Work Text:
Dating Sylvain is kind of weird. It’s different than Bernie expected. Sylvain is cautious with her, takes his time. It’s impossible to have missed stories about him but he doesn’t even ask to kiss her until the third date and when she squeaks and turns bright red and covers her face, he drops it.
She wasn't expecting that. How many times had she snuck past Sylvain in one of the many nooks and crannies of the monastery, saying, “Come on, baby, it’s just a kiss?” It was a lot of times. She stopped and eavesdropped for a moment more than once--it was good writing research. He never pushed past a hard no, but he pushed a little if his partner was uncertain.
Bernie hadn’t given him a hard no! Bernie had covered her face! If Sylvain had given her a moment she might have said yes! She wanted to say yes, anyway. But he didn’t even give her the chance!
Maybe he was just going out with her out of pity, after all. She thought he was kind of serious, but Sylvain was good at hiding his real feelings, and wouldn’t want her to know he felt bad for her.
She manages to work herself up over it until the next time she sees him, in the library the next day, and by then she’s so riled up she marches straight up to him and demands, “Why didn’t you kiss me?”
Linhardt, sleeping in a back corner, jerks awake.
“Bernadetta?” Sylvain says, eyes wide.
Bernie abruptly realizes they’re in a public place, and not alone. She can feel her face burn.
“I mean,” she says. “I’m gonna...bye!” She turns on her heel and flees.
Sylvain knocks on her door five minutes later. “Bernadetta?” He says.
“I’m not here,” Bernie says.
Sylvain huffs a laugh against her door. “Bernadetta,” he says again, warmer.
She comes right up to the door, puts her hand on the handle. Wills herself to open the door.
Nothing happens.
There’s a thunk, like Sylvain dropped his head against to door. “I want to do right by you,” he says, quietly. “I don’t really know what that means, because I’ve never done it before. But you didn’t seem like you wanted it, so I let it go.”
“Bernie….” Bernie says, and feels like a child, even though she doesn’t think she can say it in first person. She presses her forehead against the door. “Bernie wanted to be kissed,” she says, just loud enough to be heard on the other side. “Bernie still wants to be kissed.” Her face is on fire.
“May I come in?” Sylvain says.
Bernie unlocks the door and goes to sit in the nest she made of her bedcovers. She can’t open the door, but Sylvain knows her well enough to know what unlocking it means. They were friends before Sylvain asked her out, after all. Sylvain’s sat on her floor for hours, reading her stories and asking her questions.
Sylvain opens the door, pokes his head in. “May I come in?” he asks again, and Bernie pulls her knees up to her chest and nods. He closes the door behind him.
“I don’t--”
“I thought--”
They both start at the same time, and then stop. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck and Bernie giggles nervously. “You go,” she says.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Sylvain says.
“Huh?” Bernie knows Sylvain’s dated before. Like, a lot.
“I mean…” Sylvain laughs awkwardly. “I usually...I haven’t been very nice to the people I date. But you’re different, Bernadetta. You’re my friend. And I want to...I want you to be comfortable. I want you to still like being with me.”
“I do like being with you,” Bernie says. “I just want you to...like me, for real.”
Sylvain looks--a little wild-eyed, even though his smile is easy. It gives Bernie a burst of courage. “I’m not going to ask,” she says, and pushes her face into her knees, regretting it. “Sorry! I’m sorry--”
“Bernadetta,” Sylvain says, much closer to her. “C’mon, Bernadetta, look at me, please?”
Bernie lifts her head. Sylvain’s leaning over the bed on one hand, and with the other he tips her face up to his and kisses her.
It’s mortifying, and also--maybe not quite the best thing that’s ever happened to Bernie, but in the top five, easily.
They get pretty good at kissing after that. Probably Sylvain was good at kissing before he kissed Bernie, but Bernie gets good at kissing him. She gets lots of practice--Sylvain’s always steering their dates to end in quiet places, and he’s encouraging and enthusiastic, and she even works up the confidence to kiss him first one time, which makes him groan in her mouth, hoist her up, and coax her legs around his waist.
Sylvain seems careless, but he does everything deliberately, with intention. He’d already dropped the careless act in front of her, but now he seems to abandon it completely, at least when they’re in private. It’s not quite easy for Bernie to believe that he’s spending time with her because he likes her and wants to spend time with her, but it’s getting easier. It’s easier to believe Sylvain wants to be with her for real when he kisses her like he’s a little bit desperate until they’re both breathless and he walks her to her door and leaves her there, like the gentleman he’s never really been before. He doesn’t ever kiss her at her door, where half the dormitory could see if they were looking, which would humiliate Bernie anyway. The first time he drops her off, he nearly leaned in to kiss her, and she shrieked and turned bright red, and he hasn’t tried since.
It’s really nice. The longer they date, the more Bernie realizes Sylvain is trying hard, too. They’re meeting someplace in between their comfort zones, someplace new to both of them. They’re moving slowly, carefully, and that’s okay. Half the time they’re just hanging out like they used to, Bernie scrawling notes on a manuscript while Sylvain reads through other pages and asks her questions about the story and characters. Sometimes she goes and gets dinner with him at the dining hall, which is terrifying, but Sylvain is the same, usually still quizzing her about the story while they eat.
She doesn’t mind that they’re moving slowly, but she wonders. Sylvain’s got a reputation--he still has a reputation, even though the rumors are all now about how he isn’t sleeping around anymore, and he’s going steady with some mouse of a girl (Bernie!), and has been for two moons. Sylvain has occasionally cupped her ass in his hands or thumbed over one of her hard nipples while they’re kissing, but he hasn’t ever suggested taking off their clothes. She doesn’t know if he’s waiting for her to initiate, which is a joke, or if there’s some other sign she should be dropping about it.
Kissing is good, though. Kissing is really good. Bernie sometimes thinks she could come from kissing Sylvain. Gets dropped off at her door still woozy with it, lips swollen and obscenely red from Sylvain’s mouth, hair mussed up from Sylvain’s fingers. Crawls in bed and barely gets her shorts off before she has her hands on herself, too aroused to go slow like she usually does.
She can’t imagine telling Sylvain she’d like to sleep with him, but she wants to. Sylvain has a wicked mouth and clever hands and sometimes he adjusts his trousers like he gets turned on when he kisses her, sometimes, like he wants to...to fuck her.
Bernie wants to fuck Sylvain. Bernie wants to see Sylvain in her bed, naked and freckled and scarred and all hers, wants to know what face Sylvain makes when he comes, and will even let Sylvain see her weird and awkward o-face if she has to. But Sylvain doesn’t seem like he’s going to ask, because he’s trying to do right by her, and said he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Bernie can’t possibly ask him. She already asked to be kissed.
They go out one afternoon to fish and it gets ruined by a rainstorm--a warm spring one that drenches them both in seconds. They deposit their gear in the fishkeeper’s shack and run, giggling, towards the dormitories, but Sylvain tugs her into the corner between the greenhouse and the stairs to the nobles’ dorms, and kisses her. Everyone has already headed to dinner; Sylvain said he was going to cook her fish the way they do in the short summers in Gautier, pan-fried over an open fire and seasoned with northern spices.
Sylvain tastes like the Varley spiced nuts Bernie brought for them to snack on while they fished. He tips her face up to his and smiles into her mouth, slightly protected from the rain by the heavy tree cover and the overhang. His hands are still warm even in the rain, and Bernie feels--happy, content, even outside the safe confines of her room.
Sylvain pulls away to press their foreheads together. “Bernadetta,” he says, and then, like it’s something precious and tiny, “Bernie. Would you want to come back to my room?” He holds up his hands, suddenly looking panicked. “It could be just to hang out, if you wanted! I have some bread and cheese.”
Bernie looks at him. “You called Bernie Bernie,” she whispers.
“Bernie,” Sylvain says again, warm and fond and a little nervous.
“O-okay,” Bernie says, and slides her hand into his. “Let’s go.” She laughs, a little hysterical. “Before Bernie gets too nervous, okay?”
Sylvain grins at her, and gives her a tug. It’s quiet as they walk up to his room, hand in hand, everyone else at dinner, and he unlocks the door and lets her in. She gets a glimpse of a tidy room, the bed unmade but everything else in place, before he kisses her, backing her onto the bed despite how wet they are. He climbs on top of her, but he doesn’t drop his weight on her, kneeling over her. Giving her space. She wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him back, and Sylvain slides her hands down her spine, pulling her up into him. His mouth is so hot and rain-sweet, and he tastes sweet and spicy, like galangal and cinnamon and nutmeg, and Bernie wants.
Sylvain’s mouth travels down her neck, big hands on her spine, and she tips her head back into the pillow and says “Please don’t stop,” flushing wildly. She brackets him with her thighs, and he sets her down on the bed to settle more solidly between her legs, unbuttoning her shrug to leave a mark on her throat that will be easily hidden by her clothing. “Goddess,” she breathes, working the shrug the rest of the way off to bare her shoulders and arms, and Sylvain’s mouth curves against her skin in a smile.
He reaches up to run a finger down the line of her shoulder, her tricep. “Your arms are incredible,” he breathes against her skin, and kisses the bone of her shoulder. “Some time you should shoot just like this, so I can watch you.”
Bernie covers her face with one hand, embarrassed at the concept of being watched, and Sylvain nips at her bicep. She squeaks, and he laughs, mouth coming back up to her shoulder.
They’ve never been horizontal before; Bernie’s been in Sylvain’s lap, or they’ve been sitting side by side, or standing, but this is new and a little scary. She feels secure with Sylvain between her legs, though; secure in the fact that Sylvain likes her, as much as Bernie can be liked, that Sylvain thinks she’s pretty, that her arms are good.
Sylvain drops a kiss on her collarbone, and then leans down to kiss her clothed stomach, kneeling between her legs. “What do you like?” he says.
“Um?” Bernie says, feeling her face get hot.
Sylvain grins, a little teasing. “Come on, Bern-a-dett-a,” he says, drawing out her name. “I know you know a little bit about how you like to fuck. I’ve read--”
“Um!” Bernie shrieks, embarrassed by both the concept of fucking Sylvain and the raunchier stories she’s shared with him. She covers her face with the pillow, and Sylvain laughs, gentle enough to not mortify her.
“Hey,” he says, and kisses one of her thighs, well below the hem of her shorts. “You don’t have to look at me while you say it, but if you say it into the pillow I won’t hear you.”
Bernie’s fingers loosen on the pillow, and she lets it go when Sylvain pulls it away from her face. She covers her face immediately again, with her hands this time.
“I like--” Oh, Goddess. She’ll have to take off her shorts if she wants to explain any of it. Half of what she does on her own she doesn’t even have words for.
“I don’t need an essay,” Sylvain says, and kisses her thigh again, closer to her shorts. Bernie shivers all over. “We can work out details later if you want to keep going.” He pauses, long enough that Bernie peeks at him through her hands. He’s looking down at her legs in his arms, chewing on his lower lip. Vulnerable. “I--Sylvain...has stuff he likes and doesn’t like, too.”
Bernie doesn’t drop her hands in surprise but it’s a near thing. “Really?” she says. Sylvain nods, slowly, still not looking up. “But you--”
Sylvain rubs the back of his neck. “Heh,” he says, laughing but not really. “I’ve done a lot of stuff I didn’t really like that much,” he says. “Maybe…”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t like,” Bernie says suddenly, sitting up and reaching for him. “We don’t!”
“I like most things,” Sylvain says. “Just…” he’s flushing now, a sweet blush on his cheeks. Bernie likes him a lot. She reaches for his collar and drags him in for a kiss.
“I liked when you kissed me,” she says when she pulls away, keeping her eyes shut. She isn’t sure she can say it with her eyes open. “On the th-thigh. I liked that.”
“Yeah?” Sylvain says.
Bernie nods. “I like…” She trails off. “I like that you told me you don’t like stuff too,” she says. “I like that you told me the truth. That you wanted to tell me the truth.” She pulls him in for another kiss but doesn’t let him take over. “You’re kind of a liar.”
“I am,” Sylvain agrees, laughter in his voice.
“But you told me the truth,” Bernie says, eyes still closed. “That means something.”
Sylvain’s nose brushes hers. “Yeah,” he says, his voice small.
“I like that,” Bernie says.
Sylvain kisses her this time, something deep and heady and sweet. Bernie wraps her legs around his hips and sinks her fingers into his hair, opening her mouth, letting him kiss her. Being kissed by Sylvain is nice. Really nice. He’s good at it, she’s pretty sure. It’s probably longer than he plans on kissing her because they’re in the middle of a conversation but this is a good distraction, Sylvain’s hands on her sides before one runs up between her breasts, thumbs at the hollow of her throat, to cup her cheek, tip her face up into his.
“That’s good,” he says when they finally part, a strand of saliva connecting their lips until he talks. His voice is hoarse, eyes blown. Bernie could get used to being looked at like that, like a desirable creature. “But none of that helps me get in your pants, Bernie.”
Bernie squawks. “I said I liked when you--with my thighs!”
“Can you come from that?” Sylvain asks curiously.
“Well--no,” Bernie says. She must be blushing down to her neck. She thinks about how Sylvain’s lips felt on the sensitive inside of her thigh and thinks maybe she could get pretty close, though.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Sylvain says. “If you don’t want to.”
“I want to,” Bernie whines. She pushes up onto her elbows. “I--” She shuts her eyes tightly again. “The last three times we went out, I went back to my room and--” Her face burns. “Got off,” she whispers.
Sylvain kisses her again. “Fuck,” he says. “That’s--fuck.”
“Is that okay?” Bernie says, still not opening her eyes.
“That’s hot as hell, Bernie, shit--” he kisses her again, filthy, and Bernie can feel him grind against her thigh for a moment. “What did you do?” He pulls back, eyes dark. “Do you want to show me?”
“I--You want me to?”
“I want to know what you like,” Sylvain says. He smiles crookedly. “Usually I just assume, and lots of times I’m right, but…I want to get it right with you.”
“Because I’m…”
“Because I. I like you,” Sylvain says. “I’ve slept with girls like you before.”
Bernie blinks at him. “Oh. Really?”
“A couple,” Sylvain says. “I’ve slept with a lot of people, Bernie.” He kisses her nose. “But I don’t want to assume. You’re you. I want to know what I’m doing with you. Not other people.”
Bernie leans up to kiss him again. “You’re sweet,” she says. “Is that a secret?”
Sylvain’s cheeks pink under his freckles. “I’m not that sweet,” he says, and she stops him with her mouth again, getting brave and catching his lower lip between her teeth.
“It is a secret, then,” she says when she pulls away. She reaches down, past her rucked-up skirt, touches her hips, slides fingers down the creases of them, and shivers like she gave off sparks. “I like--touching here,” she says, not looking at Sylvain. “It’s--”
“Erogenous?” Sylvain says, and runs his hand up the inside of her hip, where she indicated, with more pressure than she had. It sends a little pulse of levin through her whole body, spiraling in on her clit, half-hard against her lower belly.
“Yeah,” she breathes, shaky. When she looks down, she can see the bulge of her clit against her belly. Some days she tucks it back between her legs, but today she hadn’t, not expecting Sylvain to do anything more than he usually does, and--easy to access, for when she’d inevitably get back to her room, desperate for someone’s touch, even her own, and Sylvain between her thighs, fingers pressing along the seam of her hip, making her clit twitch and drool.
“Holy shit,” Sylvain says, breathless and not at all grossed out. “Bernie, can I--I want to take off your shorts. Can I?”
Bernie nods, and lifts her hips for easier access, shoving the skirt of her dress up. She helps Sylvain slip her shorts down her thighs, her clit flopping back against her belly, still hardening but already beginning to leak a little. “Fuck,” Sylvain breathes, and leans down to press a kiss to the bone of her hip. “That’s so fucking hot, Bernie--”
“It’s--” She feels some way about her clit, sometimes. Sometimes she doesn’t like it at all. But Sylvain’s eyes are black and his lips are red and wet and swollen, color high in his cheeks, looking at her like she’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen. It makes her feel--sexy, attractive, things she doesn’t always feel about the flesh between her legs. “It’s just a--”
Sylvain drags his teeth across the seam of her hip where his fingers had been, the pressure new and strange and deep. She sucks in a breath, hips rising into his hands. “A what, sweetheart?”
“Just my clit,” Bernie breathes, face burning.
“Yeah?” Sylvain says, licking his lips. “Can I taste it, Bernie?”
“Oh fuck,” Bernie says, twisting her hands in her pillow. “Yes--please--”
Sylvain licks her, a long stripe up her clit before his tongue catches on the frenulum, and he lingers right there, glancing up at her, before he licks at the tip, gently pulling back the foreskin with his fingers and pressing a kiss right on the slit. Bernie gasps, arching her hips into his mouth.
Sylvain’s mouth smiles against her before he licks her again, delicately, around the head of her clit, eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks as he closes his eyes. He hoists one leg over one shoulder and the other he spreads wide before pressing along the crease of her hip again with his fingers, dragging his thumb up along where she’s sensitive and shivering, and Bernie squeaks, slapping a hand over her mouth and reaching her other hand into the mussed sheets next to her.
Sylvain pulls off. “I want to hear you,” he says, his voice a half-octave lower and hungry. “Everyone’s at dinner and it’s raining and the window’s closed. If you think you can--I want to hear you.”
“I--” Bernie peels her hand off her mouth. “Bernie’ll try,” she says, and Sylvain grins up at her before he takes her whole clit in his mouth, mouth contracting as he swallows, and Bernie shrieks before she covers her mouth again, surprised by the volume.
“Liked that?” Sylvain says, and Bernie nods furiously, hand still over her mouth. Sylvain licks her again, tonguing at the slit, fingers sliding down to her balls, where he touches her gently, so softly and delicately that the sensation makes her tremble. “Okay?” he says, and Bernie nods. She doesn’t really play with them by herself, but Sylvain’s fingers feel good, his touch warm and light. He kisses the frenulum of her clit one more time and then takes the head in his mouth again, just the head, and works his tongue against her. Hums--Bernie makes a muffled, surprised moan--and then hums again, and keeps humming as he goes down on her, as his fingers pet her balls and perineum with increasing pressure and he works the head of her clit.
This is going to be over so fast. “Bernie’s gonna--I’m sorry,” she says, and Sylvain pulls off her with a pop, cheeks flushed hot and and eyes dark.
“You’re close?” he says, and Bernie nods, covering her face again. “Don’t apologize,” Sylvain says, breathless. “You’re so hot, Bernie. I want to make you come.” He runs his finger up the seam of her balls until he’s playing with the slippery-wet head of her clit, every movement making her hips twitch. “May I?”
Bernie nods. “Please,” she says breathlessly, and Sylvain takes her clit back into his mouth, sucking rhythmically, tongue working, and Bernie moans and then she can’t stop making noise. Sylvain presses at her perineum with his thumb and Bernie lights up inside, body sparking to life.
“I’m going to--Sylvain!” Bernie says, and comes in his mouth, against his wicked, wicked tongue, and her clit twitches when he swallows, mouth contracting, the aftershocks lasting much longer than they last when Bernie’s on her own. Her eyes are damp when she’s done, and her thighs are trembling, toes curled, fingers clenched in Sylvain’s hair. When she untangles her hands, his hair is horrifically mussed, and he makes a tiny whine in his throat.
“Sylvain?” she says, and Sylvain presses his face into the crease of her hip. She pushes herself up onto her elbows and Sylvain’s hand is in his breeches, working his cock. He’s close, if the speed of his hand is any indication, and he twists his head on Bernie’s lap.
“Pull my hair,” he grinds out. “Please, Bernie--” and Bernie’s fingers are back in his hair immediately, tugging. Sylvain smears a messy kiss against her hip, and then her lower belly, mouth gasping against her skin, and Bernie tugs again, and again, until he groans, hips jerking, coming in his breeches. Coming from going down on Bernie and Bernie pulling his hair. It’s hot enough that Bernie might be able to go again. She tugs him up by the hair until he comes to her mouth--she can taste her own come in his mouth but he mostly tastes like spit, his mouth sloppy as he kisses her with none of the finesse from earlier in the evening, breathless.
“That was…” Bernie says, when Sylvain pulls away to kiss her cheek and temple. She laughs, giddy.
“No words?” Sylvain says. “My favorite writer, speechless? It’s an honor.” He nuzzles at her ear.
Bernie’s face feels flushed all over but she thinks maybe she blushes harder, if she can. “I’ll find words,” she says. “Next time.”
Sylvain smirks. “Next time, huh? Glad I’ve earned a second round.”
Bernie glances away. “If you want,” she says, suddenly uncertain.
“If I--” Sylvain looks incredulous. “I definitely want,” he says, kissing her again. “Whatever you’re willing to give me.”
Bernie sinks her fingers into Sylvain’s hair. “I think I could give you a lot,” she says. His face is so close to hers, and it feels small and private to say. She’s graced with an up-close view of Sylvain turning pink under his freckles, all the way to the tips of his ears. He blinks several times, and then stands up to clean off his hands, and then strips his pants and shirt off entirely, making a face as he finds clean smalls and pulls them on. She knows they’ve just had sex--Goddess, Bernie’s had sex--but she’s still a little shy about seeing Sylvain, all thick shoulders and waist heavy with muscle.
Sylvain glances up at Bernie from where he’s holding a clean tunic. “Do you want...to stay the night?” he says.
Bernie imagines walking down to her room now, who she might encounter on her way, or doing it in the morning and who she might encounter then. Both sound utterly awful. “Can I just stay forever?” she says and reaches for the sheets, pulling them up around her shoulders. “I could just stay! And never leave!”
Sylvain, inexplicably, blushes. “You want to stay? For longer than a night?”
Bernie pulls her knees to her chest. “You’re not so bad--”
“High praise--”
“--so maybe I’ll just stay in your room instead of going anywhere ever again! You’ll have to go down to my room and get my embroidery basket, though.”
Sylvain crosses his arms. He looks impossibly handsome: thick, freckled thighs on display, scars on his shoulders and arms, mouth swollen and red and smiling. “A beautiful girl in my bed all the time? I could get used to that.” He leans over the bed to kiss her. “I suppose I can fetch and carry for you.”
Bernie tips her face up. “You should kiss me again,” she says, and he does, kneeling on the bed to do so, still smiling against her mouth.
“Maybe you should leave sometimes,” he says against her lips. “I’m not sure who it would end up being, but someone will murder me if you vanished into my room for all eternity. I need you to protect me. Just...for meals, maybe.”
“Meals are the worst!” she says, pulling away from him to make a face.
“You’ve eaten dinner with me before,” Sylvain says.
“Because I--” she feels herself flush wildly. “Like you,” she whispers.
“Bernie,” Sylvain says, voice suffused with so much fondness that not even Bernie can pretend it’s anything but that, and leans down to kiss the tip of her nose. “We’ll work something out,” he promises, and pulls the tunic on before heading for his armoire. “For now, can I serve you some bread and cheese, milady?”
Bernie feels her cheeks heat up again. “O-okay,” she says. Her stomach rumbles, and Sylvain laughs as she blushes harder, pulling out a covered basket. He sets it on his desk and goes back to the armoire, this time grabbing a ratty blanket he spreads on the floor, and sits, patting the space next to him. Thunder rumbles outside.
“Come on,” Sylvain says. “It’s not fresh fish over a fire, but we can still have a picnic.”
Bernie slips out from under the sheets, finding her shorts, and settles next to Sylvain. He smiles at her, a little, vulnerable thing she only gets to see sometimes, and Bernie nudges her shoulder with his own, smiling back. “What are you serving me, my Lord?” she says, and Sylvain’s smile widens.
“Let me show you what I’ve got,” he says, and opens the basket.