As has become tradition, I’ve taken a bunch of Kinktober prompt lists, mashed them up, and made my own. If anyone is still here and is interested in using my list, here it is:
Striptease | Titfucking | Food Kink
Stockings/Tights/Socks/Boots | Mirror sex | Face-sitting
Cockwarming/Cuntwarming | Finger Sucking | Body Worship
Hair-pulling | Daddy/Mommy Kink | Feet
Sixty-nine | Piercings | Overstimulation
Suspension | Scent Kink | Monsters
Lactation | Dom/Sub | Asphyxiation/Breathplay
NTR/Cuckolding/Infidelity | Underwear | Toys
Sadism/Masochism | Human Furniture | Pegging
Free Day | Kink Combinations | Missed Day(s)
Each day from October 1st-30th has three optional prompts. You can choose to write as many of the given prompts as you like - there’s no pressure to incorporate all three into one day! Since this is meant to be for fun, there’s also no pressure to do every single day if you don’t want. Just do whatever you feel like!
And if anyone is interested, I’m also taking commissions for these! Info and tracker/spreadsheet here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1BAaXywWbf8CWM9FDTbIUXYdyd07Z_pLD26BSkcLwZ6g/edit?usp=sharing
As has become tradition, I’ve taken a bunch of Kinktober prompt lists, mashed them up, and made my own. If anyone is still here and is interested in using my list, here it is:
Striptease | Titfucking | Food Kink
Stockings/Tights/Socks/Boots | Mirror sex | Face-sitting
Cockwarming/Cuntwarming | Finger Sucking | Body Worship
Hair-pulling | Daddy/Mommy Kink | Feet
Sixty-nine | Piercings | Overstimulation
Suspension | Scent Kink | Monsters
Lactation | Dom/Sub | Asphyxiation/Breathplay
NTR/Cuckolding/Infidelity | Underwear | Toys
Sadism/Masochism | Human Furniture | Pegging
Free Day | Kink Combinations | Missed Day(s)
Each day from October 1st-30th has three optional prompts. You can choose to write as many of the given prompts as you like - there’s no pressure to incorporate all three into one day! Since this is meant to be for fun, there’s also no pressure to do every single day if you don’t want. Just do whatever you feel like!
Hi! Did you take comission for being a beta reader??
Hi! I’m so sorry it took me so long to see this, I’m not on tumblr very much any more!
I can do beta read commissions, yes! Please email me at [email protected] for more details. We can work out a price. :) (And if I don’t respond right away, then please DM me on twitter @tim3hopp3r.)
If you haven’t found someone since you sent this ask, then I’d be happy to help.
I’ve seen a few prompt lists going around for Kinktober 2020, but most of them only had one option for each day. I tend to like lists with multiple prompts to choose from, so I decided to try coming up with my own list this year! I borrowed heavily from past years’ lists and a few of the ones I’ve seen other people making this year, threw a bunch of prompts into a randomizer, and got a pretty hefty list.
Each day from October 1st-30th has three optional prompts. You can choose to write as many of the given prompts as you like - there’s no pressure to incorporate all three into one day! Since this is meant to be for fun, there’s also no pressure to do every single day if you don’t want. Just do whatever you feel like!
Not to be pushy, or gross, but fictional depictions of pedophilia, written or drawn, is NOT illegal unless it involves *gag* real children, at least in the US. I'm /absolutely/ not trying to say "hey this is okay" or "write this pls", I'm just letting you know because it's a common misconception and I see people push this all the time, especially when they report to real child abuse watch sites which clogs their reports and wastes their resources, and its a real issues for these watch groups.
I have no idea how long this has been in my inbox for but hopefully you’ll see this answer, anon.
My commission info and my “do not write” lists were both written literal years ago, and since then I’ve realized that that is not the correct term to use in fictional/fandom spaces, though at the time of writing those lists it was the most used/widespread term (and still is, but as you say, it’s not the proper one to use here!). I’m going to be revising everything to use the term ‘underage’ instead, for accuracy.
Still not going to write fic depicting underage characters romantically or sexually involved with much older ones, or share that kind of content, but I think it’s important to use the right terms for this kind of content.
Thanks for being polite about this! I appreciate it.
Sombra has been seeing both Ashe and McCree separately for some time now. She decides that she wants to see them together, too -- but it's going to take some effort to convince them it's a good idea.
A commission for something with Sombra dating both McCree and Ashe separately, then deciding she wants to be with both of them at once.
I had a lot of fun writing this! It's really interesting playing with these characters and seeing how their personalities do and don't clash. :)
AO3 Link | Commission Info | Patreon | Leave a Tip?
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It starts with a plan.
Sombra rolls off McCree and collapses to the bed. She lays on her side, a fingertip trailing up his chest between his pecs. He’s breathing hard from exertion – and oh, how he had exerted himself tonight. Sombra reaches his neck and flicks his chin, a coy smile on her lips.
“Not bad, cowboy,” she teases. “I suppose that was worth the intel I’m about to share.”
“It better be,” McCree grunts. He rolls over too, bending his prosthetic elbow and propping his weight upon it. “I don’t think I’ve fucked like that in nearly twenty years.”
“I feel sorry for your partners, then.” Sombra turns away from him, reaching for one of the gloves she had left on the nightstand as McCree had stripped her down. She slips it on; the wires on it immediately come to life, glowing the moment they make contact with her skin.
“Here.”
She taps the air. A holographic window flashes to life, and she drags it to expand it.
Blueprints. Floor plans. Schedules. A flick of her hand, and another window appears, showing the looping feed of a security camera in a warehouse.
“This is their target,” Sombra says, pointing to a door hidden in the corner of the screen. “Two weeks from now, they’ll attack. I’d love to give you more details, but…”
Her eyes trace over McCree’s form, lingering over his chest, his thighs, his softened cock. She doesn’t look at his face, but Sombra hears the little noise of annoyance loud and clear. “There ain’t nothin’ left for me to give,” he grunts.
Sombra laughs. “I wasn’t going to ask,” she says. “I was going to say I don’t have any more details. You’ll have to do the rest on your own.”
But she pauses, flicking the screen away, and with her bare hand reaches for McCree’s cock. “Should I let you know if anything else comes up?”
“Please do.” McCree grins and lies back, allowing Sombra to sling a leg over his hips and straddle him as she strokes him back to hardness.
As she sinks down onto his cock, Sombra grins. Phase one: complete.
It continues with a trick.
“The payload is going to be dropped here,” Sombra says, drawing an imaginary circle around a blueprint on the holoscreen. Ashe’s eyes dart over the schematics, a cute little concentrated frown on her face that Sombra almost kisses off it.
“And the guards…”
“Rotation every four hours. Patrols repeat roughly every twenty to thirty minutes, depending how fast they do it. They should be gone by the time you get there.” Sombra flicks the screen off; Ashe lets out a noise of protest.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“I’ll send them to you later,” Sombra says. She crawls into Ashe’s lap, thick thighs bracketing her hips. Sombra spider-walks her gloved fingers up Ashe’s chest, tap-tap-tapping her nails against the buttons of her blouse. She loosens Ashe’s tie with a sultry grin, slipping it from beneath her collar and tossing it over the back of the couch. “There are far more interesting things for us to be doing.”
And there it is, Ashe’s smarmy little smirk, a quirk at one corner of her red, red lips. Sombra loves that shade of lipstick. “If you say ‘like each other,’ I’m gonna strangle you.”
“Then I won’t say it.” Sombra wraps her arms around Ashe’s shoulders, linking her hands behind her neck. She leans in and Ashe meets her halfway, lips already parted and tongue poking out between them.
Sombra groans. All that planning, all that waiting, had been worth it.
Phase two: complete. Now to reap the rewards.
It ends with action. Phase three goes off without a hitch.
She gets into position, perching atop a pile of empty crates in the abandoned warehouse. Sombra lets her legs dangle over the side of one of the larger ones. She checks the time. 8:08. Everything should be in order: the guards are on their regular patrols, she’s given both McCree and Ashe the same schedule… and conveniently made sure they were also given the wrong location.
It’s taken months to set this up properly, but it had been shockingly easy. All Sombra had to do was dangle the carrot of a Los Muertos weapon drop-off, tell McCree Talon planned to steal it, and hope Ashe would show up to steal it instead. It doesn’t matter that said drop-off is happening on the other side of the complex; all that matters is that her little playthings fall into her toybox.
8:11. Any minute now…
Beep-beep-beep-beep!
Ah. There it is: the sound of a code being punched in on the other side of the door. Now the only question is: who will it be?
Sombra doesn’t have to wait long for an answer. A second later, the door opens to reveal none other than Jesse McCree in all his cowboy-costumed glory. He enters, checking over his shoulder, and then freezes.
“What in the…”
“There you are, Jesse,” Sombra coos. McCree’s expression shifts, moving from scowl to slow, steady realization. Sombra can’t help but grin.
He draws his gun on her. “You…”
She raises her hands. “Oh, no, Jesse McCree is pointing a gun at me,” Sombra drawls, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. She laughs and lowers her hands, crossing them over her bent knee. “Don’t shoot. You’ll upset our guest.”
“Guest?” McCree narrows his eyes at her, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out what she means: the door opens behind him, heralded by a second series of rhythmic beeps.
And oh, the look on Ashe’s face when she sees the two of them together is priceless.
“McCree?!” she shouts, looking wildly from him to Sombra and back again.
“What the hell is she doing here?” McCree demands. He can’t seem to decide where to point his gun – Sombra or Ashe – and it’s delicious. Sombra laughs again, loud and amused and probably all kinds of obnoxious.
“Oh, this is just too much. Calm down, you two.” She snickers, sliding off the crates and landing on her tiptoes. She saunters over to the two of them, hips swaying, and flicks McCree’s nose as she passes, before coming to a stop between the two of them.
“Sombra…” Ashe starts, low and dangerous as Sombra lays a hand on her left shoulder. “I think you’d best start explainin’ what’s goin’ on here.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sombra laughs. She puts a hand on McCree’s right shoulder, mirroring the one on Ashe’s, and pulls them both toward her. They go far more easily than they should, considering how on edge they both are. “I set you up.”
“So Talon is—”
“So my weapons are—”
“Let’s not talk about that.” Sombra pulls them even closer; then, at the last second, slips out from between them and pushes them together. Ashe makes an inhuman squawking sound, and McCree sounds as if he’s just swallowed his cigar. “Instead, let’s talk about us.”
Sombra moves around behind Ashe, fingers tracing over her arms as she rests her chin on her shoulder. Her lips just barely brush the shell of Ashe’s ear. “Elizabeth, I’d like you to meet Jesse, my other lover.”
There’s no mistaking the tension in every muscle of Ashe’s body at the revelation. Sombra has always been open about her relationship status – namely, that she’s ‘uncommitted,’ but has two lovers. Ashe has known all along she was one of them, but Sombra had never mentioned who the other person was. She hadn’t needed to, really, and so she hadn’t told McCree, either. Not until now, months after Sombra had decided she wanted them both, together, at the same time.
Fewer headaches that way, she reasons.
McCree looks just as shocked as Ashe feels. It’s a pity Sombra can’t see both their faces, but she can imagine the disdain – or maybe outright hatred – on Ashe’s face well enough.
“All this time…” McCree lowers his head, shaking it back and forth slowly. “All this time it was her.”
“Yup.” Sombra pops the ‘p.’
And then McCree laughs. Deep, loud, raucous laughter, booming from his chest. Ashe backs up, perhaps startled by the noise, and Sombra keeps her from stumbling with an arm around her waist and one still on her shoulder.
“What the hell are you laughin’ at?!” Ashe demands. She practically snarls at him, her nose wrinkled and lips pulled back.
“I just – I shoulda known!” McCree says, between bouts of laughter. “All the deadlock intel, the way she talks about her thing for southern accents…” He sweeps the hat off his head and wipes his brow with the back of his wrist. McCree holsters his gun, then takes a step back.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” he says at last, laughter dying down. “What did you bring us here for, Sombra?”
“Again, that should be obvious.” Sombra pulls away from Ashe, hands lingering as she moves towards McCree. Once she’s face-to-face with him, Sombra wraps her arms around his neck and leans up, as if she’s about to kiss him. “You two have history, and I’m horny. I thought it would be fun to have you both at once.” She edges in, ever-closer, and now her lips do brush McCree’s as he leans down to meet her, hanging off her every word just as she hangs off his neck. “Don’t tell me there’s no lingering feelings there, vaquero. I know you better than that.”
She seals the accusation with a kiss, pressing her lips softly against McCree’s. The moment she does, it’s as if all the tension in him is released, and he presses forward, laying his big, strong hands on the small of her back. Sombra parts her lips for him; McCree meets the invitation with an eager tongue, exploring Sombra’s mouth with it just as eagerly as he had the first time they’d kissed.
Sombra opens her eyes. She catches Ashe in the periphery of her gaze, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and crossing her arms over her chest.
But she doesn’t look… mad. No; she looks intrigued.
Just what Sombra wants.
Sombra presses herself closer to McCree, a hand curling in the hair at the nape of his neck as one of his hands drifts over the swell of her ass. She moans, purposely loud, and watches Ashe for a reaction.
The one she gets is delicious: Ashe turns away, breaking her previously intent gaze, her cheeks going so red so fast it’s almost as if someone has shone a spotlight on them. It’s adorable, and perfect, and Sombra wants more.
She breaks off from McCree, a wet gasp escaping him as he stumbles back, shocked by the sudden departure of Sombra’s body against his. He watches her go, though, eyes fixed on the exaggerated swish of her hips.
“Aw, is my little firecracker jealous?” Sombra teases, reaching for Ashe and taking her chin in her hand.
“Please.” Ashe’s tone is flat, dismissive, defiant; but she can’t hide the furious blush spreading all the way to her ears.
“It’s okay, you can admit it.” Sombra leans in, drags her lips up Ashe’s jaw until she can tug her earlobe between her teeth. “I know you never really got over him leaving. Why not show him what he’s missed out on all these years?”
Posed like a suggestion, like an opportunity to get one over on McCree, it sounds like the exact sort of proposition that Ashe will accept – and she does, a wry smirk curling the corner of her lip all the confirmation Sombra needs to know she’s sealed the deal.
“I like the sound of that,” she says.
“Yeah?” Sombra laughs, pulling back so she can kiss Ashe over and over again, each press of lips long and indulgent. Between each kiss, Sombra breathes out, “You want to ride him? Keep his dick busy while I fuck his face?”
“Mm…” Ashe doesn’t have to respond with proper words; the sound she makes, a contemplative and appreciative hum, is enough for Sombra.
Sombra pulls back, a swipe of her tongue over the beautiful painted red of Ashe’s lips her only parting gift before she turns to McCree. And fuck, if he isn’t a sight, already hard and rubbing himself slowly through his pants.
“So impatient,” Sombra chides. She reaches for the front of her jacket and slowly starts to undo it, relishing in the way both sets of eyes on her follow the motion and drink in the slow, teasing reveal of skin as it comes.
“Not even wearin’ a proper shirt,” McCree says. “You little sneak.”
“You love it.” Sombra lets her coat fall to the floor. Her leggings and boots join it a moment later, exposing the rather expensive bra and panties she’s picked out for the night. Black lace and mesh, semi-transparent. They do nothing to hide how damp she is, or how stiff her nipples are under the thin fabric.
Sombra rolls her eyes and twirls in place, a touch smarmier than she perhaps needs to be about it, but what can she say? She likes the attention, and right now, it’s all on her.
“Come here,” she says, turning to Ashe and beckoning her over. Ashe follows her instructions obediently, as if she were drawn in by a shortening leash rather than a crook of a finger.
When Ashe reaches her, Sombra carefully loosens and unfastens her tie, pulling it off and twisting it about her wrist.
“Strip for me, firecracker?” she asks, voice falsely sweet.
“Sure thing,” Ashe says. She sounds far less affected than she looks, face still flushed a pretty shade of pink and hands trembling, just the slightest bit, as she moves to undo her vest.
As she strips, slowly removing her vest and then her blouse, Sombra watches McCree out of the corner of her eye. He’s still massaging himself through his pants, gaze hungry as he watches the two of them, only startling out of the expression when Sombra scoffs at him.
“Just gonna stand there and stare?” she teases. “Come on, vaquero, get in on this. I know you heard us talking about riding you.”
McCree huffs a laugh through the corner of his mouth, and slowly, he lifts his hand from his cock to remove his cigar. He drops it, crushes it under the toe of his boot, and shrugs. “Thought I’d let you ladies have some fun before I started in on it,” he says simply, but he does as Sombra asks anyway and begins to remove his layers (much faster and far more eager than Ashe had, too).
Soon they’re all left in nothing but their undergarments. As soon as they are, Sombra takes Ashe by the hand, practically drags her over to McCree, and shoves her into his arms. They seem to pick up on what she wants right away, and though there’s a flicker of reluctance, it vanishes in the same moment it manifests.
They kiss, hard and deep.
“Mm. That’s what I like to see,” Sombra croons. She steps back and idly rubs between her legs as she watches their tongues meet and slide together.
Sombra decides to ditch her panties rather quickly once she realizes just how wet she is, and as she steps out of them, she slips a finger between her folds and begins to trace small, light circles over her clit.
Ashe and McCree part a moment later for air, and before they can dive right back into each other, Sombra throws her free hand between them, pressing her palm flat to McCree’s chest and coaxing him into walking backwards. Once he’s a few paces away from Ashe, Sombra tugs his boxer-briefs down and off, then shoves him to his knees.
“Stay put,” she says. Then, once again, she turns to Ashe, beckoning her over. Sombra guides Ashe over to McCree, then tells him, under her breath: “Get her nice and wet.”
McCree doesn’t need to be told twice. As soon as the gentle command is uttered, he tugs Ashe’s panties down, presses his mouth to her mound, and slips his tongue between her folds.
Ashe staggers back with a cry, apparently thrown off balance by the sudden eagerness of McCree’s tongue; Sombra wraps an arm around her and pushes up against her back. “Shh,” she soothes. “It’s okay. We’re gonna make you feel good.”
Sombra unlatches Ashe’s bra, deftly opening up her front clasp and sliding the garment from her shoulders. Once it’s off, Sombra reaches around to cup Ashe’s breasts. She squeezes, firm but not hard, and pinches her nipples between two fingers.
Ashe gasps, mouth falling open and head tilting back. Sombra takes advantage of it and drags her lips up her neck, biting down and gently sucking a mark into Ashe’s smooth, pale skin.
“Ah – ahh, fuck,” Ashe stutters. “McCree…”
Her hand comes down to knock McCree’s hat off his head and fist in his hair. Ashe pushes him down; Sombra watches with mild interest.
Ashe’s hips rock back and forth, shoving herself closer to McCree as she moves forward and rubbing her ass against Sombra’s pelvis every time she rocks back. It feels good insofar as it relieves some of the pressure building in the put of Sombra’s stomach, but Sombra wants more.
And she knows Ashe does, too.
“Hey,” Sombra breathes, lips dragging up Ashe’s neck to brush against her ear. One hand moves down from Ashe’s breast, over her hip and between her legs from behind. She can very nearly feel McCree’s tongue poke against her finger as she slips it past Ashe’s perineum, and she smiles. “I think you’re wet enough, don’t you?”
“H-hah.” Ashe’s laugh is breathy and weak, but unmistakably pleased all the same. “You read my mind, darlin’.”
Sombra backs up. Ashe tugs McCree’s hair to pull him off her. McCree licks his lips. All three of them grin, and then they all move at once: Sombra walks around Ashe to stand behind her; McCree leans back until he’s lying down on the floor, pushed by both Sombra and Ashe; and once he’s down, Ashe takes a step backwards so she can kneel above McCree’s hard, leaking cock.
“Wait,” Sombra says. She grins and untwists the tie still around her wrist, pulling it taut between her suspended hands. “One more thing, firecracker.”
Ashe watches her out of the corner of her eye. She glowers, but the expression quickly morphs into a smirk as she considers what Sombra is asking of her. “You’re a cheeky thing, aren’t ya?” she asks, but she closes her eyes and leans back anyway, presenting herself for Sombra all the same. “Not even goin’ to let me see his face when I make him come undone.”
“Like hell you will,” McCree says, amused more than annoyed. Sombra has to admit, she shares the feeling.
“Quiet, both of you,” she chides, laughter in her voice as she drapes Ashe’s necktie over her eyes, wraps it around her head, and ties it tight. She lets the ends fall and brush Ashe’s shoulder, eliciting a shiver from the other woman.
“What a sight,” McCree breathes. He grins as Sombra saunters over and drops to her knees at his side. “You ladies really know how to show a man a good time.”
He’s still joking, even as Sombra rolls her eyes, swings a leg over his broad chest, and shuffles forward to straddle his face. Without prompting, McCree reaches up to wrap his arms around Sombra’s thighs, hands resting on the dip of her spine.
“Shut up, McCree,” Ashe says. Unsteadily now that she’s been deprived of her sight, she shifts above him, but sinks down once she finds the right spot.
McCree has no problem at all obeying her after that.
He surges up, moaning as he presses his lips to Sombra’s slit. A tongue slips into it, dragging against her inner labia and up to her clit. Sombra moans and rocks her hips in a slow, steady rhythm, preferring to ease McCree into it rather than force him to properly tongue fuck her right away like she wants.
Ashe seems to have no such restraint, though: as soon as she bottoms out, she’s back up, taking what she wants from McCree with no remorse. She’s always been like this – and while Sombra is usually fond of Ashe for her impatience, right now she’s a touch annoyed with it. Sombra wants this to last, after all, and if McCree finishes too soon…
So Sombra lifts herself off McCree. She ignores the sound of protest he makes as she turns around to face Ashe. It quickly becomes a grateful groan when she lowers herself down onto his face again, anyway.
“Good boy,” Sombra says. She lets McCree enjoy himself a moment before she starts rocking her hips again, and reaches for Ashe. “And you…”
“Yeah?” Ashe grins as she leans forward, mirroring Sombra’s motion without realizing. They get their arms around each other, Sombra’s around her neck and Ashe’s tentatively around her waist, and they kiss, slow and deep and languid.
Beneath them, McCree steadily rolls his hips up, rocking into Ashe at a good, steady pace. One Sombra is happy to maintain as she grinds down on him, and one she is certain would be driving Ashe crazy with impatience if she weren’t distracted by Sombra’s mouth and hands and her own lack of sight; but she is, and Sombra eagerly drinks in her moans, swallowing them as she curls a tongue into Ashe’s desperate, wanting mouth.
Her rhythm stutters, though, and she jumps when McCree’s tongue presses on her clit. Sombra lets out an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeak, and that’s enough of a signal as any for both McCree and Ashe to take advantage of her temporary loss of control.
Ashe slides her hands over Sombra’s breasts and squeezes her over her bra, just this side of too hard; it’s a little mean, but Sombra always has liked a rough hand. A rough tongue, too, which she is quickly reminded of when McCree redoubles his efforts and rapidly laps at her clit, pointed and merciless.
“H-haah… About time you two started – ah! – working for it,” Sombra grunts, and though she intends for her words to be harsh and critical, the effect is completely ruined by her cracking voice.
Ashe smirks and squeezes harder, lifting her own hips and driving herself back down onto McCree. “Mighty big talk for someone who can’t finish a sentence without moanin’,” she says.
“Fuck you,” Sombra replies smartly. Beneath her, she feels a puff of air escape McCree. It’s such a strange sensation, one she’s not used to, and it sends a powerful shudder through her body.
“I’d say he’s got that covered.” Ashe laughs to herself and lets Sombra go, hand moving down to her own clit and rubbing furiously at it. She bounces up and down vigorously on McCree’s cock, and moments later, tosses her head back and cries out. Sombra watches Ashe hit her climax, her stretched pussy gushing as she grinds against McCree.
“Oh – fuck –” McCree has to pull away from Sombra to grit the words out, fragments though they are. He sets his jaw and exhales roughly through his nose, focus dragged away from eating Sombra out (much to her chagrin) to center on ramming himself inside Ashe.
“There! Fuck, yes, Jesse, yes!” Ashe very nearly laughs as a second orgasm takes her, only stopping when McCree forcibly pulls out of her to jerk himself off the rest of the way.
He comes quickly, cum splattering all over his belly and between Sombra and Ashe. Sombra reaches behind her to grab McCree’s head and force it back on her pussy, and though he’s still technically in the throes of his climax, he obediently goes back to eating her out.
Fortunately for him, Sombra is close enough that it only takes a few quick (albeit sloppy) strokes of his tongue to push her toward the edge. Ashe’s lips on Sombra’s neck and her teeth digging into Sombra’s skin only drag her over it faster, and Sombra comes with a breathy gasp, muscles seizing and relaxing in waves.
She doesn’t think she’s ever come so hard in her life.
It feels like it takes forever for her to finish properly – or at least longer than usual. By the time she comes down from it, Sombra is exhausted, her entire body limp and relaxed. She slowly slides off of McCree and flops down next to him, not caring that the floor is cold, hard, and dirty. She’s too tired to be bothered by it. Belatedly, she realizes Ashe is on the ground too, makeshift blindfold off and tossed somewhere to the side as she lies on her side and traces a hand up and down McCree’s sweaty, soaked chest.
“Back among the livin’?” McCree asks. Sombra hates the amusement in his tone, the clear tease of it, but she just rolls her eyes and laughs, too pleased with herself to get worked up about it.
“Yeah,” she says.
“About time,” Ashe huffs. Sombra cracks an eye open and sticks her tongue out.
After that, none of them feel much need to say anything. They just lie there, basking in the afterglow, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Sombra can only begin to assume how Ashe and McCree must be feeling about this, but her mind is already abuzz with schemes and ideas.
Eventually, she stands, the first of the three to do so.
“This was fun,” Sombra says. “We should do it again sometime.” She offers a hand first to McCree, then Ashe, helping each of them up in turn.
“...If she’s willin’ to play nice,” McCree says.
“Oh, Jesse.” Ashe smirks at him, though the effect is somewhat ruined by her smeared lipstick. “You know I always play nice.”
McCree scoffs. “That’s bullshit and we all know it.”
“Hey, now.” Sombra steps between them, wrapping her arms around each of their waists. “Just because that’s true, doesn’t mean we should hold it against her. I like it when she’s a bit of a brat.”
“See?” Ashe’s smirk stretches wider.
McCree hums petulantly. Sombra laughs, “You didn’t seem to mind, either,” she points out.
The shade of red McCree turns is adorable, but instead of poking fun at it like she normally might, Sombra pulls away from her two lovers and moves to start gathering her things. “Let’s go,” she says. “I booked us a hotel room.”
“And what makes you think we’re gonna go anywhere with you after you tricked us like that?” Ashe asks, all fake bravado and performed irritation.
“My sweet ass.” Sombra winks; Ashe rolls her eyes. “No, really. You think this was enough? I was hoping we could continue this somewhere a bit more… comfortable. Poor McCree’s back is probably killing him.”
“I wouldn’t object to a good massage,” McCree says, clearly intrigued.
“And I won’t mind giving it to you while we discuss… whatever this is.” Sombra slips her panties back on, then her bra. Quick and efficient. “Because from what I can see, I’m not the only one who wants this to keep being a thing. Or am I wrong?”
Ashe and McCree exchange a look, each of them regarding the other with a mixture of suspicion and interest. They really are adorable, Sombra thinks.
“...Fine,” Ashe says at last. “We’ll talk. But I ain’t makin’ any promises.”
“Not that we’d believe you if you did.” McCree fetches his own clothing, but before he pulls anything on, he fishes a cigar box and lighter out of his pants’ pocket. He pops the box open and offers one to Ashe. It’s as clear a sign as any that he means no hostility, and he’s accepting her tentative trust while extending an olive branch of his own.
Sombra grins. Good, she thinks, as Ashe takes one of the cigars and leans in to let McCree light it for her.
Looks like she’s getting what she wants, after all.
By the way, I’ve deleted tumblr off my phone, so if you send me a message here, it may take a few days for me to see it! The best way to contact me would be through twitter (@tim3hopp3r) or through email, which is listed under my commission info.
Hi guys! So I know we all don’t actually read the terms and conditions of things and just hit agree assuming there’s nothing important in there (I do it too oops) but if you take writing commissions or anything involving money, then there’s actually something in the AO3 terms and conditions to be aware of.
Linking to a personal website or blog/social network where you are taking donations, posting commissions or mentioning published works is permitted, but advertising it directly on the Archive is not, nor is using language which one might interpret as requesting financial contributions. For example, you can say something to the effect of “check out my Tumblr if you want to know more about me and my writing” and include the link to the site, but you cannot specifically state anything about donations, commissions or sales on the Archive.
Today someone reported one of my fics as violating this condition - presumably because I’d mentioned my patreon in the author’s note (I wasn’t actively requesting donations either… I’d literally just mentioned that it existed, and that the fic in question was written as a thank-you for hitting one of my goals).
I’ve written to AO3 to check whether just saying ‘thank you to those who support me on patreon’ is fine and I’ll let you guys know when they get back to me, but if it’s still going too far in terms of being a ‘commercial promotion’ then I’ll just avoid mentioning this in the future! :’)
As I said, someone did actually report my fic for this - so there are people out there who are noticing/reporting these situations. Please be aware of this if you take fic commissions, or use patreon or ko-fi, because your account could end up suspended, which of course no one wants!
UPDATE: AO3 got back to me - you’re not allowed to mention or link to patreon at all, regardless of how it’s phrased. Not sure if it’s the same for ko-fi but it might be better to be safe than sorry!
<3 @kahnah23 relevant to you and possibly some others~
archive of our own is run by the organization for transformative works. ao3 and the other services that otw offers - including legal services for fan creators who get in legal trouble - are nonprofit organizations.
this isn’t just a self-determined descriptor; that’s a legal definition that requires adherence to specific rules and laws regarding income, profit, and donations.
this isn’t a “bullshit rule” just meant to prevent creators from advertising. in op’s post, the contact from ao3 offers a roundabout way to advertise. this rule ensures that ao3 and the organization for transformative works to stay a non-profit organization - this “bullshit rule” is essentially a way so that ao3 and the other services that the organization for transformative works can stay online.
Hey, folks! A bit of clarification on this point. Courtesy of the lovely people from our Legal and Abuse committees, here’s how things are:
What the TOS FAQ says is: “We want the Archive to remain a non-commercial space. That means that it isn’t the right place for offering merchandise, even fan-related merchandise. Linking to your personal page (not, for example, an Amazon author page) is fine, even if the personal page includes some items for sale, but the Archive is not advertising space.”
We made this rule to keep the Archive focused on its original mission of protecting noncommercial transformative works, and to avoid confusion about the relationship between the Archive and individual creators. Donations to individual creators are not donations to the Archive, so they don’t affect our status as a nonprofit as such, but we still need a rule that enables our small, hard-working abuse team to enforce an anti-commercialization rule as fairly as possible.
It is acceptable to mention something like “This work was commissioned by Mary Sue,” but creators should not link directly to their fundraising pages or solicit donations on the Archive. We do not want to suspend accounts over this, and creators are given notice if there’s a problem. We presume good faith, and if you think Abuse has made a mistake about your work, you can appeal any decision requiring the removal of a link.
could you do an nsfw story involving Echo x Angela?
Aaaah I don’t know how long ago this was because I never got a notification for it, but we’ll see! I have a few commissions and zines going right now, plus a number of personal projects in addition to my fulltime job, so the chances are very low I’ll have time to get around to it.
I’ll keep it in mind for sure, because I do loves me some wlw and robot fucking. But it may be a while before you see it from me! (That said, if you’d like the chances of this getting written to go up, feel free to commission it either through the regular method or through ko-fi.)
Also as a reminder: I’ve written that my requests are on semi-hiatus, so in general, this will be my answer for any non-commissioned requests.
Become a patron of tim3hopp3r today: Read 22 posts by tim3hopp3r and get access to exclusive content and experiences on the world’s largest membership platform for artists and creators.
I’ve just re-opened my Patreon! Right now you can get access to all previous posts, including past Fics of the Month and Patron Commissions... plus a poll for the new Author’s Notes benefit!
Because the format of my patreon has changed from how it was in the past, here’s a little update to how things work now.
Tiers are currently listed as follows:
Cuttlefish: $2/month. Patrons at this level are given access to all posts and content, and are entitled to vote on all polls.
Squid: $5/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish tier, with the added bonus of being eligible to submit prompts and suggestions for polls.
Octopus: $10/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish and Squid tiers, plus a 10% discount on all regular commissions.
Kraken: $25/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish and Squid tiers, plus a 20% discount on all regular commissions.
Benefits will include:
1. Author’s Notes. This means that every month I’ll be releasing notes on a fic I have already written, as chosen by patrons.
2. WIPs/Previews. I’ve decided to be more diligent about posting WIPs in order to get people excited about what I’m working on! Right now I’m thinking it’ll be a format of every other Wednesday to post WIPs/previews.
3. Commission Discounts. If you pledge at a high enough tier, you will receive discounts on all regular commissions. Currently I’m offering 10% and 20% discounts at the Squid and Kraken tiers, but this may change with feedback.
4. Community Discord. IF I REACH $100/month, OR 15 PATRONS, I will open up a private discord server to better communicate with everyone who has pledged. This will be available at all tiers.
5. Patron Commissions. IF I REACH $100/month, I will reinstate patron commissions, which means that if you pledge at the Squid or Kraken tiers, you will be entitled to one personalized drabble or short fic commission every month.
6. Fic of the Month. IF I REACH $100/month, I will reinstate the Fic of the Month, which will be written based on patrons’ prompt/ship/character suggestions.
Thank you so much for supporting me. Reblogs appreciated, even if you don’t plan on pledging yourself!
Hey all! I’ve gone ahead and revamped my Patreon in preparation for reopening it in March. I’ve eliminated the Fic of the Month for the time being so as to avoid burnout, but if I’m able to reach $100 per month in pledges, then I will be bringing it back, as well as creating a discord server for patrons!
Before that threshold is met, however, I’ve added a few new benefits for pledging at various tiers:
1. Author’s Notes. This means that every month I’ll be releasing notes on a fic I have already written, as chosen by patrons.
2. WIPs/Previews. I’ve decided to be more diligent about posting WIPs in order to get people excited about what I’m working on! Right now I’m thinking it’ll be a format of every other Wednesday to post WIPs/previews.
3. Commission Discounts. If you pledge at a high enough tier, you will receive discounts on all regular commissions. Currently I’m offering 10% and 20% discounts, but this may change with feedback.
Tiers are currently listed as follows:
Cuttlefish: $2/month. Patrons at this level are given access to all posts and content, and are entitled to vote on all polls.
Squid: $5/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish tier, with the added bonus of being eligible to submit prompts and suggestions for polls.
Octopus: $10/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish and Squid tiers, plus a 10% discount on all regular commissions.
Kraken: $25/month. All the benefits of the Cuttlefish and Squid tiers, plus a 20% discount on all regular commissions.
Even if you don’t plan on pledging, I would really appreciate spreading the word. A little extra help means I can put out my fics a lot faster! <3
Link to my Patreon page is here. Thank you all so much!
I lied it’s only 4 for now it’s such a pain crossposting things to not just this site but pillowfort as well (https://www.pillowfort.social/tim3hopp3r) so I’m gonna do the drabbles later.
Hope's Golden Light | Claude/Sylvain [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
Sylvain and Claude share an intimate moment, and Sylvain realizes he knows almost nothing about Claude himself. In seeking answers, he finds more than he'd ever dared to hope for.
"What reason would Sylvain have to join the Golden Deer, and stick with the Alliance during the war?"
This is the question that brought about the creation of this fic. I spent a long time dwelling on it, and found... a hell of a lot of answers, actually. This fic touches on a few of them.
You may have noticed that the rating is M. If yo ucheck the tags, you'll see that it's rated such for the mention of sex. Sorry to say this fic never gets too spicy. :( It is a mild salsa at best. But that's not really the point, and I hope by reading this, it makes sense why I chose to write this particular conversation in this particular moment for them.
(I realize this is not the first time I've written Claudevain post-sex. And I doubt it will be the last.)
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--
One last breath, one last smile. Sylvain reaches up to touch Claude's face, and Claude collapses, lurching to the side and flopping down onto the bed.
He lands next to Sylvain, back flat against the mattress. His chest heaves, rising and falling in time with Sylvain's as they both try to steady their breathing: in, out, in, out. He's beautiful. Sylvain just wishes he had the voice to say so, in this moment.
The thought flees his mind as Claude reaches for him and tangles a hand in his hair. Sylvain rolls onto his side, props himself up on an elbow and smiles down at Claude. He traces a finger down his sternum, slow and light. Claude's skin is still tacky with sweat. Somehow, Sylvain finds he doesn't mind in the least.
He bows his head, letting his hair dangle above Claude's face and tickle his cheek. He smiles. "All good?"
"Shut up and kiss me." Claude hooks an arm around Sylvain's neck and pulls him down to close the gap between them, and Sylvain goes happily, humming against Claude's lips when they finally meet.
The kiss is long, slow, soft. Nothing at all like the urgent, frantic ones they had shared only moments ago. It's nice, intimate in a way that Sylvain had always been unfamiliar with before falling into bed with Claude. And yet still, that unfamiliarity tugs at him, even as he rejoices in it. It pulls at his heart, whispers insidiously in the back of his mind.
Claude pulls away first, concern almost imperceptible in his eyes, but Sylvain knows better. Knows him better. "Something the matter?"
"Just thinking," Sylvain says with a tiny shake of the head. It jostles his hair, makes his bangs fall around his eyes. Claude pushes it back.
"Sylvain, it is entirely too soon after sex to be thinking," he scolds. His expression is fond, if exasperated. Sylvain finds it endearing.
"This from the guy who never turns his brain off?" He flicks Claude's temple, earning a playful flinch and laugh in response. "Please."
"Okay, okay." Claude sits up and faces Sylvain, apparently conceding that the matter won't be dropped anytime soon. "What were you thinking about?"
A million things. Nothing at all. Too much, and yet not enough. Sylvain could list it all, the myriad thoughts and feelings that cross his mind every time he looks at Claude, the wonder that claws at him whenever they're in bed together. The deep, horrifying realization that somehow, against all odds, he cares. Cares about Claude, about who he is, about what he thinks and feels and wants.
Sylvain wants to say it all. Instead, all he says is "You."
There's a long, silent pause, stifling in it the way it surrounds them. Claude fixes Sylvain with a strange look, one of apprehension and intrigue and suspicion all at once. "What about me?"
Everything he might have wanted to say goes to war on the tip of Sylvain's tongue. Everything he doesn't want to say competes to be spoken aloud, too; the easy responses, the "how hot you are" and the “how much I want you, always” burn in his throat, eager to get out; but for once, Sylvain swallows down the urge to spout ridiculous pick-up lines and the desire to conjure poems singing Claude's praises.
The moment stretches out before Sylvain. He swallows, thinks, and then, at last, he takes hold of it to answer, in all seriousness: "I know nothing about you."
No response, just a raised brow. He continues: "You're always going on about having all these lofty goals and grand dreams, and yet nobody seems to know anything about them, except that maybe they involve, I don't know, some kind of massive feast or something. Don't--" he holds up a hand the second Claude gets that look on his face, the precursor to a smile that says he's about to make a joke out of this. "Don't try to tell me that a feast is your dream. You and I both know there's more to you than that."
Claude closes his mouth with a tiny click. He sighs through his nose and looks away, lip twisting in what could be thought, could be frustration. Sylvain can't tell.
It takes longer than Sylvain would like, but eventually, Claude does speak. "So you want to know what my ambitions are."
"I want to know something."
Green eyes meet brown, and a smile tugs at the corner of Claude's lips despite how plain it is he's trying to fight it down. "Hardly fair of you to demand something so deep and personal. And today of all days, no less. It's my birthday; shouldn't I get a pass?"
"Your birthday was three weeks ago." Sylvain grabs the pillow behind him and bumps Claude with it, grinning happily. "Or did you forget that I treated you to--"
"Fine," Claude interrupts, pushing the pillow away with a laugh. "Let's make a deal. You tell me one of your secrets, I'll tell you one of mine."
Sylvain smacks him again, but this time a laugh accompanies the assault. "You already know my biggest secret!"
"Do I?" Claude smirks. "Which one would that be?"
"That I like to be topped."
Claude wrenches the pillow out of Sylvain's hand and whacks him with it this time. "That's not a secret! It only took five minutes of talking to you to figure that one out."
Sylvain shrugs. "That's the best I got, babe."
Claude isn't satisfied. His brows furrow and he raises a hand to his chin, ruminating on what Sylvain is sure will be one hell of an argument. Claude isn't one to talk about himself -- he never has been -- and unless Sylvain plays his cards just right, things will remain that way.
"Okay," Claude says, at last. "Counter-offer."
That's a surprise. "I'm listening."
"I'll tell you what you want to know, but you answer the question first."
"You want to know my ambitions?" This time, it's Sylvain's brows that knit together. "Why?"
"Because I want to know everything about you."
The smile Claude fixes him with, one so open, so uncharacteristically sincere, sends a cool thrill throughout Sylvain. And it hits him: this isn't a joke. This isn’t something Claude can just play off as a scheme to get a rise out of him. He's genuinely interested.
The thought is both exciting and terrifying all at once, because until now, nobody has ever, ever taken an interest in Sylvain as anything but a crest or a quick fuck. But Claude -- Claude wants to know who he is as a person.
And that scares Sylvain more than anything.
He takes a deep breath.
"... Not sure I like that," he admits, and the mischievous glint in Claude's eye as he leans forward to cup Sylvain's jaw in his hand tells him he has good reason to feel that way.
Claude hovers just before Sylvain's lips. He's warm. His breath tickles. "Then let me sweeten the deal."
Sylvain's eyes dart down to Claude's lips. Back up to his eyes. "Go on."
"You answer the question first, and I'll let you do whatever you want to me after."
His tone is low, quiet, and sultry. Enough so that there's no room to doubt the meaning behind those words. Sylvain almost laughs; it figures that Claude would resort to offering more sex to get what he wants. It's not unusual for him, though, and in some ways it's even charming, but more than that, it's frustrating. Because it works.
Still, he holds out just a little bit longer, even though both he and Claude know that Claude has already won. "We just finished."
"I want more." Claude is dangerously close now. His scent is all Sylvain can think about. "Do we have a deal?"
A pause. Then: "...Yeah. We do."
Claude grins -- Sylvain feels the change in expression from the way Claude's heat shifts in front of him -- and he backs up, giving Sylvain room to breathe. Sylvain wishes he hadn't. But he holds up his end of the deal anyway, sitting up to rest his back against the wall. Claude stays where he is, excitement barely restrained in the gentle slope of his lips.
Sylvain sighs, ignores the "adorable" that rings out in the back of his mind, and runs a hand through his sex-mussed hair. "Don't look at me like that. Nothing about what I'm about to say is particularly exciting. Or interesting."
"I beg to differ," Claude says. "Everything about you is interesting."
Sylvain's heart leaps into his throat; he tries, pointlessly, to swallow it back down, and it works about as well as trying to keep the heat that rises up his neck from spreading over his face. "I dunno about that. But if you really want to know…” He sighs. “I guess I just… want to live freely."
He waits for a response, and when Claude stays silent, clearly waiting for some sort of elaboration, he continues. "I want to live the kind of life where I can do whatever I want. No expectations to meet, nobody making decisions for me. I want the kind of life where I don't feel any pressure to… perform some kind of act to please people." He pauses, meets Claude's expectant gaze, and looks away. He bites the inside of his cheek, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement -- a question, a confession, anything -- and when he doesn’t get one, he sighs again. “That’s… it. That’s all I want.”
He runs a hand through his hair again, frustrated. Sylvain realizes he's scowling only a moment later, notes that his tone had gotten dark, and he takes careful steps to relax his expression into something more neutral. It's only when he no longer feels the strain in his brow, the tension in his jaw, that he finally turns to Claude and smiles. Or he tries to -- Sylvain knows, in the painfully familiar way Claude studies him, brow furrowed and lips turned down, that whatever smile he's painted on his lips doesn't reach his eyes.
"...I see," Claude says at last, so quiet Sylvain almost doesn't hear him. Then, louder, less like a thought and more like an observation: "I was under the impression you already did that."
Sylvain shrugs. "You'd think."
"So there's a reason you run around like you're trying to get disowned."
Despite himself, despite knowing it's a bad idea to crack a joke, Sylvain laughs and punctuates his words with a wink. "I do my best."
Claude fixes him with another look, one Sylvain can't quite place. Something curious, something analytical, something pitying and affectionate all at once. He feels small under those bright, sharp eyes. Small and transparent.
Sylvain fidgets, unable to keep still under Claude's piercing stare. He has to turn away. Has to get out from under those eyes.
Distracted, Sylvain doesn't notice Claude move closer. Not until they're side-by-side, shoulders almost touching. He feels Claude's hand creep closer to his, and though he doesn't seek it out, doesn't take it, the temptation of its comfort is all too present.
"I want to live in a world without borders."
The world goes still. And slowly, slowly, Sylvain shifts his gaze back to Claude. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Breathes in, out, and speaks. The words come out shaky, breathless: "What did you say?"
"A world without borders." Claude tilts his head back to gaze at the ceiling, his crown just grazing the wall. "Think about it. What are all these stupid wars for? Keeping one person in, forcing another one out? For building some kind of structure that keeps everything in a neat little line, up until someone decides they don't like where their line is going, and tries to move into another one?"
His mouth twists into something pained, something uncertain -- something Sylvain has never seen on him before. He doesn't think he could even begin to understand its true depth, all the strife that hides itself under the thin, strained line of his lips, but it's clear that whatever it is that eats away at Claude beneath the surface has been there for a long time.
"We've built walls, Sylvain. The Church, the Kingdom, the Empire, the Alliance, all of us. I think it's about time we tore them down, don't you?" He laughs hollowly, and the sound chills Sylvain to the bone for more reasons than one. "Just think. If those walls are gone, that means the whole structure can change. There'll be nothing left to defend. No one left to attack. No more need for war, or bloodshed, or fear, or--"
Crests.
Sylvain sees exactly where this is going -- where it could go -- and he launches forward, cutting Claude off before he has the chance to finish his little speech. He takes Claude's face in both hands and crushes their lips together, ignoring the noise of surprise he earns and pushing through it until it turns into a warm, breathless moan.
Sylvain kisses Claude like a dying man needs air, like he'll collapse and perish if they're apart for anything more than a second. He kisses Claude as if he's the only thing in the world that matters. He may as well be, right now. Because for the first time in what feels like forever, someone has shown Sylvain something past the future he'd always expected was waiting for him, the future that had always nipped at his heels no matter how much he'd tried to run from it.
He doesn't know if he believes it's possible. Not just yet. But if this is what Claude wants, if this is what he's trying to do… then Sylvain will follow him. He will chase that hope until it's snuffed out, and until the golden light Claude exudes fades completely.
And then, at last, after too long and not nearly long enough, Sylvain pulls away. He doesn't let go of Claude, and Claude doesn't let go of him. At some point during their kiss, they had joined hands: Claude's fingers had wound between his own even as Sylvain had held fast to his face.
Sylvain watches him. Claude's eyes are bright. Warm. They meet Sylvain's on the tail end of a smile.
"And how do you plan to make this dream of yours come true?" Sylvain is surprised at how hoarse his voice is. How strangely desperate. "It won't be easy. Are you going to tell me you're planning to start a war for this?"
Claude's grip on Sylvain's hand tightens. He squeezes it, firmly, the same way he might if he were making a pact. He leans forward; their foreheads touch.
"Never."
"Then how?"
Claude smiles. It's a wonderful, enticing, mischievous little grin that Sylvain finds himself falling in love with. "I'm sure I can come up with some scheme or another."
Sylvain kisses him again. And in that moment, he and vows that he will follow Claude to the ends of the world and beyond.
Anything to make Claude's dream, and his own, come true.
Guest Starring | Sylvain+CaspAshe [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
Ashe invites Sylvain to his bedroom with the condition that Sylvain absolutely spoil Caspar. Sylvain more than delivers.
My very good friend Sparrow and I collaborated on this... we just horny-brained back and forth until I couldn't stop myself from writing this, and voila! Wholesome loving boyfriends and the dom Sylvain of my dreams.
I love CaspAshe. Don't ever let anyone ever tell you they aren't perfect.
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--
“Sylvain… I have a proposition for you.”
The moment he heard those words fall from Ashe’s lips, Sylvain should have known what he was getting himself into. But he hadn’t known, because he knew Ashe – or he thought he did – and so it had never occurred to Sylvain that Ashe could mean anything less than innocuous.
And so, seeing an opportunity to both tease his friend and do him a favour, Sylvain had looked up from the book he had been reading, eyes hooded and ever-present smile fixed in place. “For you?” he’d said, tone low and smooth. “Anything.”
And that had been how he’d ended up here, in Caspar and Ashe’s shared bedroom, watching from the desk chair as they make out on the bed.
Sylvain leans back, chin resting on one hand as the other lazily strokes his cock. Caspar groans and squirms beneath Ashe, his face flushed a beautiful shade of pink as he’s worked open by deft, nimble fingers.
“Patience, love,” Ashe murmurs against his neck. “I know you want it, but you’ll just have to wait a little bit longer.”
Caspar keens – a desperate, pathetic little noise that makes Sylvain shiver with want. He squeezes his cock and runs a thumb over the tip, surprised to find he’s already wet with precum.
Ashe kisses Caspar’s jaw, just below his ear, and the cry he makes sends electricity all through Sylvain. He focuses on the way Caspar’s cock twitches and jumps with every crook and curl of Ashe’s fingers and wonders how he’s managed to hold on this long when he’s already so close to the edge.
“I think he’s had enough,” Sylvain says. Ashe turns his head and gives Sylvain a knowing smile - you’re not as patient as you seem, are you? - while Caspar’s eyes flutter open as if he’s waking from a dream.
Ashe withdraws his fingers slowly and cleans them on a towel he’d prepared beforehand. He nods to Sylvain, who returns the gesture with one of his own. He stands.
“Caspar.”
As he rises from his chair, both sets of eyes on the bed follow the motion hungrily. Sylvain swears he hears Ashe take a sharp breath, and tiny as the noise is, it sends a fiery thrill right to the pit of his stomach.
He tilts his head to the side in a gesture - a command - for Caspar to move, and smiles, all teeth and temptation and warm, insidious promise. “Up against the wall.”
Caspar scrambles to his feet obediently but unsteadily, guided by Ashe’s hand at his back. Sylvain watches him with a stern, appraising eye as he walks past, smirking when Caspar surreptitiously looks at his feet after the brief, split-second of eye contact he makes.
Good.
Caspar presses himself against the wall, back to it. Sylvain follows, crowding him with one hand planted flat against it. They’re already close enough Sylvian can feel the heat radiating off of Caspar, but still he leans in further. Despite Caspar’s growth spurt, Sylvain is still taller, and part of him delights in the way the shadow he casts makes Caspar’s hands tremble nervously, as if he’s some kind prey animal. Caspar the rabbit, Sylvain the fox.
Caspar’s looks away from Sylvain, eyes darting from his and presumably toward Ashe’s. Sylvain doesn’t need to see Ashe to know he’s just nodded his assent – granted his permission – to his boyfriend. The two of them are in perfect sync, as always, even with Sylvain there to throw off their usual rhythm.
Well. He’ll just have to see about that.
Sylvain takes Caspar’s jaw in his free hand, turning his face so those shimmering blue eyes are focused completely on him. He strokes his thumb over the bump of Caspar’s chin and feels just the slightest hint of stubble, either freshly-shaven or just about to grow in. It doesn’t matter, really; Sylvain is much more interested in what lies above it, and so he leans in far enough to close the gap between them and press a gentle but insistent kiss to Caspar’s lips.
Sylvain sighs into it. Caspar groans, and he takes that as a chance to deepen the kiss, prying Caspar’s lips open with his own until he can slip his tongue past them. He feels Caspar go pliant and boneless beneath him, and Sylvain grins against his teeth. When he pulls away, all too happy to tease, Caspar follows without thinking, mouth helplessly seeking contact.
Sylvain lets out a breath, long and steady, and lets his hand fall from Caspar’s face to trace a line down his neck and chest with the backs of his fingers. Caspar shivers in their wake, eyes fluttering closed once more. Shallow breaths fall from his lips, and Sylvain almost leans in to capture them again, but he holds back and instead decides to help himself to a handful of Caspar’s chest. He almost moans, but he bites his lip to hold it back. Caspar’s skin is soft, but the muscle beneath is firm and strong, just as Sylvain had spent these last long nights imagining.
He runs a thumb over Caspar’s nipple and earns a full-body shudder in response. Sylvain decides he likes that, and so he does it again, and again.
“Mm. Wasn’t expecting you to be so sensitive,” he says.
Sylvain steps back, leaving Caspar with only the wall for support. He leans heavily against it, knees weak and chest heaving. He opens his eyes, stares at Sylvain through his lashes, and grits his teeth. His face is red, flushed with embarrassment or arousal or maybe a little bit of both. Sylvain decides he likes that, too.
He lifts a hand and twirls a finger, smiling perniciously. “Turn around.”
Caspar hesitates, but after a glance at Ashe – whose heavy, laboured breaths Sylvain can hear behind him – he complies and does as he’s told, placing his hands against the wall and turning to face it. He watches over his shoulder as Sylvain approaches him once again.
“Fuck, Caspar,” Sylvain breathes. He skims the dips and valleys between Caspar’s muscles with a fingernail, down his spine and back up again, pausing only when he reaches the space between Caspar’s shoulder blades. With a small hum, lays his palm there and applies just the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to coax Caspar into bending over further and further, until his body is poised at nearly ninety degrees.
And then Sylvain’s hand travels lower, resting on the curve of Caspar’s ass. His smile grows as he claps his hand down firmly, squeezing and massaging the firm, taut muscle.
Caspar whines and shifts his weight from foot to foot. It almost looks like he’s wiggling his hips, silently pleading for Sylvain to just give him what he wants already, but Sylvain knows better than to just give it to him that easily. He was told specifically to spoil Caspar, and he has every intention of doing so. He just has to be--
“Patient.” Sylvain spreads Caspar’s cheeks. He takes a moment to admire him, to appreciate Ashe’s handiwork. Caspar is very nearly gaping, and they haven’t even started yet.
He traces a thumb over the rim, and Caspar lets out another desperate keen. Sylvain dips the tip inside, and there’s hardly any resistance at all.
“Goddess,” he breathes. “Ashe did a good job with you.”
He turns his head to look at Ashe, and the sight that greets him is nothing short of breathtaking.
Of the three of them, Ashe had been the only one to keep his clothes on while Caspar was prepared. That’s no longer the case: now he wears nothing but his hooded sweater, pushed up far enough to reveal his toned stomach and a trail of silver hair leading down to his leaking cock. His pants have long since been discarded in a heap on the floor, and his bare legs are spread wide, giving Sylvain a full view of Ashe stroking himself as he watches someone else manhandle his boyfriend. And it’s -- Ashe is --
Sylvain swallows. He wouldn’t mind getting a taste of that once he’s finished with Caspar.
He forces himself out of that line of thought before he can get too carried away with it. Maybe he’ll bring it up later, but for now, he takes hold of his own cock in one hand and keeps Caspar spread open with the other.
“You watching, Ashe?” Sylvain asks. Ashe’s eyes blink open. They go wide for a moment, then narrow once again as his lips quirk up in a smile Sylvain won’t soon forget.
“Good.”
He reaches for a jar of oil on the desk, dips his fingers in, and slicks himself up. Sylvain meets Caspar’s eye looking back at him over his shoulder and grins.
And then he slams inside.
He goes in surprisingly easy. There’s almost no resistance at all, and Sylvain is grateful to Ashe once again for preparing Caspar so thoroughly. Or maybe Caspar is just that desperate? It hardly matters, not when Sylvain feels Caspar clench around him, hot and tight and needy.
He pushes forward at the same time Caspar pushes back. Sylvain breathes shallowly through his nose and clenches his teeth, trying to keep some semblance of control, but it’s so difficult with the way Caspar seems to surround him so completely. He tries to ground himself by leaning forward, bending over Caspar’s back, reaching to bury a hand in pale blue hair. He twists his fingers in it and pulls Caspar’s head back, his own back arching at the same time. The motion inadvertently pulls Caspar even further onto his cock.
Sylvain laughs through a strained smile. “Fuck,” he hisses. Is this what it’s like for Ashe every time?
Caspar shivers beneath him, mouth hanging open on a silent groan. Sylvain looks down and decides that silent isn’t good enough. Not for him, and certainly not for Ashe.
He tightens his grip and pushes Caspar forward so he can rest his head against his arms, folded one on top of the other against the wall. He moves just slowly enough to give Caspar time to adjust to the new position, and then he pulls back, back, almost all the way out.
He holds himself there a moment, just long enough to make Caspar wondering if the next thrust is ever going to come, and then he pushes right back in. Caspar cries out and Sylvain moves: out, in, out, in. He sets a quick, rough pace, enough so that Caspar doesn’t have time to even think about closing his mouth and denying Sylvain (and Ashe, kind and patient Ashe) the beautiful little noises he’s making.
“Can’t believe I got so lucky,” Sylvain groans, voice somehow steady despite how hard he’s thrusting, how deep he’s pushing into Caspar. “Getting to fuck you? It’s like a dream come true. And at your boyfriend’s request, no less…”
Sylvain laughs, the noise little more than a hiss through teeth. His hand leaves Caspar’s hair to grab possessively at the back of his neck, and it must set something off in Caspar, because he moans louder than ever before and slumps forward, pliant beneath Sylvain once again.
"You should have seen him when he asked me to do this," Sylvain says. "He was so cute. All red-faced and bashful... I almost decided to fuck him then and there, right out in the open." He watches Ashe as he speaks, enraptured by the way he stares back at him with wide, lust-clouded eyes. "Maybe I still should. What do you think, Caspar? Would you want to watch me fuck your boyfriend?"
“Ahh!” Caspar’s back arches; his eyes squeeze shut and his fingers curl into fists. Sylvain slams into him, again and again and again, and grins at Ashe, who continues to watch them with rapt, unblinking attention.
Sylvain chuckles. Just for fun, he spanks Caspar, who tightens around him in response. “Nah,” he decides, drawing out the word. “Maybe another time.”
“H-huh…?” Caspar turns his head to look at Sylvain, eyes swimming with confusion. It’s an absolutely delectable sight, and Sylvian can’t stop himself from leaning forward and pulling him into a bruising kiss.
Caspar whines into it, breath ragged as Sylvain ravishes his mouth. He’s sloppy and unfocused, and somehow, that just fans the flames that burn in the pit of Sylvain’s stomach even more. He wants to ruin Caspar.
So Sylvain digs fingers into his hip and pulls back, leaving Caspar gasping for air. “I said I’d leave Ashe alone... for now. But maybe I’ll get to fuck him later; who knows?” He feels a shuddering breath puff against his cheek. Caspar goes impossibly tighter, shivering under Sylvain’s grasp, and Sylvain has to suppress a shudder of his own. He spanks Caspar again, just to get his attention. To make sure he’s listening. “And I’ll make you watch.”
“Ngh…!” Caspar’s head falls, and all his muscles go tense; Sylvain bites his lip to keep himself from groaning. He tightens his grip on both Caspar’s neck and his ass and pulls him back to meet his thrusts. He’s going harder than ever now, and it hardly matters that he isn’t speaking anymore: the constant whines and moans spilling from Caspar’s mouth, the obscene sound of skin against skin, the tiny grunts that rise from Sylvain’s throat despite his attempts to hold them back – they’re more than adequate substitutes to fill the silence.
And then he hears it: a tiny little gasp from across the room. It’s a miracle he can hear it over everything else that’s going on, but when he does, Sylvain leans over Caspar, grinning with all his teeth. “You hear that?” he mumbles to no response. “Sounds like we’re putting on a good show for him.”
He doesn’t bother looking at Ashe. He doesn’t have to. And he doesn’t want to distract himself, besides. He’s so close, so close to getting Caspar to lose himself completely…
Sylvain rubs at Caspar’s neck, then thinks better of it and slides his hand up so that he can tangle his fingers in the short, cropped hair at the back of Caspar’s head again. He pulls, forcing Caspar to look up, up at the ceiling, and he slows his thrusting to give Caspar a moment to breathe and get used to the new position. He doesn’t let up completely, though; Sylvain grinds into him with slow, circular movements of his hips. “You doing okay there, Caspar?”
He doesn’t get much of a response. Sylvain can feel him try to nod, but his grip is too tight to allow much movement, so Caspar tries again with a quiet whine. It quickly turns into a long, drawn-out groan, however, when Sylvain grinds against one spot in particular.
He laughs. “Good boy.”
And then he picks up the pace again, slamming into Caspar relentlessly, over and over and over again, until –
"A-Ashe! Please…"
Sylvain slows down again. In spite of himself, he smiles, and a wicked thought crosses his mind. He leans forward, chest pressed to Caspar’s back, and laughs.
"Not Ashe, honey," Sylvain murmurs, teeth grazing the shell of Caspar’s ear. "Do you want to try again?"
Caspar tries to turn his head, but Sylvain has a firm enough grip in his hair that he has some trouble. All the same, their eyes meet: Caspar's hazy and delirious with pleasure, Sylvain's somehow sharp and clouded with lust all at once.
"S… Sylvain," Caspar gasps, the name almost like a question on his lips. Sylvain can't help the breath that leaves him, short and hot and shallow. He tightens his grip in Caspar's hair and thrusts harder.
"Say it again," he growls.
"Sylvain." Caspar's voice is more sure this time, more confident. He almost sounds like himself again.
And that won't do at all.
Sylvain slams into him harder, and that confidence shatters as a cry of pleasure wracks Caspar's entire body.
"Sylvain!"
"Beg me," Sylvain hisses, voice hoarse and near-crazed with want. "Beg me to make you come."
"P-please!" Caspar wails. His fingers curl into the wall, and distantly, Sylvain worries about him permanently marring it. "Sylvain, please, I want to so bad, I want to come, please let me—"
But he doesn't get the chance to finish, because Sylvain snakes an arm around his waist and lays his hand, palm down, right over Caspar's sternum. He pulls him back toward himself, away from the wall, and uses the momentum to swing the two of them around to face Ashe head-on.
Caspar very nearly sobs.
Sylvain is impossibly deep inside him now, but he knows that's not why Caspar had made such a delectable little noise: he can see Ashe now, legs spread open and head tossed back to rest against the wall. He watches Sylvain fuck his boyfriend through heavy-lidded eyes, just barely able to keep them open as he furiously works his cock. It's one of the hottest things Sylvain has ever seen, and once again he finds his mouth watering at the prospect of getting it on Ashe.
"Look at him," Sylvain says in Caspar's ear. He guides Caspar's face toward Ashe with one hand while the other slips around from Caspar's hip to grasp and slide along his cock. "Look at what you're doing to him. That's you. That's all you."
He works Caspar's cock in time with his thrusts, and mere seconds after the words leave his mouth, Caspar comes undone in Sylvain's embrace, whole body tensing as he coats Sylvain's hand, and his own chest, in white.
He's so tight now, so tight around Sylvain as he bucks his hips and rides out his orgasm. Sylvain very nearly follows, but he pulls out before he loses the chance to. He’s determined not to come inside Caspar, however desperately he may want to in this moment. Instead he jerks himself off, quickly and frantically, until he’s coming too and marking Caspar's back with it.
And Caspar is… wow. If Ashe jerking himself off is the hottest thing Sylvain has ever seen, then his own cum dripping down Caspar’s back is a close second.
He gives himself but a second to admire the sight, gorgeous though it is, before he scooping his weak-kneed friend up in his arms and carrying him over to the bed. Over to Ashe.
Sylvain sets Caspar down on his side, facing away from Ashe so that he can see the thick stripes of cum painting his back. A soft, breathy 'oh' slips through his parted lips, and Sylvain shivers at the sound.
He sits down on Caspar's other side, running a hand through his hair to try to both soothe him and bring him back to reality. He doesn't look down at him, though: the whole time, Sylvain watches Ashe.
"Got anything left for him?" he asks, eyeing Ashe's still-hard cock. Ashe looks up, eyes focused and determined despite the lusty haze in them. He nods, and Sylvain reaches for him.
“Good.”
He threads his fingers through Ashe’s hair, and Ashe leans into the touch, sighing contentedly as he lets Sylvain do as he pleases. And when Sylvain leans forward, over Caspar, and tugs on Ashe’s hair to pull him into a kiss, Ashe comes willingly.
He wastes no time in letting Sylvain pry his mouth open and slip his tongue inside. He meets it readily, and the easy slide makes Sylvain shudder. No wonder Caspar is so dedicated to Ashe if he kisses like this all the time.
He takes things slow. Sylvain wants to savor this moment, the calm between storms; he wants to taste Ashe, to feel him, to lose himself in the sound of his moans and the taste of his lips. And he does, for a while: Sylvain lets himself relax, lets himself enjoy everything he’s given before the next step begins.
But then he feels stirring beside him, and a voice pulls him gently out of his reverie: “Hey. None for me?”
Sylvain draws back, away from Ashe. Caspar looks up from between them, a lazy smile on his face and a gentle shine in his eyes. He’s still flushed and dazed, and the sight makes Sylvain want to take him all over again.
“You’re back, huh?” he asks softly, stroking Caspar’s cheek with the back of his hand before he moves it to his arm. “Come here, then.”
He pulls Caspar up gently and, with Ashe’s help, coaxes him into a sitting position. Sylvain shifts back a little bit to give them some space. He grins, gestures to Ashe with his arm, and says, “Go on.”
Caspar lifts his arms, still trembling from the remnants of his orgasm, and places two shaking hands on Ashe’s face. As soon as he touches him, they move in tandem, both leaning in to devour each other at the same time. Sylvain leans back on the bed, shifts his weight to rest on his elbow, and reaches down between his legs to palm himself. Seeing the two of them like this, so in love and so desperate for each other, stirs something deep within him, and an idea strikes him as Ashe gasps into Caspar’s mouth.
He stands up and walks back over to the desk. Sylvain turns his head to look at the two of them, and he notices Ashe watching him – studying him – with one eye open. His attention is fully on Sylvain now, even in spite of the fact that Caspar is still kissing him just as deeply as ever.
Sylvain winks and reaches for the jar of oil on the desk. He holds it up, puts a finger to his lips – shh, it’s a secret – and watches Ashe’s pupil dilate.
This time, when Sylvain returns to the bed, he positions himself behind Ashe and pulls him onto his lap.
The kiss before him breaks, both men gasping for air. Sylvain rests his head on Ashe’s shoulder. He feels an arm come up around him, a hand tangle in his hair.
“Sylvain?” Ashe’s voice is weak, almost slurred. It makes his name sound all the sweeter on his tongue. “What are you…”
“Shh. I’ve got you.” He can’t help the wicked grin that tugs at his lips as he reaches around Ashe and takes his cock between his oil-slick fingers.
“Ah!” Ashe practically jumps in Sylvain’s hold. His head falls back as he gasps, giving Sylvain just the right angle to turn his head and kiss his neck once, twice, three times. Then –
“Caspar.” Sylvain takes on that same commanding tone he’d had before, and Caspar’s attention is immediately drawn. He sits up straight, eagerly awaiting Sylvain’s next words. “Little help here?”
Caspar nods – “Right!” – and crawls forward, positioning himself so his knees bracket Ashe’s legs. He meets Sylvain’s eye, catches the near-imperceptible nod he’s given, and presses forward to capture Ashe’s mouth with his own.
As Caspar kisses his boyfriend, sucks on his tongue and bites his lip, Sylvain wraps his hand more firmly around Ashe’s cock. He strokes it slowly, careful to make sure he spreads the oil all along every inch of its length. Ashe twitches in his hold; Sylvain noses at his neck soothingly, tracing teeth along whatever skin he can reach until he finds a good spot to bite down on.
Ashe yelps into Caspar’s mouth, but the sound slowly dissolves into a moan as Sylvain sucks lightly on his neck. He’s long since learned how to do this without leaving a mark, but he can’t help the way his cock twitches at the idea of leaving a nice little bruise on Ashe’s neck. Then, every time Ashe saw himself in the mirror, he would…
No. he wants something more than that. Something better. He wants to bite and suck at Caspar’s skin, leave marks anywhere and everywhere he can, so that Ashe wouldn’t be able to look at him without remembering this, without remembering all that Sylvain had done to Caspar and how much he had loved it. That, however briefly, Caspar had been –
“Mine.” Sylvain breathes the word reverently over Ashe’s skin. He’s got them both right where he wants them, right at the tips of his fingers, hanging off his every word and action. Ashe cries out and goes tense, back arching as he involuntarily breaks away from Caspar. Sylvain squeezes his cock.
“Shh.” He kisses Ashe’s neck soothingly once more before pulling back and slipping out from beneath him. Ashe watches him move, mouth hanging open breathlessly. His face is flushed a deep rose, his hair sticking out every which way; he’s the very picture of ravished, and Sylvain can’t remember the last time he wanted to fuck someone so badly. But he reins it in, holds himself back. That’s not what tonight is about.
He touches Ashe’s side, lightly at first, just to get him used to the contact. He looks down at Sylvain’s hand uncomprehendingly.
“Ashe,” Sylvain says. “I need you to move, okay? Right over here – that’s it, just like that.” He guides Ashe to sit on the edge of the bed, balls of his feet touching the floor and nothing else. Once he’s satisfied, Sylvain slides off the bed. He takes a moment to admire Ashe, legs spread wide and cock standing proud between them, slick and dripping; and then he gestures for Caspar to move over him with a flick of his head.
“Face me,” he says. “I want you to look at me while you ride his cock.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath. Caspar’s eyes go wide. He hesitates a moment, but Sylvain encourages him with a slight incline of his head, and he eventually crawls over to straddle Ashe’s lap.
Ashe takes hold of Caspar’s hips and lowers him, just a little bit. Sylvain can see the way his cock twitches as it brushes against Caspar’s entrance. Both of them tremble, as if unsure.
“Go on,” Sylvain breathes.
And it’s like magic, what happens next: Sylvain’s quiet, gentle command seems to break the invisible ropes of tension that had been holding the two of them back. Ashe’s grip on Caspar tightens, nails digging into skin, and Caspar takes a deep, shuddering breath before sinking down onto Ashe’s cock.
They move as if in slow-motion, taking their time to savour the moment. Sylvain isn’t quite as patient, and he wishes they would hurry up and fuck properly already, but he bites his tongue to keep the words in his throat. He’s supposed to be in control here; he can’t very well let on how he really feels.
So instead, he stays quiet and takes himself in hand to try and distract from how desperate he’s become.
Then finally, finally, Ashe moves. He leans up to bite at Caspar’s earlobe and whispers something to him Sylvain doesn’t quite catch, but he’s quite certain involves the words ‘ready’ and ‘love.’
Sylvain laughs, interrupting before Caspar even has a chance to respond. “You’re really going to keep him waiting?”
They both glance at Sylvain, Caspar surprised and Ashe understanding. The latter nods, kisses Caspar’s neck, and thrusts up into him.
“There you go.” Sylvain smiles and tugs at his cock a little faster, a little more insistently. It’s nowhere fast or hard as he likes, but the pressure is enough to tide him over, to keep his hands occupied while he watches Caspar and Ashe fuck. He aches to touch them, to get his mouth on them…
He drags his eyes away from Caspar’s face (jaw adorably slack, eyes just barely open as he watches Sylvain watch him) to Ashe’s lap, and he licks his lips as Ashe slides in and out of his boyfriend with ease. He’s not quite as big as Sylvain, but he knows exactly what angle is best for Caspar, knows what will make him feel best.
Somehow, that just makes Sylvain want him more.
He speeds up his own strokes, fighting the urge to close his eyes and imagine that he’s the one getting fucked instead. Sylvain doesn’t want to miss a second of this, not when they had so generously offered him this gift. But it’s so hard, he wants them so badly…
“Sylvain.”
He looks up. Meets Ashe’s eyes. Falls head over heels in love with the look in those bright green eyes.
And then Ashe does something Sylvain thinks he’ll remember for the rest of his life.
He reaches around Caspar, puts a hand on his chest, and pulls his boyfriend tighter to him. Ashe twists Caspar’s body, giving Sylvain a very nice view of his side and part of his back. Goddess, but Caspar is flexible—
Ashe meets Sylvain’s eye. His lips twitch, quirking in just the smallest hint of a smirk as he presses his lips to Caspar’s skin.
And then he opens his mouth.
Sylvain freezes. Ashe sticks his tongue out. He turns his head to the side. Closes his eyes. And then he moves to lick a long line up Caspar’s back, right where Sylvain had—
“Fuck…!” Sylvain clenches his jaw and curls in on himself. He looks away, squeezes his eyes shut, squeezes the head of his cock – anything to distract himself, to stop himself from watching Ashe lick his cum from Caspar’s back. It’s too much. Sylvain doesn’t think he can handle it.
Ashe chuckles softly to himself. Sylvain can’t help it: he opens his eyes and looks at him. Ashe smirks at him, lips still pressed to Caspar’s back, even as Caspar bounces up and down on his cock. It’s a wonder he can keep his composure with how vigorously he’s being ridden, but somehow, Ashe manages.
Sylvain doesn’t think he’s ever been so turned on in his life.
That blessedly smug smile stays firmly on Ashe’s face as he leans back and returns his attention to Caspar. He reaches up to pet his boyfriend’s face and Caspar looks down at him, laughing through his panting moans. Ashe’s hand does not linger, however, and once it leaves Caspar’s face it returns to his hip to hold him steady.
He needs it, too, because after half a moment’s pause, Ashe starts thrusting again.
Caspar practically screams as Ashe fucks up into him. He does his best to stay upright, but his legs are very clearly shaking with the effort. It’s not because he’s weak – far from it; Caspar has some of the nicest, strongest legs Sylvain has ever seen – but because he’s trying to hold back, trying to keep himself together so Ashe knows not to stop.
And that’s the last straw. If Sylvain can’t have Ashe, then he’s more than happy to make do with Caspar.
He moves without thinking, legs carrying him a scant few steps across the room to close the distance between himself and the happy couple on the bed.
Sylvain drops to his knees. He takes Ashe’s thighs in his hands and spreads them even wider. It has the nice little side-effect of making Caspar arch his back and cry out, and Sylvain grins, satisfied. He must have forced Ashe into an even better angle.
He sucks a breath in through his teeth and leans forward to press his lips to the inside of Ashe’s thigh.
“Sylvain…” Ashe’s voice is quiet, strained. “What are you doing?”
“What you asked.”
He pulls himself away from Ashe, takes a deep breath, and wraps his lips around Caspar’s cock.
Caspar jolts between Sylvain and Ashe, torn between rocking back against his boyfriend and fucking up into the wet heat of Sylvain’s mouth. In his indecision, he nearly ends up hitting the back of Sylvain’s throat. It’s a little painful in its suddenness, but after that split second of panic Sylvain groans and goes lax. He breathes in through his nose, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex. It drives him crazy – he wants them both so bad, wants desperately to make them feel good, wants Caspar to scream and moan and come down his throat…
He pushes forward, taking Caspar in right to the base. The motion is inelegant, made difficult by the constant motion of Ashe thrusting into Caspar and Caspar bucking his hips back and forth, but Sylvain is nothing if not practiced when it comes to things like this. He manages, and swallows around what he can.
Sylvain’s hands come up to press into Ashe’s thighs, fingers digging in to the soft, supple skin. He hears Ashe take a sharp breath and feels his rhythm stutter a bit, but Ashe picks it right back up when Sylvain pets along his leg. It’s okay, he tries to say with nothing but his hands. Go as hard as you like.
And Ashe does.
He pulls Caspar down onto his cock to meet every quick, deep thrust. Sylvain hardly needs to move at all, but he does anyway, determined to pull Caspar over the edge at the same pace Ashe pushes him toward it.
Sylvain wraps a hand around his own cock. The other remains firmly on Ashe, even as Sylvain wastes no time working himself up. There’s no point in teasing himself now: he wants to come, has wanted to for what feels like ages now, and both Caspar and Ashe are getting close…
He gags as Caspar is forced deeper into his mouth. It’s too much, all at once, and so Sylvain pulls back out of instinct, but the moment he does he realizes Ashe has gone tense under his hand. He digs his nails in, urging him silently to keep going, keep going, you’re almost there—
And that does it. Ashe jerks shallowly up into Caspar, and Sylvain feels the muscles under his hand twitch and flex. He knows, in that moment, that Ashe has just come.
Which means Caspar is not far behind.
Sylvain pushes down as far as he can go, tongue working the underside of Caspar’s cock as his throat flutters around the head. He holds himself there until he can’t suppress his gag reflex anymore. But he doesn't stop, even after he’s forced to pull away; Sylvain's head bobs as he dives right back in, sucking at Caspar's cock and beating himself off faster and harder until—
Sylvain shudders as Caspar comes in his mouth. He recoils at first, but pushes through it to swallow every last drop. He revels in the way Caspar’s cock twitches with every spurt, and within moments Sylvain is coming too, releasing all over his hand and making a mess of the floor beneath him.
He stays connected to Caspar even when it’s clear he’s finished, only pulling away to breathe when he feels the last tremors of his own orgasm fade away. Sylvain kisses Caspar’s cock once, then moves to Ashe’s leg, leaving a trail of kisses as he slowly backs away and stands up on shaking, unsteady legs.
He looks down at the two of them, still in the same spot on the bed. Ashe is slumped forward, leaning against Caspar’s back and holding him in place with firm arms around his middle, and Caspar leans back, an arm around Ashe’s shoulder as his head lolls off to the side. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Judging by how lax he is in Ashe’s grip, Sylvain is sure it will take some time for him to come back down from whatever realm he’s floated off to.
So Sylvain flops down on the bed next to them. He stares up at the ceiling, somewhere above Fódlan himself; it’s only when he feels Ashe move next to him, feels the warmth of another body reclining at his level, that he realizes he’s still here after all.
“Hey, Ashe,” he says, a no-doubt dopey smile on his face when Ashe lays down next to him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
In spite of how stupid the line is, Ashe laughs, a short chuckle through his nose. He reaches for Sylvain and leans forward to kiss him. Sylvain melts into it, blissful and warm.
“This is my room,” Ashe says when he pulls away.
Sylvain raises his eyebrows and looks around the room without sitting up. “Huh. So it is.”
He looks back at Ashe, and thinks that this night was worth it alone just to hear him laugh like that.
“What’s so funny?”
Behind Ashe, Caspar rolls over and props himself up on one arm. He’s an absolute mess, hair mussed and stuck to his forehead all at once. His cheeks are still flushed. He looks… strangely adorable.
“Caspar.” His voice is soft as he says Caspar’s name this time. Gentle. Fond. Leagues away from the firm, commanding tones he’d used before.
Sylvain reaches for him. “Come here.”
Caspar allows himself to be pulled over and dragged down to meet Sylvain’s lips. It’s a little awkward with the angle and with Ashe lying between them, but Sylvain couldn’t care less. He’s warm, relaxed, content, and he’s making out with a strong, beautiful man. What more could he possibly ask for?
He lets Caspar go, and the kiss breaks with a soft sound. It sends a chill down Sylvain’s spine, and he has to tell himself no. They’ve already done enough for the night, and he’s sweaty and sticky and tired besides.
Still, he wouldn’t mind another round in the morning.
Eventually. Sylvain sits up, and from there he stands, reaching up above himself and stretching until his back aches pleasantly in that way that only a good stretch can grant. He hears Ashe and Caspar move on the bed, and when he turns to look at them over his shoulder, they’re both sitting upright and looking at him curiously.
“What? Is there something on my face?” Sylvain asks. He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand for good measure, just in case he’d missed some of Caspar’s cum. He hadn’t, but he doesn’t want to admit the relief he feels at that. They’ve just had some of the best, most intimate sex Sylvain has had in a long time; he feels a little bit foolish for not wanting to look silly in front of them after all that.
They share a look – something unreadable, only understood by couples that know each other as well as they do – and Caspar is the one to address him this time. “Just… wondering what you were doing.”
Sylvain smiles and tilts his head to the side. He looks down, noting the very conspicuous mess on the floor, and lifts his arms so they rest behind his head. “Just thought I’d clean up a bit,” he says. “It’s the least I can do after making such a mess.”
They trade another look, and Ashe picks up where Caspar left off: “It’s okay, Sylvain. We appreciate it, but… wouldn’t you rather just rest for a moment?”
Sylvain’s arms fall to his sides and he blinks, not entirely sure how to process what he’s hearing. “You… want me to stay?”
“If you’d like to—”
“Of course!”
Caspar’s enthusiasm drowns out whatever else Ashe might have said. He scoots over, patting the spot between them. “You just gave us the fuck of a lifetime,” he says. “You deserve something after all that.”
“Caspar is a cuddler,” Ashe mumbles sheepishly. The way he smiles and blushes, it’s clear he adores that about his boyfriend. Sylvain can’t help but smile. “But if you’d rather not…”
“Hey, hey, I didn’t say anything about that.” Sylvain’s smile grows. He steps back over to the bed, and Ashe and Caspar move to lie on it properly, leaving room between them for him. It’s a bit of a squeeze, but they manage. Sylvain wraps an arm around each of them and they lean on his chest, half on his body and half on the mattress.
It may not be comfortable, but this is the best Sylvain has felt in a long time. And if this is what sex with Ashe and Caspar is always like, then Sylvain hopes he gets the chance to get used to it.
Morning Starlight | Claudevain [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
Sylvain wakes up at the first light of morning. For once, he is not alone - and he's not sure how he should feel about it.
Sometimes I like to post fic on my birthday as a gift to myself and to others. Although I'm only posting this here now, I actually originally published it on my birthday just over a month ago!
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Sylvain wakes to warmth on his back.
It's a pleasant feeling, relaxing, tempting him back to the sweet embrace of sleep. He breathes in deeply through his nose, curling into the gentle heat surrounding him, and exhales. The first light of the morning sun seeps past his eyelids to paint his vision red, and he groans, reaching for the arm slung across his chest.
And then he realizes: he is not alone.
He takes another deep breath, shakier this time, and reaches for the hand resting just below his collarbone. He slides his thumb along the side of it and lays his palm over the fingers splayed over his chest. The hand is strong, large, and he squeezes it as if to make sure it's real.
It is.
"Mm…"
The body shifts behind him, skin against skin and just the slightest bit sticky. It's then that Sylvain realizes, with equal parts horror and thrill, that they're both naked. And so he does what he thinks he's supposed to do in this sort of situation: he lifts the hand to his lips. He kisses each knuckle, one by one, and savors the sensation.
"Ahh… " The contented hum behind Sylvain reverberates through his body. He can't stop himself responding in kind, and he tries to turn around, to take in the sight of Claude von Riegan gazing down at him in the early morning light.
He only gets halfway, but Claude meets him there with a gentle, sleepy smile on his lips as he leans in for a kiss.
"Morning, sunshine," Claude mumbles against Sylvain's mouth. His voice is coarse and rough with sleep, and it makes Sylvain want to coax more out of him. More words, more hums, more moans.
"Shouldn't that be my line?" Sylvain traces a hand down Claude's chest. He licks his lips and leans in again, capturing his mouth in another kiss, long and slow and lazy.
Claude pulls away first, but he doesn't go far. Sylvain can still feel his smile, so close there's almost no space between them. "I dunno, should it be?"
Sylvain reaches up to push a misplaced lock of hair behind Claude's ear. He notes how messy it is, how much longer it seems when it's not brushed back in its usual style; but when Sylvain thinks back to last night, to Claude beneath him with his head tossed back and his lips stretched wide on a moan and his hair haphazardly strewn over the pillow behind him, it comes as no surprise that he has such an awful case of bed head.
Claude licks his lips, drawing Sylvain's eye and attention back to the present moment. "Do go on," he says. "I'd love to hear you compare me to the sun for the, what, thousandth time?"
"I can't help it when you so easily put it to shame," Sylvain responds easily. His hand moves from Claude's hair to caress his jaw. The sideburns tickle and scratch the pad of his thumb as it moves down to rest on Claude's chin. It's a lovely sensation, one that sends a thrill all through his body. He remembers kissing along that jaw, remembers the scratch of Claude's beard as he moved from Sylvain's lips to his cheek to his neck…
Sylvain jolts, pulled from his thoughts by a sudden flick to his temple. "Ow! What was that for?"
"You need some new material." Claude smirks with all his teeth; Sylvain's heart skips a beat.
"Give me a break, it's early," he says. He pulls Claude in for another kiss, and Claude accepts it happily, opening his mouth as soon as Sylvain runs his tongue along the seam of his lips.
He turns again in Claude's arms, properly this time, so that they can finally face each other. It's easier for them to kiss this way, more comfortable, and Sylvain feels Claude's arms wrap around him. They come to rest on the small of his back and the nape of his neck, strong and firm. He sighs into the kiss and melts into the embrace, boneless.
When they inevitably have to break for air, the hand on the back of Sylvain's neck moves up to card through his hair, messing it up even more than it surely already is. It feels nice, being held and pet like this. Unfamiliarly affectionate, but welcome, somehow. Sylvain almost feels guilty for letting himself indulge in it, in something he isn't certain he deserves, but he swallows down the bittersweet taste in the back of his mouth, just this once, and allows himself to enjoy it.
But he still can't quiet the little voice in the back of his mind, the one telling him that this can't last, that he will have to leave eventually. That Claude will have to leave. There's a war to fight, after all, and obligations to fulfill. People are out there dying while they linger in bed. But Claude is warm and firm and here , and Sylvain is nothing if not selfish. Everything that's waiting for them can wait a moment longer.
But not forever. Claude breaks the kiss slowly and eases back reluctantly. Sylvain takes a moment to catch his breath, and as he does he feels Claude tilt up his chin so they can look each other in the eye.
He smiles, soft and gentle. His eyes are so green. "Now what?"
Sylvain's fingers flex, curling into Claude's shoulder until he catches himself and forces his hands to relax. Now what? Now they need to move. They need to get up, get dressed, go about their days. Claude needs to lead the army and Sylvain needs to keep up appearances. He needs to follow orders and flirt with girls he doesn't care about and pretend his recklessness is unintentional. But it all goes unspoken between them, hanging heavy in the air. It bothers Sylvain now in a way it never has before. For once, Sylvain does not want to go back to how things are supposed to be. He doesn't want this to end.
And so, instead of shattering the moment, Sylvain tries to prolong it in the best way he knows how. He gives Claude the most flirtatious smile he can muster, and leans in close. "Round two?"
"Two?" Claude laughs and ruffles Sylvain's hair. His smile is radiant. "Sounds like someone wasn't keeping count last night. I think we're closer to round four than two."
"Then let's make it round four."
He moves in for another kiss. Claude laughs and puts a hand over his mouth to push him away, but Sylvain, undeterred, takes what he can get and kisses his fingers. He manages to move just enough to get the tips past his lips, and Claude's breath catches. Sylvain smiles, but before he can go any further, the hand is withdrawn. He looks up to see Claude smiling cheekily at him, one eye closed in a lazy wink.
"Fine," Sylvain mumbles on a sigh, but he smiles despite his disappointment. "Would you at least like to have breakfast with me, then?"
"Oh?" Claude's expression softens. "Is that what you say to everyone you sleep with?"
The small smile on Sylvain's lips falters, just the smallest bit, a melted candle flickering before its flame grows brighter. His response burns on the tip of his tongue - Only the ones I wake up with - but he bites it down and lets silence hang between them once more.
The light in Claude's eye dims the more time passes without a word. He does not wait long for an answer, though, quickly realizing that he isn't going to get one. And when he doesn't, he sighs and climbs over Sylvain to leave the bed.
Sylvain watches from behind as Claude stands, eyes roaming over his body and admiring the way the light plays off the toned ridges of his back. He wants so badly to reach out and touch him, to take his hand and pull him back to bed. To hold him, to kiss him, to - to -
No. It isn't about the sex. Not really, although when he watches Claude bend down to pick up some of the clothes he'd left littered all over the floor last night, he's reminded all over again of just how good the sex was. But he doesn't want to think about that, to question if that's what he's really after. Not when he's so close to finally, finally allowing himself to have something… good for him.
He takes a deep breath.
"I might have," Sylvain says at last, once Claude has started to redress himself. Claude doesn't look at him, but his movements slow. He's listening. So Sylvain continues, face heating up with each word that escapes his mouth: "But you're the first person I've ever actually stayed with until morning."
Claude stills completely and, slowly, turns to look at Sylvain. "Really?"
His tone sits somewhere between incredulous and disbelieving, and Sylvain isn't sure which of the two he finds more offensive. But he persists, careful to keep the irritation out of his tone. "Yeah. Pathetic, isn't it? Twenty-five and nothing but one-night stands." He bites the inside of his cheek and laughs bitterly through his nose. He feels small for finally admitting it. "It's okay. You can laugh."
And Claude does laugh, but it's soft, gentle - leagues away from the mocking laughter Sylvain had expected. "I can't say I was expecting that," Claude admits. "But I guess it makes sense, seeing how you were at school. I guess I just thought you'd have calmed down a bit in the last five years."
"Ha! Me? Calm down?" Sylvain grins at Claude, all teeth. "Never."
"Apparently." Claude walks back over to the bed and lays a hand on Sylvain's head. There's a glint in his eye, one Sylvain recognizes. It's the same one that had sparked his interest last night just moments before Claude had pinned him to the wall and kissed him senseless. "I must really be something special, then."
You are , Sylvain thinks. He sits up in the bed, letting the sheets slide off his body and gather in his lap. He gazes up at Claude but stays silent, because how can he put it into words? Simply saying he is is not enough. He's the first person Sylvain has ever wanted to stay in bed with until morning. All those women and that small handful of men before Claude were nothing, in hindsight. Just distractions, comets speeding by in a dark and empty sky, quick and hot and destructive. But Claude isn't like them; Claude is something else entirely. He is like the stars, steady and constant, lights breaking through the fragile cracks of the night and lingering even in the soft glow of dawn.
Sylvain has never allowed himself to bask in the light of the stars.
Claude offers his hand. Sylvain takes it.
He's pulled to his feet in one strong tug, and he comes to stand before Claude with their hands still joined. Sylvain drinks in the moment: the sun is growing brighter every second, filtering into the room and bathing them both in its early-morning light. It's still cold, but Sylvain doesn't shiver in it. The chill is refreshing, really - familiar, like home. Sylvain thinks he could get used to it, standing in the cool morning air, too early and too pleasantly sore to think about the day ahead, as long as he can wake up next to someone like Claude.
He reaches up, takes Claude's face in hand, and pulls him in for one last long, gentle kiss.
But, like everything else, that kiss cannot last forever. Sylvain pulls away slowly, regretfully, and presses his forehead to Claude's. He can feel heavy breaths against his lips, and it makes him ache for more. He almost takes more when he feels Claude's lashes flutter and part as his eyes open.
Sylvain smiles. "So… Breakfast?"
Claude's smile grows into something sly, something devilish. Sylvain can feel it spread, just shy of brushing his own lips. He shivers with something like excitement.
"I've changed my mind," Claude says.
"Oh?"
"Yeah." Claude's tone is breathy and full of promise. "There's something else I'd rather do first."
Sylvain feels his back hit the bed. He can't stop himself from laughing as he reaches up and pulls Claude down onto himself, though the sound quickly morphs and twists into sighs and moans as lips drag down his neck.
He curls his hands in Claude's hair, urging him on. Breakfast will just have to wait.
To Follow a Lead | Claude/Sylvain [Fire Emblem: Three Houses]
Claude doesn't mean to keep running into Sylvain, at first. He doesn't mean to develop feelings for him, either. But, as they say: coincidence is the mother of intention.
This was originally just a short concept about Claude and Sylvain flirting, but somehow it turned into a 6000+ word fanfic... Let me tell you I was empowered by how good these two are together. Like... they're both so shady and deceptive and I feel like if anyone is going to appreciate Claude's somewhat-underhanded methods of flirting, it's probably Sylvain.
God I love them. What is it with me and rarepairs, though?
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---
Of all the quiet places in Garreg Mach Monastery, Claude thinks his favourite might be the library. It’s quiet, solitary comfortably familiar way. It’s hardly lonely – he’s joined all the time by the people around him, flitting about and minding their own business, completely unaware of the plots he’s hatching or the schemes he’s brewing – but it is isolating, somehow, in its silence.
But that same isolating silence is worth its weight in gold every time it is interrupted.
It doesn’t take long for Claude to become a familiar fixture in the library. The bookshelves conceal all manner of hidden secrets; some written in ink and charcoal; some found in the people hiding behind the shelves, away from prying eyes or ears; and still more whispered between those same students, whose eyes roam the room to make sure nobody is listening.
But someone is always listening.
Claude learns, quickly, that people pay him no mind if he acts as if he is minding his own business. They ignore him at best, and cast wary glances and whispers in his direction at worst. He is used to it, though, unaffected despite the occasional wish that that wasn’t the case. Sometimes, he finds himself wishing that he was the one leaning in and whispering conspiratorially in a friend’s ear.
It isn’t even for a lack of trying, really. Claude has made it a personal mission to be at least friendly, if not kind, to everyone he approaches. Sometimes it’s a genuine attempt to make friends, and others it’s what they all expect: a hunt for information, for something to use in his next plan. His mother would call it catching flies with honey. She wouldn’t exactly be wrong, per se, but… Claude had quickly come to the realization that even honey would not work if the flies thought it dripped from a wolf’s teeth.
A lion’s teeth, however…
Sylvain Jose Gautier makes no effort to hide his ulterior motives. He speaks to everyone like they’re the most important person in the world to him, lifting them up and telling them whatever they need to hear to nudge them in whatever direction he has chosen for them. Insincerity spills from his lips like sweet, sugary poison, and he knows it. He weaponizes it in the most insidiously gentle way, mixing it into his speech alongside his real, honest feelings.
It’s rather impressive, really, that so many people recognize it and still give him what he wants.
The first time Claude truly comes to appreciate Sylvain’s… gift, as he calls it, is a late night in the library, long after the moon had risen above the spires of the monastery. He’s alone in the dim room save for Annette, whose nose had been buried in the same book for hours upon hours. It’s just as quiet and peaceful as ever, but something about the late hour and the way the candles along the wall have almost burned to nothing sets Claude on edge. Instead of the comfort he usually feels among the dusty shelves, he is restless.
He looks to Annette and wonders if she feels the same. Her foot shifts beneath the table, drawing out a pattern Claude can not distinguish. He wonders what she’s reading.
His restlessness gets the better of him, eventually. To his credit, Claude holds out for a while - much longer than he normally would - but, as put-together as he tries to appear, he knows his restraint cannot be checked forever. And so, curious, he approaches Annette with a carefully-applied smile.
“Must be a good book for you to be up so late.”
Annette frowns up at him, sleepy and annoyed. “Oh, Claude. I’m… just studying. What does it matter?”
Claude raises his hands before him defensively, backing away instinctively. His smile, however, does not falter. “No need to bite my head off,” he says lightly. “I was just curious is all.”
“Yeah, well…” Annette covers her mouth, trying to muffle her long, drawn-out yawn. “I think I’ve hit my limit anyway. I should probably go to bed. Just... one more chapter, I think...”
Claude nods and shifts, feeling a touch awkward. “Right. Well… good luck, then. And try to take it easy tomorrow, all right? You look exhausted.”
A small smile graces Annette’s lips - a personal victory for Claude, as far as he’s concerned - and she silently returns to her studies. Claude returns to his own seat a few feet away, ready to resume his own reading… Except that the moment he re-opens his tome, Sylvain Gautier comes barreling in through the door, effectively destroying both his and Annette’s concentration.
Not that Sylvain seems to notice. Or care.
“Annette! Thank the goddess you’re here,” he says, breathing heavy and laboured as if he had been running. Despite the raspiness of his tone, however, Sylvain looks alive, face flushed and smile wide enough to light up his eyes. “Say, have you done… something with your hair? It looks amazing.”
Annette sighs resignedly. Claude takes some satisfaction in the way her eyes roll. “No, Sylvain.”
“Really? You’re trying to tell me you just always look this good?”
An aggravated sigh this time. “Just tell me what you want, will you?”
And he does. It’s the usual fare: a girl kicking up a fuss after he’d broken her heart (though he claimed she had been the one to shatter his). “I just need a place to lay low,” he says. “The library was close, and she’s… not exactly the studying type, if you know what I mean. I figure I’d be safe here, and if it looks like I’m helping a friend study…”
Annette looks like she’s trying to fight back a smile, but she just can’t help herself. “Fine,” she says. “You can stay. Just don’t get in the way too much, okay?”
“Me? Never.” Sylvain smiles and takes his seat next to Annette. True to his word, he doesn’t get in her way… at first.
Sylvain sits quietly for a long moment, but it’s easy to see that boredom is slowly overtaking him, because he starts to fidget incessantly. Claude can’t help but watch; it’s distracting, and there’s something about the way Sylvain looks like he’s holding something back that makes his hair stand on end. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait long to find out just what it is that’s being hidden, as Sylvain suddenly blurts out: “I can’t take in anymore. Annette, look. See this? This entire section here? It’s all wrong.”
Annette looks at him like he’d grown a second head. “What?”
“It’s wrong. The formula should go like this, and that rune should be tweaked slightly… see? It’s missing a stroke.”
Claude raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He glances down at his book and realizes he hasn’t read a single word in the last few minutes, so he closes it and sets it aside for now. His research on Hero’s Relics can wait; this is much more interesting. He’d never had the impression Sylvain knew much of anything about magic, but…
“You’re right,” Annette says, incredulous. “How did you know that?”
Sylvain shrugs. “Guess I just have a knack for this stuff. I…”
He looks away for a split second, just long enough to catch Claude’s eye, and pauses before turning back to Annette, gaze lingering on Claude even as he turns his head. “The better question is, why are you studying this stuff, anyway? Isn’t it a little above our current level?”
A sense of disappointment washes over Claude, though he doesn’t quite understand where it stems from. Had Sylvain been about to say something about himself? If he hadn’t spotted Claude, would his conversation with Annette taken a different turn?
He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that he isn’t interested. Claude has gotten quite good at lying to himself.
“Maybe it is,” Annette says, calling Claude’s attention back to the present. “But I’ve been interested in it for a long time, and I always try to study and learn as much as I can. You see, my father…”
Huh, Claude thinks to himself as Annette describes her past in detail she would never, ever willingly share with him. How about that.
It really is just coincidence that he keeps running into Sylvain, at first. Claude spends so much time in the library it’s rare that he isn’t around when Sylvain pops in to hide from a girl or - much less often - to actually study. But no matter what his purpose is on any given day, Sylvain always manages to find himself a conversation partner (never Claude, though, despite the frequent lingering looks in his direction), and he always, always manages to pull something interesting out of them.
Like when he runs into Bernadetta, who had run from Claude when he’d asked what she’d been working on. Sylvain manages to get her to show him a new chapter in the book she had apparently been writing and she swears him to secrecy over it, not knowing Claude is listening in as he selects a book across the room.
Or like how Sylvain pokes and prods at Dorothea’s taste in literature until she tells him all about how she aspires to be like the singer in the book she’s reading, which she had memorized even before joining the opera. That one stings a little; as much as Claude has tried to flatter her, Dorothea still refuses to grace him with even a single note of her favourite song.
Sylvain even manages to get Dedue to open him. Dedue, who rarely speaks to anyone who isn’t His Royal Highness. Claude listens to them exchange quiet stories of their childhoods in the back of the library, and wonders what could have possibly coaxed Dedue into smiling like that.
It’s as frustrating as it is impressive. Sylvain, arguably, has an even worse reputation than Claude himself, and yet while Claude can’t get anyone outside of his own House to open up to him (and even within the Golden Deer, he still has his difficulties), Sylvain manages to pluck the most interesting things about a person straight from their lips without even trying.
Claude wishes he had that kind of talent. He tells himself that’s why he’s so interested in being around Sylvain, but he realizes, when he watches Sylvain coax Marianne into smiling for him, that there’s more to it than that. He doesn’t dare put a name the longing pang in his chest, though; he convinces himself that it’s simply his own curiosity shifting off of the people Sylvain talks to and on to Sylvain himself.
Because for all Claude knows of Sylvain’s reputation, and all he knows about their classmates through him, he knows frighteningly little about the man himself. And that simply will not do.
Claude resolves, as Marianne walks away with pink cheeks and a shy smile peeking out from behind her hand, that he will pick apart the mystery of Sylvain Gautier if it’s the last thing he does.
And if that means continuing to linger around him when he’s chatting with someone else, well… so be it.
It’s surprisingly easy for Claude to find what he’s looking for, even if Sylvain himself never speaks of his own interests. He’s oddly secretive, deflecting and redirecting conversation with hollow flattery or disinterested shrugs anytime it comes around to him. It may be enough to get his conversation partner to leave him be, but all it does for Claude is intrigue him further, push him even deeper into this strange, budding fascination he’s developed.
But Claude knows how to get around the deflection. He’s careful about picking his moments, and when it comes to Sylvain, he realizes right away that it’s all about finding exactly the right one.
The first thing Claude finds out that surprises him is Sylvain’s apparent love of board games.
On his way to his usual library table, he passes by Sylvain and Felix sitting across from one another with a chess board between them. A generous amount of Felix’s pieces stand off to the side, and the smile on Sylvain’s face tells Claude he’s all too aware of his impending victory.
But, as invested as Sylvain looks as he studies the pieces, brows knitted in concentration and hand to his mouth in thought, Felix looks completely and utterly bored.
“Are you going to take much longer?” he demands. “I have better things to do than wait for you to move a piece on a board.”
“Ah-ah,” Sylvain chides. “Patience, Felix.”
He moves his piece and knocks Felix’s queen off its square. Sylvain plucks it off the board and adds it to his collection, catching Claude’s eye as he does. His smirk grows impossibly wide, and he honest-to-goddess winks before turning his attention back to the game and waving Felix’s queen tauntingly before him. “You can’t rush perfection.”
No, Claude agrees, heart fluttering. You can’t.
The next thing Claude learns, when he spots Sylvain and Ignatz together in the library, is that Sylvain likes art.
He sits on a table, one foot resting on it while the other taps away on the bench Ignatz sits on. They chat idly about a portrait of a knight in a book laid out before them on the table, Ignatz’s own sketchbook with rough drawings of armour set off to the side.
“The composition leaves a lot to be desired,” Sylvain says. “If the artist had chosen a slightly darker shade for more contrast… or something else entirely, like maybe a bit of gold… Yeah, that would have been better. Still, the knight’s expression makes up for it. He’s pretty handsome… as all good knights should be, of course. By the way, if you’re looking for a handsome, dashing knight to paint…”
He looks up as Claude approaches, meeting his eye and greeting him with a silent smile (and what a smile he has, too). There’s something there, something playful, something Claude can’t quite place no matter how much he wishes he could. In response, he raises an eyebrow, and whatever it is he thinks he’s caught in Sylvain’s gaze dissipates.
“Speaking of art…” Sylvain nudges Ignatz, effectively cutting off what he was about to say. His eye shifts, like he’s looking right through Claude, and though he’d thought for half a second Sylvain had been addressing him, Claude quickly realizes he can hear some girls chatting behind him. He doesn’t dare turn to look at them, or let himself laugh at the absurdity of his own thoughts, but the temptation is certainly there.
Sylvain hums. “Looks like someone needs to talk to you,” he says. “Later, Ignatz.”
They both stand. Sylvain passes right by Claude, giving him a private smile as he leaves (Speaking of art, indeed). It would have made Claude grin if he wasn’t so frustrated - he had actually been meaning to talk to Sylvain this time.
Ah, well. Nothing I can do now, he thinks as Ignatz approaches him. Claude gives his fellow Deer a winning smile of his own.
“Ah, Ignatz, just the man I was looking for,” he lies. “I’ve been doing a bit of light reading on the divine, and I think I might have an idea for your next drawing…”
He learns that maybe, just maybe, Sylvain is more an actor than he lets on.
Claude doesn’t hear the whole conversation. He only just catches the tail end of it as he enters the library: Sylvain is with a girl; one Claude doesn’t recognize. It’s not an unfamiliar sight, but something about the way she smiles at Sylvain and flutters her lashes at him tightens his stomach.
“I’ll see you tonight, then,” Sylvain says. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, tender as he tries to make it.
“Yes, you will.” The girl turns from him with a sly grin and exits the library, leaving Sylvain all alone.
Well, mostly.
Claude doesn’t mean to look. He really doesn’t. But it’s hard not to when Sylvain sighs like that, chest deflating and shoulders slumping. The smile he’d worn for his lady-of-the-night doesn’t fall from his face so much as shatter like a porcelain mask, replaced with something darker and more… real. If Claude had to put a name to it, he would have called it disdain, but even that doesn’t seem quite right. This look is Sylvain, uncharacteristically natural and unrestrained, and it sends more than one kind of chill through him.
He doesn’t give himself time to dwell on it, because a moment later Sylvain spots Claude out of the corner of his eye and turns away, expression unreadable. He exits the library.
Claude tries not to think about it.
But then, two nights later, Claude learns that Sylvain is much more genuine and intuitive than he lets on, too.
Claude had been expecting to be alone in the library that night – it was late, and the nagging questions in his mind of what the church was hiding made him restless – but when he hears voices drifting into the hallway from inside, he pauses outside the library door and presses himself against the wall so as not to be seen. He catches Sylvain’s voice first, and then… someone else’s. Are they… is she… crying?
“Hey, Ingrid, come on…” Sylvain’s voice is low, almost inaudible. Claude holds his breath and sticks to the wall, willing himself into complete stillness and utter silence. He does not want to get caught. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up such a bad memory.”
“No, it’s okay,” Ingrid insists. Claude can hear the quiver in her tone, the hitch in her breath. He wishes he could see Sylvain’s face. “It was my fault. When I saw this book, I… I couldn’t help myself. Glenn used to read it to me and Felix all the time…”
A heavy sigh and a pause; and then, quiet and fragile, like the whispering of a ghost: “You loved him, didn’t you?”
Claude leaves before he can hear any more.
It takes some time, but Claude finally gets his chance to speak to Sylvain when he finds Teach lecturing him about ‘improper conduct.’ The library is blessedly empty but for the two of them, and so Claude finds it easy to settle in and wait his turn. He doesn’t expect to learn anything from this conversation - about either of them, really - and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to take for Teach’s quiet tirade to end, so he selects a book on war strategies and takes a seat at a nearby table.
He tries to read, at first, but within the first ten seconds he realizes the attempt is futile. He decides to ignore the book and listen in.
It’s hard not to, with the way Teach lists off all of the… many, many complaints against Sylvain. Byleth doesn’t sound particularly angry as they speak (when do they ever, though?), but Sylvain sounds uncomfortable all the same when he finally responds.
“Look, I get it, okay? I’ll make an effort not to be so overt about my flirting…”
“Sylvain.”
“Fine, fine! I’ll try not to flirt at all. Better?”
No response from Teach at first; just a long, drawn-out silence. Claude can see them giving Sylvain the stare-down - one he himself has been subject to many a time for his own brand of ‘improper conduct’ – before they eventually relent with a sigh. “If that’s all I can get out of you…”
The conversation doesn’t last much longer. When Teach finally exits the room, Sylvain is left to slump in his seat and exhale in what Claude can only assume is a mixture of relief, aggravation, and resignation. He straightens up quickly, though, and when he does, he looks right in Claude’s direction.
A sudden smile tugs at Sylvain’s lips; Claude hurriedly looks back down at his book.
There’s movement from Sylvain’s table. Claude doesn’t dare look up, trying to keep the illusion of disinterest going. He debates saying something, though; now is his chance, now that Sylvain is finally alone. Claude’s leg bounces. He bites his lip. What can he say, though? Sylvain is—
A hand covers his book.
"You can stop pretending to read now."
Claude's eyes snap back into focus and he looks up, bewildered but careful to maintain a straight face. Sylvain stands at eye-level in front of him, bent over the table with one palm flat against the wood and the other firmly on the page Claude hadn’t been reading.
"Hm?" Easy, Claude. Don’t let him know he’s caught you. With an affected nonchalance, he tilts his head to the side. Sylvain just laughs at him - a small, pleased noise that pulls at Claude’s heartstrings - and leans in close.
Claude frowns. He doesn’t mind that Sylvain is blocking him from his book, but he knows he needs to keep up the act for… for some reason. “You know that’s my favourite part, right?”
Sylvain sits down. “Uh-huh.” He withdraws his hand and uses it to close the book. Claude does not protest as he pushes it aside, not even bothering to look as the corner of the cover slides over the edge of the table; Sylvain seems much more interested in maintaining eye contact than ensuring the book’s welfare. More interested in studying Claude, gauging him for a reaction. Is he trying to play some kind of game?
If he is, Claude is all too willing to play with him.
Sylvain props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his interlocked fingers. "Except you aren’t reading it,” he says. Damn him. “You've been staring at the same sentence for ages. I can't even remember the last time you turned a page.”
Claude smiles easily. He's played this game before. “Oh really,” he says, drawing out the word. “Do you make a habit of watching people while they go about their business, then?"
"Maybe," Sylvain chimes. Claude isn't sure he likes what the smirk on his face implies, but he can't wait to see where it leads. "Could be something we have in common."
His heart sinks - was he really that obvious? - but his smile widens. Can’t give ground too early, he thinks as he leans in too, arms folded on the table. "Could be. Care to elaborate?"
"You seem to spend a lot of time in this library. Especially when I’m around.” There's something hidden in Sylvain’s voice, something dark under the forced casual tone, the false familiarity. Suspicion, perhaps? Or something else?
"Is that so?" Claude speaks as if making a statement, not asking a question.
"Yeah." Sylvain nods. His smile never falters, but his eyes narrow a little, just the slightest droop of the eyelids, enough to say that he's looking for something. "Every time I turn around, there you are. Call me curious."
Claude shrugs with one shoulder, closes one eye in a lazy wink. "Does there have to be a why? Maybe it's just coincidence."
"Coincidence that any time I have a conversation with someone, you show up and make yourself comfortable? You, the guy who never seems to do anything 'just because?'" Sylvain snorts and shakes his head. "Come on, Claude. I know I may act like an idiot, but you've got to give me some credit."
Finally, Claude lets his smile drop. He sighs, knowing he’s been beaten. If there's one thing he's learned about Sylvain in these last few weeks, it's that he's anything but an idiot. He might even be too perceptive for his own good.
"Fine," he says at last, though not without some bitterness. He hates being forced to play his hand. "You caught me."
"Not sure it counts if you're trying to get caught." Sylvain's voice drops along with his gaze, and for a moment Claude wonders if Sylvain really does know. But he keeps his own gaze and his expression steady, determined not to let on any more than Sylvain thinks he has.
"Trying to get caught, huh?" he repeats. "And why would I want to do that?"
“I can think of a few reasons…"
It's a stupid line and Claude knows it - knows it's one of the many he's used on girls in the past and he shouldn't let it get to him, but he feels goosebumps prickle up his arm anyway. He curses himself for it at the same time he thanks the stars his uniform has long sleeves. "Uh-huh. Take me to dinner first and I'll think about it."
Sylvain raises a brow as he studies Claude once more. The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a grin, and Claude immediately recognizes the signs that he’s about to lose control over the conversation. He cuts Sylvain off before he seizes the opportunity.
"Simmer down, pretty boy. Much as I know you'd like a piece of this, that wasn't why I was hanging around you." Something sits funny in his gut as he says it - Because it’s a lie - but Claude doesn't give himself time to dwell. "It's actually… Look. I know this is going to sound stupid, but… nobody trusts me around here."
He frowns and decides that now would be a good time to look past Sylvain so that he doesn't have to see those lovely brown eyes agreeing with him. Self-defense, as always. "I don't know if you know this, but I've earned myself a bit of a reputation. I'm a schemer, right? I don't bother to hide it.” He frowns. “So, Sylvain, with that in mind… what would your reaction be if I, the untrustworthy and heretofore unheard-of heir to House Riegan, just came up to you out of the blue and struck up a conversation?"
Sylvain leans back, hands behind his head. He grins and winks. "'Hey, gorgeous.'"
Claude kicks him lightly under the table, but he can’t quite suppress the smile that stretches over his features. "Knock it off; I'm being serious."
"So am I!" But Sylvain laughs despite the insistence in his tone. "I take it not everyone's as willing to play nice as I am, though."
"Nope." Claude crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Everyone thinks I'm up to something, or that I have some kind of ulterior motive in getting to know them. They're not wrong," he adds before Sylvain can interject. "But it's left me a little short on friends."
"So you've been following me because… you want to be friends with me?" Sylvain's brows furrow. Confusion looks good on him, out of place as it is.
"Oh, no." Claude laughs. "If that was all I wanted, I would've asked you to play chess with me or something. And don't even try to tell me you wouldn't accept,” he adds. “I saw the way your eyes just lit up."
Sylvain frowns, that little spark of intrigue Claude had caught extinguishing just as quickly as it had blinked into existence. He’s sad to see it go, but that doesn't outweigh the feeling of victory that warms his chest. He continues: "I've been lingering around you - not following you - because you're good at getting people to open up."
"So you were looking for pointers." Sylvain frowns, like he still doesn't quite get it. No real surprise there; he still hasn’t quite made it to Claude’s finish line.
"Wrong again!" Claude waggles a finger reproachfully at Sylvain. "I was looking to learn something, sure. But not about how to get people to open up."
At last, something clicks. Sylvain’s eyebrows rise up past his bangs. "You were getting me to open them up for you."
"Now you've got it." Claude leans forward to rest his arms on the table again. Sylvain's eyes narrow and he lifts a hand to his mouth, knuckle to his lips.
"That's so… devious," he says. And then he breaks into a grin. "...I'm kind of into it."
"I thought you might be," Claude lies. He tries to ignore the pounding of his heart, part relief and part affection. There was always a chance Sylvain would be fine with it - the more Claude had watched him, the more alike he had realized they were, after all - but there was also the chance that he'd be furious, and he isn't sure if he'd have been okay with that result. "You're quite the wingman, you know. Even when you're not aware of it."
"I'm good at lots of other things, too." He lowers his voice again, both in tone and volume, and licks his lips. Claude swears he sees Sylvain's eyes dart downward again, but he tries to ignore the way that makes his heart beat, too. "I could show you sometime, if you like."
He tries to play it cool. "Now that you mention it, there is someone else I'd like to get to know better…"
"Oh yeah?" Sylvain looks genuinely intrigued. "Tell me everything."
"Well, we're in different houses, for one thing." Claude holds up a finger on the word one.
"Right, of course." Sylvain nods. "Why would you need my help talking to someone in your own house?"
"Exactly! They're kind of obligated to talk to me." Claude snickers. If only that were true. "I knew you'd understand."
"Mhm. So if you need me, then you're probably interested in someone from the Blue Lions…"
Claude nods. "Yup. You might even know them."
"Oh?"
"They're clever, perceptive, take all the worst opportunities to make jokes…" Claude laughs. "Or pretend to, anyway. And they're unbelievably attractive…"
"Ohh…?" Sylvain's smirk spreads, catlike, and his eyes narrow even more. He's practically making bedroom eyes at Claude by now, and it's all the Golden Deer leader can do to meet them with a straight face. "They sound like a charmer. Never mind helping you out with them; can you introduce us?"
Claude shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno, I get the impression they're already interested in someone else."
The quirk of a brow, and Sylvain's smirk twists into something more amused. "And who might this mystery man be?"
"Well, he's dashing, smart, and always seems to have an ulterior motive for everything…"
Claude meets Sylvain's gaze and holds it. He's still smiling, but he's acutely aware that it doesn't meet his eyes. He's studying Sylvain for a reaction this time, searching for whatever he's not getting on the surface. He can see something has definitely shifted, though; Sylvain has gone from easy flirtation to something a little more guarded, a little more careful. He's analyzing Claude just as much as Claude is him.
But finally, after what feels like hours, Sylvain breaks the silence. "... So," he begins slowly. "How does this mystery man feel about them…?"
It's like a weight is lifted from Claude's shoulders. Sylvain is curious - he's moving cautiously, afraid to reveal too much of his own hand - but he's receptive, at least. And Claude has already come too far not to play every card he's got.
"I'm not sure yet," he admits. "I was hoping I could find out over dinner."
"Ha!" Sylvain pulls back, lifting a fist to his mouth in an incredibly poor attempt to hide his wide, toothy grin. His knuckle bumps his teeth; his shoulders shake with held-back laughter.
Claude tilts his head to the side, careful to maintain a curious, but amused expression. He wishes Sylvain would quit laughing and answer the damn proposition, but as with all things, he knows to be patient with this.
Eventually, Sylvain’s silent amusement gives way to actual laughter. Claude feels a small jab of annoyance hit him in the chest, but it flashes like lightning and vanishes a split second later when he realizes it's pleased laughter, not mocking.
Even so, Sylvain trembles, and Claude manages to realize that it’s not with mirth, but nerves. It’s a subtle difference, one he has only come to recognize from so frequently seeing someone come close to piercing Sylvain’s careful façade.
"Ha ha… did you just… Did you seriously just ask me out on a date?" he asks, incredulous. "Damn. I gotta say, I'm not used to being the one asked out.” He pauses and looks away, scratching his cheek without realizing he’s drawing attention to how red it’s become. “It's… kinda nice."
"It'd be nicer if you said yes," Claude says, voice a thousand times calmer than he feels. It hits him all at once that yes, he really did just ask someone out on a date (but he's not just someone, is he? He’s Sylvain Gautier, who’s left a hundred hearts broken in his wake), and that he's tantalizingly close to actually getting one.
He just needs to make one more small push. "Tomorrow night?” Claude holds out a hand, palm-up. Sylvain looks down at it, and his hand twitches as if he wants to reach out and take it, but doesn’t yet dare. “We could go into town."
Sylvain takes a deep breath. His smile isn't quite… gone gone, but it's definitely morphed into something… different. Claude isn't sure what to call it - curious, perhaps? Disbelieving?
…Or maybe even pleased, if he dares to give himself that hope?
Sylvain meets his eye. Holds his gaze. "Wow," he breathes. "You… you really are serious about this, huh?"
Claude winks. Sylvain's face turns an even darker shade of red.
"You know…" He looks away again, he grumbling into his hand as if he is suddenly unable to meet Claude's eyes. "There's a joke in here somewhere. Something about deer and lions…"
"Tell it to me over dinner." He's pushing it a bit hard now and he knows it, but the way Sylvain's lips twitch on a huff of laughter tells him it's a very welcome push.
"R-right. Okay… yeah. Yeah, sure, why not? I’d like that. It sounds like a good time." He laughs again, a sound caught between disbelief and giddy satisfaction, and Claude finally permits himself to believe that the look on Sylvain's face now is one of genuine excitement. He's learned how to tell when Sylvain is acting for someone else's sake, and at the moment his countenance bears no sign of its usual pretense. Sylvain’s smile now isn’t the kind he usually wears: he is not waiting for someone to turn their back, not forcing anything he isn’t actually feeling. This smile is real, genuine. One of the few Claude has ever caught him wearing.
It’s… nice. And that is all Claude will allow himself to think.
"Great," he says, maybe a little too loudly. He tries to calm himself, taking a long breath through his nose in an attempt to still the furious beating of his heart. He's certain he must look like he's vibrating with the intensity of it. "I'll come get you sometime around… Hm, after the evening bell goes off?"
It takes Sylvain a moment to compose himself, like he can hardly believe what he's hearing. Claude can't blame him – he’d never meant to take the game this far, even though it had been his end goal for a while. But Sylvain does manage to pull himself together, slipping his mask back on like it had never fallen away. And then it's right back to his old self, reaching (at last) for Claude's hand and taking it in his own. He grins flirtatiously as he turns it over in his palm.
Claude raises an eyebrow, simultaneously asking what Sylvain is doing and giving him permission to go ahead with it.
Sylvain does not disappoint. He grins and lifts Claude’s hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he leans forward to lay a ghost-like kiss on each knuckle. When he finishes, he gazes up at Claude from under his long, long eyelashes. "It's a date."
Damn him, he’s good. Claude swallows the lump in his throat, fights down the flush on his cheeks. “Can’t wait,” he says, a teasing tone to his voice.
Sylvain nods, a tiny jerk of the head (is he surprised he didn’t get a stronger reaction out of Claude?), and lets his hand go. He lingers a moment, once again holding Claude’s gaze, as if he’s trying to figure something out. But then he blinks, stands, and turns to leave.
“See you tomorrow, then.”
Claude waves goodbye and happily watches him head to the library door. “Yes, you will. Just don’t keep me waiting too long.”
“Handsome guy like you?” Sylvain pauses to turn, wink, and blow a kiss in Claude’s direction. “I would never even dream of it.”
It’s unbelievably cheesy, but it’s Sylvain’s way of getting the last word in. Somehow, Claude finds he doesn’t even mind the embarrassed flush that creeps up his neck in response as Sylvain smirks at him over his shoulder. How can he, when in the end they’ve both gotten exactly what they want?
