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He’s been stuck for three days when Ferdinand comes to see him. After he had proven that he was not an imposter, Caspar had volunteered to stay in Linhardt’s room and Hubert had been given his. Before that, though, he had been intensely interrogated by this timeline’s Hubert, thorough if a little amateurish -- but he was still young. It was only when Hubert had explained in great detail several embarrassing childhood memories that no one, not even Lady Edelgard, knew about, that his younger self had been convinced that Hubert had truly, somehow, been sent to some alternate timeline.
The Black Eagles had all been sworn to secrecy, of course. It would not do for the church to find out about this. His younger self had been looking for the odd artifact that had started this whole thing, but Lady Edelgard had not wanted him to leave. It was painful, knowing she didn’t fully trust him, but he understood. So Hubert had been more or less confined to a Garreg Mach dorm room, a place he had vowed never to return to again. So much for that.
So he is surprised when, late at night on the third day, there is a knock on his door. He is even more surprised to find it is Ferdinand.
Something clenches in his heart at the sight of Ferdinand, and he thinks of his Ferdie with pain in his chest. He would be doing everything in his power to get Hubert home, but looking at this version -- young, stubborn, naive, and snobby -- makes him miss his husband so much it is nearly unbearable.
“Ferdinand,” he says. “How unexpected.”
Ferdinand shoves into his room with the confidence of a man who believes he is allowed anywhere. Hubert chuckles darkly. “By all means, come in.”
Ferdinand stands in the middle of the room and says, in a lofty voice, “I want to know why you have it.”
“You will have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”
“My ring,” Ferdinand says sternly. “I saw it when I brought you food the other day. That ring has been in the von Aegir family for generations. Did you steal it?”
Hubert reaches up to touch the ring around his neck and decides that there’s no use lying, if Ferdinand had already seen it. “You gave it to me.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Ferdinand says, haughty as ever. “There is no reason why I would ever give you that ring.”
“Really? No reason at all?”
Ferdinand glares, but Hubert can see the way his eyes widen slightly. “I am not sure I like what you’re implying.”
Hubert raises an eyebrow. “Would you rather I told you that I looted it from your corpse?”
Ferdinand looks, quite clearly, as if he would prefer that. Hubert remembers the way he looked on their wedding day and feels dizzy.
“I do not believe you,” Ferdinand says, voice tight with anxiety. Hubert just wants him to leave, at this point; he is too painful a reminder of what he had left behind.
“You are free to believe what you like, Ferdinand, but I ask that you do so in your own room, so that I may sleep.”
With one last distrustful glare, Ferdinand leaves.
Two days later he is back again, once again standing in the middle of Hubert’s room with his arms crossed. Hubert shuts the door and sighs.
“What is it now, Ferdinand?”
Ferdinand does not answer; he shifts from foot to foot, not quite looking Hubert in the eye. Hubert recognizes how nervous and unsure he is and so he waits.
But nothing comes. Hubert waits as long as he can before he says again, “Ferdinand. What do you want?”
And Ferdinand says, “I thought you… but he hates me.”
Hubert breathes in through his nose. “For now,” he says. Ferdinand still won’t meet his eye. He looks lost, and scared, and Hubert can’t help himself.
“Ferdie,” he says, because this may not be his husband yet but it’s still the man he loves. Ferdinand looks at him, and his face is open and vulnerable. “What do you need?”
Ferdinand surges forward and kisses him, and Hubert -- who is sad, and lonely, and afraid that he will never be able to go back home -- Hubert kisses back. The logical part of his brain is shouting at him that this is wrong -- this is not his husband, and Ferdinand is only eighteen.
But he tastes the same, and he is so eager, shoving his tongue in Hubert’s mouth without any hint of skill, and Hubert shoves him up against the wall.
Ferdinand pulls away and takes a breath, but he tilts his head up, and Hubert leans down to attack his neck. He is almost five inches taller than Ferdinand is now, back bowing as he bites Ferdinand’s neck. Ferdinand is gripping his jacket tightly, breaths ragged as Hubert sucks marks into his skin.
“I want,” he starts, but he lets the sentence drop as Hubert shoves his thigh between his legs.
“I know what you want,” he says, voice low as Ferdinand grinds against his leg. “I know you.”
Ferdinand grabs his hand. Hubert leans back and watches as Ferdinand brings it up to his neck and says, eyes bright, “Show me.” He swallows; Hubert can feel it against his palm.
“Oh, Ferdinand,” he says, in a whisper because he can’t trust his voice not to break. He drags his thumb across Ferdinand’s lips, prying them open. “You never change. Tell me what you want.”
“I want -- you, I want you.”
Hubert leans close, lips brushing Ferdinand’s ear. “You will need to do better than that.”
“Hubert,” he whimpers. Hubert slowly begins to undo the buttons on Ferdinand’s uniform.
“Come now, Ferdinand. Be a good boy and tell me what you want.”
“ Take me,” Ferdinand gasps out. “Fuck me, wreck me, Hubert please, I need --”
Hubert kisses him. “I know what you need. I always know what you need.” He runs a hand up Ferdinand’s chest, pinching one of his nipples between his fingernails and enjoying the whine it draws out of Ferdie. “Get on your knees, Ferdinand.”
Ferdinand does as he is told, dropping to his knees immediately. He reaches for Hubert’s belt, but Hubert pushes his hands away.
“Put your hands behind your back,” he says softly, and Ferdinand complies. He rests his thumb on Ferdinand’s bottom lip. “Look at me,” he says, and Ferdinand does. “If at any point you want me to stop, say red. If your mouth is otherwise… occupied --” he pushes his thumb completely into Ferdinand’s mouth -- “Then tap me three times. “Do you understand?” Ferdinand nods. “I mean it, Ferdinand. There is no shame in needing to stop, or take a break. I won’t be mad. Promise me you will stop me if you need.”
Ferdinand nods again. Hubert undoes his pants; Ferdinand does not take his eyes off of Hubert, just sits there patiently with his mouth open.
“You are so pretty,” he says. “I can’t wait to mess you up, my dear.”
Ferdinand lets out a whimper that is cut off by Hubert grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him onto Hubert’s cock. Ferdinand sort of waggles his tongue around with no rhyme or reason; Hubert is charmed by his sloppy enthusiasm, but he tightens his grip on Ferdinand’s hair and shoves deeper into his throat. He holds himself there for a few seconds as Ferdinand gags, before he pulls back completely. A line of spit runs from the tip of his cock to Ferdinand’s swollen mouth, and Hubert uses the grip on his hair to tilt Ferdinand’s head up to look him in the eye. He gives him a moment, gives him time to back out.
Ferdinand opens his mouth wider.
Hubert pushes back into his mouth, forcing his cock deeper down Ferdinand’s throat. Ferdinand’s eyes are closed, hands still clasped behind his back, and he is making the most obscene noises. Hubert’s head drops back against the wall. He can almost pretend that he is at home where he should be, with his husband, instead of this unfinished version of him.
Ferdinand chokes, and Hubert pulls back, giving him a chance to take a breath before he drags him back down.
His plan hadn’t been to come; he had just wanted to get things started before Hubert fucked him properly, but Ferdinand’s mouth is warm, and Hubert’s resolve is weak. He grabs another fistful of hair, keeping Ferdinand in place as he continues to fuck his face. As his orgasm builds his grip tightens and his pace increases, but Ferdinand does nothing except moan as Hubert’s cock fills his throat.
He cries out Ferdinand’s name as he comes, spilling into his mouth before he changes his mind, and he pulls out quickly, shooting on Ferdinand’s face. Ferdinand’s eyes remain closed, and Hubert wipes the cum from his face with his thumb, pushing it back into Ferdinand’s mouth. He swallows it greedily, opening his eyes as he sucks Hubert’s thumb into his mouth.
“Still so eager,” Hubert says, wiping away the tears streaking down Ferdinand’s face. Ferdinand closes his eyes again, tongue darting out to lick the cum off of his lips. The front of his pants are noticeably tented, and Hubert places his foot on Ferdinand’s erection, pushing down until Ferdinand whines.
“Take off your clothes and get on the bed,” he says. “I am not done with you yet.”
As Ferdinand does as he’s told, Hubert takes a moment to compose himself, running shaking hands over his face and taking a few deep breaths. He doesn’t undress, just tucks himself back into his pants and turns towards the bed. Ferdinand is on his back, propped up on his elbows. His skin is flushed and his hair is a mess, cock curving against his stomach. The sight makes Hubert’s heart stutter; he is right in front of him, but Hubert can feel the distance. So many years, so much life. The Ferdinand in front of him is a rough draft.
Hubert reaches up and touches the ring around his neck.
“Are you going to fuck me?” Ferdinand asks, voice still lofty and confident despite everything. Hubert chuckles.
“We are not all so young and virile,” he says. He settles between Ferdinand’s legs, pushing them farther apart and digging his nails into his thighs.
“Then what are you planning on doing?” Something sparkles in Ferdinand’s eyes, and Hubert recognizes it immediately; it’s the look he always gets when he’s about to be a brat. “Hm, old man?”
Hubert does not give him much of a reaction, just reaches out and squeezes the base of Ferdinand’s cock. “If you want to come tonight, I suggest you watch your mouth,” he says mildly. Ferdinand grins at him.
“Yes, sir,” he says cheekily. Hubert leans over and kisses him, biting down hard on his lip and eliciting a gasp from Ferdinand. “If you are good,” he says against Ferdinand’s lips, “and you do as I say, I will fuck you the way you so desperately crave. But do not test me, Ferdinand. I have little patience for brats.” He leans back and looks around. “What are the chances of Caspar having oil in here?”
“In my -- my jacket pocket,” Ferdinand says, and when Hubert raises an eyebrow he goes beet red. “I brought it.”
Hubert chuckles. “Eager,” is all he says, getting up and rummaging through Ferdinand’s pocket, finding a small vial of oil. Hubert places it within arms reach but doesn’t use it yet, crawling between Ferdinand’s spread legs and leaning forward to bite down hard on his shoulder. Ferdinand cries out, hips jostling up against Hubert, who pulls away and shoves two of his fingers in Ferdinand’s mouth. “Be quiet, Ferdinand,” he says. “You wouldn’t want anyone to hear and come investigate, would you?” Ferdinand wimpers, tongue curling around Hubert’s fingers, and he shoves them deeper down Ferdinand’s throat. “You don’t want you classmates to find out what a desperate little whore you are, do you?” Ferdinand rolls his hips again, seeking friction, and Hubert raises himself up so Ferdinand is left with nothing to rut against. He looks beautiful like this, cock hard and leaking, flush working its way from his cheeks down to his shoulders, hair mussed up and bright against the white of the pillow.
Hubert sits back on his knees and grips Ferdinand’s muscled thighs. “Turn over,” he says.
“What?”
“ Turn over,” he says again, firmly. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Ferdinand does as he is told this time, and Hubert lifts his hips up and pushes on his back so Ferdinand’s face is pushed into the pillow with his ass in the air. This has two major benefits: Ferdinand’s noises will be muffled, and Hubert also has a good view of his deliciously toned ass. He spreads Ferdinand’s ass cheeks before leaning forward and pressing his tongue right over his hole.
A broken moan tears out of Ferdinand’s throat, and Hubert holds tight to his hips as he jerks. Hubert continues to eat him out as Ferdinand whines and pushes back against him. At one point he moves his hand beneath himself, but Hubert smacks it away. Ferdinand makes an affronted noise but moves his hand away, listening to Hubert’s silent order not to touch himself, and Hubert rewards him by pushing his tongue inside of his hole. When he keens, high pitched and breathy, Hubert’s cock twitches in its first show of interest since he came down Ferdinand’s throat. He eats Ferdinand out until he’s crying brokenly into the pillow, occasionally squeezing the base of Ferdinand’s cock, the occasional pleas of more spilling from his lips.
He pulls away, and Ferdinand turns his head so he’s no longer obstructed by the pillow. “Hubert,” he moans, rolling his hips as Hubert pushes the tip of his thumb into Ferdinand’s wet hole. “Please, I need more, I can’t --”
“You can,” Hubert says. “And if you can’t, you know what to say.” He wants to remind Ferdinand of the safeword again so that even with all that’s going on he’ll remember that he has that option. But Ferdinand -- young, stubborn, inexperienced Ferdinand -- shakes his head, and his eyebrows furrow the tiniest bit, too, as if he’s a little annoyed that Hubert would… remind him? Doubt him? Hubert wants to laugh, a little bit. He had forgotten how Ferdinand could be when he was young.
Hubert pushes his thumb deeper inside of Ferdinand, relishing in the way his breaths speed up. “Have you ever touched yourself like this, Ferdie?” He says, as Ferdinand grips the sheets beneath him. “Have you ever fingered yourself and wished it was me?”
He has, Hubert knows. His Ferdinand had told him, about how thoughts of Hubert would come unbidden to his mind as soon as he started to pleasure himself, how he stopped fighting it and instead let himself imagine it, even when he still hated Hubert, even when they had nothing in common. The thought had excited him then, and it excites him now, the idea of Ferdinand using his own fingers and wishing it was Hubert. Hubert thinks about all the times they’d argued during school and wonders how many times Ferdinand had gone back to his room and came to the thought of Hubert inside of him.
Ferdinand doesn’t answer, and Hubert leans down to sink his teeth into Ferdinand’s ass. “Yes,” Ferdinand says. “Yes, I do.”
Hubert is slowly getting harder, so he grabs the oil and warms his hands a small bit so it will be warmer before pouring it generously over his fingers and Ferdinand’s ass. Ferdinand’s legs shake as Hubert slips two fingers inside, and he surprises Hubert when he speaks.
“I always liked your fingers,” he says, eyes closed and cheeks flushed. His voice is surprisingly steady, but Hubert can tell that it’s only because he’s forcing himself to sound like that. Hubert already knows, because Ferdinand’s obsession with Hubert’s long fingers hadn’t abated with age. There was nothing he liked more than to have them inside of him, or wrapped around his cock or throat.
Hubert knows Ferdinand’s body better than he knows his own, so the precise and practiced way he fingers him quickly pushes Ferdinand over the edge into completely incoherent, until eventually Hubert can’t withstand the litany of noises that spill from Ferdinand’s mouth. He grabs Ferdinand around the hips and flips him onto his back, and Ferdinand opens his eyes to look at him. He looks utterly debauched, pupils blown wide, hair sticking up in every position, drool and the remains of Hubert’s cum smeared around his mouth, flushed red and chest heaving. It’s incredibly hot, and for the first time it finally hits him what is happening. He looks at Ferdinand and suddenly sees him, eighteen and desperate and untouched. It’s an odd feeling considering that he and his Ferdinand have only been with each other, so being the first shouldn’t excite him this much, but the idea of being with this Ferdinand, of knowing the best ways to break him apart and build him back up, to be the first person to touch him like this --
He hopes this version of himself won’t hate him too much. He grabs the oil again and slicks up his cock before he pushes Ferdinand’s legs apart and back, remembering how absurdly flexible Ferdinand had been when he was young. He shifts him forward a bit, moving his hips up, and he pays close attention to Ferdinand’s face as he enters him, both so he will know immediately if he is in pain but also because he has a feeling that if he looked down to watch his cock disappearing into Ferdinand’s illegally tight ass, he might come on the spot, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing. Ferdinand’s eyes are so bright, and Hubert leans forward to kiss him, pushing his knees even closer to his chest. He goes slowly -- slower than he truly wants to -- and each small gasp from Ferdinand’s lips unravels Hubert even more. He grabs Ferdinand’s hands; normally Hubert’s hands are significantly smaller than Ferdinand, as over the years Hubert had turned a little more splindy than he maybe would have liked, while Ferdinand only seemed to get bigger. But like this they’re a little more evenly matched, and Hubert wraps his fingers around Ferdinand’s wrists and pins them to the mattress. Soon they’re skin to skin, and Ferdinand’s mouth drops open. Hubert gives him a minute, thoroughly enjoying himself buried deep inside of Ferdinand, who eventually headbutts him when he apparently decides Hubert has spent enough time waiting.
Hubert leans back, removes his hands from around Ferdinand’s wrists to grip him by the face instead. “Use your words, Ferdinand,” he says darkly.
“You do not need to be afraid to fuck me,” Ferdinand says brazenly. “I can handle it.”
Oh, to be eighteen. “Just because you feel invincible doesn’t mean you are,” he says, and it must come out harsher than he meant it to, because Ferdinand’s eyes grow wide. Hubert doesn’t mean to be severe, but he can’t help but think of everything that happened during the war, and he can’t help but think of every night he had clutched Ferdinand to him and thanked his lucky stars that they were still together. It is so easy to be eighteen and think that you’re unstoppable, Ferdinand especially. But Hubert knows better.
He doesn’t regret the war, but that doesn’t stop the nightmares.
“Be a good boy, Ferdinand,” Hubert says, moving his fingers into Ferdinand’s mouth and pushing down hard on his tongue. “You don’t want to make me angry.” Ferdinand’s eyes gleam at that, and although he can’t speak with Hubert’s fingers shoved in his mouth the look on his face is one that Hubert has seen many times before: it means that Ferdinand really, really wants to make him angry. The idea is tempting, but not for Ferdinand’s first time. Perhaps if he is stuck in whatever alternate reality this is for a while…
But that is not a line of thought he wants to focus on.
Hubert gives a few slow, shallow thrusts, watching Ferdinand’s face carefully, but he just closes his eyes and continues to suck on Hubert’s fingers, and eventually Hubert picks it up a little, always watching. Ferdinand moans, still sucking on Hubert’s fingers as if they were a cock, but he opens his eyes and looks at Hubert with smug satisfaction on his face, and Hubert decides to wipe it off.
He angles his hips just right and thrusts in deep, hitting Ferdinand’s prostate with precision each time, and Ferdinand shouts out around Hubert’s fingers, cock leaking pre-cum onto his stomach and eyes rolling back. Hubert remembers the way Ferdinand had placed his hand around his neck, and so he takes his spit soaked fingers out of Ferdinand’s mouth, watching the way his lips shine and drool drips down his chin. He wraps his hand around Ferdinand’s neck and squeezes, just the smallest amount, the slightest threat, and Ferdinand’s back arches at the touch. He babbles as Hubert fucks him, moaning and whining and begging, back arched and taking Hubert’s cock like the perfect whore, and Hubert waits until Ferdinand starts to make the noises he usually makes right before he comes --
And he pulls out.
Ferdinand sobs, staring at Hubert with betrayal in his eyes, and Hubert smirks, squeezing the base of Ferdinand’s cock.
“Hubert,” he says, voice breaking. “Hubert, please, please, I need --”
Hubert leans forward and kisses him, gentle at first before he bites down hard on Ferdinand’s lip, drawing blood. Ferdinand just continues to whine and beg, saying the lewdest possible things, broken voice begging Hubert to please fuck me Hubert I need it please fill me up again I want you to fuck me I want you to come inside me Hubert please --
Hubert can’t handle this; if Ferdinand doesn’t stop he’s going to come again, so he grabs Ferdinand by the hips and flips him onto his front one more time, pushing him into the same position as before, with his ass in the air and his face in the pillow, and he slides into him again. Ferdinand pushes his hips back against Hubert, and Hubert lets him fuck himself on his cock for a few moments, watching the way his cock disappears into Ferdinand’s ass. He spreads Ferdinand’s cheeks so he has a better view of his hole taking him in so perfectly, stretched wide on Hubert’s cock, and Hubert rubs a thumb over the edges. Ferdinand lets out another broken sob, moving faster and harder, never getting the angle right or the speed he really wants. Hubert’s balls are so fucking tight, and he knows that he could give in now and fuck Ferdinand properly and they would both be happy, but first he moves his hands to Ferdinand’s waist and pulls out completely again, watching Ferdinand’s hole gape open around nothing as Ferdinand continues to cry into the pillow, begging Hubert to fill him.
Hubert does. He keeps a steady hold on Ferdinand’s hips as he fucks him hard and fast, the slap of their skin loud enough to wake the entire monastery, but Hubert couldn’t care less. Rhea herself could burst in, and he wouldn’t even stop fucking Ferdinand long enough to kill her.
He barely holds on long enough to make Ferdinand come, but he does, clenching tight on Hubert’s cock, legs shaking as he moans, and Hubert can’t last much longer after that, closing his eyes and thrusting in deep as he comes inside of Ferdinand, cock pulsing. It seems to last forever, his orgasm, hips rolling gently as he continues to fill Ferdinand the way he had begged for so prettily, and it could have been minutes or days by the time he finally opens his eyes once more.
He eases out of Ferdinand carefully, watching cum spill out of his hole; he pushes it back inside with a finger and Ferdinand gives a half-hearted moan. Hubert gently pulls on Ferdinand’s legs until he is lying flat on his stomach, and then he shifts him onto his side. He smooths a hand through Ferdinand’s messy hair and then goes searching through Caspar’s drawers for some kind of towel, certain he must have some stash for training, and sure enough there are some shoved in a corner of a drawer. Hubert reluctantly smells one to make sure they’re clean, thankful that they are, and then he takes them back over to the bed, where Ferdinand is still lying, eyes closed, drool smeared on his pillow, and cum seeping out of his ass. Hubert sits next to him and gently wipes his face of drool and dried cum, continuing to wipe down his body, grabbing another towel when he gets to his ass. He tries to clean Ferdinand up as best as he can, placing a towel beneath him so at least he won’t leak on the bed sheets, and then he gently warms his hands with magic and places them on Ferdinand’s body; Ferdinand sighs happily as Hubert digs his thumbs into Ferdinand’s muscles, doing his best to ease the tension out of him.
“Is it always like this?” Ferdinand asks. His voice is low and sleepy, eyes half lidded as he looks at Hubert. Hubert smiles, sitting back against the wall and moving Ferdinand’s head into his lap, fingers running through his hair.
“No,” he says softly. “Sometimes you’re the one making me cry.”
“Oh,” Ferdinand says, nuzzling slightly into Hubert’s leg. “I think I would like that.”
Hubert laughs. You do, he thinks sadly, thinking of his husband. And so do I.
It’s okay, he thinks, as Ferdinand drifts to sleep in his lap. He would tear time and space apart to find his husband, and he knows his Ferdinand would do the same for him. He just needs to be patient and have faith. Faith has never been his strongest suit, of course, but he believes in Lady Edelgard, and he believes in Byleth, and he believes in Ferdinand. Above all things, he believes in Ferdinand.
Hubert closes his eyes, and eventually he manages to fall asleep, hand still tangled in Ferdinand’s hair.