Work Text:
Hosting a ball. Finances. Meeting with nobility. Delegating orders. Troop provisions. Legal proceedings. These were just a few of the thrilling things he’s had to sit down and sort out. So much paperwork. He can feel his back screaming; he’d be more comfortable doing this on his Wyvern. At least if he breaks his back due to his Wyvern it’s because the draconic being is being overly friendly and excited. He’d argue a friendly Wyvern is a better death than paperwork, but... this was for a better future.
Political favours. Regional disputes. Taxes and tariffs. Rooting out corruption. Addressing advisors concerns. Ambassadors comforts. Adjusting censorship. Production-
He sighs, his head falling forward. He can feel his hair out of place. Usually one lock falls, artfully, down the side of his face. Right now it feels like it’s frizzed out in every direction. He pulls one hand through his locks, trying to tug them back into place. He does his best then puts that same hand to better use. Keeping his chin from smacking with the table. He’s just so... tired. A yawn. If only there was something more interesting here-
There is of course. On the opposite side of his desk. His wife.
His incredibly beautiful and talented wife. The one person he doesn’t mind sharing all his troubles with which... is why she’s here. Doing the same paperwork he is.
Looking over at her, her eyes, sometimes navy; sometimes lavender, are transfixed to the paper beneath her. Her wrists, deceptively lithe, move backwards and forwards. Constantly at work. Her handwriting is surprisingly beautiful; he always heard teachers had the worst handwriting, but Byleth (former teacher and mercenary, current leading ruler) had elegant writing. The ‘l’s looping and the ‘t’s crossed in such extravagant ways. He can’t look away. Wants to reach his hand across the table and-
“You OK?” She asks, her voice startling him and- oh his free hand was reaching across the table. Completely against his will. No constraint. Or maybe he was just tired; not being able to suppress his desires until after they had finished everything.
She glances up, prioritising him above her work and his heart! To be thought of as above the peace of their nations; truly a heady experience. He grins over at her; leaning further across the table.
“I’m fine,” he sing songs; sounding more awake than he feels. “Just taking a break.”
She raises a brow, before rolling her eyes and going back to work. “You should stand up and stretch your legs if you need a break.”
“Too true, my wife,” he agrees standing up and moving his chair closer before sitting back down. Hilda says he has a problem of referring to Byleth as ‘his’; claims he’s like a child that wants to monopolise his favourite toy. He disagrees, he can’t help but call her ‘my wife’ and ‘my friend’ due to the sheer disbelief that she’s on his side. That she chooses to be with him. It makes his life a little more fulfilling every time he utters the word ‘my’ in conjunction with Byleth.
“That’s not what I meant Claude,” Byleth sighs, but she’s amused. He can tell by the shine in her eyes; the way she refuses to look back up. Refusing to goad him on.
He’s goaded.
“But did I not stand up as you suggested? Did I not put effort into stretching my legs out? Exercise! At its worst,” he’s grinning. Uncontrollably.
She shakes her head, amused, before finally looking up at him. “That’s not what I meant,” the ‘and you know it’ remains unsaid, “sitting all day isn’t good for one’s health.”
He grabs her hand, the one not holding the quill; he would never sabotage all their work, and tugs lightly. “You’ve also been sitting all day. Stand up with me, we could dance?”
She hesitates. One finger tapping against the quill in her hand. She’s tempted. “After I finish this one.”
“Of course,” he withdraws his hand, for now, and goes back to leaning on his hand. The angle’s different now; sitting beside her as he is, but it’s no less a stunning sight.
Her pale skin is without blemish. It’s surprising, especially seeing as Claude knows her daily care routine. She’ll wake up in the morning hair a tangled mess, splash some water on her face and call it a day. He’s managed, somehow, to convince her to let him brush and style her hair in the morning, but skin care. She really doesn’t need it. He’s never seen a pore, spot or anything gracing her flesh (and he‘s mapped every inch of it). It’s enough to make a person jealous; Claude has to spend an hour to just be presentable. Maybe it’s the Goddess’ heart pumping her blood, or maybe it’s just genetics (Jeralt was surprisingly similar). Whatever it is, he dares not tell Hilda. He likes his wife alive and well. And envy aside her skin is only is boon for him.
Whenever he wants to hold her, touch her, the feeling of her skin is magical. So soft and smooth. It makes no sense; a hardened mercenary such as she and only her hands show it. Her hands are rough when they touch him; 20 years of sword usage blistering them. Yet the rest of her is so soft; like the most luxurious silks. Again it makes no sense; she’s traversed all kinds of harsh terrain, deals with all kinds of traitorous weather conditions. Her flesh shouldn’t be so smooth, yet it is. Claude treasures it. He’d treasure it even if it was patchy from the years of mistreatment from Mother Nature. He’d still love running his hands across her shoulders. Her neck. Her-
Hand.
Byleth holds her hand out. The hand that was keeping the parchment she was busy writing on down.
He stares. Stupidly; he can admit.
“By?” He questions.
She wiggles her fingers. Beckoning.
“You wanted to touch,” she says it simply; like it’s fact. It was fact. It is fact.
He rushes for her hand. It’s her left hand, the one that has a wedding ring happily perched there. He takes her outstretched hand so his thumb can run along her fingers. Takes her outstretched hand like he had when they danced the first time all those years ago. Takes her outstretched hand like a lifeline.
His hold isn’t strong, there’s no need. Byleth wouldn’t fade on him anymore. He was scared for a while that she might collapse again. He remembers with vivid clarity her crumbling to the floor. Just asleep, thank God, but still unaware of the world. Still leaving him behind. She hasn’t seemed to need that super sleep since. He’s thankful; not wanting to waste a second of their time together.
His thumbs glides along her fingers. Playing them like a piano. Enjoying each groove between her fingers; especially the groove of the ring he purchased for her. Metal and skin together in a perfect collaboration.
Metal always looks good against Byleth. Whether it’s a blade in hand or jewellery she’s gracing. It’s mesmerising to see. He would willingly lose days to see such a sight.
He runs at his thumb along that ring finger one more time before his hand traces her wrist. Her forearm. The groove of her elbow. Travelling high across her shoulder, until his hand stops at her neck.
He only allows himself the briefest touch of his fingertips against the skin she has there. The neckline of her shirt goes up high, covering a decent chunk of her long neck. He wonders what her neck would look like covered in gold- or beads! Hilda has some amazing beaded necklaces he noticed the last time he took a gander at her new line of work. Just imagine- his fingertips trace the imagined thought- beads circling her neck. Running higher and higher, each colour as complimentary as Hilda would demand. It would look glorious, but not as glorious as the teasing glimpses of Byleth’s bare flesh beneath. He’d ache to place his lips against her flesh- his fingers linger half way up her neck; aching- would he be able to calmly unwrap the beads from her neck? Would he be able to sneak a cheeky peck between the beads? Or would he be so desperate that he just rips them off; scattering those delicate beads everywhere as he sings prays against Byleth’s neck.
His fingers linger. So lightly. Barely there. He wants to dig them deep into her flesh. Mark the very area he’s been fantasising about-
Byleth leans into his touch. Brings his fingers firm against her neck. “I’m still finishing this off you know?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounds rough, like he’s been running in a desert without water. “What document you working on?”
“Structural repairs,” ah. Something important. Something that shouldn’t be hindered by probing fingers. Something that needed to be done now; so their people can rest easy at night. So the scars of war can finally be healed.
“Right,” he clears his throat, pulling his hand away. No wandering hands.
Byleth catches his hand. Lightning fast. Claude goes limp in her grasp, a puppet to her whimsy.
She tugs his hand towards her face and he follows. Always following his wife. Then again she follows his lead just as much. Give and take: neither are lacking in this relationship.
His finger twitches against her cheek. His hand had been left to flop forward; not moving. That won’t work though, if he keeps his hand still like that he can’t cup her cheek and tease the edge of her lip with his thumb. He can’t completely surround her face with his hands. Can’t- But is that what she wants?
He looks to her eyes. Stares deeply into them. She stares back.
“Touching is fine,” it sounds like an allowance (which it kind of is), but he can tell she aches for this just as much. Byleth just has more self-restraint than he will ever have. “Stop staring holes into me though.”
He smiles, flexing his hand out. “No promises.”
She rolls her eyes and gets back to work, leaving Claude to do whatever it is he longs to do. He cups her cheek first.
Her cheeks are full. Round in a way that makes her look younger, not that Claude’s sure she can age. Jeralt didn’t, so she has genetics on her side. Rhea- Seiros?- didn’t, so she has Goddess blood on her side. She’d look glorious with a few wrinkles. Some crow’s feet crinkling the edge of her eyes, dimples to make use of those full cheeks. He just wants her to be happy; to see the evidence of that happiness... though she’d be fine staying exactly as she is now. Claude knows she’s happy. Knows she’s at peace. He doesn’t need something physical to show it; just knowing is enough.
He smiles. His eyes transfixed on the way his hand moves up, away from her cheek. He trails up towards her temple. His thumb feels the flutter of eyelashes and she tilts her head slightly. Bringing her eyes further from his hand. Bringing his hand into her hair.
Her hair had always been a mess. It can be made to feel silky soft; Claude has tried and succeeded in the past. It just takes a good hour and a half to get rid of the split ends, neaten the layers and brush the knots out. Byleth hadn’t necessarily enjoyed the experience at first, but after the first few times she had grown to enjoy Claude running his fingers through her hair. Found it a soothing way to start the day. Claude loves it. Their early morning ritual. Her hair never lasts though.
Today he had put half her hair up in an intricate plait and allowed the rest to run down her back. Her hair had been straight when she left their room. Now most of the hair had fallen from the plait, gathered into messy knots and stuck up at all odds and ends. It was a mess. A mess Claude never really understood. He gets it’s due to just how active she is, but hair should not fall from a plait that easily. It was fine though, it just gave Claude more to work with.
Not right now though. Byleth was in the middle of finishing up one last document and then he could have her full attention. He brushes the stray hair there behind her ear and-
Fixates.
It was unusual, or maybe not, how normal her ear is. A tiny round ear that’s usually hidden beneath the mess she calls hair. Unusual because Byleth had confided in him that Sothis and her children had pointed ears that marked them as more draconic than human. He guesses her ears make her more human than she thinks she is.
That’s not why he’s fixated though. Sure the mystery was killing him and he’d definitely discover the answer someday (for both their sakes), but he fixated for a completely different reason. Stares ever so longingly at the bottom of her lobe. She would look amazing with a piercing. Not just any piercing. One that matches his.
On his left ear a small golden hoop dangles. He’s had a piercing since he was a child, a rite to adulthood his Dad has teased him as he pierced his ear. The pain wasn’t anything great, but as a child he wore it as a badge of honour. Bragged about it as his Dad laughed at his stupidity. He wonders if Byleth would let him pierce her ear.
His hand traces the outside shell of her ear. Top to bottom. Where his fingers linger; planning the perfect spot to pierce. The exact same location as his. They’d match.
“Hey, By?” He asks, his voice a little more dreamy than planned. She hums in return. “You ever thought about getting a piercing before?”
“No,” she answers simply. Brutally honest.
“Why not?” He whines. It’s strategic he promises.
“Piercings are a danger on the battlefield,” she informs him and once again looks up from her work. She tugs ever so slightly at his hooped piercing. He feels it pulling his ear and he groans. “If someone pulled hard enough you’re losing your lobe.”
“The only one getting close enough to pull it off is you,” Claude grins. “You’re not going to mar your husband’s face are you?”
“Does your ear count as you face?” She hums and he’d pale, it sounds so much like a threat, but he’s learnt Byleth’s humour by this point. He knows she’s only joking... he hopes she’s only joking. “You could also get it caught on your bow.”
He doubts that, but it’s always wise to expect everything. “I guess it could. Think I should get rid of mine then?”
Byleth hums. Putting her quill down and completely focusing on him. Her work temporarily forgotten (does he take advantage of this?). She brings both her hands to his face. Cupping his cheeks and gently tilting his head to the side so she can stare at his ear.
He’s silent for now. Focusing on Byleth’s hands against his face. They feel much harder than the rest of her flesh. Worn out, little cuts across them and he’s pretty sure she just smeared some ink in his goatee. He loves the feel of it. Closes his eyes to immerse himself in the feeling of her. Her thumb brushes against his piercing and he shivers. Completely at her whim.
She stares.
“Like what you see?” He’s used to Byleth staring at him for long moments. She’s done so for years. He was self-conscious at first; at a loss of why Byleth was so taken with his face. He’s just flattered now. Thrives on her attention.
She hums. No shame in her admittance.
Her hands leave his face and he blinks awake. Almost as though he had been immersed deeply in his own fantasies. Byleth just working in front of him doesn’t help the sudden jarring reality.
“So?” He asks, after clearing his throat.
“Your piercing isn’t... practical. A hoop can easily get caught on something, but you’ve had it this long without problem so you should be fine,” she explains. “Just be careful.”
He could reassure her that he’s always careful. Could agree to her assessment. Instead he leans obnoxiously forward, almost covering her work. He grins.
“So what you’re saying is you find gold so attractive on me I should risk injury,” his voice is more purr than anything. “Oh, Teach wouldn’t you feel dreadful if I got hurt now?”
Her face is actually flushed red. A blush filling her cheeks with vitality and he could stare all day. She’s not one to blush though, so he has to steal these moments. Sear them into his mind forever.
“I thought I was the only one who could get close enough?” She argues. To a person who couldn’t read her voice and body language well they’d think she was teasing back. She’s just embarrassed.
“I guess that means you’re the one ripping my ear then,” he sighs, a full body thing that makes his shoulders shake. “Guess you’ll be feeling twice as guilty.”
“Stop,” Byleth pushes his face away. “I’m still working.”
“Of course,” he laughs. Giddy. “Maybe I can help you finish up quicker? It has to be more interesting than dealing with Lord Gloucester’s problems.”
“He’s sent you more to deal with?” She asks, concern in her voice.
“Yeah,” Claude sighs, leaning into Byleth (for comfort obviously). “Lord Gloucester just hates me. I can’t wait for Lorenz to take over as Lord of Gloucester.”
The maybe-not-friendship-but-definitely-trust Claude and Lorenz have acquired over the years was certainly heart-warming if a little unexpected. They hated each other so much in the beginning.
“Alright,” Byleth concedes Claude’s earlier inquiry. “You can help. The quicker we finish; the quicker we can dance.”
Claude may have, temporarily, forgotten the promised dance. He was so intent on everything else that was Byleth, but he can’t wait to have her in his arms. Just the two of them dancing together.
“Yeah, let’s finish this...” Claude grins. “And maybe I can convince you to get a piercing to match mine while we’re at it?”
“You’re welcome to try,” she concedes. Not quite agreeing.
“Of course. So reason 1 to get a matching piercing; we would be a power couple-” he grabs a bunch of the paperwork to sort through, grinning. He has a whole spill planned out. He’ll convince Byleth by the days up and if not, well they’ve got the rest of their life to spend together. He has time.