[As far as mornings go, this one could certainly be better.
First of all, there is something distinctly uncomfortable about waking up hot, so hot, practically burning alive, when Felix is normally as cold-blooded as they come? And he's so sensitive! Goddess above, but he's aware of every nerve ending in his body as he blinks away the vestiges of sleep; even the sheets tangled about his legs soon feel overwhelming, and he kicks himself free the moment he's conscious enough to do so, expecting to hear... a chuckle. A grumbled complaint, perhaps, because he remembers the person he fell asleep beside, whose room he's currently in. Oh, yes. How could he possibly forget.
What Felix hears, however, is silence. Nothing at all, which sends him twisting, one arm flopping onto an empty, cold expanse of bedding when it should be settling across a certain someone's waist—and that's, mmm, understandable, even if it is far from ideal. They're in the midst of a war? Mere weeks away from marching on Enbarr, so of course they're pulled away at odd hours, instructed to manage this or that with such frequency that they barely have any time to rest.
...Still. Still. They'd known this was coming; they'd managed, somehow, to carve out a sliver of time for themselves. For Felix, who is so keenly aware of Sylvain's absence. He should be annoyed, he thinks—and the tail thrashing behind him proves that he is, but above it all, Felix simply feels... empty. Desperately so.
And that feeling only intensifies as the Sylvain-less seconds stretch into minutes stretch into hours. Two or three, maybe. Nothing too terrible, the rational part of Felix knows, but it's still entirely too much. He writhes on the bed; he paces about the room; he briefly considers going to train, even going so far as to strip off his nightshirt and attempt to dress himself, but—ah. It's all too much, given his current state; he winds up grabbing the shirt Sylvain stripped off the night before, briefly irritated by how neat the man is (seriously, who takes the time to hang their dirty laundry over the back of a chair?) before the familiar, comforting scent clinging to the fabric sends him crawling back into Sylvain's bed. He could wrap a hand around himself, he knows... take the edge off with a few quick strokes...
But he's stronger than that, isn't he? So, so stubborn, despite the tightness behind his eyes as he squeezes them shut and focuses on waiting, waiting, waiting. Sylvain will be back. He always comes back—and while Felix is pulled so taut it feels as though he could snap at any moment, Felix has no choice but to lie here.
The moment he hears the door open, though? The very second? Felix finds himself sitting upright before he's even fully aware of what, exactly, he's doing, glassy eyes pinned on the person who soon steps into the room.]
You left.
[It's meant to sound like an accusation? A particularly haughty one, given the way his ears lay back, his tail thumps against the bed behind him—but the unfortunate truth is that it sounds... more whiny than anything. Pitiful. A perfect match for his flushed face, disheveled hair, much-too-big shirt slipping off a shoulder, because ah, he is a Mess.]
Edited 2020-02-24 03:07 (UTC)
[chants of "nūllus est deus" drone on in the distance]
The good news is that they had known this was coming! The bad news, however, is that Sylvain hadn't known he'd be called away before the sun had even risen (which fucking sucks any time it happens, but especially now) let alone kept out for so damn long. Felix is probably awake by now--has probably been awake, because Felix always has been an early riser--which is a thought that makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else for two very different, yet related reasons.
The first... is that Sylvain is a very, very simple man, who loves Felix very, very much. And, since free time at a time like this is a luxury, he knows he would be dying to go back to him regardless. But right now...? Right now, he can't help but wonder what Felix is doing while he's gone--and oh, if that isn't objectively the worst thing to think about when he's trying to focus on absolutely anything, because it quickly devolves from what Felix might be doing, into what Felix could be doing. Like, is Felix more than likely attempting to 1. Distract himself (by training), or 2. Wait it out (by being stubborn)? Sure, because that's just like him.
But on the same token... wouldn't it be such a novelty if Felix was doing something decidedly un-Felix-like...? If, while Sylvain was stuck there, he was lying back in his bed and wishing desperately for him to return, flushed and panting out his name against the covers while he works himself open with one hand and strokes himself with the other... if he were too impatient to wait, but too far gone for just the thought of him to be enough, until finally Sylvain would get back and--
--And he's not even the one in heat? He's just Like This. His imagination is a dangerous and distracting thing. But anyway: the second reason is that Felix needs him... in multiple senses of the word, perhaps, but what it really boils down to is that Felix needs him and he isn't there... He hates that he's not there, hates that every second not spent by his side is another second lost. Wasted. Who knows how precious many they have left, when everything they've worked for could still slip between their fingers?
He'd been eyeing for an escape since he'd gotten there, and in the end he's pretty sure the reason he's finally dismissed isn't really because their group has enough hands to handle the rest without him, as the professor says, but rather that they've always had an uncanny way of knowing when he's trying to sneak off. It almost prompts him to explain himself--like, he's sure they would understand?? They couldn't fault him, he thinks, because they have to know how important Felix is to him by now... and if they knew what Felix was like during his heats--
...
...Wow! Has he ever had to physically stop walking because of a thought before! Because hey, he sure fucking hates that.
Does it have literally any sort of basis behind it? ...No. Of course it doesn't... He knows they haven't done a single thing to deserve this flash of loathing, just like he knows there's absolutely no reason for the growl he can feel building low in his chest...
...And yet.
......Well, he supposes there's no reason for him not to quicken his step, anyway--and soon enough he's opening the door to his old dorm just a little too quickly (which is stupid, he thinks, because he knows Felix better than that, and also because unless Byleth had some magical way of teleporting from place to place around the monastery, they would have had to pass him on their way over... plus, he's pretty sure the last conversation between Felix and the professor had been something about swords that would make for some pretty fucking terrible innuendo?) to find--
--those eyes, on him in an instant, and if that look doesn't have his own ears pinning back quick enough, that tone certainly does.
"I had to, kitten," he says as the door closes, voice quiet and caught somewhere between reassurance and apology. He's vaguely conscious of the slow, hesitant wag of his own tail held low behind him. "I had to... I came back as soon as I could."
He pauses just long enough to leave his boots at the door before he moves for the bed, eyes flickering back to where Felix is perched upon it--and then he pauses again, once he more properly registers what's in front of him... or rather what Felix is wearing. His tail slows to a stop mid-wag at about the same time his ears twitch forward with obvious interest, only to lift itself into higher, wider sweeps at the same slow speed a beat later as he closes the rest of the distance between them.
He breathes a quiet 'Oh,' and settles on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up underneath him as he reaches out to try and guide Felix closer to him. The bed itself is decidedly Not Big, but you know what? It works well enough for this.
"Just look at you..." Thank you, Goddess, for this Entire Meal in front of him?? Forget any of the fantasies he'd entertained earlier, because he'd been a blind fucking fool for not even thinking to imagine Felix wearing one of his shirts. It is a very good look on him, and Sylvain will absolutely duck to kiss along Felix's exposed shoulder with a quiet, but dramatically pained groan. "You don't have any idea how hot you look, do you?"
Sorry, heat who? Sylvain's the one who's gonna die, and Felix is going to kill him.
[Felix is owed a true apology, he thinks. Left alone for so many hours, driven so desperate that he aches—oh, Sylvain owes him an apology and then some, but... ah, well. Simply seeing Sylvain is enough to send his pulse racing, but hearing that nickname—kitten—spoken so softly, so sweetly...
...Listen: Felix has complained about it many a time, but as Sylvain is smart enough—knows Felix well enough—to only use it during their more, ah, intimate moments, hearing it triggers a sort of Pavlovian reaction? Sends Felix's pulse spiking, both aware of and eager for whatever is to come, because it's easy to be annoyed with Sylvain; it's so, so difficult to stay annoyed with him, as evidenced by the way his ears straighten back up as he watches Sylvain approach.
And then watches Sylvain, you know. Stop and stare, which would be frustrating on a good day; now it's all but impossible, prompting Felix's tail to continue thrashing about the bed as he resists the very real urge to, like, hold out his arms and beg Sylvain to come to him. He's too proud for such a thing—and Sylvain comes to him soon, anyway. Reaches out to pull him closer, Felix all but falls forward, his body eager to comply with whatever Sylvain asks of it. Instinct and lust. One, ah, more noticeable than the other, when Sylvain's lips first press against bare skin and Felix, quietly controlled Felix, doesn't even bother to muffle his gasp. He'd given no thought to how he'd look in the shirt, so while hearing that Sylvain is, as always, attracted to him is quite nice:]
Mm... smelled like you, [is the not-quite-a-sentence he mumbles as he tilts his head to the side, hopefully allowing Sylvain easier access to this vulnerable part of him while his fingers curl into the fabric of the similar shirt Sylvain is wearing. Amazing, how well it fits him.] I wanted you, but you left.
[He's repeating himself, a thing he normally hates; he's whining petulantly, like a child, which is another thing he normally hates—and, to top it all off, he feels that familiar burning sensation in his eyes? Tears are coming. No, tears are there, and while he can squeeze his eyes shut as tightly as possible, it isn't enough to make them disappear. He'd been so pathetically lonely? And now he's pathetically needy, Goddess help him... he can't help but to try and pull Sylvain in even closer...]
Sylvain would be attracted to Felix if all he had on was a pair of dirty old gym socks, let's just be honest with ourselves here. The shirt is just a bonus.
Anyway: that gasp, as with any of Felix's noises, is its own brand of addicting. Sylvain loves when he lets himself be heard like this--it's fun when he has to really earn them, too, but there's something to be said for these moments in which the man's guard is down from the very start. When Felix feels he can entrust himself completely to him, only him, giving his reactions freely and willingly, offering nothing but eager responses to every word and every touch.
So it's easy to busy himself for the moment, letting his arms encircle Felix's waist while he kisses a slow trail up along the side of Felix's newly bared throat, but they're still light, just like his tone stays the same when he replies so quickly their voices practically overlap:
"I know," he murmurs, and it comes out somewhat muffled against his skin. His arms tighten around him for just a moment before his hands slide up; when he finally lifts his head he brings those hands to cradle either side of Felix's face and leans in to kiss one cheek, "I'm sorry," and then the other, "I know," as if his words and kisses alone can make up for his too-long absence.
It kind of breaks his heart to see Felix cry like this, just like it always has, but he stays steady all the same, just like he always has. It's not as if this is a side of Felix he's ever minded? Gentle and needy and clingy, all exceedingly rare traits nowadays and brought on largely by times like these--but whatever the reason for it, Sylvain will always, always be there for him when he needs it without a single complaint, as soon as he posibly can. So, when he leans their foreheads together and shushes him, it's clearly not for the sake of quiet.
"I'm here now." He doesn't dare let go of him, but he does brush one hand up and through Felix's hair, combing through the mess of it with care. "I won't leave you, I'm here."
Can he decide that...? Like, given what they know is yet to come--given their respective futures, provided they win--can Sylvain honestly say that he'll be there with him, always... Maybe? Probably not, more than likely, and yet he says it so surely it's like a promise in itself, sealed with one more kiss, this time to his lips.
"Let me make it up to you?" It's an offer--not that it's especially needed, but it's still worth asking, even if it's just so Felix knows he means it.
[It would be a lie to say that Felix is thinking of anything other than right here, right now? All of those small details that add up to something larger, make him crave something more—and soon, he thinks, hazily, as Sylvain cradles his face in his hands and gives him the apology he so wanted to hear. He needs more soon, because as careful, as considerate, as Sylvain is being, he isn't quenching the fire so much as stoking it to new heights; he is, in fact, driving Felix crazy.
Goddess, but he's driving Felix crazy. The hand combing through his hair is too gentle by half; the kiss that follows is only marginally better, prompting fresh tears to roll down Felix's cheeks as he makes a frustrated noise low in his throat. He doesn't mind tender; he does, in fact, like tender, but this soft attention is so far from what he needs. And doesn't Sylvain know that? Isn't Sylvain aware that he's been hard for what feels like hours, twisting and turning and waiting...
...Well. Yes and no, given that Felix has yet to say as much, but he's in a state; he can barely even quantify how he feels, given how quickly he shifts from annoyed to so, so relieved when he hears Sylvain offer him what he wants. Like, Sylvain saying he'll stay is one thing. Of course he'll stay; Felix won't let him leave again, but having him make up for all the time they've lost is—]
You have to, [he tries to snap back, aware that his voice, thick from the tears, still sounds more petulant than anything.] Make it up to me, Sylvain, I can't—
[His voices hitches on what might just be a sob? Pure, abject desperation at its finest, which would normally send a wave of hot shame rolling through him—but now he merely reaches up, curling clawed fingers around Sylvain's wrist. It's easy, really, to slide the hand pressed against his cheek just a tad lower. Easy to turn his head the slightest bit, forgoing another loving kiss in favor of parting his lips, taking Sylvain's pointer finger into his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against it as he sucks it in a tad deeper. Shameless! Disgusting, in the sense he has no idea where Sylvain's hands have even been, but as he opens his mouth the slightest bit, allowing Sylvain to pull his finger free or add more, as he sees fit, Felix doesn't care. Just stop being so nice and wreck him before he dies.]
While Sylvain will not, in fact, stop being so nice, he will at least wreck him before he dies! Just... y'know, give him a minute to switch his mindset from 'I've wanted to wreck my dumb catboy bf all fucking morning but first I need to apologize' to 'I've wanted to wreck my dumb catboy bf all fucking morning and I'll be damned if anything's gonna stop me'. It helps that his 'let me' has apparently turned into a 'have to', because if Felix ever really asks for something, when has Sylvain been able to deny him...? Or maybe the better question is: when has he ever even wanted to?
He won't offer any resistance as Felix takes his finger into his mouth; in fact, in significant contrast to the tension built up in the other man, he only offers one soft, sharp inhale before he actually seems to relax, leaving it (since Sylvain knows where his hands have been, and trusts that they're at least Fine Enough for something like this) pressed against his tongue for just a moment longer. His eyes flicker down to his lips as he lightly drags his fingertip 'til it catches against his teeth... He briefly considers adding his middle finger beside it after all, but after a second of thought he decides against it in favor of using that finger to tilt Felix's chin up instead, which is also just a little bit gross? But hey, at least it's his own spit...
Anyway: he leans forward to kiss him again since he'd rather be able to use his hands for the moment, and although this one starts out just as soft, it's not long before it edges into something a little bit rougher, a little bit hungrier, as the fingers still wrapped in Felix's hair twist tighter and tug.
He manages something that sounds like, "C'mere, kitten," sighed in the space of a breath between them, but he's the one who ends up moving for Felix, rather than the other way around; he drops his free hand to the small of Felix's back and sort of readjusts both their placements on the bed so he can press him back against it instead and use this new position to grind their hips together--you know, without anyone like... hitting their head against the wall or something. Fucking dorm rooms!!
[Alas, poor Felix! Torn between the need to make Sylvain work for it and the desire to give Sylvain absolutely anything he wants, because it's so difficult to be difficult when he's like... this. It's why he falls back against the bed with no resistance whatsoever, tongue snaking out to wet his lips as he turns his head, relishing the way the fingers threaded into his hair prevent him from moving too far. He's a fighter? It's incredibly difficult for him to give up even the slightest bit of control—but when Sylvain is hovering over him, rocking against him just so, and he's been on fire for goddess knows how long...
...Well. It's the perfect storm, in a sense, and Felix arches up against Sylvain, eager to be as close as possible, to generate as much friction as possible. There's still far more that he wants, but this is a fine start! Promising enough to prompt a pleased sigh, even as he snakes a hand up to impatiently tug at one of Sylvain's stupid ears. Just to hopefully egg him on, you know? Because maybe being difficult isn't, ah, altogether impossible.]
Go.
[Quiet enough to count as a murmur, but still bossy—because despite those desperate tears, he is a cat.]
It's probably a good thing, then, that dogs just so happen to be pretty great at following commands--and on top of that, they're always eager to please, so! While that tug does earn a slight wince, it gets the point across well enough that bossy sounds a little more like the desperation it's meant to disguise instead, and while Sylvain doesn't mind this kind of snappiness, what he really thinks he'd like to hear? Is the sound of Felix's voice, breathless and broken over his name, until those sobs turn to ones of relief as all that pent up desire gives in to the weight of pleasure under his touch. And that's easy enough in theory, when every brush of skin helps...?
But see, more than just that, he wants to do it right... To do it well, just so he knows without a doubt that he's earned every little gasp and moan (and word of praise, if he's lucky later) he can possibly draw from his lips.
He doesn't waste more time in any case, shifting again and disentangling his fingers from the other man's hair so he can snake one hand between them, down the front of his shirt; he'll press his hand against the shape of him through it (and the fact that it's just long enough on him that he can even do it at all is... hmm, well it's certainly A Thought, isn't it?) before he slips it under, dragging his fingers more purposefully around him while he lowers himself to briefly nip and nuzzle along the line of Felix's jaw. His whole 'cool and collected' act is kind of ruined by the fact that his tail is definitely still wagging some, but as he subtly rocks down against him, he doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it.
"You could've started without me," he teases, even if his accompanying laugh is too airy and distracted to pack any real punch. "Would've been fun to come back to."
[That eagerness to please is, in Felix's feline opinion, the one (1) good thing about dogs? Like, as a whole. There are many, many good things about Sylvain, but as Sylvain drags a hand down his chest, his stomach, before stopping just to tease him—ugh. Felix considers giving Sylvain's ear another sharp tug, because he is clearly going to die here, on this bed, before Sylvain does anything at all...
But then Sylvain does something, all right. At last. Felix feels fingers curl around him, and it is... pathetic, really, how such a simple touch sends him sighing yet again? Sends his hips hitching upward as his eyes flutter closed, because while it isn't enough, it's better than the nothing he's endured for far, far too long.
That, however, had been suffering... with a purpose! A clear purpose, to him, which is why Sylvain's observation earns him the mildest of huffs.]
Don't be stupid.
[Spoken like he isn't the one in heat? Like he's not going to keep Sylvain confined to this room for the next... well! For Quite Some Time, truth be told, but that's the price Sylvain must pay—and because Felix knows that Sylvain is willing to pay it, he releases his hold on Sylvain's ear, deciding it's better to absently, gently scratch at its sensitive base as he adds:]
...It's better with you.
[That's it, that's all, don't @ him for this miiiiildly soft admission. He's only being honest!]
Quite Some Time is conveniently exactly how much time Sylvain's carved out of his busy, busy schedule!! Or in other words: yes he's willing to pay this price, because no matter how he looks at it, whether the reward is downtime, or sex, or being with Felix, or just Felix HIMSELF alongside the bonus of everything above... the reward is so fucking worth it.
...And he should probably add ear scritches to that list, actually, because listen? Listen... Sylvain is by no means a simple man, but he does have very simple desires. If that means he's exceedingly easy to please when it comes to Felix, then so be it! He won't even try to pretend it doesn't feel nice, eyes falling shut as he makes a low, appreciative noise at the back of his throat and leans none-too-subtly into that touch to seek more.
"Yeah...?" His hand works over him in steady, slow strokes, carefully treading the line of just and almost good enough--and when his eyes crack back open only a moment later, he flashes a small smirk down at him, because hey... that's almost what he wants to hear, isn't it? Like, it's close... it's just not quite it. "What makes it so much better?"
It's almost conversational, really? Something from a quiet, private conversation, perhaps, but without any indication that the topic is anything but innocent curiosity... not even as he shifts back a bit and his hand eventually slows to a stop altogether, his eyes and fingers both wandering farther down.
"I know how impatient you get, Felix... is it really so different when I do this?"
'This' meaning the way he teases him for only a second--or maybe two seconds--more before he lets one finger slip into him thanks to the magic of convenient, extremely AU-specific details. Regardless, he clearly doesn't mind the fact that he is, in fact, the one doing it? And as much as he might entertain the idea of Felix entertaining himself, he really would rather be present for any, ah... activities... It's just the principle of it, at this point.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
makes the sign of the cross... sprinkles holy water everywhere...
First of all, there is something distinctly uncomfortable about waking up hot, so hot, practically burning alive, when Felix is normally as cold-blooded as they come? And he's so sensitive! Goddess above, but he's aware of every nerve ending in his body as he blinks away the vestiges of sleep; even the sheets tangled about his legs soon feel overwhelming, and he kicks himself free the moment he's conscious enough to do so, expecting to hear... a chuckle. A grumbled complaint, perhaps, because he remembers the person he fell asleep beside, whose room he's currently in. Oh, yes. How could he possibly forget.
What Felix hears, however, is silence. Nothing at all, which sends him twisting, one arm flopping onto an empty, cold expanse of bedding when it should be settling across a certain someone's waist—and that's, mmm, understandable, even if it is far from ideal. They're in the midst of a war? Mere weeks away from marching on Enbarr, so of course they're pulled away at odd hours, instructed to manage this or that with such frequency that they barely have any time to rest.
...Still. Still. They'd known this was coming; they'd managed, somehow, to carve out a sliver of time for themselves. For Felix, who is so keenly aware of Sylvain's absence. He should be annoyed, he thinks—and the tail thrashing behind him proves that he is, but above it all, Felix simply feels... empty. Desperately so.
And that feeling only intensifies as the Sylvain-less seconds stretch into minutes stretch into hours. Two or three, maybe. Nothing too terrible, the rational part of Felix knows, but it's still entirely too much. He writhes on the bed; he paces about the room; he briefly considers going to train, even going so far as to strip off his nightshirt and attempt to dress himself, but—ah. It's all too much, given his current state; he winds up grabbing the shirt Sylvain stripped off the night before, briefly irritated by how neat the man is (seriously, who takes the time to hang their dirty laundry over the back of a chair?) before the familiar, comforting scent clinging to the fabric sends him crawling back into Sylvain's bed. He could wrap a hand around himself, he knows... take the edge off with a few quick strokes...
But he's stronger than that, isn't he? So, so stubborn, despite the tightness behind his eyes as he squeezes them shut and focuses on waiting, waiting, waiting. Sylvain will be back. He always comes back—and while Felix is pulled so taut it feels as though he could snap at any moment, Felix has no choice but to lie here.
The moment he hears the door open, though? The very second? Felix finds himself sitting upright before he's even fully aware of what, exactly, he's doing, glassy eyes pinned on the person who soon steps into the room.]
You left.
[It's meant to sound like an accusation? A particularly haughty one, given the way his ears lay back, his tail thumps against the bed behind him—but the unfortunate truth is that it sounds... more whiny than anything. Pitiful. A perfect match for his flushed face, disheveled hair, much-too-big shirt slipping off a shoulder, because ah, he is a Mess.]
[chants of "nūllus est deus" drone on in the distance]
The first... is that Sylvain is a very, very simple man, who loves Felix very, very much. And, since free time at a time like this is a luxury, he knows he would be dying to go back to him regardless. But right now...? Right now, he can't help but wonder what Felix is doing while he's gone--and oh, if that isn't objectively the worst thing to think about when he's trying to focus on absolutely anything, because it quickly devolves from what Felix might be doing, into what Felix could be doing. Like, is Felix more than likely attempting to 1. Distract himself (by training), or 2. Wait it out (by being stubborn)? Sure, because that's just like him.
But on the same token... wouldn't it be such a novelty if Felix was doing something decidedly un-Felix-like...? If, while Sylvain was stuck there, he was lying back in his bed and wishing desperately for him to return, flushed and panting out his name against the covers while he works himself open with one hand and strokes himself with the other... if he were too impatient to wait, but too far gone for just the thought of him to be enough, until finally Sylvain would get back and--
--And he's not even the one in heat? He's just Like This. His imagination is a dangerous and distracting thing. But anyway: the second reason is that Felix needs him... in multiple senses of the word, perhaps, but what it really boils down to is that Felix needs him and he isn't there... He hates that he's not there, hates that every second not spent by his side is another second lost. Wasted. Who knows how precious many they have left, when everything they've worked for could still slip between their fingers?
He'd been eyeing for an escape since he'd gotten there, and in the end he's pretty sure the reason he's finally dismissed isn't really because their group has enough hands to handle the rest without him, as the professor says, but rather that they've always had an uncanny way of knowing when he's trying to sneak off. It almost prompts him to explain himself--like, he's sure they would understand?? They couldn't fault him, he thinks, because they have to know how important Felix is to him by now... and if they knew what Felix was like during his heats--
...
...Wow! Has he ever had to physically stop walking because of a thought before! Because hey, he sure fucking hates that.
Does it have literally any sort of basis behind it? ...No. Of course it doesn't... He knows they haven't done a single thing to deserve this flash of loathing, just like he knows there's absolutely no reason for the growl he can feel building low in his chest...
...And yet.
......Well, he supposes there's no reason for him not to quicken his step, anyway--and soon enough he's opening the door to his old dorm just a little too quickly (which is stupid, he thinks, because he knows Felix better than that, and also because unless Byleth had some magical way of teleporting from place to place around the monastery, they would have had to pass him on their way over... plus, he's pretty sure the last conversation between Felix and the professor had been something about swords that would make for some pretty fucking terrible innuendo?) to find--
--those eyes, on him in an instant, and if that look doesn't have his own ears pinning back quick enough, that tone certainly does.
"I had to, kitten," he says as the door closes, voice quiet and caught somewhere between reassurance and apology. He's vaguely conscious of the slow, hesitant wag of his own tail held low behind him. "I had to... I came back as soon as I could."
He pauses just long enough to leave his boots at the door before he moves for the bed, eyes flickering back to where Felix is perched upon it--and then he pauses again, once he more properly registers what's in front of him... or rather what Felix is wearing. His tail slows to a stop mid-wag at about the same time his ears twitch forward with obvious interest, only to lift itself into higher, wider sweeps at the same slow speed a beat later as he closes the rest of the distance between them.
He breathes a quiet 'Oh,' and settles on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up underneath him as he reaches out to try and guide Felix closer to him. The bed itself is decidedly Not Big, but you know what? It works well enough for this.
"Just look at you..." Thank you, Goddess, for this Entire Meal in front of him?? Forget any of the fantasies he'd entertained earlier, because he'd been a blind fucking fool for not even thinking to imagine Felix wearing one of his shirts. It is a very good look on him, and Sylvain will absolutely duck to kiss along Felix's exposed shoulder with a quiet, but dramatically pained groan. "You don't have any idea how hot you look, do you?"
Sorry, heat who? Sylvain's the one who's gonna die, and Felix is going to kill him.
we're going full-blown catholic guilt, huh
...Listen: Felix has complained about it many a time, but as Sylvain is smart enough—knows Felix well enough—to only use it during their more, ah, intimate moments, hearing it triggers a sort of Pavlovian reaction? Sends Felix's pulse spiking, both aware of and eager for whatever is to come, because it's easy to be annoyed with Sylvain; it's so, so difficult to stay annoyed with him, as evidenced by the way his ears straighten back up as he watches Sylvain approach.
And then watches Sylvain, you know. Stop and stare, which would be frustrating on a good day; now it's all but impossible, prompting Felix's tail to continue thrashing about the bed as he resists the very real urge to, like, hold out his arms and beg Sylvain to come to him. He's too proud for such a thing—and Sylvain comes to him soon, anyway. Reaches out to pull him closer, Felix all but falls forward, his body eager to comply with whatever Sylvain asks of it. Instinct and lust. One, ah, more noticeable than the other, when Sylvain's lips first press against bare skin and Felix, quietly controlled Felix, doesn't even bother to muffle his gasp. He'd given no thought to how he'd look in the shirt, so while hearing that Sylvain is, as always, attracted to him is quite nice:]
Mm... smelled like you, [is the not-quite-a-sentence he mumbles as he tilts his head to the side, hopefully allowing Sylvain easier access to this vulnerable part of him while his fingers curl into the fabric of the similar shirt Sylvain is wearing. Amazing, how well it fits him.] I wanted you, but you left.
[He's repeating himself, a thing he normally hates; he's whining petulantly, like a child, which is another thing he normally hates—and, to top it all off, he feels that familiar burning sensation in his eyes? Tears are coming. No, tears are there, and while he can squeeze his eyes shut as tightly as possible, it isn't enough to make them disappear. He'd been so pathetically lonely? And now he's pathetically needy, Goddess help him... he can't help but to try and pull Sylvain in even closer...]
Idk why it's so funny but ig this is our life now
Anyway: that gasp, as with any of Felix's noises, is its own brand of addicting. Sylvain loves when he lets himself be heard like this--it's fun when he has to really earn them, too, but there's something to be said for these moments in which the man's guard is down from the very start. When Felix feels he can entrust himself completely to him, only him, giving his reactions freely and willingly, offering nothing but eager responses to every word and every touch.
So it's easy to busy himself for the moment, letting his arms encircle Felix's waist while he kisses a slow trail up along the side of Felix's newly bared throat, but they're still light, just like his tone stays the same when he replies so quickly their voices practically overlap:
"I know," he murmurs, and it comes out somewhat muffled against his skin. His arms tighten around him for just a moment before his hands slide up; when he finally lifts his head he brings those hands to cradle either side of Felix's face and leans in to kiss one cheek, "I'm sorry," and then the other, "I know," as if his words and kisses alone can make up for his too-long absence.
It kind of breaks his heart to see Felix cry like this, just like it always has, but he stays steady all the same, just like he always has. It's not as if this is a side of Felix he's ever minded? Gentle and needy and clingy, all exceedingly rare traits nowadays and brought on largely by times like these--but whatever the reason for it, Sylvain will always, always be there for him when he needs it without a single complaint, as soon as he posibly can. So, when he leans their foreheads together and shushes him, it's clearly not for the sake of quiet.
"I'm here now." He doesn't dare let go of him, but he does brush one hand up and through Felix's hair, combing through the mess of it with care. "I won't leave you, I'm here."
Can he decide that...? Like, given what they know is yet to come--given their respective futures, provided they win--can Sylvain honestly say that he'll be there with him, always... Maybe? Probably not, more than likely, and yet he says it so surely it's like a promise in itself, sealed with one more kiss, this time to his lips.
"Let me make it up to you?" It's an offer--not that it's especially needed, but it's still worth asking, even if it's just so Felix knows he means it.
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Goddess, but he's driving Felix crazy. The hand combing through his hair is too gentle by half; the kiss that follows is only marginally better, prompting fresh tears to roll down Felix's cheeks as he makes a frustrated noise low in his throat. He doesn't mind tender; he does, in fact, like tender, but this soft attention is so far from what he needs. And doesn't Sylvain know that? Isn't Sylvain aware that he's been hard for what feels like hours, twisting and turning and waiting...
...Well. Yes and no, given that Felix has yet to say as much, but he's in a state; he can barely even quantify how he feels, given how quickly he shifts from annoyed to so, so relieved when he hears Sylvain offer him what he wants. Like, Sylvain saying he'll stay is one thing. Of course he'll stay; Felix won't let him leave again, but having him make up for all the time they've lost is—]
You have to, [he tries to snap back, aware that his voice, thick from the tears, still sounds more petulant than anything.] Make it up to me, Sylvain, I can't—
[His voices hitches on what might just be a sob? Pure, abject desperation at its finest, which would normally send a wave of hot shame rolling through him—but now he merely reaches up, curling clawed fingers around Sylvain's wrist. It's easy, really, to slide the hand pressed against his cheek just a tad lower. Easy to turn his head the slightest bit, forgoing another loving kiss in favor of parting his lips, taking Sylvain's pointer finger into his mouth, pressing his tongue flat against it as he sucks it in a tad deeper. Shameless! Disgusting, in the sense he has no idea where Sylvain's hands have even been, but as he opens his mouth the slightest bit, allowing Sylvain to pull his finger free or add more, as he sees fit, Felix doesn't care. Just stop being so nice and wreck him before he dies.]
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He won't offer any resistance as Felix takes his finger into his mouth; in fact, in significant contrast to the tension built up in the other man, he only offers one soft, sharp inhale before he actually seems to relax, leaving it (since Sylvain knows where his hands have been, and trusts that they're at least Fine Enough for something like this) pressed against his tongue for just a moment longer. His eyes flicker down to his lips as he lightly drags his fingertip 'til it catches against his teeth... He briefly considers adding his middle finger beside it after all, but after a second of thought he decides against it in favor of using that finger to tilt Felix's chin up instead, which is also just a little bit gross? But hey, at least it's his own spit...
Anyway: he leans forward to kiss him again since he'd rather be able to use his hands for the moment, and although this one starts out just as soft, it's not long before it edges into something a little bit rougher, a little bit hungrier, as the fingers still wrapped in Felix's hair twist tighter and tug.
He manages something that sounds like, "C'mere, kitten," sighed in the space of a breath between them, but he's the one who ends up moving for Felix, rather than the other way around; he drops his free hand to the small of Felix's back and sort of readjusts both their placements on the bed so he can press him back against it instead and use this new position to grind their hips together--you know, without anyone like... hitting their head against the wall or something. Fucking dorm rooms!!
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...Well. It's the perfect storm, in a sense, and Felix arches up against Sylvain, eager to be as close as possible, to generate as much friction as possible. There's still far more that he wants, but this is a fine start! Promising enough to prompt a pleased sigh, even as he snakes a hand up to impatiently tug at one of Sylvain's stupid ears. Just to hopefully egg him on, you know? Because maybe being difficult isn't, ah, altogether impossible.]
Go.
[Quiet enough to count as a murmur, but still bossy—because despite those desperate tears, he is a cat.]
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It's probably a good thing, then, that dogs just so happen to be pretty great at following commands--and on top of that, they're always eager to please, so! While that tug does earn a slight wince, it gets the point across well enough that bossy sounds a little more like the desperation it's meant to disguise instead, and while Sylvain doesn't mind this kind of snappiness, what he really thinks he'd like to hear? Is the sound of Felix's voice, breathless and broken over his name, until those sobs turn to ones of relief as all that pent up desire gives in to the weight of pleasure under his touch. And that's easy enough in theory, when every brush of skin helps...?
But see, more than just that, he wants to do it right... To do it well, just so he knows without a doubt that he's earned every little gasp and moan (and word of praise, if he's lucky later) he can possibly draw from his lips.
He doesn't waste more time in any case, shifting again and disentangling his fingers from the other man's hair so he can snake one hand between them, down the front of his shirt; he'll press his hand against the shape of him through it (and the fact that it's just long enough on him that he can even do it at all is... hmm, well it's certainly A Thought, isn't it?) before he slips it under, dragging his fingers more purposefully around him while he lowers himself to briefly nip and nuzzle along the line of Felix's jaw. His whole 'cool and collected' act is kind of ruined by the fact that his tail is definitely still wagging some, but as he subtly rocks down against him, he doesn't seem the least bit bothered by it.
"You could've started without me," he teases, even if his accompanying laugh is too airy and distracted to pack any real punch. "Would've been fun to come back to."
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But then Sylvain does something, all right. At last. Felix feels fingers curl around him, and it is... pathetic, really, how such a simple touch sends him sighing yet again? Sends his hips hitching upward as his eyes flutter closed, because while it isn't enough, it's better than the nothing he's endured for far, far too long.
That, however, had been suffering... with a purpose! A clear purpose, to him, which is why Sylvain's observation earns him the mildest of huffs.]
Don't be stupid.
[Spoken like he isn't the one in heat? Like he's not going to keep Sylvain confined to this room for the next... well! For Quite Some Time, truth be told, but that's the price Sylvain must pay—and because Felix knows that Sylvain is willing to pay it, he releases his hold on Sylvain's ear, deciding it's better to absently, gently scratch at its sensitive base as he adds:]
...It's better with you.
[That's it, that's all, don't @ him for this miiiiildly soft admission. He's only being honest!]
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...And he should probably add ear scritches to that list, actually, because listen? Listen... Sylvain is by no means a simple man, but he does have very simple desires. If that means he's exceedingly easy to please when it comes to Felix, then so be it! He won't even try to pretend it doesn't feel nice, eyes falling shut as he makes a low, appreciative noise at the back of his throat and leans none-too-subtly into that touch to seek more.
"Yeah...?" His hand works over him in steady, slow strokes, carefully treading the line of just and almost good enough--and when his eyes crack back open only a moment later, he flashes a small smirk down at him, because hey... that's almost what he wants to hear, isn't it? Like, it's close... it's just not quite it. "What makes it so much better?"
It's almost conversational, really? Something from a quiet, private conversation, perhaps, but without any indication that the topic is anything but innocent curiosity... not even as he shifts back a bit and his hand eventually slows to a stop altogether, his eyes and fingers both wandering farther down.
"I know how impatient you get, Felix... is it really so different when I do this?"
'This' meaning the way he teases him for only a second--or maybe two seconds--more before he lets one finger slip into him
thanks to the magic of convenient, extremely AU-specific details. Regardless, he clearly doesn't mind the fact that he is, in fact, the one doing it? And as much as he might entertain the idea of Felix entertaining himself, he really would rather be present for any, ah... activities... It's just the principle of it, at this point.