Dimiclaude Gift Exchange

[warmskies]

"What if," Claude says slowly one night, "we fucked him into a state of health."

It is, he must admit, the kind of sentence that one would expect to come out of a man that is super drunk. But Claude doesn't really get drunk. He'll fake being drunk, and even drink some liquor alongside people. It's just that he's always hyperaware of just how much he's drank, and who he's accepted a drink from, and what exactly it should taste like. There are a lot of people who want him dead after all; there's always been a lot of people who've wanted him dead.

In theory, none of those people are here in the Faerghus encampment that's taken up residency in their old school. The old classmates he knew from the Blue Lions just aren't really the type... although if any of them were the type, Sylvain is probably the guy who would be most likely to fall into that category.

But Claude isn't drinking. And Sylvain isn't drinking either. Instead, with the recent arrival of his own small group arriving to try and help come up with a plan that will get them a one over on the Empire, well, they've both taken the time to catch up with one another. You know, sitting amidst some of the ruins, looking out towards the plains and forests and hills that stretch out past Garreg Mach, watching the moon illuminate slivers of creeks through the dark. Sharing berries that Claude had picked up on the way over.

Granted, while catching up is all well and good... Claude knows that out of everyone currently stationed in Garreg Mach, Sylvain will be able to give him the most information.

And it's not been great information, honestly, hearing bout how much Dimitri has fallen apart - not that Claude can blame him. Five years, on his own? Having been betrayed at the highest political level? Pretending to be dead? All of that would be enough to break a completely normal man.

It's no secret that Dimitri has been through worse.

Sylvain takes a swig from his canteen; Garreg Mach at least is nice and close to fresh sources of water. That's vital, during a war, especially when Faerghus's rebel forces are grasping for straws on literally everything else, including food supplies. Part of why Claude is here, he supposes, although it won't be for long. It's why he's got to make this count. "It'd sure be nice if a quick fuck could make things better for him," he comments. "But sex doesn't tend to fix all the personal problems in your life." Twined through his words, a quiet little bit of thread, there's the words Ask me how I know.

Claude doesn't ask. They're both aware of Sylvain's philandering ways from school, and how he still mimics it even now - or maybe it was just always a mimic. Instead, he continues his point. "I mean, of course it wouldn't. I think if that's all it took, Dimitri could have had it easier ages ago. I mean, we both know he's not been lacking for people attracted to him, on multiple levels." He picks up another berry, rolls it inbetween his fingers with care taken to not squish it carelessly or, worse, drop it. "But, I was thinking something else."

"Well, it's not like we have any better ideas here, clearly," Sylvain says, trying for light joking, but instead just tired. "What are you thinking, with this sex based plan?"

"We fuck him unconscious," Claude says, bluntly, and Sylvain almost chokes on his latest swig of water. "I mean, think about it - how long has it been since he's actually slept? I've only glanced at him a little bit-" And even then, Dimitri didn't even seem interested in so much as look at him, gaze unfocused on something in an imaginary distance. "-but even I can tell that he's having a rough time of it. So." Claude pops the berry into his mouth at last, and flicks up one finger. "The first step is getting him to sleep. If we can get him a solid night's worth of sleep, then we might be able to get him in a state where it's a little easier to make him eat something. And we go from there."

Honestly... It's the most basic of plans. But he thinks that, right now, Dimitri needs the most basic of things. This isn't the first time that Claude has seen someone in a terrible state during war, after all. But he has also seen, many a time, a broken man cobble the pieces of himself back together after bedrest, after a hot meal.

Claude's information network has heard what the Adrestian forces - both those in the Empire itself and in the hostage which is Fhirdiad - think of Dimitri. How they think of him as some wraith, a boogeyman that stalks the dark forests and unforgiving mountain paths. He made quite a name for himself, in the five years that he was on his own, and most thought him a dead man.

But he's not dead. In the end, Dimitri is still human. He still struggles with the physical and the material like all the rest of them.

It won't be enough to quell his torment, that thing which drives him to listen to the dead and fling himself so recklessly into battle, of course. Claude just knows it will maybe give him slightly calmer waters to float in. From there... They can go from there.

Sylvain thumps his own chest, coughing his lungs clear. "Well, that'd be one way to get him to sleep!" he exclaims, before he falls quiet. "...The rest of us have been using our old rooms, for the most part. It just felt like the thing to do. But I've never heard that door of his open once, save when Felix glanced in one late night."

Well. That just decides it, doesn't it? Claude smiles. "In that case, I might have to come find you so that you can help me lug every bit of him up the staircase and over to his bed. I like to think myself pretty impressive, pulling back a bow and riding on wyverns all the time, but Dimitri is a pretty big guy, now, isn't he?"

Of course, for all he says those sorts of things so confidently... Claude finds himself tapping his chin as he stands in front of the cathedral door one late night, when the rest of the Faerghan forces have mostly slipped away to bed.

Claude knows he is handsome. Or, rather, he has fought hard and long to insist he is handsome, and he can't let those words fail him. His mother told him such things often when he was younger, and even people who hated him seemed to desire him in some twisted way as he grew older. It's been easier in Fodlan, although that ease has come with the price of many secrets all tangled up into one big one. The desires of other people are less warped, a little more honest - they want him for his looks, and his skill with a bow, and most of all his Crest that acts as his main connection to his mother's side.

And he knows that, once upon a time, Dimitri thought him handsome too.

Those were brighter days, he reflects, even haunted as they all were by near death experiences, terrible atrocities, things like that. They all still had silly little competitions together. They all ate in the same mess hall, and attended similar classes or lectures.

Dimitri smiled at him back then - a lot, too. Of course, as a polite young man who had the future of a whole kingdom on his shoulders, he had a tendency of smiling at everyone back then, to some degree. Just, some people got it more than others, Claude noticed, as he carefully observed everything he could about everyone.

Claude was one of those people. When he teased Dimitri, earning either challenging grins or flustered little things that only popped up when he turned his head away. When they would bump into each other on the grounds, and Dimitri would ask him about how things were going in the Golden Deer house, or what did he think about that one lecture. When he invited him to go riding with him, one time, and they both got a little bit too competitive, but Dimitri had laughed in a way he'd never seen him do back in Garreg Mach. Garreg Mach, where everyone's eyes were on him.

...They'd almost kissed, once. When Dimitri had wandered back into the dance hall after a talk with Byleth, thoughtful, and they'd gotten to talking outside. When he'd brought up the idea of dancing together, and Claude had laughed even for all his intrigue. They'd leaned in close, shoulders brushing.

Someone had called for him, then. Or maybe it was Dimitri. In the dark of night, moonlight shimmering off of old glass windows still miraculously intact, Claude can't quite remember which it was. It all seems about as hazy and faint as the moonlight does.

It's been five years since then. Five years is a long time, even without taking into consideration a war... or, in Dimitri's case, being betrayed by his own kingdom, almost killed, losing a dear friend who broke him out of jail, and living, as far as anyone else can tell, for five years almost entirely in the wilderness. Maybe he's forgotten those times together, when they skirted on the edge of something that probably never had a chance. Claude wouldn't be surprised. If he's realistic, there's a good chance that Dimitri doesn't even faintly care about those memories anymore. All about the revenge... right?

This is a silly idea. He may as well have been drunk when he talked the idea over with Sylvain. Maybe he should try something else.

He's a thirdways into convincing himself of changing tactics when another part of his mind speaks up. The Blue Lions house made a promise to meet here five years after graduating, didn't they? And he's here. He's here.

He's here.

Claude takes in a slow but deep breath, not too unlike when he used to step onto the archery field and wanted to steady his hand. He hasn't done that in ages; war doesn't wait for slow breaths. But this is not a war. This is just him, following an idea, and hoping that it works. Hoping that this shot flies true.

Besides, he reminds himself, even if Dimitri has forgotten those feelings from their youth, again: he's handsome. He'll make this work.

Even in the darkness of the cathedral, all its candles and torches having fallen to nothing long ago, and Dimitri clad in that dark, dark armor of his... Claude can still spot him when he pushes the door open, its creaking dragging down his spine. A part of it is thanks to the moon's favor, drifting through the wide windows that the cathedral holds in plentiful supply, and is able to illuminate and reflect off of that pitch black armor. And yet another part of it must surely be given thanks to Dimitri's pale hair. Even after so many years of being on his own, with cleanliness clearly an afterthought if it were ever a thought at all, it is still as pale blond as it ever were. Amidst his black armor, amidst the dreary grey of the cathedral... It still catches the moonlight.

Armor like that must surely have come with a helmet, Claude wonders distantly. Where in these five long years has it gone since then? With Dimitri's kind of life, it could be anything.

A helmet isn't the only thing missing, but it's only when he moves forward is he able to spot the trailing blue of Dimitri's cloak, falling off the curve of one leg. "Doing a little bit of fixing up?" Claude asks cheerfully, as though Dimitri's shoulders haven't gone still, and his head hasn't shifted just enough for his ear to be facing him. Keeping track off him, even now. "Well, if that cloak's been with you for five years, I can imagine it's needed a lot of upkeep. Mercedes must be proud; I could have swore I used to hear something about lessons between the two of you once upon a time."

A friend of a friend sort of thing - from Hilda from Annette from Mercedes. It's not really important right now, in a multitude of ways. Just something to get the conversation going, something to fill up the yawning silence of the cathedral.

After all, Dimitri certainly isn't going to give him any help in this area. All he does is keep his head tilted to listen to his footsteps, until he doesn't have to anymore, because Claude is right there, with that well practiced smile that has gotten him through so many deadly politics no matter the land. It hides the way he looks over Dimitri carefully; so he made sure to use the ear on his blind side, huh. Makes sense.

It takes a... good few minutes, before Dimitri speaks up in that low rasp of his. "What do you want, Claude von Riegan?"

Some people say that honesty is the best policy. It's a sweet sentiment. Claude just doesn't think that outright saying he wants to bang Dimitri would ever work, no matter the man's mental and emotional state. "If I said I was lacking for conversational partners this late at night, you probably wouldn't believe me, huh?" he says, casual and relaxed. "Although I really do just want to talk with you."

Sometimes, the best way to appear honest is to act as though you've revealed a lie. As though him acknowledging Dimitri's suspicions means he's given up on that.

Hard to tell if it's worked, however, at least with that sullen glare permanently on Dimitri's face. "I greeted you. What more could you possibly want?" he asks. "Leave me be, Claude von Riegan, and go back to your schemes."

Claude isn't sure if he would have called Dimitri's reaction to him a reaction, let alone a greeting, but that's besides the point. They can get to that later. "What, you don't want a little bit of friendly conversation?" he asks, even if the answer to that question is incredibly clear. It's fine, it's a rhetorical question. Claude keeps pushing forward so that Dimitri can't try to answer it. "Anyway, the best way to get back to your work is to indulge me a little bit. What are you doing with the cloak?"

Honestly, now that he's closer... He'd made an offhanded comment about its state before, but, now that he can see clearly, it's apparent that it really is in surprisingly good shape despite all that it's gone through. Oh, sure, it's clearly been stained with blood here and there - most of it along the fur actually - and some of the strands on it look worn to all hell...

It's still in one piece. That's more than he can say for a lot of things that have had to go through this war, whether other clothes or, frankly, Dimitri's own state.

Dimitri glares at him. Claude grins back. They remain in a deadlock for at least five minutes.

The infamous wraith of Faerghus, the undead prince, may be very stubborn indeed, but bold of him to forget that Claude is incredibly stubborn in his own right.

Perhaps he finally remembers, or maybe he just gets annoyed and tired. Either way, Dimitri finally breaks eye contact to look down at the cloak on his lap. "Maintenance. That, and nothing more. It is only during nights like this when I am free to do such trivial matters, lest I be bothered nonstop." His jaw twitches a bit, in line with the downwards curve of his lips. "Most nights, at any rate."

Something is very clearly being said to Claude right now. He ignores it. "If that's the case, I'd think it be easier for you if you removed those gauntlets of yours," he points out. "Those claws add a little bit of dexterity that gauntlets otherwise don't have, but they're still metal in the end. There's no grip like that." If anything, Dimitri is just making it harder for himself, since he has to be even more exact with whatever he's doing to his cloak.

Not that it seems Dimitri is unaware of this... considering the way he narrows his good eye at Claude. "Is it truly any of your business, Claude von Riegan?" he grows. "Let me do things as I wish."

"You don't have to get growly at me like that. I'm not exactly someone who can force you into doing things you don't want to do, in multiple ways." Too stubborn, too strong... Dimitri has a lot going for him, honestly, which is no doubt why he's been able to survive for so long despite the conditions being what they are. It's why he has to do his best seduction act. Well, with that in mind, he has to be at least a little pushy and stubborn himself, doesn't he? So Claude invites himself right down next to Dimitri - a respectful distance away, of course. "I'm just thinking of what would be easier for you."

The thing about inviting yourself to things is that the people who have to deal with that invitation don't always take to it so kindly... and he's sure that Lorenz would have a heart attack if he could see the glare that Dimitri levels right at Claude. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Sitting down. Obviously."

Dimitri hesitates - he wavers. Claude can see it in the way that he shifts ever so slightly away, a distance that is positively minuscule, and the way he stops moving completely.

Everyone calls him a monster - on and off the battlefield. Claude heard about it long before he ever agreed to come to Garreg Mach, to make an alliance with Faerghus in secret from all the other nuisance nobles of Leicester. But as he settles down besides him, as he looks at the way Dimitri holds himself...

It's like that night of the dance, when he'd settled right there besides him, and Dimitri had gone ever so still in fear that even a stray brush of their arms might shatter Claude like glass.

Faerghus's monster. What a joke. The man besides him is still the same man he stood with that night so many years ago, where he'd dared to smile underneath rosy cheeks as though he dared to think he might have a future.

Claude wishes he could have a moment for himself, then. That he could close his eyes, and hiss out a breath, and feel some measure of pain. The more he goes through with this, the more something twists in his stomach. Guilt, maybe, for what he's trying to do so that they can all push through this? Longing for a life that was never going to be in his and Dimitri's cards, even if they didn't know just how much it would never be? There are as many guesses and answers as there are stars in the sky; it's a waste of time for him to try figuring it out.

And time, especially for himself... isn't something that he has. So he has to ignore that feeling, ignore what he's observed, and lean in even closer, pointing to the cloak. "Come on, let me help get one of those gauntlets off, and you'll see for yourself. If I'm wrong, I might even leave you alone."

Dimitri eases back into the position he'd been before, and narrows his eye at him once more. "...Might, is that it....?"

Huh. You know, Claude had thought that maybe he could have gotten away with a little more, considering all the years that he and Dimitri have been separated. But it looks as though he's left a bigger impression on Dimitri than he ever could have guessed. "I mean, all sorts of things could happen in the span of a few moments!" he says cheekily, and winks.

Somehow, of all things, it's the wink that makes Dimitri's face scrunch up all the further. But... He doesn't deny Claude.

....Okay, so, he doesn't give him permission, either, and they're back to another silent stand off. This time, however, Claude only gives him a minute or two before he pushes forward. "Listen, I'm going to reach over and start undoing everything, alright?"

Still absolutely nothing. Most people would probably be on pins and needles, with this sort of oppressive silence, and Dimitri's general everything. However, Claude has never gotten as far as he has by playing things safe. So he scoots right on over, and delicately places one hand along a metal wrist.

The world stops.

Faerghus doesn't exist. Neither does the Alliance, and certainly not the Empire. Garreg Mach may as well not exist either. Instead, there is only the cathedral. There is only the two of them, sitting there on an uncaring stone floor, Claude's hand on Dimitri's. The blond's breath has stopped completely, leaving only Claude's own as he sits there, and suddenly feels shy.

Silly, really. All he's doing is the simple act of removing Dimitri's gauntlets, removing its grasp on his hand, slowly sliding it off. That's all. Any squire would have been familiar with such a thing. So why do his own hands go slow, as though he is extending a hand out to a stray cat?

Jeez. Maybe later, he can feel embarrassed about this, rub at ruddy cheeks and laugh at his own silly actions. If only it were later.

"Okay, try fiddling around with your cloak now," he says, setting the gauntlet down to the side as though he weren't lost in his own head for a minute there. "And I dare you to tell me if that doesn't make things at least a little bit easier."

Dimitri doesn't respond, at least for a moment. Not long enough to drag on, but - a moment regardless. "So you think a single ungloved hand will be enough, do you?"

Interesting little question there, honestly, and Claude chuckles. "I mean, if you insist on having both done," he says, but doesn't reach for Dimitri's hand the quickest that he could. Plenty of opportunities to recant, to pull away.

He does not entirely know what to think when Dimitri does not.

When he had first stepped inside, the cathedral had felt more massive and consuming then it ever had as a student of Garreg Mach. Something about the architecture, the shadows creeping in, no one there but empty pews and himself and a person he could only cross his fingers in hopes he wouldn't be a lost cause... It's hard to describe. Lonely, above all else.

Perhaps it is still lonely, in some way, but it is lonely in a way he has only ever heard of in books, and which he never really understood. Lonely in that it is only the two of them, lonely in that he has no one else to fall back on.

Or maybe it is not loneliness, now, that feels so very consuming as he sits there in a cathedral with no congregation, just the simple serenity of two men with the weight of countries on their shoulders, and his fingertips brushing against Dimitri's snow pale skin as he removes his other gauntlet.

And they are so pale, his hands. Paler than should be right. It is almost ashen, in some ways, the kind of lifeless tone that belongs to the dead - which certainly isn't helping Dimitri's reputation here. Claude wonders when he last showed his skin to the sunshine, when he last dared to remove these gauntlets of his. All those years on his own, did he ever dare to? He must have had to do it occasionally, surely, in order to clean blood from his hair if nothing else. Dimitri may be filthy, but he's not covered in dried blood and smelling like a dog that found a carcass at the edge of the farm.

There are some scars, too, that Claude can't recall being there. Did he ever see past Dimitri's gloves, when they were younger? Those gauntlets he always insisted on wearing, as though he were more protecting the world from himself than vice versa?

His fingers linger too long. Claude realizes this fact just a little bit too late when he feels the sharp pulse of Dimitri's heart through his wrist, realizes how warm he has still managed to be even after all this time. "Look at that, all ten fingers accounted for," he says, maybe a little too loudly as he pulls his hands away, deposits the gauntlet with its twin. Yeah, that's absolutely what he was focused on, and nothing else. "Now, go on, prove me right. I bet you that you'll finish taking care of your cloak in more than half the time."

He's supposed to be seducing him. Claude does his best to remind himself of this fact, and not get lost in the profile of Dimitri's face as he stares down at his own fingers as though he's not seen them in a lifetime.

"What do you want?" Dimitri asks, and he does not growl, this time. He does not snarl, nor snap. He just sounds tired, sitting there, in the ruin of a church and the ruin of his life, where every single thing that seems as though it could have gone wrong has. "If you want an alliance, you have clearly gotten it. If you want power or riches, you ought seek it elsewhere. I can give you nothing, Claude von Riegan."

He hadn't used to think that. He used to make little promises to Claude, when it was just the two of them. Promises that never seemed to compromise his own strong sense of morals, funnily enough, but promises for a bright future. For a lack of war. For a dream that they both actually shared, in the end, from different perspectives.

And he'd known that he was in the position to do it all. The position where he could push through, and navigate the miserable political sphere which was held in Faerghus.

If the war ends, Dimitri will have to take up that position again... so why isn't he acting it?

Another bit of honesty. Just a little bit. It's definitely not that he can't lie to that face or anything. "I'm just trying to understand you a little better," he says, forcing his gaze away from Dimitri. "I meant it when I said it's been a long time for the two of us. I've heard a lot from other people how you've changed, but you know me." He laughs a little bit. "That's far from enough for a guy like me. So, I thought this was the best time of night to come and see you. Or the best time, period, without anyone else throwing a fuss." Also, you know, he may be a bold guy, but even he wouldn't try to fuck Dimitri in broad daylight in a filled cathedral in front of the Goddess's faithful.

"Hearing from other people would have been enough," Dimitri says dismissively, before scoffing in that low tone of his. "But indeed... That is not how you do things at all. I should have known that you would have come nosing about in here from the start."

"Ha! Maybe it's you who needs a refresher on me, just as much as I want to know more about you." This is the perfect opportunity for him, isn't it? He can't let it go to waste, not at all. So Claude shifts even closer to Dimitri, tugging his own gloves off without a care in the world. "We can catch up like this, over fixing up your coat. It looks like you were handling the fur mantle part of it, right?" Smooth as anything, he reaches over as though to inspect the cloak, and thus makes the brush of their hands together look like the kind of sweet accident that can be so common.

Some might think it's not the most seductive of tactics... but that's just for the average person. Those sorts of raunchy and aggressive techniques have never worked on Dimitri; Claude knows that for a fact from personal experience. Hell, he knows just from using his eyes.

It's this which always has Dimitri go still, to the extent that Claude can almost hear his heartbeat.

"....I know what you are doing," Dimitri says quietly after a second, while Claude is feeling up the fabric underneath his hand. "Do you think things are the same between us? That things could ever be the same between us, after all that has happened? I would have assumed you to have moved on long ago, whether as a man or as a noble. I can give you nothing, now."

"That's rather presumptive of you, isn't it?" Claude says, almost impulsively, but not quite. "I think that's something I have to decide for myself, if you can give me anything that I want or not. For example-" And he abandons all pretense, for the moment, goes for Dimitri's hand outright. Lets his fingers slide inbetween the gap, ignores the way skin has gone cold in response to the cathedral air. "Maybe I just want to hold hands. You can give me that, can't you? For as long as you're still here, at any rate."

But that's not enough. Not yet. He has to push a little bit further, just a bit, while Dimitri is staring at him with the wide eye of an animal that's been startled by thunder.

Claude takes that hand up, takes advantage of Dimitri's shock, and presses his lips along those tired and tense knuckles.

"I just wanted to see you again," he murmurs against skin and tries to ignore the fact that those words are truth. He's just here to exhaust Dimitri. He's just here to help make sure that the Faerghan forces can pull themselves together again, even a little bit. That's all. What use would it be for him to get in over his head again, when he doesn't even plan to stay in Fodlan if he can help it? "Even with as you are, Dimitri. Is there really anything wrong with that?"

Underneath his grasp, Dimitri's fingers tremble. Softly, at first, and then a little more violently, bumping against his lips. "There are numerous things wrong," he snarls, learning towards him, towering. Even with the two of them seated, even with that big bristling cloak off of his shoulders, Dimitri is still much larger than him. The goddess may not have gifted him a kind life, assuming she ever existed at all, but she did at least give him a growth spurt and the kind of shoulders that easily wear such thick black armor. "Why do you insist on putting yourself in the jaws of danger-"

"Oh, I'll show you jaws of danger," Claude interrupts, because Dimtiri still has not pulled his hand away, and that's when he leans up to smoosh their lips together.

Admittedly, it is not the most romantic way to lead into a kiss, but, well, that's okay, sometimes. Dimitri doesn't seem to mind it all too much, if he may be so presumptuous. Or else he has no idea how to interpret the way Dimitri surges forward, even harsher and more inelegant a kiss than when they were young and he was a virgin fumbling with his first romance.

Their first romance.

Claude has no idea when it happens, but then he's on his back, on the ground, and there's Dimitri pulling back to stare at him with that blue eye that somehow shines bright even amidst so much shadow. "Did you kiss me just so you could make that joke?" he snaps, and, gods, but he's almost like that man Claude knew back then. The man who'd turn his head away so that no one could tell he was laughing at Alois's terrible jokes, the man who'd look so very flabbergasted whenever Claude teased him just like that during sweet moments.

He grins back up at him. "You know I'm the kind of man who can't resist taking his chances when he sees them," he says. "Now come on, Dimitri. you know you always get flustered and don't know what to do in moments like these."

That's not wholly true. Dimitri was honestly a pretty quick learner, the scarce few times that they had a moment for themselves where their hands could wander as they pleased. Like a foal whose legs crumpled underneath it upon its first steps into the world, only to need but a day before it took off at a gallop. Dimitri was the same, once... but it's like all that knowledge was wiped away from him, when Claude presses his palms to his breastplate.

He doesn't have to so much as budge, in response to those palms. Dimitri does, regardless, confusion wrought across his face and drawing his brow together tightly. Maybe he thinks this is all some sort of dream. Well, that's fine, Claude supposes. If he thinks it's a dream, then maybe he'll go along with it more. Makes it easier for him to sit up in turn, sliding his legs over Dimitri's greaves.

It is an action that he promptly regrets, as the hard metal presses up past the poof of his pants and into his skin. Fuck.

But the person who loses is the person who shows discomfort, in a situation like this, so Claude bites back the grimace he wants to make and just shifts to try and make himself a little more comfortable. "Relax," he says, using his best soothing voice. It's a little different from the usual relaxed tone he tends to go for, but the better pick for right now. "You don't have to think about anything, Dimitri. Just sit here, relax, and let me handle everything."

Some of the shock is started to wear off; Dimitri's gaze is jerking to and fro. "But I shouldn't be doing this," he mutters, even as Claude patiently strokes his hair. "It's a distraction - they need me to be focused, I need to kill her-"

Oh boy, he's losing him. Claude leans in, gives him another kiss before he can say anything else. "You were just sitting here, fixing your cloak, before, right?" he tells him, keeping him distracted from thinking too deeply on that. He has to, if he wants this little scheme of his to succeed. "The cloak won't be going anywhere. Nor will the army. So you can spare a second, right?" Another soft kiss, a stroke of Dimitri's hair so that he can tuck it behind one ear. Touch him, distract him. "Just stay still for me, okay?"

For a lot of things he's had to do in his life, he's had to do things while swallowing down any bad feelings that they might have brought along. A similar feeling churns in his chest right now, as Dimitri stays still beneath him, heartbeat fluttering against Claude's fingertips when they slip down along his neck.

Ignore it, ignore it. A familiar refrain that's all the easier to repeat when he has to put all his attention to undoing Dimitri's cumbersome armor, prying it away from his chest and letting it come to a rest there on the cloak still spread out along the stone. Makes the sound of metal hitting rock a little less obvious, a little less loud. Everyone should be asleep, but, well, best to not take any chances...

And one of them has to keep that sort of thing in mind. Dimitri sure isn't, almost lifeless, a doll, as he lets Claude remove as he wants or move limbs where limbs must be moved. He still seems to be in a confused daze, not sure entirely what to make of the situation, even as Claude gets up to try and shift him to remove the lower half of his armor. There's only one moment where he finally stirs, where he dares to grip Claude's arm so that they can look one another in the eyes - eye, in his case. "You deserve better," he whispers, hoarse and desperate, as though he doesn't know how on earth he can even speak.

"I'd rather have this," Claude replies, and kisses his brow again. "Besides, what sort of wyvern rider would I be, if I couldn't weather a storm like this?"

He only dares to remove Dimitri's armor, and the shirt he wears underneath it. The boots, his pants, those can stay, contrary as it may seem to his ultimate goal of fucking Dimitri senseless and into a good sleep. Probably it would be a little bit too much, too soon. Besides...

Claude needs a moment for himself, too, when he peels away dark and filthy cloth to reveal so many scars marring Dimitri's skin. Pale, pale as his hands, so that makes the way they stretch and warp across his skin all the more noticeable. This is far from the first person he's seen in such a sorry state; certainly it can't be called surprising considering that Dimitri is missing a whole eye. Yet, for as well as he mimics calmness as he tosses the shirt aside, something in him aches.

Back home, he definitely would have been called a piss poor excuse for an Almyran. Scars are a sign of glory - or honor, if you're Faerghan - and proof that you survived a tough battle. And what tougher battles there are than what Dimitri experienced?

He still aches.

Fortunately, the best way to best an ache is to distract his mouth, too, before it can form a frown and push everything off the trail. So he kisses Dimitri again - on his lips, chapped and gnawed at, no longer soft and careful. He kisses along the arch of his neck, made a little thicker from so many years of wearing that armor and only ever that armor, hefting his lance with reckless abandon. Every single scar, he especially makes sure to kiss, wondering just when they could have forced their way through metal, or when Dimitri could ever have taken it off.

For as many questions as he has, surely Dimitri must have a ton of his own, because he hardly seems to know what to do with himself now that Claude is on him. His hands hover about, but never land. He makes noises, but never dares voice a word.

He'd always been a little bit awkward and unsure, when it came to such matters of the skin and touch, for all that he longed of such things from the deepest parts of himself. That much had always been clear to Claude back then. And it's just as clear to him now that Dimitri still wants the same thing. Still wants that touch, even if he dares not touch himself.

Claude wouldn't be able to do all of this otherwise.

It's okay. It's okay if Dimitri is a little bit unsure, if he's not exactly the most responsive partner. It's not as though he got into this for himself, after all. He's good enough to pick up the slack. So Claude does his best to coax him into relaxation, kisses every spot that he feels tense up in confusion and bewilderment.

Things like that aren't easy, don't happen as quick as some might like... but eventually he bears some fruit for all his efforts. Eventually, there's Dimitri's uncertain hand brushing against his calf. "Claude... I - What do you - " He trails off, the words struggling and strangling inside his own throat.

See? Claude practically speaks to himself there, for a moment, smiling a little more genuinely than he probably should. See. It's still him, deep down in there. Still Dimitri, who always brushed their hands together and yet never dared to hold them, for so many different little reasons. All he needs is a little bit of care. A little bit of care, a little bit of sleep, and they'll pull things together again. "Promise you won't bite if I tell you what I'd like?" he teases, as though he'd object to biting. "Here... Just like this, Mitya." His fingers slide through that dirty blond hair again, ignores the way it feels there. He's banged in far worse situations than this. All he needs is Dimitri's head against his hand, so that he can pull him ever closer.

Honestly, Claude is a little overdressed for the occasion. He's still wearing at least a couple different layers, which is the only sensible way to go about things when you're used to flying miles up in the sky where the wind is a little harsher and the air a little cooler. So wrapped up in taking apart the puzzle which is Dimitri's suit of armor, he'd never really bothered to take care of himself.

That doesn't deter Dimitri in the slightest bit, his chin and nose nuzzling away Claude's high collar, lips brushing there against his skin in hesitation. Claude tries not to shiver too much; it'd be pretty embarrassing if he was the one to fall apart here after all his planning. While he's there, still not quite daring to touch, his mumbled words roll along Claude's pulsepoint. "It was just.... It was like this..."

"Yeah," Claude breathes in agreement, head lolling to the side in encouragement. There, there, go there. It's okay. He wants it. "It used to be like this, when I was first trying to teach you how to - ha. You called it canoodling. I always said you picked that up from Seteth..."

Probably, Dimitri just picked it up like he picked up everything else that added to this old fashion, ridiculous charm of his. Like a classic fairytale prince, in more ways than could be described, even down to the silly bits. And he'd scoff at it, snort, huff up, but there's none of that tonight. Dimitri is too lost in his own head, finally pushing forward so that his lips can press just a little more firmly along Claude's throat.

Clumsy. Still so very clumsy, although he can't expect anything else. Yet for all the clumsiness in those lips, somehow, they feel soft again there at his skin, and there's a warmth that Claude had wondered if they'd both forgotten.

The thing about Dimitri, that Claude has to wonder has somehow gone missed by so many people hung up on the crown prince thing, is that he loves to please. He's desperate for it; maybe those ghosts of his haven't realized that simple immutable fact about him either. All it really takes is a stroke of Claude's fingers through his hair, a simple bit of praise. "There we go. Just like that. I knew you remembered."

Dimitri shudders, soft and violent, beneath him. Atop him? Things are getting kind of mixed together, just a bit, and the exact order of who is where doesn't particularly matter. "I don't deserve this..."

"I'm still giving it to you," Claude says, reassuring, coaxing. Another pet of his hand, a slide of his fingernails against his scalp. "So just take it, alright? Come on. You know how to do it. Just part your lips... just like that..."

Just like that. Dimitri slides his mouth so very slowly against Claude's throat, brushes his teeth right at the most sensitive part of it. Little bit by little bit, the pressure becomes more pronounced, until, at long last, they're digging in, a nice solid bite where the pain digs right down into the core of him. Claude hisses, doesn't tell Dimitri to stop.

It sets something off in him, then. Like a match to tinder. Dimitri snarls, hot, wet, ready and digging his teeth in again and again, hands curling into fists against Claude's hips where he doesn't dare actually hold him. Maybe that's for the better, considering that he bites in so hard and deep that it's a pure miracle skin isn't broken and blood isn't shed. Claude can't help, doesn't stop, the groan that spills out of his mouth.

In a way that will be an utter mystery to him when he manages to snap out of this state, Claude somehow gets rid of his coat. The cloth belt, too, and then the two undershirts as well. Details, probably, aren't important. Not when Dimitri is working himself up more and more underneath him, fingernails scraping against Claude's clothing where he just barely manages some amount of restraint. If Claude doesn't get rid of his clothes, he knows that Dimitri damn will get rid of them almost permanently.

And he'd really rather not have to scramble for a tailor in this place, in the middle of a war.

Of course, with how he has to basically push back against Dimitri and fight his stupid greaves, he might have to scramble for a healer sooner than later. "I know it's the middle of a war and we could be attacked at any given moment," Claude tells him patiently, wiping his fingers against his thigh as though that will soothe the sting of where too cold metal touched. "But I think you could afford to wear, perhaps, just a little less armor."

Dimitri scowls at him, just like he had when he'd first stepped inside. "You have never worn enough armor," he growls, legs pulling back against himself for all the threatening displays. Still a little unsure, huh? That's fine. That's fine.

"Wyverns don't like it much," he says, matter of fact as he crawls back over to Dimitri. Not too close, not yet, but just close enough that he can slide his palm up along the thin lines of Dimitri's ankle where bone presses out against thin skin. Where it builds up to the muscles of his calf, bumps up against his knee. Claude kisses him, there, right along banged up kneecaps that have refused to ever touch the ground. "And it makes it easier for us to get like this, doesn't it?"

Dimitri doesn't give him an answer; maybe that would be conceding something or another. Really, stubbornness is probably what kept him alive for this long despite all of the odds stacked against him, but he could at least play along with Claude's words. "What... do you plan on doing?" he asks instead, words slow, cautious, like a deer cautiously investigating something new in its field.

Another kiss pressed against bare and scarred skin. "Depends on what you let me get away with," he tells him. That's a little bit of a lie, admittedly. All of this has been him doing his damnedest to keep Dimitri from refusing to go along with this, which has meant pulling out all the stops. "But you know how it is when you let me get away with a lot, Dimitri. I won't make you regret it. I promise that it will only ever feel good."

That would have got him, back when they were first doing their little dance with one another, those fleeting glances towards one another and the small smiles that they exchanged when no one was looking. Dimitri, in his hearts of hearts, is a painful romantic whose dreams have been repeatedly torn to shreds by cruel and harsh reality. Promises of love... Claude had never dared to make them to him, never wanted to break his heart for when he'd inevitably leave, but he could say other nice things. Things which maybe could ease away some of Dimitri's stress, make them both feel like they could make it in this world a while.

But... Perhaps he has finally experienced far too many torn apart dreams. Dimitri's face warps at Claude's words, knee jerking faintly underneath his palm - not quite away but enough of a warning that it could happen at any second. "You fail to understand the sort of things I deserve, Claude von Riegan."

Maybe this isn't surprising - Dimitri always seemed to get so guilty about having nice things. About people being nice to him, even. "I think I've already said that I don't care what you deserve," he points out, not chasing after. Not yet. Instead, his hand still patiently pets along Dimitri's skin, takes in all the markings that have made their home there. Some of them are old. Way too many are new. "I mean, if you don't want to be selfish, then I will, and I'll tell you right now that I want this. You can put all the blame on me, if you like."

That's not Dimitri's way, of course, and Claude knows what his answer is even before there's that stubborn lil' huff. "Two people engage in love making, Claude. Not one."

Love making. Something pings in Claude's chest, pulls straight at his heart as though it might shatter it out from inbetween the confines of his ribs. How many years, now, has he been forced to survive on his own? He had to interact with people, then, and people during war, people who will not think twice about a man with haunted eyes and armor trading food or whetstones with them - they are not the kind of people whose tongues will stay pristine. With all that he's gone through, no one would are - even should - shame Dimitri if his own were to become a little more crude and crass.

Except, even still, he says silly little phrases like that. Little phrases elevating a simple intimate carnal act to something almost holy.

It doesn't hit him that he's paused just a little bit too long, enough that even Dimitri of all people stirs and the tension in his leg goes a little slack. He leans forward, bare palms there against cold stone and uncaring of it. "Claude," he says again, quiet. So quiet that it wouldn't even disturb a graveyard. "I... I cannot be anything for you again, Claude."

His exhale is shaky and cold, all the way up from the pit of his lungs. "You can be Dimitri," he says, and can't even manage to make it jovial and light.

And he leans in to kiss him. And Dimitri does not pull away this time.

There's no resistance, either, when Claude finally manages to undo the belt about his waist to pull his pants off. This is still not the most romantic or comfortable place for something like this, but he'd known that from the start and surrendered to the fact. More important than anything else is the fact that his hands are allowed to roam, now. They slide over firm thighs gently, dip down along the harsh bones of his pelvis. He's not hard yet, really. That's okay. Claude figured he'd have his work cut out for him. Now that they're this far, he's sure it's just a matter of time.

Step 1 of making it further is finding all the best places, but there's no need to worry about that. Claude knows what to do here, exactly where to touch, and it's not right there at the obvious source. Instead, he trails his fingers down along where thigh and body meet. Skirts past Dimitri's limp flesh. Deeps far inbetween his legs, where his entrance twitches at the approach of him.

"What?" Dimitri asks, voice hitching in confusion and maybe from the catch of his breath as Claude's fingers circle around.

Faerghus has a lot of failings as a kingdom; him and Dimitri used to talk at length about them and how they could be changed. What admittedly never came up was that one of Faerghus's issues is that they clearly never bothered to teach their people the wonders of the prostate and how it could solve a lot of their hang ups.

Okay, maybe not a lot of their hang ups, because Faerghus has more issues than Claude has earrings, but he thinks it could at least solve a few.

"Just trust me on this," Claude reassures him, not daring to slip inside just yet. For that, anyway, he needs his bottle of oil that he tucked into his clothes, and, you know? Moving the few inches to grab it would just be way too much effort right now. So instead, he works on everything else that he can do without it.

And that is a list with a nice length to it.

Dimitri, at least, stays still for him, letting his mouth wander over the scars stretched across his skin. The bite marks from where something dug in tight when he was likely trying to hunt, there on his forearm. An ugly warped burn mark darker than all the skin around it, no doubt where metal heated up from direct application of fire magic. Claude kisses all of them while his hand works.

Ugliness, pain - these are the things that Dimitri has no doubt associated with his own body for far too long. Maybe even longer than five years. Long enough that Claude saw him every day, and yet never knew.

He guesses it's up to him, now, to associate all those scars with something entirely different.

Hard work earns him a hard reward. Claude can feel it against his arm, although it's admittedly slow going. Slow, and impossible to miss. Just as impossible as when Dimitri finally makes a move that's more than shuddering in soft pleasure, more than little aborted movements where he doesn't dare touch him. He leans forward, breath in Claude's hair, his thumb brushing against a thigh. "Claude... What of you?"

Well, truthfully, it's better if he doesn't go all in just yet, or else he'll potentially end up exhausted instead of Dimitri. He glances up, winking. "Now, no need to worry about me. Not yet. You'd just get stressed out more than anything else, right?"

There's a frown, but Claude knows he's right. Not only because of course he's right, of course. It's just, Dimitri doesn't even try to argue against it. Instead, all he does is press his face against the soft waves of Claude's hair, breath rustling through every single strand. Another flutter of Claude's heart to match it.

He wants to pull away, almost, make some distance. Maybe he should have pulled away so many years ago, because this is just going to end up another sort of tragedy, isn't it?

Claude doesn't pull away. It'd... ruin the plan, wouldn't it? The plan to exhaust Dimitri, get him some sleep. Maybe get food in him. That's right, he has to think of the plan. So he lets Dimitri find some sort of solace bent towards him like this, kisses along his jaw. Works his fingers, patient and paying attention to when Dimitri jolts or makes a low sort of rumbling which almost doesn't seem human.

It is human, of course. A human is making it.

Dimitri really does have a lot of length to him, 'tho, he will say that. Means it takes a lot of time to work him up enough that the necessary amount of blood flow actually does its job and actually gets him even half hard. All this work, just for half hard! All this work when he knows well enough, judging by the sound of Dimitri's soft catches of breath and the little noises he tries to bite back, that he's enjoying this perfectly well.

"Alright!" he announces at long last, pulling away despite Dimitri's reluctance. "That sure took some time, didn't it? I thought my fingers would fall off and my hand would go numb, with how much work that took, but no one can say I'm lacking in willpower!"

"A more egotistical way of saying you are stubborn," Dimitri grumbles at his back as Claude twists around, going to finally grab that vial of oil.

At least the cork pops off easier than getting Dimitri all worked up. "Well, that's the beauty of words, isn't it?" he retorts cheekily. "A thousand different ways to describe the very same thing, depending on who's talking. And since I'm talking, I'll use willpower instead of stubborn, thank you." Scooching right back on over, he grins up at Dimitri with their noses nearly touching. "Besides, right now, I don't think you're in any room to be complaining."

That cute little scowl of his jitters in place once Claude's fingers slip right in, and the noise he makes is at least a little different from the ones before. "This - there?" he asks, displaying Faerghus's poor sex education once more.

"There," Claude confirms mildly, not going too wild just yet. He simply easees him up right there where it's most shallow, letting him adjust while Claude teases at the rest of the skin right there on the outside. Works him open, little bit by little bit. With how tightly Dimitri squeezes down on him? This is definitely going to take some time.

Thank whatever saints and gods this applies to that people in a military encampment tend to go to sleep early.

For as skilled as he knows he is with his fingers, however, Claude knows that there are ways to spread up the process. Especially for a diehard romantic such as Dimitri. So he leans in again, their lips simply brushing. "Close your eye, Mitya," he murmurs, kissing him again. "Just relax into it. You know you can trust my hands."

Maybe not his words. Hopefully his schemes. But in the end, his hands? Those he can trust, whether they're mixing up a potion, notching an arrow, or giving him pleasure.

Claude has always had to value his hands ever since he was young and couldn't trust anyone else to do the work they could do. His own hands were the only ones which he could trust to pull him out of any mess that people force him into.

It's far from the same way, of course, it's simply that... He used to think that Dimitri felt similarly. That he, too, had learned to value and trust Claude's hands.

He seems to trust them still now, his shoulders slumping as they follow his head until it comes to a rest along Claude's shoulder. "I shouldn't want this," he murmurs, words jittering ever so slightly as Claude's finger presses in deeper.

"It's okay if you do," Claude whispers back to him, pressing in now all the way to his third knuckle. That's right, there they go. They've made it this far, so things will go fine. He has to believe that. "I get pleasure from you getting pleasure, Mitya. I won't mind it at all... if you feel pleasure, okay? So listen to me on that. Just... listen to me." Listen to just him. Not the voices that haunt him every step of his waking moments and his deepest nightmares.

After all, if those voices - if they truly are Dimitri's dead loved ones and those of his country - if they truly love him, then they'll let him have this.

Dimitri actually comes quicker than Claude could ever have expected. Quieter, too. One moment, he's squeezing down tight against just a single finger, shivering all around him. The next, his fists are curling there against the stone, his cloak, and there's just the shakiest of inhales as he spurts his spend all over - Claude, the floor, his own stomach. Claude actually has to stop, there, and stare down at it all.

He... had sort of thought he'd at least have to jerk Dimitri off a little bit.

"You know, if you're not careful, Dimitri, you're going to give me the kind of swelled head that Lorenz thinks I have," he says slowly to the sound of Dimitri panting against his ear. "I thought - well I guess it doesn't matter what I thought, huh? I mean, this is what we were going for in the first place." What he was going for in the first place. If Dimitri is this easy to actually make orgasm, once all the wonderful foreplay work is done with, then... maybe he'll actually accomplish his goals quicker than he thought.

Dimitri gulps down air, finds his words again with a little bit of effort. "That... That was..."

Reaching up with the hand whose fingers aren't slathered in oil, Claude strokes his hair. "Pretty good?" he says. "At least, that's what your body seemed to say. It's alright. Take a minute to catch your breath." Well, he says that, but, well... His fingers still quietly work, gently pressing right there against Dimitri's entrance.

Honestly, with how Dimitri can get, Claude rather expects another snap. A growl at him to knock it off, or go away, or, whatever. It would fit the theme of the night. But, instead, Dimitri just nudges his mouth up against his ear, and his breath is hot, there in the chill of the cathedral. "Claude... Am I - I want more?" And, uh, that can't sound right, so Claude looks down.

Dimitri's dick has not gone down in hardness at all.

That's... interesting. Claude manages to keep his expression perfectly cool to hide the amount of bewildered question marks floating around in his skull, and just pets Dimitri some more. Okay. So. He's a guy with a little more to him than one would think. Much like coming so quick, they can probably pin the blame on Faerghus-grown repression. He can roll with it. "It's fine to want more," he coos soothingly. Dimitri was fussy about this sort of thing before his life fell apart around his ears; this is just more of the same. "But if you want a little more, I can give that to you just fine."

Maybe not with himself right now; Claude checks. While he's definitely been feeling it, being so close to Dimitri's heat once again and wrapping his fingers around his cock, kissing him, but he still feels he could at least be a little more erect. Especially if he wants to outlast Dimitri like planned...

It's a good thing he's flexible, in more ways than one. Claude sweeps his hair back. "Lay back on your cloak, okay, Mitya?" he says, and then squirms down a little more on his knees. With how much he's come just like this, Dimitri's still going strong arousal is all sticky, the scent of his want all the thicker because of it. It's exactly because it's still going strong while so wet that all it takes is a drag of Claude's tongue up against the underside for Dimitri to gasp.

He makes it so easy that Claude almost feels guilty about it.

Almost. Not nearly enough to stop as he twirls his tongue around that still throbbing head, cum dragging along that sensitive skin along with Claude's tongue. As his mouth patiently works along every little bit of pulsing flesh, Claude watches Dimitri from beneath his eyelashes. He really does look so pretty from this point of view. Down here, between Dimitri's legs, he can see every muscle tense in erotic desperation. Watch how his fists clench in restraint. From where they lay together, the moon falls perfectly upon them, and it bring back the shine of Dimitri's golden hair past all the dirt which claimed him for who knows how many years. Makes the flush of excited skin stand out all the harder.

All it takes it one hard suck right there at the head of him, sweeping up all the cum staining it, for Dimitri to come again with a shuddering rasp. Like he's choking out his own cries in his throat before they have a chance to find flight on his tongue. Claude pulls away with a swallow, satisfied.

Things are going great at this rate. If they keep up this pace, then he might not even have to actually fuck Dimitri for him to get him to fall asleep.

Admittedly, that'd be a little bit of a disappointment. Claude's been longing for Dimitri for an embarrassing amount of time, ever since they went to the Academy together, and it's equally embarrassing that such feelings haven't diminished in the slightest. Maybe he can at least make that the finish blow, the thing that definitively puts Dimitri to sleep...

He's still thinking about that when he glances back to Dimitri's cock and finds it still half hard. And, if he's honest, he's pretty sure it's only getting harder with every passing second.

There's a possibility, here. A possibility that Claude is trying to kind of ignore, stuff it way back into the corners of his mind. It's a possibility that is biting at his metaphorical knuckles even as he tries, because Dimitri's breathing steadies and he looks at him again. "Claude...?"

He doesn't even have to ask if he can have more. It's implicit in every single syllable there in Claude's name out of his lips.

It's almost a little bit like leaping off of a wyvern, hitting the water that they'd been soaring over a moment before, and realizing just how deep it was as it rushed over his head, pulling him down, hair trailing through the impact bubbles. A shock. A pressure, all around. Something that is still thrilling and gets his heart pumping.

Claude leans in again, not caring about what taste may be lingering on his lips; he knows that Dimitri certainly won't care. "I'm here, Mitya," he murmurs, words dragging against him as their lips brush. "You don't have to worry about a thing."

For all that he'd say he's a perfectly respectable size if anyone asked (no one usually does, for some mysterious reason in this very polite society that solves problems through overt violence and war), Claude doesn't have to prepare Dimitri too much for taking him. It only takes a couplee fingers before he knows he's ready. Maybe it's Claude's own technique. Maybe it's because Dimitri's body is just incredibly horny.

He's, hopefully understandably, not really in the mood to investigate on how this happens. All he cares about is the way Dimitri's fingers dig into his own cloak, there beneath him, as Claude's fingers finally pull out.

"I want to see you," Dimitri gasps, pulling Claude down for another kiss as he adjusts himself over his old lover, and what desperation there is in his voice. Five words, and every single one has hooked straight into his heart. They are words, he knows, that have been coiling and burning inside of Dimitri's chest for longer than just this night. The emotion, there, wrought through them, says that much, and more.

Maybe it'd be easier for both of them if Claude had him face down, raised Dimitri up by the rear. It'd hit all the right spots; Claude knows this from personal experience.

Instead of that, he takes Dimitri's thighs in his grasp, pushes them up so he can fit so neatly between them. "I'm here," he murmurs to him again inbetween their kisses. "I'm not going anywhere, Dimitri." That's all he says, before he reaches inbetween them, and guides himself straight on in.

When they were younger, when things seemed a little bad but not so bad that they couldn't fix it somehow, Dimitri used to lean in close to him. He'd murmur that he thought they were meant for one another, two separate pieces that clicked neatly together to make something wonderful. Scabbard and blade. Bow and arrow. Claude had chuckled a little bit each time, and attributed it to Dimitri being Dimitri. Dimitri, who'd faced so many horrors from a young age and still come out of it with a romantic's sort of soul - not like him, who'd faced a world that hated him from day 1 and become a little more cunning from it all, a little more calculating.

They fit together perfectly, now. Fit together like they were meant to, Dimitri warm and tight around him, pulling him close for another kiss. Just that quiet and wanting request had been enough to get Claude achingly hard all on its own. Like this, all of it made more intense through the physical, he almost doesn't know how he manages to hold on any longer than Dimitri did.

Experience guides him through it. Pushes past that feeling of being overwhelmed, of how sweet Dimitri is around him. Has his hips start up a rhythm, with every little nudge inside drawing out yet another noise from Dimitri's throat until Claude is kissing at it.

Like when Claude teased him, when he stroked him, sucked him off, Dimitri doesn't last very long. He comes with another soft noise he bites back, lips pressed into Claude's hair to muffle it all. The problem is, that's not nearly enough for him. Not by a long shot. Not when his cock throbs as Dimitri clenches tight around it, squeezing him as though he wants to milk him completely and utterly dry. Not when his heart is twisting this hard and fast, like it's been caught by a tempest there inside his ribcage.

And it's honestly... more tempting than he'd ever have thought to admit, listening to Dimitri keen and gasp brokenly against his own hand, the way he tries to close his own throat. Literally, almost, one hand pressing up against the arch of it.

Claude doesn't let him. He doesn't bother trying to grab that hand, stop it. Not with Dimitri's strength being what it is. But he has something at his disposal even better than that. He has his fingers, digging in against the soft flesh of Dimitri's thighs, and his own hips, still grinding up against him. "Come on, Mitya," he  murmurs, eyelashes fluttering as Dimitri wrings him nice and tight through his orgasm. "Not yet, not yet."

Not until he dives deep into Dimitri, as far as he can go, that body quivering violently beneath him, so sensitive that Dimitri finally actually calls for him as Claude's spend fills him up. "Claude-!"

It'd be a lie, to say that he hasn't touched himself in all the years since the war started. Claude isn't sure if he's been more or less sexually frustrated, with all the stress. Claude is sure that, no matter what he envisioned, no matter how he touched himself or how much... It was nothing like this. Nothing like pouring it all into Dimitri's body, the warmth of him right there at Claude's fingertips when he finally slumps forward.

"Hoo... Wow." He nuzzles up against Dimitri's chest a little bit. They're both kind of filthy, and it's cold, but, well, he's actually fine with that for once. The heat seems to have finally worked up around them, embracing him like a blanket. This way, it's not so bad, is it? "Mm, I thought this would be good, but that was over the top. Say, let's clean up-"

He manages about that much before there's those broad hands pressing against his own shoulders and, before he knows it, Claude is on his back, and Dimitri's massive frame is looming over him. How his dick is still in that ass is a mystery that Claude would love to solve. It's just, very clearly, not going to be a mystery he'll solve tonight. Not with the way that Dimitri's face is still flushed, the way he's pinned him to the ground, and...

Okay, no, this is ridiculous, how is he hard again, maybe seconds passed.

"Claude?" He drags his stare right back up to Dimitri's face, and that single shining blue eye. Dimitri nearly looks drunk, flush severe as it is, and with something hazy to his gaze. "I... I believe I still want more."

Claude laughs. The kind of laugh and smile where he's about to slip right off his wyvern and into a lake, because what else are you supposed to do?

"Uh oh."





"Wow," Sylvain says, standing there casually in the doorway of the cathedral. "Well, I mean, no one can say that you guys definitely didn't go at it, huh? It'd be a pretty hard thing to deny. Good thing it's me who came to check up on you!"

What a thing to say to his good friend, who is sprawled out on the floor of an empty and kind of run down church (thanks to the war), wearing absolutely nothing except, honestly, Dimitri. Dimitri, who fell asleep at some point, but all while cuddlinng right up against him like an oversized pack. Claude would love to join him but, ironically enough, he thinks Dimitri has fucked him past the point of exhaustion. He is, if anything, in some sort of elevated state where he might actually be merging with the soul of the universe, because his own soul sure isn't merging with his body right about now.

Fortunately, he's not merging with the universe so hard that he's incapable of talking back at Sylvain. "You're laughing at me. Your future king fucked me to an inch of my life and you're standing here laughing at me. Did you know this would happen?"

Sylvain shrugs. "I mean... There's been rumors that the Blaiddyd crest apparently carries with it more than strength, if you get my meaning, but it's not like I could tell that for a fact. I mean, Dimitri is Dimitri no matter what, so it wasn't like I could ever tell with him. And, what, are you telling me to look any deeper into the sex life of our past king and also my childhood friend's father?"

"I figured that if anyone would know, you would. And I was right." Claude groans a little bit, dragging his hand down his face. He wants to just flop down onto a bed and hit unconsciousness. It's tugging at his brain. He can literally feel it. "Oh my god. I didn't think he would have so much energy, after all of that. Sylvain? Sylvain, I can't feel my legs." Or, rather, he can definitely feel them, but he almost kind of wishes he didn't, with the stone and the cold and the aching of having to fuck Dimitri pause logical sense.

Walking over, Sylvain crouches down besides him and pats his head with that terrible grin of his. Claude knows that they share a similar sort, really. "Well, now we know for the future. But look on the bright side, amazing tactician. This plot of yours worked out in the end. I don't think I've seen him looking so peaceful in years."

Claude knows. He's not been here, up near Faerghus, to get a look at just how Dimitri has been doing for weeks on end, but... He knows. Can tell just by the bags he saw under Dimitri's eyes, how much more youthful his face looked when he finally sunk into slumber with his cheek to Claude's shoulder. A picture is worth a thousand words... and Claude doesn't think there are words nor an artist skilled enough to capture the sheer difference between Dimitri in his waking and Dimitri resting.

"Of course it worked," he remembers to say, perhaps a little too long after the fact. A little bit too much time in his own head, his fingers rubbing along the back of Dimitri's hand where he'd finally dared to touch Claude's waist. "Anyway, now we've hit an issue, I hope you know. Because I can't move my legs."

All his hip power went into keeping up with Dimitri as best he could, and, honestly, that didn't last too long.

Sylvain laughter at him doesn't last too long either, thankfully, although he at last has the decency to look away and cover his mouth. "Oh boy... Then you're in a pretty pickle, huh?" He looks back and winks. "Well, I'll see what I can do. Although..." Carefully, making sure his boots don't clack loudly on the stone, he makes his way over to survey the pair of them. "I'm a pretty strong guy, in the end, but... I don't think I'm anywhere near strong enough to carry both of you back to the rooms."

Yeah, that is a problem. Every second one of them is here on their own, without someone to chase any potential night stragglers away... That's a second their naked asses could quite literally be found.

In Claude's opinion, however... Well, it'd be bad if either one of them were found, he thinks. But - "Take Dimitri back to his room first," he suggests. "This whole thing is to make get him back to some sort of sleep, hope that helps his mental state. Help get it so that he can improve his standing for the Faerghan army, too. That won't work as great if they find him sprawled naked on the cathedral floor." If anything, it might rattle the confidence and morale of the army even more. They can't have that if they want a shot of standing up against the Empire. "I can handle a little scandal and weather through it just fine."

If anything, he could probably spin it off as a joke of some sort. Make himself a little more friendly to the common soldiers. Ha ha, Claude arrived and got wasted and lost his clothes somehow! Whoops! Unlike Dimitri in his current state, Claude is personable. He knows he can work it.

Yet even as Sylvain starts to crouch down to pry Dimitri off of him, there's a sound outside - more than a few sounds, actually, as the sound of clicking heels comes closer and closer. Sylvain straightens up immediately and speedwalks over to the doors to try and close them... but he's too late. A boot slams straight through before that can even happen, and there's an arm slamming against the doors themselves.

Felix Fraldarius bodily shoves his way in, and stares at them with the most flat look that is possible on a human face.

A long and more than a little awkward period of silence follows.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Felix finally asks, one hand going to his face while the other rests on his hip.

"Hello to you too, Felix," Claude says mildly, not taking any offense. Felix is just like that, and doesn't mean anything personal. It says a lot, after all, that he's like that and yet has still stubbornly followed after Dimitri. "Anyway, you might have to marry me now, since you've seen the Reigan family jewels."

A noise of annoyance pops out of him, and Felix whirls around to face Sylvain. "Just how long have they-" Another noise, and he stomps one foot, glaring all the while. He decides, in short order, that apparently he'll get about as much usefulness out of Sylvain as he will Claude, and Felix has decided that is nothing. So, instead, he whirls back to face the two men collapsed on the floor, and storms forward. Claude won't lie, a part of him almost expects to get kicked somewhere for the crime of having done a very dumb and perverted plan.

Instead, Felix goes to finish what Sylvain started carefully but firmly prying Dimitri off of Claude. "Everyone in here is a complete fool," he grumbles, amber eyes bright in annoyance and where the moonlight catches them from the open door. "Absolute idiots." And with Dimitri untangled, he starts to maneuver the man across his shoulders - chest and hips against both of Felix's shoulders.

Claude quietly notes to solely himself that Felix is also in here, and thus also a fool. He suspects Felix is more aware than anyone else of this fact.

But that doesn't mean it goes unnoticed by either him or Sylvain, the latter approaching Claude again but this time to swing him up into his arms. At least, unlike Felix, he treats him a little more gently with a princess carry, although, unlike Dimitri, Claude doesn't have his partner beat in height and muscle mass.

They manage to make it all the way to their old dorm rooms, no one else spotting them, before Sylvain speaks up. "You know, true friendship really is your friend's balls pressed against your arm."

"Shut up, Sylvain."