Chapter Text
The cold winds of the night whistled through the air causing the quietest hum as it tapped against the old cobbles of Garreg Mach Monastery. This place had seen so much, the turn of time and the toils of war. It was over, finally.
Claude looked out from the balcony casting his glance over Fòdlan; he would only be here for a little while...but it was long enough to take in the beauty this country held at it’s heart, this new united Fòdlan. The future was uncertain but the past, goddess willing, would not return.
Just one week prior Claude would have turned fast at the sound of footsteps behind him, Failnaught in hand before you could say aura. He was constantly on guard, waiting, sometimes hoping to be approached by some form of evil to vanquish. Now was a different story; the footsteps could come closer, he didn’t mind, after all he knew whose they were...
“Claude, come inside, you’ll catch a cold if you stay out any longer”
The brown haired lord turned to face them, a grin on his face. He crossed his arms and let out a laugh.
“Says you”
Dimitri stood a little way away from Claude. He was wearing a thin flowing shirt that was tucked messily into his trousers, sleeves rolled up but fighting to fall down. His blonde hair was a mess, he’d obviously been napping whilst waiting for Claude.
“I was born in Faerghus, this is nothing, for you however-“
“I think I’ve been in Fòdlan long enough to survive the winter Dima” he chided as he stepped towards him, grin turning into more of a smirk. The new king’s face flushed as Claude wrapped his hands around his neck “but I do know one way I could keep warm”
Dimitri’s blush grew rapidly deeper in sync with his partner slowly easing closer and closer until there was nothing but fabric between them.
“You really are the master schemer” he said huskily “my Claude”
Warm scarred hands dragged through Claude’s hair as the king pulled him in for a passionate kiss. His name became a mantra on his lips, hands moving to explore his body taking every inch of him in. Within a moment both their shirts were bundled on the ground, the cold air keeping both of them snuggled closer than seemed physically possible. The kisses came hard and fast as they lost themselves in eachother.
“Claude”
“Dima”
“Claude!”
“My king”
“CLAUDE!!”
A sudden impact to the side of his head dragged him back to reality as- yep, there it was again. Definitely a pillow, definitely thrown against him by his definitely angry friend-slash-colleague. He put an arm up to protect himself but it was no good, Hilda was already going in for the kill. Thwack.
“Hilda!” he said groggily. Christ, how long had he been asleep? “Whaaat, I was having a really nice dream”
“Oh I know” she said, irritated “Dima this, Dima that, fuck me daddy Dima”
Claude blushed and reached for his own pillow to hit her back with.
“Stop listening in on my private dreams”
Hilda laughed “They’re not private unless you keep your pretty little mouth closed” she pushed his pillow away “Ohhhhh Dima!” she said mockingly “wrap me up in your strong man arms and tell me I’m gooooorgeous”
“Shut uuup! What time is it?” he reached for his phone on the bedside table. What he saw made him instantly confused. “3pm? Why do I feel so awful?”
“Claude you’re literally on heat leave you’re supposed to feel awful” his pink haired friend said as she rolled over to sit next to him on the king sized bed. She flipped out her own phone, zoning out from whatever her idiot friend was doing.
Said friend was re-acclimatising himself to the room; sometimes these dreams he had were so vivid he forgot who he was when he was awake. It scared him a little but he knew it was just a fantasy, it had to be, the real Dima...the real Dimitri would never look at him the same way. God forbid if anyone found out how he really felt about the man; was there a way to learn not to talk in your sleep? It might come in handy.
The room was one of the posh suites in the parliament building, set aside specifically for weeks such as these; court mandated heat leaves for politicians. It was equipped with everything he would need for his heat: facilities, food, toys and all. Hilda had volunteered to help him through this heat, not an unusual occurrence for the pair. They’d known eachother since Cambridge and even though Hilda was an omega she was more than capable of looking after Claude when he needed her. It was safer to go through heat with another omega anyway.
This was definitely the finest suite in the building, and why not? Claude, after all, was the leader of the Yellow Party and currently the First Minister of Scotland. Claude had been born in Scotland and returned to find his place after his studies. He’d risen quickly through the ranks; the public and his peers taking to him instantly, and all through the journey Hilda had been right there beside him. Running a country wasn’t easy, at least he had reliable and supportive people around him...and Lorenz.
Claude groaned, rubbing his eyes as his took in a message on the small iPhone screen.
“What is it” Hilda’s eyes didn’t move from the cat video she’d found
“Order 487, Lorenz wants me to advise on a strategy for keeping it out of government”
“Fuck Lorenz, why is he sending you this stuff on heat leave anyway?”
“You know he doesn’t give a shit about heat leave Hilda”
“Apparently neither does your heat” she scoffed.
Hilda was right. He should be mindlessly sobbing by now, knee deep in rut and screaming out for dick. Something was wrong.
Claude went over every second of the last two months; yes, it had been two months exactly, his heat should be happening now. Everything had been planned perfectly, his heats had always come like clockwork and yet-
He placed a hand to his own forehead; dry, cold, not one single sign. He felt....normal? But that wasn’t normal at all.
“Hilda-“
“So who did you fuck in your last heat?”
“Wh-who did I- Hilda what are you saying!”
“You know exactly what I’m saying!” she pointed at him accusingly, a grin on her face “I wasn’t with you on your last heat, I was in Kabul with Marianne living like a goddess! Surely First Minister Von Riegan didn’t go through his heat alone and sad in his bedroom!” Hilda leaned in closer to her friend “You” and poked him on the nose “were in England”
Claude quickly tried to get away from her accusation, falling off the bed in the progress. He untangled himself to the sound of her teasing laughter, so this was what she thought, that he’d......he’d...
The Downing Street bedroom had long blue curtains that fell all the way to the floor. They matched everything perfectly, the colour of the chairs, the light green of the walls, and the four poster bed that grandly sat in the middle. It smelt like aged cheddar and wine. Everything about that room, that building, screamed excellence and importance. Claude remembered how small he felt lying there under the covers, not so much as a shirt to hide him from him...from him...
...
“FffffffffffffUCK”
Panic set in as the memory of what had happened exactly two months ago set in
“HILDA” he put his head in his hands, shock running all through him “HILDA I THINK...I THINK I FUCKED THE PRIME MINISTER”