilda’s scarlet carpet.

Hilda turned her head towards the window and smiled too. “Isn’t it? Nothing better than a nice lazy nap in the middle of the day.”

Annette’s eyes fluttered back to Hilda and she admired the profile of the other girl. She really was gorgeous. The tip of her nose was adorably round, but the bridge was slender and pointed. Her upper lip curled into a wonderful pout and her lower-lip was equally as full. Her lashes fluttered when she blinked, and Annette could feel her heart racing in her chest again.

She let the warmth of her heart spread throughout her body, a gentle smile playing at the edge of her lips.

“Mmhmm. It really is… relaxing…”

Her eyelids felt heavy. Maybe she’d close them, just to let them rest for a little bit. But as soon as they slid shut, it felt too good to want to wrench them open again and so she just laid there, eyes shut against Hilda’s body. The pink-haired girl turned back down and blinked, surprised that Annette had drifted off so quickly and easily.

But she looked so peaceful. The cute girl was always busy, buzzing around like a honeybee, working her hardest at all times. She was amazing at everything except for relaxing. Her face, at last, was carefree and composed, her slender eyebrows drawn straight as she slept. Her lips were slightly parted as she breathed, her hands laying over one another across her stomach.

Hilda smiled. She let go of her own head so that she could rest just above Annette’s orange crown, kissing her hair. She took one of the other girl’s hands, holding it gently with her own as she too settled down. “Already dozing… you must have needed this nap really bad.” Hilda stifled a yawn by tucking her chin into her shoulder. “I’m feeling a little drowsy myself. Sleep well, Annette…”

Chapter Text

“Listen carefully, Cyril. This is important.”

Cyril lifted his head from where he sat in the training grounds of Garreg Mach. He sat atop a wooden crate, one leg folded over the other so that his bow could rest in his lap and he twisted the twine tighter around the string nocks. He blinked up at Shamir, confused.

“Um, yeah. I always wanna get better,” he said, as if it were a silly question. The navy haired woman pursed her narrow lips tighter and stepped into the training room carefully. She was graceful and poised even when she was pensive; her pale fingertips ran over the uneven bricks of the training room as she skirted around the outside of the room, leather boots muffled against the dusty floor. Straw lay strewn where others had trained fiercely, and she stepped over and through it until she stood before Cyril.

“Good.” There was a pause where her lavender eyes slid shut and Cyril could see her contemplating her next words. She said them slowly. “Then you need to find another teacher.”

His heart fell to his gut. It was as if time had slowed and he tried his best to comprehend Shamir’s words. Ever since Rhea had taken him in, he had been under Shamir’s tutelage and learned how to be an archer so that he could better serve the archbishop. But along the way and over the last few years where the war had considerably worsened, he had grown more fond of her. He had matured from a young orphaned Almyran boy into a young man, strong and devoted to Rhea, protective of those who he loved.

And Shamir was one of those people.

“What?” Cyril stared at her incredulously, shaking his head at his teacher, eyes wide. “Why would I need another teacher?”

Shamir folded her arms over her full chest, supporting her breasts and she closed her eyes, unable to look at the boy any longer. To her, he would always be that young hardworking boy, no matter how much taller, stronger, broader or more handsome he became; he would always be the little Almyran to her.

“Because I said so.”

Cyril stared down at the bow in his hand, holding it by the limbs and he turned it over. He raced through the last day’s events and couldn’t think of anything. He then ran through the last week and even the last month and no, nothing had happened. His hands tightened around the bow.

“Have I done something wrong, Shamir?”

“Not at all.”

Her steady response made Cyril flush with anger. Never had he been angry with her – frustrated, yes, but even then, it was usually because she was firm and strict with him, only trying to get him to push himself and better himself. Cyril leapt to his feet, setting his bow down on the box behind him.

“Why do I need a new teacher then?!”

“I simply have nothing left to teach you.”

Cyril frowned at that. No. There was plenty more for her to teach him. He still missed his mark with his arrows sometimes, whereas she always landed perfect bullseyes, never missing her target’s weak points. He still had difficulty with his breathing technique, and that made his arm and hand shake and waver which would send his arrow flying off course. She had plenty more to teach. There had to be.

“Nah, that can’t be true,” Cyril said, trying to laugh off Shamir’s words as if they were some poor joke. But her face was calm and somewhat solemn, if anything, with her purple gaze directed at the ground between them because she couldn’t bear to see the sadness in his eyes.

“It is. Your fighting style is fundamentally different from mine. I’m a sniper. I find a secluded spot on the battlefield and pick my enemies off one by one.” Shamir paused and lifted her head to meet Cyril’s gaze at last, her usually hard purple eyes softened in an apologetic expression. “But you, you’re a harrier. You weave in and out of the battlefield, assailing the enemy with rapid-fire.”

“A sniper… and a harrier?”

Shamir nodded steadily, taking one of Cyril’s hand in her own. Their gloves rubbed over one another, like a barrier between them and she studied the callouses marking his fingertips, years of archery leaving him hardened. “Correct. And your progress has revealed where your strengths lie. I’ve taught you as much as I can. You’ll have to find a teacher who specializes in your tactics if you wish to grow.”

Cyril allowed Shamir to hold his hand, enjoying the feeling of her fingers over his. He had felt her countless times as she guided his arms, neck, back and fingers into more precise positions. But the way her fingers gently skimmed over his now, it was different – it felt different, at least for him. Almost like a goodbye.

The young man closed his darkened fingers around Shamir’s much paler ones, squeezing tightly around them, as if he didn’t want to let go. “Hmm… no. You’re my teacher. That’s how I want things. I don’t know about specializations or whatever, but I know I don't want a different teacher.”

Shamir frowned hard. “Then you'll never improve.”

Frustrated, Cyril raised his voice. “I'm fine with you, and I don't want anyone else! I only want you, forever and ever!”

Before he had even realised what he had said, it had been spoken. Silence fell around the training room and Shamir’s eyes were wide open, caught off-guard by Cyril’s sudden declaration. The young Almyran boy flushed red and bit his lip, cursing himself inwardly over and over again in his brain. Why did he say that? What could possibly have made him say something so stupid? He knew exactly what. It was the idea of losing Shamir, the idea of not having her be with him every single day and teach him new things, even if she said there was nothing new for him to learn.

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to burst out on you like that,” Cyril apologised, moving to retract his hand. Shamir didn’t let him. She held on tightly and gave him a gentle smile.

“No, it is quite alright. There is…” Shamir took in a breath and then looked up, meeting his caramel gaze. “There is one more thing I could teach you.”

Cyril’s heart soared. He nodded eagerly, beaming at his beautiful teacher. “Yeah! Anything! You know I’m ready to learn anything!”

The archer held her breath, thinking to herself for a few moments and Cyril wondered just what she was about to teach him to make such an unsure expression cross her face. In all his time of knowing her, he had rarely seen such a troubled look crossing her stunning features. Her thin navy brows were furrowed to cause a heavy shadow to shade her deep purple eyes. Lifting her head, she swept some loose strands out of her face and smiled.

“Alright. You must forgive me for what I am about to do… let us move somewhere more private.”

Shamir took Cyril’s hand and guided him further away from the open floor of the training grounds, towards the back of the building where the tall bookshelves towered over those below. There was a sharp corner where students often went to study and Cyril was excited to be learning something new himself. Despite the numerous years that passed, Cyril was still incapable of reading but he had never asked to learn since he thought such a thing was unimportant compared to protecting those around him.

“Please lean forward over the table.”

What a strange request, Cyril thought, but he did as was asked of him. He leaned forward over the table, planting his palms flat against the surface and Shamir manoeuvred his legs so that they were placed into a wide and stable base. He thought it was a strange position for learning but allowed her to do as she pleased. Her hands skimmed up over the back of thighs and an involuntary shiver ran through him.

“What’re you gonna teach me?” Cyril asked, still naïve and curious, like the same small boy that Shamir taught more than five years ago. She knelt behind the young man and admired the thigh curve of his strong thighs; riding wyverns had done him plenty of favours as she could see the taut muscles of his legs even though his breeches. The feeling of her hands skimming up over the back of his legs made another shiver run through him.

“It is… different from archery,” she murmured, almost inaudible.

“It is? Well, that’s alright with me,” the boy grinned from over his shoulder. Shamir swallowed and her fingers dared to slide over the roundness of the young man’s behind and she could feel him tense beneath her.

Cyril was inexperienced, not stupid. He knew what those fleeting touches were now, he knew this position now that he was braced to lean forward over the table. He knew that look in those stunning purple eyes. He could feel her fingers and blunt nails danced around the inside of his legs and he bit on his lip to stifle a quiet groan. He thanked the goddess that no-one was to come to the training grounds today – they were closed for cleaning and regular maintenance.

“Will you allow me to teach you this?” Shamir voice implied that Cyril had already figured out what sort of thing she was about to teach him. Although he was clueless about what specifically she was about to do, he had a basic idea; she was going to teach him the pleasures of indulging himself sexually. Not that he didn’t do it regularly. Hand fisted around his cock, he spent most of his nights fisting in his sheets, golden skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he pictured the heavy breasts of faceless women.

“Yes. I’m inexperienced so… I appreciate your guidance,” the young boy said, still toying with a grin, trying to remain confident despite the uncontrollable and frantic butterflies fluttering away in his stomach. Shamir’s own mouth nervously twitched and she sighed, shaking her head before a far more comfortable smile worked its way across her lips.

“I may not be able to teach you much more about archery. However,” her fingers ran up the solid strength of Cyril’s thighs and she dipped into the hem of his loose breeches, flipping the long hem of his tunic up over his lower back and out of the way, “I have plenty yet to teach you about your own body.”

“Then please, teach me,” he breathed.

Shamir’s fingers pulled down his breeches and small clothes until the olive coloured fabric pooled around his ankles and over his leather boots. Golden skin was laid bare before her lavender eyes, going wide with just how scarred the boy was. He was still a small boy in her eyes, but with the pink and silver scars sunken into his bronze skin, she realised then that he had grown into a strong young man.

She fingered a long stray scar along the back of his thigh, following it as it curved around to the front.

“A spear got me there… any closer and it might’ve cut through muscle,” he breathed. Her fingers were so light he could barely feel them. Her touch was feather-light, ghosting over his trembling skin as if she were half-afraid to touch him. She had almost practically raised him for the last five years. He would have been glued to her side if he did not have chores to keep him busy. To touch Cyril like this… it felt improper, and yet, beyond exhilarating.

“This might feel strange but, please allow me to teach you,” Shamir said, raising up onto her knees behind Cyril. He nodded quickly and eagerly, his heart racing and blood thundered in his ears. He had no idea what Shamir was going to do from this position, all he knew was that he trusted her and whatever she was about to perform unto his body.

Her hands came up to his strong ass cheeks and Shamir massaged them in her hands. She admired the contrast between his chocolatey dark skin and her own pale hands, and she almost wished she had nails so she could sink them into his flesh – she, of course, kept them short as a competent archer should. Cyril kept his teeth worrying over his bottom lip, enjoying the feeling of Shamir’s cold hands against his hot skin. He had never been touched by anyone else like this and he had never even touched himself like this. It felt a little strange but not uncomfortable.

Shamir slipped her thumbs between his crack and pulled gently, and Cyril turned scarlet. He whipped his head around and a surprised embarrassed sound escaped his lips and he stared down at Shamir. Their eyes met and he spoke with his eyes; he trusted her, but he would let her know if it became too much.

She opened her mouth and she made a display of lolling out her long pink tongue. It was slick and shiny with saliva, catching the candlelight of the wall sconces so that gold and orange glimmered over the wet muscle. His heart pounded hard against his chest and suddenly, he wanted that tongue all over him – it didn’t matter where anymore.

Keeping eye contact for as long as possible, Shamir then leaned in between Cyril’s ass cheeks and her scorching tongue connected with his virgin hole. The young man cried out; oh, goddesses and gods above, he had never felt anything so hot in all his life. Shamir’s tongue lathed in a long stripe over his puckered tight hole and Cyril clenched his hands up into such tight fists his blunt nails scraped over the wood.

“O-Oh… oh…” he breathed. Cyril turned his face back forward to gaze at the wall, but he focused on nothing in front of his eyes, only the feeling of the tongue melting over his asshole. He had never been touched somewhere so filthy and intimate before, but he loved how it felt. He began to understand why other people found such intimacy so addictive.

“How is it?”

“More,” Cyril gasped out, eager for Shamir’s tongue to return to his hole. He could feel her mouth curling into a grin as she eagerly returned to his ass, pulling and spreading on the golden skin of his cheeks so that she had more room to work. She licked a long stripe from the back of Cyril’s balls, all the way over his perineum and up to his crack. He tasted salty and sweaty, just as a young man should; virile and healthy. Her tongue flicked in a cat-like manner once it reached the top of his crack and she saw Cyril’s head of wavy black hair tilt back in pleasure.

More,” he repeated.

Wasting no time on teaching, Shamir kissed over Cyril’s hole with puckered lips, sucking at the rim. Cyril’s virgin body jolted, and he suddenly realised just how hard and heavy his cock was as he bumped forward against the desk. The head of his cock nudged against the edge and he groaned but he refused to move; Shamir had not instructed him.

“Oh, Sh-Shamir… I feel… really hot,” he managed out, casting a bleary-eyed gaze over his shoulder back at the head of navy hair busy between his cheeks.

“But it feels wonderful, doesn’t it?” she whispered, and Cyril nodded quickly. Drawing back to take in some breaths, Shamir worked the tip of her thumb into the tight hole. The ring of muscle resisted before allowing the digit in. It didn’t matter that it was just the tip of her thumb, Cyril’s ass was still impossibly tight, resisting the foreign intrusion.

“Yes, yes… goddess, yes,” he panted out. Cyril had to draw upon all of his self-restraint not to fist his cock and empty himself over the desk right then and there and Shamir could see from between his legs the whiteness of his knuckles and the heaviness of his cock. It was impressive, a good length with a bright red head that was already dribbling precum. Had she gotten him that worked up so quickly and so easily?

“Cyril,” Shamir breathed, slowly reaching forward between his legs. He was allowing her to lick him so intimately, he would surely not object to a hand around his cock… right?

He was so grateful for the cool hand to wrap around his dick. Cyril’s head fell forward, hanging and he choked on a breath, hissing between his teeth. Goddess, yes, this was what he needed, what he wanted to learn about; how good another person’s hand would feel pumping at his cock. He impatiently started to thrust into her hand, and she allowed him, admiring the way the muscles in his thighs and ass flexed. She moved her hand in sync with his movements, relishing in the quiet gasps that feel from his lips.

“Oh, Sh-Shamir… mmh, it feels so good…” His voice was breaking and cracking with the pleasure overwhelming him and Cyril flexed his hands, the tension in his knuckles bordering on painful.

Shamir leaned back in between his ass cheeks, now using only the one hand to keep him spread as her tongue probed at his hole. She removed her thumb and slid her tongue in as best she could, sucking over his puckered hole and the boy cried out loudly, high-pitched and whining. The noise made Shamir shudder, sending heat through her body. She did her best to breathe through her nose, but it was all muffled by his golden skin.

Her hand milked his cock, pointing it and aiming it at the ground and on a particularly long upstroke, Cyril collapsed against the table. He lay his chest flat against it, head turned to the side as he panted and cried, scorching pleasure coursing through his veins. Never had he felt so good, not even on his own when he thought about random women.

Her hand felt so much better than his own. Her fingers were slimmer, cooler and she was more delicate and coordinated than his own frustrated pumping. As he laid down on the desk, his back arched, pushing his ass out a little more and Shamir groaned against his skin. The vibration made the boy tremble against the table.

“Shamir… I-I think I’m going t-to… I’m close, so close—”

“Let it out, Cyril. I want to hear and see you,” Shamir quickly said, breathless and it was the rasp of her voice that tipped Cyril over the edge. With her mouth returning to his asshole, and her tongue swiping hotly over him, coupled with the gentle milking of his cock, Cyril came. He cried out loudly, wrenching his eyes shut as the force of his orgasm overwhelmed him.

He could feel his cock jump in Shamir’s hand as she kept moving, slowly stroking and nursing him through his powerful orgasm. She hummed against his asshole, sliding her tongue into his hot and loosened hole, enjoying the flutter and clench wrapping around her hot tongue. Ropes of hot cum spurted from his cock and landed on the floor beneath him, barely missing his leather boots.

He had never cum so hard in his life.

Finally relaxing, Cyril panted hard against the table. He lifted his head as best he could so that he could looked over his shoulder at Shamir. She pulled back from his ass and could see her analysing the cum dribbling between her fingers before bringing it to her lips. Her tongue gave a kitten-ish flick over the salty liquid, and she didn’t make a revolted face.

His cock jumped again.

“Shamir,” Cyril breathed. The lavender eyed archer sucked the last of the boy’s cum off her fingers and moved about her knees, which were slightly sore from kneeling for so long. Pushing onto her feet, she stood shakily, leaning a hand on Cyril’s lower back to support herself.

“How was that?”

“That… goddess, that was amazing…” He smiled up at her, so earnest and pretty, beaming. “Thank you for… teaching me that.” Cyril grinned again, laughing at his own joke and Shamir laughed softly too, bringing her gloved her hand to her mouth to cover and hide her smile.

“I’m glad you enjoyed, although,” she traced a finger down the side of the boy’s face teasingly, “do not think that our lessons are over quite yet.”

Chapter Text

“Geez, kid… you’re way too impatient.”

Jeralt had to turn his head to the side so that he could breathe, managing to finally catch his breath as Leonie desperately tip-toed up to kiss him. She was insistently pulling on the front of his orange-coloured tunic and even though he was pushing at her shoulders so that he could still recover his breath, she was stripped down to her button-up blouse, cotton-white underwear and long black socks.

“C’mon captain… you want this too,” she whispered, trying to pull him down with a hand fisted in his tunic and another tangled into his hair, playing with his small blonde braid, tugging him down by the neck. The older man grumbled against her lips and frowned hard.

It’s not that he didn’t want it, and it wasn’t like he felt anything strange or immoral about being intimate with one of his kid’s students but… she was just so damn impatient. Every time they were like this, she was pulling on him, forcing him to kiss her and she would ride him out until he was breathless. Maybe she just wanted to show off her stamina or something, but her neediness was starting to drive Jeralt mad.

He clutched at Leonie’s shoulders tightly and shook her slightly, forcing her back. She blinked up at the man who was worrying his lip with his teeth, his aged features creasing in frustration.

“Captain? Did I do something?”

He took in a steadying breath and opened his eyes to look at her. She was only nineteen, younger than his own kid, but still a young woman, even if she didn’t act like it. Her big orange eyes blinked up at him full of innocence even if he knew she was totally otherwise. His eyes roamed over her body, slim and taut with strong muscle from relentlessly training but her breasts… god, they were nice.

“Nah… you just… always wanna go so fast. There’s no rush, let’s just take our time,” he said, trying to offer her a smile. It was partially the truth – he did want to slow down and take his time with the woman who had become his secret lover, but he also wanted to be in charge.

He could count on a single hand how many times he had taken charge when they had sex. It was always her on top, riding him into oblivion until he was a groaning mess and it was good, god, was it good, but a change of pace was always good. Jeralt also didn’t want her to start thinking that she had him wrapped around her finger or something. He had to show her who was really in charge sometimes.

He played with the buckle across her breasts holding her shirt together when she blinked up at him.

“Sorry… you’re right, I’m impatient. I just can’t help myself,” Leonie said, her hands moving from being wrapped around his neck to hold over his playing with the buckle of her shirt. His hands were worn, old and calloused, with a roughness that screamed mercenary work. His palms were grooved and contorted to fit the hilt of his sword and Leonie thought, maybe, if he touched her enough, his hands would mould to the shape of her breasts, too. “You’re just so… I look up to you, captain, so I can’t control myself when I’m alone with you.”

Jeralt let out a hearty laugh, unbuckling the leather strap so that Leonie’s cleavage was exposed to his hungry eyes. He could see the shine across her golden complexion and his fingers skimmed over her slightly sticky sweaty skin. “It’s alright. Let’s just… slow down a bit, hm?” He gave her a gentle smile. “Can’t always go rushing headfirst into a battle, can you?”

Leonie laughed into her fist and nodded, tiptoeing so that the tip of her nose brushed against Jeralt’s. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A strong coarse hand came and held onto Leonie’s smooth cheek, rough thumb brushing back and forth. Jeralt brought their lips together in a much softer kiss, still as passionate as before, but far softer. His lips were still chapped, the mark of an old man, he thought, and her were so gentle, wet and delicate. Claiming her lips would never become a chore for him, he loved the feeling of how soft but strong Leonie felt against his lean body. He held onto her shoulders with a more relaxed grip and his hands skimmed down her body, over her strong arms, to her slim waist and then over her ass.

He squeezed hard and elicited a sharp squeak from Leonie, chuckling lowly into the kiss when he hoisted her up and she wrapped her legs around his middle. Taking a few steps, he sat her on his desk, sending papers tumbling to the floor and some creased under her bare ass but he didn’t care. He knew that Seteth would have his head for crinkling such important documents but again, he didn’t care.

All Jeralt cared about was sliding his tongue into Leonie’s hot, waiting mouth, pulling at the buttons at the front of her shirt. Sure, he had told her to slow down, but it was now him who was being impatient, wanting to feel her sticky skin against his.

His office was balmy, a humid heat washing throughout the room. The window was open, tilted open at the bottom and caught on the latch but it did nothing to cool down the passionate pair. Jeralt could feel a thin sweat collecting in his hairline and he was suddenly desperate to take his uniform off, cursing himself for asking to go slower when all he wanted was to speed things up.

Leonie’s hands danced up the captain’s body, to his tunic and she pulled it up and off, over his head. He was still wearing his chainmail, a light summer version of his usually thick armour so it wasn’t too heavy and working together, the pair pulled that over his head too.

Her small hands moved his chest, admiring how scarred and chiselled he was.

“I know it ain’t pretty—”

“Nonsense. I love touching your scars; it shows me how strong you are and how strong I want to be,” Leonie said, looking up at Jeralt. He blinked a few times, surprised, and then shook his head, continuing to undo the buttons on the front of Leonie’s shirt.

“You don’t need scars to be strong. Besides,” Jeralt leaned in, pressing his lips to Leonie’s skin, just below her neck and between her collarbone and shoulder, tasting the salty sweat glistening gold, “I think I much prefer your skin without scars.”

“Geez, captain, I bet you sweettalk all the ladies like this,” Leonie laughed, tilting her head back and allowing the man to kiss down her body to her breasts. They were nothing more than a handful for the experienced mercenary whose hands were monumental in size when compared to hers with thick squared fingers which sank into her skin. He groped at her breasts and rolled his thumbs over the slightly browned nipples.

His first wife’s nipples were pink, but she was so pale, almost like snow. Leonie, in comparison, was a shimmering gold colour with perky brown-nipples that hardened instantly under his touch, no matter how hot she was.

She panted, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck as leverage so that she could lean back on the desk a little, the other hand fanning herself in an attempt to cool down. It really was too hot, and it wasn’t just Jeralt’s lips closing over her nipple.

“Oh! Mmh, captain,” Leonie moaned, watching how he sucked at her nipple and squeezed at the other, the stubble on his chin and jawline rubbing against her skin. She knew there’d be sore red marks later; there always were.

“I’ll never get tired of your tits,” he grinned, rolling one of her nipples between his sharp teeth. They were slightly yellowed, the life of a mercenary, but nothing unpleasant. She liked that about him; the chiselled manliness and unrefined masculinity of captain Jeralt. It was a part of what had drawn her into him in the first place. “God, they’re just so perfect.”

“Mmh, yeah? You like them that much?” Leonie countered, using her free hand to soothe down the front of Jeralt’s body, over the chiselled stomach and dipping into every curve of muscle of his abdomen. His skin felt somewhat like leather, worn and textured with years of battle, hard-work and dedication etched into every inch of his body.

“Goddess, yeah, I do,” Jeralt moaned over her nipple when Leonie’s hand palmed over the front of his breeches. She rubbed over him gently and could feel him hardening under her hand, making her smirk with confidence. She loved making the captain hard so easily, as if it was something that only she could do. His mouth closed hungrily over her nipple again, biting hard at it so that Leonie cried out, hissing between her teeth when he sucked instead, kissing and licking over the pained nub. He moved over to her other breast, repeating the same motions of sucking, kissing and biting, pinching the nipple between his teeth and rolling it for a few tortuously long seconds. Leonie squeezed harder at the front of his pants and made him shudder.

“You said slow down, captain, but you’re the one rushing,” Leonie said, grinning madly at the captain. He laughed under his breath. She was right. She was right on the money. He was starting to want her more and more, and maybe it was the heat in the room, or maybe it was the taste of her sweat on his tongue, all he knew was that he wanted to be inside of her, and it had better be soon.

“I’ll go slower if you want,” he said, already knowing the answer. Leonie shook her head and brought her other hand down from the back of his neck to pull his breeches open and shove them and his smallclothes down over his ass and hips so that they fell to the ground.

He kicked his boots off and then stepped out of them, standing now in nothing but his socks. His large hands ran over her smooth thighs and he yanked her closer to him, ruining the papers on his desk even more.

Leonie ground her hips up against the captain, loving the feeling of his cock pressing against the front of her cotton underwear. His cock was thick and veiny with an upward curve so that it pressed back against Jeralt’s own tight stomach. He didn’t shave; never had the time nor the care for it, and he had never had a woman complain before. Leonie loved it. The untamed wildness of the captain’s cock was something that drove her wild every time she saw it. A part of her wanted to sink down and swallow it up and taste the thick saltiness of it, but his hard fingers pressing against her slightly damp underwear made her freeze in place.

“You’re getting this wet already,” Jeralt grinned, leaning in so his face was inches away from Leonie’s. Her eyes fluttered when his fingers ghosted over her clit, bright golden eyes rolling into the back of her head and Jeralt loved that expression. His lips were tantalizingly close to hers and he loved the way she leaned forward, chasing him as he inched back so that her lips couldn’t meet his.

His fingers pushed against her underwear and her hips bucked against his fingers. He always touched her so well, rough and without care but still gentle, knowing exactly what to do to get her going. He rubbed up and down with two fingers, skimming over her clit with every single swipe.

Fuuuck,” Leonie moaned, mouth opening into a long moan. Her underwear was getting even wetter so hooking his fingers into the waistband, he yanked them down and the dangled off her one ankle. Jeralt’s fingers returned to her pussy quickly, letting out a hiss between his teeth when he could finally feel just how wet she was for him, without a barrier.

“Fucking goddess, Leonie, you’re soaked. You want my cock that bad, huh?” he panted, trying to stay in control but the way his fingers were sliding between her folds was almost too much to handle. She nodded and pushed her legs further apart so that he could slide a finger inside of her.

“Yeah, I want it. You’re gonna give it to me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Jeralt said, going dizzy with want. Her small hand wrapped around his thick cock and she started to pump quick. He was dripping in sweat, rivulets of it rolling down his face from his temples and down his throat. His chest and cock was sticky and with her clammy palm dragging over the length of his thick cock, it was almost painful, but it was a good kind of hurt. Jeralt loved a bit of pain mixed in with his sex; too sweet and his heart couldn’t handle it. He needed the yank of hair, the drag of nails, or the bite of teeth to make it really good.

Quick and easy, the captain slid a finger into the orange-haired tomboy. Her head fell back and exposed her throat to him. Without thinking, he dove in and started to kiss over her neck; he wanted to bite down and make her cry a bit louder but knew if anyone saw those teeth-marks, Seteth would rip his cock clean off and feed it to his wyvern. So instead, Jeralt settled for hot kisses and long licked stripes of his tongue over her bobbing throat.

His finger worked inside of her and no matter how many times they fucked she was always as tight as the first time. Jeralt loved splitting her small body open; she was a strong enough girl that she could handle it too, being bent over and slammed into any way which that pleased him.

He added another finger and Leonie moaned louder; her throat hoarse. It didn’t matter that she was loud, no-one came to this part of the monastery during the afternoon; it was too hot to be cooped up inside anyway. Their bodies were sticking together with the copious amounts of sweat running down their muscled bodies and Leonie’s legs spasmed against the desk.

“Fuck, cap-tain… give me your cock already, I’m going crazy,” she pleaded and Jeralt loved the way she begged. She didn’t do it often enough, usually too proud to show any kind of weakness.

“Say it again.”

“Come on, hurry, fuck me already. Pick me up and just fuck me,” she emphasized, unable to come up with anything better to say other than to word her biggest desire. Her hand quickened around his dick and she started to squeeze on the upstroke, pulling harder on his cock. He hissed and gripped her wrist tight, stopping her.

“Alright, alright, c’mere,” he said. Leonie moved to the very edge of the desk, practically balancing on it with a hand on each shoulder, nails sinking into Jeralt’s leathered skin so she could cling on as he lined himself up. The captain had one hand on her hip and the other on his cock, rubbing the scarlet head through her pussy a few times, slicking himself up. He could see her perfectly muscled legs shake again and then finally, finally, he slid in.

Just the head at first but it was enough to make Leonie moan, biting down on her lip. The pain was always there, but it was a satisfying burn rather than a searing pain, as it had been the first time he pushed into her. Jeralt shifted on his feet and licked at his chapped lips.

“Ready?”

“Always ready,” she said, the edge of her lip quirking into a grin. Jeralt returned it with a breathy laugh and then pushed in all the way, the head of his cock bumping against Leonie’s cervix. She was tight, always tight, and Jeralt hung his head against her shoulder to try and steady himself. Leonie’s fingernails sank into his shoulders as she hissed, trying to get used to his thick cock.

“Move,” she eventually said and Jeralt nodded. Drawing his hips back, he admired the way her pussy lips clung onto him, refusing to let go and he groaned at the sight of them sucking him back in. He started a slow rhythm, eyes focused on where his cock was sliding in and out of her supple young body. How an old man like him managed to get lucky with a pretty tomboy like this was beyond him. But he wasn’t about to question it now.

Fuck, you’re always so tight,” he grunted, hips slamming up a little more into her. Leonie nodded, humming and mumbling nothings under her breath.

“Your cock’s so good… give me more,” Leonie asked and Jeralt groaned louder. He shoved his hands under her ass and thighs and yanked her up from the table, holding and supporting her entire weight. Leonie’s eyes went wide for a moment and she threw herself against the captain’s body, arms around his neck in a brief flash of panic. He walked back to the wall and practically threw her up against it, slamming back into her wildly.

He was holding up her entire weight as if it was nothing, so Leonie wrapped her legs around Jeralt, bouncing against his thick dick. She yanked on his hair as he ploughed into her deeply, slamming against her tightest and hottest spots, sending bright stars into her vision.

“Fuck, fuck, your little body’s so fucking g-good,” Jeralt grunted, rumbling so deeply in his chest that Leonie could feel the vibrations of his voice with her chest pressed so tightly against his. His thick cock was driving her wild and her eyes were fluttering, rolling into the back of her head.

She was sweating uncontrollably and so was he. Leonie could feel the sweat rolling down Jeralt’s back with the way her hands clawed at the skin, raking over the scarred canvas and her legs were stuck against the sticky skin. Her body was shimmering with sweat, almost like golden glitter was dancing across every inch of her small body with the way the summer sun shone harshly through the window of Jeralt’s office. It made him almost glow, like a halo of white light surrounding his broad and tall body.

“Yes, yes, fuck me, captain,” Leonie gasped. “I’m gonna cum… please, make me cum, I’m getting close…!”

“Cum over my cock like a good girl,” Jeralt said, no longer able to control the words coming from his mouth, “Cum all over my fucking dick.”

Leonie grit her teeth together tightly and her whole body tensed up. He could feel her pussy tightening around his cock and with one more brutal slam that sent her up the wall, Leonie came. She cried out loudly, moaning Jeralt’s name so desperately that her voice cracked. Her brow came together, knitted in a strong frown of concentration as a blazing hot fire racked through her entire body with her orgasm.

Jeralt’s hips staggered. “O-Oh fuck—fuck, I’m gonna cum—” Quickly and with barely enough time, he managed to rip his hips back so that he came in hard spurts against the concrete wall, painting it white with his cum as Leonie continued to shiver in his arms, holding onto him for dear life. Jeralt’s legs were shaking, his balls tightening up as his cock emptied out rope after rope until he was just dribbling cum out, dripping onto the floor with quiet dripping sounds.

Leonie was breathless in his arms. In fact, he had never heard her so quiet before. She was holding onto him, head against his shoulder and arms limp around him, only her legs tight to hold herself up. He stepped back shakily and took a seat in his chair, collapsing into it with her in his lap. They panted breathlessly for several long moments, trying to fill their starved lungs.

Still, they were sweating. It was way too hot and the idea of a cold bath in the river sounded pleasant to Jeralt. His hand came to the back of her head, soothing and scratching as if trying to rouse her.

“Still there?”

“Mmh… just about,” Leonie replied, unmoving. He laughed and sighed, content and thoroughly relaxed.

“Looks like we didn’t take our time in the end,” Jeralt mused aloud and he felt Leonie’s body shake with laughter against his, a quiet huff of breath escaping her nose.

“You’re right, I guess we didn’t… but it was good though, right?”

“Yeah… it was damn good.”

Chapter Text

Ashe grumbled as he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had had a miserable hour’s sleep, tormented by the face of Lonato, swirling blue like a ghost in his nightmares. His head hurt and the moon had barely moved from its position where he could see it through his window. The stars still glimmered, as bright as ever, but they burned into Ashe’s stinging retinas, eyes heavy but too painful to close.

Every time he shut his eyes, he saw Lonato’s face. Either twisted in agony with blood pouring from his mouth, nose and skull or a ghostly apparition, he haunted Ashe’s nightmares. As the young boy would drift off to sleep, his dreams would begin pleasantly, either baking, gardening or fishing, happy things that made his heart swell but soon, the ghost of his uncle would haunt him, or he would fish up his dismembered head.

Ashe swallowed thickly and rubbed the heels of his palms so deeply into his eyes he saw a kaleidoscope of colours. It was chilly now; the autumn season had begun, and his thin nightclothes did him no favours. His toes curled under the sheets and he kicked his legs out impatiently, frustrated. His lack of sleep was beginning to impact the others and even though they didn’t say it, he knew it. When completing his gardening duties, there were still weeds leftover. When he cooked, the food lacked flavour. When on stable duty with Marianne, he was always half-asleep.

A soft knock came at his door.

Ashe half leapt out of his skin, thinking for a moment it was the ghost of Lonato coming to haunt him. The knock came again and then a deep gentle voice.

“Ashe. It is me.”

Dedue. Gods, he had woken Dedue up.

Tiny pale toes touched down on the wooden floor of his room and Ashe padded silently over to the door. As gently as possible, he unlocked the heavy latch and cracked the door open so that he could peer out. Dedue stood there, tall and like a guardian, shrouded in a silvery light, almost like an angel. His face was hard, eyebrows coming together in a slight frown and his lips were pulled thin. Ashe realised he had never seen Dedue out of his uniform or formalwear before, dressed down in similar nightclothes to himself; a pair of dark blue cotton breeches and a long-sleeve button-up shirt, trimmed with gold to match the uniform and emblazoned with the logo of the Blue Lions.

Dedue’s green eyes were hard. “Ashe. Are you alright?”

“Did I wake you, Dedue?” Ashe asked, fingers clutching onto the edge of the door. The tall Duscur man shook his head.

“No. I was making my rounds of the monastery, making sure that all was well for His Highness. Though, it appeared that there was something troubling you.”

The small archer hung his head and avoided that concerned gaze, staring at the ground. Dedue was wearing a pair of slippers, simple and grey. Ashe was surprised they made them in a size that big.

“Yes, I am sorry. I was simply having a nightmare.”

“You have been having them frequently, have you not?” Dedue asked. Ashe lifted his gaze, surprised; how did Dedue know? Were the dark circles under his eyes that noticeable now? He opened the door a little more and stood before Dedue, head hung once more to try and avoid that seemingly disappointed stare. Ashe nodded slowly.

“You can speak to any one of us about them. I…” Dedue hesitated, swallowing over something building in his throat. “I have them too.”

“Y-You do?” Ashe asked, quirking his head upwards slightly. The Duscur man’s expression had softened and his eyebrows had relaxed so that his tall forehead was no longer creased. His hands were hanging at his sides, but Ashe could see the nervous twitch in those thick axe-calloused digits. Dedue shifted uncomfortably and Ashe noticed the shiver that ran through the frame of the taller man.

“Ah, I apologise… please, if just for a moment, come in,” he said, opening the door wider so that Dedue could enter. For a moment the other man hesitated but he nodded his silent thanks, stepping into the other boy’s room. Ashe hurried to his bedside table and chanted quickly so that sparks danced from a single pale fingertip to ignite the candle at his bedside table. All students at Garreg Mach were required to learn the simplest of fire spells to light their own candles and Ashe was grateful for it.

The single flame flickered and cast a glow around the archer’s room, orange painting the cold grey walls with warmth. Dedue glanced quickly around Ashe’s room and noted how similar it was to his; there was a bed, desk, chair, dresser, and a rug. Everything else was perfectly Ashe; a bow and quiver set in the corner of the room, polished boots standing neatly beside an immaculately kept dresser where a hairbrush, bottle of perfume and an antique gold coin lay. He had books kept in a neat tower at his desk with one left open with a stunning blue bookmark inside complete with golden tassels. Dedue fingered at the fine trim of the tassels as Ashe took a seat on his bed nervously, toes flicking over one another.

“Dedue…” Ashe croaked out so quietly his voice cracked.

Dedue turned his head and stood before the smaller boy. “Apologies. I was distracted by your bookmark.”

Ashe laughed and nodded. “I understand… it is remarkable, isn’t it? Would you like to hear how I got it?”

Dedue nodded and sat beside Ashe, leaving a small gap between the pair. He towered over the small boy even as he sat, probably a head or so taller. He was twice as broad too and he thought one of his palms could possibly be wider than one of Ashe’s thighs. The small boy began to speak, keeping his eyes trained on the floor before him.

“You know how I came to be in the care of Sir Lonato, right? My mother and father died from a plague and left me in charge of my brother and sister. I… I did my best to take care of them but, it was not enough. I had to steal. I hated it,” Ashe said, staring at his own palms as if they were sullied by his sins, “but it kept a roof over my siblings’ heads. One day, I broke into a house and when I was inside, I was distracted by a book.”

Ashe laughed hollowly but Dedue said nothing, allowing the younger boy to speak. “How strange for a thief to be distracted by a book… especially when that thief cannot read. But the cover, it was so beautiful, with a picture of a gallant knight covered in gleaming silver armour on top of a horse raised on its back legs… I could not tear my eyes away. I took it from the shelf, and it was heavy in my hands, but the feeling of that book was unlike anything I can ever hope to describe.”

The archer was speaking so earnestly, Dedue wasn’t sure how to react. He still couldn’t see Ashe’s face but could hear the melancholic nostalgia in his voice; it was high-pitched, trembling slightly when he spoke, and he saw Ashe’s whole body heave when he took in a breath.

“Lord Lonato caught me that night. He found me hidden in a small alcove with the book in my hands, even though I could not read. I was just looking at the pictures. He should have thrown me out into the night, called guards to haul me away and have me whipped for breaking into his home but… he took pity on me. I remember the way he offered his hand to me, so broad and covered in a perfect white glove and I was afraid if I took it that I might dirty it.” Ashe laughed again. “I was filthy at that time and had not bathed in weeks. But he immediately took me to the bathhouse of his home and bathed me himself, though it was very unbefitting of him to do so.”

Ashe lifted his head to meet Dedue’s gaze and the Duscur man sharply inhaled. The small boy’s eyes were brimming with tears and he looked so beautiful, unlike anything Dedue had seen before. He was more beautiful than any flower of Duscur or any maiden he had laid his eyes upon before; those big eyes were shimmering with hot tears, threatening to spill over his golden freckled cheeks and his lower-lip was trembling.

However, Dedue was frozen, captivated, and unable to move as the boy sobbed before him. “He bathed me and goddess, it had been so long since someone had touched me without striking me. He was so gentle. He adopted me after that, along with my brother and sister. He taught me to read and cared for me as if I were his own son, alongside my other brother, my adoptive brother, Christophe.” Ashe hiccupped and the tears tumbled down his cheeks. “You know what happened to Christophe, right?”

Dedue finally managed to speak. “Yes. I am sorry.”

“Lord Lonato changed after that. He was still my father but… at the time I did not know why he had changed. I thought Christophe had gone to join the knights of Seiros but, he had been executed instead. Not long after that, Lord Lonato sent me here, to the academy and I don’t think I could have ever repaid that debt. He… He did so much for me.”

Ashe trembled and finally crumbled. His hands came to his face and he sobbed openly, wailing quietly. For a moment, Dedue was unsure what to do but instinctually, he reached for the small boy and placed a warm strong hand on the opposite shoulder, pulling Ashe into him. The boy let himself be moved and he half-fell into Dedue’s shoulder and chest, crying hot tears of grief. It had been so long since he had cried and he felt like a river bursting, floods of tears rolling down his face.

He sniffled hard as his nose ran, wiping with the back of his wrist against his nightclothes. Dedue simply held him, allowing Ashe to sob out all of his pressures; to understood how the boy felt. He too, had lost all of his family many years ago and though he had come to accept it, it did not mean that it did not hurt. Sometimes his heart ached when he thought of his little sister’s silver hair and the crown of Duscur flowers she had woven being placed on his head.

“Lord Lonato,” Dedue said quietly. “He gave you the bookmark.”

Ashe nodded, hiccupping to try and control his breathing. “Yes… he taught me to read and before sending me to the academy, he gave it to me. It is… my most prized possession. It is the only thing I have left of him.”

“You still have your memories.”

Dedue feared he had said something horribly wrong at that moment as Ashe wailed even harder, muffling his cries by burying his head into Dedue’s chest. His clutched at the front of the cotton, wetting it with his tears and snot. Dedue allowed the boy to cry, still holding onto his shoulder warmly, the other hand now coming to soothe and stroke through Ashe’s own silvery hair. He thought, for a moment, cradling the small boy was like holding his sister.

“My memories… they are nothing more than nightmares. His f-face haunts me, Dedue,” Ashe cried. “I see him in every dream, dead and dying… a-asking how I could… b-betray him so…”

“Ashe,” Dedue whispered. He did not know how to reply and so he just whispered his name, hushing the small boy until the uncontrollable sobbing became nothing more than quiet hiccups. Slowly, the small boy raised his head.

“I am sorry… I did not m-mean to… become such a mess…”

“You have been holding it all in, Ashe. I cannot begin to imagine how you must be feeling,” Dedue said deeply but softly. His strong hands came to cradle Ashe’s pale and beautiful face, sweeping his thumbs in small crescents to brush the hot salty tears away. In his hands like this, Ashe looked truly delicate, like a pale lily flower that could fracture any moment.

The boy hiccupped in Dedue’s gentle touch and he stared up at the other man. He was so strong, so warm, so welcoming. It was as if he were a guardian and protector sent to comfort him and support him through the war. Ashe’s one hand came to cover over Dedue’s, and he leaned into the gentle touch.

“You are strong, Ashe, unbelievably strong,” Dedue breathed.

There was something in those words that sent a whole-body shiver through Ashe. His lips parted to let out a breathy sigh and his eyes closed for a moment, stinging from crying but for once, he didn’t see the flash of Lonato’s bloodied face behind his hooded eyes, only comforting darkness.

Dedue beheld the boy in his touch and kept sweeping his thumbs over the boy’s face. His lashes were wet and clumped with tears and the end of his nose with red from where he had been rubbing it furiously with the back of his sleeve. And his lips. Goddess, such thoughts had never crossed Dedue’s mind before, but Ashe’s lips looked so pretty. Reddened around the edges, they were plump and pouting from crying, trembling slightly.

Without thinking, Dedue leaned down. His lips ghosted against Ashe’s in the slightest brush and he kissed him chastely. Ashe’s breath hitched in his throat; he had felt Dedue come closer, but he had not anticipated this.

The large man drew back, and immediately hot guilt washed over him like a punishing wave. “I apologise, I do not… I do not know what came over me.”

Ashe said nothing, blinking dumbly at Dedue for a few moments before turning on the bed so that his feet no longer hung off the edge and he faced Dedue.

“Please… once more,” Ashe begged. Dedue’s heart lurched in his chest and his throat constricted as if all breath escaped him. The boy in his arms was pleading with teary eyes for another kiss and Dedue could feel the hammer chipping away at his self-control.

“It would be… improper. I am taking advantage of you, Ashe,” Dedue said, closing his eyes. If he couldn’t see that angelic face, maybe he could ignore the pleading. But instead Ashe whined and moved to climb into Dedue’s lap, straddling him and he pulled at the collar of Dedue’s nightshirt, pressing down against him insistently with his hips, chest and lips.

“N-No, please… please, Dedue,” Ashe begged. The quivering in his voice made Dedue suck in air between his teeth, struggling to hold onto his waning resolve. The strong man’s hands removed themselves from Ashe and he clutched at the bedsheets so tightly he thought he might tear them.

“Ashe… forgive me, I cannot—”

Dedue,” Ashe pleaded. Without another word, the young archer, who was kneeling up over Dedue by just a fraction, leaned down and claimed the other’s lips in a firm kiss. Dedue jumped and made a surprised noise, eyes going wide as Ashe took initiative, kissing him needily. He could feel him pulling at the front of his shirt and the kiss was awkward and forceful. Dedue gripped the boy by the shoulders and forced him back but the sweetness that was indescribably Ashe still clung to his lips.

“Please, Ashe. You are overcome with grief and seeking comfort in another’s body—”

“So what? It does not matter to me, so, please, Dedue, kiss me—”

“Please, do not make such requests of me,” the Duscur man said, voice cracking, bordering on frustration, brow becoming heavy with a scowl.

“Why? Because you cannot grant them?” Ashe retorted, anger combining with grief, hot exasperated tears tumbling down his cheeks as his face darkened. Dedue shook the other boy and practically shouted.

“Because I cannot say no!”

Ashe let out a long sigh and trembled again. He stared down at Dedue, a man on the brink of breaking with his strong hands almost crushing into his shoulders but he said nothing. The dull pain of it was comforting; to know that Dedue was barely holding on made his heart flutter in his chest. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears and Ashe swallowed once more. This was it. With a gentle rock of his hips, the press of his chest to the other’s and lips skimming over Dedue’s forehead whispered.

“Then say yes. Please, Dedue… I need you,” Ashe begged.

With a low groan and the final piece of his self-control shattering into a thousand pieces, Dedue gripped Ashe’s head hard and smashed their lips together. Ashe melted immediately, loving how bruising it felt and how Dedue immediately took control of it. He forced Ashe’s head to the side so that their noses no longer bumped, and he kissed his hard, huffing through his nose.

Ashe was drowning in Dedue’s lips. His lips were chapped, he realised now that he could feel them properly pressed against his own and he loved it. The roughness of his lips was perfectly Dedue. His scent too, goddess, it was intoxicating; the man of Duscur smelled strongly of spices and warmth that tickled Ashe’s nose in the most pleasant way.

A low groan worked its way up from Dedue’s throat and he swiped his tongue over Ashe’s lip. Eagerly, the other boy opened up and their tongues met messily in a hot exchange of saliva. They rubbed and rolled over one another uncoordinated and without experience but neither cared; the discord of the kiss was exhilarating. Finally, Dedue managed to tear himself away and Ashe panted against his lips.

“Drawer… t-top drawer.”

Dedue nodded and reached for the bedside table, knowing without words exactly what he was looking for. He found it, a small bottle of oil, half-used and capped tightly with a cork. He thought about opening it immediately and then cast that thought aside as he did with the bottle. His firm hands came to Ashe’s shirt and quickly, he undid the buttons.

“Ashe… this is not—you cannot solve your issues this way,” Dedue said but his hands were already roaming over Ashe’s pale chest, flicking at the hard, pink nipples. The small boy gasped and rocked down against Dedue’s cock, feeling it hard under him and the soft squish of his balls.

Ashe elected to ignore his words. “Touch me, t-touch me,” he breathed. Dedue groaned again and he leaned his face into Ashe’s neck and collarbones, biting and sucking without restraint, marking up the small archer. His hands shoved at Ashe’s nightclothes and pushed them down to his thighs. He was unsure of what had overcome him, but it was as if a wild animal had emerged from deep within him, insatiable and desperate to claim what was throwing itself so readily into Dedue’s waiting hands.

The dark brown of his rough hands contrasted stunningly against the milky paleness of Ashe’s thighs, still soft and supple without much muscle yet. Dedue was not an overtly religious man but at that moment, with his hands roaming over the smooth expanse of Ashe’s smooth skin, he thanked every deity there ever was to exist in both Fódlan and beyond.

“The oil,” Ashe begged, shifting back in Dedue’s grip as best he could so that he could tear at Dedue’s nightshirt. His fingers, though shaking, were quick and dexterous – the skills of a thief and archer. He tore open the other man’s shirt and hurriedly, he pulled it down over his strong arms. The muscles bulged under the skin, tight and hard and so unlike his own slim body. Dedue was hard to the touch, solid and chiselled across every inch of golden-brown skin.

Having shucked off his night-shirt, Dedue reached for the oil and reclined back so that Ashe’s hungry hands could pull his breeches down. Dedue jumped when he felt his cock hit against his stomach – Ashe had also torn down his smallclothes with the motion. He was embarrassingly hard and had Ashe not crashed their lips back together, he would have covered his face with embarrassment.

Blindly Dedue uncorked the oil and he dribbled some onto his fingers, feeling it spill onto his legs from behind Ashe’s back. He clumsily recorked it and tossed it back aside. For a moment, he faltered.

Dedue was totally inexperienced when it came to sexual matters. Inexperienced, yes, but oblivious, no. He knew what would come and what he had to do next. Still, he was undeniably nervous.

Ashe broke the kiss and took hold of Dedue’s thick wrist, unable to even reach half-way around as he guided the hand back towards his waiting ass. “Please, touch me here… s-spread me open…”

“Oh, Ashe,” Dedue groaned, his fingers sliding between the soft crack of Ashe’s ass. The archer’s back arched so that his chest was pressed to Dedue’s face and the man took one of those small perky nipples between his teeth. He bit down gently, rolling it between his teeth and Ashe cried out again. “Such words—”

“Spread me o-open for your cock, Dedue,” Ashe panted without recourse. He didn’t care that obscenities were falling from his mouth and colouring Dedue’s scarlet skin and ears a stunning shade of scarlet. In fact, he rather liked the colour blossoming across Dedue’s usually hard face. His eyebrows had slanted into a downwards angle lending his face a kind of weakened expression, both pairs of emerald eyes meeting.

Dedue kissed over the nipple as his thick oil-slicked finger and he circled over Ashe’s hole. It was so small. With just his finger alone he was petrified he would hurt the small boy, but Ashe leaned back, grinding himself down against the digit almost pushing into him. Dedue swallowed a groan and with it pushed his middle finger into the first knuckle. Ashe tensed up and then shivered, melting back down.

Yes,” the archer hissed, reaching between their bodies and awkwardly wrapping a hand around his cock. He pumped himself a few times and then reached down for Dedue’s cock too. The feeling of the boy’s small hand wrapping around his thick dick made Dedue buck up into it, seeking more of that gentle touch. Ashe palmed over the head of Dedue’s cock, smearing precum over his palm and then, awkwardly, took them both into his hand. He could fit his palm around Dedue’s cock, let alone adding his own so he reached down with both hands, fumbling to pump them in sync.

It was awkward but it felt good. Dedue let go of Ashe’s nipple with his mouth and leaned his forehead against the centre of that small pale chest, panting with his eyes closed, focusing on every little touch, slide and shiver of Ashe in his lap. His finger pushed in deeper until it was all the way in and Dedue gave it a small wiggle. He was tight. So tight. The thought of pushing his cock into Ashe made him groan.

What made him think he would be doing such a thing? Ashe had never said they would go that far.

“Ashe… Ashe…”

“Dedue, y-your cock… it’s so b-big,” Ashe remarked and Dedue pinked. His puffy swollen lips were too pure to say such things and yet with every obscenity that graced his ears, Dedue’s cock throbbed in Ashe’s small hands. He worked their cocks together in an awkward but slow rhythm, smearing their mix of precum between them to ask as makeshift lube until the oil would be tipped upon them.

“You… you too are so tight… I cannot—”

“Yes, you can. Another,” Ashe groaned and Dedue obliged half reluctantly. Drawing back, Dedue gently eased a second finger in along the first and Ashe let out a high-pitched whine. He crumbled completely feeling two of Dedue’s fingers fill him up, crooking at such a good angle it made his whole body burn.

He had never felt so hot. His pale skin was shimmering silver with sweat, rolling and pooling in the dips of his back, beading along his hairline.

“Hurry, hurry,” Ashe pleaded and Dedue hastily thrust his fingers hastily. He pumped rhythmically, although quickly and Ashe’s hands sped up too. Both men were panting into one another, Ashe up to the heavens and Dedue into the white canvas of Ashe’s skin. His eyes fluttered open for a second, heavy and half-lidded with animalistic desire and he wanted to mark Ashe. He leaned down to just above his one nipple, directly above the archer’s heart and he bit down with his teeth.

Ashe’s hands squeezed and tightened as he felt the pleasurable pain bloom in his chest. Dedue bit down and sucked harshly, grunting and rocking his hips up to meet Ashe’s hand needily, his movements having stopped. He pulled back, admiring the bite mark now marking and blemishing the immaculate chest.

Fuck me,” Ashe sobbed. Tears were falling down his face again and he looked down at Dedue pleadingly. “Please, fuck me.”

“Ashe… y-yes, alright, a-anything for you,” Dedue replied. This was it. He was doing it. The boy had asked, and he had long thrown the last of his inhibitions out the window and so there was nothing holding him back. Ashe removed his hands with a small whimper and wrapped them around Dedue’s neck, resting his elbows on his shoulders lazily as he pulled at the hair-tie holding up Dedue’s hair. He’d never seen him wear it loose before.

The two fingers pushed inside his ass were drawn out and Dedue fumbled around with the oil, every passing second making Ashe acutely aware of how empty he felt without those thick fingers filling him. Manoeuvring the boy in his lap, Dedue moved his cock so that it slid underneath Ashe. The slide of the head of his cock against Ashe’s balls made them both whimper.

He coated his cock with the oil and rubbed whatever was remaining in the bottle over Ashe’s ass, feeling the hole flutter under his thick fingers. He wanted to be inside Ashe. He had almost never wanted anything more in his entire life than what he craved at that moment.

“Please, please,” Ashe cried again. He pulled Dedue’s hair free of its tie and immediately ran his fingers through it so that it knotted around his slim fingers. He pulled impatiently and ground his hips backwards against Dedue’s cock.

“Patience, little Ashe, patience,” Dedue soothed. The pet name made Ashe’s heart flutter. Little Ashe. Goddess, he really was small in Dedue’s lap though, wasn’t he? Barely an inch or so taller than him as Ashe knelt at his full height, he knew that if he sank down on Dedue’s cock, he would be totally enveloped and encompassed by that large strong body.

Guiding his cock to Ashe’s hole, finally, the head pressed in. Both boys hissed and Ashe yanked harder, more impatiently on Dedue’s silver hair. The Duscur man hissed gripped onto Ashe’s hip with a bruising hold whilst his other guided his long cock inside of the other. Inch by inch, he eased himself in as Ashe mewled, whimpered, and whined the entire time. Every little noise that fell from those puffy lips sounded like the heavens were opening.

“You are… t-tight,” Dedue grit out. Ashe panted hard, chest heaving with the desire claiming him. His head was dizzy, all painful memories of his past pushed from him as Dedue’s warmth washed over him. Slowly, he sank down on his knees and Dedue’s hunched over the small boy sitting on his cock in his lap.

The burn began. Ashe knew it would happen, could feel how thick Dedue’s cock was in his palm but that didn’t deter him from taking it inside of him. He wanted this. His asshole began to stretch as he accommodated more of Dedue’s cock and it was a pleasurable kind of pain that reminded him just how kind Dedue was. Careful not to hurt him, Dedue let go of his cock now that most of it was pushed into Ashe and wrapped it around his slender waist, pulling the small boy to him.

“You are so strong, Ashe… s-so strong, so brave,” Dedue whispered, kissing over the prominent collarbones of the archer. Ashe mewled and whimpered, head lolling weakly about his shoulders as Dedue’s words sank straight to the bottom of his heart. They were strong and made his chest ache more and he could only rock his hips to try and replace the dull ache with a different kind of pain.

“Your d-dick… fuck, Dedue, fuck me… please, hard—”

No sooner had the words left Ashe’s mouth that Dedue had pulled back and slammed back in, sending the boy in his lap upwards with the powerful thrust. He let out a scream, clamping one of his hands over his mouth so as not to wake the whole monastery. Goddess, what Dedue would give to hear the boy come truly undone and scream his name as loud as his lungs would allow… but that would have to come another day.

Wait.

Another day?

Dedue was getting ahead of himself. He was already being hopeful. This would be nothing more than a quell of pain and quenching a physical need for both of them, nothing more than rough, passionate, comforting sex.

Ashe allowed Dedue to take him quickly, pumping into him with fast and eager thrusts, moving the boy up and down with every moment. Ashe’s fingers raked over Dedue’s scalp and again the Duscur man groaned, teeth latching onto the collarbone. His cock curved perfectly inside of Ashe and even though the boy was tight, he was accommodating him so well.

“U-Uh, nnh, Ashe… you are so good, so g-good—hah, uh,” Dedue grunted, low rumbles and groans vibrating in his chest contrasting with the feminine squeaks and mewls coming from Ashe.

M-More, more… g-goddess, faster, harder, D-Dedue… a-ah, e-everything—mmh! Fuck me,” Ashe said. He was crying again and with the way Dedue was now hunched over him, encompassing him with his large frame, Ashe had to lean upwards in the other man’s lap to bury his head into his shoulder, smearing hot tears over the brown scarred skin.

“I—I am already—”

Ashe shoved a hand between them and started to pull at his cock. Knowing Dedue was already so close sent a bolt of fire through him which pitted right in his stomach. His balls tightened and he loved each hard slap of Dedue’s thighs against his, sending a shock through his balls every time. His hand was uncoordinated and harsh, desperately chasing a burning release.

“Dedue… Dedue, I am—I am going to c-cum… oh, Dedue—!” Ashe cried out.

With a violent shudder, the small boy came. His cock spurted cum between the two bodies pushing and shoving against one another, coating his own and Dedue’s chiselled stomach with his seed. It ran down and contorted to every groove and dip of the strong abdomen and Ashe watched it, enraptured. He kept working his hand over himself, tears spilling down his cheek with oversensitivity as Dedue also kept slamming into him. A slight shift in angle made him choke and he clenched his fist tight around his cock earning another sharp shot of cum.

“Dedue! There!”

The strong dark-skinned man hissed and his fingers clung greedily at the slim waist, leaving impossibly dark purple bruises in the fair skin.

“Where sh-shall I—”

“Inside, oh please, inside,” Ashe immediately replied. He let go of Dedue’s hair and his own cock and then held onto the other’s face, ignoring the smear of cum now dribbling down Dedue’s cheek from his messy fingers. He held onto the other and stared up at him, pleading with his watery green eyes for Dedue to empty everything into him.

Thrusting haphazardly, Dedue grunted, once, twice, thrice, and he came, slamming his hips up as powerfully as he could. Ashe jolted hard and his eyes went wide at the new-found depth of Dedue’s cock inside of his ass. He could feel his dick throbbing against his velvety walls and could already feel the cum being pumped into him, as if he were everything Dedue needed. The Duscur man’s brow furrowed deeply and his wrenched shut in Ashe’s hands and the boy knew that expression would be burned into his mind forever.

The cum dribbled down the length of Dedue’s cock until it rolled down the other’s balls, dripping onto the floor. Finally, Dedue went slack and he realised just how painfully he was gripping onto Ashe’s slim waist. He cracked his eyes open, blinking a few times to gaze down at the boy in his lap.

He was so beautiful bathed in a warm orange glow, casting him in gold with a stunning sheen of sweat raining down his frame. He could see the deep red teeth-marks embedded in Ashe’s perfect skin and he licked over them weakly.

The realisation of what he had done suddenly dawned on him. Dedue retracted his tongue back into his mouth and hummed to himself, leaning his head against Ashe’s chest. It had felt good, impossibly good, but the guilt was overwhelming. He could feel it rising from his stomach as a hard knot, passing over his thundering heart, choking in his throat and up to his face where it—

Ashe’s hands swept his hair from his face. “Dedue.”

The whisper was broken, cracked but Dedue had to meet his gaze. Green eyes met green and both were silent. They were both panting, covered in a chilly coat of sweat that was cooling with the autumn air blowing in through the window and Ashe nestled closer to Dedue’s chest.

“Thank you.”

Dedue frowned hard, grumbling. “Do not thank me. I took advantage of you—”

“You did no such thing. I asked for this.”

“You were in no fit state.” Dedue peeled Ashe’s war comforting hands from his face, feeling as though he could not meet the pure and gentle eyes of the boy in his lap, still sitting atop his now half-soft cock. “I should not have done this.”

“Do you… regret it?”

Dedue didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Ashe huffed a relieved sigh and leaned into the other’s chest. “Neither do I.” They were silent for a few more long moments until Dedue shifted and his cock finally came free of Ashe’s asshole, cum dribbling onto the floor and Dedue wrinkled his nose with disgust at it. That was his cum soiling Ashe’s bedroom floor; he would have to get up and clean it. As soon as his legs started working, that is.

“Will you… stay the night?”

Dedue paused. “Do you wish me to?”

Ashe nodded and awkwardly with a wince swung his leg from around Dedue’s lap, embarrassed by the emptiness of his stretched ass. He could feel the cum roll down his thighs, but he was too at peace, too fucked out and blissful that he couldn’t move further from his own bed at that moment. He would have to bathe tomorrow – perhaps Dedue would even carry him. Rolling onto the crinkled sheets, Ashe pulled them up to cover his naked body, almost like a woman would.

Dedue watched him. Not for the first time that night, Dedue thought he looked pretty. His white hair was a mess, sticking to his forehead and his face was red everywhere; his cheeks were pink from blushing, his eyes from crying, and his lips from kissing. His strong hand came and brushed over Ashe’s small face, watching how those puffy lips chased his thumb to kiss at it.

“Lay with me.”

“… as you wish.”

Dedue moved and lay beside Ashe, tucking himself under the sheets alongside the other. Thankfully, the bed was large enough to accommodate both easily but maybe it was the cool air or maybe it was the newfound affection and love blossoming between the pair, but they had no need for the extra room, Ashe curling into the broad expanse of Dedue’s chest instead.

No images of Lonato crossed his mind that night. Only the kind and warm smile of the strong Duscur man.

Chapter Text

How on earth could they do this?

The damned professor and Alois had somehow convinced Seteth and the rest of the teaching staff at Garreg Mach to hold an All-Hallows-Eve ball. How they had managed to get the strict right-hand of the missing archbishop to agree to such a plan was unbeknownst to him, but he thought it perhaps had to do with Seteth’s younger sister, Flayn.

They were in the middle of a goddamned war!

And yet, the main hall of Garreg Mach was decorated in all things terrifying and ghastly. Many of the remaining students had teamed up across houses to decorate the hall and fill the place with light-hearted mirth. Ashe, Mercedes, and Dedue had all agreed to work in the greenhouse and carve pumpkins, setting them at every corner of the hall with candles inside so that the orange flames danced in the rounded and somewhat jagged eyes. Lysithea, Annette and Raphael had gone into town together to procure ingredients and candies that could be eaten readily or prepared by the few remaining chefs at Garreg Mach. Caspar, Lorenz and Ferdinand had agreed to help hang long threads of stretched wool as spiderwebs from the chandeliers whose candles would not be lit as to create a ‘spookier atmosphere’, as Flayn had described.

The young girl was positively bubbling with glee, directing everything as if she were some sort of war commander.

Dimitri, meanwhile, was seething in his room.

Such frivolities were selfish, an utter waste of time and resources. The whole group could have been marching on Enbarr at this time, tearing Edelgard’s head from her shoulders but no, they were here, smiling and laughing as if they had the right to.

The dead did not. They reminded Dimitri that he also did not deserve that right. With a hand clutching at his throbbing head, he could feel his pulse thundering against his palms. Why now? Why now of all the times? His bloodlust was consuming him and the voices in his head were screaming louder and louder.

Filthy monster, they jeered. Nothing more than an animal—no... even lower than an animal. Vermin. Blood-sucking vermin, a leech, that is what you are—

Dimitri fist thundered into his bedroom wall and it crumbled beneath his palm, dusty rock falling to the floor. The voices fell silent for a moment and a high-pitched ringing resonated within his ears. Silence. Oh, how sweet yet eerie it sounded. Usually during or after the rush of fighting Dimitri was allowed silence and he savoured and hated those moments. To be alone with one’s empty thoughts and left alone, but that was it; he was alone. With no-one to turn to so that he could speak about the persistent voices in his head or the spectral bloodied visions dancing in the flickers of his peripheral vision, dark shadows covered in crimson.

With no-one to turn to so that he couldfeed.

He felt his pulse throb beneath his palms again and he knew the voices would quickly return. His throat was tight, painfully so, and his lips were chapped and bitten raw, hoping to sate himself on the taste of his own blood, but no, it was nothing like feeding off another.

How low the prince of Faerghus had stooped; he fed off his enemies, slicing through their pretty throats so that blood spilled into the dirt and Dimitri, like a dog, lapped it up. He would hold their lifeless bodies in his hands, feasting so wildly that it didn’t matter if they died in his arms, all that mattered was that he was fed.

Dimitri’s tongue darted out over the razor-sharp fangs of his incisors. Yes, they were sharp, aching to pierce through fragile pale skin. It didn’t matter to Dimitri any longer who he fed from.

Long ago, when he was a bright and innocent teenage boy, Dedue had helped him with his feeding. He managed to procure blood from the market discreetly -human blood at that- and would keep it safe for Dimitri so that once a night, he could feed. When supplies ran low, Dedue even offered himself to the prince and reluctantly, he would drink from the Duscur man. Nothing more ever came from their agreement; Dedue would simply offer up his neck or wrist, Dimitri would drink and then they would go about their duties and training, both men satisfied.

But without Dedue around, busy preparing for a silly celebration, and Dimitri having sworn himself off feeding on his vassal any longer, he was bordering on the brink of insanity.

Dimitri refused to drink from Dedue ever again since they reunited because he thought that with the voices encouraging his most primal instincts, he would kill him. There would be nothing Dedue could do to pry the prince away from his neck and Dimitri knew, if left alone with the sweet spiciness of Dedue’s blood, he would drain him of every drop in that strong black body.

Growling ferally, Dimitri stood up from his bed. The voices were coming back in hushed whispers and he threw open his bedroom door. His obsidian greaves thundered against the floor as he marched down it, taking the stairs two at a time as he left the dormitories. A part of him found it absurd that a monster like him slept in the same room he did all those years ago, as if he were the same innocent princeling but under his professor’s strict gaze, he did as he was told.

Perhaps he was weak for the professor. The way their eyes were cold, hard and unreadable; Dimitri could never tell what the other was thinking. The voices screamed at him; He hates you; he loathes you, he is using you as nothing more than a means to an end. Dimitri then retorts with; Aren’t I?

It was the commanding tone of their voice that forced Dimitri to bathe for the first time in months and the assertive point of their finger that made Dimitri return to his old room like some scolded teenager. Whatever it was, Dimitri could not say no to his old professor. Even with the voices screaming that he doesn’t deserve him, and that the professor thought of him as nothing more than some caged beast that needed to be tamed, Dimitri couldn't help but fall weak in the knees.

The cold air of the Red Wolf Moon hit Dimitri hard in the face, howling through the alcoves and balconies of the cathedral’s architecture. The moon hung high in the sky and Dimitri tsk’ed under his breath. How fitting for there to be a full silver moon on the night of All-Hallows-Eve. The grounds were completely empty, devoid of any life but through the windows to the mess-hall, Dimitri could see flickering of orange lights dancing through the glass.

He lunged up the stairs, taking them two at a time and peered in through a crack in the door. The tables were laden with food like a grand feast decorated with the carcasses of animals glazed gold and stuffed full. There were apples, cakes, treats, meats, and alcohol aplenty where numerous students, staff, guards and merchants all drank merrily together.

He saw Raphael smash two tankards together and the golden brew spilled over the edges in frothy white bubbles. He emptied both into his large open mouth, staining his white shirt that was barely clinging on at the buttons. It seemed he had donned his old uniform and his face was marked with black lines to make him appear like an undead creature, the handiwork of one of the girls, no doubt.

Lorenz stared with mild disgust and nursed a delicate flute of red wine between his fingers and Leonie chortled, clapping along. The two were also dressed in black with accents of purple and orange though Dimitri could not quite make out specifically what creatures they were meant to be.

He saw a head of white hair, Lysithea, filling her mouth with cakes, ignoring what appeared to be a flustered Ignatz, trying to tear a plate of sweets away from her grabbing hands. She was wearing a pointed black hat and crumbs were coating her sweet pink lips. Ignatz wore a simple white sheet around himself, a makeshift ghost costume.

Dimitri scowled watching them. How could they be so carefree at such a time? His stomach churned watching them and the smell in the air was thick. Cooked meats, alcohol and the wax from the multitudes of candles flickering, some on the tables, some in sconces and some held aloft in the air by some kind of magic.

He could see his professor. They were dressed as they usually were, in their black uniforms and flowing long black coat, holding a tankard of mead in their hands, chatting with Seteth who seemed to be smiling and actually enjoying himself. From here, Dimitri could see the small set of black horns poking out the professor’s mint green hair. Other than that, they appeared to be dressed completely as themselves.

They laughed and smiled, bringing a hand to their mouth to cover their laugh and then sipped at their drink. Dimitri’s heart lurched in his chest and he thundered away, back down the stairs he had taken, his nostrils flared with fury.

How could they be so negligent? His heart pounded and he wasn’t sure if it was from the voices, rage or hunger; all seem to amalgamate into one feeling of red-hot frustration and he paced the grounds of the monastery, drumming loudly with his boots past the dormitories around the back of each house’s old common rooms.

Dimitri came to a stop in the middle of the grounds, casting a glance to his left. His professor’s room. He wondered if they still slept in there or if they now took quarters up in Rhea’s chamber as the archbishop was now gone. He secretly hoped that Byleth still slept in the old quarters. He found himself drawn to the door and stepped towards it steadily.

The prince stood before it, staring emptily at it. How many years had it been since he had last set foot into that room? How long had it been since he had last been invited to tea and had the professor’s exquisitely stunning face looming dangerously close to his own? Dimitri could remember the childish flutter of his chest and stomach when the professor leaned in just a little to close to swipe away a dot of tea hanging from the corner of his mouth.

What he would give to have that touch upon him once more.

You don’t deserve such kindness, the voices chided, laughing cruelly. The professor is too far above you for you to ever to hope to reach. They are among the stars, part God and here you are, nothing more than a leech, wallowing in the dirt and slime, where you belong.

Dimitri’s fist tightened around his gauntlet, metal and leather creaking as he stood with his forehead leaning against the solidity of the door. He tried to argue back. No. The professor was his friend. The professor reached out a hand to him, saved him—

Saved you? From who? Yourself? This is what you deserve, as punishment, for claiming the lives of so many innocent people. Those children did not deserve to die so bloodily at your hands. Do you remember the faces of their mothers, screaming in anguish before you cut them down too?

Stop. No. Stop. It was not meant to be that way, it was—

Not meant to be? How can you possibly excuse killing an innocent child? Those big eyes stared up at you with such terror, they did not see a man, only a beast. A boar. That is what you are. That is what you will always be.

Dimitri smashed his forehead forward against the professor’s bedroom door, splintering it with the force of the headbutt. Wood grains and splinters fell into his filthy blonde hair and he huffed heavily.

“My, my, Lord Dimitri.”

The voice startled the prince and he whipped his head around, trying to find who was there with his blue eye dancing wildly with fear and rage. Initially, he could see nothing, until a tall slim shadow stepped forth from the darkness and he might have thought at first it was a ghost from the paleness of the skin but no, when he saw the golden glint in that eye, he seethed.

Hubert,” he snarled.

The man quirked his lips to one side in a smirk and placed a hand in front of his abdomen, bowing lowly, almost in mockery. He brushed his raven-black hair from his eyes with the back of his gloved fingers delicately but stood firmly, a good distance from the enraged prince.

“What brings you here? Why are you not enjoying the festivities with the others?”

Dimitri thought that in a few quick strides he might be able to make it over to Hubert and snap his neck in half. He knew the tactician better than that though and knew before he would be able to take a step he would be obliterated by dark magic. Instead, he snarled again.

“I could say the same of you.”

“Please. Such frivolities are not in my nature.”

“They are no longer a part of mine either.”

Hubert regarded Dimitri with a long stare and let out a huff of breath that Dimitri guessed was a laugh. The wind howled again, and Dimitri straightened himself up and he was now eye-level with Hubert instead of being hunched over. His forehead stung but it was nothing compared to the ache in his mind and his stomach, painfully screaming for satiation.

“Why are you here?” Dimitri spat. “Following me like a good little lapdog for your Empress?”

“No,” Hubert said calmly. “My days of serving Lady Edelgard are behind me. She is too deranged to reason with any longer,” he smirked again, “though I can see you are following closely behind.”

Dimitri whirled on the man to face him. “We are nothing alike.”

Hubert cackled darkly and took a taunting step forward. “Truly? I believe that you are both remarkably similar. I may not have thought such a thing all those years ago but now… yes, now, I see it all too clearly.”

“Keep your tongue behind your teeth or I shall cut it out,” Dimitri threatened, hands clenching into agonizing fists again. Hubert threw his head back slightly but kept his narrow glinting eye upon Dimitri the entire time, almost unblinking.

“Hah, that is the prince I know. Wild, frenzied… like a caged beast.”

In a second, Dimitri leapt upon Hubert. He gripped the man by his coat’s collar and threw him so powerfully against the wall the tactician’s head knocked against it, earning a pained and sharp groan from his deep throat. Dimitri’s grip was so tight it was pulling on the collar and borderline choking Hubert. His electric blue eye blazed with a cold fire, bulging from its socket as he stared at Hubert.

For a brief moment, a split second only, Dimitri saw a flash of fear in that golden eye. Yes. He liked that. The panic before the kill. Immediately, however, the terror was gone and replaced with an arrogant mirth that tickled across Hubert’s pale thin lips.

“I do not know what the professor sees in you. In fact, I begin to think they are blind to allow you to join us… I ought to tear you apart with my bare hands,” Dimitri growled into the other’s face, spittle spraying across Hubert’s face. The other didn’t flinch and regarded the animalistic prince calmly and coolly, his arms hanging by his sides as he made no move to try and stop the other man from killing him.

“I am a useful asset. You cannot kill me,” he jeered.

“I can.”

“But you will not. Imagine what it would do to the dear professor—”

“Stop,” Dimitri hissed through his teeth. Hubert’s single eye glinted in the darkness. That was it. His weakness.

“You would have laid their carefully strategized plan to waste—”

“Stop.”

“—all because you could not control the animal within you—”

Silence!” Dimitri thundered, reaching and gripping Hubert’s chiselled and sharp jaw with one of his gauntlets. He could easily snap it in his hand and silence the man quickly and easily if he either fractured it or simply tore it from his face. The cold steel of his gauntlets seared into Hubert’s skin as he tilted, turned and squeezed the other man’s face.

Then he smelled it.

The intoxicating smell of copper. It washed up through his flared nostrils and overwhelmed his mind. The voices fell silent for just a moment as Dimitri inhaled it, drank it all in and his brow relaxed so that his eyes could flutter. It had been so long, so long.

Hubert was silent. Then he chuckled somehow, despite the clawed grip against his jaw.

“How dare you,” Dimitri spat. He could see cut of his gauntlets now against Hubert’s pallid skin where he gripped his so tightly in the hollow of his cheek. The grip of his thumb had cut through the skin, slicing a long and thin stripe open where stunning crimson trickled over the ebony of steel. Dimitri’s eyes watched the droplet roll and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his temples, in his throat and in his palm where he gripped Hubert so tightly.

His breathing quickened and no, no, not now, he could feel his pupils dilating. He prayed to every deity there existed that Hubert would not be able to see the way his face suddenly became lax and fixated on the blood rolling down his face. As he stared, his grip relented and soon, Dimitri was merely cupping Hubert’s jaw. And of course, nothing slipped by the tactician.

“Enamoured, are you? By the sight of my blood.”

Dimitri said nothing. Hubert’s voice hit his ears like a muted and dull drumming sound, nothing more than vibrations. That cut on his face… Dimitri ached to lathe his tongue over in a long stripe and taste it. Not Hubert, per se, but just the blood – any blood.

“Not much of my own blood has been spilt over these years though I have spilt the blood of others aplenty,” Hubert said quietly, laughing darkly. He tilted his head to the side slightly, taunting, within Dimitri’s grasp to allow the droplet to trickle over the sharp curve of his jaw and Dimitri knew that if he followed it, he would crumble.

Hubert’s neck was pale and perfect. A canvas meant to be marked. It looked strong, bulging with strength and muscle, angled and pulled taut to the side to allow the blood to follow the curve of his jaw. The prince’s nostrils flared, and his eyes widened; he could practically see the flutter of Hubert’s pulse under the translucent skin, pumping rich blood around his body.

Dimitri’s very teeth themselves seemed to ache as if the very nerves were screaming for something. His lips parted, finally unsticking and a huff of hot breath left his mouth.

He twisted himself away from Hubert, covering his lower face as best he could, hiding from the other man. Hubert took in a much-needed breath and studied over Dimitri’s hunched form. The prince leaned against a pillar with one hand and he could see the stone threatening to crumble until that substantial strength. The moon’s silver illuminated the outline of the prince’s body, dancing across the furs of his cloak and highlighting the anguish in his face. Hubert’s almond eyes narrowed. Dimitri appeared to be in pain, heaving for breath though he covered his mouth and nose with his mouth. Did he feel nauseous? Such insignificant things never stopped the prince before and so why was he hunched over, as if he were tormented and plagued by an immeasurable pain?

“Leave,” Dimitri said from behind his pain, voice torn and tight. Hubert stood firm and though Dimitri couldn’t see, he still grinned at the prince.

“I think I shall not.”

Dimitri’s head whipped to the side and he truly looked like a beast. His blue eye was bulging, and his filthy matted blonde hair parted to allow the electric fire to blaze through and pierce through Hubert. His lips were pulled back into an animalistic snarl and that was when Hubert saw them; his teeth. They were longer, exceptionally long for a human’s and razor-sharp.

Leave,” Dimitri repeated. He could still smell Hubert’s blood in the air, filling his head with the scent of copper.

Hubert tilted his head back with a small laugh. “Now this… this is something I did not anticipate.” The tactician folded his arms over the front of his chest, and he could feel the harsh wind cooling the blood that was dribbling down his cheek and he noticed that Dimitri’s eye was not meeting his but focused far too intently on the congealing blood. “I was often compared to a creature of the night because of my appearance, but you,” he cackled cruelly, “you truly are an insatiable beast of blood.”

Dimitri lunged forward again and wrapped his hands into Hubert’s hair, almost tearing it from his scalp. He took large handfuls so he could see all of Hubert’s face and this time, that flash of fear lasted longer than a second. The mage’s mouth fell open with a sharp cry as his head was forced back and even though both men were of the same height, it was as if Dimitri towered over him, angling him so his back folded and Dimitri leered down into his face.

“You know nothing of me,” he spat. The single blue eye was wild and frenzied, almost entirely eclipsed by an obsidian pupil. Dimitri’s lips were tight and almost invisible around his bared teeth, incisors glinting in the silver moonlight and Hubert actually shivered. Never had he felt fear like this before; a white-hot sweat collected in his brow as Dimitri’s eyes darted all over his face, drinking in that terrified expression.

“You know nothing of the torment I endured—that I still endure. All because of that putrid bitch,” Dimitri snarled. Hubert’s heart was thundering against his chest as he felt Dimitri cling tighter at his hair, the sharp scrape of his steel fingers against his scalp like knives across his head. “I am nothing more than a monster because of her. I cut through children and feasted on their blood and their mother’s blood. And when that wasn’t enough,” Dimitri’s eye was wide and wild, almost trembling in its socket, “I fed on rats. Rats, Hubert. Can you imagine? The crown prince of Faerghus tearing open the flesh of rats and drinking from them?”

Hubert swallowed thickly and Dimitri’s eyes darted to follow the bob of his Adam’s apple. Hubert had seen Dimitri’s barbaric side plenty of times since he had left Edelgard and re-joined the professor’s attempt to usurp her. On the battlefield, he had plenty of opportunity to watch Dimitri charge recklessly forward and cleave through enemy after enemy despite the others’ begging and pleading, despite his beloved professor’s protests for him to stop. Once, Dimitri had stopped and whirled his head around and Hubert would never forget the delirious blood-curdling smile across the prince’s face as he was spattered with blood so much it dripped from his face.

That was why he had that hysterical smile. Not only because he enjoyed it, but because he needed it.

“Lord Dimitri—”

“Do not call me ‘lord’ now,” Dimitri said. “I gave you your chance to leave… but it seems you are too proud to take your opportunity to escape.”

Dimitri yanked painfully hard on Hubert’s hair, almost snapping the tactician’s neck. He buckled under the prince’s unwavering inhuman grip and grit his teeth, trying to appear stronger and braver than he felt. Dimitri’s eyes were running over the smooth expanse of his neck and his heart lurched.

“It has been so long since I have tasted another human’s blood,” Dimitri mused quietly, as if speaking to himself. “I wonder if it tastes as I remember.” He hummed, letting go of Hubert’s hair with one hand but the mage still had no room to move. Icy gloved fingers traced over the smoothness of Hubert’s neck and Dimitri’s breath shuddered through his nostrils. Hubert felt it fan across his face. The agonizing clutch of his hair coupled with the ghost of frigid steel over his tight throat made him freeze with fear. “It used to taste so sweet. I lost all semblance of taste for human food, only the textures seemed to humour me but blood… oh, the taste of blood is indescribable.”

Dimitri was babbling, the words of a man gone mad. Hubert’s mind raced; how could he escape? Dark magic at this intimate distance would only hurt them both and he knew he was not strong enough to break free from Dimitri’s grip. His breathing was coming out short and shallow and that only seemed to excite Dimitri more as his tongue came out and darted over his lips as a predator would before devouring its prey.

“Lord Dimitri—”

“I said do not call me that!” Dimitri roared. He glared down at Hubert, nostrils flared wide and his lips parted, exposing the sharp incisors. Bending the tactician over painfully, he leaned down and his teeth ghosted over the paleness of Hubert’s neck. The sharp graze made both men tremble, one with anticipation, the other with fear.

Finally. The voices were gone. All Dimitri could hear was his own blood rushing through his ears and the dull pounding of his pulse excitedly hammering against every inch of his body. He was almost shaking with excitement, exhilaration coursing through his body as his teeth found the perfect curve of where Hubert’s neck met his shoulder, tearing the collar of his coat aside so he could lean in comfortably.

The man smelled thick. Like a dark scent, nothing Dimitri had ever smelled before. He wasn’t sweet, sour, bitter, just heady and strong. Swallowing over the stone lodged in his throat, Dimitri let his teeth come to settle above the flutter of Hubert’s pulse at that sensitive point. Despite the strength in his neck, it seemed that Hubert, like everyone else, had a sensitive place right at the juncture of his shoulder.

A flash of searing pain erupted through Hubert. His eyes went wide, and he choked on his breath and saliva. Fire ignited beneath where Dimitri had sunken his teeth into Hubert’s unmarked skin and then there was a harsh suck. Dimitri was unceremonious and messy about his feasting, sucking so hard a large scarlet and indigo bruise would form around the puncture mark undoubtedly.

Hubert’s hands flew up to cling onto Dimitri. He had never felt so powerless in his life. Overpowered and outmatched, all the tactician could do as cling onto Dimitri’s cloak as he drank from his throat.

It was all a new feeling to him, a fire burning through him as if Dimitri were injecting him with some sort of venom. The pain blossomed from his throat and he wasn’t sure if it was really happening, but he could feel it coursing through his body, swimming in his head and tickling at his fingertips.

Hubert became dizzy. He could feel the strength in his grip waning as Dimitri greedily drank from him. He knew very little about creatures who drank blood from others, but he knew enough that dizziness meant nothing good. He tried to pull weakly at Dimitri’s fur cloak, but his attempts were futile.

Dimitri withdrew for a second, panting heavily into Hubert’s skin and he groaned lowly. A shudder ran through him and he swallowed everything in his mouth, sucking on his teeth so that nothing would be lost. He swiped his tongue over the puncture marks, admiring how beautiful they seemed to stain and tarnish that perfect canvas of white.

“Your blood tastes thick, it’s so… pungent,” Dimitri spoke, blood spitting across Hubert’s neck and face like a bloody scarlet constellation. The mage was weak in his arms and he cursed himself inwardly with whatever remaining conscious thoughts he had left in him. His mind was blank, nothing more than a hazy mess as he tried to stand, and Dimitri allowed him even though his hand remained fisted in his hair.

“I would have never thought a man like you… so cruel, so cold, would taste so wonderful,” Dimitri mused, the eclipse of his iris still not wavering though he seemed to be more in control. No longer trembling and shaking wildly, he instead had a powerful aura that emanated from him, one that Hubert used to have. It was as if Dimitri had drunk it out of him. Hubert wobbled on his legs and Dimitri laughed.

“Now do you see who I truly am? I am no lord. I am no prince. No… titles so grand never did quite fit a creature like me.” Dimitri tilted his head back and breathed in through his nose steadily as if he were savouring the moment. He relished in the taste of Hubert’s strong blood still dancing over his taste-buds, coating the walls of his throat and the powerlessness of Hubert in his arms, clinging to him for support.

The mage managed to stand on his own two feet, and he leaned back against the wall, panting heavily. He raised a gloved hand to touch at his neck and winced with how tender it was. Hubert struggled to keep his eyes focused and they swam with dizziness, trying to concentrate on the flickering amber glow of candles behind the windows of the mess hall. The celebrations were still ongoing. Just how long had they been out there, in the cold, embroiled in one another?

“I am a bloodthirsty beast, a monstrosity, a behemoth,” Dimitri said, bringing his face back down to Hubert. It was as if the roles had been switched. It was now Dimitri who was calm and stone-faced with a smirk dancing across his bloodied lips, skin glinting a stunning silver in the moonlight and his eye blazing blue. Hubert sagged against the wall, icy sweat running down his face and his back, faint and groggy.

He couldn’t speak. His throat was too tight. Just what had Dimitri done to him? Usually, he had a sharp quip ready but this time, he was speechless, left as a panting wheezing mess.

Dimitri’s hand came to the professor’s door and he tested the handle. It opened under his touch, unlocked. With a predatory glance at Hubert, he pushed the door open with a hand in the other’s raven hair, forced him inside.

Hubert stumbled and collapsed onto his knees as Dimitri stepped into the room. The door slammed shut behind them and they were sent tumbling into darkness. Hubert could see absolutely nothing, and he thought about casting a small fire spell to ignite a candle that probably stood untouched over the last five years in the room, but he felt Dimitri descended upon him, over his back.

With a gentle pressure that was unbefitting of the prince, Dimitri loomed over Hubert’s frozen frame. On his hands and knees, Hubert felt pathetic. He had never been in such a position before and if he had any strength left in his quivering muscles, he had half a mind to throw Dimitri from him.

A hand danced along the underside of his body, up to his throat and Dimitri’s gauntlet clutched tightly.

“Oh, imagine if I killed you here,” Dimitri breathed into Hubert’s ear icily. “No-one would know. No-one would hear you scream. I wonder… would you even scream?”

Hubert grit his teeth and wheezed around nothing, all oxygen cut off from his reeling brain. This was more than powerlessness. This was total and utter control.

“I wonder if you would scream when you died like everyone else. Or are you too strong, too proud of a man for that?” Dimitri’s gauntlet let go and Hubert collapsed forward with his face falling into the carpet that covered the floor. His hand went to his throat and he touched over it tenderly as Dimitri kneeled up from his body, busying himself with something Hubert couldn’t see but could hear.

“D… Dimitri,” Hubert finally managed out. He realised that using titles were useless at this stage and so he could only rasp. His body was still burning with a poisonous fire and he was so weak, so unbearably weak, all he wanted to do was collapse against the ground. But still, even now, with the crown prince of Faerghus behind him unclipping his heavy gauntlets so that they clattered against the ground, Hubert would not beg.

“Dimitri,” Hubert rasped again, his voice broken and barely above a whisper. “This cannot continue… someone will—”

“No one will come, Hubert.” The sound of both gauntlets hitting the floor behind Hubert made whatever blood remaining in his body run cold. Dimitri continued to busy himself behind Hubert and he wondered what the other might be doing when he heard more metal clatter against the floor. He should have taken this opportunity to crawl away but he couldn’t. Even now, he was still too proud.

“They will come looking for me.”

“And you think someone will look for you in the professor’s bedchamber?” Dimitri jeered, a naked hand shoving under the hem of Hubert’s shirt. His touch was like ice and although Hubert was renowned for being so cold, his skin seared against the prince’s touch. He hissed through his teeth and he closed his eyes, but that made no difference to the darkness enveloping him.

“So responsive,” Dimitri mumbled. His hand wound further up over Hubert’s chest and his body followed, pressing down against the other and then Hubert felt it. The unmistakable curve of Dimitri’s cock pressing up against his ass. Feeling it sent a bolt of electricity through him, enough to power him as he lurched forward and clutched at the carpet, whipping himself around so that he could scramble away backwards.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Hubert cried out, voice breaking. His oesophagus burned, parched and crushed from Dimitri’s grip. He couldn’t see the prince, but he could feel him, his cold presence coming ever closer like a mist.

“I will have my way with you,” Dimitri said as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. “It had been some time since I had human blood but… your taste, oh, it has stirred something even more instinctual within me.”

“Y-You cannot be serious! These are the words of a man drunk on blood, drunk on power!”

Dimitri’s cold laugh vibrated against Hubert’s ears. “Perhaps. But I will take you all the same.”

Dimitri's cold hand came upon Hubert’s ankle with a sharp yank that almost snapped his knee from the rest of him, he slid down beneath Dimitri once more. His hand came to Hubert’s trousers and he tore at them so quickly and so easily, even Hubert’s desperate scrabbling could stop him.

Hush, hush,” the prince’s voice came, taunting and cruel. “I will make it good for you.”

“You will do no such thing,” Hubert spat, trying his best to escape the clutches of the deranged beast above him. He was right. He really was a behemoth; uncontrollable and impossibly strong, taking what he wanted and sieging upon Hubert’s pale body. “Dimitri—”

“Your voice sounds wonderful like this; so torn,” he said. His cold breath washed over Hubert’s face and the tactician froze. When did he get so close? Dimitri’s tongue came and lathed over the small slice he had made earlier with his gauntlet, groaning and relishing in the taste of the thick blood. Congealed as it was, it still tasted divine. His hand pulled forcefully at Hubert’s breeches and smallclothes, tearing them directly down the centre and he shoved his legs back against his chest.

If there were enough blood left in his body, Hubert was sure he would have turned scarlet. Despite the darkness enveloping them, he had been put in such a vulnerable position. He couldn’t even see Dimitri through the shadows but could feel his hungry eyes searching over every inch of his body, dancing over his pale thighs, exposed hole and flaccid cock.

Dimitri…!” Pride crumbling, Hubert considered pleading. Strong calloused hands came up over his thighs and spread his hole apart and he shuddered violently. His hands came to try and pry those fingers away from sinking into his skin but it was of no use; it was as if the prince were made of stone, unwavering and firm, sinking only deeper.

“The more you struggle, the more I shall hurt you,” Dimitri said. The tongue ran over the sharpness of his jawline and danced back over the raw puncture of his throat, where Dimitri hummed against the skin. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

“You are far too late for that,” Hubert spat with as much venom as he could muster. Dimitri laughed against his skin and then cruelly, mockingly, kissed at the bitemark. That made Hubert shudder harder than anything Dimitri had done up to this point. How truly and utterly helpless he felt, freezing up at nothing more than a brush of lips over his skin.

But this was no mere brush of lips. It was the bloodied hungry lips of the mad prince of Faerghus, ready to bite down and drain him once again. Hubert was frightened; yes, he would finally admit it to himself. He was beyond petrified. A part of him rationalized that Dimitri would not strangle him to death nor cut him or cleave him in two, no, but that same rational part of him deduced that it was not out of the realm of possibility that Dimitri would drain him dry.

“Strong, even now,” Dimitri remarked. Hubert heard the prince spit and then a finger brushing over his entrance. He jolted and choked, hand reaching down to try and stop Dimitri but no, a digit already pressed into his resistant hole. His head flung back against the floor painfully and his chest heaved. “Perhaps not so strong any longer.”

The finger pushed in all the way despite the protesting ring of muscle against it. Hubert groaned low in his throat, pained and raw. He had never been breached like this before. It was a far more vulnerable type of pain than he had ever experienced; someone was inside of him, exposing him, stretching him open before their very eyes.

A second finger joined far too soon and another pained groan escaped Hubert’s lips. His face was coated in a cold sweat, his eyes were wrenched shut and his mouth was open in a desperate struggle for breath. What would he think if he saw himself? He was glad he couldn’t.

The two fingers were pumping roughly in and out of him with barely any lubrication, only Dimitri’s cold spit to ease the burn just a little and then they crooked. Hubert’s whole body shuddered, and he choked.

“There, there it is,” Dimitri laughed darkly. Goddess, what was that? A blinding white heat rushed through Hubert’s body and ashamedly, he felt it pool in his stomach. Thankfully, his cock didn’t jump. Dimitri crooked his fingers a little again and Hubert cried out, tears pricking at his eyes. He hadn’t cried for almost two decades. Not since he was a child.

“Dimitri—”

“I said I would make it feel good.”

But as quick as that fire was there, it was gone, extinguished as Dimitri drew back his fingers. Hubert, shamefully, felt empty and he could feel his hole flutter around nothing. And then Dimitri pressed up against him. Unlike the rest of his body, the head of his cock was burning hot and it made Hubert tremble. He wasn’t sure any longer if he wanted it inside him or not, all he knew was that the quicker it was over, the better. And if that meant allowing Dimitri to penetrate his body, then so be it.

A tactical decision, he thought. Nothing more.

With a stifled groan, Dimitri pushed the head of his dick into Hubert. Both men gasped, one from the tight warmth enveloping his cock, and the other from the scorching burn tearing his hole open. He was not prepared enough for this, not physically, not mentally because Dimitri was far thicker than two fingers.

Fuck…!” Hubert cursed. He never cursed. “Fuck—”

“Such a filthy mouth.”

Glaring into the darkness as best he could, Hubert hoped he met Dimitri’s eyes. He was breathing heavily through his nose and his hands were wrapped around Dimitri’s wrists which still pushed against the back of his thighs, pinning his legs to his chest. Like this, Dimitri had the perfect angle to push in, sliding against that perfect spot that made Hubert tremble and his nails sink into the skin around his wrists. Both men were sweating, too many layers of clothing and armour still donned but this was nothing intimate; this was an animalistic act with no compassion.

Dimitri shoved himself in until he was fully sheathed, and he hissed at how hot Hubert felt. He hunched over the other man so that his lips could sweep over the spot he had bitten before. Gods, it was tempting to bite him again. But he wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Drawing back with a painful slide, Dimitri then slammed back in. Hubert practically screamed, voice cracking and diminishing to a pathetic wheeze of breath. It burned. It burned so much. Dimitri’s cock was splitting him open and he was sure he would bleed if Dimitri did not take his time with him but of course, the animal would enjoy that and would probably lap it up with his revolting tongue.

Hubert’s brow furrowed and creased with concentration. Dimitri’s cold breath was fanning out over his throat and those razor-sharp fangs were dancing impossibly close with each pained thrust. He tried not to make any more sounds save for the quiet groans that managed to hiss from between his teeth.

Dimitri took him brutally and without care, rutting against him like an animal chasing release for that was what he was. This was a carnal instinct taking over, a primitive desire and nothing more than to rut into something and drink from it.

A sharp bite electrified Hubert and pooled in his stomach when Dimitri bit down on his throat again, piercing over the very same mark he had left earlier. He drank greedily, the sounds of sucking and slurping adding to the clap of skin against skin and fabric meeting fabric. Unceremoniously, the prince drank, and Hubert’s grip weakened once more. His head was spinning. He was going dizzy again.

This was it. This would be where Dimitri would drain him of every drop of his blood and leave him there to die. Dimitri’s hips sped up as he sucked from Hubert’s neck and the other man started to go limp, swirling patterns dancing before his eyes—

With a sharp gasp of air, Dimitri pulled back from Hubert’s throat. “Close—I will—sully you even f-further—” the prince managed to spit out and the cold wash of breath over his lips made Hubert tremble with how close the prince was. With every barbaric and painful thrust, he could feel Dimitri’s slick bloodied lips ghost against his and his stomach churned, half with nausea and half with anticipation.

With a guttural groan and one final slam, Dimitri howled, emptying himself deep inside of Hubert. He could feel the other’s cock pulsing and throbbing as it emptied into him, rope after rope of vile seed spilling into his insides. The burn around his hole did not cease as he thought it might when Dimitri stopped moving, instead, it only burned more without the noises of skin on skin to distract him.

The voices were silent again. Dimitri could hear everything around him; the thundering of Hubert’s pulse, the pathetic whimpers and groans of the other man, and the laughter of his comrades in the mess hall. He laughed under his breath as he felt his cock empty itself entirely. His balls tightened and spasmed and with one final flick of his tongue, he danced it over Hubert’s puncture wound.

“Did that not… feel good?” he asked breathlessly. Was he joking? Hubert thought he must have been for no-one could be so stupid as to rape another and think it felt good for the other party.

Hubert elected to stay silent. He was too dizzy to come up with a comprehensible answer regardless, catching his breath in his starved lungs. It felt like every inch of him was still on fire; his blood, his fluttering hole, his throat, his eyes… everything. Dimitri leaned back from the other man and finally let go of Hubert’s legs, which collapsed with a loud clap against the ground. His legs twitched occasionally, hyper-sensitive and pained form being forced against his chest for so long. He could hear the prince reaffixing his gauntlets, the quiet clink of metal against metal the only thing that Hubert could make out in his weakened state. Never had he felt so defenceless and Hubert knew he would never feel this mutilated or pitiful ever again.