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It had seemed like a good idea at the time.
The last few battles had been brutal, especially the nightmare of Gronder Field. No longer the breadbasket of Fódlan, not when any bounty remaining was tainted with the blood and decay left behind.
Provisions were running low on the march towards Fhirdiad, and an unused tent meant extra fabric for bandages. Gold not spent purchasing a tent could instead be used to procure more rations.
It was even Byleth herself who had suggested it, recalling many a night spent sharing a tent with her father. Jeralt had even gone out of his way to explain to her that a captain couldn’t expect his men to do something he wouldn’t do himself, as if she needed convincing.
Byleth had thought it an unnecessary elucidation at the time, but it made more sense to her as she gave her own heartfelt explanation to the Blue Lions as they stood gathered near the make-shift infirmary. They were each notable figures in the army in their own right--not exactly captains but the same principle applied.
The only one Byleth left out was Dimitri. It seemed obvious to her that a prince still deserved his own tent, but the unspoken truth was that she was afraid of pushing him too hard. He had finally started lowering his guard around his friends again, but that didn’t mean he would allow anyone at his side while sleeping and vulnerable.
“Flayn and I will be grateful for the additional wrappings. We are doing what we can, but many still have wounds that are healing, and they need clean gauze,” Mercedes agreed readily.
Byleth nodded, grateful to find that there were no objections. “I think all that’s left is to decide who shares with who.”
There was a moment of silence, of glances, before Sylvain lavished her with a grin. “So, Byleth, will you be sleeping with me?”
Ingrid blanched at the words, but Sylvain continued.
“Although sleeping is probably the wrong--”
“No,” the word was a growl. “She will be sleeping in my tent.”
Byleth whirled to see Dimitri towering over her. She had been so intent on watching her companions’ reactions--the way Felix’s gaze flitted to Annette before he scowled at the ground, the way Ingrid was already warily watching Sylvain, bracing herself--that she hadn’t even heard him approach.
“It will make it easy if there is any strategy that must be discussed,” Dimitri explained, the venom gone from his voice--had she imagined it? “Besides, it would be most unbecoming for me to be the only person not expected to share.”
How long had he been listening? Did he know that he was reiterating her own reasoning, borrowed from her father, or had he come up with it himself? Either way, she was not about to argue.
“That is fine.” She turned back to face the rest of the group, grateful for the distraction. Being with Dimitri had gotten more difficult since that night in the rain. “Sorry, Sylvain. Not this time.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Felix, will you share with Sylvain? You’ll be gentler with him than I will if I catch him doing something stupid, and we need him in fighting shape.”
Felix let out a sigh, but relented with a nod. “I’ll keep this good-for-nothing in line.”
“Mercie and I can share! It’ll be just like when we would have slumber parties at the School of Sorcery!” Annette suggested cheerily, always someone to inject some levity, even on the warpath.
Mercedes offered a soft smile. “Oh, Annie, did you miss my ghost stories?”
“Keep me far away from that, please,” Ashe pleaded, taking a physical step away from Mercedes. “Dedue? Will you pair up with me?”
Dedue turned his gaze from Mercedes, whom he was watching with a fondness that betrayed a bit of the gentleness usually hidden beneath his hardened features. “It would please me to do so.”
Ingrid gave an approving nod. “I’ll share with Flayn. I am sure Seteth would be agreeable to that.”
“Be careful, Ingrid. I am certain my brother could come up with some objection,” Flayn cautioned. She almost kept a straight face, but she had dissolved into laughter by the end.
That laughter was contagious, and it spread quickly, with even the more reserved members of the Blue Lions cracking smiles.
It did the heart good to see her friends able to engage in some cheer despite the losses still weighing heavy on each of them. Even Sylvain’s attempts at flirting seemed more aimed at provoking reactions from Ingrid than any serious intent towards Byleth.
But such frivolity was not meant to last. Not as a scout came sprinting towards them, ashen-faced and out of breath.
“Your Highness! I bear grave news. A forward force is on the horizon bearing Cornelia’s banner. We’ll likely be due for battle come morning.”
Byleth turned to the prince, to await what commands he would give.
“It seems the witch intends to put us down long before we reach the city.” Dimitri’s expression was hard, but he nodded grimly. “Send out orders to prepare. We’ll set out from here, and seek to hold this position as a camp to regroup after, before we resume the march to Fhirdiad.”
No rest for the weary, it seemed.
Sharing a tent with Dimitri turned out to be… excruciating.
Byleth had thought it would be a relief, that it would ease the lingering worry that she would wake up in the morning and find him gone. That he would’ve changed his mind and left for Enbarr, leaving her behind.
Instead, the proximity made it far worse. Every sound, every rustle of movement, even a change in the rhythm of his breathing would send a jolt of fear through her. And each jolt of fear had her peering into the dark, watching the silhouette of his sleeping form for reassurance.
What this ultimately amounted to was very little rest for Byleth, fighting the fatigue in her bones long before fighting enemy soldiers, as she dragged herself onto the battlefield.
The battlefield was the place she typically felt the most composed, the most in control. Her mind would quiet and she could exist purely as a creature of instinct.
But that usual focus was evading her, polluted by thoughts that kept drifting to a far more dangerous destination than warfare.
And that destination was Dimitri.
Sharing the tent with Dimitri had been painful--wondering how someone could be so close but feel so far beyond her reach. But her thoughts had been growing increasingly erratic ever since that night in the rain. Ever since she had understood just how irrevocably the loss of Dimitri would break her.
The possibility of losing him hadn’t seemed real until Gronder. Until Rodrigue sacrificed his life to take the blade meant for the prince. Until Dimitri had tried to leave not just Byleth but everyone behind to go to Enbarr in an inevitable suicide mission.
But after that night in the rain, begging him to not abandon the living, begging him not to abandon her…it had become more difficult for Byleth to deny it. It had become far more difficult to deny the fact that… she loved him.
And while emotions were not something that she navigated with the same ease as combat, she knew without a doubt that’s what she was feeling. It was love, and she was sick with it.
But she wouldn’t dare force such feelings upon him now. Not when she--and all of their friends--had just barely caught a glimpse of the Dimitri they once knew, before the last five years had taken everything--and more--from him.
Her father had always said that the battlefield was no place for idle thoughts, and how right he was.
Even with the power that Sothis had left to her, Byleth’s recklessness still cost her dearly. By the time the fighting had come to an end with the enemy force retreating, she was the one in need of bandages.
There was a deep gash on her left thigh, adjusted to land on the side rather than severing arteries across the front, and an arrow embedded in her right shoulder. With foresight of the shot she was able to move so the point glanced off the edge of her armor, lessening its impact as it sank into bare skin, missing bones and the vital joint of her sword arm.
The pain was great enough that she limped back towards their camp, her leg sticky with blood as it began to congeal. The only thing keeping her chest from a similar fate was the fact that she had left the broadhead in place, breaking off the end with the fletching, but knowing far better than to attempt to pull out the arrowhead herself.
The point of her sword dragged along the earth, leaving a trail behind her as she staggered towards their camp, maintaining a steady hold of the blade as she attempted to keep most of her arm pliable and relaxed.
She knew that she had pushed farther through the lines than most of their troops had, seeking a distraction from her thoughts that had failed to come. That, coupled with her injured leg slowing her down, meant that all of her friends were already gathered at the edge of their camp as she neared.
They were facing away from her with Dimitri at their center, pacing back and forth agitatedly. It sounded as if a heated discussion was taking place.
It was Annette who saw her first. She’d been rocking back and forth nervously on the balls of her feet, wringing her hands as she looked around. When she saw Byleth approaching, she let out a horrified squeal. Which meant that Byleth looked as rough as she felt.
A hush fell as everyone turned at once in response to Annette’s alarm. For a brief moment, Dimitri was frozen, before he marched towards Byleth with swift strides.
Her voice abandoned her as she took in the rigidness of his posture, the shaking of his hands, fingers curled into fists, and the thin line of his lips.
But she only had an instant to stare up at him once he reached her, before he pried the hilt of her sword from her grip and swept her up into his arms, still refusing to meet her gaze as he briskly turned and walked towards the waiting group.
“Dimitri--”
She began to protest, but his name had barely left her lips before he tightened his grip around her, fingers digging into her skin almost painfully, but luckily below the gash. It was a clear command: be silent.
Mercedes rushed forward. “We need to get her to the infirmary imme--”
The reception that Mercedes received was even colder than what Byleth had gotten. Dimitri didn’t even bother to glance at her; he merely brushed past her as he continued to stalk towards their camp.
“Your Highness--”
Dedue attempted, but received the same response. No one else was brave enough to try.
It wasn’t so bad being carried, once Byleth swallowed the shame of her injuries. Each step she took had sent a spasm of pain shooting up her thigh. It would have been an unpleasant ordeal getting to the medical tents herself.
She even quietly relished the feel of Dimitri’s arms, letting her head rest briefly against his chest. But she lifted her head back up before long once she heard the thundering of his heart. It was just another reminder in the end of how far he was from her.
She could listen to his heartbeat, but he would never be able to hear hers. And even this was a stolen moment, taken in secret while he took her to the infirmary.
But he did not take her to the infirmary. No, he strode right past the designated medical area and did not stop until he had reached the tent they shared the night before.
The whole time he did not say a word, merely ducked under the canvas flaps to step inside. He finally released the vicegrip he’d had on her, placing Byleth on the edge of her cot with surprising gentleness.
But he still would not look her in the eye. Instead, he set her sword down on the ground before grabbing his pack and kneeling down in front of her, rummaging in the bag and setting items out next to them.
A waterskin. A bundle of fabric that appeared to be one of his shirts. A glass bottle of clear liquid. A small pouch, tied securely at the top. A needle and thread. And bandages--not the repurposed fabric of a tent, but actual gauze.
The realization dawned on her that he was intending to treat her wounds himself.
She should say something. She knew that she should. But she could see the hard set of his jaw, and it made her a coward.
She did not have long to worry about finding words, however, as once his supplies were laid out, Dimitri placed his hands around the wound on her thigh, examining it closely. Then, without warning, he gripped the lace still clinging to her leg and shredded it easily, pulling it free and leaving the remains of the fabric resting on the armor piece over her knee.
What was left was a lovely pattern of coagulated blood down her leg, a perfect counter to the precise arrangement of the lace.
And of course, the injury that was its source. Dimitri pulled the cork on the canteen free with his teeth before tipping some water directly onto the laceration.
His lips pursed at what he saw, and Byleth understood why. They were both staring at a gaping mess that was deep enough to expose muscle.
He took a shaky breath, pouring more of the water onto the ornately dried blood around the wound, then slowly wiped the skin clean with the spare shirt that he’d pulled out from his pack.
“This is going to hurt,” he warned as he took up the glass bottle. It was the first time he had spoken since he’d seen her after the battle. But it was not inviting conversation; the words were clipped, procedural.
When he removed the lid, a sharp scent hit her nostrils. It was alcohol--strong alcohol, an easy aroma to recognize from the years she’d caught it on her father.
She understood the intent. And she nodded, bracing herself for it.
But even knowing it was coming, Byleth couldn’t contain the hiss that escaped her as the antiseptic poured over her open flesh, burning as it made its way through.
Dimitri quickly set aside the bottle and picked up the needle and thread, muttering something to himself.
“What is it?” Byleth asked, feeling a little braver now that she didn’t have to be the first one to break the silence.
He did not look at her, but he did hold up the needle. “This needs to be sterilized.”
The alcohol he’d poured onto the wound would be useless if the needle introduced its own contamination. She’d seen enough men survive injuries only for them to fester and prove fatal later.
She held out her hand. “Give it to me.”
He hesitated for a moment, but ultimately relented, placing the needle onto her open palm.
She grit her teeth, fighting past the lingering burn in her thigh to focus and conjure a burn of her own. One borne not from reason but from something far more ancient, something far more volatile.
Flame flared up in her grasp, flickering steadily for just a moment before she let it go, quieting and disappearing in a twist of smoke. Byleth offered the needle back to Dimitri, but he shook his head, holding up the spool of string.
“Thread the needle for me.”
She did as he bid, waiting as he pulled his gloves off before taking the needle from her with bare hands that were peppered with scars.
“You’re lucky,” he commented as he carefully pressed his hands around the maw of her flesh once more. “You would have bled out by now if this were on the front of your leg.”
“I know,” she said quietly. Of course she knew. It had been a very deliberately placed injury after winding back the hands of time.
His brow was furrowed, his nostrils slightly flared as he bent over her leg, bringing his remaining eye close.
“Ready.” It wasn’t a question, it was a warning. And he wasted no time, pushing the threaded needle through.
Byleth squeezed her eyes shut, internally talking herself through deep breaths as she willed her muscles to stay lax. Tensing up would only make each stitch more difficult.
Her breathing mimicked the to and fro of the needle.
Breathe in. The needle punctured unmarred skin, pulling out into damaged tissue.
Breathe out. The needle pressed through damaged tissue, pushing out into unmarred skin.
Breathe in, breathe out, as Dimitri slowly pulled the exposed meat back together.
She didn’t know how long it took, how many ins and outs. She didn’t dare open her eyes until she felt the splash and burn of alcohol once more.
She wasn’t squeamish about blood, nor was she craven when it came to pain. But there was something about the idea of watching Dimitri at work on her wound that felt... wrong, somehow. As if it was a sight not meant for her, not with the ire her injuries had prompted.
But now that her eyes were open, now that she was done, she studied his handiwork. They were not the neat and tidy stitches that she would have expected from someone like Mercedes. No, these were uneven and jagged. But they accomplished what they needed to, and they seemed secure enough that they would hold while she healed.
Byleth looked up from the sutures to see Dimitri holding the roll of gauze at the ready. She started to gingerly lift her leg, careful of the fresh mends as they strained from the movement of the muscle. But just as soon as she had started to lift it, Dimitri shifted from his kneeling position to balance on one knee, using the other to support the weight of her leg.
He dressed the wound swiftly, with the kind of precision that only came from practice. She stole a glance at the eyepatch over his right eye, the most obvious indicator of just how gruesome the last five years had been for him, the most obvious indicator that the practice had likely been on himself.
When he finished tying off the bandage, he delicately set her leg to rest on the ground again, before shifting his focus to her shoulder. Wordlessly, he helped her remove her jacket before leaning in to study the arrowhead.
“Lucky again,” he growled through gritted teeth. “This easily could have hit the joint; your sword arm would be useless.”
“I know,” she said again. That had been no accident.
It was a power that she rarely used anymore. She’d pushed it to the breaking point once. It was when her father had died.
It was only Sothis that had stopped her then, but she knew the deity in her heart hadn’t been wrong. She’d felt the stabbing pain in her chest, she’d felt the hold she had on the rules of the world begin to slip; she’d felt the hopelessness set in. She just hadn’t known which would shatter first.
She hadn’t even touched that power when Rodrigue died, because she wanted it always within her grasp. To prevent the one death that mattered. The one death that she would always refuse to accept. The one life that was worth breaking herself or breaking the world to save: Dimitri’s.
She had needed it for herself today, but she hadn’t abused it in an attempt to prevent the injuries altogether.
Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly as Dimitri gave a gentle tug on the remains of the arrow’s shaft, a piercing pain shooting through her shoulder in response.
“Thought so,” he muttered. “It’s barbed.”
Archery was not her most favored form of combat, but Byleth was well-versed in barbs from her other weapon of choice--the fishing pole. A barb at the end of the hook went a long way to help keep a catch on the line.
“You’ll need to make a counter incision.”
He was silent for a moment as a muscle pulsed in his jaw.
“Dagger,” he finally demanded, holding out a hand.
Byleth drew the dagger her father had given her from its sheath and handed it to Dimitri.
He gripped it with white knuckles as he cut away the sleeve of her shirt. Once that was done, she sterilized the blade with flame at his behest, just as she had done with the needle, before giving it back to him.
The point of the dagger hovered over the wound. “Don’t move. No matter what.”
She nodded as Dimitri placed the hilt of the dagger sideways in his mouth, holding it with his teeth. He gripped the shaft of the arrow with his left hand and pulled gently, a steady pressure.
Painful, but not excruciating yet.
She had been able to control herself while he administered the stitches, but she couldn’t now. Not even with her eyes closed.
Not when his right hand traced the skin around the entry point, so softly that she could almost imagine it was a tender caress. Not when she could smell the mix of musk and rust on him, as if they had been tangled up like lovers instead of fresh from the battlefield.
Reality harshly cut through, sharp as a knife, her eyes snapping open.
He did it quickly.
A slice on either side where he had undoubtedly felt her flesh raised, his touch not a caress at all but an assessment.
He drew the broadhead out, guiding the barbs through the freshly cut openings and then tossed the dreadful, bloody thing to the ground.
The familiar scorch of the liquor returned as he doused the now fully exposed laceration.
And then Dimitri took up the last item from the supplies he’d laid out earlier.
“What is that?” Byleth asked as she watched him pour a dash of water into the small pouch before grinding it back and forth in his grasp.
A heady, herbaceous aroma wafted through the air when he opened the satchel. “Something Dedue taught me.”
He did not elaborate, but he didn’t need to as he scooped out a verdant poultice onto his fingers and packed it into the gash left behind in her shoulder.
The effect was immediate--a cooling sensation spreading through the aggravated, angry tissue, such a stark relief that she couldn’t stop the soft sigh she let out.
But as the pain ebbed and dulled while Dimitri wrapped bandages around her shoulder, her thoughts honed in on unpleasant details.
It was with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach that Byleth began to wonder why he was so well prepared. As if he had been counting on needing to tend to his own wounds himself. As if he was still thinking of leaving.
And she couldn’t stand it.
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t slow you down,” she murmured.
He had just finished tying off the gauze, but he was frozen now. On edge. Angry. She could see it in every line of his body.
But she couldn’t stop. She whispered into the silence, “Please don’t go to Enbarr.”
Dimitri drew back, but he turned away, only an eyepatch meeting her gaze as he snarled, “You think that’s what I’m worried about? You think I’m going to leave?”
“Then what is it?” she demanded, her own anger rising in her voice. “You’ve barely spoken to me. You won’t even look at me!”
Everything he had done to care for her may as well have been him servicing a weapon for how much he acknowledged her.
He shrank against her words as if they’d been a physical blow. And then he finally turned back to face her. He finally met her gaze, and there were tears in his eye.
“You could have died,” he choked out, the tears beginning to spill in earnest. “I’m not worried about you slowing me down; I’m worried about losing you! Do you have any idea how much I love you?!”
“You... love me?”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”
Byleth wanted to catch his tears as if they were her own. But how could she salve his wounds when she bore the same aches?
The answer was clear, there was only one remedy for the malady facing them.
She took his face in her hands, ignoring the way her leg protested when she sat up on her knees to be able to reach him, and pressed her lips to his.
For just a moment, he went rigid against her. Then he gave in, enveloping her in his arms and supporting her weight as he returned her kiss.
It was chaste at first, tentative.
“Does this mean--” His mouth moved against her own. “--that you--” He had to pause as his lips melded with hers once more. “--love me?”
He finally pulled away. If he had refused to meet her gaze before, he was doing the opposite now. Looking into her eyes, his own holding hope within it.
Even now, she had to steel her courage. It was such a simple phrase--three little words, and just that--words, not weapons, but words.
But words could be just as deadly. And she understood why Dimitri needed to hear it, because hearing the same from him had been far more healing than any of the care he’d just given her.
Forget any medicine, forget any magic. Those words were the panacea for all the pain, both inside and out.
So she finally said the truth aloud, “Yes, I love you.”
The words unleashed something in him. When he kissed her again, it was not the same shy kisses from before. No, his lips crashed into hers, the kiss of a man starving.
But he wasn’t the only one ravenous. Byleth hadn’t realized it was possible to feel so hungry. To eat or be eaten--was it so wrong to want both?
His tongue brushed against her lips in question and hers parted in answer. How could she turn down a chance to taste him?
That taste only made her hungrier. But even as she tried to get closer, pressing herself against him, he drew back.
“What is it?” she protested, desperate for more of him.
“I’m so sorry, Byleth.” His voice was strained. “If we continue, I don’t think I will be able to hold myself back.”
“I don’t want you to hold back.”
Dimitri answered her with a hard stare.
“You think I don’t know what I’m asking for?” she demanded. What a greedy little thing she was. “I don’t want you to hold back; give me all of you.”
To reinforce the meaning of her words, she lunged forward, ignoring the objections of her injuries, and began to clumsily fumble with the buckles on his gauntlet--the closest piece of his armor that she could grasp.
He caught her hand easily. But before she could begin to argue with him, he spoke, “Alright, you win!” He lifted the hand he had grasped, pressing his lips to the smooth skin. “I am soundly defeated. But you are wounded, so you will lie back.”
The last words were said with the prince’s voice, authority echoing in each syllable.
All she had to do was nod, and then her prince was in control. He laid her down gently, having been responsible for supporting her weight since she first kissed him. He then made quick work of removing his armor, clearly practiced with each buckle and fastening.
Before she could even wonder, his attention was turned back on her.
He started with the shirt that he had already cut a sleeve off of. “I’m not going to try to salvage this,” he admitted, before effortlessly tearing the fabric apart, leaving her torso in nothing but the binding around her breasts.
It wasn’t something that she did every day, but when it came to battle, things were much easier if she had restrained them.
A choked sound came from Dimitri’s throat as he observed the fabric wrapped tightly around her chest, but a moment’s hesitation was all he took for himself before he took the edge and gradually unwound the cocoon.
Once her breasts were free, he moved immediately down to her shorts, but Byleth caught the unmistakable color in his cheeks. Color that she could feel rising in her own cheeks as he pulled both her shorts and her undergarment down, taking with it the remnants of her stockings. When he reached her knees, he removed the armor on her left leg and her boots, before leaving her entirely bare before him.
The thought entered her mind to cover herself up, a vulnerable state that none but herself had been witness to before now. But it was a thought that she swallowed as Dimitri leaned back, kneeling between her legs, and pulled his own shirt off.
Scars. He was covered in them, his skin a mosaic of misery. She could have made endless constellations from the spread. But it was a star chart that she would have gladly replaced the night sky with if it meant that she could gaze upon him even for a moment.
Yet he wasted no time revealing more, stripping off his pants and his own undergarments and tossing them aside.
If she had thought she felt a blush rising to her cheeks before, it was nothing compared to what rose up within her at seeing him fully exposed. And even that was nothing compared to what roared up inside her as he settled himself between her legs.
“You’re drenched,” he commented, a note of satisfaction in his words.
She’d felt it building from the moment he took her into his arms. It was a place that she had always done her best to ignore except to tend to it when it bled, treating it as nothing more than an inconvenient wound.
And perhaps it was a wound, because now it ached. But there was only one cure for this pain. A cure that Dimitri did not deny her.
He kept his eye trained on as he dragged a finger up her slit, and she could not contain the desperate whine that it pulled from her.
She thought she caught sight of a grin across his features, but she couldn’t be sure. Not as he slid his finger inside of her, causing her to tilt her head back and gasp.
He started slow, lazily drawing his finger in and out, dragging across a sensitive spot she’d never known existed.
It was almost a form of torture. Even as the pleasure was building, it wasn’t enough. But Dimitri kept delivering, ratcheting up what he was giving as need ratcheted up in her.
He slipped a second finger in, deliciously stretching her as he started to increase his pace, dragging out more and more gasps and moans.
She was on the precipice of something; if it was a fire that had roared to life in her, this was something that could set her very soul ablaze, and she’d gladly burn.
Then she felt his mouth close over the sensitive bud, massaging it with his tongue.
It pushed her over that edge and she bloomed, she burned, she unraveled.
It was a moment before she could catch her breath, before she could see past the stars in her eyes.
How wonderful it was that the first thing she could see again was Dimitri’s face, hovering over hers; like a dream come true. He was wearing a shy smile, and when she returned it, his lips met hers once more.
“Are you ready?” he whispered into the kiss.
“Yes,” she murmured back. Any fear, apprehension, or even loathing she may have felt towards that unknown part of herself was gone knowing that it was Dimitri who was unearthing it with her.
He nodded, drawing back. But he didn’t move yet. Instead, his color stained his cheeks and he glanced away. “Please forgive me if... I mean, forgive my inexperience. I... I’ve never done this before.”
She had to fight the urge to laugh at the fact that he seemed to think it was possible that she could have any experience of her own. “I haven’t either.”
It was simpler to say than to explain that he was the only she’d ever felt desire for, the only one capable of making her feel so human.
Dimitri’s shoulders seemed to sag with relief at her words as he sat up. He lined himself up and then slowly pressed in, just the tip to start. “I’m afraid that it may hurt at first. I will do my best to be as gentle as I can.”
“I know, it’s okay,” she assured him. She hadn’t ever had any interest of her own, but she knew enough from growing up around mercenaries. Her father had done his best to shelter her from the worst of it, but men talked, often loudly, of their various trysts.
Besides, any pain was worth enduring if it meant that she could have him.
Dimitri leaned back over her, carefully placing his elbows around her to support the weight of his upper body as he pushed in with a groan, stopping once he was fully sheathed in her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself as she felt it--a faint tearing sensation as she stretched around him, but aside from the brief moment of pain, it was merely the sense of being very full, the sense of being finally whole.
All her life, there had been something deficient, something absent. A child who never laughed or cried. A demon so cold and heartless that hers did not even beat. She’d never considered that what she was lacking might be outside of herself.
But with Dimitri inside of her now, a part of her, she knew. What she’d been missing all along, what she’d needed all along was him.
Something wet hit her cheek and she opened her eyes to see Dimitri crying above her. She reached up with her good arm, brushing the tears from his cheek.
He leaned into the caress. “I’m sorry... I assure you, these are happy tears.”
She started trying to sit up, to bring her lips to his despite the revolt of her shoulder, but he understood her intent and bent down, tenderly kissing her.
And then he began to move.
If she’d thought his fingers felt divine, it was nothing to how it felt to have him inside her, reaching deep within.
Their kisses grew hungry again, tongues tangling, desperate to be closer. The desire to consume and be consumed.
As if reading her thoughts, Dimitri broke away to let his mouth wander, carving a path across her skin with kisses.
He kissed her jawline, her neck, her collarbone. He kissed his way down to her breasts, closing his mouth over the peaked nipple of the left one, shifting his weight to one arm to pinch and roll the right one between his thumb and forefinger.
As his teeth dragged over the sensitive skin, she threw her head back, letting herself drown in the pleasure. Dimitri increased his pace in response even as he continued to worship her breasts.
When he finally moved his mouth back up to her neck, he was doing deep, powerful thrusts, and she was once again teetering on that edge.
“Byleth,” he murmured, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. “I’m almost...” He let out a grunt as he plunged into her again. “I have to...”
He was nearing his rapture too, and Byleth wanted to reach it together. She hooked her uninjured leg around him, demanding that he finish with her.
It seemed enough to push him over the edge. He groaned out her name, slamming his hips into hers and emptying himself inside of her.
She shattered. Ecstasy crashed over her like a wave as she cried out his name.
Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri.
Once they’d managed to catch their breath, he finally pulled out of her and shifted to lie at her side, brushing his fingers delicately through her hair.
She reached out and took his hand, interlacing their fingers.
Words from years ago came to mind. They’d meant little to her at the time, her father speaking of things she’d thought beyond her reach.
One day, I hope you’ll give this ring to someone you love as well as I love her.
She finally understood. After having him for a moment, she understood that it was not enough. That love was a thing that devoured and only grew hungrier, a greedy little thing just like her.
She had to have him. She had to keep him.
“Dimitri..."
But he shook his head. “Please, there is something I must say first.”
Byleth nodded her assent.
“You will always be the one who guided me so kindly. My ally through all. My beloved... Yes... my beloved.” He took a deep breath. “I... I’d like for you to remain by my side. Forever. Not as merely an ally, but... as my wife.”
She stared at him as he stole the words from her mouth.
His expression grew desperate. “Please... I beg of you. Say something!”
Could he not see how much she loved him?
“You beat me to it,” she said, unable to hold in her laughter this time.
It was Dimitri’s turn to stare at her.
“I love you, Dimitri. Marry me.”
“I love you, Byleth.” He let out his own chuckle, the sound laced with relief, as he brought the hand she’d placed in his to his lips. “Your hands... Now that I hold them within my own, I see how small and fragile they are. These hands that have saved me countless times... Thank you, my beloved. Your kind, warm hands... May they cling to my own forevermore...”
To eat or be eaten? No, this was what it was like to heal and be healed, to love and to be loved. Forevermore.