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He found the water in the baths stagnant, freezing, and miserable.
It suited his mood.
Perhaps, five years ago, despite his assessment of himself as a hard-edged swordsman, he might have wrinkled his nose at such a poor excuse for bath water. But that was then. Before the Empire had rolled over this monastery with their war beasts and mages, before they’d seized control of Fhirdiad and put that woman on the throne, before he’d gotten used to weeks without anywhere to bathe at all, riding hard and fighting harder…
Before Dimitri had died.
Now, after all of those things, he had no compunctions about throwing all of his clothes off, layer by layer, pulling out his hair tie, and then lowering himself down into the frigid water.
And standing there, shivering, the only sound the slosh of the water and his own breath bouncing off the old stone walls.
He closed his eyes. A mistake. As soon as he did, the whole area seemed to come alive, his memories animating around him. The jostle and push of eager kids, proud and virile and uncaring. He could hear the splash of water, feel the rise of steam, remember rolling his eyes and dunking his head under the water to avoid having to hear that brick house loudmouth from the Golden Deer grilling Dimitri on his training technique yet again. The water had been clean and blistering hot, shampoo bubbles had popped all around his ears and face, and when he’d resurfaced, Dimitri had caught his eyes, imploring aid, and --
He bit back a desperate, uneven, mirthless laugh in the here and now. It rose up in him regardless, choking him, overwhelming him, and it escaped as a half-formed, wild sort of sob.
It burned.
He did as he had done all those years ago, submerging himself beneath the water. The shock of the cold went through him like a million tiny knives, and he hoped to feel them cut away the horrible madness the day’s events had inflicted him with, but…
Well.
He shook his head, hard, beneath the water. His hair swirled around him like seaweed. What had changed, really? Had anything?
In every way that mattered, Dimitri remained dead.
He rose from the bath not long after, feeling no better than he had when he entered it. Pulling his dirty clothes on over his clean body felt worse. The echoes of young men with bright lives seemed to linger after him, spectres of people no longer living.
Mercedes and Annette had already started setting them up in the teacher’s old quarters. Much better than the student dormitories, designed for faculty to stay and build homes for themselves rather than children who would be gone in a year’s time. And Felix intended to head there, to leave the baths and make his way to the bed the girls had no doubt already turned down for him and covered in pot pourri while they were at it.
But his feet didn’t take him there.
Despite his intentions, they lead him down past the rows of the dormitories for common students, footsteps sharp on stone and then muted on what had once been packed dirt and what time had turned into unkempt, yellowed grass. The carefully maintained gardens outside the greenhouse were wild as any eastern jungle. Did fish still swim in the pond? Did anything still grow in that steamy glass haven? Was anything at all left of the life they’d lived at Garreg Mach Monastery?
His path took him up the stairs to the second floor dormitory, where the rooms were bigger and the hall was carpeted so lushly that the fibres still squished beneath his boots.
He walked the length of the hall.
He didn’t stop at his own door.
The one next to it wasn’t even latched, pushing open at the mere touch of his hand to reveal the interior beyond. It was like a punch in the damn gut. Edelgard’s imperial army had rolled over and through Garreg Mach like a rampaging horde. There had been no time to pack bags. They hadn’t left the monastery. They’d fled it.
He took a step inside. Another. His heart thudded, deafening in his ears, and his head spun. This awful pressure in his chest and ache in his throat made him want to claw at his skin until he tore it out.
He gave in to a far less noble sort of urge.
The bed was still soft, the sheets and covers warm. If Felix turned his face into the pillow, breathed deep and long and shut his eyes tight, he could make himself believe that some trace scent still lingered, persisting through five years of disuse. That it wasn’t dust and decay that filled his nose, but what remained of Dimitri. His essence, preserved here.
It certainly was not present in that creature he’d seen down below.
That pressure rose again, unrelenting and unbearable, tearing its way up his chest and his throat and then escaping through his lips -- a rough, wild, animal sob. He clenched his teeth down on it, bit his tongue, fisted his hands into the covers, but there was no holding it back. No keeping it down, bottled, sealed away.
Madness broke loose. He shuddered, spine to toes, and another sob escaped, louder and wilder still. That one moment of weakness in the baths seemed to have unstopped some flood long withheld, and after several excruciatingly, physically painful moments of fighting, he gave in to it.
Whole-heartedly.
Pathetically.
Gripping the pillow in both hands, howling and screaming into it, wracked from head to toe with uncontrollable, wailing sobs until his heart and mind both felt hollowed and emptied out, until his head felt swollen and stuffed with cotton, until his throat was raw and aching, until his chest burned, his eyes stung, and, finally, until some measure of exhausted, hollow facsimile of peace fell over him, and his body seemed to melt into the mattress and pillow, the blankets a welcoming cocoon embracing him, pulling him down… down… and down…
He rolled over amidst glowing, golden light to find Dimitri at his side. His hair fell charmingly over his forehead, and his sapphire eyes seemed to glow with feeling as he gazed down at him. Felix made the mistake of catching that gaze and was arrested by it, heat flooding his cheeks as Dimitri’s fingers reached to stroke his cheek.
“What are you staring at?” he asked roughly, unable to avert his gaze even as it practically burned him.
A slow, contented smile spread across Dimitri’s handsome face. “You’re a fucking imbecile if you think you can ever get this back,” he said, voice cold as ice and sharp as a lancet. “You left me to die, and you don’t deserve anything.”
He snapped awake, panting and gasping and flying up from the bed, one hand clutched to his throat. He gritted his teeth so tight they ached in protest, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Goddess. Saints. Fuck! Nightmares, still? Dreaming of what could have been, flagellating himself for some subconscious self of responsibility for something he couldn’t have changed --
For something that had never even happened!
Would he ever be free of this? Was there any peace for him, or would he be as war torn as Fodlan looked likely to be, for as long as he --
He froze all at once.
He wasn’t alone.
He bolted from the bed, eyes snapping open, lunging for the sword he’d left against the shelves. He moved in a blur, the blade flashing on a sliver of moonlight in his hand, coming to rest at the throat of the vast, hulking figure that had appeared at the foot of the bed, and --
The figure did not move. Barely reacted. The moonlight limned golden hair with a silver hue, and one sapphire eye gleamed out of the darkness like the depth of a flame.
A shudder wracked his body, head to toe, when he realized who stood there.
The voice that came from the shadows was barely recognizable. “I’m afraid I can’t let you kill me,” it said, rough and gravelly and barely containing any emotion at all, except, perversely, some twinge of something that might, indeed, be regret. “I have things left to do.”
Felix struggled to breathe. His throat and lungs still ached from his indulgence before, and the dead, flat tone in that barely familiar voice made him sick. How could he stand there, feeling nothing, when Felix felt so much he could barely function?
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, hushed and harsh. His cheeks burned. It was not what he’d intended to say. The point of his sword wavered.
Slowly, the hulking beast’s head tilted to one side. “This is my room,” it said. It sounded, if anything, confused.
Felix gasped out a shocked, bitter laugh. “This isn’t anyone’s room. It’s a fucking tomb.”
“For who?”
“You.”
Moonlight showed him a furrowed brow. “I’m not dead, Felix.”
The unambiguous and yet perverse truth of it crashed over him like a wave, and the next breath he took was shuddering and pained. Five years of reality came unravelled all at once, time itself turning inside out as his mind struggled to reassemble this new truth into some configuration that made any sense.
Dimitri was not dead.
His father, Ingrid, even Sylvain -- they had all been right, all along. The hope he’d found so pathetic and so poisonous had never been misplaced. Dimitri was not dead, which meant Felix bore no responsibility for that death, which meant…
What?
That everything was fine, now? That he could finally rest easy, his conscience assuaged and his dreams all come true?
Hah.
Dimitri was not dead, no. This fetid, half-wild, feral beast walked the earth in his skin.
“You’d call yourself living, then?” he rasped, his lip curling. “Seems a bit of an overstatement, doesn’t it?”
The beast paused, as if thinking very hard, carefully assessing himself before giving any answer. His breath echoed thick in the still, deathly quiet air. “Perhaps,” he agreed, after a long moment, nodding slowly, and then Felix felt that one eye pin him against the bed. “Why are you here?” he asked.
He sounded strangely innocent as he asked the question, some small trace of his former self, bright-eyed and solicitous in his voice. It was lunacy to let his guard down.
And yet.
He finally lowered his sword, shoulders drooping and eyes falling closed. Whatever magic this place possessed ought to have long faded, but he still felt a wave of nostalgia roll over him, aching in its sweetness. “You know why,” he said, his voice very small.
When he opened his eyes, he found the beast considering him very carefully. He tossed his sword aside, uncaring of the edge. Without it, he was very aware of how he’d stripped off most of his clothes before climbing into the bed. “You know why,” he repeated, and now his voice held a bitter accusation. “Saints. Fuck!” The anger rose up in him, hot and good, better than longing and despair by far. “You laid here and you told me -- you promised me! -- that you had the beast under control! That you wouldn’t let it take control of you! That --”
“I did not. Perhaps you heard it, in what I did say, but I would not promise such a thing. I couldn’t afford to. Vengeance --”
“Saint Seiros, but I hope vengeance has kept you warm all these years,” Felix spat.
“It hasn’t.”
And it was the empty, honest sort of sadness in his voice that made Felix pause, made his heart seize up and forget all about that comforting blanket of anger. For just a moment -- he sounded very much like Dimitri.
It was too much -- too compromising. He went to throw back the covers and eject himself from the bed, to throw on his coat and leave as fast as he could. But --
“The only thing that ever kept me warm at night was you,” Dimitri said, and how could he so much as move after that?
He shivered, half exposed in his truncated effort to free himself, very aware of that one eye on him. How did you lose it? He wanted to ask, because he loathed that he didn’t know, that such an important fact of Dimitri’s life was locked away from him. But it lead to a million other questions, all piling up together in his head, adding to the weight pressing him down.
“Why are you here?” the beast asked again. All trace of Dimitri in his voice was gone.
The memory of it clung to him, regardless. “You know why,” he said again, no more than a whisper.
“No,” the beast growled, gaze sliding in the direction of his discarded sword. “Why are you still here?”
Hope and fear and want all swirled together in his middle. He felt half sick with longing and self-loathing. This creature, this monster, this filthy, unwashed animal was not his Dimitri, not the man he’d laid awake at night missing so badly it leached colour and life from everything around him.
But he was desperate enough to want this pale shadow of him, regardless.
He shook with a quiet, bitter laugh. “You know why,” he repeated.
For a long moment, they were both still, watching one another in darkened silence.
Then the beast began to remove his armour.
Felix could hardly bear to watch, and yet could not bring himself to look away. The clawed gauntlets came off first, clattering to the ground. Then the greaves and vambraces. That stinking cape emblazoned so discordantly with the proud Faerghus griffon fell in a thump of velvet and furs, and breastplate and pauldrons and cuisses thudded dully atop its carpeting.
Under all of it, he wore a simple white shirt, half-laced, and dark breeches.
Felix swallowed. His mouth was dry as a desert.
The bed sank and creaked when Dimitri planted one knee on it. He moved forward like a prowling animal, and Felix was as immobile as any prey might be. His heart thumped in his ears, his chest ached with sharp intensity -- or was that his heart? He didn’t move… couldn’t move.
Not until calloused, cracked fingers moved to brush hair from his face.
“Stop,” he gasped.
It was as if the creature did not hear him at all. His fingers sank deep into his hair, still loose and damp from the bath. His touch was -- not gentle. Not wondering and sweet and exploratory, as it had been so long ago. And yet it reminded him so very much of that, like he was clumsily fumbling his way through a recollection of it, trying to mimic how it had been.
Felix shook his head. “Stop,” he said again, more forcefully.
This time, he did.
Felix could feel his breath, hot on his face. He swallowed, hard. Fuck, he was shivering, head to toe, like a leaf in the wind, desperately trying to keep from being blown away. He closed his eyes tight, as tight as he could, screwing up his face.
His next shaking breath caught. He cursed the lump in his throat, the pressure behind his eyes.
“I thought you had died,” he hissed. “Do you understand that? I thought you were dead.”
“Am I not?”
He managed to suck in another breath. Tears escaped his clenched lids, beading on his lashes. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. Fingers tangled in his hair. “What are you doing?”
The beast moved in closer. His nose pressed against Felix’s temple. A second hand touched him, warm against his bare shoulder. “Is it unclear?” he rumbled.
Felix gritted his teeth. “Why?” he forced himself to ask.
Insistent fingers combed roughly through his hair. The hand on his shoulder slid down, along the muscles of his upper arm. “Beasts… crave more than blood,” that voice, blistering hot against his ear, whispered. “And I remember how good you felt.”
Felix shuddered.
Saints, but he had been prepared for the answer he thought he would receive. Because I know you want this. And he had thought himself prepared to reject that, to shove him away. He didn’t need the pitying attentions of a half-dead madman. What he wanted was gone, and this thing, this creature, could provide only salt for wounds torn open by his very presence!
But he had not expected the beast to profess want of his own.
Nor for it to conjure, with dizzying intensity, the memories he had come to this room to languish in. Dimitri’s hair falling over his forehead as he bent to press a kiss against his shoulder. Felix turning away his face to avoid the startling intensity in those sapphire eyes. Fuck, the way it had felt that first time he’d felt the blunt, thick head of Dimitri’s cock against him, the way everything had crystallized and then shattered when he’d pushed in, so slow, so careful, and the sound Dimitri had made, rough and desperate and sweet --
“You remember, too,” the beast murmured, needlessly. As if it weren’t obvious, by the way Felix’s breath hitched, by the way he strained toward him, by the pathetic, longing little noise that emerged from his throat.
“As if I could forget.”
He’d meant to throw it like an accusation, but he failed spectacularly. His cheeks burned with how marble-mouthed and affected he sounded. One of his hands came up to rest on the beast’s chest, ostensibly to push him back, but -- ah. With his palm against the hard, unyielding muscle of him, warm and solid beneath his fingers, he could feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat.
It did things to him. Practically tore apart any sense he had remaining. His fingers clenched, burying themselves in the loose fabric of his white shirt, grasping on for dear life. The beast made a low, rumbling sound, like a growl or even a purr, against his ear.
He shuddered.
He knew better than to let this happen.
But --
Shit. Fuck.
His fingers dug into his shirt with white-knuckled ferocity. He swallowed, hard. Damn the lump in his throat! And the wetness in his eyes. And, more than anything else, the way his cock practically ached against the prison of his pants. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered again, hoarsely, managing to be only slightly more accusing this time than the last.
The beast chuckled bitterly, mirthlessly. Felix squeezed his eyes tightly shut.
Had his hands always been so large? Felix didn’t think so. The way one cradled the back of his neck made his spine come alive with tingling want. The other slid down his arm, coming to rest against his hip. One thumb traced the jut of his hip bone through his pants, an echo of a torturously familiar gesture.
“Would you let a ravenous beast fuck you, Felix?”
He couldn’t tell if it was a genuine inquiry or some sick, cruel taunt. He fisted his hand in his shirt, yanked him closer. He barely moved. He had never been so solid as he was, now. What had happened to him, in these five years, to make him so --
Felix shook his head, hard. “Don’t,” he snapped.
Another chuckle, dark and awful. “Don’t what?”
“Talk to me like that.”
A thoughtful noise made the air around them vibrate. Felix felt the rumbling of his chest against his hand. “You told me you liked to be teased.”
“I told him that!” Felix snapped. He turned his face roughly away. His heart was pounding a million miles a minute, and he wanted to get up, grab his clothes, run away, escape back to --
To where?
To the awful, soul-crushing reality of waking up, everyday, in a world without Dimitri? Where hope was poison but despair was worse, where he let himself be pulled between the two with sickening, dizzying roughness, where every time he got too close to one or the other he practically fell apart?
There wasn’t enough air in here.
Fingers curled beneath the waistband of his pants, tracing his bare skin. Along his side, to his back… curving so carefully and lovingly over the flesh of his ass…
Felix felt the fight go out of him, all at once. He slumped forward, gasping for breath, falling against the beast’s mighty chest. His other hand came up, resting against him, while the first held on for dear life. He stank, rust and musk, and Felix hated that he didn’t dislike it, like he hated how he admired the firm strength of his body or the animal fervour he displayed. Like he hated the way he longed to let go and let this happen.
Just let go.
“... touch me,” he whispered, burning with shame all the way to his ears. He squirmed forward, arching his back and raising his ass up from the bed. “Please.”
The beast’s breath hitched. He growled his quiet, approving pleasure. And then --
Oh.
Felix gasped and gritted his teeth and buried his face against his neck as both hands were on him, cupping him below and squeezing him. He squeezed his eyes so tightly shut it hurt when those large, strong hands slipped none too gently beneath the fabric of his pants. And he cried out, high and shocked, when those hands spread him with no compunction or hesitation.
Shit.
“Dimitri,” he gasped out, and could have bit his tongue off in disgust. He was going to be the death of himself, thinking of this creature as Dimitri, his Dimitri.
But --
“Ah, Felix,” he echoed, and in that moment, with that familiar voice no more than a whisper against his ear, it was so easy to just let himself pretend that it was all really that simple. Dimitri was back from the dead, and Felix was here in his arms, and it would all be all right, after all.
Large, rough hands slid down his thighs, and Felix squirmed to help him remove his pants. He couldn’t help the flush on his cheeks, and then couldn’t help remembering how Dimitri had laughed sweetly and kissed him, confessed how his blushes reminded him of when they were young and things were simple between them, told him how lovely he looked. Felix practically burned when he felt his cock, freed from its constraints, bounce heavy and eager against his stomach. And he couldn’t help his cry of embarrassed delight when one of those hands wrapped him in a firm grip and stroked, long and slow, from base to tip.
“Dimitri,” he panted, shaking with the intensity of his desire. “I -- ah, Dimitri.”
A strong hand on his shoulder bore him back down to the mattress, head against the pillow. He let himself be maneuvered -- gladly, eagerly. He shuddered and moaned when he felt the weight of him atop him, when an eager arm slipped under his leg and a hand down his bare thigh and then fingers brushed experimentally against his hole.
“Dimitri!” he cried, forgetting to even be ashamed of it.
They’d always needed to be quiet, quiet, with Sylvain next door and the future Duke of Reigan only one room away. Dimitri would cover Felix’s mouth with his hand while he whimpered and moaned, and Felix would glare if he had the wherewithal or, more often, just enjoy the feeling of being controlled like that. But now? Now, the closest ears were so far away they could scream loud enough for the Goddess on her distant star to hear them and have no one the wiser.
So when those large, calloused fingers pushed against him again, he let his head fall back against the pillow, let a blissful cry escape his lips, unfettered and open. His heart jumped and his stomach clenched when he heard the beast gasp in delight above him, and then growl in pleasure as he pulled away, fumbling with drawers beside them.
A slice of moonlight illuminated a swath of him -- his muscled, well-formed chest, one dark, puckered nipple, the fall of golden hair and that one shining sapphire eye. Felix reached for him, unable to help himself. He traced the lines of muscle, reveling in the warm, hard reality of his flesh. His fingers brushed against that nipple and he watched it harden, watched the man above him shudder and his features lock in something like a snarl or a grimace, and -- ah, shit. He could see the pleasure there. Even when he was like this, a beast in rut, he could see it.
He remembered how it had felt, the first time he’d seen Dimitri lose control in battle. He remembered how, before the true horror had set in, before he’d realized the utter depravity that had lurked within the heart of the boy he’d loved for as long as he had memory of anything, he’d felt a certain tightness in his loins at the sheer strength and power and ferocity he’d seen in him.
He was nearly as disgusting as the boar himself, for still feeling that twinge, even now, after all he’d witnessed.
The beast made a triumphant sort of sound, a gutteral gasp of victory, and laughed low in his throat. Not at all like Dimitri’s self effacing, breathless laugh. He produced a little glass bottle, waving it before Felix’s face. “Still here,” he breathed, and wiggled up the stopper with one hand. The astringent scent of aloe flooded the air between them. He took the bottle in his teeth, turning it to spill upon his fingers.
The slick liquid glistened in the moonlight.
Felix swallowed, his throat far too dry. “Please,” he whispered.
Dimitri hummed low in delight, and moments later, those moistened fingers played teasingly at his entrance. Felix hissed and arched back, his head sinking into the pillow, gasping out his pleasure.
“I’ve thought of this so often,” Dimitri breathed.
Felix clenched his teeth. “No,” he gritted. “I don’t want to hear it.”
But a moment later, as those wonderfully thick fingertips teased him open, maddeningly slow, he screwed up his face and shook his head. Damn him!
“How often?” he asked, squirming down against him. He felt so empty. It ached. “More. Faster.”
“Always so eager,” Dimitri rumbled, and finally slid the tip of one finger inside his waiting, eager hole.
Felix gasped and threw back his head. “Fu...fuck.” It had been so long, so damn long, and his hands were bigger than they had been, he knew that now for a fact.
“As I lay awake at night…” Dimitri murmured, gliding his finger slowly in and then out, and if Felix closed his eyes and gritted his teeth and willed himself to believe that nothing had changed, he could almost disappear into this feeling. “In those brief moments where the dead allow me brief respite from their demands and obligations… in truth, my thoughts would always turn to you. To this…”
Felix’s breath hitched, and he shook his head bitterly. “And you never -- never in all those moments thought to get word to us? I thought -- I thought you were --” Dimitri’s finger curled within him, and he near arched off the bed. “Ah!”
“So very lovely,” the beast growled, withdrawing his finger and leaving Felix desperately empty again.
“Please,” he begged.
“Peace,” the beast ordered, and then he was there again, with two fingers instead of just the one. Stretching him, preparing him. Felix quivered with anticipation, closing his eyes and focusing on the stretch, the slide, the wonderful feeling of fullness and the knowledge that soon he’d have as much as he could handle.
“Dimitri,” he whispered.
“Did you not say it yourself, Felix? I am a walking corpse, and this is my tomb. What word would I have given you?”
He barked a mirthless, high-pitched laugh, the sick feeling in his stomach mingling with the pleasure and need and desire thrumming through him. “Anything.”
“A complication I could ill afford. I am the only justice the dead will ever receive, and all else must be secondary. They allow me this moment that I might cleanse myself of all distractions before setting my sights once again on the head of the vicious woman who caused all of this, I --”
Felix dug his nails into the flesh of the beast’s back, through the thin material of his shirt. “Stop it,” he gasped, the pain in his chest near unbearable. “I -- please. Please, stop.” Anger rose in him on the heels of the despair, and he gritted his teeth and turned his head to the side. “You told me you didn’t want to lose control,” he whispered. “You said… you promised…”
“I never promised,” the beast said, sounding so very lucid and rational and reasonable.
If he had any sense, he’d stop this right now. This wasn’t Dimitri, his Dimitri, and he was in so far over his head. He’d seen what this creature was capable of long before it had completely given in to its madness.
But he thought of Dimitri gazing down at him, that little smile on his lips, such tenderness in his eyes. What? He’d asked, as annoyed as he was ecstatic to see such open affection on his face.
Nothing, Dimitri had replied, reaching to brush hair from his forehead, fingers warm and tender against his skin. It’s just… so quiet, right now.
His hands slid up his broad, muscled back, the fabric whispering across his skin. Buried fingers into long, greasy hair. Maybe there was some small comfort he could provide, he reasoned, swallowing hard.
And it had been so very, very long.
“Just fuck me,” he begged.
The beast made a small sound of surprise, followed by a low hum of pleasure. He withdrew his slick, exploring fingers. Felix whimpered his protest at the feeling of emptiness, biting his lip and squirming beneath him, but a moment later, a large, wet hand surrounded the hot line of his cock, and he gasped his shocked pleasure sharply.
“As you wish,” Dimitri murmured. The darkness was filled with the sound of his belt buckle and then the hiss of fabric across skin and then, wonderfully, the slick, rhythmic sounds of him working the both of them in concert, and Felix dared pry his eyes open to look between them, to see the vague outline of the indecency in action.
He closed them again, falling back against the pillow, head spinning.
A moment later, Dimitri shifted, climbing over him. Felix sucked in a breath and held it. Yes. Yes, please. He cried out in eager, encouraging pleasure when he felt the blunt head of him press against him, warm and sweet and big. So, so big.
“Please,” he begged. “Please, please.” How pathetic, that he imagined himself so good and noble, providing succor for the wild beast by offering up his body. This was the truth. He simply wanted to be fucked.
Dimitri pushed inside.
Felix groaned, fingers fisting hard in his hair, his back arching and his mouth falling open. Oh -- Seiros, Sothis, fuck. He’d always been big, always been wonderfully, impressively big, but this -- this was beyond what he remembered. Dimitri’s cock stretched him so wide it was as if he hadn’t bothered with his fingers at all, as if he’d merely taken what he wanted from the start. Felix’s legs came up around him, heels digging into his muscled thighs, encouraging him to give him more, faster, more.
“Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, yes.” And then, as he squirmed and shivered beneath him: “Fill me.”
“Felix,” Dimitri growled, pushing into him, splitting him open, giving him what he wanted, what he begged for, until his hips were flush against his ass and he could feel nothing but him, his big, fine, beautiful cock, filling him completely
It was so very, very good.
For a moment, he just -- luxuriated in it. Put everything else from his mind, everything but how good this felt and how badly he wanted it and how long he had been without. He clenched himself around him, hissing at how little give there was, how utterly held open he had him. His breath came out in loud, panting groans. It was so simple, like this, so easy, when he could barely think at all through the haze of bliss.
But it wasn’t enough, and after a moment, he began to squirm, to untangle his hands from Dimitri’s hair to ball them up in his shirt, to tug and pull at him.
“Fuck me,” he commanded. “I want it hard.”
Whatever else could be said about the beast grunting and groaning atop him, it could follow orders.
He drew back, leaving Felix bereft and empty, before snapping forward all at once. Bright, sharp lights erupted behind Felix’s eyelids, and he shouted his shocked pleasure. So big -- so full!
“Again!” he cried, but he needn’t have, because Dimitri was already halfway through his next stroke, rough and forceful, and Felix’s nails scrabbled along the fabric of his shirt, searching for purchase, his heels kicking and then pushing up against him.”Yes,” he gasped. “Yes, yes.” The next thrust made him groan, and the next to scream.
It was so easy to forget it all, to just give it to the way it felt.
To focus on the burn and drag, the impossible fullness.
The thump of the bed hitting the wall.
The harsh sound of Dimitri’s breathing in his ear.
The ache in his balls and the incredible waves of pleasure centering around his cock.
When a big hand reached between them and wrapped around him, he nearly came off the bed as an electric jolt of bliss went through him. Dimitri fisted him and stroked slowly, sweetly, even as his thrusts came faster and faster, the juxtaposition sending Felix’s head to spinning.
His hands found their way up under the fabric of his shirt, dragging across flawlessly defined muscle marred by wicked scars. Each one he found, unfamiliar and brutal, brought questions to his tongue, and each time he shoved them away. Nothing mattered but flesh and pleasure and the building, encroaching release on the horizon. Focus on that, and nothing else.
The beast certainly was. The rhythm of his thrusts turned staccato, his hips fluttering against him at the depth of every thrust, his breath rough and deafening in his ear. “Felix,” he groaned, guttural and harsh. “Felix. Felix!”
“Dimitri,” Felix echoed, shame and ecstasy a vicious cocktail in his belly.
“You feel -- ah. Ah! You’re tighter than you ever were,” he growled, voice uneven and desperate. “Has no one else had you, all these years?”
Felix turned his face away, eyes squeezed shut. “I thought you were dead,” he repeated.
“Ah,” the beast gasped. “And you were only ever for me.”
He burned. “Yes,” he agreed. “Only you.”
The words seemed to delight the feral creature rutting above him, and the growl of visceral delight that escaped him made a shiver of fear and pleasure shoot all the way down Felix’s spine, coming to rest in his quivering balls. Fuck, he was close, so close. His fingers dug into the flesh of his back. So close. So close!
“Please,” he whined, writhing beneath him, bucking up into his hand and then back down onto his impossibly big cock. “Please, please, please. D-Dimitri. Dimitri. Dimitri, Dimitri, I, ah, ah, ah --”
It crashed over him like a tidal wave.
White light erupted behind his eyes, and he arched and howled his pleasure, every single muscle in his body bunching and cording. His cock spasmed and then released, splattering hot seed across his ribs and abdomen, and he was faintly aware of Dimitri crying out as well, his grip tightening painfully on his cock as they rose and then fell together as one.
Sweet, peaceful bliss came on in a hazy fog of simple contentment.
But clarity, its duplicitous cousin, was far less gentle.
It stripped the artifice and abstraction from the scene. The scent of musty old fabric came up from the bed, dust and disuse from the shelves, and Dimitri’s unwashed body lost its musky allure. The ache behind his eyes and in the muscles of his thighs reminded him that he wasn’t seventeen anymore.
And Dimitri was murmuring softly to someone, indistinguishable words that Felix didn’t want to discern.
Goddess.
He’d really let this happen.
Hah. Of course he had.
The urge to go into fighting mode near overwhelmed him. To throw off the beast, to find his sword, to hold him at bay whilst he gathered his clothes and made his escape. But he sucked in breaths of air, willing himself calm. It was done.
And whatever Dimitri had become, he did not think he was in any danger.
“Boar,” he said, evenly. “Get up.”
Dimitri froze, and then sighed against his ear. It should not have been possible for such a creature to sound so sad, but there it was. “I am ‘boar’ again, then?” he asked, and shook his head against him. “I see. That is not unfair.”
“Get up,” Felix repeated. This time, he sounded less self-possessed.
“Of course,” Dimitri murmured.
Slowly, he extricated himself from him. Felix hissed and gasped when he pulled free of him, leaving him feeling open and used and so terribly empty. Heat flooded his cheeks as he felt seed leak from his abused hole. Despite everything, he couldn’t help take some pleasure in it, as he always had. The feeling of having been well used, thoroughly claimed. He closed his eyes, drawing in steadying breaths.
He slipped out from beneath him.
His bare feet landed on the cold floor. The carpet fibres practically turned to dust beneath him. This was a tomb, in every way that mattered.
He needed another bath.
“Felix,” the beast said, and a large hand caught his, gripping him tightly.
Felix paused, waiting to see what he’d say, hoping for -- something. Something he knew he wouldn’t hear.
“I never promised anything,” he said, low and sad, and --
Well.
He hadn’t exactly expected any better.
He shook his grip off.
“Five years,” he said, his voice rough. “I thought -- I thought I’d left you to die in that tower for five years.”
A bitter little laugh escaped the beast. “So did I,” he said. “And didn’t you?”
The guilt that had haunted him all this time crashed back, and Felix flinched away from him, from the accusation in his voice. I wanted to storm the place and save you! He wanted to cry, the rationalizations that had kept him up, chasing his own tail, for years all crowding at his tongue, desperate to make themselves heard. They all said Cornelia wouldn’t dare, that you were safe as long as we didn’t force her hand! I was the only one who wanted to do something! I wanted to --
I wanted to…
He shivered.
It was so fucking cold, standing in this dead, empty shell of what had once been such a place of comfort. He set about gathering up his clothes, pulling them on as quickly as he could. His body ached, and he hated how good it felt, how he could draw warmth from something he knew was so empty.
“Are you pleased to see the prince still lives, Felix?” he asked, a shadow in the darkness.
“I’m still not convinced he does,” Felix replied, barely a whisper.
A distant, empty sort of laugh echoed all around him. “You’re wiser than the others, then.”
He strapped on his sword last, and then went for the door, hand on the latch. He paused when he heard the beast speak.
“This will happen again,” he said, low with promise or threat, but Felix thought he detected something else, too -- something sadder. Sweeter. Maybe even something real. “You always did lust for the beast, and I… hah.”
“I know it will,” Felix said, and pushed the door open. He fled through the corpse of Garreg Mach Monastery as if he were the one haunted by the restless dead.
He could not say for sure that he wasn’t.