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Working late nights is nothing new to the council of advisors to the new Emperor - building a new world order waits for no one, after all.
So it is nothing out of the ordinary for the Minister of Imperial Household and Adrestrian Prime Minister to again be alone in the council room, well after everyone else has gone to bed.
Ferdinand is seated at the table reviewing reports from all of their supply trains, as he has been for the past several hours - he is still only most of the way through the pile.
Hubert stands just to the side and behind, his eyes fixed on a map of Fódlan, waiting to mark incidents and lost contacts as Ferdinand gleans them from the reports. They need to devise an alternate route to send the next caravans on by morning. They cannot leave until it is done.
A knife finds its way into Hubert’s hand and he dances it across his fingers, tossing it and catching it without looking. In other people it might be called ‘absent-minded’, but Hubert has never been accused of being absent-minded in his life. It is a soothing, repetitive motion that aids in concentration, and if it has the added benefit of intimidating anyone present, well.
He’s never been one to dismiss usefulness due to others' discomfort, either.
With another lost caravan marked, and another route blocked, Hubert steps back to consider their options. He taps the blade against his mouth while he thinks - it hardly makes a noise. There is a flutter of parchments and a thump of hands upon the table.
"Why do you do that?" The Prime Minister asks suddenly. The late hour is wearing on him, having smuggled frustration into his voice. Hubert tilts his head only slightly toward the voice to indicate he is listening.
"Hm?"
"With the blades. We are already at war - everyone is well aware of that. Must you bring the battlefield with you everywhere ?” Hubert does not bother to face von Aegir, and continues to tap the knife against his upper lip.
"Knives are just as capable of bringing pleasure, in the right hands."
"Forgive me if I don't believe you." Ferdinand says flatly. That warrants his attention, if only mockingly. Hubert twists to lock eyes with the other man, the tip of the stiletto held seductively against the side of his face.
“Is that so?” And isn’t this fascinating, the way Ferdinand’s eyes are fixed intensely on the blade. Hubert draws it down his cheek, watching how Ferdinand’s eyes track its path, the way the candle light lends its fire to their copper hue, making them smoulder from across the room. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order?"
The spell is broken with that, as Ferdinand laughs awkwardly and returns to his reports. But he does not reject the notion.
How interesting, Hubert muses. As he turns back to the map on the wall, he presses the blade ever so slightly harder against his lips to feel the edge of it. How very interesting indeed.
~*~
Some hours later, Ferdinand makes it to the end of the stack of reports and they manage to outline a usable new route. It is far from ideal, but so are the circumstances. It will have to do.
He has already stashed away the stiletto by the time Ferdinand stands and gathers his things to leave, but Hubert does not miss the way von Aegir gives him a once over, clearly looking for something.
“Well,” Ferdinand clears his throat and gestures stiffly to the door. “Shall we?” Hubert tucks a hand in front and behind and graciously dips his head in a bow. It is hardly a tilt, but still far more exaggerated than any courtesy he usually extends to the Prime Minister.
"After you." Ferdinand huffs and storms out, but is waiting outside the council room door when Hubert exits much more sedately. Their eyes meet for a long lingering moment. Ferdinand’s jaw works, but he says nothing. Hubert clasps his hands behind his back and simply walks away.
He is shadowed the whole way by a second pair of footsteps that alternates between running to catch up and temporarily disappearing.
It is no surprise that when he passes the private quarters Ferdinand uses when staying at the imperial palace the following footsteps stop altogether.
“Hubert.” He slows down his already slow pace almost to a halt. “What you said earlier... a-about a demonstration.” Oh . Now wasn’t that something. He turns, intrigued. Ferdinand is pointedly looking away, one hand fidgeting with the folio tucked under his arm.
"I realize the hour is late, but ah- if you do not have another, more pressing matter at hand… Maybe you could..." Ferdinand coughs gingerly and gestures to the door, his eyes carefully sweeping in an arc along the floor, avoiding settling on Hubert. He seems to be searching for more words, flustered. Hubert watches in silence for a moment longer, savoring.
"Of course." And Ferdinand snaps to attention, surprised. The color that had been creeping into his face recedes briefly and crashes back like the tide. He fumbles with the folio, nearly dropping it in his hurry to get the door open.
Hubert follows him in, closing the door behind them as Ferdinand putters about, anxiously arranging and rearranging things.
Ferdinand’s quarters match the splendor of the rest of the Imperial Palace, but something about them being Ferdinand’s makes them seem just that much more ostentatious. The framed art, the small trinkets and figurines. The tea set left out on the low table in front of the fireplace.
Ferdinand has removed his jacket and refolded it three times, and is twisting the loose cravat with the same uncertainty before finally dropping it on top of the folded jacket. He fiddles with his shirt sleeves as he looks around for something else to occupy himself with, still avoiding looking directly at Hubert.
“Right then. How-- how does this work exactly?” Hubert steps forward to circle von Aegir.
“It’s rather simple really: I take a knife, and I use it on you.” That captures his attention, finally.
“But... not for cutting.” The slyest of smiles slips onto Hubert’s mouth.
“No, not for cutting.”
“Y-you-- You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Hubert tilts his head in a way he knows is unsettling.
“Ferdinand,” he scolds gently. “Have you ever known me to be anything but?” Ferdinand has the good grace to look embarrassed and stammers out something that could be mistaken for a tongue-tied apology or agreement in equal measure. The color that takes over his ears makes them disappear into his hair, even as he tucks it back into place. Hubert closes the distance between them, his steps measured and deliberate.
"If you want me to stop at any time, you need only mention ‘tea’.” For just a moment, Ferdinand is himself again, bold and bright.
“Tea ?”
“We are both well aware that I have no interest in it. It would be an obvious deliberate subject change.” Hubert quirks an eyebrow. “Unless you would rather it be ‘Edelgard’?” Ferdinand’s mouth twists into a pout instantly and Hubert wonders at what it would take to have Ferdinand say Edelgard’s name in an intimate moment, even as a safety measure. Another time, perhaps.
"Tea…” Ferdinand says again, as though he is saying the word for the first time. And Hubert halts, just to demonstrate. Ferdinand closes his eyes and nods once.
“Alright then.” He says, more to himself.
"Are you ready?" At last, Ferdinand meets his eyes directly.
“Yes.”
Hubert herds him backwards, following him onto the bed, the distance between them never changing. He climbs up one knee at a time so that he is straddling Ferdinand before the other man even has a chance to settle.
Ferdinand shifts under him, adjusting to his weight. Accommodating, as always. He is still sat up on his elbows, Hubert balanced in his lap, looking up expectantly. Perhaps between anyone else, this would be the time to give assurances, to restate terms. But Hubert has already given his word on boundaries. He need only ever give it once.
Hubert unsheathes the knife hidden in his sleeve. It’s a simple little thing - a short needle point dagger. No adornments or filigree to speak of, the kind that no one is supposed to see coming. He knows the sharpness of it by heart, keeping it stored against his own skin. There would be no incisions that are not fully intentional. He leaves nothing to chance, after all.
With his free hand, he pushes Ferdinand flat onto his back. It takes hardly any effort at all, von Aegir is so entirely focused on the knife in Hubert's hand. He rests one hand over the other man’s throat - more as a guide than anything - and places the blade against that beautiful noble cheek. Unable now to watch the blade, caramel colored eyes latch onto Hubert's face. They are wide, edging on frantic.
“No--” The slow movement of Ferdinand’s larynx under Hubert's thumb as he swallows feels like a shift in gravity. “Nothing that leaves a mark.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Hubert murmurs in assurance. He gently traces the blade’s tip over the soft skin of Ferdinand’s cheek, just enough pressure to indent. The other man is perfectly still under him until Hubert reaches his jaw, when he takes a deep shuddering breath and tilts his chin upward. Something blooms on Hubert’s tongue, sweeter than any ambrosia, at seeing Ferdinand willingly expose his throat to a blade, trusting in Hubert’s steady hand.
He trails the tip of the blade downward, curling around Ferdinand's sharp jawline and drinking in the way he can see the skin throb against the blade in time with the other man's pulse as he follows the carotid artery down, down, down.
He comes to to a clavicle and pauses. Ferdinand is panting now, breath coming in strong, fast huffs -- but he hasn't said the word. Hubert chances a glance up. The path of his knife is flushed a lovely pink, the same shade that is creeping across Ferdinand's face. It is though the Prime Minister’s facade has melted, and a single drop has found its way down his throat, to pool here at his chest.
Ferdinand is watching him in return, his eyes wary but not scared. Bracing, perhaps, for something he doesn't like but so far, not yet. There is a brightness to his eyes that is as sharp and focused as Hubert and his knife. Anticipatory. Hopeful, maybe.
And maybe it is the same hope that causes Hubert to turn the tip of his blade sideways, catching the edge against the fine threads that hold a shirt button in place, and snapping them with a slight flick of his wrist.
He is rewarded with a hitch in Ferdinand's breathing, a slight arch in his back. Hubert holds his own breath as he moves to the next button, reveling in the sound of the threads tearing in the wake of the knife. A quick jerk comes from under him, as though the button was anchored within Ferdinand's chest. What a fascinating reaction…
There it is again, as Hubert slices through the holdings of another button. He tucks the blade under the now-open edge of the shirt and peels it away, dragging the full length of the edge across skin. Ferdinand’s breath shudders with the rest of him.
Hubert sits up, twirling the knife in one hand as he thinks, the other dragging slowly down all the skin he’s bared. He rakes his eyes just as slowly over all of Ferdinand’s form as he surveys his work again. Copper brown eyes have gone distant and glassy, just as the pink mottling has spread across his chest like wildfire on a plain.
Hubert presses the cold flat of the blade over one nipple. Ferdinand whimpers - such a pretty sound - and a surge of motion rolls down his spine. He draws the blade sideways across the other man’s chest, tracing all the way around to the back. There he digs the point in - not nearly enough to break skin - and Ferdinand cries out, arching up as far as he can under Hubert's weight. He drags the knife tip along, following the curve of the other man's ribs and the cry morphs fully into a moan. He brings it back to center, drawing a line down the center of the abdomen, letting the tip just barely catch in the navel. Ferdinand's eyelids flutter as his mouth falls open. He shifts, years of horsemanship evident in the way he rolls his hips and forcing Hubert lower on his lap. As Hubert re-balances himself, he takes stock of just how much Ferdinand is enjoying himself, the evidence of it clearly outlined beneath him. The other avenues now open.
The knife travels lower still, and his hand pauses where it has the blade pulled tight against the buttons of Ferdinand’s pants.
“Ferdinand.” He says, eyes flicking up to watch Ferdinand’s face. “Should I continue?” It takes him a few moments of gasping before his able to answer. He nods vigorously.
“Please… ”
If gravity has already shifted, then it falls out from under them all together as Hubert deftly cuts open the finely tailored pants. Even finer undergarments give way just as easily as the sturdy threads to Hubert's knife, and he hauls away the sundered fabric to reveal Ferdinand’s cock, hard and more flushed than any part of him.
Hubert bypasses the obvious target, opting instead to scratch lightly with the tip of the knife at the inside of Ferdinand’s bare thigh. Ferdinand’s legs open wider and he whines in the most delightful way, bucking upward. Hubert leans on one hand against Ferdinand’s hips to keep him in place. His reflexes are fast, but seeing as von Aegir is obviously in no state to show some restraint, he would have to provide it. With Ferdinand more firmly pinned, he gently draws the knife over delicate skin turning it in his hand to alternate between the full edge and the tip. Ferdinand is all but wailing under him now, unable to keep any sound contained. Some of them border on sobs, but still - no word to stop. Hubert teases with the lightest of touches, tracing over veins and letting the edge of the blade catch against the skin. Hubert circles his balls, matches the length of the blade up against his twitching shaft. The contact of the steel makes Ferdinand jump, sends his whole body quaking. Hubert turns the blade sideways and pulls it up - agonizingly slowly - up and up, until the tip ghosts over the glans and across the slit at the top--
“TEA!” Ferdinand cries out suddenly, arching sharply. “Tea tea tea tea teateatea !” Hubert is off him in an instant, standing at the foot of the bed as Ferdinand rolls over, convulsing while he spills himself into the sheets. Hurbert tucks away the dagger to its proper place and straightens his own clothing.
“Ah. Well… Allow me to get you some.”
~*~
They sit perched on the edge of the bed, each with a steaming drink. There is a tremor in Ferdinand's hands that he is valiantly trying to disguise, keeping teacup away from saucer so as to not rattle them together. He is staring somewhere beyond the blank spot on the wall in front of him, teacup halfway to his lips and not a sip taken. Hubert takes a long drink from his coffee, watching, cataloging, assessing. Ferdinand von Aegir, conversationalist extraordinaire, remains statuesque and silent beside him. He has made his conclusions. Only the slightest chance remains that this is something else.
He does not leave things to chance.
He sets the cup aside on the serving tray behind them and clears his throat.
"Ferdinand." The other man's head snaps to attention immediately, fully turned toward him.
Glinting brown eyes hook into Hubert like he is a lifeline, the only light in a dark world. There is a different kind of sharpness to them now: Feral. Desperate.
Yes, that confirms it - with the thrill no longer holding him up, he is falling. Crashing, really.
Hubert slowly reaches out and presses one gloved hand across the nape of his neck, gripping firmly. Ferdinand's shoulders immediately relax, the teacup clinking once neatly into place, and remaining silent. His eyes shutter closed and he lists, as though the mere weight of Hubert's hand would be enough to crumple him with the gentlest push.
Hubert uses the hand on the back of his neck to pull the other man towards him, gathering him against his chest with ease. So eager to follow.
He holds him there tightly for a moment, then lets his hand fall to Ferdinand's shoulder. Something about it doesn't feel right, so he drops it lower. He is about to remove it entirely when, thinking better of the circumstances, he instead slides down to duck under the hem of Ferdinand's shirt, and spreads his hand over the expanse of bare skin there.
"O-oh." Ferdinand takes a shaking breath in, and as he lets it out, flattens against Hubert, falling into all the slopes and curves of his side.
He swallows thickly. "That...that helps. Thank you."
"Did I scare you?" Hubert asks gently, teasing.
"No." A pause, then: "Yes? It was-- I am--" Ferdinand turns further into the crook of Hubert's neck, hiding beneath the curtain of his hair. "Addled. In the brain." Hubert presses his mouth against Ferdinand's temple - not quite a kiss, but still a gesture of comfort. His fingers comb through the waterfall of copper. He is unable to keep the smirk from his voice when he replies,
"Yes, that does have a tendency to happen." The silence between them is peaceful, if not comfortable, until Ferdinand gets restless.
"Hubert. I need to--"
"Hm?"
"The tea--
"Ah." Hubert releases him - reluctantly, he finds - so that Ferdinand is able to sit up. The teacup is still balanced, mostly full, in one hand - It is a wonder he did not dump it in Hubert's lap. Ferdinand carefully places it on the serving tray and straightens up, adjusting his shirt as best he can.
"Well that was, ah…" He clears his throat. "Perhaps we could...possibly resume? In an arrangement more amenable to both of us." He is playing with his own hair now, gathering it all over one shoulder and raking his fingers through it. He does not meet Hubert's eyes.
So shy, so unsteady. This, from the boy who longed to be emperor in their youth. To see Ferdinand von Aegir at a loss for words is not something Hubert thinks he will ever tire of. He leans back against the bed’s headboard and opens his arms in invitation. Ferdinand quickly clambers over him to tuck against his side, curling against him with a contented sigh. Hubert resumes combing through his hair, admiring the contrast of the auburn color against his gloves.
"You did well." Hubert feels the heat rise in Ferdinand's cheek and chest as he flushes at the praise. Somewhere between a mumble and whisper, Ferdinand adds,
"As did you." Quiet settles in around them, with no sounds but the distant crackling of the fire and their own even breathing.
“Hubert?” Ferdinand asks softly. Exhaustion smooths over all the consonants.
“Hm?”
“If… you do not have...another more pressing matter…maybe you could…?” Hubert stops playing with Ferdinand’s hair long enough to pat him gently on the head.
“Of course.”
Ferdinand falls asleep there, his limbs woven around Hubert’s body. It would be best for him to get some sleep as well. He has no idea of the time.
He has no wish to know it.
Tomorrow they will return to their duties as the Adrestrian Prime Minister and Minister of Imperial Household. But for now, it does not matter.