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The twelfth bell clanged... Had war council gone on so long again? Finally looking up from the map he’d been so absorbed in, Dimitri could see the fatigue on the assembled faces. Ingrid tried to hide a yawn, and Flayn had fallen asleep on her brother’s shoulder. He wondered if Byleth still had dark bags under her eyes, but he was afraid that if he allowed himself a glance, he would never be able to look away.
Regardless, nothing would get done under these conditions. Dimitri dismissed his generals with strict instructions to get some rest before they began the march for the next battle. The door closed with a soft click, their voices fading away. He exhaled a long breath-- though he was grateful his friends had welcomed him back, being in a confined space with so many people was still uncomfortable for him.
But something was wrong. He could feel someone else’s presence still in the room, his senses sharpened from years on the run.
Without looking up from the map, he said, “Don’t think you’re exempt from that order of rest, Gilbert.”
“I’m not Gilbert.”
His head snapped up. Byleth’s stare had always made him feel exposed, but the look she gave him now was particularly intense. If the room felt small before, now it was suffocating.
“By-- Professor!” he stammered. “You should have gone to bed with the others!”
Her eyebrows shifted, the smallest pout appearing on her lips. He’d hurt her feelings. She wasn’t nearly as hard to read as other people claimed. Though secretly, he enjoyed being one of a privileged few that could understand her in a glance, and he hoarded all her micro-expressions in his heart like a greedy dragon.
Goddess, what he wouldn’t give to kiss that pout away.
Idiot, he scolded himself, the ghosts providing a chorus of agreement. This was exactly why he’d had to put some distance between them. Any time she was within reach, he had to physically hold himself back from taking her in his arms and... Well, the “and” depended on the day.
His desires ranged from boyish adoration to monstrous greed. Sometimes he imagined sweeping her off to the gardens of Fhirdiad and showering her with flowers on a romantic stroll. On darker days, he barely resisted the urge to bend her over the table for the whole war council to watch as he took her.
More evidence of his unworthiness of such a woman. She deserved someone dependable and honorable, someone... untainted.
“And are you going to bed like the others?” she asked, pointedly looking at the map spread in front of him.
“I...”
“As I thought.”
He expected her to force him to gather up his things and promise to rest, but she stayed rooted to the spot, leaning back against the door. There was an agonizing pause, uncomfortable in a way their silences hadn’t been since their very first tea times.
“Was there... something else, Professor?”
“You used to call me Byleth.”
He winced. After Rodrigue’s death, they’d had a period of such wonderful intimacy. For a while, he convinced himself that her friendship would be enough, that he could keep the beast under his skin in check.
It wasn’t, and he couldn’t.
“Well, you are the acting archbishop,” he hedged. It was a true statement, just not one that had anything to do with the matter at hand.
But she gave no quarter, not letting him get away with half-truths and distractions. “And you’re avoiding me.”
His lips formed the beginning of a denial, but he stopped himself. Omitting the truth was one thing, but he couldn’t outright lie to her. She had never given him anything less than complete honesty. He could never hope to be her equal-- the exact reason they were in this position in the first place-- but he owed her the truth at least.
“Yes, I am.”
“Why?” Her voice broke over the word, and he’d never felt like more of a wretch in all his life.
In trying to do what was best for her, he’d hurt her. How foolish he was, thinking he could handle such a delicate task with any tact or dignity. His brutish hands broke hearts and needles alike. But while he considered, she drew her own conclusions from his silence.
“Is it because of what that noble said about me?”
His gaze sharpened, previous train of thought forgotten. “Who said something about you?”
“One of the minor lords from Gautier. He told Sylvain he thought I was using my wiles to manipulate you in hopes of being queen or something.”
He stood up abruptly enough to send his chair slamming to the ground. “Excuse me, I need to go find out who that rat was and deal with him appropriately.”
“Dimitri, wait.” She grabbed him by the bicep, and he couldn’t help but shudder at the tiniest morsel of contact. “If that wasn’t the reason, then what is it?”
She was so close; he couldn’t think. As gently as a brute like him was able, he removed her hand from his arm and took a few steps back.
“Prof-- no. Byleth, I find it... difficult, to control my feelings around you.”
“Your feelings...” she repeated, head rested on her fist in thought. “About revenge?”
He choked. “No! That’s not what I mean at all.”
How could she still not understand after he’d been so forward? If it were anyone else, he'd think they were teasing him. But then, Byleth had never processed emotions like everyone else.
Was it possible she didn’t know how he felt about her? After years of incessant teasing and a yearning so powerful that apparently some random noble from Gautier even noticed... Well, it beggared belief. He’d taken for granted that she knew and was simply sparing his feelings by never mentioning it.
“Do you... truly not know what you do to me?”
She tilted her head in the way he’d always found adorable, like a curious cat. Nothing for it, then. Perhaps the only solution was letting her reject him outright, so she would avoid him on her own. He floundered for the words to express the dark, tangled knot of adoration and greed that tightened around his heart with every breath.
“I love you.” It wasn’t what he’d meant to say, but there was no other word big enough to capture it all. “I want to reach out and touch you so badly. Lately, I can hardly hold myself back whenever you are near.”
“I don’t want that,” she said gently, kind even when sparing his feelings.
“O-of course! I would never want to make you uncomfortable. Do not think I’ve deluded myself into thinking that my bloodstained hands are anywhere near worthy of--”
“Dimitri,” she cut off his rambling. “I meant that I don’t want you to hold back. Show me how you’ve wanted to touch me.”
She probably didn’t mean for it to sound so suggestive, but he couldn’t help but shiver at her words. Still, even with her permission, he clenched his fists at his side. She didn’t know what she was asking for.
“That’s... That’s dangerous, Byleth.”
She rolled her eyes, taking his hand and planting it on her waist. For all he tried to muster the willpower to pull it back, his fingers had a mind of their own, stroking her side and delighting in her warmth.
He searched her face for any signs of regret or pain. But she only gave him one of her mesmerizing, barely there smiles.
Her hand mimicked his, holding onto his waist as she moved a step closer. If he hadn’t already been mad with lust for months, the way she looked up at him from under her lashes would have done him in.
There was an undeniable hunger in her eyes as she asked, “Is that all you wanted?”
“Goddess, no. My desires could fill an entire book. The whole library.”
With an unspoken coordination, she rose up on her toes, and he bent to press his lips to hers. Perhaps it was the result of all the time they’d spent sparring and fighting side by side.
His self-control lasted all of ten seconds. The fire that had burned low in his belly was now consuming him. He walked her backwards to the table and swept the maps and papers off it, hoisting her up for better access to plunder her mouth.
She made a little whine deep in her throat, and if it was the last sound he ever heard, he’d die a happy man. He pressed forward, forcing her to support herself with her forearms on the table.
Her hair fell back, exposing her throat to him, creamy and slender and frustratingly unmarred. His tongue and teeth set about correcting that.
“Dim-- ah!” she tried, but a hard bite right above her collar interrupted her. “Dimitri, wait, please.”
He stumbled backwards and was horrified to see the state she was in: hair and clothes disheveled, lips cherry red and swollen, the imprint of his teeth already purpling on her throat.
He covered his face in shame. “See? It’s just as I feared. I’ll never be anything but a boar.”
But her reaction was not the disgust he expected. She laughed. “I was just going to say perhaps we should go somewhere more private.”
“Y-you still want to...?”
She slipped her hand into his, and he didn’t think anything would ever bring him as much comfort as this. “I love you, Dimitri. But I’d rather not love you on the table in the Cardinal’s room.”
He couldn’t help but smile broadly at her. “Right. Of course. Er, I think your room is a better idea. Mine is next to Sylvain’s, and...”
“Say no more.” She kept hold of his hand as she tugged him into the hallway.
“Ah, as much as I want to keep holding your hand... What if someone sees?”
“Hopefully, they’ll take the hint and not delay us,” she replied, and that was good enough for him.
It wasn’t a long way to Byleth’s quarters, but the walk in the chilly night air dampened the red-hot need he’d felt in the Cardinal’s room.
He stood fidgeting while Byleth made them some tea. His hands shook so badly, just as much tea ended up on his shirt and her floor as into his mouth. When he’d finished, she took his cup from him with such gentleness it made his heart ache.
She sat on the bed and patted the spot next to her. “Sit with me?”
He complied, but stiffly and awkwardly. “Byleth, you should know that I’ve never–”
“Neither have I,” she said, and he was ashamed of how happy that made him. “But I know the basics. Not much privacy in a merc camp.”
“Right.”
Of all the reactions he expected, her laughter wasn’t one of them. “Dimitri, you look like I’m assigning you an unpleasant training drill.”
A little tension left him. “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this to happen.”
“If you just want to go to bed in your own room–”
“No!” he interrupted. His face burned at the desperation in his voice. “I just meant... I’m nervous. I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you.”
She took his hand again. “It’s not all or nothing. We can just kiss and touch each other tonight. Whatever feels good.”
Right. Of course. This was Byleth. She was the kindest person he’d ever known and honest to a fault. If he did something she didn’t like, she would let him know, guide him. A professor through and through.
“I’d like that,” he said.
She leaned in, and they met in the middle for another kiss. The calmer mood allowed him to pay more attention, exploring and making adjustments based on what she seemed to like. When her tongue licked into his mouth, he decided that coming to her room had been a very good idea indeed.
Heat built between them until she guided him to lean back against the pillows and climbed into his lap. At first he simply held her steady at her waist, but as his confidence grew, he let his hands explore her body. It was like a dream, being able to feel all of her: the rough lace that covered her thighs, her firm ass he’d spent so many seminars trying not to stare at. He even allowed himself to wander upwards, cupping the underside of the primary fixations of his seventeen-year-old self.
His fingers slipped just under the hem of her shirt, uncertain. She showed no such hesitation, peeling it off in one erotic motion and letting her heavy breasts bounce free.
“Dear Goddess,” he said. “You’re so beautiful. Can I...?”
Instead of answering, she took his hands and planted them on her breasts. She'd always preferred practical lessons to lectures.
Her head fell back as he eagerly explored. They had such a pleasant weight in his hands, and her nipples responded obligingly to his amateur ministrations. He could have spent the rest of his life kneading and mouthing at her tits before he got his fill, but greedy man that he was, he wanted more.
Despite their confessions and the position they were currently in, he could hardly meet her eyes as he said, “I don’t know much, but... There’s something that I've heard described that I would like to try... Would that be all right?”
“Okay,” she agreed without even asking him what he planned.
She lay back, and he couldn’t resist spending a bit more time worshiping her breasts from this new angle.
When he’d had his fill (for now), his mouth planted sloppy kisses down the valley of her breasts, her stomach, lower. Kneeling on the ground like a supplicant before her, he peeled her shorts and tights down her legs together and kissed each new inch of skin as it was exposed. Her underwear was the last to go. He groaned; they were soaked from what little they'd done. Finally, she was fully bare before him, more beautiful than any of his depraved dreams could have imagined.
“You’re already so wet...” he said in awe, running a knuckle up and down her exposed cunt in wonder.
He was so mesmerized that he gave her no warning before throwing her legs over his shoulders and running a flat tongue along the length of her slit.
“Oh! I didn’t think you’d do that!”
He chuckled, feeling no small amount of pride for catching his dear professor off guard. It was rare, since her reflexes were so quick they almost seemed to be prescient.
He simply indulged himself for a while, exploring her folds and shoving his tongue inside her until his nose tapped the spot that Sylvain had explained was his most important target. It was heavenly. He couldn’t taste her, of course, but her scent was heady, and the noises he drew out of her had his cock straining against its confines.
It was sloppy and filthy. Her ever-growing arousal combined with his saliva to form an ambrosia that dripped freely from his chin with every lick. Surely more experienced lovers had more precision and finesse than he did in that moment, but he doubted any skirt chaser in history could match his single-minded enthusiasm.
Byleth was writhing on the bed as he indulged himself, but like the professor she was, she decided it was time for him to focus his attention elsewhere. With a rough grip on his hair, she dragged his head upwards, placing his mouth in line with her... clit. Yes, that’s what it was called, if he remembered correctly.
He attacked the spot like it was a poor unsuspecting Imperial soldier that happened to find themselves in the boar king’s path-- circling it with his tongue, sucking it out of its hooded hiding place, even squeezing it lightly between his teeth.
The change in the timbre of her moans was instantaneous, from breathy to deep and wanting. That and the wet smack of his lips against her were the only sounds in the room. Her desperation went straight to his cock, which was leaking hard enough to soak the front of his pants.
He could feel her body stiffen, the grip of her thighs tightening around his head. She was fucking herself on his face with little jerks of her hips, using him to chase her pleasure.
The temptation to touch himself was overwhelming, and it only took one moan of his name for him to give in. He ripped open the laces of his trousers and fished out his cock, flushed nearly purple from being denied so long.
Byleth gave a sharp cry above him, her back arching off the bed. She tried to pull away, but he dug the hand that wasn’t pumping his cock into her thigh to hold her steady. He wanted, needed, to feel and hear her pleasure while he sought his own.
Her moans turned to half sobs interjected with screams of his name, and he felt her go rigid against him at least once more. His mind was lost in bliss, so it might have been more. She yanked his hair again, pulling him up and away. The burn on his scalp was the perfect complement to the pleasure, his eyes rolling back in his head.
He let her guide him back onto the bed, hovering over her. She slapped his hand away from his cock and replaced it with her own. He took the chance to take her in, and his eyes met with a glorious sight. She was perfectly rumpled and debauched: her face was streaked with tear tracks, her chest blotchy and red, her neck and breasts painted with his marks.
No depiction of the goddess or the saints could ever hope to match her beauty. With her softly murmured encouragement, the press of their bodies against each other, and the scent of her still clinging to his face, his senses were consumed with her.
He’d been so wound up for so long that he didn’t have a chance of lasting very long. And sure enough, all it took was one, two, three strokes of his cock before he was painting her thighs and stomach with his come.
He didn’t realize he’d been crying until she started kissing the tears off his cheeks.
“Thank you,” he half-said, half-sobbed. It was probably a supremely unattractive thing to say given the circumstances, but she only smiled back at him, forever benevolent.
He wiped her down with his discarded shirt and flopped heavily next to her. Wordlessly, she scooted back against him until they fit together like two puzzle pieces.
“You won’t avoid me anymore, right?” she asked when their breathing had gone back to normal.
“On the contrary, I think you’ll find it quite hard to be rid of me from now on.”
She hummed. “That’s fine by me.”
His body and brain fought a short, futile battle: as much as he wanted to speak with her about everything, his eyes were drooping closed, the contentment that followed his release and the warmth and softness of the woman he loved moulded against him simply too great to resist. When Byleth started running her fingers through his hair, he was done for.
There were still sleepless nights ahead of them, but for tonight, the king and the commander finally followed their own advice and rested well.