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It’s obvious that something is up with Byleth, but Claude supposes that it’s only clear to him. He spent an entire year watching her closer than he’s watched anyone, even the people from his childhood whom he knew had knives at the ready for the second he lowers his gaze. Sure, he didn’t have the opportunity to see her for the past five years, but her absence only made the things he’d learned about her more obvious. Like, when he sees Hilda make a show of her minor injuries so that Marianne would spend more time with her, he can't ignore how it reminds him of Byleth doing the exact opposite. She always bore her injuries silently, even more imperceptible than her emotional tells, choosing to tend her wounds alone as punishment for the heart she didn’t ask to stay still.
So when Byleth comes back from Aillel, movements as precise and small as he’s seen her make, Claude clocks that she must have gotten something bad from her encounter with Gwendal. He knew it was a bad idea to let her take him on alone, but she had moved quicker than he could give Lysithea the order to Dark Spikes the hell out of the miserable old man. There was a moment, a horrifying pause, where Claude saw a triumphant sneer spread across the Lord’s tired face, and his lance spin towards where Byleth’s next step would lead her. Not for the first time, the immobilizing fear that the world would take Byleth from him before they could see this damned war ended, to stare in awe at the new dawn from somewhere beyond the shattered glass bottle, flashed before his eyes.
But, defying his expectations as she’s done since that night outside of Remire, Byleth held her next step, waiting until Gwendal’s lance swung close enough for her to use as a foothold, to run up his weapon and close the gap between them. Claude is sure the look of shock on the Lord’s face as Byleth severed his head from his shoulders in one clean sweep was the same that struck his own features as he watched Byleth make such a maneuver with barely a blink. Like she somehow knew exactly where the lance would pass, and precisely how to swing the Sword of the Creator so Gwendal would die easily and painlessly.
It must not have been so precise, then, if the Ashen Demon is showing her stone face out of battle. One of the many joys of getting to know Byleth was watching her distant emotions become more and more accessible, though it’s really only resulted in more withering stares pointed directly at him (though, less so now that he’d been tasked with keeping all the egos of the Alliance from splitting the country apart). Right now, he’s seeing none of that, even as Ignatz is gushing to her about how he never thought a place as tortuous as Aillel could show him the most vibrant colors he’s seen since the start of the war. She’s smiling, sure, but like something is keeping her from letting it spread to the rest of her face. Claude stares at her from his seat on his wyvern, twirling an arrow between his fingers as he decides what to do about the fact that she’s insisting to hide injuries from them, still.
“Earth to Claude? Helloooo?” A pink-gloved hand hovers suddenly close to Claude’s face, and Claude tears his eyes away from Byleth - was that a limp he just saw her hide? - to look at Hilda’s pout. “Seteth’s gonna be expecting a report. Am I leaving that to you and the professor again?” She doesn’t bother to hide the whine in her voice; he knows as well as she does how exhausting it is to be the only two above the action, watching with the knowledge of the entire battlefield as those they love scurry around, blind to what the shows only the both of them.
Claude takes advantage of that position once more to glance down at Byleth, searching. She’s definitely stiff, her normally fluid gait marred with either pain or the nervousness in hiding it, neither of which brings any comfort to Claude and both demand his immediate attention. She may be able to act stoic in front of the rest of her ex-students, but not him. Not the person who’s trusted her for the first time since being taught that trust only leads to poison in your unguarded glass.
“Sorry Hilds, but I’m leaving it to you.” Claude sighs out her nickname, watching the annoyance settle on Hilda’s brow. “In exchange, I’ll make sure our girls are happily in their pen, and you can go straight to the sauna.” He raises an eyebrow and musters the most charm into his smile despite the post-battle stress that Hilda somehow sees no matter how hard of a mask he plasters over himself. He sees her consider, practically watches the images of pulling the two stubborn wyverns into their nest flash through her eyes. “Please?” Hilda makes the mistake of looking back over at Claude, sealing her decision in his perfected powers of persuasion.
“Ugh.” Is the only thing she says, though she nods once to confirm that the noise of disgust is also one of affirmation. “I’m taking Mari with me though. Seteth tends to glare less when she’s around.”
“I owe you my life.” Claude sing songs, guiding his wyvern gently towards the front of the group, the spires of Garreg Mach towering over the tired party. Hilda follows, dipping down lower to tell Marianne of their accursed fate. Marianne giggles, Hilda beams, and Claude resists the urge to yell something annoying towards the oblivious lovebirds. He only stops because at the same moment, Byleth glances up at him, the meaning behind her pale green eyes purposefully hard to make out. He offers her a small smile and a wave over his shoulder, feeling the irony burn in his face.
But Hilda can tell Marianne at any time that she’s in love with her because they don’t hide anything from each other. The only thing they stand to lose in confessing is the distance they keep from each other, necessary to keep Hilda from deciding “fuck it” and just jumping on Marianne in broad daylight. Claude… well, every day he finds new reasons to keep his secrets, all at the receiving end of his arrows. This war relentlessly tests his resolve to leave Almyra and his attempt to reform Fódlan. Every time Count Gloucester opens his mouth and proves to him that there will always be outsiders to the insiders, he wants to just leave Failnaught at the Riegan doorstep and fly into the stars.
But when he told Byleth about his dream… she didn’t interrupt him once. Didn’t scrunch up her nose in annoyed disbelief, or scoff at the impossibility of it. She offered her help. Told him she shared a similar vision, where people can live the same way as they all did in Garegg Mach; crest, crestless, noble, commoner, mercenary, holy woman, all on the same grounds, learning together. Of course, some bastion of community the Officer’s Academy ended up being, up in flames under the burning weight of Edelgard’s axe, collapsing under the missing foundation of secrets that Rhea took in her absence. But despite that, Byleth believes it can be done. That they can do it together, fight this war and emerge victorious and more united than ever. Truth be told, he almost cried when she said that. Not because he’d found someone who will share the weight of his lofty ambitions - his face nearly split with the grin that burst from him upon realizing that. But because if he can convince Byleth to walk this path with him, maybe there’s the smallest, slimmest chance that she could fall in love with him as well as his vision. Since then, that pull between the reality of his desires being unattainable and that hopeful, alluring, and unbelievable possibility whispering in his ear that everything will come to fruition has tortured him. To tell her or not. It drives him to despair on lonely nights of frustrating history reading, each new discovery driving home how Fódlan’s future is only going to follow its tumultuous past. It screams at him to just lean closer to her on afternoons together, just the two of them talking about what they’re fighting for or passing around mundane gossip. On that balcony outside of Rhea’s empty room, air heavy with confessions, his voice tight around words he’s only ever whispered to himself, Claude could no longer ignore the chokehold Byleth has on his reticent heart.
See? Too much going on. Not like blue and pink here who are just cowards.
They arrive on the grounds and Claude rushes off to the wyvern pens as quickly as possible. He knows Byleth is going to cover him, making sure everyone is either in the infirmary, helping organize and repair any urgent damage to weapons and armor, or taking a well-deserved break in the bathhouses or sauna. As lovely as that is for him to have someone so capable on his side, that only means Byleth is going to run herself ragged. Aillel was a hard fought battle, and Byleth’s return to the Ashen Demon is really worrying him, so best to take care of whatever she’s trying to hide before it distracts him any further.
The wyverns put up very little resistance, practically crashing into their pens and resting their massive heads on the cushions Claude had smuggled from Almyra for them. He had told Byleth it was to make sure they were always well rested and alert for battle, but that was one of his many lies. Really, it’s because Claude’s always been a pet person, and if he can’t have his white wyvern in Fódlan just yet, he’ll pamper these girls instead. Byleth knows this, though, because despite how smooth he thought he’d lied, she gave him a knowing smile and mockingly praised how much he valued efficiency over sentiment.
Well, lucky for them, he values sentiment and efficiency greatly, because if Byleth doesn’t want to make those secret injuries permanent she had better let someone take care of her. He starts running towards the weaponry storehouse, then jogs the rest of the way across the monastery when he realizes how unbecoming it is for the deft leader of the Alliance to be chasing his own commander. Arriving at the entrance to the training grounds, hair like starlight catches the corner of his vision, and he takes a quick breath to steel himself before facing the one person who can undo him if he’s not careful.
“Teach!” He singsongs, purposefully annoying, in a tone he’s perfected over his time as her persistent student. As he expects, the gaze that meets him is bored at best, but she’s not looking over her list of equipment to repair anymore. He can see the shake in her arms as she tries to steady herself. “I’ve got the rest of this, you go rest.”
She stares at him, blank as always. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Thanks, but I know how tired you are, and I’m almost done here.” Claude frowns. He should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy; there are only two people more stubborn than himself, and somehow both Byleth and Judith ended up in charge of him in some capacity.
Before she can turn away completely, Claude changes tactics, changing his smile from impish to charming. “Then it’ll go even faster with my help. Come on, I’ve already gotten the wyverns tucked away for their beauty sleep. Wouldn’t you like to have some of your own?” Byleth rolls her eyes at his suggestion that she consider beauty in any capacity, but it’s all the same to Claude. This way, he can tell her she’s pretty without having to actually admit the implications behind that statement.
She debates her choices, eying him carefully with those peculiar sea-foam eyes. Deciding if arguing with him is worth it or if she should just take the chance that he’s actually looking to help and not trying to worm his way into a conversation. Luckily, she foolishly trusts him into having no motives other than altruism, and hands him half the inventory chart. He grins at her, probably too wide and relieved for the occasion, and they begin to track down all ruined and missing pieces of equipment in need of replacements. Claude grimaces as he comes across the broken bow that snapped in two as Leonie desperately tried to fend off three barbarians at once. From his position, it looked like that broken bow may have resulted in Leonie losing an arm or something. But, Lorenz’s sudden fireball spell exploded across two of the enemies just in time for Leonie to reach for her lance and drive it through the last of the assailants. Goddess, this whole fight was awful. It’s not wonder Byleth got hurt, they nearly lost a friend at every turn in that magma-ridden hellscape.
“You’re lucky you didn’t see this one.” Claude holds up the broken and singed bow for Byleth to see. “Thought Leonie was gonna be maimed.” Byleth squints at the weapon, before turning back to her own search.
“Who do you think ordered Lorenz to get his ass over there?” She replies simply, counting the amount of usable silver lances they have left. Claude looks down at the bow again, a little unbelievingly.
“How do you manage to be everywhere at once? I didn’t think you’d be able to see the front lines from where you were.” Claude wonders, not for the first time. Everything about his old professor is impossible, starting with the fact that she’s part Goddess. Boy, that was a real test of their trust, and in a way the tipping point in which Claude could no longer stop his falling for her. Miracles don’t happen, he knew that, and yet he watched her cut through reality itself with her hair and eyes suddenly changed, Sword of the Creator aflame in her hands. No lies passed her lips when she told him, voice still shaky from the pain of Jeralt’s murder, that her closest friend had just disappeared from her mind in order infuse her with the powers of the Goddess and let her come back to her students. Scared and shocked, just like him. For someone who does nothing but tell lies, her constant and consistently rewarded sincerity only drew him closer.
He snaps out of his reminiscing when Byleth does not answer. He turns from his corner of the storehouse to face her, raising in eyebrow expectantly. Byleth doesn’t turn to face him, staring down at her paper, still trembling in her grip, her eyes unfocused on it despite the intensity she treats the parchment with. After a moment, long enough for Claude to grow suspicious, she shrugs. Not good enough, Claude thinks as he narrows his eyes and moves towards her.
“How did you know, By?” He asks, slower and lower. She snaps at attention at her nickname, finally glancing back at him. “Look, I know you’re hurt. I’ve been watching you long enough to know when you’re covering an injury.” Claude sheepishly runs his hands through the little hairs on the back of his neck, hoping that statement doesn’t come off as creepy as he thinks it did. “If you’re running around all over the battlefield faster than I can notice, I want you to at least sit down afterwards. Have a healer look you over. It helps no one if you suffer alone.”
Byleth holds his stare, and he can finally read her a little; there’s a slight furrow in her brow that indicates she’s letting her worry break through her blank face. He was right on the money, then. She really is hurt. Sighing, Byleth finally lets her hands drop, and even that movement makes her wince a little. Claude fights the urge to reach over and steady her, a clear overreaction and damning gesture, so instead he settles a hand on his hip and wears an expectant look.
“It’s not that I was… running around. Well, I was, but not like you think.” Byleth sighs, rubbing her forearm and closing her eyes, looking for words. “I… you know how my Goddess half makes me a bit quicker and more resilient?” Claude nods, intrigued by the direction this conversation is going. “Well it also lets me… turn back time?”
Byleth must have seen Claude’s brain do a flip, because she doesn’t say anything for a while. Just looks at him apologetically as he rewrites literally every interaction they’ve ever had with each other.
“I’m sorry, you what?” He manages, spitting out the last word, and Byleth starts talking like she’s rehearsed this conversation a million times before.
“Sothis woke up the day you and I met, and, ironically, I first turned back time to save Edelgard’s life.” She starts, brushing past their collective… complicated feelings about Edelgard’s decisions. Fódlan needs to change, and the church must change in order for that to happen, but war makes everyone miserable. Claude can’t imagine Edelgard is very happy now, sitting in her throne crimson with blood, across from Claude’s own. “We called it the Divine Pulse. I can’t go back very far, a few minutes easily, but I have gone back hours before. That’s what happened today. We were not prepared for the fiery conditions nor Lord Gwendal’s ambush, and… and a lot of us fell.”
“Wait.” Claude interrupts, mind still doing pirouettes around the word Divine Pulse. “So what you’re telling me is this fight, where we fended off sudden enemies from all corners of a terrain that was literally on fire for hours, you did all of that twice?” Byleth bites her lip and gives him a tired look. Claude gapes. “More?” A terrible thought floats through his mind, and suddenly the air is too heavy. “How many times have you seen us die?”
“I-”
“Okay, stop what you’re doing. You’re right; a healer probably won’t be able to help, and I understand why you haven’t told me yet. I think a lesser man would have died hearing this.” Claude begins, walking towards Byleth. “But you need to rest, now.”
“I’ll go to my room after this, I’ve got bandages some vulneraries that could do some work.”
“Nope.” Claude interrupts, snatching the list out of Byleth’s hand. She frowns at him, reaching back for the paper, but Claude catches her wrist mid motion, just to prove how slow her reflexes are and that she should rest. He does it gently though, secretly wishing he weren’t wearing gloves and she wasn’t still wearing her gauntlets. “You’re going to the bathhouse and resting in the medicinal crap that Annette and Mercedes brought from Faerghus.”
Byleth protests instantly. “Absolutely not, that stuff should be saved for physical injuries, this is mostly fatigue. Plus, I can’t really move comfortably, I don’t think I can wash myself.” Claude grits his teeth. He hates that she can hide such severe injuries from even him. She was probably in intense pain for the whole march and he still didn’t realize until they were nearly at Garreg Mach. And that’s not even touching the fact that apparently she’s seen them die.
“Then get someone else to wash you. This isn’t a negotiation, By. You need to rest.” He warns, lightly squeezing her wrist to try and urge her to relent. Of course, she doesn’t, fully glaring at him now.
“How will I explain my injuries? Or have you forgotten that time travel isn’t exactly normal for human beings?” Ah, so that’s what this is about. Byleth is not a woman of insecurities, but the only one she has ever let Claude know of is her fear towards her own inhumanity. She gets so frustrated by her emotions that are still locked away, and the rude awakening that twenty-somethings normally aren’t so stone-cold around death set her back months in making friends at the Officer’s Academy. The pain she’s in is probably a reminder of her non-human, divine part that remains unexplainable, just as unreachable as that still heart of hers.
The fact remains that she’s in pain, though, and Claude is not one to let a conversation end without some sort of benefit to both parties. “I’ll do it then!” He insist, and that gets Byleth to shut up. She blinks at him, all fight gone from her body, replaced by something he doesn’t recognize. Claude goes on. “I know about your injuries and the Divine Pulse, and you don’t have to worry about me thinking you’re an inhuman freak, because I don’t. If anything, I’m surprised at you for not understanding how much it hurts for a human being to see another human being they care about walk around in pain.” Claude can hear his voice turn into pleading, but he can’t help it. Byleth makes him care so much, too much for someone who’s always prided himself on being rational.
It works though, and Byleth stops protesting. She still stares at him incredulously, though, and Claude starts replaying his words in his head, until the blood rushes straight to his face. He nearly throws Byleth’s wrist down, taking a full step back from her so that he can hide his blush, though blessedly he knows he blushes very subtly. Did he just… offer to bathe her?
“Um, I mean, it makes the most sense.” He stammers, one hand crushing the paper and other hand running through his hair to force him to do anything, anything, other than look Byleth in the eyes. “I can get the bathhouse running tonight when everyone’s out; we’ll use one of those single baths, so it really won’t be much trouble for me to heat up.” Claude nearly fumbles over the use of “we” in relation to a bath and himself and Byleth and them together in the bath house and oh Gods, he’s really scrambling. “I’ll put in tons of bubble liquid as well, and I won’t look, and I’ll only touch where-” He’s so glad Byleth interrupts him before he loses it over the mere implication of his hands anywhere near her naked body. Pining after someone whom he’s ever seen out of her coat a few handful of times makes his imagination stronger than he ever though possible.
“You’re so cute when you blush.” Byleth snickers, and if it weren’t for the clear mocking tone in her voice, Claude would have completely stopped functioning right there. Guess that’s what he gets for socializing her around Hilda, Sylvain, and himself; a bully. A bully who, significantly, isn’t saying no to his offer. He dares to look up at her, and she is smiling at him in a way that quells all his hopes that she might be flirting with him. Though, it’s still a smile, and her shoulders are finally sitting at their relaxed level, and there’s something grateful in her tone.
“Thank you, Claude. I’d really appreciate it if you could do that for me.” She says. If you let me, I’ll appreciate you in so many other ways, Claude can’t stop himself from thinking, but thankfully none of that passes his lips.
“No problem.” He mumbles, though he adds a wink at the end to bring some sort of normalcy between the two, if only for his sake. “Can I also convince you to leave the rest of this to me? You should sleep until close to midnight, that’s the earliest we can get an exclusive bath time.” He cringes at his words, but Byleth is unaffected.
Byleth sighs and agrees, letting herself limp towards the exit. “See you tonight, then.” Oh, how he wishes those words would have even the slightest salacious twist to them, instead of the usual warm monotone Byleth settles her words in. He puts on his best grin, hiding his churning mind behind his charm, and waves at her.
“Later, By.”
It’s not until he’s gotten the fire started under the bath and the water is finally heating up that Claude stops to think that this may not be as innocent of an offer as he had hoped. Sure, it does make the most sense that he be the one to help; Annette happily handed over the medicinal bath mixture when he asked, and he’s always skulking about at night anyway, so no one would stop him for anything more than a good night or a suggestion that he go to bed early. But he has more than a bit of crush on Byleth, and she didn’t know that when she agreed for him to bathe her. That feels… icky. He’s a schemer, but he’s not an asshole.
His guilt trip grinds to a halt when the door to the bathhouse open, and hears the tentative steps of Byleth’s unstable movements. The situation isn’t perfect, he knows, and he’ll do everything possible to respect Byleth’s boundaries, but if this arrangement didn’t happen, then Byleth would be trying to fight off the pain alone.
He stands from where he’s tending to the fire to glance over at the entrance. He’s never been in the bathhouse after hours, and it was creepy to light all the candles in complete darkness by himself. Now that there’s a bit of steam in the air and the cold tile has warmed up, the setting is unbearably romantic, with the claw-footed tub and privacy screen parked away from the communal baths. Turning this normally shared space into a private bath is not helping Claude’s nerves, and neither is Byleth.
She looks so small, wearing her pain plainly and her stare still groggy from her nap. As a commander and fighter, she towers above her peers, and her presence outside of her responsibilities cloaks her in a competency that makes up for her stature. Claude knows he has no room to talk, considering how Sylvain harasses Felix for his height and Claude is barely as tall as Felix, but Claude also doesn’t wield the legendary Sword of the Creator (he tried, boy did that not help his and Byleth’s relationship). He always thought his type was broad and tall, but as he waves to the admittedly small Byleth to try and get her alert, he knows his type is just strong.
“How was the nap?” Claude starts, trying to force some normalcy into the thick air. Byleth shrugs, wincing at the movement to communicate how little it helped.
“Annoyingly, you are totally correct in suggesting I soak. Sleep did nothing.” She sighs, looking around and locating the privacy screen Claude set up for her to change behind. Her eyes flick back over to him, straying downwards ever so slightly. “Warm?”
Claude looks down at himself. He’s taken off his coat and spaulder for obvious comfort reasons, but the heat from the fire made him roll up his sleeves and unbutton his shirt most of the way down. He always finds that people from Fódlan are so weird about showing skin; in Almyra, if you don’t dress in loose clothes or no clothes, you’ll die of heat. Ah shit, is it inappropriate though? Is he making Byleth uncomfortable? He starts to button his shirt back up, but Byleth puts up a hand as though to stop him.
“Whatever makes you comfortable, you’re the one about to get that thing soaked. Thank you, by the way, for offering your hard work.” Byleth adds, glancing away once more. “I guess I’ll get changed now?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ll put in the poisons into the bathwater.” Claude jokes, and Byleth rolls her eyes fondly, disappearing behind the screen. Claude hurriedly bends over to pick up the bottles and empty their contents into the water, not allowing himself to try and listen to the sounds of Byleth taking her clothes off. Instead, the swirling of him stirring the water reverberates across the empty bathhouse, and it makes him all the more self-conscious. People loved to assume things about him in school, that he was some lady killer who could chat up anyone that he pleased. Most of those rumors were dashed when he spent more of the year in the library than talking with his peers, and the rest were completely dispelled when he was named Duke Riegan and didn’t instantly find a wife. He could have had a husband, or anyone really, not that it was anyone else’s business, but for not the first time he wishes those rumors had never taken hold. It would have been great for someone to have given him advice on these things, because right now he doesn’t even know if it’s appropriate to talk to Byleth right now. Would that be too flirty? Should he be trying to put the moves on her right now, when she’s in unbearable pain fighting a war that he’s dragged her into? Using an ability given to her by a Goddess? Why doesn’t anyone write about this circumstance in those stupid romance novels Hilda gushes about? Why is he so sweaty?
“Um, Claude?” Byleth calls, snapping Claude out of it.
“Yes?” He answers, flicker the water off his forearms. The scent of the bubble formula and the medical herbs is only intensifying the romantic atmosphere, worming its way into his nostrils and softening his mind with their sweet aroma. The words that Byleth utters next only make things worse.
She sighs in frustration or resignation, one of the two. “I can’t get my corset off, it hurts too much to reach behind me.” Claude swallows thickly. Byleth fills in the silence that follows. “I’m sorry to ask you this… I can keep trying-”
“No, no, it’s fine. As you know, I’m an expert in undressing a lady, this is no problem.” Claude wishes he had the Divine Pulse ability, maybe he could go back and never say those stupid words again. Byleth rewards him with a chuckle anyway, returning his confidence to him. Claude approaches the screen, wiping his hands on his pants nervously, doing a cursory glance downwards to make sure that… well, to make sure. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.” She answers, the even tone of her voice a relief to Claude’s nervousness. At least she’s still comfortable, that’s all he has to keep up. He takes a deep breath, and steps behind the screen, his eyes roving slowly downwards from the silvery green of her hair to the corset in question, and definitely doesn’t let his gaze roam over her exposed shoulders for the first time. Gods, she’s so beautiful, and he’s so screwed. With trembling hands, he reaches forwards to hook his fingers into the loops of the garments and begins to undo the knot. Byleth, the woman who doesn’t say a word unless prompted, sighs in pleasure in response to the lessened pressure around her waist, and Claude nearly jerks the strings shut again at the sound, flinching at how damn close it is to the moans he tries not to imagine eliciting from her. Instead he stalls his movements and blurts out any piece of conversation so that Byleth won’t do that again and threaten his sanity. This whole exercise is one big test to his mental stability.
“I didn’t know you wore one of these. What’s it for?” He asks, voice tight. Byleth shrugs, and Claude watches her hair slip over her bare shoulders at the movement, catching on the fabric of her camisole.
“Back support. Tits are heavy.” Byleth states matter-of-factly, and Claude gratefully bursts into laughter. He starts working at the strings again, pulling looser, and thankfully (or disappointingly, Claude can’t decide) Byleth stays quiet.
“I should probably consider one for myself then.” Claude chuckles. If there’s one good thing to come from the past five years, it’s that he hit second puberty around year two of the war, and it did absolutely wonderful things for his body. He’s still lean like he was, but now he can actually keep muscle rather than burn through any calories faster than he can make use of them. Hilda had always whined in jealousy about his metabolism, but now that it’s slowed, he thinks it’s done him more favors. The facial hair is exciting too, though Judith had pursed her lips, given him a sad look, and told him he looked too Almyran with a beard when he had excitedly showed her. It’s not what he wanted to hear, and it’s not what she wanted to say, but he shaved it the day after, all too aware of what would happen if he presented a little too exotic for the Alliance roundtable.
Regardless, he knows time has treated him well, and he can’t help but notice that Byleth thinks so as well. When they met again in the Goddess Tower, a chasm of five years between them, she couldn’t stop staring at him, many thoughts passing behind her eyes, all of which extremely different from the expression Claude could glean from her in his academy days. When he finally teased the answer out of her, she said it was because she could hardly believe a lanky guy like him could turn into - and she gestured vaguely to all of him - this. As much as it wasn’t a real compliment, Claude remembers that look she gave him vividly, that interested and approving look, and it haunts him late at night when his loneliness hits hardest.
Byleth hums at his joke, giving it more thought than he expects. “Nah, your tits are wonderful, and don’t cause you back pain.” She answers, and Claude wants very much to respond with a compliment in turn, but he clamps his mouth shut. He’s waiting until he can put his hands and mouth all over her before telling her exactly how her body makes him feel - holy shit he needs to calm down. He focuses on pulling the rest of the corset loose, forcing all his thoughts on the immediate roughness of the corset on his hands and not on how the skin underneath would feel on his fingertips.
The garment comes loose enough for Byleth to unclip the front of it, and she lets out another sigh of delight once it’s off, which thankfully this time Claude has braced himself for. “Thank you.” Byleth mumbles, reaching for the hem of her camisole. Claude very rapidly tears his eyes from her, but the sound of fabric coming off doesn’t follow. Byleth exhales again, though this time in irritation. “That’s what I thought…” There’s a pause, like Byleth is steadying herself as well. “I… can’t raise my arms enough to get this off either.”
“Saints, By, how badly did you hurt yourself?” Claude asks, a little too concerned to focus on the other half of his brain that’s screaming she just asked you to take her top off. “I mean, I can take it off for you, if that’s okay with you?”
Byleth doesn’t answer right away, and Claude’s worst fears are confirmed. She’s uncomfortable with this. She doesn’t want him to see her like this, to be this intimate with her. It’s to be expected, but the damning silence still hurts.
“Yes.” Byleth answers quietly. Softly. In a tone he’s not heard before, and one that does not sound resentful. His previous conclusion flies out the window as he places her intonation somewhere between embarrassed and nervous. But, not the bad kind. It dawns on him that it’s the same tone Claude has been fighting from his own voice for the past few minutes.
He swallows, hard, before letting out a pathetic “Okay” and reaching for the bottom of her camisole, curling his fingers around the hem. His fingertips brush against Byleth’s skin in a moment that briefly convinces him they’re on fire, and Gods she’s ripped. Her skin is taught over the muscles tensing just under, and Claude wants to flatten his hand against her sides and stomach to press into the pattern of her abs. He doesn’t, of course, and instead gently pulls her top off, forcing distance between his chest and her shoulders as the motion drags them closer. The fabric comes off, and then all at once, Byleth is shirtless in front of Claude. Her hair has gotten so much longer over the years, touching all the way to her mid back, and scars dot all over her skin. She’s so pale that Claude wonders if she’s ever shown this much skin to the sun, and then he realizes just how much is exposed in front of him. He watches with a rapt gaze as she rolls her shoulders back, seeing all the folds of her skin make room for the muscles of a swordswoman, the slight curve in her waist that hides under her normal layers.
After a shaky breath, Claude excuses himself to go stir the bubbles into the water, and almost trips over his wobbly legs as he leaves the airless space where Byleth stands. That’s the limit, is it? He won’t let himself look at her bare back. It’s wrong. She doesn’t know what that does to him, it’s unfair for him to take advantage of that. Good to know I still has a conscience, then, he thinks ruefully as he kneels by the bath and submerges his arms as far as they’ll go into the warm, scented water. The texture of the bubbles are so different from the smoothness of Byleth’s hair, of the scars on her shoulders, maybe he can trick himself into thinking that he never saw the perfection of her back under soft candlelight. That it can’t haunt him forever (it will). There’s rustling from the other side of the screen as Byleth takes off her trousers and underclothes, and Claude’s mouth goes dry thinking of what that would look like, and then she calls out saying she’s ready. Claude stands from his place by the bath, the front of his shirt pressed to his skin where water splashed onto it.
“Need help getting in?” He offers before he can stop himself, and boy does he try to stop himself. He tries to cover for his slip up. “I’ll close my eyes, if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want you to die getting into the bath, that would be embarrassing and everyone would think I did it.”
“Ah, so generous until you let it slip that it’s for you personal image as not a friend murderer.” Byleth says dryly, though he can hear the smile in her voice. “Yes, please. Hold out your hand.” He does, closing his eyes and bracing himself as though about to get punched in the stomach by Raphael.
Then, he feels her palm fit onto his, and her fingers slip around the outside of his thumb. Her grip is as strong as he thought it would be; the hand of the person who handles the Sword of the Creator cannot be weak, and it certainly can’t be smooth. The callouses bloom on different parts of her hands than his, the sword forcing itself more evenly across her palm than the bow and axe that make aggressive welts rise from Claude’s. Painfully, he can’t help but realize how nicely they slot together. He manages to support her over to the bath, and keeps his eyes shut even when Byleth makes a small grunt of pain, followed by the sound of her settling into the water. Her hand slips out of his, and he can hear the water shift around her as she sighs into the liquid. Momentarily, he conjures up the feeling of her hand in his, trying to make the air itself as warm as her hand.
“Ahh, yeah. I’m so glad you convinced me to do this, Claude.” Byleth hums, and he wonders if she’s aware of her word choice sometimes. Claude opens his eyes to see that Byleth is safely in the bath and, fortunately and devastatingly, fully covered by the bubbles. Only her hair remains to torture him, clinging to her shoulders as though to mock his desperate desire to do the same.
She pushes her face past the bubbles and into the water, rinsing them off and coming out with water dripping from her cheeks, down her chin, down her throat, down, down… Claude forces himself to look away, spotting the stool he had used earlier and walking over to drag it next to the bath.
“Warm enough?” He asks, sitting down heavily. Byleth nods, sinking lower.
“Mmm. And whatever this medicinal stuff is, it feels great. You should try this.” She responds, sinking deeper into the tub, up to her chin. She blinks her eyes open, looking at Claude with something that Claude could trick himself into thinking is a blush. “Not now. Obviously.”
Claude raises an eyebrow. “Obviously.” He repeats, running a hand through his hair. Byleth follows the motion with her eyes, but her face stays mostly submerged in the water, and Claude can’t tell what expression she wears. They stay quiet for a while, Byleth soaking in the smells and textures of the bath, Claude soaking in Byleth’s presence, deciding what to do about all of this. Five years of clinging to the hope that she’ll appear again, of believing in it like it’s the only truth in the world, because truly if she hadn’t come back Claude doesn’t know what he would have done. He could not have lost her, not the only person who sees all of him and wants to make the world better for people like him. The first person to want him as he is, and definitively one of the few who have never really shown any exotifying sexual interest in him. But here, in this room heavy with aromatics and moisture, with the gentle sounds of splashing and the sensation of Byleth’s palm still in his hand, the memory of her hushed voice as he lifted her shirt off. Now he’s wondering if that want includes the pull that’s been tugging at him for years. He wonder if she yearns for him like he does for her.
There’s the sound of splashing and Byleth grunting in pain, and Claude is out of his thoughts in seconds. He starts to get up from his stool, but Byleth waves him down, brow furrowed in pain.
“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just tried to wash my hair and it was not a good idea.” She sighs, carefully rubbing her thumb into her bicep. Claude watches the water move around her thumb, at the muscle bouncing in her arm, and a dangerous though creeps into his mind. “It’s fine, I can wait until I can move easily again.” The thought solidifies, gaining more pros than cons as Claude tests it against his scheming brain. Byleth frowns deeper, closing her eyes. “Just hurts.”
“Here.” Claude stands up, the thought becoming an action. Byleth opens her eyes, luminously green, unwavering as always. For as much as Claude acknowledges he watches her, there’s no one who stares at him like Byleth does. Always interested in him, the one past the mask. That’s what she’s doing now; trying to see his intentions. And for once, he’s going to make them crystal clear.
“I’ll… do it for you.” Claude feels like all the heat and steam in the bathhouse is going directly into his lungs as he gets closer, forcing his face into a flush and making him acutely aware of his own breath. He keeps his eyes squarely on Byleth’s, settling his forearms on the edge of the tub and kneeling next to her. Asking for her agreement.
After a moment of painful consideration, where Claude’s abilities to read her fail her entirely as she stares at him with an inscrutable look, she looks down and nods slowly. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, flashes a weak smile towards her to try and force some normalcy and calm his throbbing heart, and stands to get the extra bucket of warm water he’d prepared in case the bath was too cold. Once again, his foresight proves critical.
Once at Byleth’s side, he asks her to lean her head backwards. She does, closing her eyes, and Claude takes the opportunity to just stare at her, take in how her wet eyelashes cast shadows across her cheeks that cut over the soft skin Claude has spent years dreaming about how he would kiss. He does so again, briefly, imagining himself leaning over and pressing the lightest kiss right under her eyes, feeling the skin and water under his lips.
The moment passes, and Claude brings himself back to reality, slowly pouring warm water over the crown of her hair, cascading the rest of her starlight locks. She parts her lips, just barely, and scrunches her eyes reflexively to stop water from coming down her face. Guiltily, Claude looks away, feeling he’s already done too much one-sided fantasizing for the night, and can’t fascinate on the gap between Byleth’s lips. Her hair is soaked through in a moment, and Claude moves on to the bottle of shampoo he found when rummaging around for soap, and he starts working his finger through her hair. Byleth stays mostly quiet, only a few hums of approval every so often when Claude drags his fingers through her hair, but when Claude moves up to her scalp she can’t help the sound that escapes her, louder and more obscene than the one behind the privacy screen. What happened before was a sigh of relief, and that nearly sent Claude into a different dimension. This noise, a moan filled with pleasure that pitched higher than Claude knew Byleth’s voice could go, so sweet and genuine and a result of Claude’s hands, it makes Claude unable to breath. Everything goes silent bathhouse, save for the slight reverberation of Byleth’s outburst on the walls.
There’s a strangled sound, and Claude cannot believe it doesn’t come from him. He blinks himself back into reality, looking up from where he was massaging shampoo into her scalp, and sees that Byleth’s eyes are wide open and her whole face is entirely flushed. For a brief second, he thinks it’s from pleasure, but then she clears her throat and tries speaking again.
“I’m so sorry.” She mumbles, dragging her hands over her face, blocking Claude’s view. “That… was not on purpose, and it was extremely inappropriate. I’m-”
“Good, then?” Claude interrupts, trying to comfort her but his voice comes out so much huskier than intended. Saints, he’s uncomfortably hard and all that’s happened is he’s touched her hair and she expressed pleasure at that touch, why is he reacting like this is some sort of foreplay? It’s not, he has to keep reminding itself that even if Byleth has been strange it could just as well be something he misinterpreted from the atmosphere and his own wishful thinking. He clears his throat to try that question one more time, a little less horny, but what he gets instead does nothing to deter his original course.
“Amazing.” Byelth sighs from behind her hands, dragging them downwards just a bit so that she can look at Claude. It devastates him, the look she treats him with. Breathless, a little bashful, and altogether gazing at him with what is undeniable yearning.
“I’ll keep going then.” Claude answers in a tight voice, beginning to move his fingers again, trying to remember how to breath, trembling with the realization she’s just granted him. Gods, she wants him too. It’s not like they have a wealth of intimate time together, mostly just late-night planning sessions where they’ll accidentally brush gloved hands as they gesture to maps. That’s as hot as they get, prior to this little experience. Maybe all they needed was aromatics and less clothes to finally act.
Claude pushes Byleth’s head forwards so he can rinse off the suds in her hair, and as he’s combing through the ends of her silky smooth hair to get the rest of the warm water to do its job, Byleth’s hand catches his hand. He can’t help the soft gasp he voices at the feeling of her slippery skin on his, in the warmth of freshly poured water. She makes no other moves, and with her back to him he can’t see what face she’s making, if she’s really reacting the way he wants her to. But then, she slowly brings his palm forward, and after hearing a sharp intake of steadying breath, Claude feels her press her lips to his palm.
“By.” He chokes out, his heart pounding out of his chest. She doesn’t respond right away, still gently kissing the callouses below his fingers. “By, please.” He places his other forearm on the edge of the bath, soaking his sleeve even more, though he doesn’t even notice. All he can see is Byleth’s closed eyes and pink stained cheeks as she moves to kiss at the inside of his wrist. Each movement sends shockwaves through him, down him, and he stifles a pathetic whimper with his free hand.
“Byleth.” He stops her, gently moving he hand away from her dangerous mouth to her cheek. Finally, she looks up at him, those mysterious eyes showing him nothing but interest as she holds his unbelieving gaze. “Is this… okay? I don’t want to force you into anything just because there’s warm steam in the air and you’re naked and-”
“You aren’t.” She answers as evenly as always, though he’s relieved to see that he’s not the only one flushing like an idiot. “I felt guilty this whole time, asking you to do this intimate things without you knowing how much I want you to, not just because of my injuries.” Her hand breaks the water to rest on the back of his, steadying herself. “But… I guess I’m not the only one accidentally taking pleasure in this situation, am I?”
Claude makes a wounded sound before answering. “If you’ve been feeling guilty than I don’t think I can describe to you the degree to which I’ve been torn in half, living things I’ve only dreamt about while also knowing that this isn’t a dream come true, as much as I want it to be.” He swallows, picking his next words from the stream of memories showing him the times he’s tried to say hundreds of words of this nature. I love you. I’ve loved you every second you’ve been here, and twice as much when you left. You’re the reason I want this new world, so that I can share it with someone who deserves it as much as I do. I would defy Rhea herself if she threatened you, and I will be ready to stand for you when she does. It’s too much, too fast. He’s had to wait for everything, to play every long game to the eleventh hour, painstakingly watch as his chosen path gets narrower but still lead to the light of a new dawn.
But a Byleth who loves him isn’t at the light of something new. She’s here, now, as brilliant as that distant dawn but so much closer. That stubborn, strange, aloof, impossible woman is right here, looking at him with the most clarity he’s had from her in all the years of yearning after her. He braces himself with a deep breath one more time, refusing to look away from Byleth’s expectant gaze.
“There’s nothing gained easily that isn’t, in some way, shallow. You know that. No important battle is easy.” Claude starts, building his confidence as he goes. Byleth nods, watching him. “Why is this so easy, then?”
“Easy?” Byleth blurts out, smiling but clearly ridiculing him. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t call having war declared, me disappearing at the bottom of a cliff for five years, having to use the Divine Pulse to the point where it nearly breaks me, rejecting every offer of help you give me until I have to relent to your undeniable reason despite my stubbornness, and then trying to tell myself that despite the fact that you were shaking with nervousness taking my clothes off that you don’t feel that way about me, I wouldn’t call any of that easy?”
“Being with you is, though.” He continues, and Byleth’s smile drops into a thin line, anticipating his next words. “I… By, I love you so much. I don’t want you to feel like a scheme to get myself off, or the model placement for the partner of a future leader.” A moment passes as his voice dissipates into the water, his I love you reverberating in Byleth’s skull so strongly she feels like she can’t breathe.
She grabs his wrist, returning his nerves with the steel of decision. “I love you. I have been a part of your schemes, I have been the mastermind behind them, I continue to be the result of them. I love you because of that wonderful mind between your ears, your ability to connect the world like the constellations you wonder about so much. Never, in any time, could you possibly reduce me to something as marginal as you describe. I agree, nothing is easy. And this won’t be either. There is so much still in the air.” The throne in Almyra flashes through Claude’s mind, Rhea’s suffocating smile resonates in Byleth’s. “But I love you. All of you. It’s not a question of if I will let you mold me into what you want me to be, it’s about if you’re able to scoot aside and let me be with you.”
Words have always been a great comfort to Claude, a master of crafting them so precise as to cut his way forwards. But Byleth has always been a woman of action. His confession should bolster her, as she has just affirmed him.
“Can I kiss you?” Claude’s entire body feels tighter than a bowstring, like Byleth is pulling him back as far as he’ll go, holding him there as she readies her shot. Even his voice is strained; whispering is all he can manage, and pleading for her to release is all he can get across.
She does. One moment, Claude’s body is more tense than it’s ever been, the next, he’s malleable under the feeling of Byleth’s lips on his, warm and wet. He doesn’t remember who leaned forward first or if it was both of them scrambling at the realization that they don’t have to hold back anymore, but he kisses her with all the breath in his lungs. They start off slow, hesitant, Claude waiting for her to back out and tell him it was a bad idea, that a supposedly dirty half-breed like him doesn’t deserve her love. Of course, she doesn’t, she’s never thought of him that way, and instead just whines into his mouth for more from him, all of him. Never in his life has Claude ever obeyed a command faster, cupping both his hands around her face and tilting her head back to deepen the kiss, desperate. Her own hands card through the sides of his neck and drip warm water down his chest, the sensation sending sparks through every part of his body. They hold each other there for a millennia, the unbelieving nervousness making both of them memorize this moment like it will never happen again.
It doesn’t take long after that for the stimulating effect of water dripping down his body to translate to their kiss, and he gasps into Byleth’s as she opens her mouth against his and runs her tongue over his lips, and the nervousness dissolves with the knowledge that this will happen many, many times. He slides his tongue against hers, shivering all over from the taste of her insistence in his mouth. For as languidly as they began, Claude is quickly giving in to the years of gripping his sheets with only the thought of her to keep him company, and his kisses grow urgent and filthy, making them both gasp and pull against each other for more. When Claude finally breaks from her, completely breathless, to trail sloppy kisses over her cheeks and down her throat, Byleth’s nearly imperceptible sounds encouraging him every step of the way, he ruins the moment by losing his balance against the side of the bath and plunging his whole arm into the water. He yelps in surprise, and Byleth has the gall to snort out a laugh mere moments after making such nice noises into Claude’s ear. He curses under his breath, puling his dripping sleeve out and putting on his best pout for Byleth.
“Your sympathy is astounding.” He deadpans, leaning back to try and squeeze some of water out of his sleeve. Byleth raises an eyebrow suggestively, settling back into the bubbles with a satisfied smile on her face.
“You should take it off.” She breathes, raking her eyes over his chest. “It’s already halfway off and soaked through.” Claude feels hot under her gaze, in all senses of the word. He leans back over to her, defiantly almost.
“You do it.” He purrs, eyes half lidded. Byleth regards him, at the bits of suds and water clinging to his chest and dripping down his stomach. He knows he’s not as much of a muscular meal as she is, or at least not in the same places, but he squeezes the edge of the tub to keep himself from leaping on her in response to the way she eats him up with her eyes. Another agonizing moment passes, and then Byleth moves to kneel, shattering any sense of seduction Claude was trying to posses simply by getting her top half out of the water. Claude stares freely at the soap hugging her hips and waist, cascading over the divisions of her abs and around her breasts, to the smirk on her face as she oh so slowly drags her fingers down his chest to reach for the buttons of his shirt. He feels like he might pass out just looking at her, so he hones in on the feeling of Byleth’s hands pulling his shirt free, smoothing her hands over his sides, upwards to peel the stupid thing off his shoulders. She starts to nip at the sensitive skin on his neck, and he can feel her smile against his neck as he gasps in appreciation.
Once his shirt is off, Claude slides his arm around Byleth’s waist, pulling her bare skin against his. They both groan in appreciation, and it’s so easy for Claude to kiss her again, melting into her mouth as her hands dance over his back and biceps. He does the same, smoothing his hands over the skin he had flinched away from behind the privacy screen, the texture of the water on her cut waist amplifying the scintillating effect he’d hoped to experience when he finally traced his fingers all over her skin. He rolls his knuckles against the knots of muscle he can feel, easing them loose and earning groans of appreciation from her. Working his way up, he stops at her ribcage, running his thumb just under her breasts to ask for permission. In response, Byleth excitedly drags her hands down his back and over his ass, giving a very clear yes and more with her movements. He still makes her say it, writing those words into her mouth with his tongue along with his appreciations for her kneading his ass and the delight of how soft her chest is.
She’s biting at his bottom lip and slowly working her hands towards the front of his pants when Claude has another moment of clarity. He pulls apart for a moment, nosing into her neck to catch his breath and to whisper in her ear a wonderful suggestion for the night. “I could join you.” He half asks, half pleads. Byleth pulls back as well, settling her hands on his waist to better position herself to look at him. Gods, the way she looks him over, considering how well that clever mouth and precise fingers could work her into a state of ecstasy, Claude holds that stare like a lifeline, his mouth dry as he finishes the rest of his statement. “You did say I should try the medicinal bath. Besides,” The heat behind his stare intensifies. “I could do… more, let’s say, to make you feel better.”
Byleth doesn’t blink. “Even better than everything so far?” She challenges, a whisper teeming with excitement. Claude nods slowly, his hand drifting to the buttons on his pants for extra clarity.
“Mm. Much better.” He promises, voice low, and he leans in to lick a droplet of water settled on Byleth’s jaw. He sucks on the spot, flicking open the top of his pants. Byleth shifts forward, her fingers joining Claude’s in disassembling the uncomfortable piece of clothing that Claude is extremely uninterested in wearing anymore. In one movement, Byleth hooks her fingers underneath all his layers and pulls down. She lets out a lewd whistle in appreciation, and Claude can’t help but roll his eyes and cup her face in his hands, kissing more quiet sounds of delight out of her. He’s loving all of her noises, as quiet as they are, but feeling sonorous against the walls of the room and unbearably hot compared to her normal silence.
Inelegantly, he shucks his pants and undergarments off his ankles, not breaking with Byleth’s mouth once to even allow her to ruin the mood with her dry humor. Once off, he does have to separate from her, so he can keep himself from tumbling into the water and ruining the mood himself. Byleth lies back into the tub, pleasantly watching in a daze, until Claude decides he knows where he wants to be. He motions for her to sit up, watching the water cascade off her hair and shoulders as she does so, and then carefully steps behind her to settle at her back, legs on either side of her. Not for the first time, he thanks the stars that he ended up being only a little taller than Byleth, as the water displaces to the very brim of the bath, just avoiding spilling over and requiring more cleanup than Claude is already envisioning will be necessary.
Byleth is right; the bath is perfect. The medicinal stuff and the bubbles have changed its texture to silky smooth, the temperature of it still delightfully warm enough to sting a bit as he submerges himself gratefully, up to his neck. It’s already pleasant, and then there’s the weight of Byleth between his legs, the sharpness of her elbows settling on his chest as she lays her body on top of him, brushing against how hard he is just enough to elicit a sharp sound out of him. She places her hands on either side of his face and then kisses him, hard, her tongue curling in his mouth and her hair sticking flat against his cheekbones. Claude feels more than ever like he’s drowning, but he never wants to breathe again, his mouth full of Byleth and his skin caressing hers wherever the cozy water isn’t stuffing his head with cotton even further.
But right now, he doesn’t want this to be about him. So he sits up in the bath, an arm around her thick waist and the other braced against the edge of the tub, breaking the kiss. Byleth looks at him expectantly, her lips kissed swollen and her skin shiny and flushed all the way to her shoulders.
“I have no idea what you’re into,” He begins, and Byleth’s face starts to twitch with impatience and irritation, so he lets the smugness spread into his grin. “Unsurprisingly, I can tell you right now that I don’t mind punishment. But this isn’t that. You deserve better than to sleep alone and in pain, so I’m going to make you feel so good.” The interest returns in Byleth’s eyes, and she leans in closer, her breath ghosting over his face.
“Then do it, smartass.” She dares, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before pulling back and giving him a serious look. “I love you.” She says it like a reassurance, and in a way it is. Claude has practiced this moment for years, but he still needs to be praised at every second to continue.
“I love you too.” He answers gratefully. “You’re amazing.” Gently, they manage to position themselves so that Claude has his back against the head of the bath and Byleth has hers against Claude, still between his legs. “All this time, I’ve wondered what the best way to tell you that you are would be.” Claude smooths both his hands across Byleth’s stomach, one drifting to squeeze her thigh. They both sigh at the sensation of his fingers digging into the muscle there, at the pattern he massages to relieve the soreness. His other hand is doing the same to her breast, tracing his thumb over her nipple in a way that makes Byleth make an altogether new sound, a needy one that goes straight to his groin. Now that it’s happening, now that she’s coiling tighter at the teasing touch of his deft fingers, Claude can’t retain any of that restraint he’s infamous for, not in his motions or his words.
“When I decided on how I could make you feel as incredible as you deserve, I then started to wonder.” Claude continues, unable to stop his rambling. Every gesture he makes against her thigh brings him closer to where her wonderful legs connect, closer to the place he feels himself twitch at just thinking about it. Seems Byleth is thinking about where his patterns are tracing towards too, as her breathing has become a quiet pant with every intake of breath, and her eyes are already half lidded.
“I thought about if you’d be quiet, like you always are. Making me guess at what you’re thinking, work for the reward of your voice.” He coos, sliding his hand up her leg and away from where they’re both holding their breath for the moment the facade explodes and he touches her. Byleth whines, her hips biting forwards only slightly. Curling his fingers under her thigh, he pushes her knee out of the water, against the edge of the bath, spreading her legs. His other hand slides down from her chest, down to the skin just before where he’s just opened up. Byleth presses her head back against Claude’s cheek, panting heavily. “Gods, I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re being so good.” Claude’s breath is shaky with wanting, matching Byleth’s quiet protests. “Maybe I was wrong, maybe this is the only time you actually raise your voice.” Her delicious, captivating voice, that by itself could ruin him.
“Please, find out.” Byleth growls, pressing her hand on top of Claude’s teasing at her groin. Not guiding him, more so demanding he touch her. She’s always known how to get him to listen. He slips his finger into the folds of her and they both let out an unrestrained moan, Byleth clamping down hard on Claude’s wrist. Claude continues drawing small, circular shapes into her as she quietly whimpers destabilizing breaths that make Claude’s own breathing ragged. She’s not even touching him, and yet the just the sound and feeling of her getting wound up makes him feel like he could burst. He keeps searching, pressing into the soft and slick tissue, working himself up as much as he’s coaxing her open, until he finds the spot he was looking for.
“Ah!” Byleth cries, her hips jerking forwards and her mouth falling open around the first outburst of her pleasure. Claude licks his lips to steady himself, pushing her legs open further with his other hand. He swirls the pad of his finger slowly around Byleth’s clit and she arches back in response, quietly stuttering his name and finally answering the question of how delightful it would sound when it passes her lips.
Again. Gods he wants that reaction again. He presses again, and she rewards him by tangling her hand in his hair, stabilizing herself and pulling just the right amount to make Claude feel amazingly light headed. He seriously considers dunking his head in the warm water to press his tongue against that inviting little button he’s pressing around, do drown them both. Still, it’s not enough. He wants her to be begging him to release her before it’s over. Tracing away from her clit, his fingers travel further down to press where he can feel her open up, folding her leg around his other arm and pulling back to make her easier to access. She presses her hips forwards, sighing a mixture of oh and Claude into his neck, still in that breathy and needy voice illuminating his sensibilities. So, he obliges, sliding one finger into her and feeling her whole body tighten around him, Byleth hissing out a moan behind clenched teeth. Again, he has to stop for a moment to pull himself together, but Byleth tugs sharply on his hair and demand him not to.
He keeps going, working her open with slow motions that turn more insistent with her mounting pleasure, eventually adding a second finger, to her approval in the form of her gripping his hair so hard he can tell she’s pulling the roots from his head. Gods, it feels so good. Her breath, her shaking thighs, her pussy, the sound of his name getting more and more broken as he scissors his fingers inside of her, the aromatics of the bath, Claude feels himself getting dangerously close. He wants to roll his head back, to let himself go with her, enjoy their orgasms together, but her hair is plastered all over her breasts as she heaves quickening gasps through her chest, and Claude can’t look away. Has to go up her body and watch droplets of water trace the movements of her throat bobbing, look at her alternate between biting her lip and rounding her mouth around a silent cry of pleasure building and building. Her eyes are wrenched shut, all senses focused on Claude, just as Claude can’t think of anything but her.
Finally, finally, Claude curls his fingers just right and Byleth fully arches up off of him, throwing her head back against he scruff of Claude’s jaw. Again, he arcs to hit that spot again, and the strength in her thighs pushing hard against Claude’s arm starts to go limp and spasmy, her voice mounting higher and louder. Like a dream, Claude realizes she’s about to orgasm at his fingertips, because of his fingertips, and he keeps desperately stimulating that spot as she cries out that delicious sound again.
“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Claude manages between heaving gasps. Byleth can do nothing but string together a series of moans and high-pitched gasps. “Please, By. Let me see what you look like when you come because of me. Let me hear you say my name the moment you are undone.” She nods, eyes wrenched shut, so amazingly close.
“Claude!” Byleth barely chokes out his name before her orgasm renders her unable to make words. The indecent sounds of her she riding out her climax follow, rutting desperately into Claude’s firm hand for release. He relishes in all of it, telling her how perfect she looks and sounds and is like this.
Then, the water settles with Byleth’s voice, and her body goes pliant against Claude as she sucks in a shaking breath. Claude lets her knee slip back into the water, pulling his hand from between her legs to turn her towards his chest so he can kiss her from her forehead to her collarbone as she recovers. There’s the mild taste of sweat on her face and she can’t do more than hum in appreciation at the little shocks he sends through her with every kiss.
“I can’t believe this wasn’t a scheme to get you laid, it worked so well.” Claude mumbles into her ear. Byleth groans in annoyance, dipping her hand into the water to drop little droplets onto the hair on his chest. Claude shivers, settling into the bath some more, languidly dropping an arm around her to hold her hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Maybe because it is.
They lay there for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow of Byleth’s orgasm and the smell of the bathwater still effusing a deliciously romantic scent. Byleth breaks the silence by joking that she didn’t know all she had to do to get him to shut up was sleep with him, otherwise she would have done it a long time ago. Claude pouts and argues that then she’d be sleeping with a student, which as hot as that can be, probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. That gains him a disgruntled hum of agreement, as well as a splash of water on his face, which he happily returns. That, in turn, gains him Byleth straddled over his hips, showing water up his unsuspecting nose. He coughs out a swear in Almyran and Byleth chuckles at him, kissing his cheeks in apology.
Then, she’s kissing his neck in apology, which becomes kissing his shoulders in apology, which becomes kissing his collarbones in reverence, which becomes Byleth and Claude making out as Claude tries his best not to buck his hips into her. He’s is still immeasurably hard, and his tongue in Byleth’s mouth is not helping the boner go away. But when Byleth gently drags her fingernails down his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, his chest, his stomach, and then down to his dick, Claude realizes Byleth does actually want to help it go away, and in the way that he fantasized about for nights on end.
He moans gratefully into her mouth when her hand wraps around his head, pushing her thumb against the sensitive underside of it. Her other hand comes up to press into his abdomen and chest, the water failing to curb the roughness of Byleth’s hands, which Claude presses his body into excitedly. Slowly, teasingly, she rubs his head in agonizingly gentle motions, sending stars into Claude’s vision. He’s so far gone that the reality of Byleth touching his dick doesn’t hit until she manages the next moan out of him, the noise sort of waking him up.
“By, wait.” He gasps, clasping a hand over her wrist. She shoots up in alarm, and Claude realizes that she thinks he means “don’t touch me,” which is so the opposite of what he wants. He clarifies quickly, “Tonight is about making you feel better, after all. Don’t hurt yourself because you think you have to reciprocate.” Byleth sighs in relief, glaring down at him.
“I’m fine in the water, and you don’t have a ten foot penis that I’d have to reach up and hurt myself trying to touch.” She deadpans, to which Claude responds with putting a hand over his heart in faux-offense. “Besides,” Claude raises an eyebrow in interest. “I was thinking I could do more than just give you a handjob.”
“Wh-” Claude begins, but he cuts himself off as Byleth climbs off his lap and gently pushes his legs to either side with her hips, her other hand tracing underneath the seams of his thighs, inching up. Oh. Yes please. “How did you know-” He doesn’t bother finishing that question, instead remembering all the times he’d complained to her over after particularly exhausting strategy meetings about how Fódlan’s crest obsession turned into a reality where asking a man to fuck him requires the diplomacy and covertness of an assassin. This was in his dirty, late-night imaginations as well, Byleth fucking him. He just didn’t think she’d offer right away. Then again, with the strength in those legs and hips, she has to know what a waste it would be for her not to use them against him. He’ll take the force of her arm and fingers for now.
He sighs out a filthy “Yes, please” before leaning back into the water, raising his legs on either side of her for encouragement. Byleth hums in satisfaction as she leans forward to kiss Claude, open-mouthed and demanding. Her body fits on top of his with barely an effort to adjust, both her hands now wrapped around his shaft as she steals all his breath into her mouth with every stroke. It’s completely arresting, the motion of her hands gliding against him and the aromatic water, and Claude dutifully vocalizes his pleasure into Byleth’s mouth. Her belly pushes against the head of his dick, her hips rocking against where his legs open, and he thinks that will be enough to send him into a bliss he’s been clinging after for so long, until her hand flutters down between them and presses over his entrance. Between kisses, he whimpers out a request to go slow, and Byleth hungrily obliges with a purr, only barely pushing the tip of her finger in so her can get adjusted. But she’s still slowly stroking him, and her tongue is still working its way through his mouth, so her wraps one hand against the back of her neck and pushes her away a little so he can breathe. Now, Byleth has pressed her cheek against his, breathily counting down from five. Claude braces himself against the edge of the bathtub and Byleth, every nerve in his body waiting for when she slides in.
When she does, Claude is shocked by how little resistance he puts up. Soaking in a bath and being unbelievably turned on for the better part of an hour sure does loosen one up, which is amazing news because after the initial feeling of muscle burning with the stretch, Claude is hit with the realization that he is going to come embarrassingly fast. His whole body is shaking with anticipation and every breath he takes is accompanied by a moan that bears the entirety of the five years he spent wanting her in all the ways that she’s now giving to him after just being asked. And yet, he won’t succumb to the bliss yet. Still pressed flat against Byleth’s cheek, Claude nods, and Byleth pulls her finger back, almost all the way out, before pushing in again, more insistent this time.
“Oh. Again.” Claude can’t help how loud and pornographic he sounds already, sliding his legs out onto the edge of the tub on either side of Byleth to open up more. He can feel Byleth swallow against his neck, and then repeat the motion with her fingers, blurring his vision with the pleasure that follows. “Mm! Ah, By, you’re amazing.” He’s babbling again, trying to come to grips with the fact that the love of his life also happens to know exactly how to treat him.
She doesn’t respond, only continues to press in and out of him, her other hand gripping his hip in place so that she knows just how hard he can take her, the knowledge of his eagerness and voice quickly rising in pitch carrying her into a rhythm. Turning her head into his neck, she plants an open mouth kiss along his throat, stopping at where his neck connects with his shoulders to bite down and suck. Claude hisses out his approval, and Byleth works her tongue and teeth over that spot, distracting from the pain of the stretch with the delicious ache of the bruise forming on his skin, Claude excitedly imagining himself pressing into in the next few days whenever he wants a secret shiver of pleasure under this clothes.
Every time he presses his hips up inadvertently, Byleth responds by pressing hers down onto him, earning a cry that makes Byleth excited for when she can properly sink into him using something a bit bigger than her fingers, maybe indulge in whatever fantasy Claude has about her absolutely wrecking him. Claude, though, can’t seem to think of anything at the moment, only focused on how fucking close Byleth is to stroking him in just the right spot. Every push in, she touches his prostate just a little, and if she doesn't slide in another finger and just destroy him in the next few moments, Claude is going to slide into another plane of existence.
He does, in fact, ascend in the next moments, but it’s because Byleth presses her second finger into him and hits that spot in a blinding arc that makes Claude choke over Byleth’s name, the uncoordinated syllables tumbling from his mouth so unorganized that it’s a wonder that it’s from the same place where carefully concocted plans come into contact with the world. Where Byleth’s orgasm built and built as Claude worked her over, Claude comes with the force of years of yearning bursting in the span of a few caresses to the most intimate parts of him. Of course, the whole time he was exploring Byleth’s wet insides with the lust befitting his passion for her, he was building up to this moment, when he would grip with white knuckles the edges of Byleth's body as he cries out into the crook of her neck with words the texture of honey. He can’t think of anything other than desperately clinging to Byleth, the edges of five years washed away by the simple waters of a bath.
After Claude lays back in bliss, Byleth slowly removes her fingers and settles on top of him as he catches his breath, begrudgingly coming down from her high and starting to feel the ache in her body again. Trying to ignore it, she takes in the fresh smell of Almyran Pine Needle that should have given Claude’s identity away months before he confessed to her. She doesn’t know how he gets the aroma to follow him like a subtle cloud, at all times trying to tell people the heaviest secret in his arsenal, the one he most wants to pour out into the world but can’t do so without freezing over all his burgeoning efforts.
When Claude starts stroking Byleth’s side, the arm he threw over her starting to come back to life, Byleth lifts her head off his chest to watch him open his eyes, try to observes as much as she can before his gaze picks her apart like always. Of course he noticed her pain. He’s never not watching, trying to get the advantage in all situations, a calculation he’s developed from years of being hunted. She’s shocked he let her get away with pretending nothing is wrong for as long as he did, didn’t force her to ride his wyvern on the way back. Maybe if they’d been allowed to be that close on the whole way back, his arms wound around her, steadying her against his chest as his head rests on her shoulder, their breaths sharing the same thing air, maybe they would have fallen on top of each other the moment they arrived at the monastery. It would have been too much to be pressed against where his heartbeat sits, feeling it thrumming away in a rhythm of ease even around someone like her, who can’t return that basic show of humanity. She wouldn’t be able to return to pretending that he doesn’t feel the same way that she does, not after something like that.
She shifts her hand over the left of his chest, not for the last time taking advantage of the fact that she can always reassure herself with that gentle rhythm, watching as the comfort in his heart appears behind his opening eyes. His mask is impeccable when he throws it on to trick others, but those eyes always give him away, like a green-paned window into his heart if you look at the right angle.
And right now, through that window, in his chest, there’s nothing but the relief of love that doesn’t have to be guarded anymore. Something he can finally freely give, something Byleth can feel assured she deserves.
“Okay. We need to get out, this water is officially gross.” Claude mumbles, voice completely thrashed. It’s wonderful to hear. “As much as I want to lovingly massage you in this bath forever, I’m unclear on the skin benefits to bathing in discharge.”
“You’re disgusting.” Byleth groans, which only encourages Claude more.
“I mean, if my scars disappear overnight or something, this might have to become my daily skin care routine.” He purrs, tracing circles into her side. “Thoughts?”
“Mm. That would be nice.” She answers, gently grabbing his jaw, his gaze turning heavier and more interested, but undeniably exhausted. “But the water is getting cold and my pain is coming back now that you’re not touching me after all that time you’ve left me to imagining what it would be like.”
Claude nods as best he can with his face between her hands, eyes drifting back down over to her mouth. She agrees, leaning in to kiss him again, his lips still soft and perfectly responsive to her movements. He’s the one who breaks apart from her after letting them kiss for a little too long for two people who need to get dressed, especially one who really needs to get in bed to sleep off today’s battle, bracing himself for the feeling of air on his wet skin. Only a little shiver works through his body, the air still steamy and thick.
Luckily, Claude thought to bring more than one towel in, so he starts drying himself off quickly as the realization that it sucks to not have Byleth touching him sets in. Though, there’s the sound of a body breaking water behind him, and he narrows his eyes before turning to glare at Byleth, half out of the bath and doing her best to look tough through the pain. He sighs in light annoyance, draping his towel around his neck and grabbing Byleth’s, getting to her before she can fall over.
“Look, I’m better already. The bath and sex really helped.” Byleth argues, but gratefully accepts the fluffy towel Claude warps her shoulders with, steadying her the rest of the way out as her wobbly legs threaten to give out.
“Just let me help you, for Sieros’ sake.” Claude chuckles, ironically accusing Byleth of trying to hide her pain instead of accepting help. Though she leans into him without protests, falling against his shoulders and wrapping her arms around his waist. He starts drying her off, but eventually drapes the towel around her shoulders and embraces her in return when the little puffs of her breath against where she kissed a hickey bloom into goosebumps, begging Claude to push her against his skin. The water tickles a little rather than tantalizes him when it drips off her stomach and onto his thighs, but she’s so warm and heavy against him without the water cutting gravity, and he hasn’t got to feel the full feeling of her body with his yet. Quietly, reverently, they both stay there, Claude’s heartbeat and Byleth’s pulse doing a synchronized dance against each other as they do the best they can to combine their distinct bodies into a pile of warmth.
But, Claude starts to shiver, remembering it’s well past midnight at this point, and the end of winter chill is seeping in through the clouded windows. Gently, he guides Byleth over to the stool he was using earlier, sitting her on it so he can dry her off. He stops to kiss every part of dried, dewy skin, taking his time as every press against her skin earns a sigh of contentment from Byleth. There’s nothing he wants more than to show her how much those sounds mean to him, how fervently and desperately he wants to tell her again how much he loves her. When he gets to her thighs, he fights every urge to part them over his shoulders and retrace his earlier work with his tongue, an urge he knows Byleth would meet enthusiastically, but as he kisses up her inner thigh she puts a restraining hand on his shoulder. When he looks up and away from her inviting folds, her face is flushed again, all the way down to her shoulders, and it takes a moment for her voice to return to her.
“I would love for this to continue, but sitting is making me stiffen up again.” She winces, both at the pain returning and at Claude’s departure from between her legs. Running his hands over her back in soothing, massaging motions, Claude kisses her gently, Byleth accepting his apology with a quiet hum.
Still kneeling in front of her and massaging her back, both of them still naked, Claude softly pulls back from their kiss, staring as deeply as he can into those puzzling eyes. “I’ve loved you for years, By. Every night you were gone, I re-drew constellations in the sky to look like your eyes, hoping that maybe you were looking back at me with the same reverence. About how I hoped that you would see this new dawn through with me, maybe even enjoy it together once all is said and done. There’s nothing in the world more worth fighting for than a future where we can stand together without having to cloak half of who I am.” He hopes his words are enough, that he can convince her that she’s what he wants the most from their struggle. That he would be lost without her, despite how alone he thought he might be in the end. “I love you. With all that I am.”
She answers easily, her gaze unchanged, drifting her hands to his face to hold his stare and convince him. “And I will not stop fighting until we’ve made a world that loves you as much as I do.” How easily she sees past him, breaks down his walls. Claude smiles the truest he ever has, pulling Byleth into his arms to try and cover up the fact that he’s choking up. They stay there, quiet, letting the promise settle.
“Okay, let’s get to bed. I’ve already said I love you after the first time having sex, let’s not have me cry as well.” Claude clears his throat, and Byleth chuckles a soft, non-judgmental laugh, kissing his cheek before pulling apart from him.
From there, it’s all very gentle. Claude helps Byleth back into her clothes, she does her best to help him into his crumpled up pants but resigns herself to buttoning up the front of his shirt when he doesn’t let her hide the pain of bending over. Though she does manage to convince Claude to let her stay as he drains and cleans the bath, pulling directly at his heartstrings as she gives him an unperturbed stare and insists that all time spent with him will make her feel better and happier than heading to bed now (he kisses her fully after that, mumbling about how much he loves her). Conversation comes easily, Claude requesting that Byleth come to him after battles with the hardships of seeing allies die multiple times, Byleth gratefully accepting, unafraid that he will see her as anything other than a person in need of help, not a Goddess or a demon.
After a while, the bathhouse is scrubbed clean of their sudden tryst. Other than the love bite sitting silently under Claude’s collar, there’s no evidence that the master tactician and his general did anything other than treat battle wounds. Only Byleth’s hand in Claude’s, her weight shifting to his a little too generously for someone merely seeking a crutch, and the fact that despite walking Byleth to her room, Claude never exited to return to his own that night, could be used as evidence that anything has changed, if anyone was watching. After all, they’ve been in love for a long time; all that has changed is each of them stopped trying to hide that fact from the other. And because of some warm water and a situation that demands even they stop biding their time, they’ll never have to hide that fact again.