Work Text:
Promises
Whatever, it’s winter, Fodlan celebrates the winter solstice as the Longest Night. There’s a tradition of spending time with family or loved ones. For whatever stupid reason, Felix and Sylvain are spending it together. You know exactly where this is going.
It had started out as a request - or as much of one as Felix ever made.
“Sylvain. Stand the solstice vigil with me.”
More of a statement, really, bordering on a demand; this was Felix, after all, and it was rare for him to unbend enough to ask anyone for anything. But they’d been friends since childhood, and Sylvain knew him well enough to understand the implications behind the apparent command.
Sylvain wasn’t much for religious rites or customs - but neither was Felix. That was the confusing thing, not once in all the years they’d known each other had Felix expressed any interest in the traditional side of the winter solstice. The Longest Night vigil was a time for both looking back, and looking forward. It was a somber mess of complex emotions Sylvain didn’t want to deal with on the best of days, yet alone in the dead of night in the middle of winter.
Thus, Felix had entirely blindsided him, standing there with his arms crossed, glaring, waiting for his answer. He’d said yes, of course, but was dreading whatever nightmare of a lecture Felix wanted to unload on him under the veil of weighty, depressing tradition.
With the enthusiasm of a man heading to the gallows, Sylvain had trudged into town, thumped down money at the vendor’s stalls, and purchased the unfairly limited amount of mulling wine that was considered acceptable to consume during the length of the vigil. (How one bottle of wine was supposed to last two grown men an entire miserable night was beyond his understanding, but it was tradition, and he’d be damned if he screwed up one of the only things Felix had ever “asked” him to do.) He’d grabbed a few other odds and ends as well - some meat jerky, dried fruits, a wedge of cheese, and a small basket of the solstice buns that were one of the only things he liked about the season - and made his way back through the monastery rubble to Felix’s chambers.
The sun was setting and snow falling softly outside when he knocked on the door. Felix opened it for him, standing aside so the lancer could deposit his bundles on the (surprisingly clean) desk. The cleanliness was out of character, and now that his hands weren’t full of stuff, Sylvain noticed a few other things weren’t quite right in his best friend’s room.
One: Felix had quietly barred the door behind him. (Uh oh.)
Two: the room was about as tidy as Sylvain had ever seen it. Felix wasn’t a slob, and it wasn’t as if he even had enough possessions besides all his swords to be particularly messy, but it looked like he’d made an effort to get the room presentable.
Three: Felix had incense burning. Incense. Sylvain couldn’t place the scent, but it wasn’t the cinnamon and clove garbage everyone insisted was proper tradition for the season.
“Felix?” Sylvain asked cautiously, slowly turning to look at him, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. “What exactly is going on?” Felix didn’t make eye contact. That wasn’t new, and it wasn’t surprising, but what wasn’t normal was the way he very pointedly did not look at Sylvain, instead moving to unwrap the bottle of wine and add it to the kettle to heat.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“Of course I came, you told me to!”
“Since when have you ever done anything I tell you to?” Felix muttered.
“Okay, okay, you asked me to, and you never ask for anything,” Sylvain amended, holding up his hands in a defensive posture. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or not? What’s with the sudden interest in the Longest Night vigil? You’ve never cared before. Did I do something to piss you off? What did I do this time? Couldn’t you have just yelled at me with Ingrid like you normally-”
“-shut up, Sylvain,” Felix interrupted. “I didn’t ask you to come here so I could yell at you.”
Sylvain shut up. Felix gestured vaguely at one of the two chairs, seating himself at the other one. Sylvain flipped the chair around and leaned his elbows on the chair’s back, waiting for Felix to say something, anything, about what he was doing here. The seconds dragged on an eternity, the world outside the windows muffled by the falling snow, and Sylvain became certain that this was going to be the longest night of his entire life, yet alone this year.
“I hate this night,” Felix finally said, the silence barely broken by his quiet voice. “I hate everything about it. I hate the whole idea of being chained to the past.” He paused again; Sylvain could see the tension in his posture, in the way his hands clenched in his lap, in the set of his jaw, in the furrow of his brow. “You aren’t making this easy.”
“I’m? Not saying anything?” Sylvain replied, startled and feeling even more confused than he already was.
“Shut up, Sylvain.”
Sylvain shut up, again, unable to keep a pout off of his face. Felix continued after a moment, still looking at the floor.
“Dwelling on what’s happened is stupid. It’s a waste of time. And yet.”
Sylvain was pretty sure he was going to scream if Felix didn’t get to the point some time before the new year’s moon. He got up and poured them both mugs of wine, which had finally heated enough in the damned conversation pauses to soak up the mulling spice, adding a slightly sweet undertone to the soft smell of incense permeating the room.
“And yet,” Felix continued, accepting the wine wordlessly and raising it in a wordless toast, “here we are.”
“Here we are,” Sylvain agreed carefully, wondering if he was going to be silenced again.
“I hate how you act.”
Ah yes, Sylvain thought, this is what I expected, the part where he lectures me.
“I hate the flirting, the skirt-chasing, the insatiable bullshit I see you act out every fucking day with anyone you think even might be remotely interested,” the swordsman said, staring into his wine instead of at the floor.
“I know, Felix, I know-”
“-I hate that it bothers me, and that you don’t listen, and you don’t get it,” he continued, interrupting Sylvain in the most quiet and non-hostile way the redhead had ever been silenced. “You don’t get why it bothers me so much, you just go on the defensive, you never ask.”
Sylvain, for once, didn’t say anything. He opened his mouth, closed his mouth, and stared at Felix. Opened his mouth again, shut it again, then opted for draining his mug of wine.
“Okay?” Sylvain not-quite asked, treading carefully. He definitely did not have enough alcohol in his system to deal with this. Thoughts were starting to form, fever dreams edging into the corners of his mind, and if cliffs were conclusions, he was racing to throw himself off of any number of crags. Felix said nothing, and looked at him. Really looked at him, making eye contact for a brief moment, and the heat in his gaze made Sylvain swallow involuntarily. “Why does it bother you?” Felix was still looking at him, staring, dark topaz eyes boring a hole in him, drilling right through his soul, and Sylvain remembered one of the reasons he was thankful Felix didn’t usually meet his gaze… those eyes did something to him, twisted his stomach around, made his mind circle until he was a frustrated, self-doubting mess (all right, more of a self-doubting mess than usual)...
Felix mumbled something unintelligible before throwing back the remainder of his wine and getting up to refill it. Sylvain attempted to be patient, and was rewarded by Felix pouring him another mug full of wine before sitting down. The navy-haired man wasn’t looking at him any more, he was back contemplating the mysteries of his wine, and after another eternity of silence, finally spoke again.
“I said, I was - I am jealous.”
Ah, thought Sylvain, I am a moron. Felix laughed, a bitter, unhappy sound, and Sylvain realized he spoke his thoughts aloud - but Felix said nothing, didn’t reply, just stared at his mug with an expression that screamed to the world that he was trying not to feel. Sylvain knew that look, worse it every once in a while when things hurt too much, when a barbed comment hit a little too close to his heart, when the liquor was too much and the company not enough, when the world was crashing down around him.
“I am,” the redhead began carefully, “very stupid. I hadn’t. I never. I didn’t think…” No, none of that was quite right. It wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t quite right either. “Why?” he settled on, his fears starting to creep up on him, and for once in his life (it seemed to be a night of firsts), Sylvain spared a prayer to the Goddess to save him.
“I would think it would be obvious,” Felix replied, and his usual venom was almost completely missing.
“You. Wish it was you…?” The words spilled from his lips, he didn’t dare hope, and yet…
“Hmph. Maybe you finally get it after all.”
Oh, bright Goddess… Felix didn’t joke. He just didn’t, and that meant he was serious.
“Oh.” It was Sylvain’s turn to be silent, to stare at his wine, to let everything sink in.
The Longest Night was about looking back, and looking forward.
“I’m tired of it. Tired of pretending I don’t care, that it doesn’t hurt. I’m sick of piecing you back together every time you tear yourself apart. I’m done watching you hate yourself. We made that stupid promise when we were kids, you remind me of it every inane chance you get, we promised we’d die together,” Felix said, and his voice was quiet and devoid of emotion.
Sylvain felt his heart sink. This was about moving on, about moving forward, about leaving the past in the dust. “I’m done with dying. I’m done with losing, and settling, and sacrificing, and giving up.” Felix got up, set his mug aside, and moved to stand in front of Sylvain, tipping the redhead’s chin up and forcing him to look him in the eye. “You’re done with it, too. You just don’t know it yet.”
“I’m what?” Sylvain asked, completely baffled at this turn in the conversation. This was where Felix yelled at him more and pushed him away, not where he looked at him and frowned his weird “I’m not mad I’m just frowning because I don’t show emotions like a normal human being” Felix look.
“Done. You’re done. Done with the past, with how things were. No more dying together.” Sylvain swallowed.
“Okay, Felix. I get it.”
“No you don’t,” Felix huffed, and his fingers crept up from holding Sylvain’s chin to touch his cheek, his palm barely ghosting across his skin, and goosebumps ran up and down the length of the redhead’s spine. “I’m not telling you to forget what you promised. I’m telling you I’m - done dying with you. Sylvain,” Felix began, “ugh! Look, you fucking dumbass, quit trying to die with me and live with me instead.”
Then Felix was leaning down, eyes locked with his, and was pressing their lips together, and Sylvain’s world caught on fire.
It was everything kisses with other people hadn’t been; it was emotional, and painful, and healing. It was stupefying, ascendent, intoxicating, and Sylvain was running out of brain cells to even think, so he didn’t. He let out the breath he’d been holding, let his eyes close, let Felix take the lead, and when Felix pulled away to rest their foreheads together, stayed where he was.
“Fuck,” Sylvain breathed quietly into the air between them.
“Yes,” Felix agreed, “that was the plan.”
“It - what?”
Sylvain was getting very good at asking stupid questions.
“Fucking. Sex.” Sylvain laughed incredulously.
“You asked me here to seduce me?” Felix scowled at him ( yeah, that’s more like the Felix I know ) and pushed his forehead against Sylvain’s with an irritated huff.
“I’m not some barbaric idiot that needs to seduce someone into bed,” he said, and Sylvain shivered at the bold confidence of his voice.
“Holy shit, Felix,” Sylvain exhaled. “If this is - are you sure this is what you want?” Felix kissed him again, fierce, rough, possessive, and Sylvain put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, got it, you mean it. You mean it,” he repeated, his eyes a little wide, and rested his hand over Felix’s, which still cupped his cheek.
“Bed,” Felix growled, and Sylvain felt heat surging through his body at the sultry demand.
“Yeah. Yes. Goddess - please. ”
“Good boy,” Felix smirked. Stepping back, he peeled off his sweater, draping it over his chair back, shooting Sylvain a look over his shoulder, gauging his reaction. He’d seen Felix naked any number of times, knew every scar on the other man’s body, but this… this was different , this was for him, not just in front of him, and the lancer could already feel his heart (and something else entirely) pounding.
“Shit, Fe,” Sylvain mumbled again, watching as Felix worked off his thigh highs, slipped out of his tights, every move graceful, every drag of his fingers sensuous, every fiber of his being completely aware of what he was doing to his best friend. Best friend? Hah. It wasn’t just friendship any more, it should have been beyond that ages ago, if Sylvain had only seen .
“Like what you see, Gautier?” A nod, more nods, frantic nodding, and the redhead was on his feet, moving their emptied mugs of wine aside, closing the gap between them to wrap his arms around the shorter man, leaning down for a kiss, hands carefully exploring the swordsman’s arms, his shoulders, his back, leaving Felix’s hands free to grab his collar, untie the laces, and shove it back across his broad shoulders. Skin to skin, chest to chest, lips to lips, Felix’s hand wove up to comb through Sylvain’s hair, and he growled, pulled, tugged a warning at his scalp. “Clothes. Off,” he hissed, pulling Sylvain back by his hair, breaking the kiss, taking his mouth away, scratching the hand that had been in his hair lightly down his spine.
Sylvain fumbled to obey, some part of him still in shock that he was here, in Felix’s room, stripping to his skin, kicking his clothes onto the floor, sprawled on his back across Felix’s bed while the other shed his smallclothes, moving to straddle his lap.
“Fe, wait, what about-”
“-it’s fine,” Felix interrupted with a snap, “you think for a minute I managed to forget this?” He gestured vaguely at his body, at the slight curves in different places that hadn’t quite gone away, at softer hips, the fading scars on his chest.
“I don’t know,” Sylvain confessed. “I know it bothers you, and I know I’m a moron but even I know better than to bother you about your body. Is - oh, fuck, Felix, is this even okay? Is this going to make your dysphoria-”
“It’s fine,” Felix repeated, his tone gentler. He looked away for a moment, huffed a breath, and leaned over to snuff the candle burning on his nightstand. “So shut up.” Forceful Felix was back, moving to kiss him, hips rubbing against Sylvain’s in a slow grind, pulling at his hair again, and Sylvain couldn’t help the needy whine that built in his throat. Felix made a pleased noise and rolled his hips again, friction and heat and a trail of wetness dragging over Sylvain’s cock, and even in the half-light from the other few candles in the room, the redhead saw his lover smirking when he pulled back to sit upright.
“Where - did you learn - to-”
“No words,” Felix purred. Sylvain watched as he retrieved a vial from his nightstand, popped the cork, poured its contents into his hands, felt one of Felix’s hands close around his dick and slick it up with oil. He bit his lip when Felix reached down to finger himself, smearing oil across his folds, whimpered when Felix began to stroke his cock, stared hungrily while Felix played with himself, fingers curling in his own body, and Sylvain leaned up, kissed at Felix’s collarbone, reached a hand between Felix’s thighs and his hand, parted his labia to rub at his clit. Felix groaned, crashed their lips together, tugged insistently at Sylvain’s dick, running his palm over the tip and smearing a trail of precum to mix with the lube. Their skin was on fire, their touches a trail of comets across the winter sky, a burning brand in the night.
Sylvain was beyond words, left with only “please” and “Felix” and stupefied noises of lust; Felix was growls, and nips, and bites, sucking marks across Sylvain’s chest and collarbone as he jerked him off, snarls of “good” and “fuck” and “there, right there” hanging between them in the slickness and sweat.
Felix finally swatted Sylvain’s hand away, gave his dick one last squeeze, shoved him back against the bed, lips locked, and guided Sylvain inside him. He slammed down against Sylvain’s hips with a breathy, drawn out moan, sheathing the lancer to the hilt, grinding so fiercely against Sylvain that the redhead choked out a startled and surprised gasp.
Everything became a blur - the irregular rhythm of their bodies moving against each other, the sweat of their bodies mingling, Felix’s cunt clenching at Sylvain’s cock, nails on skin, mouths seeking each other, and stupid, wild, feral with lust and years of pent-up emotions spilling between them.
Sylvain came first, moaning Felix’s name, and Felix was swearing, cursing, frantically grinding against him as he softened, desperate for that little extra, craving his own release, and Sylvain would be damned if he was going to disappoint Felix - Felix, who had waited this long for his stupid ass to figure out he was pining for Sylvain, who was clawing at him in desperation and frustration -
He used his size and strength, as weak legged and shaky as he was to sling Felix to the side, nestle Felix back on the bed, and before the Goddess and all that was holy, spread Felix’s legs and ate his own seed out of Felix’s cunt, fingers curling in the other man, scissoring and seeking and stroking while he sucked at his clit, making encouraging noises as his thighs closed around his face, and finally, finally, Felix came around his fingers, came with Sylvain’s name on his lips, came with a small gush of liquid that splashed across a startled Sylvain’s face.
Oh, fuck that’s hot, Felix is a squirter, Sylvain barely had time to think, before Felix’s hand in his hair was pulling him up for another kiss ( he’s fucking KISSING me when he just came all over my face and I ate him out, like he doesn’t care about the taste or anything, blessed Goddess on the back of a dragon what did I do to deserve this fucking MAN) , and between breaths, Felix was insulting him, something about hopelessly insatiable, and yes, this was the one, this was definitely the man Sylvain loved, and the one that made him finally feel like he was maybe worthy of love, too.
“Fucking hell, Felix,” Sylvain whispered, carefully moving to sit on the edge of the bed, looking around for something to clean up the mess they’d made of the sheets.
“In. The nightstand. Small towel.”
“Thanks, babe.”
“...no pet names.”
“Thanks, Fe?” After a long pause (in which Sylvain found the towel, wiped his face, and gently cleaned what was left of the mess on Felix’s thighs before wiping off his own), the swordsman finally grumbled, “Fe is acceptable... Syl.”
“Sorry about your sheets,” Sylvain apologized, laying back down in bed.
“We’ve slept in worse.”
“Ugh. Like that disaster of a camp at Lake Teutates?”
“Don’t remind me,” Felix groaned, rolling onto his side and tucking himself against Sylvain’s side with one arm draped around his waist. Sylvain “mmmh’d” a neutral reply, wrapping one arm around Felix’s shoulder to hold him close.
“Fe?”
“What.”
“What now?”
“I already told you, idiot, no more dying with each other.”
“I know that, but like - seriously, what now?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow what?”
“Tomorrow we can figure it out when I’m not blissed out of my goddess damned mind and you’re too fucking groggy to run your mouth with inane questions.”
“Man, your idea of pillow talk is kind of degrading, Fe.”
“Shut up and sleep, Sylvain.”
“I think I like it.”
“Shut up, Sylvain.”
“I mean, I’ve never tried the whole degradation thing in the bedroom, I could maybe get used to it from you-”
“Syl vain ,” and there was the warning tone, the upwards lilt in his voice that meant Felix was either going to beat him or yell at him, and Sylvain couldn’t help the idiotic grin that spread across his face.
“All right, all right,” he murmured in submission, “I’m going to sleep.”
“Good.”
Sylvain let a long moment slip by.
“One last thing, Fe.”
“If you tell me you love me, I am going to stab you and throw you out.”
“Ouch! No, that’s not it.”
“Spit it out or I’m going to stab you anyways, I want. To fucking. Sleep. ”
“...thank you. I’m - not the easiest to talk to. And you - don’t like talking.”
“Mmm.”
“And. Like you said. It’s not about dying together any more. From now on, it’s about living together. I promise.”
“...I promise, too.” Sylvain hugged Felix, just enough - not too clingy, not too distant, with the ease of friendship built over a lifetime.
“...and damn is my old man gonna be pissed at my choice in husbands! I can’t wait to see the look on his - ACK!”
The bruise on his torso where Felix punched him was its own sort of promise: they may have started a different part of their life together, but some things were unlikely to ever change.