[Duke duties... duketies, if you will... take up so much of Felix's time, it's true, but as he huffs out an amused breath:]
I made time.
[For Sylvain. Always—and that means that Sylvain can find the time to bang him in as many rooms as possible, The End. Anyway, though this is Felix's house! He is the lord and master of all that he sees—but does he slowly crack open the door? Does he peek his head out and make sure absolutely no one is in sight before finally dragging Sylvain out into the hallway? Yes. The last thing he needs is one of his servants seeing him wandering about half-naked, not because it's embarrassing but because they'd probably try to bring him, like, fifty unnecessary things. The rest of their night should be peaceful.
Their bath, at least, is... mostly peaceful. Sylvain definitely does The Most, as Sylvain is wont to do, but Felix is nothing if not disciplined; he ensures the focus is getting clean, scrubs both himself and Sylvain with ruthless efficiency even as Sylvain looks for any excuse to pull him closer. He's not opposed to affection, even after the afterglow really and truly fades, but! Time and place, you know... time and place.
And the time is now, and the place is Felix's bedroom. He's still wearing Sylvain's shirt when they enter, having put it back on the moment he was clean, and he makes no attempt to remove it; instead, he pads right over to the wide bed, pulls back the heavy furs, and slips beneath them, still damp enough from their bath to be chilled. Maybe Sylvain wants to, like, throw on a shirt, or exchange his pants for smallclothes? Felix doesn't know—but he still shoots Sylvain a Look over the covers, clearly impatient. It must be nice to be so warm all the time, sir! So nice.]
Of course he made time. That's a lot of what their relationship thus far has been, isn't it? Making time for each other during war, during peace, during work, and so on. Which, naturally, means that yes: Sylvain will, true to form, make the time to bang Felix in as many rooms as possible. That's love!!
And so is showing, like, at least a little restraint when it comes to the temptation that is bathing with the man he plans to bang in as many rooms as possible... A little. He said he would take responsibility for the mess he helped make, after all--and he does--but there's also something to be said about the calmness that moments like these bring with them. That glowing ember stuck right in-between his ribs, new sparks of fondness bursting within him with every grumbled complaint or exasperated sigh. His wandering hands eventually agree to compromise by busying themselves with Felix's hair instead, teasing through the strands until they're soft and smooth and easily gathered in one hand when he leaves careful kisses along the other man's nape.
In other words: by the time they reach Felix's room, the coil of heat in Sylvain's stomach has simmered into a tender sort of warmth that absolutely threatens to return full force at how unfairly fucking attractive this scene he's found himself in really is. So like, forgive him for taking an extra, like... five seconds to just take in the sight presented to him before he graces that order with a response.
"You could say please," he suggests, pleasantly, as if he isn't actively stripping down to join him even without. Honestly, he'll match whatever state of undress Felix is in, sans the shirt?? The man has no shame and is also a functional space heater in bed, so like, the fewer layers the better. But once he does climb under the covers, he won't waste any time before he's pressing up close, one arm sliding around Felix's waist to slip beneath his shirt--just to rest his palm flat against the skin beneath, nothing more and nothing less. "And you should definitely wear this more often."
Or like, any of his shirts, probably? This one is just convenient.
[Ask nicely? Why in the world would Felix ever do such a thing? Sylvain is as easygoing as Felix is not, and thus Felix remains exactly where he is, mouth hidden under the covers as he watches and waits. Maybe it's selfish to—no, no. It's definitely selfish to make demand after demand, but that's how things work with them. Sylvain is... too good to him by half, Felix sometimes thinks. Too selfless.
But in this moment, at least, it's perfect. Sylvain is perfect as he strips off his clothing, as he slips in beside him and easily pulls him just that much closer—and Felix is struck, as always, by how easily they seem to fit together. Even lying face-to-face like this isn't as awkward as it should be? He brings a hand to curl against Sylvain's bare chest, unable to keep himself from shivering as Sylvain's hand slithers beneath his (well, Sylvain's) shirt to press against his lower back. Warm, so warm. Absolutely everything about Sylvain is warm, including the expression on his face when Felix finally tilts his head just far enough back to look.]
Hm, [is all that he initially has to offer. A soft hum as his eyes skim Sylvain's face, as his fingers absently trace a scar that he remembers the story behind.] And yet you never leave them lying around. You're too neat.
[Is there a hint of a tease to be found in that sentence? Yes. Another difference between them: Felix is as messy as Sylvain is orderly, and thus his room is littered with hair ties, and half-empty bottles of sword oil, and various reports that he's allowed to pile up. Sylvain probably shakes his head about this every time he visits, but that's how Felix be, baybee.]
Fucking sword oil in the bedroom... lord. The reality of it is just that Sylvain tries Very Hard to not look too closely in any one direction, lest he be consumed by the overwhelming need to at least, like, straighten some things?? At least Felix is just messy and not dirty. There's only so much he can handle...
Anyway: Sylvain is also just immensely lucky that he has something--someone--so precious to keep his eye from wandering very far. Like, who cares about the abundance of scattered hair ties or papers when he can focus instead on the warm, gentle press of Felix's body against his own--comfortably cool in comparison to himself, but when have they ever not balanced each other out in just the right ways?--or when he can busy himself by tracing his eyes along the other man's features, strikingly beautiful in their familiarity.
"Is that all it'll take?" A small price to pay if this is what comes of it... but still a price nonetheless, in the end. He shifts to bring the arm not currently wrapped around Felix up, bent at the elbow near his head so he can trail his fingers down and not-so-subtly tug the shirt's collar to the side, better exposing the marks still lingering beneath. He looks them over with a low hum. "...I'll have to consider it, then."
As long as they don't get lost in all the mess Felix leaves behind!!
[He'll have to consider it, huh? Please. Felix huffs out a quiet breath, doing his best to look unimpressed even as the weight of Sylvain's gaze sends a blush creeping up the back of his neck. He knows that Sylvain is, ah, admiring his handiwork, and that's—it's fine, it's nothing new, and yet his heart still speeds up the slightest bit. It's one part Felix's dislike of being stared at, three parts Felix's very, very fresh memories of their office escapade...
...Hmm. It's lust, yes, but mostly love. A frankly overwhelming amount of love that would more than likely send his head spinning, were they not safely lying in bed.]
Did I say that was all?
[He did not. There's so much more to this than a certain someone leaving the occasional shirt draped over the back of a chair, and Felix considers it all as he slips a calf between Sylvain's.]
You'll need to visit more often, [he says, but not as archly as he intends; there is, in fact, a hint of a plea to be heard, and he hates it even as he continues on with:] Stay longer.
[Selfish, selfish, selfish—and almost impossible, until this Sreng business is sorted out, but? But. Felix wants what he wants, and what he wants... is Sylvain. Always.]
Hmm. That blush is definitely worth note, and were Sylvain a weaker man, he would give in to the urge to roll over him just to see what it would take for it to spread over his cheeks, down his chest... but Sylvain is not a weaker man, or at least he's no weaker to this than he always is, and so he settles for simply letting his hand slip from Felix's lower back, down to his ass instead. He brings his other hand up to Felix's face as well, brushing loose hair behind an ear with a feather-light touch as his eyes lift and linger at his lips.
He snorts a silent laugh at first, expecting some outlandish demand (cute) or a request more immediate (hot), but even as he pulls Felix in more tightly against him, what he does say... it gives him pause, as that hand at his face freezes where it is, because that request... that tone, subtle and yet so, so loud... Sylvain isn't sure he's ever been so aware of his heart before; he wonders if this is what it feels like when it bursts, or when it shatters.
"Felix..."
It's hardly more than a breath, tenuous and wavering and too full of emotion to condense into just a word. These visits are never long enough, haven't ever been long enough, and what he wouldn't give to stay... Sreng pulls him north, and Fhirdiad pulls Felix south, and responsibility chokes them both--but these fleeting trips are the breath of air their shared lungs ache for, time and time again.
And Felix knows how badly he wishes he could stay. They both know it isn't something so easily fixed. Sylvain knows, and Sylvain hates it, and yet with little else to be done--not now, not when Felix is here and warm in his arms--he can only let his hand relax against the side of Felix's face, looking with an open adoration and reverence that could suggest it's the world itself cradled against his palm. He leans in, not quite to close the distance between them, not yet, but significantly lessening it all the same as if he can't stand to leave it there at all.
"...Is that all?" he asks, quiet, because he will. He will until a day comes where he doesn't need to leave again at all, one way or another, and he'll promise that to Felix as many times as he needs to hear.
[It is... a childish request, at best. Felix understands this—even feels somewhat ashamed of himself, when Sylvain falls silent—but he can't help it? Once he thought he was better on his own; now he knows that is patently untrue, because he's better, at his best, when Sylvain is by his side.
And Faerghus is at its best when Sylvain is minding its border and Felix is minding its king. The things they do for the kingdom that took so much from them! Not that Felix allows himself to think about that; it is... so much better to savor the feeling of Sylvain's hands on his bare skin. The look Sylvain is giving him, as intense as it is.]
For now.
[He can't even pretend to be wholly unaffected. His walls are down, down, down, as they usually are when Sylvain is involved; all he can do is swallow, pull his hand away from Sylvain's chest just to curl his fingers around the wrist of the hand cupping his cheek. He wants this... to stay, please, as he takes a moment to consider his words.]
What I said in— [The office? The throes of passion? Take your pick, Sylvain, but—ah, there it is! There's the color finding its way to Felix's face at last, and Felix feels the heat as he holds Sylvain's stare for a few more (agonizing) seconds. It is, he supposes, the least he can do. The best way to prove he's being serious when he finally wills himself to say:] ...I meant it, you know. All of it.
[He would like... to duck his head, thanks! To press his face into Sylvain's chest as he waits for whatever response Sylvain will give him, but—no, no. He still has hold of Sylvain's wrist; it's easy to keep that hand in place as he turns his head to the side, just far enough for him to brush the lightest of kisses across Sylvain's lance-roughened palm. This is Payback (and totally not an excuse to look away before he combusts, thanks).]
If Felix wants his hand there, then he'll never take it back. If he ever truly asked him to stay--if there ever came a day where he chose a different path, regardless of why or where it might lead--then Sylvain could only ever follow. The rest of the world could come falling down around them, and he would be satisfied just as long as he could be at Felix's side until they breathed their very last. Being in love is a dangerous thing for a man like him, but then, he's always been a little bit reckless.
It's worth it to see that blush, honestly? To witness that pause (Sylvain's glad he was already smiling, although it does widen just a teensy bit as he tries not to laugh) and to hear that continuation--as if he had to clarify. As if Sylvain hadn't believed him.
Or, as he finally looks away: as if he's to embarrassed to say what he means properly. And like... the thing is, Sylvain knows Felix. He loves Felix. More than the world and life itself.
He just also loves to tease Felix. So, even if he remembers exactly what was said... and even if the reminder (of both the words and the context) has his heart skipping into a much faster pace than before... the soft look on his face only lasts a moment more before he hums, sliding his unoccupied hand lower still to the back of one thigh so he can hitch that leg up.
"I'm not sure I remember," he murmurs, pushed up just enough to like, almost lean over him as he shifts to tangle their legs more properly together. "Say it again for me...?"
[Listen: Felix isn't the least bit embarrassed by the many, many things that he feels, but expressing them? While Sylvain is staring at him? That is... difficult—and of course Sylvain has to go and make it more difficult by pulling him even closer. It's an onslaught and Felix is, mmm, unprepared, as evidenced by the way he attempts to use Sylvain's broad hand as a sort of shield. This level of contact is good; it's great, actually, thanks to the thigh slotting so easily between his own, but something, something, Felix's poor pride...]
I won't, [he grumbles, knowing full well that he will soon enough. It's why he presses Sylvain's hand back against his too-warm cheek.] I know that you remember.
[Because Sylvain was hanging onto Felix's every word, reacting to Felix's every move. More memories spring to mind, which is why Felix pointedly does not make eye contact with the man rudely hovering above him. Let him live!]
Sylvain will let Felix hide for a moment, if only because he finds himself floored, as always, by how cute he can be without even realizing it?? It is entirely unfair, pride be damned! Like the man didn't just disgrace his entire bloodline by bangin' on the family desk. Poor Rodrigue's probably rolling in his grave. But... hm. Have another hum.
"...Alright," he says as he drags his thumb lightly against Felix's cheek, conceding... perhaps a little too easily? He doesn't sound troubled by the fact, or even all that bothered that he's been called out on his obvious lie. "So maybe I do remember."
Maybe...! Direct translation: definitely--all the way down to the quietest hitch of breath, and it's... mm. It's enough as much as it isn't. As much as it always and never will be, and so:
"Tell me again anyway?" He's still wearing the same smirk, and using the same tone that suggests he's teasing, but there's a layer of sincerity beneath the words when he adds, "I like hearing you say it."
[He is Duke Fraldarius! He is the right-hand advisor to the king of Faerghus! He is as stubborn and as difficult as the day is long—and absolutely none of that matters when he's dealing with Sylvain. What won't he do for Sylvain? What won't he give to Sylvain? The answer to both is, of course, nothing, because nothing is ever a chore, where Sylvain is concerned.]
You're impossible.
[Yet another grumble as he finally releases his hold on Sylvain's wrist, accepting that hand will remain precisely where it is as he brings his own up to Sylvain's face. The angle is... a little awkward, perhaps, but he's able to rest his fingertips along the line of the other man's jaw—and that, unsurprisingly, is what he focuses on while he wills himself to say this sappy, selfish shit.]
...The other advisors drove me mad, [he begins, quiet and, mmm, a tad stilted. He's awful at finding the right words, but for Sylvain, he will try.] Dimitri drove me mad. Not that he meant to. And Fhirdiad is as loud as ever, and I thought— I thought of you every day.
[Of Sylvain's smile. Of Sylvain's laugh. Of Sylvain's arms wrapped around him. It's all perfectly ridiculous; like, this sounds like some drivel plucked right out of a cheap romance novel, and it's ensuring that his face remains bright red for the foreseeable future, but it's the honest truth—and so, as he hesitantly brings his fingers a touch higher, allows his eyes to drift up to Sylvain's:]
I missed you. [A beat, and then, a touch more fiercely:] I love you.
[And do not ask anything of him ever again, The End.]
Duke Fraldarius: stubborn and difficult, and Margrave Gautier: impossible and charismatic--or maybe just impossibly charismatic? Regardless: what a pair of sappy, selfish fools they must make, because Sylvain is very, very aware of how selfish it is to ask Felix to repeat any of this... He's never known Felix to be anything but direct, blunt, and honest in the things he says, but the things he chooses to say are always so... hmm. Carefully curated? Like, Sylvain has known plenty of people capable of flooding a conversation with every insignificant thought that comes to mind just for the sake of attracting attention, and in some ways, he's one of them; meaningful words get lost in the constant pour of loud, flowery, unfiltered noise, drowning beneath their own weight.
Felix, on the other hand, puts thought behind everything he says... He never says what he doesn't mean. Never says what he doesn't have to, and because of that, rather than fill the silence, his voice cuts through it, raw and honest and real. In comparison, one word from Felix is worth at least 10,000 of his own.
And when it comes to his 'I love you's, Sylvain knows he could offer everything that he is and everything he will ever be, and still never repay them in full, not even in a thousand lifetimes--but Felix chooses to give them to him, and what is Sylvain if not a selfish, lovesick fool? So here he is, all but holding his breath as that hand reaches up, patiently waiting while he finds his words... And you know, maybe it DOES sound ridiculous? Maybe it does sound like something from a romance novel, but Sylvain hangs onto every word of it still, as if this really is the first time he's heard anything like this from him--or possibly the last. And again, as always, he's struck by how damn lucky he really is to know what it feels like to love and be loved as completely as this.
So, once Felix has said his awkward, stilted, perfect piece, Sylvain pauses for only a moment, smiling softly down at him. Then, the hand still held ("""held""") hostage shifts slightly, fingers sliding gently back into still-damp hair as he leans the rest of the way in--first to kiss his forehead, and then to kiss his lips, both soft and chaste and fleeting, although he hovers close even after he pulls away.
"I love you, too," he whispers, still smiling. He kisses him again, same as before, and adds: "Thank you."
For repeating it for him. For thinking of him. For loving him, most of all, which is why when he closes the distance a third time, he kisses him slow, and soft--and this time, he doesn't pull away.
[Of course Sylvain would thank him. Of course he would. It prompts a disgruntled noise, even as Felix focuses on languidly returning this kiss in full. As if Felix really minded repeating how he feels! It was embarrassing, yes, and it took a bit of effort for his laconic self, but it was worth it because Sylvain is worth it. It costs nothing to love him; it's as free and as easy as anything, really, and maybe that's because some part of Felix has always loved him.
But Felix can only take so much softness at one time. The look, the words, the oh-so gentle kiss—it feels as though he could drown in all of this, honestly, which is why he can't resist pulling Sylvain's bottom lip between his teeth and giving it the lightest of nips. He is how he is! And how he is... is prickly.
In, like, a loving way, hence the way he swipes his tongue along the bite before pulling back. Sylvain is still half-hovering over him; Felix, therefore, rolls onto his back as far as he's able, the hand at Sylvain's jaw urging him to follow.]
Don't get carried away, [he halfheartedly gripes, expression too open—too tender—to make this a serious attempt at Being Rude.] You need sleep.
[And so does he, but he is a grown man who can and will do as he pleases. Let him show his affection by (barely) fussing.]
Sylvain would thank him even if he said it a thousand times? Especially if he said it a thousand times, in fact, because that would mean there were a thousand times that he'd thought to love him. So if it means having all of this, then the bite risk... mmm, worth it, he thinks. It probably shouldn't even be in the 'cons' category to begin with.
But loath as he is to let Felix pull away, the angle they're working with is... not the best, admittedly, and anyway it isn't as if Sylvain needs to be told to follow twice! He'll shift seamlessly with minimal prompting, sliding his one hand up from Felix's thigh to brace beside his hip instead as he settles over him more fully; he doesn't miss a beat, shifting one leg between Felix's as he hums some vague affirmative and lowers his mouth down to the other man's neck.
"And so do you," he murmurs, in between light, lingering kisses against the skin exposed by that open collar, and there's a gentle, teasing note to his voice, because he is also a grown man who can and will do as he pleases. He doesn't intend to get carried away, sure, but like... don't tell him what to do! "I'm helping you relax."
[Sylvain over top of him, slowly mouthing down his neck, could lead to so many things—but while Felix is always eager for more, more, more, there's no real sense of urgency? Like, the heat pooling low in his belly is... mellow, in a way. Satisfying. It sends his eyes falling shut as he tilts his head back; it sends him lazily running both hands down Sylvain's sides, blunt nails pressing into soft skin—but he's perfectly content to lie here and (greedily) enjoy this moment.
And part of enjoying this moment is continuing their brand of banter, because while Felix doesn't joke, he does tease those he cares for—and that means Sylvain catches the brunt of it. For better or for worse.]
So helpful. [It's as dry a tone as he can manage, given the current state of Him—and he follows it up with a quietly amused hm.] One of your better qualities.
[Implying there are... many! Or very few? Take your pick.]
Those nails are still enough to draw a shiver from him, and Sylvain thinks for a moment how this is like... one of his favorite things to do? These slow, savored moments, when it feels as if they have all the time in the world. No risk of upcoming battle to leave them so starved of the other's touch; no fear of never again hearing their voice or feeling their touch to make them so hopelessly desperate to sate that hunger before it's too late. It's just the two of them: warm, and safe, and comfortable.
"Oh?"
He pauses as he reaches the edge of the shirt's collar, and his smirk can probably be felt against his skin. Will he take this bait... It's so obvious! It is, but... hmm. If he busies himself with gentle nips and grazes of teeth while he considers, he doubts Felix will mind.
But once he's decided, he shifts his attention back up, even as his one hand travels down, kneading idle shapes over the top of Felix's thigh. He nips right along the underside of the other man's jaw, then kisses a gentle apology over that spot, as if any damage had actually been done.
"Mm... I should have plenty of those, right?" Right??
[Felix is far from a patient man, but no, Felix does not mind waiting like this. It's better when such tenderness is accompanied by a slight sting, in Felix's opinion. He's usually the one tugging hair, biting shoulders, leaving scratches along Sylvain's back—but it's nice when even a bit of that is turned around on him.]
You should.
[Implying, of course, that Sylvain does not, but that's a patent lie—and does Sylvain deserve to hear it, given all that he's currently doing? All the marks he's leaving, which is a thought that sends Felix shifting the slightest bit downward, just to press himself more solidly against Sylvain's thigh. They're clean and in need of sleep and there's still no real rush, and yet...]
...You do, [he admits—well, sighs, really, as fingers skitter across the firm surface of Sylvain's stomach.] Don't ask me to list them.
They are clean and in need of sleep, which is tragic, but again: Sylvain is a horny teenager, and Felix is a filthy enabler, and that means situations like these, realistically, are just inevitabilities in the grand scheme of things. Regardless, you'll never catch Sylvain complaining--especially since he loves those tugs and bites and scratches, and he certainly doesn't mind returning the favor now and again.
But the lazy sort of warmth that crawls its way through him suggests a gentler touch, urges the kind of patience that keeps his breathing even, even if he's maybe just a little too eager to encourage that shift with one of his own, pointedly pressing his leg a bit higher. An offer, of sorts, while he leaves another kiss--this time against Felix's cheek, and then the corner of his mouth.
"Not even if I ask nicely?"
He's not above saying please, after all, unlike some!! He also isn't above using soft, wide eyes and the smallest pout of his lips against him, because hey: sometimes it works, and sometimes you just have to fight dirty.
[The offer is clear—and appreciated, judging by the slow, deliberate roll of Felix's hips. It's a test, of sorts. An action for him to take as he pretends to consider Sylvain's words, because the truth of the matter is that Felix can't—doesn't want to—deny Sylvain anything. Words are complicated, yes, but stringing them together is such a small price to pay for everything Sylvain does for him, everything Sylvain is to him. Felix has never been loved so completely...
...And so, while Felix could force Sylvain to coax each word from him? While it could be fun for the both of them? There's the quiet knowledge that such things should be given freely, because Sylvain rarely asks for anything more than Felix returning his love in full—and that's, like, the simplest thing in the world. Felix has loved Sylvain for far, far longer than he can even remember, and it's entirely Sylvain's fault.
Which means that Felix is allowed another moment to enjoy things as they are before he places both hands flat against Sylvain's stomach—and gives him a gentle push. Over, please. It's Sylvain's turn to lie flat on his back, and Felix will keep this up until he is; then, the second he's more or less settled, Felix is climbing on top of him, shirt riding up in a most obscene manner as he straddles Sylvain's hips. Hi. Hello. He is In Charge now, and the first thing he does is sit up straight enough to enjoy the view.]
Why? [he asks, simply, as he presses both hands against Sylvain's warm, bare chest. It's a cold world up here, thanks.] You hear enough compliments from others.
[It both is and is not a tease, because Sylvain is stupidly handsome and stupidly charming.]
...Hm. Okay. Sylvain doesn't actually expect to be pushed away, really, so like, have this look of Confused Disappointment for a second because didn't he just--? Wasn't he just--??
And then it becomes a little more obvious what Felix wants from him, and understanding flickers over his face instead because it is not, in fact, for him to Stop. He hadn't exactly offered any real resistance to begin with, but he does move a bit more willingly once he knows Felix isn't just going to roll over and tell him goodnight--which would be fine!! But he's pretty sure he'll like this plan better, because ah, hi, hello indeed, let him, like?? Take a real deep, steadying breath here while he takes in the sight that is one (1) Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius, descendent of Fraldarius of the Ten Elites, advisor to the current king of Faerghus, one of the most beautiful, deadly swordsmen Sylvain has ever known and the man he loves more than life itself, straddling him with so much confidence it's like he belongs there, looking down at him in that way he fucking loves--and wearing absolutely nothing but his fucking shirt.
Felix is so unquestionably In Charge at this point he could do just about anything, really, while Sylvain is just lucky they hadn't waited until now to scratch that very first itch, because that means he gets to savor this one.
"I don't care what they think of me," he says--and if he sounds just a little bit distracted it's definitely because he is, but by the time his hands settle over Felix's hips and his eyes focus back on his face, it's obvious he has his full attention. "I like hearing it from you."
[It would be a lie to say that Felix, ah, failed to anticipate the effect this position would have on Sylvain? He watches Sylvain's eyes wander down before slowly making their way back up, hears the want in Sylvain's voice so clearly when he finally sees fit to speak, and there it is: a smug sort of satisfaction that sends him shifting his hips, just barely, before he slips a hand up to grasp Sylvain's chin.]
You like having your ego stroked.
[Along with other things—and it's just, you know. A halfhearted attempt at grumbling as he lifts Sylvain's chin before turning his face to the side. The marks he'd left an hour or so before line one side of Sylvain's neck, a reddish-purple trail that's somehow vivid in the dim light, and Felix hums appreciatively. He did that, because Sylvain is his—and because he is Sylvain's. Will he ever get over this? Probably... not, if the past few years have taught him anything.
And it's fine, he thinks, gently turning Sylvain's face in the opposite direction. It is fine, because as he leans in to press his lips to the unmarked side of Sylvain's throat, he knows that this hunger he feels isn't a weakness in the slightest. Sylvain is... the best part of him, and he is fully prepared to lose himself in this time and time and time again. A small price to pay—just like listing the many reasons he loves this man is a small price to pay, so:]
You're warm, [he murmurs against Sylvain's skin, punctuating it with a kiss so light it's barely even there.] Maybe that's your best quality.
[He's teasing! And as he takes a moment to suck a fresh bruise to the surface, he's allowed to.]
Felix shifts and Sylvain has to take a short, sharp inhale that threatens his carefully controlled breathing--not that it hadn't already been at risk from the moment Felix climbed on top of him, but like, it's the principle!! Kind of like it's the principle of Felix complaining even after he's got Sylvain effectively under his thumb that has him smirking as he casts a glance up from the corner of his eye and drops:
"Only if you're the one stroking it."
Said with the confidence of a man who knows he won't be sent to a guest room, especially now that he's already here. But confident or not, there's something almost... reassuring? Comforting, in a sense, about Felix sitting over him and admiring the marks he'd left. He hasn't questioned Felix's feelings for him in a long, long time, having accepted the fact that he is wanted by his side more than anyone else--and he prides himself on that, really, because he's the one who can see all those sides of Felix that no one else ever will.
But there's still that part of him that craves this kind of affection, too... Those warm eyes looking at him like he's wanted, not as a prize, not as a title, but as himself. To know that he loves him enough to stake his claim against his skin again and again, as if it might eventually sink right into him instead of fading away. Which, of course, is why Sylvain is all too willing to tilt his head as best he can in Felix's grip, baring his throat up for whatever attention he might give.
It's also why he gasps at that first bite (because APPARENTLY Felix has no sense of humor, let him say his dumb lines in peace!) and why he brings one hand up to thread fingers into Felix's hair as he breathes out a quiet laugh.
"I hope not." He's joking?? He knows Felix is joking, so he's joking too, obviously, but like. Is he really though, let's be real. "If that's my one redeeming feature, then I'll have to start hiding your furs."
No more BLANKETS, no more JACKETS, no more nothing!! He's getting rid of the competition.
[Wow! Felix does have a sense of humor, thank you—and he's long since accepted that Sylvain's sense of humor is very, ah, hit or miss, so. Hiding his furs, hmm? Hardy-har-har.]
I suppose you're funny, [is Felix's measured response to that threat. A purposeful pause, then, as he nips his way lower, before he adds:] But not as funny as you think you are.
[Just... funny enough, in the sense that he's the only person who manages to make Felix laugh with some regularity. That takes skill. They both know this. Felix appreciates this, which is why he continues working down, down, down Sylvain's neck, leaving scattered marks here and there before his lips find the hollow of Sylvain's throat.]
You're capable. [A kiss.] Responsible. [Another kiss.] ...Sometimes. Do I need to go on?
[Of course he does, so let him slip lower still? He's half-hard already, thanks to a combination of Sylvain's earlier attentions and this; it's easy to line himself up just so with Sylvain and grind against him, the cant of his hips ensuring the lightest possible pressure. Just to tease Sylvain, as Felix is wont to do, but even he can't prevent a quiet sigh from escaping him.]
Sylvain thinks he's pretty funny, so like, first of all: rude. But second: this is all very, very nice, as evidenced by the way his hand tightens in Felix's hair whenever he favors one spot in particular, or the uneven rhythm of his breath as Felix makes his way down. But... ah, there's something about those words in particular that catch him off guard, in a way? Warm, he can accept; funny, just the same, but... Capable. Responsible.
...Is he either of those things...? He supposes he must be, or at least as much of both as he's needed to be since he'd taken up his father's title. But that's just it: he's always done what's needed, nothing more, and so hearing Felix--Felix, the one who would never lie to him, the one he trusts more than himself more often than not--claim otherwise...
Well...! Sylvain is not a shy man by any means, and yet here he is, face warming up in a way that has nothing to do with want and everything to do with what he already has. It's probably a good thing he doesn't have much of a chance to think about the way his expression shifts before Felix is moving again, and-- ah. Who has time for insecurities, really, when all he can think about is the way his pulse spikes as he chases that pressure as best he can with a sharp inhale. The hand still at Felix's hip tightens as if to encourage more of that, even as he regathers his newly-scattered thoughts enough to ask:
"There's more...?"
He aims for teasing and intrigued, lands a little closer to genuinely surprised, but ultimately it's said on a particularly unsteady exhale that he immediately follows with a soft, incredulous snort.
"I'm already impressed you came up with that many," he says, because he doesn't know what to say, really--which doesn't happen often, and yet here he is, still speaking. "I... didn't actually expect you to have a list." Like... how long can it even be?
[In those few seconds before Sylvain composes himself enough to speak, Felix wonders, dimly, how long it would take to pull Sylvain apart like this? How long he could continue lazily rolling against him before those fingers at his hip dig deeply enough to leave bruises, before Sylvain pulls him even closer and and brokenly begs. It's certainly a nice thought.
But it's something to file away for a rainy day, because the clear surprise he hears in Sylvain's voice sends him blinking against Sylvain's throat. This isn't Sylvain fishing for further compliments, even though Felix could certainly tease him about it; this is Sylvain being taken aback by the idea that Felix both knows and is capable of listing the many, many reasons Felix adores him. Stupid, in Felix's opinion. Vaguely insulting. Why wouldn't he, of all people, keep track of every single thing he loves about Sylvain... like he's one to do anything halfheartedly...
It wasn't meant as a slight against him, though. He's aware of that, just as he's aware of the many things Sylvain has told him in confidence over the years. Quiet things whispered into his hair, or into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around Sylvain and just listened. Those deepest, darkest fears that soon prompt him to say:]
Sylvain.
[Felix props himself back up, just high enough to meet Sylvain's eyes, and despite the evident flush to his cheeks—ah, but his expression is as serious as it ever is! Carefully, tightly controlled, all while he takes a moment to breathe and study this absolute idiot. His absolute idiot. Goddess above!]
Obviously there's more, [he says, softly but somewhat crossly, as the fingers atop Sylvain's chin slide over to rest along his jawline.] Why do you think I love you?
[The question is as blunt and as awkward as he is, but please. He is making an Effort here.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I made time.
[For Sylvain. Always—and that means that Sylvain can find the time to bang him in as many rooms as possible, The End. Anyway, though this is Felix's house! He is the lord and master of all that he sees—but does he slowly crack open the door? Does he peek his head out and make sure absolutely no one is in sight before finally dragging Sylvain out into the hallway? Yes. The last thing he needs is one of his servants seeing him wandering about half-naked, not because it's embarrassing but because they'd probably try to bring him, like, fifty unnecessary things. The rest of their night should be peaceful.
Their bath, at least, is... mostly peaceful. Sylvain definitely does The Most, as Sylvain is wont to do, but Felix is nothing if not disciplined; he ensures the focus is getting clean, scrubs both himself and Sylvain with ruthless efficiency even as Sylvain looks for any excuse to pull him closer. He's not opposed to affection, even after the afterglow really and truly fades, but! Time and place, you know... time and place.
And the time is now, and the place is Felix's bedroom. He's still wearing Sylvain's shirt when they enter, having put it back on the moment he was clean, and he makes no attempt to remove it; instead, he pads right over to the wide bed, pulls back the heavy furs, and slips beneath them, still damp enough from their bath to be chilled. Maybe Sylvain wants to, like, throw on a shirt, or exchange his pants for smallclothes? Felix doesn't know—but he still shoots Sylvain a Look over the covers, clearly impatient. It must be nice to be so warm all the time, sir! So nice.]
Hurry up.
[Him! COLD! And as bossy as ever.]
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And so is showing, like, at least a little restraint when it comes to the temptation that is bathing with the man he plans to bang in as many rooms as possible... A little. He said he would take responsibility for the mess he helped make, after all--and he does--but there's also something to be said about the calmness that moments like these bring with them. That glowing ember stuck right in-between his ribs, new sparks of fondness bursting within him with every grumbled complaint or exasperated sigh. His wandering hands eventually agree to compromise by busying themselves with Felix's hair instead, teasing through the strands until they're soft and smooth and easily gathered in one hand when he leaves careful kisses along the other man's nape.
In other words: by the time they reach Felix's room, the coil of heat in Sylvain's stomach has simmered into a tender sort of warmth that absolutely threatens to return full force at how unfairly fucking attractive this scene he's found himself in really is. So like, forgive him for taking an extra, like... five seconds to just take in the sight presented to him before he graces that order with a response.
"You could say please," he suggests, pleasantly, as if he isn't actively stripping down to join him even without. Honestly, he'll match whatever state of undress Felix is in, sans the shirt?? The man has no shame and is also a functional space heater in bed, so like, the fewer layers the better. But once he does climb under the covers, he won't waste any time before he's pressing up close, one arm sliding around Felix's waist to slip beneath his shirt--just to rest his palm flat against the skin beneath, nothing more and nothing less. "And you should definitely wear this more often."
Or like, any of his shirts, probably? This one is just convenient.
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But in this moment, at least, it's perfect. Sylvain is perfect as he strips off his clothing, as he slips in beside him and easily pulls him just that much closer—and Felix is struck, as always, by how easily they seem to fit together. Even lying face-to-face like this isn't as awkward as it should be? He brings a hand to curl against Sylvain's bare chest, unable to keep himself from shivering as Sylvain's hand slithers beneath his (well, Sylvain's) shirt to press against his lower back. Warm, so warm. Absolutely everything about Sylvain is warm, including the expression on his face when Felix finally tilts his head just far enough back to look.]
Hm, [is all that he initially has to offer. A soft hum as his eyes skim Sylvain's face, as his fingers absently trace a scar that he remembers the story behind.] And yet you never leave them lying around. You're too neat.
[Is there a hint of a tease to be found in that sentence? Yes. Another difference between them: Felix is as messy as Sylvain is orderly, and thus his room is littered with hair ties, and half-empty bottles of sword oil, and various reports that he's allowed to pile up. Sylvain probably shakes his head about this every time he visits, but that's how Felix be, baybee.]
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Anyway: Sylvain is also just immensely lucky that he has something--someone--so precious to keep his eye from wandering very far. Like, who cares about the abundance of scattered hair ties or papers when he can focus instead on the warm, gentle press of Felix's body against his own--comfortably cool in comparison to himself, but when have they ever not balanced each other out in just the right ways?--or when he can busy himself by tracing his eyes along the other man's features, strikingly beautiful in their familiarity.
"Is that all it'll take?" A small price to pay if this is what comes of it... but still a price nonetheless, in the end. He shifts to bring the arm not currently wrapped around Felix up, bent at the elbow near his head so he can trail his fingers down and not-so-subtly tug the shirt's collar to the side, better exposing the marks still lingering beneath. He looks them over with a low hum. "...I'll have to consider it, then."
As long as they don't get lost in all the mess Felix leaves behind!!
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...Hmm. It's lust, yes, but mostly love. A frankly overwhelming amount of love that would more than likely send his head spinning, were they not safely lying in bed.]
Did I say that was all?
[He did not. There's so much more to this than a certain someone leaving the occasional shirt draped over the back of a chair, and Felix considers it all as he slips a calf between Sylvain's.]
You'll need to visit more often, [he says, but not as archly as he intends; there is, in fact, a hint of a plea to be heard, and he hates it even as he continues on with:] Stay longer.
[Selfish, selfish, selfish—and almost impossible, until this Sreng business is sorted out, but? But. Felix wants what he wants, and what he wants... is Sylvain. Always.]
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He snorts a silent laugh at first, expecting some outlandish demand (cute) or a request more immediate (hot), but even as he pulls Felix in more tightly against him, what he does say... it gives him pause, as that hand at his face freezes where it is, because that request... that tone, subtle and yet so, so loud... Sylvain isn't sure he's ever been so aware of his heart before; he wonders if this is what it feels like when it bursts, or when it shatters.
"Felix..."
It's hardly more than a breath, tenuous and wavering and too full of emotion to condense into just a word. These visits are never long enough, haven't ever been long enough, and what he wouldn't give to stay... Sreng pulls him north, and Fhirdiad pulls Felix south, and responsibility chokes them both--but these fleeting trips are the breath of air their shared lungs ache for, time and time again.
And Felix knows how badly he wishes he could stay. They both know it isn't something so easily fixed. Sylvain knows, and Sylvain hates it, and yet with little else to be done--not now, not when Felix is here and warm in his arms--he can only let his hand relax against the side of Felix's face, looking with an open adoration and reverence that could suggest it's the world itself cradled against his palm. He leans in, not quite to close the distance between them, not yet, but significantly lessening it all the same as if he can't stand to leave it there at all.
"...Is that all?" he asks, quiet, because he will. He will until a day comes where he doesn't need to leave again at all, one way or another, and he'll promise that to Felix as many times as he needs to hear.
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And Faerghus is at its best when Sylvain is minding its border and Felix is minding its king. The things they do for the kingdom that took so much from them! Not that Felix allows himself to think about that; it is... so much better to savor the feeling of Sylvain's hands on his bare skin. The look Sylvain is giving him, as intense as it is.]
For now.
[He can't even pretend to be wholly unaffected. His walls are down, down, down, as they usually are when Sylvain is involved; all he can do is swallow, pull his hand away from Sylvain's chest just to curl his fingers around the wrist of the hand cupping his cheek. He wants this... to stay, please, as he takes a moment to consider his words.]
What I said in— [The office? The throes of passion? Take your pick, Sylvain, but—ah, there it is! There's the color finding its way to Felix's face at last, and Felix feels the heat as he holds Sylvain's stare for a few more (agonizing) seconds. It is, he supposes, the least he can do. The best way to prove he's being serious when he finally wills himself to say:] ...I meant it, you know. All of it.
[He would like... to duck his head, thanks! To press his face into Sylvain's chest as he waits for whatever response Sylvain will give him, but—no, no. He still has hold of Sylvain's wrist; it's easy to keep that hand in place as he turns his head to the side, just far enough for him to brush the lightest of kisses across Sylvain's lance-roughened palm. This is Payback (and totally not an excuse to look away before he combusts, thanks).]
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It's worth it to see that blush, honestly? To witness that pause (Sylvain's glad he was already smiling, although it does widen just a teensy bit as he tries not to laugh) and to hear that continuation--as if he had to clarify. As if Sylvain hadn't believed him.
Or, as he finally looks away: as if he's to embarrassed to say what he means properly. And like... the thing is, Sylvain knows Felix. He loves Felix. More than the world and life itself.
He just also loves to tease Felix. So, even if he remembers exactly what was said... and even if the reminder (of both the words and the context) has his heart skipping into a much faster pace than before... the soft look on his face only lasts a moment more before he hums, sliding his unoccupied hand lower still to the back of one thigh so he can hitch that leg up.
"I'm not sure I remember," he murmurs, pushed up just enough to like, almost lean over him as he shifts to tangle their legs more properly together. "Say it again for me...?"
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I won't, [he grumbles, knowing full well that he will soon enough. It's why he presses Sylvain's hand back against his too-warm cheek.] I know that you remember.
[Because Sylvain was hanging onto Felix's every word, reacting to Felix's every move. More memories spring to mind, which is why Felix pointedly does not make eye contact with the man rudely hovering above him. Let him live!]
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"...Alright," he says as he drags his thumb lightly against Felix's cheek, conceding... perhaps a little too easily? He doesn't sound troubled by the fact, or even all that bothered that he's been called out on his obvious lie. "So maybe I do remember."
Maybe...! Direct translation: definitely--all the way down to the quietest hitch of breath, and it's... mm. It's enough as much as it isn't. As much as it always and never will be, and so:
"Tell me again anyway?" He's still wearing the same smirk, and using the same tone that suggests he's teasing, but there's a layer of sincerity beneath the words when he adds, "I like hearing you say it."
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You're impossible.
[Yet another grumble as he finally releases his hold on Sylvain's wrist, accepting that hand will remain precisely where it is as he brings his own up to Sylvain's face. The angle is... a little awkward, perhaps, but he's able to rest his fingertips along the line of the other man's jaw—and that, unsurprisingly, is what he focuses on while he wills himself to say this sappy, selfish shit.]
...The other advisors drove me mad, [he begins, quiet and, mmm, a tad stilted. He's awful at finding the right words, but for Sylvain, he will try.] Dimitri drove me mad. Not that he meant to. And Fhirdiad is as loud as ever, and I thought— I thought of you every day.
[Of Sylvain's smile. Of Sylvain's laugh. Of Sylvain's arms wrapped around him. It's all perfectly ridiculous; like, this sounds like some drivel plucked right out of a cheap romance novel, and it's ensuring that his face remains bright red for the foreseeable future, but it's the honest truth—and so, as he hesitantly brings his fingers a touch higher, allows his eyes to drift up to Sylvain's:]
I missed you. [A beat, and then, a touch more fiercely:] I love you.
[And do not ask anything of him ever again, The End.]
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Felix, on the other hand, puts thought behind everything he says... He never says what he doesn't mean. Never says what he doesn't have to, and because of that, rather than fill the silence, his voice cuts through it, raw and honest and real. In comparison, one word from Felix is worth at least 10,000 of his own.
And when it comes to his 'I love you's, Sylvain knows he could offer everything that he is and everything he will ever be, and still never repay them in full, not even in a thousand lifetimes--but Felix chooses to give them to him, and what is Sylvain if not a selfish, lovesick fool? So here he is, all but holding his breath as that hand reaches up, patiently waiting while he finds his words... And you know, maybe it DOES sound ridiculous? Maybe it does sound like something from a romance novel, but Sylvain hangs onto every word of it still, as if this really is the first time he's heard anything like this from him--or possibly the last. And again, as always, he's struck by how damn lucky he really is to know what it feels like to love and be loved as completely as this.
So, once Felix has said his awkward, stilted, perfect piece, Sylvain pauses for only a moment, smiling softly down at him. Then, the hand still held ("""held""") hostage shifts slightly, fingers sliding gently back into still-damp hair as he leans the rest of the way in--first to kiss his forehead, and then to kiss his lips, both soft and chaste and fleeting, although he hovers close even after he pulls away.
"I love you, too," he whispers, still smiling. He kisses him again, same as before, and adds: "Thank you."
For repeating it for him. For thinking of him. For loving him, most of all, which is why when he closes the distance a third time, he kisses him slow, and soft--and this time, he doesn't pull away.
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But Felix can only take so much softness at one time. The look, the words, the oh-so gentle kiss—it feels as though he could drown in all of this, honestly, which is why he can't resist pulling Sylvain's bottom lip between his teeth and giving it the lightest of nips. He is how he is! And how he is... is prickly.
In, like, a loving way, hence the way he swipes his tongue along the bite before pulling back. Sylvain is still half-hovering over him; Felix, therefore, rolls onto his back as far as he's able, the hand at Sylvain's jaw urging him to follow.]
Don't get carried away, [he halfheartedly gripes, expression too open—too tender—to make this a serious attempt at Being Rude.] You need sleep.
[And so does he, but he is a grown man who can and will do as he pleases. Let him show his affection by (barely) fussing.]
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But loath as he is to let Felix pull away, the angle they're working with is... not the best, admittedly, and anyway it isn't as if Sylvain needs to be told to follow twice! He'll shift seamlessly with minimal prompting, sliding his one hand up from Felix's thigh to brace beside his hip instead as he settles over him more fully; he doesn't miss a beat, shifting one leg between Felix's as he hums some vague affirmative and lowers his mouth down to the other man's neck.
"And so do you," he murmurs, in between light, lingering kisses against the skin exposed by that open collar, and there's a gentle, teasing note to his voice, because he is also a grown man who can and will do as he pleases. He doesn't intend to get carried away, sure, but like... don't tell him what to do! "I'm helping you relax."
Since he never remembers to without him.
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And part of enjoying this moment is continuing their brand of banter, because while Felix doesn't joke, he does tease those he cares for—and that means Sylvain catches the brunt of it. For better or for worse.]
So helpful. [It's as dry a tone as he can manage, given the current state of Him—and he follows it up with a quietly amused hm.] One of your better qualities.
[Implying there are... many! Or very few? Take your pick.]
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"Oh?"
He pauses as he reaches the edge of the shirt's collar, and his smirk can probably be felt against his skin. Will he take this bait... It's so obvious! It is, but... hmm. If he busies himself with gentle nips and grazes of teeth while he considers, he doubts Felix will mind.
But once he's decided, he shifts his attention back up, even as his one hand travels down, kneading idle shapes over the top of Felix's thigh. He nips right along the underside of the other man's jaw, then kisses a gentle apology over that spot, as if any damage had actually been done.
"Mm... I should have plenty of those, right?" Right??
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You should.
[Implying, of course, that Sylvain does not, but that's a patent lie—and does Sylvain deserve to hear it, given all that he's currently doing? All the marks he's leaving, which is a thought that sends Felix shifting the slightest bit downward, just to press himself more solidly against Sylvain's thigh. They're clean and in need of sleep and there's still no real rush, and yet...]
...You do, [he admits—well, sighs, really, as fingers skitter across the firm surface of Sylvain's stomach.] Don't ask me to list them.
[He won't!! ...Nah. He will.]
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But the lazy sort of warmth that crawls its way through him suggests a gentler touch, urges the kind of patience that keeps his breathing even, even if he's maybe just a little too eager to encourage that shift with one of his own, pointedly pressing his leg a bit higher. An offer, of sorts, while he leaves another kiss--this time against Felix's cheek, and then the corner of his mouth.
"Not even if I ask nicely?"
He's not above saying please, after all, unlike some!! He also isn't above using soft, wide eyes and the smallest pout of his lips against him, because hey: sometimes it works, and sometimes you just have to fight dirty.
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...And so, while Felix could force Sylvain to coax each word from him? While it could be fun for the both of them? There's the quiet knowledge that such things should be given freely, because Sylvain rarely asks for anything more than Felix returning his love in full—and that's, like, the simplest thing in the world. Felix has loved Sylvain for far, far longer than he can even remember, and it's entirely Sylvain's fault.
Which means that Felix is allowed another moment to enjoy things as they are before he places both hands flat against Sylvain's stomach—and gives him a gentle push. Over, please. It's Sylvain's turn to lie flat on his back, and Felix will keep this up until he is; then, the second he's more or less settled, Felix is climbing on top of him, shirt riding up in a most obscene manner as he straddles Sylvain's hips. Hi. Hello. He is In Charge now, and the first thing he does is sit up straight enough to enjoy the view.]
Why? [he asks, simply, as he presses both hands against Sylvain's warm, bare chest. It's a cold world up here, thanks.] You hear enough compliments from others.
[It both is and is not a tease, because Sylvain is stupidly handsome and stupidly charming.]
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...Hm. Okay. Sylvain doesn't actually expect to be pushed away, really, so like, have this look of Confused Disappointment for a second because didn't he just--? Wasn't he just--??
And then it becomes a little more obvious what Felix wants from him, and understanding flickers over his face instead because it is not, in fact, for him to Stop. He hadn't exactly offered any real resistance to begin with, but he does move a bit more willingly once he knows Felix isn't just going to roll over and tell him goodnight--which would be fine!! But he's pretty sure he'll like this plan better, because ah, hi, hello indeed, let him, like?? Take a real deep, steadying breath here while he takes in the sight that is one (1) Duke Felix Hugo Fraldarius, descendent of Fraldarius of the Ten Elites, advisor to the current king of Faerghus, one of the most beautiful, deadly swordsmen Sylvain has ever known and the man he loves more than life itself, straddling him with so much confidence it's like he belongs there, looking down at him in that way he fucking loves--and wearing absolutely nothing but his fucking shirt.
Felix is so unquestionably In Charge at this point he could do just about anything, really, while Sylvain is just lucky they hadn't waited until now to scratch that very first itch, because that means he gets to savor this one.
"I don't care what they think of me," he says--and if he sounds just a little bit distracted it's definitely because he is, but by the time his hands settle over Felix's hips and his eyes focus back on his face, it's obvious he has his full attention. "I like hearing it from you."
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You like having your ego stroked.
[Along with other things—and it's just, you know. A halfhearted attempt at grumbling as he lifts Sylvain's chin before turning his face to the side. The marks he'd left an hour or so before line one side of Sylvain's neck, a reddish-purple trail that's somehow vivid in the dim light, and Felix hums appreciatively. He did that, because Sylvain is his—and because he is Sylvain's. Will he ever get over this? Probably... not, if the past few years have taught him anything.
And it's fine, he thinks, gently turning Sylvain's face in the opposite direction. It is fine, because as he leans in to press his lips to the unmarked side of Sylvain's throat, he knows that this hunger he feels isn't a weakness in the slightest. Sylvain is... the best part of him, and he is fully prepared to lose himself in this time and time and time again. A small price to pay—just like listing the many reasons he loves this man is a small price to pay, so:]
You're warm, [he murmurs against Sylvain's skin, punctuating it with a kiss so light it's barely even there.] Maybe that's your best quality.
[He's teasing! And as he takes a moment to suck a fresh bruise to the surface, he's allowed to.]
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"Only if you're the one stroking it."
Said with the confidence of a man who knows he won't be sent to a guest room, especially now that he's already here. But confident or not, there's something almost... reassuring? Comforting, in a sense, about Felix sitting over him and admiring the marks he'd left. He hasn't questioned Felix's feelings for him in a long, long time, having accepted the fact that he is wanted by his side more than anyone else--and he prides himself on that, really, because he's the one who can see all those sides of Felix that no one else ever will.
But there's still that part of him that craves this kind of affection, too... Those warm eyes looking at him like he's wanted, not as a prize, not as a title, but as himself. To know that he loves him enough to stake his claim against his skin again and again, as if it might eventually sink right into him instead of fading away. Which, of course, is why Sylvain is all too willing to tilt his head as best he can in Felix's grip, baring his throat up for whatever attention he might give.
It's also why he gasps at that first bite (because APPARENTLY Felix has no sense of humor, let him say his dumb lines in peace!) and why he brings one hand up to thread fingers into Felix's hair as he breathes out a quiet laugh.
"I hope not." He's joking?? He knows Felix is joking, so he's joking too, obviously, but like. Is he really though, let's be real. "If that's my one redeeming feature, then I'll have to start hiding your furs."
No more BLANKETS, no more JACKETS, no more nothing!! He's getting rid of the competition.
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I suppose you're funny, [is Felix's measured response to that threat. A purposeful pause, then, as he nips his way lower, before he adds:] But not as funny as you think you are.
[Just... funny enough, in the sense that he's the only person who manages to make Felix laugh with some regularity. That takes skill. They both know this. Felix appreciates this, which is why he continues working down, down, down Sylvain's neck, leaving scattered marks here and there before his lips find the hollow of Sylvain's throat.]
You're capable. [A kiss.] Responsible. [Another kiss.] ...Sometimes. Do I need to go on?
[Of course he does, so let him slip lower still? He's half-hard already, thanks to a combination of Sylvain's earlier attentions and this; it's easy to line himself up just so with Sylvain and grind against him, the cant of his hips ensuring the lightest possible pressure. Just to tease Sylvain, as Felix is wont to do, but even he can't prevent a quiet sigh from escaping him.]
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...Is he either of those things...? He supposes he must be, or at least as much of both as he's needed to be since he'd taken up his father's title. But that's just it: he's always done what's needed, nothing more, and so hearing Felix--Felix, the one who would never lie to him, the one he trusts more than himself more often than not--claim otherwise...
Well...! Sylvain is not a shy man by any means, and yet here he is, face warming up in a way that has nothing to do with want and everything to do with what he already has. It's probably a good thing he doesn't have much of a chance to think about the way his expression shifts before Felix is moving again, and-- ah. Who has time for insecurities, really, when all he can think about is the way his pulse spikes as he chases that pressure as best he can with a sharp inhale. The hand still at Felix's hip tightens as if to encourage more of that, even as he regathers his newly-scattered thoughts enough to ask:
"There's more...?"
He aims for teasing and intrigued, lands a little closer to genuinely surprised, but ultimately it's said on a particularly unsteady exhale that he immediately follows with a soft, incredulous snort.
"I'm already impressed you came up with that many," he says, because he doesn't know what to say, really--which doesn't happen often, and yet here he is, still speaking. "I... didn't actually expect you to have a list." Like... how long can it even be?
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But it's something to file away for a rainy day, because the clear surprise he hears in Sylvain's voice sends him blinking against Sylvain's throat. This isn't Sylvain fishing for further compliments, even though Felix could certainly tease him about it; this is Sylvain being taken aback by the idea that Felix both knows and is capable of listing the many, many reasons Felix adores him. Stupid, in Felix's opinion. Vaguely insulting. Why wouldn't he, of all people, keep track of every single thing he loves about Sylvain... like he's one to do anything halfheartedly...
It wasn't meant as a slight against him, though. He's aware of that, just as he's aware of the many things Sylvain has told him in confidence over the years. Quiet things whispered into his hair, or into the crook of his neck as he wrapped his arms around Sylvain and just listened. Those deepest, darkest fears that soon prompt him to say:]
Sylvain.
[Felix props himself back up, just high enough to meet Sylvain's eyes, and despite the evident flush to his cheeks—ah, but his expression is as serious as it ever is! Carefully, tightly controlled, all while he takes a moment to breathe and study this absolute idiot. His absolute idiot. Goddess above!]
Obviously there's more, [he says, softly but somewhat crossly, as the fingers atop Sylvain's chin slide over to rest along his jawline.] Why do you think I love you?
[The question is as blunt and as awkward as he is, but please. He is making an Effort here.]
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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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