There is something wrong, that much is plain to see. He’s said nothing of it, but Yuri watches the way Byleth seems to move through a dense fog, and knows it. As he’s carrying books for Lindhardt, Byleth uncharacteristically trips, sending the stack of books tumbling forward. As Byleth walks through the hallways of Garreg Mach, he accidentally bumps at least three people with his shoulder, not paying proper attention to where he’s going. At dinner, he absentmindedly picks at his food, too distracted by what’s in his own head to eat. “Are we still on for sparring?” Felix asks Byleth, who blinks at him with wide eyes.
“Sorry Felix, I need to steal him for something important,” Yuri says, reaching over the table for another slice of bread. “You can have him tomorrow.” If Felix is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. He shrugs, and asks Sylvain instead. Byleth simply lets this exchange happen. After dinner, Yuri finds Byleth’s hands, threads his fingers with his. He keeps a firm grip on Byleth’s hand, guides him back towards the tea room, and out of any potential trouble. Byleth quietly insists on helping, by inserting himself into the process. He only spills pouring the tea once.
They sit together in silence, Yuri sipping from his cup. Byleth holds his in his hands, untouched, and staring at the center of the table. “Alright,” Yuri says, “what’s going on? You’ve been acting strangely all day.” He raises the cup to his lips, to take another sip. Byleth frowns, his jaw clenching.
“Jeritza told me that he wants my sword to pierce his flesh. I – I don’t think he meant my literal sword,” Byleth says. Tea sprays up and around Yuri’s face, the entire drinking process wholly disrupted by what the fuck Byleth just said. He howls with laughter, the cup slamming back onto the table, rocking backwards in his chair. Byleth only looks concerned, passing a napkin towards him.
“Please tell me what you said in response to that,” Yuri wheezes. Byleth’s hands fret in his lap.
“I left,” he says. It only causes Yuri to laugh harder, absolutely shaking at Byleth’s hopeless expression.
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“With the legends associated with this place, I’m surprised it isn’t crawling with students,” Yuri says as he takes the last step, walks onto the landing. He seems content to wander, to look, but he pauses in the middle of the room, looks over his shoulder and smiles at Byleth. “Or maybe they saw you here and were too scared to try and sneak inside.” Byleth still has one hand on the balcony as Yuri resumes his wandering. Steadily, surely, he closes the distance, chooses the spot closest to Byleth. Yuri leans back against the railing, tilts his head upwards towards Byleth.
“Are you escaping from their fancy ball? Thought you’d find some refuge here?” Byleth nods once at his question. Yuri smirks, lets his chin drop and shakes his head, full of mirth. “Really? You didn’t enjoy dancing with all the students who could get their hands on you?” He’s getting easier to understand. The blank face of the Ashen Demon was something to behold, at first, but he’s not as expressionless as many would believe. As Yuri looks back at him, he can see the slight frown between his brows, and Byleth shakes his head three times. “Well, you’ll have no refuge here, because I’m not afraid of you.” He practically crows it.
The frown softens. Something akin to a smile takes its place, Byleth’s eyes full of soft fondness. Yuri looks away, clears his throat. He takes his hands away from the balcony, allows himself to sink down. His hands at fists on his side, he looks at the cobwebs which twist in the moonlight. It’s not entirely surprising, or unwelcome, when Byleth sits down beside him. Byleth splays his hands flat against the cool cobblestone, rests his head back against the balcony. “The legends… if you believe in such things, one says that any wish made here will come true,” Yuri speaks slowly. “What would you wish for?”
Byleth bends a knee as he tilts his head thoughtfully, and lets his arm rest over his knee. His other hand is still splayed between them. The frown has made a re-appearance, and he seems to search the crack of each stone for an answer. In the end, he simply shrugs. Yuri snorts amusement, “For someone so decisive in battle, you sure are useless everywhere else.” He watches Byleth’s shoulders fall, his gaze drop to the floor between them. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean it. You’re plenty capable.” Byleth takes a moment to rub the back of his neck before resting his arm on his knee again, pointing at Yuri.
“My wish? Let’s see…” Yuri’s gaze drifts around the opening to the balcony. Vines curl around stone, their roots so far below, now reaching for the heavens. He follows the line of the entrance, to the railing, all the way around to – Yuri leans a little closer to Byleth, his fist shifting with him. He reaches out a single finger, lets it rest against the back of Byleth’s hand. “What if I wished to get to know you better?” Byleth holds Yuri’s gaze unflinchingly, the cool midnight breeze sending stray wisps of dark hair curling against his temple.
“You don’t need to waste a wish for that,” Byleth says, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. Still, it echoes deeper, sounds warmer than any other voice Yuri has heard before.
“It wouldn’t be a waste to me,” Yuri tells him. A sick feeling of satisfaction coils in his belly as Byleth breaks the gaze for only a moment, the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. Then he looks back, the color clearing away as quickly as it had come. “The other legend, the one that really gets students excited, is that if two people share a vow at the Goddess Tower, they’ll be bound together forever. Doesn’t that sound interesting?” Yuri’s finger is still resting atop Byleth’s hand. Byleth nods slowly.
“Then, let’s make a vow,” Yuri says, his other hand moving between them in a clenched fist, save for an extended pinky. Byleth looks curiously at it for a moment, then moves his arm from his knee to link his pinky with Yuri’s. Byleth’s skin is cool, his touch tentative but sure. Yuri keeps them tightly locked together. “No lying. Ever. About anything, big or small. Even if everything else falls apart, we’re never going to have to guess about trusting each other.” Byleth’s face is mere inches from his. Yuri’s lips are slightly parted, waited on baited breath to see if Byleth accepts that vow. It’s only now that he thinks of the possibility that Byleth could refuse. Byleth gives Yuri a small nod, the slightest squeeze of his pinky.
“Now I’ll have to think of all the questions I want to ask you,” Yuri says, “I wonder where to begin?” Byleth’s back straightens, stiffens, his eyes widening with the sudden realization of the implications in the promise he just made. Yuri laughs as he breaks their link, pulls back his hand. Byleth mirrors him. “I’ll try not to take advantage of it. You realize you could do the same thing, right?” Byleth shakes his head. He did not. Yuri stifles more laughter. Sometimes he’s unbelievably easy to read.
“Well,” Yuri says as he rises to his feet, brushes the dust off his trousers, “it’s something for you to think about until our next meeting.” Byleth’s hands are folded in his lap as Byleth looks up at him. “You shouldn’t stay away from the ball too long. Someone might miss you.” Byleth looks unbelievably weary at the suggestion, aging a decade in a single breath. Yuri smiles at poor Byleth. Fine, he’ll be the one to take pity on him. “Or you could come hide out with me, where it’s certain no one will find you.” Yuri extends his hand. Without hesitation, Byleth takes it, and Yuri hauls him to his feet.
A strange side effect of a beating heart. The emotions well up in Byleth, unpredictable and incomprehensible. Yuri is amused to hear others refer to his outbursts as tantrums. Much like a toddler, Byleth is struggling to learn how to properly deal with that impossible burden called feeling. It builds and builds, those wide emotions too vast to be contained inside their bodies. It overwhelms Byleth as well, his emotions spilling up and out, free to be after years of unintentional repression.
Byleth sobs through a slice of chocolate cake Lysithea makes for him, while she stands nearby, absolutely delighted at his passionate response. After a frustrating impasse during negotiations, Byleth very politely tells them that he’ll be back presently. Felix finds him viciously hacking away at a training dummy. Mercedes and Annette corner him at the lunch table, assaulting him with expertly practiced and crafted jokes. Byleth laughs so hard his face turns almost purple, unable to do anything but wheeze.
When Yuri comes to bed, Byleth is already there. He lies on his belly, watching as Yuri makes himself comfortable. “Yuri,” he says, once he’s settled. Yuri means to reply, but Byleth is shifting, moving over him. He wraps his hands around Yuri’s wrist, pins him beneath him. He lets his weight rest against Yuri as Byleth drops his head to Yuri’s chest. “Yuri,” he says again. It’s a mantra, repeated over and over, and Byleth continues to mumble his name against him. Eventually, his grip leaves his waist. Instead, he wraps his arms around Yuri, embraces him soundly.
“What’s all this?” Yuri asks. Byleth turns a brilliant shade of pink as he plants his chin against Yuri’s chest. He’s shy to look at him properly at first, but soon enough, Byleth holds his gaze. His cheeks begin to fill with color, a delicate shade of pink. Then he suddenly shifts upwards, so that hip is pressed against hip, chest against chest. He can feel Byleth’s grip on his shoulders, from underneath him. His hands curl around, bruise into his skin. Nose presses against nose, and Yuri looks up at him. The kiss is fierce, and there’s a strange expression on Byleth’s face. His brows stitch together upwards, his lips pouting and tasting sweetly of desire.
Then, he buries his head in the crook of Yuri’s neck. Yuri’s runs a hand through Byleth’s dark hair, keeps it there, rubs against him in comforting circles. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?” Yuri asks. He receives a slight squeeze in reply. Yuri chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. He can’t see the way Byleth’s face burns red, how much of that’s the same at the nape of his neck. He doesn’t know how keenly Byleth feels his own beating heart, how strange it is to know how its rhythm quickens around Yuri. It almost hurts to breathe, fit to burst. All Byleth can do is continue to hold him tightly.
He can hear the muddy footsteps approaching before the tent flap opens. A distinctive sound of its own, letting in a cold breeze which shudders over the few torches and candles lit. Yuri, his back towards the opening, looks over his shoulder. “You’re late,” he says, his shirt in his arms, his skin covered in gooseflesh, “Where were you?” He turns around completely, leans back against the small table and lets one ankle cross over the other. He is careful not to tip the bowl of water behind him, a damp cloth hanging off the edge of it. Yuri’s skin glistens newly clean.
Byleth’s shoulders heave. His cheeks are flushed, a twinge of sweat on his brow. His long boots are flecked with mud, and he’s wearing those tight trousers which sit high on his waist, a tan colored oversized tunic just barely tucked into them. His pale green hair is disheveled, and he takes another step forward into the tent before pausing. He studies Yuri for a moment, from the curls of purple hair which rest against his collarbone, to his bare chest where water still drops, and the half unbuttoned trousers. Yuri smiles at his examination, and drops the shirt onto the rug beside him. “Your tent is palatial, you know. They really do save the best for the commanders, hmm? I didn’t think you’d mind me borrowing it, but I also thought you’d be here when I got here,” Yuri says.
“I was looking for you,” Byleth says in that low, barely-audible whisper of his. His voice is a landslide, rocks tumbling into a canyon. Yuri feels the back of his neck unexpectedly heat at the sound of it. He watches as Byleth turns on his heel, marching back to the entrance of the tent. He kneels down briefly, tying the knots to keep the flap closed. Then he stands, his head still bowed, his hands clenched in fists at his side. When he turns back around to face Yuri, his face is neutral, his breathing even. Yuri stands up straighter at the sight of Byleth looking at him underneath dark lashes.
“Well, you found me,” he says, smiling some as he crosses his arms, shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “What did you need?” Byleth’s hands slowly unclench from that fist. He moves the same way he does in battle. The hard push forward, the quickly closing distance – dead, before the enemy even knows Byleth is upon them. Not Yuri. He’s just in time to stretch out his arms, catch Byleth in the embrace. The bowl of water wobbles as Byleth crashes into him. Byleth’s hand moves against Yuri’s hip, to his back, captures him completely.
Byleth crushes his lips against Yuri’s. The kiss is harried, hurried, hungry. He smothers Yuri in it, devours him inch by inch. His teeth gently pull at Yuri’s bottom lip, and having created an opening, Byleth’s tongue presses into Yuri’s mouth. His other hand now winds in Yuri’s hair, grabbing a fistful, and pulling his head back. Yuri clings to him, his body curling against his, as Byleth’s teeth scrape against his neck. Hip bumps against hip as Byleth’s hand splays at his back, and Yuri’s fingers dig into Byleth’s shoulder. The moment Yuri actively resists, Byleth lets go of the grip he has on his hair.
Yuri drapes his arms over Byleth’s shoulder, pulls himself in closer as he seals the kiss. There’s a sense of unsettled urgency to Byleth’s every move. His hands cannot settle, moving up and down Yuri’s back, fingertips moving over the hills and valleys of his spine. They find the curve of his ass, tug him closer. Not that he minds, but Byleth usually isn’t this. Byleth’s touches are bold and sure, as if Yuri’s body is a battlefield, the tactics to conquer him already planned and set into motion. This is scattered, wary, and afraid to stay in one place too long, his touch finding false refuge on other curves. Byleth presses himself closer to deepen the kiss, while Yuri is pushing back.
It all amounts to Byleth taking a step back, their feet tangling as they twist, and Byleth quickly uses his hands to hold Yuri’s head as they tumble to the rug on the ground. Byleth is kneeling over him, straddling him, his hands still underneath Yuri’s head. Pale green wisps of hair float away from his forehead, dangle above Yuri’s face. Byleth’s eyes are wide, his breaths coming short and fast, his gaze moving all over Yuri’s face. Yuri puts his hand up against Byleth’s chest and says, “I’m fine.” That calms Byleth somewhat, enough so that Yuri can prop himself up on elbows. Byleth stays over him, his hands now resting against Yuri’s chest.
“I’m fine, but I suspect you’re not. You’re not acting like yourself,” Yuri tells him as he shifts his gaze away, the guilt painfully evident. “You need to tell me what’s going on.” The torches rage and burn above them, their only protection against the cool chill of night. The silence stretches on with only the sound of the fire and the occasional passing patrol to break it.
“We’ll be meeting Dimitri’s forces on the field tomorrow, at Tailtean plains,” Byleth says.
“Yes, I know.”
“Logically, I know that there is nothing different about this battle than any other one than has come before. I was reading in my tent earlier and I – I,” Byleth frowns, stares downwards, and clutches at his own chest, “I realized that I hadn’t seen you for most of today, besides the glimpses of each other. I didn’t want the time we saw each other next to be on the battlefield, fighting. I had a – I had a feeling.” His knuckles are white as he squeezes, his hand trembling with the tightness of it. “I needed to see you.”
“And you managed to set out to find me just as I was on my way to you,” Yuri says as he relaxes backwards, the smile light on his lips. “What unfortunately excellent coincidental timing we have.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Why are you sorry? I’m delighted. I think this is the most I’ve heard you speak in one go.” Moving his weight from his elbows to his hands, Yuri pushes himself to sit up. Leaning against one hand, he brushes the other at Byleth’s cheek, around to the nape of his neck. “I happen to enjoy the sound of your voice,” he says. How easily Byleth’s expression settles into neutral. It’s a rare privilege to see clearly what lies beneath. Today, Yuri is being presented with a feast.
Byleth’s thoughts turn and so his expression changes with it. The smile is some sad echo of a long lost thing, his brows stitching together with something close to worry. He raises his hands to the ends of the twin tails of hair which rest against Yuri’s collarbone. Yuri returns it in kind, curling a strand of Byleth’s hair around his finger, tucking it behind his ear. “You know, the day you showed up at Garreg Mach again, I thought I was dreaming. I had to be. There was no way you were still alive,” Yuri says. “You were one of Mercedes ghost stories come to life.”
“You just… walked up to me, and didn’t say anything. Making me do all the work, as usual. I had to touch you just to make sure my hand didn’t pass right through you. What do you know, you were actually real. You were alive, standing in front of me, as if you had never been knocked off a cliff into a ravine by a rampaging monster. I remember thinking that I gave myself away. That you could hear everything I was thinking just from my tone of voice. I regret telling you that it was because I didn’t remember your face. It was a cruel joke, to keep you from looking too hard beneath the surface,” Yuri says, unraveling all the work he had just done, musing Byleth’s hair.
“I shouldn’t have stayed at Garreg Mach. I should have cut my losses and tried to find some work somewhere else, in a place no one knew me. I opened that notebook of mine every day, and yet I couldn’t write your name. I didn’t know that you were gone. I didn’t want to know. I thought Edelgard was being foolish, acting as if she expected you to walk through the front door one day. Remind me to never doubt her again. Then I found out that Abyss was the first place you went, that I was the first person you sought out?” Yuri laughs quietly.
“For you it was five years,” Byleth says, “for me, it was a matter of opening my eyes.” Somehow, he manages to mirror the same expression he did back then – as if he were a heartbroken puppy.
“Don’t look so upset. I just told you I thought of you every day – that includes your face,” Yuri tells him, his hand returning to the back of his neck. He pulls their faces together, nose touching against his nose. “I’m glad I didn’t write your name.”
“You’ll never have to.” Yuri barks laughter at that sincere proclamation.
“That sounds like a promise.”
“It is.”
“And how are you going to keep it?”
“I’ll protect you.”
“Protect me? Have you forgotten we’re talking about you?”
“Stay by my side.”
“Now it sounds like you’re proposing.” Byleth falls silent at that, affixes Yuri with an earnest gaze. Yuri feels the heat rise up from deep within him, coloring his cheeks, reddening the shell of his ears. His nape burns, and the flush spreads in his chest. “Then, it’s a promise. The fighting tomorrow will go well and we won’t have to write any name,” Yuri says. Byleth nods as he leans forward, licking his lips, his tongue just barely brushing against Yuri’s.
This kiss is far more measured and careful, Byleth’s eyes close slowly, holding Yuri’s face in his hands. Yuri’s arms wrap around Byleth, find the hem of his trousers. He pulls at the last bit of resistance, that side of Byleth’s tunic which is still tucked in. Yuri’s hands now seek their prize underneath the freed tunic. Pinpricks of cold sweat still pepper Byleth’s back, the remnants of his run around the camp. But his skin is smooth, and although he is fairly slender to look at, Yuri can feel hard muscle underneath his touch.
Byleth’s thumb moves in a circle against Yuri’s cheekbone, as tongue presses against tongue. They intertwine, explore, seek out, and inevitably come back to each other. Keeping his embrace tight around Byleth’s waist, Yuri deftly flips them over, pinning Byleth beneath him. They end up underneath the shadow of the bed, Byleth’s hair flipped in a spiked crown around his head, stray wisps still moving across his forehead. “Hey,” Yuri says, “tonight. Did you want to –” His words trail off as he watches Byleth reach out, stick his hand between the mattress and the bed frame. Yuri takes what Byleth pulls out for him, and grins wickedly when he sees it.
“Did you plan this?” Yuri asks, accusingly holding up the bottle of oil in front of Byleth’s face. “Were you going to bring me back to your tent so you could seduce me?” Byleth’s hand winds into the bedsheet, and he pulls on it as he stretches, until that deeply red fabric clashes against Byleth’s hair. Byleth smiles, a smug and self-assured thing, as he arches his back and coils like a cat beneath Yuri.
“Yes,” Byleth says, his tunic raised and exposing part of his belly, his ribs.
“And they say I’m the schemer,” Yuri says as he puts the bottle aside for now, instead focusing his attention on that slip of skin. He kneels between Byleth’s legs, his feet hooked over Yuri’s legs. Yuri’s hands move over Byleth’s hips, fingertips now touching his skin, his thumb hooked into the hem of the tunic. He pulls it over Byleth’s head completely, and then folds, a hand against his side and his tongue running down the center of Byleth’s chest.
He ensures that Byleth memorizes his touch. His firm but gentle grasp, the way his hands glide over his body. He pays attention to all that needs attention, even more to places that don’t. Yuri’s thumb moves over Byleth’s nipple as Yuri’s mouth kisses the junction just underneath Byleth’s ribs. He undoes the buttons of Byleth’s trousers, and begins to pull them off. Byleth brings his legs around Yuri, to the front of him, pressing them together and raising them. It’s easy for Yuri to shuck the pants away, his arms quickly encircling Byleth’s legs.
There is power here, perfect and bare, felt in the way Byleth moves. His legs are long, graceful, and just as the rest of him, covered in tight muscle. He spreads Byleth’s legs apart as Yuri moves back, and then lies flat, going from his knees to his belly. He slips one arm underneath one of Byleth’s bent leg, keeps the other one pinned beneath his weight. He turns his head against Byleth’s inner thigh, and plants a wet kiss. His breath is warm against the ghost of it. Nevertheless, Byleth feels the shiver run through him.
Yuri takes his time, painting Byleth’s thigh in slow and sloppy kisses. He presses his teeth against his skin, biting him from time to time, but most often taking the opportunity to leave love marks. Byleth writhes, his cock painfully hard and twitching, the slit of it beginning to leak with his desire. Yuri instead fondles Byleth’s balls, rolling them underneath his touch, pressing kisses to the v of Byleth’s groin, enjoying hearing Byleth’s breathing suddenly hitch. The leg over Yuri’s shoulder tightens its grasp on him, his heel pressing into his back. “Impatient,” Yuri says as he presses his face against Byleth’s cock, opens his mouth, and runs his tongue from base to tip, causing Byleth to shiver.
Yuri reaches out, finds the bottle he had set aside earlier. He still has an arm underneath Byleth’s thigh, wrapped around his leg, hand holding onto his thigh. The other one removes the cork with his thumb, oil spilling over his fingers, onto the rugs which carpet the base of the tent. He closes his eyes as he puts his lips against the head of Byleth’s cock. His tongue slides over his slit, and on Byleth’s inhale, he presses slick fingers against Byleth’s entrance, and begins to teasingly massage him there. Yuri relaxes his throat, takes Byleth’s cock deep, already leaking bitter salt.
He feels it as keenly as he does pain. Physical sensations, they cannot be denied or smothered. A wound elicits a visceral reaction from Byleth. No blood spilled here, yet a reaction all the same. Byleth’s hips roll upwards, miniscule in motion, trying to hold himself back. His fist is fully wrapped in the bed sheet, twisting down his arm. Every inch of his skin feels feverish, even more so when Yuri finally pushes his finger inside, to stroke at a certain angle, a certain spot. Byleth’s eyes go wide, his free hand shooting down to tangle in Yuri’s hair.
It doesn’t bother Yuri any, still bent at his task. The pigment so carefully applied over his left eyelid is now smeared, a trail of fading color leading to his temple. He pays attention to the way Byleth’s breathing quickens, the soft gasps and moans which pepper the air. He adds a second finger, stretching and thrusting inside. Byleth’s hand trembles at the side of Yuri’s face, until – “wait. Yuri, I’m –” but there’s no hesitation as Yuri continues to suck his cock. As Byleth comes undone, he pulls his arm down and the sheet with it. It floats in air for a moment, before landing over Byleth’s legs, and Yuri.
Byleth, stars behind his eyelids, takes a moment to realize he’s just accidentally covered Yuri almost entirely. He lifts the edge of the blanket by his belly, and lifts it to find Yuri moving to kneel back, his hand raising to his mouth. He managed to swallow most of it, but a small line of cum paints his upper lip. He finds it with a swipe of his thumb, and licks his thumb and his lip clean. The blanket rests over his head, his shoulders; Yuri framed by a robe of crimson. “That went well,” Yuri says as he crawls forward, a cat stalking its prey, to kiss along the line of Byleth’s jaw.
Byleth reaches between them, undoes the rest of the buttons of Yuri’s trousers. His cock strains hard against his undergarments, against the back of Byleth’s hand. Yuri pulls the blanket off of him, bundles it up and moves to tuck it underneath Byleth’s head as a make-shift pillow. As he stretches out over him, Byleth takes the opportunity to pull Yuri’s trousers and undergarments down and off his hips, his hand moving over the smooth curve of his ass. At the sight of Yuri completely hard and leaking, Byleth’s own cock begins to come back to life. “Hey,” Yuri says, his hands now on Byleth’s hips, “roll over.”
Byleth nods before he turns, on his knees, resting on his elbows. Yuri’s taken the opportunity to take off the rest of his clothes entirely, and he pours the remaining oil over his cock, Byleth’s entrance. It dribbles warm down the inside of Byleth’s thighs. Byleth bundles the blanket beneath him, his cheeks almost crimson as he moves his face against it, hugs it tightly. Yuri’s hands find his hips yet again, gripping tightly as he grinds his cock against Byleth’s ass. “Are you sure about this?” Yuri asks.
“Yes,” Byleth is only barely able to look over his shoulder at Yuri, “yes.” Byleth’s legs tremble as Yuri’s cock finally begins to push inside. His touch slips over Byleth’s lower back, his ribs, and one hand moves top press against the floor so that Yuri can keep his balance. He kisses the sweat from Byleth’s back, his hair tickling against him as he makes a star chart with kisses. Well and truly deep inside Byleth now, he begins to thrust in earnest. The whole of Byleth’s body shudders at the sensation, his face pressing into the blanket.
He holds his whole body so tightly, afraid to let himself move. Yuri runs a hand over Byleth’s back, up and down his spine. A hand wraps around his waist. The other at his chest, hand splaying over his ribs. Yuri pulls Byleth up and back, against him. Byleth’s legs curl around his, toes pressing into the floor, his head resting back against Yuri’s shoulder. Skin slaps against skin thanks to Yuri’s tight thrusts, touch moving over Byleth’s belly, wrapping around his cock yet again. His other hand moves upwards, over the goblet of Byleth’s throat.
Warmth presses against warmth as Yuri hugs Byleth close, and he’s able to feel every single one of Yuri’s thrusts, the way his body rolls with the rhythm. Yuri pulls him into it, and Byleth begins to meet his thrusts, pushing his hips backwards into him. Yuri breathes by his ear, labored and hot. Byleth’s hand now wraps around his wrist, pulls Yuri’s hand away. He allows himself to fall forward, pushing away from Yuri, twisting until he lies back on the ground, the blanket underneath his head. Yuri stretches out over him, a hand moving to Byleth’s face.
“Does it hurt?” Yuri asks as his thumb wipes away the tears which roll down Byleth’s face, “should we stop?” Byleth reaches up, brushes the hair away from Yuri’s face. He bends his legs, lifts them, and wraps them around Yuri, locking his ankles together behind him.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he says, “don’t stop.” Yuri leans down, his lips gently pressing against his, the kiss tasting of tears. Byleth groans as Yuri finds his entrance once again, pushes back inside. Yuri wraps an arm around Byleth’s waist, where he arches his back. His other elbow is planted by Byleth’s head, a steadying force as he finds the rhythm once again. Byleth reaches up, embraces him, a hand slipping into Yuri’s hair, pressing against the back of his head. He pulls Yuri down to him. “Put more of your weight on me.”
Yuri’s knees slip, his elbow moves, resting a bit more of his weight against Byleth as he fucks him. Byleth is a mess of tears and trembling, but the hug he keeps is sure and steady. “Heavier,” he says, pressing his heels against Yuri’s back, “all of it.” Yuri has his face buried in the crook of Byleth’s neck, unable to stop his hips from moving. He lets all his weight rest against Byleth. Byleth embraces him tightly, warmly, clenching all around him. Byleth resolves to carry this person, always. Him, and all of Yuri’s lofty goals and dreams. Once the war is over, he’d see them done.
Yuri only sees glimpses of Byleth through the haze of combat. He, Edelgard and their troops make up the tip of their formation, a spear which punches through Dimitri’s defensive lines. Yuri stays close. It’s hardly over before the next one is planned. Before the day is done, they will march on Fhirdiad. They chase Rhea back to the city. As the rain begins to fall, they descend upon a capital in flames. It’s easier to focus on what comes next. The immediate next step. For Yuri, it’s one enemy to the other. Avoiding a burning building, marching through an unscathed ally.
Rhea is waiting for them at the city center. As Yuri spies the gleaming white head of the Immaculate One towering over buildings, he’s filled with a sick sense of dread. The last time he saw that thing, Byleth was gone for five years. Breaking formation, Yuri heads off towards it in a dead sprint. He pushes away the aches and pains of battle, the fatigue which permeates every muscle. He doesn’t stop even as he hears the distinctive rattle of the Creator Sword, the scream of Rhea’s dying cry. He pushes himself to go faster, but even then – he arrives in time to watch the sword slip from Byleth’s hands.
He’d fainted before. Yuri had even carried him back to Garreg Mach from the field, studying his newly changed green hair all the while. Then, there was some warning. A wobble, before the fall. Here, Byleth drops like a stone. Edelgard cries out, dashes towards him, and manages to catch him just in time. Yuri watches this from a distance, walks forward unsteadily as Edelgard holds Byleth in her arms, presses her head against his chest. “Give him to me.” It’s a hoarse whisper from far away, but Yuri is still walking towards them. “Give him to me!” Louder this time, and Edelgard looks up, the tears shining in her eyes.
“Yuri,” she says. She opens her mouth to say something else but –
“Give him to me,” Yuri says, voice raised, the panic ringing loud and clear. He drops to his knees opposite Edelgard, his arms open wide. Carefully, gently, Edelgard places Byleth’s body in Yuri’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Yuri has a hand at the nape of Byleth’s neck. He slowly lays him down over the cobblestone, and then Yuri puts his other hand at Byleth’s chest. He’s done this a thousand times before. He pours white magic into his body, and searches for the wound to heal. He searches, and searches, finds no injury to fix. Still, he pours out his last reserves, exhausts every last bit of energy. “You’re fine,” Yuri is telling him, “there’s nothing wrong, so you can wake up.”
“Yuri.” Fhirdiad burns around them. There will be naught but rubble soon. Ignoring Edelgard calling out to him, Yuri instead pulls Byleth’s body into his arms. His head rests lifelessly against Yuri’s shoulder, his arms limp against the ground. Yuri’s eyes are wide, unable to stop from shaking. He’s known loss. He was born in it. Somehow, this one hurts more than all the others combined. He can feel his own heartbeat pound in his ears, a drum which beats mercilessly, echoes, and his newfound emptiness wracks him utterly.
He had promised. Yuri should have told him last night how he wanted to have breakfast with him. Not just that breakfast, but many breakfasts. All of them. He wanted eggs, bacon, and Byleth’s hair bright in the morning sun. He doesn’t want a name. He doesn’t want a name in a notebook, because Byleth had promised. “Yuri, his hair –” This time, when Edelgard speaks, Yuri listens. He loosens his grasp just a touch, enough to see Byleth through a watery gaze. He’d forgotten how blue Byleth’s hair looked before. It spreads now, chasing every drop of green.
Yuri bends over, presses his head against Byleth’s chest. He holds his breath, banishes every single other sound. He nearly drops him at the sound of a heartbeat, loud and true, beating inside of Byleth’s ribcage. Byleth’s eyes slowly open, blue once again. Wildly looking everywhere, at first, his gaze finally settles on Yuri, his sight coming into focus on him. The smile breaks wide and free across Byleth’s face, encompassing him completely, impossibly dazzling. “Yuri-bird,” Byleth says, reaching up to touch Yuri’s cheek.
They had come upon them almost by accident, hardly able to see them underneath the downpour. Edelgard is shouting something, but it’s barely audible, covered by the deep crack of thunder. She points forward, rain clinging to her lashes. Two dark figures, in the grass, by the abandoned building. It’s only when they get closer, do they see what’s going on. Byleth, on his knees, cradling Jeralt’s body in his arms. His head rests against his son’s chest. Edelgard is yelling something again. It’s background static to the look on Byleth’s face.
Yuri goes down to his knees at the other side of him, reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll help you carry him back,” he says, unsure if Byleth even hears him. The rain has made a river of his temples, dripping from his bangs, falling onto his cheeks. It’s clearer, here, in front of him. Whoever said the Ashen Demon had no emotions was sorely mistaken. Grief echoes clearly behind a blank stare, an stretch of loss, of continuing to lose. Byleth looks at him blankly, but allows Yuri to slip an arm underneath Jeralt.
The walk back to Garreg Mach is a hazy blur. A rush of knights and concern, of Jeralt’s body being placed on a stretcher and Byleth being dragged away. Dripping wet in the main hall with the rest of the students, Yuri watches Byleth walk away with Rhea. At the top of the steps, Byleth pauses, looks over his shoulder, his gaze finding Yuri for the briefest of moments. Then Rhea is putting her hand at the small of his back, and they disappear together. The line of Edelgard’s mouth is thin, her arms crossed. Yuri suspects it’s not just Jeralt’s death she’s angry about.
Their classes are officially on hold while things are settled. The whisper of beasts on Church grounds begins to make its way from student to student. In Abyss, sitting in one of the small chairs, his upper half stretched out over a desk, Yuri turns a chess piece over and over in his hand. He rests his chin against his arm, which is bent underneath him against the desk. He watches the knight spin, in that hand he dangles over the edge. That night, he walks with a candle down a narrow corridor. He leaves it beside the ladder, climbs up into Garreg Mach proper.
He always knew this corridor existed. One of the many passageways in Abyss. It comes out right beside the dormitories, but specifically right beside Byleth’s room. The moon shines brightly overhead, easily illuminating Yuri’s path to Byleth’s door. He tilts his head at the lock, before bending down and getting to work. If only people knew how little locks stop a determined thief. Yuri isn’t here for theft, however. Instead he slips into Byleth’s room, finds it dark.
The candle on the table has burned low, and needs to be replaced. The wick is a pathetic stub of a thing. Byleth’s bed is flush against the corner, and just barely, Yuri can see a fan of Byleth’s dark hair against his pillow. He’s a lump, facing the wall, but it doesn’t deter Yuri. He kicks off his shoes as he slips into Byleth’s bed, and presses himself up against Byleth’s back. Their relationship is a tentatively growing thing, a seed newly planted. It was all harmless flirting at first, of course, made into something more solid by their secret time shared in the Goddess Tower.
Byleth’s breathing is even, apparently untroubled. Yuri presses his forehead against the first bump of Byleth’s spine, easily felt underneath his thin shirt. “Jeralt raised you, yeah?” At that, Byleth’s breathing hitches. “He was all you had… You must be feeling a lot right now.” Yuri had practiced different words to say, going through sympathy after sympathy. Those words didn’t feel right. “When a parent dies, it really leaves a mark. So feel what you need to, no matter how that looks.” The lost look on Byleth’s face is still etched into Yuri’s mind.
When Byleth turns over to face Yuri, it’s a different face altogether. The tears are few but full, spilling over Byleth’s lashes, running down the side of his face. There’s pain there, as well, as if he’d suffered a physical, mortal, blow. Yuri curls himself closer, winding their legs together. He brushes back Byleth’s stray locks from his face. “Jeralt taught you well. You’ll keep fighting forward, even through the hardest times.” Yuri then opens his arms wide, puts the choice in Byleth’s hands. He accepts, moving into the embrace, safety in the way Yuri’s arms are tight around him.
Yuri doesn’t mean to stay. He had been planning on going back to Abyss for the night. His eyes creak open at the sound of birds chirping just outside, sunlight flooding in through the window. It’s unpleasantly blinding, and Yuri squints away from it, right into the sight of Byleth sleeping peacefully in his arms. Well. A little more sleep wouldn’t hurt anyone. Yuri closes his eyes, and nestles back in.
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They struggle against the beasts summoned against them. Solon, whoever he is, stands smiling at the back, his hands clasped behind his back. Solon had crowed his victory, utterly confident in having consigned Byleth to a fate worse than death. An existence, filled with nothing, lost in the dark. Sweat beads against his forehead, damp at his back. His sword stabs the soft part of flesh between two scales, and he twists the blade. Yuri steps back in time as the beast flails, screams out, blood pouring from its wound.
Edelgard goes to Constance’s aid, standing as a shield before her. Hubert and Ferdinand work in tandem to drive another beast back. He can hear Balthus and Caspar screaming their way across the field, attracting as much attention to themselves as possible. Linhardt’s magic is ever present, a prickling sensation at the nape of his neck, doing his best to keep them all from mortal harm. Yuri knows that they only have so much to give. And what they have, is running out. Even if they manage to defeat all the beasts, they don’t know what other tricks Solon has yet to play.
The beasts stop suddenly, turn their heads towards something the others can’t see. A sense, some great fear washes over them. The hair on Yuri’s arms, the back of his neck, stands up. Electricity seems to warp around the field, the air shuddering with cold. Breath fogs around their faces as the point of a sword seems to cut into the horizon itself. It tears through reality, cuts downwards. Sickly light from another star seeps from the wound, until it is blurred by a shadowed figure.
Byleth steps through the portal he has created. Pale green hair now moves around his face, his eyes no longer darkly blue. He is changed, and the sword in his hand glows, pulses with power. Byleth’s re-entry onto the battlefield is a catalyst. He charges at Solon himself, dipping around the monstrosities in his way. It gives the others renewed strength to charge forward. They take care of the beasts. Byleth takes care of Solon.
Yuri wanders around the large, unearthly bodies, searching for a certain someone. He’s already talking to Edelgard, but Yuri doesn’t worry about it and makes his way towards him. “That hair… and those eyes… You remind me of someone,” Edelgard says. Byleth reaches up, pinches his bangs between his fingers, then sighs as his hand drops back down to his side. “What happened to you?”
“The goddess gifted me her power,” Byleth tells her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
“The Goddess,” Edelgard’s eyes are wide open, shock and surprise rolling over her face in equal measure, “I see… Well, I’m happy for you. Your weapon is called the Sword of the Creator, after all. It’s no wonder she looks favorably upon you. Just as she did Saint Seiros, I suppose.” As she speaks, Yuri moves to stand beside her, smiling easy at Byleth as he studies him up and down. “I’ll see you back at the monastery professor.” She nods politely at Yuri as she moves past him.
“You’re still the same person, unless something else has changed?” Yuri asks. Byleth looks at him for a moment, with a thoughtful tilt of his head.
“I’m more talkative now,” Byleth says at last, in a low, hoarse voice. Yuri chuckles, taken off guard.
“Well, that’s cute. Glad you’re able to joke around, at least. Makes me less concerned about you. Well, whatever the case, I still like you just the same as I always have,” Yuri says, reaching out to put his hand on Byleth’s shoulder. He resists the urge to touch his newly colored hair. Byleth looks away shyly, the barest hint of color coming into Byleth’s cheeks. It’s from the hand on the shoulder that Yuri first feels the wobble. “Woah, are you okay?” Byleth begins to blink quickly as he sways on his feet, and Yuri puts his other hand at his waist, holds him steady.
Then, Byleth’s eyes close completely and he tips forward, limp in Yuri’s arms. “Hey? Hey! Are you –” Byleth’s face is slumped against Yuri’s shoulder. He’s breathing completely even, as if he’d simply fallen asleep. “I suppose I can’t just leave you here,” Yuri mutters to himself as he hefts Byleth up into his arms, as if he were a princess. His head rolls against Yuri’s chest. He’s heavy but… as Yuri carries him back, Byleth tight in his arms, he looks down. Pale green wisps of hair contrast against Byleth’s long, dark lashes. Yuri smiles. He’s heavy, yes, but it’s not an entirely unpleasant duty to be stuck with. Byleth will owe him. Yuri wonders what he should ask for.
“Can you please stay still for once in your life,” Yuri says, as Byleth’s hands continue to roam at the small of his back. “It’s impossible to get your eyes right like this.” He keeps his eyes closed, as promised, feeling Yuri’s brush move across his eyelid. He feels colored pigment fall against his cheek, the swift touch of Yuri’s hand, his thumb wiping them away. Byleth takes advantage, quickly turns his head to press a kiss against the warm center of his palm. He savors the sound of Yuri’s low laughter.
“I said stay still,” he says as pinches some of Byleth’s bangs and gives them a small tug. Byleth makes a show of some unruly silent huff, lets his shoulders fall and his hands settle on Yuri’s hips. Byleth’s ass is firmly planted on the floor, his knees bent, and a leg on either side of Yuri. For his part, he kneels in front of him, wearing a tunic he’s borrowed from him. If his eyes were open, he’d see that it’s much too large for Yuri’s frame, and one shoulder is steadily slipping off.
That hand is back at his cheek again, and Yuri is leaning back to scrutinize his work. Chewing at the rounded end of the brush, the different pigments on the small table beside them, and Byleth opens his eyes to look up at him. “I was right,” he says as he lets himself fall forward, Byleth wrapping his arms around his waist to catch him, “purple does look best on you.” Forehead pressed against forehead, strands of purple hair winding with green, and they smile at each other.
He sits on one of the small desks, in this so-called classroom, one leg crossed over the other and dangling free. Hunched over, his elbow rests on his knee, and his chin is propped up against his knuckled fist. His free hand moves over the letters someone had carved into the wood. Perched from where he is, just behind him, to his left, Yuri is easily able to follow the chalk in Byleth’s hand. It’s actually somewhat impressive how he always manages to write completely straight, undeterred by the lack of guiding lines on the board. His script is neat and flowing, easily legible. There’s a mesmerizing quality to each deliberate stroke, the way his letters come together. Byleth pauses, and the chalk does as well, hovering mere millimeters away from the board.
He looks to the left, slightly, at the book open in his other hand. Yuri’s eyes move from the words to the profile of Byleth’s face; pale green hair falling over brighter green eyes. His gaze moves to the round neckline of the tan short sleeve shirt, billowed and overlarge, tucked into tight, dark, high-waisted trousers. It’s rather a treat. One could be forgiven for not noticing exactly how much leg Byleth is. His usual uniform does him no favors. His frame is not without width, but it’s a natural and easy strength. His wrists are slender and gorgeous, and there’s a small birthmark on his collarbone. All these things that hardly anyone gets to see, but here he stands. Of all places, in Abyss, preparing the morning lesson for the children.
And there, Yuri sits, and studies him.
“You’re down here so often, someone might get the impression that you actually love Abyss,” Yuri says, jaw pushing against his fist with each word. Byleth’s eyes immediately move from the page, to him, and he closes the book, slides it onto the desk closest to him. He steps out of Yuri’s way, so he can see the entirety of the board. As he writes, flecks of chalk fall steadily downward, worn down by Byleth’s writing.
I do love Abyss. He writes it as neatly as all the rest, and underlines do. Then, he steps back, looks at Yuri, and taps the chalk against the board to ensure he reads it. Yuri tilts his head slightly, and smiles acknowledgement.
“Or maybe you’re coming here for a different reason?” Easily, Yuri slips from his perch. He walks forward towards him, and plucks the chalk from his grasp. He begins to turn it over and over again, pinched between his finger and his thumb, as he looks up at Byleth. Still turning the chalk, he raises his hand to touch the knuckle of his index finger against his bottom lip. “Perhaps it’s not teaching, or Abyss that you love. Maybe you love me instead?” Byleth, ever silent, simply blinks at his question.
If he weren’t so close, he might never have seen it. That barely perceivable knot between Byleth’s brows, hidden behind choppy cut bangs. Without realizing, Yuri holds his breath, as though the very act of it might drown out the sound of Byleth’s words. Instead, Byleth steals the chalk back from him. Yuri bites back the sigh of disappointment, and as he watches the first stroke, some strange fear seizes him. His hand shoots out faster than he means it to, wrapping around Byleth’s wrist, stopping him. “I changed my mind. That’s not a question I think I want answered right now,” he says, that perfectly acted smile still gracing his lips.
Yuri pulls Byleth’s hand towards him, and sets the chalk aside. He turns their hands so that, and keeps hold of his wrist. With his other hand, he lets lazy fingertips drift touch over the intersecting lines of Byleth’s palm. “I think half the reason the kids come to your lessons, and pay attention as well as you do, is that they’re waiting to hear you speak,” he says. His gaze flicks from his palm to his face, and Yuri looks at him through dark lashes, his own lavender locks a nuisance at his temple. It’s impossible to tell what he might be thinking, impossible to tell what he wants.
It’s easier than he expected. Yuri swipes a leg out from under him, turns Byleth’s hand, his arm. Still holding his arm, he pushes him over a desk. “No? Nothing yet?” Byleth, bent over the desk, wisps of hair swirling around his head, looks at him over his shoulder, and shrugs. Yuri looks left and right, spots a coil of rope within reaching distance. One of the perks of Abyss: everything’s a scrapheap. Keeping Byleth pinned, although he isn’t exactly fighting, Yuri ties his hands together behind his back. Around and around his wrists, not loose but not so tight that it hurts him. Just enough to leave a mark if he struggles. Standing on his toes, Yuri puts a hand on the flat of Byleth’s back, and leans over to whisper by his ear. “I’ll let you go if you tell me something nice.”
Byleth straightens up and stands with surprising ease, so much so that Yuri takes a few steps back. Byleth follows, keeps the distance between them minimal, until the back of Yuri’s thighs bump against a desk. Stiff but for a moment, he lets his shoulders fall as he eases himself to lean against the desk, his fingers curling around the edges of it. He smirks up at him. “Are you trying to frighten me into letting you go?” Byleth shakes his head. “Then? You know the terms,” he says. Yuri’s eyes widen as Byleth leans forward, down slightly, and he thinks his lips might be heading for his – until they move past him, by his ear.
The seconds seem to drag into hours as Byleth draws near. Yuri can hear the steady sound of his breathing, feel the very life of him. His breath hitches when he hears Byleth lick his lips, take a heavy inhale. He expects words. Byleth’s tongue flicks out, finds skin, teeth biting gently against his lobe. A harder bite, a slight tug. A softer nibble once again. Another flick of his tongue, and he traces his way back up the shell of his ear. A cool exhale and it’s enough for gooseflesh to appear, the hairs on his arms rising. One of Yuri’s hands moves from the desk to rest against Byleth’s chest, and this time when Byleth moves, his lips find their proper partner.
They both seek the upper hand here. Yuri drags his tongue against Byleth’s lips as he wraps his fist in his shirt. He pulls his bottom lip between his own teeth, forces Byleth to open his mouth to him. Byleth is forceful in return, savoring the sweetness of Yuri’s lipstick. He pushes it further, wedges a leg between Yuri’s. He places a small amount of pressure against him with his thigh as he ensures there’s hardly any space between them. Yuri’s kept his eyes closed, but opens them now, finds Byleth already looking at him. There’s an unexpected hunger in his eyes, so much so that a small tremor runs down Yuri’s spine.
“What a shame you’re all tied up,” Yuri says breathlessly, between kisses, “I wouldn’t mind being touched right now.” The only acknowledgement is Byleth’s tongue in his mouth, sucking at his lip. That leg presses harder, rubs against him slightly. His head turns, their noses bump against each other as they re-adjust, and there’s an insistence to the way Byleth’s tongue moves. As though it isn’t enough. Hazy, Yuri looks at Byleth, watches him through half-lidded eyes. His hand moves to his shoulder as Byleth’s kiss slips to the edge of his mouth, to his cheek, back to his ear.
“I don’t need my hands for that,” Byleth says, “Yuri-bird.” Yuri’s eyes widen, his face immediately flushing a deep shade of red, a full body shiver running through him. His mouth is right by his ear. His voice is low, hoarse, unused. Deep, whispered, barely audible and yet the words ring and echo inside of Yuri. Byleth’s eyes never leave his as he goes to his knees, looks up at Yuri, hands still tied behind his back. His nose finds the edge of Yuri’s tunic, moves it up, until he finds the soft flesh of his belly. He licks just below his navel, at the soft wisps of hair which he follows downwards.
Yuri’s hands once again wrap around the edge of the desk, fingertips pressing hard against the wood enough that his knuckles turn white. Byleth is still looking up at him, making sure he’s watching. His teeth tug against the edge of his trousers, his tongue pressing against the button until it pops free. Still biting at the lip of his trousers, he pulls them back, down, and then moves forward once again. Byleth breathes against the cotton of his undergarments, against where Yuri’s cock strains. He had been half hard while they were kissing, but the sound of his voice made him instantly stiffen, ready, wanting just as much as Byleth.
Yuri resists the urge to shift his hips forward as Byleth presses his face against his cock. He drags his tongue along the fabric, against him, sucking slightly at the tip. Then he’s moving again, up, to the hem of his undergarments. The flash of teeth, dragging them downwards, over his cock, until it’s finally freed. Byleth leans back where he kneels, looking at it, up at him, and opens his mouth. His tongue is resting against his bottom lip, and that’s what finds him first. Yuri groans at that first lick against the underside of his cock, all the way from base to tip. At the head of him, Byleth swallows him whole.
Yuri’s unable to stop the guttural groan from escaping him. His carefully positioned posture breaks so that he leans over Byleth, one hand now grasping at the back of his head. His hand fumbles until he finds a fistful of Byleth’s hair. Byleth’s nose once again presses against that space underneath his naval, the sound of him sucking at his cock vulgar and satisfying. It’s not that he hasn’t been fucked before, or that he hasn’t fucked, but when it’s with him, it’s different. Everything feels brighter, closer, the whole of his body prickling with pleasure.
Byleth begins to move his head back and forth, his cheeks hollow, and his tongue never once settling. He presses pressure against the sensitive spot at the underside of his head, then swirls around him. Byleth savors that first taste of sweetness, salty stickiness which begins to leak freely from his cock. Yuri’s hand squeezes in his hair, the other coming to rest at his shoulder. His face is flushed a deep red, his mouth open and panting, eyes wet as though on the brink of tears. Yuri’s unable to stop his hips from rocking, from meeting him, from fucking into his mouth.
Yuri nearly falters when he feels a touch at the v-line of his hip. Byleth’s thumb runs over the curve of it, his other hand moving up his leg. The rope lies undone over his legs. That hand on his hip is a bruising touch, moving upwards, underneath his shirt. It rises steadily over the curve of him, back down again. “By-” He’s barely able to open his eyes, barely able to focus enough to get the words out, “Byleth, I’m going to come–” Byleth moves his head back, the length of him moving from his throat, until his lips kiss the tip of his cock.
He catches Yuri’s eyes, keeps his gaze. “Please do,” he says, in a voice so low Yuri’s barely able to hear him, “I won’t spill a drop,” but hear him he does. His cock twitches at the sound of his words, until Byleth is wrapping his tongue around his head, taking him deep once again. Byleth holds him steady, one hand at the back of his thigh, and the other arm around his waist. He takes him in completely, nose brushing against belly, breath warm against skin. Yuri’s hands tighten in Byleth’s hair as he unravels, spills himself, feeling the contractions of Byleth’s throat as he swallows all he has to offer without hesitation.
Yuri’s legs half wobble, the entirety of his body dizzy with realized desire. The flush sits deep in his cheeks, flourishes at the back of his neck. He watches as Byleth swipes at the side of his mouth, then leans forward once again. His shirt is still lifted, his trousers still open and undergarments lowered. At the spot where his legs meet his hips, where soft lilac curls end, Byleth kisses smooth flesh. Then, he seals his mouth against him, sucks slightly. He comes away with a pop, leaves a love mark. Before he stands, Byleth rights his undergarments, and does the button up on his trousers.
The shirt however, he leaves. Greedy, slipping touch underneath it, fingertips finding the prickles of sweat on Yuri’s back. He leans down some to touch his forehead against Yuri’s, biting his bottom lip as he does. What a change in him. From that, to this, and if Byleth had a tail, Yuri is sure it would be wagging right now. A good boy, begging to be praised. Yuri reaches up, a hand against his cheek. Byleth closes his eyes, leans into the touch. “You are something else, you know that?” Yuri says, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. He watches Byleth’s eyes slowly open again, a certain softness in the green. He feels his heart skip a beat as the smile spreads warm across Byleth’s face.
