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!]
Sylvain's never been especially worried about hiding the evidence of a decent night out... like, if someone had pointed out a well-placed bruise or an obvious lovebite to him only a handful of years ago, he probably would have waved it off, revealing just enough details to subtly brag about how it came to be--a Serial Flirt's take on, 'What, this old thing?' On the same token, Sylvain's never particularly cared about them, either? Catching the occasional mark in the mirror now and again from some girl he wouldn't be seeing a month from then--if that--was hardly anything noteworthy. Any worth put into them was only added after the fact. But while it's still rare that he'll put effort into hiding them in the event his collar or his armor aren't enough, it's... different with Felix. Which is sort of the story of Sylvain's lovelife, isn't it--but there's something... well, freeing, yeah!! It's not done simply for the want of something to do; it's become something familiar, something fond, something that lingers like a claim safely staked.
It's... grounding, in a way? It floods his chest with warmth at the same time that it fills his veins with heat, and by the time Felix pulls back, he isn't the only one with some new color to his face. This really is such a stupid game? It's such a waste of time?? And yet Sylvain does nothing to remedy it--not yet, anyway, because he's still got his mind's eye on that desk and in like twenty seconds it's probably gonna happen, let's be real... But instead, he tilts his head and shrugs, and if his laugh is a little breathless, he doesn't bother hiding it.
"I didn't have to," he reminds him, not without some amusement, as he takes the hand still under his and lifts it to his lips. It's hard to see like this, but his grin can definitely be felt when he presses a kiss to and speaks against the other man's palm. "You kissed me. Remember?"
He would've been content just combing through Felix's hair for like an hour!! Not that this isn't like, ten times better--especially since he can still vaguely comb through it with his one hand like this, although it's more like absentmindedly working through a small tangle he can't ignore than actively going through it--but Felix is gonna need a better card than that!
[For as many years they've spent alongside one another, one would think that Felix would be used to this by now! That Felix would think twice before trying to get smart with Sylvain, because Felix knows—knows—how sharp this man is. He can beat Sylvain in a spar nine times out of ten; like, he's quite sure of that, but winning a battle of wits? A war of words? Hmm.
Or: Felix done fucked up, even if it's hard to view it as a true loss when Sylvain just up and kisses his hand in such a tender manner. That is—well! Sylvain decimating him with such a simple point while, say, pressing his lips to Felix's neck would have undoubtedly made Felix flush a darker shade of pink; Sylvain murmuring said point against his palm, however—such a surprisingly sensitive part of him!—makes Felix flush crimson, heat spreading right back to his (mercifully hidden) ears, because ah, that is... positively indecent. Who does that? Seriously, who does this sort of ridiculous thing without looking and feeling like an absolute idiot...
...Sylvain, of course. It's easy for Felix to forget just how charming he really is, but goddess, if it isn't blinding at times! Like right now, actually, which is why Felix glances off to the side, hand twitching oh-so lightly against Sylvain's stomach as he tries to think. Let him scowl over at the wall, like this is a totally normal thing to do.]
Only because you wouldn't stop talking, [is the best retort he has to offer, and judging by the quick way he says it, he's well aware that it's stupid. Did he keep going because Sylvain wouldn't stop talking? No, and they both fucking know it, hence his quieter, somewhat sullen addition of:] I didn't hear you complaining.
It's probably for the best that Felix turns away when he does, because seeing the color spread over his cheeks, a distractingly obvious shade that creeps its way even beneath the dark contrast of his hair as he glances to the side, throws Sylvain's mental faculties well enough that for a moment all he can do is stare. He wants to tease him for it... but he also wants to try for probably the thousandth time to convey in words how unfairly fucking gorgeous he is?? Two great wants in conflict with one another... especially when there's as high a chance of getting told to shut up for both, the former for pushing his luck, and the latter because it would probably sound, like, immensely cheesy, even for him. Plus, he's pretty sure Felix doesn't actually believe him when he tries.
So yeah, he ends up just staring again, like the lovestruck fool he really IS, with that hand still held (looser now, distracted as he is) against his lips. At least until Felix tacks that last bit on, anyway, at which point he snaps back to reality ope there goes gravity as a fresh flood of fondness washes through him and renews that aching desire to be closer he's felt since... well, since well before he'd even left Gautier territory, honestly. Since they were allowed to get closer than they already were to begin with.
One short laugh does escape him, slightly muffled against the other man's wrist, and then he's bringing the hand that had fallen from his hair to Felix's chin, while he sort of like... tosses-but-in-a-guiding-sort-of-way Felix's hand over his own shoulder? Kind of a pointed suggestion to wrap it around his shoulders as he leans down to wrap his own newly freed arm around him again in turn, taking a second to just hold their faces close.
"You don't actually think I'd complain, do you? I haven't wanted to stop kissing you since I got here, Felix."
Soft, incredulous, as if he can't possibly believe that a time in which he'd want anything else would exist, even in the realm of Felix's habitual taunts. But he's quick to continue, softer still:
"If talking's the issue..." Then... well! The time for talking has officially passed! He trails off only so he can bring their lips together, slow at first but again: purposeful. Especially when he lets both arms fall, fitting themselves to hold Felix tightly to him, because... listen. The desk wins, he is absolutely going to lift him up so he can turn them towards it. His first priority is to get Felix safely on it, his arms bracketing his hips as he leans into him; his second, then, is to breathe into the space between their lips, however short-lived he hopes it to be, "How's this for a solution?"
[Felix isn't quite sure what he's expecting as he stands there, feeling Sylvain's eyes on him as he stubbornly refuses to look back the other man's way. He's red enough as it is! He'd like to let at least a bit of that fade before he finds another way to make a fool of himself—but that's an impossible wish, apparently, because as Sylvain leans right back in, sliding his arms around him while saying the sweetest thing Felix has heard in weeks, Felix knows that the warmth in his cheeks is here to stay. Unfortunate.
...But just barely, really. There are certainly worse states to be in, worse places to be, and so Felix chooses to focus on winding both arms around Sylvain's neck, eyes fluttering closed as he's kissed. It's... a different type of hunger he's feeling low in his stomach now? Deeper, somehow. Mellower, in a way, because while he certainly wants this idiot, he's once again aware that he absolutely, positively loves this idiot; it's why he bites back a complaint when he's lifted off his feet, even though they both know that he's never been good at relinquishing any sort of control. There usually has to be a fight for such a thing, and if it just so happens to be, um, short and somewhat staged, that's fine; it's for his pride more than it is anything else.
Sylvain, however, just so happens to be landing critical hit after critical hit? Felix is left defenseless when he's placed atop his desk, too caught up in love and lust and keeping this kiss going—until, you know, Sylvain feels the need to break apart just to drop a cheesy line. It takes Felix a second to register this; like, he's sitting there, watching Sylvain through half-lidded eyes as he dazedly works out what to do with his legs and what in the world to say. "You're still talking," perhaps, or the much ruder, "You still haven't asked for anything," or what if he chooses to say nothing at all... what if he just shifts around for a second, making sure the papers he's sitting on aren't going to lead to him, like, slipping right off the—
—wait? Wait, wait, wait. He's suddenly very, very aware that his ass is sitting on hard (and slightly uncomfortable) wood? Wood that hasn't seen the light of day in, like, months, so give him a second to turn his head, to blink down at the stretch of desk beside him before he jerks with surprise. 3... 2... 1...]
...You. [YOU!] You cleaned.
[There's surprise in his voice, yes, but there's an edge to it that marks it clearly as what it is: an accusation. You fucked with his stuff, Gautier??? You moved his shit around??? You deserve this look he's leveling your way, because ah, flustered Felix is quickly fading away... better do something to recapture that Mood...]
Is Sylvain patting himself on the back as soon as that look lands on him? Maybe so! The desk was definitely the Correct choice, and in the silence, it's easy to let his thoughts wander, even as Felix's attention starts to do the same. And then...
...Ah. You know, he can actually pinpoint the exact moment that realization hits, and it's almost comical? Like, in literally any other instance, he might laugh outright and shrug it off... point out how it never would be cleaned if he didn't step in... Just, essentially, really drive home the point that Felix should be grateful, because one day that stack of papers might end up taller than he is (not that that would take much) and they might not be able to fish him out of it in time.
But in this instance, for all the tension between them threatens to snap under the weight of that dumb accusation, while he does lean back just enough to give Felix the space he needs to inspect his surroundings--he even ducks his head to snort a soft laugh at how drastic the shift in his expression is--he doesn't feel like bickering right now?? Not about this, anyway, when there are so many other things they could be focusing on. So that You only gets a flash of an unapologetic smirk before Sylvain is leaning right back in, one hand sliding up from its place beside Felix to brace itself flat against the top of one thigh instead. Can't wait for some unwitting servant to come by in like five minutes with a proper, dry set of clothes for the evening, only to walk in on this hot mess.
"You're welcome," he teases, because don't worry, Felix: he can hear that unspoken, unintended 'thank you' as loudly as anything. But hey?? As much as he loves Felix as he is, no matter what, EVEN when he's being a stubborn shit... he'd really like if he went back to giving him that first Look, instead of the one that says he should probably sleep with his eyes open...? It was a good look!! And as luck would have it, Sylvain is all too happy to brave the oncoming storm to get it back, especially if all it takes is for him to kiss him just breathless enough to convince him that anything else can fucking wait.
[Those are incredibly important documents, Sylvain. Felix needs to know where they are at a moment's notice—which is why this new System will definitely come in handy, once Sylvain finds the time to actually explain its ins and outs, but for now Felix is allowed to be this... this righteously indignant!
But the hand settling atop his thigh... helps? A bit? Sylvain coming in for a kiss helps infinitely more, because really, it's hard for Felix to feel anything but satisfied when he's being kissed so very thoroughly. That isn't to say that he doesn't try; like, he spends the first few seconds biting at Sylvain's lips, worrying them to tenderness out of sheer, stubborn spite. Suffer...
...Not for long, though. Not for long at all, in the grand scheme of things—and perhaps Felix should be somewhat embarrassed by how quickly he snakes a leg around Sylvain's, ensuring that the other man remains close as he tilts his head back and allows this kiss to soften, to deepen? There's certainly no excuse for the way he pulls one arm free from atop Sylvain's shoulders, allowing his hand to drift down Sylvain's cheek, the side of his neck, his chest. It's easy to remain annoyed by the world and everyone in it; it's so, so difficult to remain annoyed at Sylvain. He cheats.
Well, whatever! Felix will take what little victories he can, hence the way his fingers once again find their way to the hem of Sylvain's shirt—but rather than slip beneath it, he grabs a handful of fabric and tugs it upward. Take this... off? Take this off, because it's been a month and he'd like to touch as much skin as he possibly can.
His shirt, however? He's in no real hurry to take it off at this point, even if it is blocking his neck. Alas...]
Edited 2019-10-18 05:38 (UTC)
It's been a month for Felix but now it's been longer than than for us, we're all fucking parched
If this is what suffering is like, then Sylvain is so fucking ready for hell. He'd brave eternal flames without question for more chances to kiss Felix like this, so braving those teeth is nothing in comparison--especially not when they finally ease back to where they'd left off and he can feel the other man relax again against him. Felix might be the one to draw him in, but like, realistically? He should know Sylvain is all too eager to follow. He's certainly shameless enough to voice his approval of even this much, a low moan caught between them as he presses forward as much as the desk will allow.
It's easy for him to get caught up in moments like this, all but basking in the warmth that every gentle touch leaves in its wake. He's known how lucky he is his whole life, and yet it's only ever with Felix that it feels real, because what else could it be if not luck? Lucky to be born where he was--when he was--born at all, so he could have his whole life to promise him; lucky to have a Crest (and this one's thought without even a single ounce of bitterness despite it all) because fuck knows his father wouldn't have bothered sending him to the monastery if he didn't; lucky to have survived an entire war at his side, so the rest of their years can (he hopes, anyway) be spent together in relative peace; lucky to be the one to know that those hands, as stained as his own and easily twice as deadly, are just as capable of drawing fire from a man's veins with just his fingertips as they are of blood with a blade--and if he continues to be so lucky, he'll be the only one to know it, as well.
He could go on, honestly. But for the time being, his attention shifts to that insistent tug, and the only time he thinks he would agree more would be if it was that damn turtleneck he was tugging at.
At some point his hand must have migrated from its place on the desk beside him to curl against the underside of a knee, as if he might convince Felix to shift himself closer still, while his other has decided to slide upwards to grip (a bit greedily, he'll admit) at the other man's hip; to lose those points of contact, however briefly, seems like a much larger sacrifice than it should, although, hey?? Bonus of wearing shirts with buttons: he doesn't have to immediately break away to make progress! It doesn't even take any extra thought, really, to brush Felix's hand away and undo the remaining few. Just, like... give him a second to actually take it off!
He might not have to wait, but (1.) kissing him is distracting, okay, and Sylvain will absolutely wait until they do need to separate before he shrugs it off the rest of the way if given the chance, because (2.) Felix may or may not still be mad ("""mad""") that he fucked with his desk?? And potentially shifting that frustration towards something more productive--like the fact he's 'taking too long'--sounds like it would have a much better outcome.
"longer than than"... the dehydration is serious, i see
[Well, see, here's the thing: Felix does want that shirt taken off as soon as possible, but that moan more than makes up for the mess (re: the wonderfully organized system) Sylvain made of his desk? Felix is content to sit right here for the foreseeable future, fabric caught tightly in one hand as he seeks new ways to provoke another moan, another noise, another something. Sylvain may be, ah, much more generous with such things than he, himself, is, but that doesn't make them any less exciting to hear. Felix enjoys knowing that the things he does can—do—affect the person he loves most...
But Felix also enjoys remaining conscious enough to pick up on such things, so when Sylvain finally does pull away just far enough to remove his shirt—ah. Hmm. Time to lean back, take full fuckin' breaths, and do yet another thing he enjoys: watch that shirt give way to skin, because Goddess, but is there a more attractive person in this world of theirs? Felix doesn't think so. Felix hasn't thought so since their Academy days, when seeing a girl step close to Sylvain, hand resting lightly atop his chest as she giggled at his stupid jokes, was all that it took to send a burst of jealousy racing through him. He didn't understand it then; he told himself it was nothing more than annoyance with Sylvain's philandering ways, even as he wondered what, exactly, it would be like lay his own hand atop Sylvain's chest and feel the heart beating beneath the surface.
Now, however, he knows. Has known, actually. For years, but that doesn't stop him from bringing his hand back to Sylvain's bare chest as soon as that shirt hits the floor, savoring the feeling of warm skin beneath his splayed fingers—and that heartbeat he can just barely feel. Mine, he thinks, dimly, as he brings his other hand down from Sylvain's shoulder. Mine, mine, mine, he repeats, allowing his fingertips to languidly trace every familiar muscle and dip into every familiar divot as they drift lower and lower. He doesn't always know what to say; he doesn't always know what to do, compared to Sylvain "Frustratingly Smooth" Gautier, but there's a clear reverence to be found in the way he's touching Sylvain—and soaking in the (shirtless) sight of him. He loves this man. He's so incredibly weak for this man, and he wants...]
Sylvain—
[There's something almost needy about his tone, because he wants? One thing? One person? And everything else along with it, but he can't think of how to articulate it. That is, unfortunately, beyond him at this point in time, so he settles for something simpler: allowing one hand to sink even lower, fingers pressing against the shape of him (through his pants, and really, why are they still on?) even as the other hand seeks out an arm. It's not like Sylvain's hands are doing anything important on their own; surely Felix is free to grab one, to bring that broad palm to the side of his face so that he can lean his cheek right into it.]
...Sylvain.
[And this time that name is spoken so softly it's almost a sigh, because it's been so very long since he was able to be nothing more than Himself... so just love him, please? Just love him.]
*Than THAT... Listen!! At least I wasn't the one who wrote shits!
Staying conscious is an absolutely crucial first step here, it's true, but it's followed almost immediately by showing levels of restraint between the two of them that have been rapidly dwindling ever since Sylvain first crossed the threshold.
He can't help but laugh a little breathlessly at the attention though, the flush of color he can feel warming his face brought on more by the way Felix looks at him more than the fact he's looking at all. He's never been especially self-conscious about his appearance--it's hard to be, when he's had girls throwing themselves at him one right after the other (and, too often, before there was even an 'after' at all) for most of his life--but although he's long since learned the difference between love and lust, and how it feels when the two come together, he'll still catch himself marveling at how profoundly bare he feels under the weight of it all. Stripped of more than just clothes, but of title, of Crest, of everything he'd once believed himself to be, down to the innermost layers of himself... he's certain Felix could just as easily look further, could reach in and touch his very core, and somehow, impossibly, be just as satisfied with what he sees.
His eyes had fallen to follow those hands while he focused on breathing more evenly, but at the sound of his name they dart up; his fingers twitch where they'd briefly settled against the fabric over Felix's thighs. Really, he only has enough time to think of how he'd like to hear more of that tone before that hand wanders low enough for his breath to catch. He swears softly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he presses into it... maybe a little too eagerly? Let him live, alright, it's been a MONTH and he's like, the least sexually repressed man in all of Faerghus--but he'll let Felix lift his hand, savoring the warmth of his skin against his palm, the curl of the other's fingers over his own, and this time when he hears his name, he's collected himself enough to speak, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
"I know," he breathes, as if he's actually said something more meaningful than just his name, "I know... Goddess, Felix--"
He interrupts himself with a kiss, brief though it is, before he slides the fingers of his free hand beneath the hem of his turtleneck, hooking it with his thumb to sort of slip it upwards in a silent request to get it the hell out of the way.
...Or maybe a not-so-silent request, because as Sylvain moves to press his lips to the space beside his ear:
"Let me see you," he murmurs, more of a soft, needy request of his own than any sort of command. "Missed you so much, you have no idea."
me almost a month later: we will not speak of that ever! again!
[Is there such a thing as "too eagerly?" Absolutely not. Sylvain pressing into his hand is Sylvain wanting him, desperately, and Felix's head is swimming as Sylvain leans down to catch his lips in a disappointingly short kiss. He could whine when Sylvain breaks it; truth be told, he almost does, but then there are fingers slipping beneath his shirt, words whispered so close to his ear, and he bites down on the inside of his cheek in an attempt to bring everything back into somewhat sharper focus. He doesn't know? He doesn't know?]
I do, [he murmurs back, a trace of his typical stubbornness creeping back into his voice.] Idiot.
[He missed Sylvain every hour of every day, even if he's, ah, loath to openly admit it. But he doesn't need to, obviously; Sylvain knows him just as well as he knows Sylvain—which means that Sylvain is well aware of how Felix feels about his request. Being seen is... well! You know! Even in the heat of the moment—even after all these years!—there is still something, mmm, mildly uncomfortable about stripping away the last few layers, about laying himself bare...
...And that is stupid, because Sylvain has seen more of him than anyone else? In many ways, really, which is why, after taking a moment to firmly push the heel of his hand against Sylvain's obvious arousal, he leans back. He needs both hands, you see, to grab the hem of his turtleneck and pull it over his head in one smooth, almost impatient motion, and then that poor article of clothing is sent sailing halfway across the room. It doesn't matter where it lands; he'll just steal Sylvain's shirt when everything is said and done with, both because Sylvain's shirt is dry and because Sylvain's shirt undoubtedly smells just like him. He's sleeping in it. It's law.
But without his sweater... hmm. He feels vulnerable, in a weird way; it's why he lifts his chin as he looks back up at Sylvain, going for defiant as he tries to ignore how warm every inch of him feels. He's pink all over, he just knows it. Damn.]
Don't stare.
[He's the same as he's always been, thanks, so allow him to reach up, hands settling atop Sylvain's shoulders as he tries to pull him back down into another kiss.]
I'd forgotten until exactly this moment, and now it's the funniest thing all over again, thank you
Were Sylvain feeling particularly difficult, he might try to suggest that Felix only thinks he knows... that, although it's true that Felix knows him better than anyone, and really always HAS, there's no way that he could ever truly imagine how deeply he's missed when they're apart. He might laugh as he scatters too-light kisses over familiar features, words steeped in honey as he compares how much he misses Felix to the farthest reaches of the ocean floor, deep enough to drown in--because even if he's learned to rein in his habitual use of such flowery language over the years, he can't resist the endearingly irritated fluster it still sometimes earns him, all too apparent in the flush he can watch bloom beneath the other's skin.
For the time being, however, he decides to keep those thoughts to himself. There's a time and a place for Bickering (But With Love), and that time is not now and that place is not here!! He lets that mild insult sink in as the endearment it's become instead, following the line of his fingers to leave a trail of soft, lingering kisses over his cheek that only stutter to a stop when Felix's hand goes from being Distinctly There to Distinctly Not, and even as he takes the chance to even his own breaths, that loss is an absolute tragedy. Worse, even, than the tragedy that is flinging a soaked-through sweater Somewhere, which probably lands audibly and wetly enough against whatever bit of furniture or floor it hits first that Sylvain has to physically stop himself from glancing over at it like this, even despite their current, ah... situation... This is an office, sir...
Judgement aside, it's at least easy to go seamlessly back to ignoring everything but Felix when, conveniently, nothing matters except for Felix? Nothing matters except reclaiming the space he'd afforded him to remove his sweater, pressing just as close and reaching out to smooth his hands down Felix's sides with the same deliberate slowness as he would to soothe an anxious mare, which is a comparison he's certain would get him kicked, at the least. Especially since he's immediately going against that direction, staring with unhurried, open adoration as his eyes track his hands' movements before flickering back up to Felix's face as those hands reach his shoulders.
"I can't help it," he admits, letting himself be pulled as much as he is leaning in, himself. There's a soft smile on his face and in his voice when he adds, practically against the other's lips, "You're perfect."
It's almost quiet enough to miss, an intimate revelation of sorts that might've been lost had there been any more distance between them. He is perfect--or at least Sylvain kisses him like he is, because he's perfect for him, and damn what anyone else thinks. He's the same as he's always been, and that's exactly the point... but he'll convince him of that some day. For now, he just eases one hand back up to thread itself into Felix's hair, eventually giving it a gentle tug to tilt his head back so he can kiss his way down to his throat as well; he only pauses when he decides he's found a nice spot to suck a bruise to the surface, because you know what? Felix can wear another dumb turtleneck tomorrow for a reason other than the cold, and that's honestly just the price of having Sylvain come to visit.
[Telling Sylvain not to do something is the same as inviting him to do it, and on some level, Felix is aware of this; it's why he isn't the least bit surprised by Sylvain's open admiration, even if it is a struggle to resist the very real urge to bring a hand to Sylvain's chin and turn his face away. It's not that he's self-conscious? He's given little thought to his appearance over the years, always too focused on bettering himself in other, more important ways, but Sylvain studying him so intently is—there's a weight to it. A heaviness. The knowledge that Sylvain sees every last bit of him... and loves him, anyway.
Loves him more than anyone else, which leaves Felix feeling vulnerable even as those warm, reassuring hands remind him where he is and who he's with. Only Sylvain! The one person who knows just how he feels about hair-pulling, who knows that the feeling of lips against his neck sends his pulse racing and his breath hitching.]
And you're— [A beat, a swallow, as Sylvain decides to leave his mark, before Felix collects himself enough to spit out the rest of this short sentence.] —ridiculous.
[He's almost proud of the fact that he said a four-syllable word without any stuttering whatsoever, before he realizes, dimly, that it's a stupid thing to be proud of. But that's the true price of having Sylvain come to visit, isn't it? Good sense flies right out the window when they're together, leaving Felix with no reason not to do things like, say, claw (ineffectually, thanks to his blunted nails) at Sylvain's shoulders, urging to to come closer, to do more. He's been very patient thus far; he wants, however, what he wants, and as he digs a heel into the back of Sylvain's thigh, he's making his position clear.]
Sylvain.
[And that... is the third time he's said Sylvain's name in the past, what? Ten or so minutes? A victory in and of itself, for a certain redhead—but what makes it even better is that, beneath the clear impatience, that trace of neediness is back.]
Ridiculous... maybe! Maybe so, because only someone truly ridiculous would choose to hum in soft agreement to that accusation, rather than deny it or ignore it completely. But, again: Sylvain is a pushover when it comes to Felix? That's just a fact of life that's as integral to his person as Felix's preference for spicy foods is to his. It's why he keeps his focus where it is for a moment more, hand tightening briefly in his hair as he savors every reaction he can pull from him with the kind of lazy satisfaction that suggests he would be perfectly happy to ignore the heat pooling in his own stomach for a while longer if just to remind him of his touch. He'd burn it into every inch of his skin to last even long after they're forced apart again, if given the chance.
But Felix wants more--and if Felix wants more, then there's no reason for Sylvain not to--which is why he only makes it to the junction where neck meets shoulder before he yields, the sound of his name making for a surprisingly good argument that said pushover can't help but agree with as well.
He disentangles his fingers from Felix's hair when he pulls back, lifting his head to steal a quick kiss with a soft laugh of, "Sorry, sorry," that definitely doesn't sound sorry at all, even as he leans in for a more proper kiss and lets both hands fall to blindly undo the dumb straps at the tops of his boots, one at a time. And like, to be fair: Sylvain loves his boots! He's blessed that they've become a part of Felix's daily wardrobe. They're just also unfortunately In The Way, and okay, sure... is stripping down in the Duke's Official Office the best idea? Probably... not! It's probably at least a little bit frowned upon, but at least Felix has the excuse of needing to change into something dry. With assistance.
Once the buckles are loose though, he'll slide his one hand along the inside of Felix's thigh to make up for the wait, continuing until he can press and curve his hand around the shape of him.
"I missed you," he repeats, because there are precious few things able to keep this man quiet for very long. This time, at least, he busies his hands with something productive, working the front of Felix's pants open less than a full beat later. "I missed your voice," he adds as he slips his fingers past the fabric to wrap lightly around him--because letters aren't the same as having him here. And then quieter, as he tightens his grip just enough to offer the slow drag of his hand by way of some temporary relief: "I missed having you in my bed."
Because Gautier nights are cold, and few went by that he didn't want after the press of heated skin against his own, hot breaths panted into the dark of the room surrounding, but he's certain not a single one went by that he didn't think of how he would rather just be holding him in the first place.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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... grounding, in a way? It floods his chest with warmth at the same time that it fills his veins with heat, and by the time Felix pulls back, he isn't the only one with some new color to his face. This really is such a stupid game? It's such a waste of time?? And yet Sylvain does nothing to remedy it--not yet, anyway, because he's still got his mind's eye on that desk and in like twenty seconds it's probably gonna happen, let's be real... But instead, he tilts his head and shrugs, and if his laugh is a little breathless, he doesn't bother hiding it.
"I didn't have to," he reminds him, not without some amusement, as he takes the hand still under his and lifts it to his lips. It's hard to see like this, but his grin can definitely be felt when he presses a kiss to and speaks against the other man's palm. "You kissed me. Remember?"
He would've been content just combing through Felix's hair for like an hour!! Not that this isn't like, ten times better--especially since he can still vaguely comb through it with his one hand like this, although it's more like absentmindedly working through a small tangle he can't ignore than actively going through it--but Felix is gonna need a better card than that!
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Or: Felix done fucked up, even if it's hard to view it as a true loss when Sylvain just up and kisses his hand in such a tender manner. That is—well! Sylvain decimating him with such a simple point while, say, pressing his lips to Felix's neck would have undoubtedly made Felix flush a darker shade of pink; Sylvain murmuring said point against his palm, however—such a surprisingly sensitive part of him!—makes Felix flush crimson, heat spreading right back to his (mercifully hidden) ears, because ah, that is... positively indecent. Who does that? Seriously, who does this sort of ridiculous thing without looking and feeling like an absolute idiot...
...Sylvain, of course. It's easy for Felix to forget just how charming he really is, but goddess, if it isn't blinding at times! Like right now, actually, which is why Felix glances off to the side, hand twitching oh-so lightly against Sylvain's stomach as he tries to think. Let him scowl over at the wall, like this is a totally normal thing to do.]
Only because you wouldn't stop talking, [is the best retort he has to offer, and judging by the quick way he says it, he's well aware that it's stupid. Did he keep going because Sylvain wouldn't stop talking? No, and they both fucking know it, hence his quieter, somewhat sullen addition of:] I didn't hear you complaining.
[Him... baby. Petty, obviously flustered baby.]
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So yeah, he ends up just staring again, like the lovestruck fool he really IS, with that hand still held (looser now, distracted as he is) against his lips. At least until Felix tacks that last bit on, anyway, at which point he snaps back to reality
ope there goes gravityas a fresh flood of fondness washes through him and renews that aching desire to be closer he's felt since... well, since well before he'd even left Gautier territory, honestly. Since they were allowed to get closer than they already were to begin with.One short laugh does escape him, slightly muffled against the other man's wrist, and then he's bringing the hand that had fallen from his hair to Felix's chin, while he sort of like... tosses-but-in-a-guiding-sort-of-way Felix's hand over his own shoulder? Kind of a pointed suggestion to wrap it around his shoulders as he leans down to wrap his own newly freed arm around him again in turn, taking a second to just hold their faces close.
"You don't actually think I'd complain, do you? I haven't wanted to stop kissing you since I got here, Felix."
Soft, incredulous, as if he can't possibly believe that a time in which he'd want anything else would exist, even in the realm of Felix's habitual taunts. But he's quick to continue, softer still:
"If talking's the issue..." Then... well! The time for talking has officially passed! He trails off only so he can bring their lips together, slow at first but again: purposeful. Especially when he lets both arms fall, fitting themselves to hold Felix tightly to him, because... listen. The desk wins, he is absolutely going to lift him up so he can turn them towards it. His first priority is to get Felix safely on it, his arms bracketing his hips as he leans into him; his second, then, is to breathe into the space between their lips, however short-lived he hopes it to be, "How's this for a solution?"
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...But just barely, really. There are certainly worse states to be in, worse places to be, and so Felix chooses to focus on winding both arms around Sylvain's neck, eyes fluttering closed as he's kissed. It's... a different type of hunger he's feeling low in his stomach now? Deeper, somehow. Mellower, in a way, because while he certainly wants this idiot, he's once again aware that he absolutely, positively loves this idiot; it's why he bites back a complaint when he's lifted off his feet, even though they both know that he's never been good at relinquishing any sort of control. There usually has to be a fight for such a thing, and if it just so happens to be, um, short and somewhat staged, that's fine; it's for his pride more than it is anything else.
Sylvain, however, just so happens to be landing critical hit after critical hit? Felix is left defenseless when he's placed atop his desk, too caught up in love and lust and keeping this kiss going—until, you know, Sylvain feels the need to break apart just to drop a cheesy line. It takes Felix a second to register this; like, he's sitting there, watching Sylvain through half-lidded eyes as he dazedly works out what to do with his legs and what in the world to say. "You're still talking," perhaps, or the much ruder, "You still haven't asked for anything," or what if he chooses to say nothing at all... what if he just shifts around for a second, making sure the papers he's sitting on aren't going to lead to him, like, slipping right off the—
—wait? Wait, wait, wait. He's suddenly very, very aware that his ass is sitting on hard (and slightly uncomfortable) wood? Wood that hasn't seen the light of day in, like, months, so give him a second to turn his head, to blink down at the stretch of desk beside him before he jerks with surprise. 3... 2... 1...]
...You. [YOU!] You cleaned.
[There's surprise in his voice, yes, but there's an edge to it that marks it clearly as what it is: an accusation. You fucked with his stuff, Gautier??? You moved his shit around??? You deserve this look he's leveling your way, because ah, flustered Felix is quickly fading away... better do something to recapture that Mood...]
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...Ah. You know, he can actually pinpoint the exact moment that realization hits, and it's almost comical? Like, in literally any other instance, he might laugh outright and shrug it off... point out how it never would be cleaned if he didn't step in... Just, essentially, really drive home the point that Felix should be grateful, because one day that stack of papers might end up taller than he is (not that that would take much) and they might not be able to fish him out of it in time.
But in this instance, for all the tension between them threatens to snap under the weight of that dumb accusation, while he does lean back just enough to give Felix the space he needs to inspect his surroundings--he even ducks his head to snort a soft laugh at how drastic the shift in his expression is--he doesn't feel like bickering right now?? Not about this, anyway, when there are so many other things they could be focusing on. So that You only gets a flash of an unapologetic smirk before Sylvain is leaning right back in, one hand sliding up from its place beside Felix to brace itself flat against the top of one thigh instead. Can't wait for some unwitting servant to come by in like five minutes with a proper, dry set of clothes for the evening, only to walk in on this hot mess.
"You're welcome," he teases, because don't worry, Felix: he can hear that unspoken, unintended 'thank you' as loudly as anything. But hey?? As much as he loves Felix as he is, no matter what, EVEN when he's being a stubborn shit... he'd really like if he went back to giving him that first Look, instead of the one that says he should probably sleep with his eyes open...? It was a good look!! And as luck would have it, Sylvain is all too happy to brave the oncoming storm to get it back, especially if all it takes is for him to kiss him just breathless enough to convince him that anything else can fucking wait.
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But the hand settling atop his thigh... helps? A bit? Sylvain coming in for a kiss helps infinitely more, because really, it's hard for Felix to feel anything but satisfied when he's being kissed so very thoroughly. That isn't to say that he doesn't try; like, he spends the first few seconds biting at Sylvain's lips, worrying them to tenderness out of sheer, stubborn spite. Suffer...
...Not for long, though. Not for long at all, in the grand scheme of things—and perhaps Felix should be somewhat embarrassed by how quickly he snakes a leg around Sylvain's, ensuring that the other man remains close as he tilts his head back and allows this kiss to soften, to deepen? There's certainly no excuse for the way he pulls one arm free from atop Sylvain's shoulders, allowing his hand to drift down Sylvain's cheek, the side of his neck, his chest. It's easy to remain annoyed by the world and everyone in it; it's so, so difficult to remain annoyed at Sylvain. He cheats.
Well, whatever! Felix will take what little victories he can, hence the way his fingers once again find their way to the hem of Sylvain's shirt—but rather than slip beneath it, he grabs a handful of fabric and tugs it upward. Take this... off? Take this off, because it's been a month and he'd like to touch as much skin as he possibly can.
His shirt, however? He's in no real hurry to take it off at this point, even if it is blocking his neck. Alas...]
It's been a month for Felix but now it's been longer than than for us, we're all fucking parched
It's easy for him to get caught up in moments like this, all but basking in the warmth that every gentle touch leaves in its wake. He's known how lucky he is his whole life, and yet it's only ever with Felix that it feels real, because what else could it be if not luck? Lucky to be born where he was--when he was--born at all, so he could have his whole life to promise him; lucky to have a Crest (and this one's thought without even a single ounce of bitterness despite it all) because fuck knows his father wouldn't have bothered sending him to the monastery if he didn't; lucky to have survived an entire war at his side, so the rest of their years can (he hopes, anyway) be spent together in relative peace; lucky to be the one to know that those hands, as stained as his own and easily twice as deadly, are just as capable of drawing fire from a man's veins with just his fingertips as they are of blood with a blade--and if he continues to be so lucky, he'll be the only one to know it, as well.
He could go on, honestly. But for the time being, his attention shifts to that insistent tug, and the only time he thinks he would agree more would be if it was that damn turtleneck he was tugging at.
At some point his hand must have migrated from its place on the desk beside him to curl against the underside of a knee, as if he might convince Felix to shift himself closer still, while his other has decided to slide upwards to grip (a bit greedily, he'll admit) at the other man's hip; to lose those points of contact, however briefly, seems like a much larger sacrifice than it should, although, hey?? Bonus of wearing shirts with buttons: he doesn't have to immediately break away to make progress! It doesn't even take any extra thought, really, to brush Felix's hand away and undo the remaining few. Just, like... give him a second to actually take it off!
He might not have to wait, but (1.) kissing him is distracting, okay, and Sylvain will absolutely wait until they do need to separate before he shrugs it off the rest of the way if given the chance, because (2.) Felix may or may not still be mad ("""mad""") that he fucked with his desk?? And potentially shifting that frustration towards something more productive--like the fact he's 'taking too long'--sounds like it would have a much better outcome.
"longer than than"... the dehydration is serious, i see
But Felix also enjoys remaining conscious enough to pick up on such things, so when Sylvain finally does pull away just far enough to remove his shirt—ah. Hmm. Time to lean back, take full fuckin' breaths, and do yet another thing he enjoys: watch that shirt give way to skin, because Goddess, but is there a more attractive person in this world of theirs? Felix doesn't think so. Felix hasn't thought so since their Academy days, when seeing a girl step close to Sylvain, hand resting lightly atop his chest as she giggled at his stupid jokes, was all that it took to send a burst of jealousy racing through him. He didn't understand it then; he told himself it was nothing more than annoyance with Sylvain's philandering ways, even as he wondered what, exactly, it would be like lay his own hand atop Sylvain's chest and feel the heart beating beneath the surface.
Now, however, he knows. Has known, actually. For years, but that doesn't stop him from bringing his hand back to Sylvain's bare chest as soon as that shirt hits the floor, savoring the feeling of warm skin beneath his splayed fingers—and that heartbeat he can just barely feel. Mine, he thinks, dimly, as he brings his other hand down from Sylvain's shoulder. Mine, mine, mine, he repeats, allowing his fingertips to languidly trace every familiar muscle and dip into every familiar divot as they drift lower and lower. He doesn't always know what to say; he doesn't always know what to do, compared to Sylvain "Frustratingly Smooth" Gautier, but there's a clear reverence to be found in the way he's touching Sylvain—and soaking in the (shirtless) sight of him. He loves this man. He's so incredibly weak for this man, and he wants...]
Sylvain—
[There's something almost needy about his tone, because he wants? One thing? One person? And everything else along with it, but he can't think of how to articulate it. That is, unfortunately, beyond him at this point in time, so he settles for something simpler: allowing one hand to sink even lower, fingers pressing against the shape of him (through his pants, and really, why are they still on?) even as the other hand seeks out an arm. It's not like Sylvain's hands are doing anything important on their own; surely Felix is free to grab one, to bring that broad palm to the side of his face so that he can lean his cheek right into it.]
...Sylvain.
[And this time that name is spoken so softly it's almost a sigh, because it's been so very long since he was able to be nothing more than Himself... so just love him, please? Just love him.]
*Than THAT... Listen!! At least I wasn't the one who wrote shits!
He can't help but laugh a little breathlessly at the attention though, the flush of color he can feel warming his face brought on more by the way Felix looks at him more than the fact he's looking at all. He's never been especially self-conscious about his appearance--it's hard to be, when he's had girls throwing themselves at him one right after the other (and, too often, before there was even an 'after' at all) for most of his life--but although he's long since learned the difference between love and lust, and how it feels when the two come together, he'll still catch himself marveling at how profoundly bare he feels under the weight of it all. Stripped of more than just clothes, but of title, of Crest, of everything he'd once believed himself to be, down to the innermost layers of himself... he's certain Felix could just as easily look further, could reach in and touch his very core, and somehow, impossibly, be just as satisfied with what he sees.
His eyes had fallen to follow those hands while he focused on breathing more evenly, but at the sound of his name they dart up; his fingers twitch where they'd briefly settled against the fabric over Felix's thighs. Really, he only has enough time to think of how he'd like to hear more of that tone before that hand wanders low enough for his breath to catch. He swears softly, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he presses into it... maybe a little too eagerly? Let him live, alright, it's been a MONTH and he's like, the least sexually repressed man in all of Faerghus--but he'll let Felix lift his hand, savoring the warmth of his skin against his palm, the curl of the other's fingers over his own, and this time when he hears his name, he's collected himself enough to speak, leaning down to press their foreheads together.
"I know," he breathes, as if he's actually said something more meaningful than just his name, "I know... Goddess, Felix--"
He interrupts himself with a kiss, brief though it is, before he slides the fingers of his free hand beneath the hem of his turtleneck, hooking it with his thumb to sort of slip it upwards in a silent request to get it the hell out of the way.
...Or maybe a not-so-silent request, because as Sylvain moves to press his lips to the space beside his ear:
"Let me see you," he murmurs, more of a soft, needy request of his own than any sort of command. "Missed you so much, you have no idea."
me almost a month later: we will not speak of that ever! again!
I do, [he murmurs back, a trace of his typical stubbornness creeping back into his voice.] Idiot.
[He missed Sylvain every hour of every day, even if he's, ah, loath to openly admit it. But he doesn't need to, obviously; Sylvain knows him just as well as he knows Sylvain—which means that Sylvain is well aware of how Felix feels about his request. Being seen is... well! You know! Even in the heat of the moment—even after all these years!—there is still something, mmm, mildly uncomfortable about stripping away the last few layers, about laying himself bare...
...And that is stupid, because Sylvain has seen more of him than anyone else? In many ways, really, which is why, after taking a moment to firmly push the heel of his hand against Sylvain's obvious arousal, he leans back. He needs both hands, you see, to grab the hem of his turtleneck and pull it over his head in one smooth, almost impatient motion, and then that poor article of clothing is sent sailing halfway across the room. It doesn't matter where it lands; he'll just steal Sylvain's shirt when everything is said and done with, both because Sylvain's shirt is dry and because Sylvain's shirt undoubtedly smells just like him. He's sleeping in it. It's law.
But without his sweater... hmm. He feels vulnerable, in a weird way; it's why he lifts his chin as he looks back up at Sylvain, going for defiant as he tries to ignore how warm every inch of him feels. He's pink all over, he just knows it. Damn.]
Don't stare.
[He's the same as he's always been, thanks, so allow him to reach up, hands settling atop Sylvain's shoulders as he tries to pull him back down into another kiss.]
I'd forgotten until exactly this moment, and now it's the funniest thing all over again, thank you
For the time being, however, he decides to keep those thoughts to himself. There's a time and a place for Bickering (But With Love), and that time is not now and that place is not here!! He lets that mild insult sink in as the endearment it's become instead, following the line of his fingers to leave a trail of soft, lingering kisses over his cheek that only stutter to a stop when Felix's hand goes from being Distinctly There to Distinctly Not, and even as he takes the chance to even his own breaths, that loss is an absolute tragedy. Worse, even, than the tragedy that is flinging a soaked-through sweater Somewhere, which probably lands audibly and wetly enough against whatever bit of furniture or floor it hits first that Sylvain has to physically stop himself from glancing over at it like this, even despite their current, ah... situation... This is an office, sir...
Judgement aside, it's at least easy to go seamlessly back to ignoring everything but Felix when, conveniently, nothing matters except for Felix? Nothing matters except reclaiming the space he'd afforded him to remove his sweater, pressing just as close and reaching out to smooth his hands down Felix's sides with the same deliberate slowness as he would to soothe an anxious mare, which is a comparison he's certain would get him kicked, at the least. Especially since he's immediately going against that direction, staring with unhurried, open adoration as his eyes track his hands' movements before flickering back up to Felix's face as those hands reach his shoulders.
"I can't help it," he admits, letting himself be pulled as much as he is leaning in, himself. There's a soft smile on his face and in his voice when he adds, practically against the other's lips, "You're perfect."
It's almost quiet enough to miss, an intimate revelation of sorts that might've been lost had there been any more distance between them. He is perfect--or at least Sylvain kisses him like he is, because he's perfect for him, and damn what anyone else thinks. He's the same as he's always been, and that's exactly the point... but he'll convince him of that some day. For now, he just eases one hand back up to thread itself into Felix's hair, eventually giving it a gentle tug to tilt his head back so he can kiss his way down to his throat as well; he only pauses when he decides he's found a nice spot to suck a bruise to the surface, because you know what? Felix can wear another dumb turtleneck tomorrow for a reason other than the cold, and that's honestly just the price of having Sylvain come to visit.
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Loves him more than anyone else, which leaves Felix feeling vulnerable even as those warm, reassuring hands remind him where he is and who he's with. Only Sylvain! The one person who knows just how he feels about hair-pulling, who knows that the feeling of lips against his neck sends his pulse racing and his breath hitching.]
And you're— [A beat, a swallow, as Sylvain decides to leave his mark, before Felix collects himself enough to spit out the rest of this short sentence.] —ridiculous.
[He's almost proud of the fact that he said a four-syllable word without any stuttering whatsoever, before he realizes, dimly, that it's a stupid thing to be proud of. But that's the true price of having Sylvain come to visit, isn't it? Good sense flies right out the window when they're together, leaving Felix with no reason not to do things like, say, claw (ineffectually, thanks to his blunted nails) at Sylvain's shoulders, urging to to come closer, to do more. He's been very patient thus far; he wants, however, what he wants, and as he digs a heel into the back of Sylvain's thigh, he's making his position clear.]
Sylvain.
[And that... is the third time he's said Sylvain's name in the past, what? Ten or so minutes? A victory in and of itself, for a certain redhead—but what makes it even better is that, beneath the clear impatience, that trace of neediness is back.]
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But Felix wants more--and if Felix wants more, then there's no reason for Sylvain not to--which is why he only makes it to the junction where neck meets shoulder before he yields, the sound of his name making for a surprisingly good argument that said pushover can't help but agree with as well.
He disentangles his fingers from Felix's hair when he pulls back, lifting his head to steal a quick kiss with a soft laugh of, "Sorry, sorry," that definitely doesn't sound sorry at all, even as he leans in for a more proper kiss and lets both hands fall to blindly undo the dumb straps at the tops of his boots, one at a time. And like, to be fair: Sylvain loves his boots! He's blessed that they've become a part of Felix's daily wardrobe. They're just also unfortunately In The Way, and okay, sure... is stripping down in the Duke's Official Office the best idea? Probably... not! It's probably at least a little bit frowned upon, but at least Felix has the excuse of needing to change into something dry. With assistance.
Once the buckles are loose though, he'll slide his one hand along the inside of Felix's thigh to make up for the wait, continuing until he can press and curve his hand around the shape of him.
"I missed you," he repeats, because there are precious few things able to keep this man quiet for very long. This time, at least, he busies his hands with something productive, working the front of Felix's pants open less than a full beat later. "I missed your voice," he adds as he slips his fingers past the fabric to wrap lightly around him--because letters aren't the same as having him here. And then quieter, as he tightens his grip just enough to offer the slow drag of his hand by way of some temporary relief: "I missed having you in my bed."
Because Gautier nights are cold, and few went by that he didn't want after the press of heated skin against his own, hot breaths panted into the dark of the room surrounding, but he's certain not a single one went by that he didn't think of how he would rather just be holding him in the first place.
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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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