Archive of Our Own

The conditions for Linhardt’s mission couldn’t be more perfect. The grass in the shade is cool and refreshing, and the gentle wind that blows through is pleasantly warm. It’s silent, except for the gentle rustle of leaves. And when the leaves do shift, they create a kaleidoscope of warm, dappled light behind his closed eyelids.

It really couldn’t be more perfect. Which only makes Hubert’s tense scowl all the more bewildering. Linhardt had been positive that taking him away from the hustle and bustle of the base camp would have helped his fellow mage unwind, but it almost seems to be doing the opposite.

Linhardt has to fight his tired eyes from closing as he lays next to Hubert and watches as his pale lips move soundlessly.

Finally, Linhardt breaks.

“What are you doing?” 

“Reciting incantations”

“You aren’t planning to blow me up, are you?”

“It’s merely practice.”

Linhardt sighs and rolls over to his side so he’s facing Hubert properly. Hubert doesn’t react to the movement, keeping his eyes dutifully closed.

“You shouldn’t be practicing anything. That’s against the whole point of this.”

Hubert’s brow furrows and he scoffs. “Expecting me to lay here idly and not do anything sounds more stressful than anything.”

Linhardt sighs again and grips the grass beside him in silent frustration. If he had known that Hubert was this high-strung, he wouldn’t have been so quick to accept Edelgard’s request. He had expected to just ride out to his favorite little spot and nap the afternoon away, no skin off his own back. But Hubert … he almost seems pained that he’s not at Edelgard’s side.

Hm. That gives him an idea.

Linhardt stretches against the ground and lets out a drawn out breath.

“I guess this was just a waste of time, after all. Edelgard won’t be too happy, but … ”

As expected, Hubert’s head turns to him immediately, green eyes locked onto him. “I’ve stepped away from my duties for the afternoon, as I had promised her I would. I don’t see why she would be disappointed.”

“There’s no point in you stepping away if you don’t actually de-stress.” Linhardt retorts easily. “At that point, you’re wasting everyone’s time.”

“De-stressing,” Hubert sneers, “A ridiculous notion.”

“It may be ridiculous to you, but it seems important to Lady Edelgard.” 

Hubert has no snappy reply to that, but his scowl deepens. He turns his head back to the tree canopy and lets out a long, even breath.

“Laying here and doing nothing may actually be more stressful to me than being on the battlefield.” 

Now it’s Linhardt’s turn to sigh once again. It seems that he’ll need to find a different approach. Having a good meal is out of the question, as Hubert doesn’t find much comfort in warm, hearty food. The sauna is also no good—Linhardt is currently banned due to falling asleep and nearly getting cooked alive. Reading, perhaps? But Linhardt can imagine the troubles of trying to pull tactician manuals and study materials from Hubert’s hands.

He ponders over the conundrum as he plucks a grass strand from the ground and weaves it between his fingers.

Well.

There is * one* thing. It might be uncouth, but he has a feeling that Hubert is rather neglected in that area. It’s the only real shot that Linhardt can think of to actually get him to unwind a bit.

There’s really no easy way to broach the subject, so Linhardt doesn’t bother with subtlety.

“When was the last time you masturbated?”

He expects Hubert to gawk, to blush, to splutter—all the typical responses to such a personal question. But Linhardt forgets that there isn’t much ‘typical’ about Hubert.

“I can’t recall.”

It doesn’t seem to be an answer given in modesty. Linhardt truly believes that Hubert doesn’t remember.

“You know why I’m asking, right?” Linhardt props his head up on his arm to look better at Hubert. “That could be your problem.”

That drags a short, dry laugh from Hubert. He trains his eyes on Linhardt, his look particularly sardonic. “That is the very least of my problems.”

Linhardt refuses to drop his eyes, meeting cynicism with defiance. “You can give me that look all you’d like, Hubert, but it doesn’t change the matter. You need to care for your body in that way as well, you know.”

Hubert exhales deeply from his nose and closes his eyes, facing toward the leaves once more. “Just take the day off, Linhardt. Isn’t that why you accepted Edelgard’s request in the first place?”

Well, yes. That’s exactly on the nose. But for some reason, Linhardt is no longer satisfied with just that. He is the first to admit that his interests can be fickle and fleeting, but sometimes, certain questions or problems leave an itch in the back of his mind. One that he just * has* to scratch, and he can’t properly rest until he’s sated the feeling.

Hubert gives him that same itch. That need to learn, to solve, to unravel. 

Unraveling Hubert … now that’s certainly an interesting thought.

“It’s decided, then.” Linhardt sits up and brushes a stray leaf from his sleeve. “You need to masturbate.”

Hubert’s expression doesn’t change in the slightest, but Linhardt has a suspicion that it’s calculated. He crosses his legs and gets comfortable before tapping Hubert’s side with the tip of a finger. 

“Come on. You’ve already said that napping doesn’t work for you.”

Hubert’s brow furrows ever so slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes or move. “I don’t know what you’re wanting. A promise that I’ll take care of it tonight?”

“No, I want you to do it here. Right now.”

That finally gets a reaction from Hubert. His eyes snap open to lock onto Linhardt with an intense glare. “Surely you’re not serious.”

“I very much am.”

Hubert doesn’t say anything, so Linhardt rises to his feet with a small stretch.

“I’ll go around the tree so you can have some privacy.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why not?”

Hubert raises his eyebrow in a particularly scornful manner, “You’re a clever boy. I would hope that your morals aren’t so far gone as to not see any problem with this.”

Linhardt, refusing to be defeated so easily, drops into a crouch to bring himself eye-level with Hubert.

“Do you remember how you fainted during practice the other day? Or how you nearly fell asleep during the war council? And surely you’re aware of the tremble in your hands,” Linhardt frowns, but his voice is patient and soft, “That’s only what I have noticed, and I don’t make a habit of noticing such small things. I can only imagine what worry you’ve put on Lady Edelgard. Do you think she can perform at her highest ability when she’s worrying about you?”

Hubert’s lips thin, but he doesn’t fight any of the words.

Linhardt nods resolutely and gives Hubert’s shoulder a gentle push, “Scoot back a bit.”

He does so silently, seemingly defanged by Linhardt’s sudden burst of conviction. Linhardt presses into Hubert’s shoulder until he’s reclined against the trunk of the tree.

“There. Now, I’m going to go around this tree, and you’re going to take care of yourself.”

Without waiting for an affirmation, or lack thereof, Linhardt steps around the base of the tree. Out of the other’s sight, he allows himself to deflate, his breathing and heart hectic. He doesn’t know where all of that just came from. Hubert may have been shocked to see Linhardt’s more forceful side, but Linhardt is even more shocked—he didn’t even know he had a more forceful side.

He rests the back of his head against the rough bark of the tree and closes his eyes as he focuses on slowing his breathing.

Now that he’s had a few moments to collect himself, his mind is already busy making sense of it all. He cares for all of his fellow Black Eagles, so of course he wants them all to be in top shape. There’s less chance of them getting hurt during missions that way. And Hubert really has been pushing himself too hard. Linhardt can still feel the icy horror that gripped his heart when he saw Hubert collapse the other day. Can still feel the ache in his muscles and the burning panic that swallowed his mind as he fumbled the unconscious man onto his shoulders and carried him to Manuela.

He cares about the Black Eagles. And he cares about Hubert, as well. It’s as simple as that. What more reason does he need?

He swallows dryly and brushes the front of his uniform for the sake of something to do. Things are rather quiet on the other side of the tree …

“Is it, you know,” Linhardt clears his throat, “Going well?”

“Please refrain from talking.”

The temptation to look around the tree is strong, but he holds off. “Are you touching yourself?”

Oh, he shouldn’t have said it in such a way. A cold thrill runs down his spine and turns to heat as it pools in his stomach.

He hears Hubert huff in exasperation. “If you want me to follow your ridiculous whims, you need to be quiet. I am trying to concentrate.”

“Concentrate?” The word makes Linhardt frown. “You aren’t taking a test, you know. You need to relax.”

“Linhardt.” Hubert’s voice is curt and biting. “I do not wish to talk with you with my member in my hand.”

That’s a bit of a shame, because now that’s all Linhardt wants to do. Rather than push Hubert into a deeper annoyance, however, he decides to settle his back more comfortably against the tree. But it’s incredibly difficult to relax, knowing that Hubert is actually doing what was asked of him.

Just a breath away, Hubert has himself exposed. And he’s using those skilled, pretty hands of his to pleasure himself. Linhardt wonders if he’s slipped his gloves off, or if he prefers the texture of them. Linhardt swallows at the thought and rubs his thigh, letting it venture up high enough to make his stomach tighten in excitement. 

It seems he needs a little stress relief, himself.

Careful to not make any noise, he lets his thumb drag over his hardening length, listening closely for any sounds from Hubert all the while. Oh, what a joy it would be to hear that prissy man make a pitiful, needy noise …

“Damnit.” 

The aggravated huff Hubert lets out as he curses isn’t exactly what Linhardt had been hoping for, but it still gives him a shiver. He quickly shakes it off and fights to keep his voice light and level.

“Is something the matter?”

“This is a waste of time.”

“Having some troubles over there?”

Hubert doesn’t answer.

Linhardt isn’t sure what possesses him at that moment—seemingly without his brain’s permission, his legs drag him around the tree. By the time his brain unfreezes and scrambles to catch up and figure out just what he’s done, he’s already locked eyes with Hubert.

“I—”

As Linhardt struggles with what to say, Hubert’s own brain seems to have kicked into gear. Horror slackens his face and widens his eyes as his hands quickly move in front of his groin– and it seems that he is indeed fond of the texture of his gloves.

Every particle of Linhardt’s being screams out in sheer panic. But outwardly, Linhardt feels a calm descend on him, heavy and fast, like he’s jumped into a lake of calmness.

“Would you like some help?”  The screaming in him increases, and he swears that his bones shake with its intensity. He nods his head downwards, but keeps his eyes locked ever so calmly on Hubert’s own. “And also, pardon the intrusion.”

His overbearing casualness seems to help Hubert rein in his own shock, and he pulls his face into something resembling neutrality. “What are you suggesting, Linhardt?”

He kneels down next to Hubert, and he notes that Hubert doesn’t shy away. “You’re a clever boy.” 

Linhardt doesn’t miss the way Hubert’s eyes narrow at the parroted phrase. 

A few silent moments pass by, and Hubert’s eyes zip around Linhardt’s face, clearly debating what his next move should be. Linhardt lets him have his time, fully ready to blow off the whole thing as a joke if he’s rejected.

“Was this your plan all along?” Hubert’s voice has taken on an icy quality, yet there’s no edge to it, “What exactly are you getting out of this?”

The last question gives Linhardt pause. What is he getting out of all of this? He ruminates on it for a moment before answering.

“No to the first question, and ‘I don’t know’ to the second.”

Hubert’s lips twitch into a deeper scowl, clearly not pleased with Linhardt’s answers.

Linhardt fights his fretting nerves and forces himself to remain still. He starts to fear that he’ll be kneeling there until sunset when Hubert finally sighs and looks away.

“If this is truly for my benefit, then I have no choice but to put myself in your hands.”

Linhardt suppresses a relieved sigh as he smiles, “Quite literally, I must say.”

Hubert shoots an annoyed look at him before turning his head away once more.

Linhardt puts his hands up in a gesture of peace, “Yes, this is entirely for your benefit. I’m taking the duties bestowed by Lady Edelgard very seriously.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen you take anything seriously.”

“Yes, well, you should know what a fan I am of relaxing.” Linhardt comes forward on his knees and motions to Hubert’s lap, “Now, shall we?”

Hubert’s hands don’t budge a single bit, so Linhardt tentatively reaches out. Every inch he gets closer, he expects for Hubert to smack him away, to recoil … but he doesn’t. Linhardt’s hands continue until they touch Hubert’s own. Hubert’s gloves are surprisingly cool, especially after laying in the sun and being snugly filled with his fingers. Linhardt, perhaps against better judgment, runs his hand flat against Hubert’s, fingers resting on top of his, gently bending to maintain contact. It’s a tender gesture, and Linhardt expects another reaction — a punch this time, perhaps — but the most he gets is a deep rise of Hubert’s chest as he inhales. From what emotion, Linhardt doesn’t know.

“You can trust me,” Linhardt says, tone hushed and intimate, something he hadn’t intended. “Let me take care of you.”

This time Linhardt doesn’t expect a reaction, but he certainly gets one. The soft, cool glove under his hand pushes up, ever so slightly. Not in a ‘get off of me’ way, but in a quick, shallow twitch. Almost like a pulse. Was it from his fingers, or something below them? 

He’s never seen Hubert flustered, and he’s not sure if this counts — despite the light flush to his cheeks, Hubert looks just as stern and proper as always. 

With a final, defeated sigh, Hubert slowly withdraws his hands. And just like that, with no ceremony or fanfare, he sees Hubert’s cock from the unbuttoned front of his pants. The head is rosy and peeking out of the foreskin ever so slightly, and as Linhardt watches, it seems to bloom like a flower, filling and straightening, pulling the foreskin taut and showing off the deep, puffy slit.

Linhardt has to collect himself for a moment before talking.

“I had assumed that you were having an issue with getting hard, but I see that’s not the case.”

But that had to have been the case, at least partially. It’s obvious that Hubert is getting hard now , Linhardt can see it swelling and stiffening in front of his very eyes. Which means that Hubert is getting aroused, right at this moment. Which means that he hadn’t been fully hard before. And the only factor that has changed from his masturbation session to now is Linhardt’s presence.

That knowledge immediately goes to Linhardt’s head … and to his own arousal.

“Do you have a preference?” Linhardt says, voice deceptively even.

“With — ” Hubert seems to be having a more difficult time with maintaining his decorum. His voice sounds tight and rushed, and it’s obvious that it irritates him to no end. “With what , exactly?”

“Would you like my hands, or my mouth?”

He swears that Hubert’s flush deepens at that. His cock is fully erect now and giving small, almost impatient twitches against his clothed stomach.

Linhardt waits for an answer, but it doesn’t come. It’s clear that Hubert doesn’t trust his voice at this point, so Linhardt decides to take over completely.

“I’ll start with my hands,” He scoots forward a bit more, until his knees are pressing against Hubert’s thigh. “Just tell me if you need me to stop.”

Before he can think better of the entire situation, Linhardt reaches out and wraps a hand around the base. Hubert’s legs jerk up at the sudden contact and his hands twitch forward as if to stop him, but quickly fall back to the grass. 

“It’s okay,” Linhardt soothes, head swimming with the hot pulse of Hubert’s member, “I’ll take it slow.”

But he really doesn’t want to. The urge to jack Hubert off fast and rough is permeating his thoughts. It’s clear that he’s overly sensitive right now, and Linhardt’s original goal of unraveling Hubert is obviously going to be achieved — but now he wants to tear him apart. To hear what he sounds like when he’s totally overwhelmed, to see that perfect, brooding face scrunch and beg and fall into a mess with his pleasure.

As tempting as it is, Linhardt controls himself. A quick and intense orgasm would work, of course, but Linhardt wants to give Hubert something more than that. Something warm and tender, something that builds and takes him over completely before his release.

A release that doesn’t seem so far off, judging by the fat bead of precum that’s collecting at Hubert’s cockslit.

“Oh, you really needed this,” Linhardt says, voice hushed, finally letting his hand drag down to the base, “You’re so pent up, Hubert.”

The foreskin pulls further back and catches along the cap of the head. The rosy, exposed tip looks absolutely divine– all the more so when the bead of precum wells and finally breaks, trailing a clear, wet line down the side before bending around a particulary prominent vein. 

Linhardt sucks in his lips and slowly pulls his hand up the entirety of the length, relishing the way the foreskin rolls up and puckers, and how the next stroke down smears the precum over the heated skin.

“Wait — ”

Hubert’s sudden, breathless word snaps Linhardt out of his trance. He had been so focused on Hubert’s cock that he had neglected to see Hubert’s face, eyes closed and eyebrows drawn together, head resting against the tree and showing off the soft, jerky bob of his Adam’s apple. Linhardt is completely entranced by the sight. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Hubert look vulnerable. With a few strokes he’s already unraveled the marquis, and that fact makes Linhardt feel drunk with lust.

“What is it, Hubert?” Linhardt strokes him again, this time keeping his eyes on Hubert’s face. He watches as Hubert’s pale lips open soundlessly and his brow creases further, “Does it not feel good?”

A firm hand wraps around Linhardt’s wrist, and that finally gets him to stop. He loosens his grip around Hubert’s cock just slightly and watches as Hubert’s fights to even his breathing and rolls his eyes open.

“Just … a moment. Give me a moment.”

“Of course.”

Linhardt retracts his hand entirely, but Hubert doesn’t let go of his wrist.

They sit silently for a few moments as Hubert struggles to compose himself. It gives Linhardt some time to settle down as well — he hadn’t realized just how madly his own cock had been throbbing between his legs. 

He doubts that Hubert is up for idle chatter, but there’s a suspicion in the back of his mind that he can’t help but dispel.

“Hubert … have you been touched by someone like this before?”

Hubert lets out a small huff and those piercing green eyes finally make their way back to Linhardt. “Why ask a question to which you already know the answer?”

“Because I didn’t know. Sincerely.” Linhardt gets more comfortable on the ground, “Your personality is a bit severe, but you’re still a very handsome man.”

Hubert huffs again, and Linhardt realizes then that the sound is a laugh.

“Please, spare me the niceties.”

“I wasn’t saying that for politeness’ sake,” Linhardt says, “I’m honestly surprised.”

Linhardt gets to see yet another expression from Hubert he’s never seen. It’s almost like stubborn denial, mixed with a certain level of uncomfortableness. It’s clear that Hubert isn’t used to receiving compliments on his appearance, and doesn’t quite know how to react. All Linhardt can think is how he’d love to unravel that bit of him as well. But something like that would take much longer, perhaps even years. Linhardt hopes he’ll have the chance to do just that.

Hubert seems to chew on a thought before almost cautiously meeting his eyes. “So, you have experience with … these things?”

Linhardt should have expected the question, but it completely throws him off guard. He has no reason to lie, however, so he answers honestly. “No, no. Not at all.”

Hubert tilts his head ever so slightly, “Now it’s my turn to be surprised.”

“It’s not terribly surprising,” Linhardt says simply, “I just don’t have time for such things.”

“And you think I do?”

“Fair point,” Linhardt concedes, “But why would you assume I’m experienced with these things?”

“For the same reason, I suppose.”

Linhardt knows that he should let it rest there, but his damned mouth moves before he can stop himself. 

“You think I’m pretty?” 

His stomach rolls and flutters as he says it. Even though Hubert’s cock is swollen and leaking right in front of him, the prospect of Hubert finding him attractive is more exhilarating than anything that’s happened.

The uncomfortable look crosses Hubert’s face again, “ … If that’s the word you want to use.”

Today has been filled by bold, uncharacteristic moves. Linhardt knows he’s pushing his luck to the very brim, but he can’t help but push it just a little further. However, this may be the tipping point. But also, he knows that this is likely the only time he’ll be able to make such a request.

“May I kiss you?”

Hubert’s voice seems to have left him once again, but the way his cock gives a rough, eager twitch is answer enough.

Linhardt leans forward and plants a soft kiss on Hubert’s cheek. He pulls back only enough to break contact but keeps himself close, knowing Hubert can feel the feathering of his breaths against his skin.

And then, slowly but assuredly, Hubert turns his head to face him. Linhardt lets out a shaky sigh when the sides of their noses gently press into one another, and then, all at once, their lips are together and he’s kissing Hubert — actually kissing him. Every synapse in his brain seems to fire all at once, and he’s mentally scrambling to decide what to focus on. He wants to memorize the soft, cool give of Hubert’s lips, he wants to remember the way Hubert’s hand brushes against his knee, he wants to ride on the fluttering rush that’s erupting in his stomach, he wants to clear his mind and lose himself in the moment … He wants everything.

Linhardt hasn’t minded taking control, but he hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted to have Hubert make the conscious effort to take things further. Having his body react to Linhardt is wonderful in its own right, but Linhardt had been craving something more. A firm affirmation that Hubert really, truly is okay with what they’re doing. This is giving him all of that, and so much more.

Hubert’s lips pull away and Linhardt absently leans forward to chase them, but then Hubert’s back, head tilted and lips parting just the slightest, obviously wanting to deepen the exchange, but perhaps not sure how to. Linhardt is more than happy to oblige. He pushes the tip of his tongue forward and licks at the swell of Hubert’s bottom lip. For the first time, he gets to hear Hubert make a sound against his will — a soft, short groan that quickly gets swallowed down.

Now, that just won’t do. That one little sound of pleasure has Linhardt aching — his mind, his heart, his cock — every bit of him wants to draw out more from Hubert, to hear that cold, calculated voice crack and draw out and dip and pitch up. It feels like a physical necessity.

Linhardt grabs the back of Hubert’s head and presses him closer, losing his fingers in that fine black hair and forcing his tongue past the pristine flat hardness of his teeth. Oh, it’s perfect. The inside of Hubert’s mouth is impossibly hot and wet and soft, and it’s so clear that the perfect, immaculate Hubert is completely out of his element. The inexperienced way his tongue fumbles around Linhardt’s own, the way his lips roll tentatively into the kiss … Linhardt has never experienced something so perfectly imperfect.

Linhardt whines low in his throat and licks deeper into his mouth, tightening his grip in Hubert’s hair and running his other hand down Hubert’s stomach. As soon as the side of his hand touches the hot, wet tip of Hubert’s cock, he wraps his fingers around it and jacks him off in short, earnest strokes.

The reaction is immediate and intense. That one small, unintended groan Hubert let loose earlier pales in comparison to the sounds he makes now. Hubert moans, the sound raw and vibrating straight into Linhardt’s mouth as he kisses him deeper. Their bodies are both moving—jerking and rolling and pulling and so desperately and clumsily chasing their pleasures. It’s pure, messy chaos—clothes rustle, teeth clack together, hair is tugged, and they both moan and whimper against each other. Linhardt doesn’t realize that he’s climbed into Hubert’s lap until he’s got a thigh between his legs, and with no hesitation, he begins rutting himself in time with his strokes, both sloppy and fast. The precum has become so abundant that a wet, slick noise can be heard, but it’s nearly drowned out by the sounds of their heavy breathing and panted groans.

Strong, hungry arms wrap around his waist and pull him tightly into a hug, so much so that Linhardt is completely forced into stillness. It’s nearly crushing, but he definitely isn’t complaining—especially when he hears Hubert let out a tight, pleasured cry against the front of his uniform. He can feel Hubert’s trapped cock jerk rough and sporadic, and he feels a hot, wet heat blossom between them and seep into the front of his clothes.

Hubert is cumming. The mere astonishment of that fact is enough to push Linhardt to his own brink, and he gasps as he follows suit. There’s no chance of freeing the hand still wrapped around Hubert’s cock, but Linhardt is able to cradle Hubert’s head with his free arm as they both fall into their own pleasures.

“That’s it … That’s it, Hubert … ” He breathlessly sighs, shivering as he pets Hubert’s hair.

Eventually, the arms around him loosen before falling limply away, and Linhardt gingerly pulls back to look at him. Hubert’s hair is sticking up in odd ways and his usual pallor is replaced by a dusty rose that goes straight to the tips of his ears. The iciness in his eyes has thawed, and as Hubert shakily looks up at him, Linhardt feels like he’s seeing him for the first time—a genuine, real look at the man.

“How was that?” Linhardt finally says, fighting the urge to brush a finger over Hubert’s kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Do you feel less stressed?”

Being addressed seems to help ground Hubert, and Linhardt can see him piecing himself back together before his very eyes. The cold glaze appears in his eyes once again, and Hubert straightens himself up—an awkward endeavor, considering Linhardt is still seated in his lap.

“My apologies for the mess.”

That prompts Linhardt to look down, and sure enough, cum is smeared and soaking into not only Linhardt’s stomach, but Hubert’s as well. 

“Ah … ” Linhardt shakily climbs out of Hubert’s lap, “My pants are in no better shape … We’ll have to stop by the river on our way back to clean up.”

“I suppose there’s no helping it,” Hubert runs his hands through his hair, frowning as he comes upon a few tangles. “We’ll have to be more careful next time.”

The implication of those words hit Linhardt like a bolt of lightning. His body sings with the weight of them.

He does his best to hide his smile, “Yes, next time.”