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It wasn't often that Claude wore his Barbarossa armor outside of battle. Despite its comfort and its blatant showcasing of his beloved home that he gets to wear because no one knew that - save maybe Cyril, but he hasn't said anything to him about it - it was a simple matter of him not wanting to dirty it.
Some would call such a thought vain, and it certainly reminds him of a particular purple nobleman, but he just couldn't bring himself to risk it getting damaged. Fódlan has a low chance of knowing how to mend dragonsilk, and the thought of dirtying or tearing the armor, a stamp of his achievements and sign that Nader truly thought him worthy, just didn't sit right with him.
But on the other hand… he got stared at in it.
He got stared at a lot in it.
Claude was no shy wallflower, wilting away at the sights of others. In fact, in Fódlan he took pride in the stares he received - nowadays, in any case. They were usually filled with a respect for his strategy and planning, a new look that he's grown quite fond of getting. These stares, however, were... different. Hell, many times they aren't even stares, just a surprised look before they quickly turned their red-eared head away.
Really, Fódlan was something else. He knew his Barbarossa garb was different than the usual attire of lords, but did they really have to act like this? Well, more fun for him, he supposes. Plenty of the women in the army also wore clothing that revealed some naughty skin; he hoped they were having as much fun messing with these prudes as he was.
Oh, but if there was one person that he was… not upset, per se, but annoyed with about this, it was Dimitri.
The man was on an entirely different level when it came to Claude in these clothes. Ever since the battle he earned the armor he's worn it to the field, and ever since that first encounter with a red faced, wide-eyed Dimitri the man was determined not to look at him until they returned to the monastery and returned to their normal clothes (well, "normal clothes," it should be clarified, meant full armor for some, Dimitri included). If he was being honest, it was starting to get a little, well, annoying.
So he came up with a plan.
Well, "plan" implies more thought was put into it than "wear the armor in the monastery," but a simple plan was still a plan. He ignored the flustered gazes of those around him - this time he'll leave them alone - and headed to where he heard Dimitri was: the cardinal's room.
He made sure to take off his quiver and set it to the side. Upon opening the door he looked in and saw that the newly made king was alone, pouring over formations. Claude was torn on that; teasing him in front of others was fun, but on the other hand he didn't have to hold back like this. He strode in, golden boots clinking loudly on the floorboards. Dimitri's head flicked up slightly at the sound.
"May I help y- GAH!" The man flinched harshly upon seeing Claude and he immediately turned his blind side to the duke. "C-C-Claude! It's, ahh, g-good to see you!" He said without a hint of irony.
"I'd say the same if I could see more than half of your face, Your Kingliness!" Claude sang back, loving the full reaction of His Majesty. He couldn't get this if Dimitri ignored him entirely like he's been doing. He walked around the room and tried to get back in Dimitri's sights. "Aww, come on, you're not gonna look at me?"
"A-Ah- I- l, um, uh- ah! "
Claude chuckled as Dimitri swung his head away; he managed to get caught in the corner of his one eye. "My, Your Majesty, you're being quite rude! Am I truly so revolting a sight you will not even deign to cast your vision upon me?" He asked through a smile.
"N-No! I just- I-" and Dimitri sighed deeply. He took some deep breaths and turned to face Claude. He noticed it seemed quite difficult for the king to keep his eye on his face; the blue gaze kept dropping more downwards. "I-I-" He coughed into his hand, probably to steady himself. Claude chuckled again; how adorable. "I'm just… not used to you wearing… that…" he eventually got out.
Claude crossed his arms and winked at him- Dimitri's breath hitched. Gods, the man was something else. "Maybe that wouldn't be the case if you stopped looking away everytime I wear them. Do you really hate them so much?" He knew that wasn't the case, he knew it was because they were scandalous in Fódlan's land - especially for Dimitri, coming from the frozen hellscape that was Faerghus - but he wanted to see if Dimitri could say so himself aloud.
"No!" The king shouted, causing Claude to flinch a little. Then, seemingly mindlessly, he added, "It's the opposite."
Claude raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh? How so?"
Dimitri looked up to the ceiling and took another breath. "When… when you wear those clothes, Claude, I… have thoughts. Inappropriate thoughts."
Claude held back a snicker. "Do you now? Care to tell me what those thoughts may be?" He couldn't wait to hear what possibly constitutes as an inappropriate thought to a noble from Faerghus. Was it showing ankle? Holding hands before courtship? Or maybe-
"I want to bite you."
…
…
…
...Huh?
Dimitri lowered his gaze from the ceiling to Claude. Gone was the flustered mess that was there mere seconds ago. Now stood a man with a gaze filled with what could only be described as hunger, a lion that wants to tear into meat. And it seems to like venison.
"I want to bite into your neck, your shoulders, your chest, and mark you as mine. I want you under me, scratching at my back and moaning my name again and again. I want to see you hot and flushed as I rip off your clothes and take you."
…oh. Well. This. Explains things.
Dimitri stepped closer until he towered over Claude. "I want to pin you to the wall. I want to throw you on the floor, bend you over this table, I-" and in that moment something must have clicked; he closed his eye and took a deep breath. "I need to be alone. Excuse me."
And with that Dimitri left, leaving Claude by himself, slack-jawed and shell shocked. That… was filthy. To think that Dimitri was holding back urges like that; even after knowing he hid other unseemly traits, this was… wow. Claude could feel his face burning at Dimitri's lustful confession. He looked up and chuckled once more.
He ought to find more clothes like his Barbarossa armor to wear around the monastery, clearly.