Chapter Text
“Sylvain, could you move a tad to the left?”
“Ferdie—you’ve been posing me for ten minutes now—“
“Last time!” Ferdinand waves his hand for Sylvain to move, which he does after sighing dramatically. Ferdinand holds his phone up and snaps a couple pictures, giggling to himself. He makes sure to include the giant carp statue and Sylvain’s ‘my wife thinks I’m a huge catch’ t-shirt that Ferdinand got for him. As soon as he laid eyes on it he immediately grabbed it. It makes him laugh even now as he quickly takes another ten photos.
The two of them are taking a road trip down to Adrestria to visit Ferdinand’s friends. Winter has come and gone, and now that they don’t have to worry about being snowed in for multiple days, they figured they’d take a late spring break trip back to the city so Sylvain can meet the rest of Ferdinand’s circle. They’ve all been damn near begging Ferdinand, so it works out.
Since they decided to travel by car, they have gotten to stop at all the wacky, interesting tourist attractions on the way. They slept at a clown themed motel, visited a restaurant plopped in the middle of nowhere that boasted having the spiciest hot sauce, and now they are leaving a carp themed mega store with nothing but carp—not fish, just carp specifically—related shirts and shoes and fake mounts and anything wise they can shove a carp on.
When they get back in the car, Sylvain hangs up the carp air freshener that is advertised as smelling like the ocean, which Sylvain thought was weird because he’s pretty certain carp are freshwater fish, but Ferdinand likes the smell of the ocean. So there it hangs.
“At this rate, we’ll make it back to Adrestria in a month,” Sylvain jokes.
“Completely fine with me!” Ferdinand says, but then pauses. “Well, actually, I’d like to get back to Elphaba as soon as possible.”
Sylvain laughs at that, agreeing. They would’ve brought Elphaba along with them, but she doesn’t like super long car rides and she has become fast friends with Felix and Dimitri’s kittens, so they let her have an extended play date with them instead. Ferdinand misses her, but knows she’s in good hands.
He looks over to Sylvain and feels that fuzzy warmth enveloping him. The warmth that happens whenever he looks at Sylvain now. He felt it before, back when he first came to Faerghus and thought he only had a silly, fleeting little crush. To think that he now gets to admire Sylvain’s face, openly and unabashed, for the rest of his life—it makes him almost giddy.
He hopes it’s the rest of his life, at least. They haven’t talked that far into the future yet, but he has a good feeling! And though they haven’t talked about it, Ferdinand has definitely… thought about it.
That’s to say, Ferdinand has been fantasising about their wedding and married life near constantly.
He can’t help it! It’s so easy to imagine a long life with Sylvain, side by side. He’s so perfect and loving and sweet, unexpectedly cheesy and romantic, gentle and patient—not only that, but their friends don’t make it much better! Dorothea is always asking about Ferdinand’s ‘husband’, and Annette and Ashe are always asking when the wedding is, and Mercedes not-so-accidentally called Sylvain his husband in front of his students, so now they’re all saying it. So yes, perhaps Ferdinand is moving too fast, but he can’t help it! Whatever!
“Looks like a storms comin’.”
“Huh?” Ferdinand snaps out of his mental tirade at the sound of Sylvain’s voice. He motions ahead of them with his head, and Ferdinand looks to see the clouds starting to gather overhead, white tufts turning light grey. Not quite storm clouds. Ferdinand tilts his head. “It does not seem like it will be too bad, at least.”
“Right now, yeah, but the leaves are upside down.”
Ferdinand can’t help but dumbfoundedly saying, “huh?”
Sylvain laughs before shaking his head. “Sorry, it’s something Glenn used to tell us.”
The mentioning of Felix’s brother makes his heart clench, but he moves on. “What does it mean?”
“Well, Glenn always used to say that if you see the light side of the leaves in the trees, then that means it’s gonna storm real heavy.”
“How peculiar,” Ferdinand says fondly. “What gave him that idea?”
“Dunno, he probably saw the leaves like that once or twice durin’ a storm and made his own conclusion. But I believed him.”
Sylvain shares more fun anecdotes about Glenn from his childhood, from the day they went sledding and the two of them crashed right into their neighbours garbage bins, to days where Glenn would wrestle with Felix and leave the fight with multiple bite marks.
Eventually the clouds turn almost pitch black ahead of them. They’re thick and dense, packed full of water, and lightning sparks inside them. “Oh, dear.”
“We should be okay, my old lady can still handle a lil rain,” Sylvain says, patting the dashboard of the car with a smile.
The smile falls about ten minutes later, when they’re parked underneath a giant willow tree as the storm rages on, thunder roaring. The wind howls outside the truck, its old bones creaking and groaning as the wind shakes it. Ferdinand looks over to Sylvain.
He doesn’t say anything, but Sylvain responds anyway. “Okay, maybe she can’t handle a storm, but she was fine with the regular rain!”
Ferdinand laughs at that. “Of course! I never doubted you, love!”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Sylvain says, trying and failing to hide his smile.
They sit and watch the rain fall together, waiting for it to pass. They’re the only ones on the road, not a single car in sight coming or going, and they pass the time sharing stories. Ferdinand leans against Sylvain, and feels his smile split his face when Sylvain’s arm wraps around his shoulders and starts to play with the ends of his hair.
“You know,” Sylvain says, “when I was a kid, me and the others used to go out during storms like this.”
“And what, pray tell, is there to do during a hurricane?”
Sylvain laughs. “Dunno! We just wanted to go out in the rain! We’d take our bikes and go sliding down hills, running around the streets and playing ball.” Lightning strikes ahead of them, briefly lighting up the sky and the inside of the truck. “Felix was scared of the thunder and lightning for a while, so I told him to count how long it took between each one, and said that’s how far away they are.”
“Is that true?”
“No idea. But it worked,” he shrugs. “After that we’d all see how far we can run before the thunder sounded again.”
“I am sure you all were getting sick often.”
“Not often,” Sylvain laughs. He’s suspiciously quiet for a few minutes before the hand stroking Ferdinand’s hair pauses, and instead squeezes his shoulder. “Since we’re stuck here, and we got our spare clothes…”
Ferdinand is confused for all of two seconds before shaking his head rapidly. “Absolutely not! We are not children anymore! We’ll get sick!”
“Oh, come on! We won’t get sick from a little rain! And it’s warm out!” Sylvain turns the truck all the way off, keys hanging from the ignition. He takes his phone and wallet out from his pocket while Ferdinand gawks. “Ain’t it romantic? Runnin’ around in the rain together?” He says, wagging his eyebrows. And Ferdinand hates how it’s working.
“Romantic or not, I would rather not be sick when visiting my friends—Sylvain!” Ferdinand watches as Sylvain opens the door and hops out, grinning brightly at Ferdinand. Even just from opening the door, the driver’s seat gets covered in droplets. He shuts the door and sprints out towards the road, immediately getting drenched through his layers and hair sticking to his face. Ferdinand can hear his laugh even from inside the car as he spreads his arms out and faces towards the sky. A flash of lightning shines on him, and Ferdinand feels a surge of affection for him.
Sylvain looks back, his smile like the very sun, and he beckons for Ferdinand. The sight of him, soaked with spring rain and laughing and free, pushes Ferdinand out the door.
He runs over to Sylvain, laughing and chasing him around. They run around playing tag like a couple of kids, sprinting across the road and dodging each other's hands and down-right roaring with laughter. When the thunder sounds, they see how quickly they can tag the other before the next one. At one point Ferdinand races directly towards Sylvain, giggling as he crashes right into his waiting arms. Sylvain picks him up by his waist and spins them around, right there in the middle of a random empty stretch of road as the storm finally dies down around them. When Sylvain sets him back down, he wipes the hair away from Ferdinand’s face, tucking wet strands behind his ears. “See? Isn’t this fun and romantic?”
Ferdinand finds everything Sylvain does fun and romantic. Instead of answering, he instead cups the back of Sylvain’s soaked neck and pulls him down for a kiss, and he tries and fails to keep the grin off his face as he does so. Sylvain sports a matching smile anyways, and pulls him closer with a hand at his waist and kisses Ferdinand stupid. He tastes of rainwater and sweat and it’s simply perfect.
When they finally break away, Ferdinand notices that the rain has almost completely stopped, just the faintest drizzle remaining. The sun is starting to poke through the clouds. Sylvain looks down at him with so much affection in his eyes, and he pecks the top of his head. “We should get goin’, huh?”
“Most definitely, before someone else finally decides to drive down this road and sees us standing here like lunatics.”
⚘🎕⁕
They drive for a little while longer before deciding to stop at a motel for the night. Sylvain carries their bags inside while Ferdinand checks them in, and he wants nothing more than to change out of these clothes—they figured they’d just sit on towels instead of changing since they weren’t going to be driving for much longer, but now his clothes dried all weirdly and wrinkled and it’s driving Sylvain crazy.
Ferdinand opens the door to their room, and it isn’t until Sylvain sets their bags down does he register the two twin beds. He doesn’t even notice the pout on his face until Ferdinand laughs and pinches his cheeks. “Oh, darling, you can last one night can’t you? We’re still side by side!”
“I think I’m more offended that you can last one night without me next to you,” he says, flicking Ferdinand’s forehead. “Hurry up and get in the shower, the sooner you start your eighteen step nighttime routine the sooner I can get out of these clothes,” he teases.
“First of all, I never said that, I am simply stating that it is just for a couple hours! And do you not wish to bathe first?”
“I already offered for you to go first, babe; Unless you’re hinting that you wanna go in together?”
Ferdinand flushes immediately, turning cherry red all over his face and he sputters, “n-no! That is—that is not what I am implying! I-I was simply trying to be nice!”
“Oh, come on sweetheart, no need to be shy,” Sylvain sing-songs and he wraps his arms around Ferdinand’s waist, pulling him in close. Ferdinand looks like he’s about to set on fire, he’s so red in the face. “You can just be honest with me.”
“T-There is nothing to be honest about! That is not what I was—Sylvain!” Ferdinand chides him when Sylvain goes to kiss his cheek, and he laughs loudly when Ferdinand wiggles his way out of his hold and picks up his bag, skittering towards the bathroom.
Sylvain chuckles fondly and shakes his head, plopping down on the small armchair in the corner. He can hear the water turn on in the bathroom. He leans back and lets his head hang, eyes shutting closed.
He is of course teasing. He loves teasing Ferdie, his reactions are always so cute and entertaining. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t actually want to go in there with Ferdie. But they haven’t crossed that bridge yet—which is a fact that had surprised Ingrid almost out of her chair. He understands why—his former reputation exceeds him, after all. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to either! The complete opposite, in fact. Ferdinand makes it hard for Sylvain to think sometimes, with his big golden eyes and pouty lips and broad shoulders leading to a narrow waist that Sylvain itches to grab constantly; besides the point. The point is that Sylvain is trying to go at Ferdie’s pace. He feels different than everyone else before. He feels special. Permanent. And Sylvain doesn’t want to fuck it up by rushing into things.
But god, it’s hard.
Ferdinand’s reactions to his flirtations and not-so-subtle touches are too irresistible, and it drives Sylvain mad. He wants to give Ferdinand everything, from happiness to pleasure and all in between.
He takes a deep breath. Ferdie’s special, and he wants this to last. He can be patient. Easy.
Easy until Ferdinand walks out the bathroom, hair long and flowing down his back, the ends still dripping, and he has his stupidly endearing robe on, loosely tied in the middle and exposing just a hint of beautifully tanned skin. He looks like all of Sylvain’s wet dreams come to life. He’s so damn perfect. Sylvain feels his mouth run dry.
“Are you alright, dear?” Ferdinand’s voice breaks him out of his ogling, and Sylvain tries to swallow when he meets those pretty golden eyes. God.
“Yep! All good! Going now!” He practically scrambles to his feet and beelines for the bathroom. The door slams shut a little too aggressively and he winces, catching his reflection in the mirror.
His face is as red as his hair.
His cheeks are crimson and it spreads to his ears and down his neck. Looking at himself makes him even more embarrassed, so he rips off his shirt and pants, jumping into the shower without even touching the hot water. He lets the cold wash over him for a few seconds, trying to cool himself down.
God damn Ferdinand and his dumb stupid robe and dumb stupid long hair and dumb stupid pretty face. He grumbles in his head as he slathers his head in shampoo, scrubbing his scalp raw. Who gave him the right to look so pretty? Who does he think he is? Adonis? Sylvain finishes washing and turns off the water, standing there with his head against the tile and hands resting on the knobs. He glares down at nothing in particular. His heart is still fluttering, jumping at random. The boiling fire in his stomach has settled to an uncomfortable simmer, and now he’s less… horny and more just in love. Ferdinand makes him feel way too much all at once.
Sylvain dries quickly, slipping on his—dry—pyjamas and taking a couple deep breaths before leaving the bathroom. Ferdinand has claimed one of the beds, still dressed in his robe as he reads a book, glasses propped on his nose and hair like golden waves. The bedside lamp paints him in warmth. He’s gorgeous.
Sylvain feels the all too familiar surge of affection welling up in his chest, the same feeling that happens every time he looks at Ferdinand now. Where he feels his heart expand three sizes and his cheeks get warm and his stomach flips, where the rest of the room fades and all he can see is Ferdie, and his mind is calm and the only thing he can think of is how lucky he is. How the gods must have finally taken pity on him and blessed him with someone who cares about him the same way he’s cared about everyone else. Yeah, he can wait. He’s got forever.
Ferdinand takes notice of his presence and looks up, smiling and tilting his head. “Are you alright?”
Sylvain sighs, suddenly sleepy and completely relaxed. He nods. “Yeah, all good. Whatcha readin’?”
Sylvain lays down in the other bed and listens to Ferdie summarise his book, trying hard to pay attention but finding it difficult, distracted by the twinkle in his eyes and the excited lilt to his voice. Ferdinand himself fights against his exhaustion, eyes starting to droop but voice still bright. He turns on his side and his glasses lay crooked on his face. Sylvain tries not to laugh when Ferdinand slowly loses track of his sentence, falling into silence and eyes blinking shut before he forces them back open. He cracks in the end, chuckling as he stands and walks over to Ferdie’s bed, plucking the forgotten book off the mattress, marking the page and setting it down on the bedside table. He extracts his glasses, folding them carefully and leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Get some rest, sleepyhead. Got another long drive tomorrow.”
Ferdinand hums, already curling into himself and letting sleep cover him like the blanket Sylvain pulls over him. He mumbles a quick, “thank you, love,” and turns his head back to Sylvain, eyes closed but waiting expectantly. Sylvain laughs and leans back down, meeting his lips and giving him one, two, three small pecks, before gently shoving him down.
He switches off the light and lays back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Even though the bed is small and Sylvain can feel the edge near his feet, it still feels far too big. He doesn’t like sleeping without Ferdie. Ever since he’s come back they haven’t spent a single night separate, and now he feels the distance between them is like a chasm.
You’re bein’ dramatic,’ he thinks. It’s just one night and he’s right there! Sylvain turns over, mentally sighing and forcing his eyes shut. Annette had made an offhand comment before, about how he and Ferdie are conjoined at the hip. Maybe she’s right.
He hears Ferdie shuffle behind him. It’s quiet for a few more moments before his sleepy voice breaks the silence. “Sylvain?”
He turns back around. “Yeah?”
“Are you awake?”
“No,” he says, grinning, “fast asleep, sorry. Call me back later.”
Even in the dark, Sylvain can feel the glare Ferdie throws his way. Nevertheless, he continues. “Can you come here?”
Who cares if Annette is right, I’m goin’.
Sylvain is lying next to Ferdie before he can even finish his sentence, wiggling close and snaking his arms around Ferdie, pulling him in. “Who can’t make it through one night now, huh?” Ferdie swats his chest in response.
He cuddles closer, tucking his head underneath Sylvain’s chin and pressing a kiss to the divot between his collarbones, and then he’s out like a light, soft snores puffing against Sylvain’s chest. Sylvain’s heart thumps steadily against his rib cage, and he feels like a cat that’s been bathing in the sun—warm, content, cozy, and oh so happy. Sleep comes to him quickly, and he makes sure to press one last kiss to Ferdie’s crown before finally falling.
⚘🎕⁕
Walking into his old apartment now makes Ferdinand feel sort of…weird.
Looking around at the room that still holds a lot of his old things—textbooks he never got rid of after school, old canvases with paintings long forgotten, his work shirts still draped over his couch—feels like walking into an alternate dimension. He used to live here. This place was home, and now he hasn’t stepped foot inside in months.
Now, his home is filled with handmade blankets and dog toys and shoes for more than just him. Now, home actually is home.
“Did you ride horses?” Sylvain asks. Sylvain had been walking around as Ferdinand stood at the entrance gathering his thoughts. He’s standing in the middle of the living room, pointing at Ferdinand’s old riding boots that are propped against the tv console.
Ferdinand smiles softly, finally walking over to join him. “Yes, I did. I have always loved horses, and I begged my mother to sign me up for a local horseback riding club as a kid.” Ferdinand has fond memories of racing around empty fields and training at dawn, guiding his horse through various tricks and brushing every single strand of her fur. “I became more serious about the sport in high school, and even competed professionally in college.”
“That really sounds like you,” Sylvain says with a laugh. He goes around the room some more and points out various pictures, asking questions about all of his trophies, and listening to Ferdinand’s stories behind all of his trinkets. They reach a photo Ferdinand has framed of him with his parents; he’s much younger, back in high school, and his mother stands on one side and his father to the other. “Are these your parents?”
Ferdinand nods. “Can you not tell? I am a spitting image of my father.” He doesn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but it comes out that way. Sylvain gives him the grace of not addressing it and simply hums, tilting his head to the side.
“Mm, I dunno, you look a lot like your mom too. You guys have the same smile.”
It’s a sentence that startles him. Ferdinand’s mother died shortly after he started college, but for his entire childhood he was always compared to his father. The comparisons were not false at all—he has his fathers’ hair, his eyes, and their faces are similar—but he did sometimes wish he had more of his mother’s features. His mother was a kind, gentle, lovely woman, and he adored her. To be compared to her in any capacity…it makes him emotional. “Do you really think so?”
Sylvain looks over at him, meeting his eyes, and his gaze softens. “Yeah, for sure. You got her smile, the same wide and bright, genuine grin you always have. And you guys have similar noses. And I can tell from the picture alone that you took after her personality too.”
Ferdinand feels a sting at the back of his eyes, and he blinks rapidly while looking away. Goddess, the way this man makes him feel. Ferdinand thinks his mother would’ve loved Sylvain, just as much as he does.
Sylvain presses a kiss to Ferdinand’s temple, soft and loving. “Hey, can I check out your room?”
“Of course, make yourself comfortable! I’ll see if I can find any tea for us.”
Sylvain nods and heads on his way after Ferdinand points to his bedroom door. Ferdinand makes it into the kitchen and opens one cupboard before his heart drops into his stomach.
He sprints to his bedroom, barreling through the doorway just to see Sylvain holding the one thing Ferdinand is embarrassed about.
He holds up the dog Sylvain had won for him, back when they went to the winter festival. That isn’t what’s embarrassing—it’s the shirt that belonged to Sylvain that the dog is dressed in that’s the problem. Sylvain has this smirk on his face, and in a teasing tone, he holds up the dog and says, “is this my shirt?”
Ferdinand’s face sets on fire and he scrambles to Sylvain, trying to snatch the dog away but Sylvain holds it up out of reach. “N-No! It is not! It’s o-one of mine!”
“Yeah? But I don’t recall you owning a University of Central Faerghus t-shirt? You tellin’ me we went to the same college?”
“Y-You know the answer to that!” He jumps and tries in vain as Sylvain keeps swiping the dog out of his grasp at the last second. “J-Just give it, Sylvain!”
“Aww, babe, you don’t gotta be embarrassed,” he laughs when Ferdinand tries to grip his free hand to his side and hops to grab the toy. “It’s okay, you just missed me, right?”
Ferdinand’s ears feel ready to fall off, cooked as they are from the blood rushing to his face. “S-Sylvain, I do not appreciate the—” he hops again, “teasing—!”
With Sylvain’s hand trapped at his side, the other occupied, and Ferdinand’s entire focus being on grabbing the dog out of his hands, Ferdinand doesn’t register how close to the bed they are and how he is throwing his full bodyweight against Sylvain. In a flash, they tumble against the bed, Ferdinand falling against the mattress with an audible oof. Sylvain catches himself on top of him, arms stopping them from a headache that would’ve lasted days. Ferdinand blinks the surprise away and looks up. His breath catches immediately.
Sylvain is no more than a few centimetres away from his face, and suddenly Ferdinand is extremely aware of how closely they’re pressed together. In his room. On his bed. Alone.
Goddess above please keep my blood north.
“Hey, you okay?” Sylvain is looking at him carefully, brows slightly furrowed. “I know it’s a bed but I landed right on top of ya, sorry.”
“N-No, not a problem! Not a problem at all! Entirely my fault!” His voice comes out much louder than intended, and he cringes internally. He can hear his racing heart between his ears. I’m acting like such a teenager! He mentally smacks himself in the back of the head. We are adults! In a relationship! We’ve gotten handsy before, this is fine!
He’s screaming inside and Sylvain is none the wiser. He says something above him, something that doesn’t reach Ferdinand’s brain, and he moves.
He moves, and Ferdinand rethinks his religion after becoming extremely aware that all his blood has, in fact, travelled south instead of remaining north like he asked. Sylvain becomes aware as well. He freezes in place, half propped up above Ferdinand, and thigh pressed against Ferdinand’s crotch. Ferdinand wants nothing more than to crawl in a hole. Preferably far away from this situation. He throws his arms over his face, trying to hide away in some—any—capacity. He can still feel his cheeks blazing, warm and definitely bright red, hot against his arms. Goddess, why is everything so hot?
“Hey,” Sylvain whispers, soft and sweet, “c’mon, baby, look at me,” he says, gently pulling Ferdinand’s arms away. His face is now exposed, and he feels even more childish as he stubbornly turns his head to the side, avoiding Sylvain’s gaze. The man chuckles lightly. “What are you so embarrassed about? Does this make you uncomfortable?”
“N-No,” Ferdinand mumbles, “n-not…not uncomfortable…it’s just—I—“ he stops, tripping over his tongue. “…I feel so teenage.”
“‘Teenage’? For what?” And Sylvain speaks with care and compassion in his voice, and it makes everything so much worse because now Ferdinand has love surging around beside his arousal and it’s far too much all at once.
“B-Because! It’s embarrassing! Y-You are simply on top of me and I am already—“ he can hardly say it, and he covers his face again, palms pressed to his eyes.
“Baby,” Sylvain coos, and the pet name goes straight to Ferdinand’s heart, “look at me.” Ferdinand takes a deep breath before moving his hands to the side, covering his cheeks and allowing him to make eye contact with Sylvain. It’s only then he realises the matching redness to Sylvain’s face, accompanied by the most charming gleam to his eyes. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it’s okay. It makes me feel nice that I have this effect on you,” he says, playful tilt to his tone. “But,” he adds, “if it makes you uncomfortable, or if you don’t want to do any of this, that’s okay too. I can just get up and we can have that tea.”
Ferdinand’s palms are sweaty and his heart is still thumping in his ears, but he musters all the strength he can and quickly says, “don’t. Don’t…leave. It is not that I don’t want to, it's just—I am…unfamiliar.” Admitting it makes it mortifying all over again, and he wants to hide under the sheets, but he presses on and tries to keep contact with Sylvain.
Sylvain’s eyes widen imperceptibly, just the smallest bit, and he blinks owlishly. “You…you’ve never?”
Ferdinand simply shakes his head. In his late twenties and never had sex. He’s felt odd about it, but it’s never really been a problem to him. At first his virginity was a result of a religious upbringing, and thinking that he had to ‘save himself’ for marriage. After he deconstructed all of it, it was simply not a matter that ever occurred. He was too busy even for a relationship, and he did not have the confidence many others had in his youth, where he could sleep around with just anyone. So it simply never happened. But admitting it to Sylvain—who has a plethora of experience under his belt and knows what he’s doing—makes him feel…inadequate, in a way. It’s a feeling that’s stopped them from taking any further steps. He knows it’s silly to feel this way, but he can’t help it. He wants Sylvain to feel good too. But he doesn’t know how to make him feel good.
“Sweetheart,” Sylvain breathes, pulling Ferdinand out of his thoughts. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“I know there’s nothing wrong with it, I just…I am unsure of what to do…”
“You know that’s why I’m here, right?” Sylvain smiles and carefully pulls Ferdinand’s hand away from his face, instead twining their fingers together and squeezing gently. “They don’t say it takes two to tango for nothing. But it’s only if you want to.”
“I…” Goddess, how desperately he wants to. Sylvain drives him mad with want, with need. Ferdinand never considered himself a carnal man, but simply watching Sylvain put a shirt on or lift some wood has him salivating and flushed. And with how loving, how careful and sweet, how romantic and patient Sylvain is with him amplifies that feeling by a thousand. “…I want to.”
Sylvain looks surprised for a split second before he smiles, squeezing their hands together again. “Okay. Cool. Great.”
Sylvain cringes, and it makes Ferdinand laugh and eases the nerves in his shoulders. Sylvain huffs fondly before slowly inching down, letting go of Ferdinand’s hand to instead cup his cheek, and presses a single, soft kiss to his lips. They break away and Sylvain barely has the chance to open his eyes again before Ferdinand throws his arms around his neck and pulls him back down, drinking him in with a fervour. Ferdinand kisses him like a man starved, and Sylvain responds in kind, letting more of his body weight press against Ferdinand, letting his mouth fall open so Ferdinand can breathe him in. The grip he has on Ferdinand’s waist is lava hot, and not enough. Ferdinand wants more. He wants so much more.
Sylvain breaks away once again, and Ferdinand is about to protest before Sylvain ducks his head down and presses open mouthed kisses to the side of his neck, and all protests die on his tongue and come out in breathy whines. His mouth against his neck is like molten glass, gliding down over his adam’s apple and trailing back up to the shell of his ear. Ferdinand can’t help the sounds coming from him, especially when Sylvain’s hand wanders underneath his shirt, fingers pressing into his sides and stroking across his abdomen. Ferdinand feels almost drunk, high off the fumes of lust clouding his brain, and if he died now he’d die a happy man. Sylvain atop him, with his teeth in the side of his neck, hand squeezing the tops of his thigh.
“—erdinand? Are you in here?”
Suddenly Ferdinand is doused in ice cold water when he hears a voice that doesn’t belong to him or Sylvain come from the doorway. Not a second later, it opens, and Lorenz freezes in place when he sees them.
If he weren’t in the position he was in right now, Ferdinand might laugh at the image of how they look; Sylvain on top of him, hand almost down Ferdinand’s pants, while Ferdinand is disheveled and panting, the two of them sporting equally horrified faces. Kind of like how dogs look when caught doing something bad.
The three are in silence for a beat too long before Lorenz finally snaps back to the present. He clears his throat, pointedly looking away. “M-My apologies, my friend, I was not aware y-you had returned. I-I saw bags in the living room and was confused,” he says, while Ferdinand is praying in his head for Lorenz to hush and turn around!
“Y-Yes,” Ferdinand croaks, “we just arrived earlier! N-Not too long ago.”
“Right.” Lorenz still doesn’t look at them, but he finally moves a step back. “I-I apologise for intruding then, I just wanted to make sure,” he says, and finally, gratefully, steps out of the room, door closing with a soft click behind him.
The two of them stare at the door for a few seconds before Sylvain says, “uh, should we?”
“Yes! Y-Yes, ah, yes. We. Should.”
⚘🎕⁕
Way to make a first impression, Gautier. Sylvain is mentally smacking himself as the three of them are in the living room, Sylvain and Ferdinand much more composed and Lorenz still refusing to make eye contact with him. You can physically grab the awkward energy in the air. He prefers it to the energy that choked them immediately after they exited Ferdinand’s room. Sylvain felt like if he listened closely, he could hear the crickets chirping in the uncomfortable silence, even though the sun hadn't even set.
In Sylvain’s defence, he feels like he should be applauded for being able to get rid of his half hard boner in record timing, especially watching Ferdie stand up with messed up hair and his shirt untucked.
They’re saved when Dorothea walks through the door, bright and cheery and enveloping Ferdinand in a hug the moment she sees him. She even playfully swats Sylvain’s shoulder in greeting, which he considers a win.
Sylvain does an awful job at keeping up with the conversation, distracted by Ferdinand and replaying the image of him hot and bothered underneath him, whining and gasping, pliant under his hands; he misses the part where they talk about a dinner reservation with their other friends. Sylvain feels like he just woke up from a deep sleep and found himself standing in front of a fancy restaurant, and then he’s back to being super nervous all over again.
Sylvain was anxious to meet Ferdinand’s friends, and his meeting with Lorenz was already tainted, and these two—Edelgard and Hubert, Sylvain recalls—are the ones he’s most nervous about. Ferdie has described them as really collected and talented people, friends he’s admired and looked up to for so long, and they’ve known Ferdie the longest. This is as close to meeting Ferdie’s parents as he’s gonna get.
As long as they don’t walk in on Sylvain trying to eat Ferdinand alive, then he should be good.
“Darling, are you alright?” Ferdie has his arm wrapped around Sylvain’s and is looking up at him curiously. Right. I’m in public. Christ Sylvain you get a little bit of action and it’s like you don’t know what to do anymore.
“Yeah, I’m all good, promise,” he says, leaning down to press a quick kiss to Ferdinand’s forehead. “I mean, a lil nervous, but I’ll survive.”
Ferdie laughs. “Nervous? Why on earth would you be nervous?”
“Cause he’s basically meeting your parents, obviously,” Dorothea adds. “And it’s Edie and Hubie.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Also they are not my parents! They are my friends!”
“Ferdinand,” Lorenz sighs, “just because you have known them since childhood does not erase their intimidating nature.”
“They are not intimidating,” Ferdie rolls his eyes and says it like it’s something he’s fought about for ages.
There’s a sound of a car door closing behind them, and Ferdie turns and breaks into a bright smile, bounding towards whoever it is. Once Ferdie lets the person out of his tight bear hug, Sylvain sees a short, white haired woman with pale purple eyes and an aura that makes the hair on the back of Sylvain’s neck raise. He assumes that’s Edelgard, based off of the vague description Sylvain has gotten in the past. She has this air of regency to her, of power and confidence, and Sylvain suddenly understands why Ferdie has always spoken so highly of her. From the driver’s side emerges a tall, dark haired man with sharp cheekbones and green eyes that Sylvain feels studied under. Hubert, then. Definitely Hubert. He has that same sort of air of confidence that Edelgard has, but more…threatening. Scary even. Lorenz was right; they’re extremely intimidating.
Ferdinand greets Hubert with a hug that is uncomfortably reciprocated before turning around, wrapping his arm around Sylvain’s and tugging him closer. “Hubert, El, I would like for you to meet Sylvain!”
Edelgard eyes him up and down, almost assessing, and smiles softly. “It is good to make your acquaintance, Sylvain. We have heard an awful lot about you.”
“Almost far too much, even,” Hubert adds teasingly.
Does everybody from the city talk all fancy with an accent? “I’ve heard tons about you guys as well! Glad we can finally meet,” he says. He hopes his nerves don’t sound too evident.
Once they’re inside and seated, it slowly becomes much easier to converse with them all, and Sylvain feels himself relaxing through the dinner. He gets to hear stories of Ferdie from childhood, with anecdotes from his high school and college years, and he relishes in the blush permanently painted on Ferdie’s face the whole time.
At one point during the night, as Ferdie is rambling on about one of their shared memories, Sylvain can’t help but stare at his profile and reflect on just how lucky his life turned out to be. Last time he was in the city he was a miserable alcoholic feeling like a caged animal with no way out. Now he’s come back sober, freer than he’s ever been, and in love. He’s back with the most important person in the world, surrounded by friends and warmth and a comfort he’s only ever gotten with his close friends. As he rests his hand on Ferdinand’s thigh, and notes the pink tint to his ears as a result, he feels like he could take on the world. Ferdinand brings out the dramatic in him.
By the end of the night, Sylvain feels high off of happiness and is confident his meeting with Ferdinand’s friends was a success (minus the whole…Lorenz incident). He ends up exchanging numbers with all of them, though Hubert’s was given through Edelgard. Sylvain feels like he doesn’t ever use his phone anyways.
As they’re leaving, a group of businessmen walk in, and the moment they see Edelgard they crowd around them. They make comments that remind Sylvain of how people would try to kiss-ass with his father. He admires Edelgard’s composure and professionalism—she’s clearly well equipped for this.
While Edelgard is dealing with the men, the rest of them are chatting while they wait, and Sylvain suddenly feels Ferdinand’s hand clutching his. Not a casual, gentle squeeze, but rather a full on death grip. Sylvain immediately turns to him, worryingly looking him over. Ferdinand’s eyes are focused to the side towards the group of men, unblinking. Sylvain follows his gaze.
Immediately, Sylvain spots a short, tubby looking man that—despite never having met before—he recognises instantly.
Ferdinand’s father must feel eyes on him, and he turns and looks directly at him. Sylvain can see his jaw clench from here once he lays eyes on him. Sylvain doesn’t care what he thinks of him, as long as he stays in his lane.
Sylvain makes an attempt to distract Ferdinand, twining their fingers together and tugging. “It’s stuffy in here,” he says to him, but makes sure it’s loud enough for the others to hear. He turns. “How ‘bout we wait for El outside, huh?”
“That’s a great idea! Let’s go, I hate the smell of old guys,” Dorothea says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and sashaying towards the exit.
“The rest of you go ahead,” Hubert says. He eyes the group of men with a look that would make Sylvain shiver if he was on the receiving end. So he gently pulls Ferdinand away and outside.
Once they’re all out, Sylvain rests both his hands against Ferdinand’s cheeks, gently lifting his face. “You okay?”
Ferdinand nods, sighing. “Yes, I am alright. Thank you, dearest.”
“Awful that he had to show up,” Lorenz says. He looks peeved, with his arms crossed and the faintest furrow to his brows. “Of all the days.”
You’re tellin’ me.
Edelgard and Hubert walk through the doors shortly after, and once she’s passed the threshold Edelgard immediately deflates and sighs heavily. “They don’t know how to leave one alone. It is far past business hours.”
Sylvain laughs at that and they start to share their goodbyes. Just before they separate, Sylvain hears the door to the restaurant open, and casually looks over. Ferdinand’s father stands there, his face tight and eyes boring right into Ferdinand’s back. Ferdie turns around and Sylvain can see his breath catch, and if he had it his way he’d pick up Ferdie and run all the way back home. But he doesn’t. Instead he makes sure to stand close by so he knows that he’s here.
“Hello, father. It’s been a while.” Ferdinand’s voice is monotone and flat. Sylvain’s never heard it like this before.
Ludwig turns his gaze towards Sylvain. There’s a sort of disgust to his eyes, and Sylvain meets it head on. He slathers on his fakest, most polite smile, innocently tilting his head. Ludwig’s brow twitches. “I was not aware you were returning.”
“I am only here for the night,” Ferdinand replies. “You have been so busy the last few months I felt it counterproductive to make you aware.” There’s a bitterness to his words; Ferdinand hasn’t heard from him since he left. Not the day after, or the week after, or even the months following. It’s been radio silence since. It makes Sylvain’s stomach coil. Ludwig still does not break contact with Sylvain, and so Ferdinand sighs before adding, “this is Sylvain, father.”
“Yes, I deduced that this is the man you are so infatuated with.”
Sylvain wants to snap so badly, but he knows the better option would be to grin widely and bow his head in mock respect. “Yep, that’s me!” He makes it a point to wrap an arm around Ferdie’s waist and pull him closer, hand resting on his hip. He’s smiling perfectly all the while.
Ludwig clearly does not appreciate the gesture. His mouth is in a thin line and his brows are drawn. Finally, he looks away from Sylvain. “For what reason have you returned?”
“I wanted to introduce Sylvain to my friends. We decided to stay the night before heading back home,” Ferdie said, putting subtle emphasis on the word home. That’s right; they have a home now, and it isn’t here.
“It’s a long drive back,” Sylvain mused. “We have an early start tomorrow, don’t we baby?” He says the pet name with extra sweetness, and punctuates it with a kiss to Ferdie’s forehead. It’s a lie, of course; they plan on leaving whenever they want to. They’re in no rush. But it makes a vein in Ludwig’s jaw throb and his pout deepen, so it works out.
Ludwig barely even mumbles a goodbye before stiffly turning around and stomping back in the restaurant. It’s silent for a few beats.
“He’s got a lot of audacity for how short he is,” Dorothea says. It breaks the tension and they all laugh, relaxed and back to normal. Dorothea shoves Sylvain’s shoulder. “And way to put on that act, mountain man. He looked like he was about to strangle you.”
“He wouldn’t reach.” Sylvain adds, “and also; it wasn’t an act. I’m just obsessed with him,” he boasted, leaning over to nuzzle his nose against Ferdie’s neck, making the man giggle and shy away as their friends groaned in varying degrees.
Finally, they leave, and it’s a quiet walk back to Ferdie’s apartment. Sylvain gives Ferdie his silence, holding his hand tightly as they walk, and occasionally bumping their shoulders together. When they walk through the door to Ferdie’s apartment, he has Ferdie sit down on the couch and goes to make them tea; the ones they didn’t get to have earlier.
He hands Ferdie his cup and cuddles up to him. His arm drapes over his shoulders, and he knocks their head together gently. “You okay?”
“Yes,” Ferdie sighs, “I’m alright. I’m sorry for being so sour.”
“Hey, don’t apologise! It’s not your fault your asshole dad decided to show up in the middle of our night out.”
“I suppose…” Ferdie trails off, staring down blankly into his cup. “I just…it’s odd, in a way. We never had an exactly close relationship, and it was already crumbling long before I first went to Faerghus. But I guess a small part of me had hoped he’d change, with me being away…” he says. He sounds so…sad. It makes Sylvain angry at Ludwig and hurt for Ferdie.
“I get it.” In a way, he does. He felt that way with his parents—mainly with his mother, he knows his father is a lost cause—and knows how much it hurts. “It’s his loss, though. He has to decide if he wants to fix this, and even then it’s your choice to agree to work with him. But he has to live with missing out on how wonderful—” he presses a kiss to his forehead, “—bright—“ another kiss, “—creative—“ a kiss to his cheek, “—passionate—“ a kiss to the side of his neck that makes Ferdinand giggle, “—and spectacular you are.” He finishes with a quick peck to his lips, and relishes in the smile now gracing Ferdinand’s face.
They stare at each other for a few beats, Sylvain feeling the warmth of those honey golden eyes seep into his bones, swim through his veins, and he can’t help but lean back in to kiss Ferdie again. It’s softer, slower this time. He savours the feel of their lips against each other, breathes in the sweet smell of Ferdie’s cologne—hints of vanilla and lemon—and tastes the fruity tea on his tongue.
One kiss turns into another, and another, until Sylvain has Ferdie pressed into the couch and licking his way into his mouth. The breathy whines and quiet squeaks coming from Ferdinand makes Sylvain feel intoxicated. His hands trail over Ferdie’s abdomen, tracing the muscle hidden underneath his clothes, wanting so desperately to feel skin against skin. He gets lost in Ferdinand, biting his bottom lip and soothing the sting with another open mouthed kiss before he ducks his head to kiss underneath his jaw, down his neck, dipping underneath the collar of his shirt to bite gently at his collarbone. Ferdinand is panting underneath him, his fingers digging into Sylvain’s shoulder.
“Syl…Sylvain, darling,” Ferdinand whimpers. Sylvain hums from where he is lathering kisses to the side of his neck. Ferdinand is breathing shallowly and Sylvain can feel him take a gulp of air. “I…I would like to shower, uh, f-first.”
“Oh?” Sylvain breathes into his ear, gently grabbing his lobe between his teeth. Ferdinand chokes back a noise. “You gonna let me go in with ya this time?”
Sylvain expects a normal response. Something like Ferdinand stuttering and blushing and pushing Sylvain away, mumbling something about how he should stop teasing him. Instead, when Sylvain pulls back, Ferdinand is looking off to the side with red stained lips and bright cheeks, and he quietly whispers, “…I would not mind.”
“Oh.”
⚘🎕⁕
Goddess above, Ferdinand doesn’t know how he got here, but he wishes whatever confidence he had would come back now.
He and Sylvain had moved to the bathroom. Together. And now Sylvain was bent over, shirtless—naked, actually, underneath his towel—and turning the water on and trying to ask Ferdinand what temperature he preferred. Like he’s paying any attention.
Ferdinand himself still has his pants on, and his button up is open, exposing his torso. Sylvain offered to go in first, no doubt noticing how nervous Ferdinand was. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or not; seeing Sylvain almost nude is making him short circuit.
You’re about to see him fully nude, so pull yourself together von Aegir!
“I’m heading in now,” Sylvain warns. Ferdinand snaps back and turns around at the last second before Sylvain pulls his towel off. Sylvain huffs a laugh and then Ferdie hears the sound of the glass door opening and closing.
He takes a deep breath in, holding it, and then slowly exhaling. You’re alright Ferdinand. This is what you want. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Now get in there!
Ferdinand finally takes the rest of his clothes off. He stares at the warped image of Sylvain’s body through the glass for a moment before he slides the door open, quickly hopping in.
He makes immediate eye contact with Sylvain. He smiles cheekily and says, “hey there, come here often?”
It’s silly enough to make Ferdinand laugh some of the nerves out of his shoulders, and Sylvain steps aside for him to get his turn under the water. Ferdinand is grateful that he keeps his back to him while he washes his hair. One, for the little bit of privacy given, and two, giving him the chance to study his body without being watched.
Of course, Ferdinand knew Sylvain would be built; all those logs he lifts and walks he goes on aren’t for nothing. But he wasn’t exactly prepared for how…soft he still looks. There’s muscle, for sure, it ripples and bulges as Sylvain scrubs his head, but there’s a healthy layer of fat atop it all. On top of it is a generous dusting of ginger hair. It adds an extra level of attractiveness to him, and Ferdinand finds himself wanting to study him, to paint him to canvas and immortalise him. He’s certain Sylvain would agree to it.
As Ferdinand is ogling, he notices a faint, silvery scar that trails down his back, from his right shoulder all the way down to the base of his spine. Without even realising it, Ferdinand reaches out. His fingers brush against the slightly raised skin and trace the line with his pointer finger. Sylvain has stopped what he was doing, arms still raised, and when Ferdinand reaches the middle of his back he shudders. Ferdinand splays his hand there and caresses, trailing to wrap around his middle. He steps closer and presses a soft kiss to the scar.
Sylvain clears his throat. “U-Uh, do you mind if I rinse?”
“Oh!” Ferdinand flushes immediately, seeming to come back to himself. “Y-Yes, of course!” They switch places, and Ferdinand tries very, very hard not to look at him. He reaches for his shampoo.
“Let me do it?”
He turns around. Sylvain is holding out his hand, head tilted in question. Ferdinand can hardly respond, his vocal cords giving up, so instead he just hands the bottle over. He turns back around and shortly after feels Sylvain’s hands against his scalp. His fingers start massaging the shampoo in, and the motion relaxes Ferdinand infinitely. His head tilts back as Sylvain continues his massaging, briefly pulling away to make sure he covers every inch of his hair, before deft fingers are back at his head. Ferdinand feels a love he’s never even thought of before; the simple act of being washed is much more intimate than anything else he’s ever done. He feels so vulnerable and yet completely safe.
When they switch places again, Sylvain doesn’t turn. He instead tilts Ferdinand’s head back and helps rinse all the product out of his hair. He’s close enough that Ferdinand can feel his body heat, but they still don’t touch. The only point of contact is Sylvain’s hands in Ferdinand’s hair.
Eventually, Ferdinand can’t help it. His arms reach up to brush Sylvain’s hair back and then slowly curl around his shoulders. Sylvain’s eyes are molten, smouldering fire beneath them as he eyes Ferdinand. They gravitate towards each other, lips pressing together in a languid kiss, as if tasting the other. Sylvain’s hands trail down Ferdinand’s back, grabbing his waist and pulling their bodies flush together. The firmness of Sylvain’s body is dizzying. As if trying to grab onto something to prevent falling, Ferdinand’s hand subconsciously grips the back of Sylvain's head. There’s a groan muffled against his lips, and he feels something twitch against his thigh. Awareness comes crashing against him, and he can’t help the soft whimper coming from him.
The grip on his waist tightens, and suddenly their bodies are even closer and Ferdinand’s half hard erection is pressing right up against Sylvain’s. He breaks away from the kiss to gasp, and so Sylvain takes the opportunity to go back to ravaging his neck, sucking the skin there and leaving kisses after. Ferdinand is a panting and moaning mess, noises he never knew he was capable of escaping him. The feeling of their bodies sliding against each other, of their erections rubbing together—this is the lightest Ferdinand has ever felt.
He wants so much more.
“Syl—Sylvain—“ he chokes out. His hands scramble against Sylvain’s back, and he accidentally digs his nails into the muscle on his shoulder. Sylvain just groans in response, teeth nibbling at Ferdinand’s ear. He’s losing himself, all of these brand new sensations are clouding his mind and he’s losing track of his thoughts. He called Sylvain’s name for a reason. “Sylv—ain, w-wait—“
Immediately Sylvain stops, lifting his head and looking at Ferdie. “Yeah? What’s wrong?”
“N-Nothing’s wrong, it’s just…I would like—“ he pauses, still entirely too aware of their erections pressed against each other, “I would like to go to the bedroom…now…”
Sylvain’s eyes widen and he stares slack jawed for a moment. Ferdinand almost laughs at his face, but manages to keep it down to a snort. Sylvain’s jaw closes with a click and his cheeks turn red. “Y-Yeah, alright, sure, let’s uh, we can do that.”
Ferdinand can’t help but lean up and kiss him again.
They’re a mess of limbs as they move to the bedroom, not wanting to separate for more than a few centimetres. They hardly even dry themselves, stumbling into Ferdinand’s bedroom and leaving a trail of water behind them. Ferdinand tumbles backwards onto the bed and Sylvain follows close behind, immediately diving back in for more kisses.
When they break away for air, Sylvain holds himself above Ferdinand and looks at him like Ferdinand hung all the stars in the sky. His eyes rove over Ferdinand’s face, trailing down his chest and back up. He smiles in that crooked, genuine way. “You’re so damn gorgeous.”
Ferdinand’s chest swells, admiration and love swirling in a whirlwind inside him. “And I simply adore you.”
Sylvain’s grin widens and he slowly leans back down, their lips joining softly, tender and sensual. Ferdinand feels like he’s being eaten alive. Sylvain pulls back once more, but remains close. He stares at Ferdinand’s face for a beat before hoarsely saying, “are you sure you wanna do this?”
Goddess, I am utterly in love with this man. “Yes, I am. Completely.”
“Okay,” he says, and his smile is as giddy as a child’s. “Tell me if you want to stop, okay?” Ferdinand nods. “Do you, uh, have any lube or condoms?”
Ferdinand flushes but nods again. “I-In the bedside table, s-second drawer.” The lube he has used before for his…solo activities. The condoms he hopes aren’t expired; a gag gift from Dorothea given to him ages ago as a not-so-subtle shove to get him ‘out there’, and they’ve remained unopened ever since.
Sylvain finds the items and climbs back on top of Ferdie, and it’s only then does Ferdinand notice how…hard Sylvain is. His cock stands proud, flushed an angry shade of red. Ferdinand doesn’t know what comes over him, but he reaches out and touches the head gently with his fingers. Sylvain hisses above him, and when Ferdinand glances up to gauge his reaction and finds no negativity, he glides down and wraps his hand around the shaft. He’s never felt someone else’s cock before, and he strokes it slowly, getting accustomed to the size and feel. Sylvain is panting above him and letting out the softest grunts. A bead of precum trails down the head. Emboldened, Ferdinand swipes the liquid with his fingers and spreads it down to ease the glide. Sylvain’s hips buckle and he groans loudly, “shit, Ferdie, baby, y-you sure you’ve never done this before?”
Ferdinand feels so confident from seeing the reactions he’s getting out of Sylvain. He strokes underneath the head, tracing a vein down his shaft and brushing a teasing finger against his balls. Sylvain is almost whining, and Ferdinand loves the change in position—from Ferdinand being the one writhing and gasping, to Sylvain melting underneath his hand. He loves this. He can’t take his eyes off the act, watching Sylvain’s cock twitch and see his muscles tensing as he tries to keep himself still. What else can he do to make Sylvain turn hoarse? To make him buckle and sweat? “Can I…put it in my mouth?”
He says it unbidden, not even thinking, but hardly has the time to realise before Sylvain grips his wrist and stops his hand from moving. Ferdinand looks up and sees Sylvain’s eyes are clenched shut and his brows are drawn together, and there’s a bead of sweat that trails down his cheek. “F-Fuck,” he chokes out, “damn it, Ferdie, you’re gonna kill me.” He’s panting, chest heaving, and he seems to be catching his breath. Finally, he opens his eyes. Ferdinand shivers at the sight of them; his pupils are blown out, just a sliver of dark brown around them, and they’re hazy and unfocused. “How ‘bout next time, huh? For tonight I wanna make sure I come after I’m in you.”
“O-Oh.” Ferdinand swallows, mouth suddenly unbelievably dry. “O-Okay.”
Sylvain chuckles and raises the hand in his grasp to his face, softly kissing the back of Ferdinand’s knuckles. “Lay down for me?” He asks sweetly. Ferdinand nods and waits for Sylvain to adjust the pillows and lays back in the middle, cushioned comfortably. Sylvain has him lift his hips and tucks another pillow underneath. He reaches for the lube, and before doing anything else he looks back at Ferdie. “You still sure?”
He nods confidently, and Sylvain smiles in return. The sound of the cap popping open echoes in Ferdinand’s mind, excited nerves running wild as he watches Sylvain coat his fingers. He slowly reaches down, tracing the rim of Ferdinand’s entrance, giving him time to relax. He looks up and meets Ferdinand’s eyes once more, and when he gives his consent, Sylvain presses his first finger in.
Ferdinand chokes out a whimper, the feeling of being breached by another person all consuming. It’s so strange. Sylvain’s fingers are thicker than his own, but the burn isn’t painful, just…strange. Subconsciously his hands clutch at the bedsheets. He’s tense.
Sylvain’s free hand rubs soothing circles into his abdomen, stroking rhythmically. “Relax, baby,” he says, voice rough at the edges.
Ferdinand takes a deep breath, focusing on the feelings, the sensations, and he feels the muscles in his shoulders relax. He nods quickly, and moments later Sylvain’s second finger joins the first. The stretch this time is much more, but it punches a moan out of Ferdie’s chest.
Sylvain’s hand trails over his abdomen and towards his chest, deft fingers brushing lightly over his nipple. Ferdinand arches against the touch, silently begging, and Sylvain takes the bud between his fingers, pinching and rolling and teasing. Ferdinand is a mess; his neglected cock has been dripping like a faucet. Ferdinand keens when he feels Sylvain lean over him and press kisses to his chest, fingers working diligently inside him. Those taunting lips trail their way to his other nipple, and Ferdinand hisses when they latch on, his tongue rolling over and sucking. It’s intoxicating, it’s pulling the filthiest noises out of his mouth, and he already feels on edge.
Distracted by the mouth on him, Ferdinand is startled when he feels a hand wrap around his shaft. He lets out a desperate mewl, throwing his head back and chasing the feeling as he thrusts his hips upward. Sylvain has him in a loose grasp, enough to take the edge off but not enough to bring any actual pleasure. It’s driving him mad.
“S-Sylvain, darling, ple—ase,” he begs, voice coming out broken and strained. Sylvain just hums in response, biting his nipple and pulling it between his teeth. Ferdinand cries out from being assaulted on all sides. “Darling, I beg, e-enough with the—ah—teasing—ooh.”
Sylvain’s thumb rubs over his head, gathering the excess precome and slicking the rest of his cock. The fingers inside him—are there three now? —are moving eagerly. Searching.
They angle just so and Ferdinand could swear his vision whites out for a solid second, a drawn-out cry echoing in his mind. Sylvain lets go of his nipple with an audible pop, and the hand wrapped around his cock moves faster, tightens its hold. Ferdinand is a wreck. His hips can’t decide if they want to fuck up into Sylvain’s fist or back onto his fingers. His mind is hazy and dazed. He’s not aware of the words he’s rambling—if they’re words at all. He feels so, so close.
“Ah, ah, Syl, Sylvie, please,” he rasped, breath coming in short spurts. It’s like he’s on a rollercoaster, rising steadily to the peak, blood roaring in his ears—
And then suddenly, it’s gone.
Sylvain’s hand releases his cock and his fingers still. Ferdinand falls back against the pillows, heaving, and he looks at Sylvain with half-lidded eyes. Sylvain’s face is taut, drawn together, and his free hand is now clenched around his dick. His chest is rising and falling.
Was he…about to…
Sylvain huffs out a breath and lets go, his fingers slowly easing out of Ferdinand. The emptiness inside him is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Sylvain grabs a condom from the pack and rips it open with his teeth, tossing the wrapping to the side and rolling the condom down his length. He gives it a few experimental strokes, and his eyes are blazing when they meet Ferdie’s. “Are you ready?”
The sound of his voice sends a shiver down his spine, and he finds his vocal cords incapable of speech, his brain falling short on words. Instead, he answers by wrapping his legs around Sylvain’s waist and pulling him in. Sylvain laughs a beautiful sound, husky and rough around the edges, and he spreads Ferdinand’s cheeks apart and the head of his cock kisses Ferdinand’s hole.
Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he sinks inside. The burn, the stretch, the feeling of being completely and totally filled—it’s everything Ferdinand has been fantasising about for months.
Sylvain’s arms are shaking and he groans low and long once he’s fully seated inside. Ferdinand clenches, pulsing around his shaft. He feels so full. He can’t think straight, brain empty save for Sylvain’s name and Sylvain’s face and Sylvain’s cock in him and Sylvain, Sylvain Sylvain Sylvain.
Sylvain’s head hangs as he remains still inside of him. The flush on his cheeks have travelled all the way down his neck and chest, and Ferdinand is sure they’re matching in that regard. His eyes rove over Sylvain’s form, his flexed arm muscles, his rising and falling chest, his clenched abs, all the way down to where they’re joined. He can’t see it exactly, but just the thought has his own cock bobbing, dribbling more precome on the pool gathered on his stomach. Ferdinand wriggles, wanting more stimulation, and Sylvain grips his thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. Ferdinand almost hopes the purple and black discolouration is actually there. Sylvain lifts his head up slightly, unfocused eyes looking at him through his damp bangs. “Are you okay if I move?”
“Yes, yes, please, please move,” he begs, trembling legs wrapping around Sylvain’s waist. He hears Sylvain chuckle before he inches his way out, pulling far enough for just the head of his cock to remain inside Ferdie, before he slowly plunges back in. It’s exhilarating. Sylvain is lazily thrusting in and out of him as Ferdinand trembles below, gasping and moaning every time his cock buries deep inside. He wants more. He wants more. “Darling, please, f—aster, please.”
Sylvain grabs his waist, angling him up and pulling out. Ferdinand whines a pathetic thing, far too empty, needing more, desperate—
In one quick thrust, Sylvain fills him up to the brim, and begins an entirely different pace to before; quick, confident, hungry thrusts with a force that shakes the bed. Ferdinand’s voice is coming out an octave higher than he’s ever heard it and broken between high keens and shaky wails. There’s a smouldering heat cooling in his stomach, getting tighter and tighter with every head-on thrust to his prostate. There’s tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and he can’t think, can’t think of anything.
Sylvain bends down and meets Ferdinand in a sloppy, messy kiss, all tongue and teeth, and it’s glorious. Sylvain’s forehead rests against his, his eyes a bonfire, and Ferdinand tries to focus his vision on it. “I love you,” he says, grunting as his hips continue it’s brutal pistoning, “I—I love you so damn much, Ferdie, baby, my Ferdie, I love you—“
His hand snakes its way between them, wrapping around Ferdinand’s neglected cock and stroking in time with his thrusts. Ferdinand doesn’t know what he’s saying, blabbering things that sound close to “I love you” and “yes” and “all yours”.
His climax comes suddenly, his vision clouded by stars as he comes harder than he’s ever had in his life. In the back of his mind he registers Sylvain’s rhythm becoming erratic and frenzied before he stills. Ferdinand could swear he can feel Sylvain’s cock pulsing inside him.
Awareness comes slowly. Ferdinand registers how limp arms and legs are, feels a gentle hand caressing a cool towel across his body, a sturdy body holding him close. He blinks up blearily, Sylvain’s face coming into view. His hair is a wild mess of fiery curls and his face is flushed still, and his smile is blinding. Ferdinand curls closer to him, giggling and smiling up at him. “Hello, dear.” His voice is hoarse.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Sylvain’s voice is no better.
⚘🎕⁕
“Pheeb! C’mere girl, time to put your sweater on!”
Sylvain tries to call out to Elphaba and get her to move from where she is, sitting on the couch next to Hubert, refusing to move. She makes sure Sylvain knows she can hear him by lifting her head up and looking at him. She lets him know she doesn’t care by putting it back down and resting it on Hubert’s thigh.
“Oh, come on! Why don’t you love me when other people are here, huh?” He pouts, looking over at her with a sad face. She doesn’t acknowledge him.
Ferdinand walks over and smiles, switching Sylvain’s sweater for a tray of hot drinks. “You hand these to our friends and I’ll get her dressed.”
Sylvain huffs and mumbles good luck with that under his breath. Ferdinand kneels down and makes a kissy noise, calling Elphaba over. Immediately she hops down from the couch and trots over. Sylvain’s jaw is slack on the floor, and if he wasn’t holding the tray he’d have a hand clutching his chest. Ferdinand tugs the sweater he made for her over her head and Elphaba obediently offers her paws for the sleeves. He has to fight her tooth and nail to put on something that isn’t her bandanas. “You, my supposed daughter, are a traitor.”
“Jeez, Sylvie, what’s it like to lose your boyfriend to a dog?” Annette chimes from where she sits on the floor near the fireplace, face stuffed with cookies. Sylvain sticks his tongue out at her in response.
Months have come and gone and in its place brings another winter. Sylvain and Ferdinand invited everyone to their home for the holidays. Sylvain’s never seen this many people in his little cabin before. Maybe he should work on expanding it next year.
Everyone is crowded on the couch and in chairs and on the floor, trying to steal as much of the heat as they can from the fire. Mainly the Adrestrian crew—turns out Ferdinand isn’t the only one who went a majority of their life without snow.
Elphaba gets dressed in her new festive sweater and immediately goes to show it off, and she smiles and wags her tail rapidly at all the claps and chorus of oohs and ahhs from all their friends. Sylvain goes back over to Ferdinand and stands behind him, arms wrapping loosely around his middle and head resting on his shoulder, and he watches over their little circle.
This is a life he never thought he’d have.
All these people who care for him, who have bettered him and supported him, and all the new people who have welcomed him with open arms.
He tilts his head, observing Ferdie’s side profile. Of course, none of it would have been as fulfilling without him. Love of his life. The best thing to ever happen to him. Elphaba deserves all the treats in the world for bringing them together. Life is worth so much more now that he gets to spend it with someone who loves him like it’s breathing.
The box in his pocket weighs heavy, as it has for weeks now, but he has a good feeling it will be lifted soon. Until then, he’s more than content to press a kiss to the freckled skin against Ferdie’s cheek and drown in those golden eyes staring back at him, crinkled with joy at the corners.
“Are you aware of the mistletoe above us?”
Sylvain looks up. “Well, I don’t need one to kiss you silly, but I’ll take the opportunity anyway.”