( By the end of the battle Dimitri isn't the only one dripping red. The weekend's training mission had been hard-fought: in truth, it's possible they weren't entirely ready to take on such opponents in such difficult terrain, but in the end they'd managed to use the forest to their own advantage just as well as the bandits they'd been tracking.
More effectively, in the end, for all that flaxen-haired healer girl had been put through her paces keeping them all standing.
It's a close enough brush with death that Yuri finds himself feeling especially energised after the fight. Sure, there's that bone-deep tiredness that'll likely set in later on, but for the time being he'd be willing to bet the ordeal was a trial sent to him by the Goddess to remind him he's lucky to be alive. Sometimes he works out the post-battle euphoria with the nearest stranger, and sometimes he'll shoot Balthus a hot look as he heads along Chrysalis Row to their shared dormitory, but tonight ... )
Hey — wait a minute there, Your Highness.
( Tonight, Yuri has an altogether different idea for who to take to his bed.
He jogs towards Dimitri, blood-stained and slightly wild-eyed even as Garreg Mach looms before them. After the business with the chalice Yuri had resolved to keep half an eye on the Prince of Farghus — there was something about the way he fought, the way he killed, that Yuri found particularly intriguing. Even more intriguing was the way he'd behave afterwards — compressing himself back into place behind his mask of nobility — but still, his eyes belie his urges if you know what you're looking for.
Yuri is one such person who knows what he's looking for.
It's something he might use to his advantage if he can harness the young prince properly. Bedding him should be easy enough, but making Dimitri want more ... encouraging him to view Yuri as the only person with whom he can act upon his darker urges ...
Well. If he plays his cards right, being able to blackmail the King of Faerghus down the line could prove itself pretty beneficial to his various causes. When he catches up to the prince Yuri brushes a lock of hair back behind his ear to expose the side of his throat as he speaks: )
Good job out there today — and I mean that House Leader to House Leader. I'm pretty sure Balthus would have been a gonner if you hadn't taken out the guys in the bushes.
( Forgive him, Balthus — but you did kind of charge head-first into a six-man trap. Yuri chuckles lightly, though, apparently unconcerned by the idea of his closest friend in mortal peril, before slanting a gently suggestive smile towards Dimitri. )
If you've got a minute later on, you should swing by Abyss. There's something I'd like to show you — providing you're feeling suitably open-minded.
( A beat. )
Ask for me by name, yeah? My goons know who to bring to me.
[It was a training mission, Dimitri is telling himself with every step he takes, the words like a mantra forced through gritted teeth in his mind. It was necessary. They were brigands and bandits. The church condoned it. The professor ordered it. It was a training mission.
When he does well on missions like these — when he fights with all the strength and power he has in him — it means he's kept people safe. He's kept his loved ones alive. It means he's avoided another tragedy. It means he won't have to see someone else's head sever from their shoulders every time he closes his eyes.
It was necessary. They were brigands and bandits. The church condoned it.
The bloodlust in his veins will have quieted by the time they reach Garreg Mach again. It always does. He always manages to draw it back in and bottle it up, no matter how out of hand he'd let it get on the battlefield. The stench of blood always leaves his nostrils eventually. He stops craving. He's not the mindless boar that Felix always calls him. He's not, he's not, he's not.
The professor ordered it. It was a training mission. It was necessary.
He is the heir of the throne of Faerghus, the last direct descendant in the Blaiddyd bloodline. He must be better than this. He must keep control of himself. If he just goes through the motions — if he takes all the right actions — he just has to observe all the right forms until it passes. Until someday he really is the noble he's supposed to be.
Goddess, he's trying so hard to be what he's supposed to be —
But then suddenly someone's talking to him, the voice like a fishhook dragging him out of the depths of his thoughts, and when he looks in the direction of the sound, he's still a little wild-eyed at first, before the familiarity of conversation reminds him of his manners.]
O-Oh. Ah — Yuri, forgive me, I didn't hear you approach.
[The stimulation of a friendly face helps, a little, with keeping him engaged and out of the reach of the whispering voices that threaten to drag him down into the tempest of their demands. Conversation is habitual, and lordly manners are practically a reflex. It'll help to ground him, to talk with Yuri. It'll help him to make the transition back from the howls of battle to the calm decorum of the monastery.]
Please, it was nothing. Your Wolves are a great asset to the Blue Lions in battle; if anything, I should be the one extending my own thanks.
[He lets out a slow breath, watching the way Yuri's fingers skim around his ear, how they drag carelessly down the column of his neck where his uniform and armor don't obscure it. His own collar fits tightly; all of a sudden he's aware of its press against his Adam's apple, the way the stiffness of it feels a little like a leash.
Maybe it would be better, he thinks suddenly, if he were to put off his return to Garreg Mach a little while longer. Abyss is...rougher. More informal. Perhaps it'd be better to idle a while there, on the pretext of a meeting with another House Leader, to let his blood cool before subjecting himself again to the scrutinizing holiness of the Lady Rhea — and the professor.]
Your offer is an intriguing one, I'll admit. But surely there's no need for any "goons". Or is this less of a social call than you're suggesting?
( So, then. This might work after all. Yuri notes the artificially slow way Dimitri releases his breath, feels the weight of his gaze following the line of his throat, but doesn't acknowledge it beyond offering a playful little wink. It shouldn't seem particularly suspicious: Yuri's behaviour is no more or less flirtatious than he'd be at the best of times, but then Dimitri hasn't had a great deal of exposure to the Trickster thus far.
Poor guy. )
Actually, it's probably more of a social call than an individual such as yourself is used to — but you're just gonna have to wait and see what I mean by that.
( He teases, before giving him a gentle nudge with his elbow. )
... What I will say is that you seem like the kind of guy who could use a little company after a fight. No need to unwind on your own if you don't have to.
( Still, Yuri can't help himself from peppering the conversation with little clues, if only to pique Dimitri's interest and leave him to wind himself up as he tries to figure out what he might mean. This might be a business play on Yuri's end, to be sure, but there's no reason he can't enjoy himself while he does it. )
Come after six, yeah? I'll be waiting.
( Yuri flicks his fingers in an easy 'goodbye' before letting himself hang back for his Wolves — although it isn't until they're back in the depths of Abyss that he tugs Balthus aside to reveal the plan he's set in motion. If this works, he could have the future King of Faerghus eating from the palm of his hand; Dimitri is almost desperately generous, and tries so hard to be as kind and accommodating as can be, which means that twist of darkness Yuri's seen flickering behind those unfocused blue eyes ...
It's a weakness, and it's only a matter of time before someone else realises they can exploit it. Might as well be him, right? For the betterment of the people of Abyss — and not some horrid scheme from a pathetic noble trying to beg more power and privileges?
The rest of his afternoon is spent bathing and beautifying himself. It's a ritual Hapi and Coco will have seen enough times to at least have some idea of what's going on; they aren't stupid, but there's also no reason to bring them in on a scheme that could cause them harm. He'd exclude Balthus, too, were the nature of their relationship not somewhat different — which is how the Undefeated King of Anal finds himself helping Yuri to stretch himself open and soften up his hole as they bicker over who gets the bedroom for the night.
In the end, Yuri gives up the dorm and pays off the Seer for use of her chambers — funds that he's tempted to tell Balthus will be added to his debt (for all he has no real intention of doing so). By the time six o'clock rolls around Yuri is slicked up, sweetly scented, and set up with a pot of chamomile tea, which he idly checks on as he waits for Dimitri to make his appearance. )
[The worst part about it is, at first pass he misses the flirting in favor of just being stunned at the prospect of being invited to spend time with someone companionably. He's used to formalities brought on by his rank, invitations extended to him either because there's an ulterior motive or because it wouldn't be proper to leave out the future king, regardless of whether anyone really wants him there or not. And so many of his friendships — if he can call them that to begin with — can sometimes feel so horribly one-sided, all deference and tact no matter how much he begs to be treated like anyone else.
He doesn't begrudge them the formality, of course. He doesn't care about Dedue any less just because he's never been able to convince him to use his name. He's fond of Ashe no matter how much he's the prince first and a fellow Lion second in the little archer's eyes. Everyone is kind to him, in their ways, and he appreciates it like he's supposed to, but —
But that hangs so heavy over all of it. Supposed to. All of them, behaving as they're supposed to.
That's why it stuns him that for those few seconds, Yuri doesn't. He naturally positions them as equals, even when he's using the right words and observing the right forms — he says your Highness like it's a term of affection instead of a title, he asserts himself as a House Leader in his own right just as Dimitri is head of his, he refers to him as a guy like you like he knows him, like what he is matters just as much as who he is.
And that's why he's just crazy enough to go. Because Yuri invites him for a social call and makes it sound like it really will be social. Because he asks if Dimitri wants company and he
and he
oh goddess he doesn't want to be alone with his responsibilities and ghosts right now.
But at least he only has to make it until six. It'll give him time to calm down, somewhat, and to go through his usual methodical process of cleaning and putting away his armor, of rinsing off the sweat and stench of battle. He should eat something, really, even though he'll derive no pleasure from it. And if it's a social call, then a gift is probably in order — a pair of riding boots, perhaps. Or maybe he's got an owl feather around somewhere that would do. Or —
Well, at least he's got plenty to keep him occupied until the appointed hour.
He sneaks down into Abyss at a little after six, determined not to be formally punctual while still respecting the hour, and sure enough, there are plenty of goons around that he can ask for directions. On the other hand, there's also Balthus, who he'll feel considerably less foolish approaching, and his comrade-in-arms flashes him a boisterous grin and a clap on the shoulder before pointing him in the right direction and heading off himself for a drink at the Wilted Rose.
He seems pleased with himself. Dimitri idly wonders why.
But it's a short walk to his destination, an alcove done up in rich blue drapery that's a little too close to Faerghus blue for Dimitri's attempts at commoner comfort, and when he pokes his head in, he's relieved to find Yuri already there and waiting, but not impatiently so.]
Hello.
["Hello". He's such an idiot. Swallowing back a flash of self-consciousness, he steps inside and holds out a box containing a rather humble but utilitarian whetstone — Yuri uses a sword in battle, it's practical, it's friendly — as his peace offering.]
( Yuri replies, an easy smirk on his lips as he rises to greet him. A flicker of surprise crosses his features when Dimitri offers him that small box; it hadn't occurred to him that in putting them on even footing he might see fit to treat him like he'd treat a peer, but then he supposes the guy tries so hard to be proper he'd probably have brought a gift even if Yuri had been a servant. )
A gift? C'mon — you're spoiling me, Your Highness.
( He teases, taking the box from Dimitri as he gestures for him to join him in taking a seat. If anything the gift makes this feel a little more like the transactions of his past in Enbarr: sure, the nobles he entertained would pay him well for his services, but many of them would also shower him with gifts and jewellery in order to maintain the pretence of some kind of secret relationship. Yuri rarely kept those little trinkets — he'd sell them on and use the money buy food and supplies for the other street kids — but that, he supposes, is what made them truly valuable.
The whetstone, on the other hand, isn't worth very much at all. Unlike his clients, Dimitri isn't attempting to trick himself into believing some kind of lie, nor is he trying to buy his affections due to misplaced jealousy. Instead he's given Yuri something that he'll be able to make good use of: something to make him more efficient, more deadly, and a better soldier on the battlefield.
Yuri smiles as he fingers the stone, before setting the box aside and lifting those violet eyes to the prince. )
Thank you, Dimitri.
(Dimitri. His name, not his title.
Yuri pours them each a cup of tea, one fine hand resting lightly atop the teapot's lid to keep it in place as he pours, before setting it down again and adding a generous dollop of honey to his own. )
I'm afraid all I've got to offer you in return is tea ...
( Yuri drops a playful wink in his direction, before lifting his own cup to his lips to take a careful sip. )
For the time being, in any case.
( A moment of silence stretches between them as Yuri observes Dimitri from over the rim of his cup. He really is incredibly handsome — he'll grow into a fine man someday, if he lives that long — and amusement touches the corners of his lips as he sets his tea back down on the saucer. )
So. You're probably wondering what it is I wanted to show you, huh? Truth be told it's actually more of an ... experience, than anything else. And before you ask — don't let the surroundings give you any wild ideas.
( A chuckle. )
I'm no more a seer than Balthus or Sylvain.
( Yuri cocks his head just so, the softening balm on his lips glinting in the low light as he smiles. )
Go ahead and correct me if I'm wrong, but ... it seems to me that fighting winds you up with a little extra energy, huh? Energy that you might not have a proper outlet for after the fact.
[Dimitri. He's too composed to shiver visibly at the sound of his own name lilting in Yuri's teasing voice, but it sends a thrill shooting down his spine nevertheless. Why had he never thought to reach out to Yuri before now, on his own terms, he wonders? In retrospect, it seems like the most obvious thing in the world — who better to understand his own circumstances than another house leader? Who better to seek out as an equal? Certainly there are no politics plaguing the Ashen Wolves the way that the other three houses are tainted by their own regions' intrigues. Perhaps there really is a friendship here for him, and has been for a while, only he'd been too blind to reach out and take it.
Between that and the tea, he relaxes a little; when he reaches for his cup and the scent of chamomile reaches his nose, his lingering tension eases all the more. Oh, it's his favorite. Could it be that Yuri somehow knew? Perhaps he'd been talking to the professor, or...
Or, no, that's insane. Maybe it's just a lucky guess. Whatever it is, he's grateful for it.]
This is my favorite, actually. The smell is nostalgic.
[Nostalgic enough that he can almost remember what things taste like. Regardless, he has a few moments before conversation begins, and he takes his time to relish them, closing his eyes to properly appreciate the aroma of the tea before sipping lightly at it and letting the heat wash over his tongue.
It's a good thing, too. Because when Yuri mentions a little extra energy, he almost tenses right back up again for fear that he's been found out, a caged animal come under scrutiny — but at the very least he's got the tea to help keep himself calm, and his throat wet, and his voice even.]
I think that's how any soldier feels. Most men feel the rush of battle; it's a large part of what keeps them alive in such a dangerous situation. I doubt it's unusual to think that such a rush wouldn't merely disappear the instant a battle concludes.
[But.]
Thus far you've offered me an outlet and companionship. If you're leading up to the suggestion that we train together, you didn't need to go to all this formality, I assure you.
( Dimitri's (incorrect) assumption gets one of those easy smiles from Yuri: )
Train with you? Please — you'd have me flat on my back in seconds.
( Which isn't necessarily true — Dimitri has the strength, certainly, but Yuri is all speed and accuracy — but he's never been one to boast about his strengths in the same way that some of the other students might. In Yuri's experience it can be pretty beneficial to be underestimated; there's nothing quite like seeing your opponent realise they've made a terrible mistake.
With Dimitri's free hand resting on the table it's easy for Yuri to reach out and touch the prince's armoured wrist; he might not feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips, but the weight of the gesture is symbolic enough that it hardly matters. Dark lashes slide low as Yuri lets the side of his boot slide against the curve of Dimitri's ankle: )
What I'm offering is an outlet, companionship ... but of the more intimate variety.
( He smiles, but there's nothing mocking or teasing in his expression this time. The last thing he wants is for Dimitri to misunderstand, or to think he's being strung along for a joke. )
With the right person you'll find it can be just as satisfying as training — even more so, more often than not.
It isn't intentional in the sense that it isn't any kind of personal avoidance — but they fucked long and hard without any kind of protective measures in place, which means that after the general clean-up of the room Yuri had to find a moment to invite Constance for a spot of afternoon tea. It isn't the first time he's had to ask for her help, nor does he assume it'll be the last, and if he thinks she gets a lick of pleasure in watching him suffer the effects of the Moon tea in the following days?
Well. He supposes he deserves it, all things considered, although he swears he sees a flash of sympathy cross her expression on the final (and worst) day.
Four days later sees Yuri topside again, his back smirk in place and his stride as confident as it's ever been. He decides to take dinner in the dining hall just to help dispell any rumours surrounding his disappearance: it isn't unusual for Yuri Leclerc to slip off for a few days, after all, but now that he's joined the Blue Lions he has nosey teenagers to appease as well as the inhabitants of Abyss.
This whole "working together" thing had better end up being worth it.
Still, there's nothing he enjoys quite so much as getting together and eating with acquaintances. Dimitri doesn't seem to have arrived yet — not that he's, y'know, keeping an eye out for him or anything — which means the spot to his left ends up being filled by none other than the Gautier heir himself.
Sylvain. The man's a headache when he wants to be, but Yuri suspects there's something deeper and darker lurking just beneath the surface with this one too. Despair, the same as Dimitri, just ... a different flavour of it, perhaps.
"Aw — you came all the way over here just to sit with little old me?" Yuri teases, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his palm as he flutters his lashes at the redhead. "You shouldn't have. If I didn't know any better I might even be flattered."
Sylvain being Sylvain takes it in his stride with a good-natured laugh, and goes so far as to slin his arm across the back of Yuri's shoulders
"Well, you know me. I never could resist dinner with a pretty lady — and you're as pretty as any of them."
A nearby student blushes at their over-the-top flirting, and Yuri can't help but bite back a little chuckle.
"Tch. C'mon, Gautier — I bet you say that to all the boys who catch your eye."
It's hard not to feel as though it's something personal, the way he had just sort of been a presence one moment and then vanished the next. It weighs on his conscience, darkening his mood and leaving him a little sulkier and more withdrawn than usual; Felix needles him about it and Ashe asks tactfully after him and Dedue simply dotes in his quiet, solemn way, but nothing really does anything to help. Even Byleth takes a minute out to remark on his change in demeanor, and the fact of the matter is he almost confesses everything to the professor right then and there, except that some odd twinge of bashful shame gets the better of him, and he winds up simply making excuses instead.
He knows, rationally, that it's nothing he did or didn't do. It's not a result of dissatisfaction with his...his...conduct, probably. And he hasn't turned up in Manuela's infirmary so it couldn't be that he somehow hurt his omega, so —
"His omega". He's got to stop thinking like that. It had been one thing to indulge the whim in the heat of passion, but he has no real claim on Yuri Leclerc and he knows it.
He just wishes the alpha in him would recognize that, too.
But then, one day, he goes to dinner in the dining hall, and like some miracle from the Goddess, Yuri is there. And not just there, but there and sitting with...Sylvain. Sylvain, who seems to be telling some sort of joke or making some variety of quip. Sylvain, making Yuri laugh. Sylvain, with his arm around Yuri's shoulders —
A hand falls on his arm. Byleth. He's told to put his fangs away and stop snarling in public. He hadn't even realized he was baring his teeth to begin with. And Byleth is a fellow alpha, and one whose strength he respects, but even that isn't necessarily enough to calm him entirely.
Moodily, he stalks over to the table where Sylvain and Yuri have taken up residence, reflexively scenting the air in search of Yuri's scent even as he approaches like a dark little thundercloud.
"Sylvain," he says in a voice so ragged it's nearly a growl, his blue eyes sharp as sapphires. "You normally sit with Felix and Ingrid, don't you?"
A curious prickle tingles its way down the back of Yuri's neck as a familiar scent finds its way into his nostrils. It's enbuogh to pull his attention from Sylvain to the young man approaching with table like so much thinder: Dimitri, his gaze piercing and the line of his mouth as hard as it is in battle.
It's an interesting moment for a vareity of reasons. Firstly, Yuri notices a flicker of genuine surprise cross Sylvain's expression when Dimitri halts by their table. Perhaps he hadn't expected his prince to be the one to put a stop to his flirtations; Yuri knows well enough that it's usually Ingrid or Felix who steps in to that particular role. Secondly, there's the fact that Dimitri has even bothered to approach at all. Yuri can't help but wonder how much of his actions are the result of a hot surge of Alpha hormones; an inherent revulsion at the idea of another person putting their hands on an Omega he so recently knotted.
Thirdly, and perhaps most concerningly: there's the fact that Yuri finds himself liking it. He shouldn't — not when the whole point of sleeping with Dimitri was to get him hooked, not vice versa — but he can't stop the pleasure curling into his own scent as Dimitri non-too-subtly growls for Sylvain to back the hell off.
"Not all the time," he replies with his usual charm, clearly attempting to try and overlook Dimitri's dark mood by brushing it off with a smile. "You know me, Your Highness. How could I turn down the opportunity to have dinner with the prettiest guy in the hall?"
Yuri just rolls his eyes, then rests his elbow on the table so that he can put his chin in his palm. To anyone else it might seem like a casual gesture suggesting he's bored of the situation, but in truth?
He needs Dimitri on side. With any luck he'll interpret it as a subtle attempt to remove himself from Sylvain's touch — which, of course, it is.
"Yeah, yeah," Yuri chuckles, giving Sylvain an amused look before letting his gaze settle back on Dimitri. "And I was just telling him how I look forward to swapping notes with all the boys who've been deemed 'the prettiest' before me."
He winks at Dimitri.
"Unless you're here to defend my honour for me, Your Highness?"
He can't pick a fight with Sylvain; that much is for certain. For one thing, it would be the height of improper for a future king and alpha to reduce himself to snarling at one of his vassals. For another thing, there's nothing to fight over — Sylvain is his friend, and one of his oldest ones at that, and Yuri is...Yuri isn't his. No one here has done anything wrong. The fact that he doesn't like it, that he's taken some sort of bizarre affront to it, is all entirely on his own shoulders.
If only the alpha in his blood were willing to concede to that. If only Sylvain's coaxing smile weren't making irritation and possessiveness boil in his veins, the precise opposite of its obvious intention of setting him at ease.
But he knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of the dining hall, and especially so over the lord of an entirely different house when it's one of his own prompting his chagrin. He hasn't turned around to feel Byleth's warning gaze burning into the back of his head, but he doesn't have to. He knows it's there, nevertheless.
"It sounds a lively conversation," he says at last, terrible liar that he is, and pointedly keeps his eyes on the table instead of on either of the two young men in his midst. "Would you allow me to join you, then?"
In retrospect, it's not such a bad way to play all this. This way, they can all pretend he hasn't just brought them to the verge of making a scene, but he can still insert himself into the little exchange in the way the possessive alpha in him demands.
Yuri's scent is all but smothered right now; he must be back to keeping his nature under wraps. But Dimitri has claimed him before, and knows what scent to look for, even when it's being suppressed; faint as it is, he can still just barely find it in the air around the table, sweetly pleased. He can only hope that it's like that because of him, and not Sylvain.
"Surely between the three of us, everyone's honor will be safeguarded," he adds, still terrible at navigating this sort of discussion, and sort of awkwardly finds his seat before anyone has the opportunity to deter him.
At this, Sylvain seems to deflate a little bit. Yuri suspects it's becaus ehe knows he won't be able to get away with such gratuitious flirting while in the presence of another of the 'Faerghus Four' — something Dimitri probably knows too, or perhaps even something that he's counting on by sitting with them.
"Surely it will," Yuri chuckles, raising an eyebrow at Sylvain as a little smirk touches his lips. "Tell me, friend: has His Highness made it on to your pretty list yet?"
"Gimme a break, Yuri," Sylvain laughs, before clapping him on the shoulder and tossing Dimitri a slightly strained (but no less rakish) grin. "Dimitri here is way outta my league — princes can't be seen getting cosy with just anybody, you know."
Yuri nods in agreement, casually avoiding eye-contact with Dimitri so as not to stir up too many memories of when he fucked him into a stranger's mattress. 'Getting cosy' wasn't even the half of it, was it? His focus wavers for a moment, and he uncrosses and recrosses his legs beneath the table as a little twinge of something begins to warm the space between them.
Saints, but sometimes being an Omega is trying work.
"Mm, I suppose there's gonna be some truth in that," Yuri muses, as though considering it for the first time. When he finally does glance in Dimitri's direction there's mischief in his eyes, and he takes a deliberate sip of his water as he feigns a moment of consideration.
"But that doesn't necessarily mean there's no-one he has his eye on. Right, Your Highness?"
Alpha or not, there's a part of Dimitri that's still Dimitri, and that's the part of him that blushes bashfully when the topic of conversation shifts onto him, rather than staying on Yuri and Sylvain. Not that he's not grateful for it, of course — anything to put a damper on Sylvain's flirting — but still, being the center of attention usually comes with a harsh spotlight attached, and Dimitri's always been privately of the opinion that he looks worst under that sort of direct scrutiny, when there's nowhere to hide the myriad of flaws and inadequacies that lurk just beneath his surface.
Case in point: he's now trapped at a table with two of the smoothest flirts in Garreg Mach, one of whom he's painfully attracted to, and the other of whom he's trying his best not to throw the table at, for daring to lay even a finger on the former's shoulder in Dimitri's presence.
"My role doesn't come with many liberties, as Sylvain observed," he says at last, as he tries to shove his thoughts away from how good it had felt down in Abyss to be no one but Dimitri for a while, to set aside all the lordly trappings and just indulge as a man for a little while.
He tries. It doesn't work.
And of course he sees the mischief glittering in Yuri's gaze, and he can't help but answer it very subtly with retaliation of his own — a soft, inaudible purr that rumbles in the back of his throat, one that could easily be explained away by a bit of soreness or some other idle alpha concern, because of course, everyone at this table is supposed to assume that everyone present is one.
But he knows Yuri isn't. He knows. And it feels good, dark and dangerous, to take a swing at affecting him right back, in that slight and subtle way.
"Still..." he continues, feigning a touch more ruefulness, "Not being at liberty to act isn't the same thing as not being at liberty to look. And there are — of course, I'm sure it goes without saying that some of the residents of this monastery are...pleasing to the eye."
He clears his throat. "To my eye, specifically. Yes, I'll concede that."
[The truth is, sometimes Dima really would rather be treated like a pet than like a god with dominion over a quarter of the world in his own right.
He's always taken Byleth's absence hard, ever since the great and ancient war of eons ago. It just doesn't seem right, is all — he remembers it so vividly, how they'd been raised safe and happy in their cave with their guardians, growing strong and powerful, until the day Byleth came for them and raised them up against his sister-enemy, and he'd taken up his sword and lance and gone off to fight because there was nothing, nothing that Dima wouldn't do for their lord father. He would kill. He would die. He would give all of himself if it were asked of him. Anything, anything, because in Byleth there was understanding, and order, and a sense of belonging, and that was exactly what Dima had always loved so much about it.
A weapon not kept sharp goes to rust. Tools must be used, must have an owner to give them any sort of meaning. Byleth left them, and all of a sudden Dima became a sword with no hand to hold him, forgotten and abandoned in the bloodstained fields of war after all the fighting had ceased.
Yuri is not their father. But if there's one thing Yuri has always excelled at, it's transforming himself into whatever someone else needs him to be. Maybe that comes with being the eldest. Maybe that comes with being a better schemer than all the rest of them combined.
It doesn't matter, really. El is the one who wants Yuri to be Byleth, instead. Khalid is the one who sees Yuri as a threat to his own designs, and for good reason. Dima's needs are so much simpler than all of that, and maybe that's why he's the one who always has his whims granted.
Dima just wants to be warm. To be loved. To mean something.
That's another thing Yuri has always excelled at. Loving his family, even when it means playing favorites.
No one ever stops him when he seeks to enter the Underworld; the help all know better, he assumes, and so either they don't try to prevent him out of fear of his own strength, or they let him because they're dutiful subjects and they know it's what Yuri would want. It's cold on the surface these days; snow blankets the ground, and the trees have shed their leaves, stripped down to nothing but bare brown fingers of wood against the white and pale cornflower blue of the surrounding world. It's cold in the realm of the dead, too, but that's a different variety of chill, and one that his own blood and ichor inherently repels, being immortal and powerful as he is.
And yet for all that he cuts a terrible figure on the journey to his destination, by the time he crosses the threshold into Yuri's private rooms, he's docile as a favored pet once again, sinking to the ground in his favorite place near the foot of the bed, a great ragged lump of god in spellwoven cloak and thick rich furs and rumpled blond hair perfect for raking one's fingers through. He waits like a dog that knows it's not allowed on the furniture. He waits, and waits, and waits.
It's worth the wait, because he needs this right now. Needs, more than any of the others do, to be loved by someone who's good at loving others, to be close to his only elder brother, and for at least a little while, to have the howls and snarling of the feral things that haunt him go silent, and let him be at peace for a change.]
( A messenger brings word that his brother has entered the Underworld while Yuri is elbow deep in his processing duties. The Death Knight keeps him ever busy: his reaping scythe will never wont for souls as long as their reality continues to exist, and Yuri occasionally curses the hungry efficiency with which Jeritza has committed to his role.
He is with the pale shade of a child when the notice comes. A young boy, barely older than five or six by Yuri's reckoning, tear-streaked and frightened without his mama to hold his hand or kiss his brow. Lord of the Dead he may be, but Yuri has always harboured a fierce protectiveness of the lost children of the world — a truth which no doubt stems from the parental void he had to fill when Byleth abandoned his fledgling gods in their cave.
The messenger is dismissed with a wave of his hand. Dima will have to wait. )
Hush now, little one.
( Already crouched to the child's level, Yuri takes one small hand in his own while raising the finger of his other between them. A point of light rises from the tip, shimmering and swirling until it takes the form of a little butterfly, which flaps its wings just the once as though carefully testing its own capacity for flight. )
... Erik, isn't it? I know you miss your mama, Erik. I know. ( The butterfly wobbles into the air. ) And I know she'll be with you soon. Not today, but I promise you that she'll find her way here too, and when she does?
( Yuri smiles warmly, his expression softening as the butterfly bobs around the sniffeling shade's head. Erik is already beginning to look a little hazy around the edges: they don't have long left, and Yuri would see the child's suffering eased before he's moved on with the rest of the morning's souls. )
I'll tell her all about how bravely her son waited for her. How about that, huh? Think how proud she'll be.
( A beat. )
She loves you very much, Erik.
( A watery smile breaks through the mist of tears. The butterfly lands on Erik's nose as Yuri gives his hand a tiny squeeze — and if his heart beat like a mortal's there'd be the space of one, perhaps two pumps, before the child disappears before him. Yuri remains crouched there for a moment as the butterfly shimmers out of existence again, before rubbing a hand over his eyes as he rises to his feet properly.
A smile is oftentimes the best he can do.
The rest of the souls are delegated to a handful of administrators as Yuri sweeps out of the hall, his mind already wandering to the tales he'd tell Dima, Khalid, and El, while they waited for Byleth to return. Sometimes he worries that it's simply lazy to reuse such old material with the young souls that end up in his care: "Think how proud he'll be, El, when he sees how strong you've been. He loves you very much, Dima. He'll be with you soon, Khalid."
Then again, it's always seemed to help them move on more peacefully. A pity the same can't necessarily be said for the neglected wreckage of his siblings.
He stills when he steps into safe enclosure of his private chambers. Few have ever been permitted entrance to the space that Yuri has carved out for himself — El and Khalid have never set foot in this part of his realm, let alone his rooms — but his soft spot for Dima has always been tender enough that he's never had to so much as ask. He simply arrives in the dead of winter when the beasts are snug and sleeping, in silent request of the love Yuri reserves just for him.
... He's beautiful, his Dima. Yuri spends a long moment simply looking at him knelt by the foot of his bed: all wild power and strength wrought into a body made for the hunt, crowned with gold and clothed in raiment woven from the night sky itself. His own attire melts to something soft, sheer, and comfortable as he pads barefoot to where Dima waits, one hand extending to card through that thick mop of hair and lightly rub behind his ear. )
Good boy.
( Another pinprick of light — another butterfly. It flutters before Dima's face, looping and twirling in search of a fingertip to land on. )
I've gotta say, I didn't know whether you'd remember my rules this time, but you've waited so nicely for me.
( A little warm indulgence softens the edges of his tone. )
[Sometimes, when his elder brother does these tricks for him, Dima indulges himself in kind and behaves like a brat in response. He could tip his head back if he wanted, coax the butterfly to land on his nose, or open his mouth and extend his tongue to make a perch for it there instead. He could flick it back between the crush of his teeth and shatter it in the power of his jaw. He could, if he wanted to, except that Yuri called him good boy when he came, and so now he's inclined to behave.
Sometimes, in his private thoughts, he wonders whether their father made a mistake when he gave them their guardians. El's bird of prey suits her perfectly, deadly hunter soaring above that she is. Khalid's deer reflects his own cunning; Dima of all people knows how such beasts are deadlier than they appear, and easily underestimated.
But Yuri should have been a lion, he thinks sometimes. Yuri is proud and strong and demanding of obeisance in presence alone, needing no one but collecting a following as he sees fit.
Perhaps Dima should've been the wolf. People assume the worst of wolves, think them crueler than they often are. People assume they're happy alone, and don't realize that they only thrive in packs.]
I always miss you. Every moment I am away, I miss you.
[He turns his head gratefully into the petting hand, nuzzling at the heel of Yuri's palm, a good affectionate beast.]
I made the wilds plentiful and available, this past harvest. My animals are fat and content. Claude's humans have food in surplus and wild game in abundance to supplement their stores while winter's chill holds.
[He looks up at Yuri, his eyes blue as a summer's sky.]
Few will die this winter, and fewer still on my account. Are you pleased with me?
It isn't that he thinks his other siblings are happy without him, exactly, but Yuri knows that neither El nor Khalid would struggle that much if they were to go without seeing him for a century at a time. Dimtri, on the other hand, seems to need this kind of validation for the continuation of his very existence — has needed it ever since Byleth planted the notion that he might not be good enough into the back of his mind. )
Yes.
( He replies easily, a smile touching the corners of his lips as he strokes his fingers through blond hair. )
I'm pleased with you. You've done so well, Dima, and I'm proud of you.
( And he is. Yuri knows that his brother's heart is large and warm — that sometimes people miss it, distracted as they are by the glint of teeth or a steaming winter snarl. He wildness is what makes him who he is — it's why he was given such a realm to rule over, after all — but humans and gods alike often fear the rugged darkness of the world.
Of Dima.
In some ways, he supposes they're not entirely wrong to do so. )
My good boy.
( But not Yuri. The butterfly melts into thin air as he moves around to cup his brother's face between his palms: )
Stay with me a while, hm? You can rest in my realm while winter keeps your animals occupied, and I'll have the time to properly reward you for all your good work.
[Yes, yes, yes; he visibly thrives beneath the attention and praise, expression softening into something almost rapturous as his face is held in such a way that affords him Yuri's full and complete attention. The words, in and of themselves, are just words — things that would be nothing but empty vessels without the indulgent adoration filling them in.
They're more alike, the two of them, than perhaps most people realize. Both of them are masters of realms that, on their face, might seem hostile to the humans that reside among and around them. And yet Yuri doesn't relish his duty of processing the dead, and certainly never grows greedy about increasing his share.
Dima is the same way. He has his affection for humanity, in his own feral way. Loving them is part of the reason he never sought to claim them for himself in the first place.
But he smiles, all glistening teeth, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip in a stroke too deliberate to be coincidental.]
Do I get to choose my own reward?
[He gets to stay. That's reward in itself, but what would be the point if he didn't press his luck as far as he could stretch it?]
Perhaps I could render you even more...pleased with me.
( Dima’s careful request curls Yuri’s smile just that bit wider as he cocks his head, lilac meeting sapphire as he gazes down into his brother’s beautiful face. A smile with teeth, a question loaded with all manner of enjoyable promise …
Yuri’s quite certain he couldn’t say no, even if he wanted to. )
You really think you’ve been that well behaved?
( But surely Dima will be able to see through him - surely he’ll realise that Yuri is simply taking the opportunity to heighten the anticipation curling between them. It’s been a long time since he last set foot in the Underworld - not to mention a long time since Yuri was to give his brother his undivided attention - and now that he’s here, asking for it, he can’t help but try to savour the moment. )
Lucky for you, you’ve caught me in a generous mood.
( Yuri takes a step back, his fingers sliding from Dima’s chin as the gauzy swirl of his chiton unravels into so much shimmering mist.
When it clears, Yuri stands before him with a hip cocked and a crooked finger beckoning him closer: )
Tell me what you want, beloved. I’ll give you whatever you ask, and we can see how much you please me.
[It never really occurs to Dimitri that, without all his fancy trappings and emblems of state, he actually doesn't look all that different than any other soldier of Faerghus. It's an easy enough mistake to make, probably, when he's shaken off his cloaks and robes and embroidery in favor of the freedom of a plain black tunic with gold trim, comfortable trousers, dependable boots. No one wears armor to the Mittlefrank Opera House, for all that Felix is of the opinion that people ought to wear armor everywhere that they go, so even that isn't available to identify him from its finery and craftsmanship. Between that and the eyepatch and the box in his arms, he really does look like nothing more than some commonplace guard slipping away from his post on a personal errand.
And it is, in fact, a personal errand — it's intermission, and the starring tenor of the opera is presumably relaxing in his dressing room at this point, but he'll be swamped with admirers as soon as the final curtain falls and Dimitri won't be much better off himself, once all the noble lords of Enbarr start to vie for his attention and he won't stand a chance of sneaking off anywhere on his own.
So it has to be now. Even if it's only for a moment, he has to get away, just long enough to try to see the vision from center stage firsthand.
The flowers tucked away in the box in his arms are lilacs and peonies — not the roses worthy of a primadonna, perhaps, but he'd been struck by how fragrant they were when he'd gone looking for his tribute, compelled more by the heavenly aroma than by the perfection of any other blossoms. Beauty in more than just appearances, he'd thought to himself, as he'd wound a necklace of sapphire and pearl around the stems and tucked it away beneath the tissue paper, a hidden surprise for the recipient to later find.
There are fifteen minutes, at best, until intermission concludes. Less, before he'll be missed.
But he knocks on the door anyway, holding his breath, and hopes beyond hope that the darling tenor of the Mittlefrank Opera House will favor him with an audience.]
( There are fifteen minutes before the intermission concldes, which means that Yuri has fifteen minutes left to make himself presentable for the second half of the performance. It's a good crowd tonight — respectful, responsive, applauding thunderously where appropriate — and Yuri is looking forward to breaking all their hearts with the conclusion of the opera. It's a tragic tale of a love too precious to ever last: the climax ends with the heroine's own father killing the hero — that would be Yuri — on the eve of their wedding, at which point she pulls the blade from between his ribs and turns it on herself.
All that good stuff.
As such, Yuri is making himself wedding-ready when a knock rattles against his door. He glances towards the clock as he returns his powder-puff to the pot: it's too early for him to be summoned to his starting position for the second act, and management don't allow the audience backstage during the intermission for fear of overwhelimg their singers before they perform. He has, however, been on the receiving end of a seemingly endless stream of bouquets of roses — there were several in his dressing room beore he arrived for the evening, and the stagehand has already brought him two more over the course of the interval.
Roses, roses, roses — he's sick to his back teeth of the things, although he's fairly certain he'd offend a not insignifcant chunk of the nobility if he issued a statement asking them to try bringing him something else for a change. No doubt his fiancé, Deklan, would be the first among them.
His curiosity only deepens when he opens the door to reveal the stunning blond man on the other side: )
Huh ...
( He seems vaguely familiar, but Yuri can't quite place where he might have seen him before. A regular in the crowd, perhaps? One of Deklan's peers, cronies, or subordinates? Whoever he is, he's far too handsome for Yuri to brush him off as a nobody, and he's already earned a sliver of his favour by bringing him a bouquet of something new. )
Are those for me?
( He glances towards the flowers, his smile taking on a curl of something flirtatious as he opens the door a little wider. )
C'mon, you'd better come in before someone catches you back here.
I — I hope you don't object. It's only that I couldn't simply sit idly by without — erm.
[It seems to occur to him, halfway through his sentence, that his instinctive desire to flatter and compliment is probably nothing that the star tenor of the opera hasn't already heard a thousand times before, and that continuing on with it — however earnestly — will only come off sounding disingenuous in the long run. Instead, he swallows the words back and nods as he steps inside the dressing room, grateful to be out of sight. Felix will notice he's gone before long, and his usual guards will notice it about ten minutes later than Felix does, and anyway, if he's not back in his seat before the opera resumes, everyone will notice, and not for good reasons.
So he hurries through the door and into the warmth of the little dressing room, waiting until it's been shut behind him before offering the fragrant bouquet. There are already so many flowers littering every surface of the room; he might feel self-conscious about his own, were it not for the fact that it's at least blessedly different from the others.]
Please. Your performance so far has been magnificent, and you've not even reached the final act yet. I simply wanted to offer my compliments, and my admiration.
( Yuri raises an eyebrow as he takes the flowers, bringing them up closer to his face so that he can enjoy their gentle fragrance. His pleasure is immediate and evident: the smile that curves his lips is an easy thing that warms the lilac of his eyes, and he sighs his exhale before turning to give them pride of place on his vanity. )
Luckily for you, you've got great taste. I couldn't object to them even if I wanted to—
( There's a moment of pause as Yuri tilts his head in question, a little mischief touching the corners of his smile as he runs a fingertip over one of the fluffy peonies. )
This must be the part where you tell me your name, huh?
[It's nice to see Yuri enjoying the flowers; he'd been more than a little anxious about how they'd ultimately be received, no great surprise there, but at least the gift seems to have gone over well, and the uniqueness appreciated even if the arrangement isn't strictly traditional.
He flicks a quick glance at the blossoms, looking for the hidden glint of gemstone that he knows is hidden away beneath them. Still there — good. He'll find it later, hopefully.]
It's, ah. Alexandre. I'm, er. With the Faerghan entourage.
[It's not even technically a lie; were he thinking more quickly, maybe he would've offered up Hugo or Jose, borrowing one of his friends' names for extra cover, but it's not as though he's ever been a particularly skilled liar. At least his own lengthy name isn't common knowledge anyway, and certainly not so this deep into the heart of the Empire.]
I'm sorry, I'm sure I've made this very awkward for you. Interrupting your preparation time, and all. Please don't feel as though you need to...entertain me, or anything like that. I only wanted to thank you for a. A magnificent performance.
( Yuri turns the name over on his tongue thoughtfully, as though considering whether or not it's up to some kind of imagined standard. Dimitri is in luck: )
Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre. I'm Yuri.
( Not that the guy doesn't know as much — he sought out his dressing room specifically to bring him a gift, after all — but it's only polite to at least stick to some form of scripted small-talk. Besides, the guy's handsome exterior is already melting away into something kind of precious, and Yuri can't help but let him sweat for a moment before offering him a silvery little chuckle. )
And believe me, friend, I've had much more awkward encounters than this. Some flowers and a shower of compliments is positively tame.
( A beat of easy silence fills the space between them as Yuri turns back to the mirror, where he resumes powdering his face and the front of his throat. )
Will you be staying for the second half? Sometimes people slip out in the interval to do something else with the rest of their evening, but ...
( He glances towards the flowers, then back to Dimitri with a pretty little smirk. )
I'd hope to have your attention for the rest of it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
FOR DIMITRI.
( By the end of the battle Dimitri isn't the only one dripping red. The weekend's training mission had been hard-fought: in truth, it's possible they weren't entirely ready to take on such opponents in such difficult terrain, but in the end they'd managed to use the forest to their own advantage just as well as the bandits they'd been tracking.
More effectively, in the end, for all that flaxen-haired healer girl had been put through her paces keeping them all standing.
It's a close enough brush with death that Yuri finds himself feeling especially energised after the fight. Sure, there's that bone-deep tiredness that'll likely set in later on, but for the time being he'd be willing to bet the ordeal was a trial sent to him by the Goddess to remind him he's lucky to be alive. Sometimes he works out the post-battle euphoria with the nearest stranger, and sometimes he'll shoot Balthus a hot look as he heads along Chrysalis Row to their shared dormitory, but tonight ... )
Hey — wait a minute there, Your Highness.
( Tonight, Yuri has an altogether different idea for who to take to his bed.
He jogs towards Dimitri, blood-stained and slightly wild-eyed even as Garreg Mach looms before them. After the business with the chalice Yuri had resolved to keep half an eye on the Prince of Farghus — there was something about the way he fought, the way he killed, that Yuri found particularly intriguing. Even more intriguing was the way he'd behave afterwards — compressing himself back into place behind his mask of nobility — but still, his eyes belie his urges if you know what you're looking for.
Yuri is one such person who knows what he's looking for.
It's something he might use to his advantage if he can harness the young prince properly. Bedding him should be easy enough, but making Dimitri want more ... encouraging him to view Yuri as the only person with whom he can act upon his darker urges ...
Well. If he plays his cards right, being able to blackmail the King of Faerghus down the line could prove itself pretty beneficial to his various causes. When he catches up to the prince Yuri brushes a lock of hair back behind his ear to expose the side of his throat as he speaks: )
Good job out there today — and I mean that House Leader to House Leader. I'm pretty sure Balthus would have been a gonner if you hadn't taken out the guys in the bushes.
( Forgive him, Balthus — but you did kind of charge head-first into a six-man trap. Yuri chuckles lightly, though, apparently unconcerned by the idea of his closest friend in mortal peril, before slanting a gently suggestive smile towards Dimitri. )
If you've got a minute later on, you should swing by Abyss. There's something I'd like to show you — providing you're feeling suitably open-minded.
( A beat. )
Ask for me by name, yeah? My goons know who to bring to me.
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When he does well on missions like these — when he fights with all the strength and power he has in him — it means he's kept people safe. He's kept his loved ones alive. It means he's avoided another tragedy. It means he won't have to see someone else's head sever from their shoulders every time he closes his eyes.
It was necessary. They were brigands and bandits. The church condoned it.
The bloodlust in his veins will have quieted by the time they reach Garreg Mach again. It always does. He always manages to draw it back in and bottle it up, no matter how out of hand he'd let it get on the battlefield. The stench of blood always leaves his nostrils eventually. He stops craving. He's not the mindless boar that Felix always calls him. He's not, he's not, he's not.
The professor ordered it. It was a training mission. It was necessary.
He is the heir of the throne of Faerghus, the last direct descendant in the Blaiddyd bloodline. He must be better than this. He must keep control of himself. If he just goes through the motions — if he takes all the right actions — he just has to observe all the right forms until it passes. Until someday he really is the noble he's supposed to be.
Goddess, he's trying so hard to be what he's supposed to be —
But then suddenly someone's talking to him, the voice like a fishhook dragging him out of the depths of his thoughts, and when he looks in the direction of the sound, he's still a little wild-eyed at first, before the familiarity of conversation reminds him of his manners.]
O-Oh. Ah — Yuri, forgive me, I didn't hear you approach.
[The stimulation of a friendly face helps, a little, with keeping him engaged and out of the reach of the whispering voices that threaten to drag him down into the tempest of their demands. Conversation is habitual, and lordly manners are practically a reflex. It'll help to ground him, to talk with Yuri. It'll help him to make the transition back from the howls of battle to the calm decorum of the monastery.]
Please, it was nothing. Your Wolves are a great asset to the Blue Lions in battle; if anything, I should be the one extending my own thanks.
[He lets out a slow breath, watching the way Yuri's fingers skim around his ear, how they drag carelessly down the column of his neck where his uniform and armor don't obscure it. His own collar fits tightly; all of a sudden he's aware of its press against his Adam's apple, the way the stiffness of it feels a little like a leash.
Maybe it would be better, he thinks suddenly, if he were to put off his return to Garreg Mach a little while longer. Abyss is...rougher. More informal. Perhaps it'd be better to idle a while there, on the pretext of a meeting with another House Leader, to let his blood cool before subjecting himself again to the scrutinizing holiness of the Lady Rhea — and the professor.]
Your offer is an intriguing one, I'll admit. But surely there's no need for any "goons". Or is this less of a social call than you're suggesting?
no subject
( So, then. This might work after all. Yuri notes the artificially slow way Dimitri releases his breath, feels the weight of his gaze following the line of his throat, but doesn't acknowledge it beyond offering a playful little wink. It shouldn't seem particularly suspicious: Yuri's behaviour is no more or less flirtatious than he'd be at the best of times, but then Dimitri hasn't had a great deal of exposure to the Trickster thus far.
Poor guy. )
Actually, it's probably more of a social call than an individual such as yourself is used to — but you're just gonna have to wait and see what I mean by that.
( He teases, before giving him a gentle nudge with his elbow. )
... What I will say is that you seem like the kind of guy who could use a little company after a fight. No need to unwind on your own if you don't have to.
( Still, Yuri can't help himself from peppering the conversation with little clues, if only to pique Dimitri's interest and leave him to wind himself up as he tries to figure out what he might mean. This might be a business play on Yuri's end, to be sure, but there's no reason he can't enjoy himself while he does it. )
Come after six, yeah? I'll be waiting.
( Yuri flicks his fingers in an easy 'goodbye' before letting himself hang back for his Wolves — although it isn't until they're back in the depths of Abyss that he tugs Balthus aside to reveal the plan he's set in motion. If this works, he could have the future King of Faerghus eating from the palm of his hand; Dimitri is almost desperately generous, and tries so hard to be as kind and accommodating as can be, which means that twist of darkness Yuri's seen flickering behind those unfocused blue eyes ...
It's a weakness, and it's only a matter of time before someone else realises they can exploit it. Might as well be him, right? For the betterment of the people of Abyss — and not some horrid scheme from a pathetic noble trying to beg more power and privileges?
The rest of his afternoon is spent bathing and beautifying himself. It's a ritual Hapi and Coco will have seen enough times to at least have some idea of what's going on; they aren't stupid, but there's also no reason to bring them in on a scheme that could cause them harm. He'd exclude Balthus, too, were the nature of their relationship not somewhat different — which is how the Undefeated King of Anal finds himself helping Yuri to stretch himself open and soften up his hole as they bicker over who gets the bedroom for the night.
In the end, Yuri gives up the dorm and pays off the Seer for use of her chambers — funds that he's tempted to tell Balthus will be added to his debt (for all he has no real intention of doing so). By the time six o'clock rolls around Yuri is slicked up, sweetly scented, and set up with a pot of chamomile tea, which he idly checks on as he waits for Dimitri to make his appearance. )
no subject
He doesn't begrudge them the formality, of course. He doesn't care about Dedue any less just because he's never been able to convince him to use his name. He's fond of Ashe no matter how much he's the prince first and a fellow Lion second in the little archer's eyes. Everyone is kind to him, in their ways, and he appreciates it like he's supposed to, but —
But that hangs so heavy over all of it. Supposed to. All of them, behaving as they're supposed to.
That's why it stuns him that for those few seconds, Yuri doesn't. He naturally positions them as equals, even when he's using the right words and observing the right forms — he says your Highness like it's a term of affection instead of a title, he asserts himself as a House Leader in his own right just as Dimitri is head of his, he refers to him as a guy like you like he knows him, like what he is matters just as much as who he is.
And that's why he's just crazy enough to go. Because Yuri invites him for a social call and makes it sound like it really will be social. Because he asks if Dimitri wants company and he
and he
oh goddess he doesn't want to be alone with his responsibilities and ghosts right now.
But at least he only has to make it until six. It'll give him time to calm down, somewhat, and to go through his usual methodical process of cleaning and putting away his armor, of rinsing off the sweat and stench of battle. He should eat something, really, even though he'll derive no pleasure from it. And if it's a social call, then a gift is probably in order — a pair of riding boots, perhaps. Or maybe he's got an owl feather around somewhere that would do. Or —
Well, at least he's got plenty to keep him occupied until the appointed hour.
He sneaks down into Abyss at a little after six, determined not to be formally punctual while still respecting the hour, and sure enough, there are plenty of goons around that he can ask for directions. On the other hand, there's also Balthus, who he'll feel considerably less foolish approaching, and his comrade-in-arms flashes him a boisterous grin and a clap on the shoulder before pointing him in the right direction and heading off himself for a drink at the Wilted Rose.
He seems pleased with himself. Dimitri idly wonders why.
But it's a short walk to his destination, an alcove done up in rich blue drapery that's a little too close to Faerghus blue for Dimitri's attempts at commoner comfort, and when he pokes his head in, he's relieved to find Yuri already there and waiting, but not impatiently so.]
Hello.
["Hello". He's such an idiot. Swallowing back a flash of self-consciousness, he steps inside and holds out a box containing a rather humble but utilitarian whetstone — Yuri uses a sword in battle, it's practical, it's friendly — as his peace offering.]
I hope this is "after six" enough to suffice.
no subject
I'd say it's perfect timing.
( Yuri replies, an easy smirk on his lips as he rises to greet him. A flicker of surprise crosses his features when Dimitri offers him that small box; it hadn't occurred to him that in putting them on even footing he might see fit to treat him like he'd treat a peer, but then he supposes the guy tries so hard to be proper he'd probably have brought a gift even if Yuri had been a servant. )
A gift? C'mon — you're spoiling me, Your Highness.
( He teases, taking the box from Dimitri as he gestures for him to join him in taking a seat. If anything the gift makes this feel a little more like the transactions of his past in Enbarr: sure, the nobles he entertained would pay him well for his services, but many of them would also shower him with gifts and jewellery in order to maintain the pretence of some kind of secret relationship. Yuri rarely kept those little trinkets — he'd sell them on and use the money buy food and supplies for the other street kids — but that, he supposes, is what made them truly valuable.
The whetstone, on the other hand, isn't worth very much at all. Unlike his clients, Dimitri isn't attempting to trick himself into believing some kind of lie, nor is he trying to buy his affections due to misplaced jealousy. Instead he's given Yuri something that he'll be able to make good use of: something to make him more efficient, more deadly, and a better soldier on the battlefield.
Yuri smiles as he fingers the stone, before setting the box aside and lifting those violet eyes to the prince. )
Thank you, Dimitri.
( Dimitri. His name, not his title.
Yuri pours them each a cup of tea, one fine hand resting lightly atop the teapot's lid to keep it in place as he pours, before setting it down again and adding a generous dollop of honey to his own. )
I'm afraid all I've got to offer you in return is tea ...
( Yuri drops a playful wink in his direction, before lifting his own cup to his lips to take a careful sip. )
For the time being, in any case.
( A moment of silence stretches between them as Yuri observes Dimitri from over the rim of his cup. He really is incredibly handsome — he'll grow into a fine man someday, if he lives that long — and amusement touches the corners of his lips as he sets his tea back down on the saucer. )
So. You're probably wondering what it is I wanted to show you, huh? Truth be told it's actually more of an ... experience, than anything else. And before you ask — don't let the surroundings give you any wild ideas.
( A chuckle. )
I'm no more a seer than Balthus or Sylvain.
( Yuri cocks his head just so, the softening balm on his lips glinting in the low light as he smiles. )
Go ahead and correct me if I'm wrong, but ... it seems to me that fighting winds you up with a little extra energy, huh? Energy that you might not have a proper outlet for after the fact.
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Between that and the tea, he relaxes a little; when he reaches for his cup and the scent of chamomile reaches his nose, his lingering tension eases all the more. Oh, it's his favorite. Could it be that Yuri somehow knew? Perhaps he'd been talking to the professor, or...
Or, no, that's insane. Maybe it's just a lucky guess. Whatever it is, he's grateful for it.]
This is my favorite, actually. The smell is nostalgic.
[Nostalgic enough that he can almost remember what things taste like. Regardless, he has a few moments before conversation begins, and he takes his time to relish them, closing his eyes to properly appreciate the aroma of the tea before sipping lightly at it and letting the heat wash over his tongue.
It's a good thing, too. Because when Yuri mentions a little extra energy, he almost tenses right back up again for fear that he's been found out, a caged animal come under scrutiny — but at the very least he's got the tea to help keep himself calm, and his throat wet, and his voice even.]
I think that's how any soldier feels. Most men feel the rush of battle; it's a large part of what keeps them alive in such a dangerous situation. I doubt it's unusual to think that such a rush wouldn't merely disappear the instant a battle concludes.
[But.]
Thus far you've offered me an outlet and companionship. If you're leading up to the suggestion that we train together, you didn't need to go to all this formality, I assure you.
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( Dimitri's (incorrect) assumption gets one of those easy smiles from Yuri: )
Train with you? Please — you'd have me flat on my back in seconds.
( Which isn't necessarily true — Dimitri has the strength, certainly, but Yuri is all speed and accuracy — but he's never been one to boast about his strengths in the same way that some of the other students might. In Yuri's experience it can be pretty beneficial to be underestimated; there's nothing quite like seeing your opponent realise they've made a terrible mistake.
With Dimitri's free hand resting on the table it's easy for Yuri to reach out and touch the prince's armoured wrist; he might not feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips, but the weight of the gesture is symbolic enough that it hardly matters. Dark lashes slide low as Yuri lets the side of his boot slide against the curve of Dimitri's ankle: )
What I'm offering is an outlet, companionship ... but of the more intimate variety.
( He smiles, but there's nothing mocking or teasing in his expression this time. The last thing he wants is for Dimitri to misunderstand, or to think he's being strung along for a joke. )
With the right person you'll find it can be just as satisfying as training — even more so, more often than not.
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FOR DIMITRI.
Yuri doesn't see Dimitri for several days.
It isn't intentional in the sense that it isn't any kind of personal avoidance — but they fucked long and hard without any kind of protective measures in place, which means that after the general clean-up of the room Yuri had to find a moment to invite Constance for a spot of afternoon tea. It isn't the first time he's had to ask for her help, nor does he assume it'll be the last, and if he thinks she gets a lick of pleasure in watching him suffer the effects of the Moon tea in the following days?
Well. He supposes he deserves it, all things considered, although he swears he sees a flash of sympathy cross her expression on the final (and worst) day.
Four days later sees Yuri topside again, his back smirk in place and his stride as confident as it's ever been. He decides to take dinner in the dining hall just to help dispell any rumours surrounding his disappearance: it isn't unusual for Yuri Leclerc to slip off for a few days, after all, but now that he's joined the Blue Lions he has nosey teenagers to appease as well as the inhabitants of Abyss.
This whole "working together" thing had better end up being worth it.
Still, there's nothing he enjoys quite so much as getting together and eating with acquaintances. Dimitri doesn't seem to have arrived yet — not that he's, y'know, keeping an eye out for him or anything — which means the spot to his left ends up being filled by none other than the Gautier heir himself.
Sylvain. The man's a headache when he wants to be, but Yuri suspects there's something deeper and darker lurking just beneath the surface with this one too. Despair, the same as Dimitri, just ... a different flavour of it, perhaps.
"Aw — you came all the way over here just to sit with little old me?" Yuri teases, resting an elbow on the table and his chin on his palm as he flutters his lashes at the redhead. "You shouldn't have. If I didn't know any better I might even be flattered."
Sylvain being Sylvain takes it in his stride with a good-natured laugh, and goes so far as to slin his arm across the back of Yuri's shoulders
"Well, you know me. I never could resist dinner with a pretty lady — and you're as pretty as any of them."
A nearby student blushes at their over-the-top flirting, and Yuri can't help but bite back a little chuckle.
"Tch. C'mon, Gautier — I bet you say that to all the boys who catch your eye."
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It's hard not to feel as though it's something personal, the way he had just sort of been a presence one moment and then vanished the next. It weighs on his conscience, darkening his mood and leaving him a little sulkier and more withdrawn than usual; Felix needles him about it and Ashe asks tactfully after him and Dedue simply dotes in his quiet, solemn way, but nothing really does anything to help. Even Byleth takes a minute out to remark on his change in demeanor, and the fact of the matter is he almost confesses everything to the professor right then and there, except that some odd twinge of bashful shame gets the better of him, and he winds up simply making excuses instead.
He knows, rationally, that it's nothing he did or didn't do. It's not a result of dissatisfaction with his...his...conduct, probably. And he hasn't turned up in Manuela's infirmary so it couldn't be that he somehow hurt his omega, so —
"His omega". He's got to stop thinking like that. It had been one thing to indulge the whim in the heat of passion, but he has no real claim on Yuri Leclerc and he knows it.
He just wishes the alpha in him would recognize that, too.
But then, one day, he goes to dinner in the dining hall, and like some miracle from the Goddess, Yuri is there. And not just there, but there and sitting with...Sylvain. Sylvain, who seems to be telling some sort of joke or making some variety of quip. Sylvain, making Yuri laugh. Sylvain, with his arm around Yuri's shoulders —
A hand falls on his arm. Byleth. He's told to put his fangs away and stop snarling in public. He hadn't even realized he was baring his teeth to begin with. And Byleth is a fellow alpha, and one whose strength he respects, but even that isn't necessarily enough to calm him entirely.
Moodily, he stalks over to the table where Sylvain and Yuri have taken up residence, reflexively scenting the air in search of Yuri's scent even as he approaches like a dark little thundercloud.
"Sylvain," he says in a voice so ragged it's nearly a growl, his blue eyes sharp as sapphires. "You normally sit with Felix and Ingrid, don't you?"
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A curious prickle tingles its way down the back of Yuri's neck as a familiar scent finds its way into his nostrils. It's enbuogh to pull his attention from Sylvain to the young man approaching with table like so much thinder: Dimitri, his gaze piercing and the line of his mouth as hard as it is in battle.
It's an interesting moment for a vareity of reasons. Firstly, Yuri notices a flicker of genuine surprise cross Sylvain's expression when Dimitri halts by their table. Perhaps he hadn't expected his prince to be the one to put a stop to his flirtations; Yuri knows well enough that it's usually Ingrid or Felix who steps in to that particular role. Secondly, there's the fact that Dimitri has even bothered to approach at all. Yuri can't help but wonder how much of his actions are the result of a hot surge of Alpha hormones; an inherent revulsion at the idea of another person putting their hands on an Omega he so recently knotted.
Thirdly, and perhaps most concerningly: there's the fact that Yuri finds himself liking it. He shouldn't — not when the whole point of sleeping with Dimitri was to get him hooked, not vice versa — but he can't stop the pleasure curling into his own scent as Dimitri non-too-subtly growls for Sylvain to back the hell off.
"Not all the time," he replies with his usual charm, clearly attempting to try and overlook Dimitri's dark mood by brushing it off with a smile. "You know me, Your Highness. How could I turn down the opportunity to have dinner with the prettiest guy in the hall?"
Yuri just rolls his eyes, then rests his elbow on the table so that he can put his chin in his palm. To anyone else it might seem like a casual gesture suggesting he's bored of the situation, but in truth?
He needs Dimitri on side. With any luck he'll interpret it as a subtle attempt to remove himself from Sylvain's touch — which, of course, it is.
"Yeah, yeah," Yuri chuckles, giving Sylvain an amused look before letting his gaze settle back on Dimitri. "And I was just telling him how I look forward to swapping notes with all the boys who've been deemed 'the prettiest' before me."
He winks at Dimitri.
"Unless you're here to defend my honour for me, Your Highness?"
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If only the alpha in his blood were willing to concede to that. If only Sylvain's coaxing smile weren't making irritation and possessiveness boil in his veins, the precise opposite of its obvious intention of setting him at ease.
But he knows better than to cause a scene in the middle of the dining hall, and especially so over the lord of an entirely different house when it's one of his own prompting his chagrin. He hasn't turned around to feel Byleth's warning gaze burning into the back of his head, but he doesn't have to. He knows it's there, nevertheless.
"It sounds a lively conversation," he says at last, terrible liar that he is, and pointedly keeps his eyes on the table instead of on either of the two young men in his midst. "Would you allow me to join you, then?"
In retrospect, it's not such a bad way to play all this. This way, they can all pretend he hasn't just brought them to the verge of making a scene, but he can still insert himself into the little exchange in the way the possessive alpha in him demands.
Yuri's scent is all but smothered right now; he must be back to keeping his nature under wraps. But Dimitri has claimed him before, and knows what scent to look for, even when it's being suppressed; faint as it is, he can still just barely find it in the air around the table, sweetly pleased. He can only hope that it's like that because of him, and not Sylvain.
"Surely between the three of us, everyone's honor will be safeguarded," he adds, still terrible at navigating this sort of discussion, and sort of awkwardly finds his seat before anyone has the opportunity to deter him.
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At this, Sylvain seems to deflate a little bit. Yuri suspects it's becaus ehe knows he won't be able to get away with such gratuitious flirting while in the presence of another of the 'Faerghus Four' — something Dimitri probably knows too, or perhaps even something that he's counting on by sitting with them.
"Surely it will," Yuri chuckles, raising an eyebrow at Sylvain as a little smirk touches his lips. "Tell me, friend: has His Highness made it on to your pretty list yet?"
"Gimme a break, Yuri," Sylvain laughs, before clapping him on the shoulder and tossing Dimitri a slightly strained (but no less rakish) grin. "Dimitri here is way outta my league — princes can't be seen getting cosy with just anybody, you know."
Yuri nods in agreement, casually avoiding eye-contact with Dimitri so as not to stir up too many memories of when he fucked him into a stranger's mattress. 'Getting cosy' wasn't even the half of it, was it? His focus wavers for a moment, and he uncrosses and recrosses his legs beneath the table as a little twinge of something begins to warm the space between them.
Saints, but sometimes being an Omega is trying work.
"Mm, I suppose there's gonna be some truth in that," Yuri muses, as though considering it for the first time. When he finally does glance in Dimitri's direction there's mischief in his eyes, and he takes a deliberate sip of his water as he feigns a moment of consideration.
"But that doesn't necessarily mean there's no-one he has his eye on. Right, Your Highness?"
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Case in point: he's now trapped at a table with two of the smoothest flirts in Garreg Mach, one of whom he's painfully attracted to, and the other of whom he's trying his best not to throw the table at, for daring to lay even a finger on the former's shoulder in Dimitri's presence.
"My role doesn't come with many liberties, as Sylvain observed," he says at last, as he tries to shove his thoughts away from how good it had felt down in Abyss to be no one but Dimitri for a while, to set aside all the lordly trappings and just indulge as a man for a little while.
He tries. It doesn't work.
And of course he sees the mischief glittering in Yuri's gaze, and he can't help but answer it very subtly with retaliation of his own — a soft, inaudible purr that rumbles in the back of his throat, one that could easily be explained away by a bit of soreness or some other idle alpha concern, because of course, everyone at this table is supposed to assume that everyone present is one.
But he knows Yuri isn't. He knows. And it feels good, dark and dangerous, to take a swing at affecting him right back, in that slight and subtle way.
"Still..." he continues, feigning a touch more ruefulness, "Not being at liberty to act isn't the same thing as not being at liberty to look. And there are — of course, I'm sure it goes without saying that some of the residents of this monastery are...pleasing to the eye."
He clears his throat. "To my eye, specifically. Yes, I'll concede that."
you know the two of us are just young gods;
He's always taken Byleth's absence hard, ever since the great and ancient war of eons ago. It just doesn't seem right, is all — he remembers it so vividly, how they'd been raised safe and happy in their cave with their guardians, growing strong and powerful, until the day Byleth came for them and raised them up against his sister-enemy, and he'd taken up his sword and lance and gone off to fight because there was nothing, nothing that Dima wouldn't do for their lord father. He would kill. He would die. He would give all of himself if it were asked of him. Anything, anything, because in Byleth there was understanding, and order, and a sense of belonging, and that was exactly what Dima had always loved so much about it.
A weapon not kept sharp goes to rust. Tools must be used, must have an owner to give them any sort of meaning. Byleth left them, and all of a sudden Dima became a sword with no hand to hold him, forgotten and abandoned in the bloodstained fields of war after all the fighting had ceased.
Yuri is not their father. But if there's one thing Yuri has always excelled at, it's transforming himself into whatever someone else needs him to be. Maybe that comes with being the eldest. Maybe that comes with being a better schemer than all the rest of them combined.
It doesn't matter, really. El is the one who wants Yuri to be Byleth, instead. Khalid is the one who sees Yuri as a threat to his own designs, and for good reason. Dima's needs are so much simpler than all of that, and maybe that's why he's the one who always has his whims granted.
Dima just wants to be warm. To be loved. To mean something.
That's another thing Yuri has always excelled at. Loving his family, even when it means playing favorites.
No one ever stops him when he seeks to enter the Underworld; the help all know better, he assumes, and so either they don't try to prevent him out of fear of his own strength, or they let him because they're dutiful subjects and they know it's what Yuri would want. It's cold on the surface these days; snow blankets the ground, and the trees have shed their leaves, stripped down to nothing but bare brown fingers of wood against the white and pale cornflower blue of the surrounding world. It's cold in the realm of the dead, too, but that's a different variety of chill, and one that his own blood and ichor inherently repels, being immortal and powerful as he is.
And yet for all that he cuts a terrible figure on the journey to his destination, by the time he crosses the threshold into Yuri's private rooms, he's docile as a favored pet once again, sinking to the ground in his favorite place near the foot of the bed, a great ragged lump of god in spellwoven cloak and thick rich furs and rumpled blond hair perfect for raking one's fingers through. He waits like a dog that knows it's not allowed on the furniture. He waits, and waits, and waits.
It's worth the wait, because he needs this right now. Needs, more than any of the others do, to be loved by someone who's good at loving others, to be close to his only elder brother, and for at least a little while, to have the howls and snarling of the feral things that haunt him go silent, and let him be at peace for a change.]
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( A messenger brings word that his brother has entered the Underworld while Yuri is elbow deep in his processing duties. The Death Knight keeps him ever busy: his reaping scythe will never wont for souls as long as their reality continues to exist, and Yuri occasionally curses the hungry efficiency with which Jeritza has committed to his role.
He is with the pale shade of a child when the notice comes. A young boy, barely older than five or six by Yuri's reckoning, tear-streaked and frightened without his mama to hold his hand or kiss his brow. Lord of the Dead he may be, but Yuri has always harboured a fierce protectiveness of the lost children of the world — a truth which no doubt stems from the parental void he had to fill when Byleth abandoned his fledgling gods in their cave.
The messenger is dismissed with a wave of his hand. Dima will have to wait. )
Hush now, little one.
( Already crouched to the child's level, Yuri takes one small hand in his own while raising the finger of his other between them. A point of light rises from the tip, shimmering and swirling until it takes the form of a little butterfly, which flaps its wings just the once as though carefully testing its own capacity for flight. )
... Erik, isn't it? I know you miss your mama, Erik. I know. ( The butterfly wobbles into the air. ) And I know she'll be with you soon. Not today, but I promise you that she'll find her way here too, and when she does?
( Yuri smiles warmly, his expression softening as the butterfly bobs around the sniffeling shade's head. Erik is already beginning to look a little hazy around the edges: they don't have long left, and Yuri would see the child's suffering eased before he's moved on with the rest of the morning's souls. )
I'll tell her all about how bravely her son waited for her. How about that, huh? Think how proud she'll be.
( A beat. )
She loves you very much, Erik.
( A watery smile breaks through the mist of tears. The butterfly lands on Erik's nose as Yuri gives his hand a tiny squeeze — and if his heart beat like a mortal's there'd be the space of one, perhaps two pumps, before the child disappears before him. Yuri remains crouched there for a moment as the butterfly shimmers out of existence again, before rubbing a hand over his eyes as he rises to his feet properly.
A smile is oftentimes the best he can do.
The rest of the souls are delegated to a handful of administrators as Yuri sweeps out of the hall, his mind already wandering to the tales he'd tell Dima, Khalid, and El, while they waited for Byleth to return. Sometimes he worries that it's simply lazy to reuse such old material with the young souls that end up in his care: "Think how proud he'll be, El, when he sees how strong you've been. He loves you very much, Dima. He'll be with you soon, Khalid."
Then again, it's always seemed to help them move on more peacefully. A pity the same can't necessarily be said for the neglected wreckage of his siblings.
He stills when he steps into safe enclosure of his private chambers. Few have ever been permitted entrance to the space that Yuri has carved out for himself — El and Khalid have never set foot in this part of his realm, let alone his rooms — but his soft spot for Dima has always been tender enough that he's never had to so much as ask. He simply arrives in the dead of winter when the beasts are snug and sleeping, in silent request of the love Yuri reserves just for him.
... He's beautiful, his Dima. Yuri spends a long moment simply looking at him knelt by the foot of his bed: all wild power and strength wrought into a body made for the hunt, crowned with gold and clothed in raiment woven from the night sky itself. His own attire melts to something soft, sheer, and comfortable as he pads barefoot to where Dima waits, one hand extending to card through that thick mop of hair and lightly rub behind his ear. )
Good boy.
( Another pinprick of light — another butterfly. It flutters before Dima's face, looping and twirling in search of a fingertip to land on. )
I've gotta say, I didn't know whether you'd remember my rules this time, but you've waited so nicely for me.
( A little warm indulgence softens the edges of his tone. )
Have you missed me, my Dima?
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Sometimes, in his private thoughts, he wonders whether their father made a mistake when he gave them their guardians. El's bird of prey suits her perfectly, deadly hunter soaring above that she is. Khalid's deer reflects his own cunning; Dima of all people knows how such beasts are deadlier than they appear, and easily underestimated.
But Yuri should have been a lion, he thinks sometimes. Yuri is proud and strong and demanding of obeisance in presence alone, needing no one but collecting a following as he sees fit.
Perhaps Dima should've been the wolf. People assume the worst of wolves, think them crueler than they often are. People assume they're happy alone, and don't realize that they only thrive in packs.]
I always miss you. Every moment I am away, I miss you.
[He turns his head gratefully into the petting hand, nuzzling at the heel of Yuri's palm, a good affectionate beast.]
I made the wilds plentiful and available, this past harvest. My animals are fat and content. Claude's humans have food in surplus and wild game in abundance to supplement their stores while winter's chill holds.
[He looks up at Yuri, his eyes blue as a summer's sky.]
Few will die this winter, and fewer still on my account. Are you pleased with me?
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( Dima says he misses him, and Yuri believes him.
It isn't that he thinks his other siblings are happy without him, exactly, but Yuri knows that neither El nor Khalid would struggle that much if they were to go without seeing him for a century at a time. Dimtri, on the other hand, seems to need this kind of validation for the continuation of his very existence — has needed it ever since Byleth planted the notion that he might not be good enough into the back of his mind. )
Yes.
( He replies easily, a smile touching the corners of his lips as he strokes his fingers through blond hair. )
I'm pleased with you. You've done so well, Dima, and I'm proud of you.
( And he is. Yuri knows that his brother's heart is large and warm — that sometimes people miss it, distracted as they are by the glint of teeth or a steaming winter snarl. He wildness is what makes him who he is — it's why he was given such a realm to rule over, after all — but humans and gods alike often fear the rugged darkness of the world.
Of Dima.
In some ways, he supposes they're not entirely wrong to do so. )
My good boy.
( But not Yuri. The butterfly melts into thin air as he moves around to cup his brother's face between his palms: )
Stay with me a while, hm? You can rest in my realm while winter keeps your animals occupied, and I'll have the time to properly reward you for all your good work.
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They're more alike, the two of them, than perhaps most people realize. Both of them are masters of realms that, on their face, might seem hostile to the humans that reside among and around them. And yet Yuri doesn't relish his duty of processing the dead, and certainly never grows greedy about increasing his share.
Dima is the same way. He has his affection for humanity, in his own feral way. Loving them is part of the reason he never sought to claim them for himself in the first place.
But he smiles, all glistening teeth, and runs his tongue over his bottom lip in a stroke too deliberate to be coincidental.]
Do I get to choose my own reward?
[He gets to stay. That's reward in itself, but what would be the point if he didn't press his luck as far as he could stretch it?]
Perhaps I could render you even more...pleased with me.
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( Dima’s careful request curls Yuri’s smile just that bit wider as he cocks his head, lilac meeting sapphire as he gazes down into his brother’s beautiful face. A smile with teeth, a question loaded with all manner of enjoyable promise …
Yuri’s quite certain he couldn’t say no, even if he wanted to. )
You really think you’ve been that well behaved?
( But surely Dima will be able to see through him - surely he’ll realise that Yuri is simply taking the opportunity to heighten the anticipation curling between them. It’s been a long time since he last set foot in the Underworld - not to mention a long time since Yuri was to give his brother his undivided attention - and now that he’s here, asking for it, he can’t help but try to savour the moment. )
Lucky for you, you’ve caught me in a generous mood.
( Yuri takes a step back, his fingers sliding from Dima’s chin as the gauzy swirl of his chiton unravels into so much shimmering mist.
When it clears, Yuri stands before him with a hip cocked and a crooked finger beckoning him closer: )
Tell me what you want, beloved. I’ll give you whatever you ask, and we can see how much you please me.
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sing my angel of music;
And it is, in fact, a personal errand — it's intermission, and the starring tenor of the opera is presumably relaxing in his dressing room at this point, but he'll be swamped with admirers as soon as the final curtain falls and Dimitri won't be much better off himself, once all the noble lords of Enbarr start to vie for his attention and he won't stand a chance of sneaking off anywhere on his own.
So it has to be now. Even if it's only for a moment, he has to get away, just long enough to try to see the vision from center stage firsthand.
The flowers tucked away in the box in his arms are lilacs and peonies — not the roses worthy of a primadonna, perhaps, but he'd been struck by how fragrant they were when he'd gone looking for his tribute, compelled more by the heavenly aroma than by the perfection of any other blossoms. Beauty in more than just appearances, he'd thought to himself, as he'd wound a necklace of sapphire and pearl around the stems and tucked it away beneath the tissue paper, a hidden surprise for the recipient to later find.
There are fifteen minutes, at best, until intermission concludes. Less, before he'll be missed.
But he knocks on the door anyway, holding his breath, and hopes beyond hope that the darling tenor of the Mittlefrank Opera House will favor him with an audience.]
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( There are fifteen minutes before the intermission concldes, which means that Yuri has fifteen minutes left to make himself presentable for the second half of the performance. It's a good crowd tonight — respectful, responsive, applauding thunderously where appropriate — and Yuri is looking forward to breaking all their hearts with the conclusion of the opera. It's a tragic tale of a love too precious to ever last: the climax ends with the heroine's own father killing the hero — that would be Yuri — on the eve of their wedding, at which point she pulls the blade from between his ribs and turns it on herself.
All that good stuff.
As such, Yuri is making himself wedding-ready when a knock rattles against his door. He glances towards the clock as he returns his powder-puff to the pot: it's too early for him to be summoned to his starting position for the second act, and management don't allow the audience backstage during the intermission for fear of overwhelimg their singers before they perform. He has, however, been on the receiving end of a seemingly endless stream of bouquets of roses — there were several in his dressing room beore he arrived for the evening, and the stagehand has already brought him two more over the course of the interval.
Roses, roses, roses — he's sick to his back teeth of the things, although he's fairly certain he'd offend a not insignifcant chunk of the nobility if he issued a statement asking them to try bringing him something else for a change. No doubt his fiancé, Deklan, would be the first among them.
His curiosity only deepens when he opens the door to reveal the stunning blond man on the other side: )
Huh ...
( He seems vaguely familiar, but Yuri can't quite place where he might have seen him before. A regular in the crowd, perhaps? One of Deklan's peers, cronies, or subordinates? Whoever he is, he's far too handsome for Yuri to brush him off as a nobody, and he's already earned a sliver of his favour by bringing him a bouquet of something new. )
Are those for me?
( He glances towards the flowers, his smile taking on a curl of something flirtatious as he opens the door a little wider. )
C'mon, you'd better come in before someone catches you back here.
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[It seems to occur to him, halfway through his sentence, that his instinctive desire to flatter and compliment is probably nothing that the star tenor of the opera hasn't already heard a thousand times before, and that continuing on with it — however earnestly — will only come off sounding disingenuous in the long run. Instead, he swallows the words back and nods as he steps inside the dressing room, grateful to be out of sight. Felix will notice he's gone before long, and his usual guards will notice it about ten minutes later than Felix does, and anyway, if he's not back in his seat before the opera resumes, everyone will notice, and not for good reasons.
So he hurries through the door and into the warmth of the little dressing room, waiting until it's been shut behind him before offering the fragrant bouquet. There are already so many flowers littering every surface of the room; he might feel self-conscious about his own, were it not for the fact that it's at least blessedly different from the others.]
Please. Your performance so far has been magnificent, and you've not even reached the final act yet. I simply wanted to offer my compliments, and my admiration.
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Object?
( Yuri raises an eyebrow as he takes the flowers, bringing them up closer to his face so that he can enjoy their gentle fragrance. His pleasure is immediate and evident: the smile that curves his lips is an easy thing that warms the lilac of his eyes, and he sighs his exhale before turning to give them pride of place on his vanity. )
Luckily for you, you've got great taste. I couldn't object to them even if I wanted to—
( There's a moment of pause as Yuri tilts his head in question, a little mischief touching the corners of his smile as he runs a fingertip over one of the fluffy peonies. )
This must be the part where you tell me your name, huh?
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He flicks a quick glance at the blossoms, looking for the hidden glint of gemstone that he knows is hidden away beneath them. Still there — good. He'll find it later, hopefully.]
It's, ah. Alexandre. I'm, er. With the Faerghan entourage.
[It's not even technically a lie; were he thinking more quickly, maybe he would've offered up Hugo or Jose, borrowing one of his friends' names for extra cover, but it's not as though he's ever been a particularly skilled liar. At least his own lengthy name isn't common knowledge anyway, and certainly not so this deep into the heart of the Empire.]
I'm sorry, I'm sure I've made this very awkward for you. Interrupting your preparation time, and all. Please don't feel as though you need to...entertain me, or anything like that. I only wanted to thank you for a. A magnificent performance.
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Alexandre ...
( Yuri turns the name over on his tongue thoughtfully, as though considering whether or not it's up to some kind of imagined standard. Dimitri is in luck: )
Then it's a pleasure to meet you, Alexandre. I'm Yuri.
( Not that the guy doesn't know as much — he sought out his dressing room specifically to bring him a gift, after all — but it's only polite to at least stick to some form of scripted small-talk. Besides, the guy's handsome exterior is already melting away into something kind of precious, and Yuri can't help but let him sweat for a moment before offering him a silvery little chuckle. )
And believe me, friend, I've had much more awkward encounters than this. Some flowers and a shower of compliments is positively tame.
( A beat of easy silence fills the space between them as Yuri turns back to the mirror, where he resumes powdering his face and the front of his throat. )
Will you be staying for the second half? Sometimes people slip out in the interval to do something else with the rest of their evening, but ...
( He glances towards the flowers, then back to Dimitri with a pretty little smirk. )
I'd hope to have your attention for the rest of it.
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