NSFW Claude Week, June 8: First Time

[warmskies]

 The first time Khalid has sex, it's with someone who hates him.

That doesn't really narrow it down much, of course.  A lot of people hate him in Almyra, for things he can't entirely control, and the things he can control, he has to do, so it practically doesn't count. They hate him for his bright green eyes, inherited from his mother and the most flagrant sign that he doesn't belong, and they hate him for his blood, which they can't exactly see but that they know about. Little things they claim they can see that Khalid doesn't, no matter how much he presses close to the mirror and searches them out: the shape of his nose, his jaw, his hands.

All of that comes from his mother, apparently, and who Khalid thinks they might hate even more for how successful she is. How impossible she is to beat, how she can lay a man out with one punch and has the full support of his father behind her.

Must be nice. Khalid has no one behind him, save for the groups of kids who chase after him - friends of his brothers, the childrenn of other high ranking warriors and nobility, the like. His mother made a name for herself by sucker punching the esteemed general Nader in the face, and fighting off everyone who would overthrow her, but she's a grown woman with the experience of battle behind her. This sort of thing started when Khalid was old enough to walk on his own out of sight of his parents, and has never stopped.

So, yeah, he doesn't exactly punch his way out of things, because running away and escaping seems like the much more common sense answer, and, of course, he's hated for that, too. Cowardly, and all that. No spine. That Khalid gets at some of his bullies - embarrassing incidents on the training field, a smell in their laundry that makes their wyvern hate them, an addition to their food that makes them confined to their bathroom for hours - is something that is not noticed or, if it is noticed, it's not recognized.

Getting back at people means surviving. Surviving means running away. Sometimes, that's not as easy as he'd like it to be, which is the case when one of the usual subjects manages to succeed where all his other cohorts fail.

"Got you, you little Alliance rat," Navid says breathlessly as he shoves Khalid against the wall, and the world goes double, triple, for just a second as his head hits stone. He knows how these kinds of things go, the things people like Navid do to him, which is mostly just a lot of soreness that he'll have to work around.

Khalid isn't looking forward to the idea, which means the only thing he can do is minimize the damage, or figure out a way to stop it from happening at all. How he's going to do that... He doesn't know, not right away. All he can do is shift in place, and his tongue drags along his dry lips as he thinks. Pressed right up against him, more body weight than Khalid has, it's so easy to see the way Navid's gaze flicks down to his mouth, follows the motion.

He's seen that look before. Seen his mother and father wear it at different times, exchange it towards the other. When he was really young, he understood it as a look of love. When he got a little older, and sex became a simple understandable truth of the world, well, there was still love, but he could understand what else there was, too.

Could understand that sometimes 'love' wasn't always a part of the foundation for such a look.

Navid doesn't love him, but they're young men, now, teenagers, and Khalid knows he's handsome. Knows it because his parents say it, sure, and knows it because he's gotten more backhanded compliments of "so handsome, but such a shame" than he knows what to do with. So he makes himself relax in the other boy's grip, leans against the wall with a smile. "You certainly got me," he says, and hopes it sounds smooth enough to the other's ears. "Now what will you do with me, huh?"

That's not the reaction Navid was expecting, just like the foot Khalid runs up along the side of his leg, but he takes advantage of it quick enough. He swallows, dark brown eyes bright and hungry before he pushes in.

They're teenagers. It isn't exactly a good kiss. But Navid is handsome, and in the ideal Almyran way too: strong jaw, thick hair he keeps pulled back in a ponytail, the kind of muscles that are perfect for wielding the largest axe he can find all in the name of showing off to his friends. Khalid has always liked men with broad shoulders; he can't tell if that's something true to himself or because of where he's been born. It doesn't really matter. He accepts the situation is, glad he won't having any scrapes or bruises today, and holds onto Navid tight as hormonal pleasure sparks to life in the pit of his gut.

Of course, right as he's getting over the fact that Navid is kind of an asshole in favor of how hot it feels to have a leg pressing up inbetween his legs, that's when the guy decides to pull away, shamefaced.

Khalid knows better than to think it's for kissing him so suddenly, or slamming into a wall, or all the other times Navid and his friends screwed him over. The reasoning becomes much more clear when Navid tells him, in hushed tones, to sneak into his family's garden at night, and he'll find a way to get him into his room then. So it's about being caught with him. Of course it is.

Refusing when he's still very much pinned up against a wall would be stupid and, frankly... Khalid doesn't mind the idea that much. He winks, and says he'll see Navid then.

The average Almyran youth doesn't really care about Khalid, and they don't interact with him much either. For that reason, he's always found it both safer and more comfortable to sneak into busy markets or the streets of his homecity. For some who don't know him so well, who don't know enough court gossip to hear of the youngest prince with too green eyes, he doesn't have to worry about them. A stranger may not like him, may view some minor details of his appearance with suspicion, but they won't have any particular reason or care to go after him. That is a comfort, in its own way, and hey - sometimes people even like him.

Very obviously, Navid is not the average Almyran youth. He is, in fact, the son of an advisor to the king.

So yeah. The home Khalid sneaks out to in the middle of the night, after dinner has been had, is one so near to the royal palace that it's practically a part of the grounds. Khalid isn't particularly worried about being caught, quite frankly. He's made his way out of the palace itself with little trouble, although that's only most of the time. Lately, he's been having real trouble with beatings outside the norm... As in "grown men to a teenager" kind of problem.

Yet there's no worry this night. He scales the walls with ease, slips in past any sentries, and finds himself in a garden that seems more statues than plantlife. An interesting design choice, to be sure. More interesting to him, personally, is the small light he sees flare to life near the building itself, illuminating a familiar and handsome face.

Neither of them do anything that night - at least, nothing as far as Khalid thought it could. They make out, they give awkward fumbling touches to one another, and then they simply just... get over the post handjob orgasm by laying quietly in Navid's room. A little bit fucked out, in a good mood, and not trying to beat Claude up, he's almost likeable. They talk some about how the last tournament went in the spring beffore things became too swelteringly hot even for them. They talk about who sells the sweetest snacks, down in the marketplace. Like this, Claude can see the guy Navid is to everyone else.

Weeks pass. They keep doing what they do with Khalid sneaking into Navid's room and his bed, both of them getting more adventurous. When Khalid leaves the palace grounds, he doesn't have anyone try to get on his tail so much, which means he goes back to avoiding all the other attempts to harass him as easy as they ever were. Sometimes, Navid even gives him advice on where to not go on a particular day. 

Khalid isn't so much of a fool to think this means anything more than the fact that he is a quick learner in how to give good head.

That's fine. He gets things in turn as well. Some of it is the simple carnal pleasure that's brought the two of them together in the first place, like the way Navid greedily bites down on his chest to mark him up, or how his hair tangles so hard in his hair that the pain becomes pleasure.

And then there's the time he ducks out of sight away from the route Navid told him not to go on one day, only to realize that it's not any of Navid's asshole friends or even other people he might vaguely know, but a group of tall scumbags who look like they'd be more at home in a bar than anywhere else, lurking around and clearly looking for a fight. When he casually brings it up later that night, after using a few more tricks he's been figuring out to make Navid's orgasm especially good, the other admits, "My father hired some men to try and go after you. Ruin your reputation, and all of that."

Khalid is kind of unimpressed, because his reputation really shouldn't have much farther to fall, but he also understands the reasoning. Beating him up isn't just something for satisfaction's worth, although he's sure there's plenty there - especially with how untouchable his mother generally is. But for an Almyran to fall in a fight, repeatedly, especially if he's of the royal family...

It doesn't matter if he's a teenager up against multiple grown men. His father is wild and strong and incredible, so if he's not, then why should he qualify for the crown at all?

Yet that's only more proof that his relationship with Navid is worthwhile. So they kiss, they touch each other, and Khalid lets him try whatever little tricks he wants to on him. Navid seems to delight in bondage, which works out well for him in learning how much he likes it, too, although he feels his partner could be better. Really, Navid seems to delight in lording over him in so many ways in the bedroom, how he never really can outside of it with Khalid's royal status.

But then one night... They don't just kiss, or palm each other, or whatever other nonsense. They have sex.

It's good - the roughness, the sensation of being filled up, Navid's weight pressing down against his back and covering his mouth as he fucks into him. It doesn't always land, sometimes he doesn't actually feel that great, but the rest of his libido makes that a minor issue instead of an overwhelming one.

They're teenagers. Khalid knows now that it's just to be expected for them to not be that great, at first.

When they finally hit release, and semen stained sheets are shoved off of the bed... Khalid almost feels at peace as the two of them lay there, sweaty and panting, quiet, content. A part of him never thought he'd get to this state, after all. He never thought that he would have someone willing to touch him like this, who'd kiss him so regularly. Maybe his life is taking a turn for the better. Maybe Navid is getting better. It was a shitty way to start things, sure, but maybe he's finally able to really look at him, past all the bullshit he's been told by his father and everyone else-

"You can't tell anyone about this," Navid whispers to him. "Especially not my father."

A cold stone of ice falls into the pit of stomach, cuts through all the comfortable warmth in him. He does not know how he manages to smile, and respond with, "What's in it for me?"

It should be shameful, to be a grown man hiring other grown men to grow after a boy who has still not been able to grow a beard. It should be shameful to be the son of such a man, to harass another youth for stupid and petty reasons.

But no. The real shame, of course, is to be seen with him at all.

Khalid keeps seeing him. It's always good to have an inside source on what his opponents are doing; that's one thing he's learned throughout all of this. The sex is also good, and only gets better as they become more experienced and learn more about what exactly they want. Sometimes, when Navid is asleep and drooling in his bed, Khalid even takes the time to sneak into the rest of the house and nose about for whatever information he can get.

Everyone knows of his father's strength and bravery and boldness. Many do not know as much about his careful cunning, the things that have kept him on the throne for as long as he has, but it is there regardless. In that aspect, Khalid is confident in how he can outdo him.

The advisor gets exiled, eventually. A political scandal, mixing in cowardice and a betrayal to the people of the city. Khalid has a front row seat when his father bests first him in combat, and then his son, who some of the blame also falls to. It is all the people of the palace can talk about for days, so much so that they don't think as hard about the youngest of the princes, or where he goes during such times.

Some of it is just for some peace and mind, some quiet to himself now that he knows he has one less reason to watch his back all the time.

It should be something to celebrate. He never lost anything genuine, after all. Never lost something that mattered. Yet as he looks out from his room window out towards the hazy sunset that spreads across the sky, he can't help but think that there's still a hole where something should be. Maybe it was always there.





The first time Claude has sex, it's with someone who adores him.

"I will not be good at this," Dimitri whispers, pressing him down against the bed so gently that he doesn't so much as bounce against the pillows there. Festivities are blowing up outside, Kingdom and Alliance united, and no doubt a lot of people must be wondering where the two leading roles have disappeared off to. People want to see the Savior King who has risen from the ashes to save them all from the Empire's advance. People want to see the clever Duke who made sure not a single civilian life was lost during the attack on Derdriu.

He can understand why they want to do that, but Claude only has one last night in Fodlan at all, and he intends to enjoy it to the fullest extent.

Reaching up, he cards his fingers through Dimitri's hair and feels his heart flutter when his lover tilts his head into even that soft a touch. "I'll help you figure it out," Claude promises with a wink. "You don't have to stress so much, Your Princeliness - although I guess the name I used to call you in school doesn't really apply as much, does it?"

It doesn't apply both because of the recent change in title for the king before him, and because of so much more. Back during their days in Garreg Mach, when they all knew there were dangers but could never have known how deep those depths went, Dimitri had looked every bit the storybook Fodlish prince that Claude used to hear his mother tell tales about. He had been upstanding, and polite, and kind, and wore his uniform with such careful polish.

The man who kisses his palm does not look like that any longer. He does not look much like any particular ideal in any particular place - not with his blond hair in messy tangles as it falls around his face, or with the shadows under his eye that speaks of so many sleepless nights. No, Dimitri is merely a man, tired and worn, full of mistakes and trying to right what he can even when so much of it were things he could not have reasonably been expected to deal with well on his own.

And he is Claude's. He was his for a short while when they were young, uncertain of their future, and he is his tonight. The future is no less certain in many ways, except for one fact: by tomorrow, Claude will be gone.

Maybe that is why Dimitri takes him so slowly, kisses his fingers one by one, marks a bruise at his throat where a shirt collar could still hide it. Claude likes it fast, likes it rough, and yet he lets Dimitri go as slow as he likes. He even tilts his head back, exposes more of his throat for Dimitri's perusal. "Are you sure he wants to do this?" he murmurs up at the ceiling. Dimitri's breath stops along his pulse.

"I do not know when I will get another chance," Dimitri confesses. "I know that makes me a scoundrel, Claude-" He doesn't hear the rest of those words, caught up in the sudden laughter that overtakes him.

There are a great many words that one could use to describe Dimitri, and those that hate him - for good reason and for shit ones - would no doubt use far worse words than scoundrel, and for far different things. "That's not the word I would use for wanting to spend time with your loved one, you know," Claude tells him, when he's caught his breath to the sight of Dimitri sulking at him. "Now relax - let me take off your clothes."

Beneath his hands, Dimitri's shoulders are broad, and his chest fits surprisingly well in his palm when he smooths Dimitri's shirt up and over his head. Claude doesn't know how he's managed to eat so healthy despite clearly being screwed over in every other aspect of his life, sleep included, but that's fine. It's a relief.

Less so are the scars all along his body - a few cuts, mostly burn and impact scars from magic. Claude's touch lingers along them, ponders the story behind each one. These, perhaps, would be viewed with pride in Faerghus. He knows that there are some that even Dimitri is proud of, the oldest that were before the war, a sign that he was able to protect someone beloved to him. Still, it makes his heart ache a little to see them.

Dimitri, fortunately, is a little more on task. He takes Claude's hand in his, and smiles when he lays a kiss to his open palm. "It's all right," he tells him. "I am here now, with you."

And that's all that matters.

They should probably move faster, honestly. The night might be young, but it's still only one night, and Claude knows a single night is never as much time as one might like. Yet they can't stop themselves, touching each other as though they can commit every curve and scar to memory. When Dimitri finally, finally, slides his fingers around Claude's cock, the jolt of pleasure practically catches him by surprise.

"Oh," he breathes, squirming against the sheets. "Careful-" Because he wants this, he realizes. It should be so stupidly obvious; why get into a bed with a school sweetheart if he was anything less than that?

And yet he couldn't have foreseen just how much he wants it. How desperately he needs to be touched, to be caressed, to have Dimitri look at him with those soft blue eye and whisper, "I know, Claude. I love you." How he does not come from that alone is truly a mystery. Claude doesn't have time to ponder it, not with how Dimitri leans down and sweeps him up in a kiss.

When they were young, and optimistic to a point, they never did anything in bed. Dimitri was too careful and stalwart, and Claude was - well, he felt a lot of things, at the idea of a romance that didn't require such a thing. But now, years later, with war still hanging over their heads, he wants it more than anything. So he grabs a vial of oil from his bedstand, spreads his legs for Dimitri's questioning hands, and coaxes him through it all.

He tells him how to prepare him, how to slide a finger in, how to replace that finger with a cock, tells him how to move through a tight voice and his hands digging crescent moons into Dimitri's back. He calls out for him, writhes, squeezes down with everything he can. And Dimitri... He does his best to obey, succeeds, and it shouldn't be anything less than simple sex. Average sex.

Instead, it feels as though he's being made anew, washed over with pleasure when Dimitri comes inside of him, and jerks his cock to bring him to release.

Semen stained sheets end up shoved off of the bed, and it would be cold if not for the extra blankets that were kicked off to the foot of the bed. Claude snuggles underneath them when Dimitri draws them up, and his mind drifts away. He has a long journey ahead of him, and a bigger one waiting for him in Almyra. He doesn't dare think about the sweaty and warm body against his. Doesn't dare think too much into it. He just thinks of what future he has waiting for him, and what he wants to make of it.

"I want to gift you something before you go," Dimitri murmurs. "To help keep you safe and well in the journey ahead."

A small knife is pressed into his hand, still warm from where Dimitri kept it in his pack, and then in his hand. It settles, just as sweetly and perfectly, into Claude's. He stares down at it. There are no elaborate sketching on the blade or its handle. While no expert, he can tell this is not some master craft. It is just a simple knife, with a blue cloth wrapped around its handle to no doubt make up for some flaw on the original leather.

"Was this yours?" he asks quietly, and Dimitri nods, his hair sprawled against the pillows. The bed hardly holds the two of them.

"It was the knife that stayed whole the longest, so I used it for all sorts of things. Skinning animals, cutting wood, defending myself, cutting my hair. Things like that. I... hope it will stay whole for you, as well, and be whatever you need as you carve your own path... hopefully where ours can join and intertwine again."

A part of Claude wants to laugh, because Dimitri is really giving him his hair cutting knife. But... it's more than that. It's not some knife that's never been used, given to a person out of some childish belief. It's not a knife meant for death. It's a knife that has been with Dimitri in so many parts of his life... and now it's being given to Claude, for very much the same, despite the fact that they both know what happened the last time Dimitri gave such a gift to someone.

Derdriu's victory should be something to celebrate. Claude reminds himself of that on the boat away from Fodlan the next morning, even if he feels he's lost one of the few genuine things in his life. It's hard to believe his own words, however... Until, as he looks out from the ship towards the hazy sunrise making itself known across the sky, he rubs his thumb against the worn cloth hilt of the dagger he now wears on his belt.

He has something that will stay with him now, a promise to see Dimitri once again, and soon. He has something that will stay at his side forever now until he can make that reality, like so many other dreams of his, truly happen.