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There are several reasons why the Eisner household is Dimitri’s favourite.
For one, to say that the Eisners are well-to-do is putting it charitably. If the ornate, attention-arresting mansion isn’t a dead giveaway, one need only to see their pool—which might as well be its own private, gorgeous, aquamarine-blue lake for themselves. Of course, it takes more time and effort than usual to maintain, but if the money isn’t worth it, spending time around—and sometimes, with permission, even in—the Olympic-sized pool, and the leisure pool, and the hydrotherapy pool, and the hot tub sure makes up for it.
Yes, the pay is good. Yes, the Eisners are extremely kind. But all of these are but completely eclipsed by one, singular reason—or rather, one person.
“Morning, Dimitri.”
He turns around, like a boat to a lighthouse, to face Byleth. His grip against his pool net tightens as she saunters towards the beige lawn chair by the hydrotherapy pool, the closest chair to him. Her usual spot.
“Greetings, Miss Byleth.”
“I thought we'd done away with the ‘Miss’ months ago. Haven’t we?”
He doesn’t need to look at her face to see the wry smirk playing across her lips. But he daren’t take even a glance, lest she see how red his face is, and—well. To slow the process that starts whenever he drinks in the sight of her, like a sweet, sweet wine.
“Right,” he mutters, as he continues to swish the net over the surface of the pool, aiming half-heartedly at the floating leaves. “My apologies.”
There’s a ghost of a smirk on her face. Her gaze is soft, almost benevolent—like the light of the Goddess radiating upon his soul.
“As you were,” she says, and he obeys.
To be honest, it didn’t make sense at first that Jeralt and Sitri would be so comfortable leaving their daughter all alone with Dimitri. Perhaps it spoke volumes of the trust the Eisners had in him. But it didn’t take Dimitri long to realize, that Byleth was more than capable of handling herself, let alone him or any pool boy who’d dare try anything unsavoury with her. And if her body—muscular to the point that it’d be any athlete’s envy, frankly—wasn’t a dead giveaway, her stellar swimming surely was, too.
… although.
Stones and glass houses and all, when it came to unsavoury thoughts…
Dimitri dares to take a glance at her—casually laying on the chair, body splayed out in glorious view. No, it’s just a fact. Byleth is simply the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he’s ever seen. And she seemed to make it a habit to, unconsciously or otherwise, let it be made known. Whether she knew it or not, every time he’d come down for cleaning duty, she’d put on a show that seemed to mesmerize him every single time. From elegant one-pieces, to frilly bikinis…
She’s just beauty, in the flesh.
Even in his dreams, he can’t escape the fantasies. What if the Eisners were to give them approving winks, deliberately leaving the two of them alone? What if they and Byleth wanted something would happen? And the fantasies of said somethings happening… well, try as he might to repress them—
“You look good in that.”
Dimitri musters whatever strength in his feet he can to not topple into the pool, as he stands up straight. This is the price he pays for changing to a consecutive schedule for the Eisners, he supposes. He’d forgotten his laundry the other day and ran out of jammers and board shorts, and so his last piece of swimwear he could don today was… a speedo.
A tiny, jet-black speedo.
He tries to hide his face, red with the fresh shame of a clown’s circus debut. “Look good”? Surely that’s a joke… but she’s far from the sarcastic type… maybe she’s just being courteous. She is but his employer too, after all.
By the Goddess, pull yourself together! His mouth reflexively curls into a sheepish smile. “Thank you, Byleth. And you—look, um.”
Dimitri swallows the saliva collecting at the back of his throat. The coincidentally, similarly small and jet-black bikini Byleth is wearing today is simply immaculate, to say the least. Skimpy yet refined, inviting in all the right areas, accentuating her figure perfectly—it’d be practically impossible to rip one’s eyes from her chest and butt. Was it possible for beauty to be overkill?
Goddess. He tries to concentrate instead on her face—and the beaming smile he’s greeted with makes a lump form in his throat again. Her sapphire eyes, the way her matching sapphire hair frames her perfect, peach-shaped, delicate face… she’s so darn pretty. Even just that smile is enough to make him melt on the inside.
Curses, she’s staring! Dimitri clears his throat, averting his gaze to the pool. “You look—stunning, yourself,” he whispers, barely audible.
It’s a slightly risky test in the waters, he knows; but thank the Goddess Byleth doesn’t seem to notice.
“Thank you Dimitri, but—you’re too modest. I mean—have you ever taken a good look at yourself in the mirror? If I didn’t know you any better I’d think you’re lying when you say you don’t have a girlfriend,” she says, completely, typically cool and casual.
“I still don’t,” Dimitri mutters, biting back another blush. He knows he is rather in-shape, but to hear it from her of all people…
“That body of yours is absurd, you know that? You must share your workout routine one of these days,” she continues. “Like seriously.”
“I could write it down for you. On paper. With a pen. Or my hand. I mean—a note should suffice.” Dimitri’s attention turns back to his work, but anyone paying any attention would notice how fruitless such an endeavour has been. He’s about halfway done… maybe if he just picks up the leaves and sticks a little slower, then maybe he’ll recoup a few minutes here and there…
“Or I could join your gym.” Byleth squeezes some sun lotion into her hand, before lathering it all around her supple, silky smooth skin. There they go again, the fantasies illuminating like shooting stars across the aerial landscape of his head. “Or if you train alone, perhaps you could train me.”
He nearly loses his grip on the pool net. Oh Goddess have mercy on his soul. What did she even mean by that—perhaps a private gym in the house, where she’d invite him to exercise together? Or did she mean… going to his house where his personal gym resided to exercise? He steals an infinitesimally fleeting glance at Byleth, and his jaw nearly drops to see her expression, cool and impenetrable as marble. Was she joking? Or was she serious? Or—
“Only if you’d like, of course,” she clarifies, her tone easy as she rubs her hands on her supple, lightly tanned arms. “No pressure.”
“Oh, yes! I mean—of course, I’ll consider it.”
The war between his will and his deepest, most base desires only rages on further within him. His avarice delivers a sucker punch to his gut; his eyes draw to her like moths to a flame as she continues to apply the sun lotion on her body. When she stretches out her legs, leaning forward to reach her shins, and he can see the slight jiggle of her breasts with the motion—
Shoot. He swivels around, angling himself away as he contracts his thigh muscles as much as he can. There is no hiding here, not with this speedo. One stray thought, one wrong move, and it would be over in a flash.
His mind can barely concentrate when she starts to talk about nonsense like exercise techniques and nutrition jargon. His mind isn’t even on his blasted pool boy job, the whole reason why he’s even here in the first place. Instead, his mind is doing its best not to register anything his eyes see—the rise and fall of Byleth’s chest as she speaks, the way she stretches her arms up in the air at times, the ridges of her toned midriff in full glory for him to see.
It’s like being in front of a volcano, churning with the tantalizing, viscous spitfires of his own lust. And all he wants to do is step forward, and dive—
“Like honestly, I ought to pay you myself if Father wants to fix these damn jets. Here—come over, Dimitri.”
Frankly, the one thing that Dimitri ought to not do is to come over. He doesn’t even really know what she’s talking about, actually. And yet, at her behest and call of his name, he finds his feet pacing over towards her. She leads him over to the hydrotherapy pool, and at least he has the sense to stop as she steps in. Sheer annoyance mars her features, and a part of him that hadn’t followed the thread of conversation feels a pang of instinctive guilt, like she’s annoyed at him for whatever unknown reason.
Dimitri senses the slightest of movement of her hand, and he immediately reaches to press the button for the water jets for her. They growl into life with a stutter, and Dimitri already understands it all. But Byleth takes the extra step to lay back one of the slopes—ergonomically designed for the jets’ pressure to be on her back and limbs. Her annoyance only grows.
“It’s like it’s just tickling me,” she laments, and Dimitri nods solemnly in agreement.
“Yes, it seems it’s broken. I believe it’s a blockage in the pipes.” He has to resist the urge to lean in closer to observe the water jets, bubbling away gently at the perimeter of her body.
“Yeah, and you know, there’s only so hard I can push myself at the gym before—” her hand reaches to her shoulders, and she winces. Dimitri gives her an empathetic look; she really is trying to push herself harder.
“My sincerest apologies, Byleth, this must be frustrating… I could arrange a day to come down with my colleagues to take a look, if you’d like. Tomorrow should be good—and I could convince them to take a pay cut for a discount, too—”
“What? No, please, you’re better than that,” she dismisses firmly yet empathetically. “Thank you. Really—but I’ll pay, full price. And tomorrow sounds good.”
She beams at him, and his heart skips a beat. “Thank you, Dimitri. I’ll be in your debt.”
“It’s nothing, really,” Dimitri responds, sheepishly ducking his head as Byleth sits up—and yet his eyes cannot help but gravitate towards her breasts, bouncing up and down just ever so slightly. There he is, caught between another war, this time between cursing the hells and thanking the heavens, for this glorious sight of her like this.
“I’m serious. You do such a fantastic job for us, you know that? Just the other day you even stayed behind till midnight for me when Mother and Father were running late on their dinner. You’re bar none the best pool boy we’ve ever had.”
Dimitri can only pray Byleth perceives the lobster-red colour of his cheeks to be a result of the heat, and not a result of her undeserved generosity. “Jeralt has told me you’ve hired many before; surely that’s an exaggeration.”
“There’s a reason why we’ve hired ‘many before’, you know. It’s because they all suuucked. Especially compared to you.”
She puts her finger to her chin, deep in thought. “I just wish I could do something for you, since my parents already pay you.” She puts her finger to her chin, as if deep in thought for something that didn’t deserve it, a tip to him.
“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” he says, stopping short of any embarrassing continuation. Of letting his inner self take over and continuing: You are enough. Seeing you and spending time with you is enough. Seeing you in person in this skimpy, sexy bikini while you’re dripping wet and your hair is clinging to your shoulders and seeing you smile and praising me, it might as well be enough to make me want to take you—
“Ah, enough with the modesty already! You’ve worked for us for long enough, I think you’re entitled to a reward. Really. Anything for you.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to—well—”
Dimitri’s thoughts collapse into a jumble, to see Byleth stretch again, frowning as she uses one hand to rub her other shoulder. He sinks his teeth into his lower lips so hard he swears he tastes copper. The shift of the balance of his head between “she’s just your contractor, be professional” and “she’s so fucking hot, be wild” shifts uncontrollably to the latter. His thigh muscle flex trick isn’t working anymore, and his speedo gets even tighter.
She looks at him, flashing a smile that he can’t interpret to be mere courtesy. She looks like an angel straight from the heavens.
His angel.
He feels a prick at the edges of his soul, like the poke of a pitchfork of the devil awakening in him.
“But if you can’t think of one now, it’s cool,” she says, still rubbing her sore shoulder. “Just lemme know when you do, okay? Don’t be shy, though. Anything is on the table.”
He sucks in a deep breath, his heart beating to a rhythm as foreign as it is loud, as hard as it is unholy. “Anything?” he whispers.
“Yup!” she exclaims, almost a little too excitedly. “I’m all ears.”
This whole time Dimitri has been teetering, right on the edge of his sanity—but when her cerulean blue eyes peer at him with all the wonder of the universe, he falls. Descends into darkness, and from the flames of hellfire, his innermost desires bloom to life.
He meets her gaze with a genteel smile.
“It’s just that I noticed your shoulders seem sore. If the pools can’t properly massage you—I’d like to do it, as compensation.”
“Oh for real?” When she nearly bursts from the water in a jump for joy, his heart itself skips a beat. “I mean—I would love to; my whole body, actually, is super sore. But—are you sure? This was supposed to be a reward for you. Not me, remember?”
“I know, I understand,” he responds, his smile growing into a toothy grin—one that might be something he’s only ever seen from Sylvain before. “Trust me—you being happy is all I could ever ask for.”
Byleth wades while standing over to the edge of the pool, head turned back to look at him still—face pristine in innocence, like a white lamb pleading to be devoured alive. “Do you mind if you do this in the pool?” She rolls her shoulders, wincing. “I just need my upper body worked on, really.”
“Oh, it’s really no problem at all.”
When he takes his steps into the water, he expects his legs to wobble, and almost anticipates tripping and falling right into the pool. Instead, his steps are confident, his breathing steady. Byleth dips her head into the water briefly, and when she emerges, her hair drifting in a dark blue arc, it’s nearly reminiscent of the birth of Venus herself.
This is happening.
This is really happening.
He puffs his chest a little as he parts the water between them, until he’s right next to her. He feels the adrenaline rush like geysers in his veins, as violent as it is smooth, unhampered by the frazzle of anxiety.
“You’re too kind, Dimitri,” she says, still facing him as she places her hands at the edge of the pool. “Really, you can do what you need to.”
He barely has the time to hum in acknowledgement, before his hands reach to grasp onto her shoulders.
If he were in the right state of mind, he’d recognize that Byleth hadn’t been overselling the stiffness in her muscles. But he isn’t, and he can’t help but admire the view right up close. Just the sight of her muscled, toned back is enough for him to stiffen at half-mast; but hearing the moan, the sigh, the next moan, the next sigh pour from her mouth—they’re enough for him to rise to full attention. He sucks in deep breaths in sync with the circles he rubs along Byleth’s shoulder blades, trying to temper his breathing, temper the exhilaration flaring in him.
He knows he should be demonstrating more discipline than this. But if he had to shirk it just one, singular time in his entire life…
“Mmph, harder, harder yeah—oh that’s good,” Byleth says, when Dimitri’s hands start to catalog the expanse of her back, down to her lumbar. A part of him wonders if the force he’s using is too much, if he’d fracture this woman nearly ten inches shorter than him. But she’s not dainty. She’s the strongest woman he knows. And from the way that she’s melting under him—the chance he’d stop right now is nearly zero.
He steps a little closer, the lower part of his body a fraction of an inch from hers. It feels like sinking into quicksand—a slow and steady descent, but an inescapable one at that.
His hands linger at her laterals, and her hum of delight is but fuel to his fire. “Good?”
“Better,” she manages in a drawl.
“And this?”
“And—oh!”
It happens so quickly.
His hands reach for, and lock stiff at her chest. With every breath he sucks in, the primal rush of instinct courses through his body, as if cleansing him through and through. His fingers curl in against the fabric of her bikini top, and sink straight into the flesh of her breasts.
Her supple and soft, yet firm breasts.
When she moans in response, it’s like a song of heavenly jubilee.
“Is that still good?” he asks. “Should I continue?”
“Y-Yes. Continue, please!”
His smile grows wider. Devilish.
He can already feel the reins of control slipping out of his grasp. And in its stead is the divine, plush feeling of Byleth’s tits. His hands massage them in a rhythm syncopated by her sighs of pleasure. He leans in closer, until his collarbone barely brushes against her back, his hands’ motions growing more coercive yet capricious, as if testing the waters further for how deep he can go.
“That’s the spot—oh Dimitri, yes…” she coos, her eyes closed in bliss.
“Are you sure this is where you’re sore?” His voice is like the texture of silk and sandpaper simultaneously. “You seem quite… soft there, not stiff like your shoulders.”
“Please just—don’t stop, okay?” If Dimitri didn’t know any better, he’d say that Byleth was suppressing something in her, almost petulantly too. “This feels so damn good.”
A breath catches in his throat. There’s a twitch—a particularly hard twitch—against the prison that is his speedo, and he can perceive the most infinitesimal of brushes against her bum. His face burns with the intensity of a thousand volcanos.
So he obeys, and doesn’t stop. Not like he can, even if he wanted to.
Somehow he gets the feeling that he’s thought about doing this as much as he’s thought about not doing this. To him, every fantasy is—was—a repression. He’s thought he could erase every remotely lewd thought, every hypothetical of his hands against her skin his mind conjures.
But today he’s realizing the thoughts are not dead, but rather dormant.
And all it’d take to awaken was just some… confidence.
He wades in further. He slips a fingertip underneath the fabric of her bikini top, his hands now in full contact with the pliable flesh of her tits. A fingertip becomes a finger; two fingers; three fingers; and with a plunge down the cliff, Dimitri’s hand slips under the fabric completely.
“Sorry,” he quickly says, the smile on his face gentle again. “Can’t massage you properly with that in the way.”
“Ah—ah, shit, I—you sure you’re not a professional massage guy? Oh—mmph, mmph!”
She arches her back and cranes her neck skyward, until he can feel the steamy hot breaths of her against his face. His heart is pounding now, but his movements are still smooth—the closing of distance between his hips and hers, the regular cycle of pressure he exerts against her breasts.
“Do you like this?” he asks, making just the most infinitesimal grinding movement against her round, ample butt.
She hums twice in staccato, like she’s saying yes, but likes it too much to voice it. He doesn’t know it’d be possible, but he gets even harder, hearing and seeing her melt in his grasp.
“I like this too,” he admits, as he moves his hands up to her nipples. A small part of him still expects for his soul to leave his body, for his mortification to translate into overriding guilt and terminate this spiral into lust. But Byleth merely keens in excitement, jutting her butt against his crotch, and it’s that fiery, newfound bravado that keeps him there.
“I’m not going to stop,” he says, fingers squeezing against her tits firmly. “Not unless you say no.”
“Good,” she sighs, her head leaning back into the crook of his neck. “Don’t stop. Right there, yeah? Yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah. F—Shit, Byleth,” he moans, his cock pressing more adamantly against her, the fabric of their swimsuits feeling more like cages than ever. “You’re perfect for me.”
“I—I should say the same for you, Dimitri.”
His body sets aflame. He grins wider, grits his teeth tighter. His pressure is stronger, more urgent. He snakes his hand down her ridged abdomen, and his mind is jilted by the most fleeting yet forceful of short-circuits. At least that’s his excuse for his facade of “massage” to fade briefly, when his hand drops to tease along her bikini bottom.
“You’re firmer here,” he says, his hand making a brief yet desirous squeeze against her ass. “Would you like me?—“
“Yes—wait, let me—“ she breathes incoherently, and her shaking hands reach back.
Dimitri’s breath catches in his throat. Her fingers hook against her bikini bottom, as if to slide them off. His hand reaches down her navel, and he’s met with no resistance when he aids her in pushing the fabric downwards. It’s like a solar flare bursting across his skin, like the sweltering sun above batters down upon him until he’s warring with the urge to ignite, to combust.
“Dimitri…” she moans. He answers her siren song, and his fingers guide themselves to her clit. He gives it a few, preliminary flicks, before tracing deliberate circles around it; and the way that her body relents—quivering, relaxing in his embrace—makes the blood course through his veins like lava. And when he’s emboldened, and his fingers enter her cunt, she coos in what he can only discern to be euphoria.
His grin widens further somehow, as he gently strokes her, lavishes her, focusing all he’s got on whatever makes her give in more. Like her joy only eggs him on, like her joy is the only thing he lives for, like her joy is what he’ll chase for the rest of his life.
Shit, that’s so hot, is what he thinks, when her body writhes and twitches, as if she’s not fighting against him, but rather submitting to the safety of his embrace. He steals a glance at her mien—and when he sees her face in a deep, scarlet lust, he feels himself become giddy.
“Dimitri, you make me feel so good…”
“Only the best for you, Byleth,” he breathes, his mind lost in a dark, scathing hot abyss. He bites back an epithet when his hips instinctively buck against hers, the feeling of her bare flesh electric against his spandex-sheathed cock.
“Be my professional massage guy too, yeah?” she says, her cerulean eyes like arrows to his heart. “Be mine?”
“Of course,” he plays along, pressing a little more insistently into her, until he brushes against what must be her G-spot. Her insides convulse, clamp around his fingers, and her breaths become heavier by the minute. She doesn’t need to say a word; he knows she’s so close.
“Cum for me, Byleth,” he orders, even more impatient, even more needy than she is.
A sharp whistle in the air. Her body against his twitching uncontrollably. Her pussy constricting around his fingers harder. She bites her lip to muffle herself to a whimper as she comes, but it only serves to heighten every one of Dimitri’s senses, until his body is in full overdrive, craving for that full, sweet release.
“Dimitri…” she says in a wispy voice, once she begins her descent from her peak, her eyes locked into his with an urgency not even his angelic side would deny.
His mouth curls into a sharp, toothy grin. “Sorry, Byleth, but I’m a bit sore myself. Would you mind if… say, you return the favour? For me?”
He grips her wrist firmly, and when he guides her hand to the front of his speedo, she gives in so easily. It just takes one glance at him—her eyes scanning him from his face, to his chest, to his crotch—before she begins.
Her movements are a bit clumsy—which isn’t her fault; she is reaching behind her—but it doesn’t matter. Nothing else does. His body locks rock-hard, and with just a few strokes, he breathes steamy sigh after steamy sigh. His hand returns to kneading against her breast, his other relishing in the touch of her abs.
He loves this.
Her speech is slurred, as if she’s drunken on some narcotic, but when she moans—he can’t help it. The harder her palms press against him, the harder, the more insistently he grinds against her, his grunts breathing out until it’s in tandem with hers. She’s delectable like this. And he can’t resist.
“Do you want me?” He purrs into her ear, even daring to take a lick at the inside of said ear. He’s rewarded with a violent shiver, and her body closing the space between him.
“Yeah,” she whispers, desire warping her voice that it almost sounds like a question instead of the definitive answer it is.
“Then promise me.” He can feel her hand hastily undoing the drawstrings of his speedo, and he gnaws impatiently on his tongue. “Promise me—that I’ll be your pool boy forever.”
“Of course,” she says, her hands peeling the fabric halfway off of him—and he stutters a groan when he feels his cock free, his length brushing against her bare ass. “Of course, yes.”
“Say it,” he whispers as a hoarse demand. “Say “I promise I’m yours”.”
This time, she takes a look backward, her eyes drowning in pools of determination and lust alike. She takes in a deep breath, hand aligning the tip of his cock right to her opening.
“I promise I’m yours, Dimitri.”
“You’re such a good, good girl, Byleth—ah!”
His facade, albeit fleetingly, finally cracks, when he feels his cock slide into her—in one motion, from how wet she is down there. Once he’s sheathed to the hilt into her, it’s like everything else fades away. Everything except but the sight of her body merging into his, and separating, and merging once more with the passion of a thousand suns.
It’s one thing to feel the satisfaction, all-encompassing like a million drugs coursing in his veins, with every pound of his hips against hers. But it’s another to hear her moan without restraint, to feel her body convulse to the rhythm of his beat, to see her get more and more absorbed into the gravity of their sex. Her tongue wags, her eyes close in euphoria, her head cocks backward right to his shoulder.
“You feel good,” he says less like a question and more like a fact. “I make you feel good.”
“Ah—yes, Dimitri, you make me feel so good—shhhit!”
The way she hisses her words, it makes him purr with glee involuntarily. He puts two fingers into her mouth, which she begins to suck on without question—and shivers rush down his spine. His cock pumps into her—faster, stronger, hungrier, until the sloshing of water around them drowns the sounds of the hydrotherapy jets. He grips her body like a lifeline, and with every squeeze he’s rewarded with her walls tightening on him.
It’s like his body is possessed. Grasping for control. Alit with the urge, the need to converge with hers, until they’re whole in unison.
“Mmm, you have to be quiet, Byleth,” he says, hoping his effort to steady his voice isn’t noticeable.
“I—I can’t—!”
“But you must. After all—”
He doesn’t even need to finish that sentence. Right in the distance the two of them can see it—Jeralt and Sitri’s car pulling up to the driveway, the two of them emerging.
Dimitri slaps a hand over Byleth’s mouth. Just the sight of her parents is petrifying enough to freeze rock-solid. It’s like a ray of karma, illuminating the abyss of lust within him, blinding his demon in the eyes.
For one moment, he considers if this is too far. If he’d sullied all the trust that he’d earned from the Eisners, all just to cave into his own bottled fantasies.
And then, he feels Byleth’s tongue. Her tongue, lathing his fingers slowly.
He can’t help it.
His hips jerk forward reflexively. And again. And again.
And Byleth moans louder into his fingers, sucking them harder.
He lets out a devious chuckle.
When he resumes his harsh, unrelenting tempo, it almost feels like he’s possessed. Like his cock was made for her, like he was born to fuck her senseless.
He wonders if he’s conquering his body, or his body is conquering him. But frankly, it doesn’t matter.
Byleth turns to him with a panicked expression. He knows what she wants to say—that they really, really shouldn’t do this when her parents and his employers are right there. That they should stop right now. Even though she really, really doesn’t want to.
Maybe they’re close like that now, he thinks. That even her thoughts are his, too.
“Just be good and quiet,” he whispers as softly as he can muster. But he stifles every trill and gasp in exhilaration with every thrust into her, and he and his body are of the same thought—who gives a shit, really, if they get caught? He pushes one particularly hard thrust into her, water sloshing around them, and she squeals in ecstasy against him.
For a moment he sees Sitri’s eyes wander, and his heart skips a beat.
Look at us. Look at us, and see how your daughter has so quickly become mine.
The door swings open, and Jeralt and Sitri head inside. Dimitri’s heart continues to race, watching them turn away from the balcony door leading to the pool, and into the kitchen instead.
The grin that stretches across his face is wide as it is depraved. The reminder that their time is fleeting is stark. But all the more to cherish every second of it.
He lets go of Byleth’s mouth. Her face is as crimson as a fever, and the small traces of sullenness at his rashness is superseded by sheer submission.
“We coulda gotten caught…”
“But we didn’t. And besides, I don’t think—” he says, before burying himself into her fully, his cock swallowed by her wet, pulsating walls. “ —you’d complain. Would you?”
She merely keens again in a high-pitched non-answer, bending forward slightly to give him more leverage. “My breasts… Touch my breasts…”
His chest flares to see her like this, that she’s like this because of him. “Say it again,” he husks. “Nicely, like a good girl.”
Byleth turns back to him, desperation as overflowing as it is evident. “Please, D–Dima. Touch my breasts…”
“You—fuck, you’re so good for me.”
He obeys her in an instant, hands reaching to knead against her breasts. His smile is as weary as it is steeped in ecstasy. Everything feels like a symbiosis, a prison of fire that burns as everlasting as it did passionately.
She moans. He lets out a choked gasp.
She lets her hips gyrate, faster, and faster. He plunges his cock into her, harder, and harder.
His hands move so roughly, peeling back the fabric of Byleth’s bikini top to the sides. When his fingers grace her nipples, her whole body vibrates in tremors. It’s like every time her body convulses, her flesh gives way to his, like she, her body is in control of his. His hands move as if they’ve a mind of their own, fingers finding and tweaking against her nipples. Hard, and soft, and hard again, until Byleth has to bite back her howls of glee.
His arms pull back at a particularly hard thrust, pressing her firm back against his chest. And when he glances down, he can see her face, completely swept up in lust. He pinches her nipple—soft but firmly—and her whole body convulses in liquid ecstasy. Molded to the force of him, every moan and squeal and bit of pleasure provided by his generosity.
“Ah—oh, oh… fuck!” Her voice echoes between the sloshes of the water around him, the slamming of his hips against hers. “You’re so—fucking hot!!”
…
… what?
“What did you say?” he growls angrily, pressing her almost to the floor of the pool’s edge. “Did you just—swear to me?!”
There’s a slight trace of astonishment along Byleth’s erotic expression. He can feel something burning in him, like the apex of a volcanic eruption, like a balloon in him expanding bigger and bigger. His eyes widen. His hips buck in shallow, rapid thrusts. His teeth grit together, the abyss of lust within him burst through with a speck of light, of her giving herself to him. Of her being so consumed by him, that it’d get her to utter such a profanity.
Fuck.
So fucking hot.
“Whoa—no, this isn’t—ah!”
His eyes clench shut as he yanks Byleth’s body flush to his, teeth gnashed together as he spends himself right into her. All he can sputter are half-baked apologies, his thoughts scattered in a cauldron of remorse and satisfaction, of sinful shame and holy rapture. He comes until he thinks he’s finished coming, and then comes even more. He comes until the desire in him has not even dissipated, but merely plateaued.
Even when his orgasm ends, Dimitri clutches Byleth for dear life, the two of them panting their lungs away. Her head is still slightly angled towards the door to the pool, but right there all he can do is stare ahead, his vision starting to return to him from white. When he returns to earth, though, he takes in the look of Byleth’s face—still flushed an erotic pink. And when he lets his eyes linger on her like this, and lets himself get lost into her sapphire pools which stare back at him.
It’s magnetic. She’s magnetic. He wonders if her smell gets stronger, when his face gets closer to hers. He’s drunk. He’s never been drunk, but he imagines this is what it’s like, at least. Byleth’s gaze doesn’t waver from his. He leans in closer, and her lips part. He sucks in a deep breath. His breath wavers, his lips quiver, he leans in closer, she tilts her head upwards, she—
“Wait. You—you came?” She furrows her brow, frowning. “You came inside me?”
It feels like a shock of electricity back to reality. He reels back, his cock slipping out of her in the process. “I—I’m sorry!” he exclaims, bowing his head instinctively like a schoolchild caught for shoplifting. “I just—I—I didn’t know what, um—”
“I suppose it’s normal to get carried away,” she says, matter-of-factly. She uses the edge of the pool as leverage as she gets out of it, wringing her hair dry. “Don’t worry. I’m not angry.”
He lifts his head in surprise. “But—but what about if I—and with no condom—”
“No, I knew something like this would happen,” she says, walking over to her chair to towel herself off. “I just didn’t know when, I guess. Longer than I thought, but I got some Plan B somewhere.”
“Wh—wait, wait—”
Dimitri scrambles to get himself proper—donning his speedo again, clambering clumsily out of the pool, his wet footsteps involuntarily trailing her as she makes her way inside the house. Somehow, Jeralt and Sitri are still ignorant—having a conversation in the kitchen, for what he knows not. For how long though, he also knows not.
And what did Byleth just say? “Didn’t know when”? “Longer than I thought”? Was she planning to do it… and with someone else? Why with him, though? Was it because it was easy? Or was it—
Dimitri nearly startles back and trips as he recognizes, just in time, the door frame to Byleth’s room. Byleth walks in casually, opening a cabinet drawer to rummage around.
“You don’t have to stand on ceremony, yeah?” she says, giving him a curious glance. “You’re not a stranger. Not after you just—”
“I—I’m, sorry, Mi—Byleth.” Dimitri finds his feet nearly tripping over themselves as much as he’s tripping over his own words. “I—why me?”
She takes a pill packet out from the drawer, finally, and pops one the tablets out. He watches as she swallows it, slowly, as if considering the weight of his words. And finally, she turns to him, and frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe—I should rephrase. I’m a little confused, is all. I just—I think you were right, I got carried away. But I don’t—I don’t understand, why did we… why you with me? And then—what now? I don’t know… are we still, good? Or are—”
“Dimitri.” Her voice is so matter-of-fact, it’s almost frightening. “You don’t know at all, don’t you?”
“I—I suppose I don’t. No.”
From the way that she stares at him like he’s missing half a brain, the dread that he’d ruined everything and the entailing guilt nearly overpowers him. He almost wants to cower in front of her—but the urge disappears when she gives him a smile—an almost pitiful, empathetic smile.
“I—maybe I should’ve been more obvious. But I thought you’d notice every time I put on a bikini like this for you, make a whole show out of it just to get your attention. And surely, when I let you massage me… surely you can figure it out. Hmm?”
This time, it doesn’t take long. There’s only a brief flash of perplexion across his face, but when he thinks about every time she’s sauntered her hips in front of him, every time she’s stretched herself in those skimpy swimsuits of hers in front of him…
Maybe it wasn’t just him who harboured those desires in the first place.
It was unimaginable to him—at least at first. But now…
*ding*!
“Byleth! I—I didn’t know how you felt, I—I don’t know what to say! I—how do I even put into words this feelings, I just—”
“I—um. I don’t think you’ll be needing words…”
He follows her pensive, downward glance by instinct, and his eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets.
Oh.
Wait, really? Didn’t it take time for men to get erections again after orgasm? But why?
“I-I-I’m so sorry,” he stammers out, his hands moving to the front of his crotch, even despite what they’d done at the pool. “I was just—Byleth, when I look at you like this, I just think—you know, you’re very pretty, and you’re very beautiful, but I can’t just—”
“Hmm.” For some reason there’s no trace of disgust on her face—instead, her eyes flicker thoughtfully between her Plan B, his face, his speedo, and back again. She purses her lips, and then rolls her eyes with a wry smile on her face.
“Ah what the heck,” she says. “I have more tablets to go.”
For some reason, when she invites him in, curling her finger inward with a sultry smirk, he finds his feet moving to close the distance involuntarily. He doesn’t care that they’re still wet from the pool. He doesn’t even care when he closes the door behind him, there’s the chance her parents could always walk in on them. All he’s guided by is by her, and his twitching cock, and her, and her only.
From that day onward, Dimitri’s no longer just her pool boy; he’s her boy.