A/N: Afab language used for Felix's junk.
They fuck like they fight, which is often and with biting words. Lingering touches and too-long stares. Awkward words that settle between them, weighted from their years as friends as it morphed into something more that they both refuse to talk about.
Sylvain's too hot in the sweltering room. Sweat drips down his face, pooling into the crook of his neck. It slicks his sternum in a wet sheen. Salt stings his cuts, blistering little pockets of pain that would typically make him wince, but he's woefully distracted.
"That look." Felix's voice is sharp above him. He rolls his hips, sinking further down onto Sylvain's cock. Sylvain groans. How can he think of anything else? "Always that look. Lost. Gone. I have to wonder what you're thinking?"
Many things. It feels good. Tight, hot heat. Felix is so wet that Sylvain's entire groin is drenched in his fluids. His scent—Sylvain's alpha flares to life at so little, but Felix's heat is something that never fails to absolutely flatten him. Pine trees and crisp water. Spiced cinnamon, the sort of musk an alpha would carry, not a sweetling omega.
But Felix is like no other.
A tight grip against Sylvain's jaw. Felix is deceptively strong despite his slim stature. He is lithe and long-limbed, lacking the sinuous curves that most alphas would want in a partner. Sylvain goes slack-jawed nonetheless, sliding nails digging into the sharp jut of Felix's hipbone.
"I expected an answer," says Felix coolly. He's still composed despite the heat that slowly boils over. His nest is a mess of Sylvain's discarded things, hastily made with little thought. Felix's nostrils flare and he rides Sylvain like he might die if he doesn't, but he never quite loses himself in times like this. Not in the way that most do. Instead, it's Sylvain—always Sylvain who is lost underneath him as he fights off a rut and instincts that drive him to breed Felix full.
Nails sharpen against his chin. "Sylvain."
"I'm—" Goddess, his throat is dry. He wishes he was drowning in Felix's cunt instead, lapping at his wetness, tasting his need. "You. I'm thinking of—you."
Felix looks pleased and his grip loosens. He drags his thumb across Sylvain's bottom lip. "Of breeding me full? You think that I'd let you?"
Yes, yes, yes, because even for all Felix's dry insults, Sylvain's the only one that he ever seeks out for this. He's the one who comes back time and time again when the heat becomes unbearable and his desire screams at him to be fucked full. And he always gives in. It's a fight along the way. He strings Sylvain along the entire damn time but it always ends with his knot slotted deep and Felix crying out his name as he rides it.
Sylvain knows it's trust. They've been through the trenches together, both in childhood and now. They've weathered war not once, but twice, and Sylvain will happily take whatever heat-induced closeness Felix chooses to offer.
Felix will say it's the hormones. He'll whine that he hates this side of himself but he's quick to forget the moment he whisks out Sylvain's cock, licking down its length and sucking it down into his throat. He pulls off the collar every time they fall into the sheets, seemingly unworried about Sylvain sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of his nape.
And now, here, pressed into the bed, Felix's sex wrings him dry. In a bit, Felix will beg for it. He'll roll over and play nice, spreading himself, dripping all over the sheets. "Whore," says Felix now, his voice sharp. "That's what we expect from a man like you."
Sylvain's nothing but talk and Felix knows it, but he's drunk on the hold that he has over his alpha. And Sylvain's drunk on the way that Felix carries him so easily in his palm. Felix rakes his hands down Sylvain's chest, nails digging red tracks into the skin. His nerves smart. Sylvain gasps, but his cock twitches with the twinge of pain.
Felix moans, hips pausing, head dipping back to relish the way Sylvain's thick cock carves through him. "You get off on this, don't you?"
He already knows. Sylvain just whimpers as Felix pinches his side, watching the way that his abs ripple in response. Arousal flares through his gut, muscles clenching. Sylvain arches against him, driving his cock deeper with a sharp grind.
Felix hisses. He leverages himself against Sylvain's chest, rising and falling against his cock.
Sylvain itches to touch but he knows the rules. "Please," he says.
"Please?"
"Felix—" A frustrated growl falls from his lips, turned at the end by a whine. "Please," he says again.
"I love when you beg."
He loves you, Sylvain tries to remind himself. He must. In some way, and really, it doesn't matter how. Sylvain will take it as brothers, as friends, as fuck buddies, or soulmates—he'll take Felix in any way that he can.
Felix's gaze is sharp like a blade. Sweet and tart. He licks his lips, watching Sylvain with rapt attention as he bucks his hips. "Well, keep doing it."
Right, right. Sylvain's brain is fuzzy. Close to a rut, maybe. This time, Felix's scent is stronger than usual, the air clogged with his need. He longs to pull Felix down and nose at his scent gland, drowning in his smell. "I want to—"
"Breed me? Yes, I already know that."
"I want to touch you," snaps Sylvain. Not-quite aggressive, but with enough force that makes Felix tilt his head and sneer.
But then he softens. Felix tuts softly. "You poor thing. So desperate for me."
Felix leans back fully, his entire sex on display. Pink, glistening folds, parted around Sylvain's cock. The tight bud at the apex of his thighs, swollen, and peeking out from its hood. Sylvain would burn down Grondor Field to touch. He'd do worse things for just a taste, just a drop of Felix's slick on his tongue.
"Pathetic," says Felix then, cupping his cheek. Still a firm grip but his nails don't dig in, he just thumbs over the rise of Sylvain's cheekbone as he gives him a mocking smile.
Sylvain's chest warms. He is—he is, but it's okay. "Yeah," he agrees, licking his lips. "Yeah."
Felix's breath hitches. His hand curls around the back of Sylvain's head, fingers curling into his hair. And then he yanks, tugging until the roots are pulled taut and Sylvain's scalp burns. It burns so good.
"Goddess," Sylvain moans. "Felix, I'm—" He can already feel the swell of his knot. And so can Felix, judging by his cat-eyed gaze.
Felix sits back, grinding against his cock until the edges of Sylvain's knot tug on his hole. "Mhmh—"
Sylvain's hands tighten around his waist. "Felix," he hisses, voice strained.
Felix is not unaffected, though. His face is flush pink. His chest heaves and though he shows considerable control as he grinds against the flared base of Sylvain's cock, it won't be long until he gives into those baser instincts. His scent wafts from him, syrupy and sweet. Tangy. It leaves Sylvain whimpering and bucking beneath him.
A strong hand holds down his stomach. Felix's gaze turns hot and ravenous. "At my pace, you fool."
"Okay, okay—"
"Babbling like an idiot. Some alpha you are." Felix scoffs, dragging his fingers down the expanse of Sylvain's groin before settling into the coarse hair there.
The words would sting others but Sylvain swallows them up. He lays there like a good boy, holding Felix's hips in a white-knuckled grip. Felix rolls back, sinking down, down, down—Sylvain nearly bites through his lip as he slips entirely inside with ease. So open. So ready for him. Goddess, above.
Felix moans—loudly this time, drunk on being full. "Fuck," he mutters. "Fuck, you're so big."
"Let me fuck you. Felix. Let me touch you, I'm—I'm dying here." Sylvain doesn't care if he sounds ridiculous, the plea tumbles from his lips unbidden.
Felix's fingers pull at Sylvain's pubic hair. "Nothing but an alpha lost between my legs. Predictable. It's your lucky day." Felix shifts and Sylvain's cock slides deeper. "I need this. So go on—fuck me."
That's all it takes for Sylvain to take action, those two simple words from Felix. Permission, all he needed was permission. Sylvain thrusts up against Felix, pulling him into every rut. And, for all his talk, even Felix cannot ignore his instincts. He might be an omega unlike others, but he's still loose and slick, wholly accommodating for Sylvain's cock as it carves through him.
"Mine," he snarls. Bucks against Sylvain, slamming his hips down.
"Yes, yes—"
"You're the only fool I'll let into my bed because you'll always kneel to me. You do as I wish and you never question it. Would you wear a leash? Would you let me collar you in the way the world wishes to collar me?"
Sylvain would. It's all he thinks about, buried in the tight heat of Felix, thinking about fucking him full of children. He loves Felix. He loves him, he—
Felix's abrasive gaze melts. "Oh, you would," he murmurs. Felix dips close, leaning over, his hair pooling around his cheeks. "And that is why you're the one who shares my heats."
"I just want to take care of you. I want—"
"To be leashed," Felix muses. He drags his thumb across Sylvain's throat thinking about it.
"—whatever you want," finishes Sylvain. "It's always been whatever you want."
They move together like true partners, like they've practiced this dance a thousand times. There isn't much movement, just the rolling of hips, the grinding of Sylain's knot deep in Felix's core.
Felix's thumb sweeps over Sylvain's scent gland, making his stomach curl. "I'd let you bite me," whispers Sylvain. The air is moist between them, his breath hot and wet. "The way that an alpha would claim you, I'd—"
"What an appealing idea." Felix's hand finds Sylvain's hair again and he tugs until Sylvain's neck is bared.
His alpha doesn't even fight back, it heels. Sylvain whines, wanting it, and Felix licks a stripe across the length of his throat. Please. Please, please—
"Are you going to touch me?" asks Felix. "Do you think your knot is all that it takes?"
Sylvain's hand slips between him, shaking. He thumbs across Felix's clit. He's so wet. Everything is soaked. Sylvain could just breed him over and over until there's nothing left to give. Felix hisses against him. Then he curses his name into Sylvain's nape, a never-ending mantra as he fucks himself back onto his cock.
Too close and so far. Felix bites at his neck but his teeth never sink in enough for a proper claim. Sylvain nearly begs for it, but he's too close to the end. His mind reels at the promise of fucking him full of his come, of being locked together until it takes. He comes first, spilling into Felix's cunt. "Fuck, fuck—"
His hand is quick between them, fingers slick against that bud between Felix's thighs. "Good boy," praises Felix, soothing all those harsh words from earlier. "Good, good boy for me. Just like that. Just—yes, yes."
Felix comes quietly, in comparison. He moans, his cunt clenching Sylvain's cock so tightly that he goes cross-eyed. Everything slows as they ride out their orgasms, pulled-thin by the oppressive heat that fills the room. Felix smells satisfied. Sylvain smells like want and need, and that makes Felix laugh against his throat.
"You asinine fool."
"Fuck, it feels good. Too good. Felix—"
It is Felix who urges Sylvain to roll them over. It is Felix he presses back, forcing his cock to settle deep, and Sylvain's nose to fall against the back of his neck naturally. His scent gland, right there, prime for the taking. But Sylvain is a good boy, so he kisses it gently instead.
There is a lot left unspoken, as there always is. Felix just sighs, relishing in the break of his heat and the moment of clarity. "I think I have an old leather length in the closet," he eventually says.
"Hm?" Sylvain sounds sleepy. "For what?"
"A leash, of course. Did you think I was joking?"
Oh. Oh. Arousal flares in Sylvain's gut again and his cock twitches.
Felix shoots him a glance over his shoulder. "You would look good between my legs. On your knees, of course. Taking your fill. Didn't you say something about devouring me earlier?"
Sylvain didn't, he only wished for it instead. It's because Felix can read him like a book that he knows this.
Later, that night, after that low simmer has started boiling again, and Felix's face is red with need, Sylvain finds himself on his knees between those powerful thighs. Felix sits in a chair. His collar—his collar— is around Sylvain's neck, strapped to the loosest setting. A leather cord is knotted around brass hardware, the end of it wrapped around Felix's palm.
It's all for show. Maybe a little symbolic. Sylvain doesn't once squirm as a strange sense of calm settles over him.
Felix spreads his legs to show off his glistening cunt and Sylvain can't help but stare. His come oozes from Felix's sex and he resists the urge to scoop it up and fuck it back in with his fingers. But Sylvain doesn't.
"Good boy," says Felix, dragging a hand down his front lazily. His fingers slide through his folds to spread them. "Now clean up your mess."
And who is Sylvain to deny such a request?
