Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts, as so many things do, with a rumor.

The origins of this one are dubious: as intelligent as he is, Sylvain isn't always the most trustworthy person when it comes to news, least of all when he has something to gain. Part of that is, of course, on account of his intelligence, though that too is sometimes overshadowed by something else. 

His libido. 

In this instance, it is an unfortunate factor, thus further decreasing the validity of the claim. 

This time, it thankfully has little to do with his own arousal. Dimitri has long tired of the lectures he's had to deliver unto Sylvain from just outside his room while a young woman laid in his bed, hiding as though the pretense of his ignorance really mattered. No; this time, it's about Felix. 

Felix, who is delightfully easy to rile up, Sylvain seeming to take particular joy in his irritation. 

It is something Dimitri almost envies. The ability to joke with Felix without the risk of losing his friendship hanging just over his shoulder. A grim reminder of what they've lost, and what little there is even left to lose. 

Very little, he thinks somewhat sadly, his gaze mirroring his thoughts in how fixed they are, as ever, on Felix. 

He's long given up on that, though.

"Dimitri? You listening?"

"Hm?" Looking up, he finds all eyes on him alongside the realization that he has been mentally adrift. Shameful. "Ah, forgive me; my mind was elsewhere."

"Where else is it lately," Felix mutters, pushing chunks of meat around on his plate. Alarming, that. 

Not that his concern would be welcome. The only looks he gets from Felix these days are reproachful. 

"Don't worry about it, Your Highness. Anyone could tell that you're exhausted. Although, you know what might help with that exhaustion?"

"Mm?"

"Sylvain."

This time, the reproachful glower isn't directed toward him, it's directed across the table at Sylvain, Felix looking just about ready to kill him.

"Oh, come on, Felix, you can't tell me that His Highness has never rubbed one--"

"Sylvain."

Dimitri blinks, now thoroughly lost. Felix still looks like fury itself, Sylvain looking more pleased with himself by the very second. "Apologies-- what have I or haven't I… er, rubbed?"

"You know, your--"

"Sylvain was just saying," Felix cuts in, his gaze unwavering from Sylvain, "that there's some stupid rumor out there that if he could just stop being a whore, he'd be better in battle."

"Oh yes, I heard that part," Dimitri tells him, nodding as he spears up a bite of meat. "I'm sure it's worth attempting, Sylvain. I certainly wouldn't object to a break of having to constantly chide you for bringing your… er, lady friends to your dormitory."

Sylvain looks downright affronted. "Hey now, this isn't just about me! The same goes for you, too!"

"The difference between you and me--" A pause. "The difference between you and us," Felix says, gesturing between him and Dimitri, "is that neither of us are manwhores. This is a moot point for us." 

Us. There hasn't been an us between him and Felix in so long now that the thought actually makes his heart skip a beat. 

"Except that it's not just about that. You can't tell me that you've never…" Sylvain cuts himself off, words promptly replaced by hand gestures, "... you know."

"Pardon?"

"You know," Sylvain tries again, repeating the same hand motion again before adding some variety to the motion. 

"If you jerk yourself off like that, I'm concerned for your dick," Felix mutters, rolling his eyes.

A realization, then, courtesy of Felix.  

"Oh," Dimitri says, cheeks suddenly flaring pink. And then again, "Oh." He clears his throat, the plate before him suddenly remarkably interesting. "Er, that."

"Right, so, you can't tell me that His Highness has never--"

Dimitri cuts in. "Sylvain, I do believe this conversation is highly inappropriate, to say nothing of its nature in the dining hall of our school--" Sylvain looks shocked enough that it stills his tongue. "You cannot tell me that you really think this appropriate dinner conversation material."

"Sothis' tits, you really don't." Sylvain's shock turns into glee as he looks to Felix, grinning from one ear to the next. "See, Felix? You could be just as strong as Dimitri is if you just stopped jerking off all the time." 

There is a clatter of dishes and the scrape of wood on wood beside him, Felix having stood up to tower over Sylvain. Like an animal rearing back on its hind legs to appear as more of a threat. As far as Dimitri is concerned, it's highly effective, and even Sylvain lifts his hands, palms facing forward. 

"I'm just saying!"

"I'll believe it when literally anyone else confirms this absurdity."

"Ah, Felix--" Dimitri starts, only for Felix to walk out of the dining hall entirely. "... never mind."

"Don't worry about him, Your Highness. You know how he gets."

Yes, Dimitri knows how Felix gets. But right now, Felix's contrary nature is far from the forefront of his mind. Instead, his mind seems entirely fixed on the idea that Felix might pleasure himself at all.

&

Mercedes and Annette are a force to be reckoned when alone.

Together, they are unstoppable, not to mention impossible to argue with.

Dimitri does not bother attempting to do so for long; despite his initial protestations, his claims of "it's just a splinter!" and "this happens with training swords all the time, I assure you!" fell on deaf ears, and he was promptly sent off to go see Professor Manuela. 

Not that he has it in his heart to disappoint them. They are his friends, and they want what's best for him. 

So he is here.

The infirmary is deserted, not that that is much of a surprise. It's a lovely day out, truly, and anyone would be silly to spend it anywhere else. Though it is quite warm in the sun, a bit of sparring practice would take his mind off that beautifully. Perhaps Felix might be willing to pick up a practice sword opposite him, prudence and reason winning out over his resentment of Dimitri. After all, he too has to practice. Were he to fall in battle, it would be Felix's mess to clean up, at least in part. 

Yes. Training would be a lovely way to spend the day were he able to track down Felix-- who might already be there, possibly with a sparring partner already. That would be that, then. Long gone are the days that he would drop everything just to spend time with Dimitri, the days he could approach him knowing that, no matter what the task, Felix would happily take it on provided he could do so by Dimitri's side. 

Perhaps Dedue might be willing to spar with him in his stead. Even if he has been spending more time with the other Blue Lions of late, something Dimitri has been rather celebrating, he can generally count on his willing participation. And perhaps--

"Dimitri?" Professor Manuela's voice cuts through the thick of his thoughts, Dimitri straightening and looking to her with a nod. "Where did you say the splinter was?"

"Ah, just my thumb," he says with a nod to the offending finger, holding it out for her to take and inspect. "Annette and Mercedes were rather insistent upon my coming here."

"Come, sit. This is fine detail work, and I'd rather not stab you in the process."

Evidently Annette and Mercedes were on to something with their rather stern advice. He is hardly adept at fine detail work.

"Say," Professor Manuela says, pulling out a rather long and painful splinter. "Might I keep you here a bit longer? It is about time for a routine check-up for you. Crest bearers should have them more often, you know."

Ah. This would be Dedue's fault, then, having learned of his insomnia. Overly concerned as ever.

"I don't see why not," he says, offering an amiable smile as he moves to the exam table. 

"It really shouldn't take too terribly long," she says, and goes about her business. 

True to her word, Professor Manuela works quickly, most likely well aware of his intentions to go to the training grounds after this. And yet, Dimitri cannot keep his curiosity at bay. 

"Professor, what exactly is it about crest bearers that makes us require additional medical care?"

Setting some things aside, she straightens to look at him. "Beyond the obvious? Out in the field quite often and frequently out at the front lines no less, wielding relics, differing physiology, sometimes even within the sample size that crest bearers present… all of which of course is overshadowed by the fact that you so frequently enjoy your self-sacrificial feats of heroism…" She tuts. "Though, admittedly, with some of you I have… more things to worry about than with others."

Dimitri blinks. "Professor?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I shouldn't talk about other students like that. I just wish that Sylvain would take his own advice, if only to prevent him from catching… well, something foul, no doubt." She sighs. "Oh, listen to me prattle on. You don't care about any of this."

"Ah-- no," he cuts in, shaking his head. "As head of my house, I do consider it my personal responsibility to care for the well-being of the other students… and to ensure that they behave as befitting of their station. Please, continue."

"It's nothing all that serious, I can assure you of that," she says, looking entirely too endeared by his eagerness. "I mean, I assume it isn't. Well, you know how Sylvain gets. At any rate, he was in here while I was attending to other students, and instead of waiting patiently like a good little boy, he began reading one of the books I happened to have on my desk at the time. Which isn't to say that he took anything of value from the tome." She shakes her head before stepping back from him. "There, you're all finished."

Dimitri frowns, thoughts inevitably drawn back to their dinner conversation the other day as he begins dressing himself once more. "Ah, Professor… forgive my asking, but would this happen to have anything to do with… increasing prowess in battle?"

Looking up with some surprise, she steps back from her filing to return her attention to him. "Yes, how did you know?" When he doesn't answer right away, instead just giving her something of a helpless expression, she continues. "It's rather old advice, you know. Monks and priests that engaged in battle used to swear by it, the claim that chastity increases strength and aids fighters in focusing more so on fighting than on… ah, carnal endeavors." 

He blinks, slow, thinking back now to Felix's rather extreme reaction. If there were merit to the claim, Felix would have far more reason to be upset, he supposes. Even if it only confirms for him that Felix does engage in… that. 

"Dimitri? Are you feeling quite all right? You look unwell."

Forcing his thoughts back on track, he turns to look at Professor Manuela with an uneven smile. "Perfectly, yes. Thank you, Professor. I was just thinking that I might get some training in while the weather is this pleasant."

Training, potentially with Felix. Felix, who evidently… well. Clearing his throat, he bids Professor Manuela a good day before heading out, his thoughts still fixed firmly on Felix, and any nocturnal habits he might have.

&

Even if the inappropriate thoughts had dispersed all on their own on his way to the training grounds, seeing Felix again triggers them anew, Dimitri heaving a decidedly unprincely sigh as he sets his things aside and strips out of his vest. 

The training grounds are as crowded as he expected them to be, in truth. It's a lovely day for it, not that Sylvain seems to be of any mind to spar. As house leader, he should be pushing him, but Ingrid already seems to be chiding him plenty. 

And besides, Felix is sparring with a training dummy all on his own. 

He decides to approach with utmost caution, expecting the frightened animal that is Felix to notice him and rear up any second.

Instead, he goes entirely ignored.

Clearing his throat, Dimitri folds his hands in front of himself, looking somewhat sheepish as he wills Felix just to look at him. 

When a glare is leveled at him over his shoulder, that wish shifts some. Felix, looking at him with anything other than resentment or anger… 

"If I might have a word, Felix?"

Felix does not bother so much as lowering his sword. "Speak, Boar."

"Ah." He fights to suppress the wince, and fails miserably. "I was wondering if you might be willing to spar with me."

That stops him, Felix turning to glance at Dimitri. "I promised Ingrid a sparring session, and I intend to keep my word." His attention shifts to Ingrid, and Dimitri finds that even Felix's anger is something he can miss. "Stop wasting your time on Sylvain and get over here."

"Oh," Ingrid says, moving to get into position with a smile, one filled with more than enough surprise that Felix's rejection of him seems an obvious fact. He clearly had no intention of ever agreeing to spar with him.

Feeling rather dejected, Dimitri walks over to where Sylvain is lounging on a bench, hands folded behind his head and legs crossed in front of him. Any more relaxed, and he might as well be reclining in bed. 

"Sylvain," he says, a reproachful glance cast over his posture as he arrives to stand before him. "Would you wish to spar with me?"

"Uh." Sylvain looks to where Felix and Ingrid are sparring, suddenly looking a great deal less lackadaisically relaxed. A part of Dimitri is inordinately pleased with that development. "You… wouldn't rather wait to spar with someone else, Your Highness?"

"Frankly, you could use the practice." If his voice comes out harsher than intended… well. So be it. The fact that he was no doubt ogling some of the female students from his current vantage point is all the more reason to enforce his tone.

Even if his dour mood right now is Felix's fault, and not Sylvain's in the least. Just this once.

"Hey, I train!"

"Training in your bedroom at night does not count," he says as disdainfully as possible, giving his practice lance a few swings as Sylvain laughs.

"Wow, harsh. Not used to that from Your Highness." Throwing another glance over at Felix and Ingrid's training session, Sylvain grins, moving to stand. "Yeah, sure. We can train. Just go easy on me, yeah? Your Highness hits hard."

Surprised as he is at Sylvain's acquiescence, Dimitri is pleased all the same, moving into position to face off against Sylvain, who will depart this encounter, no doubt, with a number of fresh bruises. Felix would probably call him a savage for it, but Dimitri can't help but delight somewhat in getting his comeuppance in some way after the last few sleepless nights were hardly aided by the repeated sounds of moaning and furniture thumping against a wall. So much for being a better warrior through chastity. 

They're a few matches in when Sylvain, panting, gestures at his own sweat-stained shirt. 

"Might as well change out of that, yeah, Your Highness? It's a warm day, no reason to give yourself a heat stroke."

Ah. Dimitri glances down at himself with a grimace. Sylvain is right, of course. He should take better care. The monastery staff shouldn't always have to be cleaning up his messes, and yet… 

"Right you are, Sylvain," he says, and unbuttons his shirt to toss aside. No harm in a bit of added flexibility. Without waiting a beat for Sylvain to recover, he lunges. 

&

It's only two more sparring sessions before Sylvain throws in the towel for the day, Ingrid deciding to accompany him to dinner after getting washed up.

With dusk approaching-- and therefore, dinnertime-- most of the students have cleared out. The late afternoon light bathes the sand of the training grounds in a lovely orange light, highlighting Felix alongside it, sweaty in his own right as Dimitri towels himself off a bit.

It's only them left now, and hope springs eternal. 

Until, that is, Felix starts to head toward the door, Dimitri rushing to cut him off. 

"Felix, wait--" His hand moves to gently grab his arm to stop him, Felix's gaze turning murderous as he looks down at the unauthorized contact. Ah. He removes his hand, regret shining in his eyes. Preemptive, without even knowing if this condemned all hope of a training session wholeheartedly. "I… I was hoping you might grace me with one sparring session, if not more."

"No." 

"I'm sure that Ingrid must have left you winded, but--"

That changes his tune instantly. "Get back in the fucking ring, boar," he says, not even bothering to wait for an answer before turning around and marching back onto the sand. 

Gripping his training lance somewhat tighter, Dimitri can't help but smile, hurrying after him.

There are no graces or social niceties offered by Felix. As soon as Dimitri is within striking range, Felix does so, lunging forward with an aggression that belies his anger toward him.

The smile fades. Even so: he does not mind this, finding something infinitely familiar in this meeting of like minds. Here, on the battlefield, Dimitri does not need to pretend. No; if anything, Felix expects him not to. 

And Felix can take it, could always take the worst of him, meeting his every beat blow-for-blow. Here, the anger feels right, natural, met with Felix's own. Here, there is no need to mourn the loss of their friendship. This is not that place. 

This is the place where Felix is honest with him, and Dimitri-- Dimitri allows himself to unleash in all the ways he normally doesn't. In all the ways he normally cannot.

Then: An impasse. 

They meet in the middle with a crack, Dimitri letting himself growl as he pushes against the force of Felix's sword with his lance. He's hard, he notes. 

This is not unusual when fighting with Felix, although Professor Manuela's words from before do lend new colors to the realization. 

After all, perhaps Felix feels the same.

Training lances, far thinner than training swords, are not built to withstand the sort of force the two of them can put behind their blows, and as Dimitri fights to push Felix back, the wood cracks fully, splitting down the middle and causing both of them to lose their footing.

It's Felix, however, who lands in the sand, Dimitri catching himself with an awkward stumble. Catching his breath, Dimitri looks down at the broken lance with a laugh. Far from the first time. The sort of memories he'd prefer to be sharing with Felix, instead of treasuring on his own. 

Turning to look at him, he holds his hand out to him with a small smile. "Thank you for this, Felix."

Felix stares at his hand for a long moment before pushing himself up to standing without his help. 

"Thank yourself, Boar," he says, and marches out of the area without another word to him.

&

From that point forward, Dimitri can't help but take notice of the fact that Felix is avoiding him. Regardless of where he is, it seems that Felix would sooner flee than face him: 

• Dimitri entering the library has Felix promptly turning heel and storming past him, once even inadvertently stealing a book in the process. 
• Felix, ready to train in the courtyard, turns around as soon as Dimitri turns to greet him, towel and lance in hand. Somewhat sweaty, of course, but hardly so disgusting as if to warrant flight. 
• Going to sit with Felix at mealtimes finds him simply getting up and reseating himself-- if not just abandoning his food altogether. 

It's become a ubiquitous enough phenomenon as to be cause for concern, though bringing it up to Sylvain only led to him laughing. Not that Ingrid was much more helpful, simply assuring him that Felix had temporarily lost his mind and would surely find it again posthaste. It's a terrible shame, however, as Dimitri is increasingly feeling as though he is keeping Felix from enjoying himself in all manner of places at the academy.

He becomes more cautious, then. Scouting out Felix's location beforehand, doing his best to avoid any unnecessary run-ins that he would probably prefer to avoid. 

The training yard is a necessary evil, a necessary betrayal. They both need to train, and when the knights hall is busy, it almost seems worth the risk to see if Felix is there. Just in case.

Today, his arrival there feels like a reckoning. 

Felix is there, of course. Limned in the light of the encroaching dusk, he is as beautiful as the swings of his sword: practiced, deadly, precise.

But then, Felix is always beautiful.

The voices quiet as he watches him. It's not as surprising as it should be, perhaps. Sharing a bed with Felix, holding his hand, sharing the same air in a room. Sitting side by side, knees touching. Riding on horseback together, his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. Felix naught more than three feet away from him in their classroom. 

Sometimes, sometimes, Dimitri thinks that Felix subconsciously leans in his direction. That his body yearns for him, as much as his mind, his heart, yearns for his companionship back. 

It is little more than a false hope. He knows where he stands, knows what Felix thinks of him, how he regards him as a hollow, empty husk, nothing but a monster remaining where his friend once stood. 

And yet, Felix's presence has always been calming.

Perhaps it's the same for him, then. 

The hope does not linger: Felix tosses his sword aside and blindly grabs for the pitcher of water to drink from, and time ceases entirely, Dimitri feeling his heartbeat in his throat as he watches. Too greedy, he thinks. Felix drinks too much all at once, water spilling down his front and making his shirt partially translucent, and Dimitri is too greedy, far too greedy as he drinks in the sight in much the same way. 

Staring too much. Wanting too much.

It is the first time that thought has returned to him, unbidden. It was one he had years ago, when they both first entered puberty, and then again the night before the western rebellion. 

It was one that resurfaced when it had no right to, when they both started school at Garreg Mach. Felix was as beautiful then as he is now, as he's always been, but Dimitri didn't deserve him then, and he doesn't deserve him now. Not after witnessing the depth of Felix's hatred for him. Not after being unable to write even a single missive over two years spent under constant supervision. 

Still. Something inside of him yearns now, harder than it has in a long time. 

He allows himself, then, to be greedy. For his gaze to move over Felix's body, to fully appreciate his disheveled hair, the half-open shirt. The lick of his lips after reluctantly parting with the pitcher of water. 

Felix looks up, and he is treated to the sight of dusk-kissed skin, his bare neck, his collarbones--

Felix sees him. 

Something inside his chest seizes, painful. Ready to be reproached, chased off, or-- far worse yet-- for Felix to leave. And Dimitri knows he should leave, should take flight as Felix does. 

But Felix does none of those things. 

Instead, he says and does nothing, returning to his training, wordless, Dimitri allowing himself to continue being greedy, watching him. Slightly hard, but. That's a given, watching Felix fight.

He can't entirely blame himself. This is not something he's been allowed to do in a long time. 

He misses his friend's face as much as he does his touch. Even the touch of his blade against his own was a welcome kiss between them, even if it was limited to steel on steel, wood on wood. 

He sighs, shaky. 

"My goodness, that's the third sigh I've heard from you now. I dread to think how many must have preceded them."

"Oh," he says, having at least the social decorum to act abashed at having been caught looking so utterly pathetic. "Hello, Mercedes. Forgive me, I... didn't notice you."

Turning to look at his field of view, filled with nothing but Felix, Mercedes smiles. If she noticed just how dreadfully creepy he's been behaving, she doesn't comment on it. 

"Oh, that's all right," she says, sounding painfully sincere as she says it. It's enough to make even Dimitri doubt his own self-hatred for a moment. "You don't always need to apologize for being human, you know."

She is wrong there, he knows. He is… the crown prince of Faerghus. People expect him to lead them. As a capable future king, not… a wistfully sad shadow of his former self, if any of that is even still left. No wonder Felix hates him so. He's robbed him entirely of the friend he once knew and loved. 

"Ah… thank you, Mercedes. That's very kind of you to say."

"Mm?" She looks somewhat confused at that. "I don't think it's kind at all. I just think it's the decent thing, offering someone the grace to be unhappy."

She doesn't say anything after that, Dimitri falling silent himself as he watches Felix. Is that truly all it is? He's not allowing himself to be anything but happy? It certainly is part of it. 

It's Mercedes who breaks the silence again a second time, her gaze fixed on Felix as she speaks. "You know, Dimitri… if you're sad, the goddess is always willing to listen."

Dimitri's sigh could move mountains with the sheer weight of it. "This may be beyond even the goddess, I’m afraid," he whispers softly, his gaze downcast. 

She smiles. “You never know.”

&

He feels… aimless, after that, despite Mercedes’ attempts at kindness. Wandering the monastery, Dimitri makes his way from one place to the next, littering sighs everywhere he goes. His room, right beside Felix's, would do little to calm his mind. The other halls are devoid of students. Empty and cavernous, they feel just as the cathedral does, too large and yawning to hold the weight of his sins and regrets, the myriad sadnesses that haunt him. The knights hall is empty around this time save for the books and the other memorabilia that only serves to remind him of Felix yet again. Even the horses seem disinterested in him despite his offerings of carrots and affection. 

So he finds himself in the most appropriate place for his mind to settle, seated on one of the benches in the graveyard. There is no grave here for him to weep at, and yet it feels like the right place to be when he thinks of Felix. 

Here, there are no graves to weep at, no dead friends and relatives to mourn. The only thing that seems to have died here is his friendship.

This, of course, is a lie. It died long ago, on the battlefield of the western rebellion. His own fault. Not something caused by his uncle's constant supervision of him, the two years of suffocating control lorded over him.

Another sigh leaves him, Dimitri finding his eyes oddly damp. Ah.

Next to him, someone clears their throat, Dimitri all but jumping into a more appropriate position. Upright. Proper. He blinks the tears out of his eyes. 

"Ah-- yes?"

Turning to look, Dimitri finds himself met with Ingrid's disapproving stare, a reproachful sigh following. 

"Forgive me, Ingrid. My mind was not… entirely with me, it would seem."

She hesitates for a moment. "I saw you with the horses earlier. You seemed… sad, Your Highness." Even that admission seems to come with hesitation, the reticence to speak so openly with him. As though he were really deserving of such reverence to begin with. A part of him almost wishes that the others treated him more like Felix does. Honestly. "I don't mean to pry, but… is this about Felix?"

His shoulders slump slightly, another sigh escaping him. "Is it truly so obvious?"

"Um," she says, looking puzzled for a moment before finding her way over to take a seat beside him on the bench. "Yes."

Something dreadful seizes in his chest. "Do you think Felix knows?"

"Um," Ingrid says again, only worsening the spike of anxiety he feels. "That… depends. What do you think he might know?"

"I just…" Shaking his head, Dimitri stares down at his hands. It's so odd, having them bare, but their summer uniforms hardly allow for the convenience of covering up his past, the memories of what his hands have done. "I miss him terribly," he admits softly, gaze remaining downcast. "I simply…" Want my best friend back. He cannot bring himself to finish the thought. "I can't help but keep hoping that he might find it in him to forgive me… one of these days."

"His anger at you is misplaced. You know that, don't you?"

He doesn't. He's never once thought that, and he knows it to be a sad pretense of reality at best. His hope has always been that Felix might forgive him where he could never forgive himself. Felix sees him, really, truly. 

How selfish of him, wanting Felix to only see the façade. To love him again, even at the cost of sacrificing the truth. 

"He shouldn't be letting out his grief on you, no matter how much losing his brother hurt him," Ingrid continues when he doesn't respond, looking over at him.

"I…" deserve it, he wants to say. It would anger Ingrid just as much as he knows it would anger Felix. "I don't know," he says instead.

"You know, Your Highness… Felix may be good at hiding his feelings beneath his anger, but that doesn't mean that the emotions aren't still there."

A lovelorn sigh escapes him before he can stop it, a hand coming up to run over his face. "If they exist, he's hiding them well." Very well.

Her hand finds his arm in an attempt at comfort. It almost works. "I think that the more frightened he is of them coming to light, the more defensive he tries to be. He clearly cares about you. Otherwise he wouldn't be nearly this angry."

Before he can so much as process and promptly brush off Ingrid's reasoning, another voice cuts into the darkness of the night. 

"Your Highness. I have been looking for you for quite some time."

"Dedue." Looking up at him, he offers him a smile he hopes passes as normal. "Apologies; I… felt the urge to wander a bit." 

"The hour is late. I cannot advise wandering off on your own."

Another sigh leaves him, Dimitri shaking his head as he moves to stand. "Really, I should just head to bed. You may accompany me to my door, Dedue, if you wish." He turns to look at Ingrid. "Thank you, Ingrid, for your kindness. I… truly hope that you are right about him."

Ingrid's expression turns inscrutable for a moment before she nods, slow, and gets up herself. "Would you two mind if I joined you?"

"Not at all." 

This time, Dimitri's smile almost reaches his eyes. 

&

This, Dimitri thinks, is what bodies are for. 

He's thought it for a long time now. The first time he held a lance, it felt like an extension of his body, a way to stabilize and control his absurd strength, turning it into a dance instead of something that could be needlessly brutal, his hands wrapped around the neck of another to siphon life from their lungs. 

Not so with a weapon.

Dimitri, a beast, is kept at bay with a blade, allowing for a civilized distance between him and his quarry. Every blow feels impersonal, like something that cannot quite tap into unseen madness.

But then, even that feels like something his body is made for. 

So then: he is made for killing, and little else. When he sees rivers of crimson run in rivulets beneath his feet, he feels alive. 

It matters little if it is his own blood that flows there. 

There is a joy to be found even in injury. It happens so rarely that there is a novelty, yes, but-- more than that, he sees Felix's face with every prick of pain he feels. 

Felix wishes to quell the beast, to fell the boar and silence him for good. Deserves it, too. Fate knows this as well as the goddess does. 

Until that fateful day comes, Dimitri knows he cannot die.

It is only one of the many reasons why he rushes into the battlefield without fear. 

After all, Felix is here. 

He is not presently in his line of sight, his Shield somewhere else, and yet he knows, knows, that Felix is never far. 

The skies open up to a torrential downpour in what feels like mere moments, enemies coming at him with a speed that would alarm a lesser warrior. Dimitri remains undaunted, slaying each and every one of his foes only for a blade to glance a blow off his side as his lance sinks into an enemy thorax. 

A part of him is glad for the wound. It serves as a reminder, the last words of a dying man, the last proof that he was alive at all. That he was strong enough, if only at the very end, to pierce the skin of a mad dog.

A mad boar, he supposes, and thinks of Felix.

The now-wet mud certainly seems appropriate.

Just above him, Ingrid's voice cuts through the thick of the blood pounding in his ears as he continues swinging and piercing his lance through flesh. He can't quite make out most of her words, though one does slip through the cracks: hurt.

Dimitri casts a worried glance up at her, his gaze quickly appraising her status. She's fine, thank the goddess.

A sigh of relief later, he speaks. "I'm all right!" he tells her before grabbing a javelin to pierce through an enemy archer attempting to aim at Ingrid. 

"You're not all right. I'm getting you help!"

She's gone in the thick of the downpour before he can change her mind, Dimitri determined to focus on what's before him. Enemies, all of them open to being gutted at the end of his lance. None of them entirely deserving of his rage or the viciousness he wishes he could inflict upon those who killed his loved ones. The voices do not quiet here, urging him on and steeling his nerves as sharply as his blade. Just another faceless enemy to kill so he might get closer to the kills that truly matter. It's--

"Boar!" 

Felix's voice is a welcome balm upon his struggling soul. With one swift, hard swing of his lance to dispel some of the blood still gathered there, he turns and smiles at him. In these moments, Felix is nothing short of the sun after a years-long winter. 

"Ah, Felix."

Then again, when isn't he? It's impossible not to look at him. 

A stagger, then. Felix notices, always, always sees him, and grabs hold of his arm.

"Shit-- come on!"

Worried. Worried about him? Surely not. Such hope feels like a distant thing, long-abandoned in their past, the thought absurd enough to make him laugh, voiceless. 

He feels himself be pushed against a tree, Felix's fingers working deftly as Dimitri's eyes chase after him, taking note of every bit of care, every bit of kindness shown to him here.

Parting the fabric reveals the wound, angry and red, deep and dark. If only he could reach inside of him, pull out his demons, and his madness too-- would Felix love him then?

Feeling tears form in his eyes, he allows them to close, head leaning back against the tree. A laugh leaves him where a cry should perhaps be. He really is a beast.

But it matters little. The only thing that matters in this moment is Felix's touch. His fingers, infinitely able to make this worse and yet choosing-- always choosing-- not to.

"Really, Felix," he says, already knowing his words to fall on deaf ears before he even voices them, "there is no need."

"Fool beast." Beast. A shiver runs through him at that, Dimitri not certain if it's from cold, blood loss, or Felix. "You need to protect your left side, boar."

This time, he really does want to laugh as he turns back to look at Felix, his Felix. "Why should I, when you're there?"

His Shield. Even this time, he knew to come. The thought seems to anger Felix, his expression twisted into the rage he so often claims to only see in the boar. His boar. 

"I won't always be there."

No, he thinks. One day, Felix would be the one to run him through, to gut him like the boar he is, the rabid animal. Once again, a laugh replaces something worse. "I know," he says, though no mirth enters his tone.

His chest aches from missing him. 

If he notices, Felix doesn't comment, fingers moving over his wound. The only touch he can hope for from him these days. It feels... good.

Wait.

"Felix," he exhales, eyes wide as he looks down at him, at his face and his touch both. His fingers are glowing. "Are you-- you know healing magic?"

"Shut up," Felix snaps at him, all but cringing. "Gotta-- shit-- concentrate." Much as he clearly doesn't want to do this, he's still able to push himself. For him. Dimitri could kiss him, if only Felix would let him. 

(Never, never.)

He watches the skin heal before him, knowing fully that Professor Manuela and Mercedes could not have done any better. If anything-- this is better. Felix's touch feels healing and soothing in his own right. 

A shaky breath leaves him, relief coursing through his body from top to bottom as the wound disappears, bit by bit. "That-- feels good," he admits softly, feeling as though he's admitting to some kind of terrible secret. "Where did you learn this?"

"None of your business," he snaps again, and Dimitri mentally reproaches himself for asking at all. Of course it isn't. Hasn't been in so very long. 

What he wouldn't give for those days back. 

It must show on his face, that wistful, foolish notion, because Felix promptly reproaches him for it. 

"Fucking idiot," he says, drawing back only for Dimitri to miss his touch the next instant. "Where's your backup? Where's the Professor? Huh? Why in Sothis' name were you alone out there?"

A sigh leaves him. He deserves this censure too. "I was caught off-guard," he says, not adding that the man found his chance mid-kill, that he was down the next second, that it made him feel so alive, and so much like Felix was beside him. 

"That shouldn't happen," he says, only seeming to get angrier. Dimitri wishes he could shrink in on himself. But then, all of him deserves this anger. "Witness the boar-king, all too eager to get himself killed!"

That hits harder, Dimitri bowing his head. How happy it had made him, just to feel that rush of joy in that moment. If Felix knew about that, he'd never stop yelling at him. Then again, this is the most emotion Felix has shown him in a month. Perhaps it would be better. 

"I'm right, aren't I?" Felix continues, something inside Dimitri's chest seizing painfully. "You'll die a tragic and beautiful death, and leave us all to pick up the pieces after you're gone."

Ah. 

"No--"

"Don't fucking try it," Felix cuts in before he can explain himself, explain that this is the one part he has wrong, that he'd never want anyone to have to pick up after him. It would be enough for him to simply cease to exist, for him, a perpetual problem, to stop causing issues for all those around him. "I know you."

But then, Felix says that, and everything inside of him aches. 

"You do," he admits, throat tight enough that he's amazed words manage to leave him at all.

In place of words, he takes off his gauntlets, one by one, remembering still the touch of Felix's hands on his skin, and how much that served to center him. 

As if to thank him, as if to show him how much that meant and how much he still means, he reaches out, gently cupping Felix's jaw. His thumb moves, he hopes, just as gently. 

Felix is, in some ways, more fragile than a sewing needle. One misstep, and he snaps. Even as he hears himself utter Felix's name, Dimitri knows that it is a hail mary at best. That any moment could lead to his brutish nature causing Felix to flee.

But he doesn't. He stays-- more than that, he leans into his touch, just for a moment retreating into the past, where things were easier for both of them. 

He can't take too much. And yet: one hail mary begets another, and Dimitri finds his hand wandering. 

It finds the nape of his neck, the start of his hair, now so much longer than it used to be, so much longer than his. A reminder, then, that the passage of time is not something they can escape. 

Despite this, for just a moment, he almost thinks that Felix wants to kiss him.

It's a nice thing to believe, even if only for one, two, three fragile heartbeats. Because he wants to kiss him too.

"Fuck," Felix says, and shatters the moment between them like glass.

His breath is still coming out shaky, almost as though he was still wounded. A part of him supposes that he is, in a way.

"Saints," Felix whispers then before staggering back as if he was the wounded one between the two of them.

A horrible truth descends upon him. His desires, his wants-- how greedy is he, truly? To not even have seen that Felix didn't want this at all? 

He is a fool. Felix had wished nothing more than to retreat into the past, into the touch of his childhood friend, a comfort-- not to kiss him. Touching the back of Felix's neck... he should hate himself. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice sounding strangely foreign. Somehow, this feels like a misstep he can never recover from. "I'm sorry."

As if a thousand sorries could ever excuse this. 

Felix is trembling, he realizes.

He really does hate himself. 

"You're a wild beast. Pick up your weapon."

A wild beast that would demand this much from a friend. No-- they're not even friends. He shattered that glass in a heartbeat the second Felix so much as dared to trust him again, if only for a second.

Felix is right. He is a monster. He always has been. 

And yet... and yet. He still can't bring himself to look away from Felix. 

The smile he offers him is as good of an apology as he can offer him.

"You know you keep me sane, Felix. Don't you?" 

It's the only thing he could possibly offer Felix in place of an "I love you," which would surely be too much. Too much, yet again.

"Fuck you," Felix growls, and Dimitri has his answer. 

It comes as a surprise after that when Felix relents and allows them to share a horse on their ride back. It's a grace he is grateful for, however: Felix smells no less like home than he ever did, and even despite the tension in his body and on the reins, Dimitri still feels like this is a gift to him. 

"You'll strangle that poor beast, Felix," he says, knowing fully well that this might get him tossed off the horse wholesale. "Let me."

His hands move slowly, carefully, as they take Felix's hand in his. He tenses, but doesn't move away. 

"Like so," he whispers in his ear, his heart skipping a beat. "It's quite tame. You need only be kind."

Then again, this is a kindness that Felix has shown him. Forgiveness, perhaps. And he-- he can learn to tame himself. Even around Felix. Even if it kills him.

&

Upon their return to Garreg Mach, Felix quells his flight. For some reason, Dimitri can once again coexist in the same room as him. At a distance, granted, but that is mostly borne of his own fear. Even so, it's the same room. 

It is a blessing he does not deserve.

Tonight, however, there is no such miracle to be found.

It's not Felix's fault; all things considered, it's everyone's fault save for Felix:

• The administration, for refusing to deal with the problem upon it being addressed, repeatedly.
• Sylvain, for refusing to stop slutting about the entire monastery and continuing to have loud, raucous intercourse with little to no regard for his sleep. 
• And Dimitri, for not addressing the issue any sooner, so the administration might change their room assignments prior to the start of the school year. 

Maybe he'll write Margrave Gautier and address it as a formal complaint. That would surely show Sylvain. Surely.

He knows he is kidding himself. Moreover, this is his fault more than it is anything else. After all, he could have spoken to the administration earlier. He and Sylvain were some of the first students to arrive at the school, and Sylvain made his nightly proclivities very obvious very quickly. (As if he could have forgotten in the first place.)

But… there was the matter of Felix, and the fact that their room assignments found him hesitant to switch rooms with anyone. Potentially, far away from Felix. On different floors, perhaps.

Felix, upon his arrival, did not demand a room change, and Dimitri took it as a kindness.

That has not changed. 

However. 

Lying awake at night while some girl pretends to enjoy the intercourse in the room next-door is a heavy price to pay if one is the crown prince of Faerghus, and an insomniac. 

Really, the rest of the Blue Lions should thank him for dealing with all of this on their behalf. They all get to sleep, while he counts ways to kill Sylvain once and for all. As ineffective as sheep but far more interesting. 

On the other side of the wall, the two “lovers” change positions, Sylvain’s desk suddenly thumping against their shared wall, and Dimitri lets out a strangled, rage-filled cry before just tearing off his blanket and getting out of bed. 

How long could two people truly continue such a farce?

He considers, briefly, ruining Sylvain’s night. Knocking, lance-first, on his door to demand he cease his nocturnal indiscretions. Alternatively, he could start throwing things against the wall. Ramming them, really. But— seeing as that led to him breaking a piece of monastery furniture the last time he tried…

Grimacing, he paces, running a hand down his face. 

No. 

He would not just go gently into the sleepless night before him, stretching out like an early morning shadow. He could fight fire with fire while also being prudent about the matter (and attempting to cause minimal property damage in the process).

Looking about the room, he begins moving furniture. As loudly as possible. No matter how light, no article of furniture is exempt from being scraped against the floor, Dimitri letting out the occasional grunt, albeit mostly to add to the cacophony of noise he hopes to subject Sylvain and his conquest to. 

By the time he's done, his entire room setup is flipped. Everything that could be moved, has been moved. His desk and dresser stand against the wall separating him from the ability to easily murder Sylvain, and his bed and nightstand are up against the wall he shares with Felix. 

It does not fully sink in until he gets back into bed, the sound of sexual relations somewhat muffled now with the distance offered to him by the reorganization of the room. A consolation prize, really. 

More than anything else, however, his focus is diverted by the thought that Felix's bed is on the other side of the wall. Right next to his own, separated by nary more than a bit of wood.

Touching it, he feels his heart hiccup with a yearning he's tried to quell again of late. For so long, he had a handle on his feelings. Restrained, tucked away, forgotten. Ever since the beginning of the school year.

And then… 

Felix is so close. 

Between his legs, he feels himself stiffen, a shameful reminder of just how desperately he wishes the wall didn't exist. That he could just reach out and touch him. The slightest caress would surely be enough…

As if to disagree, his cock throbs painfully, untouched, against the inside of his smallclothes. 

He is reminded, then, of Sylvain's claim, later corroborated by Professor Manuela. That his physical prowess might in some ways have to do with his ability to deny himself. 

Glancing down at the tenting of his smalls, Dimitri hesitates only for a moment before allowing trembling fingers to skirt over the fabric there, a sharp inhale following at the touch. Oh. 

He's gotten so used to his wet dreams and their repercussions-- as well as the shameful walk to the laundry with his bedding-- that he'd never even considered…

But then, he knows why. All thoughts lead to Felix. It would be an impossible ask to try and touch himself without his thoughts diverting to him, always. Such thoughts, until recently, were forbidden.  

This has not changed, and yet… 

He's a monster, one rapidly losing control of his desires. What must Felix think of him?

Nothing good, he thinks, a tear rolling down his temple. 

Ah. He hadn't even realized. 

His fingers retreat, leaving his shame behind. It will be back tomorrow, in the early morning, if he manages to fall asleep. A gift from the beast to the prince, serving as a sad and sorry reminder of his sin, and of how little he truly deserves Felix's regard. 

Rolling over onto his stomach, trapping his erection between the mattress and his body, he closes his eyes, and tries to stop picturing Felix beneath him.

&

Mercedes is very good at being persuasive. 

He doesn't desire to call it guilt-tripping, even if it certainly does hold that quality in every possible way. That would be unkind.

"How is the goddess meant to come to your aid if you don't go see her and tell her of your troubles?" she'd asked while hovering in his doorway, and Dimitri had found himself unable to think of a possible retort. Too tired, perhaps.

So much for the nap he'd considered attempting to take during Mass. 

"You're so convinced that this is beyond the goddess, but you haven't even given her a chance," she says, taking his arm once he emerges from his room, fully dressed once more. "She works in mysterious ways, you know."

"Yes, of course," Dimitri says, and stifles a yawn. If he'd known that he was meant to attend Mass today, perhaps he would have gone through with it and murdered Sylvain. 

Something tells him the goddess might consider overlooking such a slight. 

Mercedes keeps talking as they walk up the full stretch to the monastery, but Dimitri's mind is admittedly elsewhere. His bed, mere inches apart from Felix's own… his dreams were as colorful as he expected them to be. The two of them, sharing one room from the start of the year, beds pressed to opposite walls. 

Moving ever so slightly closer with each and every passing day. 

His dream self doesn't have the reticence of its waking counterpart: even with Felix in the room, he'd touched himself, fingers fisting into the sheet around his pillow, begging for something, anything to hold on to. 

He'd said Felix's name by mistake, and then--

"Oh look, there's Felix now!" Mercedes announces cheerfully, Dimitri wondering briefly if he wasn't accidentally speaking out loud. As his tired brain works to catch up, trying to puzzle out what on earth she could have been saying to make Felix relevant to their conversation, she urges him on through the hallowed halls of the cathedral. Toward… Felix. The organ music ceases to fill the space, its beautiful sounds replaced by little more than the echoing of their own steps. 

Disturbing the silence, Dimitri feels doubly sacrilegious. Not just yawning from lack of sleep, but late to the service, being a downright nuisance. If it wasn't for Mercedes and her remarkable confidence despite their actions, he's not sure if he could have compelled himself to find a seat at all. 

The bells start to herald Rhea's arrival before the congregation, and Dimitri breathes a sigh of relief at the noise. 

"Is this really all right?" he whispers to Mercedes, who does not answer him, instead urging him onward, yet closer to Felix. What he wouldn't give to simply sit down and stop causing a scene, further embarrassing himself.

The bells cease. Dimitri swallows hard as their steps carry them-- loud, so very loud-- to the pew seating Felix.

"Why?" he whispers through gritted teeth, a sound that likewise goes ignored. 

"Oh, Felix," she says, looking as bright and cheerful as the morning sunshine. "Could you squeeze Dimitri in next to you? The pews have filled up so fast! So many people came to see the Goddess today, it’s amazing!”

Dimitri feels the blood drain out of his face. 

"Uh," Felix says, and looks to him like he thinks Dimitri orchestrated this of his own accord. Interrupting the silence would, again, be nothing short of blasphemous, and he fights to somehow communicate the truth to Felix by merit of facial expressions alone. 

It seems to accomplish very little.

"Annette was looking for you," he tells Mercedes, who somehow brightens further. 

"Oh, Annie's over there. Look!"

He turns. Swallows. How convenient it is that there is a free seat beside her. And yet-- he must sit with Felix? 

"This is a trap," Felix says, voicing his thoughts out loud. 

Well, perhaps trap is the wrong word, at least for him. If anything, this feels like something of a gift Mercedes is attempting to give him, one Felix is actively resisting every stop of the way, and one Dimitri feels dreadful even thinking about accepting. 

"Nonsense," Mercedes tells him, leaning in to pat his shoulder. "I'm sure you misunderstood what she said! Scooch, scooch."

She gestures for him to make way before stepping back and watching. Waiting for Dimitri to sit.

"Um," he says, looking at Mercedes. "Thank you?"

His words are spoken under his breath before Mercedes smiles and nudges him to sit down. 

There really isn't very much room at all.

Like this, he is hyperaware of every part of Felix, his hands carefully placed atop his thighs as a reminder to keep them to himself. To not reach out unnecessarily, no matter how close Felix is to him like this.

Last night, in his dreams, Felix had been the one to reach out, to wrap his hands around his--

Swallowing thickly, he forces his thoughts back on track. Deference to the goddess, he reminds himself. And yet he cannot bring himself to focus on Lady Rhea, instead having found a fixed spot before him to stare at. Anywhere but at Felix.

"Apologies," he mutters, fully aware that he could be apologizing for any number of things right now. Thinking of him, late at night. Dreaming of him. Mentally recreating those dreams in the most sacred of places possible-- "I didn't realize you would be-- here," he says, interrupting himself.

"Right. Annette's fault."

He hears the subtext, resounding in his mind like an angel's choir: not yours. There is something infinitely nice about it. Just this once, they're on the same side again. Just this once.

"Ah. They sought to trap us, then. These two are deadlier than any soldier of Faerghus." The tremendous guilt he felt just a few minutes ago still haunts him.

"Why the fuck were you rearranging your furniture at fuck o'clock last night?" Felix blurts out, Dimitri feeling himself pale again with the realization. 

Oh. Oh no.

"You-- oh, Felix, I didn't think," he starts all but babbling, beyond flustered. "Did I wake you?"

"You probably woke up the dead down in the Holy Tomb." Felix sounds angry, and rightfully so. For the second time in a remarkably short span of time, Dimitri is overcome with guilt. 

He was tired. He wasn't thinking. He was just-- angry. Felix has never had trouble sleeping before, but by the goddess, he was noisy, and intentionally so. Careless, stupid. He could flog himself in that moment.

"My most sincere apologies, Felix. I did not realize." Yet another misstep. And after such a grave one just the other day. "You might have said something--" he hears himself say, only to pause and realize the truth of his words. "In fact," he continues, it is quite unlike you not to have said anything."

Goodness, if he'd only knocked-- on his door or on the wall-- Dimitri would have ceased immediately. Realized the gravity of his mistake. 

If only, if only.

Felix doesn't respond, a mystery in its own right, and before he has the chance-- if he'd ever had the intent-- Rhea speaks. 

Were he an exceedingly honest man, Mercedes would have reason to be rather cross with him. As it is, he's not paying any attention whatsoever, not a single one of Rhea's words arriving where they ought to. 

No; his focus is somewhere far more important, fixed entirely on Felix. Beside him, for the first time in so very long. Not just nearby, no-- no longer separated by walls or air, here he can feel him. 

The warmth his body tends to radiate is sure to irritate Felix, but without any voiced complaint, he can only feel grateful. 

Yet another gift. Mercedes would tell him to thank the goddess, but all he wishes he could do is thank Felix for this mercy. In spite of the night prior. In spite of his dreams, both waking and not. In spite of the cacophony of noise Sylvain pressured him into making. 

In spite of all of it, Felix is still here. For all of his grumbling, he hasn't tried to move, hasn't tried to flee as he did so many times before when so much as spotting Dimitri in the doorway of a space he was occupying. 

This is a blessing, but it's not one granted by the goddess. No; that would be denying Felix the credit he deserves for his tolerance of him. The boar, as he so often puts it. 

When his eyes close in prayer, bare hands clasped before him, he thinks of Felix. The touch of Felix's thigh upon his own, their bodies shoulder to shoulder. If he didn't know better, he'd almost think that Felix was leaning into the contact. 

His eyes flutter open before they were meant to, compelled to gift them the same way the rest of his body was with Felix. 

And when he starts looking at Felix, he finds that it is impossible to stop.

Felix is beautiful. This has long been an undeniable truth, one perhaps denied to him out of necessity, in the name of survival for two years, and then because Felix did not wish to look upon him as he wished to look upon Felix. 

But Felix is beautiful. 

Not... quite like a girl. 

Despite the last remaining vestiges of the cherubic chub his cheeks carried in their childhood, his features are strong, angular and sharp in so many places. Strength, he thinks. That is the key to Felix's... everything. The way he carries himself, one of the few men who can meet him blow for blow and even come out the victor sometimes.

Because there is something undeniably feminine about Felix. Instead of shying away from it, as he knows so many would, Felix only leans into it all the more. Growing his hair out, pinning it up. 

He has to resist the urge to touch. 

It is far from the first time he's had to resist that very urge. To caress his face, to try again what they started out in the rain beneath the willow tree. To run his fingers up, up, into his hair to tug--

Beastly. Once again, Felix is right about him and his nature. 

This does not stop his mind.

It wanders and trails, follows his whims to wherever they may lead. The voices are quiet, and Felix is here. It would be so easy to run his fingers into Felix's hair, to disturb his messily pinned up bun… to watch, perhaps, as Felix tilted his head back, leaning into his touch… exposing his neck, just for him…

No one else would be here. And he'd lean in, capture the quickening pulse running along his neck, and pin it beneath his tongue. How long, he wonders, would he have to suck before the whole world would know Felix to be his and his alone?  

A part of him almost thinks that Felix would let him. 

There is something to be said about fealty and devotion. He knows, deep down, no matter how much he might rage against the very notion, if he commanded Felix to accept him in that moment, commanded him as his king, he would agree. 

Here, then, is the problem. 

He does not wish to have to command. He wants, deeply and desperately, for Felix to want. Want him just as badly as Dimitri wants him.

"Boar."

He has been staring, he realizes, at Felix's lips. Soft. A fierce temptation, now worse than it normally is, if only by merit of how close they are. How easy it would be to just… lean in and take.

This cannot be how Sylvain feels when he kisses the women he woos. If he did, he would never stop. It would only ever be the same woman, night after night, day after day. Felix is an addiction.

In this way, this is not a gift. It is a curse, binding him to yet another sleepless night, this time spent thinking about Felix.

And Felix, and Felix. Short of his nightmares, there has never been anything else.

He feels, then, Felix's hand on his thigh, his cock twitching as a whimper leaves him. Felix's grip is hard, but the sound was far from one of pain and more one whispering a desperate yearning, quiet.

"Ah..." 

Yes, he thinks. He's here, in the pews of the monastery cathedral. Here, beside Felix, who smells like home. Subconsciously, his hand seeks out Felix's to hold.

Instinct. 

"Come back," Felix says, sounding just panicked enough that it strikes something inside of him. Dimitri blinks, reorienting himself from what he could only call a waking dream. 

Nothing about that was a nightmare. Not until he considers its infeasibility in reality, how unlike Felix it would be to ever respond in such a manner.  

A nightmare, then, after all.

"Ah," he says, his smile faint and far away. Impossible to reel back in. "I was lost in thought. Forgive--"

"Stop apologizing," Felix says, harsher and louder than he'd expected it to be, and Dimitri's smile wavers slightly. 

Still there, still distant.

"Right," he says, ducking his head. "Right."

He does not let go of Felix's hand. 

And Felix, for some reason, does not reclaim it.

His thoughts remain on their hands for the rest of the sermon, until chattering breaks out around them and people begin to file out. 

He removes his hand with some reluctance and rises, allowing his mind to guide his movements based on memory alone. Mechanical. 

In line with this, he steps aside, knowing to be polite as he turns to look at Felix, waiting for him to exit.

He does not. He stares with an anger that suddenly feels foreign, after this time spent together. 

"Felix?" he asks, unable to stop himself from wishing to correct whatever wrong he committed now, unbeknownst to him. 

"Nevermind," Felix says. "I need to train."

Right. The smile returns, a soft but no less fake chuckle slipping free. Mechanical, practiced. "I expect no less from you." 

He does not anticipate a positive response in answer.

And yet:

"Look for me in the training yard. If you dare."

The smile falls, and, for a split second, he lets himself hope. 

Perhaps, if he's the luckiest he could ever pray to be, it will mean something more.

&

The training grounds are completely empty by the time he arrives-- except for Felix, of course.

It is a logical absence. For most, Mass is followed by lunch in the dining hall and sometimes a very prudent nap afterward. Right now, Dimitri doesn’t think he could sleep even if he wanted to, thoughts too wrapped up in Felix to dare be calmed. 

He doesn’t dare speak as he redons his gauntlets and reaches for a training lance, its weight a comfort in his hand. A crutch, Felix might call it.

He would be correct. If anything, fights with Felix feel like they should be fought hand to hand, up close and personal. It feels truer now than ever before, and he hesitates for a moment before turning to look at Felix, lance still in his hand. 

Felix looks good with a sword, and better yet when Dimitri watches him twirl it before making several practice swings. 

Everything inside of him yearns, and for a moment he feels himself panic at the thought that Felix might rescind his offer to spar with him. Perhaps he simply should charge ahead and strike before Felix can change his mind. 

"Well, boar? Are you coming?" 

Felix isn't looking at him, but his heart still skips a beat, Dimitri stepping into the square with a smile. "I was hoping you hadn't changed your mind."

Felix's glower turns upon him then, painfully unamused. "I literally just told you to meet me here, didn't I? Why would I change my mind?"

In lieu of an answer, his smile only widens. "Thank you, Felix." 

The irritation appears to deepen. "What are you thanking me for, you--" 

Dimitri doesn't let him finish his censure, instead just rushing in to attack. And despite the initial surprise on his face, Felix doesn't miss a beat, instantly blocking the blow. 

It's a relief as much as it is a thrill, getting to spar with him again after so long. When last they crossed blades, the sun had been beating down on them, sweaty and spent by the time their match concluded. Now, the air is considerably crisper, the promise of autumn setting in to mark the passage of time without Felix. 

He's found that time passes faster when Felix is in his life, and this match is no exception, wood meeting wood in a desperate struggle, one that feels like it's trying to communicate something more. 

Dimitri knows what he's trying to say with each and every swipe, every near-miss, every touch. All of it speaks the same language: I love you. I miss you. I need you. I'm sorry.

Felix catches him on the inside of his thigh, and his cock offers a familiar throb, twitching in his trousers. He'd already been hard, but the reminder is a welcome one. After all, there's something else his strikes hope to say: 

I want you. Desperately.

Felix is still fighting him. Which means that he either has not noticed, or--

Or he doesn't mind. 

For just a moment, Felix's eyes drift down, and Dimitri takes the chance at Felix's distraction to land a blow. 

A part of him wants to toss his weapon aside, to tackle Felix to the ground and force him to stay there until he understands what his words refuse to tell him out of-- what, fear? 

Felix lowers his weapon. 

"Sothis," he mutters, walking over to one of the benches to lift a towel to his brow. Even like this, errant bits of hair sticking to his forehead, Felix is beautiful, and Dimitri finds it difficult to draw his gaze back as he makes for the water pitcher to take a sip. 

One sip turns into several, Dimitri lifting the pitcher to greedily drink from it, water trailing down to his chin. As though his desire for Felix could ever be quenched by water alone. Stupid.

He's breathless by the time he stops drinking, gasping as he wipes the water off his face and notices that Felix is staring.

The smile returns. "Oh, forgive me, Felix. How thoughtless of me. Would you like some of the water?"

Felix offers a grunt and takes the pitcher from him, Dimitri's gaze turning heavenward. Far from warm, it's actually been colder than he'd expected, the lack of sunlight impacting the temperature a good deal. Without the constant, steady movement of their combat, he can't help the shiver that runs down his back. The clouds rolled in some time ago, but they've turned steadily darker, casting shadows over them.

In the distance, he thinks he hears thunder.

"Did you hear that, Felix?" he asks, trying to get a better look at the approaching clouds.

"Mm?"

"Thunder," he says, gesturing at the sky. "It seems rather close from the sounds of it."

Felix offers a snort. "You're not getting out of training that easily," he says, and the sky opens up.

A crackle of lightning accompanied by a tremendously loud thunderclap echoes across the sky, rain pouring down on them and drenching them in seconds. The wind is enough to turn it into sheets, and all the parts of him that might not have been wet yet-- like his smallclothes-- are there in a near-instant despite their attempt to hurry under an awning for protection from the rain.

"It might stop again soon," Dimitri says, looking to Felix before forcing his eyes back in line. Wet Felix. A terrible temptation. "Perhaps we can wait it out?"

"Mm."

Dimitri sneezes.

"Ugh," Felix says, grabbing hold of Dimitri's arm to drag him off. "Nevermind waiting it out to train. We're going to the sauna lest I have to nurse you back to health."

"I--" Looking back at their abandoned equipment, Dimitri forces himself to shelve his guilt for now, returning his attention to Felix's hand on his arm. That part is far more important. "I… wouldn't mind," he mutters, and watches Felix's eyes go wide, his face reddening shortly after. 

Most likely to match his own.

"What's wrong with you?" Felix snaps, face only seeming to get hotter. "You get sleep-deprived and just say anything?"

His tone maintains its edge, but his apparent anger does little to stop his steps from carrying them up to the sauna, all but dragging Dimitri inside and out of the rain.

"Strip," he says, as if it is quite so easily done and without any shame. 

"Um. Felix." He swallows, looking around the changing room. "Were you not planning on… doing the same?" 

"Of course I was."

Felix turns away, deliberately not looking at him. Whether it's for the sake of Dimitri's shame or his own, he cannot be certain, but he supposes it doesn't much matter, turning to a cubicle of his own. 

Both of them, he realizes, are forming little puddles beneath them, still utterly drenched. 

Peeling each layer of clothing off of himself is deeply unpleasant in its own right, but Dimitri perseveres, only occasionally turning to steal a glance at Felix. 

Bare skin, lovely. Infinitely lovely. 

He hears himself let out a wistful sigh before frantically turning his attention to his cubicle, tugging off the last of his clothes. His smallclothes, then, just as drenched as the rest of them. 

They should be wearing loungewear, he knows, but-- they didn't come here with the intent of going to the sauna, both of them terribly ill-equipped now. 

Looking down at himself, he considers his options. He could just wear the wet smallclothes, anything at all to cover his dick from the mortification that would be sure to come from Felix noticing… well. 

When was the last time he and Felix were in the same room together, naked?

"Just use a damn towel, boar." Felix's voice behind him is followed by a towel tossed at his back, Dimitri turning to grab it and wrap it around himself. No doubt Felix got a bit of an eyeful, but-- ah, he is flaccid enough. 

Even so, the towel is fastened with remarkable rapidity, Dimitri turning his attention from the slowly drying clothes hung over the cubicle door and over the seat at the center of the changing room to… Felix.

Wearing nothing but a towel. 

"Well? Are we going or not?"

Dimitri doesn't bother pointing out that this particular trip was Felix's idea, instead nodding and proceeding to follow him inside of the still undeniably hot room. 

The temperature proves to be a welcome relief, Dimitri moving to sit on one of the benches… before repositioning himself, scooting slightly away to make more room for Felix to sit without any… discomfort. 

They sit in silence for a while after that, Felix getting up to pour some water over the stones to add some steam to the room when he sees a pleasant shiver run through Dimitri's body. Dimitri doesn't bother correcting him; the steam is nice after all the rather cold rain pelting down on them.

"Felix," he finally says, cutting through the silence. His voice sounds deafeningly loud when he hears it. "About last night…"

"The racket," Felix says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Annoyed.

"Er, yes. That." Hopefully Felix can hear the shame in his voice. "Ah, Sylvain was… that is to say, it was still my fault for not… considering how it might affect you, but…"

"You can't fight fire with fucking fire, boar, not when it's Sylvain. Not when he's--" Somehow, even in the sauna's heat, Felix turns redder. "You should have just--" And redder. 

"He was having relations," he explains, as though that would somehow excuse this on any level. Felix is certainly staring at him like he's lost his mind. "Er-- on his desk, pounding against the wall--"

"I--" Felix looks mortified. "I know that, why are we talking about it?"

"Oh." He clears his throat. "Ah." He is not looking at Felix. "It's just-- that it went on for over an hour, and I just wished to sleep--"

"I don't… hate you for waking me up," Felix mutters, staring angrily at the floor. He still looks red. "You clearly weren't thinking straight." 

He hears the subtext: You clearly still aren't.

"Felix," he says, chancing a glance over at him. Felix is perspiring, dripping sweat, and very, very red. Exceedingly sun-kissed, one might say. A trend that persisted throughout their childhoods. Always burning so very easily, right alongside him.

"Mm."

"If you need to… ah, leave the sauna…" Felix is glaring in his general direction. "If the heat becomes too much, that is--"

"It's fine," he snaps, and gets up to pour more water on the stones.

"Ah-- mm." Too late to stop it. The room fills with an extraordinary amount of freshly hot, moist air, and Felix sits back down. 

"If you need to leave, by all means," he says, Dimitri feeling something terribly childish take hold of him alongside Felix's challenge. He can't leave now. He has his pride to think of. As crown prince of Faerghus, what sort of ruler would he be, if he couldn't withstand a little hot air?

Silence descends once more. It truly is so very, very hot. 

"I didn't even know that one could go for that long," he hears himself blurt out, the heat evidently getting to his good senses. Felix stares.

And stares.

"Like I'd know better," he mutters under his breath. "I'm not some whore like Sylvain."

"I just always thought--"

"We're not talking about this," Felix snaps, stare bordering on lethal. 

Dimitri offers a nod, and then promptly abandons his assent seconds later. 

"So you've never--"

"Boar."

"I mean, I haven't, I--" Maybe Felix is right, and sleep deprivation is more than enough to get him babbling nonsense. Over-sharing, really. "Not because of what Sylvain said. I-- I certainly don't think you're weaker than I am because of… I don't even know if that's something you engage in--"

"Stop fucking talking."

"Right."

More silence. The heat is sweltering. 

"Not that it's any of your business," Felix finally says, still not looking at him. "But no, I haven't slept with anyone. And yes, of course I've jerked off. What's wrong with you that you haven't?"

What is wrong with him? All those times alone in his bed, fingers ghosting over his erection. Deeply ashamed of his desire. Ever since the distance between them, desiring Felix has felt infinitely more forbidden than anything else. 

Now, the figurative distance between them is a literal one, and Dimitri looks at the space between them. It would be so easy to make it disappear. So easy.

Just as easy as it would be to make Felix also disappear from the room. Having him here at all feels like a blessing he should know to count. 

And he does. 

"I… I just never did it. It felt… wrong."

"Wrong," he repeats, the word somehow sounding pathetic coming from him.

"Not…" This is impossible to explain. "I… it feels wrong to do that while thinking of someone who… can't consent to it."

Once again, Felix is looking at him like he's lost his mind, Dimitri getting up to pour more water onto the stones. To make Felix break, perhaps. 

Or to keep him here longer out of sheer stubbornness. He's not really sure which. 

The heat threatens to choke him. He sits, trying to ignore what he just admitted to. 

"Who are you--" Felix snaps his mouth shut. "You really think that person is going to care whether you jerk off to them or have a wet dream? It's all going to end the same way."

His face feels like it's on fire. This time, it has nothing to do with the heat. "Do you… um. Is there someone you… ah… think of, then?" 

Blood pounds in his ears, the only thing interrupting the silence. It feels like the only thing remaining between them. 

"No."

They both know that's a terrible lie. The only thing he doesn't know is whether or not it's because the truth might hurt him. 

"Ah." A pause. His fingernails press into the wood beneath him, causing soft indentations to form. "Listen, Felix--"

The door opens, a wash of cold air slipping inside and allowing him to breathe again.

"Your Highness. I have been looking for you."

An indescribable expression comes over Felix's features before he moves to stand, heading straight to the door and out. 

Far, far from happy. 

His stomach feels like it's made of nothing but knots.

Dedue clears his throat, voice dropping considerably. "I see my arrival was not strategic." A pause. He looks deeply contrite. "Have you considered… kissing him?" 

Dimitri stares at the floor. "Um."

"It may suit to take a more direct route with him. He can be… stubborn, and somewhat obtuse when it comes to more… emotional matters."

"Dedue," he says, not even certain what he's hoping to communicate there.

"If I have overstepped…"

He shakes his head. "No. I… thank you, Dedue. I will make an attempt," he finally says, still not quite looking at him as he stands. "I just fear for the result."

Dedue lets out a soft breath of a laugh. "I would not fear it too much, Your Highness." 

"Right." He still feels mildly delirious. Whether from lack of sleep, the heat, or his emotions, he can't be certain. "Even so, it may be prudent for me to… delay entering the changing room until Felix departs."

A pause. Dedue seems to consider his state of dress before simply disregarding it and nodding. "Agreed."

"Despite the heat?"

"Despite the heat," he declares, offering Dimitri a smile. 

It's more encouraging than he perhaps realizes. 

&

Dedue's words linger with him even after Dimitri returns to his room, his heart heavy. A more direct route would be fine under normal circumstances-- would have been, perhaps, had he had more time prior to Dedue's arrival-- but he remembers the look on Felix's face prior to his departure. 

Listen, Felix… if it was you that I thought of… would that be all right? Could you ever forgive me, for such a slight?

If he'd just opened his mouth sooner. Spoken faster, with less reluctant hesitation. If he'd managed to get the words out prior to Dedue's arrival. If he'd sounded more certain, and less utterly terrified of Felix's rejection.

If, if, if. 

His intent to nap comes to naught, Dimitri unable to do much more than toss and turn despite his best efforts. He doesn't even know if Felix is nearby, in the bed just beyond the wall, but his thoughts drift ever in that direction, fingers touching on the wall to trace a path along the woodgrain. 

He knows Felix wouldn't come knocking at his door to speak, knows that Dedue is right. Felix is stubborn, and he's… he's the one who changed on him. Who turned into a beast before disappearing for years at a time, the halcyon days of their childhood long behind them. 

He wanders the monastery then, half-hoping he might run into Felix, half-dreading it. It's still raining-- sprinkling, really-- and the training grounds are as empty as he might have expected them to be, as are the other outdoors locales. It being a sunday, the classrooms are likewise abandoned, and since the conclusion of Mass, the hallowed halls of the cathedral stand empty save for a few members of the Church of Seiros and a few devoted enough to come see the goddess even in her off hours. Dedue and Ashe are in the greenhouse, but that is hardly that unusual, and he envies for a moment their easy rapport, the comforting sound of the raindrops against the glass roof above them. Not seeing Felix in the dining hall prompts him to stop only briefly to grab a bite to eat for dinner. It all tastes like ash to him, so the quality hardly matters, only the quantity. What matters more is that Felix doesn't seem to be… anywhere, really. 

Which means that he either fled, or… is in his own room.

There are far more possibilities, granted. He could be deliberately hiding from Dimitri. He could be in the room of another friend of theirs, for reasons that surely have nothing to do with their previous conversation. Dimitri tries to remind himself that he could just as easily be throttling Sylvain as anything else, but that does little to fully quell the fear that grips hold of his heart. 

What if he's simply out of time? If he missed his chance… 

The fear speeds up his steps back to the dormitories, Dimitri climbing the stairs two at a time and leaving little puddles in his wake. 

There are… sounds. Coming from Sylvain's room.

A terror like never before seizes him, his steps suddenly hesitating in their forward march. Much as a part of him wishes to knock on Sylvain's door to deny his worst fears, he doesn't have it in him right now to deliver a speech, and if Felix were to see him, utterly heartbroken after their previous conversation… 

Turning away from the door, shaky legs carrying him to Felix's instead. His hands are trembling. 

Nothing about this is befitting of a crown prince. 

Look, Felix, at how you have reduced me to nothing but a man. 

Taking in a deep breath, he steadies his hand and knocks, praying for an answer. 

To his absurd relief, the door opens, slow, Felix's voice coming through from the other side. "Look, leave me a--"

Somehow, the sight of him is enough to stop Felix from speaking altogether. 

It does little to alleviate the sour expression on his face. Despite his surprise, he still looks upset, and Dimitri resists the urge to reach out and touch his face. 

"Did you go back outside?" 

Heaven help him, Felix almost sounds concerned.

He nods, but he's barely even paying attention. All that panic, all that worry, and now-- Felix is here. 

Felix is here and... infinitely lovely. Like this, with his hair out, partially undressed, he looks like he just climbed out of bed. He thinks of sleepy mornings spent together, days where Felix would join him in bed even if he wasn't supposed to… only to fall ill alongside his prince. 

I missed you, he wants to say, but the words won't leave his throat.

"Why would you fucking do that?" Felix snaps at him, dragging him into the room by his wrist. Angry. Rightfully so, all things considered. Dimitri has done him a grave disservice, over and over again. Disappointed him repeatedly with his... beastliness. How could he possibly ask Felix to not just remain at his side as his advisor, but to love him also? Selfish. 

"Are you actually an idiot, you dumb boar?" Felix continues, furious. "I didn't try to warm you up for you to--" 

The door falls shut behind him, and for the first time it occurs to Dimitri that this is Felix's room. That he's only ever had the chance to peek inside at most. That he's never actually... been here. 

Felix's room is... clean. As bare-bones as his own, really, and just as covered in books. 

How many people, he wonders, have been here with Felix? 

Felix. His gaze returns to his face, framed by hair long enough to flow over his shoulders. "Felix--" he hears himself start again, and prays he can finish saying what he wants to say. 

Needs to say. 

But it's not to be, his attempts at bravery cut off by Felix speaking again. 

"Didn't our loyal champion tell you you'll catch your death out there."

Ah. If Dedue could see him now, he'd chide him, no doubt, for hesitating at all. "I assume you mean Dedue."

"Whatever." Felix says it more angrily than he'd anticipated, gesturing to Dimitri's state of dress. "Take that off; if you die of pneumonia, my father will never forgive me."

Felix has never liked Dedue, that much is true of course, but Felix's anger seemed somehow suggestive of something more then. His concern for him, perhaps? 

His mind continues to carry his thoughts as he slowly undresses himself. First the cape and gauntlets. Then his uniform jacket. Then the boots. The shirt beneath his jacket thankfully proves still mostly dry, but Dimitri thinks back to Felix's anger and begins unbuttoning regardless, shrugging it off, folding it, and setting it onto the desk alongside his other clothes, only the boots left on the floor. 

He... he should be doing these things in his own room, perhaps. 

He's about to undo the closure of his trousers when he turns to look at Felix, bare feet and all. "It… it may look… suspect," he manages, feeling himself redden. "If I were to leave here in the nude."

Felix stares. And stares. Something horrible seems to be stirring in his mind; anger, perhaps. It's most of what he sees from Felix these days. 

"So?" he finally blurts out, Dimitri feeling his eyes widen. 

"Oh," he says, briefly considering this. "Um." He supposes it… doesn't matter, all things considered. People could talk. "It… wouldn't upset you? Being associated with…" His heart aches, and Dimitri cannot bring himself to look at Felix. "If-- if there's someone else in your life, I wouldn't… I wouldn't wish to unnecessarily upset either of you."

His eyes feel oddly damp. He's still not looking at Felix.

Felix, who has grown oddly quiet.

"Don't act like this isn't about you," he finally snaps. His arms are still crossed, defensive, gaze fixed firmly elsewhere, away from him. "If you're the one who would be upset, at least own up to it."

"I…" He falters. If Felix only allowed it, he would try to take his hand, but… they are hidden, tucked carefully away and out of sight. "If I was in another person's room in… this state of undress, I must admit I would be most worried about… one other person. But as I am with you, that is… not a matter of concern."

"Hmph." 

His mind reels. What can he say to make himself clearer? Clearer without… embarrassing himself completely, evidently. He's a coward. Dedue would be ashamed of him. 

"Ah, but this is silly," he hears himself say, sighing softly. "There was once a time when I wouldn't have hesitated to just…" He falters again, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, Felix. Before we were interrupted earlier, there was… something I wished to say. Very much. But I fear that you may forcibly remove me from your room-- and rightfully so, mind you-- once I finish saying it. In… which case I ask that I simply be allowed to take my clothes with me."

"Oh, for crying out loud. Speak, boar." 

Once more, he falters, even in the face of Felix's clear annoyance. 

"Ever since we… ah, reached a certain age, I suppose…" More hesitation. "You were right. I… have had a number of rather… colorful dreams. But I cannot remember a single one that didn't somehow… revolve around you." He closes his eyes, suddenly hyperaware of his state of undress as he feels himself smile, a sad, self-deprecating breath of a laugh leaving him. "Did you know that I can hardly sleep when you are no longer in bed with me? It used to be so easy, but… then, you were always there."

Felix just stares at him, an unfamiliar mixture of anger and shock doing the speaking for him. 

And Dimitri knows when he has overstepped a line he should have never crossed in the first place.

A shaky breath leaves him, Dimitri doing his best to look... normal. Princely. He expected this. He can act like he has some dignity left in him. 

There will still be time to cry tonight, when he's alone in bed and Felix, despite being only a wall away, could not be further away from him. 

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes, so fake it almost pains him to smile in spite of the ache in his chest, heavy and hollow. "It’s all right, Felix. I understand. You don’t have to do anything about it. I just--wanted to say it, I suppose?" Laughter leaves him, almost as painful as the smile. "Of course you don’t feel the same way. You’ve been so angry with me, of late."

He's been a fool. Dedue, Mercedes, Annette... they all had his best interest in mind, just wanting to see him be happy... but he had assumed that Felix wouldn't feel the same way as he does. As he... has. 

The smile wavers, Dimitri's steps similarly shaky as he takes his clothes to hold in the crook of his arm. "I'll go. I appreciate you hearing me out, Felix. I truly do." 

It was already far, far more than he deserved. From Felix especially. 

"Boar," Felix croaks out, Dimitri closing his eyes with a pained sigh. He can't do it, can't maintain the smile. Pathetic. His hand reaches for the door--

--and never makes it, not before Felix loses his mind.

"Fuck you," he all but barks out from behind him before Dimitri is whirled around and forcefully pushed against the door. "Fuck you," he says again, just as angrily as the first time. Dimitri is still trying to keep up with what just happened, faltering at every step. "I can't fucking believe you. I haven't jerked off in weeks and you say this to me? Right now? Looking like that?"

Cogs turn slowly as he looks down at himself. Like what, he wants to ask in extreme puzzlement, but he doesn't manage before Felix yanks his head back by the hair to look at him again and-- kisses him. 

"Oh," Dimitri says, the sound swallowed up by Felix's kiss. He barely notices the stolen sound, however, too wrapped up a moment he thought would never come to be. His hands seem no less shocked, touching Felix's face, cradling his chin--

A miracle, he thinks. Mercedes was right. 

Everything about Felix makes him think of home, his kisses no exception to the rule. And still he forces himself to part with him, gasping softly. 

"Felix." His voice is barely a whisper, but he finds that he has to utter it, has to, if only to tell him just how ardently he loves him. 

"Please," Felix gasps out, need dripping from the very edges of the word, "fucking kiss me."

Kiss him. Kiss Felix. Something he-- is allowed to do. A whimper leaves him, soft and sad and pathetic, having spent far too long yearning for Felix to be patient now. So he kisses him. 

And kisses him.

It is easy to continue, with the easy encouragement of Felix's mouth, of the sounds that leave him and the way he touches him. As greedy as he feels. Greedy enough that when he catches a glimpse of Felix's throat and finds himself compelled, he just-- takes. 

"Fuck," Felix says, breathless, his head tilting to the side to make room for Dimitri's mouth to claim more of him. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck--"

"I love your hair," he whispers, running a hand up into it, desperately honest as he clings to him. "I love--" You. "Felix," he interrupts himself before he takes too much, demands too much of him all at once. Greedy. "I can't, I shouldn't, I want--"

All of you. Everything. 

Felix answers in kind: he takes and takes, reclaiming his mouth and sliding one hand down--

Dimitri forgets how to think, how to breathe.

His body acts before his mind can catch up, but-- he warned him. Told Felix all that he wanted. 

And Felix... offered himself. 

He has no regrets as he gathers Felix up in his arms, lifting him and carrying him over to the bed. 

He is half-tossed onto the bed before Dimitri scrambles after him, on top of him, and back to stealing kisses again, hands eager for more of him. 

Too eager.

The clattering of buttons barely even registers as he tries to get to more skin, Dimitri uttering Felix's name like a prayer. And when it is not Felix's name on his tongue, it's not far, Dimitri listing saints as if in comparison.

Look at how I say your name. Look at how they pale in your wake.

"Lovely," he says with an exhale, reverent, reaching in to touch Felix-- only for Felix to react as if electrified. 

He continues, undaunted, newly in love with the expression on his face.

"Boar," Felix grinds out, his body all but twitching in the wake of Dimitri's touch. Let me, his gaze whispers. Just let me continue loving you.

Felix answers another prayer first:

"... Dimitri." 

His eyes feel damp. "You haven't called me that in--"

Years.

"Yes, I know," Felix says, avoiding looking directly at him. Reluctant. Dimitri does not care to push him. "Are you going to fuck me sometime this age, or should I wait for you some more?"

Something wonderful blooms in his chest, flutters there, and takes flight. How long, he wants to ask, did I make you wait for me?

He does not ask this. Instead, he smiles, bordering on gleeful as a shaky hand reaches down to touch on Felix's erection. Still trapped by fabric, but not for long. He squeezes, desperately anticipative. Ready to see all of him.

"I'm not going to... fuck you, Felix," he says, something he feels he has to clarify as his mind drifts briefly back to Sylvain before Dimitri slams a mental door on him and busies himself with Felix's trousers, undoing them bit by bit, slow. 

He eases them down equally slowly, carefully, treasuring every new bit of skin exposed to him. 

His cock is a treasure in and of itself. This sight, paired with Felix's whimpers, makes Dimitri think he might just come untouched. 

"You better," Felix says, suddenly struggling out of his pants, frenzied with impatience, until he manages to get his legs around Dimitri's waist to drag him in, closer, closer. His cock throbs desperately against the fabric of his pants.

"You better fuck me, after all those stupid nights thinking about your stupid dick--"

His heart seizes in his chest, Dimitri leaning in to cup his face. Howlong did he make Felix wait for him?

He takes in a deep breath. "I'm not going to fuck you," he says again, his voice still wavering on the word. Leaning down, he steals one more kiss before drawing back, hands trembling as he undoes the fastenings of his trousers. 

"I’m going to make love to you." 

For a split second, Felix looks awestruck before his gaze turns away entirely, face rapidly reddening. 

"Ugh," he says, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. "You're the worst."

But when Dimitri leans in to kiss him again, there is no hesitation whatsoever-- no shame, no reluctance to give in to his-- to their feelings.

No; if anything, Felix is as greedy as he is, his hand moving back down to touch on the front of his smallclothes, Dimitri all but humping into his hand at the friction. The gasp that leaves him is enough to break their kiss, Dimitri panting as his hips act on instinct. 

"Please--" The word leaves him with an exhale and a shudder, his body begging Felix for more of his touch. 

And Felix doesn't disappoint. Deft fingers work to undo the second bit of lacing holding him together before his hand pushes past both barriers of fabric to wrap around his cock until Dimitri forgets how to think entirely.

"Please, please--" It's the only word left to him alongside Felix's name, cock throbbing desperately in his hand. He's so close, so dangerously close.

"Beast," Felix mutters, though his hand doesn't stop, not once. "I can barely even fit my hand around you."

"If--" His eyes flutter back open, Dimitri feeling delirious. "If it's too much--" 

The hand around his cock squeezes, almost painful. A warning. "It won't be," Felix grinds out, glowering up at him. 

"Then can I--" He hesitates. He doesn't know how these things work beyond what he's heard from Sylvain, things he promptly attempted to forget right after. "Can I worship you?" he finally asks, Felix's face reddening all over again as he looks askance. 

"Sap," he says under his breath, but doesn't deny him.

That's all he needs, really. He knows Felix, still. His emotions might be more obfuscated now, but Dimitri still knows him. 

A small smile forms, fiercely in love. Leaning in, he steals one kiss, and then another, slowly kissing his way down Felix's body. 

The hand around his cock turns into an arm flung over his face, Felix hiding from Dimitri's gaze, piercing and filled to the brim with as-of-yet unshed affection, waiting still to be released. Luckily, they have time now.

Dimitri kisses his way down Felix's front, slow. Slow enough that Felix kicks at him, offering a grunt in protest. "Whatever you're going to do, just get to it already--"

Felix doesn't have to ask twice, Dimitri shifting lower to press a kiss to his crest before moving further to wrap his mouth around his cock, knuckles teasing gently at his cunt to the effect of whimpers and moans falling from Felix's lips as his hips buck up with desire.

"Stop teasing--"

Crest-blessed, their parents had called it when they were growing up. In the interest of reproduction, of passing on one's crest to one's offspring, it always helped if one was compatible with any other crest-bearers, regardless of how their genders presented. 

There was never any doubt about the fact that Felix knows himself to be a boy, has always seen himself as a boy. But when they were growing up, there was just as much pride in his crest-blessed status. 

A part of Dimitri always wondered if it was because it might allow them to be together like this.

"Stop teasing," Felix snaps at him, kicking his heel into Dimitri's back. 

He thinks-- hopes-- he knows what Felix wants, two fingers sliding inside of him only for Dimitri to be the blessed one, watching the way his back arches and his fingers twist into the sheets beneath them. Pumping his fingers, slow, he tries to match his mouth with the movements, up and down his cock. 

It seems to be the right thing to do, Felix's hips suddenly torn between bucking up into his mouth and pushing down against his fingers for deeper penetration. The litany of noises leaving him are obscene, and a rather cruel part of him hopes that Sylvain hears them two rooms over. 

And while he tries to be a good dorm neighbor, and certainly cares about his classmate's wellbeing, he doesn't care enough about Claude's sleep schedule to quiet himself all that much.

More importantly: with each and every visceral response from Felix's body begging for more, Dimitri loses more and more of his own self-control, up to the point where he realizes-- after the fact-- that he's begun to hump the bed in time with his movements himself. 

It only worsens when Felix starts twitching in his mouth, panting as his muscles draw tight and he strains against the bed, against Dimitri, against anything rooting him to the present.

A strangled groan leaves him around Felix's cock when he feels him come, Dimitri curling his fingers and trying to swallow all of him just before he feels himself follow Felix, pathetically early, all over Felix's sheets. 

"Ngh--" He draws off of his cock looking sheepish at best, more ashamed than anything else at his lack of restraint, cheeks pink. "Forgive me, Felix, I-- I couldn't--"

A foot pushes at his shoulder at that, urging Dimitri lower. His fingers are still inside of him, but--

"Your mouth, you beast," he mutters, fiercely red cheeks peeking out from beneath the arm still hiding his gaze from him. "Just-- fuck, please--"

Dimitri is nothing if not eager to please. 

Knowing that Felix would stop him if he needs him to is a great relief in its own right, and Dimitri continues fucking him with his fingers, pressing his tongue inside of him alongside. Tasting him again, tongue-fucking him with the desperate enthusiasm of a starved man. 

"No, I meant-- ah, fuck, don't stop, don't-- stop-- ah, Dimitri--"

His cock throbs anew, back to hard as if from his name on Felix's lips alone, and Dimitri tries all the harder to please him in the face of his words. Redoubling his efforts, tripling them-- offering everything to Felix that he has to offer at all. 

Felix's body moves in waves, reflecting his desperation back at Dimitri as if meant to reassure him-- and it does. More than that, Felix is making a mess of himself and the bed beneath him, drenching it with his arousal, and Dimitri feels a good bit less guilty for coming-- half-in his pants and smallclothes, half-on the sheets. 

They can sleep in his bed tonight. He doesn't care. Not knowing he actually will sleep tonight, and not only by merit of crying himself into a state of exhaustion after hardly sleeping a wink the night prior. 

He can no longer see Felix's face from his position between his legs, eating him out and fingering him as best he can at the same time, but it hardly matters, not when he can hear and feel his every reaction: panting with every thrust from his fingers, rutting against Dimitri and moaning his whimpers and grunts as his cock twitches, leaking precome over his abdomen all over again, the clenching of his cunt around Dimitri's digits, the way his fingers tighten now not in the sheets, but in his hair. 

"Fuck, I'm--!" 

It's all the warning he gets before his body squeezes and flutters around him, over and over, Felix's cock weeping meagre amounts of come over his stomach, a sob leaving him from behind his forearm. Dimitri draws back slowly, carefully, as though any too-fast movement might serve to overwhelm Felix yet-- only to be greeted by the sight of Felix, trembling and in love. 

Dimitri cannot blame him. If it was possible for him to fall more in love with Felix, he would. 

"Can-- can you fuck me already? Always making me wait for you--"

For all of Felix's grumbling, he looks far more exhausted than Dimitri does-- and yet Dimitri knows better than to deny him. Lifting his leg by the ankle, he presses a kiss to the inside of it. Then another, just a bit higher. And another, and another, until he's reached his knee. Setting his leg free once more, he shimmies up his body, hovering on all fours above him. 

"Felix?"

"Mm?"

"Will you let me see you?"

There is a pregnant pause. Felix is still faintly trembling from his second orgasm, but he knows that's not why his arm is shaky as he takes it off of his eyes, looking pointedly away from Dimitri.

Red, damp. Flush with carefully unshed tears. The pillow beneath him is damp.

Something inside of his heart feels like it breaks at the sight, eyes wide as he reaches up to cup his cheek. "Felix, I--"

"Your fault," Felix mutters. "For making me wait this long--"

Leaning down to pull him into a fierce embrace, Dimitri feels it returned in kind, Felix all but clinging to him. It comes as a considerable relief after feeling himself panic that maybe Felix didn't want this after all, that he'd changed his mind but hadn't managed to tell him. 

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, pressing kisses into damp hair. "I'm so sorry I didn't realize--"

"Just stop making me wait, you damn beast," Felix says, voice soft in complete contrast to the heel he smacks against Dimitri's ass as if to tell him to get a move on.

He draws back to look at him, heart beating impossibly fast. "You really still want me to? To-- make love to you?"

A strangled sound leaves Felix's throat. Ever-reluctant to speak his heart aloud. "Yes," he says, the slightest, smallest whisper, audible only from watching his mouth move.

And Dimitri smiles. 

"I'm going to make you the happiest man in the world, Felix. This much, I can promise you."

"You can start by putting your stupid giant dick in me," Felix mutters hotly, face still adorably red. 

It's all he can focus on until Felix leans back and spreads his legs for him, the sight of which makes his thoughts short circuit. 

Oh wow. 

It takes a moment to reclaim his mind before he manages to fully process Felix's words. 

Felix wants him to... make love to him. To... penetrate him. 

He swallows thickly. 

Dimitri remembers-- too well-- conversations with Sylvain that he didn't want to be part of. About how it can hurt, without adequate preparation. He looks down at his cock, suddenly uncertain. Felix is the one who has been calling him... sizeable.

"Did I--?" He does not know how to ask this. "Did I do enough?" As if in attempt at clarifying his doubts and fears, he gestures between Felix's legs. 

There's a moment of hesitation, and then Felix urges him closer. "Come on. Be the boar that you are, and keep your eyes on me." 

Dimitri swallows again, grasping his cock. Considering where it's about to go, it looks... remarkably large.

"I'm big," he says, somehow increasingly uncertain.

There is a deep, long-suffering sigh from Felix's end. "Yes."

"I don't want to hurt--"

"Dimitri," Felix snaps, back to glowering at him. "You say pretty things about making love to me, but you want to pound me into the mattress. So fucking do it."

His heart quivers in its cage. He does want to make love to Felix. He... also wants to wreck him, ruin him, to fuck him so hard, so fast, and so many times that Felix struggles to walk after. So much so that there isn't anyone left in the school that doesn't know that Felix belongs to him.

And vice versa.

He allows himself to touch, then, Dimitri's fingers greedy in their exploration, moving up, up, up Felix's thighs, opening them to him. He still wants to spend more time between Felix's legs-- intends to-- but that can wait for now. 

Grasping his cock more firmly, he shifts. Aligns himself. 

Dimitri isn't sure he's ever been so focused on anything in his life. 

He starts pushing in slow, painfully slow. He's always been capable of more self-control and restraint than Felix has given him credit for, but right now he is feeling far from patient, and it takes everything in him not to just push inside in one fell swoop.

But Felix-- Felix is more important than his pleasure; has always been.

Deeper. Deeper.

Felix takes him beautifully, so deep and so well, his eyes screwed shut as he clings to him. For a while, there is nothing but Felix's whimpers, his unsteady, desperate breathing. 

"Oh," Dimitri whispers, more exhale than word, when he feels himself bottom out, their hips flush against each other. Felix is a miracle. All that talk of how big he is, and yet he takes him... effortlessly, legs wrapped around his waist and keeping him close.

"Come on," Felix says, though he seems to barely manage the words at all, his head still thrown back, face tight with pleasure. "Come on, do it, don't fucking stop now--"

More impatient than Dimitri. 

Not that he can blame him in the slightest.

"No," he whispers, and kisses him. 

His patience leaves him all at once then, Dimitri drawing back his hips and pushing in, over and over again. So deep, so perfectly deep. Felix meets him halfway with each and every thrust from his hips until he feels like he's about to go mad. 

And he knows-- he knows-- that he wants to do this every damn day for the rest of his life. Just to feel him. Just to forever know him this intimately. To catalogue every change in Felix over the years, to relearn every inch of his body and more, so much more. He wants to see every wrinkle gather and form on Felix's beautiful features, and then he wants to tell him that he loves him all the more for each and every one of them. 

"Felix," Dimitri gasps, suddenly realizing how terribly he's been neglecting him all this time, his forehead finding Felix's to rest against.

Bracing himself on the bed, he lifts himself just enough to where he can slip his hand between their bodies, his hand wrapping around Felix's cock to stroke. Overdue, so long overdue. "I, ah, Felix, Goddess--"

"Mmmmm," is all Felix manages in response, and Dimitri can hardly blame him. He, too, is lost in this moment in time between them, Felix clinging to him with arms and legs wound tight, and Dimitri knows that there's nowhere he'd rather be than here, drowning in Felix. 

He's almost grateful he didn't push Felix to take off his shirt. It's the only thing holding Felix in place when Dimitri thrusts into him hard enough to shift him higher, to lift his hips off the bed and--

An impossible noise leaves Felix, the only warning he gets before Felix's cunt flutters around his cock, his body clenching fiercely enough around him that Dimitri almost wonders if Felix doesn't want him to stay forever. 

Deep, deep, inside of him. 

Much as he wants to hold on-- and by the goddess, he does, he wants to hold on so much longer, to cause Felix so much more pleasure yet-- he can feel himself fall apart, bit by bit. Felix's orgasm is almost enough to ruin him, Dimitri whimpering through it.

"Eyes on me," Dimitri hears Felix say, and something inside of him shatters as he promptly complies to look upon Felix, flushed cheeks, smiling, eyes bright and in love, an echo of his own heart. 

He breaks. His hips stutter long before he feels himself give in for good, his cock throbbing his release. Slow to start, but somehow only intensifying as it continues until he wonders if he'll ever finish coming inside of him. 

And Felix just holds him there, accepting him without question.

He was wrong, he realizes then, with alarming clarity: this is what bodies are for.

They stay like that for a long time after that, Dimitri listening to Felix's heartbeat gradually slow, his own echoing the calm he feels now. 

After... all of that. 

Now, with the frenzy of desperation behind them, there lingers... happiness. A bone-deep contentment threatening to pull him into sleep. 

"I'm not sleeping in this bed tonight," Felix says, as if in answer to his thoughts. Dimitri lets out a breath of a laugh, grinning up at him. 

"I assumed you might want to visit my room, Felix?" Another thing long overdue to them.

"Hmm. You might actually get some sleep."

The smile only grows from there. 

"Is that what we'll be doing all night?"

It's a ridiculous thing to ask. Dimitri is more tired now than he was after being awoken to go to church, and yet... if Felix wanted to do this again… 

Especially if it meant punishing Sylvain. Properly this time. No lecture, only a taste of his own medicine.

"Fool boar."

"Felix," he says, as if in answer. Even listening to himself, he sounds... happy. How long has it been, truly?

"I love you," Felix blurts out, and Dimitri forgets how to think for a moment.

Yes, his soul sings back in response. Yes.

"I love," he starts, leaning in closer to him, "I love--" closer still, close enough to steal a kiss-- "I love you."