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Sunlight poured over the rooftops of the Almyran capital. Claude marked its progress, hands loose around a mug of coffee, smiling absently as yet another day dawned in his city. The world didn’t stop just because the king’s favorite visitors had arrived. Shops still had to open, guards still needed to train, and Claude still had papers to look over.
Hard as Claude tried to give each issue its due attention, his mind kept wandering away. Kept urging him to crawl back into bed between his boys, pull Hubert close enough to tuck his chin over that dark hair, settle back against Sylvain’s chest— just for another hour. Or two. Or until lunch.
The tempting image was interrupted by the sound of a door creaking. Soft smile already spreading across his face, Claude turned. In the doorway to his bedroom stood Hubert. The most intimidating man in all of Adrestia rolled the shoulder he had been sleeping on all night and blinked blearily in the morning sunlight, hair adorably askew.
Claude got to his feet and began to pour a fresh cup of coffee. “Good morning.”
“It nearly was so.” Though his voice was hoarse from sleep, Hubert’s wit had certainly woken up. “I thought you had freed your morning for us, yet I find you out here,” he added petulantly.
“I freed myself of pointless meetings but some things still need my attention.” Claude crossed to Hubert and kissed him, pressing the coffee into one of Hubert’s hands as he did so, heart singing that there wasn’t a whole country’s worth of distance stopping them from doing this.
Perhaps Hubert’s thoughts were along those lines as well, for he took the mug with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Claude’s middle, holding him there for a few seconds longer. Not that Claude would have to be pressured into more lazy, early morning kisses.
Claude snickered when Hubert’s lips moved to his cheek and up to his ear. “Jealous?” Claude asked, fingers tracing the red marks he knew dotted Hubert’s neck. Several he had placed there himself.
“Very,” Hubert murmured, nipping Claude’s earlobe before drawing away. “But I understand, of course.”
“Of course. And you’re being very mature about it.”
Hubert smirked and moved to take a seat on the sofa, sipping his coffee as he did so. “Sylvain not up yet?” Claude asked as he retrieved his own mug from the desk.
“No. I propose we let him sleep, after what we did to him last night.” Hubert’s gaze caught on the letters piled atop the side table. His brow furrowed. “That’s not Almyran.”
Claude gestured his permission for Hubert to take a closer look, sitting beside him. “Letters from Dedue,” he explained. Hubert took one page and squinted at it, frowning. Claude nudged him. “Need me to get Sylvain’s reading glasses?”
“Shut up,” Hubert replied without heat. “Is Dedue writing to you in the language of Duscur?”
“Partially. He writes one in Duscarian and the same again in Fódlani. I write back in Fódlani and Almyran. It was his idea. A slow go but it’s worth it to learn.”
“Hm. Are you keeping a glossary of terms? I may want a copy.”
“Gonna add Duscarian to your plate? You might want to focus on improving your Srengi first.”
Hubert elbowed him— not hard, but enough that a few drops of Claude’s coffee fell to the rug. “I speak Srengi better than either of you speak the language of Brigid.” Instead of retaliating, Claude simply lay back against Hubert’s arm, warding off any more attempts on his coffee’s life. Hubert pressed a kiss to the crown of Claude’s head in apology. “Are you so bored up here that you feel the need to master a fifth language?” He asked, putting the letter down.
Claude took another sip before saying, “Practicing Duscarian doesn’t make me miss you two the way the other languages do.”
He hadn’t meant for that to sound so morose but, well, it was the truth. When not distracted by Almyra’s affairs or training with Nader or traveling, the only thing left on Claude’s schedule was missing his lovers.
Hubert wriggled his arm from under Claude, resting it over his shoulder instead, fingers threading into his hair. “You do not have to miss us now,” Hubert stated firmly. “As we do not have to miss you.”
“I know.”
“And we do miss you.”
“I know.”
Claude’s clipped replies didn’t seem to wholly comfort Hubert, judging by the way his hand stopped stroking through Claude’s hair. This was an old wound. Healed over, but still tender from time to time.
By virtue of living in Fódlan, Hubert and Sylvain got to see each other more often than Claude was able to see either of them. There had been some insecurities to their arrangement— on both sides— early on, but the three had gone into this relationship knowing their stations in life would bring challenges.
Even when they were miles apart, when letters were slow to arrive, when conflict cropped up at the border, Claude knew he was loved.
And anyway— Hubert was right. There was no reason to miss anyone this morning. This two week visit would be more than enough to tide him over to their next one. Claude took Hubert by the wrist and brought it down for a kiss. “I’m fine,” Claude soothed.
Hubert hummed and pulled his hand away to continue petting Claude’s hair. “I find it interesting that, of all these languages, Almyran is the only one with a different alphabet.”
A very welcome subject change. “Nabatean has its own alphabet too,” Claude reminded him, squirming a little so he could drink his coffee more comfortably.
“True, but as Sreng and Duscur were only incorporated into Fódlan recently, I can’t help but wonder why their languages look the same as Fódlani.”
“I personally like how words look in Almyran better.”
Both Claude and Hubert looked around at the voice. Claude untangled himself from Hubert and sat up to find Sylvain watching them. His fiery hair was pressed down on one side, a patchwork of marks and bruises peppered his torso, and he had on a smile that Claude couldn’t help but match.
“Good morning,” Hubert greeted, his tone fond even as he asserted, “My point wasn’t aesthetics.”
“I’m just saying.”
Claude gestured to the ibrik across the room. “There’s coffee. I can also get you tea, if you prefer.”
“Coffee’s fine. Don’t get up, I got it,” Sylvain added with a dismissive wave when Claude turned in his seat to do just that.
As Sylvain approached the couch, Claude could tell his movements were stiff. Hubert must have noticed the same thing, for he held out a hand to catch Sylvain’s as he passed behind them. “We can go back to bed, if that is more comfortable for you,” he offered, eyebrows knit with concern.
Sylvain merely chuckled and kissed the top of Hubert’s head. “I’m fine. Promise.” Then he let go of Hubert to tilt Claude’s chin up and kiss him. Despite Sylvain’s refusal, Claude’s urge from earlier came back in full force as Sylvain’s lips moved over his own and Hubert’s hand inched into his thigh. Coffee be damned— he wanted both his boys back in bed with him right now. Even if all they did was lay together and finish their coffee, that would be enough for Claude.
When Sylvain at last pulled away, he did so with that soft smile back in place. “Morning,” he murmured, thumb caressing Claude’s bottom lip.
“Good morning,” Claude returned just as quietly.
Sylvain snorted, breaking the moment. “Well I didn’t say it was good .” He straightened and swiped the page Hubert was still holding. “I thought you wouldn’t be working this morning?”
“It’s not work,” Hubert said. “They are letters from Dedue.”
“I see.” Sylvain squinted at the page with a frown. “And what’s he have that we don’t?”
“Fluency in Duscarian.”
“Ah. I suppose that’s fair.” Sylvain took the page with him as he continued on to the coffee.
Going back to bed was still tempting. Hubert’s hand lingering on Claude’s leg betrayed his agreement. But as Sylvain collected his coffee and sat on Claude’s other side, still trying to puzzle out Dedue’s letters, Claude had to admit that spending the morning this way was just as satisfying.