#sylvbert | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cranehusbands · 1 year

Text

red right hand

sylvain jose gautier/hubert von vestra; canon adjacent; vampire au; white clouds, black eagles route; be!sylvain; slight wrist trauma cw. 6739 words

a/n; houghkay i have not posted fic in over a year and idk if this is even how we do this anymore, but i don’t mind. i’m super excited to be writing again and i adore fire emblem so much, i think i deserve a little treat in making content for me in specific. i hope you all enjoy.

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated!

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

The events of the past month had sent the workings of both the Officers Academy and the monastery that ran it into chaos.

The end of the Verdant Rain Moon found the members of the Black Eagle house, representatives of the Empire of Adrestia, assisting House Gautier in returning its Hero’s Relic after it had been stolen by one of their own. Well, former own, as the Margrave had disowned his eldest son some time ago and, by some indescribable miracle, the man had grown bitter. Especially toward his younger brother, who now resided among the ranks of those outside his holy kingdom, after having transferred houses in the months before. Sylvain Jose Gautier, for what it was worth, had faced Miklan with his head held high, adamant that he was not as useless as the aggressive but equally as irritating man had insinuated. This, however, could not stop the horror that followed. A former noble turned into a beast, a crestless man trying to play in the grounds of gods, so to speak- the lance had turned Miklan into far bigger of a threat than he originally posed, and though he was taken out quickly, they still suffered some heavy damage. Including Sylvain himself, who had taken a heavy hit from the beast his brother became- a bite, even.

Or at least, that’s what Hubert had been told. Being commanded by Edelgard to watch their back line for invading bandits trying to aid their leader, he hadn’t been within view to witness such a thing himself. He’d only heard about it later from Linhardt and Mercedes, who the professor had asked for earlier in the months- and their consensus was that it was a bad wound. One that had to be treated medically, and not just by the white magic they had on hand, one that they said had left him silent (a miracle) and convulsing (terribly unfortunate). He was, of course, more than alive when they had returned to the monastery, but this was where the trouble had started.

No one had seen him in over three weeks.

It would be excusable if Sylvain had the courtesy to inform them, but both Edelgard and Byleth had been worried about his condition and the time he had taken to grieve, and their pleas had gone unanswered. The both of them had made the decision to continue to give him space, but Hubert himself had little patience to wait. He disliked not having all the pieces on the board, and Sylvain, in all his ability to irritate and demean, was a wildcard he could not leave unsupervised and unaccounted for. Even worse, now that the next disaster had been decided as soon as the class returned from that particular ordeal- the younger sister of the Archbishop’s right hand was currently missing, with no trace as to where she had gone, and needless to say, Seteth was in something of a frantic state trying to find her. Lady Rhea herself had assigned Byleth, and by extension her students, to the cause of finding the young girl, but through all the chaos, students and teachers alike were all pointing fingers at one another. Hubert, of course, was aware of the identity of Flayn’s captors, though their reasons eluded him, much to his frustration. He could hardly trust these fiends he and his lady had aligned themselves with, at least for the time, but their hands were thoroughly tied. Their mission to rescue the girl would be unsuccessful if they were unable to devise a plan to cover for themselves in the eyes of the church- and even less successful if they were a man down.

The mage's boots echoed as he ascended the hall of the noble’s dormitory, the one or two students lingering around giving him more than enough room to pass by as he reached the room at the very end in a swift amount of time from his own, staring up at the double doors, pausing for a moment to assess and to listen. There were no noises coming from behind it, unlike in the months before when there would be far too much, from voices most certainly not belonging to the man who was supposed to be occupying it, alone. He grimaced at the thought, raising a fist to the door as he gritted his teeth in a low growl of dissatisfaction.

Hubert knocked with assurance, though it wasn’t particularly hard- simply firm, clear in which door he was knocking upon, in case Sylvain were to think otherwise. A long moment followed that, as Hubert waited for a response, be that an explanation or simply a confirmation he was alive. There was nothing.

“Gautier. I know you’re in there, ignoring me is futile.” If he attempted, the door could easily be picked, and Hubert would let himself in to drag the man out here himself to answer for his absences.

And it seemed the attempt was, in fact, being made. Hubert scowled.

“You have failed to show up to lectures for weeks. Both our professor and Lady Edelgard have been asking for you, and you have continued to ignore them both.” What happened at the tower, as far as he had heard, was a tragedy- literally, in the way the beast that he was told was Sylvain’s brother roared in a way that bounced off of the walls. There was a pang of sympathy, but nothing more, crushed as quickly as it had manifested, as he reached for the doorknob. “If you don’t answer for yourself, I’ll be forced to enter. Do not make me ask again-”

When the door suddenly opened in front of him, Hubert was caught off guard. But the sight in front of him made that twofold. Sylvain was a ghost of the man he once not weeks before. Still broad and well-built, holding his pride in his chest in an almost literal sense, but everything else looked awful. Wide-eyed, pale, a tremor in his hands as he held the door open, perhaps even the kind that wracked through his body and made it difficult to stand. He was unwell. Was this the effect of grief?

“There.” He looked terrible, and sounded as much as well, quiet and rasping. Like a man starved. “I’m alive. You happy now? You gonna go tell Edelgard I’m not dying on her doorstep, bringing shame to her house?”

Hubert scoffed. “You certainly look to be dying. Have you been eating?”

Hesitation. Never in his time at the academy had he ever seen Sylvain hesitate. “…Been trying. It’s hard to keep it down.”

“Have you caught something?”

“Probably? It was- it was raining pretty heavy, so-”

“This isn’t just a simple cold.”

“Let me believe it for a second, ‘Bertie. I’m too pretty to die.”

The mage rolled his eyes at the dramatics, even if he could sense there was more truth to the words than Sylvain cared to admit. He was among their best and brightest, as much as he tried to play otherwise- the first to pass an advanced exam in their house, training to be a cavalier, though he put that down to luck and experience over his own exceptionality. To lose such an asset would be a blow to the house. Hubert kept his hands behind his back, and he peered into the room around Sylvain’s side. It was mostly clean, except for old clothes and plates on the floor, and the way his bed hadn’t been made, likely because he had been laying in it in the hours and days before the disturbance, too sick to move. A hum of consideration escaped him, before he sat up straight again. “Very well. Let me in.”

“What?”

The element of surprise was the only reason that Hubert was able to overpower, in this scenario, and he would not kill himself otherwise- if Sylvain truly wanted to keep him out, or in one place, he would have no trouble doing so. But despite this, he entered the room with ease, inspecting it further now that he was inside, the only response being the sound of the door clicking closed behind him.

The mess was more obvious now, but hardly could be considered abhorrent behaviour. It was still relatively neat, surprisingly so- though, considering the number of women Sylvain smuggled in here for his recreational activities, it should not be that much of a surprise- and could be excused by his need to grieve, if not this mysterious illness that had befallen him. Hubert inspected for a few moments more, running a gloved finger along the counter towards the back of the room, before turning at the sound of the bed creaking. A glance told him that the redhead could not stand any longer, exhaling a breath of exertion and gripping at the sheets to keep himself steady and upright, still pale, still shaking. The mage stood to his full height again, turning fully to watch the way Sylvain rolled his neck, and tried to settle as he looked anywhere else other than his uninvited guest, but it only seemed like he was making himself more restless in the process. It was then that Hubert spotted them, a small and precise set of puncture marks, hidden beneath the collar of Sylvain’s shirt, once wrapped in bandages but now were mostly healed. It was a small, but curious observation- enough to make Hubert step forward, and take a hold of the bottom of his chin between a two-finger vice grip, pulling his head up to observe.

There was a muffled noise of protest from Sylvain as he registered what was happening, perhaps a little slower than he should have (delayed reaction time, to add to his list of symptoms), but Hubert was able to catch the way the pupils of his eyes blew up at the proximity, in the same way the cats of the monastery did when they went about hunting odd mice and fish around the place, before he pulled himself away, rubbing at his cheeks and his face with an annoyed grumble, “Woah, hey, hands off, big guy, I’m not interested in whatever manhandling you’re offering.”

He, mercifully, chose to ignore such prodding. “This isn’t a sickness.”

“Huh?”

“It is some sort of affliction, certainly, but seems more akin to a curse than something naturally occurring.”

Sylvain narrowed his eyes, watching the man in front of him stand back up to his full height again.

“…This was not my doing, if that was your first thought.”

His suspicion lessened slightly, as he leaned back where he sat. It was enough to get Hubert to roll his eyes in response, folding his arms across his chest- hardly a defensive gesture, though it could come across as such to the untrained eye. He’d been accused of far worse. A matter such as this did not bother him.

“Now, if you’re quite done, can you think of anyone that would want to do this to you?”

Sylvain laughed, short and loud, perhaps even bitter. “You want that in alphabetical order, or in order of relevance?”

Again, there was a hum, as he listened to the empty chuckle slowly dissolve into a sigh, as the redhead looked again to the door. Hubert watched his throat bob as he stared off in contemplation, eyes falling again to the start of the injuries left by his brother the previous month. It seemed far less than what one would expect from a bite at the hands of a beast. How curious.

Leaning forward again, Hubert moved his hand to fiddle with the collar of Sylvain’s shirt- enough to get him to look back with the start of some confused address, before his mouth was covered with an open palm, and he continued to pull down the collar of his shirt as much as he was able. He had been told the bite was bloody, and had left Sylvain utterly indisposed. In fact, he had seen the aftermath of the thing on the floor, red pooling where the body of the fallen cavalier had once been, pulled off of his horse like an animal’s chew toy. But this was hardly that. It wasn’t a mauling mark, or even something venomous- just a row of puncture marks along his neck and the back of his shoulder, extending to where he could not see with the shirt in the way. Hubert pressed his fingers into the underside of his jaw, harsh but hardly a jab, though it still got a hiss out of Sylvain- more akin to an angry animal than anything like a reaction of pain. He was irritated, not hurt, and that was perhaps the strangest thing. He turned the cavalier’s head some more, giving him a better view of the wound from this angle, the hissing only getting worse in reaction, but he didn’t pay it any mind- Hubert simply continued inspecting, pinching at the flesh and squeezing, with little there other than these strange indents, despite there needing to be more, from how large the beast was, and how thoroughly it had grabbed on.

He was stopped suddenly by a flare of pain in his palm, which had held Sylvain’s mouth to move his head, and quickly snatched his hand away, checking it with a scowl and a scathing comment of childishness at the tip of his tongue. But Hubert paused, amid these musings, as blood began to pool on the surface of his gloved hand, slowly staining the silk from two evenly spaced puncture marks. Mouth hanging open with no sound falling from it, the mage looked up, slowly, at Sylvain, who seemed to be just as surprised at the mark he’d left behind, seeming to sniff before swallowing and moving his face away, barely masking the glint of sharp teeth underneath.

It all made far too much sense, now. The strange bite marks, the symptoms, all pointing to one thing. Though the origins of the black beasts that came from corruption at the hands of the crest stones was under-researched (more than likely due to the lack of subjects both alive and willing), linking them to those of vampiric origin hardly seemed like an extraordinary leap in logic. Whatever attack Miklan had landed on Sylvain could have corrupted his blood, only sparing his life because of the crest he loathed so much. Of course, this was only a theory as to his current state. Further assessment had to be made to confirm if he had even been turned at all, because this could well be a classic case of jumping to a conclusion and assuming the worst before his feet hit the ground.

“You’re a vampire.”

“What?”

“Do not make me repeat myself.”

“No, no, I heard, you, I just-” Sylvain seemed to be panicking, another odd emotion that Hubert had never seen out of him. He swallowed, trying to turn forward again, but it seemed he could not stop himself from looking at the blood that was still pooling under Hubert’s glove- even covering his mouth and his nose with something of a grimacing sound.

“You can smell it, can’t you? The blood?” As he spoke, he removed his glove, observing the way that Sylvain could not help but stare at the blackened hand corrupted by dark magic, even out of the corner of his eye. As he moved it closer as a test, the redhead almost craned his neck away in retaliation. With his other thumb, Hubert wiped the blood away and onto the front of his pants, inspecting the wound underneath. Evenly spaced bite marks, though they were slowly starting to seal, most likely due to the lack of time they had pierced the skin. He held his hand up, to show the man the thing he seemed so afraid of was gone, and he seemed to lose his tension even slightly, even if he still kept himself recoiled as he moved his hand away to support himself with a hefty swallow.

“So… what? I’m some kind of blood-sucking freak?”

Hubert hummed. “If that's what you want to consider yourself, then yes.”

He watched the way Sylvain tightened his fists around the sheets underneath him like they were a lifeline then, some sort of anchor to keep him grounded in the moment as his mind began to wander to other things, eyes trying to look anywhere but the mage assessing him in silence. This wasn’t the uncomfortable sort of squirming he’d grown used to from other students when he would observe them, the kind where people would try and get away from him in subtle ways, preferring to hide rather than face him. No, this carried a different energy. Sylvain was not avoiding looking at him because he was unnerved- this felt more like he was ashamed. Ashamed of the revelation, one that was still distressing him, clearly, but he still needed to eat- and now that he knew what he could eat, the thought could not escape him. And that in itself, strangely enough, was revelation enough to get Hubert to move.

He swiftly turned away from the bed to undo the front of his uniform, removing the jacket and gently folding it over the back of the chair beside the desk in a clean, efficient motion. Usually, he would sooner have another student dead than to have them see him strip a layer, especially Sylvain, who no doubt would have had a wry comment on the edge of his tongue if not for his current state. But times were desperate and the possibilities for the outcome were enticing. If the Gautier boy was, in fact, turning into a vampire, that could either be a bane to the kingdom for Faerghus that he would return to, a weed to be rooted out and, thus, a bane to the Empire to rid its enemy of their future Margrave… or, perhaps, if they could convince the man to turn from his homeland, to control him, to have such strength on their side would put them at an advantage regardless. And that was simply the first reason- the second, even despite himself, was a curiosity Hubert felt growing, at the prospect of something of legend being close enough to study, to feel. When would he get this opportunity again? As loath as he was to spend time in a room with Sylvain, perhaps his frail state of health that came from his turning would make the experience tolerable.

Hubert turned after smoothing out his uniform jacket to the best of his ability, tugging on his gloves to keep them on and rolling up a sleeve of his shirt, exposing the darkened, magic-stained skin underneath- blackened like wood left to roast on the fire too long, becoming charcoal and ash. This was hardly the full extent of the damage from years of using dark magic, but he wasn’t going to be quick to expose all of that. Especially not under Sylvain’s gaze, whose attention by now has been fully caught. Though he did not squirm underneath it, Hubert certainly disliked it, and very slowly raised an eyebrow. “...What?”

“Ha- eugh- nothing, I just- I thought you said I was a vampire? Not a succubus. Stripping isn’t going to do much, big guy.”

The glare he gives is mostly involuntary, in reaction to the juvenile comment that he really should have expected. It seemed that even if Sylvain was at death’s door, he would still be an annoyance- his simple compliance was too much to hope for. “If you’re well enough to make jokes, I can leave you to control your urges yourself.”

“No- no, hey, let’s not be hasty now.” The panic ran through him swiftly, it seemed, and it put him back in his place just as quick, despite his agonising over the choice moments before. It left him to sit as still as he could manage with the tremors of hunger and weakness that still ran through him, Hubert gave a self-satisfied hum at the silence that followed, finishing cuffing his shirt as he stopped just in front of the bed where the future Margrave still sat, like a sheepish, scolded dog. His weakened disposition was hardly the confidence he would want to exude, now or in the future.

In a slow movement, like coaxing a beast, Hubert held out his arm to Sylvain, who slowly moved his head to stare at it in confusion. He answered the question of what it was for before he even got to open his mouth to ask. “Eat.”

“...What? Hubert, I’m not going to-” “I will not command it again, Gautier. You will die without blood. Slowly, and painfully, hidden away in here because you cannot bear to be in the sun to prey upon the female populace as you’re so used to in your ordinary, pathetic life.” He leans down slowly to meet the deep brown eyes that stared back at him, suddenly coming into focus at what he assumed to be his smell- it was assumed vampires had heightened senses, and judging from the way he saw the redhead’s pupils blow up from the new sensations, he could only guess that to be a correct assumption. “Eat.”

Again, there was hesitancy in the eyes that began flicking away from Hubert’s face down to his wrist, to the floor and back again. But just before he was able to scoff and retract his offer, Sylvain slowly took a hold of his forearm with one hand, pulling down the silk glove slightly with the other, to better expose the veins underneath. His mouth hung open for a moment, tongue slowly running between his teeth, and now Hubert could see the elongated fangs his classmate had acquired in his transformation from human to superhuman in more than just a glint, as if a trick of the light, razor-sharp and dangerous, but very, very real.

He didn’t think about the way his mouth went dry at the sight, and instead grew frustrated at how long it was taking. “Well?”

“Hold on, I’m…” Sylvain didn’t look up, swallowing and pressing his thumb into his wrist, inspecting the veins, even as his hands still shook- perhaps even more so now, at the prospect of a meal being dangled in front of him like a morsel of prey on a silver platter.

It took a moment to realise what he was doing- desperately and stupidly trying to find the right spot to puncture with his teeth, without killing him. Hubert clicked his tongue at the fumbling display, rolling his shoulders from the way he was bending down, as it was beginning to cause an ache in his neck and irritation in his temples from the time wasted here, that could be spent anywhere else. Sylvain could survive another day without food- Hubert could have found anyone to give to the man, rather than offering himself. Intimidate some poor student, perhaps even take out an enemy in one fell swoop, give them to an inexperienced vampire for his first meal, and more than likely his first kill. But he didn’t. He had offered his hand and so, regrettably, he would see it through. Taking his free hand, Hubert wrapped it in the other man’s hair in a tight fist (a noise came out of him at the notion, something of surprise and perhaps even pleasure, but he, wisely, chose to ignore it) before he pushed his head forward towards the offered wrist, lining Sylvain up perfectly with where he needed to be as he himself lowered to one knee to save his aching back. Hubert knew about the lethal places to bleed from, and the safe places for shallower cuts, meant for torture rather than a swift end. The latter, of course, was the intention of his direction, where he now held the man. So long as Sylvain showed some restraint, for once, he would be alright. There was a moment of consideration at such a thought, and after that, the mage kept his fist in his hair, grip looser but still firm. “There. Now stop stalling, or I swear, I will leave you here to starve.”

The eyes that darted up to him for a moment were far different then from the ones Sylvain had been giving him previously. Whereas before they carried reluctance, now, it seemed, that hunger had truly claimed him. Hubert watched his pupils dilate, almost swallowing the warm brown of them in a void of black, looking away again as he began to feel hot breath against the inside of his wrist, almost panting before there was a surge of fire and pain at the ball of his thumb, fangs sinking deep into the flesh. He’d felt worse pain. So he did not flinch, nor did he look away- he simply employed the empirical method, and began to observe.

It was a curious sort of feeling, as the blood came out of him in slivers. While there was the sensation of sucking, what came more than anything was the wet feeling of Sylvain’s tongue lapping up whatever escaped thereafter like a hungry mutt on the streets of Enbarr. Amid the feast were quiet growls of satisfaction, almost yips in their pitch and length, and insistent pulling of the mage’s arm further into his mouth, as if he could swallow it whole, wanting and greedy. It should have been a disgusting display, especially from a man who takes and takes without restraint as much as Sylvain, but somehow, Hubert could not help but to not feel that way. There is pity, even, in the way he observed such an act from a starving man. Pity that a man like Sylvain had been given such a life- forced upon him as most everything else had been, a fact he was careful not to speak about. Hubert had heard it, though- overheard it, more like, from the shadows, never involved directly in conversation but always listening. He’d heard the redhead arguing with his fellow Faerghans when he’d decided to change houses- that swordsman had called him a coward, with vitriol but no malice, only hurt, and the Galatea girl was just as hurt by the gesture, but kinder in her pleas. Surprisingly, this did not make Sylvain fold to their whims and change his mind. He’d remained with the Black Eagles, and the next month, he’d confronted his brother. And now…

And now, here he was. Feasting on the blood of another like a beast.

Hubert watched some of his blood dribble down his wrist before Sylvain was able to catch it, droplets hitting the man’s leg, but he didn’t seem to care. He carried on eating, carried on taking, only concerning himself with that and that alone, tunnel-visioned like an animal amidst a hunt. He was still growling all the while, still gripping onto Hubert’s arm like a lifeline, somehow getting more desperate to eat even when the food was right in front of him. It made sense, of course- it had been weeks since the tower, and between grieving and the corruption setting in, he hadn’t had a chance to eat what would keep him alive. Meals from the dining hall wouldn’t sustain him any longer, a fact he didn’t know until minutes before. And, despite the way he was being fed upon, the mage still felt he had control- control enough to tug on Sylvain’s hair, to remind him to pace himself, which he seemed receptive to, pulling back again with that same little noise as before, if a little weaker as he continued on. Perhaps he would need to curb such a commanding habit, if this Faerghan harlot was enjoying it- then again, he was behaving for the moment, so why did it matter? Just another way to remain in command of the situation.

There was a sudden wave of faintness that overcame him as he continued to look at Sylvain, wavering where he knelt, enough to where he had to close his eyes and actively think about swallowing away the dryness of his mouth. His eyes were slow to open again, hearing his own breath and the beating of his heart as he looked up from the floor to the boots directly in front of him as he remained on one knee, the fire still burning in his wrist.

“Gautier.” Hubert’s voice was far weaker than he liked, as he shook his head and attempted to sit up despite his rapidly approaching vertigo. He gritted his teeth, and tried again. “Gautier, that’s enough.”

It seemed the pleas- no, the demands, because Hubert never pleaded- fell on deaf ears, and the devouring of his arm only grew more frequent.

There was a nauseous pit in his chest now. The mage tightened his grip still in Sylvain’s hair. “Sylvain. Enough.”

Those hunter’s eyes met him again, unrecognisable as the man that once was Sylvain, nose wrinkling in a deep growl so different from the noises of satisfaction in the minutes before. No, these were ones of possessiveness and food aggression- of a starved creature not ready to let go of its prey, not yet full and thus not yet satisfied. He had no intention of stopping now that he had what he wanted- if there was no forceful end to it now, Hubert would be dead from blood loss within minutes.

The mage felt the pain in his jaw from how it clenched in frustration, trying to keep himself conscious, as he used all of his rapidly draining strength to pull the other man back by the hair, unlatching his fangs from the inside of his wrist and spraying loose bits of blood over the both of them and the sheets underneath. Hubert fell on his backside as he moved away, pushing himself away with his feet a few times before clutching onto his wrist to keep himself from losing any more blood. He could hear his heart in his ears as he tried to calm down, and gather the strength to stand.

But in that moment, foolishly letting his attention grow lax, there was a key detail that he seemed to forget. He was trapped in a room with Sylvain- no, the vampire that Sylvain had become. One that was hungry, and desperate, and above all, still not done. Hubert did not hear the beast rise to its feet, only the feeling of a knee against his stomach as it pinned him to the floor, and the hot air and spit that hit his face as his shoulders were pinned in turn. There was a noise of what could only be described as a snarl that forced him to look up at the face that met him. His own heartbeat grew faster still, thumping against his chest as this animal drew closer to his neck, teeth bared. This little experiment- one that should have never been conducted, he realised now, far too late- had gone beyond the realm of danger, and rapidly into one that could mean his end, if he didn’t act on his instincts to defend himself right now.

He cared not to apologise in his head for turning his magic against a potential ally, after struggling under the hefty weight of the man on top of him, as Hubert curled his hands into the flesh of Sylvain’s side and felt the surge of mire pulse through his veins, powerful enough that the brute paused in his trajectory of attack towards his throat, as if to consider what was happening-

The scream of pain released was animalistic, pitched and yowling as he pulled back, hands hovering on the burns in his bloodied uniform, bubbling against his exposed skin in a sickly, disgustingly infected purple. It was enough of a release in weight to get Hubert to sit up and push himself away yet again, his back hitting the drawers of the desk, handles digging into the flesh. His chest heaved with exhaustion, vision blacking as he stared forward at the beast, wincing and holding onto its side- his side, as despite the way the blood stained his face and his shirt, the warm brown of his eyes were visible again, and the way his nose wrinkled was from the pain, rather than the hunger. Sylvain had returned. And he was reaping what his impulses had sewn.

There was the thick smell of sulphur in the air as the spell still burned and singed at the skin, but for a moment, things seemed calm, as if in the eye of the storm. The mage wasn’t stupid enough to believe the danger had passed- though whatever bloodlust had taken a hold of Sylvain was now gone, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be angry in his own right from an attack. And it didn’t take any modicum of vampiric strength to assess that to be a threat- he saw it now, in the chest of the cavalier that still rose and fell with heavy breaths of exertion, blood-stained shirt leaving very little to the imagination. He was strong in his own right, built for brute force with the width of his shoulders and his arms carrying most of it. Though he could say with experience now what it felt to have the weight of the other man on top of him, with how the wind had been taken out of his chest by the power of the other man’s legs alone. Hubert looked to Sylvain for a few minutes more, before shooting his eyes down to the floor after making the realisation that his observation was not, in fact, for his own self-preservation and caution, and cursing himself for falling victim to certain thoughts just as easily as everyone else.

“…Ow, fuck, ‘Bertie. You could have killed me.” The laugh is breathless, but it cut through the air enough to get Hubert to look up in a snap, just as quickly as he had torn it away, back at the face that doesn’t meet him. Still clutching his side, still hurting, it seemed that was all Sylvain could focus on. Good.

“That was my intent. You were going to kill me first.” It’s a simple statement, and yet still, there’s a noise of offence, as he glances up again.

The brown of his eyes is still there. “No, I wasn’t-”

“You were.”

A beat of silence. “…Not on purpose.”

“I know.” A normal person would go to reassure him, to tell a person to not feel bad about their mistake, but Hubert keeps his mouth shut. He wasn’t going to coddle Sylvain, much like he wasn’t going to bicker back and forth about the intent of his attack. He was out of control, in the moment, and this would be a lesson to not do that through negative reinforcement. Hopefully.

There was another round of silence, but this time noticeably calmer. The storm had well and truly passed now. Sylvain sat up as he leaned back against the bed, hissing and muttering to himself as he fixed his slouched stance so as to not cause damage to himself further with his posture. He certainly seemed a lot more sombre now, than a few minutes before, hungry and snarling. “…Look, Hubert-”

“Don’t bother.” Whatever excuse Sylvain was about to give was cut off with a bite, something as acidic as the spell that had started to settle in, its damage already being done. Hubert glowered from across the room, still trying to steady himself as best he could to stumble and find some assistance- but for now, he remained seated, back pressed to the desk to keep himself upright, despite the tension in his shoulders that wouldn't lessen with time. “I do not want your apologies. I simply should never have let you do this. You’re too inexperienced.”

“Ha. That’s the first time I’ve heard that complaint.”

“Gautier.”

“Okay, okay. Bad timing.” He fell into silence after that, glancing down at the hand at his side that had still dug into the acid-burned flesh and sinew, slowly lifting it with a quick inhale through his teeth at the stinging pain and the bits that came away on his fingers. From what Hubert could see, the wound was already starting to heal, exposed muscle burned away being hidden as the skin stitched itself together again, and from what he heard- a laugh, disbelieving and breathless, if not a little bit unsettled at the display- it seemed Sylvain had not expected such an outcome.

“Are you really so clueless about things such as this that you didn’t know about your near-invulnerability?”

“Certainly didn’t feel invulnerable, that hurt like hell.” He was still laughing, even now, finally looking back up again to meet Hubert’s face as he slowly raised an eyebrow. His teeth were still stained red. “Wow, guess I really am a blood-sucking freak, huh?”

There is an indecent scoff at the comment before Hubert can stop himself. “That’s what made you realise? Not the fever-like symptoms, or your salacious eating manners, or the bloodlust?”

The redhead shrugged, making sure to keep a smile that, intentionally or not, bared those fangs that were sunk into the other man’s arm not minutes before. There was a flash of something in his eyes for a moment, but it was gone again before Hubert could truly discern it to be guilt.

After that, they did not speak more on what just occurred, or simply much at all. Sylvain stood up again, not bothering to remove his bloody and marred shirt, handing Hubert a half-empty glass of water that stood nearby the bedside- stale, but still drinkable. He did, however, get to work removing his bedsheets, tossing them off into a corner with the rest of his laundry (or around where other items had been thrown, as they were scattered most everywhere in an attempt to get to the corner) before crouching down and replacing them with clean ones again. Hubert did not bother to help him. He did not have the energy, nor the desire to be close to him, and so he took instead to watching the width of his shoulders as he worked, drinking until the glass was empty again. He was not bleeding as profusely now, but the wound still hurt, pinpricks in the wrist burning as he removed his bloody hand, and tried to grip the corner of the desk behind himself to pull himself up, apparently making such a noise of effort that caused the redhead to turn, pillow case still in hand.

“Oh, shit, do you need-”

“Do not touch me.”

The command was simple enough to work, forceful enough to keep the dog in his place, looking the mage up and down for a moment, before turning back to work with a quieter, “You got it, big guy.”

It was a simple affair to rise, then, and cross the room again as he had done to enter. The door had not been locked, and for a moment, Hubert thought about what would have happened if he had realised that, during the attack- if he had tried to run down the hall. Would the beast have followed, released from his cage? Would he have killed someone, had to be put down? Hubert ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, contemplating the reality of having saved Sylvain’s life without intending, before turning the handle and pulling the door inward to exit.

Though he stopped again at the threshold, half in and half out, turning back in for a moment to add, as a final closer.

“This will not leave this room. Your secret, or my weakness. Are we clear?”

Sylvain turned again, from laying the fresh blanket down across fresh sheets, where now the only sign of anything off was the amount of blood- Hubert’s blood, that still covered his body and his clothes. There was a moment of consideration, before a slow nod, as Sylvain began licking away some of the blood that still lingered in one corner of his mouth, despite it being practically all over the bottom of his face.

And with that, Hubert closed the door, and headed straight for his room again, with intent to keep his word and tend to his own wounds. No one would know. This, he would be sure of.

#fire emblem three houses #sylvbert #sylvain jose gautier #hubert von vestra #dahl.doc #//#HOUGH i did it. we did it boys.#now time to melt for the next six months /j

7 notes · View notes

cranehusbands · 1 year

Text

budding talents

sylvain jose gautier/hubert von vestra; canon compliant; white clouds, route non-specific; be!sylvain; mild mature humour cw. 2324 words

a/n; it's hubert rarepair week on twitter. love wins happy pride month etc etc i’m going to be spreading my gayboy hubert agenda as much as i can all week. sorry in advance for posting a mirror every day, but i’m trying to clock in every day as best i can. <3 hope you all enjoy fire emblem!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated!

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

The odd request had come to him over lunch in the dining hall.

Hubert loathed spending time there, because it was too loud and there were too many variables to account for, but Edelgard had insisted upon him coming and so he followed her will. It did not mean he had to engage in the conversation his classmates were having at the table. It was some passionate conversation about the arts, likely the opera, headed by Ferdinand (because he didn’t know when to shut up, and always liked to have the last word) and joined by Caspar (Hubert assumed he didn’t know a damn thing about the opera, but just liked to provoke for the sake of provoking) and Dorothea (acting as a mediator, and occasional commentator, half engaged with the louder more annoying conversation and a quieter, more civil one between herself, Petra and Ingrid). It was migraine-inducing, and incredibly distracting, as Hubert scanned around the room for any other possible reprieve as Caspar, again, because he thought it was oh so necessary, slammed his hands against the table in indignation. There were only a handful of other students occupying the hall at this time, some notable from other classes but most not, with a handful of knights posted and patrolling both inside the hall and outside. The mage clicked his tongue in disgust, glancing down as he began to move some of the food around on his plate, using his fork as a paddle in the sea of excessive gravy.

The leftmost doors slammed open rather dramatically, and Hubert’s head shot up to meet the sudden noise, along with a good few other students. A short distance across from him, he heard Ingrid sigh at the sight before her- a supposed friend, red-haired and wild-eyed, one that she felt the need to wrangle in to sit with his new class. Sylvain had transferred earlier in the year, even with the year still being so young, and Hubert was almost entirely certain it was because of the interest he had taken in the Black Eagles' new professor. She, Byleth, was enough of an unaccounted-for variable, but Sylvain was somehow twice as hard to understand, and the very thought of even trying gave him a headache.

A headache that threatened to evolve into a migraine as, like a bounce coming to its master, Sylvain sauntered over and squeezed himself between Ferdinand and Dorothea. Now sitting directly in front of him.

Conversations continued, ever lively and now almost separate from one another, though Hubert found it somewhat odd that Sylvain’s voice was not among them. Glancing up every so often, he found the cavalier either eating and staring directly at his plate, or looking around the room, as if searching for something. He knew the sort of look well; biding his time, waiting to say something. Painfully obvious. Hubert hated it. He put his fork down rather harshly, sitting up straight to meet the warm brown gaze staring right at him. Like he was expecting such an outburst. “What are you doing here, Gautier?”

“Well… eating. This is one of my favourites, you know.” As if to emphasise his point, he puts some food onto his own fork and then into his mouth, not breaking eye contact the entire time.

Hubert growled. “No. You know what I mean. You have never been a part of this class in person, only in name. Why is it now you decide to make your place among your classmates?”

Silence followed, as Sylvain chewed on his food so pointedly eaten, swallowing slowly and licking his lips, as if to annoy Hubert further- and, despite himself, it was working. The cavalier leaned forward, just so, enough that his stomach was pressed to the edge of the table, and he could still be heard despite the white noise of the dining hall. “I want you to teach me magic.”

And so that’s how he found himself, night after night, in the room of Sylvain Jose Gautier, the most promiscuous and selectively dubious man within the enrollment of Garreg Mach. He did not know why he'd accepted such a stupid proposal- what would Sylvain even use such knowledge for? These questions had been avoided, and Sylvain had just promised to be a diligent and well-behaved student. Which he was, surprisingly- and this arrangement came with three additional surprises. surprises, however. The first was that Sylvain was something of an attentive student- despite his empty-headed appearance, the cavalier was almost calculating in maintaining this image, to hide the intelligence hidden barely below the surface. The second was tied to the first, in many aspects, as Sylvain seemed to grasp the concept of magic rather swiftly, both in a formulaic and a practical level. The man had some affinity for fire, able to spark arcane flame between his fingers with nothing more than a flick of his digits.

The third surprise was that Hubert found himself enjoying their sessions of study, late into the night, often only breaking at the sight of sunrise at the window.

This didn’t mean tensions weren’t high between them, however. Sylvain, despite his capability and his arcane acumen, was still irritatingly himself, with his charms and his lurid advances. The two of them did not touch, after he had attempted to the first night of study, only to get a very real and venomous threat of Mire directly into his mouth. Light arguments were not uncommon, ranging from disagreements about the methods of teaching to the occasional insult thrown like taking jabs, though such comments were mostly tossed out by Hubert himself. Yes, Sylvain would defend himself and respond in kind, but more often than not, he was not the instigator. More often than not, it felt like he was simply… observing, watching and waiting for something- for what, Hubert had no idea of, and the idea of not knowing was an unsettling one. And still a colossal headache.

On a night of particularly strained study, a break was wordlessly decided. Hubert adjusted the small candle they had been working beside, taking a hold of its handle and pushing it further towards the back of the desk, a gloved head pressing over the various notes he had collected in the hopes they would assist. Sylvain had the capacity to be a talented mage- but his magic burned too bright and too fast to be useful, at the moment, causing more damage to the caster than it would anyone else. Talk of alternate uses of magic had come and gone, with Sylvain dismissing it in a way that was quick and snipped, clearly wanting to expand his combat flexibility. Dark eyes looked up at the cavalier upon pondering this though, watching as he ran his hand down his face, not looking up at Hubert in kind. The burns on his fingertips and hands were clear to see at this angle, some already healing and some still fresh. Pushing himself up to stand from where he had been slightly hunched over the desk, Hubert rolled his shoulders, never taking his eyes from his student. “Why did it take you so long to ask for help? You clearly haven’t been successful by yourself- for some time, may I add.”

“Huh?” Red hair caught in the dim candle glow, such a wonderful colour, as Sylvain turned at the sound of another voice, hand hanging in front of his face. He caught Hubert staring rather quickly, and followed the gaze, laughing slightly as he turned it back and front, inspecting it with mild interest as if he’d never seen it before. “Ha, well, you know us Faerghans. Personal pride is a heavy burden to bear.”

There was a soft hum, and silence fell between them again. The mage looked Sylvain up and down for a moment, something unfamiliar bubbling in his chest as he, again, caught sight of his burned hands, thinking to his own. Hidden away under layers of clothing, burn scars of a younger, stupider Hubert were now underneath the charcoal-like staining dark magic had brought him. He wondered for a moment if Sylvain would suffer the same fate, if he were to hone his arcane skills into a sharp point, like the lances he would swing around so brazenly.

He wasn’t sure what overtook him, as he took a hold of Sylvain’s hand, feeling the warmth of flesh underneath the fabric of his gloves as his long fingers wrapped around the other man’s one by one, adjusting the angle at which he could look at it as he came closer to do so. Hubert delicately ran his thumb along a burn, one that stretched down his first finger, barely hearing the gentle hitching of breath so close to his ear.

There was a laugh, gentle and fleeting, a noise that made Hubert look up, barely able to meet the look being given to him, something softened and perhaps even fond in the candlelight, before Sylvain’s eyes were already darting away.

Hubert could hardly believe what he was seeing. The Gautier boy, so well known for his stone-cold harlotry and unbreakable exterior, was cracking right before his eyes. And, perhaps more concerning, was the feeling of delight that coursed through him at such a thought, like the kickback of a Thoron spell before he wrangled its power like a beast on a leash. Now there’s a thought- a leash, and a red-haired dog-

What happened next was less a sequence of events, and more akin to a dance- fluid motions in tandem with one another, a push and pull, two halves of a greater whole. Sylvain was on him almost in an instant, all lips and teeth, pushing into him and making his lower back collide with the desk where bottles of ink clattered against one another at the sheer strength of such force. The cavalier was kissing him almost like he was trying to devour Hubert’s face- a gesture returned in kind worryingly quickly, moving to let go of Sylvain’s hand in favour of using both of his own to pull him in closer, fingers getting lost in a mop of red hair and grabbing at it with tightened fists, his leg wrapping itself around the back of Sylvain’s as if to keep him there, keep him close, body to body. Teeth grazed his bottom lip, and a whine escaped the kiss (Hubert wasn’t too sure who exactly it was from, in the moment) as a tongue tried to breach his lips. And he let it in.

Sylvain pushed him back against the desk with a kiss that lasted only minutes, but felt like both seconds and forever all at once, his tongue exploring parts of Hubert’s mouth he was almost sure didn’t exist as he pressed their chests together, before finally pulling away to catch his breath, though still remaining only a breath away. The light of the candle to their side lit the cavalier’s face with a mischievous glow to match his grin, despite the flush of his cheeks and the shortness of his breath.

“You’re better than I thought.”

And the moment was already ruined. Still boxed in against the desk, with a much stronger man almost pining him to it, Hubert still found the strength to roll his eyes. “And you are far stupider to even attempt such a thing.”

“Hey, you let me! Can you blame a guy for pushing his luck?”

“I came here to teach you magic, not to sleep with you like some common whore you normally find yourself bedding.”

Sylvain grinned wider. “Why not both?”

His scowl only deepened, eyes narrowing in scrutiny. Had he been planning this all along? To pull Hubert in with the promise of passing on arcane knowledge, only to trap him in an entirely different battle- one where he was disarmed and practically helpless? He analysed Sylvain’s face, every beautiful and enchanting bit of it, and for a moment found himself wondering if he himself was under some spell.

The space between them got lesser still, as Sylvain pushed his body closer to Hubert’s, chest pressing to his own. “Let’s call this a… student exchange, yeah? You teach me some magic, and I’ll teach you how to be a half-decent lover.”

A laugh ripped out of him, harsh and barking, at such a statement. “And why on earth would I need knowledge such as that?”

Sylvain paused, licking his lips for a moment as if considering his options, before continuing again- voice lowered, eyes hooded, grin now almost cheshire. “For me, obviously.”

It’s an answer that still somehow shocked him, despite the other man’s behaviour over the past few minutes, and even before that. He wanted this. This is what Sylvain had been watching and waiting for all this time. This was almost confirmed as Hubert looking into those eyes, still a warm, welcoming brown, and all could see was a desire, a want and a hunger that he had not considered before now. Sylvain was a dog asking to be brought to heel. He did not deny him, and his silence was taken as a confirmation. He felt hands boxing in at either side of his head, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere that could house only Sylvain alone- and despite himself, he was lost in it.

“So tell me, Vestra…” There was a pause, as Sylvain slowly moved to undo the top buttons of the mage’s uniform jacket, one by one, agonisingly slow. “What about those other applications of magic you were speaking so highly of before?”

Even if he was momentarily charmed by his spontaneity and undeniable prowess, Hubert still had the facility to curl his nose in disgust. But not enough to deny what Sylvain so desperately craved- or that, perhaps, he craved in turn.

Maybe a Faerghan dog could be taught new tricks. All Hubert had to make him do was beg for it.

#fire emblem three houses #sylvbert #sylvain jose gautier #hubert von vestra #dahl.doc

3 notes · View notes