Chapter Text
Claude frowned at the small mirror propped up on his desk, studying his reflection carefully. He had no issues admitting he thought he was pretty good-looking, but… a strange worry gnawed at him, sometimes, if he allowed himself to consider his appearance at length. That what he saw was different from everyone else; that maybe he overlooked something: maybe a misbalance between his features, or a strange unevenness he had grown used to with repeated exposure. And then maybe he couldn’t be so sure, and maybe he wasn’t seeing himself so clearly after all.
He tried to dispel the thought by running a hand through his hair, purposefully adding some messiness to the locks. He did so again in the opposite direction, not liking the result. He was being ridiculous, he knew. As if something so silly mattered. He repeated the motion once again, regardless, somehow creating the worst possible result so far.
He gave up.
Turning from the mirror, Claude made to grab his bow and quiver, slinging both over his shoulder. It was late in the afternoon, past the hottest part of the day, just before his and Dimitri’s agreed-upon meeting time. An agreement that had been passed from Dimitri to Leonie to Claude and then back down the same channel—to Leonie’s annoyance—when at some point Dimitri realized they had never properly set a time, and he didn’t want to leave Claude in a position to be waiting for him. So Leonie said.
The act was a considerate one, but with a hidden sting—the notion that Dimitri would prefer to work around Claude, consciously avoid him, even in something so trivial as this. The thought caused Claude’s tentative anticipation to melt into something that felt more like prewritten rejection. A ridiculous amount to read into a situation, Claude knew, and so he tried to swallow down the feeling to rid himself of it. It didn’t work, not really, getting caught as a strange lump in his throat.
When he turned around again, idly doing a scan of his room to ensure he wasn’t forgetting anything, he caught his reflection again in the mirror. He was frowning, although he hadn’t been meaning to.
Claude drew closer to the mirror and watched his own reflection as he took a measured breath. He exhaled and repurposed his downturned lips into an easy, airy smile. He continued to study his expression for a moment longer, not really enjoying what he saw. The curve of his lips paired with the minute tightness around his eyes gave the impression of two slightly mismatched puzzle pieces that had been forced together. But he wasn’t sure how to make it more pleasant, less dissonant.
Eventually, he left his reflection with an indifferent shrug; it was close enough for company.
Leaving his room, Claude made quick work of the distance between the dorms and the archery range, sharing a perfunctory nod with Felix as he passed by him in the main training grounds. When he reached the range out back, he saw that he had beat Dimitri there again and gave a short sigh of relief. It wasn’t really an advantage worth anything, but Claude cataloged it as one regardless.
Claude decided to get in a bit of practice on his own while waiting for Dimitri, so he went through a truncated version of his usual warm up routine before setting his sights on the farthest targets.
His opening shots were graceful, clean, and he let those successes pull him into a natural rhythm for shooting. Nothing fancy, no trick shots, just one arrow and then another, until he felt as steady as his aim.
He heard the sound of approaching footsteps, a gait that would be difficult to mistake. The footsteps stopped a short distance away, and then Cluade heard a slight cough behind him.
“Like what you see, Highness?” Claude asked as he spun around, molding his smile more deliberately to his face with the movement, feeling appropriately settled by the time he caught Dimitri's eyes.
Claude wondered if Dimitri only had one set of training clothes that were appropriate for archery practice, or maybe he just only went in on the color black. Either way, he presented a near perfect reproduction of the last time they were together, even down to the new gauntlets. Something deflated strangely in Claude at the sight of them, as though the last hope that Dimitri was conveying him some silent message had finally been disproven, or worse, that he had given up the effort on account of Claude’s poor perception.
Claude nearly frowned at the thought: that he had been so… invested, in an unlikely and unfounded notion; it made him feel over-involved, off-balance. Paying attention but noticing the wrong things, drawing the wrong conclusions. But he resisted the urge, expression held steady; he was hardly going to put to waste all his effort to fix the right curve to his lips in the first place.
Claude’s eyes wandered up to Dimitri’s face, only to find him sporting a muted flush from the heat. Claude toyed with the idea of piecing together some sort of joke about Kingdom coffers and investing in short sleeves, but it seemed to be straying too close to a touchy subject, even for him. He dropped the thought, and any others pertaining to Dimitri’s appearance along with it.
“Your technique is… beautiful, Claude. Graceful. It is almost—“ Dimitri cut himself off, coughed oddly into his own hand. Almost…? He then continued, “Regardless, I think I understand a bit better your critiques of my own efforts. I definitely do not exercise that… fluidity.”
“I started on the bow really young,” Claude said with a shrug. He rubbed his thumb against his bow grip, considering elaborating. Decided on, “Probably around the same time you picked up the lance, actually.”
Dimitri raised his eyebrows in surprise, tilting his head as he studied Claude. “Really? That is quite young. I suppose that makes your level of skill no surprise. Still… I hardly think my bowmanship would look anything like that, even with years of practice.” He paused, gave Claude a shy little smile. “It felt like watching a dance.”
Claude felt his face heat at Dimitri’s words, stunned by yet another display of Dimitri’s unique combination of intense and oblivious charm, as if he didn’t realize how forward, how damning such words would be coming from anyone else. Instead, he merely cut his attention to the far end of the range, apparently assessing Claude’s work further.
“…Thanks,” Claude replied belatedly, trying to shake off his (pleased) embarrassment. “I guess we should get started then, yeah? You certainly won’t catch up just lazing around watching me do all the work.”
“Wait, Claude. Perhaps you could… give me an extended demonstration?” He was still turned toward the far end of the range. “I’m hoping studying your technique will enlighten me on how to adjust mine.”
Claude raised his eyebrows at the request, but he could think of no objection that wasn’t inherently more embarrassing than submitting to it. Claude had no issues with scrutiny. Attention on its own usually wasn’t enough to shake him, but the thought of Dimitri’s eyes studying him, perhaps tracing the lines of his form the way he had previously Dimitri’s…
He suppressed an anticipatory shiver. And then a groan. He needed to get it together.
“Alright,” is all he said, returning to his place before the targets and raising his bow again. He tried to get back to the mental space from before, blocking all else out and focusing only on the feel of his movements—not even the movements themselves, but how settled he felt in their rhythm.
It wasn’t the same; it couldn’t be, especially as he attempted to give Dimitri some more specific pointers as he considered the feel of his own body and its machinations against the memory of watching Dimitri’s.
“I think you probably pause a hair too long between motions,” Claude explained as he drew an arrow and then released. A perfect showing; he grinned. “Almost like you’re cataloging the motion as you do it. You already know this, I’m sure, but you can’t think about it. It has to be all action, instinct. Nothing else.”
“Oh—of course,” Dimitri replied. His voice was strange, almost as though he was distracted, and Claude resisted the urge to turn around, get a good look at him. See what Dimitri said in the line of his mouth, those oddly expressive eyes.
But he refrained, choosing instead to shoot until he felt his quiver empty. When he reached back to find himself devoid of arrows, Claude pivoted toward Dimitri as part of the same motion, giving an easy shrug. “Show’s over, I guess. Looks like you’re up, Highness.”
Dimitri only nodded, before gesturing his head toward the midrange targets, asking the question with a flick of his eyes.
“I’d say so, yeah,” Claude replied. “Might as well get right to the problem area.”
Dimitri nodded again, taking his bow from his back and performing a repeat of his inspection process from their last session.
Before he took his stance, however, he gave Claude a curious look, biting his lip as though in decision. He seemed to waver, gaze cutting back down to his bow instead of speaking.
Claude sighed. “Just say it, Dimitri. Whatever it is.”
“You have an… unusual bow posture,” Dimitri hedged. “I am not quite sure how to explain it. It is rather relaxed, I suppose.”
“Really?” Claude raised his eyebrows. He had felt so tense; he felt tense in a different way now. “I think you’re just a bit wound up by comparison.”
“I am not so sure,” Dimitri disagreed, bringing his hand to his chin in thought, studying Claude though he no longer held his stance. “The bow is hardly my specialty, but I have an eye for combat technique in general—”
He must have seen something in Claude’s face, some warning that told him to disengage, as his posture stiffened, and he appeared to shy away from his own words. He blinked, and it was as though a shadow fell over his previously bright eyes, hiding him in plain sight.
When Dimitri spoke again, his voice was smaller, muted. “Does it really bother you so?” He cast his gaze down and to the side, hunching his shoulders slightly as he spoke. “That I would… notice such things about you?” He grimaced, almost pained. “Or is it that I—“
But Dimitri cut himself off, visibly biting down on his next words. He appeared disinclined to pick back up the thought, so Claude decided to cut the conversation short for both their sakes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Claude lied. He resisted the urge to bring a hand up to rub at his chest, lessen the tight, unhappy feeling that was knotting inside it. For having to hide. For Dimitri’s forlorn, downcast look. For the way they seemed to stumble, constantly, right up to drops that weren’t visible until they were too close, and a painful jerk on the arm was the only way to pull back to safety. “Like I said, I think you’re just a bit too tense yourself.”
There was no other answer to give Dimitri. No way to be honest about the subtle distinctions Dimitri likely spotted between two differing bowing practices, nor any way to explain the cold sort of dread that pooled in his stomach just from the question itself.
Different, unusual. It was always hard to tell, in Fodlan, which differences started with him and ended with where he was raised, as if such a fine line could be placed inside him at all. But while the former could be uncomfortable when pointed out, held up to the light and scrutinized, the gradient into the latter was outright dangerous, carrying with it a host of consequences Claude was in no position to confront. It was best just to deflect. Or lie. To understand when the only sort of defense possible was a retreat.
Dimitri didn’t argue the point, and he remained reticent, quiet, as he returned to checking his bow as before. The air felt almost… wounded, between the two of them, and Claude watched as Dimitri shifted his head so his bangs provided a more direct curtain over his periphery, subtly blocking Claude from his eyeline. He could hardly blame Dimitri for resorting to his own self-protective habits. Claude kept building walls, and even Dimitri had his limits for being spurned; eventually he’d take the hint and stop trying to see over them. Begin adding to the stone himself.
The thought left him restless, uneasy. But he didn’t know how else to be. Claude wasn’t sure, anymore, exactly what was happening between the two of them. Didn’t know how to tally the way they each seemed ready to take a step forward, until the moment came, and then they both ended up a further step back, each time growing more aware of a distance more treacherous than it was wide.
And though it was alluring, the notion of finding himself right next to Dimitri—close enough to touch, close enough for closeness itself—Claude wondered if it was worth it, how oddly painful the path was to get them both there. Claude had done without such intimacy before; he knew he could adapt to the stable, even loneliness of its absence again. He could, he knew, but the thought hardly made him happy.
Claude shook his head to clear it. He stepped closer to Dimitri, feeling as though he had no right, tilting himself forward to try and catch Dimitri’s eyes despite the prince’s best efforts to remain aloof. Dimitri put on an admirable show of a thorough bow inspection, catching Claude’s gaze from the corner of his eye before cutting down again, his thumb running the same line down the bow's grip as it had just a moment before.
Claude mentally sighed as he decided to just make his way back to safer ground, and he changed tactics completely—another step back, another concession to a gulf not named so much as felt.
Claude studied the bow in Dimitri’s hands, newly repaired from their last session, and asked, “Were you able to get that bowstring from Leonie?”
Dimitri inclined his head, then added, “She was quite helpful in stringing it as well.” Dimitri grimaced. “I feel bad for… bothering her with so much, but I figured she would be a reliable way to get a message to you. We have both been rather busy these past few days, and I wasn’t sure… where I might find you.”
Claude only nodded, belatedly adding, “Yeah,” when he realized Dimitri likely couldn’t see the motion. Pausing awkwardly, and then tacking on, “Leonie is good like that,” and then immediately cringing at himself. What was he even saying?
“I gave the new string some practice yesterday,” Dimitri continued—ignoring, or simply not noticing, Claude’s fumbling—and flashed Claude a quick, conflicted look. “I didn’t want to waste our time together adapting to the new draw weight.”
“Oh?” Claude asked, mentally running through the previous day to consider when Dimitri would have been by. Not in the morning, when Claude did his own training, nor after lunch, a time Claude set aside on Saturdays to practice with Ignatz. “And how’d it go?"
“It’s strange,” Dimitri replied, giving up the pretense of shooting anytime soon to turn back to Claude. His eyes were still guarded, almost distant, and Claude briefly entertained the notion of running his thumb under one, following the shadowy evidence of exhaustion that rested just above the line of Dimitri’s cheekbone.
He put his hand on his hip, nodding for Dimitri to continue.
“It is difficult to describe.” Dimitri pursed his lips, considering his words. “It is no more laborious to draw, but the change has been effective enough that I think it is assisting regardless.“
Claude nodded again, genuinely pleased, trying to let that feeling carry him away from the hue of the moment—the tense, stilted atmosphere that sat between them.
“That’s good,” Claude said with more than a little relief. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious, but he had been worried. All this talk of helping Dimitri only to get him in no better shape before the exam? It made Claude’s stomach twist unpleasantly: the idea of a concrete record of his failure, and one attached to Dimitri, of all people, no less.
Dimitri gave a wan smile at Claude’s words, nodding. “It was a good idea,” was all he said, turning around again.
He added nothing else as he readied his stance, taking a breath and then exhaling as he raised his bow. He didn’t ask for critique on his form, and Claude didn’t offer it, instead merely watching Dimitri, getting lost in the line of his shoulder, the curve of his jaw. The way the sunlight played off his eyelashes, so blond as to be near translucent.
Dimitri really was beautiful, Claude thought, finding himself hard-pressed to qualify or undermine the statement. It was simply true, not worth the effort of trying to work around.
Still, Claude briefly brought his hand to his nose, pinching the bridge before letting it go just as quickly, trying to clear his thoughts and bring himself back to the present.
He watched Dimitri’s shooting, followed each arrow as it flew through the air. The tougher string did appear to be helping, somehow adding a small element—(increased resistance? A steadier nocking point? Claude filed the thought away for later, perhaps it had some other use...)—that shaped Dimitri up to something consistent enough for fine tuning.
“I’d increase the bend in your knees just a tad,” Claude suggested, not missing the way Dimitri went still, tensed, before attempting to relax again, do as Claude advised. He bit his tongue, unsure what else to do, needed the moment it gave him. Then he added, “And lower your chin, too.”
Dimitri accepted Claude’s suggestions without comment, making the modifications without further assistance. Claude watched the minor adjustments finish Dimitri’s transformation: each arrow hitting the target, landing closer to the center than not. It was so simple, how little it took. But that had always been Claude’s experience with the bow: all in the details it was too easy to miss.
Quiver empty and with a fine showing for it, Dimitri turned around to look at Claude, smiling small and pleased.
And Dimitri was beautiful in this too: these rare moments of simple pleasure—understated, bare, but his eyes shining like a mirror, held up to Claude as though he’d like to see their contentment reflected there together. It was so plain, in that moment; so easy to read. Dimitri’s gentle affection. And how readily he would offer it to Claude, if Claude would just reach out to take it.
Claude stared at him, considering. He wanted to. He didn’t know how. But—he wanted to.
It was gone almost as soon as it appeared. Something self-conscious crept into his expression, and Dimitri dropped his smile and his eyes in tandem, flicking out like a candle. He recovered quickly, meeting Claude’s gaze again to raise his eyebrows in a silent question.
“That’s good work, Highness,” Claude said, turning around to make his way to his extra training equipment he had left nearby. He picked up his spare quiver from the pile, using his rise from his crouch to cover a steadying exhale. “I have just a few extra pointers.”
“Oh—I. Of course, Claude,” Dimitri replied, accepting both the words and the arrows easily.
He grabbed one arrow from the quiver, giving Claude a quick look before moving into position again. He held there, waiting. Waiting for Claude.
If Claude could just—
“Direct me as you see fit,” Dimitri offered, looking over his shoulder to briefly lock eyes with Claude. He turned back toward the target quick enough, but the gesture prompted Claude regardless. Made him stumble forward before catching himself, forcing himself into a more cautious advancement.
Claude stepped just behind Dimitri, this time taking no pains to maintain any distance. Just a small sliver remained between them.
“Just a little help, yeah, Your Princeliness?” Despite the casualness of the words, the lilt of his voice dipped low, careful, and Claude could feel the air around Dimitri change as he read something of Claude’s intentions. Tense, anticipatory, like a coiled spring.
“Claude…” Dimitri replied, slightly uneven, betraying an unsteadiness not belied by his form.
“Alright, then. Let’s see the shot,” Claude directed, and Dimitri listened. He took a deep, measured breath and shot. The arrow hit the target, but a little wide.
“Again,” Claude said, kept somewhere between close and too far apart. Just… holding himself.
Dimitri shot again. A little wider, just hitting the edge. He let out a shaky breath, drew another arrow without words, shot wide. Missing completely. His shoulders sagged slightly, but he remained fixed in place. He brought out another arrow, lined up his shot. Claude watched the arrow graze the edge of the target, veering wide and unstable before landing far in the distance.
“Hmm… maybe you’re not so improved after all,” Claude suggested, said too slow, too deliberate, to be construed as playful. “Maybe you need a bit more guidance.”
He placed a hand on Dimitri’s hip from behind, and Dimitri sucked in a sharp breath. Somehow, he remained committed to the act, the pretense. “I—perhaps so.”
“Mmm,” Claude considered, “let me help,” he said, doing nothing of the sort.
He brought his other hand up to Dimitri’s shoulder, resting it there for a moment until he drew it inward, stopping right at the juncture between Dimitri’s shoulder and neck. His fingers just brushing the ridge of Dimitri’s collarbone. His thumb lightly grazing the top notch in Dimitri’s spine.
Claude swallowed. Reflexively tightening both hands, and he stifled something like a groan when Dimitri leaned back into the touch. When he felt rather than heard Dimitri’s own stuttered breath.
“Claude, I…” Dimitri trailed off again, seemed unable to finish the thought.
Claude inhaled slowly, attempting to regain something approximating control, or at least something that felt more like even footing. He wrinkled his nose a bit, as Dimitri smelled like exertion, sweat—like the hottest part of the day. Claude supposed if he needed any more proof detailing how far gone he was, how quickly he got caught in his own snare, then he had it now, as he wanted nothing more than to crowd in closer, squeeze his eyes shut. Rest a moment there together.
Claude, abandoning any remaining pretense for caring about Dimitri’s good bowing posture, began to rub his thumb in small, careful circles into Dimitri’s lower back where his hand still gripped Dimitri's waist, heat radiating through his thin tunic as though it were skin against skin.
Then, he sighed, resting his head against Dimitri’s shoulder, right beside his own hand. Dimitri seemed to understand, and Claude felt as Dimitri lowered his bow completely. Heard it as it dropped to the ground. Claude almost gave into the urge to comment: Dimitri, engaging in something that could be construed as poor weapons management. Perhaps the goddess offered small miracles after all.
Claude’s line of thought halted abruptly as he felt Dimitri lean back fully against him, not placing his weight on Claude, but settling himself completely into their points of shared contact. Tilting his own head back so that it gently rested against the top of Claude’s, something like respite.
They stood there for a few moments, just… silent. Claude felt Dimitri’s breath even out as he relaxed against him, betraying an earlier nervousness only as it melted away.
Eventually, Claude shifted, making it so they were not a few points of contact but pressed, chest to back, as close as he could get them without raising his head, without forcing Dimitri to raise his own.
Dimitri exhaled at the contact, something weary and slow. Claude opened his eyes, caught the movement of Dimitri’s left hand, gripping his own thigh with tight fingers. Still holding back.
“What do you want, Dimitri?” Claude tightened his hold as he asked, spoke the words into the space between them, unsure he could give them to Dimitri directly without being sure of his answer beforehand.
“I... I don’t—If you—” Words cut off. A pause. “But I do—want. I want to—want things. With you.”
So uneloquent, so little said. Claude took a shuddering breath, pressing his head more firmly into Dimitri’s shoulder.
“Me too.”
Claude watched Dimitri’s hand—the way it flexed and then gripped again.
Claude lifted his head, using his hand on Dimitri’s hip to balance himself as he pushed off from his heels to stand on the balls of his feet, so he could press lips near the outer shell of Dimitri’s ear. “And what do you want, right now, Dimitri? What could you imagine wanting?”
Dimitri didn’t answer, not really.
Instead, something broke in his composure, and he spun himself around until they were facing one another, stepping in close as part of the same rapid motion. He paused only briefly before reaching out to take Claude’s hands, just holding them in his own. Claude cataloged the sensations: the warm leather, the way Dimitri’s hands engulfed both of Claude’s own, his thumb stroking along the line of Claude’s knuckles.
And then, slowly, carefully watching Claude’s reaction all the while, Dimitri brought Claude’s hands to his own face. Held there for a moment, only letting go once Claude responded properly, cupping Dimitri’s jaw.
“I don’t know if—how to ask.” His hands held by his sides, even now his whole body caught in something like restraint. “I want… to be closer to you, Claude. Is that—alright?”
Claude gripped Dimitri’s face more firmly, and then stepped closer to dispel the small gap that remained, bringing his feet to rest between Dimitri’s, pressing them together from knee to chest, Claude’s right calf just brushing against Dimitri’s left. Dimitri’s hands, still dropped at his sides, lightly grazed the fabric of Claude’s leggings. Not touching, not reaching out, but a suggestion that he could.
“Touch me, too, Dimitri,” he finally replied, a whisper, more movement than sound. “I want you to.”
Dimitri closed his eyes, trembling slightly at Claude’s words. He leaned his head down, meeting his forehead with Claude’s—straight on, at first, and then tilting his head just a fraction, increasing the extent of their contact. Dimitri brought his hands up as well, placing them on Claude’s shoulders, then drifting up, so that his palms rested against Claude’s neck, thumbs grazing Claude’s jaw. An oddly roundabout way for Dimitri to approach anything, at odds with his tendency to cut clean to the heart of matters, to prefer a straightforward, deliberate blow.
“Is this okay?” Dimitri asked.
Claude nodded, silent. He watched Dimitri, eyes still hidden, then used his hands on his jaw to tilt Dimitri’s head, sliding his palms upwards with the movement to more firmly grasp Dimitri’s face. Dimitri opened his eyes with the gesture, and Claude held his gaze as he pushed up, finding Dimitri’s lips with his own.
Dimitri made a wounded, urgent sort of noise before stepping himself forward, closer, as if he intended to press Claude against something, hold him in place. The motion had nowhere to go but empty air, and they stumbled with the force of Dimitri’s strength. Dimitri’s boot caught unpleasantly against Claude’s ankle, twisting. It took only the space between one breath and the next before they found themselves splayed out, gangly and ungraceful, a pile of limbs and energy on the ground.
Claude had inhaled sharply, bracing himself for the impact of Dimitri’s weight against his own. Instead, Dimitri appeared to have caught himself above Claude, bearing his weight on his hands and wrists in a way that looked painful, though it was debatable if Dimitri noticed the strain of the position at all.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Claude quipped, using his words as an excuse to bring his hands to Dimitri’s chest, smoothing them up the the lines of his frame before settling them on his shoulders.
Dimitri huffed out a laugh that Claude found too sharp, too self-deprecating. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—“
“Mm, no. No apologies,” Claude decided, using the leather straps of Dimitri’s armor across his chest to haul him closer. “You’ll just have to make it up to me.”
Dimitri let himself be pulled down, and even better, used the combination of his own position with Claude’s tugging to shift his weight from hands to forearms, and settle himself properly astride Claude’s hips, narrowing the gap between their bodies as Claude did their mouths. Or tried to, anyway.
Dimitri paused, hovering just above Claude. Claude felt the motion as Dimitri shifted, bracing himself against just one arm. The other he brought up, using his forefinger to trace the line of one of Claude’s brows, then the curve of the hollow under one eye.
Claude stayed still, transfixed, involuntarily breathing out a low, “Dimitri…” when he made to repeat the gesture.
“You looked so upset, when I first saw you,” Dimitri murmured, “and then I managed to somehow make it worse.”
“I didn’t look upset,” Claude protested because he hadn’t. His smile was charming, he’d been told often, even if a bit aloof. And he’d been very careful to use it.
“You did,” Dimitri insisted, low, no real force. The words pitched like a reassurance rather than a disagreement. “You look more content now.”
“I’m not smiling now.”
“No,” Dimitri agreed, drawing close enough to say the words against Claude’s lips. “And yet you do.”
Dimitri pressed his lips against Claude’s. Simultaneously, he flattened his hand against Claude’s cheek to properly cup his face, thumb on his cheekbone, fingers moving up through his hair, settling to cradle his head as he pushed closer.
Claude brought his own hands up as Dimitri coaxed both their mouths open, groaning when Claude used his hold on Dimitri’s face to pull him closer still, the contact almost bruising.
Dimitri’s endearing, stuttering shyness had apparently left him altogether, and he licked into Claude’s mouth with a sort of fierce intensity that vaguely reminded Claude of the way he swung a lance. Dimitri seemed almost in a fervor, grasping at Claude’s hair, then releasing, running his hand down Claude’s side, then reaching up to push his fingers into Claude’s hair again. He touched Claude urgently, almost desperately, seemingly caught between getting as close as possible and cataloging every part of Claude he could get his hands onto.
Then Dimitri pulled back, just a fraction, breath coming out in hot puffs against Claude’s lips. His eyes were hazy, but they searched Claude’s face with the same fervent intensity as did his hands.
“Ask me, Claude,” Dimitri whispered, almost nonsensically. “Ask me for something, so I can give it to you.”
The request punched the remaining air from Claude’s lungs, leaving him breathless and dizzy. He tried to play it off, thumbs rubbing into Dimitri’s cheekbones as he replied, “Hey now, I think that’s my line.”
Dimitri looked almost… confused. Uncertain. “I only want what you’ll give me, Claude. Whatever that is… I accept.”
The words were sweet, but strange. Something sad and resigned in their inflection, which juxtaposed unpleasantly against Dimitri’s desperate, eager air.
Claude pulled back more fully, as far as he could, resting his head against the ground so he could study Dimitri more carefully. Dimitri tried to follow the movement, remaining as close as possible, only halting when Claude used a gentle pressure against his face to maintain the distance. Dimitri stopped immediately, his eyes shadowed as he cut his gaze down, no longer willing to look at Claude.
“What are you talking about, Dimitri?” Claude asked gently. Dimitri seemed tense, caught, and Claude had the sense that one misstep would make him liable to shutter himself away entirely.
Claude waited patiently as Dimitri struggled to reply, continuing to stroke Dimitri’s face in the ensuing silence. Instead of speaking, Dimitri closed his eyes, leaning more fully into Claude’s slow caresses across his cheeks.
When Dimitri opened his eyes, he kept them down, not allowing Claude any insight into what emotion lay hidden in their pale blue. At the same time, his hand grazed downward, trailing across Claude’s cheek before making its way to his mouth, tracing the curve of Claude’s bottom lip. The gesture was so painstaking, so intimate, Claude could only lay back in stunned silence as Dimitri eventually settled his fingertips against Claude’s jaw, tilting Claude's head so that Claude was facing away, toward the forest.
Claude watched the tree line as Dimitri leaned down, kissing his jaw once, trailing up a fraction and then doing so again. Then, Dimitri rested his head in the crook of Claude’s neck, in the space he created.
“I…” Dimitri finally began, softly. A whisper Claude barely caught pressed into his own neck. “I know you do not want—as I do. So, I will… give only what you would like to take, Claude. And I will not ask for things you do not want to… offer.”
“I—What?” Claude didn’t understand. He grabbed Dimitri’s shoulders, pushing him back and forcing them to stare at one another. Dimitri wore that same gentle sadness, having only tenderness for Claude as he structured his own rejection. “Dimitri,” Claude tapped Dimitri’s cheek as he spoke, trying to combat the hazy, distant resignation in Dimitri’s eyes. “Dimitri,” he repeated, “What do you think you want that I don’t?”
Dimitri huffed out something too insubstantial to be a scoff, looking away as he replied, his tone terse, self-depricating. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” Claude answered, firm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought…”
He trailed off, not sure how to continue. The last few minutes had rewritten his understanding of the situation—of Dimitri—making it difficult to remember the exact thread of logic he had used to formulate his notions of Dimitri’s feelings.
Instead of replying, Dimitri climbed off of him, ungracefully settling himself in the dirt next to Claude, angled so that he was seated with his legs slightly bent, facing perpendicular to Claude. It seemed the moment was over, then.
Claude sat up as well, studying Dimitri’s profile in the sunlight.
“You left,” Dimitri finally said, his tone oddly blank.
“You didn’t want me there.”
Twin accusations that hung in the air, settling between them with nowhere else to go.
“It’s not… Claude, it’s not that simple,” Dimitri protested, but it wasn't a denial. He flicked pale eyes to Claude’s, then away, then back again when he realized Claude would not speak without further explanation.
Dimitri’s eyebrows creased, and he frowned, small and unhappy. Then, he turned his eyeline fully toward the horizon. The sun wasn’t setting, not yet, but it hung lower in the sky, and the sky had begun to fade. Soon, then.
“I want you to like me, Claude.” Claude frowned, not understanding. “There are things about me that are… not likable,” Dimitri finished, voice low with shame.
“That is… what? Everyone has that, Dimitri,” Claude replied, though Dimitri’s worries were starting to take shape more concretely in his mind. An outline whose shadows sat uneasily in Claude's stomach. He considered reaching out, pressing his palm into Dimitri’s back as he spoke. He clenched his fist in his lap instead. “We all have things that are… unlikable. Or scorned,” Claude added with a frown. “Held against us.”
“Perhaps,” Dimitri offered the word less like an agreement than a compromise, neither arguing the point nor conceding ground. He paused, and Claude debated waiting him out a second time before Dimitri started again, looking almost as though the words left him against his will. “But it is hardly all the same, is it? Do you think you have earned to have parts of yourself held against you, Claude? Do you think it’s right?”
“No,” Claude answered immediately, his throat hard, tight. He suddenly felt restless, cagey. Almost angry. Not at Dimitri, not exactly, but Dimitri was the one asking, pushing, forcing him in a direction he didn’t like to go. As though Dimitri’s hand was held round his wrist, next to a flame, and Claude couldn’t yet tell if he was pushing it towards the heat or pulling it away.
“Well, that’s it, then,” Dimitri decided, an air of resolution to the statement. Claude turned his head, looking at Dimitri straight on, studying the stony disquiet in the lines of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. “I have,” Dimitri whispered, almost too soft to catch. Paused, swallowing. “Earned it. And I don’t know how to be different—better. Than the worst of myself. So I must… own it, yes? I mustn’t run away from those parts of me that are—unacceptable. Ugly.”
The words made Claude so unhappy he reached out immediately, unsure how else to dissipate the urgent energy they filled him with. The sense that they were having two painfully different conversations, a chasm that could only be bridged through means less fallible, or just more honest, than words. He followed the motion to its natural conclusion, bringing himself closer again, closing the small gap between them.
Instead of his hand, Claude rested his head against Dimitri’s back once more, his forehead settling near the crook between neck and shoulder. They sat there, silent, until Claude felt the tension begin to slowly drain out of Dimitri once more. Claude felt himself relax as well, a tension bleeding out of him that he only became aware of once properly freed from its weight. He sighed into the position, feeling a long, echoed exhale from his position against Dimitri, and they remained there together for a moment longer still.
Then, placing one hand on Dimitri’s shoulder, Claude lifted his head as he pulled, urging Dimitri to turn around. Claude knew he had no power here; he could not force an action from Dimitri that he chose not to take.
But Dimitri let him.
Dimitri didn’t look at him, not at first, but eventually he gave in to the persistence of Claude’s presence, and he brought his eyes to meet Claude’s own.
Claude smiled at him, small—a little strained, not charming at all. But… he meant it.
“Don’t make decisions for me, Dimitri.”
“I—“ Dimitri cut off, confused. “What?”
Claude continued his efforts, using his arm to pull—then push, as he adjusted his grip on his shoulder—Dimitri to the ground, so Claude was hovering above him. He smiled again, and Claude wondered if Dimitri was aware when he mirrored the expression, something soft and bare coming to line his own mouth.
It was all the encouragement Claude needed to continue.
Claude shifted from sitting onto his hands and knees again, crawling atop of Dimitri—and they really did have to stop meeting like this, constantly caught in the dirt together—arms planted on either side of Dimitri’s head as he hovered above him.
“It’s not really your decision, is it?” Claude continued, leaning down as he spoke, words growing softer as he grew closer. “What I like. What I find… acceptable. And…” Claude trailed off, suddenly nervous. He paused, hedging, “I think you’re rather easy on the eyes, too.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Dimitri protested, whispering himself. He was still, so still, seemingly caught even as he disagreed. “You wouldn’t want—If you...” Dimitri gave Claude a hopeless look, settling on, “I don’t know how to—show only what’s worth seeing.”
“I know,” Claude murmured. Then repeated, “I know,” he paused, just above Dimitri. “There are ugly things in me, too, Dimitri,” Claude swallowed, throat raw. “Should I reject you based on that alone, make that call for you? Or maybe what they said was true. I have nothing to offer, no reason to be kept around. Better if I would just—" He broke off, looking away. "I didn't really have a place; I didn't... belong. Or that was the gist of it."
Dimitri’s eyes widened, and his stillness snapped. He brought his hands to Claude’s waist, gripping tightly, as though to keep him there.
He looked incensed as he asked, “Who would say such things to you?”
Claude shrugged, didn’t really want to linger. “Lots of people.” He eyed Dimitri pointedly. “And often.”
Dimitri looked so unhappy. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dimitri argued firmly. “I’m sorry it happened to you. You…” Dimitri pressed his lips together, considering. He rubbed circles, apparently without thought, into Claude’s hips. “You must have been quite young.”
“Yes,” but he didn’t want to talk about that. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He moved one hand to Dimitri’s face, just cupping his jaw as he had done before. “Will you hold that against me? If I am not as untroubled as I act? You paint a rather pretty portrait from a distance, Highness. How could I hope to stand next to it?”
“What? That is hardly how I would describe our positions." Dimitri frowned, more melancholy than upset, almost introspective. He continued, "but... of course not, Claude. You do not have to... pretend, with me. I would never expect that of you."
“I didn’t think so.” Claude smiled softly with the words. “So then do you think so bad of me that I’d be unable to do the same?”
Caught in Claude’s logic, Dimitri gave a frustrated sigh.
“I would not say it is the same at all,” he finally said. “I… don’t really know you, Claude. What has… happened to you. What people must have said, or done—“
Claude cut him off. “Are we just the things that happen to us?”
“Aren’t we?” Dimitri shot back. “I find it—I don’t—“ he cut himself off, frustrated, upset.
“Dimitri,” Claude said his name, gently. Dimitri’s eyes startled back to his own, and it made Claude smile, small and intimate. “Can you trust me enough to—“ Claude swallowed, nervous, the words nearly stuck in his throat. “to try? To let me try?”
“I do trust you,” Dimitri replied easily, without thought, “And I want. I would like—could you, Claude?”
“I want to,” Claude admitted. “I—I’m not. There are some things I can’t say. Right now. Things I don’t know how to—show yet, either.”
“But one day?” Dimitri's gaze was steady, patient.
Claude shrugged. “Hopefully one day it won’t matter.” But Claude paused, searching Dimitri’s face. And he thought about it… just telling Dimitri. About himself, about his past—about the things that were easier not to think about at all. And also about home. The things he loved, and missed. The good and the bad. Everything that tangled up inside of him when he thought about a white hot sun, endless seas of sand. “But... I’d like to tell you anyway.”
Dimitri’s gaze finally softened, the last of his tension leaving his brow. Claude grazed a thumb against the shadow of its presence, following the line of Dimitri's temple.
“I’ve missed you,” Dimitri confessed simply. “These last few weeks.”
Claude frowned. “You were the one staying away.”
Dimitri blinked in surprise. “Because I thought you wanted the space. Because… you left. I didn’t—when I woke up alone—“ Dimitri bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. “I thought you were trying to imply that it was… a one time thing. Or,” Dimitri paused, his wounded tension briefly returning. “That you regretted it. I was—so awkward. So fumbling. And then…”
“Then…” Claude prompted gently.
“I had a nightmare,” Dimitri admitted, closing his eyes completely, somehow making the shadowed smudges under them more prominent. “I… have them often. They can be quite… affected. I was worried...“ He stopped. Opened his eyes. “I haven’t shared a bed in a long time.”
Claude pressed his face into Dimitri’s neck. Didn’t know how to say everything he wanted to. “I—me either."
Dimitri didn’t reply at first, but he brought a hand up to rest on the back of Claude’s neck, began stroking the hair there softly, in long, drawn out motions.
“It seems we have both been quite foolish, wouldn’t you say, Claude?”
“Speak for yourself,” Claude shot back, still tucked into Dimitri’s neck.
“Don’t you—“
But Claude decided Dimitri had said enough for now, and he shifted slightly, bringing his lips against Dimitri’s neck, cutting off Dimitri’s words with ease. He kissed softly, and then, paused, considering, just... curious. Interested to see what would happen. He bit down lightly, no real pressure, just sensation.
Dimitri let out a yelp, hands tightening where they gripped Claude. Relaxing just a quickly.
“C-Claude!”
“Mmm,” Claude pulled back, giving Dimitri a swift peck on the lips, just because he could. “You still have to make it up to me from earlier, remember? Since we’re still laying in the dirt.”
“Need I remind you, Claude, you crawled back on top of me,” Dimitri’s tone was reprimanding, almost bossy. Unfairly attractive, and Claude almost groaned to think of the bizarre, instinctual arousal he might experience next time he overheard one of the prince’s famous lectures.
How embarrassing, Claude thought, and then decided to do nothing about it.
“That a no, then?” Claude made to pull back, delighted as Dimitri did not hesitate to counteract the movement, wrapping his hands around the leather straps of Claude’s armor, keeping him close. “Ah, guess not then.”
“Be quiet, Claude,” Dimitri said against his lips.
“But I—“
Dimitri cut him off this time, using his grip on Claude’s armor straps to bring them closer together. He ran his hands up to hold Claude in place at the shoulders, before sliding up further to lightly cradle Claude’s head at his neck. He rubbed slow, deliberate lines along the curve of Claude’s jaw as he sighed into the kiss.
Dimitri’s desperate urgency had dissipated, and he kissed Claude with a slow languor, moving one hand from its position at the base of Claude’s head to drift unhurried lines up and down the curve of Claude’s spine. His touch was featherlight, more of a suggestion than a reality, meant to soothe—perhaps both Claude and himself.
Claude took a moment to share in his lazy contentment, before deciding he kind of wanted that urgency—its intensity—back. At least just a bit, eager to feel the feverish gravity of Dimitri's singleminded vigor as it focused solely on him.
He pulled back, not far, just enough to begin to trail his mouth down the curve of Dimitri’s neck, ending low near the base of his throat, lower than he would have been able to get had Dimitri been in his usual uniform. He kissed the skin lightly, just grazing, feeling with his lips the way Dimitri’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, Claude pressed in with his teeth.
Dimitri’s breath hitched immediately, and he let out a breathy noise that started like the beginning of Claude’s name without the endurance to follow through and finish it.
Claude pulled back a hair, just enough to tilt his head up to speak in Dimitri’s ear.
“Would you let me? Mark you?” Claude’s own voice was breathless, a little strained. “I kind of want to. I like the idea of… evidence, hm?”
Dimitri’s breath stuttered. “Claude—I. Yes.” A beat. “You can—yes.”
Claude pulled back to look at Dimitri’s face, catch his eyes, their bright heat. Dimitri's wide, dark pupils tracked him, and Claude shivered, pleased and caught, unable to look away.
He swallowed, nodding, before setting his teeth to Dimitri’s throat again, feeling the prince’s pulse against his tongue.
Dimitri sucked in a sharp breath, hands moving, letting go of his hold on Claude's shoulders to grab the backs of Claude’s thighs, at once squeezing and pulling, as though to try and haul Claude closer. Claude groaned against Dimitri’s throat, the hot pressure of Dimitri’s hands almost enough to derail him entirely. Instead, he sunk his teeth in further, working the skin slightly with his mouth, just to see what Dimitri would do.
Dimitri gripped tighter, just on the edge of too tight, his breaths coming out in quick pants near Claude’s ear. He let out a breathy whine, and that was it. Claude abandoned his efforts—sure he’d get another chance another time—and brought himself back up to Dimitri to seal their mouths together again instead. Dimitri responded in kind, trailing his hands up—over the curve of Claude’s ass—before wrapping his arms around Claude’s waist to bring their upper bodies flush against each other.
They exchanged messy, uncoordinated kisses as Claude pushed his fingers through Dimitri’s hair, grounding them both in the contact. Claude hitched an unsteady breath, tightening his fingers reflexively, his whole body shuddering when Dimitri let out a low, instinctive groan in response.
Claude felt hazy, almost intoxicated, and Dimitri’s body against his created an urgent kind of friction he knew he could get lost in, lose the better part of his good sense to. Claude broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to pant ragged, unsteady air against Dimitri’s lips, unable to hold back a small smirk as Dimitri’s wrecked, unfocused gaze tracked his movements, the way Claude licked his own lips, just to encourage the reaction.
“Mmm.” Claude tried to piece back together something resembling basic thought, if not actual coherence. “We should probably not fuck on the archery range grounds, don’t you think?”
“C-Claude!” Dimitri protested, ears going red. “That‘s hardly—“
“Although,” Claude cut him off, feeling cheeky, “we’re establishing quite the pattern of near misses. Maybe we should go ahead and break the chain now?”
“Two incidents are hardly a precedent, Claude.” Dimitri pressed his lips together, but Claude was no slouch. He caught the corners of Dimitri’s mouth threatening to twitch up into his own smirk. “Besides, I believe we have… exhausted our options in terms of training facilities.”
“Hmm, and would you count the horse stables?” Claude pecked Dimitri’s lips. “The wyvern tower?” Another one. “They’re both quite empty around this time.”
“I think I’ve lost the thread a bit, Claude.” Dimitri turned his head, nuzzling Claude’s jaw, kissing the corner near his ear. “You actually sound a bit eager. Are we avoiding them, or setting up a future rendezvous?” Dimitri continued his path up, stopping to whisper right in Claude’s ear, his voice anything but arousing, its playful lilt completely at Claude's expense, and painfully endearing. “I’ve always known the stables to have a rather… particular odor. Perhaps the wyvern tower is different?” Then Dimitri pulled back altogether, raising his eyebrows in feigned surprise as he continued to tease Claude. “Or… is that part of the appeal? For you?”
Claude huffed out a laugh, startled, then rolled over and off Dimitri.
“Wow. You killed it. My libido is officially dead.”
Dimitri cut his gaze to Claude’s, voice dry, completely unsympathetic. “It will recover, I’m sure.”
“Cruel, Dimitri, so cruel.” Clause rolled onto his side, unable to stay away, hovering over Dimitri once again. He leaned down to give him a soft kiss, couldn’t help the way his hand reached up, tracing his cheek, as well. “Perhaps you should carry me off then? Revive it yourself?”
Dimitri didn’t indulge him, instead giving Claude one last kiss before making to stand. Above Claude, he reached down to help him up, not letting go of Claude’s hand once they were both upright again. Instead, he twisted his hold, making it so he and Claude could press palms together, intertwine their fingers.
And then he led them away together.
***
Wednesday rolled around, and with it, Dimitri’s certification exam. The rescheduled exam had him taking off his afternoon classes, beginning with the physical portion at the archery range and ending with the written half in the classroom.
At some point, the exam was delayed, starting and thus ending later than anticipated. This left Claude hanging out outside the Blue Lions classroom longer than he would have liked, forcing him to attempt to play the part of more casual than he knew he was actually behaving.
Eventually Dimitri exited the classroom, a small, relieved smile on his face. He noticed Claude’s presence a moment later, and his smile softened, taking on a muted glow.
“That’s a good look!” Claude announced, hopping down from the ledge he sat on to bump shoulders with Dimitri, allowing himself to stand too close as they began to walk past the classrooms, Dimitri taking the silent cue to follow Claude’s lead.
“Ah, yes. I passed,” Dimitri confirmed, giving Claude a shy look. “Of course, I have you to thank for that.”
Claude laughed, a little disbelieving, a little pleased. “Hardly, but I’ll take the praise anyway, Highness. Anyways, I’m glad I caught you,” Claude digressed, playing off the intentionality of their meeting, while Dimitri was kind enough not to call him on it, only giving Claude an amused cut of his gaze.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I’ve come to steal you away,” Claude said, brushing his shoulder with Dimitri once again, their hands grazing with the action.
Dimitri gave a concerned look toward the sky, the sun sunk low. Claude bit the inside of his cheek, sure he was going to have to wear away at Dimitri’s hesitance to get him to play a bit of hooky.
Instead, Dimitri turned to catch Claude’s eye, asking, “It’s rather late in the day for an international incident, wouldn’t you say?”
Claude let out a startled laugh, shaking his head at Dimitri and his strange wit, charmed despite himself. He gave up the pretext of maintaining any distance, grabbing Dimitri on the bicep, holding him close as he pulled him along. Dimitri indulged him, and they both pretended there was anything other than Dimitri allowing Claude the pretense of dragging him wherever he pleased.
He was heading in the direction of the training grounds, but that wasn’t his destination. Through the grounds, past the archery range, and just a bit into the forest was a particularly scenic hill that Claude enjoyed using for afternoon readings or midday naps. It was a nice spot for doing nothing; a favorite place of Claude's to relax. And Claude had recently decided—almost wrinkling his nose at how sweet, how rosy the notion was—but, well. Dimitri would appreciate the thought, and Claude was honest enough with himself to admit that this alone made any self-conscious embarrassment worth temporarily enduring.
So Claude pulled Dimitri along, batting away his light curiosity as to their destination. Dimitri would understand when he saw it, especially this late in the day. The small hill, its slight perch above the tree line: it would make a nice place to sit and watch the sunset.