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.]
Listen... Sylvain is great at getting himself into things that wind up unexpectedly, ah, overwhelming? It's a skill he's honed since back when he would find himself facing the wrath of one girl or another, more often because of another--or, more rarely, the wrath of protective fathers or brothers. He's got a bad habit of biting off more than he can chew when it comes to People, and although the majority of his problems have been blessedly solved just by loving Felix, by letting himself love Felix, he's still got a real knack for putting his foot in his mouth.
Which... hm! He certainly seems to have done here, hasn't he? He knows exactly the moment he's said the wrong thing, too, because there's suddenly tension where there hadn't been before, and when Felix says his name, it sounds much steadier than he'd normally like it to be in a situation like this. Especially when he feels so uncertain?? But when Felix looks at him like that... When he asks him such an impossible question, as if Sylvain could ever know the answer...
(He gets the vague feeling that, "I ask myself that every day I'm lucky enough to wake up next to you," won't be especially well-received, so he'll bite his tongue against that one.)
"Because you're my best friend," he says, honestly--because it's the first Actual Answer he can think to offer, and it's still true even if they're finally, and have always been, so much more than just friends. But he'll bring both his arms up to wrap around Felix's shoulders a beat later, and his voice is lighter when he adds: "...Because it saves anyone else the trouble, and you know you're stuck with me, anyway. Am I close?"
He asks it like a joke, but there's still some hesitation hidden there.
this icon is felix forcing sylvain to accept his love
[Is Sylvain's hesitation really hidden, when it's so incredibly obvious? To Felix, anyway, which is why he remains where he is for a moment longer, studying Sylvain's face as he presses his lips into a thin line. Like this love is an obligation! Like he'd give his heart to just anyone.
...Hmm. The weight of Sylvain's arms threatens to pull him down—and so down he goes, an audible scoff escaping him before he presses his lips to the middle of Sylvain's collarbone. Mild annoyance can only fuel him for so long; like, staring Sylvain in the eye as he continues on with his list might just kill him, so? So. This. Felix kissing his way back to the hollow of Sylvain's throat, lazy and unhurried, as he wonders how someone so perfect can possibly be so stupid.]
I was going to say that your intelligence is another admirable quality, [he huffs, sliding his hand down to rest atop Sylvain's chest,] but I suppose I misjudged you.
[Except that he absolutely didn't, because Sylvain is, frustratingly enough, one of the smartest people he knows. Something to marvel over as he nuzzles closer, taking a second to feel the steady thrum of Sylvain's heart beating beneath his palm.]
...I don't love you because I have to, idiot. [When does Felix ever do anything simply because he has to? A puff of breath, then, before he (gruffly) continues with:] I love you because I want to, and you— make it easy. [Well.] Most of the time.
[Now? Debatable! Let him do this nice thing and stop doubting him!]
This one's Sylvain accepting it, bc I need to make more soft icons dammit
The goddess had to nerf him somehow, or he'd be too too powerful for this mortal realm? Duh. But he's glad to have the affection returned, because as distracting as it is--or could be, yet--it somehow makes all of this... easier to process, maybe? Not easier to accept, because for all he may doubt himself, Sylvain hasn't doubted Felix a day in his life. Like, he knows Felix loves him! He believes that Felix loves him. It's just...
Well! Sometimes it's just hard to believe that someone like him could ever deserve anything as perfect as this.
"Most of the time," he repeats, musing aloud as he tightens his hold around Felix just slightly. He loves him because he wants to love him... which makes sense? And he already knows this, really--like, all jokes aside, his self-depreciation isn't so bad that he would ever think Felix has to force himself to stay with him.
But at the same time... there's a certain impact that comes with hearing it said so plainly? To be told, in no uncertain terms, that loving him can be easy. It tugs at all those old scars on his heart in a way that drags one soft, unsteady breath from him; he lets one hand slip down to the one at his chest, fingers folded tightly over it for a moment before sliding to fit between Felix's, curling over the back of his hand as if to keep it there.
"...Keep going?"
Is he going to regret asking for this? Probably yes... but also no, of course he won't.
[Sleeping on top of someone is, ah, less than comfortable, and yet? And yet. Felix closes his eyes as Sylvain speaks, feeling the rumble of it as he takes a deep, shameless breath. Sylvain smells... like soap, mainly, but beneath that mild spice—because floral-y soaps are banned in the Fraldarius household—there's a scent that's so unmistakably him that Felix finds it relaxing. Comforting. It makes it difficult to continue feeling annoyed; like, he could doze off just like this, loose-limbed and languid, and happily deal with the crick in his neck come the morning...
But no, no. Sylvain asks him to continue and Felix hums his assent, taking one last breath before pressing one last kiss to Sylvain's throat. Such a small thing to ask of him, really—and he will continue his trek downward soon, but for now, as his hand is trapped in a perfectly acceptable manner:]
You're needy.
[This is the weakest shit, given the lack of any heat whatsoever. When it comes right down to it, Felix likes that Sylvain is so, mmm, demanding of his attention? There are times when it's annoying, but more often than not, Sylvain reaching for him gives him an excuse to do exactly what he wanted to do in the first place, so. Onward.]
And reliable. Trustworthy, but you know that. [Hmm! He lifts his chin the slightest bit, sliding his tongue over the apple of Sylvain's throat in an attempt to buy some time. He's exhausted many of the more practical qualities; now he's getting in the mushier stuff, so.] ...Kind. Generous.
[With his time and his praise and his affection, which is a thought that prompts another lazy roll of Felix's hips.]
Needy!! Alright, that one startles a short, real laugh from him, because like--here he is, just trying to Get By and brace himself for whatever too-kind thing Felix could possibly say about him that he would never say about himself, and then the first thing thrown his way is needy! Goddess help him for loving this man.
But then he continues, and Sylvain... follows along, yes, but also traces patterns on the ceiling to try and quiet those thoughts that remind him that these are words better suited to Felix, than himself. It may even be for the best, then, that the feeling of those lips and tongue against his skin make it increasingly difficult to think of anything but Felix's voice, and that roll of hips that earns a quiet sigh of Felix's name, even as it turns the low, lazy warmth winding through him into a slowly rising heat that has his nails pressing faint crescents into his shoulder.
And Felix calls him generous, but it's a purely selfish desire that he can feel bubbling within him that squeezes his eyes closed and urges his hands back to Felix's hips; it makes him want as much as he wants to hear more, even if the compliments almost feel like they could break his chest open altogether, until every ounce of poison he's held there for so, so long spills out of him, replaced wholly by the love poured into every unbelievable word.
He swallows, takes a breath--but finds that he doesn't actually trust himself to speak just yet. He isn't sure what he would say... so he'll just try to keep focusing on Felix's voice, for the time being? That sounds like the safest bet.
[A silent Sylvain is a very, very rare thing? If Felix wasn't pressed against his throat, he might risk sitting up once more, just to ensure that everything is fine—but he can feel Sylvain swallow, breathe, and he generously decides to spare Sylvain the mortifying ordeal of being known at this particular moment. Everything he's saying is an indisputable fact, but he knows how he would handle this sort of treatment, were their situations reversed...
...And this isn't about making Sylvain feel anything other than loved, because surprise, surprise: Felix can be considerate when he wants to be. Felix can also be generous, although his generosity takes the form of grinding against Sylvain, figuring out a steady sort of rhythm as he leisurely kisses his way back down to Sylvain's collarbones. It's all about making Sylvain think that he remain like this for the foreseeable future, even as his breath quickens—and occasionally hitches when he drags along Sylvain just so. It's a dangerous game. He's playing with fire here, and he's well aware of it.]
Mm— [What should sound thoughtful sounds lewd, and yet he can't even bring himself to care.] You care for those around you. Too much, sometimes. Reckless.
[In the past more so than the present, he supposes, but it still holds true. An idiot! His idiot, which is a warm thought as he begins kissing a trail down the center of Sylvain's chest. He'll have to slip farther down, soon. Give up the perfect angle he's finally managed to find, but for now, as he rolls his hips a tad faster:]
You're patient, aren't you?
[What does he hope to hear more: Sylvain agreeing, or Sylvain telling him that is patently untrue right here, right now? Both have their merits.]
A silent Sylvain is about as rare as a talkative Felix, really, but it's also shorter-lived by far--like, it's no secret how easily the things Felix does can affect him! So he doesn't bother hiding the way his breathing turns uneven, or the way it breaks on sharp inhales and quiet gasps as Felix moves against him, over him. He still hangs onto his every word--still struggles to hold them all, really, but finds himself... a bit more willing to accept them if it means a chance at understanding even a fragment of what Felix sees in him.
And... he doesn't expect anything more, really?? Like, they could honestly stay just like this, and that would be, y'know, fine. It's not like they can get too, ah, involved, without needing more than just a quick once-over by way of clean-up. And besides: the combination of The Shirt and The Verbal Affection on top of everything else means Felix can, quite literally, get away with anything right now. Even when Sylvain can't help but tighten his hold on him, greedily seeking more friction, he's careful to work with the rhythm Felix sets, rather than disrupt it. And that works out pretty well for him!
Until then that rhythm changes, and Felix tells him-- or rather, Felix asks him, this time, if he's patient... and you know? He really thought he was? Or at least he thought he could be for the sake of seeing this through; now, as he watches Felix make his way lower and finds he has to bite his lip before he can answer... hmm. He would have to say he's decidedly less sure, on that front.
"Not--" His breath catches when Felix shifts a particular way, so! Attempt two, after a shaky laugh: "Not if you keep this up... Want you again already," he admits, as if the statement hasn't been true since the moment Felix put his shirt on back in the office, and also as if they haven't just gone through all the trouble of getting ready for bed--but listen? At least he's being honest.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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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Which... hm! He certainly seems to have done here, hasn't he? He knows exactly the moment he's said the wrong thing, too, because there's suddenly tension where there hadn't been before, and when Felix says his name, it sounds much steadier than he'd normally like it to be in a situation like this. Especially when he feels so uncertain?? But when Felix looks at him like that... When he asks him such an impossible question, as if Sylvain could ever know the answer...
(He gets the vague feeling that, "I ask myself that every day I'm lucky enough to wake up next to you," won't be especially well-received, so he'll bite his tongue against that one.)
"Because you're my best friend," he says, honestly--because it's the first Actual Answer he can think to offer, and it's still true even if they're finally, and have always been, so much more than just friends. But he'll bring both his arms up to wrap around Felix's shoulders a beat later, and his voice is lighter when he adds: "...Because it saves anyone else the trouble, and you know you're stuck with me, anyway. Am I close?"
He asks it like a joke, but there's still some hesitation hidden there.
this icon is felix forcing sylvain to accept his love
...Hmm. The weight of Sylvain's arms threatens to pull him down—and so down he goes, an audible scoff escaping him before he presses his lips to the middle of Sylvain's collarbone. Mild annoyance can only fuel him for so long; like, staring Sylvain in the eye as he continues on with his list might just kill him, so? So. This. Felix kissing his way back to the hollow of Sylvain's throat, lazy and unhurried, as he wonders how someone so perfect can possibly be so stupid.]
I was going to say that your intelligence is another admirable quality, [he huffs, sliding his hand down to rest atop Sylvain's chest,] but I suppose I misjudged you.
[Except that he absolutely didn't, because Sylvain is, frustratingly enough, one of the smartest people he knows. Something to marvel over as he nuzzles closer, taking a second to feel the steady thrum of Sylvain's heart beating beneath his palm.]
...I don't love you because I have to, idiot. [When does Felix ever do anything simply because he has to? A puff of breath, then, before he (gruffly) continues with:] I love you because I want to, and you— make it easy. [Well.] Most of the time.
[Now? Debatable! Let him do this nice thing and stop doubting him!]
This one's Sylvain accepting it, bc I need to make more soft icons dammit
Well! Sometimes it's just hard to believe that someone like him could ever deserve anything as perfect as this.
"Most of the time," he repeats, musing aloud as he tightens his hold around Felix just slightly. He loves him because he wants to love him... which makes sense? And he already knows this, really--like, all jokes aside, his self-depreciation isn't so bad that he would ever think Felix has to force himself to stay with him.
But at the same time... there's a certain impact that comes with hearing it said so plainly? To be told, in no uncertain terms, that loving him can be easy. It tugs at all those old scars on his heart in a way that drags one soft, unsteady breath from him; he lets one hand slip down to the one at his chest, fingers folded tightly over it for a moment before sliding to fit between Felix's, curling over the back of his hand as if to keep it there.
"...Keep going?"
Is he going to regret asking for this? Probably yes... but also no, of course he won't.
you have two whole days off!!!
But no, no. Sylvain asks him to continue and Felix hums his assent, taking one last breath before pressing one last kiss to Sylvain's throat. Such a small thing to ask of him, really—and he will continue his trek downward soon, but for now, as his hand is trapped in a perfectly acceptable manner:]
You're needy.
[This is the weakest shit, given the lack of any heat whatsoever. When it comes right down to it, Felix likes that Sylvain is so, mmm, demanding of his attention? There are times when it's annoying, but more often than not, Sylvain reaching for him gives him an excuse to do exactly what he wanted to do in the first place, so. Onward.]
And reliable. Trustworthy, but you know that. [Hmm! He lifts his chin the slightest bit, sliding his tongue over the apple of Sylvain's throat in an attempt to buy some time. He's exhausted many of the more practical qualities; now he's getting in the mushier stuff, so.] ...Kind. Generous.
[With his time and his praise and his affection, which is a thought that prompts another lazy roll of Felix's hips.]
I have time to make so many icons... whoa
But then he continues, and Sylvain... follows along, yes, but also traces patterns on the ceiling to try and quiet those thoughts that remind him that these are words better suited to Felix, than himself. It may even be for the best, then, that the feeling of those lips and tongue against his skin make it increasingly difficult to think of anything but Felix's voice, and that roll of hips that earns a quiet sigh of Felix's name, even as it turns the low, lazy warmth winding through him into a slowly rising heat that has his nails pressing faint crescents into his shoulder.
And Felix calls him generous, but it's a purely selfish desire that he can feel bubbling within him that squeezes his eyes closed and urges his hands back to Felix's hips; it makes him want as much as he wants to hear more, even if the compliments almost feel like they could break his chest open altogether, until every ounce of poison he's held there for so, so long spills out of him, replaced wholly by the love poured into every unbelievable word.
He swallows, takes a breath--but finds that he doesn't actually trust himself to speak just yet. He isn't sure what he would say... so he'll just try to keep focusing on Felix's voice, for the time being? That sounds like the safest bet.
will you make them, though... will you...
...And this isn't about making Sylvain feel anything other than loved, because surprise, surprise: Felix can be considerate when he wants to be. Felix can also be generous, although his generosity takes the form of grinding against Sylvain, figuring out a steady sort of rhythm as he leisurely kisses his way back down to Sylvain's collarbones. It's all about making Sylvain think that he remain like this for the foreseeable future, even as his breath quickens—and occasionally hitches when he drags along Sylvain just so. It's a dangerous game. He's playing with fire here, and he's well aware of it.]
Mm— [What should sound thoughtful sounds lewd, and yet he can't even bring himself to care.] You care for those around you. Too much, sometimes. Reckless.
[In the past more so than the present, he supposes, but it still holds true. An idiot! His idiot, which is a warm thought as he begins kissing a trail down the center of Sylvain's chest. He'll have to slip farther down, soon. Give up the perfect angle he's finally managed to find, but for now, as he rolls his hips a tad faster:]
You're patient, aren't you?
[What does he hope to hear more: Sylvain agreeing, or Sylvain telling him that is patently untrue right here, right now? Both have their merits.]
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And... he doesn't expect anything more, really?? Like, they could honestly stay just like this, and that would be, y'know, fine. It's not like they can get too, ah, involved, without needing more than just a quick once-over by way of clean-up. And besides: the combination of The Shirt and The Verbal Affection on top of everything else means Felix can, quite literally, get away with anything right now. Even when Sylvain can't help but tighten his hold on him, greedily seeking more friction, he's careful to work with the rhythm Felix sets, rather than disrupt it. And that works out pretty well for him!
Until then that rhythm changes, and Felix tells him-- or rather, Felix asks him, this time, if he's patient... and you know? He really thought he was? Or at least he thought he could be for the sake of seeing this through; now, as he watches Felix make his way lower and finds he has to bite his lip before he can answer... hmm. He would have to say he's decidedly less sure, on that front.
"Not--" His breath catches when Felix shifts a particular way, so! Attempt two, after a shaky laugh: "Not if you keep this up... Want you again already," he admits, as if the statement hasn't been true since the moment Felix put his shirt on back in the office, and also as if they haven't just gone through all the trouble of getting ready for bed--but listen? At least he's being honest.