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Chapter Text

Sylvain has had his fair share of one night stands. It’s fun— one of Sylvain’s favorite activities, in fact. Leaving out the occasional consequences it brings, he likes too much the pleasant flutter in his lower belly when he is flirting with a hot chick; nothing better than ogling someone’s boobs and notice they are checking you out, too. Nothing boosts his ego quite like it. 

Most of the time he makes true the purpose of one night stands, feeling fullfiled with a nice fuck, filing away the girl into the back of his mind and never thinking of her again. Some of them aren’t very happy with this, but honestly, that’s on them. Guys are a tad easier to deal with, a lot less likely to develop feelings just because you popped their cherry. It’s a bit of a shame because he is going to miss the power trip it gave him, but after one too many incidents, he makes a self imposed rule to not fuck virgins. It’s either that or juggling too many calls and texts and I love yous afterwards. Sylvain shudders just thinking about it. Way much more trouble than it’s worth.

Long story short, Sylvain likes one time things. Stuff that happens only once is special, right? That’s why people like them so much, why they value once in a lifetime opportunities and why they pay exorbitant amounts of money for one time events. He is the same, a simple man by all accounts. 

For Sylvain, most times, once suffices. Once is fun in its own right. Once is more than enough.

But, well, some people find him at the right place at the right time when he is in the right mood, so he doesn’t go out of his way to deny himself the opportunity of revisiting them. It’s just that he doesn’t think he’s ever actively seeked a second time to taste them. He doesn’t usually need, nor cares for, a second time.

Perhaps he just wants a second taste of Byleth , and that's all there is to it.

The heat is unbearable lately.

Sylvain tries to approach Byleth during the week following the party, all to no avail. Classes are pretty much over, so most people only show up to campus for the final exams and not much else, and that includes the teachers. Whether Byleth is purposely avoiding Sylvain or genuinely minding his own business remains unclear, and as much as Sylvain is used to a good game of rabbit chasing, it feels like they are back to square one, when the professor wouldn’t give him the time of day. It’s a bit funny, until it’s not. At first, Sylvain thinks the professor is just being shy. He tries to get him alone at school a couple of times, but never gets more than a passing, indifferent glance, and if he is lucky, a firm “no” everytime Sylvain so much as takes a step closer. 

Sylvain nearly follows him on insta and asks around for his number, but manages to stop himself before going that far. He knows for a fact it would only accomplish getting the professor angry and push him away for good. He is already avoiding Sylvain like he is the plague, which, rude . But Sylvain knows what is going on; he is simply playing hard to get again, as if that did him any good before.

So, like a cat presented with the same squeaky toy everyday, Sylvain gets bored of it pretty quickly. It’s just a matter of time before Byleth yields again, like he did that night—  all it takes is the right place, the right moment, the right mood. But even if he doesn’t, it’s not like it matters.

Good thing Sylvain has Felix to keep his mind off of things.

Sylvain started dating Felix, if one can really call hanging out and going to the movies dating. At least Rodrigue’s face was hilarious when Felix told him about it the last time Sylvain dropped by. Rodrigue always loved Sylvain like a part of his family, generally not commenting about his lifestyle and keeping a respectful distance, but once his youngest son was involved in the mix, he very clearly didn’t like it one bit. Sylvain doesn’t blame him, if he’s being honest, but the way the man’s face twisted as though he was sucking on lemon was so damn funny all the same.

Whatever the case, Sylvain doesn’t have the heart to tell Felix this thing between them is temporary, something akin to a hobby he picked up just because he didn’t have anything more interesting to do. But he has to know, right? There’s no way he doesn’t. The B word (boyfriend) was never said, so it’s unofficial.

Anyways.

Next Saturday, Hilda texts him a time and a place, and Sylvain doesn’t bother asking who’s going to be there, he just figures a little distraction from his constant failures as of late can’t possibly hurt. He picks a nice outfit, does his hair, puts on some cologne and slips a couple of condoms on the back pocket of his jeans, with the firm resolution of putting them to good use.

There’s a lot of eye candy at the pool party, which is always a good start. He notes that he can’t name many faces, and that fact sends a thrill up his back. Who doesn’t love doing some exploring? It makes sense he doesn’t know many people here, given he is in a party all the way across the city, a bit far from his usual hunting grounds. Hilda is always a lot of fun, a magnet for pretty girls and luckily they get along just fine, so he is grateful whenever she thinks of him and extends an invitation his way. Tonight she is wearing a microscopic bikini of a pink a shade or two darker than her hair, and the sight of her wide hips makes Sylvain feel happy just to be alive.

He doesn’t need help with introductions, but he sticks around her as she mingles, since she insists on making his life easier and he isn’t about to turn her down if that means he can keep looking at her. 

“I invited you,” she explains, pulling him along.

He gets to meet plenty of hot girls who give him appreciative once overs he is content to mimic, guys who pretend to be uninterested in what he has to say and access to a wide variety of drinks he doesn’t touch yet, but that he definitely wants to give a try later. Hilda leaves him to his own devices soon enough, which he appreciates because he’d have a harder time making clear they are just friends to any girl he’d want to pick up. 

The music is loud and the heat is good when he has a bottle of cold beer in his hand. He has fun, for the most part.

It might be an unconscious thing, but his eyes search the crowd for a very particular shade of mint, short hair and green eyes, a bit more interested in this than in the girl before him that is desperately trying to give him a privileged view of her cleavage without it making it too obvious, flipping the long curls over her chest to her back to draw his eyes down over and over. 

Sylvain spots Hilda following a tall guy around, clinging to his toned bicep and pushing her boobs against him whenever she leans into his space. For the first time tonight, Sylain wonders about Marianne’s whereabouts, if they are still together at all. She isn’t a party monster like Hilda, so it’s not precisely odd that she isn’t here tonight, but Hilda is pretty much acting like she is single. Their relationship seemed to be a strong one, heartfelt, but who knows, maybe Sylvain has a chance with Hilda for a change. 

Felix calls at some point, but he ignores his phone altogether. 

He gets bored of scanning the crowd rather quickly, and decides he can settle for the next best thing. He doesn’t really care much for the pool since he has one back home, but he does enjoy some ladies’ bold choices for swimsuits all the same. He didn’t even bring a swimsuit with him, certain as he is he will be leaving with someone tonight.

The girl with the cleavage (Sylvain has been waiting forever for her to repeat her name) insists on him drinking too, and since she keeps fluttering her eyelashes at him in that way Sylvain recognizes right away, he humors her with tiny sips from his lukewarm beer. He doesn’t like the taste of beer in general, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices.

Cleavage has friends just as pretty as her, and with just as revealing clothing, so he is happy to play host for them and entertain them while sending winks this way and that, messing around with slightly risky jokes and playing innocent when a manicured hand rubs his thigh. 

“You swimming, Sylvain?” asks one of them sitting across from him.

Sylvain gives her a charming smile.

”I can’t swim. Unless you’re offering to teach me?”

The girls giggle at this despite being one of his least original pick up lines, and Sylvain finds he doesn’t mind. He even gets a kiss on the right corner of his mouth.

Cleavage gets up to take a bathroom break, but not without giving Sylvain a very nice view of her ass. She doesn’t look at him over her shoulder or shows any indication of her wanting him to follow after her, but Sylvain is pretty confident he’ll be able to sneak in a few kisses if he does. In his vast experience with girls, he’s learned most want guys to take initiative, to show they are willing to beg a little. Although Sylvain never has to get to the begging part due to his pretty privilege, and frankly, he is not above using it. He didn’t ask to be this hot, so fuck it. 

He has barely excused himself with the rest of the girls, who look positively bummed about him leaving, when Sylvain’s eyes catch sight of someone at the other end of the room and his brain screeches to a halt, stopping working altogether. 

Byleth is wearing a fit black tank top and gray jeans, red cup in hand, long and elegant fingers showing off a set of matching rings that catch the orange glow of the posts around the illuminated pool. He is smiling one of those secretive smiles of his (those he seems to direct to pretty much everyone but Sylvain), talking to a shirtless guy Sylvain doesn’t recognize against a pillar. 

What are the odds? This has to be God that, once again, smiles upon Sylvain for being His most dedicated son. Because Byleth is here and looks so good like this, shedding his perfect teacher, upstanding citizen persona, giving way to a relaxed boy that is barely four years Sylvain’s elder, a boy that likes getting drunk on weekends and partakes in earthly pleasures just like the rest of them, like he is actually human. That fit top adheres to his body like a second skin, giving Sylvain a taste of his narrow waist and the cleft of his chest beneath the soft fabric.

Also he is wearing a choker, and he looks delicious .

Perhaps unconsciously, Sylvain gets to his feet. 

It's like a magnetic pull begins to yank him in the professor’s direction, but he knows better than to go play a pissing contest with this other random dude. The guy has short, spiky purple hair, all smiles, and looks like the jock type that Byleth clearly fancies. Sylvain has tried this in the past with other people, and as much as he could do it now too, he knows Byleth wouldn’t appreciate it, nor the attention it would draw to them, so he decides that as long as the guy keeps his claws off the professor, he doesn’t mind waiting until they split up. 

By the time it happens, Sylvain has found some other girl to kill time with, and has long forgotten he was supposed to go back to Cleavege’s couch with her friends.  

He watches Byleth walk into the kitchen, which is his cue to ditch this new girl with his best smile and an empty promise. 

Right before he gets into the kitchen, Sylvain checks out his reflection on a mirror on the wall outside. He grimaces at the smudge of scarlet lipstick near his lips, getting rid of it hastily as he fixes his hair. When he is pleased with himself, he takes a deep breath.

Someone nearly runs into him when he crosses the threshold to the kitchen.

Byleth’s face is worth all the gold in the world and then some, eyes wide and dumbfounded expression something Sylvain has never seen before. It lasts for a blown out second, but then Byleth’s eyelids lower a little, something Sylvain is way more used to.

“No fucking way,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. 

“Professor, hi!”

Following Byleth’s line of sight, Sylvain blocks the door so there is no escape. Needless to say, Byleth doesn’t seem to care for it one bit. He makes for turning away, but Sylvain swiftly slides an arm over the small of his back.

“Please don’t ignore me.” He can’t stop smiling. “You’re so cold.” 

Byleth shrugs him off.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

There aren't any familiar faces around, which means Byleth wont lash out at him if he pushes his luck a little. Sylvain’s voice drops low and rich as he leans closer, slippery hand already back where it belongs. Byleth smells amazing. Sylvain draws gentle circles over the thin fabric of the professor’s top.

“We don’t have to talk, you know.”

Byleth doesn't grace him with a response, barely bats an eye at that, but one of Sylvains undeniable virtues is that he is stubbornly persevering. 

“You left afterwards,“ he laments jokingly, eyes never leaving Byleth’s features, assessing his reaction. “You’re such a player, Professor. I was left feeling so lonely.”

“Told you not to say anything.” Byleth bats his arm away again, putting some distance between them by force. He is frowning as he meets Sylvain’s eyes. “And don’t call me that here.”

Sylvain raises both hands in surrender, beyond delighted. There’s something about the way Byleth looks at him that sets him off, that feels like electricity in his veins, that makes him unable to stand still.

“I haven’t told anyone, I swear.” One of Byleth’s thin eyebrows arches, skeptical. Sylvain gives him his best disarming smile, and draws an X over his left breast. “Cross my heart.”

Byleth seems suspicious, and Sylvain can't really blame him, but he is telling the truth for a change. He hasn’t told Dorothea, who’d be the first person he’d come to after what happened between Byleth and him, and that automatically rules out everyone else. He did feel a bit douchey for not letting her in on it, but it’s nice to not have to lie now, especially when the other party, being the professor in this case, looks like he can see through him with a single look.

It takes a while of Byleth’s close scrutiny, but eventually his shoulders relax. Just a little. But that is more than enough for now— at least the probability of him storming off has decreased considerably. Baby steps, baby steps.

If there's something Sylvain knows about flings is that, if it happened once, it can happen twice. Not even Byleth is above that. And everything is on Sylvain’s side tonight; it’s late, unbelievably hot, and there’s a couple of girls making out in the corner. The stage is set up for his favorite game: disaster. Yet Byleth seems to need a push in the right direction, as usual.

“You alone tonight?”

Byleth sighs, actually running a hand up his face.

“Does it matter?”

Sylvain chuckles. 

“Not really.”

The professor doesn’t tell him to fuck off, but doesn’t move an inch either nor looks like he will anytime soon. If anything, he seems indifferent. In the periphery of Sylvain’s vision, one of the girls sneaks a hand beneath the short skirt of the other one. He distractedly wonders why he’s way more interested in the man in front of him, why he’s holding his breath as he waits for an answer that might as well be yet another rejection.

Very firmly, Byleth says, “Go away.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Feel like dancing?”

“Not with you, no.”

“Then I’ll pour you a drink. We can just talk.”

After a while of quiet contemplation, Byleth says, “I'm going home.” 

It’s clearly yet another excuse, one Sylvain has heard plenty of times, but to Byleth’s credit, his hands are empty, no drink in sight. 

”Perfect. I'll drive you.”

One of Byleth’s brows arches.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, a censuring tone seeping into his voice.

“Nope. Barely had anything to drink.”

Which is not a lie, mind you. Regardless, Byleth takes a close look at him, as if trying to elucidate whether he is telling the truth yet again. Sylvain happily lets him, but he has to get a hold of every cell in his body that wants him to lean in and go for a quick kiss.

He isn’t expecting Byleth’s thumb to brush over the corner of Sylvain’s mouth, nor the resulting red stain the professor inspects on his finger. Byleth gives him a cold glance upon the discovery of this condemning evidence. Sylvain thought it was gone. He shrugs as innocently as he can.

“Oops.”

The professor shakes his head.

“You never change, do you?”

Sylvain draws a bit closer, letting his voice get sultry.

“I can be good too, you know that already.”

Byleth waves him off, as if he couldn’t be bothered to continue this conversation. Sylvain’s stomach drops a little for reasons he isn’t privy to, and as he observes Byleth circling him to exit the kitchen, he bites his lips and holds back a swear.

But the professor stops there, arms crossed over his chest and with the face of someone who knows he is going to look back at this and hate himself.

”Well?” he asks, as if waiting for him to lead the way.

Sylvain gives him a surprised look, coming close, dangerously close to asking, ‘Really ?’. 

He goes to him and throws a heavy arm around his shoulders instead. 

He tries making small talk during the ride, but Byleth isn’t very cooperative. For every five questions Sylvain poses, the professor answers one. His guard is up, so Sylvain chooses to give him some space and puts on music to fill in his headstrong silence. 

It’s been so oppressively hot during the day lately that he feels genuinely relieved with the cool breeze of the night caressing his face. The wind that flies past them sweeps Byleth’s light hair in all directions, and it seems to do wonders for the atmosphere around him as well. The skin of his arms glows under the passing orange streetlights. He rarely wears clothes that show much skin to begin with, let alone that cling to his body like this. Sylvain loves that tank top on him, how it shows off his lithe muscles and accentuates that heavenly narrow waist of his.

And look, Sylvain was honest to good thinking to just take him home, to play nice and show Byleth he can be decent and considerate too, if only so he stops regarding him like one would a weird bug on their food, but— Disguised darkness with barely anyone on the streets is the kind of scenery perfect for a nice escapade. He would never be able to forgive himself if he didn’t at least try . Byleth’s answers are rejections by default, so what is there to lose? As long as he keeps it innocent enough, he might earn some of his favor.

“Hey, mind if we make a quick stop?”

Byleth frowns slightly. 

“What is it you’re scheming?

Sylvain doesn’t say anything, simply gives Byleth the flash of a smile and returns his gaze to the road. 

He pulls up in front of a lonely convenience store, flickering lights buzzing in the silent night. Sylvain turns off the engine and pockets the keys.

“What are you drinking?”

Byleth gives him a look of disapproval. 

“Sylvain.”

“I think we should get a bottle, but if you’d like beer better—”

Byleth scoffs, seemingly drained of any energy, reaching for the door handle.

“Nevermind. I’ll just walk home.”

Sylvain feels a wave of panic flaring inside of him.

“Wait, wait!” He leans over the gear stick to get a hold of the professor’s forearm. Byleth gives him a sharp look that says he will regret it if he doesn’t let go of him in the next two seconds, so he promptly does, raising his hands in surrender instead. “Don’t get me wrong. I know I kinda cut your night short, so I’m just trying to make it up to you.”

“You think I don’t know what you are doing?”

“Hey, I do feel bad for making you leave a party you clearly were enjoying. I don’t want to be the one responsible for ruining your night out.”

Byleth’s face says he doesn’t believe one word he is saying. And he shouldn’t, really, but Sylvain finds he likes this too, perhaps a bit more than he should. He knows Byleth hates him, or at least laments the mistake he made that night at the dorm party and by extension, Sylvain, but there is something so alluring about him that keeps Sylvain wanting to come back. It’s unfortunate that he looks so hot like this, too. Sylvain wants to kiss that stupid pout off his face, and he is very tempted to do it, even if it earns him a punch to the gut shortly afterwards.

Actually, let’s start there.

“Why do you hate me so much, Professor?” he asks.

“I don’t. You are just annoying.”

“Because you don’t want to admit I’m cute and funny and a great guy deep down?”

Byleth makes a face. He didn’t find that amusing.

“Because you don’t take no for an answer,” he says, maybe a tad exasperated for his standards. 

Trying his best not to let it show how genuinely entertained he is by this, Sylvain just shrugs. 

“Then stop saying no, save us both some trouble.”

Byleth looks a bit dead inside, more so than usual. Sylvain does put a pin on it, because he wants to know what is going on in his head. He’s met plenty of people who find him insufferable, make no mistake, but people who do and are willing to fuck him? The list shrinks considerably under that criteria. And Byleth is here , even though he himself just said he knows what’s up. So he is, to Sylvain’s satisfaction, still part of that latter, shorter list. 

They have a quiet staredown that lasts for the better part of a minute. But Sylvain won already, they both know it.

The professor opens the door, allowing some fresh air to get into the vehicle. 

“You are paying,” he warns him.

Sylvain can’t contain his victorious smile.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” 

They end up buying a whole lot of beer and a strawberry ICEE for Byleth. Sylvain teases him a little about it at the register, tells him he wasn’t expecting him to have a craving for sweets even this late, but Byleth ignores him entirely and asks the cashier for a vodka bottle. 

Once back in the car, Sylvain uncorks a beer with his keys and offers it to Byleth, who grimaces and shakes his head. With a smile, Sylvain observes him prepare his own cocktail by pouring half the ICEE on an empty cup he holds between his thighs, then adding a generous serving of vodka to both drinks. He stirs the one in his hold, and once he deems it ready, he hands it to Sylvain without even looking at him. 

Plain old beer forgotten on the cupholder between the seats, Sylvain tries Byleth’s concoction under the professor’s attentive mint gaze. It’s a bit too sweet for Sylvain’s taste, and the artificial flavor of the strawberry shaved ice tastes cheap in his tongue, but the strong spike of vodka makes it more bearable. Not his kind of drink either way, but he knows it will kick in faster than four or five beers in half the time. 

“I knew you liked this kind of thing,” he says, licking his lips and giving his drink a doubtful look. 

Byleth snorts. 

“What does that even mean?”

Sylvain chooses not to answer and turns on the engine. The car comes to life with a roar that settles into a steady purr. They can’t precisely stay here if they are going to drink, so he pulls out of the parking lot and follows the empty road as he occasionally sips on his makeshift drink. The cold numbs his tongue.

At the corner of his vision, Byleth melts a little into the seat, almost cozy.

“You knew I was going to be at that party?” he asks after a while of companionable silence.

He didn’t, which only made the surprise even better, but he doesn’t say that. Sylvain shrugs, finding himself in very high spirits. 

”It was a happy coincidence, sir.”

”I told you to stop calling me any of that.”

He took the bait. As they silently slide into a side street, Sylvain gives Byleth a naughty smile. 

”Can I call you by your name, then?”

Byleth rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just drinks. Usually, Sylvain is the kind of guy who treats silence as a yes, but he knows it’s a bit too early for that. If Byleth hadn't forced him to stop the car and left by now, he’d surely do it if Sylvain was brazen enough to call him by his given name. He’d look smoking hot that pissed off,  but Sylvain doesn’t want to risk it that much. 

Sylvain takes them to one of the many make out spots he knows, chill and tucked away from prying eyes, and more importantly, from the police. It’s still nice enough with plenty of trees that make for cover and an lofty view of this end of the city. Garreg Mach is not visible from here, which is a great plus.

He engages the parking brake. Soon the rumor of the car fades away and only the music on the stereo remains. Here, enshrouded in a mushy kind of darkness, barely disturbed by the LEDs of the console, just the two of them, Sylvain finally feels again like he is right in his element. The steps to this dance, he knows. Byleth is a bit of a weird dancing partner, likes pulling stuff that makes Sylvain trip, but it only makes it more fun that way. 

“Not that I didn’t like your drink, sir,” Sylvain begins, making quick work of replacing the cup with his original beer and sitting so his knees are turned towards the other man, “but it tastes like shit.”

That makes Byleth huff a little, and Sylvain can swear he almost sees a slight curl to the corner of his lips. Almost. He takes a long sip from his cup, and Sylvain’s eyes are inevitably drawn down to the movement of his Adam’s apple. That damn choker makes his neck look longer.

“I hate rich kids so much,” Byleth mutters, and it sounds like something he wouldn’t say in any other context, which makes Sylvain wonder if he is already a little tipsy. More than half of his drink must be gone by now. Sylvain wants to offer him his own cup, but he decides he will wait until Byleth asks for it himself. 

”If you’d let me,” he says instead, as if he is merely pondering an idea aloud. ”I’d treat you to actually good stuff.”

Byleth hums, eyes lazily going over the scenery at the other side of the windshield. 

“Is this your idea of asking me out?”

”It can be whatever you want, Professor.”

Byleth shakes his head, but Sylvain is a bit past the point of letting him enjoy his own silence. He needs to yank him out of it for this to go anywhere.

“Let’s play something. Truth or dare?”

Byleth gives him an unimpressed stare.

“You think I’m that stupid?”

”Come on, what is the worst thing that could happen?”

They both surely can think of a couple, but that's not the point. 

”I don’t want to, Sylvain.”

”What do you want to do, then?”

Byleth shrugs, eyeing what must be the remaining little puddle of alcohol at the bottom of his cup. 

”I want to drink for free,” he says sincerely. 

”Okay,” concedes Sylvain, confident he can work with that. “You are more fun when you're drunk anyways, you knew that?”

At this, Byleth actually smiles. It’s tiny and he doesn’t turn to Sylvain so he can take a good look at it, but it’s there. That smile makes Sylvain’s heart skip a beat. It feels like a hard earned reward for his efforts. It’s honestly better than what he was expecting, whatever that was, it makes his whole body feel weird,  and something flutters behind his belly. 

“Well, you are always an asshole,” Byleth says, clearly in a good mood, and he drinks again.

Hungry for more, Sylvain leans towards him. 

“Twenty one questions?”

”You’ve already asked a lot of questions.”

”Then it’s your turn,” counters Sylvain easily. “Also, you need to drink for every one you haven’t answered.” 

Byleth sighs, seeming genuinely tired. He shifts in his seat so he turns this way, making himself more comfortable. He distractedly plays with his empty cup, and the movement of his hands makes the rings on his fingers twinkle faintly. 

His eyes don’t allow Sylvain to look away as he thinks, not that Sylvain would try to. After a long while, Byleth seems to have made up his mind. 

“What was Loog’s battle to demand independence, the so-called Faerghus Rebellion, also known as?” 

“The War of the Eagle and Lion, Imperial Year 747. My turn. You said before that you’ve fantasized about us. Did you mean it?”

Byleth’s eyes widen a little at that. He either wasn’t expecting Sylvain to have an answer ready or the question he posed took him entirely by surprise. It’s probably a mixture of both. In Sylvain’s defense, Byleth’s pop quiz question was way too easy.

Suddenly, the professor’s cheeks look a tad darker in the dim lighting. 

”You mean…?”

Yes, he means that bit about Byleth fantasizing about blowing Sylvain in front of the whole class. Like hell he would have forgotten about that. Picturing such a thing in his head during boring nights at home made them a whole lot more enjoyable.

Sylvain leans a bit further in his seat, even though he knows he can’t get as close as he’s dying to be. He playfully dangles his own forgotten strawberry drink in front of Byleth, self-sufficient smirk in place.

”Yes or no, Professor.”

Just like he was expecting him to, Byleth defeatedly accepts the cup and drinks, tiny frown silent yet accusing. Sylvain can’t get enough of how vindicating it feels. Because that’s a yes. That means he has jerked off to Sylvain before the night they slept together. 

This is great. 

“Sorry,” he laughs, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “I admit I went a bit overboard there. Let’s start over. But do think up harder questions, please. I kinda wanna finish my beer tonight.”

Byleth seems to have recovered.

”When was the last time you got kicked in the balls?”

Oh, a balls question already. They are making progress! But at this rate he is never going to get to his beer, so he drinks either way.

”I think it was last year?” He muses, unable to keep the smile off his face. It’s not a pleasant memory, though. “Some chick’s brother. I can’t really remember which one I did first, but that was the problem, if I remember correctly.”

Byleth huffs, outraged. He drinks, too.

”Your turn,” he says into his cup.

Sylvain tries to come up with a harmless question.

“What do you do when you are stressed?”

“I stress eat,” Byleth answers easily. “I like playing videogames with my sister, too.”

Sylvain can barely mask his interest.

“You have a sister, sir?” 

Byleth stares daggers at him, the veil over his eyes darker than Sylvain has seen on him before. It’s enough to make him steer the conversation back on track. But he does put a pin on it mentally, being completely certain this mysterious girl has to be at the very least, just as beautiful as her brother.

“Your turn,” he says, drinking.

“Something you’d like to do before you die?”

Since saying you outloud is entirely out of the question, he tries for an honest enough answer. Technically, he should be able to cross that one out the list already, doing Byleth, that is. That's awesome, actually, but it does make Sylvain wonder why he wants to go for a second try. It takes a moment of silent scrutiny for him to come up with something, even if Sylvain doesn’t mind being observed. He knows he has a great profile no matter the angle, so he lets Byleth stare all he wants.

“I’ve never gone skydiving,” he says in the end, shrugging. “Would be exciting.”

Byleth hums.

“Makes sense. You are all for the thrills.”

Sylvain nods, ecstatic. 

“Well, yeah.” He gives the professor a meaningful smile. “You only live once and stuff, right?”

Byleth does not react, but he doesn’t seem annoyed either. His cup appears to be empty again. Sylvain swiftly opens up a cold beer for him, which he accepts without making a fuss. 

“What was your first kiss like?” Sylvain hears himself ask.

Byleth looks away. He makes a face that says he doesn’t want to answer. It could be bashfulness, but Sylvain never runs out of options.

”Okay, what was your best kiss like?”

Surely weighing his limited options, Byleth bites at his lips, rosy thanks to the spiked ICEE. He has kissable, fuckable lips. The kind of lips that look good wrapped around a cock. Sylvain would know. He stares, and doesn’t bother pretending he is not. He drinks some more, and promptly replaces his drained bottle with a brand new one. The cold glass bites into his hand, but it’s a welcome sensation. He brings it to the crook of his neck.

“I think we were high,” Byleth says slowly, eyes fixed on some point over Sylvain’s shoulder. Then they come to him. “We never dated, but I liked the way he’d kiss me.”

It’s easy picturing Byleth messily making out with a faceless guy, dazed eyes and wandering hands, regardless of where they were. Sylvain’s pants feel a tad tighter just thinking about it. It probably shows, because Byleth’s gaze pointedly flicks from Sylvain’s face to his lap, then up again. It happens in the split of a second but Sylvain sees it. And Byleth sees him see it.

“The worst date you’ve ever had?” he asks, and it sounds like he couldn't care less, so it's a way of dialing back.

But Sylvain rather likes the direction this is taking, he already feels a liquid warmth spreading through his lower body. 

He plucks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Okay, so this guy somehow thought it would be a good idea to take me to a family party on the first date, for some reason?” 

Byleth stifles a tiny yet contagious laugh, and Sylvain shakes his head at the memory. He doesn’t even remember the boy’s name, but he does remember the impending need he had of ditching him somewhere and stealing one of his pretty cousins instead. He keeps that last part to himself, for obvious reasons, and replaces it with, “I guess we did make out in the bathroom, but, yeah. Not my best moment.”

Byleth rolls his eyes, but he is smiling a little still. Sylvain can’t help licking his lips in anticipation. He doesn’t let the momentum go cold.

“Tell me one place you’d like to have sex at.”

Byleth sighs as he takes his beer to his mouth, but it doesn't sound like an exasperated sigh. It’s more like he is in need of some air. 

“The beach.”

Sylvain almost purrs. He has to physically restrain himself from offering some help with that. He wouldn’t be lying if he said he’d love to take Byleth to the beach right now, crash some bonfire party and make him forget about everyone else. He’d pull him close by the waist, reveling in the soft touch of the skin of his lower back, littering his neck with damp kisses as they pretend they dance to the music when the only thing they want is to grind together in the faint glow of the fire. Sylvain would very much love to tell him right into his ear, how he’d ravage him further away, on the fresh sand, if he just let him.

Sylvain needs to fix his jeans, but he opts for leaving them as they are for the time being. Byleth’s pants aren’t tight enough to let him see what is going on beneath them, sadly, but the pretty blush on his cheeks and his lidded eyes say he has something in mind. Maybe he is picturing a fantasy of his own? Sylvain really wants to ask if he is in it too, but he holds back.

“What about school?” He asks instead, tilting his head, invitation palpable and out in the open.

Byleth scoffs, undeniably amused. It's a bit hard to see if he likes the idea or not, though. His green eyes seem to glint a little in the dark, and it reminds Sylvain of the way he’s seen cats eye something unfortunate enough to catch their interest in the dead of night.

Byleth gives him an unassuming flutter of his lashes, which absolutely has to be on purpose, and Sylvain’s heart stops in his chest.

”What’s your biggest turn on?” 

Sylvain swallows. He wants to say the way you are looking at me right now, but it gets stuck in his throat. He smiles as he shrugs. 

“I don’t think I have a single answer for that. A lot of things.”

He drinks, but he kind of regrets his words almost immediately. He doesn’t remember the last time he ran away from such a chance. He tries to make up for it. 

”What’s yours?”

”Bulges.”

Sylvain sputters out a laugh. 

“You are a little menace, aren’t you?”

”Is that your question?”

Sylvain says no with his head. Several options rush to the forefront of his mind.

“Have you ever done it in a car?”

Byleth observes him in silence. Sylvain can practically see the cogs turning in his mind.

After what feels like a very long moment, Byleth sighs, this time around with something akin to defeat, reaching for the ring on his forefinger. Sylvain’s gaze follows each motion as the professor goes about taking his rings off each finger. It’s funny that Sylvain has to rein in the need to ask him to let him do it for him with his mouth. 

“I haven’t,” says Byleth. “Have you ever had a friend with benefits?”

Byleth leans over the gear stick, slowly, like that same cat that is midhunt. Sylvain wouldn’t dream of running off, couldn’t do it even if he wanted to, being as hypnotized as he is by Byleth’s eyes. A hand slides gently over Sylvain’s thigh, feeling impossibly scorching hot.

“My favorite kind of friends,” Sylvain manages, with a weak smile. The honest answer should be no, because he has never really cared for fucking the same person more than once or twice. He drinks. “What’s the most sensitive part of your body?”

Byleth perches his other hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, casual as he rests his chin there. 

“What do you want me to tell you that for?”

His voice sounds lower this close, his sweet breath ghosting over Sylvain’s lips as he turns his face to him. Up close, his lashes look even longer than Sylvain thought they were.

The hand on his thigh slides down a bit, inching towards the very noticeable tent in Sylvain’s pants. A low laugh finds its way out of Sylvain’s chest, sounding rather shaky, as Byleth’s dexterous fingers unbuckle his belt and sneak into his pants, hand sandwiched between the tight denim and Sylvain’s underwear. Byleth fondles him without looking away from his eyes. 

Sylvain is very tempted to close his eyes and enjoy the feeling, but he decides he really wants to kiss Byleth. He leans in a bit closer, just enough to make the professor think he is going to go for it, but stops until he can exhale heated puffs of air into his face that go in time with that wretched hand gently kneading his cock through his boxers. 

Sylvain smiles.

“I’m waitin’,” he whispers.

“The back of my thighs,” Byleth answers in a small voice.

A bit of a shame Sylvain can’t reach out to make sure for himself as they are.

He tries to come up with something clever to say, he really does, but that hand in his pants doesn’t stop moving and it’s getting increasingly harder for Sylvain to concentrate. He decides they are well past the point of going back. Sylvain kisses him, and Byleth lets him. He feels that hunger tear at his insides taking over him, the need to lap and devour those obscene lips that taste like cherry, the air between them that has long become all too suffocating to breathe. 

Just like he remembers, he thinks as he runs a hand through mint hair, Byleth is an excellent kisser. Either that or the hand that finds Sylvain’s cock inside his boxers makes him lose his grip on reality. He doesn’t even have time to celebrate the success of his one-man crusade; Byleth’s tongue sliding against his is way too distracting.

Sylvain does have the right mind to draw away for half a second, while relishing in Byleth’s pretty bedroom eyes, to feel for the crank beneath the seat to adjust it further away from the wheel and more room for him to outstretched his legs. 

“C’me here,” he tells Byleth, patting his lap, giving him a look full of promise.

Byleth doesn’t obey, but he dips lower, eyes always on Sylvain. He presses his red lips against the underside of his dick, and Sylvain shudders at his hot breath fanning over it. With difficulty, he swallows the budding amount of saliva in his mouth. Byleth’s green eyes peek up at him from beneath those long lashes, cheek pressed to Sylvain’s crotch with a hand lazily stroking the tip. 

“What were you thinking about the last time you masturbated?” Byleth asks.

Sylvain can’t for the life of his conjure a clear picture in his mind's eye right now. His brain is busy processing how good it feels to have the bare minimum of Byleth’s attention, how gorgeous the professor looks getting to work down there, the head of his cock disappearing slowly into the moist cavern of his mouth. Truth be told, Sylvain didn’t even know they were still playing. 

He can feel the exact point in which his tip is touching the back of Byleth’s throat, even if it lasts only a second. Byleth’s head goes up slowly, leaving a trail of saliva that cools off in contact with the air, and Sylvain sinks his teeth into his lower lip. It takes a moment for him to get his mind to focus on the question, but as his fingers slide beneath Byleth’s choker on his neck, brushing the tender skin there, he knows what he is going to think about next time he jerks off, one hundred percent.

He has to take a breath in to be able to push his voice out. 

“I was thinking about what you said, you blowing me in front of everyone in class.” 

Byleth hums around his cock head, lips glossy with spit, sealed around it. Sylvain swears under his breath, feeling his hips’ urge to buck up, to bury his length into Byleth’s willing mouth. Byleth allows his cockhead to pop out, his hand coming to rub the shaft up and down again, lickling his lips. Sylvain’s legs are nearly shaking. He wants to fuck his mouth so bad. 

Instead, he caresses his flushed cheek, a finger under his chin to get a better look at his pretty face. 

“I fucked you against the podium, sir, made you look at them all the while.”

Byleth turns his face so he can get Sylvain’s fingers into his mouth.

“You got condoms?” he asks, lapping at his fingers and bobbing his head as if it’s his dick in his mouth again. His eyes flutter closed, and Sylvain has a hard time processing he is supposed to say yes.

“Nope,” he smiles, and Byleth gives him a frown that says he knows he is lying.

Sylvain chuckles as he removes his fingers from Byleth’s mouth, pulling him up for a kiss that the professor does not reject. He can’t blame Sylvain for shooting his shot. There is literally nothing he’d love more than going to town raw on Byleth and showing him how much he turns Sylvain on. 

This time around, Sylvain achieves to bring Byleth onto his lap. They make out as he helps Byleth get rid of his pants, Sylvain’s hands unable to stay still and mapping their way up his muscled arms, up his tiny waist and the flat plane of his abs, pushing the tank top up his chest so he can get his lips on those fucking tits that drive him crazy as soon as he sees Byleth’s pink nipples.

Byleth pulls from ginger strands of hair to get him off his chest, but Sylvain chuckles as he circles his arms around Byleth’s middle and forces him to stay in place, pressed against him. 

“What's so fun about playing with a dude’s chest?” The professor complains lightly, but he sounds a bit out of breath.

Sylvain smiles as he cups one of Byleth’s pecs, sucking on the other. He is a boob guy, what can he say?

To no one’s real surprise, Byleth becomes way more agreeable once Sylvain starts stretching him out. His thighs tense up as he gets loose jawed, savoring the way Sylvain explores his tight ass and kneads his cheeks. Byleth grinds against him, their dicks both hard and hot between them, nearly forgotten. Sylvain doesn’t really mind, he is having the time of his life watching Byleth’s face from his reclined seat, contorted by pleasure, just like he’s pictured countless times before.

Unfortunately, Byleth is lucid enough to remember the condom as Sylvain lines up his cock between his shaky legs. Sylvain licks his lips.

“I don’t have any,” he repeats, but he can’t help giving himself away with a smile. It’s a lie that has worked a few times in the past with other guys (because he’d shoot himself in the mouth first before knocking up a girl), not that Byleth ever believed him in the first place.

“You are the worst.” Byleth says as he produces one from who knows where, and doesn't waste time sliding it down Sylvain’s shaft. 

The air in the car is stuffy and too hot. Sylvain’s hands hold onto the professor’s waist to help him lower himself onto his cock. Sylvain loves the resistance of that tight rim of muscle, the delicious breach that has them both holding their breath when the cockhead pushes in, the slow drag inside a channel tighter than any pussy.

Sylvain savors every inch, even more so while they don’t break eye contact. Byleth clutches the backrest for support, caging Sylvain between his stretched arms. The buckle of his choker glimmers faintly in the dark. His bare chest goes up and down as he gets used to the advancing intrusion, perky and abused nipples drawing Sylvain’s gaze right away.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Byleth rasps, and his bright eyes go down to the place they are deeply connected before they come up to Sylvain’s face again. He rolls his hips. “Pay attention.”

Sylvain obeys easily. His gaze drops to the way Byleth’s lower body moves on top of his, slow and sensual as he rides Sylvain as if experimenting on it, trying for different angles in search of what feels good. Sylvain is beyond mesmerized. He starts meeting Byleth’s hips midway, and the professor shivers so clearly, Sylvain thinks he’d be able to cum just by watching him.

The slow rhythm is pleasurable enough, feels like they have no rush getting anywhere, as if Felix isn’t waiting for Sylvain to call him back, as if Byleth has nowhere to be but here, on Sylvain’s cock, taking what he wants from him. But Sylvain wants to show him this could be them, anytime Byleth wanted, that he doesn’t have to look for this elsewhere when it’s right here, when Sylvain can give it to him.

Sylvain plants his feet as best as he can in the little room he has, and thrusts up with more force, making Byleth gasp. It earns him a disapproving look, but unfortunately for Byleth, those are what always gets him going. He fucks into Byleth, no longer waiting for him to go down, but rather stablishing a new pace that has his warm balls smaking loudly against Byleth’s bubbly ass. Gravity helps him reach the deepest places into the professor, who can’t do anything other than close his eyes at the pleasure, grabbing onto Sylvain’s hand on his waist to ask him to slow down.

But Sylvain doesn’t want to slow down, so he doesn’t.

Byleth’s arms fail to support his weight and he falls forward on Sylvain, who is already closing his arms tightly around him, gasping against his collarbone as he insistently rams his hips up into the heat of Byleth’s ass. The professor cries out, whole body going taunt as he takes the assault thrust after thrust targeting his sweet spot directly. He lets his head lol forward, his hair tickling the side of Sylvain’s face, low and hearty voice moaning directly into his ear.

Sylvain’s hands slide down Byleth’s curved spine until they roughly get a hold of his asscheeks, guiding them on their way down.

“Sylvain—“ Byleth chokes on his name, and Sylvain’s cock twitches inside of him. “ Mmmm, fuck, I-I don’t wanna cum yet.”

“That,” Sylvain chuckles, out of breath, ”Sounds like a you problem, sir.”

It’s a bit frustrating that he doesn’t have enough room to maneuver Byleth however he wants, but he makes do with what he has. He’s never been one for excuses.

He keeps on his ruthless pounding, making sure to hold Byleth in place even when his voice gets too high and he tries to get free, knowing he needs to keep attacking that little knob to make him go crazy. He makes sure to jerk his bouncing shaft too, so lonely and neglected it makes Byleth clench around him as soon as he touches it.

“S-shit,” Byleth stammers. “Mmmm, shit, fuck!”

Lamenting he can’t spy Byleth’s face like this, he guides his forehead so they are pressed together. The professor’s breathing is labored, eyes half lidded and pupils so blown, parted lips that pant short, hot breaths. Sylvain drinks his moans directly from the source, feverishly thinking that he wants to make him lose himself to pleasure.

Chapter Text

Whatever Byleth might say, whatever excuses he comes up with to try to fool himself, they are compatible. More than that, actually. Sylvain has never felt more exhilarated, blood running hot in his veins, every droplet of sweat pearling his skin, more than he does when he is messing around with Byleth. It’s like their bodies can communicate in a way they themselves won’t, as if intent is translated into looks and words into kisses and touches. It’s a dance Sylvain has known for a while, thought he understood the steps and the motions, the ones he's gone over again and again countless times, but then Byleth comes along and it turns out he’s been dancing to the wrong rhythm this whole time. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t quite get it right with him, why he’d always end up tripping.

After the car incident (a very happy incident that just so happened to be partially planned by Sylvain, but oops that’s just semantics), when Sylvain gave Byleth a ride home, the professor, now fully dressed again, disheveled hair and marks all over the base of his neck and shoulders, probably with sore tits and an even sorer backside, gave him a warning look that said, more or less, a single word to anyone and I’ll rip your balls off . Sylvain tried insisting on Byleth coming back to his place that night, but it seemed like post-nut clarity hit the professor rather hard and he just wanted to be left alone. 

The thing is, while pretending the cover of the steering wheel was quite interesting all of a sudden, Sylvain casually asked him if he could call him some other time during the summer. It took a prolonged silence on Byleth’s part and of Sylvain realizing it kinda came out on its own, wondering why he was asking such a thing in the first place when he already got what he wanted, for the professor to mutter a monotone, ‘yeah, whatever’. 

Sylvain whipped his head towards the man, who was already pushing the car door closed, not bothering to wait for a response. 

Like, he actually said yes. 

Out of everything that happened that night, that last part was the thing that surprised Sylvain the most.

He waited about three days afterwards before texting him. Sylvain had liked the sex, so that was reason enough. The professor didn’t ask where he got his number, nor commented about Sylvain suddenly following him on instagram. 

Any lingering doubt Sylvain harbored about Byleth being for real about letting him fuck him again dispersed like smoke into the air the moment he laid back on a bed in the fanciest hotel in town, curtains drawn open over the wide windows that gazed into the night, with Byleth riding him reverse cowgirl style. It started slow, with Byleth moving his hips up and down Sylvain’s cock, eyeing him over his shoulder with a lidded gaze that made Sylvain’s throat close around nothing. He was so comfortable, leaning back on plush pillows and a privileged view of Byleth moving that fat, perfect ass. Sylvain laughed a little, the sound coming out as if punched out of his chest.

The swing of Byleth’s hips made his dick pop out, and Sylvain had to bite back a smile at the sight of that empty, pink gaping hole. He flopped his cock a little against it just to tease, watching the muscles of Byleth’s thighs tense, the dark glimmer of those eyes flashing over his shoulder to give Sylvain a heavy glare. Sylvain slapped a jiggling cheek, then slid his shaft back in again, slowly, making them both sigh at the feeling.

Contrary to what most people might believe, Byleth is not a patient person. He does not care about waiting at all nor delaying his own pleasure. As soon as he was used to the stretch of Sylvain’s shaft, he threw every bit of his weight back into it over and over, making Sylvain hiss a swear and get his hands on his ass just to touch, to feel, to have something to hold onto while Byleth milked his cock like he was desperate for it.

That night started off with Sylvain picking him up at his place, all smiles and meaningless chat, and ended with Sylvain holding him down by the neck over the edge of the bed as he mercilessly rammed his cock into him, Byleth’s sobs muffled by his face buried into the mattress, toes curled and knuckles white from clenching the silky sheets so hard.

He was so limp and pliant afterwards, fucked out of his usual temper when dealing with Sylvain. He did give him a very feeble attempt at a glare, but Sylvain found it oddly charming.

“Sorry you liked it that much,” he told him, way too pleased with himself.

And he did like it, even if he was not willing to admit it. They wouldn’t have gone for a second or third round otherwise, wouldn’t have used every surface available nor would have had their fun in the bathtub either. 

So, yeah. It’s as easy as sending a text, something along the lines of ‘you free?’, or ‘i’m home alone’, or a nude, because a picture is worth a thousand words and all that, and yes, Sylvain has a lot to say, so sometimes —most of the time, always — it’s easier to simply take a nice mirror selfie when he’s fresh out of the shower. He rather likes it when his towel is carelessly wrapped low on his waist and his bulge is more than discernible even through the thick fabric. 

For his part, Byleth doesn’t really send him pics, and doesn’t say much either. He communicates through rough kisses and pulling on Sylvain’s hair, biting his lips and scratching his back until it’s sore and abused and nearly bleeding. 

They would meet once a week or two (which is, admittedly, more often than expected), depending on how busy Byleth claims to be. Sylvain has no idea whether he has to work over summer break or not, mostly because Byleth has a single thing in mind whenever they are together and little else, so he doesn’t share much about himself. Maybe he is seeing someone else too, Sylvain’s mind helpfully supplies more than once. 

Maybe it’s Dimitri. 

Not that it matters, because Sylvain gets to fuck him all the same. Also, he has his hands full with Felix. He is great and cute even if he doesn’t want to be, which makes teasing him all the more fun, but having a ‘boyfriend’ is very time-consuming. Sylvain’s summer proves to be more fruitful with Felix nagging him to tag along to the gym with Ingrid and him, or just spending his time going out on dates. It’s a bit weird being expected to drop his default settings —that is, flirting with everyone who catches his eye at the drop of a hat—, but Felix looks genuinely happy with him (for his standards), so maybe Sylvain is actual boyfriend material. Who would have known?

He does keep fucking other people, obviously. It only happens whenever he gets bored of Felix and Byleth is not available, but he has a myriad of options to choose from. Mostly girls, because he did miss pussy and big tits. He puts on a show of taking their numbers, giving them a wink, maybe a few more kisses, and forgets about them right away. Although, it’s not as pleasing as it used to be, he notices; either he is losing his touch to pick them or he chose inexperienced girls and he is left wanting because of it. 

He drives home today, immensely grateful to find no one is here once he crosses the threshold. 

Summer break is about to end. He walks into his bedroom, the faint smell of sea salt and sunscreen floating around, the heat radiating off the ground outside so much that you can see the tremors in the air. 

He rubs one off, and his mind goes to Byleth immediately. It shows him the reflection of the professor’s panting face as Sylvain presses him against the cool window of another hotel they visited, one with a great view of the beach. With lights out and the darkness outside, probably nobody was the wiser about Sylvain fucking him against the glass. He loves that his jerk off material is mostly memories now, rather than fantasies, of Byleth on his knees with a mouth full of cock, or of his sweet ass while Sylvain eats him out. He does envision some things he would love doing with the professor as well, such as go clubbing, make out in the back of the VIP section, party the night away or make a reality that fantasy Byleth has about getting plowed at the beach. 

A bit sad this fuck buddies thing does not extend to being seen in public together. This city is big enough to avoid unwanted attention, Sylvain knows this better than anyone, but Byleth seems a bit apprehensive everytime Sylvain brings it up. He doesn’t blame him, but he is getting a bit bored of meeting in a nice four wall room each time. Change is the spice of life and all.

Getting cozy in bed, he lets his imagination fly. 

Sylvain would love to jerk Byleth off in a place where people could see them. He can see that pretty face of his, all flushed, maybe buried into Sylvain’s chest so it remains only his to enjoy. Byleth would love it, he is sure. Sylvain knows by now that the thrill of doing something he is not supposed to turns Byleth on more than it should. Who would have thought such a respected and well loved teacher was just as mundane as the rest of them mortals?

The speed of his hand grows gradually, until he is about to spill, picturing Byleth’s delicious belly tensing up and his pink perky nipples, when an insistent buzz breaks his concentration. 

He swears, going limp, genuinely affronted he was denied a perfectly good orgasm without his consent, but when he pats the bed for his phone and looks at the screen, he remembers he is supposed to be God’s favorite child. 

“I was thinking about you, too,” he sighs into the phone, smile more than evident in his voice.

Byleth doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t hang up either. Sylvain can practically see him debating whether to end the call or not. Sylvain strokes his cock slowly a few times, building up the lost rhythm again. 

“Horny?” he asks, but he knows the answer. He can hear Byleth’s labored breathing on the other end of the line.

Also, Byleth calls him exclusively whenever he wants phone sex. Why he doesn’t call someone else instead is something Sylvain is left to wonder about once they are done, but the question flickers faintly and ends up disappearing from his mind for the time being.  

Sylvain can picture him, in a room he’s never seen before but can imagine for the fantasy’s sake, laid back on his bed, phone on speaker next to his head as his hands reach between his legs. Byleth has very pretty legs, long and toned. Sylvain loves biting the inside of his thighs, fucking between the supple muscles as he holds them together. 

His grip on himself gets a little tighter. He bites at his lips.  

“What are you wearing?”

The voice on the phone sounds a bit hoarse.

”Just boxers.”

Sylvain chuckles lowly.

”And you are jerking off in the middle of the day?”

Byleth grunts. Sylvain can see him in his mind’s eye, clear as day, that blush on his cheeks that goes down his neck to his chest and that he can’t hide no matter how much he tries to pretend things don’t get to him. Sylvain would give his right hand to leave a wet trail on that blush with his tongue, to taste the sweat directly off Byleth’s warm skin. 

“It’s too damn hot,” Byleth mutters.

He is right, the heat is just excruciating lately. 

“Let me see you,” Sylvain sighs, already knowing it’s a lost cause yet determined to try either way. “Send me a pic?”

” No ,” Byleth says, exasperated. “Don’t ask me again or I’ll hang up.”

In his defense, Sylvain can’t really be trusted with nudes. He doesn’t go as far as spreading them around, but he is yet to delete any he’s ever received. It’s likely Byleth doesn’t want any records, let alone his pictures, on a student’s phone. He’s so paranoid it’s cute most of the time. On occasions like the one at present, though, it’s a bit frustrating. Regardless, Sylvain knows better than pressuring him. He knows Byleth can and will ditch him if things aren’t done the way he likes. Why Sylvain cares at all is still a mystery. One he can’t dwell into much at all when his head is as light and his balls are as full as they are right now.

”Then let me show you how much I can cum thinking about you.”

It takes a moment for Byleth to answer, but he tells him to do whatever he wants in the end. Sylvain starts a video call and everything flows easily from that point onwards. He shows Byleth how he fucks his fleshlight, goes on talking in detail about what he wants to do to him and how he would go about it, and Byleth’s quiet panting is so good even through the speaker, Sylvain could listen to it for hours. That sound and the frantic movement of his own hand, the pressure of the toy around him, are enough to make him release. He makes sure to get on camera the way he plays with the pearly droplets of semen and spreads them over his shaft, pumping it slowly to stretch that heavenly sensation for as long as possible. Byleth cums soon after with a trembling, low moan and Sylvain hates that he can't see it in person. 

“Let’s go out tonight.” He hears himself saying after he’s cleaned himself, knowing Byleth will hang up as soon as he is done doing the same. “I wanna go clubbing.”

“...I’m busy.”

“Aww, Professor,” he tries for a whine. He can’t help the smile that comes to his lips. “Relax a little, yeah? Let’s go for a bit, then we come back here and get in the pool. How about it?”

He searches with his eyes for the clock on the wall. 

“I’ll pick you up around ten, yes?” He says, and then adds, because it works with pretty much everyone else, ”I can’t wait to see you again.”

He can practically see Byleth’s unimpressed face at such a cheesy line, no matter if Sylvain actually means it for a change. He plays with the hem of his shirt as he waits for Byleth to say something. It feels odd that all of a sudden he can hear the seconds ticking away in the clock on the wall. Was it always so damn noisy?

“The pool sounds good,” the professor concedes after a while, and Sylvain half sighs and half gasps. “I’ll show up around five.” 

He says no to every offer on Sylvain's part of going to pick him up. Either Sylvain needs practice, or a different technique to convince Byleth of doing something remotely out of his comfort zone whenever alcohol isn’t doing half the work at cellular level. But this is progress all the same, given Byleth has never agreed to come home with Sylvain, so even if he got half his plans rejected, he will get to see Byleth in a swimsuit. Not that he hasn’t seen him entirely naked already, but a win is a win. 

Sylvain all but springs off the bed. He takes a quick shower before leaving instructions to the housekeeper (who is by now more than used to Sylvain bringing people over) and heading out to get a few things for tonight.

Dorothea tells him about a party she kinda wants to attend over the phone, and Sylvain half listens to her extensive list of pros and cons that depend entirely on the people who show up. Sylvain hates drama just about as the next guy does, but he knows Thea thrives with it, so he tells her to go and take Edelgard or Petra with her. He kinda wants to tell her all about Byleth  but, aside from him promising he wouldn’t, something tells him Byleth would just know if he did. Even if Dorothea would never tell another soul, as much as she loves gossip, even if she is a top notch actress, it somehow feels like she wouldn’t be able to fool Byleth. Sylvain himself has never managed to, not even once.

So he doesn’t tell her, not yet anyways. Dorothea is probably the only real friend he has, and as such, she’s always confided in him. It feels a bit odd not telling her something that for one, Sylvain is delighted by, and secondly, that she would absolutely love learning all about, but he is sure he’ll get around to it someday. Probably.  

A few hours later, the sun is hanging on the sky by mere habit, the light fading little by little even if the heat persists. 

Sylvain receives Byleth with a wide smile, dressed in a baby blue shirt open over his bare chest and swimming trunks. The professor is wearing plain jeans and a long sleeved white shirt. No wonder he is so hot, always insisting on dressing without showing a sliver of skin no matter the rising temperatures. Sylvain does voice out his thoughts, if only to annoy the professor, which works like a charm. Sylvain wants to go in for a quick kiss, but he chooses to preserve his nuts for later, and decides he can wait.

Byleth’s curious green gaze roams over the living room, and albeit it’s spotless and tidy, Sylvain can’t help but feel a tad self conscious about it. He swiftly recovers by assuring Byleth they have the entire house to themselves, sliding a hand over his lower back and leading him to the pool in the backyard. Byleth doesn’t question this nor where his family is. The water is crystalline and cool to the touch as it was freshly changed earlier, the RGB lights on in the bottom. Byleth looks pleased with it, if the way he can’t stop eyeing it is any indication. He looks like a kid eager for a splash, and Sylvain finds this very endearing. 

“What do you want to drink?” He asks the professor, practically forcing him away from the water, in the direction of his father’s extensive collection. Byleth follows him reluctantly, but once he notices the shelves lined up with expensive looking bottles, Sylvain is certain his interest has been piqued again and that he can let go of him without fear of him lunging  for the pool. 

“You like vodka, right?” He picks a transparent bottle off a lower shelf, offering it to Byleth for inspection. “This one is better than what one can get in convenience stores, if you feel like trying actual alcohol.”

Byleth gives him a flat look that says he can’t stand rich people. Sylvain loves his face like that, truth be told. 

“I want tequila,” Byleth mutters, waving him off. “Get whatever.”

They go back to the pool, and Byleth chooses a lounging chair under a large umbrella without waiting for Sylvain to offer it to him. He doesn’t really mind, so he gets to work and pours them a shot to get things started. He asked the housekeeper to leave everything necessary here on a table equipped with a minibar and ice. There are plenty of bottles here too, but he kinda wanted to show off, knowing it would tick Byleth the wrong way. He’s cute when he gets like that, so it’s his own fault.

When he turns around, a shot in each hand, Byleth has discarded his white shirt on the chair, barefoot already on the grass and peeling his jeans off his long legs. He’s wearing peach colored swimming trunks underneath. Sylvain feels a very familiar sensation wash over his lower belly. He discards the shots and retrieves the whole bottle instead. 

Byleth sits on the chair, eyes on the water again, but Sylvain gets between him and the pool. He meets Byleth’s slight frown with his most charming smile. He wiggles the bottle, already uncorked. 

“Wanna do the honors?”

Byleth doesn’t waste time saying no. Instead, he meekly lets his head fall back as his lips part, that green gaze solely on Sylvain for the first time today, looking up at him from beneath long lashes. Carefully, Sylvain hovers the bottle over Byleth’s open mouth, tilts it so the ambarine liquid starts flowing down directly into his throat. Byleth takes the shot as Sylvain holds his breath, for one, two, tree… five seconds. Sylvain’s eyes follow the stray drops of tequila that trail down Byleth’s jaw and down his neck. He isn’t thinking when he sits next to the professor and leans in to intercept those drops with his tongue, just like he imagined doing during their phone call today. Byleth appears unbothered by this but lets him do it all the same; he takes the bottle from Sylvain’s hands, and Sylvain takes the chance to bring one over Byleth’s swimsuit, applying a slight pressure to the outline of his cock.

Sylvain kisses and laps lazily at Byleth’s warm neck, tasting the tequila’s strong flavor on his skin and breathing in his scent that drives him wild, hand lazily fondling him all the while. 

“Want me to get you off?” he breathes, feeling the member under his hand twitch. 

He is about to fish it out of Byleth’s swimsuit when he feels the bite of cold glass on his stomach, catching him by surprise. Byleth pushes the bottle onto his lap, and a second later, he is walking towards the pool and purposely stepping into it. The splash reaches Sylvain, if only to leave him even more flabbergasted. 

Byleth emerges to the surface, the lights of the pool dying his hair, plastered to his face and the back of his neck, a mixture of pink and blue and green. He runs a hand up his hair to get it out of his face, sighing with something akin to relief. Without minding Sylvain at all or sparing him a second glance, he lays back and lets the water carry him effortlessly, not a care in the world. He looks like the vivid image of relaxation. 

Sylvain doesn’t know how to feel about any of that. It’s like he is half offended and half more turned on. Well, maybe a tad more offended. If any other person had pulled that one on Sylvain he would have laughed and brushed it off as an attempt to rile him up. It has happened to him before, with chicks that like to play hard to get and shit, which makes it more fun because they both know they’ll end up tangled somewhere all the same, it made it hotter when it eventually happened, too. 

But as he pours a shot for himself by the minibar, a voice in his head reminds him that while Byleth may play hard to get from time to time as well, this wasn’t about that. It looked more like… disinterest? Sylvain wouldn’t have hesitated about kicking out anyone else, because truth be told, he has plenty of options, plenty of people out there that would jump and head over with a single text from him. His phone is filled to the brim with messages like those that he’s ignored for who knows how long. 

The alcohol burns his throat in a way none of that cheap shit Byleth can afford ever would. He drinks some more.

He hears the rumor of the water as Byleth swims closer to the edge. Sylvain feels a gaze on him. He wants to let it be for a moment, to pretend he is busy with more important matters, but before he can do something about it, he turns to look.

“You mad?” Byleth asks, pillowing the side of his face on his arms. 

The natural lights and shadows of the water dance over the swell of his biceps and on every one of his eyelashes. 

Sylvain is not a girl. He doesn’t make up imaginary problems just because he is bored. He doesn't want unnecessary drama. The easier things are, the better. 

He plasters a smile on his face.

”Nah,” he brushes it off, coming to a crouch in front of Byleth. “Although it does feel like you are here just for the pool, Professor.”

His tone is teasing, but even to Sylvain’s own ears, it sounds like something a passive aggressive bitch would say.

Byleth lets himself stare for a while, and Sylvain gives him a wink on reflex. Byleth doesn’t react.

“What?” Sylvain asks, feeling like he should steer the conversation in another direction entirely. 

Byleth’s green eyes appear to see right through him, like they always do, and it makes Sylvain sick . He likes Byleth better when his eyes are glazed over and unfocused. Mostly. He kinda wants to punch him. 

Byleth tilts his head and his voice goes a bit lower when he asks, ”Rub some sunscreen on me?” 

There is another hour or two of sunlight max today, but Sylvain is not about to say anything about it. The professor pushes himself off the pool, and the way the water travels down his arms and chest, the way Byleth cards his long fingers through wet strands of hair, has Sylvain on a chokehold. 

He is lucky he is so fucking pretty. 

Byleth dries himself a bit with pats of the soft towel he finds on the chair. Sylvain doesn’t need another sign to bring out the joints Ashe sold him earlier. He lights one, giving Byleth a smile and an arched eyebrow with a question. The professor looks a tad surprised, pleasantly so, if Sylvain is to venture a guess, because he doesn’t break eye contact as Sylvain brings it to Byleth’s lips and he takes a slow puff. Sylvain bites his lower lip, wanting to draw even closer and breathe in that smoke directly from Byleth’s mouth.

He gets to do it later. He daubs milky sunscreen all over Byleth’s chest and torso, letting himself touch and grope and probe at every inch of skin and muscle as Byleth smokes to his heart’s content, occasionally offering the joint to Sylviain, which he accepts graciously each and every time, closing his fingers around Byleth’s and giving him his best bedroom eyes as he inhales. It’s real fun, the weed relaxes them both and highlights every brush and taste, and knowing Byleth is allowing him to touch him however he wants, be it a gentle squeeze to the taunt muscles of his belly or a playful pinch on a soft nipple, it really gets Sylvain going. Byleth takes the chance to touch him like this too, and Sylvain finds it funny for some reason, and Byleth does too. Soon they are both high, floating and touchy and all raw sensations. Byleth’s lips taste sweeter each time he blows the smoke on Sylvain’s face, directly into his mouth, and Sylvain bites and abuses those lips as much as he wants because he can’t imagine ever getting tired of them. He loves it the best whenever Byleth— whenever he himself is like this, too turned on to think about stupid shit that prevents him from enjoying himself. It’s easier like this, Sylvain thinks, letting their bodies do the talking. 

Sylvain’s hands travel up and down Byleth’s back as he lays on his belly on the lounge chair, still with the pretense of rubbing sunscreen on him, and Byleth seems content to let him do whatever he wants. Sylvain massages his ass beneath his trunks, and he loves the way Byleth’s lower back arches little by little as he kisses his way down his spine.

“I want to keep swimming,” Byleth complains softly, but he sounds breathless. 

Sylvain pulls his trunks down the curve of his ass and smacks the cheek before gripping it hard. Byleth purrs, shoving it back into his hand. 

“I want to keep touching you,” says Sylvain against the skin, kissing it once, twice.

Byleth shakes his head, the movement slow and barely there. 

“Fuck me in the pool.”

Sylvain likes the sound of that. A voice in his head tries to remind him that swimming while high and drunk might not be a good idea, but just like he usually does, he expertly disregards the advice and helps Byleth to his feet. The professor falls into him, surely struggling with his balance, and Sylvain can’t really contain his laugh. He uses Byleth’s lack of strength as an excuse to pull him up in his arms. Byleth is heavier than he looks, but Sylvain was kind of expecting that after seeing him naked so many times. He absentmindedly wonders what gym he works out in. Not that Sylvain would be able to concentrate at all if he tagged along.

”I hope you get us both killed,” Byleth mumbles against his collarbone, no real bite behind his words. Perhaps he doesn’t think Sylvain is as strong as Dimitri. Well, he is plenty strong, strong enough not to drop him because he is not even that drunk. At least Byleth is not trying to flail free. Would it kill him to be this easy to handle when sober?

Sylvain takes a few steps back to gain momentum, which makes the last remaining brain cells in Byleth’s brain communicate.

“W-wait,” he says, both arms finding Sylvain’s neck for purchase as he eyes worriedly the illuminated water of the pool. 

Sylvain decides he rather likes how Byleth presses himself against him, that he holds onto his neck. He answers in kind by holding him tighter, but he doesn’t wait any longer nor waste their time reassuring him he is in perfectly capable hands. He jumps, bringing his knees up while they are midair, and not even when they fall into the pool, splashing water everywhere, does he let go of him. 

The pool is not that deep to begin with, so they emerge quickly soon after. While standing, the water level barely reaches Sylvain’s chest. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision, and a laugh bubbles up his chest as Byleth starts struggling in his arms. 

“Easy, Professor,” he says, smiling, truthfully enjoying that if he really tries, holding Byleth hostage like this is rather easy. 

“I’m going to punch you,” Byleth warns, and albeit Sylvain knows he doesn’t mean it (he’s heard his tone when he does mean it, and this is not one of those times), he carefully lets go of him either way.

Byleth looks annoyed as he pulls Sylvain down by the lapels of his very drenched shirt, and his kisses are aggressive too, they taste as if he wants to scold him but also get him going again. Sylvain doesn’t mind the combination, not at all. Byleth peels the shirt off Sylvain, impatient, then his trunks, and Sylvain can feel him hard against his abs. Once Sylvain’s clothes are out of the way, completely naked from head to toe, he lets his hands travel down Byleth’s torso until they reach that waist he likes so much, and his grip keeps him in place as Sylvain rolls their hips together. Byleth hums, letting his head lol backwards, and Sylvain kisses and laps at the exposed line of his neck, sucking on the side of his Adam’s apple.

“Go get a condom,” the professor says, and Sylvain somehow can taste the vibration of his voice in his tongue.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Then move.”

Gently, Byleth pushes him away to regain a semblance of space for himself. Sylvain struggles to let him go, and when he finally manages to, he hates every second. He patiently observes him reaching for the forgotten joint on the grass. Sylvain helps him up over the edge of the pool, not wasting the chance of biting softly the back of Byleth’s thigh, just below his ass, to leave small butterfly kisses over the damp skin just to kill the time in the meanwhile.

Not only does Byleth retrieve the joint, but the tequila bottle, too. As he sits on the edge, Sylvain making himself comfortable between his legs, he watches him take a sip from the bottle. Sylvain is content to let him smoke some more and hook one of his pretty legs on his shoulder, rubbing his tender thighs, kissing them as they keep eye contact. Byleth’s green gaze grows heavy, and with those pink trunks so close to his face, Sylvain is starting to feel like his mouth is awfully empty.

“You realize we are neither swimming nor messing around, right?” Sylvain mutters, smiling while he wraps a hand around a supple thigh and caresses it up and down. “You are so far away up there. 

“How is this not messing around?”

“Let me fuck you already.”

“I’m soft again. Taking dives like that is not hot.”

“Aww, it’s all in good fun. And you looked so cute, all wide eyed.”

Byleth rolls his eyes, but there’s a little curl to the corner of his mouth. Sylvain wants to kiss it until those lips turn red and swollen. He can’t deny he is getting a bit restless, so he knows based on experience that his best shot is to just do whatever Byleth wants so he lets him hit.

What Byleth wants is for Sylvain’s mouth to be useful, so he complies. He blows him until he gets hard again, and Byleth plays with his hair all the while, traces his lips with a thumb, leads one of Sylvain’s hands along the firm lines of his chest, all the way to his enthusiastically pounding heart. They share the joint until there’s nothing left of it, and Sylvain is grateful the weed gets them both eager to move on. 

It feels even better when he finally is inside Byleth. Sylvain still had to put on a condom regardless, but the professor’s weight as he hoists him up allows him to reach deeper into him, and soon they are both panting as Sylvain rocks into him, the back of Byleth’s knees hooked on his elbows; Byleth holds onto the edge of the pool, knuckles white and eyes closed shut, unable to keep his voice down with every thrust. Sylvain is too enthralled by that face to notice the way his own lungs burn, or the numbness that starts to crawl up his legs. 

Fucking Byleth on the entry pool is easier. Hovering over him, Sylvain takes a drink from the bottle. The alcohol doesn’t feel as hot when it makes its way down his throat, and it doesn’t burn either, but it might be because every single one of his nerve endings is way too busy savoring the way Byleth clenches around him, chest heaving with a labored breath. Sylvain cards his hand through his wet hair, giving Byleth a naughty smile and taking the nearly empty bottle up to his lips one last time. He looms over the professor, and Byleth eagerly accepts the alcohol directly from his mouth, swallowing and licking the warm interior of Sylvain’s mouth as if to salvage any remaining trace of tequila he might find. Sylvain moves his hips leisurely all the while, interrupting the professor’s noble endeavor every once in a while, when the pleasure of him finding his prostate has him moaning.

It’s even better when Byleth is sobbing with each merciless attack against that spot inside of him, every electric shock bigger and stronger under the influence of the weed, and Sylvain isn’t any better, desperately pursuing and chasing that pressure that keeps building as he rams against that bundle of nerves. He pays no attention to the splashing around them as he pounds Byleth’s ass, nor to the water that undoubtedly enters the professor each time Sylvain fucks into that sweet and tight embrace.

There’s nothing Sylvain wouldn’t give to pump him full. He’d love to cum deep inside of Byleth and, after shaping him like this, marking him as his and his alone.

What an odd thought.

They say that any adventure is more fun if it smells like danger. Sylvain wholeheartedly agrees; hell, half his adventures are heavily based in this precept, to the point in which he judges how entertaining someone will be based on how risky it is to get involved with them. Sometimes he isn’t in the mood for drama but very much horny so there are several exceptions, but first and foremost, Sylvain is a troublemaker. He’s been one all his life, and he probably will die before that begins to change. Or as a consequence. But hey, maybe it’s got more to do with him doing whatever he wants regardless of the trouble it might bring, rather than him actively seeking it?

He doesn’t remember what he thought the first time he saw Byleth beyond appreciating that handsome face and his tiny waist and his long legs, but something tells him he found him hot first and hot enough later, hot enough to get into his pants despite him being a teacher. So Sylvain wasn’t looking for trouble that day; he found someone who caught his eye as he walked into the lecture room, and once that same someone said he was to be their professor for that class, Sylvain simply told himself Mr. Eisner was going to be worth the trouble.

He wasn’t counting on the professor not having any interest in him, or rather, as he would find out literally years later, on the professor going so far in his attempt to pretend he was not interested in him.

But Sylvain is an honest person, and he can admit he liked that reluctance and those cold eyes way more than Byleth willingly giving in. It made things interesting, enjoyable. Also Byleth had a great ass, so it was always a pleasure watching him walk away, even if it was after an indifferent rejection.

Then, with all that proof that he has the most fun while playing with fire, it’s a bit weird that Sylvain starts ignoring booty calls from other people altogether. He does so even when Byleth tells him he has no time for him or that he has plans, as much as it rubs Sylvain the wrong way getting reminded that he is very much not the only one Byleth messes around with.

He did look up Violet, Byleth’s twin sister, only to find that she is as gorgeous, with those big eyes and long hair and the biggest tits Sylvain has ever seen. But he didn’t… do anything about it. He didn’t follow her on instagram to at the very least enjoy whatever pictures she posts, much less get her number to fuck around and find out. He’s done it before, more than once, yet he can’t bring himself to tap that follow icon, knowing Byleth won’t take it kindly.

Why does he care at all what Byleth would think about it? If Sylvain got to get his hands on Violet, even if it was just a one night thing, he’d be the happiest man alive. Because— because he’d get to fuck both hot twins, where is the downside in that? 

Granted, he’d get in trouble, just like he's had countless times before. 

…

He’d do it, if he really wanted to, just for the record. It's just that… maybe he doesn’t think it will be worth it, deep down. Which makes absolutely zero sense, because Violet has huge boobs and (probably) a pussy. Usually that is more than enough to be worth it, but, well, whatever.

Okay, he does rub one off to Violet. The fantasy starts with just her, transitions to Sylvain getting into bed with both twins, and ends with only Byleth, but that is besides the point. It was hot as hell, yes, but Byleth will never know, lest Sylvain wants his jaw dislocated and broken, so it doesn’t matter.

Tonight, three days before the start of the new semester, Byleth is the one seeking trouble.

They make out on the plush bed of the suite Sylvain booked until they get bored or tomorrow comes, whichever happens first. It’s usually the former, because Byleth always insists on showering and leaving first. Not that Sylvain actually cares. Just an observation. A bit rude, in his opinion, but whatever.

Byleth is straddling his lap, both of them naked already, and he is lazily jerking Sylvain off, which is good, more than good, actually, and then Sylvain feels a hand— another hand, making its way down to his balls. Past his balls.

He smiles to mask the alarm he feels in his guts, drawing back from Byleth.

“Woah, what do you think you are doing?”

A green eyebrow arches, as if skeptic. Sylvain is a bit lost.

“What?” he asks, laughing awkwardly.

“No way you've never done this.”

Sylvain chuckles again, but even he can tell the sound is artificial. He tries to make up for it by giving his hands something to do, namely rubbing up and down Byleth’s back.

“I don’t bottom,” he says, like it should be obvious by now. And it should.

Byleth shakes his head.

“One thing has nothing to do with the other.”

Sylvain makes a face. Yes, it does ? Sylvain has never been one to get stuff up his ass because he doesn’t want anything near it. That’s why he fucks people instead of the other way around. The mere thought has him going a bit softer, which is a shame, but it’s not something that is up for discussion. Sylvain is a man, and that’s the end of it.

Byleth gives him a very interesting look. He traces his way up Sylvain’s shaft with a finger, eliciting a shudder that travels up his spine.

“If you give this a try,” he says, voice low and enticing to keep Sylvain entranced, eyes hooded. Byleth leans forward, to whisper his next words directly against Sylvain’s lips. “I’ll let you do me raw.”

The first thing that crosses Sylvain’s mind is that he misheard. Second option is that Byleth is messing with him. He waits, hesitating if should disregard the proposition at all. But as his eyes meet Byleth’s gaze, he realizes the professor is waiting for an actual answer.

Well, Sylvain wasn't born yesterday. He shakes his head, unable to keep the smile off his face. He leans in for a kiss that Byleth accepts. 

“Me first,” Sylvain mutters.

But Byleth isn’t having any of it; he presses a hand to Sylvain’s chest and pushes him down on the bed decidedly.

“Yes or no,” he urges, and it’s a bit surprising that he is insistent on anything at all.

A bit unfortunate that Sylvain can’t think of anything that turns him off more than shoving stuff up his butt. Byleth must be able to read his mind, because he rolls his eyes.

“You know I am not forcing you to do anything, right? If you don’t enjoy it we stop. This much should go without saying.”

It doesn’t sound like something obvious, not for Sylvain, but he doesn’t want to get into that because half his blood is concentrated on the lower part of his body and he doubts he can come up with something to defend himself should the need arise.

“So you want to fuck me , Professor?” He asks, mainly because he can’t say he ever thought of Byleth as anything other than a full time bottom.

Byleth’s hand gets a hold of Sylvain’s boner again, resuming his motions from before. He wants to distract him from the subject, give Sylvain’s brain a distorted perception of the idea by granting him pleasure so he’s easier to sway. Sylvain is used to the professor’s attempts at manipulation, a mirror of his own, and albeit he is happy to allow them most of the time, they never cease to amaze him all the same. He was even smart enough to ask this late into the night after hours of riling Sylvain up.

Such things often make Sylvain feel like they are almost the same brand of assholes. He likes the company, if he is being honest. He was growing bored of being the only fox in the hen house.

But whatever Sylvain wants to believe, Byleth isn’t quite there yet; although he is capable of changing his mind, he isn’t one to go back on his word. Unlike Sylvain, for example. Just thinking about how delicious it must be to slide inside the professor with no bothersome rubber between them, connected at last in the way it was always supposed to be, that thought together with Byleth's slick palm effectively filling Sylvain’s head with fog right now… 

Once again, Sylvain finds himself making decisions with his dick. That’s the story of his life, but, well.

Just the fingers , he says, and he regrets it almost right away, which usually doesn’t happen as quickly in his ample experience. Byleth’s fingers feel uncomfortable as they wiggle their way inside of him. Sylvain is sure his face must be as red as his hair, burning in shame when Byleth whispers against his ear that he needs to relax. The only thing that keeps him from kicking the professor away is the fantasy of revenge. Sylvain hates every second. 

Until he doesn’t— which is why he regrets agreeing to any of this.

It starts like a spark behind his eyelids that extends outwards from his nether regions, getting tight in his belly and dissipating in the form of heat. He has no idea what is happening nor why he closed his eyes. He forces himself to keep them open. 

He finds Byleth looking at him curiously. 

“Better?” He asks, feeling around inside of him.

Sylvain can’t find his voice; another spark rips through his body, but this time it’s twice as intense, a pleasure he’d never felt before and that makes his eyes water a little. 

He wants to ask what the fuck, legs shaking as he hauls himself up on his elbows, but the pad of Byleth’s finger touches his stupid prostate again, draws circles around that spot. It’s getting hard to breathe. 

“Who is a good boy?” He hears Byleth ask, a slight, mocking smile to his tone.

Sylvain shakes his head, gripping the sheets just to have something to hold onto. He tries way too hard to find his own voice, even if he doesn’t want to open his mouth out of fear for what might come out. His eyes begin to fall closed again at some point.

“M-me?” He mumbles, without thinking much of it. He is just desperate for something to keep him anchored to reality. The humiliation burns hot in his throat and chest, curled somewhere at the back of his head, ready to spring up the moment Byleth stops touching him.

“Are you?”

Byleth curves his fingers inside him, pressing and probing in a way that has Sylvain’s entire body going taunt, setting his nerves alight, his hips bucking back into his hand, head completely filled with cotton as they move in and out. It happens again, and then again, and his vision goes white for a full second.

“Oh God, yes,” he babbles, mindless, “I-I'm your good boy, I'm such a good boy.”

Byleth huffs in the darkness, wolfish smile crooking his lips as he wickedly abuses Sylvain’s prostate and jerks his cock like he wants him dead. 

Sylvain wants to die. 

He can’t manage a coherent sentence out, just half assed words that Byleth finger fucks out of him. Sylvain is close, so close, he can feel himself reach a height he thought he knew like the back of his hand, yet suddenly seems so much far away, posted so much higher he wholeheartedly believes the fall might just kill him. 

That’s when Byleth’s fingers slip out, leaving Sylvain breathless for a different reason. His vision is blurry when his eyes blink open, only managing to catch the haze of green hair and greener eyes, and then something else, a blunt, thicker form that pushes against that tight rim of muscles. 

The head of Byleth’s cock brushes that wretched spot inside of him, and Sylvain grits his teeth together, feeling impossibly full, like he’s eaten a whole meal and he is paralyzed, rendered motionless. Meanwhile, Byleth keeps stroking silly.

“See?” Byleth sighs against his ear, voice thick. “I knew you had it in you.”

He starts moving, and Sylvain’s hands reach for him on their own, bringing him closer until their chests are pressed together.

“I’m going to f-fucking kill you,” he chokes, both pissed like he’s never been and amused enough for a breathless, mirthless laugh, because once again, he was dumb enough to forget a wolf is always more cunning than a fox.

Chapter Text

Karaoke night with Sylvain’s friends is turning out to be a blast. They’ve all gathered here for the first time in what feels like months, catching up and reminiscing about their wild academy days, throwing back drinks, and taking turns butchering pop hits on the tiny stage. Dorothea is here, and Mercedes and Ferdinand, too; everyone in their group bothered to show up for once, which is great. Sylvain is in his element, laughing at the outrageous lyrics Constance is shrieking into the mic, and he can feel the warmth of a good night buzzing through his veins. He doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun with his friends. 

His phone buzzes on the table, and he lazily glances down at it, not expecting much. Probably another dumb meme from Ingrid or a group chat message he can ignore. 

But it’s a text from Byleth. The first one in two weeks, actually.

I'm free tonight, it reads.

Sylvain blinks at the screen, his heart skipping a beat before picking up speed. Byleth rarely initiates their meetings, but that doesn’t stop Sylvain from jumping at any opportunity to see him. He picks up the device.

Feeling lonely? ;) should I come over lol 

It takes Byleth a few minutes to text back, in which Sylvain is mostly dividing his attention between his phone and the story Ferdinand is relating as an intro for the song he is about to perform. After a while, three dots signal that Byleth is typing, making something dangerously close to relief wash over Sylvain, if just a little.

Pick me up.

He was having a great time here, though. Sylvain’s traitorous mind is already suggesting offering Byleth a seat next to him on the booth. Maybe he likes karaoke? Mercedes doesn’t study with them anymore, Ferdinand and Constance aren’t ones for gossip, and Dorothea is a tomb whenever she wants to be, so maybe the professor might say yes…? 

No way in hell.

“What are you so smiley for? Who’s that?”

Sylvain looks to his side only to find Dorothea intently inspecting the screen on his phone, so he locks it up before she can see more. He gently pinches her nose.

“None of your business, ma’am.”

Dorothea swats his hand and looks at him like he’s grown another head.

“It kind of is now,” she says, her excitement finding its way into the twitch of her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” Then her expression falls. “Wait. Tell me it’s Felix.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes, but he finds he can’t stop smiling. He figures it’s about time he comes clean to his friend about the whole Byleth situation, although it will have to wait just a tad more, because there’s simply too many people present right now.

“Sylvain,” she presses.

“I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? Promise,” he tells her in a low, appeasing voice, then raises it a little over the music. "Guys, I gotta run.”

Without a second thought, he’s already pocketing his phone and scooting to the edge of his seat, mind racing with how quickly he can get out of here and head over to Byleth’s place. The anticipation bubbling inside him makes the rest of the night feel dull in comparison. 

Dorothea grunts something, but he pays her no heed. He barely notices when the current singer finishes their song, either. He stands up and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair.

Mercedes raises an eyebrow at him, with the face of someone who can read his thoughts with a single look.

"My, you’re leaving? We just got here.”

"Something came up," Sylvain says with a shrug, though his grin may be a little too eager for it to back up the lie. Well, it’s not a lie per se, is it? "I'll catch you guys later."

"You mean someone came up," Ferdinand mutters knowingly, dropping into the booth beside him after his karaoke turn. “Don’t tell me you’re ditching us for one of your hookups.”

Constance snickers, clearly tipsy already, albeit when she does her tone is high as chimes and sophisticated.

"Got some mystery girlfriend we should know about?"

The idea of Byleth being his boyfriend nearly makes him snort. Also, Thea doesn’t look too thrilled about the topic at the corner of his eye. He forces a chuckle, trying to play it cool. 

“Nah, nothing like that. Just, you know... plans change.”

"Yeah, well, you’ve got a habit of disappearing," Ferdinand says with a pointed look from across the table, his voice teasing. "You never tell us who you’re running off to meet.”

Sylvain shrugs again, feigning indifference, but his stomach is doing flips, hands itching to text Byleth back, lest he finds other plans for the night. He’s not going to spill the details anyways. They wouldn’t understand this thing he has with Byleth — hell, he doesn’t fully understand it half the time, but it’s just... something he can’t say no to.

“It’s no big deal,” he says, putting on his jacket. “I’ll make it up to you guys next time, promise.”

Some of the group tease him a bit more, laughing about Sylvain’s well-known reputation as a fuckboy, but none of them press too hard. Guess they are used to it by now. Thea’s pretty eyes send him a quiet warning that he very wisely chooses to ignore.

As he steps out of the bar, the cool night air hits his face, and as he takes a deep breath he feels the chill in his lungs. His feet are already carrying him towards his car. He quickly tells Byleth he is on his way. His heart races. 

From an outsider’s perspective, it might look like he is prioritizing Byleth over pretty much everything else, but it’s very much not like that. Byleth is always guarded, okay? Sylvain wishes he would relax a little more, let things flow and have fun, let Sylvain lead. So yeah, it makes sense that Sylvain drops some things, and occasionally some people to meet the professor. He’s not gonna miss a chance, knowing how good of a time they always have together.

He’s not sure when it started being like this, but lately, every time Byleth gives him an inch of attention, it feels like a high. Even if he hates how fleeting their moments are, how sporadically Byleth reaches out. But Sylvain is an opportunist in the eyes of some and a sly player to some others, so in the end he  will take what he can get, he’s always been like this. Everything remains under control.

No big deal.

“ You fucking whore !” Thea whispers, scandalized yet somehow still mindful of their surroundings.

It is 10 am on a Tuesday. They are grabbing something to drink before heading to campus. There’s barely any soul in the coffee shop at the moment, and those present seem more concerned about their own business than paying attention to Dorothea’s understandable crisis.

Sylvain shrugs, physically incapable of wiping the smirk off his face. He stirs his dragon fruit drink, faking indifference. 

“In my defense, they both wanted it.”

Dorothea shakes her head, unable to come to terms with it. She likes to play prude sometimes.

Sylvain wasn’t going to keep quiet about it forever, obviously. It’s been over a month and a half since the party, summer break long left behind and seniors already graduated, and while Sylvain wasn’t precisely gloating about fucking everyone’s favorite professor (mainly because of Byleth’s insistence on his silence, in addition to the Felix situation), he knew the moment he woke up next morning that he had to let his best friend in on what happened. He took his time but it's the sentiment that counts. It’s a miracle she didn’t hear anything by now, actually.

Also, the whole dorm party thing is only one part of it. The tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

Dorothea, God bless her, judges the shit out of him, but never gets up and leaves. 

“Hey, I thought you’d be happy for me.”

Her eyes go wide, as if she seriously can’t believe he is saying that. 

“Finally getting a chance with the professor is one thing, Sylvain, messing around with Felix because you were feeling ignored is another.”

“Well, they aren’t mutually exclusive, I sort of proved that already.”

“You are such an asshole.” Dorothea shakes her head again. “Isn’t he your friend since like, forever? You knew how he felt about you. And you are dating now. Because of that night.”

Sylvain rolls his eyes, feeling like she isn’t losing her shit over what’s important. She's always had a soft spot for Felix. It's like she sees him as a younger brother, like a kid that can't look after himself without help. Unfortunately for her, Felix is not like that. Because yes, Sylvain was probably a bit too tipsy to stop and think about the consequences of his actions that night, but the same goes for Felix. Besides, precisely because they've been friends for their entire lives, Felix knows Sylvain better than anyone. He knows what he is like, so one would argue he should know what to expect from him as well. And what not to expect. It's not Sylvain's fault that all it took was a few messy kisses for him to forget Sylvain never wants more, or that he thought at all he was the exception to the rule.

“And it gets better,” he says, already losing interest in the Felix thing because it’s not even the best part. “Uh, worse. I guess. You probably don’t wanna know, though.”

He makes a pause for dramatic effect, because he knows Thea better than he knows himself, and that this gossip is too juicy for her to pass on.

She swats at his arm, offended he is even pretending to drop the subject entirely.

“Tell me!”

Good. This is what Sylvain has been waiting for. The actual reap to his sow. He leans in over the armrest of his loveseat, hearing an imaginary drumroll.

“The Professor’s not a saint, just so you know. We’re kinda still doing it.”

“ Kinda ?” She repeats, with eyes like saucers and voice a whole octave higher than before, and Sylvain cackles. “Define ‘kinda’!” She gasps. “Don’t tell me— that night you ran off to meet him ?” 

Sylvain is having the time of his life. He still remembers that day during their second semester when he announced to Dorothea that he was totally going to bone Byleth, and the way she laughed in his face. It took a little over three years, but not only did Sylvain manage to be true to his word, he also got to keep Byleth around for booty calls. How sweet is that? He falls back onto his seat, crossing a leg over the other at the ankle, beyond pleased with himself. 

Thea takes a sip from her cold almond latte. Her heavy lashes almost cover her narrowed eyes.

“I hate you. How are you so lucky?”

He huffs, amused.

“I’d like to believe I'm a hard worker, mind you.”

But he was lucky, he supposes; a matter of being in the right place at the right time, as that’s usually how these things go. He doesn't even want to imagine what would have happened if he were to be too distracted with any other rando and missed Byleth the night of the dorm party by the skin of his teeth. Had the professor willingly walked into someone else's bed, Sylvain would have been left seething and probably plotting how to make the poor bastard's life a living hell.

Good thing it all worked out in the end. 

Dorothea decides to momentarily put her moral compass on hold, because she keeps asking about Byleth, evidently hungry for more details. Sylvain isn’t one to hold back, so as they get in her car, he answers all her questions and even offers to show her some (sadly) non-existing photos in his phone. He knows he is pushing it a bit, and unsurprisingly, she punches his arm and tells him she doesn’t want to see those. She’s probably lying, he can tell even through her shades, but Sylvain doesn’t see the point in insisting either way. He laments Byleth was smart enough to foresee this and forbid him from taking photos and videos, though.

The professor likes getting wasted, he tells her instead. He loves sweet drinks and getting backshots (“Sylvain!” gasps Dorothea, both affronted and amused). The professor is adamant on them being a secret, Sylvain keeps on, but he is kind of into public sex, too (“Oh my God, is he?!”). Sylvain tells her about everything he can think of, but also takes notice that there are things that he keeps to himself, such as that mole on Byleth’s right shoulder, or that he barely touches his phone if it’s not for playing games or that Sylvain knows he lied when he said his most sensitive spot was the back of his thighs. Sylvain knows from experience that full body shudder whenever he kisses Byleth’s belly isn’t fake.

All this feels like information not just anyone has on Byleth, and thus Sylvain is not allowed to divulge. It’s very likely that he doesn’t have permission to know it himself to begin with. Byleth doesn’t talk about himself much, so every tiny piece of data Sylvain has on him is the result of both his keen observation skills and sheer luck to stumble across it.

They pull up to the student parking lot. Despite summer break being over, the heat and the blazing sun overhead are going nowhere anytime soon. They walk to their first class of the day, being somewhat grateful they don’t have any early morning lectures anymore. First years walk around with the sunken cheeks of famished souls who haven't eaten breakfast before their 7 am classes. Poor bastards.

“But like,” Dorothea starts suddenly, as if trying to make sense of her own thoughts. “Did he sleep with Dimitri that night?”

The corner of Sylvain’s mouth twitches behind his drink. He hasn’t asked that yet, for some reason. He doesn’t really care, he figures.

“You think he did?” goes on Dorothea, surely reading the slight doubt in his eyes.

Sylvain shrugs. He has no way of knowing that. Byleth never talks about that night, and so by extension, neither does Sylvain.

“Does it matter?”

“I was just thinking that, maybe…”

“He’s seeing other people?” Sylvain offers in a monotone voice, eyeing some first year girls that he has never seen before. He winks at them, and they rush away amidst giggles. “Hey, what happened to that guy that you were ghosting?”

The diversion works. Dorothea sighs with exasperation, her mind already somewhere else.

“Ugh, you are not going to believe what he did.”

Sylvain half listens to her complain about this guy that she clearly wants to fuck but is too proud to admit it. A tiny voice in Sylvain’s head wonders for half a second if Byleth talked like this about him at some point with his friends, only to swat the idea away almost immediately. Does Byleth have friends, anyway? He probably does, but Sylvain has never met them. He wouldn’t talk about him with them either, right?

Anyway, whether Byleth is seeing —and by consequence, fucking— other people, it’s none of Sylvain’s business. As long as they use protection, they are free to do pretty much whatever they want, that is the whole reason for having fuck buddies.

Yes, Byleth told him he’d let him hit raw one time, but only after they both ran some tests and had proof that they were both clean. Sylvain had whined about it, of course, but Byleth remained firm and told him he’d pay for everything if he just shut up and did what he was told.

“Forge the fucking results and see what happens,” he warned Sylvain, with the face of someone who owns a gun and is merely seeking an excuse to use it. 

It was kinda hot, even if the whole ordeal was not precisely sexy. It’s also kinda funny that Byleth doesn’t deem Sylvain above such tactics. Well, he is . It’s too much work.

Anyways, point being, they never discussed the possibility of making their relationship exclusive. Byleth has never mentioned any of Sylvain’s other sexual partners nor suggested he knew or cared about their existence, and Sylvain has paid him back with the same treatment. Even if it’s been a hot minute since the last time Sylvain slept with anyone else that isn’t Byleth. He did before, he is not going to lie, but he’s kinda… lost interest as of late. Byleth gives him what he wants and that’s enough. Felix is still too immature to handle anything other than a kiss on the lips without the violent blush that crawls up his face frying his entire brain, so Sylvain doesn’t worry much about him.

And speaking of Felix, he is already sitting with Ingrid by the time Sylvain and Dorothea walk into the lecture hall. He looks up, as if his eyes are naturally drawn to Sylvain, and he gives him a wave with a tiny grin. Sylvain gives him his best smile and waves back.

Half the class falls asleep to Hanneman’s dull voice reciting formulas and chemical structures. Luckily, he is too passionate about the matter at hand to notice. Sylvain himself tunes it out and scrolls down on instagram with his chin propped on his left hand. He sees an ad featuring a model wearing a baby blue hoodie with the words HUNGOVER TEAM printed in white across the chest. He likes the color and that it doesn’t seem too thick for the weather. It also reminds him of a certain someone. He takes a quick screenshot and opens up his chat with Byleth.

Although, suddenly sending that doesn’t seem like a very good idea. He stops himself before he starts typing anything into the text box, finger hovering over the keyboard on the screen.

He locks up his phone and looks up. Hanneman’s messy handwriting fills the entire whiteboard with careful drawings of chemical compounds and molecules.

With a sigh, Sylvain gets a notebook out of his bag and begins to diligently copy the content down into its pages.

Things are a bit different this new semester; for one, Byleth is no longer their teacher for any subject. Admittedly, Sylvain is a little bummed out at this, since he spent all summer anticipating the moment when he’d inevitably walk into class and make eye contact with the teacher that he pounded into the bed the night before. It would have been so cute to watch Byleth trying his best to ignore him despite his mind showing him tidbits of memories of them together. Sylvain could picture him pressing his legs together, cheeks burning with quiet desire. He gets empty stares instead, in the corridors. That is funny in its own right, but not quite what Sylvain wants. 

Once classes formally start, they don’t see each other much while on campus. Byleth is busy with his lectures most of the time, so the only occasions in which Sylvain is lucky enough to see him, usually in passing, are when the professor is in the cafeteria, teaching at the front of a full classroom, or walking through the hallways on the first floor. It feels like he’s there at school, but not quite at the same time.

Sylvain receives messages from a couple of girls to meet up over the weekend but ignores them, paying attention for a millisecond only to dismiss them with a flick of his finger, just so they don’t clutter his inbox. Byleth surely does the same with the message Sylvain sends him, because he doesn’t reply until Sunday night, and it’s a simple, generic, I’m busy .

Now that Sylvain has been honest with Dorothea, he is free to complain to her, just as she always does with him. But, maybe in the same way he always has, his friend teases him first and then gives him an empty solution, something that sounds terribly familiar.

“Just go and fuck someone else.”

He doesn’t. Instead, Sylvain hangs out with Felix and Ingrid. He has a good time, but it’s hard to stop checking his phone every now and then. Felix gives him curious looks but says nothing about it.

Byleth and him meet once during the next two weeks, and when they’re finally face to face at the door of their hotel room, Sylvain feels like he’s been holding his breath for hours. When those green eyes silently ask if he will step aside anytime soon so Byleth can enter the room, Sylvain can’t help but sigh with something dangerously close to relief.

That moment, like many others that came before, slowly accumulates in the back of his mind, like drops splashing against a rock inside a cave; a small, insignificant patter, but noticeable over time, like a leak in the middle of the night. Sylvain hears the sound once and forgets about it immediately, not taking the time to figure out its source, and the same thing happens a second and third time, maybe even more, until the leaking, the dripping, is so constant, so insistent, always with the same echoing sound, to the point where it’s unmistakable, to the point where it keeps Sylvain from sleeping at all.

And Dorothea comes with her advice, “Just fuck someone else,” as if it were the obvious answer to the problem, but Sylvain can’t stop thinking, “I can’t, my house is going to flood.”

“I was thinking about getting a piercing,” Byleth mutters while looking at his reflection in the mirror. His voice from the bathroom pulls Sylvain out of his reverie. He is lying on the bed, the professor’s vape between his lips. “Maybe just the ears first.”

Sylvain remains silent, mostly because he’s not sure if Byleth is talking to him. It’s not until the professor peeks his head from the bathroom doorway, bare chested, with the look of someone who’s waiting, that Sylvain blinks, caught off guard. He quickly recovers his composure and offers Byleth a sultry smile.

“That’d be so hot. Would love nip piercings on you.”

Byleth exhales through his nose, seemingly amused. Almost affectionate. Sylvain can nearly see a smile on his face, even if he is shaking his head. Without another word, Byleth returns to the bed and pulls up a game on his phone. Sylvain stays very still. 

Usually, Byleth leaves after they are done fooling around— either makes Sylvain drive him back home or calls for a ride, but he never stays until next morning, nor does he linger in the room when they’ve both gotten what they wanted already.

Sylvain wonders whether to say something about it or stay quiet, somehow fearful of breaking the moment by drawing attention to the issue.

“What are you playing?” he asks, using his best indifferent tone.

Byleth adjusts himself with a pillow under his head and shows him the phone screen. It’s one of his retro games where a pixel-shaped ship shoots pixel-shaped bullets at pixel-shaped aliens. Miklan used to play those when they were kids.

Sylvain cautiously inches a little closer, playing innocent, as if Byleth were a skittish cat that jumped at the mere attempt to pet him.

“Can I play?”

Byleth immediately says no, not even looking away from his game.

“This streak is too important.”

Clearly it is; important enough for him to postpone his usual immediate withdrawal to keep playing. Sylvain doesn’t quite know how to feel. Byleth seems relaxed, not paying him the slightest attention, focused on his phone. After his shower, a faint scent of soap lingers around him, and his hair is still slightly damp.

Maybe Sylvain should follow his own habits and take advantage of the opportunity presented to him.

Casually slipping an arm around Byleth's waist, Sylvain leans in closer and buries his nose in his neck, happily breathing in his clean scent. Luck must be on his side, because even as Sylvain attentively watches him play over his shoulder, Byleth completely ignores him.

“Does that thing have multiplayer?”

“Don’t distract me.”

Sylvain lets out a chuckle but obeys. His eyelids soon start to feel heavy, his mind gently swaying toward unconsciousness with the 8-bit music of the game. Though it’s probably due to the warmth radiating from Byleth’s body and his rhythmic breathing so close.

After a while, Byleth absentmindedly strokes Sylvain’s hair at the back of his head, and he feels himself melting.

Somewhere in his mind, Sylvain hears the drop fall.

The next time Sylvain hears it, it’s not even half as p leasant.

A pair of people catch his eye on Wednesday when he drops by the school cafeteria. Dimitri and Byleth are sitting at a table near the edge of the room, engrossed in what seems to be an amiable conversation. Judging by the drinks on the table and the fries they’re sharing, it seems more like they planned to grab a bite together rather than meeting by chance. Maybe that’s not the case at all—it’s almost certain it wasn’t, but it doesn’t change what Sylvain is seeing and that he doesn’t like it.

This time, the sound the drop makes when it falls is deafening; Sylvain feels it reverberating in his teeth.

Seeing them getting along just fine shoots a pang through his chest as he’s filled with an odd mix of emotions. He doesn’t immediately approach them, settling instead on watching them from afar for a moment, studying them as they interact. Byleth and him have never eaten together, not even after the many times Sylvain insisted on room service or a late-night burger run when Byleth agreed to let Sylvain take him home.

Seated at the table with Dimitri, Byleth laughs lightly at something the boy says while dipping a fry in ketchup. When he brings it to his mouth, his lips are still curved into a smile as he chews. 

What does this mean? Are the professor and Dimitri suddenly friends, even after what happened between them at the party? So they are closer now, is that it? If they are messing around, just like Sylvain suspected at some point, then why is Byleth treating Dimitri like he actually enjoys his company? Why does Sylvain get the cold shoulder out of bed, instead?

Sylvain’s throat goes a little dry. The sight makes his stomach turn for reasons he can’t quite identify. 

With his mind completely blank, Sylvain makes his way to the table in a straight line, ignoring all the curious heads that turn to watch him pass. Byleth doesn’t notice him until he’s upon them, and the change in his expression is instant; his smile dissolves, and his lips become a thin, carefully neutral line. But his eyes are on Sylvain now, and that’s all that matters. He can get mad if he wants; Sylvain finds he doesn’t care.

Sporting his best winning smile, Sylvain greets Dimitri with a clap on the shoulder, maybe a bit harder than necessary, but certainly nothing a big guy like Dimitri can’t handle.

“Hey,” he chirps, “What’s up, guys?”

Dimitri seems taken aback, but his expression looks sincere when he greets Sylvain energetically.

“Sylvain, how are you?”

“Spectacularly.” He lets out an exaggerated huff and throws himself into the seat beside the professor. Sylvain gives them both a big smile, trying to act like his sudden presence isn't a strange occurrence. He leans back in his seat, his arm naturally slinging around the back of the professor’s chair. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

Dimitri says something, maybe a yes or a no, but Sylvain pays very little heed to him. Instead, he directs his attention towards the professor, who seems to be trying to not look at him. Sylvain’s gaze is a little sharper than usual as he speaks.

“How are you today, Professor?”

“A bit busy.”

Sylvain’s expression turns into a practiced pout. 

“Aww, always so busy. Is that why you hide from me?”

This is the first time they interact in school premises, the first conversation they hold, but surely only thanks to someone else being present. If it were just the two of them, Byleth would have already turned around. Byleth seems to understand he can’t be so rude in front of Dimitri without raising suspicions, so he takes a sip of his drink, if only to give himself something to do.

Dimitri chuckles, blissfully oblivious.

“He does hide, doesn’t he? Just the other day, Annette and I were looking for him all over campus. It was like that Scooby-Doo episode with the door chase.”

Byleth’s cheeks tint a slight pink as he snorts to stifle an amused huff, and Sylvain’s jaw clenches, his expression darkening. Sylvain isn’t a violent person, but he feels like giving Dimitri a nice punch. 

Sylvain lets out a small laugh, though his eyes never stray far from the professor.

“Yeah, he’s really hard to pin down.”

Apparently, Byleth also prefers a change of topic, because he clears his throat. 

“I have class now. Do you mind if we talk later?”

Sylvain frowns, faking hurt.

“Don’t be like that, Professor. I won’t take much of your time.”

Fortunately, Dimitri catches on that he’s only in the way and hastens to grab his drink and trash, then stands up from the table.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” he says good-naturedly, always a gentleman. “See you later, okay?”

Byleth waves goodbye, expression impenetrable. As soon as Dimitri is gone, Sylvain scoots closer, knowing Byleth will wait five seconds at most before making his exit too. 

Byleth raises an eyebrow, skeptical.

“You must be having trouble with your classes.”

With Dimitri out of the way, Sylvain allows himself to relax. He leans over the table, using a hand as a pillow for his chin. Byleth doesn’t look any friendlier from this new angle, but Sylvain gives him a candid smile all the same. He is always spurred on by that attitude of his, for some reason. Maybe he is just a masochist.

“Not at all. I just wanted to see you.”

Byleth wouldn’t fall for such a worn-out line, but Sylvain finds it doesn’t matter much, because for a change, he’s not lying.

“Okay,” Byleth says, placing his hands on the table. “See you.”

“Let’s go clubbing this weekend,” Sylvain blurts out, half not knowing what he’s saying and half not knowing why. “I have VIP passes.”

At that, Byleth’s eyes discreetly dart around, probably to survey their surroundings. Sylvain’s voice wasn’t particularly loud, so he doubts anyone heard, but that doesn’t stop Byleth from giving him a disapproving look.

“No.”

Sylvain doesn’t let the refusal discourage him, no matter how immediately it comes. He figures that if he already bothered to invite Byleth out, insisting a bit more won’t hurt.

“We can grab dinner first. It’ll be fun. You like dancing?”

“It’s not a good idea, none of it.” says Byleth firmly, though lowering his voice. “Couldn’t we have had this conversation over the phone?”

Sylvain’s laughter tastes bitter in his tongue. 

“I don’t like being ignored, Professor.”

Byleth stares at him for a moment, as if surprised that Sylvain is calling him out for only responding to his texts when it’s about hooking up. Well, yes he is. Sylvain is the most surprised here by his own behavior, but that’s another matter entirely.

Byleth presses his lips into a line. He is like a bomb with an unusually long fuse, even if said fuse does tend to be shorter when it comes to Sylvain, but it’s still clear his patience is running out. Sylvain, for his part, doesn’t think he’s ever been this insistent with anyone before.

“I didn’t want to resort to this,” he hears himself say. “But is you don’t say yes, I’m going to cause a scene. Maybe I’ll go in for a kiss?”

Byleth’s expression is worth his weight in gold.

“You think I’m going to give in to blackmail? Come any closer and I’ll smash your face in.”

Sylvain kinda likes the sound of that. He is pretty sure he can bet his monthly allowance on Byleth only ever considering using violence on him, and no else else. Certainly not Dimitri. Is that a good thing? Because it certainly sounds like a victory. He shrugs.

“I think you overestimate how few fucks I give.”

Byleth is speechless. Sylvain finds he looks very handsome like this. 

After a silent battle of stares, Byleth sighs.

“Why are you so insufferable lately?”

I don’t know , thinks Sylvain, I can’t stand myself either.  

Sylvain plays drums on the table, unable to contain the impression that, for the first time since this thing started between them, he has won a round.

He stands up, wearing a radiant smile, and walks around the table to squeeze Byleth’s shoulders.

“I’ll pick you up on Saturday, then,” he says, a promise and a threat both in his tone.

Byleth swats his hands off, attracting an inquisitive look from the next table over, but Sylvain’s good mood is unshakable.

On Saturday night, Sylvain is practically vibrating with excitement. Not even the silent presence of Miklan in the house ruins his afternoon, and that’s saying a lot. 

He doesn’t tell Dorothea about his success in coaxing Byleth out, but he reminds himself to take the time to report back tomorrow. At least for tonight, Sylvain shaves carefully, puts on a nice shirt, and fixes his hair meticulously; he sprays his favorite cologne behind his ears and on his wrists as a final touch once he’s ready. Looking at himself in the mirror before leaving, car keys already in hand and wallet in his back pocket, he briefly wonders if his effort is evident. The watch on his left wrist says he still has some time, so he takes a quick mirror selfie and sends it to Thea. The response is immediate, a bunch of fire emojis and a “looking GREAT.” Dorothea doesn’t ask what the occasion is, bless her, so Sylvain has green light to go out and not return until tomorrow.

He puts on his orange sunglasses to complete the look, but another glance at his reflection is enough to make him feel stupid immediately. It’s been dark for hours, so why sunglasses? Ridiculous. He takes them off and throws them aside before leaving.

His hands are a bit sweaty when he parks in front of Byleth’s house, and with a grimace, he wipes them on his jeans. The music playing on the car stereo makes his seat vibrate with the bass, but that only makes Sylvain more nervous, so, with a flick of the wrist, he turns the volume knob. The speakers explode with the volume at maximum, and Sylvain jumps in surprise, hurrying to turn off the deafening noise with frantic hands.

The resulting silence rings in his ears, but Sylvain sighs in relief, casting a furtive glance outside the car to see if anyone witnessed the embarrassing scene. Seeing no one around, he allows himself to bite his lip. To be honest, he doesn’t remember the last time he was this eager to go out with someone. The funny thing is, it almost feels like a first date, because, well, it kind of is. It will be the first date he has with Byleth. It feels almost unreal just thinking about it, given that with other people Sylvain has had to wait until after multiple dates to sleep with them, while with Byleth, the process had been completely reversed.

Through the passenger window, Sylvain notices movement at Byleth’s door. It’s too dark to discern whether it’s him or not, so Sylvain stays still, waiting, and it’s only when the shadow opens the passenger door that it occurs to Sylvain that maybe he should have stood outside the house and then opened the car door for Byleth himself.

“Hey,” Byleth greets him once he’s seated, and thanks to the interior light of the car, Sylvain can see him clearly. 

Tonight, Byleth is wearing a long-sleeve, round-neck, black mesh shirt with nothing underneath, stretching over his biceps and chest, which is enough to make Sylvain stare like a fool, but when he looks up and sees Byleth has black eyeliner on, Sylvain is sure his heart stops in his chest.

“H-Hey,” he chokes. He clears his throat and tries again, this time with a smile. “Hey, cutie.”

Byleth closes the door, plunging the car’s interior back into darkness.

Sylvain shakes his head. 

“Wait, wait.”

Feeling around, Sylvain turns on the overhead light, and takes the opportunity to run his eyes over Byleth’s face. The professor seems a bit embarrassed.

“It’s just makeup, Sylvain.”

“You look amazing. So hot.”

Byleth blushes. Like, he actually blushes, pink powdering his cheeks. He tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

“My sister helped me put it on.”

Byleth did this for him? Sylvain smiles, very happy. He can’t keep his eyes off of the professor. After a moment, he turns off the light and starts the car.

“Well, say thanks to her for me, because holy shit.”

“ Sylvain .”

“I feel underdressed somehow.”

Byleth shakes his head. 

“You always look good.”

Sylvain laughs, beyond delighted, heart doing something funny in his chest.

“Just drive,” sighs Byleth.

After a while, they arrive at the club, which, with music clearly audible even from the outside, stands two stories tall, with the second featuring a terrace overlooking the street where people can be seen sitting at tables and dancing, colored lights changing every so often shining through the windows. In front of the door, a burly bouncer handles a long line of people waiting to get in. Sylvain flashes a smile and the name of his friend with the authority to let him pass like he owns the place. The man doesn’t even glance at him and steps aside, motioning for him to enter, and under the skeptical eyes of everyone in line, Sylvain encourages Byleth to go first by placing his hand on the professor’s lower back.

The first thing Sylvain notices upon entering the place are the strobe lights dancing both on the ceiling and on the dance floor, where a crowd of people are packed together, shaking to the rhythm of the music the DJ, stationed on a raised platform in front of giant screens, plays from a console the size of a table for ten. It smells faintly of pot and sweat, and the music is so loud it’s making Sylvain’s head throb. It’s an audiovisual assault in every sense of the word, but Sylvain loves it.

The VIP booths are on the second floor, so Sylvain directs Byleth up a side staircase that leads them past the bar to some black couches overlooking the dance floor. One of the booths is occupied by what seems to be a group of salarymen who appear quite drunk and don’t even glance at them as they pass by to the couch furthest in the back.

Almost as soon as they take their seats, one next to the other, a waiter who looks like he wants to die materializes in front of them. Byleth makes himself comfortable on the couch, folding one leg beneath him and propping an elbow over the backrest, his knees oriented towards Sylvain, and lets him handle the waiter without saying a word himself. Sylvain mentions his friend again, and the waiter nods as if he’s trained his whole life for this moment, perhaps spurred towards better customer service by the promise of a good tip.

Once he’s gone, Sylvain is more than happy to focus a hundred percent on the man to his right, who, again, looks like a five-course meal. The lights dance over his profile, flickering incessantly to the rhythm of the music, which vibrates in Sylvain’s chest cavity.

Byleth catches him staring immediately but, as usual, allows it.

“Do you like dancing, Professor?” Sylvain asks once more, inching closer.

Byleth hums, pensive. 

“Ask me again in about fifteen minutes.”

Sylvain laughs, telling himself he should have known. Nothing out of the ordinary then.

The waiter returns after a few minutes with a bottle under his arm, two glasses, and a bucket of ice. He prepares their drinks, and when he hands one to Byleth, the professor seems pleased enough to clink his glass with Sylvain’s willingly.

The nature of the booth, hidden in a corner, submerged in darkness except for the flickering lights from the dance floor, the booming music and, of course, the alcohol, allows Sylvain to get closer than Byleth would normally allow in public. With an arm on the backrest of the couch, behind Byleth, Sylvain has to invade his personal space to whisper into his ear and be heard over the music. The neighboring salarymen don’t pay them the slightest attention, which suits Sylvain perfectly, as Byleth gives him more freedom to brush his lips against his earlobe or neck occasionally.

The next time Sylvain asks if he wants to dance, Byleth pretends to think about it for a moment, swirling the liquid in his glass. Sylvain loves that damn eyeliner when the professor’s eyelids fall a little as he looks down, so he’s in no hurry to stop looking at him like he’s the prettiest thing Sylvain has ever seen.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Byleth admits, shrugging.

Sylvain laughs heartily. The corners of Byleth’s lips curve upwards too. The sight makes Sylvain feel bolder.

“Just picture everybody naked,” Sylvain says, taking Byleth’s hand as he also feels his head getting lighter. “Come on, I love this song.”

Byleth’s eyes stay on Sylvain instead of dropping to their joined hands, almost like he doesn’t think much about it. Instead, Byleth takes another sip of his drink, as if to finish convincing himself.

Byleth lets Sylvain lead him back to the first floor by the hand, lets him lace their fingers like it’s nothing, like it’s something natural for them. Sylvain feels his heart pounding in his chest to the rhythm of the music as they make their way through the crowd, colored lights piercing the artificial fog creeping along the floor.

Sylvain lets the dizziness of his head dictate his movements, free hand reaching for Byleth, firm yet soft, who closes his eyes and moves to the sensual rhythm with ease. Something in Sylvain tells him they’re too far from each other, fingers itching, so he makes Byleth turn on his heels and places his hands on his narrow waist. The thin fabric of his see-through shirt is vaporous to the touch, Byleth’s body underneath oozing warmth.

Byleth presses himself to Sylvain's front, his swaying hips distracting the boy a little too much from everything happening around them. A hand snakes its way up Sylvain’s neck and stops at his nape, where he can feel the gentle scrape of nails. The professor presses himself even tighter to Sylvain's chest, and now there’s a bubbly butt that, if Sylvain weren’t smarter, he would think it’s rubbing by accident against his growing erection. He groans, and Byleth probably hears it, as his ear is just next to Sylvain's mouth, and then those hips start rolling slowly, making it impossible for Sylvain to think about, well, literally anything else.

His fingers close on Byleth’s hip bones, in part so he can keep him in place while his own hips seek more contact; he licks his lower lip, his thumb rubbing circles on bare skin. He wants to sneak his whole hand under Byleth’s stupid shirt, caress his belly and squeeze his chest, but the pressure building up down his pelvis and the loud-ass music making his ribs vibrate force him to keep his attention only in a single place. Byleth’s neck smells of soap and cologne and Sylvain feels high on it.

Then, too early for Sylvain's liking, Byleth is facing him again, his arms feeling their way up Sylvain's torso until his fingers lace behind his head. His eyes look up intently at him, and Sylvain's hands go down and linger just above the sweet curve of his ass. Sylvain doesn’t know if the constant throb between them is due to the music or his own crazy heartbeat, but he can clearly feel Byleth’s own arousal grazing his every time they sway their hips together.

Byleth shows him a flash of a smirk, setting Sylvain’s loins on fire. He wants to lean and bite that goddamned grin off his lips, to grab a handful of his butt, to push Byleth against the corner of the room and fuck him up the wall, with all these people watching.

“What’re you thinking about?” the professor asks him, leaning into Sylvain’s neck so he can be heard over the music.

The ghost of his warm breath over Sylvain's jaw feels like a caress, soft and hot. It sends a shiver down his spine that he masks with a dangerous chuckle. 

“You don’t wanna know.”

Byleth doesn’t look intimidated; if anything, his eyes have a naughty shine to them now. The proximity gives Sylvain the push he needs to forget about anything else, makes him drunk with adrenaline, and he finally, finally catches Byleth’s mouth in his. Byleth’s lips let out a sound that doesn’t make it to Sylvain's brain; it’s soft, wet and tastes like alcohol. Sylvain's tongue finds its way inside his sultry mouth, and it’s delicious. The most delicious taste ever. There are fingers pulling at the hair of his nape, just in that way Byleth knows very well drives him crazy. Sylvain bites the professor’s lower lip, relishing in the way Byleth can’t seem to be close enough to him even when they are pressed together from head to toe. Sylvain guides his hands lower until he gets a feeling of Byleth’s plump ass and squeezes hard, almost slightly lifting Byleth in the process. This time, he can clearly feel Byleth gasping.

Byleth takes one hand from his hair to his chest, where he pushes a little. Sylvain opens his eyes —that he apparently closed at some point— and meets Byleth’s heated gaze. There’s a darker hue coloring his cheeks, but under the lighting conditions Sylvain can’t really know if it’s a blush. He wants to see what color it actually is, and if possible, see it spread all over his body.

He also wants to jerk off to Byleth wearing that shirt and cum on it.

The music transitions into a lighter, energetic song, which is probably for the best, and it appears he isn’t the only one a bit left hanging because Byleth pouts. An unprecedented urge to bite his cheek seizes Sylvain, and it acts like a soothing balm that quenches the need in his belly. Everyone around them is jumping, hands outstretched up. A little laugh bubbles up Sylvain’s chest, taking a prudent step back, hands reaching for Byleth’s again before he even realizes it. Byleth gives him a curious look for a moment, as if slightly taken aback, but then Sylvain sees him snort, and once that tiny smile settles on his lips, it doesn’t leave.

Byleth, usually so composed, lets the vibrant music guide his movements and Sylvain, always ready for some fun, matches his energy, practically feeling his eyes sparkling with delight as they dance. Sylvain makes him spin and twirl, and Byleth actually laughs, maybe a tad shy at first, carefree and genuine later, and Sylvain can’t look away. 

And, well , Sylvain might be tripping, but he feels something . He can see it in the way Byleth’s eyes remain on his, a silent conversation passing between them that says keep me close , don’t let go of me ; in how the club, with its chaos and deafening noise, fades away, leaving just the two of them in the world. 

They sing along to the music and Sylvain finds himself easily swept away, drawn by the beating pulse behind his ears, by the way his lungs burn, by the way the armor around Byleth is melting down each time they meet in the middle.

He reaches out to Byleth’s hands and pulls him closer. Their faces are inches apart, the proximity amplifying that electricity that takes hold of Sylvain’s thunderous heart. For a moment, ephemeral and blissful, the music seems to pause, the world narrowing down even further, to just their shared breath and the warmth of the professor’s body that is suddenly so different from before; still scalding, still setting Sylvain’s every cell ablaze, but now denying him of air. Now, it fills his head with cotton instead of gasoline, it makes his blood go north insead of south. 

Unknowingly, with eyes dazzling and bright, Byleth’s hands take a hold of his heart and force it to beat for him.

The beat drops, and they’re back in motion. Sylvain feels a warmth in his chest, a sense of contentment and belonging that was never meant to exist for him. He wraps an arm around Byleth’s waist and spins, fingers laced together, and he sings and shouts the lyrics of a trashy pop love song directly into his ear, only to see him laugh again. It’s so stupid that he understands those lyrics so well now, that he can feel every cheesy verse in his bones, that he feels dumb in the best possible way when Byleth doesn’t pull away, not a single time. 

Byleth must be on a mission to kill him, because he gives him this smile that has Sylvain dying to kiss him again as he sings the song back to him, sultry eyes on him all the while. Sylvain feels every touch and every flutter of Byleth’s lashes in his whole body. Honest to God, he doesn’t want the night to end.

“Let’s get somewhere else,” Byleth shouts then, leaning close. “I’m starving.”

It’s cold outside since it’s like two or three in the morning (time is sure running fast, wow), a very faint drizzle falling from the black sky. Thinking of that skimpy shirt, Sylvain wraps an arm around Byleth to energetically rub his arm, hopefully so he doesn’t freeze on their way back to the car. Byleth huffs and presses to his side easily.

“What do you wanna eat?” Sylvain asks, realizing for the first time that he is rather hungry as well. His voice sounds hoarse and his throat feels hot, probably from all the shouting in the club.

Byleth gives him a secretive look. 

“I know a cool place.”

Sylvain feels like a child, anticipation running through his body at the thought that they aren’t done with their date just yet. 

He gives Byleth the jacket he keeps in his backseat and puts on the AC so the professor warms up a little. He seems cozy in it despite it being a bit big for him, but Sylvain thinks that he rocks the look all the same. He has to make a very conscious effort to keep both his hands on the wheel, telling himself he’s been way too clingy already for tonight, has to fight the urge to place one of them on Byleth’s thigh and make sure he is warm and comfortable. He puts on some music to distract himself, searching for the bravery from before but finding he left it behind at the club. He can’t help but feel a bit disappointed he’s had time to clear his mind and let doubts come in. Life is easier whenever he’s not thinking. 

“You still cold?” he asks Byleth, and it’s the weirdest thing, because he actually cares about the answer. 

Byleth hums a “nuh-huh”, and then Sylvain feels a frigid hand on his cheek. 

He gasps without meaning to, and he notices a violent heat in his face. He sputters a laugh, a tad short of breath. 

“You are ,” he accuses, taking that hand in his and giving it a quick kiss. 

He holds onto it for the rest of the trip, over Byleth’s thigh, and the professor allows it. 

Byleth pulls up his phone to help navigate the empty streets until they reach their destination, which turns out to be a bar. Sylvain has a hard time letting go of Byleth’s hand, but once the car has stopped, he does, and swiftly, he goes around the vehicle to open the passenger door for him. 

Byleth gives him a scoff and an amused smile, and that’s all Sylvain needs to gather the courage to take his hand again. 

This street is particularly lively, even this late. There seems to be quite a number of bars lined up on both sides of it, so there are people on the sidewalks, smoking and talking, uncaring of the very light summer drizzle . Byleth and Sylvain make their way through them, fingers intertwined like it’s nothing, as if they walked hand in hand all the time. There are tons of girls in short dresses and tight jeans, yet Sylvain has no eyes for them. He feels like he is in a dream, with Byleth looking so handsome in his jacket, walking a bit closer to him on his own volition, with the face of someone who is having a good time and, for the first time ever, in no hurry to scurry off somewhere else. A voice in his head suggests that, maybe, some of these people that watch them pass have the wrong idea about them, that they are together like that . It feels… great.

The bar in question is on the small side, perhaps even a bit run down, but Sylvain thinks he can see right away why Byleth likes it. Rock music comes from an old school jukebox in the corner; the round wooden tables are tall and nearly all are full, busy as it’s the weekend; the clientele looks majorly young despite the bar being a far cry from the other modern-looking business in this same street. Maybe it’s just the vibes of an Irish pub, but it appears like a nice place to relax with some beers and enjoy music at a decent volume. 

Byleth guides him like he is a regular and knows the place like the back of his hand. Then again, maybe he does. Just as they are about to sit on a table, a booth further inside opens up, and they beeline for it before anyone else can take it. Byleth slides in first, and Sylvain loves doing the same next to him instead of sitting across from him. Byleth doesn’t comment on it or seems to mind at all, because he flags down the waitress he sees walking around right away. 

She brings them a generous serving of nachos, two mugs of beer and a platter with four shots with vibrant colors. 

“The kitchen is closed this late,” Byleth explains once she leaves. “Forgot about that. Sorry.”

Sylvain shakes his head to brush it off and tries a chip with cheese and a piece of grilled meat. It’s really good, warm and savory, so this will do for the time being. 

“You come often?” he asks.

Byleth nods. 

“I think I woke up here half my college days.”

At that, Sylvain almost chokes on a chip. Byleth pats his back so he doesn’t die from laughter. Sylvain can almost picture a student Byleth, wasted beyond words, slumped over this very same table, surrounded by his friends in varied states of disarray. 

“You are an alcoholic,” he says, still laughing and doing his best so he doesn’t bite his tongue. “I knew it.”

Byleth rolls his eyes, but he is smiling too. 

“It’s called being a functional alcoholic, there’s a difference.”

“You can’t even hold it in!”

“Yeah, fuck you.”

From this angle, Sylvain feels like he could nuzzle the way up Byleth’s neck and he would let him. He kinda wants to try it.

The music in the background changes to a pop song. Sylvain sees some guys messing with the jukebox, so he assumes it either has a wide selection and variety or it’s actually connected to the internet. 

Byleth holds one of the shots to Sylvain’s face, the one with a bluish hue that twirls in the glass. Sylvain’s fingers cover Byleth’s when he takes a hold of it. He looks at the professor with a raised eyebrow. 

“And what is this?”

“Don’t ask.”

Byleth looks smug, waiting for him to knock it back. Sylvain becomes a tad too aware of their knees touching beneath the table. He drinks it in one go, without letting go of Byleth’s hand. The alcohol burns like a bitch on its way down his throat, sickly sweet, but the punch it packs is so good Sylvain feels his eyes watering. Byleth laughs at his reaction, sound low but very much there, undeniable in the way his shoulders move and his eyes wrinkle at the corners. Blaming it on the shot, Sylvain leans in and kisses him, frustrated and longing. Byleth smiles against his mouth as he kisses him back once, then twice, then presses his hand to Sylvain to get him to pull away.

Sylvain feels out of breath already, chest swollen and full, and forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He chooses a bright pink shot. He offers it for Byleth’s consideration, who lets him hold the back of his head with his free hand, fingers carding through soft hair, and Sylvain feeds him the shot. Byleth squeezes his eyes shut, choking up a wet chuckle, a stray droplet of liquid dribbling down his jaw. Sylvain wipes it off with a thumb, and it’s now Byleth who pulls him close enough to press his lips to his mouth. 

By the end of it Sylvain is drunk both on whatever it was they drank and Byleth’s addicting, strawberry flavored mouth.

Their legs are pressed together now, and they nurse their beers lazily as they talk in a hushed, slightly slurred tone. Sylvain asks him about his student days, about his friends, about his thesis, about his family, about literally anything he can think of, and he holds every single word that comes out of Byleth’s mouth precious, like a treasure.

He learns that Byleth doesn’t like celery. Well, more like he hates it. 

“You couldn’t pay me to eat that shit,” he says, almost resentful, nose wrinkling. 

His dad lives with his mom in another city, and he’s been living with Violet for about three years.

Sylvain tells him he lives with his brother and his father whenever the dorms are closed, and that he doesn’t like them much.

“They are not the coolest people around,” he admits while shrugging.

Byleth learned how to drive until he was able to buy his car. Hit a few parked cars during his express lessons with his dad. He wasn’t a very good teacher so Byleth ended up attending driving classes.

Sylvain tells him, not without a self-sufficient smirk, that his father gifted him his first car at sixteen. Byleth flips him off and drinks some beer, but he’s smiling too.

“He sounds cool enough to me,” he mutters, but they both know it’s not true.

Tonight Sylvain learns a lot of things about Byleth, has a window into his life that, for the first time, feels like it’s wide open for him to peek through. It’s nice. Byleth never looks uncomfortable at letting him get a glimpse of that side of him he kept so out of Sylvain’s reach all this time, and Sylvain feels immeasurably grateful for that. He doesn’t even ask about past partners or the like, finding that he’d rather listen to whatever Byleth wants to share about himself.

Byleth asks him about his plans for the future, a casual conversation that carries none of the pressure it usually brings to talk about things like these.

“I’m not sure,” Sylvain says, taking the time to give it some thought. He comes empty handed, just like every other time he has tried before. He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll become a teacher too. Wouldn’t it be fun to work together?” 

Byleth scoffs.

“I think I’d quit that same day, honestly.”

Sylvain barks out a laugh, throwing an arm over Byleth’s shoulders and shaking him playfully. They order another round of beer and get up to mess with the jukebox. It turns out it’s actually connected to the internet and that the classic carcass is just for show, nothing but an act to go with the old school vibe. Their arms brush as they play with the device, going back and forth though albums downloaded into the internal storage, Byleth being a bit of the alternative snob Sylvain always knew he was, and Sylvain suggesting the most horrible, cringe worthy songs he can think of just to mess with him. Byleth is more than used to this so he just nudges him out of the way so he can make what he sincerely believes is a better choice.

It’s during that time, tapping on the touch screen and practically one over the other, that Sylvain understands what this is. He understands why he can’t keep his hands off of Byleth, why he takes every chance he gets to steal a quick kiss, why he hasn’t even thought about taking the professor to a different, more private location and do what they always do when they are alone. He understands why he is having so much fun, more than he’s had in who knows how long, despite them not doing anything particularly noteworthy. 

Byleth says something, but Sylvain gets lost between those long fingers and the shell of his ear as Byleth tucks a strand of hair behind it. 

Outside, the scarce rain has disappeared entirely, the only evidence of its existence being the damp asphalt and little, shallow puddles here and there. It’s considerably less crowded than it was before given the hour, so the street is practically empty as they make their way to the car. It’s definitely colder as well, the breeze chilly and moist after the rain. 

It’s in this quiet that Sylvain’s brain decides to come back from holiday. This is the part he didn’t tell Dorothea about, didn’t really know how to explain— that this thing he had with Byleth, it was enough the way it was, more than enough, actually, until it wasn’t.  

But it should be enough, he tells himself. It’s always been with other people. He should feel satisfied that Byleth hops in on his car when he picks him up, that he shows up at his door, that he doesn’t mind hotels and keeps things interesting in the bedroom. Even if he’s never invited Sylvain to come over, or bothered staying after taking a shower except that one time. Even if Sylvain doesn’t know his birthday or his favorite subject to teach. Or about his dreams or his fears or… anything that makes an actual person.

He got what he wanted from Byleth long ago, so what’s the hold up? Why was he chasing after the professor and going out of his way to beg for any single crumb he could spare? And there is that thing that won’t stop bothering him no matter how much time passes… that night at the dorm party, the stretch of time before Sylvain found Byleth in the kitchen.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.

To think Sylvain would ever fall this bad for someone.

“Hey,” Sylvain hears himself say, over the soft crunch of the grovel under their shoes on the sidewalk. “I was thinking…”

Byleth gives him a curious glance. 

“Don’t hurt yourself.” 

Sylvain laughs, but it sounds empty, artificial and plastic.

“Yeah, hah, I’ll try.”

They share the silence until he manages to swallow the knot in his throat. Byleth comes to a stop, and so does Sylvain. He keeps his eyes down, completely certain he will pussy out if he looks up. 

“You okay?” Byleth asks, and the tone of his voice, genuinely concerned, makes Sylvain think fuck it.

He takes a hand to the back of his head.

“So, uh,” he starts, uncharacteristically non eloquent. “That night at the party in the dorms, what… What was the deal with Dimitri anyway?”

The silence that follows burns away at Sylvain’s fingertips. He is about to blurt out that Byleth doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to, that he doesn’t mind, that he is just curious. But he would be lying. He thinks he’s done enough of that already.

Byleth nods slowly, as if he is uncertain of where this is going.

“We made out.”

“And then?”

“Nothing,” Byleth says, but he sounds a tad defensive. “Does it matter?”

If nothing really happened between them, why does Byleth bother to give Dimitri the time of the day now? Why does he have no quells about showing Dimitri that smile of his that has fought Sylvain every step of the way, full on claws and teeth?

Sylvain shrugs. He feels stiff. Uncomfortable with himself for a change.

“I kept wondering. If you two had a thing.”

“We don’t.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean why not?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

A pause. Sylvain hates every second that passes because it sounds like a big Yes and it’s hurting his eardrums to hear it shouted at him like that. Byleth has the face of someone who is trying very hard to understand what is happening. 

“What's gotten into you all of a sudden?”

That’s not a no .

Sylvain smiles but bites out, “Answer the stupid question.”

Byleth looks taken aback, Sylvain sees a plethora of thoughts going through his mind in the span of a second, and he knows right away that he fucked up. Byleth frowns.

“I don’t think I will, no.”

That one is on Sylvain, he’ll give him that. Byleth hates being cornered, hates losing control, hates being talked down to. Sylvain and him are very much alike in that regard.

Byleth folds his arms over his chest, averting his gaze. Sylvain knows he should drop it, he knows this is not going to end well, but it’s like the dam has broken, like his damn house is finally flooded and he is sleeping on cold, wet sheets that stick to his skin and like he is sinking further and further into the bed. He is going to die if he doesn’t do something now that the water level still allows him to breathe.

“I'm not sleeping with other people, just so you know,” he says, because he is drowning in words and he has to spit them out or he’ll choke.

Byleth doesn’t say anything. Aloud, at least. His eyes are telling Sylvain to shut up.

But it’s now or never, right? Who knows if Byleth will ever want to go out with him again. They are both emotionally immature and they are always the most honest when inebriated or high or in the middle of having sex. And Sylvain needs that honesty right now. He ticks all the boxes, he is sure of it; Byleth thinks he is hot, he laughs at his jokes (some of them), he held his hand today and let him kiss him as if they were in love. That has to mean something, right? That Byleth is somewhat interested in him. Maybe just a little bit, maybe not all the way just yet. But Sylvain is not blind. He’s had his eyes wide open for years now and they don’t miss a thing. They never do. It’s probably the only good thing Sylvain has going on for himself at all. 

So this is more of the same cycle, more of the same foolproof process; give, observe, act, take, leave . He’s never tried anything beyond those steps, but it doesn’t matter when he is following the instructions to the letter yet again, for the umpteenth time. 

Sylvain sighs, feeling like he is already crashing down while engulfed in fire.

“So I was thinking that maybe we could… keep it like that?”

Byleth’s eyebrows arch when he looks at him again.

“As in… being exclusive?”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s be exclusive.”

A car passes them by, its lights dancing on Byleth’s face for a moment. His eyeliner looks a bit rough, probably because of the sweat after the club. It’s the first time Sylvain notices it, though.

“Where is this coming from?” Byleth asks.

Sylvain licks at his lips, attempting a smile but falling short.

“We have fun, I think that’s good enough.”

Then, Byleth blinks once, twice, as if waking up, and Sylvain sees, clear as day, the realization of what this all means dawning on the professor. The jealousy, the pushiness, Sylvain’s sorry attempt at a threat to get him to go out with him. It’s all glaring evidence, and it points in one single, painful direction.

Byleth looks… annoyed, disappointed, like he knew, somehow, that this would happen. It hurts, Sylvain finds.

“Sylvain, I think you are getting the wrong idea.”

Byleth takes a step back, away from him. It’s like a chasm Sylvain can’t hope to breach with a single step of his own, a leap he cannot win, yet he takes it. 

“Professor—”

“I can’t give you what you want.”

Sylvain feels his throat filled with thorns. He lets out a weak laugh, and he sounds like a wounded animal.

“Which is?”

What is it? , he thinks desperately, Tell me what is it I want so I can stop asking myself.

Byleth’s brow furrows a bit more deeply.

“Anything more than this. I thought it was pretty clear where the line was.”

“We get along just fine, don’t we? We always have a good time together.”

It could work, he doesn’t say. Byleth makes a face. This feels awfully familiar, somehow.

“So what? You want me to be your boyfriend ?” he asks, and the way he says that last word feels like a punch in the gut. “You don’t know me.”

Sylvain takes a step forward before he can stop himself.

“Because you won’t let me. Come on, give me a good reason.”

Byleth raises his hands, frustrated.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t want a relationship. I really don’t.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Sylvain hisses, accusative. “ You were all dovey dovey all night, too .”

Byleth opens his mouth, then closes it. He settles with, “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“ Me ? It wasn’t just me, was it?”

Sylvain sounds so dumb saying that, and Byleth must think the same. Byleth gives him a look that suggests he is rather uncomfortable having to break this down to him.

“A few kisses don’t mean anything. We were just messing around.”

What is this? Why does it feel like Sylvain is talking to a wall? It’s like Byleth is completely closed up, like he’s been since the day they started this shit. 

Byleth has this look in his eyes, this pity, annoyance, that makes Sylvain sick to his stomach. That’s when he sees it: he’s had this exact conversation dozens of times— no, more than that, hundreds of times, and it’s always been on the other side. That’s why it’s so familiar, why he knows how it will end.

Byleth shakes his head, his expression distant, as if he's already somewhere else mentally.

"I’m going home," he says, his voice low, almost resigned.

Sylvain swallows with difficulty, his usual bravado faltering. They need to calm down, they are both a bit jumpy. He can sense something slipping away from his fingers, something he didn’t know he was holding onto. He runs a hand up his hair.

"Come on, let me drive you," he offers, trying to keep his tone casual, like it’s no big deal. But there’s an edge of desperation in his voice, a plea that he can’t quite hide.

Byleth's eyes flicker, but he doesn't meet Sylvain’s gaze. 

"No," he says firmly, a finality in his tone that sends a chill down Sylvain’s spine. "I’ll call an Uber or something. See you."

With that, Byleth steps around Sylvain, his movements smooth and deliberate, as if this is something he’s done a thousand times before. Sylvain’s heart races, panic bubbling up inside him. He wants to say something, to stop Byleth from leaving, but the words stick in his throat.

The professor just keeps walking, heading back toward the bar as if Sylvain isn't even there.

Chapter Text

A week later, Sylvain is torn. He is half expecting a text, half considering sending one himself. 

At first, Sylvain convinced himself that Byleth would get over their little disagreement. Because it was just a bump in the road, a temporary setback that would blow over in no time. Byleth is always so calm, so unreadable, like nothing ever fazed him, so, naturally, Sylvain assumed they’d both pretend it never happened, that they’d go back to their casual hookups, no strings attached, no feelings involved.

Because if Byleth was still upset, if he was giving Sylvain the cold shoulder, it would mean he cares, right? And Byleth’s vibes are all about not caring. His permanent poker face screamed indifference, like he was above all the messy emotions that tangled up everyone else. So, it didn’t make sense for Byleth to be giving Sylvain the silent treatment, to leave him hanging like this.

Yet, here Sylvain is, dealing with radio silence, and it’s driving him up the wall. He keeps telling himself that if Byleth does text, he’ll just play dumb, pretend nothing happened, and slip back into their old dynamic. He’s ready to fall back into the rhythm of late-night booty calls and easy conversations, where the lines between them are clear, defined by mutual desire and nothing more.

But if Byleth doesn’t text, ever… then what? Sylvain isn’t one for lowering his head and begging, so that’s entirely out of the question. He is not going to send the professor a text and ask where they stand because he doesn’t do that. Sylvain is not supposed to seek people out; he is used to them coming to him, to them being the ones who play dumb and smile and pretend they don't mind seeing Sylvain again even if he won’t… give them what they want.

Shit. 

Sylvain doesn’t tell Dorothea. She is too smart and she will only tell him what he doesn’t want to hear. 

Instead, he turns to the countless girls that want a piece of him and humors them as often as he is able to. This, he knows like the back of his hand. He picks them up to take them to hotels or comes over to their place, or meets new people at parties and clubs. It’s almost a relief how easily they fall. He was getting worried he’d lost his game.

Byleth doesn’t come anywhere near him on campus, and no text comes even two weeks later. The silence stretches on, and Sylvain’s frustration grows. The more he tries to ignore it, the more it gnaws at him.

It goes without saying, but that’s Byeth’s answer. What a douchebag, not bothering to break things up cleanly, leaving it all up in the air for Sylvain to try to catch and put together somehow.

So this is what it feels like. 

Sylvain seeks distraction on other people's bodies and it works, for the most part. Felix looks like he is suspicious, but honestly, Sylvain couldn’t care less. Felix is a good guy, loyal to a fault, and Sylvain knows he doesn’t deserve him. But he also knows that if he lets himself dwell on that too much, he’ll start thinking about shit he’d rather stay away from, and that’s a rabbit hole he’s not ready to fall down.

He is not saying anything until Felix does, so he has his fun, just like he always has.

The only rule he has with himself is to keep away from alcohol. He says yes to other, arguably more dangerous things, but he stays clear of any kind of drink. Because he knows that if he does get drunk he is going to call Byleth. Either that or his eyes are going to burn holes into his phone all night, waiting for that text, for that call, ready to forgive and say, Yeah, I’m free , Yeah, I’ll pick you up .

That rule doesn’t last long, needless to say.

Whenever Sylvain gets drunk, he’s lucky enough not to make a complete fool of himself and manages not to call Byleth —yay for small victories— but he does get dumber ideas in his head. Ideas like getting so wasted to the point of passing out and or puking his soul out, or driving past the speed limit near Byleth’s place with the music cranked up so loud it drowns out the voice in his head telling him this is beyond pathetic, or simply pulling up to that damn street again for the third time this week while downing yet another beer. His reasoning during these moments is a mess of contradictions. He tells himself he’s doing it to prove a point, to show Byleth that he’s having a blast, living it up without a care in the world, even if he’s barely holding it together and looking for an excuse to crash into someone’s garden. Vodka has the taste of Byleth’s lips, so he chugs that shit up.

He sees on Byleth’s insta a vague story that basically shows that someone brought him flowers (or maybe that’s not it at all, it’s hard to tell), which makes Sylvain want to get a gun and start taking names. How is that remotely okay , platonic enough for Byleth to allow it, but Sylvain asking him to stop fucking other people isn’t? 

Sylvain is grumpy that day, thinking about the photo of that stupid, yellow-ass bouquet. Byleth is seeing other people, yet he’s lowered his standards even further, settling for cheap presents and shit. How is that better than anything Sylvain could give him? If it were him, if Byleth let him, Sylvain would fill his entire room with flowers— no, his whole house. Violet would need to move out because of it and Sylvain would pay for her apartment, too. 

…But Byleth wouldn’t like that, would he? He’d prefer something less over the top, something more discreet. Okay then, Sylvain would give him a bouquet if that is what he wanted, a bigger, better one than the crappy one he got. 

Whatever. 

A month later, Sylvain finds himself staring at his phone for what feels like the hundredth time today, his thumb hovering over Byleth’s name in his contacts. The screen blurs slightly as his vision swims with the effects of the night before—too many drinks, too little sleep. His head throbs with a dull ache, but it’s nothing compared to the gnawing emptiness in his chest.

He tosses the phone onto the couch beside him, running a hand over his face as if that could erase the memories from that night. He’s been out every night since Byleth dumped him—bars, clubs, parties—anything to drown out the voice in his head that keeps replaying that scene over and over. The alcohol helps, numbing the sharp edges of his thoughts, making it easier to pretend that he doesn’t care, that he’s still the same carefree guy who can walk away from anything unscathed.

Nothing better than booze and meaningless hookups to soothe a hurt soul, everybody knows that.

He faintly remembers how he laughed and joked with the strangers he met last night, flashing that easy smile he’s perfected over the years. It felt like empty space, like he wasn’t even there to begin with, in his own body. No matter how many drinks he downed, how many laughs he forced out, nothing could shake the image of Byleth’s back as he walked away.

It could be worse, he tells himself. He could be crying himself to sleep and getting wasted to break up songs. He’s not down that bad. He isn’t. 

Sylvain stands up abruptly, needing to move, to do something—anything—to break the spiral of thoughts dragging him down. He grabs his jacket, shrugging it on as he heads for the door. Maybe another night out will do the trick and will finally help him forget, if only for a little while.

As he reaches for the doorknob though, his phone buzzes on the couch, forgotten, and his heart leaps into his throat.

He spins around, hope and dread warring inside him as he snatches it up. But when he glances at the screen, the notification isn’t from Byleth—it’s just Felix, asking if they’re going out tonight.

For a moment, he just stares at the message, feeling that familiar emptiness settle back in. He could go out with Felix this time, he supposes, lose himself in the noise and the crowds, in the fleeting comfort of his barely there touch. 

Sylvain sighs, letting the phone drop back onto the couch. 

Later, Felix tells him he wants to go out for dinner, and while Sylvain can feel his stomach churn at the mere thought of food, probably courtesy of his hangover, he humors his boyfriend. The memory of that word leaving Byleth’s lips still manages to make Sylvain grip the steering wheel until his knuckles get white. It sounded like he spit it out, as if he couldn’t contain his disdain for it. What’s so bad about dating Sylvain? He’s great! He’s got a lot going on for him, a lot more than Byleth does, that’s for sure. Sylvain is rich, devastatingly handsome, has a fun sense of humor and is great in bed. Amazing, even, if the amount of girls who line up for the chance to fuck him a second time is anything to go by. 

Byleth is— none of those things. Actually, Sylvain is completely out of his league, if one thinks about it. Byleth is broke, living on the salary of a lame-ass teacher, he’s an alcoholic, selfish, self-centered, ungrateful… Well, he is handsome, Sylvain will admit that, very attractive, kinda funny in that monotone teasing tone of his, and… he sort of is great in bed, too. Amazing, even.

Whatever. Whatever .

Felix gets in his car, which is the perfect excuse to stop thinking altogether. He tells Felix the first thing that comes to mind, which is that he is going to take him to his favorite restaurant, and watches as Felix gives him a pleased look. 

See? He is a perfectly good boyfriend. He is boyfriend material at its finest. 

Felix is blabbing about a dream he had, unusually talkative, and Sylvain half pays attention while driving out of the neighborhood. The plot of the dream involves the most convoluted storyline Sylvain has ever heard, probably loosely linked to Felix bingeing the X-Files before turning in last night. 

“Was I in your dream?” he asks, just to tease.

Felix nods.

“Only for a bit. You were abducted by aliens after we found the cure to the zombie apocalypse.”

“Jesus. How many times did you save the world in that dream?”

“I didn’t, it was all a simulation! Did you listen to anything I said?”

Sylvain laughs, because Felix is a dork even if he doesn’t want to admit it himself.

“Didn’t you at least try to rescue me? That’s how little you care about me?”

Felix scoffs, amused despite himself.

“It’s not like that. I had lost my leg by…” then trails off. “By that point.”

Sylvain stops at a red light, just in time to look over to Felix, who has his eyes on his shoes. Sylvain is about to ask what’s up, when Felix leans over his legs and reaches for something in the dark. He sits up, holding a metallic ring between his fingers. It glints faintly in the light filtering through the car’s windows. Sylvain makes a face, but once recognition dawns on him, he feels a cold swirling in the pit of his belly. That’s one of Byleth’s rings, the ones he wore that night they ran into each other at Hilda’s party. It must have fallen out of his pocket at some point, rolling around unnoticed until now. Felix’s fingers close around it, and Sylvain forces himself to smile, trying to play it off.

“Huh,” he says, voice breezy. “Didn’t know that thing was rolling around on the floor.”

He extends a hand to take it back, but Felix doesn’t move. His red eyes don’t leave the ring until after the traffic light has turned green. It takes half a second for Sylvain to react, but he manages to do it and step on the gas before anyone starts honking behind them.

Felix doesn’t miss a beat.

“Who is this person?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm.

“Hey, don’t jump to conclusions. Come on. We were talking about us, babe.”

Felix isn’t having it. His voice is cold, unyielding. 

“Stop the fucking car.”

Sylvain’s smile drops, frustration bubbling up inside him. He lets out a sigh, annoyed at the situation but also at himself for not being more careful.

“Don’t be crazy about this.”

He risks a glance at Felix, and what he finds is that the other boy looks positively furious. Sylvain knows better than to poke the bear, a decade of friendship with Felix has taught him that if he wants to murder you in a moving car, he will murder you in a moving car, so he just obeys and pulls over. 

The silence weighs on his shoulders, rings in his ears.

“Are you going to explain yourself?” Felix’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and demanding.

Sylvain finds that he doesn’t want to. Would it make any difference if he did? He doubts it. He doesn’t want to lie, but he knows the truth will only make things worse. Felix is naive and inexperienced, but not stupid. And Sylvain knows he’s pushed things too far with him for a while.

“Sylvain.”

The way Felix says his name, so full of disappointment, makes Sylvain’s chest tighten.

“It’s a friend’s, okay? They must have left it here by accident,” he finally says, the lie rolling easily off his tongue.

“ Who .”

“It’s Dorothea’s! God, relax your tits, Felix.”

Felix remains quiet for a moment, his gaze never leaving Sylvain. Sylvain hates the condemning accusation in his red eyes. He doesn’t believe him—of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

“What do you want me to say? It’s not what you think.” Sylvain snaps, irritated. “Only God knows what weird ideas Ingrid is getting into your head.”

But Felix doesn’t budge. He just shakes his head, disappointment written all over his face. Sylvain hates that look, hates that he’s the reason for it. But what is Felix so surprised about? Surely everyone told him this would happen, that Sylvain would eventually screw things up.

The next words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them, an automatic response that he’s used too many times before.

“Felix, calm down. You are ruining everything.”

He sees Felix bristling like a cat, glaring daggers at him, holding the ring like damning evidence. 

“You’re unbelievable! You’re lucky I haven't knocked your teeth out of your mouth.”

Which is true. If they were outside, Sylvain would have probably lost brain cells from a punch to the face already. He kind of wants that to happen, though. Who knows? Maybe it will quite literally knock some sense into him.

But as it is, they’re stuck in this tense, suffocating silence, both of them too stubborn to make the first move. Sylvain doesn’t feel like lying again, but he knows the truth from his mouth will hurt Felix’s pride more than it already has. He doesn’t want to make Felix cry. He’d be ashamed for turning a deaf ear to everyone who tried to warn him about Sylvain. He deserves none of this. Sylvain wants to say sorry, but the words do not come to his calling. So he just sits there until Felix makes the decision for him. 

With a look of utter contempt, Felix throws the ring at Sylvain, the metal clinking against the wheel before falling to the floor.

“Fuck you, Sylvain.”

He gets out of the car, livid, all but slamming the door behind him. 

Sylvain doesn’t go after him. He stays in the car, eyes fixed on the flickering lights of the street poles disturbing the night. Sylvain’s hands grip the steering wheel as the reality of what he’s done settles in. With the wreckage of his choices laid bare before him, he can’t shake the feeling that he deserves this.

Sylvain has never really had a hard time at school. Despite being prone to getting distracted, more often than not by his female classmates, he has always been able to return his attention to the numbers and facts on his books and regurgitate them back up during test season. Ingrid would look at him with misplaced envy, telling him it was unfair he was naturally smart instead of having to study hard like she did. Sylvain doesn’t think he’s book smart, he never has, seeing his father acted all the time like it was the least he could do to keep him content. Sylvain used to think, rather, that he is street smart.

That too has been proven false as of late, but still.

His classes don't interest him much these days, even less so than usual. His mind keeps getting lost on other things, and by the time the lecture is over he is left feeling like not a single word stuck to him. It’s not a problem at the moment, but he knows the more he procrastinates doing something about it, the more he’ll suffer the consequences once the exams come around.

He hates to even think about it, but he’s considering asking Hanneman for some help during his office hours.

Sitting by the fountain near the main building next to Dorothea, with a crappy frappuccino slowly melting in the sun, Sylvain ponders how advisable it would be to let himself fall down into the water. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw anyone replacing it, though…

Dorothea plays with her phone, blessedly alien to Sylvain’s predicament. Partially alien. She knows what’s up with the whole Byleth situation. 

After that failed date night with Felix, his head was so all over the place that the only thing he could think of was calling her and getting some catharsis from complaining about his poor life decisions. 

She listened patiently, let him vent and go on and on about it all. When he was seemingly done, she asked, half patiently and half pitying:

“So we can all agree that you brought this upon yourself, right?”

He knew that already, no surprise there. She sighed, her voice going softer.

“Sorry this happened to you, but everyone catches feelings eventually— it only takes the intimacy of it all getting to you. Or the right person.”

Sylvain groaned. He had been an expert on dodging that intimacy thing (ugh) for the longest time, precisely because he didn’t want stupid feelings. He didn’t sign up for those. Although… In hindsight, those kind of have been there for a hot minute. It’s all Byleth’s fault. 

“I can’t believe I have to explain this to you of all people,” she went on, as gently as she could. “But just because someone acts like they like you… it doesn’t mean they like you for real. Sometimes people are just jerks. And sometimes we build castles in the air, too. Both happen at the same time often.”

Which, yeah, it wasn’t what Sylvain wanted to hear, but she quickly let it be and moved to more important questions.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

What is there to do? Sylvain didn’t know then and doesn’t know now. Byleth doesn’t seem to want anything to do with him, and honestly, that attitude of his is starting to piss Sylvain off, so he’d rather pretend the professor doesn’t exist either. Even if he keeps checking his phone by force of habit.

A smudge of blond hair at the corner of his vision catches Sylvain’s attention. Dimitri’s blue gaze finds him easily, and as the other boy beams at him with a wave, Sylvain can’t fathom what in the world he is so happy about. Not only does Sylvain feel like shit, but the day is so hot he can hear his own brain getting fried inside his skull like an egg on the asphalt.

He attempts to put a smile on his face, but it's not a genuine one. He distractedly wonders if Dimitri already knows about Felix. Ingrid was not happy.

Dorothea gives Sylvain a look that says he gets to decide how she feels about Dimitri, but he just shrugs, and so she perks up, clearly happy to leave her phone alone and interact with another human being. Sylvain doesn’t count because he is ‘sulking’.

“Dimitri, hey!” She chirps, and he greets her just as enthusiastically. Then his eyes come to Sylvain, and it’s as if he is actually looking at him for the first time.

Seemingly concerned, Dimitri asks, “Sylvain, are you alright?”

Sylvain lets out a scuff of a laugh, running a hand through his hair. He tries to straighten a bit, though.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine."

“You seem…” Dimitri trails off, surely searching for a word that doesn’t ring as rude but close enough to the truth. In the end, he settles for, “Out of it. Girl problems?”

Dorothea giggles. Sylvain is just unimpressed at this point.

"Just because I'm not chatting the ears off some poor girl doesn't mean I'm out of sorts, you know."

Sylvain gives Dimitri a small smirk, yet it lacks its usual playfulness and charm. He turns his head, looking out at the other people in the grounds, preferably students that are less happy than Dimitri.

"I've just got a lot on my mind, that’s all. Nothing you need to worry about."

Dimitri hums, pensive and clearly still a bit worried.

“You know we are friends, right? Anything I can do…” 

Sylvain hates that. Just like Felix and Ingrid, Dimitri was there during most of Sylvain’s childhood, thus they can read each other pretty well. Even if they kind of drifted apart at some point during highschool, all those years spent together don’t just dissolve into nothing on their own. Sylvain has always been a bit jealous of Dimitri for having a nice dad, but that is beside the point.

"Sure thing,” he says either way. “What's got you all excited anyways?"

Dimitri allows the change of topic, but his cheeks get a bit rosy. He laughs a little, bashful.

“Well, I was thinking about asking the professor out. Professor Eisner, that is.”

Sylvain’s eyes go slightly wide at Dimitri’s words, his stomach doing a small flip. He notices Dorothea going very still. Sylvain’s quiet for a moment, just watching the other man, the smile fading from his face. He attempts to plaster it back on, but it feels a lot more forced now, like a mask that’s too tight.

“You don’t say.”

“That’s great,” says Thea, almost genuine. She and Sylvain exchange a quick glance.

Dimitri, ever the sincere one, nods with a small, hopeful smile. 

“Let’s just say we started with the wrong foot. I want to make it up to him.”

He means that thing that happened between them at the party during the last week of last semester, whatever the hell it was. Sylvain gives Dimitri a little nod, though it’s more like a slight jerk of his head. 

“Haven’t you done this already?” he hears himself ask. “More than once?”

Dorothea gives him an alarmed look, but Dimitri laughs, not taking the words to heart.

“I stopped a while back, for your information. But I think I’ll try once more. For real, this time. What I do or don’t do will depend on his answer.”

Sylvain can feel his chest twist uncomfortably as his thoughts race through his head. He wants to tell Dimitri that Byleth doesn’t do relationships, that he shouldn’t bother. But he doesn’t, obviously.

“Yeah? How do you plan on asking him out?” He tries to sound normal. He shifts in his seat, trying for a smile again. “It’s a date, right? Might as well make it a good one.”

“I haven’t really thought about it. Any advice for me?”

The irony isn’t lost on Sylvain, and he nearly laughs at the absurdity of it all. Advice? How is he supposed to give advice about the very thing that’s been tearing him apart for weeks?

Thea must say something, but Sylvain isn’t paying attention. If Dimitri were to really ask Byleth for a second chance, would Byleth say yes? As far as Sylvain knows, every one of Dimitri’s other attempts were promptly shut down, at least until the party last semester. Byleth told Sylvain he didn’t want a relationship but didn’t explain himself, which is nothing more than one of the countless excuses Sylvain himself has used in the past. Maybe it is like Dorothea said; Byleth simply doesn’t like Sylvain, as easy as that, so he’ll accept someone else he fancies. Then he should have said, ‘I don’t want a relationship with you ,’ dammit. Would any of this be easier if he did, though? Probably not.

Sylvain’s dumb brain tells him to stop Dimitri, to do everything in his power to throw a wrench in the other man’s plan, but his mouth moves before his mind can come up with anything.

“For one, the professor’s not going to enjoy a fancy, expensive place. I’d try to think of somewhere quiet, relaxed… with a nice atmosphere.”

Dimitri and Dorothea turn their attention to him. Sylvain speaks thoughtfully now, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral. His mind wanders as he tries to piece together a perfect date location. Anything to keep from letting his true thoughts leak out.

“It should be somewhere you can talk and enjoy some drinks. Oh, and I’d make sure it’s somewhere private. He wouldn’t appreciate prying eyes, I bet.”

“I was thinking about coffee, but on second thought, he might like drinks better.” Dimitri admits, a bit embarrassed. “Going on so many dates has helped you become so knowledgeable.”

Sylvain laughs. Byleth doesn’t even like coffee.

“Practice makes perfect!” he says, the void in his chest growing cold as he continues to speak. “It’s all about reading the other person. The professor is quiet, but I bet if you get him in the right situation, he’ll loosen up. If you want the date to be good for him, you’ve got to take what he likes into consideration.”

Dimitri ponders this for a moment, then he chuckles.

“It’s so funny, right? That we are here planning stuff when I haven’t mustered the courage to ask him out yet.”

Dorothea chimes in.

“I’m sure once you do get the courage you’ll knock the professor straight off his feet. You're like a real life prince. Who could say no to a date with you?”

Dimitri flushes at the compliments, genuinely taken aback.

“That’s really nice of you, but the professor has rejected me many times already.”

This is pissing Sylvain off. Dimitri and his stupid modesty, that is. He smiles.

“You’re rich, handsome and friendly. You’re just about perfect.” 

He hates how fake his words sound, the accusation in them, and how distant he feels from the situation, even though it’s hitting him right where it hurts. Dimitri was once one of his best friends, and he doesn’t want to hurt him. But the thought of Byleth with him, the thought that Byleth might actually say yes to him, makes Sylvain’s blood run cold.

Dorothea is quick to intervene.

“Yeah! He’d be crazy to say no.”

“Thank you, but that is not enough, is it? I think the professor is not the kind of person to be easily swayed by things like that. “

He is not. Sylvain would know. He gives Dimitri a pat on the arm and lets his hand back onto his lap. 

“Everyone loves a few luxuries here and there…” Sylvain’s voice floats between them, a knot forming in his chest. Dorothea is giving him a silent warning, so he tries to behave. “Regardless, I doubt the professor would pass up the chance of a date with a catch like you.”

Dimitri looks genuinely touched. The bastard.

“You know, Sylvain? If you were a bit less of a flirt, I’m sure real love would come your way. You are a very caring person.”

“If only, right?” Sylvain laughs, perhaps a tad too openly. Dorothea doesn’t even smile when he turns to her. “I'm sure at some point the right person will come, and I'll finally be tied down and tamed. But until then, I'm enjoying my freedom.”

Dimitri looks a bit panicked.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that! Sorry. More like… just let other people see you for who you really are. Like you are doing here with me, helping a friend out.”

Dorothea looks away, her glossy lips pressed into a thin line. Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, feeling nausea and tasting bile at the back of his throat.

“Hey, enough about me and my love life, we were talking about yours, yeah? When are you going to ask the professor on your date?”

“Maybe tomorrow? I don’t know. Once I’ve had enough time to prepare mentally.“

“A little embarrassment never killed anyone,” says Thea, offering a reassuring yet tiny smile. “You’ve just gotta go for it, Dimitri. Worst comes to worst, and he says no, you’ve at least put yourself out there and given it a shot.”

Sylvain shoots her a half hearted glare. Whose side are you on? She pretends she doesn’t see it. Dimitri is deep in his own thoughts to notice the tension in the air.

“How do you handle rejection?” he asks. “Have you ever been rejected by someone you really, really liked?”

Dorothea brings a manicured finger to her mouth. Unlike Sylvain, she had actually good experiences with past relationships.

“Ah, you know, I don’t remember ever being rejected. Guess I’ve always been lucky like that.”

“Same,” Sylvain says, perhaps a bit too quickly. His tone is lighthearted, but there’s something hidden beneath it. A tone of resentment that he can’t seem to keep from seeping through. “But hypothetically, if I was… I’d be fine. I think. Hey, didn’t he tell you no before? Because you were his student or something.”

“ Sylvain ,” chides Dorothea.

He is just being a realist here. Byleth was borderline paranoid about people finding out they were banging precisely because of their relationship at school. How is Dimitri any different in that regard? He isn’t. 

Byleth likes to pretend he is an outstanding teacher, but he isn’t above playing dumb. He’s done it before and could do it again. Not that Dimitri needs to know about that last part.

Sylvain keeps his eyes fixed on Dimitri, watching his facial expressions and the way he holds himself. His heart squeezes in his chest again as he considers the very real possibility of Dimitri going out with Byleth and getting what he couldn’t. 

“It definitely makes the whole thing more complicated,” Sylvain continues. “Are you sure you should even be considering asking him out?”

For the first time, Dimitri looks hesitant.

“You think… I could get him in trouble?”

“Potentially. I mean, I’m not sure what Garreg Mach’s exact policy is on that kind of thing, but I’m sure no one would be thrilled to learn that a student is dating a member of the staff.”

Dorothea waves her hand, as if inviting Dimitri to disregard Sylvain entirely.

“T-that is certainly something to take into account, but…”

Dimitri hums. There is a contemplative silence, one where Dimitri likely weighs his options and Sylvain tries very hard not to pull at his hair.

“I just think the professor deserves someone who’s serious about him, you know?” Dimitri muses. “Someone who can be there for him, no matter what. And I know I can be that for him.”

Hearing that makes Sylvain taste bile. Being serious— that’s what Dimitri has that Sylvain doesn’t. Where Sylvain is reckless, Dimitri is composed. Where Sylvain hides behind a mask of charm and deflection, Dimitri is earnest, sincere. It’s infuriating, the way Dimitri’s virtues highlight all of Sylvain’s flaws. And the worst part? He knows Dimitri isn’t even trying to rub it in. He’s just being himself—kind, genuine, and everything Byleth might actually want in a partner.

Sylvain is sick of this. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before he stands up. He runs a hand through his hair, his usual smirk finally returning to his face. Both Dimitri and Dorothea are looking at him.

“Look,” he says, jovial as ever. “You’re going to do what you want. Just don’t get too far ahead of yourself, yeah? It’s not like you’ve got an actual chance with him anyway. Just be prepared for when you’re shot down, ‘kay?”

Dimitri blinks, startled by Sylvain’s sudden change in attitude. Sylvain decides he doesn’t care.

“The professor is in high demand. People flock to him on the regular; you’ve seen it, haven’t you? How can you compete with all his fans?” Sylvain gives Dimitri another pat, though this one comes across a bit more like a smack. “So you better get a move on, huh? You’ve gotta act up before someone else swoops in and steals him from you.”

Dimitri looks dumbfounded. That one is on him, though. It’s not Sylvain’s job to protect his feelings from the truth. Very slowly, Dimitri swallows, as if searching for the words. When he speaks, he sounds cautious, yet that oblivious look to him is gone.

"You have a problem with me, Sylvain?"

Sylvain shakes his head, heart beating its way out of his chest.

“Not at all. I’m just trying to bring to your attention some things. You’re not going to go all territorial over the professor, are you?”

Dimitri frowns a little, and it’s so funny to see him like this. Midway through confused and upset. Dimitri is not a violent person, has grown to be a bit less impulsive than how he was when they were younger, but he isn’t a punching bag, either.

“I think it should be me asking you that.”

Sylvain huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest. He gives Dimitri a slightly puzzled look, his tone is still light when he speaks again. Carefully light. He leans in slightly, getting a bit closer to Dimitri.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dorothea rises to her feet, placing a hand on Sylvain’s arm, trying to calm him down. 

“Sylvain, don’t do this. Let’s just go.”

Dimitri doesn’t cower. He is taller than Sylvain, bulkier, too. His blue eyes look burdened. He even has the gall to be condescending like this, as if he is the one hurting. He’s always been like this. With a heart of gold and shit.

“I think you are a lot more transparent than you think,” Dimitri says, voice low.

That’s because I didn’t bother hiding my feelings , Sylvain wants to say for himself. You have always been stupid and oblivious to everything and everyone around you. I hate your guts .

Sylvain tilts his head to the side slightly, watching Dimitri’s face. They stare each other down for a moment, in which the air feels thick and mushy, and then Dimitri sighs.

“I’ll see you later,” he says.

Sylvain doesn’t register his own motions, but he blinks once and then finds he is grabbing Dimitri’s wrist.

“Whoa hey, where do you think you’re going?”

Dimitri’s blond eyebrows arch.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t say you could go.”

Dorothea’s polished nails dig into Sylvain’s arm in warning, but Sylvain ignores her.

“What do you want from me?” asks Dimitri.

Sylvain’s expression becomes serious, his fingers tightening even more around Dimitri’s wrist. 

I want you to keep your damn hands to yourself.

“I want you to actually listen when I’m talking to you. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

Dimitri doesn't seem very impressed about Sylvain's tight grip.  

Like eyes boring holes on the back of his head, Sylvain notes the glances being sent their way.

“Sylvain, enough,” Dorothea says firmly, her hand still on his arm, trying and failing to ground him. “This isn’t going to help.”

Sylvain’s eyes are fixed on Dimitri, though, who is not intimidated in the slightest. Maybe Sylvain can get a good punch in before Dimitri inevitably fucks him up. 

Probably knowing the kind of thoughts that are going through his mind, Dorothea squeezes herself in between them.

“Hey. Let’s go.”

Sylvain whips his head towards her, ready to snap, but her big green eyes look admonishing. It’s not a look he often sees in her, so it manages to snap him out of his swirling head. He swallows, looking down.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.”

He reluctantly lets go of Dimitri’s wrist, taking a step back. He looks away, to anywhere else, so he doesn’t have to meet Dimitri’s eyes. He doesn’t want to see his stupid face ever again.

Dorothea apologizes to Dimitri in a small voice as she takes a hold of Sylvain's bicep and pulls him along. Sylvain is so pissed at Dimitri, at himself, at everyone , really, that he doesn’t look back at all, his eyes fixed on the pavement beneath his shoes all the way to Dorothea’s car.

Once they’re both seated—him in the passenger seat and her behind the wheel—silence seeps into the car with the closing of the door and settles heavily between them. 

After a while, Sylvain can still feel Dorothea's accusing gaze drilling into the left side of his face. Crossing his arms and feeling like a child about to be scolded but not afraid of the possibility of punishment, Sylvain raises his eyes to his friend.

“What’re you staring at me like that for?”

Dorothea’s eyelashes emphasize how wide she opens her eyes.

“What the fuck was that back there?” she asks, incredulous. “Were you really going to hit Dimitri?”

Yes. Not really. Maybe.

Sylvain shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I can’t believe that if I hadn’t been there…” she trails off, but it’s clear what she’s trying to say. And who knows, maybe she’s right.

Sylvain’s scowling expression falters as he looks at Thea. He searches for the words to explain himself, but comes back empty handed. In the end, he just shrugs.

“It wasn’t serious, you know. I wouldn’t actually hit him… probably. Okay, don’t give me that look!”

“He didn’t do anything to you!”

He looks away with a huff, trying to avoid meeting her patronizing gaze. The entire point of their friendship is that it’s based on a strict no-judging policy. Now, though, she looks beyond displeased with him.

“I was just messing around. No biggie. I wasn’t actually going to do anything.” Sylvain tries to keep his voice light, though a slight hint of defensiveness creeps in. “He’s just oversensitive, that’s all. He can’t take a joke.”

Dorothea shakes her head.

“Well, I didn’t see the joke, either. Maybe it wasn’t very funny?”

He rolls his eyes, trying to feign nonchalance. Also, Dimitri will forgive him, he is nice like that. 

“I got annoyed, so I started acting a little rough. That’s it.”

“What are you going to do if he tells the Professor? Any professor, for that matter.”

That… wouldn’t be ideal. Sylvain already has enough problems with Byleth without Dimitri snitching on him. He holds back from telling Dorothea that in such a case, he would actually hit Dimitri.

Next to him, she leans back on her seat. 

“First Felix, and now Dimitri.” She sighs, defeated. She makes a pause before going on. “Look, I don’t even think this is about Dimitri. It seems to me that you’re pushing your friends away because you don’t know what to do with yourself. But then what? Am I next or something?”

Sylvain closes his eyes, feeling the sting of those words precisely because they make way too much sense. Taking a deep breath, Sylvain gives Thea a tiny, sincere smile, yet it feels heavy with regret .

“You know that’s not true,” he says softly. “You’re my best friend.”

She starts the car without looking at him, but Sylvain sees her lift her chin a bit.

“Well, don’t make me regret it. Apologize to both of them and go to therapy.”

Sylvain grimaces.

“Yeah, best I can do is get wasted and try not to think about any of this.”

Dorothea snorts, but it sounds slightly affectionate.

“Why don’t you try talking to the Professor instead? At the end of the day, this all happened because you were jealous of someone he’s rejected countless times.”

In hindsight, it does sound a bit silly when she puts it that way. Sylvain turns his gaze to outside the window, not really seeing. To be honest, talking to Byleth hasn’t been on the table for him so far. Not really. Although maybe Thea is right; perhaps hearing from Byleth's own mouth that he doesn’t want anything to do with Sylvain and to leave him alone is what he needs to move on with his life. A month ago, you couldn’t have paid Sylvain to do that, not even with a gun to his head, but now, feeling small and sick of himself, a direct rejection from Byleth sounds like a way to free himself from whatever this damn feeling is.

Though, considering Byleth’s attitude so far, Sylvain doesn’t even know if the professor would be willing to have a conversation with him. He can almost see his cold eyes silently telling him to get lost, the firm line of his mouth betraying his desire to be anywhere else but there.

Sylvain lets out a humorless chuckle.

“And say what? That we should get back together just because?”

Dorothea shrugs, parking in front of the dormitory.

“If that’s what you want, then yes.”

Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what he wants. Byleth told him that night that he couldn’t give him whatever that was. More than this , he said. Dates, then? Real conversations? Because if more casual sex was really all that Sylvain wanted, he would have said so already. So what Sylvain wants from Byleth is… harder to ask for.

“He’s going to say no,” he muses, both to himself and to his friend.

“Well, let him tell you that.”

“He already did.”

Dorothea gives him a light tap on the shoulder, like a pat that is encouraging yet condescending at the same time.

“But you’ve got to actually spell it out, all of it. Even if he rejects you, sometimes that’s what we need to move on.”

Sylvain doesn’t like the sound of that. So she basically wants him to confess to the professor. Just thinking about it makes him feel weird. And his heart beats faster, too. 

Dorothea watches him with a smile as he gets out of the car, and when Sylvain closes the door, she waves goodbye.

Sylvain feels very tired. Maybe he should go to the gym and give a good beating to one of the punching bags there.