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Byleth, as lovely and wonderful as she was, was not a very kind lover.
Well… Seteth rethought that a bit as he squirmed in his chair, trying not to draw too much attention to himself. Byleth was a kind lover, most of the time, but she also very much enjoyed pushing his buttons when he couldn’t do anything about it.
Even now, she hid a smile while her eyes flickered between him and Alois, who was in the middle of giving an evening report.
They’d agreed to hide their relationship until Fódlan’s state had steadied, for fear of the public accusing the two of them of some secret Church-led plot: especially since the Church was no longer the national religion, and Seteth had regardless retained his position of ‘The Highest Power’s Right Hand.’
Really, the biggest worry was nepotism. Byleth had wanted to make sure that no one accused Seteth of earning his position simply by virtue of being the Queen’s husband. He would do good, impactful work first, and then he would be revealed as Byleth’s secret spouse.
But sometimes. She made it so difficult. To stay secret.
He couldn’t touch her in public, not beyond platonic hands upon shoulders et. al. or the occasional kiss-upon-a-queenly-hand, but Byleth could get away with whatever she wanted, provided no one was looking directly at her.
Including (not ten minutes ago) shimmying past him in the hallway in a fashion that would absolutely not be considered appropriate conduct between the Queen and her Head Advisor.
Now he was hiding his crotch with a stack of papers. And trying very hard not to stare at Byleth’s mouth.
Stars above, he hadn’t touched her in weeks. How in the world had he been chaste for over a millennium before her? Those years had long since blurred together, but Seteth absolutely could not imagine himself having such self control today.
“What do you think, Seteth?”
“What?” he exclaimed. “I am sorry, I did not process what you just said.”
Byleth was still smiling as if she were about to get away with murder. “I asked how you felt about establishing another central seat of power, one with less religious affiliations than Garreg Mach.”
“Sounds wonderful,” he responded gruffly. “I will start right away on a budget.”
He took that as his opportunity to escape to his office, door shut, where he could try to calm himself down. Byleth's laughter chased him all the way down the hall.
The longer they went without seeing each other, the worse his composure always got. Byleth always seemed to be able to tell when they were nearing the point where his patience was thinnest.
He would do his best to let work decompress him. After all, nothing killed an erection like paperwork.
He got to work on financials for a new eat—er, seat of power; all theoretical, considering there was no real location yet and he would eventually have to calculate the cost of transporting materials.
Really, almost none of this work would probably be used. He’d just needed any excuse to leave the room.
When his useless mathematical scribblings were finished, his candles had burned down low. He had successfully stopped fixating on his lovely wife, but the situation in his trousers still hadn’t resolved itself. And he really didn’t feel like handling it by himself.
The door creaked as it swung open, one graceful movement of his Queen’s silken arm.
“You look so pained, dear Seteth.” Byleth grinned cheekily as she stepped fully into the room, gently kicking the door shut behind her.
Well, there went any remaining iota of professionalism.
“My apologies,” he said, straining to offer a smile. “Somebody is not very well practiced at keeping her ass to herself.”
“Oh no, you’re cursing now? I’ve ruined you.”
“Yes, indeed you have,” he responded. “Now go away before I lose what little remains of my dignity.”
She laughed as she sat on the edge of his desk. “Someone is rather touchy, isn’t he?”
“I am not a young man, my love,” he said, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Each passing day further robs me of my constitution.”
“Well, I do apologize for that.” She leaned close, over his useless papers, and Seteth felt himself being drawn to her as if by magnetism. Her lips brushed his gently, and before she could escape, he sprang up, hands cradling her face, and captured her in a deep, hungry kiss.
The sound of his inkwell clattering drew Byleth away from him a little. “Don’t you spill that on me, this is my favorite gown.”
He glanced down at the blue-black liquid spreading across his desk. “A bit too late for that, dearest.”
“How unfortunate.” Byleth slipped out of his grasp, came around the desk, and pulled him out from the desk, chair and all. “Such a hassle to clean up.”
“Stars above,” he breathed as she slid to her knees and undid his trousers. His cock sprang free and ready, and when Byleth gripped it by its base, Seteth could not suppress the groan building in his chest. His Queen chuckled as she took him slowly, slowly, slowly, into her mouth.
He clutched her hair, head back against the chair, chasing the high of her touch, the heat of her breath. As she drew back, sucking gently, his back arched as if he could follow her forward.
Her voice was low, giddy, as she murmured, “Why don’t we take this somewhere else?”
“Respectfully,” he ground out, the rest of his clothing suddenly uncomfortably tight, “I am not waiting another second for the chance to have you, my dear Highness.”
“I told you, I’m not lying in that ink.” She flounced up, entirely unruffled, and made for the door. “Race you.”
Byleth darted out the door. Seteth fumbled with the clasps on his trousers, trying to at least feign some decency, and took off after her.
It was a good thing Byleth’s chambers were merely upstairs; Seteth likely would have cried, had he had to sprint across the monastery grounds after his beautiful, wonderful, aggravating wife. He caught up to her as she was just getting the door open.
The second the door shut behind them, Byleth’s lips were on his. He grabbed blindly for the lock, trying not to picture a maid wandering in and finding them in such a state.
Then, with a yelp, she was in his arms, and Seteth tromped toward the bed, lips pressed to her neck. She was laughing as he tossed her down, bouncing onto her back upon the mattress. She looked like a painting of a goddess, her hair splayed out and her arms outstretched for him.
He plopped down on top of her, capturing her in another kiss and hitching her leg around his waist. In that tangle of limbs, that clash of tongues and teeth, he found himself utterly breathless, drunk on the whisper of his name on her lips. And as he pressed harder against her, his trousers uncomfortably tight, Goddess, the sound she made undid him completely.
Byleth, squirming and trembling, fiddled with the buttons on his tunic. He let her, catching his breath with his forehead pressed to hers.
Once she’d freed him from his tunic and shirt, a pleased exhale slipped out from between her teeth. She ran her fingertips across his bare chest with reverence, fingers catching on the wedding ring hanging from the chain around his neck. Her face shone with joy.
“Do I satisfy?” He murmured, lips at her ear.
“Oh, without question,” she answered, tilting her head to expose her throat to him. The words stoked the fire low in his belly; he got to work peeling her out of her pretty royal dress and all of its unnecessary baubles.
Her skin, tan from months of travel, was marred with battle scars, though it sat soft beneath his fingers. Seteth watched the muscles in her arms ripple as she reached to touch his face.
“Do I satisfy?” She whispered.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have set eyes on in a thousand years,” he said, leaning to press a kiss between her breasts.
“Obviously you’ve been avoiding mirrors, then,” Byleth retorted, reaching up to pluck his circlet from his head. As if in reply, he slipped her fine metal crown out of her hair and set it as gently as he could upon the stone ground.
Not a moment later, his body tensed at Byleth’s touch to his inner thigh. He heard her laugh, and dove up to pin her to the mattress before she could tease him any further.
“Oh, no you don’t,” he grumbled between kisses. “It’s my turn first.”
“Oh really? I thought we were here to get you off, my lovely Advisor.”
“Make your jokes, see if they’re still funny in a moment,” he threatened, leaning to nibble her ear. Her body arched up against his, soft and warm against his bare chest, stuttering as she giggled at his tone.
He slipped his fingers down, between her thighs, his breath catching at how wet she was. His love’s glittering giggles suddenly became soft, lovely sounds of pleasure, a smile audible beneath the noise. The thought that he was responsible for making her feel this way made him swell with pride—and hunger. He would never, never grow weary of this feeling.
He felt for her clit, circling it carefully with two gentle fingers, and craned his neck up to close his lips around a pert nipple. Byleth whined and squirmed, hands in his hair, toes crinkling the bedsheets. The syllables of his name became whimpers and blissed-out sounds of ecstasy.
How many times had he seen her like this, felt her like this, and still had to remind himself that it was real? That the truth was always so much better than the dreams he had made himself sick on so long ago, before the war?
His fingers, slick with her wetness, pumped in and out of her with such ease, her hips bucking against him as if to beg for more. Her voice fizzled on half-formed words as she became ever more pliable beneath his hands, skin soft and sweaty, limbs limp enough for him to effortlessly part her legs and dip his head between them for a taste.
Air hissed between her teeth, and again Byleth’s fingers found his hair. He pinned her thighs in place, firm on both sides of his head, and took his time tasting her: teasing her lips apart, nibbling her soft, sticky skin, and at last suckling her clit gently between his teeth.
Some dark, primal satisfaction swelled in his chest with each quiver of her body, each delicious little sound she made. He hummed his approval into her, and, goddess, the way she moaned his name made him almost painfully hard.
“Cichol,” she whined, hands caught up in his hair. “Please, I’m so close…!”
“Just a moment, darling. I’m not through tasting you.”
Simply those words seemed to be enough for her; not a moment later, he was trying and failing to hold her still while she rode out her orgasm.
When she was at last still, a sleepy smile upon her face, Seteth crawled up to kiss her. Byleth, in a rather content voice, murmured, “Thank you. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he chuckled.
“I’m sorry it’s been a while,” she murmured, bending to kiss his jaw. “I don’t mean for either of us to be so busy.”
“That’s all right.” He felt himself smiling as he added, “There is something exciting about waiting, sometimes.”
Byleth stretched until her back cracked, then rolled on top of him with a harrumph. “You are very sweet, and not a good liar.”
“Wh—I beg your pardon!”
“Sure, you’re happy to wait in the moment,” she told him, smiling as she kissed a line down his stomach. “But beforehand, oh, no…”
Heat scored his face as she unbuttoned his trousers and began sliding them down his hips. “Perhaps you should not tease me so when I can do nothing about it, then.”
Byleth smiled darkly up at him, fingers wrapping around the base of his freed cock. “Oh, but my love, that takes all the fun out of it.”
She did not look away from him as she licked a slow stripe up its shaft. Seteth’s mouth went dry.
“A-And after I was so kind to you,” he stammered, trying his damndest to inject even the smallest ounce of playfulness. When she looked at him like this, touched him like this… it was very difficult not to lose all sense of self.
“Shh. Now it’s my turn.”
She took him slowly into her mouth, sucking gently, and Seteth’s head pitched back into the pillows.
The graze of her teeth, the heat of her tongue, and the occasional hum that echoed in the back of her throat sent color exploding behind his eyelids. His hand flew to her hair, needing something, anything, to anchor him to the mortal plane.
She disconnected from him with an audible pop, and Seteth groaned his displeasure. “Why did you stop.”
“Oh, were you getting close?” She climbed over him, a smile in her voice. “My mistake. Won’t happen again.”
Any smart-mouthed reply he could make vanished from his brain; the warmth of her cunt pressed into his cock, slick with want and saliva. Byleth positioned herself, and Seteth reached to anchor himself on her plush hips as she lowered herself down, down, until there was no space left between them.
She rode him gently, palms pressed down into his chest, head thrown back, and lips parted. Seteth could not take his eyes off of her: his goddess, his Queen, his wife.
He bucked up into her, chasing her warmth, chasing his high, and Byleth groaned, “Harder.”
Seteth flipped her over, knit his hands into her hair, and pounded into her with all the strength he could muster. His brain seemed to shut off, drunk on her moans and the sound of skin against skin.
“Fuck,” she hissed. “Cichol—”
He came hard, body stuttering against hers, and Byleth reached backward to clutch his arm as if to keep him from pulling out too soon. He came down from his orgasm just as fast as he had reached it, sticky with sweat and unable to move his body for a long, warm moment. As he lay there, chest pressed to Byleth’s back, he found himself secretly grateful for the long delays they had in between their rendezvous.
As frustrated as it made him in the moment… the delay almost did seem more satisfying. Worth the wait.
Byleth turned her head, lips puckered, searching for a kiss.
“Good?” she murmured around his lips.
“Wonderful,” he sighed. “Naptime.”
Byleth laughed as he rolled off of her, and together they wrapped themselves up in each other, content in their secret and all its hidden gems.