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Felix has Sylvain’s shirt off and is mouthing enthusiastically at his neck when Sylvain realizes he still knows what’s going on. “Felix,” he says softly, running his hand down Felix’s arm. “Felix, stop.”
Felix pulls away immediately, his hair mused from the (very good) work he’s been doing. “What’s wrong?”
Sylvain laces his fingers through Felix’s. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then why did you tell me to stop?”
Sylvain loves him so much that he’s going to choke to death on it. He’s going to love Felix for the rest of his life, he’s sure of it. Years later when no one remembers any of the details about them, they’ll still tell tales of a stupid redhead who loved his best friend more than anyone had ever loved anything. He squeezes Felix’s hand and leans forward, kissing him softly on the lips. There’s none of the intent from earlier behind it, although Sylvain is still half-hard from Felix’s ministrations. “I know what I’m doing,” he says softly, wondrously.
Felix arches an eyebrow. “I’ve been led to believe you normally do in these sorts of situations.”
Sylvain laughs at that, leaning forward to kiss Felix again. “I forget sometimes.”
“You forget?”
Sylvain pushes himself into Felix’s lap, releasing his hand with a squeeze and looping his arms around Felix’s neck. He’s going to be annoyed with him after Sylvain tells him what he’s thinking; he should at least try to soften the blow a little. “Sometimes when I’m having sex I just, forget what I’m doing, or where I am. I lose track of time, you know?”
Felix’s hands, which had come to rest lightly on his hips, dig sharply into his flesh. “No, I don’t know. What the fuck are you talking about?”
Sylvain had known he was going to be like this. He shouldn’t have told him. “It’s like I forget that I’m me,” he says after a moment, looking down at Felix’s shoulder so he doesn’t have to see the expression on his face. “I forget who I’m with, and where I am, and I don’t remember what happened afterwards. It’s like I’m not the one controlling my body. There’s hours where I have no idea what I did."
“What the fuck,” Felix says again.
This conversation is decidedly unsexy - Sylvain really shouldn’t have brought this up. He was hoping to end this night more productively, with Felix’s dick in his mouth, a couple marks on his chest, and some very tangible ways of proving to Felix just how much he means to him. Felix had been all worked up before he’d gone and killed the mood. “It doesn’t always happen,” Sylvain says instead. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Felix closes his eyes and it’s a testament to how much the war has worn them all down, that he doesn’t immediately snarl at Sylvain for being so stupid. “If that ever happens when you’re with me, you’re going to tell me to stop.” He says, his voice acidic. If Sylvain didn’t know Felix better he’d think he was angry with him, but if Felix was angry with him he would’ve stormed off by now. No, he’s worried, and that’s far worse. That implies a level of affection and concern that he doesn’t want to put Felix through. He doesn’t deserve the burden of loving Sylvain Gautier.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvain says. He still hasn’t looked at Felix. He can’t. Felix is already so miserable, and he can’t even make him feel good without bringing every good thing they’d had going on crashing down around them.
Felix sighs, and the sound is so frustrated and angry that it makes Sylvain’s chest ache. “Yes it fucking does.” He takes one of his hands off of Sylvain’s hips and brings it up to his face, grabbing his jaw and forcing Sylvain to make eye contact with him. “If you forget what’s going on when we’re having sex, you’re going to tell me. I don’t care what’s going on. I don’t care if I’m inside you and about to have the best orgasm of my life, you’re going to tell me that you don’t know where you are and I’m going to stop and I’m going to hold you until you’re you again.”
The sincerity in his eyes is killing him, and the thought of Felix holding him, of not leaving after Sylvain admits to this failing brings tears to his eyes. He blinks them away angrily, but it’s impossible to not feel touched when faced with sentimentality from Felix, of all people. He can’t even do this one fucking thing right. Felix deserves someone who’ll make him feel so good it drives out every shitty thought he’s ever had, not whatever Sylvain has to offer. “Whatever you say,” Sylvain says, trying (and failing) to not lean into the hand on his jaw.
“I mean it,” Felix snaps. “This isn’t about me. You deserve to feel good too.”
More than anything else Felix has said so far, that simple phrase breaks Sylvain. He wraps his arms more fully around Felix and drops his head to the crook of his neck, burying his face in the junction of his shoulder. “Okay,” he says into the skin there. “Okay.”
Felix is still for a moment, then he slides an arm around Sylvain, holding him gently. He wrenches his other hand free from the awkward angle it had been stuck at, then brings it up to stroke through Sylvain’s hair. Sylvain shoves head more firmly into Felix’s neck, nosing at the skin there. “I love you,” he whispers, and he shouldn’t say it, it’s too soon, but if he doesn’t tell Felix he thinks he’ll die.
Felix’s hand in his hair doesn’t falter, and he traces circles gently on Sylvain’s back. “I know,” he says, sounding the same way he does when he’s so tired from training that he can hardly stand. “Now shut up and let me hold you.”
And so Sylvain, relaxing even more into Felix’s arms, does.