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After the war, Dimitri wore new regalia.
It began with a cloak. When they left Enbarr, they returned to Garreg Mach, where Dimitri began to sort out the government of a much larger nation than he had ever expected to inherit. They spent the fall there, and Dimitri was crowned in the cathedral on his birthday in the formal Blaiddyd armor and a new cloak made of Lochin wool dyed and embroidered by artisans of Edogaria and lined with Faerghan ermine. His cloak from the war was stained and threadbare at the shoulders, and the Oghma wolverine pelt was far too rugged to be formal enough for a coronation.
The cloak was appropriate upon his return to Fhirdiad, where it was brutally cold in Guardian Moon. Underneath a cloak, his father had worn the formal Blaiddyd armor for court and formal events, but Dimitri wasn't sure he wanted to present himself as a warrior king, at least to the point of wearing full metal plate every day. Besides, the metal grew freezing cold and chilled him to the bone even while wearing quilted arming undergarments underneath and the cloak on top. He was much colder than he'd ever been in the hard leather armor he'd worn during the war.
It's the weight of the country on your back, his father whispered in his ear. You have a duty no one else does.
His father wasn't wrong, but Dimitri was well aware that weight only came because he had the privilege to be born a prince. Outside of the knights, most of his classmates had set aside armor, and Dimitri felt it appropriate that the king did as well. There were some things he would rather leave in the past.
Creating new regalia for a king was a squabbling affair. Dimitri may have been the king but he was no sartorialist, so he sought advice from the former Blue Lions and his other advisors. He regretted asking so many people almost immediately, because everyone had an opinion and some had more than one. Regardless, by the beginning of Pegasus Moon, Dimitri had new regalia to match his new cloak: an undyed wool tabard emblazoned with the Blaiddyd Crest across his chest, black hose and braies, a black tunic with snug sleeves that laced to just below his elbows, where they met a light pair of gauntlets, leather palms with scale armor that covered his knuckles and the outsides of his forearms and laced across his inner arms with wide leather straps, and the greaves matched. There was a leather-lined gorget and a collarbone protector that pauldrons in place, and a wide, heavy leather armored belt that laced in the back, similar to the former Professor's, decorated with a blue woven silk belt that held a centered ornament of an antlered griffin, the symbol of the newly united Fódlan.
It had been somewhat inevitable that he had not managed to avoid armor entirely, but the ensemble was largely comfortable and the metal pieces had been thoughtfully lined with leather and did not clank together too much. He could wear woollen or fur-lined tunics and hose in cold weather, warmed further by his new cloak, and he could adjust his undergarments for warmer conditions as well. He even rather liked it, though he usually wore enough black to clothe an entire funeral, or so Felix told him once.
The problem with it became clear when he tried to dress himself for court the first time. At the tailor's, he had assistance dressing. His valet had asked if he would need help, and Dimitri had said no. The regalia was not full plate armor, and Dimitri's hard battered leather armor from the war was more complex than the few armor pieces he was to wear. He got the gorget and pauldrons on easily enough—they toggled to the arming points at the shoulders of his tunic. He pinned the tabard over the pauldrons with decorative brooches, and then eyed the rest of the regalia.
He hadn't considered laces. Pulling things without snapping them was difficult for him, and laces were a challenge. The greaves, pulled on and tightened at the back with thick leather criss-crossed straps, were manageable, though Dimitri was very delicate putting them on. He was probably expected to tighten and loosen the laces of his tunic sleeves every time he put it on and off, but instead he squeezed his hand through and hoped he didn't rip the sleeve. But the armored belt laced up behind him, where he couldn't watch, and each gauntlets could only be put on with one hand.
He looked down at his scarred, bare hands, and then the armored belt, which laced on one side of his back and then doubled over to lace on the other side as well, protecting his kidneys. He should put the belt on first, before his clumsy hands were made still more careless with the gauntlets. He wrapped the belt around himself, and reached for the leather thong to lace it in place. He laced it loosely in front of him, and then twisted the belt around so the placket was in the back, adjusting the tabard beneath it. He pulled the first set of laces, and winced, preparing for the thong to snap.
It didn't. Dimitri pulled the thong tighter carefully, but halfway up the belt, his left hand, still not quite healed from Edelgard's knife, spasmed. His fingers slipped against the laces. He tugged too hard, and the thong snapped at an eyelet. He would have to relace the entire thing with a new thong.
He swore, yanking at the laces until the thong had snapped in so many places that the belt loosened enough to slide it down his hips and off entirely. Hopelessness overcame him. He didn't regret getting new regalia, and could not imagine putting the armor on every day, but his path forward had stopped. He had barely laced up one side of the belt. His left hand was cramping and his right was trembling with nerves. He was supposed to present himself to a court, to a country, and he was no man to be king. He only knew war.
He pulled the tabard off, and then the pauldrons and gorget. There was sweat on his forehead from the strain of keeping his hands in place and gentle. It was chilly in the room, and he suddenly felt very vulnerable, standing half-dressed in his own chambers with the shutters closed and curtains drawn. He crossed his arms over his chest.
There was a knock at the door to his chambers. "Your Majesty," Felix said on the other side of the oak, and Dimitri froze.
"Felix," he said faintly, thoughtlessly, and Felix must have heard something in his voice because the door swung open, Felix pushing past the guards and shutting the door behind him. He observed Dimitri, standing in the middle of the tempest he'd made of his regalia, with his hands on his hips.
"Court begins in a quarter of an hour," he said, voice sharp. "Why aren't you dressed?"
Dimtiri, too full of shame and anger and frustration to trust himself to respond, turned around, facing away from Felix.
"Fucksake," Felix said from behind him. "What's wrong now, boar?"
Dimtri stared down at his crossed arms. "I…" he began.
Felix waited, though Dimitri heard him take a step closer.
"I can't…I can't manage the laces," Dimitri said, so quietly he could barely hear himself. "My hands…" Clumsy, uncontrollable, their natural deficiencies made yet more deficient by a lack of sensation from burn scars and the nerve damage from where Edelgard stabbed him.
Felix was quiet for so long Dimitri wondered for a moment if he'd heard. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, Felix pivoted and began to walk to the door. Dimitri turned his head to watch him, confused.
Felix knocked on the inside of the door, and one of the guards opened it. "The king has been unfortunately delayed. Please inform his guests at court that he will be there in one hour." He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a seal. "Inform the kitchen staff to serve petitioners with the food intended for afternoon tea, by order of Duke Fraldarius." He pressed the seal into the guard's hand. "Thank you."
"Shall the courtiers be fed as well, Your Grace?" the guard said. Dimitri dropped his head, staring back down at his arms crossed across his body.
"They'll live," Felix said shortly. The door closed again. Dimitri did not look up as Felix's footsteps grew closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Felix bend down and pick up the tabard, thrusting the fabric into Dimitri's line of sight. "Come on, boar."
Dimitri stared at the tabard. He wondered what he must look like in such a thing. Mercedes and the tailor must have been laughing at him. What good was it to present himself as a peacetime king? He had never been meant for peace. Even so, putting the armor back on felt unfathomable. The people deserved more than war from their leaders. They deserved more than a madman who could not even—
"Come on," Felix said again.
"Felix," Dimitri said weakly. "Felix, I cannot—I will—"
"Whatever you're about to say, shut up," Felix said. "Come on. I'll help you." He leaned down again and picked up the chestguard and gorget, and handed it to Dimitri.
Dimitri took it. "Is it foolish of me?" he said quietly, fastening the armor over his throat. Felix toggled it to the arming points, tabard draped over one arm. He picked up a pauldron and affixed it to the chestguard, and then picked up the other one. "To think that I could…"
Felix waited for Dimitri to finish, but Dimitri didn't know how. Felix handed him the tabard and Dimitri pulled it on. He couldn't stop thinking about how hard it would be to get the blood out of the undyed wool, how it would stain the gold embroidery across the chest. "You're a fool," Felix said finally. "But not because you've changed the royal regalia." He checked the brooches holding the tabard over Dimitri's shoulders. "Gauntlets."
Dimitri picked up one and pulled it on. Felix took his wrist and turned his arm over, revealing the laces on the inner arms. His hand was very warm through the kid leather of the leather. Dimitri stared at where their hands met. Felix began to lace up the gauntlets."I will say that these are beyond useless," he grumbled. "Decorative pieces. If you can't bear to show you hands you may as well be wearing silk gloves." He shook his head. "I understand why you don't want to wear full plate armor, but you're barely protected like this."
Dimitri was breathless. Felix's hands were warm, his nails short and neat. The first two fingers of his right hand each had a little black line of dirt under the nail that Felix hadn't yet had the chance to wash away. Dimitri wondered what he'd been doing—probably clearing away the crust from the eyes of the mouser who prowled the Fraldarius apartments. Felix tightened each crisscross of lacing just so, and then his deft fingers made a tiny bow just on the inside of Dimitri's elbow.
"You'll have to let your valet do this for you before court," Felix said. "I know you prefer to dress yourself, but—"
You could do it, Dimitri wanted to say, and only barely stopped himself. Instead he said, "My valet would have to help me with armor, as well."
Felix's mouth twisted, but Dimitri was right. Unlike the hard leather armor he wore during the war, which he could put on by himself—albeit with a little contortion—metal plate armor required extra hands. He could not tie the arming points of his gambeson to the armor by himself. He simply didn't have the flexibility or enough hands to hold the armor in place and attach it.
"I do not wish to appear like a conquering king," Dimitri said, though technically he was one. "I want to extend a hand of peace, not a fist of force."
"What if force is the only way to get peace?"
Dimitri looked down at where Felix was lacing up his other gauntlet. The flashes of bare skin between the laces made him feel strangely naked. He thought about the trapped sensation, the inability to go back and the terror of going forward as he was. "I'll have to… find another way," he said, trying to not sound uncertain about it. Felix's warm, bare fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of his inner arm and he clamped his jaw shut so he wouldn't shudder. "I will not bring this continent to war again, Felix."
Felix's fingers jerked, surprised at Dimitri's tone. Dimitri didn't look up at his face, didn't want to see Felix's expression. "I was a warrior prince and now I am supposed to be a warrior king. But we are no longer at war. War has ripped this continent apart. There are mass graves at Myrddin, at Gronder, at Fort Merceus, all across Mach. I do not want to be a warrior king. How can I convince the people of that if I still feel I must wear full plate armor in court?"
Felix was silent. He tied the bow at Dimitri's elbow. Dimitri finally dared to look up at him. His jaw was clenched. He glared down at Dimitri's arm.
Finally he said, "Stand up and turn around. I'll help you with the belt."
The black leather belt had two sets of lacings so the leather overlapped in the back, providing a double layer across his spine and kidneys. It was decorative but also a piece of true protection, structured after Byleth's mercenary armor. Felix laced the first side silently, pulling the belt snug around Dimitri's waist. It felt secure, a comfortable compression. Felix pulled the panel across Dimitri's back and then pulled once more, and the compression intensified—not uncomfortable, not taking away his breath, but becoming more noticeable. He sucked in a breath.
"Too tight?" Felix said.
"It's fine," Dimitri said. He tried to make a joke. "Good for my posture."
"Sure," Felix said tightly, and took the long woven band that went around the belt. He handed Dimitri the silver antlered griffin ornament. "Hold this." He reached around Dimitri, pulling the tape around his waist and then laced the ornament on, centering it at the front of the belt before tying the band at its back.
Dimitri froze with the sensation of Felix's arms around him, Felix pressed against his back. "Oh, Felix, I could—"
"No one wants to go through a tape a day," Felix said irritably. He stepped back. Dimitri suddenly felt cold.
"Crown," Felix said, and went for its stand.
"No," Dimitri said. "My uncle wore a crown. Cornelia wore a crown. But my father did not. I won't."
Felix stepped back. "Fine," he said. "But Gilbert will yell at you for it, not me."
Dimitri smiled slightly. "I'll take the punishment," he said.
Felix, oddly, flushed. "We should hurry," he said. "We can't have you late after we postponed court."
"Ah," Dimitri said. "Of course we can't."
Felix shuffled a bit. "And after dinner I'll—I'll help you unlace everything."
"Felix, I'm sure my valet—"
"You don't want your valet to see," Felix said. "I'll do it."
Dimitri wasn't even sure he'd wanted Felix to see the scars on his hands and forearms, the burn scars below his collarbones hidden by the. But Felix was right about his valet, certainly. He was a kind man, but Dimitri grew up in the castle. He knew how gossip worked. "Felix—"
"I'll help you."
"I couldn't possibly ask—"
"Which is why I'm offering."
Dimitri swallowed. "Then…I accept," he said. "Thank you, Felix."
Felix looked at him, not quite making eye contact. Maybe he was staring at one of Dimitri's cheekbones. Dimitri looked away first. "Shall we?"
Felix strode past him and opened the door. Dimitri took a breath, feeling his lungs expand against the belt, and something in his lower abdomen twisted. It wasn't a bad sensation, but the heat flooding him didn't feel appropriate for court, or public, or in the careful box he had built around his feelings for Felix. He took another breath. Despite the hot twisting, the compression was comforting, like Felix still had his arms around him, fastening the cord to the Blaiddyd ornament at the front of the belt.
He smiled at Felix, thought it felt weak, and walked out of the room.
✺
After court and dining in the great hall, Dimitri walked back to his quarters. He couldn't stop wringing his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the smooth leather of the gauntlets. He couldn't stop chewing on his lower lip.
He didn't have a sense of how it had gone. No one had said anything directly—no one would dare speak of the king's sartorial choices at court. The nobles of Faerghus had been clearly startled, or perhaps displeased, but Dimitri wasn't sure which. The commoner petitioners had been—confused, mostly, it seemed. One woman who eventually announced herself as from near Fort Merceus relaxed noticeably when she saw him, though Dimitri could not discern why. Perhaps she simply thought he was an easier target in less armor, though neither she nor anyone else attempted to assassinate him.
He greeted his guards, who let him into his chambers, and went to stand next to the table. He took off the brooches holding his tabard up, and the two pieces of fabric fell to drape over the belt. Like this, it was easy to pull off the armor around his shoulders and throat. The cool air of the room felt good. He felt lighter, like it was easier to stand up straight. Especially with the armored belt around his waist.
Then he fiddled with one of the gauntlet ties at his elbow. He could probably undo them himself if he was careful. He could certainly remove the greaves himself.
He waited.
Felix knocked on the door only moments later. "Come in," Dimitri called, and Felix slipped inside.
"I was thinking," Dimitri said. "I'm sure I can handle removing everything by myself. You needn't—"
Felix rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm here, so I may as well help." He reached out. "Give me your arm, come on."
Dimitri leaned against the table, and undid the clasps of the leather straps of his greaves. "I can do this by myself, at least," he said, and pulled it off. "See?" He pulled off the second grave.
Felix sighed, and flapped his hand. "Just turn around, boar."
Uncertainly, Dimitri turned around. He wondered if his body would tolerate someone beind behind him. If he wouldn't begin to convince himself that Felix would stab him through the back. Instead, he felt Felix's warmth, despite the space between them. Felix began to untie the blue silk woven band around the armored belt.
"Oh, I could have—"
Felix grabbed Dimitri by the back of the belt and pulled him in. "I said I would help you and I will." He reached around Dimitri, pulling them together, arms around Dimitri's waist, and unwound the band from around Dimitri's waist, removing it and the antlered gryffin ornament, and set both on the table. Then he went back for the first set of laces, and untied the leather thong.
"It was quite comfortable," Dimitri said. "I liked the compression."
Felix froze. "You did?" he said.
Dimitri nodded.
Felix took a breath, and then let it out. Then he began to tug at the laces of the armored belt. At first Dimitri thought Felix was loosening it, but then Felix wrapped the excess around his hand and pulled, and the belt tightened.
Dimitri gasped. He couldn't take a deep breath, but he still had plenty of air.
"Like this?" Felix said lowly.
"Yes," Dimitri said, voice barely louder than his exhale.
Felix fisted the laces, holding them tight, and then gripped one of Dimitri's arms, pulling it behind him. "Like this?" he said again, and untied the leather strap of the gauntlet and then yanked. The sound Dimitri made was desperate, a whimper.
He swallowed, mouth dry. "Yes," he rasped.
Felix wrapped those laces around his hand too, and reached for Dimitri's other arm, his left. When he was finished, Dimitri's arms were bent at the elbow and folded behimd him, held in place by Felix's grip on the laces, and Dimitri was panting. It felt good to be held like Felix in this way, to be secure in his grip.
"Like this," Felix said, and Dimitri nodded. He took a shallow breath. "Fuck," Felix breathed, so quietly Dimitri didn't think he was supposed to hear it.
The panic hit him all at once, and he flinched at the feeling of dread. "Felix," he said, and Felix's grip at the end of the laces adjusted. He heard Felix take a breath. "Felix," Dimitri said before Felix could speak, and forced the words out of his mouth. "Don't do this if—if I have ever implied you are obligated—"
Felix yanked on the laces so hard that Dimitri had to gasp. "Shut up," he said. "When have I ever done anything out of obligation?" He leaned forward, still holding Dimitri fast, and rested his forehead on the knob at the top of Dimitri's spine. Bare skin on bare skin; without the chestguard or gorget, Dimitri had not realized how much the low collar of the tunic revealed. He was breathing hard, from anxiety or arousal or both. Felix said, his voice oddly without scorn, "You have never been an obligation."
Something in Dimitri released, like a dam breaking. "Felix," he gasped, and slumped as much as the tightened belt would let him. Felix wrapped his free arm around his waist as he sagged, holding him tightly. His open mouth pressed against the join of Dimitri's neck and shoulder, and then he bit, and Dimitri shuddered, seeing white.
When his vision cleared, he could feel his own arousal, cock fully hard, but he could also feel Felix's behind him, a hard line of heat. Felix was licking where he'd bit, where he'd sucked, and Dimitri had never been bit like that before but he'd seen it, sneaking away from royal events before the Academy and ignoring a couple tucked into an alcove near the ballroom of Fhirdiad Castle, and he'd seen the results at the Academy, the reddish-purple bruise-like marks poorly hid on the throats of students with paramours. It had been Felix who asked Sylvain what sort of training he'd been doing to earn such strange bruises, but that was years ago. A war ago, a lifetime ago: more than enough time to learn how to give a hickey.
Felix bit again, and the sound that left Dimitri's mouth was obscene. He leaned back into Felix, into his arms, into his furious, wicked mouth, and Felix took them to the ground, sinking to his knees. Dimitri went willingly, thighs opening as he went down onto Felix's lap with all the grace of a newborn reindeer, but Felix didn't seem to mind, rearranging them as he wrapped all the laces of Dimitri's belt and gauntlets around one hand and tugged at them again before latching back onto Dimitri's skin, sinking his teeth in with a deep, satisfying pressure.
Dimitri flexed his fingers and made the same weak whine he'd made before. Felix groaned in response, not pulling his mouth away. His hips bucked up against Dimitri's ass. He made another noise against Dimitri's skin when their bodies met, and Dimitri sank down more, knees spreading, so it was easier for Felix to grind against him.
He was floating, a kite caught by the Tailtean winds but with strings moored safely in Felix's hand. Felix was breathing hard and humid into his skin, pulling steadily at the laces with one hand and the other arm a bar around Dimitri's waist, keeping them pressed together. Distantly, Dimitri knew he could have wrangled free. He could have snapped the bones of Felix's arm around him as easily as he could have snapped the cords in Felix's grasp. No one had successfully restrained him since Cornelia had.
Or perhaps Felix was successfully restraining him, because he wanted to stay bound by Felix. He wanted Felix to lead him around by the laces like an animal.
Felix wrenched his mouth from Dimitri's throat to pant against Dimitri's skin. He made a ruined, raw sound,turning his cheek to press it against Dimitri's shoulder. "Dimitri," he said, voice as wrecked as Dimitri felt.
Dimitri did not even have the wherewithal to speak. He keened, and Felix bit him again, and again, and again, his hips rolling up into Dimitri. There was saliva sliding down Dimitri's collarbone from Felix's mouth. Felix had not even touched him, but Dimitri thought he could come just like this, from Felix's teeth sunk into him, from Felix holding him bound, from Felix aroused by binding Dimitri.
Felix's hand around Dimitri's waist slid down to his hip, pushing him down, legs spreading open even further, so the hard line of Felix's cock ground into the space behind Dimitri's balls. They rocked together, Dimitri picking up Felix's rhythm, and Felix was gasping into Dimitri's shoulder, pulling Dimitri's laces more tightly, until Dimitri felt his breath go shallow. He wasn't sure he could feel his hands at all; he didn't care. He would be a thing for Felix to use. He did not need his clumsy hands for that.
The crotch of his braies was wet with his precome, the fabric sticking to the head of his cock. Felix groaned into his shoulder, hips jackrabbiting into Dimitri's ass. He bit again, and harder, hard enough Dimitri wondered if he would break the skin, and came against Dimitri.
"Felix," Dimitri said, his voice thin from arousal or lack of breath or both.
Felix's hand on his hip relaxed, releasing Dimitri from where it had held him in his lap. He pressed his forehead to the nape of Dimitri's neck. "Are you—" he said, and he palmed Dimitri's cock. Dimitri could feel the heat of his hand even through his braies and the tabard. "Fuck."
"Please," Dimitri rasped, and Felix rubbed his palm over the head of Dimitri's cock. Dimitri's hips jerked into his hand.
"This?" Felix asked. "Like this?" Dimitri nodded, head tilting back, and Felix shifted a little, posture changing, moving to one side, and then Dimitri could lean his head against Felix's; then Felix could see him, he realized a moment later. Could see the way his cock jerked under the fabric, the way it was slowly wetting through the tabard now that he'd thoroughly saturated the braies beneath. "Seiros," Felix breathed, and pressed his forefinger just underneath Dimitri's cockhead, and they both watched it jump, Dimitri's breath hitching as it did.
"Like this?" Felix said again, and Dimitri realized he truly wanted an answer. He turned his head, nuzzling into Felix's jaw.
"Please," he said again, into Felix's skin. "Yes. And—" He wasn't sure he could ask for it. If he had the courage. If he deserved to ask for what he wanted. If he was only allowed what Felix would give him.
"And?" Felix said, eyes on Dimitri's cock. His jaw moved against Dimitri's nose.
"You," Dimitri said. "You—you bit—"
"You want me to bite you again?" Felix asked, almost enthusastic about it, and Dimitri didn't have the voice to speak. He nodded against Felix's ear instead.
Felix turned his head, and caught Dimitri's earlobe in his teeth and tugged. Dimitri whimpered. He did not seem to have control of the sounds coming out of his mouth. It was freeing to simply react, to not have to pick the response that was best. Felix took more of his weight, and bit him lightly on the jaw, and then came down to his shoulder again, where Dimitri was already beginning to feel a satisfying soreness. "Here," Felix said, and it was not a question. Dimitri was beyond answering regardless.
Felix bit him, and Dimtri made a raw, helpless noise. It hurt, and Dimitri liked it. Felix's blunt teeth dug into him, like he could rip a chunk out of Dimitri. It was the sort of pain that was good, thick and solid and deep in his skin. Felix was tugging the laces again as his teeth closed around the muscle of Dimitri's shoulder, and then Dimitri was coming, black spots in his vision, shaking all over, hips jerking into Felix's hand.
When he blinked the blackness free, he was in the act of slowly tipping to one side. Felix followed him down. He must have let go of the laces, because Dimitri's arms were free, and he caught himself on one elbow before Felix turned him onto his back, looming over him.
"Dimitri," he said.
Dimitri tried to say Felix's name, but no sound came out of his mouth.
Felix lifted one of Dimitri's arms, turning it over, and then sucked in a breath. "Seiros," he said, and pulled his belt knife. He carefully slid the blade underneath the strap crossing Dimitri's wrist. Dimitri froze at it, cold and hard and pressed against the blood vessels of his arm. Felix could—he could—Dimitri would let him—
The strap snapped, and Felix worked his way up with the same care, and when he'd snapped the bow at Dimitri's elbow he ripped the whole gauntlet off Dimitri's hand and went for the other hand. Dimitri let him, entranced at the way he could still see the indents of the straps on his skin.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Felix snarled.
"About what?" Dimitri said dreamily.
Felix yanked the other gauntlet off and tossed it to one side. He picked up both of Dimitri's white hands and pressed them inside both of his, massaging them with his thumbs. "About this, you fool."
"Hmmm?" Dimitri was floating. A little kite now, barely held in the breeze, just above Felix's head.
"I could have—" Sensation was returning, somewhat unpleasantly, to Dimitri's hands, and he was beginning to feel Felix's skin, almost burning, against his own. Oh.
"I'm fine," he said. "I can feel you."
"You fucking—" Felix pressed Dimitri's hands together harder. The unpleasant prickling intensified into pain. "Were you just going to let me—"
"Yes," Dimitri said. Felix stared at him, right in the eye, the pressure around Dimitri's hands lessening. Dimitri blinked, surprised. He swallowed. "Felix, surely you know—"
"Surely I know what," Felix said sharply.
Dimitri reached up. The pads of his fingers burned when he pressed them into Felix's cheekbone. "I'd let you do anything, Felix," he says. "If it's not an obligation, I'd let you do anything."
Felix took Dimitri's hand from his cheek. "You're such a fool," he said wetly, and before Dimitri could ask if he was crying, he was leaning down and kissing Dimitri, his biting mouth pressed hard against Dimitri's, twining their fingers together. Felix's tongue and teeth were everywhere, chewing on his lower lip and then sucking it into his mouth. Their teeth clacked together a couple times, and Dimtri tried to open his mouth more, further. He wanted as much of Felix as he could get.
Felix pulled away eventually, mouth wet and connected to Dimitri's by a string of saliva. When Felix had pulled far enough away for the strand to break, Dimitri leaned forward and kissed him again. This time he fucked his tongue into Felix's mouth until Felix snarled and kissed him back fiercely for a handful of seconds before he ripped his mouth away. "Roll over," he said breathlessly, and Dimitri remembered the tight—slightly too tight, if he was being honest—belt around his waist. Dimitri did, and Felix pulled the laces from the eyelets with efficient tugs, opening the belt and going for the second set of laces on the other side. The belt loosened, and Dimitri took a deep breath, filling his lungs. As intoxicating as it had been to be held so tightly by Felix, it was good to breathe deeply.
The belt opened up around him, falling to the floor. "There," Felix said, and rolled Dimitri back onto his back, climbing atop him. The compression of his body felt as good as the belt. Dimitri's eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the physical press of Felix close to him. He felt...not safe—he did not know if it was possible to feel safe again—but secured, like a trunk lashed to a sled, tucked into the cargo basket and tied tightly to the stanchions.
Felix looked down at him. His eyes were copper. He leaned in and kissed Dimitri again, slower but no less insistent. "Do you still think it's an obligation?"
Dimitri was uncertain about a great many things. He was sure that sometime, in the future, he would be uncertain about Felix again. But right now, he didn't know anything but the truth. "No," he said against Felix's mouth, and kissed him again.