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teacher, teacher

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A quiet knock at the door, reverberating in the wood, transmitting hollowly into the room.

Byleth does not answer immediately. The scheduling papers in his hands dim a moment as his vision travels inward. He could not answer. But it'll look funny if it's any of his other students, especially if this goes on. As soon as the thought settles, his finger automatically taps down next to a certain name. He hears himself, hollow too, "Come in."

The other side pauses now, maybe second-guessing, thinking its own thoughts, then the door clicks, opens. He tries not to appear overly concerned or even look. If he let what he feels show, what would it look like? Fear? Shame? Affection? He's not even sure himself how he feels.

A few sharp steps that tingle up his spine in anticipation. The door clicks back shut, followed by the malevolently soft snap of the lock.

He has to look now, make the first move. Smile warmly, like a teacher should, be normal. Knowledge of the lock teeters on the edge of his mind, making his heart thud each time his thoughts brush against it. "Dimitri." He doesn't ask what's wrong, or how he can help. It would be a bit too fake.

"Teacher." Dimitri stops by his desk, as several of his peers do every day. His eyes, usually so earnest and straightforward, flicker between looking him in the face and the desk, where his hand has settled. His bare fingers nervously clench and release in a half-fist.

That he's dressed (down) for this makes it easier. He almost looks like another person in his casual wear.

"What is it?" Byleth asks softly. "What do you want?" The question is genuine for the occasion, not as teacher to student, but from one lover to another. A look of relief crosses Dimitri's face--the transition has been made, the boundary crossed--and he looks at him, truly, eyes soft.

"Come on, don't make me say that..."

Byleth takes his hand. Their fingers and palm lock together perfectly. "Do you need me to say it instead? That I want you? That I have since the moment I saw you?"

He sees color warm his pale cheeks before he leans over, pressing his forehead to his, noses touching companionably. "I felt the same way, teacher."

Just a tug, and he slides right into his lap. Their faces shift just enough that their lips meet. Byleth has never kissed anyone before, except his father as a child. It had been familiar enough but not exactly comfortable, between his father's hard mouth and the beard he always had grown out. He hadn't known a kiss could feel so soft.

Everything else is entirely new for him. Other mercenaries were not always private with their affairs, but in the whole of his life he has never embraced another like this as their breaths mingled together, and felt their hands run over every part of his body, with his doing the same. How strange, thrilling, to feel excited by the feel of another man's shoulders, and his chest against his. Dimitri's thigh muscles tighten, mostly over his own thighs, but by virtue of positioning, against his groin.

That's another thing, this heat.

It's on a completely different level from his self-sustained adolescence. His body might burn up with it.

It must be the same for his poor student, too.

He finds the bulge between his legs, hard and strong like the rest of his body, and rubs his palm flat against it. Dimitri gasps right into his mouth. Outside of this room it might be gross, but he likes it. Even his breath tastes good, and it's even better when he goes on kissing him, mumbling in the pauses between, begging against his teeth, teacher, teacher, teacher.

"You're not going to make a mess in your pants, are you?" Byleth barely manages to ask. "Why don't you get on the desk."

Dimitri makes a mumbly embarrassed noise, but like a good boy, does as he's told. Having him higher up should put him in the dominant position, but what he looks like is a piece of meat. All a question of attitude, Byleth supposes. His face and ears look sunburned, but his legs are open enough for him to sit inbetween. He sees his eyes almost squeeze closed, like him being so near is about too much.

But they remain that little bit open even when Byleth starts pulling at his fly, like in the end, he has to see. "Teacher will be sure you're nice and clean, okay?" He's very careful. The thought of trying to explain how a student hurt himself unzipping in his classroom makes him sweat.

He fiddles with the band of his underwear a little before pulling his cock out, even slower. Not because he's worried about this part, but because he likes the way Dimitri's belly sucks in every time he touches him. It's as robust and pink as he'd hope for one of his students, big enough to fill out nicely in his palm. A generous lather of pre-come shines on the head. He must have been close, indeed. It looks tasty, like some kind of cream dessert.

He doesn't think he's been looking too long, but Dimitri shifts a little. "Teacher..."

"Oh, I know. But you have to be patient and let teacher admire you." He remembers again that this isn't something he's supposed to do, but the shame it brings is eerily close to arousal. It's not gone entirely, more like the two feelings have merged partway.

He grasps the shaft in one hand and tugs a little, just enough to feel the skin slide over the engorged flesh beneath. The yes-no feeling grows stronger, heavier on the yes side; the no is garnish, existing now not for its own sake but to make the other side feel stronger by contrast. Sugar in curry.

Fingers pull into his hair and hold most of it away from his face, like hairpins. They don't exert any pressure otherwise, just to the sides of his head which feels nice, actually, another sign of what a sweetie all of his students are but this one in particular especially.

He sucks it tentatively into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the glans, as he has a few times by now. A slightly oily, salty taste fills his mouth. It tastes exactly like what it is: watered-down semen.

A twinge of pain shoots through his scalp. He notes with some amusement there's no follow-up apology. Looking up, Dimitri's face is redder than ever, and his gaze fixed entirely on his mouth. Too preoccupied to notice his grip tighten. If they had more freedom to do whatever whenever, Byleth would be tempted to punish him for it. A ruler across his palms... or the back of his thighs...

His wandering mind gets him ahead of himself. The tip is nuzzling against the back of his throat before he's even aware. A teacher should be more on-guard than this, but he's hot, and so is Dimitri in every sense of the word, and he can still taste it dripping into his throat.

He hums a little, and that's all it takes to turn the trickle into a stream. Keeping still makes the flow down his throat easier, and Dimitri is aware enough at this point to do likewise, though every muscle in his body tenses with effort. His breath whistles between his teeth. Too low for anyone to hear outside the room, but the yes-no feeling that somebody could...

Byleth swallows hard until it feels his mouth is mostly clean, and pulls back with a 'pop' of released suction. The fingers in his hair turn soft and lovingly stroke against his scalp. He bows his head forward, lets them card all the way to the back of his head. Dimitri's cock softens bit by bit but is, as promised, nice and clean but for the saliva.

His bangs mute the sensation of what is either a kiss or a nuzzle.

"Teacher... do you want...?" His voice trails off, but Byleth knows his options. Hand, mouth, thighs.

The idea of intercourse seriously occurs to him for the first time. And for the first time, it floods a wash of heat through his body. If he wasn't a virgin, he might try it. But these little meetings are dangerous enough without adding inexperience to something more involved.

He turns his face up and meets Dimitri's mouth. There's no hesitation in their kiss. His mouth just tastes like his mouth to him, but he wonders if there's a different something compared to earlier. They've never kissed when he was the one getting sucked but maybe he's been missing out.

Their foreheads meet instead as their mouths part for breath. Dimitri's red, sweaty face suddenly reminds him of the way he looks during training. As his teacher, it's not an association he needs, but it's one he wants now that he sees it. The only difference is in his blown-out pupils. "I want to see how much stronger your hands have gotten since last time."

Dimitri gets on his knees between his legs, smiling, eyebrows knitted in concentration (the training comparison comes up again; how can he look at him normally now on the field?) and has at his zipper with inappropriate familiarity.

The cool air feels like something his cock almost tangibly thumps into. It makes his dissipating body heat and the throbbing of his flesh stand out more. Dimitri's hands are nice and warm protection from the air though (like a cozy for his dick, he thinks, and almost snorts) and slightly damp with perspiration. Maybe that's why, but even the slight pleasure from his grasp makes him harder.

"It's good, right?" Dimitri asks, looking at him with an expression between beseeching and seductive. Something clashes between his half-closed eyes and half-smile. He jerks him off slowly, firmly, callouses dragging against the tender skin. They tingle a little, not quite irritation. "I'm good, right?"

"You're very good." The dry sound of skin on skin turns wet. It's hard to keep his breathing even. He's never gazed at him directly before during this. The look in his big baby blues is turning him on. "My best student... my favorite..."

"Please come, teacher. Please use my hands--"

His student's throaty voice urges him on into orgasm. He grabs Dimitri's elbow to steady himself through the pleasure rolling through his cock and lower belly. Everything in his head goes numb and he almost believes he imagines the soft 'I love you'. In the moment he feels the same.

Normally here is where his common sense would kick in, and the yes-no feeling would tilt completely to the other side. Maybe it's post-climax sentimentality, that almost whisper. What he feels now is tired... and nearly content.

After vision properly returns to his eyes, he sees Dimitri had the foresight to cup his glans. Semen plasters his hands like he'd tipped a glass of condensed milk on them instead. And his best, favorite student gives it only a moment's lookover before he starts sucking it up with an attitude of relish, like he was tucking into a favorite meal instead of his teacher's cockmilk.

The sight makes his cock jerk, with a sharp, painful burst of pleasure. "I don't deserve you at all, Dimitri."

Dimitri chuckles, muffled with fingers in his mouth up to the knuckle. They come out just as shiny-clean as Byleth had left his cock. "That's not true at all. Actually..."

Byleth carefully tucks himself back into his pants. He hasn't felt this sensitive in a long time. "Well, no way is it the other way around."

Dimitri says nothing to that, but has an expression of such naked adoration that it's plain to see he disagrees. His bottom lip is wet--with nothing more than saliva, but Byleth remembers what he wondered before. "I'll miss you until next time, teacher."

They kiss again, just touching lips, nothing gross if he doesn't want it.

But Dimitri has done so well surprising him this rendezvous that maybe he should do the same.

Maybe he does want it.

His tongue pushes in without resistance, though he feels a surprised sound vibrate into his mouth, and swirls everywhere it can. More of a thorough tasting than a deep kiss. It tastes like spit, yes, but with a bitterness underneath, and something almost like musk.

So this is a little of what his come tastes like. It's not bad but he's not inspired to gulp it down. Maybe the full thing is better.

Another peck on the lips seals the end. Dimitri wavers at the door, fighting habit before decorously bowing goodbye. Too cute.

The door clicks in closing--the last of the day.

He sighs, shoulders relaxing, and leans into his chair. It gets more enjoyable each time, and the feeling of unease he used to feel is nearly gone by now. Dealing with the upper-crust still wracks his nerves, given all the horror stories he's heard.

Dimitri first coming to him with his feelings had been a small nightmare; Byleth couldn't have known then what he was like, and the last thing he needed was to upset someone with so much higher a social caste than his. If he'd complained to someone after being rejected, or was upset by something during the affair, maybe made it sound like Byleth was being a creep, or worse... he doesn't know if they'd pop his head off for it (and the only reason he has any uncertainty is because of his father's importance) but it'd cause trouble.

Dimitri does seem to be a good-hearted young man, though, unlike a horror story... and, he's thinking more and more, quite sweet.

Chapter Text

Their romance thus far has all the makings of a romance novel--well, maybe more like young adult, as (basically) petting is the furthest they've gone. Heated kissing, rubbing and sucking, hands wandering into a muted climax behind locked doors. Even emotionally it has the makings of one; hormonal, desperate, maybe even star-crossed as he thinks when he is drunk with affection. Do novels like that depict teacher-student relationships? He's never read one, wouldn't be caught dead with one now, but it seems like a forbidden trope a romance would play with.

A book is just a fantasy, though. Something you put away when you're done. It isn't wrong because it's not real, and affects absolutely no one. Still, as wrong as what they're doing is, he's made no move to call things off. At this point he feels secure that Dimitri wouldn't retaliate if he did, so it isn't fear that stops him.

He likes him... and the bad thing they have together.

 

Somehow the note under the door to his personal room doesn't surprise him. The handwriting sends a tremor through his heart, but no, no surprise. If someone saw it... but it's carefully vague; 'Let's meet at twelve, teacher'. It could easily be taken as plans for a lunch meeting.

What else can he do but wait? Seek out Dimitri and warn him off whatever he has planned, probably. But stupid as he is, on top of being bad, he can't bring himself to.

Time passes from evening to midnight with anxiety underlined with expectation. All of their meetings have taken place in classrooms. Never a bedroom. He's afraid of what might happen. He's looking forward to what might happen.

He barely hears the knock at his door, five minutes after midnight. Not because he's not paying attention (he's hardly been paying attention to anything else) but because it's just so quiet.

He presses his forehead to the cool wood, as though by doing so he could obtain something from the other side. A confirmation, a feeling, some kind of balm for his uncertainty. "Dimitri?" he whispers.

"Teacher." Just as softly. The wood creaks minutely, almost more felt than heard, like he's pressing his hand against it. "It's just me."

Not too late to say goodnight. He ushers him inside instead.

As soon as the door is closed behind them, safely latched, he takes a moment to appreciate a sight he has never seen before of his student. The moonlight shines silver in his hair and as modest as it is, there's something about his robe and the peek of his nightgown beneath that stirs his blood. "You came here like that?"

Dimitri laughs and steps in close. An embrace follows naturally, pulling them closer and closer until their noses touch. "It's the middle of the night. What else? If anyone noticed me, I'd just say I needed some fresh air. Or--" he pulls away a little, looking at him with an odd kind of smile "are you jealous?"

"Of a robe?"

"That's what I'm asking."

Byleth hmms, avoiding the question. He feels something hard against his leg. Too hard. “Do you have something in your pocket? ...I mean, actually have?”

“Oh! Well, that’s...” Dimitri mumbles something to himself, and reaches his hand into one of his robe’s pockets. He doesn’t bring it right out, though; he seems to be fiddling with whatever it is. “It’s part of why I wanted to meet tonight. We’ve been together such a long time, teacher, but we still haven’t...”

Byleth swallows and tries not to sound overly aghast. “Did you bring lubricant into my room?”

“Coconut oil,” Dimitri says sheepishly. There’s something hilariously clinical about the rotund plastic bottle he brings out. “I’m sure the real thing is better, but I don’t want to buy something like that. Even if people just thought I was using it for myself.”

Byleth nods. His blood cautiously warms. Sex. He’s talking about sex. As in, a possibility that’s on the table, in the cards, that they could be doing tonight. The final step in the physical part of their relationship. “You really want to do this?”

Dimitri hugs him close and for a moment his lips graze against his neck. Too soft to feel the teeth beneath. “There is no one I trust more, teacher.”

“I... I trust you too, Dimitri.” To allow me inside your body, to allow you inside me. It’s really alright that we do this.

Before they had undressed with urgency, and only as far as necessary. The privacy of an actual room, and at this late hour, allows for more time, and Byleth performs his part with relish, regretting only that it is not his uniform he's stripping off him. It feels like foreplay instead of only a step to something else. The belt slinks to the floor like a plush snake and slowly--slowly--he pulls the robe back like a cocoon. He kisses his adam's apple, and the hollow of his neck that leads to the tenderest suggestions of his collarbone. Dimitri grabs his shoulder in return, fingers digging deep before scrambling closer up. Two of them hook on the neck of his nightshirt and fruitlessly tug on it.

Byleth lifts up his under robe with the slow, savoring attitude of one unwrapping a gift they know they’ll love, and nothing about Dimitri’s body finally bared to him in its entirety disappoints, either in sight or the way it feels against his own. Hard and muscled and lush. Dimitri pulls harder on his neckline, whispers an urging into his ear (I want to see you too, teacher) and his clothing gets shucked to the side while they make their way to the bed.

His student falls into it first, and what a beautiful sight it is, being so heavy-lidded and flushed in the one place above all else he shouldn’t be. The funny little bottle is still in his hand. He holds it out, an open invitation.

Byleth sits himself at his feet and unscrews the lid to a coconut smell that for a moment feels surreal. He supposes he’d feel the same way if it were olive oil, or anything else with a normal use. It looks solid but his finger easily scoops in, and the chunk he excavates melts easily on his skin. Alright. He doesn’t really know how this goes, but the warm-up comes before the real thing, right? Just like stretching before exercising.

His slicked-up finger slides easily down Dimitri’s perineum and the cleft of his buttocks. The dusky pink anus starts at his touch, as the rest of Dimitri’s body does at the contact, before relaxing just a little. Byleth does not really think of his even when in the bathroom, but he can see as he attempts to press in that is as much a muscle as any other part of his body. It’s rigid, but he feels the potential for loosening with massage. Like working out a muscle knot. Everything has to be careful to make it just right. Finally he does not so much push as he is sucked in—about halfway.

In addition, when Byleth has thought of the anus, it was as a single point of exit. The rubber band squeezing up to the first knuckle of his finger is that. He can feel a second though, just at his fingertip, not quite allowing him in. “Good so far?”

Dimitri makes some attempt at speech, then nods. A comforting reaction; and his cock is hard, flat against his belly, shining wet. Not even all the way in yet. Byleth wonders if it feels that good, or if most of the excitement is emotional.

He adds a little more oil with his free hand and works it in, fucking a little into the hole but mostly stretching it out from side to side. The little glimpses he sees of the insides look so pink and wet he can’t imagine how he’ll hold on. Getting a blowjob feels good enough. And to be actually inside him, connected in the most intimate way… his own emotional excitement has him sweating from the thought.

“You are so, so perfect,” he murmurs, pulling and stretching more and more, revealing more of the pink inside. His whole body is thrumming down from the top of his head to his fingers where they are connected, and Dimitri’s blood, he feels it thrumming too. Dimitri wriggles restlessly on the bed, back arching up to meet him, and surely he can feel it too, this energy going back and forth between them. His arm is over his face so that all Byleth sees is his pearly whites when he pleads teacher please.

He can’t deny him anything.

One hand keeps stretching, the other again dips into the bottle for a large helping of oil. He barely notices the tropical smell as he works it into an even moisture all through his cock, nor does the stimulation of his hand or the wetness set him off. Only one thing is good enough to receive him right now.

With both hands then he reaches under Dimitri’s butt and pulls him up by the hips until his ass is resting against his thighs. Should be good enough a way to take him while providing some support for his lower back; but also he likes the sight of his cock and balls so close, pulled toward his navel by gravity. The head bobs with each shaky breath, leaving dabs of cream on his bellybutton.

Eagerness demands he dive right in but he tempers it—barely--despite the churning in his guts. It feels even better than he ever imagined and Dimitri’s low, steady moan as he penetrates him deeper adds both to his confidence and pleasure. He’s taking his student's first time on his teacher’s bed and making him feel good. The thought makes him feel guilty in the most perverse way.

Their pace is awkward and hasty, and Byleth slips out once (though Dimitri’s frustrated exclamation makes it worth it, because it shows again what he is feeling), but the thrumming running between them grows until it feels like a vibration over his skin. If he looked, he’d see the hair on his arms standing on end. Coming feels like being jolted right out of his body. His entire head goes numb and they cling close, desperately close, and oops he should have asked if inside was okay but the body beneath him gasps and whimpers as he fills him up until their bellies are awash in milk.

“Sorry, I came in you,” he says then cringes a little. Not very romantic after both of them losing their virginity.

Their foreheads press, one sweaty brow to another, and Dimitri shakes his head, almost nuzzling him. “I liked it. It felt so... virile. Manly. Like being claimed.” His voice is adorable, all tired and fuzzy.

If he really enjoyed then he supposes there’s no problem, but he still feels bad for the mess. He’s not sure if it’ll drip out or stay in until the next time to use the bathroom. If it’s the former, hopefully he’ll be on his feet enough for it to take its course before morning...

“Stop staring at me while you’re thinking about something else,” Dimitri scolds, pulling him over onto his side. Byleth does not tell him he was in a way thinking of him, as it isn’t very romantic either. “When you take someone’s virginity, you should at least cuddle with them before they have to go.”

“You took my first, too.”

“Does that mean we exchanged?” Dimitri says pleasantly. He slides out of Byleth’s arms which worries him that he has really hurt his feelings until he sees he’s only going around to be the big spoon. His chest presses against his back and Byleth automatically curves his spine out enough to fit into his abdomen. “I’m happy to hold onto yours, if you hold onto mine,” he whispers into his ear. His mouth trails down the crook of his neck to the top of his shoulder, so careful, barely kisses at all. "Then we'll always be bound together."

Byleth sleepily agrees. He should send him back to his room but they are so cozy together it's hard to tear himself away. An affectionate feeling is nearly suffocating his chest, and each touch makes it spark. How much time passes? It seems that he drowses off a while, sinking into the undercurrent of their body heat and the quiet excitement of his quivering nerves with each caress.

Something strains against the back of his leg. Not surprising. He thinks he's perking up a little too. It seems natural in this miasma. And fair. When Dimitri whispers in his ear again, this time a shy, "Teacher… may I…?" he nods his assent.

Dimitri penetrates him with his fingers almost immediately, due probably to his extreme state of relaxation. It burns pleasantly, and increases when a hand comes around his waist to pull on his cock. "Am I doing it right, teacher? Does it feel good?"

"Yesss…" His hips slowly sway back and forth from one sensation to the other. It's another linking, this time straight through his pelvis. The sound of his already wet cock being jerked off reverberates through his eardrums. It's so loud. "My good boy, Dimitri…"

"Say it again." He pushes slightly on his upper leg, and Byleth takes the hint, laying it over on the mattress and shifting the available angle of his butt. "Please, again."

"My good, good boy, my favorite…" He pauses a moment to catch his breath as Dimitri pushes into him and he's so cute he actually groans as he does it. One of his legs fits inbetween his as the space between them closes, allowing his body weight to shift over until his lower body almost covers his. "My… my Dimitri…"

His head already feels hot, blank-white. Dimitri almost whimpers something into his shoulder and his fingers are pressed hard now into his upper thigh for purchase but the pace he's setting is so steady and implacable he might actually lose his mind before he comes. It's not enough. It lasts forever. The bed creaking sounds like a metronome. And yet, even while being fucked like this feels like torture, he loves it. He loves the sweat dousing his body, the frustrated tears in his eyes, the drool that escapes his clenched teeth and stains his pillow. He loves that it isn't just him. Dimitri sounds like he's sobbing for breath.

He's almost ready to scream before Dimitri finally pins himself against him and fills him with come and finally he, too, follows, because Dimitri was right. It does feel like being claimed. It is perhaps the most masculine, essentially male thing he has ever experienced.

He is so out of his head he doesn't hear him murmuring both apologies and declarations of love, only vaguely feels the long, tight embrace, and the line of kisses down his spine.

Afterwards when they have both regained and tidied themselves up a little, Dimitri reluctantly fits his robe back on. His offers to stay longer are tempting but it is nearly four in the morning, and Byleth refuses to be the cause (anymore than he already is) of him doing poorly throughout the day. At least a life of trekking and keeping watch have prepared him for managing on a few hours of sleep.

 

Later in the day, he can't help but smile to see him yawning and rubbing at his face in class, for once the main focus of his circle's teasing. Dimitri might grow bored with their relationship, or dismiss it to pursue a proper wife to make an heir with, as easily as one discards a book they've read and tired of. But until then, he's quite happy with what they have… bad or not.

Chapter Text

The school year will end soon. He's still not sure what will happen then, if they'll keep meeting or not. It seems unsustainable that they do. Still, the thought makes him sad. They've had few nights together since their first.

This will probably be the last one, in fact.

"I feel like you've been ignoring me lately," Dimitri does not quite pout, as he helps him undress. There's obvious relish in the way he looks at him, though, so Byleth isn't too worried.

"I almost have to in order to pay attention to anyone else," Byleth does not quite joke. It's painfully true. Any time they are in a room together his thoughts turn to him, as his eyes turn, every time he allows his guard to drop even the littlest. He worries about seeming obvious. He hears Dimitri's classmates tease him sometimes as a teacher's pet, but he thinks it has more to do with Dimitri's personality than any perceived favoritism.

"Am I that much on your mind? I'm honored." He says it with the points of his teeth delicately balanced on his skin. For a moment Byleth imagines him biting down and mounting him, as cats do.

He shivers, and the teeth exchange for a line of kisses, hard and leading up the trapezius to his jaw. "Are you cold, teacher? Let's warm up."

The cool sheets against his back are a pleasant counter to the warmth coming off Dimitri's skin; even the way he's staring at him feels like something tangible, that burns his nerves wherever his attention on his body wanders.

It is only a little past midnight, and Dimitri always stays later than he should to make the most of their time together. Touch comes slow to start. He grips Dimitri's wrists and pulls down his forearms, enjoying the way his fingers come apart over the widening muscle. Dimitri presses his forehead to his while massaging his scalp. Their bodies slowly rock against each other as sweat gathers, belly over belly, chest on chest, legs lazily twining and pushing.

Body heat has a smell, he's learned, and the room is full of it. It's different from the smell of exertion, sweat or odor. It lays thick in his nose. It is nothing like cinnamon, but it's also the only other smell he knows to compare it to. Hot.

His eyes are stinging. "Is this goodbye?"

Dimitri pauses, with his face in the crook of his neck, where he can't see his expression. "No."

"We can't marry."

His thumb nestles in the soft shallow spot between shoulder and pectoral, and soothingly strokes. "I don't need to get married immediately."

"I can't give you an heir."

"Would you? If you could?"

Byleth's breath catches. As physically impossible as it is, the idea of being impregnated by Dimitri and bearing his child, making something taken from the both of them, and being, what? His mistress? He's not sure if there's a meaningful future for him there, but if he could, even once, just for a keepsake--

Dimitri pushes slowly into him. It hurts a little but his body feels like it's opening up for him. His fingers grip into his shoulder, as though he could pull them together any closer. It feels even bigger than before without proper lubrication. It's searing his insides. "Dimitri, I wish..."

"Tell me."

They stop for a second, all the way connected now. He finds himself almost quailing, pinned by such weight. It's never felt so rigid before, so clearly delineated, as if his insides could make out every wrinkle. "I wish I could."

Dimitri meets his eyes. Byleth is both alarmed and touched by the sparkling wetness in his. It makes them crystalline. "Then for tonight, please have my baby, Byleth."

The eye-contact remains unbroken as he fucks steadily into him, and the nerve-tingling heat he felt before is burning his chest. They're so close. No awkwardness, just an absurd sense of intimacy that grows the more he believes. They're making love to make a baby. Dimitri's hard cock is going to fill him up with a virile load of come, he's going to breed him, knock his teacher up--

Is this what he's heard other men dismiss, when they mock the idea of sex for procreation? He feels like he's about to lose his mind.

Just one thing. One thing more to tilt him over.

His hands slide up until he cradles the back of Dimitri's head. "A lion should mate like one."

A smile twitches at the corner of Dimitri's lips, but he dips back in, sucking recklessly at his willingly exposed throat (o please let his collar cover it) before the teeth come out. Pressure comes down around his windpipe, cutting his breath off just enough to be noticeable. His life in the lion's maw. He says Dimitri's name, just to hear the choked quality of it. It sounds rough. Sexy. And the strain it puts on him to speak makes his lungs heave.

He stares up at the ceiling as they try to conceive, and can't shut up for the life of him. He likes the sound of his voice and what they're attempting too much. Fuck your baby into me, give me a royal bastard, your dirty little secret.

As he speaks, can Dimitri feel the vibration of his throat in his teeth? In his mouth? Because as Dimitri groans and mumbles in return, he can feel his voice resonate through his throat.

His teeth click shut as he comes and tries not to scream. He feels brrr-y from jaw to collarbone with suppressed noise. Lungs ache, vision dims. The pressure on his throat increases only a little, but just enough for such a delicate place. The dry precise heat inside him fills over with seed. It feels like so much, getting him all wet and soppy inside, so deep inside, right where it needs to be, and he just, oh Dimitri's baby, please, he just--

--he feels a sharp spike of apprehension as the pleasure inside him builds again, but it is quickly lost in the hurricane of another orgasm. It rips right through his insides up through his cock and he accidentally smacks Dimitri upside the head in his haste to cover his mouth. He's still more loud than he'd like, helplessly loud, but that adds to the pleasure too. His entire body clenches in waves, milking, he realizes, pulling in all that semen where it'll be productive. For the moment, his body belongs more to Dimitri than to himself. It feels natural that he'd lose control of it.

He cries a little once it is past. The double-orgasm has left him feeling vulnerable and raw, and the fantasy fades away with the warmth inside him. Dimitri kisses his throat all over with a trembling tenderness, and it is maybe not all saliva he feels.

They stay as they are for what feels like hours after, drowsing on and off. Dimitri's weight feels like a comforting quilt. Between the sweat and semen they should make some attempt to clean, but it would mean the first step to leaving. He has a feeling neither of them is getting more than an hours sleep.

"It doesn't matter if you can't bear my heir," Dimitri says finally. "And if I married someone else, it wouldn't be out of love. So you see, we can stay together."

Byleth hums non-committedly, envisioning that future again with sadness, fingers stroking the downy hair on Dimitri's nape. This has to be the last night. Whether he'll accept it or not.

Chapter Text

It'd been so long since he last saw him, so long, and yet, just a moment. His cub had grown into such a fierce-looking lion that his mind refused to allow him to recognize him.

"Dimitri?" he breathed.

The lion's head bowed a fraction of an inch, almost more a show of mockery than respect. His single eye burned into his. "It's been a long time, teacher."

There's a challenge in his tone Byleth didn't respond to. He only needed to look at him to see how he's been taking the years since. It made his heart ache. Without this coldness now between them he would have thought nothing of stroking him, as if he could undo all the changes in his face with his hands. The deeper hollows in his cheekbones, the shadow beneath his good eye, and carefully--carefully--the patch over the other one, maybe beneath even, to see the damage done. And a haircut. His lion's mane has grown unkempt.

But it has been five years, there is this coldness, and Byleth does not dare. Days pass slowly as they treat each other like strangers. No, worse than that. Being distant is one thing. The way he keeps looking away from him is another. Anger, maybe. He supposes he wouldn't blame him for that… but it's hard to take from who was once his precious student.

Days. Days. Is he meant still to give him orders on the field with this stifling atmosphere? The others give him pitying looks, but they too have been shut out and have no place to intervene. Everything feels so… heavy.

It's been a few weeks. A hard rain has come on in the evening, and he remembers only just now that he'd put up laundry to dry.

It's been about half an hour since the rains started so a small part of him grumbles that it's soaked anyway, so no point going out and getting himself all wet. But even as adults, his students are his students, and he must set a good example.

He leaves his room and immediately comes up short.

Their prince stands before them, dry under the awning, clutching a familiar bundle of clothes under his arm. Also dry. Has he been standing here, staring at his door all this time? Byleth decides it's better not to mention it.

"That's mine, isn't it?" he ventures and smiles, emboldened by the certainty that beneath all that's happened, all is not lost. "Thank you for bringing it."

"It was on my way," Dimitri replies, sounding unfocused and barely audible over the backdrop of rain. His eye quickly scans over his face. Byleth wonders if he still finds him attractive. "That's all."

Neither of them move to do anything. They haven't been physically close, even incidentally, since they met again. "How did you know they were mine, anyway?"

Dimitri's head tilts slightly to the side. Considering. "Your underwear."

"Oh." Before he can think of some other pleasantry, Dimitri shoulders past him into his room. The check leaves his entire arm warm and tingling, his face heating--he's really gotten pathetic. He turns around and closes the door. A sudden wave of nostalgia flows over him for the times they had gotten together just like this.

Dimitri drops his clothes onto his desk and gazes around the room like he'd never been in it before. It has gone relatively unscathed in the past five years; dust settled over everything had been the biggest threat. Byleth wishes he could see it as Dimitri does, with all the long years inbetween. He doesn't believe he had ever come here on his own (the dust was thick, yes, and also undisturbed, like a grim gray blanketing of snow).

"Five years," Dimitri breathes, and though his face is turned away, Byleth can picture his face as he says it, mouth pulled back in a gesture of snarling, teeth showing. "If only you hadn't left me, I could have handled everything else."

"It wasn't my choice, Dimitri."

"Of course not," he says, voice full of venom and bitter. "Just like all the others."

"I'm with you now." Byleth steps closer, just in arm's length. The urge to touch him is overpowering. It seems wrong for them to be here and be so distant, and when even the scent of him, grittier and muskier than the old days, is calling for him to touch. "I'm with you."

It's just as bad an idea as the whole thing had been then, of course. But to his mind, all of his habits and feelings are still fresh, new; there had been no chance for him to wean himself off them.

Dimitri turns to face him and finally there is something beyond hate on his expression, though this barely-concealed desperation can't be any better. "Perhaps better late than never--do you swear it to me? Your fealty, and everything else worth swearing?" His hands grip Byleth's shoulders, so tightly it feels like his thumbs will leave bruises.

But he is so close, so beautiful even broken, that Byleth would swear his soul over in service to him.

And if they repeated an old mistake... for now, it would be in service to him as well. To give him the love he must be desperately craving, to give him confidence, to help build him back up, not out of any personal feeling of affection.

Dimitri's mouth crashes down on his. He remains afloat, almost passive, in acceptance. This is an outpouring of hurt bruising his lips, something wild and lonely. Their teeth jar together, a tooth stings his bottom gums, coloring red softly into the--kiss is too soft a word. It's a devouring.

He's eating me up, Byleth thinks, almost awed. It is a sensation of being subsumed. His mind grows fuzzy with it. He could become a doll, something existing for a time to be acted and raged upon, something that will accept everything. Would that be best? Would it?

"What do you want?" he asks, mouth singing inside and out with blood, and wishes he didn't have to. He wishes he could pluck all his wants and needs from his head, so he could make sure to fulfill even the ones too scary to voice aloud.

"I want these off," Dimitri growls, yanking at his clothing in a far less charming way than his younger self had.

Byleth obliges, pulling off whatever from wherever he feels the pressure of his hands. Coat, the top layers of his armor, with no time to grab at Dimitri in return, as much as he'd like to. Maybe he feels safer with this disparity. Everything falls to the floor inbetween steps back to somewhere in the vicinity of the bed. The edge bumping into the back of his knee takes him by surprise, but it is by conscious choice he falls.

Dimitri does not immediately follow him down. He eyes him up thoroughly over his undergarments, swollen mouth slightly parting; an admiring, hungry look. "You really haven't changed at all."

"Does that make you feel better?"

"Somewhat." Now he follows, knees pinning down on both sides of Byleth's hips. He leans his body weight forward onto his fists until they are eye to eye, and his cloak has covered them both. The space between them fills with a myriad of almost-rotted woody smells. "I could imagine myself in school again. But it reminds me of too much."

Byleth puts on an affected sulk. "When you look at me, you don't need to think of anything except me." He slowly reaches up with his right hand, and finally, finally, buries his fingers into his hair. It feels more alive than he'd guessed.

Dimitri smiles, to his relief, and presses his head into his palm. Tired, and lopsided, but a smile nonetheless. "You wanted to refuse me giving you that priviledge, as I recall."

"I think," Byleth says quietly, "getting married is the least of your concerns right now.

"That doesn't mean I want a fling, or some sort of half-assed comfort." He reaches down somewhere between his legs and fumbles with something before Byleth realizes he's trying to take his pants off one-handed. "Give me everything, not just your body. I want your future. I want your love. I want your life."

"I--" The future he had tried so hard to avoid last time. All the things he hadn't wanted to give away. The secret he'd have to keep. But maybe, maybe, at this rate it would be worth it. To save Dimitri, and be with him, to support him through now and the future. "I still can't be your wife, but I--I want--"

"The Kingdom needs a wife. Not me." The warm weight of his naked thighs settles on Byleth's. His ass sits tantalizingly close to his erection (and of course he's erect, how could he not be), and the heat is enough to distract him a little from how much harder his legs feel. "All I need now is you."

Byleth has wondered how the long years of cruel battle and meager diet have served his body. It feels like the soft swells of muscle have turned into crags. His chest nearly bursts with suffocating pity and love. "If you'll really have your old teacher, no matter what... then you can take and have every part of me."

A look of indescribable emotion passes over Dimitri's face, one that so closely skirts the edge of what Byleth recognizes as insanity he worries for a millisecond that happiness was enough to throw him off the edge for once and all. It leaves his eye burning like dry ice. "We've always found a way, haven't we? I promise everything will work out. I'll make it work out."

Maybe this is fate, in the end. To still manage to meet after everything that's happened, maybe he is meant to be always by his side. He's no fool, if so. He won't fight anymore. He hardly wants to.

The old gestures don't feel the same, in part because the gestures no longer are the same. Dimitri gazes at him with a deference disconnected from his roaming hands. They pinch and stroke his chest and ass, scratch down his sides, then cup his cock so close to his body it aches before yanking down his smallclothes. Each rough touch fills him with a languid sense of helplessness. It's all he can do to keep stroking Dimitri's hair back out of his face. The Dimitri he had once known only manhandled him slightly or apologetically. Is this difference also a result of the years? Or...

"Have you always wanted to be this mean to me?" Byleth murmurs, sucking in a small breath when his nipple suddenly stings. His lion needs a nailtrim on top of the haircut.

"Scared of scaring you off." His knees spread apart, sliding over the sheets, until his gloriously round, firm ass settles onto his cock, doing nothing more than rocking into it. Byleth's entire face heats up but he tries not to react. Dimitri's expression has not at all changed to reflect the fact that he's grinding on his teacher's dick, so he'd rather not be the odd one out. "But I thought of it. Holding you down and... making you mine in every way I could."

Dimitri dips his head into the crook of his neck. His kiss softly presses beneath his jaw before growing hard with teeth and suction in the same instant his fingers in one fluid movement thread through his hair and grab close to the scalp, pulling his head to the side. Byleth presses his lips tightly together to avoid noise--more out of habit than because it really matters, he supposes. His skin throbs. It burns. Blood pulses beneath his cheeks, beneath Dimitri's knuckles, in little spots along his neck that will be dismayingly obvious later, between his legs. But he feels no need to resist or even wriggle to get more comfortable. His limbs are like lead.

Dimitri growls something, teeth scraping the bottom of his cheek. It sounds like 'mine'. His hips rock into him harder and harder and Byleth wonders with pleasant indifference if he means for him to come like this (his dry skin chafes but will that stop him? probably not) and then he's rocking onto him. Byleth jerks away from the grip in his hair. Tears bead in the corner of his eyes. It's tight, so hot, almost painful and it must be worse for Dimitri.

It doesn't stop. He keeps fucking himself back onto him, until he has a quarter of him, then maybe half. Panting fills the room. Byleth feels it against his neck, but some of it sounds like his own.

Finally, all in. No pause for celebration. If anything it stirs on Dimitri fucking him even more. This too, finally. He keeps stroking his hair, mumbling sweet nonsense words between thrusts, allowing the ravagement of his body, accepting everything. Harder, harder, until the mattress springs back against each depression, until his scalp and pelvis feel bruised, until the sound of Dimitri's breath takes on a wet, wavering quality, and finally it's all out, everything is out.

He's crying, fiercely sad and fiercely angry, none of it should ever have happened, I love you, I missed you

(yes)

no one should have died

(yes)

alone so long, hurt, miserable

(yes)

there will be vengeance

(yes)

you'll always be mine

(yes)

He goes stock still when he comes, just sniffling now. The rhythmic tightening of his ass feels better than the actual sex had. It's humid almost, beneath his cloak with their sweat and exertion. Between that and the pain everywhere, Byleth feels vaguely nauseated.

Still, he is happy. So happy. He feels like he's taken a step in the right direction. Everything will work out. He can make Dimitri happy.

So Byleth quietly soothes, affirming everything he wants to hear, stroking his trembling muscles until they relax and he feels his breath deepen and even out. His good, good boy. The hold on his hair softens until the fingers turn to soothing him instead, rubbing the sore spot in his roots they made.

"Sorry," Dimitri says, sounding too tired and sleepy to be properly contrite. "I hurt you. Pulled too hard."

"It's fine."

"Should have gotten something for lube. Only takes a second."

"I didn't mind."

"I marked you."

"I liked it."

Dimitri goes quiet. It feels like a wary silence, an animal about to flee. Like he's expecting to be scolded. Then, "let me make it up to you."

He removes himself from him, face carefully impassive. Byleth can't suppress a twinge himself, and hopes being made up to doesn't involve his cock. The spirit is willing but the flesh feels tender and sore.

Fortunately Dimitri seems to agree. He sits up and starts removing his armor, dropping piece by piece to thud by the side of the bed. It's a very perfunctory way he does it, practiced, sexy because it looks so unconscious of being looked at. Stripping for the utilitarian purpose of stripping. Not even his body's discernable lack of body fat takes away from it.

He cozies up next to him after, eye soft and still slightly moist. "I'll kill anyone to keep you with me."

Byleth nods his head in either thanks or acknowledgement. The statement does something to his heart he doesn't want to think about. It makes it skip.

His legs open naturally as Dimitri reaches between them. His fingers somehow feel larger than they used to, which he hadn't expected, maybe from being dry. Coarser, of course, but they are just as gentle in pressing against his anus, and his body quickly responds as easily as it used to. Finally he can't help a mewl as one, two, three push slowly in and out of him, and Dimitri looks so smug about it he kisses him as hard as he can.

His fingers feel so big, that after these months of separation, it's close to getting fucked. Their mouths and lips press and twine, getting all spit-sloppy, and Dimitri's fingers angle up sharply, finger-banging his ass right where he needs it most. It's shaking his insides loose. He mewls, moans, accidentally bites down on Dimitri's tongue when it gets so good his voice starts to alarm him.

Dimitri's forehead bumps hard into his. His tongue twitches in his mouth but he does nothing to retrieve it. His eye half-closes like a contented cat and his fingers work harder, pounding into him now and sounding as lewd as their kissing had.

The pleasure becomes like a great pressure overcoming his body. Byleth's back arches and he screams in what is probably the loudest noise he has ever made in his entire life. Blood fills his mouth.

He yanks himself off before he makes the poor thing mute on top of everything else, and falls back gasping onto his pillow. Saliva and iron bubble together in his mouth and drip down the corners. What a mess. It doesn't really bother him--too tired, and a few idle movements are still sending aftershocks up his spine--but Dimitri leans over him and manages to lick him clean after painting him in more of his blood.

"Even?" he whispers, red, glossy lips moving mesmerizingly for just those two syllables.

"Even," Byleth agrees weakly.

Chapter Text

It does little to help Dimitri, in the long run that he can see, nor even the short run. With the promise made, perhaps with the idea of having something to protect in mind, he has become even more the Boar Prince. He runs through his enemies on the field with a joyful ferocity that inspires awe down to Byleth's very marrow. It should sadden him to see his sweet student fighting like a bloodthirsty animal. Somewhere in his mind, he knows that.

But when the opposition has been route down to the last man and Dimitri kisses his knuckles, staining him with another man's blood, his insides grow heavy with something that is not fear or sorrow.

"There's still the child problem," Byleth says, with his prince between his knees. One good thing that came of all this--Dimitri has been taking better care of himself. At least, he lets Byleth take care of him, as he is now, combing out his drying hair.

"Don't worry about it, teacher. I'll take care of things. Once the war is over..." He sighs and sets his warm, wet cheek into the inside of his leg. "I hope you'll tell me how proud you are."

"I'm always proud of you, Dimitri."

 

Eventually the war reaches its end, and with it, many of their comrades part for their own goals. The days pass with a hopeful weariness as the necessary takes place. A coronation ceremony is held for Dimitri, and he keeps close by his side through hours upon hours of audiences, weeks of travel to do the same in other places. The crown seems to sit uneasily on his head; his feral heart has not left him, so even when he does and says all the right things, there is a feeling of something half-transformed about him, a wolf behind his eyes.

A few months later, he publicly announces his betrothal to Ingrid.

"So I am meant to be your mistress," Byleth half-teases, half-jealous. He knows why it's happening; whatever else, no one is going to accept a legitimate child from two men. And the people need something light-hearted to distract themselves with, a simple royal wedding, nothing that might upset or confuse. And Ingrid is one of their own kin, from a noble house. "You didn't bully her into this, right?"

"She's a grown woman," Dimitri replies simply. The moment they cross the barrier into their room, all pretenses drop. His arms are around him, his lips mouthing words into his hair. It's nostalgic of their academy days. "It'll be good for her house." He takes both his hands and leads him backwards into his bedroom.

 

He has to admit that she looks prettier than he would in a wedding gown. Happy, too, if you don't know her as well as he does. Is the welfare of her family really enough, he wonders. Or is this something she can also call one of her knightly duties? Dimitri stopped hiding much of anything among their group while the war was going on, so probably she knows full well why this is being asked of her.

When the festivities commence, he waits in his king's sitting room. Not jealous anymore. If she had looked genuinely happy, he would have been, awful as that sounds. But it was still hard to see them kiss.

He does not expect who Dimitri brings to his (their) room after the hustle has died down; well, Ingrid of course, for appearances, still in her gown, but followed behind by Seteth and Flayn. He's not sure what kind of expression he makes but Flayn comes around the table to give him a hug that feels like being latched-onto by a bubbly cloud.

"I did some asking around," Dimitri says by way of explanation, "with our magic-users. There's a way--"

"We can get you pregnant!" Flayn chirps. Byleth must make quite the expression now because he can feel it, actually, and Seteth 'ahems'.

"What she means is that we can open that possibility to you."

"If that's what you truly want," Ingrid says, gathering up her train to sit opposite him. She leans forward, frowning slightly. "It sounds a little risky. Honestly, I think you'd be better as you are. Why not adopt? So many children have been orphaned by the war."

"You are well-known for your love of your students," Seteth adds. "It would not seem peculiar for you to take in children."

There's a pause for breath and everyone's eyes are on him. "This is a bit sudden..."

Dimitri walks around the couch to him, looking regal and kingly in the attire he should have worn with him at the altar, but there is still the lion in the way he creeps his arms around his neck, barring even Flayn from being very close, leaning down until his nose is in his hair. "Teacher and I have always wanted our own children."

"Be that as it may, teacher isn't a woman," Ingrid says, some of the motherly scold entering her voice now. "Even if he gets pregnant the child can only be removed by cutting his stomach open. It's not normal childbirth."

"I trust Manuela for this, and whoever she might want to bring in for it. We're already entrusting her with your 'examinations' so we can pass his as yours."

She sighs. "It's still teacher's choice."

"Teacher wants--"

"It's fine," Byleth cuts in, raising his head. Dimitri's arms have tightened around his throat. This is part of all that he's agreed to, for Dimitri's sake. To stay by his side, even as a courtesan of sorts, and that old dream... that it could really happen, that he might have Dimitri's children, scares him. But in the fear is a cautious anticipation. "This is what I want, too."

They hole up together in Dimitri's bedroom; the two of them, Flayn, and Seteth. Ingrid stays in the sitting room, where she will likely change for a more comfortable set of clothes.

"This is a very old magic," Flayn says. "I'm afraid I have no practice with it myself. But I have known it to be done." She giggles. "Father is here because, you see..."

"It requires some marking of the bare abdomen to turn it into a vessel," Seteth says dryly, taking out a jar of some red gloop from his clothes. "It would of course be inappropriate for her to perform, so I shall, by her direction." He nods at the jar. "Don't ask, by the way."

Dimitri strips him of his shirt personally in brisk, businesslike movements that for the moment betray no affection, and lays out a fur on the floor for him to spread out on. Even with a fire going the air seeping in through the stone chills his skin. With a woman in the room he feels more awkward about his nipples hardening than if it had just been them and Seteth, which is, at all.

Something too solemn to be called a bustle goes on around him, though they seem pretty busy. Candles are lit and carefully placed around the furs with smoking bundles of herbs, filling the air with a strange smokey scent. They are the only source of light after the fire is extinguished, little flickers casting strange shadows, with no warmth of their own to give. He tries to shiver as little as possible lest something twitch out of place.

Seteth steps into the circle with him and gingerly straddles his thighs, weight more on his boots and knees than Byleth's body. The jar clinks as it opens.

The first touch of the goop redoubles his need to shiver: it feels not only physically cold, but psychically in some way, as the Relics do when he contemplates them too long. That connection, however tenuous, makes it repugnant to have on his skin. He has to still his mind to keep his discomfort from showing.

Seteth continues marking him in near silence. The only other sound he hears other than the faint wavering of the candles is Flayn’s whispering. Both indistinct, almost inaudible. He does not look at the pattern being made on his belly, nor at Dimitri, who is staring coldly where another man’s hands are touching his skin, however disinterestedly. Just the ceiling. He’d close his eyes but the instant he does there is something—he hears something beneath the almost non-sounds. Just his mind reacting to the atmosphere, he tells himself.

What is he being marked with?

Seteth’s ‘that should do it’, even in the solemn murmur it’s voiced as, almost surprises him into a jerk. The relatively lively mood from earlier does not return: maybe this has gotten to them as well, or it’s just awkward knowing he and Dimitri are going to have sex as soon as they leave. Flayn gives him an encouraging smile. That’s all the recognition they give him.

Dimitri breathes softly into the silence. “Are you looking forward to it? I am. Whatever other people think, you and I will know the truth.”

Without waiting for an answer, he hears him strips, first the thwump of the heavy cloak gathering on the floor, then all the rest one by one before stepping into the circle with him. Dimitri has never quite lost the ranginess to his form, though he’s more filled out than he was with someone to make sure he eats regularly.

The heat from his body almost melts into his. Just the touch of his arms on his knees as he helps to undress him feels like it’s warming the skin back to life. “You’re still getting used to Faerghus, aren’t you? You don’t need me to warm you like you used to.”

“It’s amazing how hot you can stay,” Byleth murmurs, smiling a little, and with it, relaxing. Being nude in this cold used to bring another kind of self-consciousness, but the only time he acted shy about it Dimitri promised to make him as warm as he’d ever need, and anyway, he’d love teacher no matter what size his sex was.

“You’ll be warmer with my baby inside you, too,” Dimitri says, stroking the inside of his thighs. His good eye is half-lidded, and all that’s visible shines orange and yellow-white from the multitude of lights. But he can still feel where his gaze wanders over his skin.

His first touch between his buttcheeks nearly burns. “Do you even require lubrication anymore, my love? You’ve become well-used to me, I believe.”

Byleth nods, restraining the urge to bump his hips up into him. They’ve bedded very often since their reunification, and with the general experience and ease in the act both have gained, he sometimes can take him comfortably dry.

He forces his breathing slow and steady as Dimitri presses into him. His knees go higher the closer they get until his legs slide into place over his shoulders. It’s still difficult to believe what might actually happen. How will they know if it works? Is it guaranteed, or more along the lines of realistic attempting?

Doing this more than once... sounds iffy. For the arrangements, at least. This part has always been fine, and knowing there’s a chance of something else adds a layer to his perception. Not just pretend, but actually—actually attempting to mate.

“Are you nervous, teacher? Sorry. I should call you ‘Byleth’ by now, shouldn’t I?”

All in, and so full he expects his belly to bulge with it. “I don’t mind. And just a bit.” Going past all the maybes, he fondly remembers his own father, and the role he still has to some extent with his former students. To have a relationship like that with his own flesh and blood is exciting. “Are you?”

“No,” Dimitri says softly, though something wavers across his face, “this is what was always meant to be.”

That’s not much for an answer, but the time to question it (as little of it as he had) is over and gone.

Atmosphere aside, it’s almost as it is when they typically are in a ‘making love’ mood. They move slowly, mutually against each other, hands wandering and grasping along each other’s bodies: a quick tug of hair, his fingers sliding down Dimitri’s nape and spine, Dimitri palming around his thighs and knees.

“I want to see you fat with my young,” Dimitri breathes against his lips. “over and over again.” His face is so close his gaze is boring into him.

“You need to fill me up first.”

His teeth close over his windpipe as they had all those years ago, just firmly enough that the air whistles from his throat, and inside Byleth feels a charmingly sudden explosion of wet, like thunderheads breaking out over a desert. Just, in his ass. Each conceivable drop of it sends its own wave of anxious pleasure through him with the knowledge that maybe—maybe.

Dimitri tugs lightly on his cock. “Can you get come on your belly, do you suppose?”

Byleth dubiously eyes the wet head of his dick. A few drops of pre-come have already made their way to his navel, but he understands the worry that something heavier might disrupt the pattern. “I’m not sure...”

“Then I’ll make it up to you another time,” Dimitri says, and settles back onto his legs while keeping them connected. “For now, I want to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be.”

Minutes pass, then maybe hours, and Byleth begins again to drowse. His continual penetration is not painful, as it is more often soft than hard, though he worries about Dimitri’s legs falling asleep. It doesn’t seem to bother him. The whole time he gently strokes his hips and murmurs words too low for hearing, as though he is speaking more to the child they might make than Byleth himself.

In the months that pass they repeat the procedure only once just in case, and soon his belly rounds out. Making himself scarce from all but five people is lonely but their affectionate attentions is fine enough food for a time period that won’t even last a year.

The end of it is marked by an intense abdominal pain that feels like the baby in his belly is trying to drop through his pelvis. As far as he knows the whole procedure goes off without a hitch: he is put to sleep, and woken up some hours later with nothing out of place. He is mildly curious about whatever substitute for a womb his body might have grown, and how difficult the surgery was, but Manuela mentions neither, perhaps assuming he’d rather not know, or because it was very difficult or close, and she’d rather he not.

What it amounts to is the same in the end. Dimitri comes to him with the babe in his arms, once he’s deemed awake and fit for visitors.

“Boy or girl?” he asks first, mostly to head off any concerns about his health.

“Boy.” Dimitri slowly hands the baby, swaddled in many layers of blanket, over as if afraid it will drop and shatter like glass on the bed. “I can’t tell who he looks like... he just looks like a baby.”

“Well, he was just born.” The boy’s (Egitte, they agreed in earlier, in this case) coloring is still hectic and the skin all wrinkled. The few strands of hair glint blonde, which is a small relief. That makes him easier to pass off as Ingrid’s—but he supposes they won’t know the eye color for a while yet. They squeeze open at him, but all he sees is a dark blue. “I suppose it takes a few days for them to not look like sausages.”

He feels Dimitri’s cheek press against the side of his temple. “How many years until we try for a Brandl?”

“Dimitri!”

Three, as it turns out, with undoubtedly more to come. There are no great problems in their life together. The sense of unease, of occasionally feeling stifled, mean nothing in the scheme of things. He continues watching his children grow mostly from the sidelines as King Dimitri and Queen Ingrid’s revered teacher so he has some hope of training them personally very soon. It’s probably the most acknowledgement he’ll get from for at least another decade.

But sometimes he wonders if they see what he does, what he wonders if others have noticed: their eyes too light to be Ingrid’s green, and the particular shape of their nose, neither as handsome as their father’s or as delicate as their mother’s.