[This is a mistake. Yet even in the process of committing to it, Dimitri can't seem to stop. The self-awareness alone isn't enough. It may even be worse, because he is staring down into the face of a decision he should not make—and still choosing to make it.
There is the element of seduction he already knows, and he can no longer deny that fact, not faced with Sylvain's sly look, those hooded eyes he'd wear in their dormitory and outside while knowing Dimitri watched him across the classroom or dining table with rapt enchantment. He had never thought he could be so attracted to another man. At first it had terrified him, and it was only Sylvain's familiar guidance that led him through the storm; a bond formed in childhood made more boyish and tender, exploratory, unjudgmental. He'd never denied Sylvain's handsomeness, it was clear in every pair of eyes he managed to lure in their youth. Enough to incite a dark, confusing, seeded jealousy in his gut each time he overhead idle gossip in the hallways of the monastery. It was not as though they'd ever promised anything to one another.
And yet, foolishly, he had...
It's like he recalls. Almost. Sylvain is pale and lean underneath him, toned curves of muscle, red hair messy on the sheets, mouth full and wide in the slash of a smirk. He's beautiful. His beauty is wasted on war, surely, just as it was wasted on every frivolous affair of the past. Wasted on a prince as unworthy as him. Wasted, now, on Adrestia. They do not deserve to possess him—but that was Sylvain's choice, and now...
Dimitri sucks in a sharp breath. That struggle is enough to bear, as easy as putting his hand on Sylvain's head and tangling his fingers into crimson strands, yanking at the roots to lift Sylvain's chin off the bed. It is the ache that is worse, attraction throbbing hot and low in his belly; he can feel himself harden in moments. The pressure against his groin is a sin. There's no disguising the considerable shape of that heavy cock through black trousers, even as he reflexively lifts himself onto his knees to escape the sinuous grind of Sylvain's slender hips. Running away.]
What do you know of who I am now? You left me years ago. [Gritted, disgusted at himself for being so aroused, furious at Sylvain for causing it in him again.] A quick death would be a mercy you don't deserve.
How many others have you bedded since? Did you seduce them as well? Did you make promises you never intended to keep? [All he's learned, he's learned from Sylvain. What can be said when he shifts again, driving a knee between Sylvain's thighs to force them wider apart, to expose everything between, from the slope of his ass down to the soft tuck of balls on the mattress, back forced into an arch by the hand still tight in his hair. His voice is a condescending hiss.] Tell me how you would rather be treated, Sylvain.
[ sylvain isn't one of the dead that have come to haunt him. it's with that certainty that allows him to say - ]
I don't want your mercy. Either do it or don't.
[ but that promise of death would be more worrying if he didn't follow it with that question - how many others have you bedded since? and sylvain can only laugh. he spreads his legs the way he wants him to. he is unfortunately beautiful. that arch would be a sin held in dimitri's hand if he so wished, the only man he'd ever allow to pull him this taut into desire despite how it would damn him. that's another secret that dimitri had become privy to, perhaps all too late - if he anchored himself onto the gautier heir, he would drown. perhaps he ought to have listened to past governesses and tutors who have warned him in his youth, and not with a hint of distaste in their mouths, that the gautier children were wolves.
dimitri is stubborn, however. stubborn and prone to his moods, wanting, hungry, a monstrous thing that wants to eat. what can he say to such a desire? why should he stop it?
he really should cut his hair. dimitri's holding onto it so firmly, the way his locks curl blood red around his fingers in a way it hasn't for a long time. a familiar colour that's now second nature to him given how easily he can crush a man's skull.
if he wanted to.
if. ]
... I want to be treated like how you see me, your Highness. [ his arms reach out underneath his makeshift pillow, grasping the linens. not allowing himself the luxury of touching himself and putting on a show, his body entirely on display for another man. this isn't the first time he's wanted him. this isn't the first time he's had to entertain him. what's a body? just something to be used. he wishes he could've taught that lesson to dimitri much better than anything else, but he was stupid enough to fall in love instead. and stupid enough to be hopeful about it on top of everything else, like he never learned his lesson.
well. maybe if he surrenders he'll forget how it was and they can both go back to a state of mutual dislike. then it'll hurt less. it's not like he wants him to make amends; the time for such things is long past. dimitri may not kill him, but he will do him worse: toy with him until he was no longer useful. not ideal.
he'll make it ... easy. ]
Do you want me? Then you should take me for yourself.
You remember how, don't you? [ he looks at him sideways, lip caught in his teeth for a brief moment before he purrs his name - ] Dimitri.
[ he doesn't often call him by name. in bed, sure. but he had to learn it. had to learn how to let go of power, to view his prince as the boy he liked as opposed to one whom he is rendering service to. it's cruel to do it like this. it feels good in his mouth: a solid, powerful name. he relishes each syllable, adds the right amount of tone on the exhale. one can easily get lost in such a voice. ]
[The rage is blinding, tastes like rust on his tongue. The feeling is so immense. It fills him to the brim, to bursting, and somehow in the center of it is a moment of pure clarity. Through the physical attraction to Sylvain's body beneath him, through the hurt of betrayal, through the slippery descent of madness—he sees himself as he hasn't in a very long time. He sees the situation. That this is all an excuse just to touch Sylvain again, to play pretend in the way they once were together. That this is a gateway to oblivion, and at least for an hour he won't think about anything else. That Sylvain wants it too.
This last fact hangs like a hook, tempting disagreement with the proof before him. Sylvain is a liar. He's a snake taken straight to bed; Dimitri should know that better than anyone now. But, for all of that, he had never lied with his body. Everything he had taught Dimitri seemed to come from a place of sincere pleasure.
So what of now?
After, that dark promise slithers through his mind. After, I can kill him.
Dimitri withdraws himself from the bed at the soft, sultry murmur of his own name, a beast retreating, but the weight of that one blue eye never leaves.]
How could I forget? [His voice is low, scraping like steel. He sheds none of his clothing as he crosses the floor except for the burden of his cloak. It drops, fluttering, heavy fabric piling on the stone floor. Then he takes something from a drawer in the dresser, item hidden in a closed fist.] You were a careful, experienced teacher. Every lesson came with a demonstration.
[He moves deliberately out of Sylvain's scope of sight, around the side of the bed until he can climb on from the foot, one strong knee down between Sylvain's pale and delicate ankles.]
You wish to be treated how I see you? Are you certain of that? [Darker, tone woven into one that is both malice and desire at once, he slopes over Sylvain's back once more.] I see you as a whore to be passed around at court, good only for the use of your body. Meant to be bred only for your lineage.
[There's some irony in this. How badly he had wanted Sylvain to love him, in another life; how desperately he'd wished for their coupling to be done with tender romance and gentle affection. How very wrong it has turned here.
If he is seduced, so be it. I will kill him after. A pair of bare, oil-slicked fingers find the line of Sylvain's ass and slide into that tight furrow, seeking his hole with a brusqueness that lacks finesse and patience.]
[ it's uncomfortable and painful. dimitri tells him he's learned his lessons then proceeds to show him poorly in the next breath; sylvain would laugh, if he weren't so enraged at him already. he's courting death. courting his highness' rage, a many-teethed thing that longs to sink into something warm and bloody. he shouldn't push him too hard. he might not see the sunrise at all.
dimitri's fingers are impatient, not letting him enjoy or adjust the way he likes it. not the worst sex he's had. it is, also, not enough to turn him off and make it miserable. maybe that's just how things have been with him for a long time: nothing in this world being entertaining enough to be worth living for, everything else that happens to him is just accidental, that when he actually gets hurt about something, when he feels pain keenly on an emotional and physical level, sylvain is surprised. it's like he remembers, briefly, that he still had a heart, even as it pathetically beats behind his rib cage. dimitri was once his love, he remembers that. and that his darling love has grown into something terrible, he can't say he hates him at all.
if nothing else, it makes him long for him more. makes him wish, for a hot second, that he had never betrayed him.
it's an awful thing to consider, because it's not like it'll change how they fuck. but sex is an arsenal to sylvain, and having someone use it against him, even accidentally, it's always humbling.
his body is honest about what it wants: only what dimitri wishes to give. and his highness is a ship leaking, all of his emotions breaking through the stern. when he whispers those words with malice, sylvain can easily imagine it: passed around under his orders, to be used. while he watches. bred for his pleasure, under his control.
he would surrender to such attention.
sylvain's hands clench tightly around rough sheets, his toes curling and his breath ragged as he fucks him with his fingers. he arches his back and pushes against his hand, greedy, wanting even more. didn't i teach you better? you call that technique? ]
Are you going to watch? [ sylvain grins. ] Will you let this whore of yours get filled up before you deign to fuck me with your cock, or will you let them breed me and leave me after?
... because if your answer isn't the latter, then you've lost to me.
But hey, that's not the worst that can happen, right? [ he reaches behind him to spread himself obscenely for dimitri's use. for all of his roughness, he hasn't forgotten how to do it, and it's driving him insane. he doesn't often fuck men. men are more demanding in bed than women, constantly wanting proof that sex matters. women are easier prey for him, and he relishes their hatred after. serves them right. they never wanted him. but dimitri - ]
.... ah ... it's still ... being with you, after all this time.
[ all this time, still a bad idea. still his awful vice. sylvain will never let go of him: a poisonous thought. maybe that's a kind of loyalty, too. not that dimitri will accept that as currency now. ]
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no subject
There is the element of seduction he already knows, and he can no longer deny that fact, not faced with Sylvain's sly look, those hooded eyes he'd wear in their dormitory and outside while knowing Dimitri watched him across the classroom or dining table with rapt enchantment. He had never thought he could be so attracted to another man. At first it had terrified him, and it was only Sylvain's familiar guidance that led him through the storm; a bond formed in childhood made more boyish and tender, exploratory, unjudgmental. He'd never denied Sylvain's handsomeness, it was clear in every pair of eyes he managed to lure in their youth. Enough to incite a dark, confusing, seeded jealousy in his gut each time he overhead idle gossip in the hallways of the monastery. It was not as though they'd ever promised anything to one another.
And yet, foolishly, he had...
It's like he recalls. Almost. Sylvain is pale and lean underneath him, toned curves of muscle, red hair messy on the sheets, mouth full and wide in the slash of a smirk. He's beautiful. His beauty is wasted on war, surely, just as it was wasted on every frivolous affair of the past. Wasted on a prince as unworthy as him. Wasted, now, on Adrestia. They do not deserve to possess him—but that was Sylvain's choice, and now...
Dimitri sucks in a sharp breath. That struggle is enough to bear, as easy as putting his hand on Sylvain's head and tangling his fingers into crimson strands, yanking at the roots to lift Sylvain's chin off the bed. It is the ache that is worse, attraction throbbing hot and low in his belly; he can feel himself harden in moments. The pressure against his groin is a sin. There's no disguising the considerable shape of that heavy cock through black trousers, even as he reflexively lifts himself onto his knees to escape the sinuous grind of Sylvain's slender hips. Running away.]
What do you know of who I am now? You left me years ago. [Gritted, disgusted at himself for being so aroused, furious at Sylvain for causing it in him again.] A quick death would be a mercy you don't deserve.
How many others have you bedded since? Did you seduce them as well? Did you make promises you never intended to keep? [All he's learned, he's learned from Sylvain. What can be said when he shifts again, driving a knee between Sylvain's thighs to force them wider apart, to expose everything between, from the slope of his ass down to the soft tuck of balls on the mattress, back forced into an arch by the hand still tight in his hair. His voice is a condescending hiss.] Tell me how you would rather be treated, Sylvain.
no subject
I don't want your mercy. Either do it or don't.
[ but that promise of death would be more worrying if he didn't follow it with that question - how many others have you bedded since? and sylvain can only laugh. he spreads his legs the way he wants him to. he is unfortunately beautiful. that arch would be a sin held in dimitri's hand if he so wished, the only man he'd ever allow to pull him this taut into desire despite how it would damn him. that's another secret that dimitri had become privy to, perhaps all too late - if he anchored himself onto the gautier heir, he would drown. perhaps he ought to have listened to past governesses and tutors who have warned him in his youth, and not with a hint of distaste in their mouths, that the gautier children were wolves.
dimitri is stubborn, however. stubborn and prone to his moods, wanting, hungry, a monstrous thing that wants to eat. what can he say to such a desire? why should he stop it?
he really should cut his hair. dimitri's holding onto it so firmly, the way his locks curl blood red around his fingers in a way it hasn't for a long time. a familiar colour that's now second nature to him given how easily he can crush a man's skull.
if he wanted to.
if. ]
... I want to be treated like how you see me, your Highness. [ his arms reach out underneath his makeshift pillow, grasping the linens. not allowing himself the luxury of touching himself and putting on a show, his body entirely on display for another man. this isn't the first time he's wanted him. this isn't the first time he's had to entertain him. what's a body? just something to be used. he wishes he could've taught that lesson to dimitri much better than anything else, but he was stupid enough to fall in love instead. and stupid enough to be hopeful about it on top of everything else, like he never learned his lesson.
well. maybe if he surrenders he'll forget how it was and they can both go back to a state of mutual dislike. then it'll hurt less. it's not like he wants him to make amends; the time for such things is long past. dimitri may not kill him, but he will do him worse: toy with him until he was no longer useful. not ideal.
he'll make it ... easy. ]
Do you want me? Then you should take me for yourself.
You remember how, don't you? [ he looks at him sideways, lip caught in his teeth for a brief moment before he purrs his name - ] Dimitri.
[ he doesn't often call him by name. in bed, sure. but he had to learn it. had to learn how to let go of power, to view his prince as the boy he liked as opposed to one whom he is rendering service to. it's cruel to do it like this. it feels good in his mouth: a solid, powerful name. he relishes each syllable, adds the right amount of tone on the exhale. one can easily get lost in such a voice. ]
a crusty awful tag
This last fact hangs like a hook, tempting disagreement with the proof before him. Sylvain is a liar. He's a snake taken straight to bed; Dimitri should know that better than anyone now. But, for all of that, he had never lied with his body. Everything he had taught Dimitri seemed to come from a place of sincere pleasure.
So what of now?
After, that dark promise slithers through his mind. After, I can kill him.
Dimitri withdraws himself from the bed at the soft, sultry murmur of his own name, a beast retreating, but the weight of that one blue eye never leaves.]
How could I forget? [His voice is low, scraping like steel. He sheds none of his clothing as he crosses the floor except for the burden of his cloak. It drops, fluttering, heavy fabric piling on the stone floor. Then he takes something from a drawer in the dresser, item hidden in a closed fist.] You were a careful, experienced teacher. Every lesson came with a demonstration.
[He moves deliberately out of Sylvain's scope of sight, around the side of the bed until he can climb on from the foot, one strong knee down between Sylvain's pale and delicate ankles.]
You wish to be treated how I see you? Are you certain of that? [Darker, tone woven into one that is both malice and desire at once, he slopes over Sylvain's back once more.] I see you as a whore to be passed around at court, good only for the use of your body. Meant to be bred only for your lineage.
[There's some irony in this. How badly he had wanted Sylvain to love him, in another life; how desperately he'd wished for their coupling to be done with tender romance and gentle affection. How very wrong it has turned here.
If he is seduced, so be it. I will kill him after. A pair of bare, oil-slicked fingers find the line of Sylvain's ass and slide into that tight furrow, seeking his hole with a brusqueness that lacks finesse and patience.]
not awful!!!
dimitri's fingers are impatient, not letting him enjoy or adjust the way he likes it. not the worst sex he's had. it is, also, not enough to turn him off and make it miserable. maybe that's just how things have been with him for a long time: nothing in this world being entertaining enough to be worth living for, everything else that happens to him is just accidental, that when he actually gets hurt about something, when he feels pain keenly on an emotional and physical level, sylvain is surprised. it's like he remembers, briefly, that he still had a heart, even as it pathetically beats behind his rib cage. dimitri was once his love, he remembers that. and that his darling love has grown into something terrible, he can't say he hates him at all.
if nothing else, it makes him long for him more. makes him wish, for a hot second, that he had never betrayed him.
it's an awful thing to consider, because it's not like it'll change how they fuck. but sex is an arsenal to sylvain, and having someone use it against him, even accidentally, it's always humbling.
his body is honest about what it wants: only what dimitri wishes to give. and his highness is a ship leaking, all of his emotions breaking through the stern. when he whispers those words with malice, sylvain can easily imagine it: passed around under his orders, to be used. while he watches. bred for his pleasure, under his control.
he would surrender to such attention.
sylvain's hands clench tightly around rough sheets, his toes curling and his breath ragged as he fucks him with his fingers. he arches his back and pushes against his hand, greedy, wanting even more. didn't i teach you better? you call that technique? ]
Are you going to watch? [ sylvain grins. ] Will you let this whore of yours get filled up before you deign to fuck me with your cock, or will you let them breed me and leave me after?
... because if your answer isn't the latter, then you've lost to me.
But hey, that's not the worst that can happen, right? [ he reaches behind him to spread himself obscenely for dimitri's use. for all of his roughness, he hasn't forgotten how to do it, and it's driving him insane. he doesn't often fuck men. men are more demanding in bed than women, constantly wanting proof that sex matters. women are easier prey for him, and he relishes their hatred after. serves them right. they never wanted him. but dimitri - ]
.... ah ... it's still ... being with you, after all this time.
[ all this time, still a bad idea. still his awful vice. sylvain will never let go of him: a poisonous thought. maybe that's a kind of loyalty, too. not that dimitri will accept that as currency now. ]