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Claude needs to focus on this meeting.
While this marks only the third annual Fódlan-Almyra summit, Claude feels confident in its success. With so many years of peace and open trade now between the two nations—not to mention what naturally follows suits when its two monarchs wed—most of his Almyran retinue is already familiar with the Fódlan delegation accompanying Dimitri and vice versa. Mostly for better when it comes to this group, albeit sometimes for the worse with the more stubborn lords on either side who remain in power for the moment. Still, leading the Alliance taught Claude that while large discussions like these rarely work for quick decision-making, they are well-suited for broaching issues and raising concerns. He and Dimitri applied the same model in Fódlan’s earlier years as a newly united kingdom to great success, even if it often involved long hours and frustrated hair-pulling—both figuratively and literally at times. After all, even if the war was over, that didn’t mean resentment didn’t remain or conflicts wouldn’t arise. Peace was even more precarious in that way, whether between lords’ territories or entire nations.
Hence this summit. It’s become a popular event for commoners with plenty of merchants using it as a reason to bring their new wares and trade, but it primarily remains an opportunity for dialogue between Fódlan and Almyra. He and Dimitri both have done all they can to ensure their personal relationship doesn’t interfere with state matters between the two countries, and that means not every issue can be settled with letters or a single trip across the border.
Which is why he needs to focus on the meeting. It may not be a scheme, but he does have an agenda for Almyra’s needs today. From merchant concerns on passage through the country to civilian reports of foreign wyvern poaching, there’s plenty he intends to discuss as part of the three day summit, and today is just the beginning.
But how is he supposed to focus when Dimitri is so damnably distracting?
Across the table one of the lords beside his husband speaks, citing concerns of counterfeit Almyran goods being sold and traded in her territory. One of his own retinue responds, but that doesn’t mean Claude can afford not to listen. All it takes is one discriminatory remark, one nasty word, sometimes even just a condescending look before tensions escalate and the kings need to step in. Instead of listening though, Claude watches his husband all the while, retracing the features he’s come to know as well as his own over and over. How the light hits his cheekbones, the shape of his lips as he speaks, the way his bangs gracefully fall over his eyepatch.
He thinks of how ruddy and flushed his husband’s cheeks became when Claude murmured filth into his ear as he fucked him. He remembers Dimitri’s lips stretched over his cock, red and shiny with saliva as he moaned around Claude’s girth. He recalls Dimitri’s golden hair splayed out beneath him in a tangled mess, his uncovered eyes squeezed shut in the throes of pleasure as he cried out Claude’s name again and again.
Too long has passed since Claude’s last had his husband, and worst of all, Dimitri couldn’t be more aware of it. The King of Fódlan’s gaze drifts his way, and Claude can imagine what it is his husband sees. For all the years he’s worked together with his retinue here, he knows not a single one of them would be to see what Dimitri gleams from just this glance: the faintest tension in his jaw, a twitch in his nose, the subtle yet deep breaths he takes when his eyes land upon his husband’s. After all, it wouldn’t do for an aide to realize their king is spending a meeting fantasizing about ravishing the other country’s king.
But Dimitri knows. He looks at Claude, and Claude watches as his husband’s expression shifts in tells not a single other soul in the room would notice but to him are as loud as war trumpets. His eye practically lights up in delight, his lips curving ever so faintly in a smile. In a smirk.
Claude grips his thigh beneath the table, just barely holding in the urge to swear aloud as he stares his husband down.
You absolute bastard.
One hour earlier—
It takes everything in Claude not to sigh in front of his retinue as he waits for the morning staff to finish preparations for the first meeting of the day.
None of it is the staff’s fault, of course. While there are far less soldiers these days and more physical maintenance staff instead, those stationed at Fódlan’s Locket have always been perfectly friendly and accommodating. That was true during his time as Duke Riegan, and it remains true now as both King Khalid of Almyra and King Consort Khalid. His retinue are all perfectly fine as well—or as much as they can be when Almyran culture always tends towards loud and boisterous compared to some of the more reserved parts of Fódlan. For better or worse though, he knows each and every member well after so much time spent working together now; long gone are the days of someone accidentally, or even intentionally, saying something that might cite ire from the Fódlan lords gathered here.
No, Claude has to hold in a sigh because what was supposed to be a relaxing evening spent reunited with his husband after far too many moons apart was instead spent camping in a tent alone. He and his retinue set off early from the capital for the express purpose of making it to the summit on time—for Claude to finally see Dimitri that much sooner, even if no one dared to acknowledge it aloud save for Nader. Better to be prepared than not, after all, yet not even Claude could prepare or scheme his way through seemingly every delay possible on the way to Fódlan.
Sandstorms, out of season tornadoes, accidental food poisoning at one of their pit stops, one of the wyverns somehow finding their supply of feed for the whole trek and gobbling through it in a single night. When that same wyvern suddenly started laying eggs the next day, Claude went to bed cursing every Almyran deity he could think of, then moved onto Sothis and all her saints and apostles (excluding Cethleann at least, albeit in all his exhaustion and irritation after what amounted to a 10-day delay, he may have spitefully left in Cichol just because).
They only just made it to the Locket that morning, having spent the night camping instead. After such a grueling journey just to reach Fodlan’s Throat, he couldn’t bring himself to push on that much harder just to reach the fortress so he could see Dimitri, not when it would give them all barely any sleep to start such an important summit. Besides, he was there only to represent Almyran interests in official capacity as King Khalid. Plenty of official visits have seen him flying ahead of his retinue so he could see his husband, all of them laughing and heckling the moment he’d take off with Rafiq, but this simply couldn’t be one of them.
It leaves Claude anxious to see Dimitri though. While he sent letters to keep Dimitri apprised of their timing and that no danger had befallen them, it also meant tossing and turning in his bedroll from the excruciating knowledge that he was so close to seeing his love yet so far regardless.
No matter how much his allies love to tease him for being a ‘hopeless, lovesick fool, worse than King Fadil even,’ though, there are both Almyran and Fódlan attendees waiting for the meetings to officially begin. No matter his personal longing, Claude is well-practiced at setting those feelings aside for business. All he can do is keep his sigh in and in and in, gaze darting around the area far too often for any possible sign of Dimitri. Even if they have to maintain appearances for the next several hours, just seeing him again, speaking with him, being able to hear his voice… They’re everything he’s truly waited for all this time.
“Good morning, Claude.”
Of course his love wouldn’t keep him waiting for long though. Claude turns around, smile already stretching too wide across his lips. Finally, finally, he can be with his husband again.
“Good morning, my love.” Propriety and image be damned, he can afford to be at least this affectionate with Dimitri after so long. It’s no secret that their marriage is one of love, after all. If anyone wants to eavesdrop, then they can be reminded of that immutable fact.
Besides, how could he do anything but when Dimitri’s cheeks immediately flush in response, his smile so soft it makes Claude’s toes curl in his boots? It stands in stark contrast to just how regally he’s dressed for the summit, but it only makes him all the more endearing in Claude’s eyes. His hair tied carefully back and away from his face in a half up-do, a silver circlet resting easily upon the crown of his head, the embroidered eyepatch Claude gifted him during the war clean and pristine on his face… And of course, the newer addition among the accessories Claude has given Dimitri over the years.
A single piercing on his right ear, a golden hoop with an emerald charm looped around. The perfect match to Claude’s own earring on his left ear, a silver hoop with a sapphire charm. One more quiet, subtle way to remind the world that they belong together, no matter the political forces that might try to pull them apart. Even now, Claude’s heart skips a beat at just how perfect it looks on him.
“Claude…” Dimitri murmurs quietly, always a bit of stickler when it comes to propriety. Still, even as he tries to maintain his composure a little more, that flush remains right where it is on his cheeks. He doesn’t need to say it; Claude knows what his love is thinking, how he must be feeling—especially when he clears his throat once, then twice even louder after Claude snickers. “That is to say… It’s a relief to see you well, especially after you all had such an arduous journey.”
This time Claude lets out his sigh. “I’ll say. You know what it’s usually like traveling between the capital and here, which means you also know just how ridiculous it was for all those mishaps to happen along the way. Part of me wonders if someone actually tried to curse this trip!”
Dimitri lets out a quiet sigh of his own, his hand twitching briefly by his side. Claude knows he must be fighting the urge to hold him closer, or at least take his hand. Even if Claude is willing to skirt the lines verbally, they both know better than to start getting physically affectionate in public at official functions like these. Their self-control would never last otherwise. “If nothing else though, I’m glad you all arrived at the Locket safe and sound. Hopefully you were able to at least sleep well last night?”
“Ill be honest, it was a bit of a struggle to rest when I was so eager to arrive… But I slept well enough, no doubt because of our gracious and generous host.” His grin softens, quietly warm in a way he can only afford as the rest remain occupied with their preparations for the first meeting. They might not have even shared a roof last night, but he has no doubt that his love spared no expense to ensure the campsite would be as comfortable as could be. The extra large bedroll and additional guards certainly attested to that, although they could hardly make up for the absence of Dimitri’s warmth.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Dimitri replies, his smile brightening. Always so concerned for Claude’s well-being, even if he could only show it in these subtle ways.
Something shifts in his expression though. While his grin remains in place, there’s a quirk to it Claude doesn’t quite recognize, something knowing in his gaze. But before he can even ask, Dimitri continues, “Unfortunately, I’m afraid I can’t say the same for myself.”
Claude stills, subtly checking for who else might be around and just how close they are. It’s unlike Dimitri to bring up his nightmares anywhere beyond closed doors; even if most of the Fhirdiad Castle staff have been employed long enough to recall his troubled sleep right after the Tragedy, Dimitri still prefers to keep it as private a matter as possible. Those dreams have gradually lessened over the years at least, but they still had a tendency to rear their ugly head, especially when Claude couldn’t remain by his side.
He shifts, turning to better face Dimitri directly as his back remains facing the others—making it more difficult for anyone else to see Dimitri’s expression. Voice no louder than a whisper, he asks, “Nightmares, Mitya?”
“No, no, it was nothing of the sort. There’s no need to worry.” Dimitri meets his gaze with a warm, soft smile as Claude searches for any possible tell-tale signs of his nightmares. No pronounced shadows beneath his eyes, his gaze alert and aware rather than drifting towards voices or ghosts. Good, nothing that would indicate Dimitri trying to brush off or hide his struggles with nightmares. Instead, he lets out a chuckle as he continues, “In fact, I was far too exhausted last night for any late night terrors to disturb me. You see—”
He leans in closer to Claude, his lips at just the perfect height above Claude’s ear.
“I couldn’t help but think on when my husband last ravished me. The memory was so all-consuming, I had to take my cock in one hand and the phallus he gifted me in the other. It was all I could do to pretend it was him breeding me again.”
For a moment, Claude can’t even breathe. His jaw hangs open, eyes wide as he steps back to look at Dimitri. Despite the utter filth that just passed between his lips though, Dimitri looks no more flustered than he would discussing armor polish. As if there weren’t dignitaries and politicians all around them, as if no one might overhear if they walked just a few steps closer, not a single trace of embarrassment or nerves crosses his impossibly even expression.
“Unfortunately, even with such a thoughtful toy left behind, I’m afraid it simply can’t compare to the real thing,” Dimitri continues regardless with a sigh, hardly even noticing Claude’s real-time suffocation from the sheer thought of what’s being described. “As you know though, Faerghus has always been a harsh land, and one learns to make do with what they have. And by the goddess, did I make do, I feared someone might hear me down the hall for how loud I was.”
“YOU—!”
“All in attendance, please enter! Day 1 of the third annual Fódlan-Almyra Summit will begin momentarily!”
Everyone looks to the conference room doors as they finally open, the announcing staff ushering attendees in. Claude hears the announcement, sees his retinue start to file into the room, and processes absolutely none of it.
“Well then, we better head in before we’re late.” Dimitri leans back, his kingly smile in place that Claude’s seen a thousand times before. No matter how handsome, how regal his love looks with it, all Claude can think of is how he’s going to strangle his husband for this. “Shall we, King Khalid?”
Claude seethes.
“You bastard.”
Which is why Claude finds himself here now, struggling to pay attention to the ongoing discussions. It takes every ounce of his concentration and willpower to keep his throbbing length in check rather than making an obvious, visible problem for himself. Having to sit directly across from Dimitri though—watching him act as if nothing’s amiss save for that wonderfully, damnably, confident twitch of his lips every time their eyes meet—does him no favors.
It’s not as if it hadn’t been on Claude’s mind to begin with. He often feels there’s an endless amount of things that make it so hard to be apart. Loneliness and longing; the way Claude always feels his safest with Dimitri; how Dimitri’s nightmares can often only be soothed by Claude. They love each other in every way possible, and Claude feels no shame in acknowledging that means physically as well. Few things could compare to making love with his husband, and all the same, few things could compare to fucking each other like wild animals. After four months with nothing more than letters from Dimitri, four entire months without either of them having the chance for even an unplanned quick visit via wyvern flight, Claude could think of little else when leaving the capital.
And while he could guess Dimitri felt just the same—knew, honestly, given how explicit and verbose his latest letters were, Claude’s reply often delayed because of how often he had to jerk one out partway through reading—he couldn’t have known his love was thinking of that newly-discovered kink.
Even with so many years under his belt of learning every inch of Dimitri’s body, sex felt as exciting as the very first time, if not even more so. Earlier on in their relationship, they quickly learned that Dimitri’s heightened strength and stamina very much also applied to something as physically vigorous as sex, which meant it could be a bit of a struggle to wear Dimtiri out before Claude’s own stamina ran out. It was also both a blessing and a curse that once awakened, Dimitri’s appetite for sex was absolutely insatiable, remaining so to this day. Thankfully, Claude has always excelled at creative solutions, and growing together in this way ensured there was always something new for them to explore and learn about. Preferences, ideas, fantasies, toys, anything and everything that could allow them to express their love for one another that much more.
Sometimes though, those new discoveries surprise even Claude himself. Unable to resist the temptation no matter how unwise, he crosses the bridge and thinks back on Dimitri’s words from this morning—of the last time Claude ‘bred’ him.
Dimitri moaned beneath him, head thrown back and legs hiked over his shoulders as he pounded into his husband like a man possessed. Claude lost count of how many times either of them came at that point, could only guess from the white mess splattered against Dimitri’s stomach, the effortless glide of his cock inside Dimitri when his hole was so slick with seed. Even still, it wasn’t enough for Dimitri. A steady stream of precum dripped from his still-hard cock to his belly with every pump of Claude’s hips, his hands shredding through their silk sheets above his head. So wanting even with Claude stuffing him full, yet cognizant enough to react rather than just be made to take , just the way Dimitri loved.
And Claude loved him all the more for it. The rest of the world could have Dimitri the king, the warrior, the savior, and they would soon enough with him scheduled to head back to Fódlan in the morning. But the Dimitri splayed out beneath Claude? No crown in sight, decorated in seed instead; knuckles white from gripping the bedding rather than a lance; both eyes in full view, gaze glassy with lust and pleasure… This Dimitri was only for him, because of him. No one else could drive Dimitri to such wanton heights, no one else could give him this kind of pleasure. Claude would sooner poison anyone who dared to even think it.
Any possessive track of thought was lost though when Dimitri suddenly squeezed around him with all his Crest-given strength, Claude’s hips stuttering and halting as he gasped in pleasure. Just the slightest pause in his rhythm was enough to upset his husband though, Dimitri whining and squeezing even tighter around Claude’s cock.
“M-More…” Dimitri whimpered, bucking his hips as best he could. While still too aware and not utterly fucked senseless for Claude’s liking, he also didn’t have the wherewithal to realize that being so perfectly fuckable like this would only distract Claude from their shared goal. He could only think of his own desires, his own ecstasy, Claude’s needs having fallen to the wayside. “Please, beloved… Don’t st—!”
He cried out, voice lost from the savage thrust of Claude’s hips. Again and again, Dimitri gasped and moaned and whined from the relentless pace Claude set. Claude loved them, loved each and every noise that escaped from Dimitri’s lips, hellbent on fucking them out of his husband to hoard them all for himself. Seeing Dimitri like this was an exquisite treat, after all. Even now, his love’s generosity knew no bounds, especially when it came to matters of the bedroom, Claude’s pleasure and desires so often trumping any wish of his own. To render that kind, generous heart into selfish, shameless greed for Claude felt like nothing less than being spoiled.
“I’m giving you more right now, aren’t I, Dima? But that’s still not enough for you, is it?” Claude asked between panting breaths. A little dirty talk never failed to turn the King of Fódlan absolutely putty. “Always so needy and desperate for my cock, even when you’re already dripping with me.”
“Always, Claude,” he repeated back, too far gone for any sense of shame or embarrassment for his begging. “Always, always, it’s not enough, I want more—”
He couldn’t help himself, pulling out to fist their cocks together and watch his own cum spill from Dimitri’s stretched hole onto the sheets. No matter how much he tried to preserve the sight as perfectly as he could in his mind, nothing ever compared to actually seeing it. Even as Dimitri writhed and whined beneath him, he remained transfixed on the sight as Dimitri squeezed around nothing in protest, inadvertently squeezing out more of Claude’s seed to trickle down his ass.
Taking himself in hand again, he guided his cock to Dimitri’s hole for another rough thrust, Dimitri crying out his name in tandem with another gush of Claude’s spend fucked out of him. He knew plenty still remained with how much he came earlier, and as he picked up the pace once more, all he could think of was how he wanted to give Dimitri even more. Always, endlessly, to give his husband a piece of him.
“Gods, if only you could see yourself. You’re so full with me, you can’t even keep it all inside, can you? It’s spilling no matter what I do, no matter how much I give you.”
Dimitri shook his head violently, squeezing so tightly around Claude’s cock, he could barely see for a moment. Heedless of his struggle though, the words all but babbled from Dimitri, “Then more , Claude, please, I still need you, don’t let me lose you—!”
That Dimitri could beg for his cum in the filthiest way possible yet still tie it back to how much he needed Claude, how he longed for his beloved to be with him always in every, any way possible—Claude couldn’t take it. What could he do but helplessly love this man, to try and grant him every single wish he had no matter how impossible?
“You’ll never lose me, I won’t let you.” He leaned forward, Dimitri’s arms immediately wrapping around him as his nails tore through Claude’s back. The filth poured from his lips before he could even process what he was saying, a tumble of degeneracy and love. “Let me breed you, Dima, let me give you a piece of me to keep. I’ll keep you so full you’ll never be empty again, please, just let me breed you —”
He froze. Panic surged through him, and he drew back only to find Dimitri’s wide-eyed gaze, mouth hanging open in silence. What the fuck was he saying? Never mind the dirty talk, what absolutely ridiculous nonsense was spewing from his mouth right now? No, that wasn’t important right now, what he needed to do was fix this. Was Dimitri appalled? Disgusted? Of course he would be, no matter how filthy and wanton his husband could be, no matter that impregnating a man was flat out impossible, it would only be reasonable to find the very words horrifically obscene—
But in that split second as Claude’s raced a mile a minute, Dimitri simply pulled him down, breath hot in Claude’s ear as he pleaded two words.
“Breed me.”
“—Would you find that agreeable, King Khalid?”
Claude blinks, gaze refocusing on Dimitri before him rather than the vision of him breeding Dimitri in his mind. The King of Fódlan merely offers a slight smile, the picture of cordial manners as he waited for Claude’s response, but he knows better than to take it at face value. His husband might as well have caught him with his hand down his parts, even if it was only thanks to Dimitri’s voice that he snapped out of his lewd daydreams to begin with.
“Yes,” he replies, silently yet frantically trying to recall the specific subject of this particular Fódlan export fee. “We could find that agreeable.”
“Sire?” his aide whispers to him in Almyran, eyes wide and incredulous. Claude glances at the rest of his retinue, each of them equally perplexed to varying degrees of obviousness. Nader in particular looks like he’s struggling to hold in laughter.
The prior conversation finally comes back to him. Thanks to open trading and Dimitri’s own fondness, the demand for dairy in Almyra had risen exponentially, and some of Fódlan’s lords were a little too keen on trying to levy that to their advantage. Dimitri must know Claude would never actually agree to these terms as is, but as the King of Fódlan speaking to the King of Almyra, he still has to voice his lords’ proposals—which means Claude definitely said the wrong thing here.
Shit.
“Could being the operative word here, of course. We could find that agreeable if Fódlan were to address the fact that…”
The discussion continues smoothly from there between their retinues, and internally at least, Claude heaves out a sigh with that sticky situation behind him. Externally, all he can do is gulp through a glass of water and try not to glare when Dimitri’s own lips twitch at the sight.
Claude would never call Dimitri a cruel man by any means, no matter his undeniably cruel actions during the war. His heart is simply far too gentle for that, with that same gentility being the exact reason why he could have such capacity for atrocity. Still, every now and then that cruel streak seemed to come back out in nearly brutal force—and all so Dimitri could torture him like this.
What else could he call it when Dimitri taunted him with their latest newfound kink? Those two simple words from Dimitri set aside all sense of panic and worry, leaving only their rabid mutual desire for Claude to breed Dimitri like an animal. They were both insatiable that day because of it, desperate to make the most of their last hours together before they paryed for at least a few months. He almost wished he could say that looking back on it with a clear mind left him confused and skeptical, that it only could’ve been the heat of the moment that made him so desperately eager to somehow fill his husband with so much cum it could somehow put a baby in him. But no, rather than any skepticism, these past few months saw far too many times where he drifted back to that moment with a clear mind and had to take himself in hand immediately in response. Evidently, it was the same for Dimitri.
It makes him wonder just what his terrible, wonderful, perfect husband might have planned for him if he hadn’t been so delayed. If all went according to schedule, he would’ve arrived here early with days to spare and plenty of time to spend with Dimitri before they needed to don their crowns for business. Is this the reunion sex that would’ve greeted him the moment he arrived after a long day’s travel? Or was Dimitri’s play last night driven by desperation and longing, perhaps so pent up he simply couldn’t wait anymore? Then again, for Dimitri to have brought the toy phallus with him from home to use during his stay here—and Claude can hardly even imagine how Dimitri might have packed that, torn between amusement at what must’ve surely been Dimitri’s nerves in packing such a thing for a business trip and arousal from despite knowing better, he packed it with the intent of making use of it—surely meant that any desperation or pent up sex drive went for far longer than just these past few days.
Claude pours himself another glass of water, doing his best to pay attention this time to the discussion. Still, his eyes drift back to Dimitri almost involuntarily. He plays the perfect part of a king, the way Claude’s always known he was meant to: attentive, considerate, yet authoritative all the same. Claude has never been the type to strive for majestic or kingly, and thank the gods he isn’t because he’d never stand a chance against the authentic, genuine article. The regal grace with which Dimitri carries himself with is undeniable, whether he’s negotiating on taxes or playing with children in the streets.
Or, much to Claude’s chagrin and pleasure both, when he’s tormenting his husband. Their gazes meet once more, and just like before, that same faint, sly grin graces his lips. He looks every bit the confident king, some of his lords even taking note and seemingly bolstered at the thought their king feels the discussions are in their favor, if their new cheery tones are anything to go by. None of them would ever dare to guess that Dimitri’s smile and confidence have nothing to do with politics and everything to do with ensuring Claude thinks of nothing but absolutely ravishing him.
Claude grips his thigh so hard he’s sure it’ll bruise, taking another gulp of water with his other hand. It just isn’t fair for Dimitri to tease him like this! Not when they have a full day of meetings still ahead of them, not when he has no choice but to spend the entire day wondering just what exactly Dimitri got up to alone last night. If it wasn’t for how ceaselessly those filthy images consume his thoughts, he’d spend this entire meeting cursing every god and saint for his delay all over again.
Just how did Dimitri fantasize of Claude breeding him last night though? The toy played an obvious role of course, but there was only so much he could know without having seen it for himself. Even if he knows a decent amount about how Dimitri pleasures himself thanks to all his wonderfully verbose letters, those were all inspired by different scenarios and fantasies, whether it was something as simple as reuniting after so long or something a little more playful like waking Claude up with a blowjob. This is something new, something different.
So perhaps his husband needed time to settle into it, to feel a little less unsure. He imagines Dimitri lying atop the bed, stripped down and ready with the phallus and a vial of oil at the nightstand but nervous all the same. Not of being walked in on or seen, of course, but nerves from not being quite sure of what to do. Especially earlier on in their relationship, Dimitri could often be so unsure or hesitant in expressing these sorts of desires, whether aloud to Claude or even just to himself. Breaking that habit and helping Dimitri to develop the confidence in expressing even his most selfish wants has been one of the harder but most rewarding goals Claude ever set for himself.
Not that Dimitri’s nerves were necessarily a bad thing anyways. It lets Claude imagine all too easily the rosy flush that would paint his cheeks, his gaze so sweetly shy even when alone. Maybe he would feel a little silly at first, oiling his hands before taking his softened length with a careful grip, despite objectively knowing from experience there was surely no reason to feel silly.
Yet those nerves were never enough to stop Dimitri from taking the pleasure he needed. He might have needed a moment to settle in, but maybe that simply meant pretending Claude was there taking his time with him, teasing him as he loves to do. Claude imagines Dimitri pumping himself with a patient, even hand at first, trying his best to imitate the playful pace Claude might set even if he wanted otherwise.
“Claude…” he might sigh, breaths growing faintly more labored bit by bit as his cock rose to eager attention. The way it would curve against Dimitri’s stomach, how it would hang so heavy from its own massive weight, that sensitive vein on the underside growing only more and more prominent as if begging to be touched—Claude could imagine it all with perfect clarity. With just as much clarity, he pictures Dimitri pressing his face into the pillow as his hand would pick up speed, too impatient to truly match how much Claude loved to slowly drive him mad. “Claude, please… You don’t need to tease when you already know what I want.”
Maybe his other hand would drift to his hole then, carefully tracing the perimeter and just shy of sliding inside. He’s sure the Claude in Dimitri’s fantasy would only tease him further, refusing to give Dimitri exactly what he wanted until he made it perfectly clear. Not until he said it aloud, even if it meant driving him right to the edge before he could bring himself to say it. Dimitri would know that well though, so perhaps by then he would be jerking himself off more rapidly, the pearly white beads of precum pearling at the tip. Turning his face into the pillow, trying to muffle his whine against it as he tried to concentrate on both playing into his fantasy and maintaining the dual points of pleasure.
Only to gasp as he finally slid a finger inside, gently at first but quickly growing hasty. Claude imagines him thrusting his finger all the way past the knuckle in a single, rough motion, his eyes flying open but the flush on his body spreading all the way down to his chest. His motions would only grow rougher from there, his hand falling away from his cock in favor of gripping the pillow as he stretched himself open on the impatient thrusts of his fingers.
Dimitri might lick his lips then, that pearl of precum now smearing against his stomach. Desperation and desire so potent it borderlines on agony would line his voice, the truth finally dragged out of him in a confession, “ Need , I need it, please— I need you to breed me—!”
Claude tries to pour himself more water, only to find there isn’t enough left in the pitcher to reach even halfway up the glass. It’s hard to tell just how much time has passed in meeting rooms like these where natural light is limited, but from his glances around the table and the other water pitchers set out, he must the only to be guzzling down water so quickly like this. Between him and Dimitri, he’s far less sensitive to heat, and this time of year in the mountains rarely grows hotter than a warm sunny day. Nevertheless, he’s the one who’s finished his entire pitcher while Dimitri of all people has only had a few sips from his glass.
“Shall we ask for more water, sire?” the same aide murmurs to him in Almyran with a raised brow as the other side of the table takes over the conversation on establishing a parameters for a trade route from Almyra to Brigid through Hrym territory. Sohal is one of the newer members to join his retinue for events like these, but he’s always appreciated her sense for discretion and observation… in most cases at least. Those skills are part of how she earned her place here, of course, but when Claude catches Dimitri’s gaze again and clearly sees those minute signs of him holding back laughter, he wishes she would’ve simply ignored his incessant thirst to begin with.
He lets out as much of a sigh as he can afford to, which in this case is little more than a long, quiet breath. “Probably. It wouldn’t do to completely run out.”
Before either one of them can even turn to look for the staff, Dimitri waves one over. Claude can’t make out what he says, but as the attendant leaves, the king looks back to them with a smile as he nods his head ever so slightly. Sohal offers the same back with a smile of her own, as does Claude, albeit the faintest bit strained.
“How gracious of His Majesty, although I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always quite attentive, isn’t he?” she says, the teasing ‘to you’ left unsaid, but Claude hears it regardless. In reality, Sohal has no idea just how right she is.
Dimitri is always attentive to him, almost painfully so in this case because Claude knows exactly what game he’s playing at. Here he is, somehow the perfect picture of both kingly kindness and devoted husband, looking nothing less than a regal king with that smile. Claude knows the truth though, as they both do—no matter how noble Dimitri looks to everyone here, every single one of his smiles right now is because of two simple things: how badly he wants Claude to fuck him absolutely senseless, and how much he loves to taunt Claude with that fact when it’s impossible for him to act on it.
It should be illegal for someone so proper and righteous to have such filthy thoughts all the while, if only because of how it drives Claude absolutely insane the entire time. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus might not exist in name anymore, but some of the people in this very room look at Dimitri with an awe and respect Claude could only describe as someone gazing upon something hallowed and untouchable. Never mind being flabbergasted or appalled, Claude knows none of them would even be able to fathom that the Savior King loved to beg for cock, to be stuffed full with cum, would take himself in hand at night at the thought of being bred by his husband.
Only Claude does, and from the sly, secretive smile Dimitri offers him from across the table, he also knows just how keenly that dichotomy affects him as well. Claude’s length throbs just from that look, warmth pooling in his gut as he wonders what Dimitri might be thinking of throughout this entire meeting. Just as no one but Dimitri could tell just how much Claude is struggling throughout this meeting, Claude could tell the same from his husband. For him to have been fucking himself with a toy last night outside the comfort and safety of their own home, there’s no way he isn’t driven equally to distraction.
Then again, his husband at least had the benefit of actually having some release. Meanwhile Claude sits here, dutifully paying attention to the meeting as needed of the King of Almyra with no energy nor effort left to spare for suppressing his arousal. He really doesn’t think Dimitri understands just how naturally erotic and seductive he can be, that contrast between his kingly demeanor and utterly wanton desires wreaking havoc on Claude’s willpower. He loves that about his husband, but it also gives him little room for self-control in a situation where he needs it the most.
But how desperate did that make Dimitri last night then? Had he been playing with himself the whole time here while waiting for Claude? Or had he let the desire build and build, thinking he could sate himself soon enough when Claude finally arrived and make it that much sweeter, only to be denied yet again?
Maybe that was the snapping point, too pent up and impatient to wait any longer. Once it became clear Claude wouldn’t make it to the Locket that night, he might’ve gone straight for his room in frustrated haste, cursing as he tried to lock the door without accidentally breaking something or trying to take off his clothes without tearing them into pieces.
Claude imagines him naked on the bed, propped on all four with a pillow to help boost his hips. No more teasing touches or embarrassed patience, just Dimitri fucking himself with the toy phallus as fast and hard as he possibly could. Not even having his mouth pressed into the sheets would be enough to muffle Dimitri’s keens and whines, the signs he managed to find that sweet spot inside him again and again and again. Maybe his hips would be rutting into the pillow, grinding his cock against whatever he could in search of desperate relief. Would it be damp with precum by then already? Or perhaps this wasn’t even Dimitri’s first round with himself and his fantasies, maybe the pillow would already be long since stained with his release.
“C—Claude!” he begs on a gasp, struggling to shape his voice around even just one syllable. His hand falters for a moment, no doubt tiring from the brutal pace he tried to set, but it only makes him moan and grind against the pillow even harder. “Don’t stop, please, plea—!”
His voice cuts with a scream.
“You’re asking for too much, Lady Geraint. Fees like those would drive off any merchant, Almyran or not,” he interjects as the debate grows heated between both parties. These summits have proven more useful than not, but he can’t deny that it reminds him a little too much of the Leicester roundtable at times for the slow, aggravated way in which things move. Granted, his impatience is a little more selfishly motivated this time around.
He can’t tell what’s worse right now: that they’ve yet to resolve this particular topic even after this much time, or that the lack of resolution interrupted his far more important fantasy.
Unable to maintain that rapid pace in his position, Dimitri might switch to slow, punishing thrusts of the toy cock, taking the time grind against his prostate. Maybe he would try to time it with the thrusts of his hips into the pillow, licking his free hand and snaking it around his leaking cock in a vice grip. Pretending as best he could that it was Claude fucking him into the sheets, that it was Claude’s hand he fucked into.
The Dimitri is his fantasy comes with a sob, spending explosively into his hand, yet still it remains wrapped tightly around his cock. He can hear the wet, slick sounds of Dimitri using his own cum as lubrication, determined to pump himself as best he can because he knows Claude wouldn’t be finished with him yet just from that. There was still more Dimitri could take, especially if he wanted to be full with nothing but Claude’s love.
Perhaps he would turn to bury his face into the bed then, flushed red with desire and embarrassment both as he finally recalled the need to remain quiet. It would do nothing to hide his neediness from Claude though, and Dimitri would know that, still dragging his own sounds of pleasure out of himself with every savage thrust of the toy.
That faint trace of shame would never last though, not in the face of the ecstasy Dimitri seeks. A strangled moan escapes his lips as he babbles into the sheets, “It’s good, goddess, it’s good— Breed me, Khalid, keep me full, give me something to keep—!”
The staff returns with a new full pitcher of water just as Claude gulps down his half-glass, and the moment they set it down, he pours himself another full glass to chug through. It’s a miracle he hasn’t run to the bathroom by this point, or that he hasn’t made himself sick from drinking so much water so quickly. How much longer do they even have for this portion of the meeting. Surely they’ll pause for lunch soon, right? Claude doesn’t know how much more of this he can take if they don’t. Aside from earlier and the water at least, no one else seems to notice anything amiss from him.
But even after so much water, his thirst refuses to abate. Despite the perfectly tolerable temperature, perspiration gathers at the back of his neck. All he does is glance at Dimitri, and it takes everything in him not to whine at just the sight of him, at how badly Claude needs his husband. He always considered patience to be one of his few virtues, but Dimitri just being here turns everything Claude thought he knew about himself upside down on its head.
A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. At this rate, he really could break from nothing but sheer lust for Dimitri. He grips his thigh beneath the table so tightly, knowing he’s layering bruises upon bruises at this point. Dimitri’s left the same on him on plenty of occasions in the heat of the moment, much to his chagrin and worry over losing control of his strength, but they’re marks Claude savors the sight of. Knowing he could give Dimitri such intense pleasure that he loses sight of everything around him save for how good he feels—few things could be better than that. Giving himself bruises out of losing control of his own desire, not even actual pleasure, feels far more embarrassing in comparison.
Just when Claude thinks he might burst, Dimitri’s gaze carefully shifts back to him. This time though, that teasing, sly smile is nowhere to be found. His expression remains carefully neutral, calm as he turns to address one of the older advisors in Claude’s retinue.
“While I would certainly enjoy the opportunity to spar, Lord Rumi, I’m afraid that a duel can’t actually be used to settle this matter. For better or worse, that part of Faerghan law didn’t find its way into Fódlan’s new constitution,” Dimitri jokes, earning hearty laughter and harmless complaints from the more battle-happy members of the Almyran retinue that Fódlan ought to bring that law back. His husband offers a pleased grin in response as he tucks a few stray, unruly hairs behind his ear.
And for one brief moment, his fingers brush against his earring.
I love you.
Immediately, that tightly coiled pressure within Claude begins to relax and loosen. Not enough for the desire and need for Dimitri to fade away completely, but it settles back down into a simmer rather than threatening to boil over.
Being two kings of two separate, bordering nations often means spending more time as peers, or even in opposition, rather than as husbands. Claude's lost count of just how many meetings they’ve had where he faces Dimitri across the table instead of beside one another. Disagreements, heated discussions, even arguments and disputes over policy—they come up just as frequently as agreements and easy alliances. For the most part, they’ve both learned by now how to leave their feelings over political matters at the table rather than bringing them into bed, but that doesn’t make it any less difficult when they happen during their meetings.
So one day, Dimitri suggested a silent, subtle way to remind one another in the midst of those political gatherings and their separate duties as kings what they truly felt within their hearts.
“If I touch my earring like this during a meeting,” he described, letting his finger just barely brush against the emerald dangling from his silver hoop, “then it means I love you, and I’m remembering just how much you love me, too… No matter how fiercely I might be disagreeing with you in the moment.”
There are no fierce arguments in this moment at least, but Dimitri’s cruel streaks always come to an end in time. While Claude can only be grateful that his husband takes mercy on him, he also should’ve known that Dimitri would see his growing distress, and that he would never let such distress remain to begin with. Even if Claude maintains a far more casual persona as king in comparison to Dimitri, it’s an image to maintain nonetheless; no matter that it’s out of loving teasing, his husband would never let things spiral to a point where his composure could be so compromised.
So he chuckles, shrugging with a casualness he would’ve struggled to feign not even five minutes ago. “You’ll have to forgive my countrymen, King Dimitri. I think all that time spent traveling’s left everyone a little antsy for a good spar, and there are none better to spar with than you!”
It leaves everyone either laughing in good cheer or rolling their eyes in familiar exasperation. Some on both sides call for spars right away, while others on either end of table attempt to steer the conversation back to the main topics. Among all the chatter and noise though, Claude simply lets his gaze fall back upon his husband. His easy grin remains, but from the way Dimitri’s own smile softens by a hair, Claude’s sure he sees the fondness in his own expression as he adjusts his headscarf just a bit, his fingers brushing gently against the sapphire dangling from his earring.
The meeting runs smoothly after that, Claude’s lewd fantasies set aside for the moment as he refocuses the entirety of his attention on the discussion and negotiations—for the most part, anyways. A wave of relief crashes through him when an attendant finally calls for the lunch break, all of them filing out to rest and relax while they can. As the others split off to lunch or tea or whatever other sort of respites they need, the two kings remain behind. Instead of joining the others for a grand meal like he might on any other occasion, Claude instead makes his way to his husband.
And is greeted that familiar, damnable, delicious smile stretching across Dimitri’s lips once more.
“King Dimitri,” Claude offers politely, smile so strained his cheeks feel tight and tense. “Could I borrow you for a moment? In private?”
Dimitri’s torturous smile remains in place, almost sunny in its brightness. Claude resists the urge to scowl, knowing there are still too many people around and thus too many chances for someone to see them.
“Of course, King Khalid. I can only wonder what sort of business you could have with me, but I would be more than happy to entertain you,” he replies, tone dripping with such faux innocence.
Claude wants to drag his honest feelings out of him, to hear the way Dimitri cries and moans and begs for Claude to ruin him. “Perfect! I know just the place to hold a private audience.”
Years have passed since Claude last visited regularly as Leader of the Alliance, but he still knows the Locket like the back of his hand, not to mention how often he visits as both King Khalid and King Consort Khalid. He leads them swiftly down the halls of the fortress to one of the small meeting rooms, and despite Dimitri’s playful innocence, his long legs move with a speed that betray his own impatience and eagerness. Claude’s hands shake when he opens the door to the room, allowing Dimitri inside first, yet when he turns to face his husband after locking the door, his husband stands with his hands to himself and that horrible, wonderful smile. Finally, Claude’s marches his way to Dimitri, scowl out in full force.
“You,” Claude accuses, finger jabbing right into Dimitri’s wonderfully endowed bosom, “are the absolute worst.”
Dimitri simply laughs, easily wrapping his hands low around Claude’s waist. “I would say, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ but that seems a little excessive, even to me.”
“A little? Excessive?! More like tortuous,” he groans, burying his face against Dimitri’s chest. For a moment, he wishes he had Dimitri’s ridiculous strength just to instantly tear off the layers of clothing separating him from those perfect tits. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were so determined to seduce me just to get the upper hand in our negotiations.”
“Oh.”
His husband pulls himself away—taking him that much farther from the plush warmth of those tits, he could almost curse Dimitri for it—to cup his cheeks in his hands. Dimitri’s brow furrows, gaze heavy with remorse. Any thoughts of frustration or torturous impatience immediately fly from Claude’s mind.
“I apologize, beloved. You must know I would never resort to such underhanded methods, nor would I ever abuse our personal relationship to Fódlan’s advantage.” Dimitri’s thumbs stroke gently across his cheeks, and even with the eyepatch covering one eye, Claude can see every bit of regret in his expression.
Some of the fire and passion settle down, but how could he possibly stay frustrated or petulant with Dimitri? No, Claude simply can’t, and he can hardly let Dimitri think he actually regrets even a single second of all this daring play.
This time, it’s his turn to chuckle, and he lifts his hands to cover Dimitri’s own. “I know, my love, I know. That’s why I said, ‘If I didn’t know any better,’ but I do. So don’t start apologizing for anything, not when this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever done for me.”
“Ah, well…” Dimitri laughs softly, cheeks flushing pink and smile sheepish. Somehow, despite the utter obscenities this man murmured into his ear just hours ago, it’s this of all things that embarrasses him. Claude will never cease to be amazed by it, and he hopes that in this way, Dimitri never changes. “I thought it might be a little—fun for you, after all this time apart. And for me as well, actually. I’ve missed you so these past moons, and… And I suppose I wanted ensure you missed me just as well.”
“You make it sound as if I’m not missing you even when we’re only a couple feet apart, not to mention when there are thousands of miles between us for months. Or were my own letters not conveying that well enough?” Judging from the way Dimitri’s flush immediately deepens, Claude takes it that his letters got the picture across plenty well. They might’ve been a little more messily written at times, but the delicious filth Dimitri pens in his own deserves nothing less than Claude’s best, even if that means getting terribly distracted at times by his own hand. “But of course I’m having fun! If anything, I think you might be having a little too much fun. You might as well have been waving a sign during the whole meeting with that grin!”
And Claude would be lying if he said he didn’t love it, no matter how it drove him to drink what feels like his own weight in water. He’d be a fool not to enjoy this while he could though; while Dimitri’s appetite for sex is as insatiable as his own, it’s not everyday that his husband is confident and comfortable enough to bait him quite like this. His debauchery is usually kept behind closed doors, or at least in the safety of their homes. Even just the tease of it beyond those walls is enough to rile Claude up, so the way Dimitri’s spent this entire summit thus far taunting Claude with the promise of pleasure? It would be impossible for him not to enjoy it, to not feel absolutely mad with the desire and need to ravish Dimitri within an inch of his life.
Dimitri’s smile shifts, that knowing, mischievous gleam in his eye once more. “I certainly won’t deny how much I enjoyed myself, but that’s precisely why I had to check. You seemed… quite distressed during that meeting, after all. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you so thirsty in my entire life.”
Claude grins, sharp and bright. Hungry. If that’s how his love wants to play, then he’s more than game for it.
“Well, if you really want to know, then don’t just take my word for it.”
He steps closer between Dimitri’s legs, eyes never straying from Dimitri’s own as he grinds his cock against his husband’s body. Dimitri gasps, breathless and hot, his hands falling to Claude’s shoulders to keep him close—only for his voice to break into a keening whine when Claude rocks his hips again, then again, a low moan escaping from Claude’s lips when Dimitri’s eye flutters shut, that pretty blush growing high on his cheeks.
“You can feel it for yourself, yeah? Just how much fun I’m having, and just where my distress came from,” he murmurs, arms wrapping around Dimitri to slip his hands beneath Dimitri’s clothing. His back is warm, scarred, the feeling well-known beneath Claude’s hands. Still, Dimitri shivers at the contact, his grip upon Claude’s shoulders tensing and tightening.
“Claude, we—” his voice breaks on another high gasp, Claude’s hands having snaked their way to flick at his nipples. Again, Claude contemplates simply tearing Dimitri’s clothes away, seeing the way Dimitri’s tits fill his hands so completely. “We shouldn’t, not yet. Not, nn—”
He noses along Dimitri’s throat, searching for a spot to settle his mouth and lick the salt from Dimitri’s skin. How easy it would be to suck a bruise into Dimitri’s neck right here, another unmistakable reminder for Dimitri and every person here that he belongs to Claude. That the fullness of Dimitri’s chest, the exquisite sound of his moan, the deep flush of his skin are all his and no one else’s.
A wet kiss against Dimitri’s neck, then another, and another again. Pressed so closely against his husband, Claude digs his teeth in for just a moment, just to hear the way Dimitri whines when he pulls back. “And why not, hm? Why shouldn’t I have you right now, the way you’ve been begging me this whole morning, since last night?”
“B-Because,” Dimitri tries to say, too breathless to truly scold when Claude rolls Dimitri’s nipples between his fingers, “the summit isn’t done yet, this is just—just a break.”
“And what better way to spend that break than by feasting on my favorite meal?” Claude murmurs. He licks his lips, gaze tracking from Dimitri’s neck to where his collarbones lie beneath his clothes, trails down and imagines how flushed and sensitive his chest must be now… This might be their only break for lunch, but Claude hungers for something far more delectable than any food.
His eyes flick back up to Dimitri, his husband’s gaze glassy with lust and lips parted with his heavy breathing. If Dimitri means to discourage him, Claude can’t say he feels single bit of it, not when he looks so perfect for the taking.
But Dimitri swallows, a little coquettish grin gracing his lips. He leans down, breath hot in Claude’s ear when he whispers.
“Is that really enough for you though, beloved? I told you what I want this morning, and I don’t think a quick fuck is enough for me—not when I need you to breed me.”
Claude sucks in a breath between his teeth, his chock throbbing so potently he thinks his vision might be blacking out. There’s nothing in the world he’s ever wanted or desired more than Dimitri, but he’s not sure he’s ever been so aroused by him. It isn’t often Dimitri resorts to more vulgar language, and often only behind closed doors in the throes of passion, any sense of propriety or embarrassment worn down by the intensity of his pleasure. Naturally, it drives Claude absolutely wild every time he does, so to hear it now? In the middle of the day with their lords and officials all around them?
“Even so, you’re not exactly making this an easy trade-off, Dima,” he groans, shifting his head to take Dimitri’s pierced ear between his teeth and biting down just hard enough to make Dimitri whimper.
Even a quick fuck would be good, he knows. Bending Dimitri over one of the chairs here, yanking his pants down just far enough to slide home inside of him, urging him to stay quiet then giving Dimitri his fingers to suck on when he inevitably couldn’t. Something hard and fast just to take the edge off, just to make good on the hours and hours of teasing Dimitri’s taunted him with. It’s not like they haven’t done similar before; Claude can’t even count the rooms in both the castle and the palace they’ve used for quickies between meetings.
But those were always a series of meetings, not a summit spanning the entire day. Neither did those meetings have quite the same stakes or importance as the ones scheduled for the summit. Not that these matters were so critical as to break Fódlan’s and Almyra’s treaty with one another, but they were certainly important enough for the two kings to be in attendance on behalf of their respective countries’ interests. That was the whole reason he tried so damn hard to focus on the meeting rather than his fantasies.
And for how much he’s already fantasized—he knows Dimitri is right. After so much time apart, with how much he’s longed for Dimitri in every way possible, he needs to be able to savor his husband. A quickie might work as a stop gap for now, but no matter how rough or hard it might be, it wouldn’t be the same.
They can’t afford to be late to the summit resuming, and this isn’t enough time for Claude to ravish Dimitri so relentlessly, his husband all but melts into a blissed out, cum-drenched mess.
“You really are terrible, did you know that?” Claude sighs, his hands remaining beneath Dimitri’s clothes but slipping down to hold him close by the waist. “Forget the summit, I can’t believe your main goal was to drive me crazy the entire day. Since when were you fine with waiting like this?”
Dimitri laughs softly, the kiss he presses into Claude’s temple gentle and warm rather than desperate and heated. “For better or worse, I happen to have a wonderful role model when it comes to patience… And scheming, for that matter. If I’ve been driving you so mad, then it seems I’m making the most of what I’ve learned.”
“Trying to turn it around and back onto me, huh? I’ve taught you my scheming ways a little too well,” he complains, but there’s no ire or frustration in his tone. Maybe a little bit of exasperation, sure, but he could never really find fault in Dimitri’s schemes. After all, most of his schemes are ever only for Claude’s sake.
“Perhaps so, but thanks to everything I’ve learned, I feel there’s a more than worthwhile reward for you.”
His husband smiles—that same damnable smile that got Claude into so much trouble in the first place. Immediately, he knows Dimitri is up to no good, but his realization doesn’t matter. He reaches to take Claude’s hand, guiding it away from his skin and back over his clothes… Only to drag Claude to between his legs, pressing Claude’s hand against the rock hard length of his cock. Even with clothes between them, he can imagine how hot it would feel against his bare skin, wonders if Dimitri’s already leaking beneath his clothes, wants to strip them both down so he can take their cocks together in hand and pump them both to completion—
“Just know you aren’t the only one feeling eager thanks to this scheme.”
“I say this with all the love in the world, Dima, but you,” Claude accuses, shifting his hand to hold Dimitri’s with a vice grip before he does something truly unwise, “really are the absolute worst for this.”
Despite what his libido might say though, he knows Dimitri really does have a point about timing. The morning ran long for a whole host of reasons, and they both ought to replenish their energy for the meetings to come. Besides, Claude could hardly let himself be the reason for Dimitri to skip out on a meal. His greedy longing aside, there’s no major benefit to them acting on their carnal impulses right here and now.
Not that it’s so easy to simply set aside how needy his husband is, the heavy weight of Dimitri’s cock against his hand, but Claude is flexible; he can always find a workaround. Rather than letting those become distractions, he re-frames them as motivation instead. He just needs to remain sharp and alert throughout the next set of discussions.
Because the sooner they settle these matters, the sooner he can breed his husband to both their hearts’ content.
It’s not necessarily the easiest, but things proceed smoothly after that. They emerge from their private audience looking no worse for wear and take a quick lunch with the others in the mess hall. For the most part, Claude remains focused during the next set of meetings, fantasizing set aside in place of negotiating and moderating when needed. His glass of water even remains mostly untouched save for actual normal levels of drinking, although he could once again do without Sohal’s observation that lunch must have finally satiated him.
The only difficulty comes from Dimitri himself, as it always does when it comes to things like this. Compared to the morning, he tones down his teasing and taunting considerably, but that doesn’t mean he forgoes it entirely. Every now and then he wears that sly, knowing look, reminding Claude all too easily what awaits them at the end of their meetings: the heat of his skin, his cock leaking with precum, the sound of Dimitri’s voice when Claude is finally home inside of him.
Unlike the morning though where just that look sent Claude’s thoughts into a frenzied spiral, he keeps his cool; his glass of water stays full. He only offers his own careful, knowing look, a grin subtle enough for not even the most observant of his retinue to discern anything of note. No, this remains only for his husband, and each and every time, he catches the excited gleam in Dimitri’s eye, the briefest twitch in his smile. The only signs of their mutual, silent agreement from across the table: sooner rather than later, Dimitri will have to answer for all the torture he’s put Claude through, and Claude will ensure he does in the ways they both love best.
So he thinks he cqn be forgiven for dragging Dimitri out of the room by hand the moment everyone else leaves once all the meetings finally conclude for the day.
“Slow down, Claude! You don’t even know where I’m staying!” Dimitri tries to reprimand, but there’s a laugh in his voice as he easily keeps up with Claude’s quickened pace.
“I can hazard a guess!” he calls back, grin wide and wild, unfitting for a king but perfectly suited for a man more than eager to have his husband. It makes Dimitri laugh again, nearly a giggle in his giddiness, his cheeks flushed and smile bright. “There aren’t exactly that many rooms here that can accommodate a king, you know.”
It’s not like the layout of Fódlan’s Locket has changed since his time as Duke Riegan, and they always housed him in the same room for those visits during the war. He makes sure to lead them through the less-used hallways of the fortress, their hurried footsteps echoing loudly with everyone else either at dinner or their duties done for the day. Dimitri never redirects or tries to steer him to another direction either, so it’s with an easy familiarity that Claude stops in front of the chambers they last used together as King Dimitri and King Consort Khalid, slamming the door open and pulling his husband inside just to throw himself against Dimitri and press him to the door in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.
Dimitri moans into his mouth, hands shaking as he tries his damnedest to disrobe him without actually tearing or ripping anything. In the back of Claude’s mind, he appreciates how careful his husband tries to be despite his strength—with this being an official political visit, these aren’t the sort of silks he can afford to have torn to shreds, no matter how sexy it is when Dimitri strips him so desperately—but in the moment, he can hardly stand for the fact that Dimitri still has that much wherewithal, that he isn’t mindless with pleasure and love.
“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this?” he pants against Dimitri’s lips when he can finally bear to part, fingers fumbling to lock the door when Dimitri rocks his hips against him, their cocks grinding together through the layers of their clothing in one perfect, too-brief moment. The moment he hears the click of the lock, his fingers fly to make quick work of Dimitri’s own clothes, desperate to feel his husband’s bare skin beneath him. “All day, Dima, you’ve been driving me mad all day for this—”
“A-Are you sure now’s the time? Wouldn’t you rather join the festivities,” Dimitri still tries to tease, yet that eager gleam in his eye from earlier only grows brighter when he finally gets Claude’s shirt off, his hands immediately diving for the ties of his pants, “and feast with the others? You’ve always said they’re—ah—better that way.”
“We can have food brought to our room later,” he mutters, still mindful enough to ensure that Dimitri especially doesn’t skip a meal. Some will argue it’s inappropriate for him to share chambers with the King of Fódlan in these circumstances, but they can go to hell for all Claude cares right now. He’ll play his part for successful negotiations and continued rapport between the two countries, but he’ll be damned if he lets propriety and opinions keep him from sharing the same bed as his husband after all these months. “Besides, I already told you—”
He yanks Dimitri’s hands from his pants to Dimitri’s mournful whine, but only so he can pin them against the door on either side of his head. A gasp escapes Dimitri’s lips as his eye widens in immediate, potent arousal, and that gasp turns into a whimper when Claude licks a long, hot stripe along the side of Dimitri’s neck. It leaves him at the perfect place to murmur into Dimitri’s ear, his voice hot and low as Dimitri shivers beneath his body.
“I’d much rather feast on my favorite meal.”
Their clothes fall to the floor in a messy, scattered trail as they make their way to the bed between kisses and desperate gropes. Dimitri drags him into bed with him, hands wrapped around Claude’s back when Dimitri pulls so they can fall into the sheets. Only then does Claude let himself part from Dimitri’s mouth, and what a sight he’s treated to for it—both of Dimitri’s eyes glazed over with want, lips red and shiny from their kisses, skin flushed from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, his massive cock straining against the confines of his briefs. He licks his lips and trails a hand down Dimitri’s body, stopping to pet at the dark, damp spot where the tip of Dimitri’s length lies beneath.
“Gods, just how long have you been like this?” he murmurs as he peels away the fabric and allows Dimitri to spring free. Immediately, he smells the musk of Dimitri’s arousal, and his husband watches him with a desperate, hungry gaze, only to throw his head back with a cry when Claude wraps his hand tightly around him. It’s hot, already hard, skin tacky with something aside from sweat and perspiration. Claude’s grin only widens when he circles the head, finds it slick with a steady stream of precum. “Waiting for me, wanting me, wet for me like this. Come on, Dima, you can tell me.”
Dimitri groans, rocking his hips up into Claude’s hand and chasing after the friction. Breathless and needy, he confesses, “Since this morning when we spoke. The moment I saw you, I thought of what I did last night, how it felt—and then when I told you, the look in your eyes, Claude, goddess—”
Claude’s hand drifts down to squeeze Dimitri’s balls, cutting Dimitri off as he chokes out a gasp. A good thing, too, when Claude can barely see straight thanks to the picture Dimitri paints. To think he spent all day like this, aching for Claude all the while as they sat mere feet apart at that table yet not even a trace of it ever showing. No flushed skin, no wanting glances, no sip of water or fidgeting in his seat or shortened breaths, absolutely nothing. It almost frightens Claude at times, just how skilled Dimitri is in restraining himself, yet in this case, the only thing frightening is just how wild it drives him.
He takes a deep breath, trying to rein his composure back in as he murmurs low and heated, “So there you were, the Savior King hard and leaking in the middle of business with nothing but a few scraps of fabric to hide the truth. Were you tenting through your clothes? Wet enough to soak through? All it would’ve taken was for someone to drop a quill, a paper, to bend down and see you putting on a show, displaying your cock and how badly you needed me. I can’t let you overshare like that, love, no one gets to have this but me.”
The more Claude says, the more Dimitri’s flushed skin deepens into a darker and darker red, the more he writhes and squirms beneath Claude’s body, the more his cock grows wetter and wetter. He’s not even sure what gets his husband going more, the sheer indecency of it all or the utter possessiveness with which Claude loves him, needs him. It doesn’t matter how long they’ve been together, how secure they are in their relationship, just hearing the way Claude so desperately wishes to keep him all to himself never fails to turn Dimitri so pliant.
“You don’t understand, beloved, I couldn’t help it,” Dimitri whimpers so breathlessly it could almost be a confession, his helplessness against Claude’s desire for him, “if you could have seen yourself then, the way no one else in that room could tell but every time I looked at you I could see it in your eyes.”
Claude chuckles, a low and throaty thing, knowing he can’t truly be surprised. The same way he knows his husband, his husband knows him just as well. Sometimes it still seems unbelievable, that someone could know him inside and out, gleam the truth out of him from even the most subtle of expressions.
Maybe that’s why he has to know, why he has to ask, “And just what did I look like to you then, throughout this whole damned summit? Wanting? Hungry, needy? Desperate? Because I was, my love, I was, you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted you.”
Dimitri pulls him down with no more than a light tug, yet with Claude just a hair’s breadth from licking into Dimitri’s open mouth, Dimitri stops him, so close they trade heated breaths with one another. It’s not enough though, not for Claude, but Dimitri holds him in place with his easy iron strength. He smiles, so confident compared to how putty he was in Claude’s hands just moments ago; immediately, heat spikes in his gut at the sight, body already trained to know that this smile only means wonderful, terrible danger from his husband.
“Like you would die if you couldn’t have me. Like you were ready to take me right there on the table for everyone to see,” Dimitri breathes into him against his lips, destroys him with such devastatingly potent words, “and I would’ve let you.”
An Almyran curse flies from his lips, hips thrusting simultaneously before he can even think to stop himself. His cock just barely brushes against Dimitri’s own, but it’s enough for Dimitri to wrench his face away as when he cries out. Claude thinks of earlier, remembers the shape of Dimitri’s cock through the layers of his clothes, recalls how desperately he wanted to strip him down to take their cocks in hand together—and finally makes good on that thought.
“Fuck, Dimitri, fuck. I already told you, didn’t I? No one gets to have this, gets to have you but me. It might not be taking you on the table, but breeding you into the bed will have to suffice, won’t it?” he pants, hand pumping furiously around them both, struggling to keep his grip around their combined girth when Dimitri tries to fuck his hand. His gaze drops to their cocks unbidden, mesmerized by the sight of his own precum spilling down his cock to mix with Dimitri’s.
“Then hurry up and fuck me, breed me,” Dimitri moans, and gods does Claude love it when he gets like this, so demanding and bossy and selfish in his need. That self-sacrificing, generous heart finally gives way to the single-minded need to feel good, to feel how Claude makes him feel good. “I’ve waited so long for you, I can’t take anymore.”
Claude grins, sharp and hungry in just a hint of loving, adoring payback. He lets go of their cocks—listens to the reluctant whine Dimitri lets out like music—to cup his husband’s cheek instead, thumb just barely resting against Dimitri’s pretty, plump bottom lip. Immediately, he opens his mouth to Claude, a single breathy sigh escaping his lips before his tongue eagerly licks the slick from Claude’s thumb, supplicant and ready to take anything Claude chooses to give. Dimitri moans, lips sealing around to suck, and Claude knows it’s because of just the feeling, the knowledge that he has both of their seed on his tongue even if he can’t know what they taste like together. His husband has complained before how much he hates that he doesn’t know what Claude tastes like, and not for the first time, Claude thinks on how they really do have to find a way to restore his sense of taste. How else can he give every single thing his love wants if he doesn’t?
Even if that sometimes means giving Dimitri what he wants in amorous cruelty. “Oh? What happened to all that patience from this morning? When you were the one making me wait.”
Dimitri isn’t the only one in desperate need here after all. He crashes their lips together in a brutal kiss, using Dimitri’s gasp to plunge and plunder his way through the depths of Dimitri’s mouth. Writhing beneath him, Dimitri struggles to keep up with Claude’s relentless pace, tongue gliding desperately against his own, but he refuses to let up. Claude consumes every moan and keen and whine before they can escape, hoarding them all for himself the way he wishes he could hoard every single inch of Dimitri all for himself, always.
Gasping, Dimitri breaks away for air first, chest heaving against Claude’s own in his panting. Even in the dim light of the room, Claude sees Dimitri’s expression all too well: cheeks wet and shiny with saliva, lips swollen and tongue peeking out as he tries to catch his breath, eyelashes fluttering delicately against his skin. Such a pretty picture, but Claude knows this isn’t enough for him yet; Dimitri wouldn’t have pushed him so hard, so relentlessly, if this was all he needed.
Because the lusty, half-lidded gaze he turns back on Claude is nothing less than ravenous.
“Claude,” he sighs, a demand and a plead all in one. For a brief moment, Claude considers giving in just a little.
“I know,” comes murmured against Dimitri’s lips, tenderness seizing his heart. He offers a gentle kiss, pushes back Dimitri’s bangs away from his forehead before they stick with sweat. “I’ll give you what you need.”
Claude sits back on his feet, smiling down at his husband with love and desire both—and enough mischief for Dimitri’s eyes to widen even in the midst of his horny state. Instead of hiking his hips up, instead of Claude lining his cock against where Dimitri needs him, he shimmies down Dimitri’s body instead, taking care to drag his tongue through the mess of their precum decorating his stomach on the way down. No matter how tempting it is to drink straight from the source though, Claude has a specific destination in mind, and he doesn’t stop until Dimitri’s legs are spread open in front of him and ass held and propped in Claude’s hands.
“But not before I have my feast first,” he murmurs low and seductive, lips grazing feather light against the inside of Dimitri’s thigh. Still, his eyes remained fixed on one thing and one thing only: the prize he’s thought of nonstop all day. “And not before I see for myself just how thoroughly you didn’t wait.”
Nothing is truly different on the surface, of course, but Claude savors this sight no matter the circumstances. He licks his lips, watching the pink rim of Dimitri’s entrance twitch and flutter at just the feel of Claude’s hot breath. How eager his husband must be to finally be filled, hole squeezing around nothing in eager want. He tries to remain still in Claude’s hands, ready for whenever Claude takes mercy on him, but still his hole squeezes and squeezes, Dimitri trying ever so subtly to bring his ass closer to Claude’s mouth. His love has never been the particularly subtle sort, yet it doesn’t escape Claude that Dimitri could easily crush him to where he needs just from the strength of his legs; that he doesn’t, that he wants to be so pliant and willing and good for Claude touches his heart just as strongly as it makes his cock throb between his legs.
No more teasing, not for himself at least. Claude wastes no time on kitten licks or playful kisses, only spreading Dimitri open with his hands to plunge his tongue inside his hole. So hot and wet inside, so perfectly Dimitri, Claude licks and kisses as furiously as he kissed Dimitri’s mouth, as if he could carve himself a place inside his husband if only he went deep enough. Drool seeps its way down his chin, the sounds of his mouth against Dimitri’s hole wet and obscene, but even that isn’t enough to block out the rapture of Dimitri’s moaning.
His back must be arching against the bed for how much closer he presses himself against Claude’s mouth, enough that Claude has to wrap his hands around Dimitri’s hips instead to keep him in place. A difficult feat given Dimitri’s strength, but he has a trick for that as well. He grips Dimitri’s hips as tight as he can, fingers digging in hard enough to surely leave bruises in the morning, and uses the leverage to drag Dimitri that much closer to him. Immediately he keens, legs wrapping around Claude’s back and keeping him right where he is.
Pliant yet demanding, so eager to be at Claude’s mercy but also commanding just how Claude is meant to pleasure him. How could Claude ever possibly have enough of him?
“It’s good, Claude,” he pants, squeezing so tightly around Claude’s tongue. If not for the fact he confessed it himself, Claude wouldn’t think he had just fucked himself a mere twenty-four hours ago. “Oh, goddess, it’s always so good—“
He can’t help but grin against Dimitri’s hole and draws back to rest his head against Dimitri’s thigh, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath again. This way, he can see for himself just how good it truly is for his husband, albeit perhaps at not the most conventional angle. It doesn’t matter though—Dimitri’s sculpted physique flushed red and glistening with sweat, his hands clenched in the sheets, nipples hard and peaked, and best of all, that glorious cock hanging heavily over his stomach, the dark red tip nearly bobbing as more thin fluid stretches between it and the streaks of filth staining Dimitri’s stomach. Claude practically nuzzles into Dimitri’s thigh, half-lidded gaze closing in bliss when he takes a deep breath: this close to Dimitri, he can smell Dimitri’s arousal more strongly, the heady scent of precum, musk, and sweat nothing less than intoxicating to him.
Before Dimitri even has a chance to whine at the loss of Claude’s tongue, he offers his fingers instead, tracing delicately around his saliva-slick rim just to hear him whimper. “Oh, yeah? I’m always glad to hear the praise, but it looks to me like I’ve still got a ways to go. And here I thought my silver tongue would be enough to make you cum.”
Not that Claude hasn’t made Dimitri fall apart on nothing but just Claude’s mouth on his hole before. One of the many benefits to Dimitri’s ridiculous stamina is being able to give him so much pleasure for that much time, and after a life of so much prolonged hardship and pain, Claude wants to give Dimitri nothing less. Sex never needs to be routine, and it gives Claude plenty of opportunity to sate his own curiosity and see all the ways he can drive his husband over the edge. He knows from experience now that there are plenty ways for Dimitri to reach climax without much else: Claude’s mouth on his hole, playing or fucking his tits, sometimes even just Dimitri’s mouth on his own cock.
Although given Dimitri’s whine, this won’t be one of those times. “T-Then don’t stop. I still ne—ah—”
Claude bites down on the delicate skin of Dimitri’s inner thigh, watches Dimitri arch in tandem with a gasp that quickly melts into a moan when he seals his lips to suck a bruise into his skin. If Claude’s teeth aren’t enough to leave a mark there, a hickey or two will simply have to do instead.
“Don’t worry, Dima, I know what you need,” he hums, Dimitri’s entrance still slick and wet enough for him to slide a finger inside. Immediately, Dimitri squeezes around him impossibly tight, so desperate to be filled he can hardly even give Claude the room to move. “I told you before, didn’t I? I’ll give you what you need.” Claude adds a second, then a third finger, stretching them inside to see the way his love opens so beautifully, hear the way Dimitri whimpers his name. Just the thought of how tight and hot he’ll feel around Claude’s length is enough to make Claude groan. “You trust me, don’t you? You know I’ll make good on my word.”
It’s a teasing question more than anything else, but even in the midst of Dimitri’s carnal haze, his words come out in a tumble equal parts painfully sincere and salaciously heated. “I trust you more than anything, beloved.”
Claude really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but somehow even after all these years, he is. The part of his heart that can never quite forget what it felt like to be so mistrusted by everyone around him no matter what he did can still hardly believe that someone so warm, so generous, so flawed and scarred yet perfect would trust him so dearly. More than anything or anyone else, Dimitri trusts him above them all. For a moment his chest aches so sharply with the knowledge of it, but he uses it to spur himself forward and reward Dimitri’s honesty with what he truly wants: Claude’s love, in every shape or form he can have it.
“Then trust me now, my love,” Claude murmurs softly, settling back down between Dimitri’s legs. He presses a wet kiss against Dimitri’s rim, but rather than replace his fingers, he drags his tongue up, up, across Dimitri’s balls to the base of his cock. Steadying the length with his free hand, Claude nuzzles his cheek against Dimitri with a loving, hungry, filthy grin. “I promise I’ll make this all worth your while.”
Fingers still buried inside him, Claude lathes one wet kiss after another up the length of Dimitri’s cock before finally taking him into his mouth. His husband lets out a long, high, almost agonized groan as Claude swirls his tongue around the tip, finally lapping up every drop of precum he can all for himself. He quickly gives up steadying Dimitri’s cock with his hand, instead wrapping back around Dimitri’s leg to keep him as grounded to the bed as he possibly can rather than writhing his way out of Claude’s mouth with how his hips buck—or accidentally choking Claude on his dick before he’s actually ready for it.
No easy feat with Dimitri’s strength, the relentless build of pleasure loosening his finely-tuned control over himself with every passing second, but naturally Claude has a solution for that too. Dimitri has no time to move when Claude picks up the pace with his fingers, the rhythm of his thrusts faster and harder to brush against that spot within Dimitri that never fails to make him mewl. Again and again Claude finds his prostate, head bobbing further and further down to take Dimitri’s cock in tandem, shredding any control Dimitri might try to maintain to pieces with every gasp for breath, every plead of Claude’s name.
He chances a look back up at his husband, and what he finds would bring Claude straight to his knees if he was standing. His body remains flushed and red with wanting, chest heaving even more rapidly now, hair splayed beneath him in a messy tangle with one arm thrown above his head, yet it’s his expression that has Claude spellbound. Dimitri’s mouth hangs open in rapture, his other hand partially covering his face in embarrassment but not enough to truly cover his eyes, and it leaves all the most deliciously vulnerable parts of his love wide open. Claude can see every bit of wanton desire, every hint of needy love, that desperate craving to be loved and longed for equal to what Dimitri feels for his beloved.
So instead of falling to his knees, Claude moans around Dimitri’s cock, his own hips grinding into the bed below them for some modicum of relief when he greedily takes even more of Dimitri’s love for himself. The obscene, wet sounds of his mouth around Dimitri fill his ears, the temptation to lose himself to the feel and taste of his husband growing stronger by the moment. But he knows he can’t afford to lose his head just yet, not when Dimitri always, always needs more from him.
“Cl-Clau—hah, ah—w-wait, not ye—” he keens, both hands suddenly flying to run through Claude’s hair and pull. Claude groans, saliva all but running down Dimitri’s length as he takes Dimitri as far as he can, all the way until the tip brushes against the back of Claude’s throat. A shout tears from Dimitri’s throat, loud enough that for one wild moment, Claude hopes the walls of this room can’t keep Dimitri’s pleasure hidden, that everyone in the keep knows just who and what gives the King of Fódlan such indescribable ecstasy. “I still want you to br—”
He can hardly speak, any and all thought clearly lost when Claude takes it upon himself to fuck his own throat on Dimitri’s cock. His fingers slip out so he can steady himself against Dimitri’s body, but he gives his husband no chance to miss him, not when he cloaks his length in as much hot, wet heat as he possibly can. Despite Dimitri’s protest, his grip is so tight in Claude’s hair it hurts, hips bucking to take the opportunity Claude gives him to fuck his mouth.
So naturally, when Claude pulls himself away, Dimitri’s anguished whine borders on appalled.
Claude smiles, a wicked gleam in his eye. He licks the palm of his hand, wrapping it once more around Dimitri and pumping furiously. “Oh, yeah? Looks to me like you’d rather come now, and lucky me, that’s just what I want, too. You really think just the once would be enough for me, Dima? That you could be satisfied with that? Come on now, we both need more than that.”
He leans down, dragging his tongue across the very tip of Dimitri’s cock. Dimitri can’t even form his lips around the shape of Claude’s name, only little ah’s spilling from his mouth as his hands reach out desperately for something to hold onto. Instantly, Claude takes Dimitri’s hand into his free one, their fingers slotting together in a perfect fit. Eyes fixed on his husband’s own, he takes the cockhead in an open-mouthed kiss, a line of spittle between them stretching but not breaking between them as Claude waits with his mouth open and ready for Dimitri to give him his love.
“So be good for me, my love. Be a good boy and come for me.”
With a breathless, wordless cry, Dimitri climaxes explosively into his mouth. Claude’s eyes flutter shut as he catches as much as he can against his tongue, mouth hanging open so his husband can see for himself just how greedily Claude laps at his cum. Despite just their fingers linked together, Dimitri’s grip turns downright crushing, and Claude knows well enough to understand just how potent he must find the sight of Claude eagerly stained with him. Even as Claude milks him for everything he can though, hand still pumping in a quickened rhythm, it’s impossible to catch everything himself when his love comes with a such deluge. Cum spills over his hand, splatters in thick plops against Dimitri’s abdomen. Only when Dimitri tears his gaze away to wrench his eyes shut in a wince, a delicate whimper escaping his mouth, does Claude slow his hand.
He swallows, both to relish in his husband’s seed and the sight he makes like this. Panting, flushed, filthy. While Dimitri may have protested in that brief moment, Claude knows he won’t flag for long. His cock still hangs hard enough to curve against his stomach, a sticky strand of cum stretching between the tip and his stomach moment by moment as his wanton need gladly makes itself known again. When Dimitri finally gathers himself enough again to look back at Claude, all he can see is the desire in that crystal blue gaze.
Claude smiles.
“Perfect. Always so perfect for me, aren’t you?” he sighs, raising his hand to lap up the remnant’s of Dimitri’s cum in perfect view for his love to see. Just the sight of it is enough to make Dimitri whine, and Claude’s smile sharpens in tandem. With that same hand, he trails his fingers carefully through the mess on Dimitri’s stomach, watches him twitch and buck when he brushes against his cock. Still a little sensitive, just the way they both like.
So Claude doesn’t hesitate when he slathers his fingers with cum to shove it inside Dimitri’s hole.
“Claude, wai—ah—” he cuts off with a high-pitched whine, yet he squeezes even tighter around Claude’s fingers than last time, so unwilling to let him go, to not be full. Still, little halfhearted protests spill from his lips, “Not yet, not, nn—”
His voice cracks as Claude leans over him, thrusting his fingers hard enough to hit Dimitri’s prostate every time. Eyes wrenched shut, he bites his bottom lip to stem the noise, even it only makes the wet sound of Claude’s cum-slicked fingers filling him even louder. As lovely a sight as it makes though, Claude wants to see his love in all his perfect beauty.
He hikes Dimitri’s hickey-free leg over his shoulder, raising his ass that much more, and uses that leverage to add yet another finger to pound against Dimitri so hard. His mouth falls open in a strangled moan, and Claude gazes down at his husband, locks eyes with Dimitri’s desperate, wanton gaze, and murmurs straight from the heart, “No more waiting, Dima. I need my wife nice and hot and wet for me if I’m going to breed him.”
For one infinitesimal fraction of a second, Claude wonders what the hell he just said this time.
But the moan Dimitri lets out is nothing less than agonized, leg tightening over Claude’s shoulder to try and drag him closer as he breathlessly babbles, “Fuck, please Claude, please, breed me—!”
Safe to say he likes it then, and good thing too; Claude’s free hand flies to grip his own cock to steady himself, his eyes squeezed shut as he reins his breath in while precum spills from the tip over his hand. Lying here so pliant and willing, hearing and seeing and feeling the way Dimitri reacts to being called his wife—
He just can’t wait anymore.
The seconds fly by in a frenetic, lust-driven rush. One moment Dimitri writhes against him, too desperate and lost in need to make it easy for Claude, clenching so tightly saliva pools in Claude’s mouth at just the thought Dimitri’s tight heat surrounding his cock. The next, his hands rest on either side of Dimitri, both legs hiked over his shoulders and Dimitri’s body nearly folded in half beneath him. He moans, the wet tip of his cock kissing Dimitri’s slick hole; even just like this, he can feel Dimitri clenching and squeezing around nothing, as if trying to take his length in by force. In reality, with Dimitri’s rim practically massaging his cockhead, Claude needs to gasp for breath before he can even move.
Back arched and hands gripping the sheets, Dimitri begs, “I’m ready, Khalid, please.”
That’s all it takes. The sound of his name, his true name falling from Dimitri’s lips, and Claude is helpless but to give his love anything, everything he asks for. With one single, harsh thrust, Claude sheathes himself inside his husband to the hilt.
“I know you’re ready, gods, I can feel it—” Claude moans, barely even pulling back before driving his hips forward again. His well of patience for teasing has run dry, and Dimitri feels even better around his cock than he could’ve imagined, even with his fingers buried inside of him. So hot, squeezing so tight, his superhuman strength being put to good use so that Claude couldn’t pull out further even if he wanted to. “You really did have your fun with that toy last night, didn’t you? Pretending it was this,” he pants, hips picking up pace until all he hears is his balls slapping against Dimitri’s ass, short little pants and gasps fucked out of his husband as Claude pounds against his prostate, “pretending it was me inside you, filling you, breeding you. But was it like this, Dima? Was a toy cock and your—hah—hand enough?” Dimitri cries out, the sound of his hands shredding the sheets beneath him interrupting the obscene music their bodies play together. Still, Claude grins, teeth sharp and eyes bright in his nearly manic desire to drive Dimitri as wild as he already feels, to let the filthiest of words spill from his lips unheeded so long as Dimitri continued to welcome them, the way he cried out and moaned and whined for them with the most beautiful look in his eyes. “It might’ve had you sooner but you’re mine, Dima, mine to fill and fuck and breed.”
Ridiculous, to be jealous over a fake phallus that he gave to Dimitri himself. Irrational as it is though, Claude can’t help his possessive desire for him, so greedy and selfish for Dimitri’s love, his pleasure, just the idea of some toy having Dimitri when it should’ve been him instead is enough to drive him mad.
But Dimitri always loves that anyways, revels in hearing Claude bare his guarded heart to reveal just how selfish and needy he truly is for his husband. Breathless, he moans, “Never, beloved, oh—nothing could feel better than you—!”
Legs pressed to his shoulders, he clumsily wraps his arms around Claude, ecstasy too potent for anything elegant when he drags his husband as close as he can possibly be like this. Dimitri opens his mouth instantly, pliant and waiting for his beloved to fill him in every way possible, and Claude is more than happy to oblige.
He licks into Dimitri’s mouth, tongue gliding so easily against Dimitri’s own, and it’s almost like he can taste Dimitri’s pleasure, somehow even more so than the taste of his cock and cum. Again and again, he kisses Dimitri like he could consume him if he simply tried hard enough, reached deep enough, the sound so obscene Claude burns for his husband. Drool pools down the side of Claude’s mouth, and when he lifts his head for air, he watches entranced as a thin strand stretches between his tongue and Dimitri’s bottom lip. It catches the dim light of the room with every swivel of Claude’s hips, every mewl that puffs past Dimitri’s mouth.
Gods, he’ll never quite understand how Dimitri can be so beautifully, filthily perfect like this. Head thrown back, lips swollen and red and puffy, still glistening with saliva as his mouth hangs open in a perfect little ‘o’ to pant out his pleasure in short, gasping breaths. His eyes flutter shut, long eyelashes dusting across his flushed cheeks, long neck so exposed and ready for a blemish or two. Tempting as it is, Claude can’t bring himself to move from where he is, not when he needs to ravish Dimitri so thoroughly he’ll remember the shape of Claude’s cock inside him every time he so much as sits down for one of their meetings tomorrow.
Claude sighs, equal parts awed and mesmerized, tender filth pouring forth unbidden from his lips, “You really do love this, don’t you? You love when I make you take whatever I chose to give you, when all you have to do is be my little whore.”
There’s no time to even process what he just said—Dimitri is much faster. His eyes fly open, back arched tauter than any bow, crying into the air in absolute anguished bliss as he climaxes, thick, milky streams of cum staining his already pearl-decorated stomach. Every inch of his body seizes in exquisite, agonized pleasure, his hole squeezing so tightly around Claude, so hot, and gods he never wants to leave, never wants to be without this, the one place in all the world Claude knows he’ll always belong because Dimitri made a space inside himself that Claude could forever call home—
A shout tears from his throat as he finally comes, hips slamming against Dimitri’s ass as he pumps his love full with as much seed as he possibly can. After waiting all day for this moment, Claude can’t even see straight, has to wrench his eyes shut as the hours and hours of unrelenting tension finally let loose and release. Even in the midst of his own rapturous pleasure, Dimitri whimpers at the feel of Claude’s climax, hole squeezing in fluttering little twitches around Claude’s cock as if to milk him for everything he has to give. Claude forces himself to crack an eye open to confirm, only to moan long and loud at the sight of his own cum spilling from between his length and Dimitri’s entrance. Immediately, he throbs from within Dimitri, swearing lowly under his breath as Dimitri really does drag another pulse of seed out of Claude for himself.
What seems to stretch into eternity inevitably ends, the crashing tide of both their orgasms finally receding, and for a moment, all Claude can do is struggle to catch his breath. He leans his weight more fully against Dimitri, forehead pressed against Dimitri’s collarbone and chest heaving. A dizzying sight all on its own as Dimitri’s tits push so close to Claude’s face in his own bid to catch his breath. All Claude would have to do is simply move his head down a few mere inches to take a nipple into his mouth, kissing and sucking and biting until Dimitri writhed beneath him, begged him for more than just his mouth on his tits.
Instead, Dimitri’s arms wrap carefully around Claude’s neck, too overcome to ask in words yet begging silently all the same. Dimitri quivers so gently beneath and around Claude, he would be a fool not to oblige, so he presses one more kiss against Dimitri’s neck before sitting back up and smiling down at his husband—
To thrust his hips with such force, it shoves Dimitri up a few inches on the bed and slams the headboard against the wall. Everyone in the keep will know just what the two kings get up to after meetings at this rate, but Claude couldn’t care less when Dimitri probably has shouted loud enough for everyone down the hall to hear him.
It doesn’t matter, not when there are far more enjoyable things to tend to. Dimitri may have superhuman stamina thanks to his Crest, but Claude has spent their entire relationship building his own endurance to keep up, to even outlast his husband and ensure his thorough debauchery.
Claude swivels his hips in brutal, rhythmic thrusts, the slap of skin-on-skin accompanied by the little gasps fucked out of Dimitri with every grind against his prostate. The obscene sounds of Dimitri’s pleasure only spurs Claude on even further, another groan passing through his lips at the perfect feeling of being inside Dimitri. His cock all but glides within him, hole so slick and wet with Claude’s own cum now. Gaze drifting down, he’s spellbound by the sight of more and more of his seed being fucked out with every thrust of his hips, some of it sliding down the curve of Dimitri’s ass and some plopping to stain the bed sheets.
“Gods, I wish you could see yourself like this, Dima. So beautiful, so perfect when you’re dripping with me.” Immediately, Dimitri moans in response, and Claude grins wildly, grabbing Dimitri’s legs from his shoulders and spreading them like the harlot his husband so loves to be for him. A whine slips from Dimitri’s lips, and impossibly, Claude finds precum somehow welling at the tip yet again, a silent yet undeniable sign of just how much Dimitri embraces being Claude’s plaything. “You look so good when you’re my wife, my whore, all mine.”
“Yours,” Dimitri cries out in echo, eyes wrenched shut and jaw slack with shameless ecstasy. He throws his head to the side, allowing Claude to just make out the freshly wet trail on the side of Dimitri’s mouth as it catches in the light. If only Claude could be in two places at once to give his love something to suck on, to fill his mouth with cock even as Claude fucks his hole like a man possessed. “Always, always yours, beloved.”
Claude has to bite down on his lip just to stave off some of the sheer arousal that washes through him from Dimitri’s words, his moan low and throaty. Even when his husband can barely control himself, so lost in his own lust and need, he never fails to give Claude everything he could ever hope or want for. Breathless and flushed red all the way down to his nipples, Dimitri offers himself so completely, so perfectly supplicant to Claude’s will and pleasure.
It just so happens that nothing brings Claude more pleasure than giving Dimitri even more pleasure in turn.
Slowly, slowly Claude pulls his hips back despite what his body screams for. It’s a struggle, his arms shaking faintly from the restraint and the weight of Dimitri’s legs, but it’s worth it for the way his husband continues to melt beneath him, his own mouth forming around a silent, desperate cry as Claude drags himself out inch by slow inch. Only when the very tip remains left inside, when Dimitri can do nothing but writhe beneath him and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, gently massaging the head of Claude’s cock in a kiss so sweet he could come right there, just from that—only then does Claude drive his hips in another brutal thrust, earning himself a wail so loud and obscene, it’s a wonder the guards haven’t come barging through the door to defend their king from making such a borderline torturous sound. Again, then again, then again he does the same, watching Dimitri fray and fall apart so beautifully below him.
Arms thrown above his head and pinned by the weight of his own pleasure, nearly sobbing in his ecstasy, helpless to do nothing but take what Claude chooses to give, stripped down of every ounce of propriety, duty, obligation, and guilt so he can be only what he chooses to be, what he loves most to be.
Claude’s. His body, his heart, everything—every single inch of him inside and out for Claude and Claude alone.
“That’s right, Dima. You’re always mine, whether you’re alone fucking yourself with fake cock or surrounded by your subjects on one knee swearing fealty to you—you belong to me and no one else.”
Dimitri keens, strangled and high, and Claude’s red-bitten lips sharpen into a grin. He wonders if that’s what Dimitri thought of this entire day during their endless meetings. If he sat there as driven to distraction and lust as Claude, listening to his lords and ladies air their grievances and offering his counsel all while remembering how he brought himself off to the thought of being bred, fantasizing anew of what it would be like to finally have his husband home inside him once more, leaking precum more and more as the hours passed and knowing it was all for his beloved. Claude wonders if the Savior King of Fódlan sat there, watching him nearly lose his composure from sheer need for his husband, and counted down the hours until Claude would finally make him his.
Just the thought is enough to make Claude thrust his hips that much harder, and from the way Dimitri clenches around him so fiercely, his knees buckling as he swears another string of Almyran curses, he thinks he might be onto something.
He lets go of Dimitri’s legs to lean down closer to his beloved, one leg hooking back tightly over his shoulder and the other sliding down to wrap around his waist. Hands now free, he reaches up to push Dimitri’s sweaty bangs from his face, cups his cheek only for to Dimitri to turn his face and press wet, artless kisses against his palm, so desperate to have his beloved in every way he possibly can. Claude hushes him gently, almost soothingly even as filth only further pours from his lips, “It’s alright, my love, you’re mine no matter what, no matter how far apart we are or what crown is on your head—I won’t let you think otherwise. That’s why I’ll breed you till you’re dripping with me, until you’re so ravished and full with me you never have to be empty again.”
What Claude wouldn’t give for that. To ensure Dimitri never felt so empty and alone again like he once did for so many years, to know he felt so full with love there was no room left for his ghosts and demons, to make it so he could always feel Claude’s love within him no matter what his nightmares or hallucinations might try to insist otherwise—if all it took was stuffing his husband so full with cum they really would make a baby if it was possible, Claude would happily spend the rest of his life ravishing Dimitri senseless.
Because selfishly, that would also mean never having to leave the warmth of of his husband’s love, the home they’ve made together for themselves with themselves in every way possible.
They’ll have that one day, a time where they never have to part from one another because of things like duty and obligation; Claude would move heaven and earth themselves to make it so, and he’s never been one to give up on a dream. Until then, all he can do is offer the next best thing.
“So maybe I’ll just have you again come morning,” he suggests, hips savagely picking up in rhythm as he gently tilts Dimitri’s face towards him. His husband whines at even this small loss of being close to his beloved, but Claude can’t resist seeing how perfect Dimitri looks like this. Cheeks red and rosy, his gaze glassy with desire, lips still parted as if waiting to be filled. Unable to help himself, Claude gives what Dimitri asks for once more, kissing his love and drawing out a dreamy, pleased sigh. He can hardly bring himself to part, his lips wetly brushing against Dimitri’s own as he murmurs, “I’ll fuck you just like this all over again so you can spend the next round of meetings dripping with my seed. You can put on your pretty kingly face for everyone in that room, with no one any the wiser to how I bred the King of Fódlan, that you’re mine—but I’ll know. Every time our eyes meet, every time you feel my gaze on you, I’ll be thinking of how full you must be, your hole squeezing and squeezing just to keep any of bit of me that you can.
“Would you like that, Dima? Do you want to sit there in that room leaking with my cum, never forgetting how I bred you for even a moment? I know I would, gods, I really might lose my composure next time just thinking of how full with me you’ll be—”
Dimitri doesn’t even have to say a word, his body so sweetly, painfully honest when his hands scramble to tear apart the pillow beneath his head, feet digging in so hard against Claude they’re sure to leave bruises. Yet still, he somehow drags his scream-hoarse voice back out, furiously babbling the words Claude already knows in his heart yet never fail to unravel him with how much he longs to hear them, “I love you, love you, love you—Khalid—!”
He throws his head back with a piercing wail, body all but seizing as he comes one final time, a deluge of cum spilling across his belly, marking himself even further with the proof of the pleasure Claude gives him, the proof of just how potently Dimitri loves him—and Claude can’t take it anymore. A roar tears from his throat as he chases after his own release, heedless of anything save for how perfect Dimitri feels around him, how beautiful he is, just how much he loves him, and finally lets go. He falls into the inescapable pull of Dimitri’s tide, his climax washing through him in a blinding wave of ecstasy as he fills his husband with every last drop of cum he can. Even like this, Dimitri’s hole flutters weakly around his cock, still trying so hard to give him pleasure, to milk him and be filled to the brim with his love.
Finally, Claude collapses against his husband, chest heaving and nose pressed against Dimitri’s neck. Too content and exhausted to do anything but remain like that, Claude closes his eyes, simply breathing in the scent of his husband, his senses filled with nothing save for the feeling of Dimitri’s heartbeat beneath him. Pounding at first, as furiously and thunderously as Claude’s own heart beats, until they slow and calm together with every passing moment. Just the same, as their rapid breathing eventually falls in sync with one another, the warmth of their bodies so entwined Claude can no longer tell where he ends and Dimitri begins, he thinks he wouldn’t mind staying like this forever.
At least until a soft, sore whine reaches his ears, prompting Claude to finally gain the wherewithal to realize Dimitri’s leg is still bent over his shoulder and thus keeping Dimitri folded in half.
He chuckles, a quiet and tired sound as he presses an apologetic kiss to Dimitri’s neck. “Sorry, give me one sec.”
Claude rolls off of Dimitri to his side, one hand steady on Dimitri’s hip to bring his husband with him as Dimitri’s leg slides off uselessly from Claude’s shoulder. It also means his dick finally slips out from Dimitri’s hole, and his husband immediately whimpers from the loss even as Claude winces from the sensitivity.
“Come on, Dima, give me a little credit here! I think we both know this is the limit for now,” he complains halfheartedly, arms wrapping more securely around Dimitri to keep that skin-to-skin contact as they bask in the afterglow.
His husband grumbles, but he still shifts to press his face into Claude’s neck and shoulder, arms slowly snaking their way around Claude so Dimitri can pull him closer with his hands at Claude’s shoulder blades. Exhausted as he is though, his normally Crest-blessed strength is nowhere to be found, his pull no heavier than a gentle tug. A tired grin spreads across Claude’s lips, and he laughs softly as he happily obliges his husband, shimmying closer so Dimitri can hold onto him just a little bit tighter.
“Mm… but still…” Dimitri grumbles against him, eyes closed as he snuggles in deeper against his beloved.
Cute. Even after all this time, Claude has no idea how his husband manages to be so precious. He presses a smiling kiss against Dimitri’s hair, entangling their legs together before settling there.
“Looks like I need to think of a way to keep you full even after we’ve tapped out then. That’ll be quite the challenge, but you know I always have a scheme for everything,” he boasts, and from the way Dimitri smiles against him, he knows his husband can tell the wheels are already turning in his head. Maybe that toy will find another use after all, or maybe Claude will have to find something a little more tailored to prolonged use like that… But regardless, it’s a problem to solve another day. Tempting and pleasing a thought as it is, he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of having his love so relaxed and at ease in his arms. “For now though, what do you say to getting cleaned up soon? And then we can have that dinner I promised.”
Truthfully, he expects a mumbled protest, or maybe even a petulant whine. Instead, he gets Dimitri shaking his head with a huff, arms tightening around Claude and fingers digging in ever so slightly into his shoulder blades. Claude can imagine the pout surely gracing Dimitri’s lips when he firmly rejects Claude’s proposal with a curt, “No.”
Part of Claude wants to feel Dimitri’s nails digging into him even harder, more desperately, to melt away his pouting until he can only give in to how good Claude makes him feel. Having emptied his balls twice now though, that part of him can’t overcome the deep, content exhaustion settling into his bones, not to mention the ever-growing reality of what it means to lie here like this.
“My love, my husband, my brightest star in the sky,” Claude tries to sigh, yet he can’t keep the smile from his face as he presses another kiss into Dimitri’s hair, especially when it prompts Dimitri to squirm just a little bit closer, “You know I love you with all that I am, that I plan to be right beside you for the rest of my life… But surely even you have to admit—we’re absolutely filthy. As much fun as that is, it won’t be any fun to sleep like this.”
Even putting aside the mess they’ve made of the room—their clothes still strewn about, the sheets shredded wherever Dimitri’s hands were, his pillow so torn open their downy feathers are spilling out—no matter how much Claude loves to see his husband so blissed out not even an ounce of shame remains, Claude doesn’t really want either of them to fall asleep in this mess. It might be fine enough right now, but he can imagine all too easily what it would feel like once they wake up. Their skin sticky and tacky from sweat; their hair matted and tangled with bits of stray feathers stuck in the strands; having to scrub the dried cum from their bodies in the bath; cold, wet spots on the bed as Claude’s cum leaks out from Dimitri’s hole, unless it manages to dry into stiff patches on the sheets instead.
They both know from experience after all, and to be fair, it can make for good reason to spend a long, intimate bath together in the morning as they finally clean themselves up—when they have time to indulge in the morning, at least. With another round of all day summit meetings tomorrow, they don’t quite have that luxury, and Claude would much rather not rush through their first morning together after all this time apart.
Even still, Dimitri grumbles, lifting his head away from Claude to look up at him. Given their height difference, it’s not often Claude is the one looking down at his husband, but it never fails to give him such a heady rush, especially when Dimitri looks at him so pleadingly. Despite the afterglow languor creeping into his half-lidded gaze, there’s no mistaking the adoring neediness in his eyes.
“Not yet… Stay with me, beloved. Don’t let me be alone.”
Gods, he really doesn’t think Dimitri understands just what it is he does to him, not even after all these years. To be so clingy that even just Claude getting up from the bed to fetch a wet towel constitutes as leaving Dimitri alone—how could Claude possibly refuse someone so precious? So dear to him? How could Claude do anything but give this man anything and everything he could ever ask for?
And when Dimitri tilts his head up to offer his lips, a silent plea for one more kiss, it simply reaffirms for Claude just how weak he is for his husband. He grants Dimitri’s request easily, pressing their lips together in a gentle, tender kiss because his husband deserves nothing less than the sweetest of his affections.
“Alright, alright, you win. If me getting up to grab a towel constitutes as leaving you alone…” he gently teases, but the moment Dimitri’s pout deepens into a frown, Claude can’t bear it. He sighs, hopeless and helpless to the main his arms, and attempts to placate his husband with another kiss. “Then of course I can’t do that. So how about a compromise? Let’s rest a little while before we clean up, and then we can get something to eat afterwards.”
Dimitri smiles, a soft and sweet little thing before he nuzzles back into Claude’s neck. With his husband’s warmth so close, the lull of sleep tugs stronger and stronger, Claude’s eyes falling shut before he can think otherwise.
There’s a lot he really should think about still, like making sure they have enough time in the morning to prepare for the day’s meetings, ensuring they replace the bedding in this room considering this isn’t even their own keep… But all of it can wait until later. As tired as Dimitri might be now, Claude knows he won’t take kindly to realizing his husband is thinking in ten different directions rather than resting. And really, Claude just doesn’t have it in him right now, his body growing heavier and heavier with every breath they take together.
Well, save for one thing. His curiosity always has been an insatiable beast.
“But y’know, after all of that… Someone probably did hear us down the hall. Here’s hoping everyone’s got a mean poker face for tomorrow.”
He should probably be a little more concerned, he knows. Even if he trusts his retinue not to acknowledge it in any public-facing area, he can’t confidently say the same for Dimitri’s, and as far as the politics go, that’s the crowd he ought to be a little more concerned with. Already, he can imagine the scolding his mom will have for him once she catches wind of this, but for better or worse, all of it is worth it just to be with Dimitri again. On the other hand, Dimitri’s always been a little more conscious of these matters, and he would hate it if his actions mean tomorrow is unnecessarily difficult for his husband.
Dimitri lifts his head though, his scarred eye peaking from behind his bangs yet bright with the coy, mischievous lilt of his smile, and Claude knows he’s underestimated him once again.
“As the King of Fódlan, the staff here was more than happy to accommodate my request to have this floor all to myself, and my retinue could hardly argue against that. So if you perhaps wanted to make good on your word for our morning…” he trails off, but despite the sleepy heaviness of his body, his teasing grin sharpens.
“You schemer!” Claude laughs, absolutely delighted by just how much and how long Dimitri’s clearly been plotting to gain the upper hand over all of them. He couldn’t be more pleased, and from the way Dimitri beams back at him, Claude knows he feels the same. “I should’ve known you had a plan… But ask me again after we rest, yeah?”
Summoning the last bit of energy he has, he lifts his hand to cup Dimitri’s face, thumb stroking gently across the soft skin of his cheek. “Right now, I’d rather stay with you just like this.”
Immediately, Dimitri’s beaming grin softens, a gentle little smile Claude could never grow tired of seeing. He tucks himself back against Claude’s neck as he hums, voice no louder than a whisper. “Me, too. I always… want to stay with you…”
Claude can only offer another kiss into Dimitri’s hair in agreement, his eyes too heavy to keep open any longer. With Dimitri so warm and secure in his arms, the fall and rise of his chest deep and even with sleep, there’s no way Claude could muster the will to do anything else but exactly what Dimitri wants.
To stay with him, always.
