Author's Note: So, I recently finished a Crimson Flower run in which I married Jeritza, and I honestly find his relationship with Byleth to be fascinating. Since their ending leaves things fairly open, I pretty much had free reign to decide what happened here, so it was fun to play with. I may do a follow-up to this eventually, but I think it works well enough on its own, so here you go.

Rapturous

"Do you still want to kill me?"

The question came casually, as if this was something that any engaged couple would talk about in their free time. But they were far from an ordinary couple, and Byleth had long since gotten used to the topic. Still, it had been a few months since it had last come up—not since the Black Eagle Strike Force had finished taking care of the remaining Agarthans.

Jeritza paused, setting down his teacup on the table. Since the end of the war, the two of them had settled in a small house in Enbarr while they sorted out their affairs and figured out what to do next. Byleth sat down and watched him carefully; there was a spark of struggle in his eyes, and his fingers absently tightened around the cup's handle.

"I…do not know," he finally replied. "The idea still brings me some excitement, but…"

Jeritza trailed off, and Byleth silently watched him for a few more seconds. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Jeritza's face as he went on.

"I've seen the way you hold back around Mercedes," he mused. "And Bernadetta, even. You said you loved me. Do you not restrain yourself around the people you care about to avoid hurting them?"

"I do; it's just…" Jeritza sighed. "You're…different. It was your strength that drew you to me in the first place. And to him."

Him—Jeritza had assured Byleth that he'd grown his own interest in him apart from the Death Knight's influence. It had, in a way, caused his curiosity, though. And he'd made few explicit references to that side of him in the past few months, but it was something he acknowledged every now and then.

Finally, he continued, "Fighting alongside you—and against you—keeps the Death Knight in line, I believe. Now that we are no longer at war…I need something to keep my blood flowing. And you are that something. But…to kill you would be…"

There was audible frustration in Jeritza's voice when he quietly added, "I could not allow it. I won't."

The smile on Byleth's face was faint, but noticeable. He leaned forward, chin resting on bridged fingers, as he spoke.

"I believe we can solve that as we have been. Sparring should do, yes? Honestly, it's… one of the easiest ways to express myself."

Despite his emotions having developed over the time he'd spent with his now-former students, vocalizing his thoughts still proved difficult sometimes. It was far easier to show his feelings physically. Reading Jeritza's body language, watching the aggressive way he swung his sword as they fought, and responding with his own eager strikes excited him as well.

Granted, it was in a…slightly different way from Jeritza, even with this new distinction. But it wasn't really that different. Maybe it never had been—fighting for his life had been such a big part of Byleth's life for so long that it didn't unnerve him as much as it probably should have.

(And, honestly, maybe that in and of itself should have unnerved him. But it was just a fact, and maybe that was part of what had sparked his attraction in Jeritza as well.)

Jeritza smiled and shook his head before finally pulling his teacup back to his lips for another drink.

"You…really are something…special," he mused. "To think that you could not only keep me sated, but also enjoy it, is…more than I could have asked for."

"But it's what happened." Byleth's smile grew ever-so-faintly. "…Would you like to go spar now?"

Jeritza's hands tightened around the cup in as his smile shifted into a more predatory one. There was an all-too-familiar glint in his eyes, but, this time, it was almost relieving. Byleth was clear on what it meant—that eagerness to fight and destroy were still there, but they weren't aimed at him specifically. They were merely part of Jeritza that he could help him work through—and non-lethally.

"I would. Our swords—go and get them for me."

Byleth was all too happy to oblige; he would be lying if he said he'd never been able to understand Jeritza's excitement to some degree. He was all too willing to match it sparring, and that would likely never change.

Jeritza met him outside, accepting his sword as Byleth handed it to him. And, wordlessly, he swung—Byleth rolled aside, swinging upwards and blocking the blow. The clang of metal against metal was satisfying, in a way. It was a familiar sound, routine yet enjoyable. And the second strike—stronger and faster and prompting a slight screech from the swords—was far more exhilarating than it had any right to be.

But the rush a fight provided was one that Byleth had learned to enjoy for other reasons. Getting his heart beating—he had a heartbeat now!—was exciting, and maybe he'd come to use the fights for that purpose, too. He pivoted and swung again, and Jeritza parried the blow before thrusting at him all too eagerly.

…Maybe it was strange for a couple to express their affection like this, Byleth thought as he dodged the blow. But it was how they operated nonetheless, and he didn't think he'd have it any other way.