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Hubert, for all his scheming and plotting, couldn’t quite pin down when it had started—the looks that lasted just a second too long, the way their hands brushed as they passed each other in the hallways, that spark in the air that thrummed, palpable, whenever they were alone. Their weekly tea-parties turned into near daily affairs, the little gifts that they exchanged became more common, more personal.
Hubert was not a fool, he recognized what was happening. It was absurd and unreal and somehow absolutely true, but Ferdinand von Aegir was courting him.
And he was terrified.
It defied all logical sense. Ferdinand von Aegir, the generous and gregarious and gorgeous Prime Minister of a newly united Fódlan, should not be wasting his time with him. Hubert knew well what he was, a gangling collection of awkward limbs and scars, more shadows than man, and he feared that his very touch would leave Ferdinand sullied, each stolen kiss they shared draining a little more of his light, until at last, Hubert would have dimmed the sun itself.
And so, whenever Ferdinand’s fingers brushed against the strap of his cloak, pressed against the buttons of his shirt, settled on the buckle of his belt, Hubert pulled back. Ferdinand, naturally, let him go each time, treating him with all the gentleness and careful consideration that he did not deserve. And still, Hubert wanted.
He was going mad with it, as they moved at a glacial pace of his own making. Candle-lit dinners that lasted late into the evening, stolen kisses that never went too far, and gifts that Hubert did not know what to do with, like the bundle Ferdinand placed in front of him, a squat box wrapped in delicate wrapping paper and tied with a bow. It sat on his private desk in his private chambers, a garish shade of deep pink that clashed terribly with his somber attire and refined style.
“It was the, uh, only wrapping paper they had,” Ferdinand explained, his cheeks flushed a much more attractive shade of pink than the gift he had brought.
“It is more than alright, darling,” Hubert said, savoring the pet name on his tongue. It was all still so new, so fragile, and he didn’t want to break this before it even truly started.
He was so good at breaking things.
Still, Ferdinand was looking at him like he was something to be treasured, and swallowing the lump in his throat, Hubert carefully plucked at the ribbon until it came loose. The paper dropped down around it, revealing a small box made of dark wood that Hubert did recognize, nor did he care to recognize. What he did notice, however, were the etchings, the Adrestia double-headed eagle carved into the wood, proud and defiant.
“Open it,” Ferdinand prodded, and Hubert carefully ran his thumb along the latch, easing the lid open. The inside of the box was lined with soft velvet, three squat glass jars sitting in a row, two tall, one short. Hubert lifted the first of them, holding it up to the light with a frown. Its contents were thick and viscous, and Hubert….had absolutely no idea what it was.
Ferdinand was still watching him, waiting for his reaction, and Hubert steeled his shoulders as admitted defeat. “I do not understand.”
The laugh was unexpected, as was the look of utter fondness that Ferdinand shot him, sliding around until he stood at Hubert’s side. “Let me show you,” he said, taking the vial and placing it on the desk, Hubert’s breath catching in his throat as Ferdinand gently cupped his gloved hand in his bare ones.
“Do you trust me, Hubert?” Ferdinand gently wrapped his fingers around Hubert’s wrist, using his other hand to pinch the tip of the glove between thumb and forefinger.
“Ferdinand,” Hubert hissed, his flinch barely perceptible as Ferdinand began to tug at the glove, revealing the scarred and mottled skin beneath. He trembled with the force of the fear that had gripped him, the fear that this would finally be the moment everything went wrong, when Ferdinand would finally see what Hubert truly was and turn away in disgust. “My hands. They are unsightly, you know this.”
“Nothing about you is unsightly, love,” Ferdinand said as the glove slipped free, Hubert’s hand trembling as it was revealed to the light.
He had been dreading this moment since that first stolen kiss, since this thing between them had blossomed into something more. It wasn’t that he didn’t want this—flames, did he ache for it—and it wasn’t like Ferdinand did not know the depths that he fell to during the war, during the shadow war, doing whatever he needed to win.
But still…
Power comes with a price, and years of dark magic practice without the counterbalance of a Crest had left Hubert’s hands devastated. His fingers were stained dark, almost black, crawling back from the tips and nearly all the way to the second knuckle, the skin coarse and dry from the miasmas that dripped from hands in battle. The ruination did not stop there, Ferdinand turning his hand over to see the pock-marked and scarred palms, gently running his thumbs over the damage that dark magic caused when it sparked against the skin.
It looked, somehow, even worse against Ferdinand’s touch. Ferdinand’s hands, Hubert was not too proud to admit, were magnificent things. They were broad and strong, fierce around a weapon but gentle on his skin, and Hubert had spent too many nights wondering what they would feel like on his body, wrapped around his cock, pressing into him and spreading him open—
He flushed, ripping his hand out of Ferdinand’s and tucking it behind his back, clenching his fist tight, as if he could make it disappear through will alone. “Enough of this.”
Ferdinand let him retreat, his amber eyes soft. “I meant what I said, Hubert. I do not find them unseemly, just like I do not find you unseemly. Surely you’ve realized that by now.”
Hubert swallowed hard. Yes, he had realized this. Despite the fact that Ferdinand could have anyone he wished, he was the most beautiful man in Enbarr, in the whole of the Empire, in the entire goddess forsaken world, he was still here, standing in front of Hubert, and Hubert—
He was little more than a monster, barely even a man, and he would see himself destroyed if it meant that his Emperor won.
Ferdinand stood there in front of Hubert, waiting, clearly wanting nothing more than to reach out, but he held himself back. He was treating Hubert like he was a spooked animal, careful, gentle, until he held out one hand, an offering.
And though it felt more dangerous than when he had descended into Shambala itself, Hubert placed his ruined hand into Ferdinand’s grasp.
“I know that you are proud of your power, of what you’ve done for the Empire,” Ferdinand continued, taking the smallest vial of the box, thumbing it open with one hand. The air filled with the sharp scent of eucalyptus, and as Ferdinand dripped the oil onto the tips of his fingers, Hubert finally realized what he had been gifted.
It wasn’t just the practicality of the set, the oil that would help heal the wounds he had inflicted on himself, the lotions that would sooth the cracked and damaged skin. It was the reverence in Ferdinand’s actions, the gentleness of his touch as he worked the oil into Hubert’s cuticles with bare fingers, massaging the wretched skin as Hubert hissed. It stung like medicine hitting a wound, like the burn of an antiseptic that cleaned away infection before it softened, soothing away the pain. Ferdinand took each finger in turn, not stopping until he attended each one.
“You might think that these hands are a sign of every horrible thing you have done, but you are wrong.” Ferdinand lifted Hubert’s hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against each and every cracked knuckle. “I only see your devotion, your skill, your power.”
Though years of dark magic had deadened his sensations, Hubert could just feel the brush of Ferdinand’s breath on his skin, the warmth of his mouth as Ferdinand put his lips around his pointer finger and sucked.
“Ah,” Hubert groaned as Ferdinand laved his tongue against his skin, as he pulled another finger in, his cheeks hollowing Hubert’s knees threatened to buckle. It was obscene, Ferdinand looking up at him with lidded eyes, those stained and darkened fingers disappearing past plush lips. It felt like worship, it felt like blasphemy, but Hubert was not worthy of such veneration. “Ferdinand.”
Ferdinand pulled back, Hubert slipping out with a wet pop, but he just smiled. He pressed his face against Hubert’s hand, guiding saliva-slicked fingers down his chin, across his jaw, lower until Hubert pressed against the soft skin of his throat. “Is it so wrong of me,” Ferdinand breathed, “to find all parts of you alluring?”
The discoloration was even more stark against the soft gold of his skin, but Hubert could not help himself, unable to stop from pressing the tip of his thumb against the wild beat of Ferdinand’s pulse, from grasping the entirety of Ferdinand’s throat in his hand. It wouldn’t take much to cut off his breath, just for a moment, just enough to heighten the sensations, and with the way Ferdinand whined, Hubert realized that is precisely what the man wanted.
“My, my, Ferdinand.” Hubert squeezed gently, only for a few heartbeats, only to give Ferdinand a taste of what he was asking for. “Aren’t you depraved? To think, a noble like you, begging to be used by a man like me.”
Ferdinand arched into the touch at the words, his mouth hanging open as he gasped for air, looking at Hubert with such abject want that it stole all the breath from Hubert’s lungs, as if he were the one with the fist around his throat.
He loosened his grip and Ferdinand slumped backwards, landing hard against the desk as he spluttered. Hubert did not move, did not lower his hand, but his eyes swept over Ferdinand, from the beautiful flush on his face to the heaving of his chest, down lower to where his cock strained against his trousers.
Flames, was he beautiful, and Hubert surged forward, capturing Ferdinand’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Ferdinand grasped the wood beneath him, holding on for dear life as Hubert tangled fingers in his hair, pulling it back until that delectable throat was bared again. This time, Hubert attacked it with tongue and teeth, sucking bruising bites into the delicate flesh while Ferdinand moaned.
“You want this,” Hubert whispered, the words slipping from his lips in awe. “Truly?”
Ferdinand just reached out, resting his hands on Hubert’s wrists—his hands were so large that he could encircle the entire thing between thumb and forefinger, were strong enough to shatter all his bones, and oh, wasn’t that a thought. Hubert’s head spun with knowledge that he had this man, this warrior who cut down hundreds on the battlefield, shuddering under his tainted fingers. Ferdinand von Aegir did not simply acquiesce to his touch, he submitted to it.
It was heady and intoxicating, and Hubert had never felt so drunk in his life.
“Of course I want you, you ridiculous bastard,” Ferdinand replied, tartly. He was running his fingers upward, roughly pushing back Hubert’s sleeves, exposing the small dagger he had sheathed on the inside of his left forearm, the one he kept ready to slip into his hand at a second’s notice. “You think I want you in spite of all that you have done.” The sheath loosened, slipping free. “What do I have to do to convince you that I want you because of those things?”
Ferdinand held the dagger up to the light, sliding it out of the sheath so that the blade glimmered. The look he shot Hubert was pure lust, his lips curving into a smile. “Another night, I think,” he said, laying it down on the desk. “When we are not so heated.”
Hubert stared as the implications of that hit him. Ferdinand wanted not only Hubert’s hands on his body, but his daggers as well, turning every instrument of his dark work into tools of pleasure. “You’re not real.”
“Oh, but I am.” The warmth of Ferdinand’s touch burned him—the man was warmer than the sun itself, chasing away the chill that lingered in Hubert’s bones, the darkness that clung to him. Ferdinand pulled him closer, nuzzled into his shoulder like a cat seeking affection.“But perhaps I need to prove that to you.” Ferdinand tilted his head to the side, and Hubert followed the path of his gaze to the door of his bedroom.
Hubert gasped out a laugh. “And here I thought you were courting me properly.”
“Perhaps,” Ferdinand said, running a large hand down Hubert’s back, pressing him closer. “I was simply waiting for you to be ready.”
“For me?” Hubert echoed, disbelieving.
“Mhmmm.” Ferdinand smirked. “For you to finally accept that I want you, scars and all.”
“It’s not kind to tease, Ferdinand.” His hand was at the man’s throat again, running along the jackrabbit beat of his pulse, as he watched Ferdinand carefully, as he noticed the way his cheeks burned red. “But I see that you’re not as noble as you pretend to be. In the end, you’re nothing but a slut eager for my cock.”
Ferdinand gasped, not in horror, not in shame. He gasped because he liked it, the foul words, the degradation, and Hubert felt his own lips curve into a smirk. “I should have known,” Hubert continued, tempering his own voice low, deep, rasping, as Ferdinand shuddered against him, “that beneath all that bluster you are little more than an animal.”
He released Ferdinand, stepping out of the man’s reach, unmoved by the way he whined. “Go. Undress yourself and kneel at the foot of my bed.”
Ferdinand swallowed hard, but he inclined his head to Hubert, following the orders without complaint as he disappeared into the adjoining room. Though Hubert could hear him softly through the walls—undressing, folding his clothes, getting into position—he just closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. He felt unmoored, electric, buzzing with an energy he had not felt before. After weeks—years, if he were to be brutally honest with himself—of wanting, Ferdinand was finally here, his to take and hold and break.
Ferdinand wanted him at his worst, but needed him at his best, putting himself into Hubert’s hands with utmost trust. Hubert couldn’t follow like this, with his control slipping through his fingers. So he let the minutes drag on as he steadied the rapid beat of his heart, as he found the razor thin edge of his control.
And when he entered his bedchambers, he found that Ferdinand had not minded at all, the anticipation having only made things sweeter, if the quick pace of his breath said anything. He knelt in the shadows at the foot of the bed, facing away from Hubert, his head bowed and slivers of bare skin catching in light that filtered into through the doorway.
A quick twist of Hubert’s fingers had energy fluttering to life in his hands, not the sharp ache of dark magic but the warm burn of a simple elemental spell, the lanterns in his room flaring to life. The light shone golden on Ferdinand’s skin—on the flex of muscles in his back as he breathed, on the fall of his hair hanging like molten lava. Hubert circled around him, noticing the glazed over gleam of Ferdinand’s amber eyes, the flush that spread across his entire face, the dark red hair that dusted his chest and ran down the chiseled planes of his stomach to the hard cock that hung heavy between his legs.
He stood there, looking his fill but not touching, until Ferdinand was practically shaking. Only then did he step back, easing around Ferdinand with careful movements, taking care to move with deliberate sound instead of his normal silent gait. He wanted Ferdinand to know where he was, to be able to track his movements, to not be scared—it was such a delicate line he had to walk, and he would not let Ferdinand be hurt by any carelessness on his part.
His cloak came off with surprisingly steady hands, carefully hung back in his closet next to the rest of his wardrobe. He slipped his shoes off carefully, placing them precisely in their place. His shirtsleeves were next, carefully rolled up to his elbows as he removed the dagger from his other arm, as he carefully removed each and every weapon he kept pressed against his skin. He laid them out on the dresser next to Ferdinand’s carefully folded clothes, a collection of knives and thin, strong wires, vials of assorted poisons and other little tools of war.
He caught Ferdinand’s gaze in the mirror as he slowly stripped, savoring the way his breath hitched in his throat with each movement, following his fingers as he undid button after button, as he shed every last bit of armor, his clothes fluttering to the ground until he was bare as well. He returned to Ferdinand, sinking his hand into that luscious mane of hair, shuddering at how soft it was, pulling until Ferdinand was looking up at him, his mouth hanging slack in a way that gave Hubert such terrible ideas.
“Ferdie,” he said carefully, the rarely spoken nickname catching the man’s attention, drawing him back to the surface from the deep waters where his mind was swimming. They should have had this conversation before, they would have if Ferdinand had not been so aggressive—but it was alright. Hubert would take him apart slowly and carefully, he wouldn’t push too far, not tonight. Afterwards, they would talk preferences and boundaries and the signals to give when Hubert toed too close to the line. But for now, he settled for a simple, “Are you with me?”
Ferdinand blinked slowly, one, twice, a third time, before he nodded. “Yes,” he sighed, and there was such longing in it Hubert had to resist a full body shudder.
He dragged his thumb against Ferdinand’s lower lip, the darkened skin standing out in stark relief against Ferdinand’s plush lips. “Tell me what you want, love.”
Ferdinand just nipped at the finger, teeth sinking in flesh, and Hubert pulled back enough to grab him by the jaw, holding him a punishing grip, just this side of bruising. “I mean it, Ferdie. I can’t do anything without your explicit permission. So,” he leaned forward till his breath brushed against skin, where he could feel every breath the man took, “tell me.”
“Goddess.” Ferdinand trembled against him, seemingly lost for words, until after what felt like an eternity, he whispered, “Fuck me. Please.”
Hubert smiled with too many teeth; it was a cruel smile, but it was true. “As you wish.” He wrapped his fingers around Ferdinand’s bicep, hauling him to his feet. Ferdinand came easily, willingly if a little dazed, and he did not fight when Hubert pushed him back on the bed. He landed with a soft gasp on his back, gazing up at Hubert until he couldn’t resist anymore—he followed Ferdinand down, pressing himself against Ferdinand’s body as he caught him in a desperate kiss.
He was all strength and muscle under his hands, Hubert raking his nails across Ferdinand’s skin, drawing out pretty little moans as he left trails of red across his flesh. His hands—stained, ruined, horrific—traced every inch of Ferdinand’s body like he was trying to map it to memory. He followed with his mouth, soothing every sting of his hands with lips and tongue. His explorations took him up the hard planes of Ferdinand’s stomach, the muscles trembling with each breath, till he was raking his nails across a nipple, pressing a soothing kiss to the inflamed flesh, following it with the soft bite of teeth.
Ferdinand arched beneath him, gripping him around the waist, holding him tight enough that Hubert would feel the indentions of those broad fingers in his skin for days. Ferdinand tried to rut against him, canting his hips so his cock brushed against Hubert’s own length, stealing a gasp from him before he recovered enough to press his hand on Ferdinand’s throat, not hard enough to choke him, but just enough to still him.
“Patience, Ferdie,” he warned as he continued to lean forward, holding him down, as he reached out and dug through the drawer of his nightstand, finding the vial of oil that he had used on so many lonely nights. He held it up, Ferdinand’s mouth hanging open, a single “yes” falling between them.
“Tell me,” Hubert said as he slicked up his fingers, “how you want me. Every depraved thought in that pretty little head of yours.” He pinned Ferdinand’s hip down with his free hand, trailing his fingers between his legs, teasing against Ferdinand’s cock, around his balls and lower still, circling his entrance. “You act so noble, so pristine, but it’s a lie, isn’t it? I want to hear that filth from your lips, Ferdie, I want—”
“Hubert,” Ferdinand groaned. “Just, ah, get on with it.”
Hubert stilled his movements. “Get on with what?” Ferdinand let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine, but Hubert would not let himself be swayed. “Hmm?”
“I will kill you,” Ferdinand swore, and Hubert couldn’t help the small chuckle.
“Promises, promises,” he crooned, then slowly pressed the tip of his finger into Ferdinand. “But I can be merciful, I can compromise. Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” Ferdinand keened, back arching as Hubert sank in to the first knuckle.
“Good, darling. Don’t hold anything back.” He carefully worked Ferdinand open with one finger, then two, wrenching out every blessed noise from Ferdinand’s throat. He drank in every moan, every half-bitten off word, the curses and the praise and the choked off sounds of his own name. He stared at the sight of Ferdinand spread across his bed, fists and fiery curls twisted in his sheets, skin gleaming with sweat, and it was the closest thing to worship he had ever experienced.
Hubert sank back on his heels, Ferdinand whimpering as he was left empty and aching. “Hubert—I…”
“I know,” Hubert assured him, grabbing the oil and slicking himself up. After spending so long focused on Ferdinand’s pleasure, it took everything he had to not to simply fuck into his own hand. He was a cruel man, but he wasn’t that heartless, he wouldn’t deny Ferdinand after all of this.
He caught Ferdinand by the wrist, lifting his arms up to pin them above his head, Ferdinand leaning into the natural pull of his spine. “Can you hold them here for me?” he asked. Another night, he would bind Ferdinand to his bed with silks and rope, but for now, they only had the strength of their own wills.
Luckily for Hubert, Ferdinand was the most strong-willed man he had ever had the pleasure of knowing. And more importantly, he was one to never back down from a challenge. “I can.”
“Good boy.” Hubert released his hold, trailing his hands down Ferdinand’s body, pausing to pinch at his nipples, to rake his nails though the hair that trailed along his stomach, pressing his fingers into the thick breadth of his thighs. Bracing a hand on each knee, he wrenched Ferdinand’s strong legs apart so he could slot himself between them.
And then finally, after what felt like hours of the most exquisite torture, he pressed the head of his cock against Ferdinand’s slick entrance and sank home.
Ferdinand gasped, babbling sweet nonsense as his legs trembled around Hubert’s narrow hips. Hubert could feel the strength in them, honed by a lifetime of equestrian training, and he pressed his fingers into the hard muscle, grounding himself as he forced himself to hold still long enough for Ferdinand to grow accustomed to being stretched open. “How is that, love?” he rasped. “Look at you, taking my cock so well.”
“Hubert,” Ferdinand spat, as he struggled for leverage that Hubert was unwilling to give, “just fucking move already.”
“Since you asked so sweetly.” Hubert pressed his hand against the curve of Ferdinand’s hip, holding him down as he pulled out nearly all the way, then snapped his hips back with all the force he could manage. He set a brutal pace, teeth sinking into his lip as he stared at the vision below him.
Ferdinand threw his head back, his fingers twisting roughly in the sheets above his head as he struggled to remain still. Hubert wrenched Ferdinand’s leg to the side, shifted until he had found that exact spot that had him screaming, but the nonsense that fell from Ferdinand’s lips was nothing but praise, barely audible over the sound of skin hitting skin. Ferdinand was so hot and tight around him, and Hubert allowed himself to cut loose, holding him down as he continued to use him roughly.
Flames, he wasn’t going to last long at this rate, not as wound up as he was. They could take it slow next time, Hubert could take all night to break Ferdinand apart and slowly put him back together. But in that moment, he just wanted to see Ferdinand shatter. “Ferdie,” he gritted out. “Take yourself in hand.”
Ferdinand flew to obey, his thick fingers wrapping around his length as he thrust up. Hubert didn’t know if it was because of the order he gave or the desperation to finally give his neglected cock some attention, but frankly, he didn’t care. “Come for me.”
Gasping, Ferdinand arched up, his release splattering across his stomach and up to the plush swell of his chest. His eyes fluttered closed, his mouth hung open, and he looked so utterly debauched that Hubert feared he might expire on the spot.
“Yes,” Hubert hissed as he felt Ferdinand clench around him, the rhythm of his hips stuttering as he chased his own completion, pleasure shooting like lightning down his spine. Once, twice more and he spilled at last, barely catching himself with one arm as he shuddered his way through orgasm.
After what felt like an eternity but could only have been a moment, Hubert looked through the fall of his hair to the man beneath him. Ferdinand’s eyes were still closed, but his breathing had evened out, his expression softened into something peaceful. Reaching out, Hubert brushed aside the long strands of that ridiculous hair from his face, then leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to his temple.
“I’ll be right back, love,” he said, wincing as he pulled himself from the warmth of Ferdinand’s body. Ferdinand, for his part, barely even grumbled, and Hubert allowed himself to smile.
A quick and efficient trip to the washroom later, and Hubert was back with a damp washcloth in hand, running it across his chest, dipping it between Ferdinand’s legs, cleaning up the mess they had made with a gentle touch. Ferdinand stirred at the attention, his amber eyes at last blinking open. “Hubert?”
“Back with me, I see,” Hubert said. “Hush, love, I’m almost done.” He finished his work, disappearing once more to dispose of the soiled cloth and fetch a glass of cool water.
He returned to find Ferdinand sitting up, resting against his headboard and looking utterly sated. His hair was still a tangle around his shoulders, and Hubert thought that all that bare skin should be illegal, but—he was happy, completely and utterly relaxed in Hubert’s bed, as if he had already gone and made himself at home.
Hubert found he did not mind.
Perching at his side, Hubert held the glass to Ferdinand’s lips. “Drink.”
“This isn’t necessary.”
“It is,” Hubert interrupted, and Ferdinand threw him an exasperated look. “Indulge me. Please.” After a moment’s silent struggle, Ferdinand gave in, taking the glass and taking a quick sip. One sip turned to two, turned to more until he had drained the glass completely.
“I told you,” Hubert chided, pulling the fall of Ferdinand’s mane over his shoulder, working through the tangles with gentle fingers. “Let me take care of you.”
Ferdinand huffed. “I came here with the intention of taking care of you.” He caught Hubert’s hand, pressed a soft kiss to the scarred knuckles. “Not the other way around.”
Ferdinand was still holding his hand, but Hubert no longer felt the urge to pull away, to hide behind his gloves and his carefully crafted armor. Ferdinand held his hand like it was as natural as breathing, and maybe it was. Maybe, Hubert was loath to admit, he had been overthinking this all along.
“And yet,” Hubert breathed, “I don’t think you mind.”
“You are an utter bastard, you know that?” Ferdinand replied, which was as good as any actual affirmation.
He couldn’t help it—Hubert smiled again. “Stay tonight.” Ferdinand looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise, and he immediately backtracked. “If you want to, that is.”
“Hubert.” Ferdinand took his face in his hand, ran his thumbs across his cheekbones and pressed their foreheads together. “All you have to do is ask and I am yours.”
This time, he was the one who shuddered. Did the fool realize what he was offering, what such words meant to a man like him? “You might regret such promises.”
“I absolutely will not.” Ferdinand smirked, pulling Hubert down into the bed with him, resting against the crook of his shoulder as he pressed the length of his body against his. “I think I have proved to be amenable to your schemes, have I not?”
“Hmm, more amenable than I anticipated,” Hubert admitted. He also had to admit that having Ferdinand curled around him like a cat was soothing in a way he hadn’t anticipated, the steady beat of his heart a comfort that soothed the ever twisting thoughts in his head.
“Then will you stop worrying?”
He wished that he could—he wished that he could undo an entire lifetime’s worth of doubt and uncertainty. Ferdinand had done much to counteract the erroneous beliefs that wormed their way into his head, the consequences of the role he had to play since he had sworn himself to Lady Edelgard’s side, but such changes did not happen overnight. “I can try,” he offered. “If you’ll have me.”
Ferdinand pushed himself up on his elbows so he could press a kiss to Hubert’s lips. It wasn’t hungry or heated like their earlier ones, no, it was a simple gesture of comfort, of acceptance. “We will work on it together, then.”
Hubert sank into Ferdinand’s embrace, letting the last of the tension bleed away. “Alright.”
“Good.” Ferdinand stifled a yawn. “But in the morning, I will show you the rest of your new skincare routine.”
Hubert burst out laughing. “You are the most ridiculous man.”
“Yes,” Ferdinand agreed, snuggling closer to his side. “And yet you love me anyway.”
Hubert supposed that he did.