Chapter Text
To no one’s surprise but his own, Lorenz was turning out to be something of a hedonist. Claude was no stranger to the pleasures of court and crown – and Lorenz’s appreciation thereof was something he’d learned about three seconds after his name – but it was one thing to enjoy a walk along the lakeside or a perfect blend of tea, and quite another to dedicate an entire afternoon to the pursuit of pleasure alone. Though it wasn’t necessarily pleasure of an indecent variety. Claude had found himself roped into long, pointless games of chess, comparisons of different macaron varieties Lorenz had purchased when the sugar rationing eased, and regular analysis and reanalysis of a single, beautiful aria.
But, other times, it was definitely sexual.
At court – any court – there were expectations. The fate of nations rested upon the marriages of its nobility (by the gods didn’t Claude know that all too well), and all the good little courtiers of Fódlan grew up being prepared for their eventual, inevitable marriage bed with a stranger. No matter how blisteringly obvious it may be where their actual attentions lay.
Claude had expected Lorenz to be inexperienced. And he had been right, of course. It was his own ignorance that ended up surprising him.
It hadn’t been that different in Almyra; not for the children whose lineages had been planned out, at least. It would have been so for Claude, had anyone known what to do with him. But they hadn’t, and so it wasn’t, and Claude grew up under the shadow of obligation without any of its certainty, accompanied by a mix of bemused disdain and loneliness in all things intimate. He knew what people got up to in those marriage beds of theirs. There were too many cruel, filthy jokes about his parents not to. And it wasn’t exactly a secret where all his aunt’s bastard children were coming from, either, or why everyone was so confused as to why handsome Uncle Godfrey hadn’t left any behind of his own. No matter what side of the Fangs he was on, sex was something simple, shameful, obligatory and anathema.
He hadn’t expected to actually end up enjoying it.
Yeah, yeah, getting off felt good: that wasn’t news. What was news was his slow slide into comfort with Lorenz, trust spreading from battlefield to boardroom to dining hall to desk, the two of them hunched over a single rationing plan as they puzzled over the caloric needs of an army, the warmth of their shoulders tight against each other. That warmth had somehow made it seem all the more important to ensure their comrades were similarly comforted. It had been the middle of the night, and Claude had made the strange decision to voice this thought to Lorenz.
He did not sleep a wink that night, and still found himself facing the morning briefing completely refreshed.
Lorenz did not have “trysts” the way Claude had always pictured such things. There was no hurried movement in dark corners, no anguished declarations they must stay away from each other, no walks of shame – if only because ninety per cent of the time Lorenz emerged from Claude’s room exhausted at the crack of dawn, they had some new tactic or legislation to show for it. There were plenty of long walks in secluded forests, but most of them were spent actually enjoying the scenery, holding conversation, enjoying each other’s presence in the most basic sense possible. It felt more obscene than fucking him, really.
It took Claude an embarrassingly long time (months, perhaps over a year, if you wanted to be cruel) to realise that when Lorenz came to his room and sat in his lap and kissed him so earnestly for hours upon hours until Claude felt he would die or ascend or at least ruin his trousers, Lorenz wasn’t teasing him. He just liked kissing, and he just liked Claude.
It was enough to have Claude grasping at Lorenz’s waist simply to tether himself to reality.
That was another great thing about having a hedonist for a lover (beyond the hedonism): Lorenz wasn’t exactly shy about what he liked. If he was going to have a steak for dinner, he was going to spend forty-five minutes with Raphael debating the various strengths and weaknesses of every cut of beef. And if he was going to spend the night with Claude, then he was going to express every last one of his opinions on how that should go, too.
Lorenz was still a noble, however. He wasn’t ever going to come up to Claude and say that he wanted to do something. The language was ever oblique.
“From what I gather, your hands ought to be here.”
“I’m certain you can see where this is going.”
“I believe this is the done thing.”
Never mind that all either of them knew about the “done thing” were the things they had done to each other.
It was better, then, when Claude could unravel what Lorenz wanted all on his own. When declarative statements turned to surprised whines, when tension melted beneath his palm, when lips silenced each other. Lorenz would lose himself in such moments, disappear, if only for a second, into a world of desire, fulfilled and complete. If he stayed long enough, if he held Claude in place and gave him more than he knew how to ask for, if he let the courtly mask drop and the delight reach his eyes, Claude would slip as well, catch a glimpse of that world himself, and it would almost be as though he could want things, too.
It would be weird, Claude had decided, immediately after purchasing, to give it to Lorenz. As such, the little lump of fabric had stayed in his room for a year, until he decided that such hoarding was even more weird, and he should just grow up and give his paramour a present like an adult. That was part of courting, after all – they were all about meaningful gift exchanges in Fódlan. And he was always giving things to the other Deer – it’s not like they were hard to bribe. Hell, he was always giving things to Lorenz: a sweet treat from the market, a new spool of thread for his embroidery kit, any loose buttons he came across (Lorenz was big on buttons, Claude didn’t get it, but he always liked receiving them). It would not be weird, then, to give him a proper gift.
No, the word Claude was looking for was “terrifying”, and that had never been an excuse for inaction before.
Besides, Lorenz’s strategy to double-back on their last march had confused, trapped and utterly crushed their enemy not one week ago, saving countless lives in the process. The least he deserved was a horse-blanket from his liege.
By all accounts they would have the afternoon off – there was nothing that could be accomplished while waiting for the scouts’ report on the retreating faction, and that was at least two days away by Claude’s estimates. There was no reason why he could not go for a little walk, find Lorenz, invite him to some nice part of the monastery where they could watch the sunset, and give him a simple gift in recognition for his constant service. Maybe he would say something tacky about his eyes, diffuse the mood somewhat.
He picked up the silly little piece of wool, opened his bedroom door, and immediately found Lorenz.
It was annoyingly soft in his death-grip, even as he relaxed “comfortably” against his doorframe and offered Lorenz one of his premade smiles.
“Well now, whatever are you doing here?” he asked, hoping it came across as suitably annoying instead of confrontational.
Lorenz made a great show of turning his head, looking around all wide-eyed and curious, before tucking his hair behind his ear and giving Claude a little smile.
“Why, I do believe I live here.”
Claude wondered if anyone had ever died from looking at a handsome man for too long. His thundering heart certainly seemed to think it was a possibility.
“Unless you believe I belong somewhere else?” Lorenz continued.
Actually, there was that old Almyran folktale about the knight who thought about his girlfriend for too long and forgot to eat and died. As a kid, Claude had always thought it a thoroughly pointless cautionary tale, because who in the world would ever do that? Nowadays, though, he almost admired the guy.
Wait, was Lorenz inviting himself into Claude’s room?
“I’d say you could look at home anywhere.”
Gods, that was vague. Was it even a compliment? Oh, this was very quickly turning into one of those afternoons where Lorenz would wax lyrical about something truly very interesting, and Claude would just sit there staring at his mouth. Bring it around, Riegan, you started this conversation.
“But I wouldn’t expect anything less from one of Fódlan’s finest generals, winner of campaigns from Boramas to Sreng.”
Did their excursion to Sreng count as a “campaign”? Honestly, more than anything else, it was probably the closest they’d had to an “adventure”.
Lorenz, however, did not seem particularly caught up in semantics. He’d looked away, whipping his head to the side fast enough to knock his silky hair loose. It obscured his eyes, his high, darkening cheekbones, but not his mouth, where his teeth bit down on a grin that threatened his lips. Claude could watch his expression for hours. His eyes, slipping back to Claude only to dart away again when his mouth stretched ever wider, the flush of his face spiralling down his neck to pool at his collarbone.
That wouldn’t exactly be kind, though, considering Lorenz looked like he didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Claude said, “I’m the Duke, I get to decide these things.”
Being the Duke also meant deciding who lived and who died, who got to retreat home and who was shackled to his side until the bitter end, but this wasn’t that kind of conversation. He and Lorenz had covered that ground enough times already, and they would cover it again and again.
“And I wanted to get you something to thank you.”
“What? Claude, no!” Lorenz’s head sprung back to face him, eyes practically springing from his head as his blush grew ever more luminous. “I was just doing my job!”
“Yes, and you did so masterfully,” Claude replied. “Besides, don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy. Just something…”
I’ve been too chicken to give you for over a year now.
Oddly personal and all too humble.
That I saw and thought of you.
“Just something I thought you might like.”
Ah, shit, no, that was the worst possible option. Should have gone with “something I wanted to hear your thoughts on” or whatever, because Lorenz had taste, Lorenz had opinions, and if he didn’t like the damn thing, now he’d feel bad saying so.
Too late, nothing to do now but shove it at him.
Lorenz peered at the blanket as though it might be either great riches or a small, biting mammal. His eyes roved across the folds and Claude realised it probably looked like the wrapping of a present rather than a gift in and of itself.
“It’s just a saddle-blanket,” he said.
“Oh, but quite an eye-catching one,” Lorenz murmured.
Was that a good thing? Claude wouldn’t have said so, but Lorenz regularly walked around in bright purple armour and gilded greaves, so he wasn’t exactly opposed to catching eyes.
“And I’ve never seen this pattern before-”
Lorenz, gasped, jolted, almost dropped it the instant he took the blanket into his arms.
“This- Claude! Claude, is this cashmere?”
“Um,” said Claude, wondering if he could safely climb out a second-storey window. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Lorenz stared at him, stared at the blanket, gripped it entirely too tight and then seemed to panic at the motion, smoothing out his hands and the fabric alike, all the little angular spirals of purple and cream wool undulating beneath his fingers.
“You don’t need to be too gentle with it,” Claude said, immediately wondering if it sounded like a criticism. “It was made to be a saddle-blanket, I promise. Just for a wyvern, instead of a horse, I guess, but the size looks right. Though it is purely ceremonial, not for campaign-”
“Yes, obviously I am not riding into battle on a fabric worth my weight in gold!” Lorenz snapped.
Fuck, this was bad.
“It, uh-” Claude began, and then his mouth was full of Lorenz’s tongue.
Oh. Maybe it was good, actually.
He kissed back, as deep and hard as he could manage while wrestling with his wild, fleeting thoughts. His hands found Lorenz’s waist and guided him back, settling him against the wall opposite Claude’s door, holding him down as though Claude knew exactly what was going on.
“What is wrong with you?”
Nope, bad again.
Lorenz looked away, his hands trembling as he clutched the blanket close to his chest.
“N-no, I did not mean to say that in such… I did not mean to say that,” he said.
Claude swallowed. Maybe he ought to hold back on judging the situation until it was over.
“I meant,” Lorenz continued, taking a shaky breath. “How could you give me such a thing so easily? I can count on one hand the number of cashmere articles that are known to exist in Fódlan!”
Claude was incredibly tempted to remind him that one such article was half a metre away, sprawled over Claude’s bed and smelling of Lorenz.
“Well,” said Claude, because the best way to stop himself from saying something stupid was to say something else, “It might be rare in Fódlan, but it really is quite common in Almyra. I mean, it’s still a luxury fabric, but one that even the merchants wear regularly. There are pashmina herds all over the place. I had a cashmere blanket as a baby, I probably spat up all over it.”
“But this isn’t Almyra,” Lorenz hissed, a worried crease deep in his brow.
“I know,” said Claude, quiet. “And there’s plenty of things that can’t be brought across the mountains so easily, in either direction. Religion. Government structure.” He spun his hands, thinking. “My mother. I dunno. Some things take a lot of time and preparation if they’re to be accepted in new lands. But cashmere? I don’t see why that can’t be imported. I mean, in terms of goods transport, imports are still incredibly expensive, you know that, but that blanket, I just bought it at the fabric district near the palace, same place I got most of my clothes. Why shouldn’t I have put it in my luggage, taken it home to the person it made me think of?”
Lorenz was silent, looking off to the side yet again. Claude watched his fingers stroke the fabric ever so slightly.
“Look at it this way,” Claude tried. “You’ve got a lovely pair of winter boots – indigo, embroidered with some wonderfully dramatic moon and stars. What are they lined with?”
Lorenz scowled, rolled his eyes, but did, eventually, reply.
“Mohair.”
“And mohair is-”
“The product of a completely different species of goat, prepared differently, I can only assume, if only due to the lack of textile technology exchange between the respective producing cultures. It’s utterly incomparable.”
“Is it?” Claude asked. “I’ll defer to your knowledge of the actual textile engineering here, considering my own complete lack of knowledge, but… It’s all just wool. It’s not like it’s shorn from some sacred animal, or like the farming methods are unethical by Fódlan standards. The only reason why it’s so expensive here – and mohair likely the same in Almyra – is because there aren’t established trade routes. Yet.”
Lorenz hunched over the blanket, his hair falling forward, a little noise catching in his throat.
“I…” Claude faltered. “Look, I do understand if you can’t accept it. I certainly won’t demand you dress your horse with it if you don’t want to. But if that is the case, I would like to know why. Um, if possible.”
Lorenz sighed, long and deep. Claude watched his thumbs rub over the blanket, just as they had so often stroked his skin.
“When I was… I don’t know, eight or nine I suppose, I remember having a conversation with Hilda,” Lorenz murmured eventually. “We were talking about all the things we would do as adults – stay out until dawn, ride a wild pegasus bareback, host a week-long banquet. You know, just the most dramatic, decadent things children could imagine.”
Despite his earlier discomfort, he smiled, shaking his head.
“And one of the things she mentioned was having the most sumptuous wardrobe in Fódlan. She had just learned that platinum existed, and she was going on about it, how it was somehow even more precious and beautiful than gold. I don’t think she even knew what it looked like.” He gave a little laugh. “But because we were ever-so-grown-up we started talking about the secret super-luxuries we had recently learned of. Like white truffles and black pearls as opposed to their regular counterparts. Powdered gemstones for cosmetics. Purple label brandy. Cashmere.”
Lorenz’s eyes were fixed to the blanket. Claude still couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but even his double-crossing mind couldn’t convince him that his was the gaze of a man who didn’t like the gift. But it was never about just liking things, was it?
“I-I was rather obsessed with the concept,” Lorenz continued. “I’ve always had a taste for the finer things in life, fancied myself something of the aesthete, but the concept of cashmere…” He tsked. “Did you have to hit the nail so directly on the head? It was like mohair, but infinitely rarer, costlier. No one could even tell me exactly how it was different, which of course only heightened the mystique. It became something of an aspiration, or… A measuring stick. I knew I would have reached the height of sophistication, of wealth and worldliness, when I owned something of cashmere. And you just handed this to me and said it was for my horse!”
Lorenz laughed, bitter, incredulous.
“You always do this to me,” he whispered. “How many times now have you fulfilled a lifelong dream of mine on what seems like a whim?” he asked. “When you said I was fit to lead the Alliance, every time you talk circles around my father at the Roundtable, when first you held me, as though I were…” Lorenz shook his head, swallowed. “I cannot accept your gift. I want it too much.”
“Lorenz.”
Claude stepped forward, as close as he could get without being outright pressed against him. There was so much to see in Lorenz’s eyes, even as he stared at Claude in surprise. If he had the time, Claude would stay there for hours, doing his best to unravel every last blink, every minute hint of moisture. But what sadness he could see was proof enough he needed to act quickly.
“I meant what I said. It’s a thank you gift, a congratulations present, whatever you want to call it. You don’t need to earn this. And wanting it doesn’t diminish how much you deserve it; how much you deserve anything. Everything. You know you just paid me the greatest compliment of my life? Every single thing I do is backed by years of painstaking effort and overthinking and you just said it all looks like casual impulse. Better yet, that it makes you happy. I don’t know what to tell you, Lorenz. Even if cashmere was some grand manifestation of a man’s worthiness, you would have earned it five times over in this conversation alone.”
Lorenz was quiet but for the deep, pained breaths through his nose, but at least he wasn’t looking away.
“For my horse, though?”
Claude laughed, a wave of relief crashing through him.
“I suppose it’s not fair that she gets to enjoy such a luxury before you. Not to worry-” he plucked the blanket from Lorenz’s hands and shook it out with a flourish. “-It doubles as quite the fetching shawl.”
Lorenz stooped a little to allow Claude to loop the fabric around his long, graceful neck and shoulders that – currently free from any dramatic pauldrons – were always so much slimmer than Claude remembered. He pulled it tight, enveloping Lorenz in a woollen embrace that trembling hands rose to hold in place. Lorenz closed his eyes, snuggled his cheek against the fabric, and Claude could swear he heard him gasp.
“It is definitely softer than mohair,” he announced after a moment.
Claude grinned.
“Only fitting for the smoothest skin in Fódlan,” he replied.
“Y-yes, well,” said Lorenz, which is what he always said when Claude’s compliments landed. “I certainly cannot wear it in public.”
“But-”
“People will talk,” Lorenz said sharply, a tension in his shoulders rising and falling. “I cannot permit them. No matter how correct they might be.”
Claude felt his own skin crawl, a familiar fury knotting his stomach. No, wanting would never be enough.
“But I will accept your gift,” Lorenz said quietly. “It… does get cold in the mountains. Especially this time of year. Perhaps, when my room grows chill…”
Claude relaxed a little, gave him a smile, even as the gall remained in his throat. Lorenz deserved to be warmed by a hell of a lot more than a shawl, but the nobility of Fódlan seemed hellbent on freezing their sons out of even the slightest happiness.
“Well,” said Claude, and he could not swallow it, not the last of that bitterness. “I do hope it serves you well behind closed doors for the time being, but I won’t rest until you can wear it wherever you please. Or drape your horse in it, whatever you choose. Mark my works, Lord Gloucester, one day you’ll turn around and suddenly no one will dare show their face at court without cashmere for their suit and steed alike.”
Lorenz gripped the shawl a little tighter and smiled, at once teasing and blindingly sincere.
“I shall count the days,” he murmured. “But really? You shan’t rest at all?”
“For the people of this world… For you, I’d spend the rest of my life awake and aching.”
Lorenz sucked his teeth.
“You must know that’s hardly a comforting statement,” he announced. “The rest of your life would be very short indeed if you never took a break. As one of your advisors, it is my responsibility to ensure you are taking care of yourself, and that includes making the most of your downtime.”
Here they were at last, familiar territory.
“Why, Lorenz,” he grinned. “Is that your way of inviting yourself into my room?”
Lorenz raised his chin, did his best to look as haughty and above it all as he had once longed to be. Claude’s heart fluttered to see his hands still stroking the shawl.
“Perhaps,” he drawled, “If that is what it takes.” Lorenz’s façade flickered for a moment. “After all, I still need to thank you for your gift.”
Not for the first time while talking to Lorenz, Claude fought down a sick mix of arousal and concern.
“Hey, I told you,” he said, “This isn’t a matter of earning or thanking or deserving or any of that nonsense.” The sincerity yawned before him, a dizzying chasm. “Besides, I know all too well that thanks from Lorenz Hellman Gloucester must be reciprocated.”
Wait, did that sound like he was calling him needy?
“If I accept this particular gratitude,” he continued quickly. “I won’t be able to rest until I have exhausted my own thanks – and that will no doubt be a very long and rigorous endeavour. I… don’t want us to get caught up in some tangled web of obligation.” The chasm still beckoned. “Can’t we just… be kind to each other?”
Lorenz blinked at him, a kind of cautious wonder appearing in his eyes. He stepped forward, rested his forehead against Claude’s, and the sheer warmth of his presence was enough to send Claude’s eyelids fluttering shut.
“Then I shall be very kind to you, indeed.”