Chapter Text
Felix does not want for much.
He is not materialistic, save for his blades and their tools of maintenance, and of those, he has plenty. Though he is capable of enjoying a good meal, as a dhampir, blood is faster and far easier to swallow down as long as one knows where to look. And even if his business—and life—partner would rather it not be so, he is impossible to shop for; all he really needs is to spend his days watching Sylvain putter about his shop, plants curling toward him like he’s greater than the sun.
Sylvain, however, wants a lot of things.
Many of these aren’t physical either, Felix knows, though it would be hard to guess that from his carefully organized, packed shelves. Sylvain lights up when someone compliments one of his plants; his smile grows fond and pleased when a flower curls around his wrist. When it rains on the pavement outside, he sighs like he too is nourished by its fall.
He is beautiful to behold, a man of nature blooming between the cracks of city streets, spreading his roots even as he pushes through concrete to get there.
Their relationship is new—Sylvain is still tentative when he seeks Felix’s company, like he might be turned away. Foolish. Felix spends all of his free time in this place, the heart of Sylvain’s druidry. Would he do that if he did not want to be approached?
But Sylvain has had a lifetime of hearing others say anything but what they mean. Gautier magic is old and unpredictable in its manifestation, and augury and mind control do little to breed trust.
Felix does not like to express himself with words, but… For Sylvain, he thinks he can try.
“Gautier!” he barks, wincing internally as Sylvain flinches automatically, taking a hasty half-step back from his shelf of magical augmentations. “ Sylvain. ”
“What’s up, Fe?”
Across the street, their favorite takeout spot has turned on their neon sign, backlighting Sylvain in blinding pink. His mouth is twisted in an expression half-fond, half-exasperated.
Felix’s barely beating heart constricts in his chest.
“You… look nice today.” Hells, that was awful. Why is this so hard? “I like watching you work.”
For a moment, Sylvain gapes at him, pretty mouth parting in a perfect circle. Felix digs his nails into the soft wood of the check-out counter he’s leaning against, grimacing as they part the tender grain. It’s hard to tell with the dim lighting in the store—for ambiance, Sylvain had said—but Felix can practically taste the flush on his boyfriend’s face, red and stark against the faint tan of his face.
“ Gods, Felix,” Sylvain finally replies, his voice trembling. “You can’t just say things like that.”
Felix had expected a joke, some sort of I sure hope you do, considering all the time you spend doing it, but Sylvain has never been predictable. Unsure and awful at handling it, he tips his chin up as though Sylvain has challenged him to a fight. “And why not? I meant it.”
Sylvain groans, burying his face in his hands. His ears are red too, Felix notices, and the flush is rapidly crawling down his neck. It makes Felix… hungry, yes, but more than that, he is, as always, rocked by the force of his want. “I know you did!”
“Then what’s the problem?”
It’s rare that Sylvain is ever caught off-guard, but he flounders for a moment, wordless. Felix barely has a moment to take in what it is he’s done, though; Sylvain advances on him like he is the predator, his expression cracked open into startling vulnerability.
He leans across the counter, placing his hands over Felix’s, still stuck fast in the wood, and presses an achingly soft kiss to his lips. Felix’s sluggish blood quickens in his veins, roaring in his ears, and he can’t help but lean into it, licking open the seam of Sylvain’s mouth until—
“Hey, are you guys still— Oh. ”
Felix hates customers.