Work Text:
Choosing a pair of glasses, Sylvain learns, is no easy feat.
His most recent eye test had ended in surprise: his vision is no longer 20/20. A sign of his old age, he'd joked to Felix—who had rolled his eyes and reminded Sylvain that thirty isn't old. It's further on than Sylvain had ever expected to get, though, and any sign of his aging he feels oddly proud of. Imperfect vision is the most recent addition to a small but important list of changes: the weight he's gained over the last few years, the faint lines starting to show next to his eyes.
He feels lost and not insignificantly intimidated by the rows of frames in front of him. His only solace is that somehow, he's managed to drag Felix to the optician with him. They lock eyes in the little mirror above the shelves and Sylvain feels no small amount of fondness at Felix's overtly bored expression. His scowl is enough to keep any overeager salespeople away from them, at least.
Disinterested or not, Felix stands dutifully through maybe a dozen pairs of glasses, none of which Sylvain thinks work particularly well. If he has to wear them every day, he wants to find a pair which are at least somewhat indicative of his personality and style. Nothing too nerdy, either.
This proves harder than he'd expected. You're asking for a lot, Felix had joked dryly on the way here, given the way you dress. Sylvain regrets wearing a sweater vest today. It isn't helping his case.
He does eventually find a pair which seem promising: round, tortoiseshell, keyhole bridge. He tries them on and inspects himself in the mirror. Ruffles his hair a little, trying to get a more natural feel for them under the fluorescent store lighting. They sit comfortably on his nose, frame his face nicely. Not bad.
"These are okay," he notes, half to himself.
Felix flicks his gaze up from his phone and seems caught, briefly. His eyes slide over Sylvain's reflection with a sudden intensity. Enough that Sylvain feels oddly bashful about it. He's never quite gotten used to being subject to Felix's judgement, even after all these years.
"Get those," Felix says after a moment, with no further comment.
Sylvain's at the front counter in record time.
+
Sylvain has largely forgotten about the interaction by the time he picks up his new glasses, two weeks later.
Maybe it's silly, but he is surprised by how much of a help they are. They make grading papers a breeze. No more squinting at his screen, giving himself a headache. It still feels a little weird, having something on his face, but he knows he'll adjust. He got used to his wedding band just fine.
He's almost finished by the time Felix gets home. The familiar sounds of Felix moving through their apartment—the thud of his boots kicked across the room, his sigh of relief as he shrugs off his jacket—gratify Sylvain in ways he could never articulate fully.
He's got Felix's return down to a science. Times almost exactly the moment Felix appears in the doorway to their home office; offers a hey, darling over his shoulder, eyes still on his screen.
Felix doesn't respond immediately. Sylvain gives it a moment, finishes the sentence he's reading, then swivels around in his chair. "You okay?"
"Your glasses," Felix says. Sylvain's not sure if it's a non sequitur.
"Oh, yeah," Sylvain touches a hand to his face absently. "Picked them up today. I can actually see now, would you believe."
Felix hums distractedly. Sylvain grins and turns back to his laptop. He's still got a few papers left to work through before he can call it a day; before he's Felix's for the evening.
Felix clearly doesn't feel like waiting that long. In a few long strides he's standing behind Sylvain, arms draped over the back of Sylvain's chair, around his shoulders. One hand he slides down Sylvain's chest; the other grips Sylvain's chin, angling his head to the side to expose the plane of his neck.
Sylvain's eyes flutter briefly closed. "Need to finish this, sweetheart," he breathes, though his focus has already waned a damning amount.
Felix ignores him in favour of pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his jaw. A scrape of teeth against his pulse point and Sylvain decides the papers are a wash. Felix makes a gratified sound when Sylvain closes his laptop; unravels himself and spins Sylvain's chair one eighty to face him.
Both his hands come to the arms of Sylvain's glasses. Sylvain is expecting him to get them out of the way—instead he just adjusts them on Sylvain's face, his focus warm and unwavering.
"I like these," he says simply.
Sylvain's face feels hot. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Felix agrees, and sinks down onto his knees. Sylvain's heart jumps. "You look… studious."
"Well," Sylvain jokes lamely, "My PhD didn't earn itself."
Felix scoffs, his hand stroking up the top of Sylvain's thigh. "Of course not. Is that how you want me to address you, from now on? Doctor Fraldarius?"
Felix's voice is only a touch mocking. It doesn't not do it for Sylvain—especially sitting at his desk, still wearing the clothes he gave lectures in this morning—but it's their shared last name which he enjoys more.
"I think I prefer the other names you call me," he says.
Felix's mouth curls up, pleased. "I'm sure you do—" he says, reaching for the button of Sylvain's trousers, "—slut."
Sylvain hums happily, the pet name settling heavy and molten in the pit of his stomach. He tugs off his sweater then lifts his hips, letting Felix pull his cords and underwear down his legs.
Felix eyes Sylvain's cock for a moment, hard and flush against his soft stomach, then looks up through the dark frame of his eyelashes. "Gonna blow you," he says. "Don't take your glasses off."
Sylvain grins. Felix's eccentricity isn't always readily apparent, not to anyone who knows him less, but it's one of the things Sylvain loves most about him. Sometimes he can surprise Sylvain—always he reminds Sylvain that life can good, and can be fun.
"Is this going to become a regular occurrence?" Sylvain asks, cheeks warm.
Felix smirks, then dips down and takes Sylvain's cock into his mouth.
It's easy for Sylvain to lose himself to the heat of Felix's mouth. He tips his head back momentarily, overwhelmed by the feeling, then pulls it back up to watch Felix's head bobbing between his legs.
He gets a hand in Felix's hair—which is soft between his fingers, a little mussed after Felix's commute—and feels a surge of fondness alongside his arousal.
Felix looks up at the touch. His eyes are shining, sharp with purpose. He holds eye contact as he sinks as far down onto Sylvain's cock as he can. Sylvain's breath catches, hips jerking up involuntarily.
"God," he groans, fist tightening in Felix's hair.
Felix digs his nails into Sylvain's thigh in what might be reassurance. With his other hand he finally starts to touch himself. The sight is a little obscene; still fully dressed with only his cock freed from his work trousers, hair starting to stick to his damp forehead. Lips stretched around Sylvain's dick, breaths coming quick and sharp through his nose.
"You're beautiful," Sylvain says. Felix makes a sound which would probably be a scoff, if Sylvain's cock wasn't in his throat. It makes Sylvain feel light and warm.
With a hand around himself, Felix doubles down his efforts. Works himself over with slick, frantic sounds, swallows Sylvain all the way down to the root. Sylvain whimpers and writhes in his chair, fucking into Felix's mouth with as much restraint as he can muster.
"Fe," he gasps, bowing forward enough to send his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. "You're gonna make me come"
The timing could be a coincidence—Sylvain using his index finger to push his glasses back into place, Felix coming with his eyes screwed shut and a groan punched out of him, like his orgasm has caught him by surprise—but Sylvain doesn't think it is.
Watching Felix is all it takes for Sylvain. Rarely does Felix let himself finish before he's done taking care of Sylvain, so it's not often Sylvain gets the pleasure of seeing Felix come in full clarity. His toes curl and he spills down Felix's throat with a broken sound. Felix swallows him through it, then eases off with an open-mouthed kiss to Sylvain's thigh.
After a moment Felix lifts himself from the floor and leans over to take a drink from the glass of water on Sylvain's desk. Once Sylvain has redressed his lower half, Felix curls himself into Sylvain's lap. It's a tight fit, both of them squeezed into Sylvain's desk chair, but it just means they just have to press closer for it.
"Hey," Sylvain whispers, warm and sated in the afterglow of Felix's care.
A fond quirk of Felix's mouth. "Hey."
Kissing around Sylvain's glasses is a bit of a learning curve. He ends up with the frames smushed awkwardly against his face, but he doesn't mind. Just smiles into Felix's mouth until they're both ready to pull away.
The tip of Felix's nose has left a smudge on one lens. Felix notices: removes Sylvain's glasses and uses his shirt to clean them, an act Sylvain thinks is both domestic and thoughtful. His chest aches contentedly when Felix slides the frames carefully back into place.
"It's probably not practical to wear these all the time," Sylvain notes, voice a little rough. "You won't let me get any work done."
Felix smiles. Traces the rim of one lens with his thumb, then drops the hand lower to stroke Sylvain's cheekbone. "Probably not," he concedes.
His loose hair catches light from the evening sun, bleeding in through the window. A few silver hairs shine prettily against the sea of indigo. It strikes Sylvain then, as it often has recently, what a privilege it is to watch each other grow and change. Not a day passes in which he isn't grateful for the life they've built together.
"Love you," Sylvain says, turning his head into the comfort of Felix's palm. "Could never tell you that enough times."
Felix's free hand, resting on Sylvain's hip, squeezes hard in acknowledgement. The metal of his wedding band is cool against Sylvain's skin.
"Yeah," he agrees, and buries his face in the crook of Sylvain's neck.