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The march back to Garreg Mach had been plagued by intermittent rain, frequent downpours rendering the soil soft and difficult for the Kingdom army during its return from Derdriu.
Felix wasted no time in returning to his former dormitory room, divesting himself of his surcoat and accouterments, soaked through and heavy, as the monastery had also been caught under a swath of rain.
Felix’s old room was dusty and unkempt, but it was his: a space he could still claim as his own in the midst of war. He kept a stash of swords and old books there – things which had belonged to his father, sent to him by his uncle in the aftermath of Rodrigue’s death. Not that he considered it sentimentality which had driven him to begin perusing his father’s old weapons; he had called it practicality instead, because the army’s next destination was Fort Merceus, which had long held its reputation for being impregnable.
With the Leicester Alliance disbanded and its lords swearing fealty to the Kingdom, chaos within the embattled territories had begun to dissipate. But still, now that Lord Arundel was dead and the revitalized Kingdom army was preparing to breach the Empire’s borders, it would be difficult to predict Edelgard’s next moves. With the Empire having lost its annexed territories in both Leicester and Faerghus, she was bound to lash out.
Felix held on to a sliver of optimism that the Kingdom army could carry its momentum to capture the fort, but they needed to be cautious. Every incursion deeper into Empire territory was to be another step into the unknown. And it would all begin with an assault on the impregnable fortress.
A rustling noise filtered in from the hallway and caused Felix to stop where he was. He set aside his father’s sword and peered out from the open doorway, only to find the sound emanating from the next room over. Usually, the door was kept shut tight: their academy days saw Dimitri locking himself away at the stroke of curfew hours, and recent months had seen it shuttered from disuse. These days, Dimitri tended to sleep wherever his exhaustion finally caught up to him, whether it was sitting upright on a pew in the cathedral, slumped over the table in the war council chamber, or sprawled out on one of the benches in the Knights’ Hall.
But now, the door was wide open. So Felix took a few cautious steps inside.
Dimitri’s room was bare, devoid of any sort of personal flair. There were a few scattered books leftover from their academy days and a few forgotten envelopes which may or may not have contained unsent letters within them. Letters from whom – or to whom – was impossible to tell. But Felix had a few guesses… and a little bit of hope, even if it were buried deeply enough that he could confidently pretend it was not actually there.
The room felt foreign, and Dimitri himself did, too. Stripped of his armor and clad in nothing but the tunic and trousers he wore underneath, he seemed vulnerable, utterly exposed where he sat on the edge of the bed. Head down and eye fixed on the book in his hands, he had not even noticed Felix entering the room; his field of vision was more limited now, after all.
More than that, though, it seemed like the first time in ages Felix had seen Dimitri’s bare hands. The way they cradled the book was oddly gentle, as though the covers would disintegrate in his grasp if he held them too tightly.
Felix approached him then, standing a few feet away until Dimitri looked up, eyebrows arching with surprise.
“Felix,” he said, and then abruptly shut his mouth.
From that distance, Felix could see the book more clearly. Scrawled across its pages was a meticulously-kept record of combat training – but he knew Dimitri had not busied himself with such things in the midst of war. It had to be his training logbook from their time at the academy, the one Felix had seen him carrying on the days he had deigned to spar with the prince.
Felix folded his arms, staring down his nose at Dimitri as he asked, “What are you doing?”
Dimitri closed the book and set it aside, the bedsheets rustling with the motion. “Thinking, mostly,” he said, and Felix cocked an eyebrow when he heard it.
“Should I even ask what about?”
“I was remembering our time at the academy.”
Felix could feel the grimace creeping onto his face. “Why?”
Dimitri averted his gaze, letting it fall somewhere between the floor and the opposite wall. “Soon we will be at all-out war with the Empire, and there will be no turning back,” he said. “This seemed as good a time as any to reminisce.”
Felix shook his head. “How pointless,” he scoffed, placing his hands on his hips. “There’s no reason to look back now. We can only move forward.”
“I cannot disagree, at least in part,” Dimitri said. “Though, I do remember those days fondly, even if they were not all… pleasant.”
Felix almost felt like laughing. Their academy days had been fraught with danger and conflict: Lonato’s rebellion, the incident in Remire Village, Edelgard’s betrayal. Felix’s attitude toward him at the time had been anything but pleasant, either, if he were being honest with himself – not that he had been inclined to do so. There was no point in revisiting those memories, Felix thought. Not when they faced death at every turn of the war, every tiny skirmish and every massive battle and everything in between.
“You’re wasting your time,” Felix muttered. “And mine.”
He turned on his heel to leave, but stopped when he heard the bed creak as Dimitri rose to his feet.
“Wait, Felix,” he heard Dimitri say.
He turned back to face him and found Dimitri’s hand suspended halfway in the air in some halted attempt to reach for him, but it collapsed to his side soon after, his expression sheepish and uncertain. He looked away from the expectant glare Felix leveled at him, his eye tracing aimless patterns on the empty floor space between them.
“It’s the rain,” he finally said.
Felix’s brow furrowed as he sputtered out a confused, “What?”
“It reminded me of when we would train as children, rain or shine,” Dimitri said, finally looking back at him. “Even if we were utterly soaked, we never missed the chance to spar.”
Despite his best efforts not to, Felix recalled it well. There were occasions where his family had traveled to Blaiddyd territory during the slow transition between seasons, a time in Faerghus when the snows of winter had melted away but the sky stayed overcast, dense clouds heavy with spring rain. He had always been eager to pick up a training sword for a bout of sparring with his friend, even on days they were supposed to stay indoors. Not that their fathers had ever stopped them from training in the rain – if anything, they had taken pride in such dedication. That was life in Faerghus.
“I remember,” Felix finally said. “More than a few times, you lost your grip on your lance.”
Dimitri heaved a sigh, then said, “It had been foolish of me to not wear my gloves.”
“It made sparring with you unpredictable, at least,” Felix replied with a shrug. “Maybe I even enjoyed the challenge.”
“The academy was different, though,” Dimitri said. “When it rained here, they closed the training grounds.”
Felix let out a low laugh, all condescension and scorn. “Couldn’t have the uppity nobles getting their boots muddy,” he huffed.
“Perhaps,” Dimitri said, and then went still and silent.
There was a smile on his face, but it was small and fragile, soon fracturing apart into something unrecognizable. He had seemed beyond donning his mask these last couple months, the pretense of princely polish left abandoned in the past where it belonged and the boar which had surfaced thereafter tamed by the paradox in the pain of death and the hope of life. But Felix had never been one to fall for the façade, anyway; he knew Dimitri better than anyone else, and had for the entirety of their lives.
Perhaps that was why the look on Dimitri’s face struck something deep within him, a pang of uncertainty twisting through his gut.
“But those nights when it rained, I would remember those days of our youth,” Dimitri said, voice low and quiet. “I would remember you.”
Felix stared back at him, every thought a muddled mess and every word malformed and broken before it could have left his lips, leaving behind only shuddering breaths. His heartbeat thrummed against his eardrums, smothering the sound of pouring rain outside, and he hated it – he took a few steps back, defensively folding his arms over his chest as had become instinctive for him, but Dimitri followed, taking only a single step to close the distance between them.
Dimitri tilted his head slightly, angling it just enough to keep his unkempt bangs from falling over his eye, and said, “I’d lie awake, knowing you were just on the other side of the wall, and listen for you through the sound of rain.”
Felix swallowed hard, watching the way Dimitri’s eye followed the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. But he kept his mouth shut, lips pressed into a thin line to hold back the admission that he had done the same.
And not only on the days it had rained.
Dimitri reached for him again, his palm flattening out over the angle of Felix’s cheek, his fingers trembling at Felix’s temple. And all Felix could do was stand utterly still, eyes wide and heart surging into his ribcage.
Mere months ago, he would have shrugged off the touch and run. Even just days ago, he would have done the same: seeing Dimitri’s face and hands bloodied from battle had the unfortunate tendency to revive old fears, even if by that point he knew it was irrational. They were in the middle of a war, after all. Blood was an inevitability.
It was the rain.
The rain had washed away the blood from Dimitri’s face and gauntlets on their long trek back to Garreg Mach. It had drowned out the fear of facing an uncertain future by resurfacing innocent times long past. It had brought them both back here, delving into memories kept locked away in their old dormitory rooms – memories, and desires.
He wanted this. He had for so long.
There was no point in looking back – not when they were here, now, stealing this moment from time’s relentless march off to war with the inevitable. So Felix grabbed the front of Dimitri’s tunic and yanked him down to kiss him.
It was frustratingly tame at first, maddeningly gentle, slow and deliberate as though Dimitri had finally seized the opportunity to see his childish fantasies realized – some soft, tender first kiss found in the old chivalric tales of their youth, far removed from the reality of battle and death. But when Felix swiped his tongue across the seam of his lips, Dimitri was quick to relent and let it in, offering only a low groan of pleasure in return.
How easily his last line of defense had been breached.
Felix took a few steps back, his hands fisting in the fabric of Dimitri’s shirt to drag him along, only letting go once he felt his back pressing against the wood paneling on the wall. Then they wandered, trailing aimless patterns up Dimitri’s neck to the hinge of his jaw and back, fingers skimming along the skin in exploratory touches, reveling in the warmth they found at every inch of it.
Dimitri parted from him, pulling back just enough for their lips to meet in feather-light touches as his mouth opened and closed a few times, every word lost under the unsteady exhales which escaped instead. One hand braced against the wall while the other cradled Felix’s head, only to then tug the tie from his hair and cast it aside to the floor, letting Felix’s still-damp locks fall about his shoulders.
Before Felix could respond, Dimitri was on him again, capturing his lips, his words, his breaths.
Felix closed his eyes to it, meeting every fervent stroke against him in kind, hasty and frantic, all while Dimitri’s free hand wandered, weaving its way down his neck to his collarbone. Calluses which had first formed during their training as children were now larger, rougher, grazing Felix’s flesh to the point it bordered on painful, sending his nerves reeling under the novel sensation.
But his eyes snapped open when a knee pushed between his legs and spread them apart, Dimitri’s thigh brushing against the bulge straining against the front of his trousers. The friction had him tilting his head back against the wall and taking in a shuddering gasp, watching Dimitri through a half-lidded gaze. And when Dimitri palmed him through the fabric, Felix let it out, a long sigh bleeding into a moan.
They settled into an uneasy compromise then, a cacophony of erratic breaths defying the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows. They had been here countless times before, weapons still drawn and readied despite their exhaustion, staring each other down, searching for an opening, an opportunity, a mere chance – but in the end, Dimitri always won.
Dimitri hesitated on a harsh swallow, his eye darting back and forth between Felix’s, something pleading in the glossy sheen of it. No point in looking back, Felix reminded himself, because here and now, their long, tacit contest of resolve meant nothing; still, he decided to grant Dimitri the victory he so desperately sought. He reached up to sweep back the unruly bangs from Dimitri’s face, fingers carding through the mussed hair until they settled on the nape of his neck and then pulled him down, meshing their lips together in a clash of tongues and teeth.
When Dimitri hurriedly undid the laces of Felix’s trousers and then took him in hand, Felix grabbed Dimitri’s biceps, clutching the fabric of his sleeves for purchase as those deft fingers began to pump and rub and squeeze. He resisted the urge to close to his eyes to it all, even as they glazed over with the pleasure of it, the sheer want and need coiling deep within him, taut and threatening to snap at any moment – until Dimitri suddenly pulled back, his eye half-lidded and dark.
“Felix—”
A plea, barely above whisper volume. A sound drowning in desire, scraped raw as it clawed its way up his throat.
There was a line of saliva lingering on Dimitri’s chin, a lustful haze over his eye, an eager quickness to the way his hand moved against him, so Felix reached for him, too, fingers pushing past the waistband of his trousers to free his erection from the confines of the starchy fabric. But then Dimitri pressed forward, holding himself flush against Felix and taking both of them in hand, drawing them together in a few tentative strokes.
Felix dipped his head forward, just a fraction, rasping out through gritted teeth, “Ah, y-you—”
There was nowhere for it to go. Everything which might have been claimed a rational thought faded under the feel of it, the pulse of Dimitri’s flesh against his own, the heat of his hold and the roughness of his motions, until he found a speed and pace which had them both lost, sharing in a sharp staccato of lewd moans and shaky gasps.
In the midst of it all, though, he heard Dimitri’s voice, uneven but resolute just the same.
“Felix… back then, did you…”
The question trailed off into a groan, long and unashamed, but Felix silently finished it—
Imagine this? Dream about it? Touch yourself?
“Y-Yes,” he said, a stuttering whisper in answer to all three. Flushed, breathless, he met Dimitri’s gaze, where new lines had formed at the corner of his eye, a contented smile stretching them a little wider, a little farther.
“I— ah, I am… so glad to hear it.”
A confession that Dimitri had done the same.
Then a twist of the wrist sent Felix panting, tiny breaths lost in what little space remained between them, the pull of skin and the friction between them shooting sparks across frayed nerves. Dimitri’s grip tightened slightly, just enough to elicit a deep moan from Felix, tension twisting through his gut with each stroke.
Every motion was measured, controlled – perfect, catching the fluid weeping from the tips on every upstroke and smoothing it down the shafts on every downstroke. Felix arched into it, seeking that firm hold, that intimate touch, demanding it with pleasured grunts and murmurs just as much as pleading for it with low whimpers held down in the base of his throat.
“So long I have wanted this,” Dimitri said, his smile a little wider, a little darker. “Wanted you.”
“Me too,” Felix replied, hating the way his voice shook. “So shut up and take me.”
And when Dimitri kissed him again, Felix trembled in his hold, quickly fading under the intensity of it all – the heat, the friction, the undeniable pleasure. He held on for all he could, hands fisting in Dimitri’s tunic as he began to tread ever nearer to the edge, only for Dimitri push a little further, his tongue delving a little deeper into Felix’s mouth, drowning out his every word and suffocating his every breath until there was nothing left.
Nothing but the two of them in this forgotten space, chests writhing against one another in a silent struggle for air, muscles tensing and flexing with every motion, overstimulated nerves pulsing in shared time.
Felix parted from him with a wet sound, a line of saliva collapsing between them as he tipped his head back against the wall and finally released the moan which had been lingering on the tip of his tongue for so long now.
“Dimitri—”
He shuddered as he came, spilling onto his own shirt as Dimitri stroked him to completion, his mouth left hanging open on a few residual groans as Dimitri edged closer to him, their lips barely brushing against one another. But Dimitri’s eye was closed to him, lost in the haze of it all as he chased the same end – until he finally came, hips snapping forward in a few final thrusts into his own hand.
They stayed there for what seemed an eternity. It was something Felix had only been able to imagine before: their clothed chests kneading against one another with every ragged breath, those same hot breaths wafting about their necks in defiance of the briefest touches of their lips, hands frantically grasping at clothing and skin and anything else they could reach. But only when Dimitri pulled his head back to look at him properly did Felix finally feel himself breathe.
Felix saw the fine sheen of sweat on Dimitri’s brow. He felt the damp linen of his own shirt clinging to his skin. He heard the rhythmic patter of rain slowly reclaim the room.
Dimitri watched him again settle back into reality, something unknowable marring his face, as though he lamented the slow descent just the same. But if he knew Dimitri – and he did – the king was liable to open his mouth and ruin the moment.
“Felix, I—”
“Don’t,” Felix interrupted, and Dimitri went still. “I’ve waited just as long as you, but this isn’t over yet.”
Not the war, and not the promise of more which lay beyond it.
Dimitri looked away, only for his gaze to catch on the mess left between them.
He winced when he saw it. “Felix, your clothes…”
“It’ll wash out.”
Dimitri stayed silent, opening and shuttering his mouth on a few aborted attempts, only to surrender the thought altogether under a harsh swallow. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, like the last remnants of rain dripping from the end of a damp clump of hair. Felix brought a hand up, fingers curling around the nape of Dimitri’s neck and thumb brushing the sweat away.
“Join me on the training grounds, Dimitri.”
Dimitri’s brow pinched in confusion, relaxing only once he finally understood.
“Yes,” he said, the faintest hint of a smile again peeking out from the corners of his mouth.
Felix pulled him down into one last kiss.
They would head back soon: back to war, back to bloodshed, back to the uncertainty of it all – but for now, they were here and alive, holding on to the promise of more. There were memories no one could take from them, a mosaic of childhood hopes and adolescent fears, but one which was rightfully theirs, a story whose conclusion had been foreshadowed by the days of their youth.
Perhaps the relentless flow of time would grant them this one moment of respite away from the reality of war to revisit those bygone times, to again spar as they once had – to stand in the midst of rain and let it wash over them once more.