CW: Trans!Felix. Uses AFAB terms for his junk a couple of times.
It is almost cruel how Sylvain reacts.
Felix drags a hand down Sylvain's chest, smoothing over the soft dip of his sternum before thumbing across a nipple—and then he tweaks it. Sylvain tenses in the best sort of way, long legs going taut, thigh tensing underneath Felix's other hand.
He presses that thigh back and looks. Felix watches Sylvain's hole swallow up his cock, stretched impossibly wide. Thumbs across his puffy, pink rim. Wonders just how tight he feels.
It was a discreet purchase bought on a whim. Felix isn't sure whether he's angry at Anna for knowing more than she should, or whether he should kiss her because this was something he's long thought out of his grasp. But he bought it, a thick wooden cock settled into a mess of leather strapping, carefully sealed and polished to a shine.
Felix expected hesitation from Sylvain when he pulled it out. Never this.
"Look at you," murmurs Felix, gripping at the back of Sylvain's thighs with his hands to gain better leverage. Felix rolls his hips back and fucks in, moaning when his cunt grinds against the flat of the harness. The leather is soft and the friction pulls at him, tugging pleasure through his belly.
Sylvain whines, fingers curling into the bedsheets. He sputters a bit when Felix thrusts, keening on the downstroke, when his cock strikes just the right spot. "Felix," he says, his voice pinched. "Felix."
"Perfect," says Felix. At least, the closest thing there is to it.
Felix feels powerful like this, Sylvain crumbling underneath his fingers as he's filled to the brim. Sylvain isn't doing this just for Felix, he wants this too, dick hard and twitching, leaking precome all over his stomach. He arches against Felix, meeting every thrust eagerly.
Sylvain hisses when the cock strikes his prostate. Felix's gaze narrows as he aims for that spot, over and over and over—
"Gods," cries Sylvain. "Gods, Felix, Seiros above—"
Felix takes Sylvain's cock into his hand, jerking at as he fucks him deep. Sylvain's head tips back and his eyes flutter closed, those damnable thick lashes brushing his high cheekbones. He's flush down to the chest, pink everywhere, skin blotchy.
An absolute vision. Utterly divine, not that Felix would admit to it. Sylvain knows, he isn't stupid. There's a reason that Felix fucks him as though they might never get another chance.
It was a terrible battle. Sylvain rolled into the camp with a staggering limp, bleeding from the temple. And even as Mercie smoothed over the wound with sweet words, relatively unconcerned, Felix only saw red. Told Sylvain he was stupid. He reminded Sylvain that he's not allowed to die unless it's by his own damn hand.
Sylvain reacted as he often does, which was to try and ground himself with a good fuck.
But oh, how the tables have turned.
Felix fucks him this time with harsh, heavy thrusts, rutting into Sylvain's ass like he'll never get the chance again. The slick glide seemed too easy.
Sylvain moans, a tin-like sound, higher-pitched than Felix is used to."Fuck," he whimpers. "There, oh, oh, there, there—"
Rest in peace to their campsite neighbors.
Not that Felix wants to die, but he could lay to peace with ease, having experienced this. Sylvain is so handsome underneath him, bucking against his every move, pressed into the bed, spread wide and thin, laid out for him.
Sylvain does not let others see him like this, even in a more safe-for-work setting. This is a sight for Felix alone, and the thought of it coils deep in his gut. It pulls tight and his sex throbs, dripping slick against the harness, pooling between his thighs.
Later, thinks Felix. He can worry about himself later, he's enjoying this too much.
"I'm going to—" Sylvain groans, scrambling against him. He pulls Felix closer until he's folded in half, arms thrown around Felix's neck haphazardly. Felix slows the roll of his hips, thrusts turning languid, smooth-like and drawn out before he grinds in deep. He noses at Sylvain's neck, nipping at the sweaty skin there.
"Please," says Sylvain then, his face a ruddy and debauched mess. Felix presses their foreheads together to ground himself. "Felix, please, I'm so close."
And he is. It takes just a few more thrusts of Felix's well-formed cock carving through him. Felix has never heard such a sound as the likes of what Sylvain looses as he paints his stomach white with his thick, sticky spend.
Felix aches. He slips a hand between the harness and pets through his wetness, fingers sliding over his slick folds. He moans too, grinding against his hand, grinding that cock in deeper with short, aborted movements that leave Sylvain overstimulated and wriggling against him.
"What a sight," says Felix. He watches, unable to look away, delighting in the tears that swell in the corner of Sylvain's eyes. At the way that his cock twitches despite being spent. The sight of his stomach covered in his come.
Felix could come like this, but he doesn't want to. Not yet. He wants to savor the sight of Sylvain, wrung-out and gone, an absolute travesty of a mess because of his cock.
Bless fucking, Anna. Who would have known?
Sylvain, apparently. The way that his mouth fell open at the sight of the cock in Felix's hand and how he demanded to be fucked by it.
"I'm sorry," says Sylvain then, his voice quiet. And then: "I love you, Felix. I love you, I—"
"Hush," says Felix, reaching out to smother Sylvain's mouth with his hand. This is not the moment for romantic platitudes. Not this sort of fucking. Afterward, when they wash off and cuddle in the cot, but at the moment, Felix hungers for something else.
He slips the cock out and watches the way that Sylvain's hole clenches, loose and oil-slick, ready for more. Felix thumbs over the rim gently, assessing it. And then he says, "Will you ride me? Think you can take more?"
Sylvain can and will. Sylvain will do anything he says, so when Felix rolls over, Sylvain happily follows. He sinks onto the cock again, his voice pitched low. He rides Felix until he comes again, thighs straining and muscles tense.
That's when Felix lets him say it. I love you, cries Sylvain into his shoulder, a repeated mantra that can barely be heard over the slapping of wet and sweaty skin.
Felix has never felt more alive.