[ Such a Sylvain thing to say, but Byleth often gets tangled up in how often Sylvain's words and actions don't always line up. However, he doesn't think that's the case now, watching Sylvain's body respond to him eagerly, the quickened rise of his chest and the hardness pressed against his own leg, growing ever more pronounced as Byleth's hands move down the length of Sylvain's bared stomach. There is already damp sweat gathered between his muscles, the likes of which he smears lightly with his fingers before he pops open the enclosure on Sylvain's pants. ]
I don't know.
[ It's as honest of an answer he can give him. He doesn't know why he's second-guessing himself so much. Maybe because he thinks there is something unnatural in loving one man and desiring another. Maybe it's because he doesn't know where the lines between affection and desire begin and end for the two of them. Maybe it's because before becoming a teacher, he would have done this without a second thought and not have bothered to consider the ramifications. It would have been pure simple release. A satisfying scratch to an aching itch.
But that's impossible now, knowing what he does about Sylvain, about all his former students. They had fought together enough times, trained together, eaten together, suffered and cried together. Sylvain isn't a face to forget as he isn't one to Sylvain.
His hands curl over his undergarments as that thought sinks in, stopping short of stroking along the bulge there before leaning down to drag his tongue over it instead, the wetness of his saliva soaking through the fabric while he traces over single ridge. The guilt that gnawed at him before still hasn't completely ebbed away, but the more his own urgency rises, the less he feels like thinking about it. Less he feels like thinking about anything at all.
Both eyes flick upwards as he repeats the same motion if only to catch Sylvain's expression this time, his own gaze sharp-eyed and discerning like he's on the edge of the battlefield, waiting to crack past every last one of Sylvain's defenses and reveal more of the vulnerability underneath. ]
no subject
I don't know.
[ It's as honest of an answer he can give him. He doesn't know why he's second-guessing himself so much. Maybe because he thinks there is something unnatural in loving one man and desiring another. Maybe it's because he doesn't know where the lines between affection and desire begin and end for the two of them. Maybe it's because before becoming a teacher, he would have done this without a second thought and not have bothered to consider the ramifications. It would have been pure simple release. A satisfying scratch to an aching itch.
But that's impossible now, knowing what he does about Sylvain, about all his former students. They had fought together enough times, trained together, eaten together, suffered and cried together. Sylvain isn't a face to forget as he isn't one to Sylvain.
His hands curl over his undergarments as that thought sinks in, stopping short of stroking along the bulge there before leaning down to drag his tongue over it instead, the wetness of his saliva soaking through the fabric while he traces over single ridge. The guilt that gnawed at him before still hasn't completely ebbed away, but the more his own urgency rises, the less he feels like thinking about it. Less he feels like thinking about anything at all.
Both eyes flick upwards as he repeats the same motion if only to catch Sylvain's expression this time, his own gaze sharp-eyed and discerning like he's on the edge of the battlefield, waiting to crack past every last one of Sylvain's defenses and reveal more of the vulnerability underneath. ]
I like this side of you.