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Four Hours or More

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The first time it happens, they’re in Felix’s room, fully dressed but kissing heavily, Felix on his back on the bed with Sylvain hovering over him. Kissing Felix is perhaps one of his favourite things to do, and he hasn’t even made a move to do anything more, but Felix must be tired of the languid pace because his hands start untying the laces of Sylvain’s pants, his kisses getting more and more intense, the occasional nip to Sylvain’s bottom lip as he works a hand between them. Sylvain loves him like this, so eager he forgets to be embarrassed, desperate and controlling and so fucking good, but when he finally works a hand down the front of Sylvain’s pants and grips him — 

Felix pulls away. “Do you not want —”

“No,” Sylvain says quickly. “No, I mean, yes, I do want — just, sorry, hang on, let me —” He pushes his pants down to his knees to fully free his depressingly soft dick before kissing Felix again, dirtier this time, hands roaming freely across Felix’s chest, down his thighs, anywhere he can reach. Touching Felix has always made him hard, often at the worst possible times. How many times had he woken up with an erection when they were sharing a tent, before they had started any of this? How many times had he closed his eyes and pinched his wrist to try and get it to go away, while Felix snored gently beside him? Felix often said that a strong breeze could get Sylvain hard. So then why — 

Why wasn’t —

“Hey,” Felix says gently. “Sylvain.”

“Just… give me a minute, I’ll —”

One of Felix’s hands comes up to cup Sylvain’s cheek, thumb tracing his cheekbone, and he leans in and kisses Sylvain so gently and softly that it makes his heart clench in his chest. “It’s all right.”

“No, it’s —” He cuts off and looks down at his completely flaccid dick, something that might have been panic creeping up his spine. He can’t quite meet Felix’s eyes when he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Felix says gruffly. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I don’t know why —”

“You don’t always have to be in the mood for sex, Sylvain,” Felix says, which, to be completely honest, is something he had never even considered. “It’s fine.”

Sylvain drops his head onto Felix’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says quietly. Felix is nice enough not to mention that. “I guess I should, uh…”

“You don’t have to go,” Felix says quickly. The tips of his ears are red, and Sylvain pushes his performance anxiety out of his head in favour of raining kisses down on Felix’s face. Felix laughs at the attention and then pretends he hadn’t, trying to remain annoyed as Sylvain kisses his nose. 

He settles himself onto Felix’s chest, listening to the steady beating of his heart, and closes his eyes. Embarrassment still pricks at him, but he tries to ignore it. It was fine. He just didn’t want to have sex. It happened, probably. He didn’t have to always be ready to go. He was allowed to just… be. 

He falls asleep like that, curled up into Felix. 


Except it happens again, this time with —

“Sylvain,” Felix says, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Sylvain, lips wet from the failed blowjob and looking like the hottest thing Sylvain had ever seen, but he still couldn’t — “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain says, voice hoarse. “I don’t —”

“I told you not to apologize,” Felix says firmly, standing up and gripping Sylvain’s chin. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yes.”

“So then…” Felix’s expression closes off, and when he speaks his words are harsh and biting to hide the embarrassment Sylvain knows him well enough to be able to see. “Am I doing something —”

“No,” Sylvain says quickly, mirroring what Felix had just done and grabbing him by the chin. “No, that’s not it at all. You are… it’s perfect, Felix, I swear. It’s not you, I just… I’ve been feeling kind of sick lately. I’ve been ignoring it but maybe it’s a little more serious than I thought.”

Felix looks at him, and Sylvain knows he can tell it’s a lie. He waits to see what he does, but Felix just sighs heavily and then says, “You should go talk to Mercedes, then.”

He feels it, then, feels the trust between them shift. This fragile thing they had built, this gift that Sylvain had held in hands made to destroy — he feels it crack, and he knows that it’s his fault. 

“I will,” he says, running his thumb along Felix’s jaw. He presses a kiss to Felix’s forehead; it feels like a goodbye.


“I need to talk to you,” he says into Ingrid’s ear, grabbing her on the way to dinner. She looks at him in annoyance. 

“Can’t it wait until after dinner?”

“Ingrid,” he says, and she must hear something in his voice because she sighs. 

“Fine,” she says, casting a mournful look at the dining hall. “What is it?”

“Not here,” he says, and even though she grumbles she follows him around to the stables, ducking into the stall with his horse where they won’t be overheard. Ingrid gets distracted by Pepper, petting her snout and cooing at her, until Sylvain clears his throat and she pulls herself away. 

“Okay,” she says. “What is going on?”

“Look, this is going to be inappropriate but I don’t have anyone else that I trust enough to talk to about this,” he says, relieved to see her face soften at the words. 

“Okay,” she says again, but kinder this time. “Okay, I’m listening.”

He opens his mouth and finds he doesn’t know how to say it. He rubs Pepper’s flank absentmindedly, opening and closing his mouth a few times, sentence fragments floating through his head. Ingrid steps closer and puts a hand on his arm. 

“Sylvain,” she says seriously. “I promise I won’t laugh.”

He can’t help but laugh at that. His friends all know him so well. 

“I’m having problems,” he says, focusing on his horse instead of Ingrid. “With… performing.”

“Performing what? You didn’t agree to be in Dorothea’s play, did you?”

“No, not like that, like…” he gestures vaguely at his hips. “You know.”

“If you’re just going to be vague, I’m not going to help you.”

“Sothis’ tits, Ingrid, I can’t get hard!” He sneaks a glance at Ingrid and sees her staring at him with her mouth open, beet red. 

“And you thought I was the best person to talk to about this?” Her voice is much higher than usual. 

“Well who else am I supposed to talk to? Dimitri’s been glaring at a pile of rubble for three months, Ashe is… Ashe, Dedue is —” He cuts off, unwillingly to focus on that. “I don’t trust anyone else enough.”

“Talk to Felix!” She says. “I don’t know anything about this stuff, Sylvain.”

“I can’t talk to Felix,” he says. Ingrid rolls her eyes. 

“He’ll be able to help better than me, he at least has the same… equipment.” Goddess, she was really red. If this wasn’t so mortifying he’d be teasing her about it. 

“I can’t talk to Felix about it,” he says reluctantly, “Because Felix is the one I can’t… perform for.”

Silence falls, and Ingrid goes so long without speaking that Sylvain finally loses patience and snaps, “Well?”

“You’re sleeping with Felix,” she says in disbelief. “You’re sleeping. With Felix. You’re sleeping with Felix.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes, okay! Yes, I am, can you — can we move on from that, please?”

“Move on to what? What do you want me to say? I don’t know what to tell you, Sylvain. I can’t help with this. Maybe you’re sick. I don’t know!”

“But it’s — it’s only with Felix, Ingrid. When I’m… fucking hell, look, when I’m by myself it’s fine. It’s only with Felix.”

Ingrid sighs. “Sylvain, I’m not just being a prude, or whatever. I really don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to help with this.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Then what am I supposed to do?” He asks, and Ingrid is nice enough not to mention the way his voice shakes. “I don’t want to fuck this up, Ingrid.”

Ingrid appears to be warring with herself, and eventually she says, “How committed are you to fixing this?”

“Very,” he answers immediately. 

“You’re not going to like this, but please think about it before you say no, okay?”

“Oh, I can't wait to hear this.”

She smiles softly at him before saying, “I think you should talk to Seteth.”

He bursts out laughing. “You know, I always did think you were the funniest out of the four of us,” he says. Ingrid glares. 

“I’m being serious. He gives excellent advice, he really helped me! And he’s been around far longer than us —”

“Because he’s old. You want me to talk to an old priest about how my dick doesn't work.”

“He’s not a priest,” she says, as if that solves the problem. “And he’ll be more helpful than me, and you don’t have anyone else to talk to, do you?”

“I’d rather be celibate forever than talk to Seteth about my dick.”

“If you refuse to talk to anyone else, you will be,” she says. Sylvain sighs heavily. 

“I’ll… figure it out. I will!” He says, when she raises her eyebrows. “I’ll talk to Felix about it,” he lies, feeling like the world’s biggest possible jerk for lying to his friends so much. Ingrid rubs his arm and gives him a smile, and he hates himself even more. 

“I think that’s best,” she says. She leans up to kiss him quickly on the cheek and then she says, as she turns to leave, “Please never, ever talk to me about this again.”

He forces a laugh. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Ingrid.” Then he waits for her to leave before turning back to his horse, chewing on his lip. 

Now what was he supposed to do?


He doesn’t talk to Felix. He does the exact opposite, avoiding him at every turn until eventually Felix stops seeking him out. And then, when Ingrid starts coming after him with a fierce look on her face, he starts hiding from her, too, unwilling to hear the lecture she will no doubt have for him. He ends up taking solace with Mercedes most of the time, because she’s kind and doesn’t judge him and Ingrid won’t yell at him in front of her. A few times he almost comes out and asks her, because she’s a healer and has mom energy and he knows for a fact she wouldn’t judge him, but it’s Mercedes, and he just can’t force himself to tell Mercedes — kind, pure, holy Mercedes — about his troubles with his dick. 

But Mercedes ends up helping anyway. It’s just what she does. 

“You know Sylvain,” she says. They’re in her room on the bottom floor; Mercedes had been teaching him how to sew. “I was wondering if I could give you some advice.”

Sylvain does not look away from his work, tongue sticking out in concentration. “You’ve talked to Ingrid,” he eventually says. 

“Yes,” she says. “But she didn’t really tell me anything, so don’t worry. She’s just worried about you. So am I.”

He doesn’t answer this, unsure what to say. 

“And it’s not hard to see why you’re so sad, lately,” she continues. “I know you’re avoiding Felix. I don’t know why, but I don’t really think it matters. Whatever the problem is… it can’t be more important than your friendship, can it? We’re at war, Sylvain. And we’ve lost Dedue, and we’ve lost Dimitri, too, in a way… I just think it’s important to keep those you love close.” She puts her hand on his knee and he finally looks up to meet her eyes. “And whatever it is, you can talk to me. I might be able to help.”

She’s right, and he knows it, but he’s not about to ruin this nice moment they’re having, about love and war and friendship, by talking about his dick. And it’s only with that thought that he realizes how fucking stupid this whole thing is. They’re fighting a fucking war, Dedue is dead and one of his oldest friends has lost his mind and he’s killing people and here he is, avoiding his best friend because he’s having dick problems. It’s absurd. It’s absolutely ridiculous. 

Every fucking day he wakes up with the knowledge that he might die. How much time has he wasted that could have been spent with Felix?

“You’re right,” he says, putting the shirt he was working on to the side and standing up. “Thank you, Mercedes. And, uh — I think I just made that worse, I’m sorry,” he adds, nodding at the shirt he’d been trying to patch. “I don’t think sewing is really my thing.”

She giggles. “That’s okay. Are you going to see Felix?”

“No,” he admits. “But I am going to do something that needs to be done.”

“I’m proud of you,” she says with a smile. He grabs her hand and lifts it to his lips, giving her one last wink before he leaves. 

He walks to Seteth’s office with purpose, but as soon as he’s outside his door, he falters. Everything Mercedes had said to him flies out of his brain as he is forced to confront the fact that he’s about to tell Seteth that he can’t get a fucking erection. 

He can’t do this. He’ll talk to Felix, or he’ll just never have sex again — could he do that? He could do that, right? 

“Fucking —” This was a mistake. He’ll have to figure something else out. 

He’s turning to leave when the door opens, and he comes face to face with Seteth. 

“Sylvain,” Seteth says suspiciously. “Can I help you with something?”

“Uh… well, you’re clearly on your way to do something, so I won’t bother you —”

“No, no,” Seteth says. “I was just going to get something to eat, but there is no rush.”

“I don’t want to keep you from your dinner,” Sylvain says, but Seteth stands aside and gestures for Sylvain to enter his office, and he doesn’t really have any choice but to listen. He sits down in a chair in front of Seteth’s desk, watching as Seteth takes a seat opposite him, and has the traitorous thought if the Empire happened to launch a surprise attack on Garreg Mach right now, it maybe wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to happen. 

Seteth entwines his fingers on top of his desk and says, “How can I help you?”

“Uh…” This was a bad idea. This was a bad idea. This was a — “I’ve been having, uh. A problem, lately. And it’s kind of, uh… sensitive. But I don’t know… I don’t know who else I can talk to about it, because Goddess knows I can’t exactly ask my father, or —”

“Ah,” Seteth says, sitting back and crossing his arms. “I can’t pretend I didn’t see this coming.”

“I…” What? “What?”

“Sylvain,” Seteth says seriously. “I know you have a lot of pressure on you, as the heir to your house and a Crest bearer. And I know there was some… complications with your brother,” which feels like an understatement, but Sylvain lets that slide — “And I know that your father will come down hard on you for this. But the right thing to do is to marry this girl, and try to give the child as stable an upbringing as is possible during a war. I think that —”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” Sylvain interrupts, holding up his hands. “I didn’t knock anybody up.”

“Oh.” He really doesn’t like how surprised Seteth sounds. “My apologies. You are here for another reason, then?”

“You really don’t… if you want to go to dinner, it’s fine.”

“No, no. I am sorry for making assumptions. Please, go on. I will help however I can.”

Sylvain takes a breath. How is he even supposed to bring this up? Goddess, this was a mistake, but he can’t leave now. He could make something up, he supposes, but he can’t think of a suitable lie and anyway, he’s come this far now. “Have you ever been married?”

Something complicated and almost unbearably sad crosses Seteth’s face. “Yes,” he says quietly. “A very long time ago.”

“And did you have any… children?”

He narrows his eyes. “What does this have to do with your problem?”

Sylvain sighs, knee bouncing up and down. He closes his eyes. He thinks about the way Felix looks when he comes. He thinks about how well he sleeps curled up beside him. 

He leaps. 

“If this is about —” Seteth says, voice cold, just as Sylvain opens his mouth and says, “I can’t get hard.”

Silence falls. Seteth is looking at him like Sylvain had just declared his undying love for him. “I beg —” Seteth’s voice cracks, and he clears it before saying again, “I beg your pardon?”

“I can’t… perform. Anymore.”

Seteth exhales heavily. “May I ask why you thought I would be the best person to talk to about this?”

“I tried talking to Ingrid, but she couldn’t help me. She said you gave good advice,” he finishes lamely. Seteth closes his eyes and massages his temples. 

“While I am honoured that Ingrid found my advice helpful for her situation, I’m not sure that I —”

“Seteth,” Sylvain interrupts desperately. “I have no one else I can talk to about this.” Now that it’s out in the open the utter mortification is easier to handle, and the idea of Seteth refusing to help him, of having to go back to his empty bed is too much to bear. “Please.”

Seteth considers him for a long moment and then sighs. “What seems to be the problem?”

“I can’t get… you know…” he makes a rude gesture. Seteth shakes his head.

“Sylvain, I assure you, you do not have to speak so vaguely. I will not combust over the word erection.”

Maybe you won’t, he thinks, but the only way to go is forward, so he presses on. 

“This has never happened to me,” he says miserably. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“While it is uncommon for these problems to occur in someone as young as you are, it is not unheard of. There are no easy solutions, I am afraid. There are… potions and herbs you can take that assist for a short time, but that is not a long term fix. Are you having problems with all of your sexual partners?”

Okay, he definitely deserved that implication, but it still makes something odd clench in his stomach nonetheless. “I don’t… it’s only the one.”

“So you are not struggling with your other sexual partners?”

Sylvain looks around for a weapon to stab himself with and comes up empty. “I don’t have any other sexual partners. I meant there’s only one total.”

Seteth blinks. “Oh,” he says in surprise. Sylvain considers the merits of jumping out the window. “My apologies for the assumption. Are you experiencing difficulty on your own?”

This was the absolute worst decision he has ever made in his life. It’s a shame they ever pulled him out of that well when he was a kid; at least then he wouldn’t have had to talk to Seteth about his fucking masturbation habits.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “No, it’s fine. It’s only with… it’s only with them.”

“Is it possible you are simply… not attracted to them?”

Sylvain shakes his head. “No, that’s not the problem. That is definitely not the problem.”

“If it’s not a matter of physical attractiveness, then there must be something else holding you back. A fear, perhaps, or something you are uncertain about. To be frank, it may simply be that you are unused to monogamy, and feel constricted.”

“That’s not it.”

“I understand the desire to refute that, but —”

“It’s Felix,” he says desperately. “I can’t get hard with Felix, and I’m attracted to him, and I’m not afraid, and I don’t want anyone else, but I still can’t… I can’t…” He yells in frustration and buries his face in his hands. 

And Seteth says, “Ah.”

Sylvain looks up. “Ah? What does ah mean?”

“Well, the good news is there is nothing wrong with you.”

“So then what’s the bad news?”

“It’s not bad, but I believe you are in love,” Seteth says quietly. “I believe the problems you are experiencing are because for the first time, you are engaging in intercourse with someone who truly means something to you.”

“Please don’t say ‘engaging in intercourse’ again,” Sylvain says morosely. Seteth chuckles. 

“Sylvain,” he says kindly. “You have been using sex as a weapon for many, many years. I think the problems you are having may simply stem from the fact that for the first time, you are doing it out of love, instead of anger. I think, perhaps, you don’t know how to handle that.”

Sylvain swallows, considering this. The word bounces around in his head: love, love, love. He doesn’t even know what it means. 

“So what am I supposed to do?” He asks. Seteth’s smile is kind, and Sylvain understands why Ingrid recommended him. 

“The same thing we all must do, when we are in love,” Seteth says. “Survive it.”


He waits until long after dark, long after everyone has gone to bed, before he knocks softly on Felix’s door. He waits for so long that he almost leaves to check the training grounds, certain that Felix is there, when the door finally opens. 

He looks less than pleased to see Sylvain, although that isn’t surprising. He raises one eyebrow in silent challenge, a wordless rebuke that pierces through Sylvain, and he says, “I know. Can I…?” 

Felix sighs but stands aside anyway. Sylvain stands in the middle of the room and watches as Felix closes the door and then leans against it, crossing his arms and studying Sylvain with a blank expression. 

“I’m waiting,” he says. He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds… tired. Sylvain wonders if he’s been sleeping as shitty as he himself has been. 

“I’m not sick,” he says. Felix snorts. 

“Yeah, I fucking know that.”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’ve never done this before.” At Felix’s incredulous look, he hastens to explain. “I don’t mean sex, obviously I’ve — I mean sex with someone I actually, you know. Care about.” Felix’s face softens, and he continues. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I just got scared.”

“Is that why you were having… difficulties?” Felix says delicately. “Because you’re not used to fucking someone you actually like?”

“I think so,” Sylvain says. “I’ve only ever had sex as a way to hurt myself and others. For all the times I did it, I don’t think I ever actually did it because I wanted to. I never did it with someone I actually give a shit about. I think sex stopped being just sex, to me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just completely fucked,” he adds, trying to sound lighthearted. Felix doesn’t fall for this misdirection. 

“We’re all completely fucked,” he says. “But I think I understand what you’re trying to say.”

That’s a relief, because to be honest Sylvain isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s trying to say. He’s beginning to understand why people stay with one person for so long, why sex is so much better when it’s with someone you care about. Felix knows him so well, down to the spaces between his bones, knows what he’s feeling and thinking, knows every messed up thought and dirty secret that he has. Sylvain doesn’t know what love is, but he knows what it feels like, can feel it in his chest when he looks at Felix. 

“I shouldn’t have avoided you,” he says. “I’m sorry. Having a malfunctioning dick kind of freaked me out.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says, exasperatedly fond. 

“Yes,” Sylvain agrees. “Do you forgive me?”

Felix narrows his eyes at him. “If you do it again I’ll kill you,” he says sternly. Sylvain nods, and Felix looks to the side. “Fine. I guess I forgive you, then,” he says, cheeks flaring with embarrassment. Sylvain feels his heart start to beat again, and he steps forward to grab Felix and pull him to him in a kiss that leaves them both gasping. 

“So, hang on,” Felix says, pulling away and putting a hand on Sylvain’s chest to keep him at bay. “What do we do about your dick problem, then?”

“I have a… suggestion,” he says. “I don’t know if it will work, obviously, but if it doesn’t apparently there’s herbs I can take? Or some kind of potion thing, but that’s —”

“Sylvain,” Felix cuts him off. “What is your suggestion?”

Sylvain bites his lip. “You’re allowed to say no,” he says. Felix is looking more murderous by the second. 

“Just tell me.”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sylvain says, but he says it fast and all jumbled together, so it ends up sounding like wanyoutfuckme. Felix blinks at him. 

“What?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sylvain says, slower this time. He watches as Felix’s eyes widen slightly, and he leans back a little bit. “Only if you want to,” Sylvain hastens to add, worried at Felix’s reaction and wondering if he had overstepped somehow. 

“I — of course I want to,” Felix says, which causes the bottom to drop out of Sylvain’s stomach, because his voice is thick with desire . “But I… don’t do this just because you’re having problems, or whatever. It’s fine, I don’t want you to —”

“No, no, that’s not it,” Sylvain interrupts to say. “Honest. I want you to. And it’s something that will just be ours. Half the time when we’re having sex I kind of end up zoning out, anyway,” he admits, and Felix’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “I want to do this with you. With only you.” He laughs. “I want to enjoy sex again. Or maybe for the first time. I don’t know. This is all pretty new to me.”

Felix’s expression is unreadable, which is annoying, because Felix can read him like an open book. But he gives nothing away as he looks at Sylvain, who shifts from foot to foot and waits anxiously for an answer. 

“You want me to fuck you,” Felix says, and his voice is low and rough and Sylvain can do nothing but nod. Felix brings a hand up to Sylvain’s face, thumb running over his jawline and lips, and then he says, in a commanding voice that Sylvain has only ever heard on the battlefield, “Then get on the bed.”

He listens immediately, practically tripping over his feet in his haste to take his clothes off. He lays down on Felix’s bed, heart beating fast; he’s still completely soft but he feels arousal in the pit of his stomach, something that had been missing the last few times they’d been together, replaced by a tight ball of anxiety. He wants. 

Felix doesn’t get undressed; he’s dressed simply in his sleep clothes but he keeps them on as he walks over to the bed, staring down at Sylvain, naked and open and vulnerable. Felix rubs his thumb over Sylvain’s lips again, and he darts his tongue out to taste. 

Felix grabs the oil from his desk and sets it down on the floor beside the bed. Then he peels his shirt off, throwing it in a corner before climbing onto the bed and situating himself between Sylvain’s legs. His pants are still on, but when Sylvain tries to reach for them Felix smacks his hands away. Sylvain lets out an unhappy whine, but Felix, as ever, remains unswayed, instead leaning forward to kiss Sylvain, one of his hands coming up to tangle in Sylvain’s hair. 

“Felix,” he says, when they have to break away, “Take off your pants, come on. I want to feel you.”

“In time,” he says, which is not what Sylvain had wanted to hear. He tries to bring his hand up to Felix’s waist, but quicker than he can follow Felix has both of his wrists pinned to the bed above his head. 

Sylvain’s cock twitches. 

“You’ve always been a shit listener,” Felix says calmly, as if he isn’t holding Sylvain down, as if he wasn’t the hottest fucking thing Sylvain has ever seen. “Can you keep your hands to yourself or do I have to restrain you?”

Oh. Sylvain’s dick twitches again; Felix must have felt it this time, perched on Sylvain’s thighs, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, just keeps staring down at Sylvain with a steely gaze, his grip on Sylvain’s wrists painfully tight in the best possible way. 

“I’ll be good,” Sylvain says. 

“No you won’t,” Felix says, and Sylvain laughs at that, shifting his hips and enjoying the way Felix’s thumbs press into his pulse point. 

“I will if you take off your pants.”

Felix’s persona of sexy and in charge drops for a moment as he rolls his eyes, but he shimmies out of his pants, anyway, much to Sylvain’s glee. He’s half hard, and Sylvain aches to take him in his mouth, but he’s getting the feeling that Felix has a plan in place, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

He needs to stop thinking. He needs to just lie back and let Felix take care of him, let them create something that is theirs alone. He looks up at Felix and says, completely seriously, “I’ll be good.” He thinks Felix believes him; either way he reaches for the oil, and Sylvain is once again struck by how well Felix understands. He doesn’t want Felix to use his hands, or his mouth, or any other thing that any number of girls in his life had done. He wants something new, something precious, something that belongs to them. He wants Felix to have him in a way no one else ever has. He wants sex to mean something again. 

He loves him. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him. 

Felix coats his fingers liberally, but before he does anything he leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Sylvain’s lips. He knows that this is Felix checking in, making sure that this is okay, that this is what he wants. Sylvain nods and arches up to kiss him harder, but Felix moves out of reach. He keeps a watchful eye on Sylvain as he pushes a slick finger inside of him.  

It feels — odd, in a way that is neither nice nor bad. Felix moves steadily, staring down at Sylvain, studying him for the first sign of discomfort. As Felix starts working him open he starts moving his hips, jerking them up, and Felix adjusts his angle slightly and it sends sparks lighting up his body. A whine escapes his throat and Felix immediately makes note of that, increasing his pace the slightest bit before working another finger in along the first. 

Felix is thorough to the point that Sylvain thinks he’s paying him back for being ignored for so long. He is so focused on how good it feels, on angling his hips to meet Felix, of the need for more, that he doesn’t even notice that he’s getting hard until Felix leans forward and presses a sloppy kiss to his neck. “That’s it,” he says, biting down hard enough that Sylvain cries out. “That’s it, Sylvain, you’re doing so good.” 

“Felix,” he whines, and Felix kisses him quiet. “Baby, please.”

“Impatient,” Felix admonishes. 

“Stop torturing me,” he says. 

“You can’t say you don’t deserve it,” Felix says, but he sits back nonetheless. Sylvain lifts up onto his elbows to watch Felix slick up his cock; Sylvain eyes it with a feeling that is both apprehension and eagerness. 

Felix lines up but doesn’t move; he waits until Sylvain meets his eyes, and then he says, “Okay?”

Sylvain nods. Felix leans forward to rest his forehead on Sylvain’s, and Sylvain tilts his head to kiss him. He shifts his legs up higher on Felix’s waist, tangling a hand in Felix’s hair, and he takes a few steady breaths as Felix pushes into him. Felix brings a hand up and presses it to Sylvain’s chest, just over his heart, and together they sync up their breathing. 

“Felix,” Sylvain says, and Felix kisses him before beginning to move, slowly at first. Sylvain feels full in a way he’s never experienced, but it feels good, it feels right, it feels incredible. Felix is a vision above him, hair falling down around them, eyes still open and focused entirely on Sylvain, ready for any sign of discomfort, any hesitation. Sylvain is certain he’s never seen anyone more beautiful, and his heart feels fit to burst. It’s almost too much, all of it — the sex, the knowledge that he loves Felix, the pleasure building inside of him, and he wraps a hand around his cock, desperate. 

“Can you,” he says, closing his eyes and arching his back, scrabbling at the sheets of the bed. “You can go a little harder.” Felix does, increasing the steady pace of his hips, hooking Sylvain’s legs over his arms and pushing them back towards his chest. The angle is deeper, now, and Sylvain opens his eyes just in time to see Felix close his, biting down on his lip. It’s a look Sylvain has seen many times, albeit usually at a different angle, and he realizes that this is something new for Felix, too. 

For some reason, he almost wants to cry. 

“Felix,” he says, desperately, grasping his hand out for — something. “Felix —”

Felix finds his hand and twines their fingers together, and Sylvain grips his fingers tightly; they keep him grounded, keep him present. He increases the speed of his hand, jerking himself off in rhythm with Felix’s thrusts as heat builds in his stomach. It’s good, it’s so good, but he needs more —

Felix leans forward and kisses him, soft and gentle and warm, and it is that bit of tenderness that pushes Sylvain over the edge, coming across his chest and Felix’s. It's an orgasm like he's never had, pleasure bursting in his stomach and spreading out all over his body, eyes rolling back as he almost screams. All of his senses seem oversensitive; he's aware of everywhere they're touching, of Felix's hand in his, of his legs pressed against Felix's body, of Felix's cock as he continues to fuck him, of the smell of sex and sweat and something undeniably Felix (he's pretty sure it's the stuff they use to clean the swords). It's like nothing he's ever felt before, and a surprisingly lucid thought runs through his head: this is what it's supposed to be like.

“Sylvain,” Felix says, low, burying his face in Sylvain’s neck and moaning. His hips jerk out of rhythm before he stops, another long moan escaping from him as he finishes, breath hot against Sylvain's neck.

Sylvain thinks he might be shaking, and when Felix grabs one of his hands to steady it his suspicion is confirmed. 

“Are you okay?” Felix asks, worried. Sylvain doesn’t know how to articulate that he’s better than he’s ever been, that he understands, now, what this is supposed to feel like. Sex had never been like this; all these years he had been chasing this feeling, and it’s been here the entire time, right in front of him. Felix touches him soft and tender, eyes filled with both concern and affection, and Sylvain says, “I think I’m in love with you.”

This does not, thankfully, send Felix running for the hills. To Sylvain’s surprise, he smiles softly and drops down beside Sylvain, pushing his hair out of his face. “Did Seteth tell you that?”

“How do you know I went to see Seteth?”

“That’s Ingrid’s solution to everything. I think she thinks he’s her dad.”

Sylvain laughs slightly. “You’re taking this really well,” he says nervously. Felix blinks at him. 

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says. “Did you… not know?”

Sylvain lifts up on his elbow to stare down at Felix. “What? How was I supposed to know?”

Everyone knows!” Felix says, blushing an adorable shade of pink. “Ingrid knows, the Boar knows, Annette definitely knows, she keeps making up songs about us just to annoy me. Did you really not know?”

Sylvain laughs, loud and happy. “No,” he says, cupping Felix’s cheek and leaning in. “No, I didn’t.”

“Stupid,” Felix mutters, but when Sylvain kisses him, he can feel a small smile curling at the edges of Felix’s lips.