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[crestfallenfor]

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Sylvain Jose Gautier ⬤ FE:3H
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[crestfallenfor]

[Byleth is right - it's the honesty that gets to him, because he's not used to that kind of sincerity. Almost everyone else had some kind of ulterior motive to their "feelings" for him, but Byleth... didn't. It makes his words and actions impossible to brush off.

Still, he leans into the hand on his cheek, even as he blushes a shade darker at him calling him cute. Is he? Really? He's not so sure about that...

But if the casual affection is what's causing Byleth to steadily become more solid, then so be it. He can endure being flustered, if his dear Professor is the one doing the flustering, he decides.

So he kisses back as best as he's able to. The contact still feels like a ghost of what ought to be, but... that's fine. There will be more and more as time goes on, if what they've already accomplished is anything to go by.

But then Byleth pulls away and Sylvain is... confused, but only for a moment, only until he's beckoned towards the bed.]

Forward, aren't you, Professor?

[He's not used to being pursued with sincerity - at all - so he meets it with light teasing. Is the reaction appropriate? He's not entirely sure, but it's what came naturally, so it's all he has to go on.

Even so - he does still follow Byleth to the bed.]

[byleth]

[ More like he's being direct since he's not the type to mince words or go through any long-winded courtships. Some prefer the thrill of the chase, but Byleth prefers simply taking what he can get when it's right before him, unwilling to chance the missed opportunity. Tomorrow they could return to their world, and what little selfishness he possesses dictates that he enjoy what could be one last dance between them or one of many. It's difficult to tell with the nature of this world and the fact that their hearts lead them in other directions regardless of whatever attraction stirs between them.

With that in mind, he follows Sylvain to the bed's edge, his form still flickering in and out, something he hopes to rectify as he pushes his former student down, hands carding through his hair and his body weight shifting over the bed as he slides a knee between Sylvain's legs. He's not solid enough to apply enough pressure like he wants, but he will worry about that after as he chases after Sylvain's mouth, pushes their lips together like it's all he needs to subsist. Given his current situation, that's not far from the truth.

He's not sure what he himself tastes like on the cusp of death, but Sylvain's mouth is always unbearably rich, something strong and fragrant in his breath that makes him slide his tongue into his mouth to taste more, a quiet groan loosened from the contact. His hands tighten around his hair, pulling slightly before he forces them to move down his neck, over his chest, across the smooth planes of his stomach so he can unfasten his shirt from his pants and push it up, feeling the heated flesh and firm muscle underneath.

When he breaks the kiss, he's already breathing faster than normal, eyes zeroed in on Sylvain's reaction, trying to follow the flush painted over him as though he could stubbornly memorize exactly how beautiful he looks when he's vulnerable. ]

Do you mind? I can slow down.

[ But need is driving him in more ways than one as he starts undoing each button on Sylvain's shirt, uncertain if Sylvain will continue to allow him the liberty. ]

[crestfallenfor]

[He's always known Byleth to be direct. That much isn't new, or even much of a surprise. To have that directness turned towards pursuing him, though, is. Though it does make sense. Tomorrow they could return to their world, and could forget about this place entirely. If they don't forget, then they would likely have to set the memories aside and leave whatever went on between them here. It would already be a stretch for Byleth to be with Dimitri at home, for him to be with multiple members of his first class would be... much more than the stuffy nobles of Fodlan could handle.

Directness aside, he isn't anticipating being pushed down to the bed, Byleth's slight, barely corporeal weight shifting over him hands thoroughly mussing his hair as he kisses back readily without any hesitation.

Byleth doesn't taste much different on the cusp of death than he does in life - though his taste is muted, somewhat, as faded as his form is. In some ways, that's incentive enough to have him kissing back more deeply, to taste more of him as hands drag down his body and then back up again, taking his shirt with them.

And then the kiss breaks, and Byleth is looking down on him, taking in what he looks like flustered and, almost overwhelmed. His hair is mussed, there's a dark flush on his cheeks, his lips are reddened and wet from the kiss, and he's panting, to say nothing of how his clothing is as mussed as his hair, now.]

Why would I mind, Professor?

[He tries to put on his usual airs of confidence, tries to smirk up at him - to minimal effect. He's still more than eager, clearly, but any sharpness that might have been there normally is muted by the vulnerability he's allowing himself to show.]

[byleth]

[ 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. ]

I like this side of you.

[crestfallenfor]

[Honestly - his words and actions don't often line up. But he's been trying to be more honest with those he cares about, those he loves; of which Byleth is one of the very few. And if openly showing how flustered all this has him helps to accomplish that goal, then so be it.

Besides, it's kind of nice to be able to just let go, to stop posturing in a situation like this. Sure, there's the urgency of having to work Byleth back into physical existence, but... they're managing that, slowly but surely, with every touch, every intoxicating, feather-light drag of fingers over his skin.

He doesn't even quite know where the lines between affection and desire begin and end for the two of them. It feels like, once, there was a stark line drawn between them, but the more time they spent together, the more they fought side by side, the more they learned about one another... the longer they've spent here... the more the solid ground the line was drawn in shifted, turned to sand, until the tides and the winds of time all but erased it.

That should be terrifying, to someone - something - like him.

Oddly enough, it isn't.

If anything, the thrill of it is the sort that sparks under his skin with each touch, makes him crave more of it. It shouldn't be this intoxicating to simply be open and honest with someone, but... so it goes.

At least he doesn't have a chance to think about it as Byleth's tongue drags over his still-clothed cock slowly enough that he both gasps and tenses at the sudden, more intense sensation, and also shudders as he relaxes into it. He does it again, and Sylvain groans, looking down at him through heavy lashes, eyes half-lidded. And being stared at like that, like Byleth is fully intending to pick him apart bit by bit is... a lot, and he takes a steadying breath preemptively.]

Yeah? Why's that?

[Should he have asked? Does he actually want to know the answer? Probably not, but the words had come before he could stop himself.]

I like this side of you, too.

[byleth]

No pretense. You're being honest.

[ Some parts of Sylvain more so than others, which guides Byleth's focus as he peels back the damp cloth of his underwear to draw warm air across his cock, fascinated by the way it starts to thicken even more in his grip as his hand latches gently around the base. He does note that he can touch him a lot more firmly than just moments ago, no longer a whisper of a graze from ghost fingers but a solid clamp of building heat along his palm as his own features flush more with color and renewed life. It's a gratifying sensation, but he's more concerned with eliciting a fresh new gasp from Sylvain's throat as he strokes along the entire length of his arousal.

His eyes find Sylvain's again, catching sight of his pupils blown out, only a sliver of brown still lining the all-consuming abyss of black. It's just as fascinating to him as his cock, and Byleth doesn't have it in him to keep asking for permission when his own self-control is fraying all over. For once, he simply takes his mouth in his own, lips slotting tight against Sylvain's and tongue snaking out to dip into Sylvain's mouth as he unconsciously tightens his grip around him.

It's not tight enough to ache, only applying enough pressure to make Sylvain feel good as Sylvain's last words echo through his mind. While he couldn't have claimed to have had felt any true self-loathing before, he had also lived without any attachments outside of his father, killing simply because he was ordered to -never thinking about the consequences. If Sylvain had met that man, he wouldn't allow him this close nor would Byleth allow himself this kind of gentle regard for another.

Being accepted like this moves him in a way he can't express, trying to draw the words of gratitude with his tongue as it paints letter strokes on the roof of Sylvain's mouth and swallows down whatever Sylvain wants to say in response. He doesn't have to hear it anymore either, now simply wanting Sylvain to allow himself to fall to pieces in front of him -to trust him enough to see it, to experience it, to love him back and not simply walk away and forget. They owe that much to one another, a silent request he impresses on Sylvain as he finally draws away and bites the side of Sylvain's jaw just as his fingers push Sylvain's thighs further apart. ]

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