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Byleth leans against the warm wooden slats enclosing the sauna; it’s late and as such she’s taken one of the private rooms away from the main sauna, which closes at the bell for evening prayers. But being the archbishop, temporary or no, has its perks, and one of which is a key for access to the smaller baths and saunas in the building. She finds when her mind is too full of the day, something about the steam eases those thoughts just as readily as it did her muscles. There are other perks, as well; mercenary life afforded little privacy and as such, she’s not one for prudishness about nudity, be it her own or others’. The archbishop doesn’t reveal herself so casually, she could hear Seteth warn as she admires her bare thighs; the archbishop might not, but the Ashen Demon doesn’t give a damn.
Someone else has the same idea; Byleth stills as she hears the creak of the door of the sauna beside hers, her forehead crinkling as she considers who it could be. Seteth no doubt has a key, but she can’t fathom who else might. Her clothes are in a heap beside her, and she begins to rifle through them for her dagger even as she calls out, “Seteth? Is that you?”
A warm laugh allows her to release the hilt of her knife; somehow, it sounds the same here as it does over a dinner of soldier’s rations, affectionate but perhaps a touch too intimate for their setting of an army camp on the march. “I’m surprised that he’s your first thought, Teach. I wasn’t aware that he’s known for late night sauna visits.” There’s a pause, and his voice turns curious. “How did you get in?”
Byleth knows him well enough that this question is more than idle curiosity; he had to do something less-than-honest to find his way here. “I have a key. Doubt you can say the same.” She smiles when he laughs again, and it’s confirmation enough. “At least you can’t be put in detention for picking locks now.”
“I’m sure my favorite disciplinarian would still try it, regardless. Rank won’t save me from his wrath, even now.” There’s a groan followed by the clatter of what she assumed was his pauldron hitting the floor. “I regret having that made out of gold.”
“If we sold it, we might be able to feed the army for another month.” It pleases her when he laughs at her jokes; she’s still not very good at them, but she appreciates the effort he makes on her behalf. “Do you come here to think?”
The conversation breaks as the sound of water hitting hot stones hisses next door, and she hears a grunt, followed by another groan; Byleth imagines that he must have just settled on the bench. “I never want to think again. I’ve traced every supply line five times over today, looking for a better way.”
She hums her agreement, though it’s doubtful that he can hear her. They sit in a comfortable silence, apart and yet still oddly together as they both worked to ease their busy minds. But the idea of togetherness has her mind wandering elsewhere, and Byleth looks down at herself, her naked skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat from the sauna; is he the same? Something about that question, invasive and intruding on her peace, makes her burn hotter than the steamy air. She shakes her head as if to chase the emotion away; Byleth has no patience to examine why his nakedness feels different than the idea of other people and their skin.
Stranger still, it makes Byleth acutely aware of her own nudity, in particular the way her nipples lay smooth and flat at the tips of her breasts; she brushes a finger over each, surprised at their sudden tightening as some deep need slinks low into her belly. She had touched herself before in a mechanical way only used to relieve a foreign tension in her body, but this. Emotions have been strange and new and overwhelming before, but nothing compares to the pleasure of now, immediate and greedy.
Her imagination sharpens, focused on the idea of the man in the other room; she knows some details of his body but not others. Claude acts much the same as her in camp; various states of undress never seem to bother him, his own least of all, so she’s seen a fair bit. Enough, anyway, to be able to fill in the blanks. Thoughts of his skin on hers deepen the ache building between her thighs, his hot mouth trailing down to suck—
“Teach? Did you fall asleep on me?” Claude’s voice startles Byleth out of her reverie, a cold dousing of reality on her daydream. “I’m surprised I haven’t heard you add water to the stove. I know you prefer it hot.”
“I just got lost in my thoughts, that’s all.” She sounds raspy, goddess damn it all. He’s right; despite her internal fire, the room’s gotten cooler than she likes, and Byleth pokes the coals beneath before adding a liberal amount of water to the hot stones above. Claude’s still silent, unusual for him. “Have you been successful in not thinking?”
“Unfortunately not. You know, we say ‘I think’ but I don’t recall a single time where I felt in control of my meandering ideas.” She smiles as he laughs. “I’m probably going to dream about troop movements again tonight.”
They fall into another silence; it feels as comfortable as the last, yet Byleth itches for touch again, spoiling the calm. Claude’s right; her own thoughts are intrusive as she pictures him in the other room, his skin slick from sweat, the hair he keeps meticulously in place during the day wild and curling over his eyes and ears, his earring gleaming just under those ringlets. He pants from the heat even as he enjoys the loosening of all his powerful muscles. And the thickening trail of hair from his navel down into his lap; what does that look like, exactly? What does he feel like?
Her brain insists that she needs to know if the reality matches her daydreams, but walking over to look would ruin their trust, if he’s not so inclined. If it goes wrong, I can just rewind time and he’ll never know. Byleth bites her lip in an attempt to distract herself from the impulsiveness of her mood. Claude may not remember, but she doubts she would be able to forgive herself or forget any disappointment on his face if she did so. But she can’t find a reason why a question would have the same effect. “I want to ask you something personal.”
Byleth can see him in her mind, his chest swelling as he takes a deep breath before answering. “Anything, my friend. Some questions might be difficult to answer, however.”
It hangs on her lips a moment, contemplating the point of no return that this inevitably will be for their relationship. “Are you naked, too?”
The distance from his sauna to hers can’t mask the way his breath catches, a strangled sort of sound as he exhales. “Yes. Who wouldn’t be, except maybe Lorenz.” She laughs, the tension in her shoulders ease at the quip. But then his voice is deeper when he speaks next, his own emotions tangling with the coiling feeling in her gut. “Why do you ask?”
Byleth closes her eyes; the room is hot, she’s hot, her lungs sucking in the humid air eagerly. Nothing about how she feels seems out of place in this moment. “You’re not thinking about supply lines now, are you?”
He mutters something, but his voice is too quiet for her to make out the words. “Thinking about you is also a problem. You know how I feel about us.”
Us. She does know; subtext is still a difficult thing for her to read but he makes it easy by keeping her at arm’s length with his “my friends” and “Teach” even as they linger too long over tea and sit too close at camp. Their relationship would always be marked by their duties and roles, a winding road that requires careful negotiation of both personal desires and public demands. “It won’t always be.”
“Teach.” The whine gives him away; despite the silly nickname that keeps a wall between them, even Claude can’t deny himself a sliver of true emotion. “Even you don’t know what the future holds. Not that far out, anyway.”
“Then wouldn’t it be reasonable to take advantage of what we have now?”
When he laughs, there’s something wild about it and Byleth exhales at the sound; she wants him, she understands it with such startling clarity it leaves her breathless. “Fuck, Byleth.” Even that has her gasping, spoken in a deeper voice than she’s ever heard from him. “Are you thinking about me naked?”
Her hair sticks to her neck, and Byleth pushes it away, tangling her fingers into a hank of it and shaking it out; if only it was his hand teasing out the tangles and giving it a good hard pull. The idea of him beneath her, their bodies joined as they pant and shudder has her lost. “Us naked, together.”
His voice is intimate and sweeter than honey, full of both desire and affection. “Have you ever touched yourself? Or had someone?”
“Yes. To both.” Almost of their own accord, her hands travel south, brushing over her breasts to make them taut at the nipples again before tracing lines down her stomach. It tickles but also makes her shiver, a blissful counterpoint to the steamy warmth of the sauna.
“Are you touching yourself now?” She closes her eyes, and his voice carries despite being so very soft and gentle. “You should, if you aren’t. Imagine it’s my hand there between your legs.” He makes a vulnerable noise when Byleth groans, exploring until she finds her clit, already swollen and wanting. “That’s it, let me take care of you.”
“Claude,” her voice sounds foreign even to herself with its high whine. “I want to touch you.”
“I know.” His breath catches as she moans at the press of her fingers against her clit. “You deserve better than a quick fuck in the bath house, however.”
“Tell me.”
His tone softens and Byleth can almost feel the whisper of his breath against her neck as he talks. A large bedroom that opens to a sunny garden; they’re alone in the fantasy he spins out for her, with no one around for miles. Claude describes undressing her, kissing every inch of her skin in exquisite detail before burying his face deep inside her pussy, lapping her up until his lips are as swollen as hers. Perhaps a bit of teasing in between, letting her pet him while she’s recovers from her first orgasm against his mouth before he pulls her on top of him to join their bodies together to share in pleasure.
The way he speaks to her now is better than the feel of silk, caressing her skin in ways Byleth could have never dreamed before; every word makes her dizzier, greedier, wanton as she explores herself at his suggestions. “I want you on top of me sliding on my cock, taking me for your own.” Her fingers trail deeper, sliding through her slick arousal and dipping inside; even this feels better than ever before, and Byleth whines in time with rocking of her hips against her own hand. “Imagine the way my cock feels inside of you, the way I look as you come on top of me.”
Byleth pants at the thought of Claude trapped by her clenching muscles, his hands on her hips to keep her steady as her body shudders through the orgasm. A brush of one of her nipples heightens the pleasure arcing through her body, the idea of his mouth on her breast as she peaks makes tremble. “I’m so close,” she whispers.
In reply, she hears a wet noise from next door, the sound of skin on skin, and Claude groans. His voice turns raspy as he pants. “I want to hear the exact moment you come.” She sounds pathetic whimpering this way, a far cry from the fearsome Ashen Demon the public sees, but when he whines in response, Byleth doesn’t care what the world sees; only they matter in this moment, spurring each other on with breathy pants as their bodies’ intermingling desires summit.
Tears well in her eyes as the swell breaks, the cry coming in jagged relief as it rips from her straining throat. On the other side, she hears his pace quicken, the slapping sound frantic until Claude lets out a keening sort of whine and everything goes still. It’s only then does she pull her hand away, her body slack and loose as she drapes herself over the bench. Her pulse thrums in her ears, and she forces herself to take deep breaths of the sticky air. There’s a groan of relief, and Byleth laughs, feeling as if she’s made of light. “Goddess.”
She swears she hears that delicious wet sound again, but it must only be his tongue against his lips. “Teach, my friend.”
Suddenly, she despises his voice, the rational tactician they’ve all come to rely on; the reality creeps in on him faster than it does for her. Or perhaps she disagrees; it doesn’t matter, because she can’t stand the regret dulling the edges of his words. “Don’t.” Byleth stands on wobbly legs and winds a towel around herself before stepping into the corridor; doubtful anyone else is here at this time of night but one can never be too careful. It’s like a fever breaking, the cold air prickling her skin in a different way and pulling her to be a bit more serious. She knocks, he doesn’t answer. “Claude, just come to the door. I need to say this to your face.”
She can hear him shuffling, and the door opens just enough that she can see his face; he’s flushed with his hair twisting in every direction, his lips parted and eyes wide. “Teach.”
He quiets with her finger on his mouth. His expression tells her that he knows where her hand has been, his eyelids fluttering in desire. Byleth traces the curve of the smile that blooms as her finger moves; involuntary as it might be, there’s something still lacking in it, a hollowness to his expression. “We don’t know what will happen going forward, but if we survive, promise me there’s a bedroom with a garden waiting for us at the end.”
His whole body shivers, and the mask shatters as he grins, everything about him suffused in pure joy. Claude opens the door wide enough to pull her inside. It shuts as her body presses against it and he kisses her in the most artless way possible; it’s sloppy and there are too many teeth involved in the most awkward way. His body burns against her skin, and there’s a comfort to the way he feels that’s unexpected; Byleth understands the lust and passion, not this, not feeling that she wants to curl up in his arms somewhere dark and sleep forever.
Claude hums and pulls away just enough for them to share a breath, and he rests his forehead on hers. “At the end of this, I’ll build entire cities if you ask. Do you know how maddening it is to have you so close? You take up more of my thoughts than anything else, and I’m afraid if I know your touch now, I’ll lose the will to finish what I’ve started.” He kisses her eyelids and then her forehead, barely making a sound as he does. “Wait for me awhile longer, my star.”
Byleth knows, even if she hates it; his future after the war bends to paths outside of Fódlan, and she will be as unwilling to watch him go as he is to leave. But, she tilts her head back to look him more fully in the face, keenly aware that there’s nothing but a thin towel between them. “I’ve never known you to be one to leave something to chance. Wouldn’t you rather know than speculate?” When Claude bites his lip, she feels the exultation of triumph. Carefully, she unwinds his arms from around her waist and steps away. “I’ll give you some time to consider.”
Not fast enough, and she can’t even open the door before he’s pulled her back into his embrace. His voice is barely audible as he breathes into her ear. “Do you think Seteth has another key?” She laughs, and he bends to kiss her neck. The towel slips, and he presses against her with a groan of relief; it feels exactly as in her daydreams.