Chapter Text
Hubert does not know why this is the moment where he simply cannot take it for a moment longer. Sylvain is draped across the divan by the window, a sheet draped around his waist and nothing else as he flips through a book in a language Hubert can't read but knows to be Almyran. He has a furrow in his brow as he chews on his lip, with the afternoon sun highlighting the myriad of scars that cover his being. Perhaps it is the vulnerability in the scene that makes the question escape, or perhaps it's that Sylvain glances up at Hubert every time he flips a page with a softness to his gaze that Hubert knows he does not deserve. Why this is what breaks him, Hubert doesn't think he'll ever understand, but the question he's wondered for the last 6 years finally graces his lips.
"I don't understand why I'm allowed into your marital bed when surely there are better choices at your disposal," he rasps, and watches the confusion spread across Sylvain's face. Before he can say anything else, Sylvain drops his book and pushes himself to stand, before stalking over to Hubert and shoving him flat against the back of his chair. He pins Hubert in place by climbing into his lap, using his thighs to trap him in place. Hubert feels his mouth dry as he tries to keep his eyes meeting Sylvain's, and not to covet the body of someone who isn't his. Sylvain sneers down at him before wrapping his hands around Hubert's neck.
"What the fuck are you trying to say here, Vestra," spits Sylvain, briefly tightening his hold around Hubert's neck. He swallows, feeling the apple of his throat press against Sylvain's calloused palms, and tries to find the right words.
"I mean no offense, your Majesty," starts Hubert just to feel Sylvain's hands squeeze tighter, "even you must admit that the situation is strange. I've been your enemy since we met. I've coveted you since the beginning, I said yes to you when you had no choice. I stole your home from you at Derdriu, I killed your former king at Talitean, and yet both you and your husband invite me back to your bed time and time again. I’m certain you have plenty of other options that come with less baggage. Surely you must understand why I have questions."
When Sylvain realizes he has nothing left to say, fury flashes across his face. He uses his grip on Hubert's throat to push himself out of the chair, then crosses the room to dress furiously. Before he steps out of the door, Hubert feels the bitter monster inside of him rear its head once again.
"Even now, instead of making me leave you walk out the door instead. Perhaps I should be fearing for an untimely death at your hands,” Hubert mocks. The resounding slam of the door flushes the spite from his chest, but replaces it with a gaping emptiness Hubert is well used to. With Sylvain out of sight, and no longer tempting him with the softness he’s earned after the war, Hubert finds himself confused. Sylvain’s reaction had been far different from what he had imagined, and Hubert finds himself reeling after the fact at the rage Sylvain had shown him. Sylvain has always played his emotions close to his chest, but the closest had always been his fury. Fury, Hubert had later learned, at the crest he considered a curse, the people who worshiped it, and the duty it chained him to.
Perhaps it was cruel of him to stoke those flames instead of cooling them, but Hubert has never been a kind man. The blood he’s spilled in service of his Lady and her dream stains his hands, and while it was a necessary evil, it was an evil Hubert had dedicated himself to nonetheless. Though the war is over, and his Lady’s enemies have all been flushed from their dens, he knows that will never wash away the blood he’s spilled and the horrors he’s committed. He vowed long ago to give up his soul in exchange for her dream, which adds to the confusion he feels when in the presence of the ruling couple of Almyra.
Both Claude and Sylvain have always been dangerous mysteries to him, each for their own reasons. Claude’s unknown origins, combined with his wit had always set Hubert on edge. Claude had been better than just about anyone else Hubert knew at concealing the truth and getting away with it. Not only was he a master at that, but he had a well-practiced air that drew people in and forced them to let their guards down to whatever he had planned. Add in the fact that he always seemed one step ahead of every move Hubert would make made him incredibly dangerous to Edelgard and the future she aimed to carve. Sylvain on the other hand was someone who wielded the truth like a dagger against his own being. He had the strategic mind of a highly experienced general but used the aura and actions of a harlot to divert anyone from that inescapable truth. He at least had the decency to be easier to predict than Claude most of the time, though Hubert never could’ve predicted that he would have chosen to leave Fodlan at Claude’s side and become his Queen.
Hubert should have given up then, but every year like clockwork a letter would arrive inviting him to vacation in Almyra. And every year without fail, he accepts the invitation. It has become somewhat of a running joke among Her Majesty’s court that her ever so loyal Marquis Vestra takes the Garland Moon off. Edelgard often teases him considering the various rumors trying to guess what lover has stolen his heart. He wonders what she would think of this strange situation he’s found himself trapped in, whether she would offer her sincere advice or order the removal of his head. Either way, Hubert does not think he will be welcome here anymore, so there’s no point in dwelling on a situation where his soon-to-end entanglements come to her attention.
Finally the shock that had paralyzed Hubert in his chair fades, and he is able to force his body to stand up. He stumbles over to the dresser and immediately pulls open the drawer that’s always been cleared out when he arrives. He’s always wondered what’s in this drawer the other eleven months of the year when he’s in Enbarr. There’s no time to dwell on this, not when Hubert knows he has a limited time frame to leave before Sylvain comes to his senses and finishes strangling him. Though in the privacy of his own mind, Hubert can admit that dying with Sylvain’s hands wrapped around his throat would be a sweeter death than he deserves. He grabs his travel case from its spot next to the Queen’s vanity and starts packing his things. He’s just finished shoving his clothes into the case when the door clicks open. Hubert stubbornly refuses to look up to see whether Sylvain has come back to finish the job or whether he’s sent his husband to do it in his stead. He continues to pack up his things, pushing through the pit of dread building in his stomach as familiar footsteps approach him.
Claude roughly grabs Hubert’s chin and jerks his face towards him.
“What do you think you’re doing right now Hubert,” drawls Claude in a casual tone, though the fire in his eyes gives away his true feelings. Hubert lets out a shuddering breath before steeling himself to say whatever is needed to escape in one piece. Though perhaps it is more accurate to say it is truly his heart which he worries will be shattered on the floor of the King of Almyra’s royal chambers rather than his skull.
“I am simply packing my things in preparation for an early departure, Your Majesty. My Lady has requested I return to Enbarr immediately, there is an emergency that requires my assistance,” replies Hubert, just barely managing to keep the tremble out of his voice. Claude’s grip on his jaw tightens a fraction, but the unsettling glint in his eyes stays just the same.
“Is that so,” says Claude in the flattest intonation Hubert has ever heard from him. Claude studies him for a minute longer before dropping his hand from Hubert’s face and taking a step back.
“Sylvain was worried you’d be fleeing after implying that we were whores who would let just anyone into our bed, but clearly that's not what’s happening at all,” Claude says with a cheer that seems out of place given the words that came out of his mouth. He has no control over the expression that forces itself onto his face, but Claude seems to find it amusing as he starts laughing. Before Hubert can school his face into something more neutral, he’s cornered against the dresser.
"For someone so valued for their intelligence you're awfully stupid sometimes, Hubert," laughs Claude condescendingly as he trails his fingers down Hubert’s cheek.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty,” Hubert replies, unbearably aware of how dry his mouth is. Claude’s carefully crafted mask drops and he fixes Hubert with a deadpan glare.
“Honestly Hubert, I’m getting a little sick of this. Do you really think I’m the kind of person to let just anyone sleep in my bed with a dagger under their pillow?”
“Perhaps not,” admits Hubert, “but I have a hard time believing that you fully trust me. Whenever I am here either you or your husband is always with me watching my every movement. I’m certain that the time between your Queen storming out and you entering was the first I’ve ever spent under your roof truly alone.” Claude groans and rolls his eyes, and even then it takes all of Hubert’s self control not to find himself flushed with the feeling of Claude’s breath against his throat. Claude lets his head drop forward to rest on Hubert’s shoulder.
“Have you ever considered that my position as King of Almyra isn’t very popular and I’m fending off assassinations regularly? Or that maybe Sylvain and I are worried that you’ll be the target instead of one of us? Or even that Sylvain and I both love you and enjoy the limited time we get with you? Maybe the reason we let you sleep in our bed is because we value both you and the things you’ve done for us,” sighs Claude as if he’s explaining this for the thousandth time instead of the first.
“I do not understand why you’re mocking the feelings I’ve long since harbored for your Husband. I know you’ve been aware of them since the beginning, but I never thought you would throw them so cruelly in my face,” snaps Hubert as the gaping feeling in his chest grows to be unbearable. He suddenly cannot stand Claude in his space for even a moment longer, but as he tries to maneuver away from Claude he finds a dagger pressed against his pulse.
“I don’t like being accused of lying when I’m not Hubert,” spits Claude, letting the blade settle more firmly against Hubert’s throat. “Here’s what is going to happen. I’m going to leave this room so I can fetch my darling husband you’ve always been so drawn to, and when I come back with him you’re going to be in the same place I left you like the obedient rat I know you can be. Do I make myself clear?” Hubert can only nod his head in agreement, but even that only makes the reeling sensation grow stronger. Claude flashes him a dangerous smile before stepping out of Hubert’s space and tucking the dagger back into his sleeve.
“I’ll be back shortly. If I catch you trying to leave again, who knows what I’ll do,” sing-songs Claude over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Hubert throws out a hand to brace himself against the dresser as the door clicks shut. He’s left reeling in the silence of the room, unable to think clearly over the pounding of his traitorous heart. He quickly shakes himself out of it and snaps back into action. He’s sure Sylvain is probably in Claude’s office or the gardens. If he’s in the office, it’ll only be seven minutes before Claude returns if he’s not rushing. If Sylvain is in the gardens, the two of them should return within at least fifteen minutes. Either way Hubert needs to get moving immediately if he is to escape.
Hubert manages to finish packing his bag in four minutes, and quickly makes his way over to the door. He peeks out to make sure the coast is clear, and the anxiety in his stomach settles at the both empty and silent hallway. With a silence long beaten into his steps, Hubert slips out the door and down the hallway towards the stables where his horse waits. The small mercy of this whole debacle is that at least there aren’t many people in the hallways this time of day. Hubert knows that Claude normally prefers to hold meetings in the afternoon (which Sylvain had cheerily informed him was because he liked to have his husband all to himself in the mornings and evenings with a wink alongside a crude hand gesture that Hubert refuses to think about ever again). The closer Hubert gets to the stables with his bag, the higher his pulse races. Years of high stake missions have taught him that the final stretch is always the most dangerous, even the smoothest operations find themselves tested in the final hours.
“Little Vestra!” calls a loud voice from a connecting hallway. Hubert knows now that he is truly, royally screwed.
"General Nader," greets Hubert shakily, as the man who considers himself a second father to both Claude and Sylvain comes into view with a wide grin Hubert can't help but find unsettling. Nader takes a moment to sweep his gaze down the hall from where Hubert had come from, before letting his gaze land on Hubert's bag.
"You've only been here for a week, are you really leaving so soon?" comments Nader with a set to his eyes that Hubert finds achingly familiar.
"I'm afraid so General, my Lady has summoned me back to the capital, so I must depart at once." Hubert is thankful that this time the lie rolls much smoother off his tongue, with none of the shakiness from when he told it to Claude.
"That's quite a shock Hubert, considering I was under the impression that your Empress had no idea you enjoyed the company of Almyra's ruling couple," booms Nader loud enough that Hubert is sure his ears are ringing. Hubert finds himself frozen in place as Nader reaches out to clap a hand on Hubert’s shoulder. Before Hubert can wrench himself free and escape, he hears a dry laugh coming from behind him.
“Ah Your Majesty, I was wondering when you were going to show yourself,” calls Nader to Sylvain who slips out from behind a pillar from the hallway which Hubert was certain he was alone in.
“I was enjoying the show, didn’t mean to interrupt,” says Sylvain, before switching to Almyran to say something to Nader. Though Hubert doesn’t understand what is said, Nader bursts out laughing before letting Hubert go. He gives a quick bow to Sylvain before leaving the two of them alone. The entryway to the stables is only a few yards away, but Hubert cannot tear his eyes away from Sylvain. At thirty, Sylvain has all the confidence he lacked at nineteen when they first met. The years since the war have been kind to him, and there’s an aura of regal self-assuredness that suits him surprisingly well as he finally reaches where Hubert is pressed against the wall in the hallway. And yet, for the first time since the Fall of Derdriu, Sylvain seems to be at a loss for words. Hubert is fascinated by the way he can see Sylvain’s mind running as he tries to decide what to say. After what feels like an eternity, Sylvain finally opens his mouth to speak.
“If you really want to go this badly, I won’t stop you from leaving,” says Sylvain with a hesitance that feels out of place, “but I wish you’d at least explain why. Honestly Hubert, I thought things were going really well. I don’t understand what changed.” Sylvain pauses to run a hand back through his hair as his face twists into a pained expression. Sylvain reaches out a hand but hesitates with it hanging midair, before letting it fall to his side. Hubert sneers at him before lashing out once more.
“How can I trust you truly mean what you say after I’ve been stopped from leaving time and time again. Am I supposed to believe that you won’t sink a knife into my back the second I turn it?” Hubert finds himself snapping. “First you send your husband to stop me, and now the General of the Almyran army has joined in on this conspiracy. Tell me Sylvain, how am I supposed to trust you after I’ve already been made a fool of countless times.”
“That’s not fair and you know it, Hubert,” Sylvain snaps back. “Please, just come back to our room and talk to us about this. If you still want to leave afterwards we won’t stop you, but at least try to tell us what’s going through your head before you walk out on us. It’s been six years Hubert, don’t we at least deserve a conversation,” he pleads with a raw edge that scrapes Hubert down to the bone. Vulnerability is something Hubert had learned long ago was dangerous to show. It is a lesson he knows Sylvain and Claude learned the hard way as well, and yet Hubert still cannot quite bring himself to open up in return.
"My my Sylvain, I never thought I'd see the day you would be groveling to me of all people," Hubert practically snarls at him. Against the rational part of his head, he finds himself pushing forward into Sylvain’s space until they are standing practically chest-to-chest. “I thought you were past the point in your life when you manipulate your lovers into getting what you want. And yet here you are demanding closure for a mere fling as if it’s of such value to you that you’d miss it.” Hubert takes a step back away from him and braces himself for however Sylvain will decide to lash back in return, to confirm all the thoughts Hubert has held about their entanglement. To say that Hubert means nothing more to him than a fling, that he is nothing more but a fleeting shadow compared to his grand storybook marriage. Nothing prepares him for the look of confusion that settles on Sylvain’s face.
“Hubert, buddy,” starts Sylvain before bringing one hand up to rest gently on Hubert’s shoulder, “what the fuck are you talking about?” The matter-of-fact way Sylvain says this statement is enough to make Hubert feel like a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped over his head. Hubert finds himself at a loss for words as Sylvain continues to look at him with a bewildered expression.
"I don't understand what is so confusing to you about my words. I only spoke the truth," Hubert finds himself stammering. Before he can continue on Sylvain slaps a palm over his mouth. He finds himself flushing at the contact, but stays still and quiet while Sylvain visibly thinks. Just when Hubert is prepared to lick Sylvain's palm to get out of the situation, he finally opens his mouth to speak.
"Hubert, what do you mean you're a mere fling? Is that all this means to you even after all this time?" Sylvain slowly asks with a puzzled tone, much to Hubert's mounting confusion. He stays silent but raises his brow at Sylvain before glancing down at the way his hand is still pressed firmly against Hubert’s mouth. Sylvain tracks the movement of his eyes and lets a muttered curse word out before dropping his hand away from Hubert’s mouth, but keeping his other hand on Hubert’s shoulder.
"I do not know why you're turning my words back on me like this," Hubert starts with an embarrassing flush starting to creep up his neck as he tries not to focus on how warm Sylvain's hand is on his shoulder. "Must you really make me say it aloud?"
"Yeah normally I'd be happy to let you skulk off without a word and guess what's going on behind your pretty eyes but clearly that's not gonna work anymore,” Sylvain chuckles dryly with a wink so instinctual Hubert is certain he doesn't even realize he's done it. “So why don’t you follow me back to bed like a good boy,” Sylvain purrs, “and let me really pick apart that mysterious brain of yours somewhere more private, alright?” Sylvain accentuates the statement by bringing his hand up from Hubert’s shoulder to brush his bangs out of his eye before cupping the side of Hubert’s face. Hubert's pale complexion betrays him once again as he turns redder than his Emperor’s cape fast enough his head is spinning. Somehow Sylvain's flirtatious ways have only gotten more effective with time, possibly because he's spent the past several years tuning it for his husband (and even he can admit that perhaps it was for Hubert himself as well). Sylvain is cruel enough to find Hubert’s predicament funny as his lips curl up into a familiar smirk and the twinkle returns to his eyes. Hubert clears his throat before speaking next.
"Perhaps that would be best," he finally manages to say. Sylvain's delighted grin makes Hubert's heart skip a beat like the traitor it is. Sylvain decides that the best way to lead Hubert back down the hallway he had so anxiously fled down is with a hand interlocked with Hubert’s own. His other hand takes Hubert’s bag away from him as he practically drags both Hubert and his suitcase away from the stables.
Hubert tries to prepare himself for whatever conversation awaits him, for whatever wrath Claude is sure to turn his way, but all he can focus on is the faint beat of Sylvain’s pulse he can feel through their intertwined hands. Perhaps the years after the war have made him soft, Hubert muses to himself. Those Who Slither in the Dark had finally been eradicated two years prior, and it has been five years since the war for Fodlan’s future had ended. His Lady has settled into her much earned peace easily, and had been set free of her long held burdens due to the combined efforts of Lindhart and Lysithea. Hubert knows his Lady is preparing to step down at long last, and though she has not told him such, he is certain she intends to retire in the former Leicester Alliance under the care of Margrave Marianne von Edmund. The bloodstained path Hubert had long walked in service of Edelgard has reached its conclusion, and perhaps that is why he finds himself letting Sylvain pull him along by his hand like they are children and not men at the age of thirty. Hubert stops himself from spiraling down this train of thought by shifting his attention to the many decorations that adorn the hall. The whole palace is built out of a beautiful ivory sandstone, with gold designs framing all the windows. The carpets are decorated with a blue and gold geometric pattern, and according to Claude actual gold thread was used for them. The windows are far larger than any Hubert is used to in Fodlan, typically reaching from the floor to the top of the ceiling. The afternoon sun illuminates the whole hall in a warm light, while a gentle breeze drifts down keeping the hallway cool.
He’s about to start waxing poetics about the corridor, but they arrive back at the double doors Hubert had escaped through less than an hour prior. Sylvain glances back at him with a calculating expression before deciding to squeeze Hubert’s hand firmly in what he is sure is supposed to be a comforting gesture. Hubert steadies himself with a deep breath as Sylvain pushes open the doors and leads him through. Hubert keeps his gaze stubbornly on the wedding portrait they've hung up in their room as Sylvain lets go of his hand to lock the doors behind them. He keeps his gaze firmly on the portrait, taking in every detail he can, even as Sylvain goes to the vanity to set his bag back in its spot.
Hubert is hyper aware of the fact that Claude is perched on the vanity watching him, but he refuses to glance over to see exactly what expression Claude has settled on for the moment. He hears the sound of his bag hitting the floor, and then the rustle of Sylvain's clothes as he most likely settles himself against Claude's side. He pretends to ignore the whispers being passed between the two, not that he can understand whatever they're saying in hushed Almyran. He studies the way the painter of this piece had managed to capture the softness of Sylvain's eyes and how they contrast with the sharpness of Claude's. It truly is a wonderful portrait, Hubert admits, and whenever he can't sleep at night here he always ends up studying it. The two of them look happy together in the portrait, an almost perfect mirror of how they look together in real life. Hubert cannot help the way his eyes are drawn towards the shape of Claude's jaw from where it's settled on Sylvain's shoulder. Claude’s lips are pulled into the subtle smile he only wears when he’s happy and no one else is around. In public, his grin is always wide and for show, but never reaches his eyes. Much like Sylvain, when he’s truly happy in private his smile is an understated thing. Against his will, Hubert finds his mind drifting to how that smile feels when it’s pressed against the side of his neck. Or even how it feels pressed against his own slack mouth after a particularly vigorous coupling. Now that Hubert dwells on it he realizes that part of what's so charming about it is the smug edge to his lips which he rarely lets show around others. Thankfully before he can spend any longer dwelling on the shape of Claude’s lips and the way they feel pressed up against his skin, the whispering from across the room ceases. Hubert feels a pit of dread start to build in his stomach the longer the silence in the room stretches out. It’s starting to border on unbearable, but at last Claude takes mercy on him.
“Marquis Vestra, why don’t you come join Sylvain and I over here by the vanity?” The sharp edge Hubert expected in Claude’s tone is shockingly absent. In its place is a gentleness that somehow cuts Hubert harder. He finally manages to suppress the shudder that crawls up his spine, and steadies himself for whatever fate awaits him across the room. With one last deep breath, Hubert turns and walks over to the vanity with his hands awkwardly hanging by his side. Sure enough Claude is sitting on top of it with his legs drawn up with Sylvain curled against his side like a spoiled cat. As Hubert approaches, Claude drops his feet to the floor and widens his knees just enough that Hubert knows he’s supposed to find a place between them. It’s humiliating walking across a room with two of the most attractive people he knows watching him like he’s prey. He’s hyper aware of the sound of his own steps and the unevenness of his breathing.
After what feels like an eternity, Hubert is within grabbing distance for Claude, who reaches out one leg to hook around Hubert's waist and forces him closer into his space than Hubert would've chosen on his own. In such close quarters Hubert finds himself overwhelmed once again. The heat of Claude’s leg pressed against his lower back is distracting, and Hubert finds himself diverting his attention towards stopping all of his blood from pooling in between his legs. Right when he thinks he can take back the upper hand, Claude’s other leg presses harshly against the back of his knees, sending him reeling forward. Hubert manages to catch himself with a hand splayed on the dresser behind Claude and the other firmly on Sylvain’s thigh. Before he can even begin to recover his wits Claude is leaning forward to press a wet kiss to Hubert’s pulse.
“I thought we were fighting,” Hubert gasps as Sylvain drags the hand Hubert has on his thigh further up. Sylvain snorts at him as Claude rolls his eyes.
“We were,” Claude says directly in Hubert’s ear, “but clearly that just made you more likely to run away so we decided to try something different.” Claude finishes his statement by blowing a puff of air into Hubert’s ear, which snaps him out of the daze he’s found himself in and he flinches back from both Claude and Sylvain. He can’t go very far with the way Claude’s wrapped both legs around his waist at this point, but he is at least far enough away that their wandering hands and mouths can’t distract him anymore.
For the first time since he was led back to their bedroom, he makes eye contact with Claude. Beneath the smoulder is an undercurrent of genuine anxiety, and just the fact that Hubert can see it tells him how severe it is. Somehow seeing Claude upset is even worse than having to see the hurt flames of anger in Sylvain’s eyes. A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Dorothea is screaming at him to just talk to his lovers rather than get distracted by more carnal means of communication.
“Perhaps it would be best if we,” Hubert has to pause to crinkle his nose and scowl so it’s incredibly clear how much he loathes saying this, “discussed the… miscommunication, that happened today before falling into bed together once again.” Hubert manages to maintain eye contact with Claude the entire time he speaks, and is rewarded by the noticeable relief that graces his features. In a heartbeat, Claude’s expression falls from its alluring smolder to a much more honest, but neutral, look. Sylvain on the other hand has a smug grin affixed on his face, which is strangely endearing to Hubert. Claude drops his legs from around Hubert’s waist and hops off the dresser. Before Hubert can move back out of Claude’s space, he finds himself pressed up against the dresser in the same position he was the last time he was being confronted by Claude in this room. This time though, there isn’t any anger in Claude’s expression. Instead the usual curious glint makes itself at home in his eyes, while Sylvain presses himself up against Hubert’s side this time rather than his husband’s. Despite the situation, Hubert finds himself relaxing against the dresser. This discussion has been a long time coming, even he can admit that. Claude and Sylvain know him well enough at this point that they give him the time to formulate his words rather than push him to start speaking. Hubert so rarely finds himself at a loss for words, there’s always a snarky response or a teasing remark waiting at the tip of his tongue. If Edelgard were here she’d tease him by saying he always freezes up in more vulnerable situations, which would probably fluster him more. He mentally slaps the back of his own head to focus back on the situation at hand.
“It has become rather… clear, to me that perhaps we have rather differing views on what this relationship is,” Hubert finally pieces together.
“That’s one way of putting it,” Sylvain mutters into Hubert’s shoulder which earns him an elbow to the side from Hubert and a smack on the shin from Claude. In typical dramatic Sylvain fashion, he immediately gasps and clenches a fist over his heart. Claude and Hubert turn to him with twin unimpressed looks, which Sylvain rolls his eyes at before settling back down against Hubert’s side.
“How do you see this relationship then Hubert?” Claude asks like the bastard he is. Hubert finds himself hesitating. He’s held these feelings close to his chest for years now, and it’s painful to try and drag them into the light of day.
“I do not mean to be cruel, but I have a hard time considering what we have a relationship. Doesn’t a relationship imply that there’s something deeper than a semi-regular space in your bed?” Hubert pauses here to try and get a read on how his companions are reacting. Claude’s eyes have completely shut down, showing nothing but an eerie blankness. Sylvain’s mouth is set in the well worn grin he always seems to sport when he’d rather no one pay attention to him.
“Is that all that you’re looking for when you’re with us, Hubert?” Claude asks with a carefulness that sets off alarm bells in Hubert’s mind. He knows that the right answer is to confirm this, to push down his desires far enough that he can at least have them in this way. But Hubert is tired of pretending that he can accept whatever scraps he can take off the table of Sylvain and Claude’s love. He was prepared to walk away from all of this earlier, so he might as well lay it all out on the table before he’s removed from Almyra permanently.
“Of course it isn’t,” Hubert forces himself to say, “but I’m aware that that’s what the two of you are looking for from me.”
“Right now Hubert, we’re asking about what you want, not what we want. Why don’t you spell out for us what it is you’re looking for, not just from us, but from this relationship instead of dancing around it?” Claude says with a tone that forces Hubert to meet his eyes as he speaks. Hubert clenches his hand into a fist as he breaks eye contact to look off to the side and admire the carpet. The worlds suddenly come scraping their way out of Hubert’s throat without his consent.
“I love you both, how could I not after all these years? Despite our branching paths in life, I consider it a kindness I do not deserve to be able to be here with both of you. I selfishly do not wish to lose that due to my own failings to suppress my affection for you both. I might be a fool, but I’m not stupid. I know the sins I’ve committed are beyond forgiving, and that you’ve both suffered at the hands of them. And yet I cannot stop my heart from chasing yours.” He stops speaking to take a deep breath, rattling breath, unable to continue. It hurts him to say these things he’s so long hidden, and he can only hope that his heart is only shattered rather than stopped. He’s completely unprepared for Sylvain to use both hands to force Hubert into a kiss. Before the shock wears off long enough to react, Sylvain is pulling away from him and giving him a look that makes Hubert feel like one of Cupid’s Arrows was shot straight through his heart.
“You’re so fucking stupid sometimes Hubert, not just foolish,” Sylvain coos at him like he’s a fussy child before dragging him into another, much sloppier, kiss. Sylvain is trying to shove his tongue past Hubert’s lips when Claude threads his hands through Sylvain’s hair and drags him back away from Hubert.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself here, Fox,” Claude snorts, “we’re using our words not our actions right now.” Sylvain rolls his eyes with a groan of frustration before turning his attention back to Hubert. He opens his mouth to say something but Claude yanks him back by his hair again forcing an obscene moan out of Sylvain. The sound combined with the visual of Sylvain arched in honest ecstasy is enough to send all the blood rushing from Hubert’s racing heart down to his groin against his will. Claude outright laughs at Sylvain’s betrayed look to him before dropping his hold on his hair to condescendingly pat his cheek.
“I think it’s my turn to talk now,” Claude drawls before shifting his attention back to Hubert. For the first time all day, Claude is the one avoiding eye contact with Hubert rather than the other way around. There’s a strange tension in his shoulders that Hubert is unused to seeing, and a hesitance in his words that is incredibly out of place.
“I’m a little surprised, Hubert,” he begins before tilting his head to the side anxiously, “I knew you were in love with Sylvain but I never would’ve guessed you’d feel the same way about me. Who would’ve thought between the three of us that Sylvain would be the only one with a real grasp on the situation here.” Claude pauses for a moment and awkwardly shifts himself so his head rests on Hubert’s shoulder and his face presses into Hubert’s neck. Instinct has Hubert running a soothing hand down Claude’s back before coming back up to rest on his shoulder. Sylvain loudly clears his throat and kicks out a foot to collide with Claude’s shin. It seems to draw him back out of wherever he went inside his own head, and Claude starts speaking again.
“I feel the same way. I thought it was one-sided though,” Claude mumbles against Hubert’s pulse. It takes a moment for the words Claude has spoken to really register in Hubert’s mind. Perhaps Sylvain was right when he called him stupid, for somehow the second the words are said he realizes how obvious it’s been this entire time.
“It seems I have made… a miscalculation of sorts,” Hubert says, though his own voice sounds so far away from him as he says it. He can feel the heat radiating off of Claude’s face against his racing heart, and Hubert himself feels like he might be overheating.
“Just to make this exceeding clear, since apparently it hasn’t been,” Sylvain pipes up from Hubert’s side, “I love you too, Hubert. I can’t believe you missed it though. I thought you were supposed to be an expert on predicting people’s motives.”
“Excuse me for not being certain, Your Majesty,” Hubert snaps back flatly, with none of the earlier malice in the title, “I suppose it should’ve been obvious that the most attached at the hip couple I know loved someone outside of their own marriage.” Claude’s head whips up once he finishes talking and the look he gives Hubert makes it hard to hold back a laugh. Claude’s practically preening at Hubert’s statement, which earns him Sylvain placing a hand on his forehead and shoving him away. The gesture momentarily stuns Claude which forces Hubert to actually start cackling at the dumbstruck look on his face. His laugh seems to break the tension in the room as Sylvain and Claude join him.
“Goddess above I’m so stupid,” Hubert manages to say through his own amusement. The statement sets off another round of giggles from Sylvain and Claude both.
“You’re lucky that happens to be my type,” Claude teases with a pointed look at Sylvain, who responds maturely by sticking his tongue out.
“I can’t believe you’d imply that I’m stupid considering I’m the one who insisted Hubert returned your feelings. Which, by the way, I will be lording over your head for the rest of our lives,” Sylvain teases back with a tone that implies exactly how much he’ll fuck with Claude if he ever implies such a thing again.
“My most sincere apologies, My Queen. Next time you set the curtains on fire trying to light a candle I’ll be sure to assume it was intentional arson,” Claude snarks back which paints a crimson blush across Sylvain’s cheeks.
“That was one time and it was your fault for distracting me while I was trying to light them,” Sylvain groans as he hides his face behind his hands. Claude forces Sylvain’s hands away from his face and brings one up to his mouth. He sucks three of Sylvain’s fingers into his mouth and bobs his head up and down a few times before drawing Sylvain’s fingers back out of his mouth.
“That was a good night though you have to admit,” Claude teases in a tone Hubert is well trained to associate with someone’s back being pressed into the mattress moments later.
“As much as I’d love a repeat performance,” Sylvain purrs, “I have something a little different in mind right now.” He throws a look over to Hubert with a smirk. Suddenly Hubert finds himself on the receiving end of matching devious grins. He knows them well enough to know that he should probably be afraid of whatever the two of them are cooking up, but he resigns himself to giving the two of them whatever they want to attempt to make up for his earlier foolishness.