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“It’s so unfair,” Claude groaned.
It was the umpteenth time the words had left his mouth, cuddled up to Byleth in the little fortress they’d mad of fur, woven blankets and pillows.
It was a routine of theirs; one so precious, and so common, as to have become a sad little tradition. Before Claude flew out in the morning—on business of Almyran state that would keep him away sometimes weeks, sometimes months—they gathered all the softest, loveliest materials they had. They lit the fireplace at the foot of their downy little love nest, and they twisted up in each other however much they liked between turns tending the flame. It was a last day spent just for them: no disruptions, no duties, no propriety to get in the way.
There weren’t usually many words passed, their mouths more keen on speaking to love in a different way; but Claude seemed talkative this time. He had not stopped bemoaning their situation since he’d stepped foot in the circle. Usually she would let him pout a moment, kiss away the burden, and roll her hips just so, in the way he liked until he forgot all about his impending travels. But he would not relent this time, no matter how many of his favourite tricks she tried. Byleth supposed that left one option: words. She was never very good at those.
“What’s so unfair, my love?” She asked, throwing in a pet name to soften the edge.
The topic of their frequent, often lengthy separations was a sharp one; and their feelings surrounding it were mutually tender. Many tears had been shed, much sleep lost, and many fights had been had over just this subject. She did not want to cry, or to be unnerved, or to fight in their little nest. It defeated the purpose: coziness, the settling in, the very concept of a nest itself! Clearly, though, he needed to talk. And that meant finesse was required.
Finesse, or buttering him up.
Byleth tucked her head under his chin, ran her fingers over the intimate trail of hair that ran down from his naval. She heard his jaw unclench above her, and felt him take a deep breath from the belly beneath her fingers.
Buttering him up worked just fine, it would seem.
“I’ve been contemplating marriage: the fundamentals of it, what it means on a universal, secular scale,” he said.
“Of course you have,” Byleth had to hold back a laugh. Launching into waxing philosophical on the minutiae of their union was just the thing she should have expected. Yet it never ceased to come as a funny little surprise. “Are you so bored with me? Will you think your way into the meaning of the life if I suck your cock enough?”
“It feels like it sometimes,” he sighed. “Less in a distracted way, and more in a pure bliss and ascension way. But that’s besides the point. I’ve been thinking about marriage and what it means for a while, not just now.”
“And what conclusion have you reached?” She asked, as much because she knew he needed to tell her as she did because she wanted to know.
Claude hummed, finding his words.
Byleth pecked a kiss to his throat, his jaw, the hollow place behind his ear. Her wandering fingers found themselves wound around his manhood, half hard and leaking a last bit of cum, not spent inside her.
“It’s a belief,” he rasped. Byleth’s belly fluttered at the low sound.
She loved the gravelly depths of his voice, sitting right at the bottom of his register. It was a noise that seemed reserved only for her. It was for when she managed to push him just up to the edge of his persona, over to the chasm where he was all wild dreams, reaching hands, pride, and just enough greed.
“Not a promise?” She whispered in his ear.
As her hand slowly started to work at him, she knew what he’d feel. A silver ring was there on her finger, green peridot displayed at the centre. The metal would be cool against the heat of a pulsing, hardening member. He could feel it there on him, their promise made manifest.
“No, marriages break. A promise is a promise. One broken...it may as well have...been a lie. But a broken marriage, undone, that’s not...” he let out another low groan. “Fuck, Byleth. I love you.”
“I love you too,” she pecked a kiss at the corner of his lip.
Shifting away, hand still working on his now hard cock at a steady rhythm, Byleth could see the crease in his brow. That wouldn’t do. Distracting him from his train of thought was certainly amusing, but making him tense was less so.
Adjusting herself to lie comfortably between his legs, Byleth made a little jape. “Do tell me more about failed marriages now, oh husband mine.”
The snicker that ran through him—full-bodied and airy—did much to ease him back into things. It was like his body rediscovered the pattern, the one his whirling mind had pointed him away from.
When Byleth laved her tongue in a slow, steady circled over the pink head of his cock, he let out a delicious moan. Claude’s body became, soft, relaxed, as her hands travelled over his strong thighs and core. Her nails scratched gently at the well-trimmed trail she loved so.
“A marriage wasn’t a lie just because it ended,” he explained, dreamily. Byleth smiled against a wet kiss to his tip. He sounded as though he were floating away. “So it must be a belief. A belief that you want to see a special someone every day of your life until the day you die. We believe it enough that we promise it. We can even put it to paper.”
Byleth hummed. Her lips opened, letting his length slide into her mouth, guided by her tongue. She only barely bobbed down on him the first time before shivers ran through his body. He didn’t tense up now. Instead, he paused his theorizing a moment. Good. He had been just a little too coherent for her taste. She had to find the balance. A few shallow bobs of her head, hands stroking the length of him she hadn’t yet reached, then she let up for a brief moment. Her hand worked him again like she was looking to polish him, leaving him wet and gleaming.
“So clever,” she praised. “But there was a point.”
“The point...” his teeth grit. He sat up. Byleth’s eyes widened a little, wondering if she had sounded too harsh. But no. Claude’s passions were more aimlessly directed. A general sense of indignation, not so easily defined. “The point is that to be together the powers that be made me swear publicly to the truth—I want to be with you always ‘til I die—as a prerequisite for being with you at all. And then! And then! These same powers that be have constructed this whole concept of duty, and sovereignty that takes me away from you! It’s unfair! No, it’s downright cruel! Torturous!”
Byleth smiled widely. Looking up at him—a broad, handsome, intelligent man, whom she very much wanted—she could not help but think he was very silly. He was right, of course. But Claude was very silly.
“Enjoy me while you’re here,” she told him, rising into her knees.
Byleth cupped his neck. She used a light touch: the way she knew made him feel softer, safer. Her lips pressed to his temple. Claude’s hands took her by the hips, playing the role of gentle guide as she seated herself in his lap.
“I want to. So badly. I want to.” Claude whispered. “Help me to stay with you now, my friend.”
There was no moniker—not wife, not professor, not queen, or even enlightened—that meant more to her.
Byleth wound her fingers in his slicked back, loose curls. The slightest tug on his hair had Claude’s head arching back, his lips primed for hers. Though she took the lead, his tongue was the first to slip into the kiss. Byleth smiled to herself, relishing the taste of a eager plea made physical.
“I can do that,” she told him finally, her lips parting from his with a lady soft peck. “I’m going to hold you,” she said, reaching between them. “And I won’t let go.”
She lined him up beneath her, rubbing his tip right over her entry. She was ready for him, already wet and open from the attentions received by Claude—his fingers, his tongue, his cock—over the course of their little ritual.
Her lover hissed in through his teeth at the sensation, but did not rush her. He swallowed down the anticipation, the apple of his throat bobbing as he glanced down to watch.
Byleth did not take her eyes from his face. She observed the scanning motions of his pupils as she pressed down onto him. He was paying enraptured attentions to their bodies connecting as she sank further and further down onto him. Where usually his head would fall back, and a gasp would pierce the air, there was only his heaving breath, and insistent gaze.
When finally she took him in to the root, he spoke. “I’ll miss this.”
Byleth didn’t ask. She did not want his mind flying off into the sunrise, into days to come where he would be away. She wanted him here, in his body, held by her.
Byleth’s hips rolled in languid circles. She let one arm fall from his hair, tracing aimless patterns over the tightening muscles of his back. Meanwhile, her nails scratched at the trimmed hair at the nape of his neck. She gasped at the twitch of his cock inside her.
Claude’s face flushed red. His ears looked burnt.
“Your hands....” he said, as though all should be explained in that murmur.
“My hands?” Byleth asked, rising and falling slowly in his lap.
“Your skin, really,” he answered.
Claude’s hands rose from their place at her hips. They drew their path along her sides: squeezing at curves, and pressing on muscle. When his touch steered around to follow the trail of her spine, it was made obvious he had no intention of clarifying further. Not unprompted at least.
“What about my skin?” She nearly purred out the question.
She was holding back, keeping to her leisurely, unsteady pace in his lap. It was a hard thing to do when the warm fluttering feeling in her core, and the unattended pulsing of her hard clit were begging for something faster, harder.
“When I’m far away, alone, awake in the dead of night, do you know what I think about?” Claude began. There was no space for her answer as he sighed loudly, letting his cheek fall to rest on her shoulder. “I think about your touch. Not anywhere special. Not in any particular way. Just...touch. No one holds me, takes my hand, runs their fingers through my hair. It’s awful.”
“Should we make a special order to Nader then? He has to hug you? Hold your hand? Brush your hair?” Byleth grinned.
She expected he might laugh, fluster, or scoff. Instead his head rose, his eyes going wide for a moment. The flutter of his lashes as he seemed to consider this made her stomach do flips.
“His hands are too big,” he concluded.
“Oh,” Byleth rolled her hips once more over him. “You really miss this then.”
“Hmph,” his hands reached her rear, taking a firm grip on her ass. Byleth startled the tiniest bit, before falling into a fit of giggles as Claude kissed along her neck. “Didn’t believe me before?”
“I believed you,” she assured him through laughter. Her chin instinctively drew in. Byleth’s hands came to rest on his chest, pushing him back. None of this was enough to escape the little nips and pecks he gave her. She didn’t even bother trying to dissuade him from kneading the handfuls of ass he’d taken. “I clearly was unaware of the severity.”
“Clearly.”
Byleth barely heard Claude’s muttered reply before feeling the swing of gravity working against her. She fell flat on her back, Claude’s weight held just low enough to pin her. His cock, having slipped from her in the roll maneuver, lay heavy on her navel, pressed just between their stomachs.
“Goddess, Claude,” she felt a full body flush come over her. Her skin prickled with the heat. “You’re throbbing.”
“Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel that too?”
“Mhmm,” she hummed. Her hands tangled once more in his hair, hoping the egg him on.
Byleth’s leg wrapped over his hips as Claude wriggled over her, shifting to arrange himself back between her legs. He was less patient sinking into her: no less gentle, no less careful, but certainly a great deal faster.
When they were connected once more, he rose up on his hands. Her hips angled beneath him deliciously. Byleth could feel the bit of pressure against the sweetest spot inside her, and licked her lips anticipating the friction.
Claude was panting. Sweat rolled down his brow.
“Maybe...maybe we could just stay like this,” he suggested. “I...” he gulped. “Empty heavens, you’re just wrapped around me, aren’t you?”
Byleth was all for going slow, all for savouring things. This, however, was not exactly what she wanted to hear when toppled over, pressed between her husband’s hard body and soft fur bedding, in the perfect position for things to pick up. It might have made her a hypocrite—so easily teasing when she was on top, in control—but she didn’t care. Everything about him in this desperate, needy state spurred her on. She wanted him to sate himself on her.
“I told you I wouldn’t let go, didn’t I?” Byleth smiled softly, brushing stray curls from his face. “I’ll hold you as long as you want. So can you fuck me, Claude? I really need you right now.”
“Hah,” he exhaled like he was letting some of the heat out of his burning body. “Yeah, I can do that.”
His first thrusts were shallow. He tested the give of her body as though they hadn’t been tangling in these furs all morning. Or maybe Claude was only easing himself back into things, trying to be present and enjoy the act. Either way, he didn’t remain deliberate for long.
“Yes,” Byleth cried out once he found his pace. “Just like that.”
One hand loosed from his hair and slid between them, rubbing her swollen clit. The squeeze this sent around Claude’s cock only worked to make his rocking hips move faster, harder.
The slap of skin echoed like profanities up to the tall ceiling of their chambers. It only became louder with each stuttering encouragement she gave him.
“Claude, ah. Yes,” she moaned. “There! Just—ah!”
Unintelligible affirmations poured from her between spikes of his name, of love declarations, assurances of just how good he made her feel. With Claude’s breath turning ragged and hid moans reaching new depths, it became clear the end was drawing near not only for her.
Byleth’s arms opened wide, reaching up in an invitation. He took it instantly, melting into the contours of her body as though he were always meant to be there.
“Can I—?”
“Yes—fuck!—please...” Came Byleth answer. She trembled under him, head swimming as the swelling wave of her orgasm finished making its first crash. “Come for me.”
And he did. He was all a staggered hips, hot breath on her neck, and a carefully balanced weight atop her. There was a rumble in his chest and a release inside her, one that joined her own. Sweet kisses peppered her neck, as Claude fell into a lazy grind, not unlike the one she had started with.
“So warm,” Claude hummed. “You fit like a glove.”
Byleth only sighed.
She made sure to hold him as tightly to her as she could manage: even though he muscles shook, and they generated more heat and sweat than she could usually handle in their aftermath. Still, she’d told him she’d hold him for as long as he needed. And it was nice to feel him inside her, even if she knew that meant cleaning a stick mess later.
“It’s so unfair,” he bemoaned the future once more. “So, so, so unfair. I have a home and now I’m meant to leave it. Again.”
“Home will feel so empty without you,” she pressed her impish smile into his shoulder. When Claude didn’t respond to her double meaning, she squeezed down on him.
Claude chuckled, humours returning at last. “Hah, well, I am quite the presence.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. They could go back and forth with juvenile japes another time.
For now, Byleth ran her fingers through his hair and held him. Warm, tired, silly, messy Claude—he deserved holding.
“It really is unfair,” she mused. “But do you know what always helps me?”
Claude didn’t answer but to rise and cock his head to one side.
Byleth smiled, out from under him, much to his chagrin.
“I’ll be back!” She promised, crawling through the blankets and furs, before rising to step over a mountain of pillows.
She hurried over to their drawers, opening the second from the top, where Claude kept all his gloves and neckties. Rummaging through his messy drawer, she found what she was looking for at the very bottom. Untied and rumbled from it’s time of disuse, rumpled at the bottom of Claude’s drawer, Byleth held up his old ascot.
Byleth made her way back over to Claude, falling into his arms in an easy motion. She cuddled into his chest as Claude took the fabric back from her.
“I tuck it into the hidden breast pocket of my coat whenever you’re away,” she told him.
“To keep me close to your breast?” He asked. When Byleth near-pouted he nodded. “Ah, yes, your heart.”
“I can almost feel it beating when I think of it,” she said sweetly. “Thinking of how your heart beats for mine, so far away…”
“How would you feel if I took a glove with me tomorrow,” Claude asked. “That way you can have my heart, and I will have your hands.”
Byleth pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “I would love that.”
Not even a beat passed before Claude was setting the ascot aside and tumbling her over.
“Speaking of gloves—” he said, his voice melodic and playful.
Byleth’s nose crinkled. “No funny business with any of mine while you’re on the road.”
Claude huffed, turned red. It was rare he was indignant. “I meant—you know what I meant!”
Her laughter broke off with pressure between them. Something warm and half hard held patiently between them.
“Hold me,” Byleth whispered in his ear.
He held her close—as she did him—and slipped off into a comfortable haze.