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NSFW Claude Week, June 7: Poison
"You want me to do what!?" Dimitri whispers, pretty blue eyes wide, and Claude could, one, appreciate the necessity of that question, and, two, admire how adorable Dimitri's flabbergasted face looks, except, well. He kind of wishes they could just cut to the chase already?
He's pretty sure his dick is going to explode, and that's really the last thing he needs.
"I know, I know," Claude says, voice strained as he wraps his arms tight around his body. His legs are starting to cramp, but he doesn't dare lean against the doorframe to Dimitri's room. A part of him feels - ashamed, embarrassed, imposing. He's felt that more than a couple of times in his life, of course, and fought back against it by being aggressively confident in himself, but... it's harder than usual to try that right now. The heat of his dick as it strains inside of his pants isn't helping. "Listen - so I was trying to test some poisons out."
"Claude!"
Hastily, Claude raises a finger to his lips, even as Dimitri is already pressing one hand to his mouth. It's the middle of the night, and Claude would really prefer not to get caught. By his fellow students, or a roaming priest like Seteth? Both would be kind of terrible in their own ways, honestly.
"Listen, it wasn't on purpose," he whispers, when he's certain that there's no footsteps heading their way. "Come on, Your Princeliness, you know me better than that." Or, well, Claude really wants to hope that Dimitri has a slightly better opinion of him than that. "I didn't ingest it, just... When I was adding a couple of different components together, they gave off a sudden smoke that I wasn't expecting."
Brow furrowed, Dimitri leans a little closer to him. In concern, no doubt. Claude kind of wishes he hadn't, however. When he's so close, Claude can see how soft his lips look, and his every breath is filled with the smell, the taste, of Dimitri's scent. He's sweaty; no doubt he was busy doing as much late night training he could manage before a teacher or priest caught him. If only he could just lean in and drag his tongue along the curve of Dimitri's neck, swallow up his pulse-
Dimitri says something. The actual words need a second to actual translate into coherency in Claude's brain. "So you inhaled it," he says thoughtfully, all concern. "And that has put you in such a- ravenous state."
Ravenous. Gods, if that isn't the perfect word for what he feels like. "Yeah," Claude says, breathless and more than a little hazy-brained. "That's it."
"I see." Dimitri swallows, adam's apple bobbing. Claude's eyes are glued to it. "And yet... Why do you need my assistance?"
"It's just.." Another pulse sounds off between his legs, pleasure building up and needing release. He wavers in place, arms almost hurting from how much he's hugging himself. Yet the alternative is shoving a hand down into his pants for instant relief, right there in the open hallway, right there in front of Dimitri. He knows what he's asking of his fellow house leader, knows how awkward and weird this must be, but... He's not going to subject him to that. He's not going to be that kind of person.
Exactly as he's reminding himself of that, a pair of hands lightly brush against both of his arms. Electricity rattles through his system, pools in his cock, and Claude feels absolutely frozen in place as Dimitri leans over him. "I'm sorry - I should have invited you in first. This is no place to have any kind of conversation."
Especially a conversation about the state of Claude's dick, although he forgets to say that. Claude thinks he forgets a lot of basic human responses and interactions, wordless and thrumming with arousal as Dimitri guides him by the arms and into his room. If Claude were in any other state of mind, even terribly injured, then he'd grab this opportunity by the throat. Being allowed into one of his fellow student's rooms? That's catnip for someone as nosy and curious as himself. Yet he can't really do anything, just stand there in place as he swallows back the urge to fall to the floor.
Dimitri lets get of him, fingers sliding away from their gentle guidance, and Claude can hear him close the door. Lock it. "Take a seat on the bed," Dimitri tells him.
He's being polite. Mentally, Claude tries to take himself by the shoulders and shake the libido out of his brain. Dimitri is just being polite, by making sure that no one can walk in on Claude in such a compromising position. By giving him the more comfortable seat in the place, because of his clear discomfort. That's all. He has to remember that. But to imagine that he's locking the door so no one could interrupt, to just push Claude down on the bed and -
Claude sits down, and keeps his legs pressed together.
Dimitri also sits down, turning his desk chair around so that he can face Claude, and honestly that's probably for the better. Something about him just sitting down with his hands on his knees is a little less arousing than him standing, looming over Claude. "So," Dimitri says, while Claude tries to figure out where his libido-infested brain is going, "you were explaining why you need me specifically to help you with your - situation."
"Right," Claude says, because oh yeah, that was what he was talking about, wasn't it? "Well, it's not- you, specifically." He wants to make that clear. He doesn't want Dimitri to think that he's using some, some, excuse, just to get into his pants or anything. "It could be anyone, but I had this theory- I mean, I have been jerking off." Claude laughs, maybe a little too quickly. "It's kind of impossible not to, if I want a little bit of thinking power in my brain. But I'm thinking that, whatever the chemical reaction did, it's kind of made me- immune to myself? It's really long and complicated to explain, kind of besides the more immediate point, but basically, the summary is that I think that the, uh... sweat and other things of another person might make it react and calm down? That's the working theory, anyway."
"And there is no one in your own house who you would have felt, well.. more comfortable with going to?"
Someone in the Golden Deer house? Now there's a few thoughts, and not many of them good. He wouldn't want to burden Marianne with something like this, wouldn't want to trouble many of the others, wouldn't want the Glouchester family to get something to hold against him. Out of everyone he can think of, Leonie is the most sensible, would probably help him out and not say anything about it to another soul.
"Not really," Claude still says with a strained smile, and he tells himself that it's not an entirely selfish answer. "You're closer, Dimitri, and, anyway - I can trust you, can't I?"
He says it because it's true. Because he knows that Dimitri might have pain dogging his footsteps, aftermaths from the Tragedy, and he knows that they are leaders of different places, and he knows that this could maybe come to bite him in the far off future when they're both the kings of their respective nations... But he can trust Dimitri. He can look into those earnest blue eyes, and know that any oath which falls from Dimitri's lips is true.
He does not say it because it's the easiest way into Dimitri's heart, but it hits him that's exactly what he's done when that gaze softens. Claude's brain skips, stutters, and he tries to think of how to explain himself. This isn't meant to be a burden-
"I understand, Claude," Dimitri says, and he gets up from his seat. Oh. His cock twitches longingly in his pants, lingers maybe too longer on Dimitri's crotch area before Claude drags it up to his eyes. "If I can help in any way, then I will. I just, well... I hope my own inexperience is not too great a problem."
"I'm not asking for anything special here. And- I mean, I can at least try to make this a little less awkward, right?" Claude laughs, hopes it's light enough.
There's sincerity to his words, however, and he reaches down to fumble with his pants. He'd already been trying to pump all of this out of his system, literally, when he'd been in his own room, and he's glad that he made the choice to not bother with a belt before coming over to his dorm neighbor. That's one less obstacle in the way of him undoing his pants. Claude doesn't realize just how good it will feel to free his cock until it springs out, however, and he can't stop the moan that rolls off of his tongue.
Shit. He didn't mean to do that. Panting, feeling more flushed than ever, Claude glances up at Dimitri from beneath his eyelashes. The other man is staring down at him with wide eyes, gaze completely locked on the curve of his dick as it stands there inbetween his legs. Claude can proudly say that he's pretty good at being flexible, and adjusting to unexpected situations. But here, right now? What does he even say?
Dimitri beats him to the punch, slowly lowering himself down onto his knees inbetween Claude's spread legs. "You were not exagerrating when you spoke of the state of yourself," he says, the words awkward in his mouth and his eyes still focused on Claude's cock. "It looks painful..."
Alright, you know what- Claude actually laughs, and it's the most at ease he's felt for, like, three hours. Oh, sure, his dick is still aching and he thinks he might keel over from the cramping his body is doing as he doesn't do anything about his little problem, but still. A little bit of relief goes a long way. "It's definitely painful," he informs Dimitri. "But, uh, hopefully not for long. And I'm sorry about putting you in this position." He should at least offer that much.
The apology seems to work, Dimitri's shoulders easing up. Yeah, this really is awkward, and there's a sliver of regret in Claude's mind before it gets overwhelmed by a another pulse of arousal. "It is certainly never a situation I imagined I would find myself in," Dimitri admits, and reaches up uncertainly. His fingers are so light as they run down the length of him; Claude's breath rattles out of him.
Maybe Dimitri realizes what he's doing. Maybe he doesn't, and is just pushing forward before either of them can stop this. Either way, his hand slides down to the very base of him, and wraps around so gently.
Self control quickly becomes a distant memory, with Claude grinding up into Dimitri's grasp. "Oh - harder," he whimpers, even that faint touch enough to send his brain loose from its mooring until it's rattling about his skull. "Dimitri, harder, please." Except Dimitri doesn't grip him harder, and certainly doesn't grip him faster. He merely continues to stroke him with this ghost of a touch,
"I'm concerned about my Crest acting up," Dimitri murmurs, not watching his face but instead down at his own hand, where Claude is helplessly thrusting up into as hard as he can to no avail. "I don't want to make this worse for you. But have no fear, Claude. I will make sure you- reach completion."
"I know I'm asking you this as a favor, but could you make sure I come tonight?" Claude keens, rolling his head until his shoulder digs into his cheek.
To his credit, Dimitri tightens up his grip just a little bit. As in, a fraction of a movement. "I am trying," he says, and Claude breathes in so sharply when he can almost feel those words against his all-too-sensitive tip from how close Dimitri's face is. "Although could you tell me if you think it's working, Claude? If my, well, sweat is really helping you out as you theorized it should?"
Oh gods. He's being expected to talk about theories and also his dick in the same sentence. Or, well, that's what it feels like, anyway. Claude wonders if that's actually true to a non-horny state of mind. Still, he does his best, watching from the corner of his eye as Dimitri's hand and his cock move in rhythm. "It's - mmm, it's hard for me to say. Not this early on. I came, uh... I came a lot. Gods-" Dimitri's thumb slides against the head of him, and Claude has to squeezes his eyes shut from the pure want that courses through him. "But it was never enough... I'd be hard again in minutes." That's probably not healthy, and he knows it. He also knows it would be the most embarrassing way to die. "So, testing my theory just means, mm, it just means seeing if you finally manage to do the trick that makes it stay down..."
If it doesn't, well, then they're both fucked - not literally, not literally, but Claude's brain is running wild before he has a chance to stop it. Maybe sweat doesn't do the trick, but semen, Dimitri forcing him down against the bed with those gentle hands of his, forcing him to raise his ass, fucking him hard, fill him up until he's crying and begging for more-
"Claude?" Dimitri asks, and the world snaps into focus again. He blinks, realizes that he's been staring down into Dimitri's eyes, panting - actually worse than that, because that's when he feels the chill of drool on his lips, his chins, splattered and sinking down into his pants.
Fuck.
"Sorry," he says, unable to stop panting. "It's just - I think the drug is just affecting me a little more than I was really prepared for. Were you, uh-" Another laugh. It's wildly inappropriate but he doesn't really know how else to react right now to make this situation any less fuckways. "Were you saying something?"
Dimitri flicks his tongue out against his lips, nervous, maybe, and Claude's gaze follows it maybe a little too intently. He's so screwed- in trouble. He's so in trouble. "I was thinking... There might be an alternative to sweat that you weren't able to consider."
On one hand, he kind of doubts it, just because he knows poisons and alchemy aren't really Dimitri's specialty.
On the other hand, he has to admit that there's still a chance, because sometimes the person at work can get so wrapped up in their own head that they miss something.
"Yeah, what idea do you have?" Claude asks, out of breath, giving into whatever damn idea Dimitri wants to try because, frankly, he just spaced out for an untold amount of time thinking of Dimitri pounding him through the goddess damn stone and into the secret city underneath the church where they can say hi to Yuri.
Dimitri swallows. "Well, it is only something I have heard about - secondhand, from Sylvain, so I am not entirely certain of the truth of it or how well I could accomplish it myself. I've learned I'm not particularly adept at things Sylvain is adept at. But... It would be something like this." Right at the point that Claude is about to tell him that, with all due respect, he needs to hurry up before he goes into a horny coma...
That's around the time Dimitri smooths his hand down around the base of Claude's cock, and slides his mouth over the tip.
Everything in his brain goes up in flames. No more thoughts, no more ideas on how to make this the least awkward thing he can possibly make it. There's just that heat, the wet sloppy heat of Dimitri's mouth, tongue folding against the ridge of Claude's cock head, and it's like being clocked upside the head with a fucking staff.
Claude has barely the presence of mind enough to shove a hand into his mouth, muffle the cried out moan which threatens to burst out of him. Yet that takes every bit of him, which means there's absolutely nothing to stop his other hand when it shoots out to tangle in Dimitri's hair. There's really not much to grab, kept short save for the bangs, but he doesn't let that stop him. Doesn't stop his nails from scraping across Dimitri's scalp.
He just rocks up into that hot, sweet mouth, chase the feeling that's sending stars bursting in his skull - or at least he tries to. Dimitri's hand - soft, gentle, immovable - forces him to stay right in place. It doesn't matter how much he sobs, how much he drools over his own hand, the name he tries to call out past his own hand.
Dimitri merely slides down onto him, around half way, and sucks.
Everything after that is kind of hard to remember. There's only the wave of pleasure that crests into him, and the soft pleasure of the mattress as he falls back into them.
Claude wakes up feeling the best he's ever had after sleeping in a bed, and then it hits him that his great sleep would be because he's not in his bed. That means he's not got a crick in his neck from sleeping on one of his books instead of an actual pillow.
Bleary, in that stage where a part of him just wants to go back to sleep but the body isn't willing, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. There's a dull ache in his thighs - well, his lower body in general, but it seems mostly gone now. Simply a reminder. That, more than anything else, has him remember the events of last night, and his heart kind of flings itself the wall of his ribcage. Not sure if he feels more hot or cold right now, Claude looks around Dimitri's room.
Judging by the faint sounds of chirping and bustle he can hear outside, along with the very obvious sunlight streaming in from beneath the doorway, morning has come. Is it still morning? He hasn't the faintest. Dimitri isn't in the room, at any rate. When Claude glances around, something catches his eye: a pile of blankets and a military sleeping sack, all gathered together on the floor besides the bed.
His heart does something just a little stupid in his chest. Of course Dimitri would have - gods, it hits him as he wakes up bit by bit, but he's been undressed a bit, left only in his button up shirt, and the blankets were pulled up to cover him almost completely. Dimitri undressed him, tucked him in, and then took the floor.
Claude shakes his head, rubs his hands against his face. He's gotta wake up. More than that, he's got to figure out a way to get back to his room without being seen so that he can get into a proper change of clothes, and then he has to track down Dimitri for a very private and very detailed apology. Clearly something about either of their ideas worked - or maybe this was finally just the orgasm to wipe clean Claude's system. It'd be interesting to find out the answer, but Claude thinks he's rather leery of that particular experiment right now.
Right as he's trying to figure out how suspicious, exactly, it would be if he poked his head out of Dimitri's door real quick, that very same door clicks open. Relief passes over Dimitri's face as he sees him awake, and he quickly slips in, holding a tray in one hand. Unlike Claude, he's fully dressed for the day. "Oh good, you seem to be doing well. I was a little concerned when you didn't wake, but I chalked it up to simple exhaustion." Coming over to the bed, he sits down, and offers Claude a tray of various little breakfast meals - pastries, sausages, that kind of thing. "You don't have to worry about attending class. I told Manuela that you weren't feeling well, and that I would take any lessons or books of particular note back to you."
It's incredible, honestly, how well Dimitri seems to be handling the morning after... and Claude can't deny the smiles that flits across his face. "A truth by way of technicality, huh? I like it." Shifting in place, he reaches up to brush some of his hair out of his face, which is when he realizes that his braid was undone, mostly. Huh. "What time is it?"
"The seventh bell rang not that long ago, and they were just starting to clean up in the dining hall. I thought you might by hungry, so..." Shyly, Dimitri gestures down to the tray.
Claude would love to say he's fine just as he is, except that's such a flagrant lie that even he wouldn't attempt it. Not with how his stomach starts to rumble. So he picks up a bit of bread, and grinds his thumb against the crust. "Thanks," he says, because he wasn't raised in a barn. There's a lot he wants to ask, but very little idea on how to ask it. He might actually have to be upfront; horrific. Still, there's no help for it, so after a bit of bread chewing just as an excuse for more time, Claude glances at Dimitri from the corner of his eye. "So, about last night..." There's really no good way to put this. Claude isn't even sure if he can fake a good enough expression for it, on account of how he doesn't even know what a good enough expression would be for this kind of situation. "You... really did me a favor."
It's hard to tell if he's surprised or not when Dimitri shakes his head practically immediately. "I am hesitant to describe the situation like that, honestly. You had to put yourself in such a strange and miserable experience, for something so intimate... I feel guilty, if I am truthful."
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is possibly one of the only people who would feel guilty in a situation like that, Claude is pretty sure, and all he can do is stare at him for a brief moment, bread held loosely in his hand. "Guilty? You probably saved me from an entire night of being abject miserable, Your Princeliness, and that's my best case scenario. I'm pretty sure the human body isn't meant to come as many times as I tried when I was on my own, before I got your help."
"Still," Dimitri insists, and he leans close again as he sometimes does when he's being so earnest it could kill a man. Unlike last time, Claude doesn't get caught up in the smell of him and how much he wants the taste of Dimitri on his tongue. He still, unfortunately, gets a little caught up in how soft Dimitri's lips look. "I would like to make last night up to you, when you've recovered properly."
For a second, Claude's brain stutters. He wonders for a moment if maybe he's still asleep and dreaming, or just not hearing things right. Yet his curiosity takes the reins, opening his mouth to ask, "How would you make it up to me, exactly?"
Dimitri's hand goes carefully still on his knee, and he looks away. "I was thinking, perhaps.. I could treat you to a nice dinner down in town," he says slowly, pink rising to his cheeks. "Only if you were interested, of course."
This isn't how things are supposed to go, Claude is pretty sure. He wants to ask - well, he wants to ask a lot of things, as he always does. If this were a guilt thing, if this were anything less than sincere, could he handle it? Would that be a good thing to do to either of them? But then Dimitri glances back up at him from beneath those pretty pale eyelashes of his, and...
Oh. He thinks he can recognize the soft longing and adoration there. Has seen it direct at plenty of other people before, but never at him.
Maybe this is fine. Maybe... this is something they could both want.
Maybe this could lead to a day where Claude could return the favor Dimitri gave him last night.
So he lets himself smile, stupid heart eager and hopeful as he says, "Well, if you insist, Your Princeliness."
He's pretty sure his dick is going to explode, and that's really the last thing he needs.
"I know, I know," Claude says, voice strained as he wraps his arms tight around his body. His legs are starting to cramp, but he doesn't dare lean against the doorframe to Dimitri's room. A part of him feels - ashamed, embarrassed, imposing. He's felt that more than a couple of times in his life, of course, and fought back against it by being aggressively confident in himself, but... it's harder than usual to try that right now. The heat of his dick as it strains inside of his pants isn't helping. "Listen - so I was trying to test some poisons out."
"Claude!"
Hastily, Claude raises a finger to his lips, even as Dimitri is already pressing one hand to his mouth. It's the middle of the night, and Claude would really prefer not to get caught. By his fellow students, or a roaming priest like Seteth? Both would be kind of terrible in their own ways, honestly.
"Listen, it wasn't on purpose," he whispers, when he's certain that there's no footsteps heading their way. "Come on, Your Princeliness, you know me better than that." Or, well, Claude really wants to hope that Dimitri has a slightly better opinion of him than that. "I didn't ingest it, just... When I was adding a couple of different components together, they gave off a sudden smoke that I wasn't expecting."
Brow furrowed, Dimitri leans a little closer to him. In concern, no doubt. Claude kind of wishes he hadn't, however. When he's so close, Claude can see how soft his lips look, and his every breath is filled with the smell, the taste, of Dimitri's scent. He's sweaty; no doubt he was busy doing as much late night training he could manage before a teacher or priest caught him. If only he could just lean in and drag his tongue along the curve of Dimitri's neck, swallow up his pulse-
Dimitri says something. The actual words need a second to actual translate into coherency in Claude's brain. "So you inhaled it," he says thoughtfully, all concern. "And that has put you in such a- ravenous state."
Ravenous. Gods, if that isn't the perfect word for what he feels like. "Yeah," Claude says, breathless and more than a little hazy-brained. "That's it."
"I see." Dimitri swallows, adam's apple bobbing. Claude's eyes are glued to it. "And yet... Why do you need my assistance?"
"It's just.." Another pulse sounds off between his legs, pleasure building up and needing release. He wavers in place, arms almost hurting from how much he's hugging himself. Yet the alternative is shoving a hand down into his pants for instant relief, right there in the open hallway, right there in front of Dimitri. He knows what he's asking of his fellow house leader, knows how awkward and weird this must be, but... He's not going to subject him to that. He's not going to be that kind of person.
Exactly as he's reminding himself of that, a pair of hands lightly brush against both of his arms. Electricity rattles through his system, pools in his cock, and Claude feels absolutely frozen in place as Dimitri leans over him. "I'm sorry - I should have invited you in first. This is no place to have any kind of conversation."
Especially a conversation about the state of Claude's dick, although he forgets to say that. Claude thinks he forgets a lot of basic human responses and interactions, wordless and thrumming with arousal as Dimitri guides him by the arms and into his room. If Claude were in any other state of mind, even terribly injured, then he'd grab this opportunity by the throat. Being allowed into one of his fellow student's rooms? That's catnip for someone as nosy and curious as himself. Yet he can't really do anything, just stand there in place as he swallows back the urge to fall to the floor.
Dimitri lets get of him, fingers sliding away from their gentle guidance, and Claude can hear him close the door. Lock it. "Take a seat on the bed," Dimitri tells him.
He's being polite. Mentally, Claude tries to take himself by the shoulders and shake the libido out of his brain. Dimitri is just being polite, by making sure that no one can walk in on Claude in such a compromising position. By giving him the more comfortable seat in the place, because of his clear discomfort. That's all. He has to remember that. But to imagine that he's locking the door so no one could interrupt, to just push Claude down on the bed and -
Claude sits down, and keeps his legs pressed together.
Dimitri also sits down, turning his desk chair around so that he can face Claude, and honestly that's probably for the better. Something about him just sitting down with his hands on his knees is a little less arousing than him standing, looming over Claude. "So," Dimitri says, while Claude tries to figure out where his libido-infested brain is going, "you were explaining why you need me specifically to help you with your - situation."
"Right," Claude says, because oh yeah, that was what he was talking about, wasn't it? "Well, it's not- you, specifically." He wants to make that clear. He doesn't want Dimitri to think that he's using some, some, excuse, just to get into his pants or anything. "It could be anyone, but I had this theory- I mean, I have been jerking off." Claude laughs, maybe a little too quickly. "It's kind of impossible not to, if I want a little bit of thinking power in my brain. But I'm thinking that, whatever the chemical reaction did, it's kind of made me- immune to myself? It's really long and complicated to explain, kind of besides the more immediate point, but basically, the summary is that I think that the, uh... sweat and other things of another person might make it react and calm down? That's the working theory, anyway."
"And there is no one in your own house who you would have felt, well.. more comfortable with going to?"
Someone in the Golden Deer house? Now there's a few thoughts, and not many of them good. He wouldn't want to burden Marianne with something like this, wouldn't want to trouble many of the others, wouldn't want the Glouchester family to get something to hold against him. Out of everyone he can think of, Leonie is the most sensible, would probably help him out and not say anything about it to another soul.
"Not really," Claude still says with a strained smile, and he tells himself that it's not an entirely selfish answer. "You're closer, Dimitri, and, anyway - I can trust you, can't I?"
He says it because it's true. Because he knows that Dimitri might have pain dogging his footsteps, aftermaths from the Tragedy, and he knows that they are leaders of different places, and he knows that this could maybe come to bite him in the far off future when they're both the kings of their respective nations... But he can trust Dimitri. He can look into those earnest blue eyes, and know that any oath which falls from Dimitri's lips is true.
He does not say it because it's the easiest way into Dimitri's heart, but it hits him that's exactly what he's done when that gaze softens. Claude's brain skips, stutters, and he tries to think of how to explain himself. This isn't meant to be a burden-
"I understand, Claude," Dimitri says, and he gets up from his seat. Oh. His cock twitches longingly in his pants, lingers maybe too longer on Dimitri's crotch area before Claude drags it up to his eyes. "If I can help in any way, then I will. I just, well... I hope my own inexperience is not too great a problem."
"I'm not asking for anything special here. And- I mean, I can at least try to make this a little less awkward, right?" Claude laughs, hopes it's light enough.
There's sincerity to his words, however, and he reaches down to fumble with his pants. He'd already been trying to pump all of this out of his system, literally, when he'd been in his own room, and he's glad that he made the choice to not bother with a belt before coming over to his dorm neighbor. That's one less obstacle in the way of him undoing his pants. Claude doesn't realize just how good it will feel to free his cock until it springs out, however, and he can't stop the moan that rolls off of his tongue.
Shit. He didn't mean to do that. Panting, feeling more flushed than ever, Claude glances up at Dimitri from beneath his eyelashes. The other man is staring down at him with wide eyes, gaze completely locked on the curve of his dick as it stands there inbetween his legs. Claude can proudly say that he's pretty good at being flexible, and adjusting to unexpected situations. But here, right now? What does he even say?
Dimitri beats him to the punch, slowly lowering himself down onto his knees inbetween Claude's spread legs. "You were not exagerrating when you spoke of the state of yourself," he says, the words awkward in his mouth and his eyes still focused on Claude's cock. "It looks painful..."
Alright, you know what- Claude actually laughs, and it's the most at ease he's felt for, like, three hours. Oh, sure, his dick is still aching and he thinks he might keel over from the cramping his body is doing as he doesn't do anything about his little problem, but still. A little bit of relief goes a long way. "It's definitely painful," he informs Dimitri. "But, uh, hopefully not for long. And I'm sorry about putting you in this position." He should at least offer that much.
The apology seems to work, Dimitri's shoulders easing up. Yeah, this really is awkward, and there's a sliver of regret in Claude's mind before it gets overwhelmed by a another pulse of arousal. "It is certainly never a situation I imagined I would find myself in," Dimitri admits, and reaches up uncertainly. His fingers are so light as they run down the length of him; Claude's breath rattles out of him.
Maybe Dimitri realizes what he's doing. Maybe he doesn't, and is just pushing forward before either of them can stop this. Either way, his hand slides down to the very base of him, and wraps around so gently.
Self control quickly becomes a distant memory, with Claude grinding up into Dimitri's grasp. "Oh - harder," he whimpers, even that faint touch enough to send his brain loose from its mooring until it's rattling about his skull. "Dimitri, harder, please." Except Dimitri doesn't grip him harder, and certainly doesn't grip him faster. He merely continues to stroke him with this ghost of a touch,
"I'm concerned about my Crest acting up," Dimitri murmurs, not watching his face but instead down at his own hand, where Claude is helplessly thrusting up into as hard as he can to no avail. "I don't want to make this worse for you. But have no fear, Claude. I will make sure you- reach completion."
"I know I'm asking you this as a favor, but could you make sure I come tonight?" Claude keens, rolling his head until his shoulder digs into his cheek.
To his credit, Dimitri tightens up his grip just a little bit. As in, a fraction of a movement. "I am trying," he says, and Claude breathes in so sharply when he can almost feel those words against his all-too-sensitive tip from how close Dimitri's face is. "Although could you tell me if you think it's working, Claude? If my, well, sweat is really helping you out as you theorized it should?"
Oh gods. He's being expected to talk about theories and also his dick in the same sentence. Or, well, that's what it feels like, anyway. Claude wonders if that's actually true to a non-horny state of mind. Still, he does his best, watching from the corner of his eye as Dimitri's hand and his cock move in rhythm. "It's - mmm, it's hard for me to say. Not this early on. I came, uh... I came a lot. Gods-" Dimitri's thumb slides against the head of him, and Claude has to squeezes his eyes shut from the pure want that courses through him. "But it was never enough... I'd be hard again in minutes." That's probably not healthy, and he knows it. He also knows it would be the most embarrassing way to die. "So, testing my theory just means, mm, it just means seeing if you finally manage to do the trick that makes it stay down..."
If it doesn't, well, then they're both fucked - not literally, not literally, but Claude's brain is running wild before he has a chance to stop it. Maybe sweat doesn't do the trick, but semen, Dimitri forcing him down against the bed with those gentle hands of his, forcing him to raise his ass, fucking him hard, fill him up until he's crying and begging for more-
"Claude?" Dimitri asks, and the world snaps into focus again. He blinks, realizes that he's been staring down into Dimitri's eyes, panting - actually worse than that, because that's when he feels the chill of drool on his lips, his chins, splattered and sinking down into his pants.
Fuck.
"Sorry," he says, unable to stop panting. "It's just - I think the drug is just affecting me a little more than I was really prepared for. Were you, uh-" Another laugh. It's wildly inappropriate but he doesn't really know how else to react right now to make this situation any less fuckways. "Were you saying something?"
Dimitri flicks his tongue out against his lips, nervous, maybe, and Claude's gaze follows it maybe a little too intently. He's so screwed- in trouble. He's so in trouble. "I was thinking... There might be an alternative to sweat that you weren't able to consider."
On one hand, he kind of doubts it, just because he knows poisons and alchemy aren't really Dimitri's specialty.
On the other hand, he has to admit that there's still a chance, because sometimes the person at work can get so wrapped up in their own head that they miss something.
"Yeah, what idea do you have?" Claude asks, out of breath, giving into whatever damn idea Dimitri wants to try because, frankly, he just spaced out for an untold amount of time thinking of Dimitri pounding him through the goddess damn stone and into the secret city underneath the church where they can say hi to Yuri.
Dimitri swallows. "Well, it is only something I have heard about - secondhand, from Sylvain, so I am not entirely certain of the truth of it or how well I could accomplish it myself. I've learned I'm not particularly adept at things Sylvain is adept at. But... It would be something like this." Right at the point that Claude is about to tell him that, with all due respect, he needs to hurry up before he goes into a horny coma...
That's around the time Dimitri smooths his hand down around the base of Claude's cock, and slides his mouth over the tip.
Everything in his brain goes up in flames. No more thoughts, no more ideas on how to make this the least awkward thing he can possibly make it. There's just that heat, the wet sloppy heat of Dimitri's mouth, tongue folding against the ridge of Claude's cock head, and it's like being clocked upside the head with a fucking staff.
Claude has barely the presence of mind enough to shove a hand into his mouth, muffle the cried out moan which threatens to burst out of him. Yet that takes every bit of him, which means there's absolutely nothing to stop his other hand when it shoots out to tangle in Dimitri's hair. There's really not much to grab, kept short save for the bangs, but he doesn't let that stop him. Doesn't stop his nails from scraping across Dimitri's scalp.
He just rocks up into that hot, sweet mouth, chase the feeling that's sending stars bursting in his skull - or at least he tries to. Dimitri's hand - soft, gentle, immovable - forces him to stay right in place. It doesn't matter how much he sobs, how much he drools over his own hand, the name he tries to call out past his own hand.
Dimitri merely slides down onto him, around half way, and sucks.
Everything after that is kind of hard to remember. There's only the wave of pleasure that crests into him, and the soft pleasure of the mattress as he falls back into them.
Claude wakes up feeling the best he's ever had after sleeping in a bed, and then it hits him that his great sleep would be because he's not in his bed. That means he's not got a crick in his neck from sleeping on one of his books instead of an actual pillow.
Bleary, in that stage where a part of him just wants to go back to sleep but the body isn't willing, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. There's a dull ache in his thighs - well, his lower body in general, but it seems mostly gone now. Simply a reminder. That, more than anything else, has him remember the events of last night, and his heart kind of flings itself the wall of his ribcage. Not sure if he feels more hot or cold right now, Claude looks around Dimitri's room.
Judging by the faint sounds of chirping and bustle he can hear outside, along with the very obvious sunlight streaming in from beneath the doorway, morning has come. Is it still morning? He hasn't the faintest. Dimitri isn't in the room, at any rate. When Claude glances around, something catches his eye: a pile of blankets and a military sleeping sack, all gathered together on the floor besides the bed.
His heart does something just a little stupid in his chest. Of course Dimitri would have - gods, it hits him as he wakes up bit by bit, but he's been undressed a bit, left only in his button up shirt, and the blankets were pulled up to cover him almost completely. Dimitri undressed him, tucked him in, and then took the floor.
Claude shakes his head, rubs his hands against his face. He's gotta wake up. More than that, he's got to figure out a way to get back to his room without being seen so that he can get into a proper change of clothes, and then he has to track down Dimitri for a very private and very detailed apology. Clearly something about either of their ideas worked - or maybe this was finally just the orgasm to wipe clean Claude's system. It'd be interesting to find out the answer, but Claude thinks he's rather leery of that particular experiment right now.
Right as he's trying to figure out how suspicious, exactly, it would be if he poked his head out of Dimitri's door real quick, that very same door clicks open. Relief passes over Dimitri's face as he sees him awake, and he quickly slips in, holding a tray in one hand. Unlike Claude, he's fully dressed for the day. "Oh good, you seem to be doing well. I was a little concerned when you didn't wake, but I chalked it up to simple exhaustion." Coming over to the bed, he sits down, and offers Claude a tray of various little breakfast meals - pastries, sausages, that kind of thing. "You don't have to worry about attending class. I told Manuela that you weren't feeling well, and that I would take any lessons or books of particular note back to you."
It's incredible, honestly, how well Dimitri seems to be handling the morning after... and Claude can't deny the smiles that flits across his face. "A truth by way of technicality, huh? I like it." Shifting in place, he reaches up to brush some of his hair out of his face, which is when he realizes that his braid was undone, mostly. Huh. "What time is it?"
"The seventh bell rang not that long ago, and they were just starting to clean up in the dining hall. I thought you might by hungry, so..." Shyly, Dimitri gestures down to the tray.
Claude would love to say he's fine just as he is, except that's such a flagrant lie that even he wouldn't attempt it. Not with how his stomach starts to rumble. So he picks up a bit of bread, and grinds his thumb against the crust. "Thanks," he says, because he wasn't raised in a barn. There's a lot he wants to ask, but very little idea on how to ask it. He might actually have to be upfront; horrific. Still, there's no help for it, so after a bit of bread chewing just as an excuse for more time, Claude glances at Dimitri from the corner of his eye. "So, about last night..." There's really no good way to put this. Claude isn't even sure if he can fake a good enough expression for it, on account of how he doesn't even know what a good enough expression would be for this kind of situation. "You... really did me a favor."
It's hard to tell if he's surprised or not when Dimitri shakes his head practically immediately. "I am hesitant to describe the situation like that, honestly. You had to put yourself in such a strange and miserable experience, for something so intimate... I feel guilty, if I am truthful."
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd is possibly one of the only people who would feel guilty in a situation like that, Claude is pretty sure, and all he can do is stare at him for a brief moment, bread held loosely in his hand. "Guilty? You probably saved me from an entire night of being abject miserable, Your Princeliness, and that's my best case scenario. I'm pretty sure the human body isn't meant to come as many times as I tried when I was on my own, before I got your help."
"Still," Dimitri insists, and he leans close again as he sometimes does when he's being so earnest it could kill a man. Unlike last time, Claude doesn't get caught up in the smell of him and how much he wants the taste of Dimitri on his tongue. He still, unfortunately, gets a little caught up in how soft Dimitri's lips look. "I would like to make last night up to you, when you've recovered properly."
For a second, Claude's brain stutters. He wonders for a moment if maybe he's still asleep and dreaming, or just not hearing things right. Yet his curiosity takes the reins, opening his mouth to ask, "How would you make it up to me, exactly?"
Dimitri's hand goes carefully still on his knee, and he looks away. "I was thinking, perhaps.. I could treat you to a nice dinner down in town," he says slowly, pink rising to his cheeks. "Only if you were interested, of course."
This isn't how things are supposed to go, Claude is pretty sure. He wants to ask - well, he wants to ask a lot of things, as he always does. If this were a guilt thing, if this were anything less than sincere, could he handle it? Would that be a good thing to do to either of them? But then Dimitri glances back up at him from beneath those pretty pale eyelashes of his, and...
Oh. He thinks he can recognize the soft longing and adoration there. Has seen it direct at plenty of other people before, but never at him.
Maybe this is fine. Maybe... this is something they could both want.
Maybe this could lead to a day where Claude could return the favor Dimitri gave him last night.
So he lets himself smile, stupid heart eager and hopeful as he says, "Well, if you insist, Your Princeliness."