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Nothing was quite as precious to Hubert as Ferdinand’s hands. Strong, yet gentle, and had all the capabilities of treating Hubert with delicate, loving touches that he had never received as a child.
Those which he never knew he needed.
He had grown up defending her Majesty with his life, and watching the faces of her enemies twist in strenuous agony. Agony delivered from Huberts own two hands; violent hands that softened into long, tender fingers that he held Ferdinand with. He caressed with the emotions of love and desire which he had never felt before, like experiencing the bitter colds of the outskirts of Faergus for the first time.
All he could remember from those days at the pathetic age of 8 was the immense desperation to find his princess, whom they had stolen. Hubert’s responsibility, yet his only friend.
He never felt such desperation again, until in this moment, where the candles cast low, warm glows. The two of them tangled in each other’s limbs, shirts unbuttoned and disheveled, armour long since discarded.
The pair relished in moments like these, bursting with sensitivity, intimacy, and sincerity. The evenings which they were able to save their esteemed work and responsibilities for another time. In these moments, Hubert could feel raw, vulnerable, fulfilled.
Ferdinand chuckled beside him, humming as Hubert pressed long kisses to the ginger’s eyelids.
No one had ever, would ever witness this sort of affection from von Vestra.
No one, with an exception for an overtly enthusiastic and optimistic von Aegir.
The second jewel of the empire.
His jewel.
The flicker of the candlelight danced on the ocean of locks that flowed off Ferdinand’s head. Those same lights catching in his soft, amber eyes. Hubert had lost all sense of warmth and sympathy well over two decades ago, but it all rushed back when Ferdinand revived him in breatheless, split seconds like these.
The darker haired’ ran his ghastly hands down his partner’s sun kissed arms, locking their fingers in contact, creating a stark contrast before leaving phases of kisses down Ferdinand’s forearm and wrist. Each brush growing lightly more passionate and meaningful, ending with Ferdinand raising both their hands to his lips in reciprocation.
The candles casted deep, long shadows on the palace walls, the flames growing fainter at every movement, eventually exhausting themselves and filtering out with a whisper.
The two men may mutually advise the Emperor in her glory and strength, but it was no exaggeration to say Ferdinand guided Hubert on his darkest nights and even darker days; such as an eternal glow which lit up his most ominous paths, one whom he trusted would never pitter out.