"It may be a lost cause already," Dimitri says breathily. "Thank you." He takes two fistfuls of fabric; his shoulders bunch, and the shirt goes to shreds, which he smoothes carefully off Dedue's chest.

His breath catches. No one in the world has ever been more beautiful than Dedue, now, laid out in front of him, throat and chest and belly soft and vulnerable. Like a dream Dimitri will guiltily, hastily, try to purge from his mind come morning, except that Dedue is here in flesh and blood for him to touch, and kiss, and love. Dimitri wants to put his mouth on all of him.

"Oh, my heart, you are magnificent," he breathes. His eyes scour Dedue, shining, near tears. "May I touch you? May I kiss you?"