Fall Down Slow

Author's Notes: written for babel_babel.

Nervousness didn’t suit Sylvain.

His hands trembled as he reached for another flute of alcohol. Sweat rolled down his face and made his perfectly coiffed hair cling to his face in an irritating way. He couldn’t help but squirm in his boots. His uniform, once immaculately pressed and tucked in due to the fancy occasion, was now rumpled and thrown into a disarray as he struggled to down another glass of wine. The astringent taste of fermented grapes and the tickling sweetness of Morfis plum clung to his palate.

He hadn’t felt this nervous since he first approached Ingrid’s grandmother all those years ago with picked wildflowers in hand and his heart on his sleeve.

The redhead was an absolute mess and he knew it. The polite smiles and reassurances from the women who flocked around him did nothing to change his opinion. He may have pretended to be an idiot at times but he certainly wasn’t one. A heavy sigh escaped him as he placed his fifth—maybe sixth? He wasn’t sure—cup of wine on the table and got up. His chair clattered noisily across the ballroom’s floor as he collected himself.

The world was spinning around him. The music was both muddled and way too loud. His heart was throbbing so much that he was afraid it might burst. It better not. He had a mission to fulfill.

His eyes drifted towards the other end of the table. There sat Yuri Leclerc, practically sparkling under the flickering chandeliers and surrounded by women. The man smiled and laughed as a girl from the Golden Deer House said something Sylvain couldn’t make out from here. The sight of his lips curling upward and his eyes crinkling ever so slightly made butterflies swarm inside Sylvain’s wine-bloated stomach. Ever since Yuri and the other Wolves started attending the academy, he had always been on Sylvain’s mind. He made his interest known. This was back when he thought Yuri was just a tomboyish woman who preferred the masculine uniform and proceeded to humiliate himself in front of everyone when that deep tenor slipped passed Yuri’s painted lips. It didn’t help that the pickup line he used was one of his worst ones. Yuri’s sharp wit was one of the things that kept Sylvain interested even after learning the truth—and something about himself as well.

It was time to redeem himself.

Wine sloshed around inside Sylvain’s bladder as he staggered towards the other man. His heart hammered at the realization that he should probably go piss.

But what if he lost his nerve? What if he literally pissed away all his courage?

It was too risky.

Every step made liquid lap against his swelling bladder. Pressure built inside of him as heat circled inside of him. The beginning of desperation began to dance inside of him. Still, he continued his hopefully confident stride towards Yuri. His toes curled inside his boots as he tried to ignore the growing pressure in his pelvis.

Eventually, he made his way to Yuri who looked up at him with an amused expression. Something sparked in those pale violet hues as his painted lips quirked into a smirk.

“Hello Sylvain, are you enjoying the ball?” he asked with a slight drawl.

“Y-yeah, I am,” he said with a faint cough. He swore that he could feel the remaining wine in his gut rush into his bladder and up his prick. Ever so smoothly, Sylvain leaned against one of the backs of the chairs and forced a rakish grin while he ran a hand through his hair. “How about you?”

“Of course. Garreg Mach always throws such lovely parties... Now, was there something you needed from little old me?”

Sylvain oh-so-subtly threw one leg in front of the other and crossed his thighs tightly together as he clenched his pelvic muscles. “Actually, y-yes. I... I wanted to, um, this fox was wondering if he could...” The girls surrounding the two men snorted. “Get inside your hen house?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yuri asked. The faint flush across his cheeks hinted that he also might have had a few too many or that he was trying his hardest to hold back a laugh. Or, perhaps, he was flustered and flattered. Oh, Sylvain hoped it was the latter. “Say that again for me, dearest Sylvain.”

“I... ah...” Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and squirmed as he threw his other leg in front of the other. Desperation built and built inside of him as that heat grew into a building inferno inside of him. “To hell with it...”

He reached for the lapels of Yuri’s coat and pulled him into a messy kiss. For a moment, shorter than it took to take a breath, he whispered against his lips. “I want you.”

Yuri returned the kiss and Sylvain relaxed.

Big mistake.

Urine splashed against the front of Sylvain’s uniform as his poor, overworked bladder finally gave in. Piss ran down his leg and pooled inside his sock and boot. It was when he leaned forward and felt that wet squish of cooling piss between his toes that Sylvain realized what had happened and he broke the kiss.

“I... I... Excuse me,” he babbled as he started to turn around to rush to his dorm room and perhaps die. However, Yuri gripped the back of his jacket. “Huh?!”

“Most men wouldn’t put confessing over... such urges. You’re lucky you’re so cute, Sylvain. I want you too,” he whispered before kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get you cleaned up, chickadee.”

Sylvain managed to hold back a groan as his past words came back to haunt him.