[There's really no excuse for Sylvain's tardiness.
Or so Felix tells himself, anyway. So Felix tells himself, even though he's well aware that a) he wasn't expected to return home for two or so more days and b) he'd communicated as much to Sylvain in his last letter. Still, though! It isn't his fault that the roads had been much, much clearer than they had any right to be, especially in the middle of the Guardian Moon; he'd expected more snow, more bandits, more everything blocking his route from Fhirdiad to Fraldarius territory, and he'd run up against... absolutely nothing. Sunny mornings and smooth, surprisingly stress-free travel.
And you know what they say about Duke Fraldarius! All fun and no fighting makes him very tetchy indeed, so when Margrave Gautier finally arrives a day after Felix has settled in—well. Well. Is it any wonder the Fraldarius knights give him a pitying sort of look as he's led through the courtyard? Is it any wonder the servant who takes his cape and his baggage and whatever else he's brought with him feels the need to remind him that the Duke is oh-so tired after spending a month away from home? Not that Felix ever takes his temper out on them, of course; every member of his household has borne witness to Felix's true nature—and every member of his household loves him for it, but they also know just how close the Duke and the Margrave are. This is just, you know. Friendly concern. Their way of asking Sylvain not to hold anything against his particularly prickly partner.
Because as glad as he is to hear of Sylvain's arrival (re: very), Felix certainly is prickly. It's immediately obvious when a servant shows Sylvain to Felix's study, wherein Felix is standing by the fire, his back to the door as he reads the latest report from one of the minor lords in his territory. Something about the expected size of this year's harvest? He's not entirely sure; it's hard to focus on the meaning of the report when he knows—knows—that Sylvain is standing somewhere behind him, and yet he remains where he is, forcing himself to continue skimming line after line rather than turn around. There's a point to be made here, surely...
...And that point is that Felix is stupidly stubborn, but shh. Enjoy these few seconds of silence, please, before Felix finally deigns to speak.]
You're late.
[That tone is as sharp as ever. Hello, Sylvain. Felix missed you very much.]
When Sylvain had left his own estate for Felix's, it had been an admittedly hurried, impatient departure. The messenger had only just been dismissed when the Margrave first set to making arrangements for his leave; had he been any quicker about it, he might very well have passed the poor man along the same road through to Fraldarius territory. Felix might have been away from home only a month, but they'd been apart some time longer still--two days read more like too long, and the thought of awaiting his own (more reasonably-timed) departure felt like a stone tied around his ankles, serving only to drag his feet until the day he could sever the weight.
So, naturally, the decision was made to Not do that. A few hasty arrangements later--some finalized as he was already mounting his horse, much to the displeasure of any others involved, but finalized all the same--and Sylvain finds himself making a familiar trip across the plains between their two territories. The cold air stings against his face, but if he keeps this pace, he thinks he should make it there well before the Duke has so much as crossed the border!
...Should. He does not.
The news comes as a surprise, and while it's far from an unwelcome one, it's... well!! Like, it's got its pros and its cons. For example, pro: he doesn't have to wait around at all, because Felix is already here. Con: he doesn't get to show off his amazing initiative, because Felix is already here!! He doesn't even bother asking the knights how long he's been here; any concern is waved off with a martyr's patience and the sigh to match, as if he's not perfectly thrilled to see him regardless of how prickly he may or may not be at any given time. It's part of his charm... or something.
In any case, by the time Sylvain reaches the study door, it takes a conscious effort to offer the servant a polite thanks when he's all but leaning into the room already, eyes drawn to the frame of the other against the fire. He could wax poetic? Like, he could--it's within the realm of possibility, and it would sound just as ridiculous as any throwaway line he's got at his disposal--but he knows Felix was told of his arrival? He knows Felix heard him at the door, for fuck's sake, and that means that Felix is ignoring him... until he isn't anymore, which, first of all, rude?
But, "Late?" he repeats, incredulous. So he's late, now, is he! Hm!! "Last I checked, a 'two days' ride' is supposed to take someone two days to travel. Did your messenger get lost, or did you seriously just forget how to count?"
#Gottem. He's just gonna wander in like it's any other social visit and pause a few steps away, one hand to his hip. Is the servant still standing in the doorway? ...Maybe so. They weren't given a proper dismissal, so instead they're just trying to politely pretend they aren't listening to these grownass men--a Duke and Margrave no less--bicker like four-year-olds.
[He's been back for a full day? Surrounded by familiar faces as he deals with familiar problems, because there's no rest for Duke Fraldarius—but it isn't until he hears this familiar voice that he finally feels at home. And that's... stupidly sentimental, really; he knows it, hence the brief flash of annoyance that accompanies the warmth blooming in his chest, but! Well! He also knows—and appreciates!—that Sylvain has always been a warm, comfortable presence in his life.
And goddess help him, but he loves this man. All it takes is a quick, almost careless glance over his shoulder to remind him of that fact... which is why he shifts his attention right back down to his report, snorting ever so quietly as he buys himself a few extra seconds to ensure that he's entirely under control.]
Hardly. Perhaps I'm the better rider.
[Which is patently false, given that Sylvain has always excelled in horsemanship, but Felix is... Felix; expressing affection through sarcastic jabs is just his Thing, so this is a good sign, surely! Especially when he follows it up by carefully folding that report up, by turning to toss it on top of his (overflowing) desk while giving the servant loitering by the door a curt nod. Dismissed! At last! The servant bows low, backing into the hallway before easing the door closed.
But it isn't until Felix hears the door click into place that he turns to fully face Sylvain, one of his trademark smirks playing about his lips.]
Or perhaps you're slower than you used to be.
[Bam! Anyway: There's an unfortunate amount of space between them; he'd like for that to shrink, thanks, but as impatient as he is, making the first move is not on his agenda. That sort of shamelessness is Sylvain's area of expertise? Felix is wound too tightly to take even the smallest step forward; he needs a reason—an excuse—to cut himself loose, and surely they both know it.]
Now that suggestion earns a soft snort in response, because their skill regarding mounts is as different as their skill regarding swords; having not only trained, but fought beside one another as well, in countless battles no less, each of them are more than aware of that fact. But Felix is, in fact, Felix, and that means Sylvain sees the... accusation? Sure. He sees the accusation for what it is, the warmth hidden well beneath the other's steely tone as obvious to him as if he'd been greeted with nothing less than a plainly stated, 'I'm glad you're here.'
His attention may wander briefly as the door's closed behind them, listening for the moment when it's decidedly shut, but whether it's to look him over for any sign of injury or to trail his gaze along familiar features with the kind of open admiration most others would be embarrassed to be caught in, his eyes never actually leave Felix.
"Is that what you think!" He shakes his head, amused. It's not a question, just like this argument isn't really an argument, either.
Anyway: Sylvain shifts his weight and eeeever so casually crosses the rest of the distance, now that they don't have any prying eyes to worry about, and now that Felix has discarded whatever report he'd had his attention on before. He's still... careful? Like, he knows this is fine, knows that Felix would sooner take a dagger to his side than just put up with anything he might do--but while there's still a practiced confidence in the way he draws himself in close, what little space remains between them is left there intentionally, breached only by the hand he lifts to (gently, damn near adoringly) brush some loose hair from the other's face.
"Huh... And here I thought you just missed me that much." Enough to race the sun itself. And win, impossibly enough. "But I guess there really isn't anyone around to keep me in shape while you're gone, is there?"
Darn the luck! Guess Felix will just have to stay at home more often, so his dearest, darlingest childhood friend Sylvain doesn't fall further behind his peers. Dimitri can... uhhh...... well. Hm. Maybe Dimitri can't just take care of things himself...! That's... fine, it's fine, there's an obvious solution here still: congrats, Felix! Looks like Fraldarius territory is just gonna have to become the new capital.
[Felix doesn't enjoy being stared at; it puts him on edge, honestly, and yet, while he has to cast a quick glance to the side, he doesn't insist that Sylvain do anything of the sort. He knows how Sylvain is! He's come to accept soft looks and even softer gestures, which is why he allows Sylvain to step closer, to fuss with his hair in a way that no one has ever, ever been permitted to do before. Sylvain gets away with all manner of things, so long as they're alone—and Felix is in a good mood, but let's be real: Felix is often in a good mood when Sylvain is nearby. Funny how that works...
He does, however, have his limits, as evidenced by the way he tilts his head away from that hand after a few seconds have passed? Only a hairsbreadth, really; like, he can feel the warmth of Sylvain's fingers, still so very close to his skin, but he forces himself to focus back on Sylvain's face. Hmm, yes, he missed this. He missed everything about this.]
Of course there isn't. You're hopeless.
[But also his, his, his, so he's allowed to close this last bit of space between them by reaching up to grab hold of Sylvain's shirt. Thank the goddess Sylvain saw fit to strip off his armor before he came marching in here? A little thing Felix appreciates in the moment, even as he wrinkles nose in (mostly) mock disgust.]
And you smell like a horse.
[A grumbled sort of complaint that sounds more fond than anything else, because... Sylvain just rode how many miles to come see him? To be here now, warm and welcoming, and while Felix refuses to raise up on his toes for a kiss (to begin with, anyway)—well. As he gives that shirt a sharp tug, tilting his head back as he does so, he knows that he doesn't have to.]
Edited (i thought i ADDED THAT) 2019-10-08 06:55 (UTC)
He doesn't chase after Felix when he shifts away, holding his hand still for a moment in that same way someone might to convince a particularly flighty stray they've been petting that they don't intend to make a grab for them. And that's... a decent analogy, honestly? It's why Sylvain waits for Felix to close the remaining distance; he doesn't box him in or demand anything from him, despite how his chest might ache to stand so close after so long and not have him properly in his arms.
Sylvain might be the one to initiate things more often than not, but he'll still follow Felix's lead for as long as he needs to for the other to feel comfortable. Silent questions and permissions granted, little concessions here and there... this has always been about learning a language that no one else can hear, even when he's convinced it ought to ring as clear as bells.
He does have to laugh though, because... yeah, fair. He probably doesn't smell great, between the armor, and the horse, and so many miles of riding. But he'd do the same thing countless times over for this? To feel his heart jump in his chest as he lets himself be pulled down, his free hand reaching for his waist while the one at Felix's face shifts to rest, feather-light, along the line of his jaw instead.
"Sorry," he mumbles, in the distracted tone of someone distinctly not sorry, whether due to how hilarious he finds the complaint or the fact that it's all but breathed into the space between their lips--and then, there isn't any space left there at all. It's not a long kiss by any means, although most kisses like this, Sylvain's noticed--the ones full of unspoken relief and warmth, of coming home and welcome home in turn--could easily last an eternity, and he would never grow tired of them. Like... kissing in general is nice? But this is something that's so unique to kissing Felix, specifically. And maybe that's sappy!! Maybe it IS--but hell, call him a sap then, because if Sylvain 'used to have a different girlfriend every week' Gautier has ever melted into a kiss, it's undoubtedly been with Felix.
Even so, when he does pull back, it's only so he can rest their foreheads together and tease:
"If I'd taken the time to bathe before seeing you, you might have had my head for taking even longer." You know... since he was """late""".
[Here's the thing: Felix didn't have a bad time in Fhirdiad. Things are still somewhat... awkward between Dimitri and himself, yes; they're carefully navigating their recently repaired friendship, allowing old wounds to heal while trying to avoid any and all new ones, but the situation is certainly better than it was. Spending hours indoors, Dimitri poring over reports and requests while listening to his right-hand adviser's sharp-tongued advice—hell, they even laughed sometimes! Sometimes!
But the sound of Sylvain's laughter, the feel of Sylvain's lips pressing against his—no, Felix did not have a bad time in the capital, but it's only here and now that something unclenches within him. This is the one person he can relax around without, like, consciously attempting to do so? Sylvain knows him, and loves him, and never asks for anything more than he's willing to give, and it's easy, really, for Felix to close his eyes and press a bit closer to him. Maybe he's a sap, too.
...Okay, so he's definitely a sap. He puts more effort into hiding that part of himself than, say, Sylvain does, but the affection he feels is obvious in the way his free hand comes up to rest atop the other man's shoulder, anchoring him in place even as his grip on that poor, poor shirt loosens ever so slightly. He doesn't want this kiss to end; he feels the loss keenly when it does, but sure, fine, he'll take this moment to breathe and just... appreciate Sylvain being so very near. He can't stay like this forever, of course, but for now... hmm...]
Learn to take quicker baths. [Because Sylvain likes to soak in the tub! Tell me I'm wrong! But after a moment's consideration, Felix can't resist tilting his head just so, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sylvain's mouth before snidely adding:] If you don't take one before coming to bed, I'm kicking you out.
[Into a guest chamber with you, buddy. Don't test him.]
Look at you with your fancy cute Sylvix icons... smh
It's a small enough price to pay, considering he'd already planned to take one. He's not thrilled about the horse smell either, even if Felix is just being a shit about it. Mostly.
"But leaving you...?" He pauses for only a moment, trailing off as if he actually can't imagine it. He just got here?? And they've been apart for so long, too! Felix!! But he only leans in again without missing a beat, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to the other man's temple; he shifts his one arm to wind more surely around him while his other hand slips from his face to just... rest his fingers against Felix's shoulder, first, more of a silent request ('Stay') without any real pressure to restrain him. Then, as that hand slides farther down Felix's arm (if he's allowed to thread their fingers together, even just briefly, he absolutely will) he'll finish his original thought: "Sounds like torture."
Aaaand cue eye roll. If there's anything Sylvain's good at, it's somehow making his Lines sound sincere--but in this case, there's nothing to gain from wrapping the words in false honesty. Not only would Felix see past it, and he knows he would, but he doesn't actually, like... need to? If anything, it's the self-aware sort of humor behind the statement that hints that there's more truth there than his natural dramatics might suggest.
There's probably even something to be said about that? That he spent so many years playing up his feelings for girl after girl after girl, only to have all that intensity he'd imitated thrown back at him tenfold once he actually let himself love someone for real. Oof.
Anyway: There's a slightly longer pause this time! It might even be long enough for Felix to try and get some words in if he really wants, but unless they're something stunningly important (so... NOT just scolding him for being ridiculous), he's probably going to get cut off when Sylvain turns to bring his lips just above his ear and lowers his voice to something that's hardly above a whisper.
[Oh, Felix knows the line is coming; like, he can practcally feel it hanging in the air between them, even as those fingers running down the length of his arm drive him to distraction. People have shaken his hand, sure. People have slapped him on the shoulder, steered him through a crowded room via a grip on his elbow, bumped their arm against his in a friendly sort of way—but no one has touched him like this in well over a month, because the only person allowed to touch him like this is Sylvain. Is it any wonder, then, that he does allow Sylvain's fingers to slip between his? How can he not? It's good to be touched, good to be loved...
...That doesn't, however, stop him from snorting when that line finally does arrive. Such stupid words—with a hint of something real behind them, which Felix both recognizes and agrees with. It's not like he wants to leave Sylvain now that they're together again? He would very much prefer to stay here, especially now that Sylvain's hand is pressing against his back, breath puffing against sensitive skin as he leans down to all but whisper that suggestive offer into his ear, and damn, but that shouldn't be allowed. That is unfair, sir! Unfair!
But while Felix can't help but to stiffen ever so slightly, his cheeks picking up a hint of color as he considers their current situation—hey! He's still him, even if it takes him a second longer to respond than it normally would. How strange.]
Why? Looking for someone to scrub your back? [he asks, making sure to speak slowly, to go for that sarcastic drawl he's very, very good at.] I'm sure you'll manage.
[Because he, regrettably, has places to be... which is why he finally pulls his hand free of Sylvain's. He's not attempting to move away? Not yet, anyway. He wants to selfishly soak up as much of this warmth as he possibly can—but pulling his hand free is a clear sign of things to come.]
What's unfair is the fact that Felix can stay so composed and focused on things like work and responsibilities when all Sylvain can think about is how much he's missed this idiot?? And also how easy it is when they're this close--not that he expects the length of a room to be much more of a challenge--to pick up on every little tell he'd be hard pressed to lend voice to. Like, on the one hand, is it objectively the best fucking thing when Felix lets himself relax enough to say what he wants? Absolutely, yes. Without a doubt. But on the other, there's still a certain type of thrill that goes right along with the careful way he chooses his words when he tries (and, at least to Sylvain's ears, fails) to sound as unaffected as he might wish to be at the given moment.
(Honestly? It's probably around company more often than not, and he probably gets an earful for it later.)
But, ah. He feels those fingers slip from between his own and he sighs, nosing gently into Felix's hair and reaching his hand to rest loosely at his waist, instead. He won't resist if, or rather when, Felix does decide to extract himself completely, but that doesn't mean he'll give him up readily, either. As if in anticipation for the upcoming loss, he holds him just a bit tighter, turning his head so he can speak more clearly.
"How can you have things to attend to when you aren't even supposed to be back yet," he asks, though it's less of a question and more like he's taking the place of a particularly needy voice of reason. Which... he sort of is? Let him tempt you, Felix; it's not like the entire Dukedom will fall in a night. "Is it so important that someone else can't take care of it?"
[Honestly, the matter at hand is not... that important; like, Felix knows that it could wait until tomorrow, or that he could entrust it to someone else, but as he brings a hand back up to press against Sylvain's chest, here's the simply stated truth:]
I said I'd handle it.
[And therefore he will, because his word—the Duke's word—carries some serious weight! He can't afford to weaken it by backing out of even the most trivial of things, despite the fact that Sylvain is making a much more persuasive case than he even realizes. Or perhaps he does? ...He probably does, now that Felix is thinking about it, and that's just (affectionately) irritating enough for him to take a step back.]
So I will. Stop whining. ["Whining," he says, still trying his hardest to keep his casually rude tone. Like some part of him isn't pleased that Sylvain wants him more than anyone else! Like his face isn't faintly pink after receiving so much affection.] I'll be back.
[In, like, two or so hours? Maybe less, if he sets a grueling pace—which he will, because as he looks up at Sylvain to catch his response, he knows where he wants to be. Duty calls, though... alas...]
So I will. He can hear it in his head practically in tandem with the words as they're spoken, but even expectation isn't enough to stave off the wave of disappointment that grows with every inch put between them. Of course he will, won't he? Felix is dependable like that. Responsible.
"Right..." Said on an exhale, as fond as it is defeated. He understands? Like... even if he's selfishly hoping for another answer, he can't deny that he does admire that part of him. "I know."
He lets Felix take back what space he wanted, though his reluctance to let him go is probably more than obvious in the way Sylvain's arms reach out with him as he pulls away; his fingers linger against his sides as long as they're allowed. He might be staring again? Just a little bit, his own expression... surprisingly open, and soft, especially when paired with the small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. It's so silly to think he'll miss him so much when he's literally going to be back before Sylvain's even settled into bed! Idiots! But it's so much more than that, too.
His expression settles somewhere in the realm of affectionate resignation, which is somehow a very real category with these two, and before he lets Felix go completely, he leans down to steal exactly one (1) more kiss. A quick one--for the road or whatever--before he takes a step back, finally, and nods to the door. Go on!! Get out of here before he changes his mind!!
[The staring, the stupid look on his face (which makes Felix want to both shove him away and pull him closer)—all is forgiven when Sylvain swoops in for one last kiss, because Felix is not-so-secretly weak to such things. It's almost enough to make him smile, too, although he's quick to bring a hand up to his lips as he turns away. Look, he's wiping away those Sylvain germs, not... savoring the feeling or anything...]
After you bathe, I hope.
[One last rude comment for the road, then, before Felix strides into the hallway, leaving Sylvain to do... whatever it is that Sylvains do. Not that Felix is concerned; as he flags down a servant and tells them to ready his horse, he's confident that he'll be back well before Sylvain winds up bored enough to cause some manner of mischief.
And maybe it's that confidence that makes everything go awry? That prompts some higher being—their good ol' professor, hardy-har-har—to punish him for his hubris, because honestly, nothing goes smoothly. What should be a quick, easy ride to the countryside winds up taking an exorbitant amount of time, thanks to his retinue's uncertainty as to where, exactly, the Duke is needed; then, when that mess is finally sorted out and they finally arrive, dealing with the issue itself—some stupid property dispute—drags on for what feels like hours. Felix isn't a people person! Mediating conflict is not his area of expertise, and while he does his best to keep his temper in check as the people around him stammer and fuss and generally make fools of themselves, all he can think about is how Sylvain would have these imbeciles laughing and shaking hands in record time.
Felix, however, can manage no such thing. He gives his word to revisit the matter in a week, when tempers have (hopefully) cooled, and that is... frustrating. He doesn't enjoy tabling such a simple matter; it almost feels like he's failed, in some way, and he's prepared to brood over it the entire ride home—until, you know. What starts as a light drizzle turns into a veritable downpour, and all Felix can think about is making it home as swiftly as possible. He'd rather not drown on horseback...
But despite his best efforts, he can only do so much; like, by the time he does walk through the front doors, he's well and truly... late! And well and truly soaked, which is why he only offers token resistance as his servants fondly fuss over him, peeling off layer of leathers and furs until he's left with nothing but his sleeveless turtleneck, his pants, his boots, and a towel that some brave soul saw fit to drape right over his head. And surely he'll want to eat, they say. Surely they should run to the kitchens and order something brought up to his study, or perhaps—
Or perhaps nothing, because after ascertaining Sylvain's whereabouts, Felix waves them all away. It's been... a very unproductive evening? He's in a very unpleasant mood? There's only one thing he wants at this point in time—or, well. One person, which is why Felix heads straight to him, not even bothering to knock before he storms into whatever room Sylvain is currently occupying. Hi. Hello. Hopefully Sylvain isn't doing anything weird, because after giving him a preemptive Look, Felix kicks the door closed behind him and heads straight to the fireplace.]
Don't say a word.
[About his disheveled appearance, thank you, because he knows. He knows. Please let him stand here and towel his hair off in peace.]
Yeah, yeah, after he bathes... which he does, and it's a very lonesome and boring affair compared to what Might Have Been, but at least he doesn't feel like he has to rush. So WHAT if he only gets out just before his fingers turn pruney! The important takeaway is that he comes out of it clean, any lingering Odeur des Équin washed away in favor of whatever probably uninteresting more preferable scents Felix's household keeps handy.
It doesn't take him long from there to find some way to busy himself, seeing as he settles comfortably into the not-so-unfamiliar surroundings as if it were his own home. Like, it's unsurprising, considering how often he's been here?? But he almost definitely gets a few pained Looks when some servant or another walks in on him straightening shit like he isn't still a visiting noble. For example: that desk?? Mmmm, no. He ignored it when he came in because he loves Felix very dearly, and because there were more important things to focus on, but listen... that shit is an offense to anyone with eyes, and completely unbefitting of a Duke. Get ya shit together, Fraldarius.
After a certain point, he's taken to pestering the knights themselves, chattering amicably whenever someone has a moment spare in some effort to keep himself from checking the time; he intentionally avoids any windows when the rain hits, because it's just rain, but once it goes from oh, to oh no, he finds himself lingering near the entry for just a bit longer than he means to. It's only after he makes an off-handed suggestion to a passing servant to have a towel ready--and then glances down to find an expression that's as exasperated as it is sympathetic, because that's definitely a towel there, already in their arms, almost as if it's their job to think of and prepare these sorts of things isn't that wild--that he excuses himself to just... awkwardly hole himself up right back where this whole thing fucking started. It's not that he's embarrassed?? He's just, y'know... He's got an image to keep, or something.
Anyway: by the time Felix barges in, Sylvain's busy creating the Fódlan Macarena--
Kidding. He's reading. The door opening is enough to startle him back to reality, eyes first wide with surprise before softening to relief as soon as their eyes meet, even just for that second. ......And then any and all previous concern is pushed aside as he pieces everything together, because oh, but he should listen... He should, and he knows it, and yet still he's smiling when he closes the book without so much as saving his place, leaving it at the corner of the table so he can push himself up and make his way right on over.
"Hey," cue a quiet laugh as he comes to a stop just behind him, easing his hands onto Felix's shoulders, "I wasn't gonna say anything."
Which is... a lie!! They both know it's a lie--but all the same, Sylvain's just gonna shift one hand up to the towel in a silent offer to take over the whole drying the hair thing. The other stays where it is, if only so he can lean down a bit over that shoulder to ask, in the tone of someone trying (and failing) to hide their amusement:
[Of course Sylvain was going to say something—but those familiar hands on Felix's shoulders make it impossible for him to immediately snipe back, because it's amazing, really, how different a touch feels when only one thin layer separates skin from skin? As opposed to, like. The four layers that were there earlier. It's enough to send the lightest of shivers racing through him, but surely he can chalk that up to being wet and cold and uncomfortable. Surely Sylvain won't put two and two together here.
(Except that he will, because he's a very, very smart man and Felix is very, very aware of this, but! For the two seconds it lasts, it's a nice dream.)
Anyway! Felix isn't going to dwell on it, especially when Sylvain makes a grab for that towel. Oh, he doesn't give it up immediately; there's a bit of, mmm, token resistance, much like he gave the servants in the entryway, but he knows better than to fuss about something so minor. If Sylvain wants to do this, then Sylvain gets to do this, because it's... nice. Soothing, in a way. It makes it easier for Felix to reluctantly hum in response to that question. Yes, it was bad. No, he doesn't want to talk about at this current point in time. Instead:]
I'm not a child, [is what he chooses to say instead, right before he finally releases his grip on the towel and allows Sylvain to properly do his thing. And you know, there isn't the least bit of heat to be found in those words? It's all bark and no bite, which is why it shouldn't be a surprise when he just barely leans... back. Sylvain is warm, and his chest is broad enough for Felix to comfortably relax against it, so why not! Why not. Just talk to him, Sylvain... say something stupid for him to bite at...]
Edited 2019-10-13 23:58 (UTC)
Bc the background details are just as important as the idiots themselves
Hmm, nope, he's definitely oblivious to the reason for that shiver... 100%. He's just cold, of course--which is clearly why he lets his hand slip sideways to lay flat against the exposed skin of Felix's arm instead? You know, to transfer warmth.
...Well, it's a decent enough excuse for the simple want to hold him, anyway. It's nearly even believable, except that he straightens to shift his attention up to Felix's hair only a moment later, and takes that hand right along with him. If he hasn't taken it down yet himself, that'll be the first thing on Sylvain's agenda--carefully, because he knows wet hair and hair ties can be a painful combination if you're not--but if or once it is, he'll comb his fingers through to pull as much of it behind him as he can.
"No," he agrees, easily, "but you are soaking wet." He gathers his hair with the towel in one hand, giving it just enough of a tug for the pressure to playfully punctuate his statement before he lifts both hands up again, massaging along Felix's scalp to try and encourage it to dry faster. "It'll take ages if you try to do it yourself."
The, 'And I've waited long enough' to follow that statement goes unsaid, but it can probably be heard in the way he pauses, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the top of Felix's head. It doesn't matter if his hair is still wet? Like, it's water... he'll live... although something else does make him take further pause all the same, lips curling into a smile as he huffs a quick laugh, like he's caught onto a joke that Felix hasn't. But look... look...... If talking about the apparent Disastrous Day is off limits, he's pretty sure Felix won't think it's as funny as he does. So, while he could say something stupid... he could, so very easily... why let Felix have that out? He'll hold his tongue instead. You're welcome, bud.
[That hand on his arm is there so, so briefly, but damn, if it doesn't reinforce just how long they've been apart. No one else gets to touch Felix's skin? Only Sylvain is allowed to do so—just like only Sylvain is allowed to free his hair from its binding and run his fingers through it, holy shit. He's always so gentle, so considerate, but not... overly so; like, he never touches Felix as though Felix is made of some type of easily shattered glass, and that, perhaps, is why Felix allows—no, craves such soft gestures. He could easily lose himself in this, if he wasn't already so impatient to make up for so much lost time.
...And if Sylvain didn't, you know. Openly laugh. Um, excuse you, sir? Is this about it taking him forever to dry his own damn hair? Well, that's a blatant exaggeration, in Felix's opinion, but rather than point it out and risk being wrong, he does his best to tilt his head... back! And a bit to the side, perhaps, because fuck drying his hair; he needs to see what sliver of Sylvain's face he can from this less-than-stellar angle. Why's Sylvain gotta be so tall...]
What?
[And that's, hmm, more than a touch sharp, because Felix enjoys being laughed at even less than he enjoys being stared at. Tell him what's so funny... this instant! He's narrowing his eyes while he WAITS!]
Well, he's not surprised he got caught--and he's even less surprised to hear that telltale sharpness in the other's voice--but there's still some awkward repositioning of both his head and his arms, as if he doesn't expect Felix to twist around like he does. He certainly can't keep drying his hair at this angle?? But since he suspects Felix is more than aware of this fact, he lets his arms fall to fold neatly around his middle, towel held loosely in one hand, and tilts his head to meet Felix's eyes with all the amusement of this secret joke written on his face.
"How did you put it earlier...?" So eloquent and to the point, as he often is... Ah, yes. That's right, it was: "'You smell like a horse.'"
A wet horse... gross! But don't LEAVE, goddess, he's gonna tighten his arms just a bit as soon as the words leave his mouth, just in case Felix decides to get huffy and push him or something--he knows this man!! And he knows when something he says is likely to get him in trouble, too. But like, hey, technically a warm bath would be more efficient insofar as preventing a cold goes... though it would also defeat the purpose of trying to dry his hair to begin with. Two steps forward, one step back... alas. At least Sylvain isn't mean enough to kick him out of bed for it regardless.
[The attention his hair is not receiving right now? Tragic. Truly... but for these first few seconds of silent staring, Felix really, truly struggles with determining which is more important: his pride, or his love for this man. It's close!
...Except that is absolutely isn't, because while the urge to elbow him in the gut and/or pull away is momentarily high, well? Felix is prickly, yes; Felix is as sarcastic as the day is long; Felix doesn't appreciate his words being thrown right back at him, but Felix isn't so far gone as to recognize when he's been thoroughly one-upped—especially when it's, mmm, somewhat deserved. Ugh. ...Ugh. Sylvain gets to see a trace of color appear in his cheeks, then—victory!—before he hurriedly faces forward once more.]
You—
[You!! But while Felix can think of several things to say—"Sleep alone, then," or, "I like you more when you're not talking"—none of them accurately capture The Mood, you know? And he's not mad, even though that sure is an annoyed-sounding huff that escapes him. That's more because he knows that he looks like a fool at this very moment, really. Sharp-tongued Felix, suddenly left with nothing to say...
...FeFe the Fool is real, apparently, but whatever! He wanted to make up for lost time, anyway... a sort of redo of their hurried reunion, so...]
Just shut up.
[Because even though Sylvain is holding him tightly, clearly hoping to keep him here, Felix is agile enough to twist around in his grip? To bring a hand up to grab a fistful of Sylvain's shirt, just like he did a few hours ago, but this time... hmm. Sylvain already bruised his precious ego (not really); Felix really has nothing to lose by raising up on his toes as he pulls Sylvain to him, because really, buddy, there are better things to do than crack jokes! Like, say... return this hungry, not-at-all-polite kiss in full.
Victory indeed, with regards to the blush, the silence, AND the kiss! Who would've thought that Felix's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day would turn into such a blessed one for Sylvain? But other than a slight widening of his smile and a lift of his brows, he's content enough with this critical hit that he won't push his teasing any further for the time being. It provides the silence needed for the gears in Felix's head to whirr back to life, apparently, and sure enough, while Sylvain's hold on him is intended to keep him close, it's entirely ineffective when it comes to him twisting around.
Not that he's complaining, of course, because even if he does have to laugh just once more as Felix crashes their lips together, he's perhaps a little too quick to melt right into it. He tilts his head for a slightly better angle, letting his eyes fall shut so he can focus more fully on this one point of contact; for all he might feel as though he starts things out on the defensive, the kiss an attack in its own right, Sylvain still aims to ease it in the direction of something more purposeful. Something no less hungry, yet slower, deeper, as if he would rather savor the way their lips fit together instead of rushing for too much at once and risk missing it.
Still, his hold on him is enough to give away his obvious impatience. The hand holding the towel--an afterthought now, more than anything--settles at the small of his back, while the other slides up to hold Felix tighter against him, both for the sake of pressing closer still, and to support him while he's leaning up like this. But Felix is still cold, or at least he's still colder than Sylvain is after sitting nice and cozy in a room with a fire going for so long, and the contact sends a small shiver through him.
"You'll dry faster without all this," he murmurs against the corner of Felix's mouth once they break apart, plucking absently at the fabric while he catches his breath. He busies himself with lazy kisses along his jaw in the meantime, apparently not bothered enough by the supposed smell of horse to want any sort of distance between them. "I'll help you keep warm, too."
There's no reason to keep up the pretense of 'only doing it to help', but it's all still true.
[And this is the way it usually goes, isn't it: Felix rushing forward, eager to get from point A to point B, while Sylvain urges him to slow down, to enjoy the little things he would otherwise miss. What can he say? He's never been a very patient individual... so this is just another way that Sylvain balances him! Another thing for Felix to be thankful for, even if he can't help but to push back in the moment, pulling at Sylvain's bottom lip in a decidedly greedy manner. All of those quiet nights in Fhirdiad with no one to talk to, to vent to, to relax with...
...Listen: Felix missed Sylvain very, very much, and as he doesn't have Sylvain's way with words, this eagerness is the best way he has to express it. It's why he (ineffectively) chases after Sylvain when he pulls away, even though he's well aware that he, too, needs to take a breath. He will sink back down to his heels... later, perhaps; for now, he likes being so close to Sylvain, likes the way those hands on his back are holding him so close. He feels... oddly secure like this. Safe.]
How kind, [he oh-so dryly replies, lifting his chin to allow Sylvain easier access—and to silently encourage more of that, thanks. Another reason for Felix to take off his damp turtleneck: it's rudely blocking most of his neck, and you know, he has never been more aware of this fact.
And yet? And yet. While he does release his hold on Sylvain, hands dropping down to his hips, they don't go to the hem of his shirt; they go to the hem of Sylvain's, instead, icy fingers slipping beneath the fabric to press against the warm skin beneath. Just above the waistband of his pants, really. Just so Felix can smirk back at him, because if Sylvain can slow things down, then Sylvain can deal with Felix teasing him in the rudest possible way.]
And you? You may be warm, but you're overdressed.
[He's just sayin'. And there's another comment to be added there? Something about Sylvain not even bothering to take him to bed before stripping him down, but it's fine, they're fine, they've probably done terrible things in this room and... many, many others. That's their version of romance, baybee.]
It sounds cheesy, even coming from Sylvain, but the simple fact of the matter is: he wouldn't change Felix for anything? Like, sure... Sylvain is a very verbal person, and so it's nice when he gets that occasional confirmation that he's reading things right. However, there's a certain sort of charm to the way Felix more readily shows how he feels, be it in the crease of his brow, or the quirk of his lips--or, in times such as these, how readily he pushes for more. It's... a dangerous game to play, honestly? It's probably what's caused these terrible things to occur in their past to begin with, because while Sylvain can be a very patient man, he is a pushover when it comes to Felix, and there's only so much he can deny himself before waiting becomes a trial he just can't rationalize.
So... he appreciates that eagerness, to say the least. The reminder that Felix wants this--wants him, for him--even half as much as Sylvain does is a heady sort of thing, and it's definitely one that he'll never get tired of.
But for now--ah?? He sucks in a sharp breath as those fingers shock him out of his thoughts, as admittedly hazy as they already are--or were, anyway, before Felix decided to go and be a little shit!--and it goes against literal instinct not to recoil away from the touch at least a little, but he manages to keep as close as possible... even if his arms do slip a bit looser around Felix for the time being.
"What, you don't like unwrapping your gifts?" A clean, warm Sylvain waiting for him in his own home definitely counts as a gift. He almost rolls his eyes at that, though. 'Overdressed,' he says--well, even if he is, 'overdressed' is still the bare minimum to be considered presentable company: a fresh collared shirt (partially unbuttoned because he's Like That), pants, shoes... He could've put his armor back on and then Felix would REALLY have something to complain about. He laughs though, easing his hands out from around Felix in favor of following his arms and folding his hands over the ones at his waist. He did say he would help him warm up, and that goes for innocent stuff like this poorly-angled hand holding, too. "I'll keep that in mind... although, I had figured wandering the halls in the nude might invite a few too many questions."
And waiting for him that way would be PRESUMPTUOUS!! Felix could have been too tired after his hectic day! He can be considerate, even if he has been wanting this ever since he'd first stepped into the study. He's a simple man.
[Hearing Sylvain all but gasp is Felix's first victory of the night, and he is, of course, quite smug about it? That dumb little quip certainly can't spoil his mood, even if it does prompt a soft, almost fond snort as Sylvain's larger hands settle atop his. Sylvain as a gift! A gift. Well, perhaps there is something about the thought of him, like, stripped down and waiting in Felix's bed, because it would save them a great deal of time...
...And because Sylvain is an incredibly attractive individual, which Felix is all too aware of. Has been all too aware of, for years, and now that Sylvain is his he will greedily take any opportunity to admire him—when he's sure that he can get away with it. There's nothing worse than a preening Sylvain.
But while he digs his thumbs into Sylvain's hip bones, appreciating how solid he feels in every possible way, Felix also knows that the chances of them removing every stitch of clothing right here, right now? Slim. And that's fine, really. If Felix has his way, the better part of this coming week will be spent indoors; this moment is more about letting Sylvain know just how much he was missed—and making up for today's lost time, hence the way he presses forward once more, nosing against the other man's throat. The message is clear: tilt that head... back!]
Half the Kingdom has seen what you have to offer, [he mumbles between kisses, aiming for sardonic but landing somewhere far, far more... distracted. Damn.] No one would even blink.
[Sylvain's philandering will follow him to the grave! Embrace it. But while Sylvain formulates whatever response he's going to throw back Felix's way, Felix makes his way to the side of Sylvain's neck, pecks becoming lingering, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. He hongry.]
Let the man PREEN!! He would let Felix preen, if he were the type to!! Although... that said, Sylvain does enjoy every chance he gets to remind him how beautiful he is a bit too much to give it up... so maybe it's best that the preening is left to Sylvain after all.
Anyway: stripping in like, the middle of the study, is probably not the best idea, it's true. They could at least lock the door first? But it'll fall on Felix to keep that thought in mind, because he's got ownership of their collective one brain cell for the night; Sylvain is more focused on the feeling of Felix pressed against him, his breath warm over his skin in contrast to the chill he can feel still clinging to the hands beneath his own. He gives them a gentle squeeze as he tilts his head to a somewhat better angle.
He has to swallow before he can speak to his own defense, and when he does, the only offense to be heard is so blatantly put-on that it comes off more like an old, tired joke than anything else.
"Hey now, I wasn't--" that bad, he almost finishes, but... well. He's pretty sure a lie that bold might be just enough to invite the Goddess herself to smite him down on the spot--especially if he tried to pass it by Felix of all people. "...Actually, you're probably right."
He somehow manages to sound sheepish despite how thoroughly distracting it is to have Felix at his neck like this. Like, on the one hand, it's a little awkward to acknowledge his skirt-chasing days in this particular context? But on the other, it's just history at this point--and it'll take a lot worse to pull his attention away when his breath threatens to catch whenever he feels the sharp, fleeting sting of teeth. He lifts one hand up to thread itself into Felix's hair (that towel might be useful yet if it hadn't ended up on the floor at some point, RIP), encouraging the attention while Sylvain tries to determine whether it's worth moving the short distance to the desk. (Spoiler: it is, but moving would jostle Felix and he wants to savor this for a moment, thank you.)
"But I've become a rare commodity now, you know?" Speculative, as if he's considering this legitimately and not pointing it out just to tease. "People always want what they can't have."
[Probably? Pfft. Felix is definitely right—but there's no sense in pulling back just so to tell Sylvain so. He has more important things to do, like, say, continue working his way down this side of Sylvain's neck, licking and biting and sucking at the skin until he's satisfied that every red mark will last. It's a point of pride, really; like, he's already thinking about waking up tomorrow morning, well before Sylvain even thinks about stirring, and admiring his handiwork before slipping out for his early morning training. Yes, people always do want what they can't have... but Sylvain is his, and he's Sylvain's, and after spending years dancing around this thing between them, he can't help but to feel satisfied every time he sees open evidence of it. They've no reason to hide anything, and isn't that freeing!
But as much as he's enjoying wrecking Sylvain's neck... damn, but he can only stand on his tiptoes for so long! These boots of his do not make this an easy position to hold, so after taking the time to leave one last, lurid reminder of his affection, he (reluctantly) sinks back down onto his heels. At least there's a hand in his hair now! That's nice. That's a much better thing to focus on than the warmth in his cheeks, because he's aware that he's, ah, much more colorful than he normally is. It's not... ideal, to be sure, but what better way to deal with that than to be rude. Typical!]
Let me guess: you only want what you can have, [he taunts, pretending like his breath isn't uneven after putting forth such great effort. Please appreciate him, thank you.] And I'm supposed to be grateful.
[Since he's such a ~rare commodity~. Ha. Felix slides the hand that Sylvain isn't holding upward, splaying it against the firm muscles of Sylvain's stomach, and while he isn't normally as wordy as this other man? Well. He's in a much better mood than he was when he stormed into this room—and Sylvain seems inclined to talk, so hey, why not. He'll look Sylvain in the eye and play this stupid game.]
But you haven't asked if you can have anything at all.
[Never mind everything that's already been GIVEN!]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Or so Felix tells himself, anyway. So Felix tells himself, even though he's well aware that a) he wasn't expected to return home for two or so more days and b) he'd communicated as much to Sylvain in his last letter. Still, though! It isn't his fault that the roads had been much, much clearer than they had any right to be, especially in the middle of the Guardian Moon; he'd expected more snow, more bandits, more everything blocking his route from Fhirdiad to Fraldarius territory, and he'd run up against... absolutely nothing. Sunny mornings and smooth, surprisingly stress-free travel.
And you know what they say about Duke Fraldarius! All fun and no fighting makes him very tetchy indeed, so when Margrave Gautier finally arrives a day after Felix has settled in—well. Well. Is it any wonder the Fraldarius knights give him a pitying sort of look as he's led through the courtyard? Is it any wonder the servant who takes his cape and his baggage and whatever else he's brought with him feels the need to remind him that the Duke is oh-so tired after spending a month away from home? Not that Felix ever takes his temper out on them, of course; every member of his household has borne witness to Felix's true nature—and every member of his household loves him for it, but they also know just how close the Duke and the Margrave are. This is just, you know. Friendly concern. Their way of asking Sylvain not to hold anything against his particularly prickly partner.
Because as glad as he is to hear of Sylvain's arrival (re: very), Felix certainly is prickly. It's immediately obvious when a servant shows Sylvain to Felix's study, wherein Felix is standing by the fire, his back to the door as he reads the latest report from one of the minor lords in his territory. Something about the expected size of this year's harvest? He's not entirely sure; it's hard to focus on the meaning of the report when he knows—knows—that Sylvain is standing somewhere behind him, and yet he remains where he is, forcing himself to continue skimming line after line rather than turn around. There's a point to be made here, surely...
...And that point is that Felix is stupidly stubborn, but shh. Enjoy these few seconds of silence, please, before Felix finally deigns to speak.]
You're late.
[That tone is as sharp as ever. Hello, Sylvain. Felix missed you very much.]
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So, naturally, the decision was made to Not do that. A few hasty arrangements later--some finalized as he was already mounting his horse, much to the displeasure of any others involved, but finalized all the same--and Sylvain finds himself making a familiar trip across the plains between their two territories. The cold air stings against his face, but if he keeps this pace, he thinks he should make it there well before the Duke has so much as crossed the border!
...Should. He does not.
The news comes as a surprise, and while it's far from an unwelcome one, it's... well!! Like, it's got its pros and its cons. For example, pro: he doesn't have to wait around at all, because Felix is already here. Con: he doesn't get to show off his amazing initiative, because Felix is already here!! He doesn't even bother asking the knights how long he's been here; any concern is waved off with a martyr's patience and the sigh to match, as if he's not perfectly thrilled to see him regardless of how prickly he may or may not be at any given time. It's part of his charm... or something.
In any case, by the time Sylvain reaches the study door, it takes a conscious effort to offer the servant a polite thanks when he's all but leaning into the room already, eyes drawn to the frame of the other against the fire. He could wax poetic? Like, he could--it's within the realm of possibility, and it would sound just as ridiculous as any throwaway line he's got at his disposal--but he knows Felix was told of his arrival? He knows Felix heard him at the door, for fuck's sake, and that means that Felix is ignoring him... until he isn't anymore, which, first of all, rude?
But, "Late?" he repeats, incredulous. So he's late, now, is he! Hm!! "Last I checked, a 'two days' ride' is supposed to take someone two days to travel. Did your messenger get lost, or did you seriously just forget how to count?"
#Gottem. He's just gonna wander in like it's any other social visit and pause a few steps away, one hand to his hip. Is the servant still standing in the doorway? ...Maybe so. They weren't given a proper dismissal, so instead they're just trying to politely pretend they aren't listening to these grownass men--a Duke and Margrave no less--bicker like four-year-olds.
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And goddess help him, but he loves this man. All it takes is a quick, almost careless glance over his shoulder to remind him of that fact... which is why he shifts his attention right back down to his report, snorting ever so quietly as he buys himself a few extra seconds to ensure that he's entirely under control.]
Hardly. Perhaps I'm the better rider.
[Which is patently false, given that Sylvain has always excelled in horsemanship, but Felix is... Felix; expressing affection through sarcastic jabs is just his Thing, so this is a good sign, surely! Especially when he follows it up by carefully folding that report up, by turning to toss it on top of his (overflowing) desk while giving the servant loitering by the door a curt nod. Dismissed! At last! The servant bows low, backing into the hallway before easing the door closed.
But it isn't until Felix hears the door click into place that he turns to fully face Sylvain, one of his trademark smirks playing about his lips.]
Or perhaps you're slower than you used to be.
[Bam! Anyway: There's an unfortunate amount of space between them; he'd like for that to shrink, thanks, but as impatient as he is, making the first move is not on his agenda. That sort of shamelessness is Sylvain's area of expertise? Felix is wound too tightly to take even the smallest step forward; he needs a reason—an excuse—to cut himself loose, and surely they both know it.]
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His attention may wander briefly as the door's closed behind them, listening for the moment when it's decidedly shut, but whether it's to look him over for any sign of injury or to trail his gaze along familiar features with the kind of open admiration most others would be embarrassed to be caught in, his eyes never actually leave Felix.
"Is that what you think!" He shakes his head, amused. It's not a question, just like this argument isn't really an argument, either.
Anyway: Sylvain shifts his weight and eeeever so casually crosses the rest of the distance, now that they don't have any prying eyes to worry about, and now that Felix has discarded whatever report he'd had his attention on before. He's still... careful? Like, he knows this is fine, knows that Felix would sooner take a dagger to his side than just put up with anything he might do--but while there's still a practiced confidence in the way he draws himself in close, what little space remains between them is left there intentionally, breached only by the hand he lifts to (gently, damn near adoringly) brush some loose hair from the other's face.
"Huh... And here I thought you just missed me that much." Enough to race the sun itself. And win, impossibly enough. "But I guess there really isn't anyone around to keep me in shape while you're gone, is there?"
Darn the luck! Guess Felix will just have to stay at home more often, so his dearest, darlingest childhood friend Sylvain doesn't fall further behind his peers. Dimitri can... uhhh...... well. Hm. Maybe Dimitri can't just take care of things himself...! That's... fine, it's fine, there's an obvious solution here still: congrats, Felix! Looks like Fraldarius territory is just gonna have to become the new capital.
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He does, however, have his limits, as evidenced by the way he tilts his head away from that hand after a few seconds have passed? Only a hairsbreadth, really; like, he can feel the warmth of Sylvain's fingers, still so very close to his skin, but he forces himself to focus back on Sylvain's face. Hmm, yes, he missed this. He missed everything about this.]
Of course there isn't. You're hopeless.
[But also his, his, his, so he's allowed to close this last bit of space between them by reaching up to grab hold of Sylvain's shirt. Thank the goddess Sylvain saw fit to strip off his armor before he came marching in here? A little thing Felix appreciates in the moment, even as he wrinkles nose in (mostly) mock disgust.]
And you smell like a horse.
[A grumbled sort of complaint that sounds more fond than anything else, because... Sylvain just rode how many miles to come see him? To be here now, warm and welcoming, and while Felix refuses to raise up on his toes for a kiss (to begin with, anyway)—well. As he gives that shirt a sharp tug, tilting his head back as he does so, he knows that he doesn't have to.]
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Sylvain might be the one to initiate things more often than not, but he'll still follow Felix's lead for as long as he needs to for the other to feel comfortable. Silent questions and permissions granted, little concessions here and there... this has always been about learning a language that no one else can hear, even when he's convinced it ought to ring as clear as bells.
He does have to laugh though, because... yeah, fair. He probably doesn't smell great, between the armor, and the horse, and so many miles of riding. But he'd do the same thing countless times over for this? To feel his heart jump in his chest as he lets himself be pulled down, his free hand reaching for his waist while the one at Felix's face shifts to rest, feather-light, along the line of his jaw instead.
"Sorry," he mumbles, in the distracted tone of someone distinctly not sorry, whether due to how hilarious he finds the complaint or the fact that it's all but breathed into the space between their lips--and then, there isn't any space left there at all. It's not a long kiss by any means, although most kisses like this, Sylvain's noticed--the ones full of unspoken relief and warmth, of coming home and welcome home in turn--could easily last an eternity, and he would never grow tired of them. Like... kissing in general is nice? But this is something that's so unique to kissing Felix, specifically. And maybe that's sappy!! Maybe it IS--but hell, call him a sap then, because if Sylvain 'used to have a different girlfriend every week' Gautier has ever melted into a kiss, it's undoubtedly been with Felix.
Even so, when he does pull back, it's only so he can rest their foreheads together and tease:
"If I'd taken the time to bathe before seeing you, you might have had my head for taking even longer." You know... since he was """late""".
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But the sound of Sylvain's laughter, the feel of Sylvain's lips pressing against his—no, Felix did not have a bad time in the capital, but it's only here and now that something unclenches within him. This is the one person he can relax around without, like, consciously attempting to do so? Sylvain knows him, and loves him, and never asks for anything more than he's willing to give, and it's easy, really, for Felix to close his eyes and press a bit closer to him. Maybe he's a sap, too.
...Okay, so he's definitely a sap. He puts more effort into hiding that part of himself than, say, Sylvain does, but the affection he feels is obvious in the way his free hand comes up to rest atop the other man's shoulder, anchoring him in place even as his grip on that poor, poor shirt loosens ever so slightly. He doesn't want this kiss to end; he feels the loss keenly when it does, but sure, fine, he'll take this moment to breathe and just... appreciate Sylvain being so very near. He can't stay like this forever, of course, but for now... hmm...]
Learn to take quicker baths. [Because Sylvain likes to soak in the tub! Tell me I'm wrong! But after a moment's consideration, Felix can't resist tilting his head just so, pressing a kiss to the corner of Sylvain's mouth before snidely adding:] If you don't take one before coming to bed, I'm kicking you out.
[Into a guest chamber with you, buddy. Don't test him.]
Look at you with your fancy cute Sylvix icons... smh
It's a small enough price to pay, considering he'd already planned to take one. He's not thrilled about the horse smell either, even if Felix is just being a shit about it. Mostly.
"But leaving you...?" He pauses for only a moment, trailing off as if he actually can't imagine it. He just got here?? And they've been apart for so long, too! Felix!! But he only leans in again without missing a beat, lifting his head to press a soft kiss to the other man's temple; he shifts his one arm to wind more surely around him while his other hand slips from his face to just... rest his fingers against Felix's shoulder, first, more of a silent request ('Stay') without any real pressure to restrain him. Then, as that hand slides farther down Felix's arm (if he's allowed to thread their fingers together, even just briefly, he absolutely will) he'll finish his original thought: "Sounds like torture."
Aaaand cue eye roll. If there's anything Sylvain's good at, it's somehow making his Lines sound sincere--but in this case, there's nothing to gain from wrapping the words in false honesty. Not only would Felix see past it, and he knows he would, but he doesn't actually, like... need to? If anything, it's the self-aware sort of humor behind the statement that hints that there's more truth there than his natural dramatics might suggest.
There's probably even something to be said about that? That he spent so many years playing up his feelings for girl after girl after girl, only to have all that intensity he'd imitated thrown back at him tenfold once he actually let himself love someone for real. Oof.
Anyway: There's a slightly longer pause this time! It might even be long enough for Felix to try and get some words in if he really wants, but unless they're something stunningly important (so... NOT just scolding him for being ridiculous), he's probably going to get cut off when Sylvain turns to bring his lips just above his ear and lowers his voice to something that's hardly above a whisper.
"...Join me?"
i've sent you so much fanart LFDMSFKH make some!!
...That doesn't, however, stop him from snorting when that line finally does arrive. Such stupid words—with a hint of something real behind them, which Felix both recognizes and agrees with. It's not like he wants to leave Sylvain now that they're together again? He would very much prefer to stay here, especially now that Sylvain's hand is pressing against his back, breath puffing against sensitive skin as he leans down to all but whisper that suggestive offer into his ear, and damn, but that shouldn't be allowed. That is unfair, sir! Unfair!
But while Felix can't help but to stiffen ever so slightly, his cheeks picking up a hint of color as he considers their current situation—hey! He's still him, even if it takes him a second longer to respond than it normally would. How strange.]
Why? Looking for someone to scrub your back? [he asks, making sure to speak slowly, to go for that sarcastic drawl he's very, very good at.] I'm sure you'll manage.
[Because he, regrettably, has places to be... which is why he finally pulls his hand free of Sylvain's. He's not attempting to move away? Not yet, anyway. He wants to selfishly soak up as much of this warmth as he possibly can—but pulling his hand free is a clear sign of things to come.]
I have things to attend to. Before dinner.
Maybe I will... someday...
(Honestly? It's probably around company more often than not, and he probably gets an earful for it later.)
But, ah. He feels those fingers slip from between his own and he sighs, nosing gently into Felix's hair and reaching his hand to rest loosely at his waist, instead. He won't resist if, or rather when, Felix does decide to extract himself completely, but that doesn't mean he'll give him up readily, either. As if in anticipation for the upcoming loss, he holds him just a bit tighter, turning his head so he can speak more clearly.
"How can you have things to attend to when you aren't even supposed to be back yet," he asks, though it's less of a question and more like he's taking the place of a particularly needy voice of reason. Which... he sort of is? Let him tempt you, Felix; it's not like the entire Dukedom will fall in a night. "Is it so important that someone else can't take care of it?"
Like... literally, anyone else.
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I said I'd handle it.
[And therefore he will, because his word—the Duke's word—carries some serious weight! He can't afford to weaken it by backing out of even the most trivial of things, despite the fact that Sylvain is making a much more persuasive case than he even realizes. Or perhaps he does? ...He probably does, now that Felix is thinking about it, and that's just (affectionately) irritating enough for him to take a step back.]
So I will. Stop whining. ["Whining," he says, still trying his hardest to keep his casually rude tone. Like some part of him isn't pleased that Sylvain wants him more than anyone else! Like his face isn't faintly pink after receiving so much affection.] I'll be back.
[In, like, two or so hours? Maybe less, if he sets a grueling pace—which he will, because as he looks up at Sylvain to catch his response, he knows where he wants to be. Duty calls, though... alas...]
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"Right..." Said on an exhale, as fond as it is defeated. He understands? Like... even if he's selfishly hoping for another answer, he can't deny that he does admire that part of him. "I know."
He lets Felix take back what space he wanted, though his reluctance to let him go is probably more than obvious in the way Sylvain's arms reach out with him as he pulls away; his fingers linger against his sides as long as they're allowed. He might be staring again? Just a little bit, his own expression... surprisingly open, and soft, especially when paired with the small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. It's so silly to think he'll miss him so much when he's literally going to be back before Sylvain's even settled into bed! Idiots! But it's so much more than that, too.
His expression settles somewhere in the realm of affectionate resignation, which is somehow a very real category with these two, and before he lets Felix go completely, he leans down to steal exactly one (1) more kiss. A quick one--for the road or whatever--before he takes a step back, finally, and nods to the door. Go on!! Get out of here before he changes his mind!!
"I'll be waiting."
issa novel
After you bathe, I hope.
[One last rude comment for the road, then, before Felix strides into the hallway, leaving Sylvain to do... whatever it is that Sylvains do. Not that Felix is concerned; as he flags down a servant and tells them to ready his horse, he's confident that he'll be back well before Sylvain winds up bored enough to cause some manner of mischief.
And maybe it's that confidence that makes everything go awry? That prompts some higher being—their good ol' professor, hardy-har-har—to punish him for his hubris, because honestly, nothing goes smoothly. What should be a quick, easy ride to the countryside winds up taking an exorbitant amount of time, thanks to his retinue's uncertainty as to where, exactly, the Duke is needed; then, when that mess is finally sorted out and they finally arrive, dealing with the issue itself—some stupid property dispute—drags on for what feels like hours. Felix isn't a people person! Mediating conflict is not his area of expertise, and while he does his best to keep his temper in check as the people around him stammer and fuss and generally make fools of themselves, all he can think about is how Sylvain would have these imbeciles laughing and shaking hands in record time.
Felix, however, can manage no such thing. He gives his word to revisit the matter in a week, when tempers have (hopefully) cooled, and that is... frustrating. He doesn't enjoy tabling such a simple matter; it almost feels like he's failed, in some way, and he's prepared to brood over it the entire ride home—until, you know. What starts as a light drizzle turns into a veritable downpour, and all Felix can think about is making it home as swiftly as possible. He'd rather not drown on horseback...
But despite his best efforts, he can only do so much; like, by the time he does walk through the front doors, he's well and truly... late! And well and truly soaked, which is why he only offers token resistance as his servants fondly fuss over him, peeling off layer of leathers and furs until he's left with nothing but his sleeveless turtleneck, his pants, his boots, and a towel that some brave soul saw fit to drape right over his head. And surely he'll want to eat, they say. Surely they should run to the kitchens and order something brought up to his study, or perhaps—
Or perhaps nothing, because after ascertaining Sylvain's whereabouts, Felix waves them all away. It's been... a very unproductive evening? He's in a very unpleasant mood? There's only one thing he wants at this point in time—or, well. One person, which is why Felix heads straight to him, not even bothering to knock before he storms into whatever room Sylvain is currently occupying. Hi. Hello. Hopefully Sylvain isn't doing anything weird, because after giving him a preemptive Look, Felix kicks the door closed behind him and heads straight to the fireplace.]
Don't say a word.
[About his disheveled appearance, thank you, because he knows. He knows. Please let him stand here and towel his hair off in peace.]
Have a novel back apparently
probably uninterestingmore preferable scents Felix's household keeps handy.It doesn't take him long from there to find some way to busy himself, seeing as he settles comfortably into the not-so-unfamiliar surroundings as if it were his own home. Like, it's unsurprising, considering how often he's been here?? But he almost definitely gets a few pained Looks when some servant or another walks in on him straightening shit like he isn't still a visiting noble. For example: that desk?? Mmmm, no. He ignored it when he came in because he loves Felix very dearly, and because there were more important things to focus on, but listen... that shit is an offense to anyone with eyes, and completely unbefitting of a Duke. Get ya shit together, Fraldarius.
After a certain point, he's taken to pestering the knights themselves, chattering amicably whenever someone has a moment spare in some effort to keep himself from checking the time; he intentionally avoids any windows when the rain hits, because it's just rain, but once it goes from oh, to oh no, he finds himself lingering near the entry for just a bit longer than he means to. It's only after he makes an off-handed suggestion to a passing servant to have a towel ready--and then glances down to find an expression that's as exasperated as it is sympathetic, because that's definitely a towel there, already in their arms, almost as if it's their job to think of and prepare these sorts of things isn't that wild--that he excuses himself to just... awkwardly hole himself up right back where this whole thing fucking started. It's not that he's embarrassed?? He's just, y'know... He's got an image to keep, or something.
Anyway: by the time Felix barges in, Sylvain's busy creating the Fódlan Macarena--
Kidding. He's reading. The door opening is enough to startle him back to reality, eyes first wide with surprise before softening to relief as soon as their eyes meet, even just for that second. ......And then any and all previous concern is pushed aside as he pieces everything together, because oh, but he should listen... He should, and he knows it, and yet still he's smiling when he closes the book without so much as saving his place, leaving it at the corner of the table so he can push himself up and make his way right on over.
"Hey," cue a quiet laugh as he comes to a stop just behind him, easing his hands onto Felix's shoulders, "I wasn't gonna say anything."
Which is... a lie!! They both know it's a lie--but all the same, Sylvain's just gonna shift one hand up to the towel in a silent offer to take over the whole drying the hair thing. The other stays where it is, if only so he can lean down a bit over that shoulder to ask, in the tone of someone trying (and failing) to hide their amusement:
"...That bad?"
why do we do this to ourselves
(Except that he will, because he's a very, very smart man and Felix is very, very aware of this, but! For the two seconds it lasts, it's a nice dream.)
Anyway! Felix isn't going to dwell on it, especially when Sylvain makes a grab for that towel. Oh, he doesn't give it up immediately; there's a bit of, mmm, token resistance, much like he gave the servants in the entryway, but he knows better than to fuss about something so minor. If Sylvain wants to do this, then Sylvain gets to do this, because it's... nice. Soothing, in a way. It makes it easier for Felix to reluctantly hum in response to that question. Yes, it was bad. No, he doesn't want to talk about at this current point in time. Instead:]
I'm not a child, [is what he chooses to say instead, right before he finally releases his grip on the towel and allows Sylvain to properly do his thing. And you know, there isn't the least bit of heat to be found in those words? It's all bark and no bite, which is why it shouldn't be a surprise when he just barely leans... back. Sylvain is warm, and his chest is broad enough for Felix to comfortably relax against it, so why not! Why not. Just talk to him, Sylvain... say something stupid for him to bite at...]
Bc the background details are just as important as the idiots themselves
...Well, it's a decent enough excuse for the simple want to hold him, anyway. It's nearly even believable, except that he straightens to shift his attention up to Felix's hair only a moment later, and takes that hand right along with him. If he hasn't taken it down yet himself, that'll be the first thing on Sylvain's agenda--carefully, because he knows wet hair and hair ties can be a painful combination if you're not--but if or once it is, he'll comb his fingers through to pull as much of it behind him as he can.
"No," he agrees, easily, "but you are soaking wet." He gathers his hair with the towel in one hand, giving it just enough of a tug for the pressure to playfully punctuate his statement before he lifts both hands up again, massaging along Felix's scalp to try and encourage it to dry faster. "It'll take ages if you try to do it yourself."
The, 'And I've waited long enough' to follow that statement goes unsaid, but it can probably be heard in the way he pauses, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the top of Felix's head. It doesn't matter if his hair is still wet? Like, it's water... he'll live... although something else does make him take further pause all the same, lips curling into a smile as he huffs a quick laugh, like he's caught onto a joke that Felix hasn't. But look... look...... If talking about the apparent Disastrous Day is off limits, he's pretty sure Felix won't think it's as funny as he does. So, while he could say something stupid... he could, so very easily... why let Felix have that out? He'll hold his tongue instead. You're welcome, bud.
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...And if Sylvain didn't, you know. Openly laugh. Um, excuse you, sir? Is this about it taking him forever to dry his own damn hair? Well, that's a blatant exaggeration, in Felix's opinion, but rather than point it out and risk being wrong, he does his best to tilt his head... back! And a bit to the side, perhaps, because fuck drying his hair; he needs to see what sliver of Sylvain's face he can from this less-than-stellar angle. Why's Sylvain gotta be so tall...]
What?
[And that's, hmm, more than a touch sharp, because Felix enjoys being laughed at even less than he enjoys being stared at. Tell him what's so funny... this instant! He's narrowing his eyes while he WAITS!]
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Well, he's not surprised he got caught--and he's even less surprised to hear that telltale sharpness in the other's voice--but there's still some awkward repositioning of both his head and his arms, as if he doesn't expect Felix to twist around like he does. He certainly can't keep drying his hair at this angle?? But since he suspects Felix is more than aware of this fact, he lets his arms fall to fold neatly around his middle, towel held loosely in one hand, and tilts his head to meet Felix's eyes with all the amusement of this secret joke written on his face.
"How did you put it earlier...?" So eloquent and to the point, as he often is... Ah, yes. That's right, it was: "'You smell like a horse.'"
A wet horse... gross! But don't LEAVE, goddess, he's gonna tighten his arms just a bit as soon as the words leave his mouth, just in case Felix decides to get huffy and push him or something--he knows this man!! And he knows when something he says is likely to get him in trouble, too. But like, hey, technically a warm bath would be more efficient insofar as preventing a cold goes... though it would also defeat the purpose of trying to dry his hair to begin with. Two steps forward, one step back... alas. At least Sylvain isn't mean enough to kick him out of bed for it regardless.
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...Except that is absolutely isn't, because while the urge to elbow him in the gut and/or pull away is momentarily high, well? Felix is prickly, yes; Felix is as sarcastic as the day is long; Felix doesn't appreciate his words being thrown right back at him, but Felix isn't so far gone as to recognize when he's been thoroughly one-upped—especially when it's, mmm, somewhat deserved. Ugh. ...Ugh. Sylvain gets to see a trace of color appear in his cheeks, then—victory!—before he hurriedly faces forward once more.]
You—
[You!! But while Felix can think of several things to say—"Sleep alone, then," or, "I like you more when you're not talking"—none of them accurately capture The Mood, you know? And he's not mad, even though that sure is an annoyed-sounding huff that escapes him. That's more because he knows that he looks like a fool at this very moment, really. Sharp-tongued Felix, suddenly left with nothing to say...
...FeFe the Fool is real, apparently, but whatever! He wanted to make up for lost time, anyway... a sort of redo of their hurried reunion, so...]
Just shut up.
[Because even though Sylvain is holding him tightly, clearly hoping to keep him here, Felix is agile enough to twist around in his grip? To bring a hand up to grab a fistful of Sylvain's shirt, just like he did a few hours ago, but this time... hmm. Sylvain already bruised his precious ego (not really); Felix really has nothing to lose by raising up on his toes as he pulls Sylvain to him, because really, buddy, there are better things to do than crack jokes! Like, say... return this hungry, not-at-all-polite kiss in full.
...It's a start.]
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Not that he's complaining, of course, because even if he does have to laugh just once more as Felix crashes their lips together, he's perhaps a little too quick to melt right into it. He tilts his head for a slightly better angle, letting his eyes fall shut so he can focus more fully on this one point of contact; for all he might feel as though he starts things out on the defensive, the kiss an attack in its own right, Sylvain still aims to ease it in the direction of something more purposeful. Something no less hungry, yet slower, deeper, as if he would rather savor the way their lips fit together instead of rushing for too much at once and risk missing it.
Still, his hold on him is enough to give away his obvious impatience. The hand holding the towel--an afterthought now, more than anything--settles at the small of his back, while the other slides up to hold Felix tighter against him, both for the sake of pressing closer still, and to support him while he's leaning up like this. But Felix is still cold, or at least he's still colder than Sylvain is after sitting nice and cozy in a room with a fire going for so long, and the contact sends a small shiver through him.
"You'll dry faster without all this," he murmurs against the corner of Felix's mouth once they break apart, plucking absently at the fabric while he catches his breath. He busies himself with lazy kisses along his jaw in the meantime, apparently not bothered enough by the supposed smell of horse to want any sort of distance between them. "I'll help you keep warm, too."
There's no reason to keep up the pretense of 'only doing it to help', but it's all still true.
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...Listen: Felix missed Sylvain very, very much, and as he doesn't have Sylvain's way with words, this eagerness is the best way he has to express it. It's why he (ineffectively) chases after Sylvain when he pulls away, even though he's well aware that he, too, needs to take a breath. He will sink back down to his heels... later, perhaps; for now, he likes being so close to Sylvain, likes the way those hands on his back are holding him so close. He feels... oddly secure like this. Safe.]
How kind, [he oh-so dryly replies, lifting his chin to allow Sylvain easier access—and to silently encourage more of that, thanks. Another reason for Felix to take off his damp turtleneck: it's rudely blocking most of his neck, and you know, he has never been more aware of this fact.
And yet? And yet. While he does release his hold on Sylvain, hands dropping down to his hips, they don't go to the hem of his shirt; they go to the hem of Sylvain's, instead, icy fingers slipping beneath the fabric to press against the warm skin beneath. Just above the waistband of his pants, really. Just so Felix can smirk back at him, because if Sylvain can slow things down, then Sylvain can deal with Felix teasing him in the rudest possible way.]
And you? You may be warm, but you're overdressed.
[He's just sayin'. And there's another comment to be added there? Something about Sylvain not even bothering to take him to bed before stripping him down, but it's fine, they're fine, they've probably done terrible things in this room and... many, many others. That's their version of romance, baybee.]
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So... he appreciates that eagerness, to say the least. The reminder that Felix wants this--wants him, for him--even half as much as Sylvain does is a heady sort of thing, and it's definitely one that he'll never get tired of.
But for now--ah?? He sucks in a sharp breath as those fingers shock him out of his thoughts, as admittedly hazy as they already are--or were, anyway, before Felix decided to go and be a little shit!--and it goes against literal instinct not to recoil away from the touch at least a little, but he manages to keep as close as possible... even if his arms do slip a bit looser around Felix for the time being.
"What, you don't like unwrapping your gifts?" A clean, warm Sylvain waiting for him in his own home definitely counts as a gift. He almost rolls his eyes at that, though. 'Overdressed,' he says--well, even if he is, 'overdressed' is still the bare minimum to be considered presentable company: a fresh collared shirt (partially unbuttoned because he's Like That), pants, shoes... He could've put his armor back on and then Felix would REALLY have something to complain about. He laughs though, easing his hands out from around Felix in favor of following his arms and folding his hands over the ones at his waist. He did say he would help him warm up, and that goes for innocent stuff like this poorly-angled hand holding, too. "I'll keep that in mind... although, I had figured wandering the halls in the nude might invite a few too many questions."
And waiting for him that way would be PRESUMPTUOUS!! Felix could have been too tired after his hectic day! He can be considerate, even if he has been wanting this ever since he'd first stepped into the study. He's a simple man.
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...And because Sylvain is an incredibly attractive individual, which Felix is all too aware of. Has been all too aware of, for years, and now that Sylvain is his he will greedily take any opportunity to admire him—when he's sure that he can get away with it. There's nothing worse than a preening Sylvain.
But while he digs his thumbs into Sylvain's hip bones, appreciating how solid he feels in every possible way, Felix also knows that the chances of them removing every stitch of clothing right here, right now? Slim. And that's fine, really. If Felix has his way, the better part of this coming week will be spent indoors; this moment is more about letting Sylvain know just how much he was missed—and making up for today's lost time, hence the way he presses forward once more, nosing against the other man's throat. The message is clear: tilt that head... back!]
Half the Kingdom has seen what you have to offer, [he mumbles between kisses, aiming for sardonic but landing somewhere far, far more... distracted. Damn.] No one would even blink.
[Sylvain's philandering will follow him to the grave! Embrace it. But while Sylvain formulates whatever response he's going to throw back Felix's way, Felix makes his way to the side of Sylvain's neck, pecks becoming lingering, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. He hongry.]
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Anyway: stripping in like, the middle of the study, is probably not the best idea, it's true. They could at least lock the door first? But it'll fall on Felix to keep that thought in mind, because he's got ownership of their collective one brain cell for the night; Sylvain is more focused on the feeling of Felix pressed against him, his breath warm over his skin in contrast to the chill he can feel still clinging to the hands beneath his own. He gives them a gentle squeeze as he tilts his head to a somewhat better angle.
He has to swallow before he can speak to his own defense, and when he does, the only offense to be heard is so blatantly put-on that it comes off more like an old, tired joke than anything else.
"Hey now, I wasn't--" that bad, he almost finishes, but... well. He's pretty sure a lie that bold might be just enough to invite the Goddess herself to smite him down on the spot--especially if he tried to pass it by Felix of all people. "...Actually, you're probably right."
He somehow manages to sound sheepish despite how thoroughly distracting it is to have Felix at his neck like this. Like, on the one hand, it's a little awkward to acknowledge his skirt-chasing days in this particular context? But on the other, it's just history at this point--and it'll take a lot worse to pull his attention away when his breath threatens to catch whenever he feels the sharp, fleeting sting of teeth. He lifts one hand up to thread itself into Felix's hair (that towel might be useful yet if it hadn't ended up on the floor at some point, RIP), encouraging the attention while Sylvain tries to determine whether it's worth moving the short distance to the desk. (Spoiler: it is, but moving would jostle Felix and he wants to savor this for a moment, thank you.)
"But I've become a rare commodity now, you know?" Speculative, as if he's considering this legitimately and not pointing it out just to tease. "People always want what they can't have."
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But as much as he's enjoying wrecking Sylvain's neck... damn, but he can only stand on his tiptoes for so long! These boots of his do not make this an easy position to hold, so after taking the time to leave one last, lurid reminder of his affection, he (reluctantly) sinks back down onto his heels. At least there's a hand in his hair now! That's nice. That's a much better thing to focus on than the warmth in his cheeks, because he's aware that he's, ah, much more colorful than he normally is. It's not... ideal, to be sure, but what better way to deal with that than to be rude. Typical!]
Let me guess: you only want what you can have, [he taunts, pretending like his breath isn't uneven after putting forth such great effort. Please appreciate him, thank you.] And I'm supposed to be grateful.
[Since he's such a ~rare commodity~. Ha. Felix slides the hand that Sylvain isn't holding upward, splaying it against the firm muscles of Sylvain's stomach, and while he isn't normally as wordy as this other man? Well. He's in a much better mood than he was when he stormed into this room—and Sylvain seems inclined to talk, so hey, why not. He'll look Sylvain in the eye and play this stupid game.]
But you haven't asked if you can have anything at all.
[Never mind everything that's already been GIVEN!]
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It's been a month for Felix but now it's been longer than than for us, we're all fucking parched
"longer than than"... the dehydration is serious, i see
*Than THAT... Listen!! At least I wasn't the one who wrote shits!
me almost a month later: we will not speak of that ever! again!
I'd forgotten until exactly this moment, and now it's the funniest thing all over again, thank you
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This icon is called 'I don't have any suitable icons for this, sue me'
when are you going to make fanart icons... taps watch
Funnily enough, I spent about 20 minutes trying to find something for our other thread? So... soon
which other thread! i want to see...
As if you won't be the first to know when I make them!!
taps my WATCH
The longer I go without fanart icons the more I suffer tbh
make! them!!!
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uses this icon forever ig
How the turns have tabled!!
make me more icons!!! i ask, nicely
Send me sources and I will!!
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this icon is felix forcing sylvain to accept his love
This one's Sylvain accepting it, bc I need to make more soft icons dammit
you have two whole days off!!!
I have time to make so many icons... whoa
will you make them, though... will you...
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