If it's right, it happens-- The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

---

( He keeps track of the time that passes in the darkness because it's about the only thing which stops the slog feeling so endless. Always keeping his phone charged even in the iffy power conditions because it's the only thing that properly tracks the date and time any more. He keeps track of how long they keep doing this dance, one started in the corners of the citadel in Insomnia before they'd even thought about abandoning Lucis for a road trip that spiralled into everything that now is. Every stolen moment and undefined tryst, each kiss that leads into something more physical.

It should be easy to remain undefined, to not care about something more when you spend so much freaking time together anyway. When they both have duties that supersede personal desires and relationships. None of it should matter, not compared to serving Noctis or the people of the world he's destined to save.

But then Altissia fell, and soon after, all the world plunged into this. Forgotten murals on the citadel walls taunted Gladiolus in his dreams and waking hours became their own sort of nightmare. He pushed forward because that's what he does - it's what their kings do, and the shield must always push alongside the king, like generations of Amicitias before him. There's no turning back.

So he keeps track of the days and holds the faith that Noctis will return tight to his chest to make it easier to go forward with everything. But it doesn't stop the world from sucking; doesn't mean that being overrun by daemons and trapped in ruined cities and service stations is anything but a draining, terrible way to live and he can only hope that Noctis returns before there's nothing left of Eos to save.

The motel room window rattles on broken hinges, faded wallpaper peeling by a broken radiator, and the humidity seeps through the room, leaving bare skin sticky as Gladio stretches out on the bed, eyes fixated on the empty spot next to him.

Like clockwork. Or the certainty of a daemon attack the second you step out of the light. Gladio should be used to it - no, not should be, he is; he all but counts down the seconds between them catching their breath and Ignis pulling back to shower, his expression cool as anything.

He's all too used to it, but in this reduced, decimated world, each moment after they sleep together stings in ways he can't ignore like he could when Noctis was here. When it was all so easily dismissed behind the veneer of duty, a need to not overcomplicate things.

His head hits the pillow with a groan, arm tossed over his eyes. The room's rented for the next few hours, someone might as well use it.

Gods know it won't be Ignis. )

[Keeping track of time passing in the dark has been hard, but Ignis stopped asking what day it was a long time ago. Until Noctis returns, the passing of days might as well blur into one long block of night that never ends, broken here and there by events that stray outside of the norm.

Gladiolus, often, is at the centre of such events for Ignis. The times they meet can be sporadic, and nothing like the constant companionship of the first stages of their journey, but the way things are between them has always remained the same. From the first kiss Gladio had pressed to the tight, surprised mouth of his sparring partner, things between them had not developed quickly over the years. Ignis resisted at every turn, every step, torn between his dedication to his Prince and best friend, and his growing feelings towards the man's Shield.

They had fallen into a pattern. Keep things quiet, keep them secret, while Gladio slowly worked his way under Ignis' veneer and settled next to his heart. When Noctis had been taken from them, Ignis' approach to things hadn't changed in the slightest. There's always something more important, it seems, to set his mind to.

Now, standing in the shower with ice-cold water running over his skin he quietly compartmentalises yet another heated tryst between them, sinking it down in the sensation of gentle warmth deep in his chest that Gladio has always been the source of and turning his mind to the next task at hand. The daemon problem was not going away. They wouldn't be able to stay here for long.

It barely occurs to him that his practicality and almost-dismissal of everything between them might be stinging Gladiolus as much as it does. Surely he understands, as he has always appeared to, that what's happening with the two of them must be secondary to everything else. No matter how much they both might want to turn it into something more.

Ignis returns from the bathroom, not fully dressed but barefoot with his trousers on and shirt halfway unbuttoned. It's warm and humid here, and Gladio has seen enough of him that he isn't shy to show a little more skin than he would normally choose to. It does, at least, indicate that he isn't planning to go anywhere else for now.]

The water's running well. [He comments, and he moves to the window first, though he cocks his ear towards it rather than turning his damaged eyes to the glass. Nothing. Just the sound of Gladio's breathing and the distant noise of conversation in the courtyard below. His fingers touch the sill briefly as he turns, then he moves to the bed and sits down on the edge, resting his forearms against his knees. He taps is fingertips together, and--]

Are you going to try and get some sleep?

( He understands. Or at least, he did when they were servants to the Prince of Lucis, when the world was vibrant and full and their daily lives weren't so full of the constant threat of death. He's watched countless recruits fall before they should have in the name of protecting the people of Eos from daemons, delivered news to loved ones and heard a million stories about how they just never had enough time together.

Maybe he's getting old and sentimental, or maybe years of this wears him down like waters wash rocks into sand given enough time.

Ignis talks with the same careful neutrality he's always been so good at holding, the one thing Gladio has never quite managed, not nearly as successfully. He can hold it together. Keep his cool when things go south, but it's never like flicking a switch. )

Guess so.

( He's not nearly as good at keeping it in check, those two words tinged with something undefinable before Gladio lifts his arm from his eyes and sits up, the breath that whistles between his teeth an attempt to keep his voice in check at the next thing he says.

It's a discussion that needs to be had, but Ignis isn't best approached by brute force. )

Yo, Iggy. What are we doing?

( Meeting in secret like this, pretending there's nothing else but sex to what happens. )

[It gets more and more difficult, as months and years wear on, to justify all the death. Ignis isn't sure how he's managed to survive this long when he spends so much time alone, though he might put it down to sheer stubbornness on his part. He has too much left to see through to die now, but he's tired, much like Gladio is tired, and the time they spend together has acted as a balm on that weariness more than once.

He tips his head slightly and listens to the sound of Gladio shifting behind him. In his minds eye he sees the man moving, sitting up, and that soft sound of air passing through his teeth says more than it might to anyone else before words even form.]

What? [Not 'what do you mean', not 'what do you think we're doing' because the latter is a stupid question and the former would be pretending a level of ignorance that Gladio would not be convinced by. Instead, only the single word as Ignis turns his head and slides his eyes the other mans' way. Blue and glassy, not hidden by sunglasses in this private space, they see nothing yet manage to be uncannily sharp regardless.]

I had thought we were both agreed on the particular boundaries of this affair.

[That it can't be more than what it is. It can't. It can't because there's too much at stake and he won't fail someone else in the way he failed Noctis. Ignis clasps his hands together loosely, swallowing around a subtle tightness in his throat.]

Was I wrong?

( It'll take more than daemons to kill Ignis, Gladiolus is certain of that. Because Ignis fights harder than even Gladio himself does - more so now than he did before Altissia, he thinks. And because Gladiolus would sooner break the heavens apart than lose another part of their crew.

Sooner break the heavens apart than lose Ignis, if he's honest about it.

His teeth grit painfully as Ignis answers him, as neutral as ever, and though Gladio all but expects this kind of answer, it still rankles at him. Is still dagger-sharp to his chest as he watches those ghostly pale eyes with ones of glistening amber. )

No. ( Said so sharply that it's clear Gladiolus isn't responding to the question but what came before it. ) We didn't.

( Not really. They fell into things without a plan and with the weight of their home and their world on their shoulders, always at Noctis' beck and call. It was easy to put it all aside for the sake of all those things, but he doesn't want to keep doing that. To keep playing at a series of one night stands with a man who means far more than them. )

Which is why I'm askin'; what the hell do you want from this?

[Gladio has a right to be asking these kinds of questions. A right to ask, and a right to get an answer that isn't some kind of stoic brush-off. Ignis' jaw tenses, his mind resisting against a response that should have been such a simple one to give when his feelings towards the man have developed to an almost searing intensity over the years.

He misses Gladio when they're not together, and duty so often dictates that they stay apart for far longer than he'd like. Coming back to his side is comfortable, like a small part of the home they lost so many years ago is contained solely in the space surrounding him. Being with him in those moments they spend together in private is like a balm, something soothing on a soul and heart so battered by the experiences of the last ten years that keeping the steady, focused veneer upon it has become a full-time effort.

So, then, why does the answer not come easily? Why does his chest tighten and everything in him fight against what he would so dearly wish to say?

Ignis' eyes flicker, focused on nothing, turned in the direction of Gladio's voice but not quite fixing on his face. His fingernails dig into the backs of his knuckles, marking them with shallow crescents.]

... I don't know. [The words come low, near-hesitant as his attention shifts away and down to his clasped hands. It's a quiet, vulnerable, painful kind of honesty that jabs at him as he speaks, but one that he feels Gladio has earned, after everything.]

I thought I did, once. [But so much has changed. Everything has changed. The only constant, steady presence in his life through it all has been the man beside him now, asking him what he wants from this, and he can't even give him the answer that he deserves.]

I don't know what this is anymore.

Edited 2018-06-25 06:33 pm (UTC)

( It's in his instinct to push, to confront; these are qualities a shield needs in order to properly defend his king, ones which have been drilled into Gladiolus from the moment he could hold even a toy sword. It carries over into everything he does, but in this he's been patient, held back the stinging disappointment every time Ignis walks out of whichever room they've managed to secure this time. He bites down on the desire to spend time together after it's all over, to steal whatever moments he can, and tries to remind himself that this is all much more than he might have otherwise.

But those scraps have long stopped being enough in a world where light has forsaken them and every day means a dance along the very edge of a blade, where one wrong move can send them tumbling into the afterlife.

He wants to yell, to grab Ignis by the shoulders and ask him what the hell that's supposed to mean, but the hesitance in those words, as though the very act is painful for him, says far more than the I don't knows. Gladiolus hisses, the sound like a balloon deflating or his instincts being pushed out for something softer, and his hand finds Ignis' shoulder, squeezing as a brief warning before he wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. His voice softens far from the last growled outburst; )

...That makes two of us.

( But Gladiolus knows what he wants it to be, at least. He also knows what he can't live with any more, that this undefined something is more painful than nothing at all. )

Look, Iggy. Do you want to be with me or not? ( That's what it boils down to. )

[Ignis has been quiet since they returned from Gralea. Prompto had tried to speak to him, but on getting no response had settled for simply sitting beside him, a silent and unintrusive presence by his side, and Ignis had appreciated it. It had been days now, and still he had spoken very little. No one commented on it - given what had just happened it seemed only to be expected - and with the rapidly encroaching night most people had more to think about than the mental plight of one man.

It suited Ignis just fine. He wanted to be left alone.

At the house in Cape Caem, he sits in a chair at the dining room table in the middle of the night (or what he assumes is the middle of the night) with one entirely empty, and one half empty bottle of red wine on the table in front of him. He toys idly with the glass in his hand, fighting the vaguely uncomfortable sensation of his mind swimming and his body failing to respond properly to his commands, but it's safe enough here... not that he expects to be fighting.

It's not only the ache in his chest he wants to numb.

He hears footsteps, quiet but there, on the landing above and gently tips his head towards the sound. It's unsure, but he has a feeling--]

Gladio. [Mm. Must be.

He sips from his glass again, grimacing faintly at a taste which has grown no better through continued consumption.] I think there's some left, but you'll need to be quick.

( The silence seeps through all of them, where even Prompto slips into contemplation instead of trying to cheer them up. Gladiolus goes over every moment of what happened a million times until he sees it when he closes his eyes, until they get back and the sight of the encroaching darkness spilling through the lands kicks his ass into gear.

They lost Noctis, but he can't just stop and let daemons overrun the world while their king is absent. And, privately, the rush of fighting and the inability to think while he drives his sword into more and more monsters is a blessing. One simple step in a fight that will become far more complex, but it's the only step he can manage right now.

It's a late night - at least, according to his phone, the actual daylight hours barely counted two - when Gladio gets back to the house at Cape Caem, and Ignis is nursing a glass of wine. Their greetings are short - a lot of conversation is nowadays, when it's just too damn hard to discuss the good or the bad - but there, and he expects the other man will eventually make his way to bed.

And for hours he hears nothing. No sounds of movement or the shutting of a door. It rankles him to the point of getting up, half expecting to see Ignis asleep at the table or something instead of in his bed.

Instead-- )

You still drinking? ( It's rhetorical because the bottles are as clear as day in the light of his phone's flashlight and brows knit together at the idea. Sure, no one was tee-total, but drinking like this is unusual at best.

He swings a chair out from under the table and collapses down in it, flicking off the flashlight and foregoing the... offer? Was that really an offer or just a warning? )

[He'd prefer that it was Gladio. Prompto has made himself invaluable over the last few days, but there's something more about his relationship with the Shield that lends itself to being more of a comfort right now. Maybe it's the alcohol running through him.]

Mm, I believe I am. [Ignis replies, a little flippantly and with a soft, barely-there slur to his words that would betray how much he'd already imbibed if the empty bottle did not. His eyes don't settle on the noise of the chair being moved but flicker around it, as though he's trying to find the source, but the brief sign of desperate reaching for a world only recently lost to him disappears the moment Gladio sits down.

He is most assuredly drinking, and has been since long before Gladio walked in hours earlier. Ignis swallows another mouthful of wine and huffs out a soft, humourless laugh.]

You're not joining me, then?

Someone's gotta carry your ass to bed. ( He says it like a joke, all light tones and rumbling laughter, but the weight of truth remains anyway. No way Ignis is making it up those stairs after draining two bottles to almost nothing - Gladio wouldn't manage it alone either. He regards the bottle silently, calloused fingers skimming smooth dark glass and over the rough paper of the label. Light and empty, easily knocked by even the slightest touch of his finger.

He'd dismissed Ignis' presence at the table when he walked in, shrugged it off with a he needs a drink or two and he'll come upstairs. They all do, lately, and only the ability to go out and crack some daemon skulls saves Gladio from sinking into one too many beers. Iggy can't even do that, now.

A rush of breath breaks the silence, and the question is only one word, but one word is all he needs. )

Gralea?

( They're the scalpel and the hammer - Ignis, delicate and precise, weaving words and patiently drawing out what he needs. Sometimes that works. Sometimes it's better, but Gladiolus is blunt and powerful, as obvious in his words as his sword is on the battlefield. He doesn't take his time to crack this open, to get right to the heart of the matter -

At least, what he assumes is the heart of the matter. )

[Ignis' jaw tenses.

Gralea. Part of the problem - large part - but not even close to all of it. What happened in Gralea is not what has him sitting here now, two bottles deep and very sure he'll pitch straight onto his face the moment he tries to stand up. His failure to protect Noctis, the impulsive sacrifice that had caused him to be more than useless in the face of everything that he might have been able to stop before--

It's part of it, but not all.]

It still hurts. [He says, bringing his hand up, his fingertips (numb, fuzzy) brushing the lowest edge of the scar over his eye. It won't even open yet. He's tried.] It still...

[Gods, it feels like it's on fire. Like the flames that burned him never truly died but sank beneath his skin and continued to smoulder white-hot beneath the surface. He breathes in and lets it out, slow and not-quite-steady.]

I don't know what to do now, Gladio. [The admittance doesn't come easily, but the alcohol removes many of the hurdles that such a thing would normally have to pass to make it out.] I've lost everything.

( It's the ramblings of a man drowning his sorrows, a sight Gladiolus has seen before, but never on Ignis, and it looks unnatural. It doesn't fit with the image of him that's been built up in his mind over the years they've known each other, been side by side as Noctis' retainer and his shield. All the same-

All the same, he supposes if anyone's earned the right to numb the pain and fall into the abyss for one night, it's Ignis. But he can't stay there, and Gladiolus has only ever clawed his way back out of the abyss the same way he's done anything else: by fighting. By getting angry and letting the fire propel him out of the darkness. )

The only way you've lost is if you sit on your ass feeling sorry for yourself. ( It's a battle cry, meant to rouse and awaken the things in Ignis that have fallen under too many glasses of wine. ) What's that thing you used to quote? "A king pushes forward, always"? Doesn't just go for kings. Goes for us as well.

→ a continuation

---

( There's unspoken agreements between all of them - Prompto, Iris, Ignis and himself - about how this works. About signals and signs - Prompto tends to offer, Iris too, but Gladiolus trusts that Ignis will find him if he needs the assistance. So, when fingers find his elbow and then his jacket, Gladio pauses just long enough to reassure his friend that he won't simply run off, that he's ready and willing whatever, whenever.

(But surely, by now, Ignis knows that. Knows that Gladio is all but putty in his hands if he smiles right or adds the worst pun to a conversation.)

He lets out a soft huff of a chuckle, fingers brushing the hand on his arm before he starts them off towards the Leville, one of the landmarks of Lestallum which has remained mostly untouched by the way this darkness has decayed their lands. The guy at the front desk doesn't even ask what they want, simply holds out a key to Gladiolus which is snatched up quickly. They don't exactly have the luxury of choice when this place has to house every travelling hunter, fighter, even refugee in Eos. )

Here we are.

( Standing outside a door several floors up which sings out a history Gladiolus can't forget. The exact room they had the very first time they came here, when relief flooded his bones that Iris, Talcott and Hester, at least, were safe.

Then the Empire came for the Amicitia's butler, and Talcott become yet another orphan of a war which would grow into this.

But this is what they've been offered, and this is what they'll take. )

[Gladio has always been there as a steady, ever-present rock of reliability in Ignis' life. He has always known that should he ever reach out his hand, fumbling for support, Gladiolus would be right there. The man has never let him down before.

He doesn't need to be led. Ignis knows the way to the hotel from where he was sat like the back of his own hand, but he keeps his fingers curled into the fabric of Gladio's jacket while they walk side by side, making soft and idle small-talk about the current state of the world and what Iris is up to these days. It does Ignis good to hear about her. She always tries to help him just that little bit too much, but he never speaks unkindly to her about it - she's just trying to help.

Their path through the Leville feels strangely familiar, though he can't put his finger on why until they reach the door. His breath in as he realises is short, audible, and he presses his fingertips to the frame as a flood of memories return.

Gods. Why did it have to be this room?]

Here we are. [He echoes, his hand finally relinquishing its grip, sliding lightly down Gladio's arm, and he laces their fingers loosely together to tug the taller man down towards a soft, careful kiss against the corner of his mouth.]

( The small talk is a pleasant comfort, a balm that makes it a little easier to step through the doors of this room. He doesn't need to say where they are, does he? He can tell that in the soft breath and the way Ignis' fingertips grab onto the door frame, the tone that's there when he speaks.

Even the way he pulls Gladiolus in for a kiss. But Gladiolus doesn't resist, doesn't object. Doesn't want to. He never has, rare as Ignis making the first move is, Six knows he's a sucker for those moments. For Ignis himself. Making himself content with the rare moments spent together behind closed doors, with the fleeting hours he gets before Ignis leaves.

His tongue brushes Ignis' lip lightly, hand snaking around his waist and resting at the small of his back, pulling him away from the door, from the wall, as if being in an empty space instead of against parts of this room will make it easier to forget the memories they already have here. )

[Most of the time, it's Gladio pulling him into these moments, stealing a kiss or a touch that stokes the embers under Ignis' desire for him. But sometimes... Sometimes, it's Ignis who reaches out, and right now it's for the sake of forgetting where they are and the memories attached to this space. If they have to be here... then new experiences can override the old ones.

Ignis' feelings for Gladio have always been complicated, in his mind, only made more so by his constant compartmentalising of them. When they're not together, not alone, he tucks them away and shuts them down tight, only letting Gladio see that he means anything to him when there's no one else around.

He knows, in his heart, that it can't be easy. He knows he could make it easier in so many ways, but...

The space around him disappears with only Gladio to hold on to. He leans up, leans into the kiss, grips gently at the other man's shirt and presses in close.]

I want you. [He murmurs. He isn't sure what he wants yet, but gods, he wants something. Something to help him forget the state of the world and how it's crumbling around them. Something to help him forget the fighting, the nightmares, the way the scars on his face still sometimes sting enough to make him wince.

The only thing, the only person he wants to be able to remember is right here.]

( Rarely, but enough that it helps Gladio to forget what goes on after all this is said and done. Gives him a little bit of hope, and right now - in this world that's trapped in sleep, waiting for their king to return - he needs every bit of hope he can find.

(Unfortunately for Gladiolus, it's all trapped in a crystal and a man with a tendency to disappear like the light did from the sky.)

And now? Gods only know they both need it. This room can be shouldered, can be endured, but gods it is so much easier when Ignis' lips are distracting him, when his body is a familiar thing to rediscover and he's whispering those words.

Gladiolus grunts, skips the sweet nothings he could murmur in response, and presses another kiss to Ignis' mouth, his fingers finding a way between their bodies to run between buttons and unhook them without the slightest attempts at elegance or patience. Let them forget, let this whole cursed room slip away and become a backdrop for noise and movement, but he does not have the patience to sit and tease right now. )

[If someone stopped him and asked... if someone stopped and asked him 'so, hey, what's with you and Gladio?', Ignis wouldn't know how to answer. He's sure he knew what he wanted out of this at one point, but now? Now it's the closeness and the intimacy that lets him forget everything else that's going on in the world, but he doesn't know what to make of it beyond that.

So, he disappears. He vanishes after each time they meet like this and it's not fair, it isn't right, but after they've cooled off and his mind rights itself, thoughts creeping back in, he brushes his fingers across the back of Gladio's hand before he leaves him. Sometimes he's sleeping, and sometimes he feels those liquid amber eyes burning into his back, but he always leaves.

And yet... Gladio never mentions it. Never argues. It never becomes a fight, and every time they meet again, he's taken back into strong arms and pulled to a warm, broad chest and he can fool himself that he's safe again, while he's there.

Ignis' breath hitches in his chest now, Gladio's fingers trailing fire and his own fingers bumping forearms and wrists and finding buttons to pull open. Sometimes they tease. Sometimes the feelings that he feels towards this man flicker into fire in his chest and swell upwards, almost making it out. Sometimes, like now, they're all hands and heavy breaths and it's different, more primal.

It's what they both need.

He shoves Gladio's jacket off his shoulders, digging his fingernails in. Half of his own clothes have already fallen to Gladio's hands and the flush of arousal rises through him so swiftly that he feels his chest tighten.]

Gods-- [Ignis mutters, half muffled against Gladio's mouth, the line of his jaw, the tensed curve of his throat.

Gods...]

-- Fuck me.

[Their kissing is hot and messy, as it always is when Gladio decides he's had enough of creeping around and that he's going to kiss Ignis right here, and right now. Luckily for Gladio, the mood took him right in the doorway of Ignis' room, and the royal retainer had wasted little time in slamming the door behind them to let him have his way.

When did this start? A glance, a smile, Gladiolus stealing his spectacles and demanding a kiss before he'd give them back. It had only been then that Ignis had realised he'd spent the last year or so trying to flirt, but he'd avoided reassuring the other man that it wasn't his fault that it hadn't been noticed.

Ignis' breath leaves him in a rush as he's pushed to the wall, a hand in his hair, one at his hip sending tingles over his skin. They always stop here, never more than this, and Gladiolus is so patient with Ignis' hesitance (it's attractive, honestly, but he doesn't tell him that) that he feels a heady flush of warmth rush through him before it occurs to him that things could easily progress further here than he'd normally like.

He presses his hands to Gladio's shoulders, pushing him away and around, back against the closed door. His mouth finds the man's neck, his collar, his skin still salt-tinged from training, but he doesn't stop there. Ignis shifts lower, kisses following the idle touch of fingertips down Gladio's chest, his stomach, and slowly... he drops to his knees.

As he unfastens Gladio's belt, a thrill of giddy arousal curling in his stomach, he looks up.

Is this okay?]

( He could count the number of times they'd almost gone further but never made it. Every time they fall into this leaves its mark on Gladio, has him retreating to his room and locking the door because not even a cold shower can properly extinguish the flames Ignis' mouth sparks within him.

But he's patient nonetheless, never pushing. They have duties to fulfil and these sorts of pleasures will always have to take a backseat to training, to serving the crown and their prince. That's what he tells himself each time Ignis pulls away and shakes his head: it's fine, because they have work to be doing. They can't afford distractions.

Sometimes, though, when it gets to be too much to walk through corridors with the casual acknowledgement of coworkers and friends, when his eyes have wandered again and again to soft lips and a bare throat, this happens. His hands find hair and fabric, his lips find Ignis', find his jaw and throat with gentle nips of teeth as they stumble into the bedroom. Right now, he isn't even thinking of further, only of the taste of Ignis' mouth each time their lips crash together, the noises he makes when Gladio's teeth tease the hollows of his neck.

He doesn't get much chance to think of further either, because it comes to him in the slam of his back against the door, the groans of pleasure which leave his lips as Ignis trails kisses and fingers down his chest and--

Oh.

Gods-

Eyes widen and blink, mouth caught slightly open as his brain catches up with processing just what he's seeing, and gods that is an image he's dreamt up a million times already but in real life... it's something else. )

You sure?

( It's a daft question and he knows it the second it falls from his mouth. Ignis never does anything if he's not sure. )

[The decision had been a sudden one. Backing Gladio up against the door had only felt natural, and what came after that..? It's worth it just for that look of shocked arousal on Gladio's face.]

Stupid question. [He mutters, shaking his head as his fingers set to work on the other man's belt buckle. It's easy enough to hide his nerves, to make sure Gladio doesn't see the faint tremble in his hands, but he wants to do this more and more as he thinks about it. Gladio's waited for so long. He waits so patiently for everything...

The belt falls open and he unfastens the buttons, the zipper, and tugs the trousers down just enough to find the bulge in the front of Gladio's briefs. A smile curves his lips as he presses a kiss against the fabric then slides it down, taking the thick length behind it in hand.

Ah... it is a little intimidating at this angle. He rubs his thumb against the underside as he glances up again, gauging Gladio's expression. Just looking is enough to urge him on, and he takes the head into his mouth delicately, pressing underneath the head with his tongue.]

( It was a question asked for the sake of asking, something to punctuate the silence when Ignis drops to his knees and Gladiolus' brain stutters to a halt. It's probably a good thing that it does too, because it means Gladiolus' hands, his entire being, is too still to interfere. There's no attempt to pull his own trousers off, no hands clashing in an attempt to do the same thing as his trousers give way to cotton briefs stretched around muscle and flesh.

He groans, shifting and resting more of his weight against the wall, as lips find his cock through the fabric and then there are hands, warm and firm and teasing at bare skin while Gladio tries to even out suddenly very airy breaths, tries and fails not to make noise at the first touch of lips as they wrap around the head. This is everything his imagination has conjured up and more, more electric, more intoxicating and enticing.

It's effort to still his hips, to keep himself from twitching and bucking just yet, but he's been patient for so long already that he manages it. )

[He's kept Gladio waiting, but gods, Gladio has waited. There's never been a time that Ignis felt pushed to do anything, and there aren't words to express how grateful he has always been for the level of consideration that this man has always shown to him.

His nervousness over this new venture is quickly swept aside by the sounds he hears from above him - those uneven, shaky breaths that Gladio tries so valiantly to steady - and he lets his eyes dip closed to concentrate on the task at hand. His fingers wrap around the base of the shaft, rubbing in motions not too heavy nor too gentle, while he sucks steadily at the head and moves his tongue in slow circles over the tip, teasing at the slit there.

The taste isn't what he expected, but not unpleasant, and his fingers shift out of the way as he takes a little more into his mouth, humming softly in concentration.]

( It's worth the wait. He was sure he would be fine with nothing more than heated kisses, but the simple act of Ignis dropping to his knees is enough to show Gladiolus that, no, probably not. There's so much he wants from whatever they are and this moment, here and now, is but a taste of it.

(Patience, Gladio, his father has uttered on all too many occasions while training. You can want but you have to wait until the opening presents itself.

Strange, how much of battle actually relates to dealing with people.)

His attempts at staying quiet, at keeping his breath even, don't last long when Ignis' lips work the head, when his tongue circles and teases it and his hands grab awkwardly at the wall behind him and fail, working their way up into his hair before Gladio presses a forearm over his eyes and breathes deep.

Six have mercy, he was not prepared for this, for the slow, patient way Ignis teases and learns his body and the arousal coils tight in his stomach, thighs tensing with the effort of keeping himself in place. )