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}
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
...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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.