a/n: written for sylvain week in 2020
Sylvain wakes slowly. Awareness bleeds through the murky edges of sleep and returns to him piece by piece: the slight chill of the morning breeze, slipping in from the window cracked open the night before. The softness of the blankets, tangled around his legs, a comforting weight against his body.
Something pressed against his chest shifts, a light exhale tickling the wrinkles of his nightshirt. Another infinitesimal moment passes. Sylvain realizes his arm is tingling, on the verge of numbness. Before he even remembers why, a wave of fondness rushes through him, filling him with warmth from head to toe.
This pulls him from his drowsy, half-consciousness to full awakening. The weight in his arms and across his chest settles into a shape, one familiar and comfortable and soft in all the right ways.
Light from the late morning sun peeks through the curtains, casting bands of pale light across the blankets. The curve of Felix's cheek. The splayed hair, dark and sleek, against Sylvain's chest.
He would gently run his hands through those strands, if not for the entire length of his arm being trapped underneath Felix's weight. There will be time later, Sylvain knows. It is rare that Sylvain wakes first, but when he does, he knows to linger, to soak in as much of this as he can: the silence, the peace, the comfort. Goddess knows they've spent enough time without.
Normally, their lives are too hectic for indulgences like this. The war is long over, but there is never-ending work to be done as lords of their lands and as retainers to the king. Felix hates being idle, and there's always work to be done, whether in the office or out in Fraldarius territory. More often than not, Sylvain must tide himself over with a quick good morning kiss or a hasty squeeze of Felix's waist before Felix is pushing him away, scolding him for being distracting.
He knows when Felix wakes because Felix has the habit of breathing just a little deeper, accompanied by a slight twitching of his nose, like he's about to sneeze. Sylvain notices this because he's categorizing every rise and fall of Felix's chest, every curve of Felix's face, as though he's seeing it for the first time. Felix, lax with restful sleep, fluttering his eyes open to greet the new day, never fails to take his breath away.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Sylvain says, swallowing a laugh as Felix sleepily blinks away, slow and languid. As he uncurls from his position pressed against Sylvain's side, the heel of his foot hits Sylvain's calf. The movement causes him to roll off of Sylvain's arm, and Sylvain takes the chance to get his fingers in Felix's hair, reveling in the feel of it.
"You're touchy, today," Felix murmurs, voice still rough with sleep.
"You like it," Sylvain responds. Felix only gives a content sigh as he leans into Sylvain's touch.
Felix's eyes slide closed again, and Sylvain, reluctant to move, continues his gentle ministrations.
These sort of mornings, Sylvain gets his fill of looking. Felix tires easily nowadays, his hands taking on a slight tremble when he holds his pen or swings his sword. Jagged Thoron scars run the length of his arm, cutting across the flesh of his left cheek. An accident, from a battle long ago, the echoes of which are still pressed into his skin.
Sylvain shifts so he can lean over and kiss the ripple of scarred skin. At the touch, Felix's eyes blink open.
From this angle, Sylvain can see the curve of Felix's eyelashes, effortlessly long and devastatingly beautiful. Warmth, slow and sweet, blooms from where their legs are intertwined and from where Sylvain's taken Felix's hand in his to stroke languidly at. Felix's eyes, soft and drowsy, sweeps over Sylvain's smiling face.
Suddenly, Sylvain is overcome.
"I love you," Sylvain blurts out, unable to tear his gaze away. The light slants, illuminating thin slivers of white against their half-covered blankets.
Unguarded as he is, the tips of Felix's ears go red, blush tiptoeing up his cheeks and down his neck. But the corners of his lips still tug up like he can't help himself.
"I know," Felix says, simply, with an immense fondness that Sylvain recognizes as Felix's inner romantic bubbling to the surface. "I love you too."
Sylvain can't help but laugh. He trails kisses down Felix's cheek to the tip of his mouth to the scar on his neck. Thin and white and long, the scar cuts from the base of Felix's jaw to the edge of his collarbone. A close call, one that had Sylvain seeing red, first from fear and then rage and then blind panic as he'd gathered Felix's limp body in his arms, both of them dripping with blood that was equal parts theirs and equal parts not.
"Hey." Felix's hands find their way to Sylvain's head. He strokes Sylvain's hair gently, thumbs running over the ridge of his eyebrows. "Come back to me."
And Sylvain does, with an exhale and a shudder. He buries his face in the crook of Felix's shoulder, relaxing into the familiar warmth. Felix smells like the soap they'd bathed with last night and a faint, lingering wisp of ink and parchment. If Sylvain tries hard enough, he can smell Felix's favorite sword polish too, even though it's been quite some time since any of them has needed to draw their weapons in battle.
Felix smells like home.
"You need to shave," Felix complains as Sylvain's stubble rubs against his neck, though somehow his fin.
Innocently, Sylvain lifts his head to blink at Felix. By now, he's half laying on Felix, arms wrapped around Felix's shoulders, legs stretched across the bed.
"You like it," Sylvain counters, and grins when Felix flushes pink as he rubs his cheek against Felix's shoulder, again.
A younger Felix would have blushed harder, maybe smacked Sylvain around a bit for the audacity to tease him. Now, all Felix does is sigh.
"Yeah, yeah. Come here so I can kiss you, Gautier."
"You know I can't say no to you," Sylvain coos, scrambling to push himself onto his forearms, pulling his legs up for better purchase as he leans toward the inviting warmth of Felix's smile. Sylvain had to fight hard for these smiles. Felix trusts little and relaxes even less; that he is so pliant and wanting now is a thing so precious and rare that Sylvain doesn't want to ever let go.
He moves a little too fast, a little too eager to sit up and lean forward and chase the heat of Felix's mouth. He's not minding his limbs at all, and as the unbalanced weight presses on Sylvain's right knee, Sylvain hisses as a dull pain shoots through his knee.
"Idiot," Felix huffs. This happens often enough that neither Felix nor Sylvain are particularly concerned, though Sylvain silently laments his fading youth. "It's not like I'm going anywhere."
"Thank the goddess for that," Sylvain purrs, and this time, takes it slow as he draws his legs up, shaking off the aching that's begun to settle in his legs. Though the days of constant battle and rough horseback riding have been left behind long ago, dealing with paperwork all day does little favors for his joints.
It feels like forever until he's pressed against Felix's chest, hands on the bed and framing Felix's head. Sylvain has to be careful to not snag a handful of Felix's hair, but he can't resist bringing a lock up to kiss.
"Sap," Felix mutters. Sylvain can tell that Felix's patience has begun to run out: his gaze sharpens and he starts to twitch in anticipation.
"Oh? You say that like it's a bad thing—"
Felix's arms shoot up to loop around Sylvain's neck, tugging him down. With a soft exhale, Sylvain lets himself be pulled down into a kiss, grinning all the way. Felix's mouth presses against his just a little too roughly as Felix deepens the kiss, chasing the taste of him.
Sylvain makes a noise deep in his chest, something of a cross between a contended purr and a chuckle at Felix's sudden enthusiasm. Slowly, his hand slides from the curve of Felix's cheek, to his neck, to the flat of Felix's chest. When Sylvain breaks away for a breath, he winks and says, "We don't have anywhere to be for, oh, at least an hour."
The stare Felix fixes him with is unimpressed, even as his face is still flushed pink. "You don't, but I have a meeting today."
With surprising strength, Felix sets his hands on Sylvain's shoulders and pushes him up and over, switching their positions in the time it takes Sylvain to open his mouth for a convincing argument to stay in bed. Instead of clever words, Sylvain wheezes instead as his back hits the bed. Felix sits above him, straddling his waist, looking down with a slight smile.
"But afterwards…" Felix's words trail in the air, heavy with implication. Sylvain's eyes widen.
Felix rolls out of bed, crossing the floor to open the curtains, letting sunlight spill into the bedroom. Light floods the bed, so bright that Sylvain has to squint to keep Felix's silhouette in his vision.
Early Fraldarius spring is cold enough to be mistaken for winter; Felix's breath frosts as he stands near the window, looking out over the land covered with snow. But, above the window, a trickle of water from the rafters drips steadily down, heralding the warmth of a new day.
Felix turns from the window, and Sylvain catches his breath at the way the light catches in his hair.
"It's surprisingly warm today," Felix comments as he moves to get dressed.
Sylvain, still feeling the phantom touch of Felix against his mouth, of the warmth that lingers in the blankets, smiles. "It sure is."