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    Summary

    Byleth looked at him. “I don’t have anything, just some lubricant, and…” He trailed off and Claude followed his gaze across the room.

    Byleth was looking at the sword, a clear question in his eyes.

    Oh, no. No. But the part of Claude’s brain that was reserved for scheming was already clicking through the possibilities: It was smooth. It was flared at the base. It would piss Rhea off if she knew and was therefore hot. It was somehow an extension of Byleth.

    And it was the Sword of the Creator. And it would be in Claude’s ass.

    He shrugged. “Why not?”

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