I think this is the funniest smut I've written so far.
Really, Sylvain has no one to blame but themselves. Maybe Felix alone, if Sylvain wants to channel the same ornery attitude so commonly associated with the man.
They should be packing up their tents like everyone else. Rolling up bedrolls, putting out campfires, tucking away the food and wine. The camp is no doubt in a panicked state, getting ready to be on the open road again, to get Dimitri onto the next leg of his journey.
"What a dumb idea," said Sylvain to Felix when they got they'd gotten the missive months ago. He'd stood in the parlor of their shared estate, staring blankly at the parchment.
"Makes sense," said Felix as he tried to temper his annoyance with reason.
"But a trip around Fódlan? And this says that our attendance is required, Felix, not requested. He has his own guards."
"His guards aren't the heroes of the war."
Their hesitance, of course, didn't work. They'd found themselves rounded up in the company proper, escorting the King personally as they traveled alongside old friends.
"Own up to your titles," Byleth said. "Acknowledge the good that you did in the war effort." Something he and Felix have spent literal decades actively ignoring. Fat lot that did.
Sylvain's too old for this; being back on the road, adventuring. He's settled down, married, and most importantly- retired. Well, from active duty at least. Seems as though being the Margrave still can't save you from the King's wiles. Dimitri's lucky that Sylvain loves him like a brother because he's supposed to be signing paperwork and handling tax disputes, not serving on a full-escort 'round the continent.
"I've lost you," says Felix from his waist.
Felix certainly hasn't, not with his mouth peppering kisses along the length of Sylvain's cock, fingers curled tight around the base of it. He squeezes him tightly to punctuate his words.
"That's impossible," says Sylvain, unable to stop a moan.
"None of that," says Felix severely. "They'll hear you."
No doubt, thinks Sylvain because they certainly aren't far from the camp. Literally, a hundred and fifty paces away, tucked into a dark copse of trees. At least, Sylvain hopes it's dark enough. It's still early in the morning, just before dawn, but the sun will soon be cresting the horizon and he hopes to the Goddess above that they'll be shielded enough.
No way of knowing until it's too late, and frankly, Sylvain's far too gone to care much. Utterly lost in the way that Felix looks on his knees before him, the way that he worships his cock.
"Byleth has to know," says Sylvain, his words short and clipped as Felix laps at him, his devilish tongue licking down the entire length of his dick before swirling around the tip. "He has to have noticed that we've disappeared."
Nearly fifteen years after the war and it's still a weird thought that Byleth is the Archbishop. There are poorer options as far as Sylvain's concerned. Could definitely be worse. Still, Byleth will always be the Professor to them, and his keen eye will always be trained on Sylvain and Felix in particular.
Because, you know- reasons.
"Don't care," says Felix, lips warm against Sylvain's skin, nibbling at the base of his cock where it meets his groin. An unholy sight that Sylvain can't help but watch, toes curling in his boots at it. Felix is dutiful in his attentions, mostly because he's just as despondent as Sylvain is when it comes to being wholly frustrated with the lack of alone time as of late.
"You should," says Sylvain, a hand going to Felix's hair to comb through the silky strands. He'd brushed it out the night before and braided it, so it's smooth and relatively tangle-free. A miracle really, when out on the road. Sylvain on the other hand, looks a little like an overgrown bear, too tired to properly shave, his face covered in rough scruff.
Sylvain wishes that he could see the silver strands that pepper Felix's hair better in the low-light of the morning. At least he can make out Felix's face, all sharp angles and bones that've been softened over the years by gentle wrinkles.
Fuck, he's gorgeous. There's only one sight better than Felix's mouth stretched wide around his cock, and that's his ass instead, but- Well, Sylvain will take what he can get. Which reminds him-
"I really don't want to be walked upon by the Professor." Goddess knows it's happened enough throughout the years. Would've thought that maybe Byleth would get a fucking clue. By the end of the war, it felt like it was nearly on purpose, as though Byleth was looking for a reason to assign them extra chores.
He probably was. "For being so distracted," he always said to them, arms crossed over his chest, and a bland, unimpressed look on his face.
Sylvain still thinks it was worth it, even now.
Felix pulls off his cock and tugs at him with his hand instead, a soft and slick touch entirely at odds with his severe expression. "What does he expect? We're married. We've been on the road for a month already, with little to no privacy. Does he expect us to not fuck?"
"Does he not fuck?" asks Sylvain. Byleth's a married man, so surely he does. Even Sylvain can appreciate the soft curves that Annette's taken on, and they have kids for fuck's sake-
Sylvain yelps at the hard pinch that Felix gives him, fingers digging into his thigh. "Stop thinking about others."
"Oh, Felix, I swear that you're the only one on my mind," says Sylvain, cradling his face between his hands like he's a priceless treasure. He kind of is, someone who's only blessed Sylvain's life, even in their worst moments shared together.
"Shut up, then" says Felix, "I'm trying to ruin you."
Something that Felix is unfairly good at. He swallows Sylvain down like he was born to do it, his mouth unbearably warm and wet, his cock snug as Felix's throat tightens around him. Sylvain bites at his lip when Felix's hand finds the part of his dick that he can't quite reach. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue as he bobs up and down his length, doing his best to pull Sylvain apart.
It won't take long. Never really does, certainly not this late in their lives. Felix has practiced this for nearly two decades, knows Sylvain's cock like the back of his hand and exactly how to get him off. Quickly and efficiently, and never a disappointment.
"Fuck," murmurs Sylvain, thumbing across Felix's cheekbones.
Felix hums before pulling off, a string of precome stretched between the tip of Sylvain's dick and his mouth. Felix nuzzles at his length, his teeth just barely grazing it. "You aren't yet," he says. "Not properly, at least."
And that isn't the plan, either. "Felix, we're in the woods-"
"Don't care," says Felix, kissing the tip of Sylvain's cock before standing up and swapping their positions. Sylvain knows he doesn't because they've fucked in far worse places than this.
"There isn't time-"
"It's been nearly two weeks, you'll be quick enough." Sylvain should be insulted but the thought is quickly lost as Felix shimmies his trousers down halfway to reveal his perfect ass. Sylvain looks skyward and asks the Goddess for strength.
They've tried, of course. Couldn't possibly make it a month, let alone a day or two without trying to get their hands on each other, but the camp moves too quickly and there's too much to do. Impossible to carve out enough time to even jerk off a quick one together. Sylvain's been woefully horny for several weeks with no relief, and it's clear that Felix has been too.
Felix leans forward against a tree, bent slightly at the waist, ass out. Sylvain lacks restraint, his hands immediately finding Felix's hips, pressing closer.
"This is a terrible idea," says Sylvain, fingers skimming over the soft skin of his back as he rucks Felix's shirt up. He's a little softer nowadays, with a little give around his hips. Sylvain sighs as his hands find the well-loved notches near Felix's waist, just above his hip bone, the perfect place to hold onto.
"It's the best idea I've had this entire damn trip, and you know it." Haughty as ever, despite being bent over, begging to be fucked. Felix will remember his lost pride later.
"We're lacking supplies," says Sylvain trying to be reasonable even as he pulls Felix's asscheek to the side. He pauses, just barely able to see how it's slick in the early morning dawn. "Oh," he continues, his thumb dipping closer, circling Felix's hole. He's wet and loose, and it's abundantly clear how easy it'd be to slip a finger right in. "Well, never mind."
Sylvain shouldn't be surprised that Felix is ready to go. He's the most efficient man that he knows. Probably fucked himself open when Sylvain took a quick dip in the stream, leaving Felix behind, alone in the tent.
"Get on with it," says Felix, a little too loudly, frustrated at the time wasted.
"I thought we were being quiet," says Sylvain, teasing. Felix groans, his head falling forward as he presses his hips back. Sylvain gets the picture loud and clear; if they're going to do this, they don't have a lot of time.
"I like you better when you're quiet," says Felix in a low, biting hush.
"You like me however I come."
"Particularly so when you come inside."
Goddess alive, his words. Felix is more desperate than Sylvain thought to have such a dirty mouth. Dirty talk is usually Sylvain's weakness, unable to hold back from telling Felix exactly what he loves the most and how he wants to wreck him. But in the rare moments where Felix does it back? Nearly enough to send him over the edge alone, mostly untouched.
Sylvain imagines it, fucking him here, filling him up and ruining Felix for the day. They're too old for that too, really; this kind of depraved show of intimacy was more common in their youth. Nowadays their lovemaking is slow and tender, wholesome in a tooth-rotting kind of way.
Rarely do they do anything so wild and raunchy because Sylvain's back hurts too much and Felix's hip has a tendency to pop out. General aches and pains that come and go with the older they get, and usually Sylvain finds that it's just not worth it.
"Sylvain."
"Right, right," says Sylvain as he slicks a finger up with spit and slips it in. Felix grunts frustratedly, annoyed that it isn't his cock. "Shh," soothes Sylvain, leaning close, mouth ghosting Felix's ear. "Just making sure," he finishes, slipping a second finger in, testing for any resistance.
There isn't any because Felix is thorough when he does this kind of thing. Sylvain regrets that he didn't get to watch. Still, Felix has been bullying him this entire time, so Sylvain decides to bully him right back. His fingers press in deep, spreading and twisting as he searches for Felix's prostate.
Felix tenses when Sylvain finds it, tries his best to not cry out, biting at his lip. He hisses instead, a soft sound that escapes his mouth as his hole tightens around Sylvain's fingers. Sylvain strokes it again, doing his best with dangerous little touches that leave Felix trembling as he grasps at the tree.
"Sylvain, please," Felix breathes.
Sylvain stops dead, almost unsure he's heard correctly. "Felix, dear, did you just beg?" He knows what he heard, though, how Felix uttered the word in a soft little curse. How can Sylvain tease him further after that?
He can't. Sylvain removes his fingers and lines up his cock instead, slicking it with his spit before he presses the tip to Felix's hole. Felix keens as he slides in slowly, loud enough that Sylvain reaches up and pulls at his hair, fingers curling tightly into the soft tresses.
"Felix," warns Sylvain, his name uttered against the soft skin of Felix's neck. Sylvain bites at the juncture near his jaw, just below Felix's ear as he grinds his cock deep into his ass.
"Fuck." Felix punches the word out, the curse dissolving into a moan as he scrabbles against Sylvain, arching against him.
For all his talk about remaining quiet, Felix is terrible at doing so. Every time Sylvain pulls back, his cock nearly leaving entirely, Felix whines pitifully as though it were a loss. And when he thrusts back in, Felix nearly sobs, a litany of curses and Sylvain's name tumbling from his lips as his fingers dig into the bark of the tree.
It's a compromising thing, the way that Felix is bent over, being fucked into the tree. The smooth glide of Sylvain's thrusts as he gets lost in the feel of it, the tight heat of Felix's ass wrapped around him.
Amazing, how he never tires of it, be it loving and in their bed, or frantic and frenzied. Even twenty years later, the only thing that's changed is that it's better than the first. Felix's edges have been smoothed over the years, his responses honest.
The way that Felix arches under Sylvain's grasp, how he fucks back against him, thighs quivering as he tries to hold himself up. The nearly painful drag of Sylvain's cock, and the way Felix's hole seems to suck him right in.
"Beautiful," murmurs Sylvain into the quiet early morning. The sound of the slapping of their skin, and Felix's heavy and stuttered breaths. How he clenches tight around Sylvain's cock every time he thrusts in.
Sylvain wraps an arm around Felix's front and pulls his back flush against his chest. Not the easiest position to hold as Sylvain spreads his legs a little wider, knees slightly bent and thighs burning with strain. Changes the angle into something more aggressive, his cock hitting deep against Felix's prostate.
Felix nearly howls and Sylvain has to clamp a hand over his mouth, barely catching it.
"Quiet," hisses Sylvain, heat coiling in his belly as his thrusts hit a little harder and lose their smooth rhythm. He's getting closer and closer, nearly at the point of losing himself entirely.
Felix reaches back to grasp at Sylvain's hair, fingers pulling tight. Takes the way that Sylvain ruts into him like an absolute champion. Sylvain's hand moves slightly, slipping his fingers into Felix's mouth to keep him as quiet as possible.
Then, there are footsteps and hushed voices. Sylvain stops dead, dick deep in Felix's ass. They're both breathing heavily.
"I heard something over here." It's Byleth, looking for them just as expected.
"Nah, I don't think so." And that's Annette. There's a pause. "Still time to change your mind."
"They're old enough to know better," says Byleth. "Ingrid said they were probably off polishing their boots." Annette snickers.
Sylvain curses their fucking luck, pressing his forehead into the back of Felix's sweaty neck. His cock is so hard that it's nearly painful, he'd been so close to his release. Felix too, judging by the way he can barely stand, and how his dick hangs heavy, precome dripping everywhere.
It's too early in the morning to be caught looking like such a debauched mess.
"I'm almost certain-"
"Surely they went to the stream to wash up," says Annette. Twigs crack underfoot as they walk closer.
Then Felix moves, sliding forward and then back, grinding against Sylvain's groin. Sylvain has to bite at the soft spot on Felix's shoulder to keep from losing it entirely. "Felix-"
Felix ignores him, a common occurrence. Fucks back against Sylvain with slow, articulated motions. Sucks around Sylvain's fingers and pulls at his hair, telling him that it's now or never. It's the kind of thing that will surely end him because Sylvain can never say no to Felix. It's the entire reason they've wound up like this in the first place.
"You're going to be the death of me," whispers Sylvain against his skin, rubbing his beard along the length of Felix's neck. Risks a gentle thrust into Felix's heat. His free hand finds Felix's cock, stroking him alongside, and Felix moans around Sylvain's fingers in his mouth, quietlike and choked.
It's almost immediate, really. How fast Sylvain comes, spending himself deep inside Felix. The way that Felix tightens around him in a vice grip as he tips over the edge too, coming all over Sylvain's hand. Likely spurred on by the risk of being caught, at how close Annette and Byleth are to them.
A little too close, it seems.
Sylvain pulls out just in time for Byleth to step into view, Annette close on his heels. They all stare at each other dumbly and awkwardly, taking in the situation. Felix scowls, Sylvain hides his face in his hands, and Byleth only sighs as he politely looks away.
Annette stares, her mouth spreading into a wide smirk across her round little face. Then she turns to Byleth and holds out her hand. "I told you they'd be fucking. Pay up."
"Annie," starts Byleth, already tired of the conversation. He massages at his temple slowly before reaching into his pocket and slapping a few gold coins into her hand.
"I tried to steer him away," she says to Sylvain and Felix with a wink, then she turns to walk away.
Byleth looks at Sylvain, keeping his gaze squarely above the waist.
"Look, Professor-"
"I'm too old to care," cuts in Byleth. "And you're too old to be acting like teenagers."
Debatable, thinks Sylvain, because every day at Felix's side is a little bit fresh and new. He has an instinctual need to worship Felix like the God he is, to press his love into every nook and cranny that Sylvain can find.
So no, they'll never be too old to fuck like teenagers, in Sylvain's damnable opinion.
"Clean up and cool off," says Byleth. "You're pitching tents when we find our next stop."
Sylvain can't help but chuckle at the unintended innuendo. And Byleth, in rare form, gives him a sardonic smile and a rude gesture in return, before stalking off after his wife.
"Pitching tents," repeats Felix.
"Which we've already done today," says Sylvain. "So, we're quite practiced at it now- ow." Felix smacks his shoulder, his gaze searing as he moves to pull up his pants. Sylvain whines in response. "Can't I get a look before you-"
"No," says Felix, fastening his trousers closed.
Absolutely unfair because it's one of his favorite things to do, looking at how thoroughly he ruined Felix. Thumbing at his hole gently to soothe it in the aftermath of their lovemaking, tending to Felix as he cleans him up.
Sylvain's been denied the pleasure of such soft intimacy. He pulls up his own trousers in defeat.
Felix sighs and reaches out, fingers curling into the front of Sylvain's shirt. He pulls him closer for a not-so-gentle kiss that's more teeth than anything.
Sylvain loves it, loves him, so he tells Felix that. "I adore you," he says quietly, their lips lingering close because Felix is too stubborn to be the first to pull away. Just one of the small ways he shows his love without outright saying it.
Then Felix shoves him away, another well-loved gesture that Sylvain wears close to his heart. Especially when Felix's hand lingers, pressed against Sylvain's chest. And the way he stubbornly links their fingers together as they prepare to make their walk of shame back to the camp.
"Worth it?" asks Sylvain, his tone lighthearted and teasing.
Felix snorts, but squeezes his hand. As much a yes as Sylvain'll ever get, but still worth the world. And maybe the embarrassment.