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One of the oft-overlooked skills Byleth learned in his time as a mercenary is how to wake at a moment's notice. Movement close by, sudden sounds, sometimes even a dramatic enough shift in the air can pull him from slumber almost instantly, ready to assess the situation and reach for his sword if necessary.
It has been a long time since he needed that skill. His room at the monastery was secure, and even during the war he slept safely in the heart of the Empire's camps, guarded almost as well as Edelgard (to both of their chagrins). These days they have little reason to shun the luxurious rooms of the imperial palace, or whatever other comfortable accommodations are offered to them outside of Enbarr.
Yet Byleth still finds himself waking easily during the night, and it's not uncommon for the cause to be right next to him. Tonight, again, Edelgard is curled in on herself, one hand clutching desperately at the sheets beside her as she squirms in obvious discomfort.
"Professor..." she says in nearly a whine, voice choked with anguish. Though her eyes are tightly shut, the corners are beginning to shine.
Byleth reaches over to gently rock her shoulder back and forth. "El. Wake up."
Still, she groans, uncharacteristically high-pitched and fearful. Byleth shakes her harder. "It's just a dream, Edelgard. Wake up."
Her eyes fly open, and he can hear her breath catch. He gives her a moment to process where she is before wrapping his arm around her middle.
"It's okay, El," he says softly but firmly. "I'm right here."
Edelgard trembles, her eyes watery. Without saying anything she leans forward to bury her head against his chest, and he can feel her uneven breathing start to calm.
While she fully wakes from her terror, Byleth pulls her closer and runs his hand up and down her back in a steady pattern. He's realized by now that she doesn't simply like being cradled against him - she's listening to his heartbeat. It seems to comfort her when she's anxious.
It still takes him by surprise sometimes, too. For so long he lived without it; though the blood cycled through his veins, there was no rhythm to it, no motion in his chest. It's a little unnerving to be able to feel it now, shaking him from within, but Edelgard says it's proof of his humanity, so he's starting to like it.
Eventually Edelgard shifts back to look up at him. "Thank you," she says in a quiet but steadier tone. "For staying with me."
Byleth smiles and moves his hand up to her scalp, running his fingers slowly through her hair. "Of course."
She leans up to kiss him, chaste but lingering, and then returns to her spot against his chest. Part of Byleth wants to ask what she was dreaming about. She still has nightmares about her childhood, and sometimes the war, yet he senses that this one was different. But there's no point making her dwell on it, so instead he combs his fingers through her hair until she falls back asleep.
The next time Byleth wakes is due to the light filtering in around the curtains and the castle bell tower chiming the breakfast hour. Edelgard is still fast asleep, with her back pressed against him and his arm slung over her waist.
The clock finishes chiming, and the air goes still. For a minute, Byleth simply basks in the serenity of a quiet morning; then he leans down to press kisses along Edelgard's shoulder until she stirs.
"I know you had a bad night," he says apologetically, "but it's time to get up."
Edelgard exhales deeply and then shifts onto her back. "Not that bad," she says, and smiles up at him, barely awake. "The past several hours I have been dreaming of nothing but you."
Her hand finds his still draped across her body, and their fingers lace together. "You don't have to dream of me," Byleth says, leaning over her. "I'll always be right here."
The slightest incline of her head signals to Byleth to kiss her, and Edelgard's other hand comes to rest on the back of his head and pulls him closer. When her lips part under his, Byleth eagerly lets her deepen the kiss, until the heat makes his head buzz and his lungs burn.
A groan escapes Edelgard's throat, and when they pause for breath she whispers, "Byleth..."
Edelgard does not beg, and Byleth wouldn't call the look in her eyes imploring, but he knows what each little nuance in his name means. Touch me. He's happy to oblige, untangling his fingers from hers to run his hand down her torso, over well-defined abs, back up to her chest.
She squirms when he cups one breast, massaging it with his thumb, and then pulls him into another, messier kiss. Byleth shifts his weight to bring his other hand up to her chest, and this time she moans against his lips and presses his body closer.
"You're awfully excitable," Byleth says. "These dreams of me you had..."
Edelgard huffs. "They weren't those kind of dreams."
No, Byleth thinks, leaning back in for another kiss. You don't have to settle for dreams. I'm right here.
His hands begin to wander over her body, sneaking under her nightshirt to feel firm muscle and soft skin, tracing the lines of old scars, cupping her hips in his palms. Edelgard manages to remain in place as he explores under her clothes, wrapping her arms around his back and curling her fingers into a fist around his hair. Byleth presses his lips to her cheek again.
It's not like Edelgard to sit back and let him do all the work; she is an emperor, his emperor, and can summon an appropriately domineering attitude whenever she wishes. But every now and then Byleth just wants to pamper her, crush all her anxieties about war and statesmanship and make her feel good, make her forget the burden of all her responsibilities - and every now and then, she lets him.
Her breath hitches when he dips his fingertips beneath the hem of her undergarments. The fabric is getting quite damp, and her body tenses as she tries to resist bucking up into his touch. He runs his fingers over her slowly, exploratively, placing soft and unhurried kisses against her temple and ears while she trembles under his hands.
"Byleth," she says again, almost a hiss, and he knows a command when he hears one.
She gasps when he enters her, first one finger, then two. The pace isn't fast enough for her, he knows, but he doesn't let the intoxicating little sounds she makes hurry him on until she grasps his shoulders and starts trying to move with him. It's easy to tell by her desperate movements and short breaths when she's close, and this time he doesn't draw it out any longer than he needs to.
Edelgard collapses against the sheets, panting, and Byleth waits until her whole body goes limp to pull his fingers out. They're quite wet, and after a moment he decides to wipe them off on his own clothes. Easier to wash than the sheets, and fewer questioning looks from the palace maids about needing them cleaned again.
Waiting for Edelgard to catch her breath, he lays back down at her shoulder and runs his clean fingers through a lock of her hair. Somehow she manages to be beautiful in every state he's ever seen her in: dressed in finery for formal affairs, lounging in casual clothes on hot summer days, undressed and disheveled next to him in bed, bloody and bruised and victorious at the end of a long battle. He doesn't think he could pick a favorite if he tried.
Eventually she turns her head to the side to nudge him into a soft kiss, and murmurs against his lips, "Would you like me to...?"
"I'm fine," Byleth says truthfully. "We should be getting up."
Before he can move, though, Edelgard wraps an arm around his neck and presses her forehead against his, sighing.
"Thank you for being here," she says in hardly more than a whisper. "You make bad nights much more bearable."
Her breath tickles his face, and despite what he just said, Byleth puts his arm back around her to pull her closer. He knows the long years it's taken her to get here, to accept that she has a right to be vulnerable and unashamed of it. He knows she has scars that even he can't see, and he can only soothe her wounds, not heal them. But if having him near makes even one minute of each day easier for her, he'll never leave her side.
"You know there's nowhere else I'd rather be."
He can feel her smiling, and she hums contentedly, relaxing into the sheets again. Byleth allows himself to relax too, forgetting the clock and breakfast and their other myriad obligations.
You don't ever have to be alone again, he thinks, and tells her with another gentle kiss, I'll always be right here.