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Jealousy is an ugly emotion.
It roiled and churned in his gut, permeating his veins and turning his heart as green as his hair, and he could not shake it, no matter how vehement his self-censure may have been. The Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, the people's savior, had taken a lover. It is only natural that they should speculate, he told himself. It is only natural to wonder who has won the heart of the Goddess' Chosen, whose ring is worthy of being worn so brazenly on her finger.
The gossip followed him everywhere, his Nabatean ears uniquely attuned to the monastery whispers. Seteth could not fault simple curiosity and yet, if he had to hear one more idiotic proposal, he may resort to measures unbefitting of his station. Each tittering laugh, each hushed name, was a drop of poison to his blood.
“Faerghus’ new king, perhaps?” they mused, when they thought no one was listening.
“King Dimitri? You know, they exchange correspondence often. It would be no great surprise.”
He seethed at each passing comment.
Byleth had chosen him — amongst all those who had asked for her hand, him. Seteth fancied himself a man of incredible restraint, but his name never passed their lips and it left him restless, wound up and surly, a frame of mind he found extremely unhelpful.
Speculation seemed to run particularly rampant today (he had already lectured a gaggle of nuns on the importance of honoring the Goddess in their actions once this morning) and if the boisterous laughter beyond the cardinal room doors were any indication, his scolding wasn’t finished for the day. With a grimace, he resigned himself to another day wasted on his own foolish animosity. Breathing a sigh, Seteth brushed off his cassock, arranged a stern look over his features, and pushed open the door.
Much to his disappointment, the chatter did not quiet as he entered. The sound of it buffeted his eardrums as the door swung open, immediately setting him on edge. The monastery staff — the knights, priests, and servants –- were one matter, but Lady Byleth’s own councilors engaged in such petty gossip. It was simply intolerable.
With a sigh, the advisor and husband-to-be gritted his teeth and resigned himself to an hour of petty irritation.
Seteth turned the lock with a finalizing click. Byleth felt a thrill run down her spine and pool in her gut, fuel on an open flame. The look in his eyes when he turned to face her was dark and clouded. Intensity of this degree was normally reserved for battlefields and the occasional troublemaker; Seteth proved to be deceptively difficult to drive to real anger.
This side of him, however, was something that Byleth was discovering she very much enjoyed being on the receiving end of.
He was on her before she knew what was happening – pressing into her, the edge of the table biting into the back of her thighs. Both hands cupping her face, her gasping breath against his mouth. Closer and closer.
It would be easy to lose herself in this moment. To mold herself into his form and allow him to take the reins.
It seemed Seteth had other plans.
All at once he pulled away, the metal of his circlet pressing into her forehead. "Byleth," he said. His voice was low and throaty. "Byleth, you need only say the word and I will cease this-this impropriety." Something decidedly unsteady was in the way he cradled her, wanting but uncertain.
Byleth could do little but give a breathy laugh in reply, equal parts mystified and turned on. One moment he was kissing her as if he could hardly restrain himself, and the next he was asking for permission. The whiplash made her dizzy, though it was not entirely unwelcome. There was something happening here just below the surface, something she was determined to draw out of him before continuing.
Instead of giving an answer, she hopped onto the edge of the table. “Seteth”--she locked her hands around his neck–-“where’d this come from?” At his slight frown, she added a teasing, “Not that it isn’t welcome,” and kissed the tip of his nose.
Seteth dropped his arms to her waist, embracing her in a loose hug.”I fear your opinion of me would be… significantly tarnished.”
Byleth chuckled. “I’m sure it wouldn’t.”
A comfortable silence fell upon them as he sighed and closed his eyes, searching for the proper words. Byleth busied herself with combing her fingers through a small section of his hair as she waited. The repetitive motion was something he often welcomed, but now it appeared to do little to soothe his mind.
At last, he seemed to come to a decision. Hesitantly, Seteth began to speak. “I am merely… lamenting my insistence that we wait to be wedded." Brows drawn together, he only appeared more perturbed after his confession.
“Seteth,” she said, “I know you want this just as much as I do.” She tilted her head in slight confusion. “Why would I think less of you for that?”
Bowing his head, he refused to meet her eyes. “I–That is–” He groaned in frustration. Whatever he wanted to say seemed to give him great difficulty.
“I wish to call you mine, to express our commitment to one another in public,” he confessed. A note of something sharp and flinty entered his tone. “I tire of the eyes, my love. Anyone can see that you are breathtaking, but must they flaunt their desire so openly?”
With that, the last puzzle piece clicked into place. Jealousy fueled this new side of him. Possession coursed through his veins. He wished to call her his.
A shot of adrenaline spiked in Byleth’s gut. She could work with this.
“You know there has been no one else but you,” she replied.
“I do. I trust you, and yet I cannot seem to shake this foolish frame of mind. The never-ending proposals,”–jaw set, eyes narrowed–“the baseless speculation. It is my ring that you have chosen to wear.”
Inadequacy? She was on the edge of understanding.
“Love,” she began, pushing herself closer to look up into his eyes. “Is this about those rumors about Dimitri and I?” Spreading her fingers across his chest, Byleth offered him a small smile; she was playing with fire. “It’s part of my job to maintain a close relationship. You know this. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I don’t understand it,” Seteth murmured, ignoring her reassurance. They were close enough now that he didn’t need to raise his voice above a whisper to be heard. Shamelessly staring at her lips, grip tightening, his voice took on a roughened quality. “Your students. Children, all of them. And here I have been, by your side, for years. Why him? ”
"That's quite enough." Byleth trailed her hands up, brushing the hair along his jaw and sweeping his bangs behind his ear.
Coaxing him into another kiss, she sighed. The last had been desperate and clumsy; this was slow and deliberate. She hummed when he angled himself to deepen the kiss and sweep his tongue into her mouth, and was pleased to feel him shiver under her hands. He was close to giving in.
"Byleth. " Her name was thick on his tongue, a warning. “It’s hardly proper -– people would hear us."
Delicately, she began pulling at the fingers of her gloves. "You would have to be blind to not notice the way you looked at me when I walked in the door. A little noise would only confirm their suspicions." Having been loosened enough, she tugged the left one off her hand. "Isn’t that what you wanted –- to disprove the rumors?"
Seteth gazed at her intently. “None are worthy of being spoken of in the same breath as you.”
"And none of them are you, correct?" Byleth responded, speaking what he had left unsaid.
She began removing her right glove.
Catching her bare hand in his and halting her movement, he stared into her eyes, imploring her. “Tell me you do not want this.” He swallowed. “Once we begin, I do not know if I will be able to restrain myself.”
The pair made eye contact as Byleth raised her free hand to her lips, pulling the other glove off with her teeth. Freeing herself from his grasp, since gone slack, her hands moved to her overcoat. “Show me why I was right to choose you.” The jacket fell open, and she shrugged it off her shoulders. “Make me yours.”
Byleth watched his throat bob and demeanor shift into something that reminded her of his behavior at their first meeting, all hard edges and critical eyes. The sight of it sent a shiver down her spine.
"Remove your shirt," he commanded.
The chill of the room made her skin prickle as she opened her collar. "How many times did you run through this in your mind?” she smirked. “Anyone could see you were in another place entirely in that meeting."
Seteth leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her neck and hooking his hands behind her knees. "I could not help it. The way they speak of you…" he trailed off, kissing her with enough suction to leave a mark.
"My advisor," she hummed, pulling the crisp linen out of where it was tucked into her gray skirt. "What do you intend to do with me?"
Shifting ever closer, he hooked his chin over her shoulder and busied himself with the clasp of her bra. “First, I am going to kiss you again,” he said calmly. “I intend to have you come with my tongue–” he continued, his breath making the hair on her neck stand on end. Guiding her arms through the straps, he gently removed the garment and let it fall to the floor beside them. His eyes roved up and down her body, hungrily catching on her bare chest.
Tilting her chin until she met his gaze, he towered over her, looked down at her. “And then I will take you over this table,” he said roughly, “until I am certain that you will still feel me tomorrow morning.” Buckle clicking as he pulled his belt loose, Seteth crooked an eyebrow at her as her knuckles turned white with the sound. “I trust that is satisfactory?”
“Please,” she breathed. Involuntarily, she moved against him. A noise fell from her lips at the minimal friction and she bit down.
Saints above. Her own readiness shocked her.
“A-ah,” he croaked, similarly taken aback, now stumbling over the buttons of his cassock. Apparently, her response had flustered him as well.
“Hurry,” Byleth pleaded. And he did, at last making it through the too-many buttons down his chest. Shucking it off his shoulders, he finally, finally bent to make good on his first promise. Again she tangled her fingers in his hair, knocking his circlet askew and kissing him fervidly.
Rather than dropping his robes onto the small pile that they were accumulating, he instead held them behind her shoulders. She made a small noise of confusion until he nudged her onto her back, spreading the cloth between her and the tabletop.
The picture before him was a sight to behold: silvery-green hair and the rosy flush of skin against his royal blue and gold, all laid bare for him. What a privilege, to have the promise of binding his future to hers. None other could count themselves half as lucky.
Seteth smiled, pulling off her boots one at a time, then running his hands up her legs and under her skirt to tug her panties off. He considered the wetness of the article in his hand for a moment and tossed it to the side.
Lifting one of her legs over his shoulder, he left a small bite on the inside of her thigh. This was his. This moment, and all future ones to come. Entirely his. He would take his sweet time relishing it.
Gradually, he worked his way up her leg, leaving light kisses in his wake until he reached the apex. At last he pressed himself flush with her, listening to her low moan as he kissed her more deeply, tongue swirling around where she was most sensitive.
The way Byleth tightened her thighs around his head in response left him feeling near light-headed. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not touch himself through his clothes when her hips gently rocked into his mouth and her tights provided enticing friction against his sensitive ears.
This was not about him, though, not yet. He would ensure he had taken adequate care of her before he indulged.
Instead, he zeroed in on the feel of her against her tongue, adjusting his grip on her thighs and tuning himself to the small sounds of her satisfaction. The two of them had been together for long enough that Seteth knew that the low volume she maintained did not show dissatisfaction. Rather, her years on the road had led her to be naturally quiet, and, over time, Seteth had learned to discern the minute changes in her tone.
When Seteth felt her quiver beneath him and her breath quicken, then, he knew she was rather close. That was fast, he thought. But he supposed they had done nothing quite like this before, either, nothing so open. A small part of him preened at a new discovery and job well done.
Meanwhile, he hummed eagerly into her and was pleased to feel her hips stutter over him.
Gently, he slid a finger into her, relishing the feel of her around him, knowing it would be the thing to drive her over the edge. Seteth moved slowly to give her time to adjust to the feeling, gradually picking up speed in time with her rolling hips.
It wasn’t long before he could feel her pulse around him. Her quiet hums of pleasure had grown in volume and intensity into soft keening, and Seteth watched her with fascinated eyes as his hand worked her through the ebbing waves. She was hypnotic like this, heaving lungs and clenched fists, curling toes and barely stifled whimpering. He swallowed in anticipation. It would be his turn soon enough.
When she batted his hand away, he took the opportunity to move up. Running his hands along her hips, he traveled from just above the hem of her skirt and up towards her chest.
“I believe I have made good on my first promise,” he said, squeezing her breasts in his hands.
Byleth smiled drunkenly up at him. “Now you’re going to…‘take me over this table.’ Was that right?”
Seteth frowned, stepping away from her. “Do you find the idea of that amusing?”
Immediately she sobered, eyebrows raising a bit in interest. “I don’t.”
He studied her, eyes running up and down her form as if he could wait an eternity to be inside her. As if the bulge in his pants wasn’t obvious and becoming uncomfortable. As if his reserves of self-control weren’t running dangerously low.
Seteth stood straighter, crossing his arms and digging his fingers into his skin.
“Stand up,” he snapped.
He looked down at her as she did so, watched as her abs clenched and the muscles in her arms moved as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Her eyes met his carefully as she slid off the table to stand before him.
“Turn around,” he told her, “and bend over.”
With a flip of her hair, she turned. Grabbing the hem of her skirt, she pulled it up, flipping it onto her back to open herself to him as she bent over at his command.
“Very good,” he murmured, palming her bare ass with both hands. At his touch, she looked over her shoulder at him.
“You’ve been so good to me so far,” she said, voice low and nearly whimpering, “but I’ve missed you. It’s been too long since I last felt you inside me.”
How could he deny her any longer when she implored him so sweetly? Quickly, he undid the buttons on his trousers, pulling himself free and positioning himself behind her.
“Please.” She shifted, searching for some kind of release. “My love. I need this.”
With one hand on the swell of her waist, Seteth finally slid into her. The two of them moaned in unison, adjusting to one another’s presence.
“Byleth,” he breathed, losing himself in the newfound warmth and the way she displayed herself for him on the tabletop. “ Byleth. I fear once we begin I will no–not be able to stop–”
“Seteth–”
“I should not–”
“Seteth,” she gritted out, bucking forward and back onto him impatiently.
It took every ounce of self-control he still possessed to not move. Instead, his grip on her tightened, sure to bruise.
“Fuck me,” she begged, “until I can’t walk.”
His body snapped taut, some corner of his mind registering the command before his consciousness had time to catch up. Seteth bent over her, elbows on the table to keep contact with as much of her skin as possible.
Seteth’s canines dug into his lower lip in a futile attempt to stop the wordless sound pouring out of him. He’d always been louder, had less of a firm grip on himself than Byleth, and in this moment he was finding it nigh impossible to keep quiet.
He set a fast pace, meeting her over and over and letting the sound of them fill the room. He registered with clouded satisfaction her legs, still wrapped in the sheer fabric of her tights, losing their purchase on the hardwood floors and going slack. With a heady laugh, he moved back, keeping his hands firmly on her waist and anchoring the both of them down.
Byleth had been content to match his rhythm, allowing herself to be caught up and lose her mind in the pace he set. When he moved, his angle changed and the new position allowed him to throw all his weight behind his hips. Suddenly, an electric shock ran through her body. She let out a long, high-pitched moan, which seemed to spur him into an even more punishing speed.
Mouth agape as she scrambled for mental purchase, her breath came in short bursts. “Yes, ah–there,” she sighed, barely coherent. “More, more. ” The table creaked underneath her as she was shoved into it repeatedly.
Humming both in affirmation and concentration, Seteth focused on maintaining their current speed and position. He had started this already painfully aroused and wanting for her, so it was no wonder that he could already sense himself at the precipice. Byleth, too, it seemed, was nearing her second climax.
His concentration broke for a brief moment when she turned to speak to him over her shoulder. Her knuckles clenched white as she held onto his cape, and the mass of her breasts swung with each snap of his hips.
Through his cloud of ecstasy, he just barely registered her words.
The first thing she told him was that she was close. Seteth felt a small bit of satisfaction in knowing his assumption had been correct.
The second sent him into a stuttering, frenzied haze, all sense of rhythm lost as she pulled him over the edge.
“My love,” she’d gasped over and over. “My love, my love.” And then: “It’s only you…ngh…only you feel like–ah–this.”
A long, wild moan sounded, and he was climaxing, spilling into her before he knew it was happening. Her walls pulsed around him as he fucked her relentlessly through both of their orgasms. Their voices rose in volume in an impassioned harmony, having long forgotten about maintaining any sense of propriety.
At last, Byleth’s voice faded to a low groan of overstimulation.
Thoroughly exhausted, Seteth collapsed over her, pressing one final, lazy kiss to her shoulder blades. She wheezed at the sudden weight and then huffed in quiet affection.
After a few moments, he stood once more and, after tucking himself away, took both of Byleth’s hands in his own, helping her into a sitting position. She was content enough to stay like that for a time, her arms held loosely around his middle while he kissed the crown of her head and ran his fingers through her hair.
“That should put a few rumors to bed,” she joked, breaking their comfortable silence.
Seteth didn’t make a noise. He merely extracted himself from her embrace to find a handkerchief in the pocket of his discarded robes.
As acutely satisfying as it was to see himself painted over her thighs, he knew being left in such a state was hardly comfortable. Her skirt had settled back over her legs as she sat up and was surely stained; that could hardly be helped now. Seteth occupied himself with resting his forehead on her shoulder and using the small cloth to clean her up to the best of his ability.
Byleth watched him with idle gratitude. “One little compliment and you completely lose control of yourself,” she teased. She pressed a kiss to his neck. “What am I to do with you?”
Still, he made no move to respond. Pursing her lips, she swept his hair behind his ears and spoke. “I hope you aren’t feeling guilty for no reason,” she said firmly. “I haven’t had that much fun in a while.”
Finally, he graced her with a response, having finished his task. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Cich–Seteth, please,” she answered, fondly exasperated.
“No,” he insisted when she lifted her hands to cradle his face and press her forehead to his. “I let my foolishness get the better of me. You deserve more than someone who behaves like a–” –- his face screwed up as he searched for the proper words -– “a selfish, insecure youth.”
She looked at him for a moment, absorbing his words. An abrupt laugh blew past her lips, unbidden, as he flushed to the tips of his ears. Running her fingers over the edges of them in a gesture to show her affection, she bit down on her smile.
When she was sure she would not laugh again, she spoke. “My love. My dear saint.”
“Byleth, ” he groaned.
“Yes, I know, I’m sorry,” she apologized, smiling all the while. “You are the farthest thing from ‘selfish’ or ‘insecure.’ It’s part of why I love you.”
Seteth huffed. “Perhaps, but–”
“Ah-ah, I’m not finished,” she interrupted. “Do not do me the disservice of questioning my judgment. How long have we known each other?”
“Five years,” he answered.
“Five years. You don’t think so little of me to think that I would choose to put my future on the line for someone I wasn’t absolutely sure about, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then stop apologizing,” she told him wearily. “It’s okay to feel jealous now and then, even if you need not be. It’s only natural.” She let her hands trail away from his face, down to his chest. “I love every facet of you, perfect or no.”
He only nodded in reply, evidently not feeling the need to say anything more at all.
“Good,” she smiled, gaze flicking to the ring on her finger. “I can’t wait to call you mine.”
“Yes,” he breathed. “That day cannot come soon enough.”
Seteth backed off a bit to let her slide off the table. “We’d best get back to work and ensure it comes as quickly as possible, then.”
Byleth rolled her eyes. “It’s just like you to say that,” she said, unimpressed, as she bent to gather her things off the floor. Eyeing him, she clasped her bra behind her back. “I’ll expect proper payment for my hard work.”
To her surprise, while he did not meet her gaze, a tiny smile graced his features as he began the long process of buttoning himself back into his robes. “I’m happy to oblige. Perhaps somewhere more discreet, however. My office…?”
When she finished tugging her boots on, she walked to him to help him dress. Much shorter than he was, she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. She always forgot how light they were, in contrast to his hair.
As she closed the last button, she pressed a final, tender kiss to his lips. “I’d like that very much.”