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Dimitri catches himself staring—again.
He shakes his head in frustration, attempting to focus on the task at hand. Their scouts had stumbled upon a large cache of weapons and other necessary supplies, presumably left behind by one of the Imperial factions they've already routed. Their army is running short on—well—everything, so it is essential that these are sorted and passed out to the soldiers as soon as possible.
Dimitri volunteered to assist with the arduous process of emptying the warehouse despite Shez and the others' protests that they can handle it. King or not, he wants to do his part to help win this war on all fronts. Felix and Dedue gave up on trying to dissuade him from such endeavours as long as he does not overexhaust himself, so Shez finally gave in as well and escorted him to the warehouse. Sorting through weapons is not physically taxing. The most trying obstacle is not the work at all, it is the person with him.
Byleth. The Ashen Demon. The mercenary who has joined their side after being employed by the Empire until recently. Dimitri can't stop looking—staring—at her. She is unlike anyone he has ever met before. He cannot quite place his finger on why; he barely knows the woman after all, but everything about her is mesmerizing, from the swift, assured steps she takes as she crosses the room, to those long legs wrapped in intricate tights, to her green hair that seems to gather in all the light until she is glowing, even in the shadowy storeroom.
She doesn't speak much, which Dimitri usually prefers. He's terrible with small talk. Yet he finds himself wishing Byleth would say something, if only to distract him from how stunning she looks, even dusty and dirty and tired after hours of digging through unorganized piles of weapons and armor.
Dimitri attempts to clear his throat, only to realize it's quite dry. He reaches for the waterskins Shez brought earlier and takes a drink. He didn't realize how thirsty he was until just now. Byleth hasn't drunk or taken a break since he got here either, and she was the one to find this place. Who knows how long she's been at this?
"Would you—" Dimitri has to clear his throat again, his voice coming out rusty with disuse. "Would you like a drink?" Dimitri stands and offers Byleth a waterskin.
She straightens up and dusts off her hands—lovely hands, Dimitri thinks—before taking the proffered skin from him and uncapping it. Dimitri tries and fails to stop himself from watching the lines of her throat as she drinks. His gaze tracks the passage of a stray drop of water that escapes the corner of her mouth.
"Thank you." Byleth's voice snaps him out of his inappropriate staring. She's emptied the skin, her head cocking slightly to the left as she fixes him with a curious look. Her eyes are lovely too, so big and bright and green. "Are you planning to stay for much longer?"
"Oh." Dimitri mentally shakes himself. "I intended to stay until the task is finished." Now it is Byleth who is staring at him. Dimitri can't read her gaze. Does she not want him here anymore? He hasn't been too much of a nuisance today; he hasn't broken anything at least, but it is very possible she has already tired of his presence. "But if I am becoming an inconvenience, I can find someone else to replace me," he adds belatedly.
"No." She laughs, at least, Dimitri thinks the soft huffing sound she emits is an expression of mirth. "I am just surprised, that's all."
"Surprised?" Dimitri asks.
"Yes." She nods slowly. "I have served under many nobles and lords. But never once did I expect a king to be dirtying his hands with a task such as this."
"I am just a man." Dimitri shrugs. He bends down and picks up the closest sword, briefly inspecting it before adding it to the pile of salvageable weapons. "I want to do everything I can to help end this war as quickly as possible. And it is…nice. To not always be fighting. To assist in ways other than killing." Or endless paperwork. He could be doing that as well, but even he has to admit that taking breaks helps stave off his headaches.
"That is an admirable way of thinking." Byleth is closer now. Her eyes somehow appear even bigger. Dimitri feels as if they can see straight through him, exposing his innermost thoughts. "My father says more men used to be like you. That being a mercenary was once a thing of honor, that only the best and kindest lords deserved our loyalty." She is so close to Dimitri now that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. Dimitri should look away, should keep working, but he is transfixed by those stunning green eyes.
"I…I cannot speak for the rulers of old." It suddenly feels too hot in the small room. "But I know I am not above anyone else. A king only has power because of his people." Dimitri's chest goes tight as he remembers his father telling him those exact words. He misses him so much at times. The ache of his loss has gotten more bearable, but it is always there. He wonders what his father would think of Byleth. He wishes they could meet with a sudden fierceness that robs him of his breath.
"I am a servant to them," Dimitri continues after a brief pause. "Everything and anything I do is for their betterment, and today, the best thing I can be doing is sorting weapons."
"I understand now why my father was so eager to work for you. You are a good man. I look forward to getting to know you better."
Byleth turns and reaches for a rusted lance propped against the wall while Dimitri tries and fails to think of a reply to such a generous statement. Her hand closes around the shaft, only for her to drop the weapon with a hiss a moment later.
"Are you all right?" Dimitri crosses the small space separating them. There is a blossom of blood spreading across her palm. He captures her hand with his before he can second-guess himself.
"Fine, fine." She doesn't try to shake off his touch as he inspects the small cut. "It's my fault. I should be wearing gloves, like you."
Dimitri does not bother to mention that he always wears gloves because of his burn scars that cover the backs of his hands and wrap up his arms. She does not need to know how damaged he is, not yet, at least. He did not realize how freeing it is to interact with someone who does not know his entire past, someone who looks at him and sees a good man. Goddess—why does he care so much what Byleth thinks of him?
He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs at the welling blood dripping from Byleth's torn palm. The wound is short, but deep. He wraps the white cloth around it as tightly as he can, but she needs a real bandage and maybe a healer.
"You should get that looked at, just in case. It could fester."
"I've had much worse, I assure you."
Dimitri tries his hardest not to imagine Byleth wounded, but his treacherous mind wonders if she is as scarred as he is underneath her clothes, if her gorgeous flesh has been broken and burned just like his own. Dimitri hates his scars; they are an ugly reminder of the horrors he has been through, but Byleth's would surely be lovely, a testament to her strength and resilience. If Dimitri was ever blessed enough to see them, he would make sure to tell her that, to run his hands over each one, to kiss—no. He cannot think that way about her in that way.
The corners of Byleth's mouth twitch as if she can hear his thoughts—saints preserve him if she ever deciphers what he is currently picturing. Dimitri feels a blush forming on his cheeks. He should return to his work before she notices, but he cannot look away from the upturn of Byleth's lips. Subtle as it is, it's the closest Dimitri has ever seen to a smile on her face. Her lovely face, which is suddenly so very close to his. He tells himself to step back, to release her hand, and walk her to the infirmary. But he cannot stop staring at her lips.
Briefly, Dimitri dares to imagine what he would do if he were a different, bolder man. He so desperately wants to lean down and capture her mouth with his own, to draw her close and see how her body feels against his own. He's shocked at the strength of his desire. He doesn't allow himself to feel such things. It is a weakness he cannot afford right now, not to mention the fact that Byleth most likely would not want such attentions from him. But goddess, how she tempts him.
Almost as if she truly can read his mind and is determined to prove him wrong, Byleth wraps her uninjured hand behind his neck and drags him down until their lips are pressed tightly together. He's so shocked, he doesn't even try to resist. He sinks into the kiss, fire licking up his spine when Byleth sighs into his mouth and traces his bottom lip with her tongue. He gasps when she slips her tongue past his teeth, the fire inside of him turning into an inferno that threatens to burn him to ash, and for once, he welcomes the flames.
Dimitri's inhibitions melt away along with the last of his common sense and lets himself take for once in his life. He gathers Byleth close, his hands finding her hips and holding her exactly where he wants her. She moans into his mouth, and he makes an answering noise of need. He wants more; he wants everything Byleth will give him.
"Byleth," Dimitri gasps when they break apart for air. His conscience suddenly returns, and he struggles to gather the words he knows he should say. He has to apologize, he needs to pull away and try to right this before it's too late. Byleth deserves better than stolen kisses in a dirty storeroom. If Dimitri wants to act as the good man Byleth believes he is, he would court her properly. Goddess, what is he doing?
Instead, he says, "You don't know how much I've wanted this, wanted you." The words bubble out of him before he can stop them, his good intentions blowing away like smoke in the wind. His desire is too strong, and no amount of reasoning can make him step away from the woman in his arms.
Byleth tugs him back down, silencing him with the hot press of her mouth. Her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as she licks against his gums. She makes a noise that vibrates through him, and he chases it with a whimper of his own. His hands are trailing across her body, touching everywhere he can reach. She arches into him, their mouths disconnecting, her head settling in the crook of his neck, her hot breath a heavy pressure against the sensitive skin. It's too much—it's not enough—it's…
And then—loss. Dimitri's knees buckle, and he grasps at only air. His head spins, and he glances around, confused and aching. Byleth is across the room again, her hand reaching for a spear before she suddenly stops and curls her fingers into a fist. Didn't she already grab that spear, and she…she…
"I think we have been in this stuffy room for too long," Byleth announces as Dimitri struggles to sort out his muddled thoughts.
"Oh, yes." Dimitri's hand goes to his mouth, his swollen lips. Why do they feel so tender? "A break would do us both some good." Byleth nods and heads outside. Dimitri trails after her in a daze.
"Dinner then? I am hungry, and it is getting late," she suggests.
"Yes, I would be happy to accompany you," Dimitri says, even though he's not hungry at all, but there is an ache low in his belly that he does not understand.
The sun is low in the sky as they walk back through camp. Dimitri's gaze wanders to Byleth's hands. Wasn't she hurt? But her skin is unblemished besides a few streaks of dirt. Maybe Byleth is right, he should eat after all. He clearly isn't thinking straight. He finds himself tracing his lips as they walk, his eyes never leaving Byleth as she leads them through camp.
Dimitri forces himself to eat the tasteless food even though each bite feels huge and difficult to swallow. He's distracted and confused, and he still cannot stop staring at Byleth. She is staring at him too, glancing down at her plate when their gazes meet. Dimitri cannot read her minute expressions, but something feels different between them now. The air is charged and potent, and he does not understand why.
They part ways, and Dimitri falls into bed, actually tired for once. Sleep finds him easier than it has in weeks, and he dreams of Byleth, of the hot press of her mouth and the insistent pressure of her lips with such vivid intensity that when he awakes, he almost believes it actually happened.