"Worst time for this," says Felix.
Sylvain doesn't care. He leans over him, pressing Felix into the sawdusty ground, caging him in with his thick body.
And Felix doesn't either, judging by the way he so eagerly responds, despite the way his mouth curls in annoyance. All it takes is for Sylvain to smooth a hand down his side, thumbing over the sharp edge of Felix's hip and squeezing, for Felix to crumple.
"Look at you," murmurs Sylvain, pulling Felix closer by the hips.
"The worst place for this," says Felix, but then he moans as Sylvain grinds their crotches together, the friction delicious against the heat of their tented trousers.
"You started this." Sylvain says the words into Felix's neck, his tongue snaking out to lick a stripe along it. Felix smells like sweat and dirt and all the spar they just had, and Sylvain eats it up like it's his last meal.
"I— what? You're the one who settled himself across me— Oh."
Sylvain's hand has slipped between them, curling around Felix's hard cock. He squeezes it gently, rocking his body against his ass, and—
Well, Felix responds exactly as expected. His fingers tighten against Sylvain's hips as he pulls him closer, sliding a leg over the rise of his hip. And then he moans, a breathy little thing that he tries to hide.
He fails.
Sylvain laughs against his neck, kissing him there. "You asked for a spar."
"It's the middle of the night and I couldn't sleep—"
"You looked so good; always do when you fight."
"It's not my fault that your sleep-addled brain is affected by the barest of— Sylvain."
Sylvain's hands, which had been unfastening Felix's trousers, pause. He leans back and asks, "Do you want me to stop?"
Felix looks so good underneath him, spread out like a feast, his face pink with desire. His eyes are glassy, hazed with want, and he swallows thickly as he considers the question.
And then: "No."
Sylvain chuckles against his skin. "I knew it," he says, resuming his movements, yanking Felix's pants over the swell of his ass.
"Insufferable." Felix's breath hitches when Sylvain squeezes his cock again. His smalls strain against his hardened length, a wet patch already forming at the front. "You— the shirt—"
More like lack thereof. Felix's eyes burn with lust as he reaches out and drags a hand down the length of Sylvain's chest, scratching through his chest hair. "You just had to lose the damn shirt, didn't you?"
"Always." Sylvain grins cheekily. "It's a rule, isn't it? That absurd jacket of yours comes off and I get to watch those wiry muscles flex, and then—"
"Goddess, shut up already. Get on with it."
Sylvain laughs again, letting go of his cock to sweep his hands across Felix's shoulders instead. "No, I want to talk about it. How good you look when you flex about with that sword."
Felix is red in the face. He doesn't look at Sylvain, refuses to make eye contact. It's cute, in a rabid, angry cat kind of way. These are the kinds of expressions that only make Sylvain swoon, unbearably endeared by Felix's prickly disposition.
"Then again, I was surprised that you lost—"
"I did not."
"You're the one on his back, Felix. Pressed into the ground, me looming over you." Sylvain hangs over him, sweat dripping down his brow. He tugs at an errant strand of Felix's hair. "Last I checked that means the bout goes to me."
"Only because you're distracting."
Sylvain raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Enough prattle, though— on with it."
Sylvain sits back slightly, propping Felix's ass against his thighs. "Shame," he says, fingers ghosting across the wool of his high-necked shirt. "You should be more naked."
"My pants are mostly off and your fingers are useless."
"Temper, temper," chides Sylvain, "And patience. But, I'll be good for you."
Sylvain rucks up Felix's shirt and rakes his fingers over the hard muscles of his abs. Delicious. Perfect. If they had more time and were on his bed instead of the ground, Sylvain would lick his way across each and every one of them.
Instead, he pulls Felix's smalls down. Felix twists against him, just enough to wriggle one leg free, leaving his trousers dangling around a knee, and his cock twitching against his thigh.
"Oh," murmurs Sylvain, teasing his fingers along the length of it. Felix always looks so good like this when he wants it so bad. His thighs are tense against him and his cock leaks pathetically at the tip. And the sounds that he makes when Sylvain barely touches him—
Utterly addicting.
Sylvain leans forward to kiss his neck again, curling his fingers around Felix's cock. "So eager," he says, licking at the skin there, tasting the salt and sweat. Felix moans, a breathy sort of sigh. Sylvain's hand pumps his length several times before letting go to cradle his balls instead, rolling them gently.
Felix grunts, impatient as ever, pulled and stretched thin like a taut bowstring ready to snap.
"Alright, alright," says Sylvain, "I promised I'd—"
Sylvain pauses once his fingers slide across his hole. He doesn't expect slickness there. He certainly doesn't expect what feels like a generous amount of oil, and the give of Felix's rim as he gently prods at it. He pulls back and grins.
"Didn't you say it was the worst time for this?"
Felix is embarrassed again, but this time he locks eyes. "We've been through this enough to know the exact outcome."
It's true— their late-night spars typically end with a tumble into the sheets. And Felix is the sort of man who appreciates efficiency in the bedroom because while fingers are nice, he certainly prefers Sylvain's dick. But that's usually after a nice bath and a trip to the sauna where their hands wander about in a sleep-like daze.
This time, Felix expected this; a good fight and then a fuck. He'd goaded Sylvain on and teased him about losing his shirt. Pressed his fingers into those superficial cuts that just make Sylvain want him more and more.
Sylvain always wants him, but there are levels of need. Suddenly, this bout has taken quite a turn.
"You sneaky little devil," he says. Then Sylvain slides his finger in, right to the knuckle.
Felix moans, his head knocking back against the ground, disrupting the sawdust. He seems to have lost all care for how public they are— but both of them know that no one is coming. Not this late at night.
Despite the prep and how relaxed Felix is, he's deliciously tight. Sylvain slips in a second finger, tugging against his entrance, just the way that he knows Felix likes. Push and pull— but more of the pulling. Felix delights in the pleasurable burn that comes with loosening him up with widespread fingers, so Sylvain obliges, and in turn, indulges.
"So desperate," he says against his neck, sucking a mark there. Felix moans again, eyes closed and fingers tight against the waistband of Sylvain's trousers as he yanks at them, trying to ground himself. "Tell me Felix— when did you do this? Right before? Were you thinking about our spar? How—"
"You!" hisses Felix. And then he moans, long and drawn out, his hips bucking. Sylvain's landed a direct hit to his prostate, fingers curling against it just so. "I was thinking— Goddess— I was thinking of you. Your stupid face, and those stupid pecs, and—"
Sylvain kisses him. He grabs him by the chin and lifts his face to capture his mouth. Felix responds eagerly, his mouth open and tongue snaking out. He licks into Sylvain's mouth, scrabbles against him, and bucks his hips against Sylvain's fingers.
"Enough," he says when he pulls away, his breath warm against Sylvain's face. "Fuck me already."
Sylvain doesn't need to be told twice. He fumbles with his trousers, fingers slipping as he undoes the clasp. Pulls them down enough to just free his cock. He's hard and aching, precome dripping from the tip. Sylvain spits in his hand, just enough to add some slickness before pressing the tip to Felix's hole.
"Goddess," bites out Felix when Sylvain slides his cock home. "Fuck."
Fuck, indeed, thinks Sylvain. He tries his best to distract himself from the tight grip of Felix's ass, but even with all the oil, and the keen work that Felix's fingers had done, it's nearly overwhelming.
"Always so good," he says hoarsely, his forehead dropping to the crook of Felix's neck. "So, so good for me."
Sylvain fucks in slowly, short little thrusts that carve their way in deep. And once he's fully settled, the both of them groan, fully satisfied as they take a moment to soak it up.
And then: "Move, you oaf."
When Felix says oaf though, it's quieter, more tender. He loops an arm around Sylvain's neck and hugs him close, tightening his legs around his waist. Even in moments like this where they fuck dirty and public places, he can be like this, so full of warmth.
Sylvain chuckles and kisses his cheek. He pulls his hips back and then ruts in, his cock hollowing out space in Felix's ass. Felix's fingers dig into the nape of his neck. He eagerly meets his thrusts with every raise of his hips.
"More," he says, "Sylvain, give me more." It's the kind of plea that Sylvain so rarely hears from him, his voice hitched and cracked. He's desperate, oh, so desperate for something down and dirty, the kind of good fuck that leaves him feeling it in the morning.
It's the war. Everyone's on a hair-trigger. Everyone's despondent and gray. Felix and Sylvain don't sleep well at night, so they duke out in this pit, and when that isn't enough, they fuck off the remaining tension.
It's love. Sylvain knows it. Felix knows it. They've shared those soft words of affection when it matters— but Felix doesn't want lovemaking right now, he wants something fast and furious, that leaves his thighs quaking and ass leaking with come.
Sylvain leans back and presses Felix's thighs up, legs over his shoulders. He watches his cock with every slick glide, and how Felix's rim pulls him in so greedily. "Fuck," he says, smoothing his thumb over Felix's hole, a reverent touch as he just thrusts in over and over.
"Sylvain, oh—"
The angle is better than good. Felix's back arches as Sylvain's cock hits the perfect spot. Sylvain focuses on that alone— the way that he goes taut underneath him. He fucks in hard and fast. Sweat beads along his brow.
Felix looks at him, eyes narrowed. He reaches out and scratches his fingers across his chest again and just holds him there. When Sylvain reaches for Felix's cock, his hand is batted away.
"No, no, no— I don't need—" The rest of his words are lost in a cry as he comes, sudden and unexpected. Sylvain hisses as Felix's clenches around him tight, and he fucks him through his orgasm until Felix is nothing but a blubbering mess.
Felix chants his name, fingers digging into his skin. His ankles box Sylvain's ears as he goes taut against him. "Fuck," hisses Felix, wanton and debauched, face ruddy and pink, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Overstimulated and gorgeous. Sylvain can't stop watching the way that he wriggles underneath him. How Felix's ass grips at his cock tightly, and how he whines with every drag across his prostate.
Soon, Sylvain's tipping over the edge as well, fucking in deep, filling him up. Felix yanks his face down, fingers pulling at his hair. He kisses him bitingly, his teeth gnashing against Sylvain's lips.
"Felix," whispers Sylvain, trying to coax the kiss into something softer, sweeter. And for once, Felix listens. He goes lax in his grip and licks across Sylvain's lips. Sylvain deepens the kiss, savoring the soft moment.
A perfect end to a brilliant and quick fuck.
They lay like that, covered in grime and sawdust, tongues dancing with careful delight, and Sylvain's cock buried deep as it softens. Felix pets through his hair with a soft touch. Sylvain pulls away to press kisses to his ear and along his jawline, and then—
"What was all that about?"
Felix is quiet before he answers. "I just wanted to feel you."
Sylvain sighs softly, fingers playing with the edge of Felix's shirt. Then he kisses the tip of his nose and says, "I love you."
Felix doesn't say it back, but he does hug him close for a moment longer than usual, and it's enough.
They dress— just barely. Their clothes remain rumpled and half-tucked. They drag themselves through the halls of Garreg Mach tiredly, beaten in more ways than just one. They share a short bath and Sylvain convinces Felix to at least wash his hair.
And then, when they're tucked into Sylvain's bed, Felix the big spoon as he wraps his spindly form around Sylvain's back, he says it.
Just a soft, "I love you," that punctuates the night.
Sylvain kisses his knuckles and then sets the candle out.