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Sylvain waits, shoulders tense, for his friends and classmates to finish giving him their condolences and pitying looks.
He doesn’t want their pity.
They mean well, he knows that. His brother has just died. Died after being turned into a horrible Black Beast and forcing Sylvain’s class to put him down. All he wants, as rubbed raw as his nerves feel right now, is to be alone with Byleth.
Finally, Mercedes gives him a motherly squeeze, and his classmates head off for the night, seemingly content to leave Sylvain in their Professor’s hands. They don’t know it, but there’s nowhere he’d rather be.
See, Sylvain actually met Byleth a year before coming to the Officer’s Academy, while Byleth was on some job with his mercenaries in Gautier territory. They’d met in a tavern, flirted, and had a passionate dalliance for about three weeks before Byleth had to move on.
They had agreed that if they ever met again, they would rekindle what they'd had for those three weeks, and Sylvain hadn't had any intention of reneging once he saw Byleth at the Academy. It was like fate, or the Goddess, or some other otherworldly force had brought them back together.
He wouldn’t say he's in love with Byleth, no. Sylvain's not even sure he's capable of that. But he would say that he has the deepest emotional connection with Byleth that he's had in a very long time. He would say he cares greatly for the mercenary-turned-teacher, especially now they’ve had even more time to bond, even if they can only do so in secret with Byleth teaching Sylvain’s class.
Byleth gets him in a way no one else ever really has, and it had been plain to see from the word go that he couldn't have been less interested in Sylvain's last name, noble standing, or Crest. That alone means Sylvain feels at ease around the slightly older man.
“What do you want to do?” Byleth asks once they're sure the class is out of earshot. His eyes are understanding; sympathetic but not pitying. Sylvain brings their foreheads together, closing his eyes, just appreciating Byleth for a moment.
“Distract me,” he murmurs, ducking down and pressing his lips to Byleth to indicate what type of distraction he’s in the mood for.
He wants touch, pleasure, the inability to think through a haze of lust.
Their few weeks together in Gautier had never gone past handjobs, Byleth strangely averse to the idea of fucking outside a tavern or in the woods for a mercenary. He’d mumbled something about how just because he wanted to fuck Sylvain like an animal, didn't mean they had to completely behave like them — and behind the tavern was their best location choice. Better than risking Sylvain being recognised by a mercenary colleague of Byleth’s while he was leaving Byleth’s tent, or Sylvain bringing Byleth back to House Gautier, anyway.
It’s been the same since Byleth started at the Academy due to how busy he’s been finding his feet with the teaching position he suddenly had on his hands.
Sylvain’s been patient, but right now, he wants the closeness of more.
Byleth kisses back, firm and unyielding, and Sylvain knows he’s going to get what he wants.
Tension having already built up between them, as soon as Byleth finally kneels between Sylvain’s spread thighs and takes the wet tip of Sylvain’s cock between his lips, they both moan in a combination of relief and hunger.
Sylvain stares down at Byleth, unblinking, as he works to gradually take more of Sylvain’s considerable length into his mouth. The head of his cock eventually bumps the back of Byleth’s throat, and Sylvain groans exaggeratedly.
He can barely string a thought together as Byleth swallows around him, the velvety heat of his throat tightening, which is exactly what he’d wanted from this encounter.
“Fuck, By,” he moans, voice ragged. “Can you take me further?”
Byleth, the sassy bastard, opens his eyes just so Sylvain can see him roll them before he bobs his head again and takes the entirety of Sylvain's head into his throat. Sylvain chokes out a whimper, hands flying to Byleth’s dark hair, gripping it tightly to steady himself, and it makes Byleth moan around Sylvain’s cock loudly. The vibrations of the sound are the best kind of torture, and Sylvain feels his cock jerk and spurt pre-come down Byleth's throat in response.
“Ohh, oh fuck, Byleth,” he rasps out, hips twitching as his climax starts to build. Byleth attempts to slacken his jaw further, pressing the flat of his tongue to the underside of Sylvain's length before he stops bobbing his head, and it only takes Sylvain a minute to get the message. “Shit, yes,” he groans, shifting one hand around to cup the back of Byleth's head before he shifts on the edge of the bed, moving forwards to give himself more room to move.
Once he's in position, he immediately thrusts into Byleth’s loose jaw, pushing the tip of his cock into the tight channel of Byleth’s throat over and over again. He moves in short, sharp bucks of his hips, eyes fluttering closed as he loses himself in fucking Byleth’s face until he comes, grunting and shouting Byleth's name far too loudly for what’s supposed to be a secret tryst.
Byleth doesn’t seem to care, flicking his tongue over Sylvain’s slit to get whatever spend didn't go down his throat, and Sylvain can already tell he’s far from done for the night. Not when he’s staring at Byleth’s lips, stretched around his girth and slick with spit.
Not when he can see Byleth’s own erection tenting the other man's underwear between his legs and wants nothing more than to feel it split him open.
As soon as Byleth pulls his mouth off Sylvain’s dick, Sylvain has his hands under Byleth’s shoulders, hauling him up onto the mattress with him. Byleth makes a noise of surprise but goes with it, letting himself be moved around until he's got his back against the wall.
Underwear yanked off by Sylvain's impatient hands. Toned legs across the width of the mattress, hanging off the edge.
And a lap full of naked Sylvain.
“What the fuck, Syl,” Byleth sputters, laughing quietly under his breath. Sylvain grins and sears a kiss to his lips before explaining.
“Wanna feel you inside me,” he purrs. “Wanna ride your cock until I scream myself hoarse. You gonna let me?”
Byleth looks at him like it's a stupid question, and maybe it is. Maybe Sylvain also thinks Byleth’s a bit too quality for someone like him and would rather be sure.
“Fucking obviously, but not like this. I need to be on the bed properly,” Byleth replies. Sylvain shrugs loosely.
“So we’ll move when we need to,” he answers easily, ducking down to suck and bite at Byleth's collarbone. It’s one of his weak spots, Sylvain knows, and he’s merciless as he takes advantage of the knowledge, decorating Byleth's pale skin with red and pink blooms as he rolls his hips into Byleth’s.
Byleth hisses a breath, hands flying to Sylvain’s hips and clutching them tightly as he helps to direct the rocking motion. His breathing is all harsh pants, the flex of his fingers against Sylvain’s skin firm enough to send a clear message about how Byleth wants more just as badly as Sylvain does, now.
Cracking one eye open, Sylvain locates the bottle of oil he'd placed on the mattress earlier, never a fan of breaking the moment to grab lube, and shoves it at Byleth’s chest.
It’s not hard to figure out what Sylvain wants, and as soon as Byleth has several of his fingers coated, he grips Sylvain’s jaw with his clean hand and pulls him into a hard kiss, biting at Sylvain’s lower lip as he strokes the pads of his fingers over Sylvain’s entrance, relaxing the muscle there.
It’s been a while since anyone else has touched Sylvain there; he’s usually less fussy about finding female partners than male, and not that he's planning on telling Byleth as much, but he hasn’t actually been with anyone else since Byleth showed up at Garreg Mach.
He doesn’t tend to finger himself often, mostly because it’s a lot of effort in his opinion, so it’s a tight fit even with the oil and him purposefully untensing himself, but Byleth isn't rough about it, and Sylvain gets away with just a little light grimacing in between kisses as his reaction.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against the corner of Byleth’s mouth once the entire length of the first finger is inside of him. “Fuck, don’t— you don’t need to be careful, just fucking— get on with it so you can fuck me.”
Byleth barks a laugh. Bites Sylvain’s tongue when it pushes into Byleth’s mouth.
Sylvain clenches around the one-and-a-half digits now stretching him open in response, and Byleth hums faux thoughtfully. “That good?” He whispers, nose to nose with Sylvain. Sylvain’s eyes are open but Byleth’s aren't, and he stares at the other man's long, pretty lashes as he tells Byleth that shit, yeah, that felt good.
A smirk tugs at the corners of Byleth’s mouth, which Sylvain half sees, half feels, thanks to the close proximity of their faces. Low moans pour from Sylvain as Byleth works the rest of the second finger into Sylvain’s ass, nipping at Sylvain’s lips and jawline as he does.
Sylvain wraps his long fingers around both their hard lengths, wanting to make Byleth feel good while he’s busy stretching Sylvain's hole out, and Byleth breathes out a pleasured haahhnn just as he’s adding a third digit, hips squirming underneath Sylvain like he’s trying to fuck into Sylvain’s fist.
“Cute,” Sylvain mutters as he moves to trail sloppy kisses down Byleth’s throat. Byleth makes a curious noise but Sylvain only shakes his head, not wanting to risk killing the mood by pausing to explain his commentary, and Byleth thankfully lets it go easily enough when distracted by Sylvain’s tongue teasing at the hollow in the centre of his collarbone. Sylvain doesn’t want to get sidetracked explaining how sweet he finds it to see Byleth chasing pleasure like that.
When Byleth has all three fingers buried in Sylvain, he fucks them in and out a few times before spreading them, stretching Sylvain's muscles further. Sylvain reflexively sinks his teeth into Byleth’s pec, eyes rolling back in his head at the pleasurable pressure it creates.
The sound of the oil lubricating Sylvain's ass is loud but still barely audible over the sound of Sylvain moaning like a whore. He can’t help it, though. Nothing has felt this good for him, not for a long time.
He refuses to consider that it's because it’s Byleth, specifically, touching him — Byleth’s just really good at what he’s doing. It’s got to be that, Sylvain thinks.
It had been like this behind the taverns, he remembers, and okay a little of that was the thrill of fear that someone might catch them, but Sylvain had been caught doing much worse before and it didn't send those frissons of OhGoddessYesFuck dancing down his veins.
“Syl?”
Sylvain jerks. How long has he been lost in his head?
He slaps on a smirk and retreats from where his face had been buried against Byleth’s neck, wondering how and when he got there, but Byleth doesn’t buy it, shrewd to a fault.
“Sylvain,” he starts, apprehension creeping into his tone. Sylvain doesn’t like it and lets the smirk fall, knowing honesty, or some approximation of the concept more accessible to someone like him, is the only way he’s getting the thick cock pressed against the underside of his own inside him tonight.
“Got lost in thought,” he admits, pushing his words out into the space between them. “Nothing bad, though. I swear. Just… got distracted.” He smirks again and it's genuine this time at the thought of teasing Byleth. “Maybe you need to step your game up a bit, By,” he drawls, letting fake sincerity drip from the suggestion.
Dark indigo eyes narrow at him, seeing too much, but Sylvain finds Byleth’s observation easier to withstand than most people’s. It's less invasive and demanding, like he’s really just looking for Sylvain’s honest thoughts and feelings so that he knows them and nothing more.
“Nothing bad?” He repeats, wary. Sylvain shakes his head, being absolutely honest — even if the way he feels about Byleth is different and a little weird for him, it’s not bad, and that’s all he had been thinking about, after all.
“Nothing bad. So, clearly, this is on you for— hey!” Sylvain yelps when Byleth withdraws his fingers from his loose hole abruptly, scowling.
Byleth arches an eyebrow like a cocky asshole and Sylvain can’t maintain his scowl, a grin slipping in to take its place. “You said we'd move when we needed to,” Byleth reminds him, frowning absently at his oil-slick fingers before looking back at Sylvain. “Well, now we need to.”
Sylvain moves quickly enough to startle a laugh out of Byleth, scrambling out of the man’s lap to give him the space to rearrange himself, which Byleth does in three, quick and easy movements. It’s not fair how effortlessly graceful he can be, Sylvain thinks as he climbs back on top of his… whatever Byleth is to him. Exclusive fuck buddy, maybe? That sounds about right. To Sylvain, it does, anyway. He’s not even going to let himself go down the path of wondering if Byleth sees them as exclusive, too.
Byleth’s hand wraps around the base of his cock, holding it in place for Sylvain to sink onto. Raising up on his knees, Sylvain adjusts until he feels the damp head of it at his entrance, then lowers himself until just Byleth's tip is encased in his body.
“Syllll,” Byleth groans, elongating the nickname when Sylvain uses his strong thighs to hold himself in place. He really does need a minute to adjust to the stretch; Byleth’s girth is not insignificant, but the fact that he’s teasing his bed partner is an undeniable bonus.
He clenches around Byleth with a smug smile.
A moan punches out of Byleth’s lungs as his hips buck up, sinking him another inch into Sylvain’s hole. Byleth looks at Sylvain, eyes burning a path from where Sylvain's cock bobs in the air, hard and straining, all the way up to his face, which he’s sure is flushed from their activities so far.
Byleth looks at him like he thinks he’s gorgeous. Like he really thinks Sylvain is beyond compare, and fuck, he likes that.
Everyone else he takes to bed looks at him sees his Crest and nobility and covets those things while they’re together. They know it, and so does Sylvain.
Byleth looks like he covets Sylvain.
Sylvain closes his eyes before he can see anything else that makes his stomach flip over the way it just did and lets himself drop.
“Fuck!” Byleth shouts, hands flying back to Sylvain's hips as his hardness is suddenly completely enveloped in Sylvain’s stretched heat, fingers digging in harshly. “You didn't feel like warning me?” He grits out. Sylvain swears he can hear a pout in those words and grins wickedly in response.
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously. Byleth huffs a breathless laugh.
Even though his ass is still burning, just a little, from the sudden intrusion and stretch, Sylvain doesn’t want to wait any more. He tenses his thighs, pushing himself up, until only about a quarter of Byleth remains inside him, then drops back down.
They both groan gutturally, the sounds pulled from the depths of their souls, and Sylvain continues to move following the same pattern. Once he’s eased himself into a rhythm that his body can follow even without his full attention on it, he speeds up slightly, adding in the occasional clench of his muscles here and there at random.
Byleth’s extra-loud moans of shit, yes and Syl, fuck, every time he does it are more than worth it.
The twitch of Byleth’s hips tells Sylvain he's holding back, stopping himself from fucking up into Sylvain, which he appreciates. He had said he wanted to ride Byleth’s cock and he meant it, still means it. Byleth can fuck him into a mattress another time, but right now, Sylvain needs this small piece of control over both of them.
It soothes him, knowing he's in charge of their shared satisfaction, knowing someone as powerful and strong as Byleth is giving his body over to Sylvain's whims like this.
That, and it makes Sylvain’s cock twitch, dripping pre-come onto Byleth’s cut abs, to know that Byleth desperately wants to fuck Sylvain stupid, but won’t do it without Sylvain’s say-so.
So Sylvain continues to move. His thigh muscles are starting to ache from the repetitive up-and-down motion, but he doesn’t care. It’s worth it to feel so powerful, to feel Byleth’s iron grip flex around his hips, to have Byleth’s stiff length intermittently jerking in his tight channel and know that he is the reason Byleth’s orgasm isn't far off.
He, and he alone, is responsible for the incoherent sounds spilling past Byleth’s lips.
It’s a power trip like no other, and exactly what Sylvain needs right now.
When Byleth’s fingertips start to really dig into him, Sylvain knows he’s close.
He opens his eyes and takes in Byleth’s face. Eyes closed, mouth open, cheeks pink. Beautiful.
Sylvain grabs one of Byleth's wrists and wrenches it from his body, which makes Byleth’s eyes open. They're half-lidded as he takes in Sylvain with a whispered fuck, and his teeth sink into his lower lip when Sylvain puts Byleth’s hand onto his cock.
Byleth’s fingers immediately wrap around Sylvain's length and he knows what Sylvain wants, pumping his fist in time with Sylvain’s downward thrusts. Squeezing his grip around the flushed head of Sylvain's cock. Thumbing over the gathered pre-come there.
Sylvain moans, breathing between gritted teeth as he forces his orgasm back, waiting for just the right moment to relinquish his self-control.
He needs to speed Byleth's orgasm up, he decides, because now that Byleth’s touching him like this, he’s barely able to keep his own out of reach. He’d been expecting his climax to take a little longer, but he should have known — it’s Byleth touching him, after all.
The thought, the one he wouldn’t allow himself earlier, makes him clench tightly around Byleth’s arousal.
“Fuck, Syl, you're gonna make me come,” Byleth says, voice husky as he throws his head back and moans.
Sylvain purrs out his response. “Good. Fucking come for me, By. Let me feel it.”
Byleth groans low in his throat and his eyes, the lashes fluttering helplessly, find Sylvain’s. Accidentally, if the slight surprise in them is anything to go on.
It still makes Sylvain's walls pulse, clutching at Byleth’s cock tightly enough that he's forced to add a bit of a rocking grind to the movements of his hips.
“Holy shit,” Byleth grits out in response, and then he's coming. Sylvain feels the erratic throb of Byleth’s cock as his release comes in waves, hot liquid filling Sylvain’s insides as Byleth pants and grunts through the pleasure.
Sylvain lets his control over his own body fall, and the haze of his own orgasm slams into him. His toes and fingers tingle. His stomach tightens, muscles contracting. His cock jerks in Byleth’s grip, spilling wet satisfaction across Byleth’s chest in thick ropes as he moans Byleth’s name and tries to remember how to breathe.
Overstimulation sets in quickly, darkening the edges of Sylvain's vision as the feeling makes him whine, but he’s still coming and couldn't stop grinding down onto Byleth's cock if he’d tried.
“By, Byleth, fuck!” He screams as a second wave of pleasure hits him, forcing another weak spurt of come from his slit as his jellied muscles shake and tremble.
The last thing he remembers is Byleth’s hands, soft yet strong, catching him before he can topple off Byleth’s body — and likely off the bed, too.
Byleth whispering that it's okay, that Sylvain can sleep because Byleth has him.