Chapter Text
“Professor, please… such actions… upon holy grounds are… s-sacrilegious…”
Byleth ignored the saint’s words and continued to attack his neck with his lips, teeth grazing over the hyper-sensitive skin. It had been years – centuries even – since Seteth had been touched like this and he had never been touched by another man in this way before. The thought was exhilarating and made the dragon’s blood course through his veins like a wildfire, igniting every inch of skin the professor’s lips touched.
The man was as stoic as ever, even with his hands roaming across Seteth’s bare chest. How and when his tunic had come undone was unbeknownst to him but he was not about to complain; instead, he keened into the touch of the younger professor, arching his back from the door to which he was pinned so the leather could glide across his skin.
The feeling of it was fantastic and thrilled Seteth; he could feel the heat pooling in his groin, much to his shame. He groaned and kept his head tilted back with his own hands fisted tightly but pulling weakly at the front of the professor’s black tunic. He was unrelenting in his attack, biting and sucking just across his collarbones – thankfully, the professor had enough mercy to leave marks where no-one would see and Seteth would be able to easily hide them.
“Imagine if everyone saw the archbishop’s right-hand covered in such lascivious marks,” Byleth hummed against Seteth’s pale skin, bruises blooming beautifully against the whiteness. Seteth’s breath caught in his throat and though the idea of it filled him with fear, it was a white-hot, burning fear that mixed with another feeling – humiliation. Goddess, he almost wanted other people to see.
“Professor… I c-cannot…” he murmured weakly but let his voice crack when Byleth’s gloved hands tweaked his left nipple. His hips jutted out and connected hard with the other man’s and the pair of them groaned softly, Seteth slightly louder.
“I never knew a man such as yourself could be so sensitive, Seteth,” Byleth said, voice lilting teasingly with humour, though his eyes were as blank as ever, focused on eliciting more gasps from Seteth’s body. The older man trembled and pulled even tighter on Byleth’s tunic, shutting his eyes tightly.
“It is not… that.”
“No? Then pray tell.”
“Your…” Seteth took a steadying breath and then exhaled through his nose, long and deep to compose himself. “Your gloves.”
Behind closed lids, he felt Byleth pause and was almost afraid to open his eyes and look upon the other man. Would he finally show emotion on that stony face – an expression of disgust, humour or anger?
A single rough leather-clad digit came and traced its way along Seteth’s face, along his cheekbone, dusting and skimming along his sideburns and down to the patch on his chin, tickling the prickly hairs there. He shuddered. Goddess, how on earth could such a single emotion reduce him to practically nothing?
“My gloves?” Byleth pondered. Seteth still had his eyes shut and head leaned back against the door when Byleth danced the hand on Seteth’s firm chest deeper down his body, tracing the fine green hairs just beneath his bellybutton, fingering the hem of his breeches. “I must admit, you surprise me, Seteth. How utterly depraved.”
The advisor groaned shakily and hissed through his teeth when Byleth boldly pushed his way beneath his breeches and took a firm hold of his hardening cock. The texture of the cool leather wrapped so firmly around his blazing dick was indescribable. Scrabbling for respite, Seteth’s fingers flexed and unflexed in the fabric of the younger professor’s shirt and he clutched tightly at the other’s upper arms instead.
“That feels…”
“Good? How does it feel to have my glove wrapped around your cock, Seteth? I wish to hear what filth can fall from such holy lips.”
“B-Byleth…” Seteth stuttered, the cold friction of the leather glove against his cock, dragging the foreskin in such a way that it felt painfully good. The saint’s toes curled in his boots and clumsily, desperately, he clawed at the front of the professor’s clothes, too far gone to even begin to think about how many codes of practice in the monastery’s rule book this escapade broke.
“Eager? I like to see that,” Byleth said, circling the leather pad of his thumb over the head of Seteth’s cock, smearing the precum that had collected. The saint shuddered and his head hung forward, leaning against Byleth’s shoulder as he grit his teeth as hard as possible, trying not to lose himself in the intense feeling of the glove against him.
“I must feel you too,” Seteth admitted, pushing aside the front of Byleth’s dress and pulling at his breeches until the professor’s half-hard cock bobbed out. It was impressive, even in this state and Seteth, for a moment, thought about dropping to his knees and worshipping what lay before his hungry eyes. But he could not bring himself to tear away from the glove wrapped around him.
With a shaky hand, Seteth wrapped his hand around Byleth’s cock and trembled when he heard the usually stoic man gasp. That noise, such a simple breath of air had him shaking in his boots. Byleth’s hand quickened and he managed to free Seteth’s cock too so that both were exposed to the cold air. Seteth panted hard against Byleth’s shoulder, watching shamefully as the younger man expertly twisted his wrist and brushed his leather fingers over the head in expert motions.
“I already… I cannot…” Seteth stammered out.
Byleth leaned in closer, tilting his head so that he blow hot air into Seteth’s ear. Letting out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise, the other shuddered, especially when Byleth bit down gently on the pointed tip of his ear.
“So soon? Though I imagine it is the feeling of my glove around your cock that is bringing you to climax, yes?”
“Y-Yes, yes… professor…” Seteth moaned. Byleth’s hand squeezed around the base and then pumped quickly and firmly. The fly of quick leather against his dick, harsh and almost painful brought new heights of desperation upon Seteth he had never felt before.
Byleth’s spare hand came and roamed up Seteth’s chest, dancing over the firm muscles, flicking over rosy bud nipples and caressing over his marked throat, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging softly at the hair at his nape, murmuring into his ear, encouraging him.
“Let it take over you… focus on the feeling of my gloves against your skin… how hot it is… cum for me, Cichol.”
With a harsh cry, shocked by his true name falling from the professor’s lips, Seteth came. He managed to keep his eyes open so that he could watch his own cum spurting out and landing on the floor of his office between them before it dribbled between those black leather gloved fingers. He groaned loudly, knees almost buckling at the sight of his cum spending, balls emptying its contents all between the other’s fingers. The gloved hand slowed, much to his dismay, but his stuttering hips and overwhelming pleasure soon thanked him.
Seteth was panting and his wrist was beginning to ache when finally, the professor clenched his teeth and the hand wrapped around his own cock tightened for a second. With an almost inaudible cry, barely above a broken whisper, Byleth came, moaning ‘Cichol’ ever so quietly that Seteth was unsure if he even heard it at first.
The younger professor thrust up one last time into Seteth’s hand as he too came, dribbling cum between the advisor’s fingers. He watched, fascinated and increasingly aroused as those hips gave gentle thrusts forward into his hand until the last bead of cum was squeezed from the tip.
Both men panted and moaned into the other’s shoulder when Byleth drew up and moved the hand at the back of Seteth’s neck to his chin, tipping the other man’s head up. The saint knew he looked debauched; probably flushed scarlet, pointed ears burning the same shade and sticking through his unkempt hair, lips apart and panting hopelessly.
Silently, Byleth brought his cum-slicked glove up between them and both looked at it. Without thinking, without asking, Byleth brought his glove to Seteth’s lips and hungrily, he accepted the cum-covered digits. His tongue rolled over the synthetic fabric, enjoying the taste of it more than the saltiness of his own cum washing over his taste buds but he moaned all the same. It was the texture of it, his tongue rolling over each deep crease and into the wrinkles of the black leather, slightly worn from constant use but still in impeccable condition.
He drew back from the fingers and instead lathed his tongue over the back of Byleth’s knuckle and over his open palm, eyes closed to savour the sensation and taste of the leather and cum against his tongue. He swallowed between desperate breaths and finally opened his eyes, blinking against the light.
Byleth’s face was different; brow furrowed slightly, his mouth was agape and a light dust of pink bloomed across his cheeks. Seteth straightened up and coughed, trying to clear his throat but all he could taste was his own cum and leather.
“Well… professor…” he began.
“You really are a depraved man, Cichol.”
Burning darker pink, Seteth tucked himself back into his breeches and re-did his tunic, re-dressing himself and trying to avoid the professor’s hard stare. He almost began to prefer the stony face and stoic expression he usually wore, this one of arousal unnerving him somewhat.
“It has been a long time since I have indulged myself in such physical luxury as the touch of another,” he said, mumbling quietly. Seteth swept his hair back over his ears and regarded the professor at last. Thankfully, that last lusty expression was gone.
“That does not excuse your sinfulness.”
“Sinfulness?” Seteth quirked an eyebrow and watched as Byleth also tucked himself back away and straightened up as if nothing had happened between them mere moments ago save for the two spatters of cum on the floor.
“Your greed for my glove is unmatched by any other I have seen before. Some repentance may be in order,” Byleth said and Seteth swore he could see the flicker of a smile quirking at the corner of the other’s lips.
“Perhaps… you are correct, professor.”