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. )

[They both have their ways of dealing with things, their own particular training that has turned them into the people they are. Gladio confronts, sometimes far too brashly, while Ignis keeps his more bitter thoughts to himself and never raises his voice unless he truly needs to. He compartmentalises, and has been doing so for so long that he'd barely noticed the way he'd pushed his connection with Gladio into its own neat box along with everything else.

It made it easier to deal with, easier to act like nothing was going on in front of Noctis, easier to put his feelings to one side when he wanted to snap at Gladio to back off, to stop talking. It made it easier, on their journey, to keep things between them secret. The time had long since passed when it needed to be a secret, and yet...

It's always been more comfortable for Ignis to simply keep it that way.

The hand on his shoulder serves as enough of a warning yet he still tenses against the arm around him, all but rigid against the question he's asked. Another question that's so, so simple, so easy to answer.]

That isn't fair. [He murmurs, with the smallest shake of his head.] If I say no, I risk losing you. If I say yes, I risk losing you, and... I can't. [It's developed over years, this honesty. The way he can gently shuck off the bindings of propriety to display his feelings to this man, even if they often come out tangled.]

I can't lose you, Gladio. You're the only good thing I have left.

( It hurts when Ignis stiffens under his touch, Gladiolus is man enough to admit that to himself. It's not enough to spark an argument, but there's a twinge like someone slapped his hand away from a second helping of Cup Noodles. He pulls back almost as soon as he feels the stiff shoulders under his arm, weight shifting slightly against the bed.

This is so simple - yes or no. Does Ignis want this or not? But, of course, he has to find a way to word it that goes beyond the one word answer Gladio expected. And he almost, almost growls out that Ignis should just choose something, goddammit, when the words and... I can't spill into the still air of the motel room. He can't.

And it's like the puzzle finally slots into place, Gladiolus understands what's been holding Ignis back for so long. How much have they lost now? Their light, their king, their home and families. Iris remains alive, trying to be bright despite the darkness, fighting daemons in her own right, but she's the only part of Gladiolus' family which does.

Ignis doesn't even have that. And they've both lost Noctis, the king they're destined to protect, as well as the king they knew for their whole lives when Insomnia fell.

It all makes sense now, and Gladiolus presses his hands against the mattress, leaning back and staring at the ceiling for the space of a deep breath. )

You're not losin' me. ( Not now, anyway. There's a risk every time he goes out to fight, but Gladiolus knows if he survived the battle with Gilgamesh, the ultimate trial of a shield, he will not die in the darkness, not now. ) I've still got a job to do.

( He still has to protect Noctis when he comes back. He still has to fulfil his duty as a shield to the True King and bring the light back to Eos. )

[He can't, because pinning this down into something or nothing means the risk of so much, and at least when it's a nebulous thing it doesn't carry the danger of being something he can lose. Or... is he just fooling himself? How long did he really think he could go on acting like there was nothing between them but the physical moments they shared?

But Gladio... always so sure of himself. Ignis smiles, very faintly, and rubs the heel of his hand along the line of his cheek bone, closing his eyes for a moment as they grow briefly hot. Not the searing burn that still disturbs his sleep but rather the gentle relief of a tension being lifted, something snapping.

He needed to be asked that question. They needed to talk about this.]

I've always been yours. [Ignis murmurs, sliding his hand back until it finds the other man's and inching his fingers over calloused knuckles.] There's never been any question of it.

[Over all the years, there has never been anyone else. Ignis' heart has belong to Gladiolus since they were teenagers.]

And... I'm sorry if I never made that clear. [He still isn't answering the question, but it's something.] There's only ever been you.

[And that, somehow, makes the thought of losing him all the more terrifying.]

( Regis may have never told Gladiolus what he told Ignis, may have never given him the speech about a king's duty to push on and never look back, but in a way, he never needed to. Gladiolus learned all he needed to know about that from watching his father at Regis' side. He's sure of himself because he has to be. He has to believe in himself and keep pushing onwards. It's what his father would do.

Those words aren't the simple yes or no he was waiting for, but in a way, they're much, much more than that. They're confirmation that these years of messing around haven't simply been Gladiolus hanging on to some impossibility, that he hasn't wasted time and energy that could have been put into a myriad of other things or people on one beautiful, intelligent, enigmatic adviser.

And, the more he thinks about it, when should he have ever expected Ignis to answer this question simply, rather than in this roundabout way?

His hand shifts, turns over and wraps tight around Ignis', threading fingers together when he leans over and brushes his free hand against the other man's cheek, his jaw, gently coaxing his face to turn so that Gladiolus can capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. )

[There was never going to be a simple answer to something that, in Ignis' mind, has never been a simple thing. Gladio has, over the years, become a figure of such towering importance in Ignis' life that it was sometimes far too easy to simply not see him, and it takes times like this one for him to realise that this relationship... if it's to be one... can't be packed away and brought out at his convenience.

He can feel his heart pounding as he speaks, words he thought he'd never have to say at all but recognises the necessity of all too well now, but his responses to Gladio's movements are smooth and easy. Their hands clasp together and his head follows the coaxing touches of his lover's fingertips, a soft breath drawn in the moment before their lips touch.

It's a soft, electric feeling that urges him closer, a deeper breath pulled in through his nose and a quiet sound hummed out against Gladio's mouth. His free arm wraps around the other man's shoulders, and everything about this sudden closeness is so familiar now and yet...

Ignis isn't letting go. He's not pulling away or retreating from freely offered affection. The kiss breaks only for him to murmur against Gladiolus' lips.]

You're everything to me.

Edited (tmw u spot a typo a day later) 2018-07-03 07:16 am (UTC)

( It's simple enough, in Gladio's mind. He wants Ignis. Somewhere along the line, it went from simply making out, from heated moments in secret parts of the Citadel, to the realisation that he loved this intelligent, infuriating man with the quirky sense of humour and coffee addiction.

A realisation which came a lot sooner than Gladio might ever admit, helped him survive years of undefined moments and an age of never quite going all the way.

Nah, it was never just hormonal making out in the Citadel, not really.

Ignis wraps his arm around Gladio, pulls him closer and Gladio doesn't need any other encouragement to push onwards, pressing himself up and over and gently urging Ignis back onto the bed, kiss after kiss finding his lips, and gods above he could truly lose himself in those kisses forever, but he pulls back anyway. Just a little.

Just enough to say- )

I love you.

( And to look at the beautiful, scarred face of the man who has become his world, who has been his world in another way entirely to his duties towards the crown. The one who makes him think about life outside of training and guarding, who he's never truly had for more than an evening before.

He wants that. More than he wants the clawing nails and harsh kisses, he wants lazy evenings curled up on a couch together, wants walks through the city (both far off dreams for other reasons now, but still). )

[It never was 'just' anything, was it? Ignis was not the type to easily let someone in and yet Gladio had always been there, from so early in their lives. There had always been something more to it, but always too few words to say and far too few real meanings to put to what they felt for one another. Things that develop this slowly don't do so only to be cast aside at the first signs of a struggle, and gods, how they had struggled.

His hold on Gladiolus is firm and - dare it be said - desperate as they kiss and he leans back easily, so easily to the urging pressed against him. A gentle heave in his chest and he returns every kiss more than eagerly, his entire body lighting up for the second time this evening but for so many different reasons.

And then, Gladio says that, and it hits him like something solid.]

... What? [Softer this time, and gods, so much more vulnerable. Ignis stills under Gladio's weight, his fingers lingering at his shoulders with a soft tremble against his skin. His heart pounds, so loudly and he stares as much as it is possible for someone without sight to stare, pinned beneath his lover, his... gods, whatever it is that they are now.

Ignis would not admit out loud that he never thought himself worthy of this. Not here, and not now, but it's written all over him as he slides a hand up to touch it to Gladio's cheek.]

Say it again.

( There's no words he's ever been surer of in this life than those three said just now, the ones which have Ignis freezing underneath him, the slight tremble of his fingers countered by Gladio's own which find them and pull them towards his mouth, pressing soft kisses to the knuckles. )

I love you. ( Another kiss to Ignis' hand, Gladiolus huffing out a breath before pressing himself against the other man once more. )

And I'll say it a thousand times if you need me to.

[He doesn't deserve it. Those words come from Gladio once more and Ignis knows, so fiercely that it burns, that he doesn't deserve it. Ignis shuts his eyes tightly as heat flares behind the lids and curls himself close to the other man, burying his head against the curve of Gladio's neck and shoulder.

It doesn't need to be said again. The once was enough for it to burrow into the careful casing that Ignis had enclosed his feelings towards Gladiolus inside, to crack and break it and send him reeling with the tightness in his chest and throat, the damp sensation against his lashes.

How long? he wonders, but he doesn't ask. No, he knows how long it's been. How long he's been pulling Gladio along, dangling the hope of something without ever truly offering it.]

I love you, too. [The words come out quiet, small and slightly choked, murmured against Gladio's shoulder. Displays of emotion have never been Ignis' forte, but here he is now, subtly shaking under the intensity of that confession.]

I love you.

( Whatever Ignis thinks about that, he still has it. He always has. Gladiolus could have let this drop at any time, but he knew, sure as he knew his place within Noctis' retinue, that he would never have anyone else in his life who inspired feelings like this.

He knows, all too well, how much Ignis can compartmentalise anything he feels, but Gladiolus still blinks with surprise at the reaction, stilling for just a moment before a smile breaks out on his face and Gladio's lips find Ignis', catching them in a hard, full kiss, catching those words as if he can keep them forever by kissing the breath from...

His boyfriend?

Is that what they're calling themselves now?

Well, who cares really. He has more important things in mind, like the wandering of his hands and the nip of his teeth, everything aimed to pull noises from the man beneath him. )

[He'll be able to pack this away later, as he always does (though perhaps, now, without locking down the lid) but right now he's shaken to the core by what he feels and Gladio has always been the one person for whom such things do not need to be hidden. Ignis presses back into the kiss, eyes shut as a soft sound rises in the back of his throat. They've been here once tonight already, but not like this. It's never been like this.

But his body always lights up under Gladio's hands, the slow movement of calloused fingers over his skin, and now is no different. It's irresistible, and he falls into it with his entire perception of the world narrowing down to the touches against him and the long, hard kisses against his lips.]

Ahgods-- [He breathes out in a moment given to snatch a lungful of air. His legs wrap loosely around Gladio, a heel pressing into the small of his back to urge him closer while eager fingers run into his hair.]

Mmh--...

( God, but how could there be anyone he would ever want more than this man right here, when he makes these noises, when he's all hands and limbs and soft, gentle movements? They write the kind of poetry that gets recited by lovers for generations about moments like this, about the sharpness of his jaw and the heat of hips pressed together. How things as simple as a hand in the hair becomes an anchor, an electric link against his scalp.

He reaches blindly for the bottle on the bedside table, too absorbed in kisses which send his world spinning off its axis and set it in a new orbit around a sun with sharp, unseeing eyes and the fire of Ravatogh itself. Kisses which, in truth, pulled him into that orbit long ago, when Insomnia was still vibrant and bright and their prince was still a lazy brat sneaking out of his duties. )

Say it again.

( Urgent and growled and almost, but not quite, a demand as Gladio pulls back enough to slick his fingers with lube, to tease across the sensitive skin between Ignis' legs and to his entrance with light fingertips, his other hand wrapping around Ignis' cock, not yet stroking.

Say it again, Iggy. )

[He's overwhelmed. It's the only word appropriate, and even then it doesn't encompass the full extent of what Ignis is currently feeling. His entire body trembles under Gladio's weight, his lips tingling from repeated hard kisses, and gods he's already tired but they're doing this again and nothing in him wants to refuse.

His hips jerk against his lover's hands, his fingers curling tight into the sheets and digging against Gladio's back. This man is... everything he ever wanted, and he had grown so close to brushing it aside for the sake of his own pride.]

I love you. [Ignis murmurs into a kiss, gripping his hair again to hold him against it. He shudders, nipping at Gladio's lip. That's what he wanted to hear, isn't it? He'll tell him. He'll tell him every day for the rest of their lives if he can.

I love you, Gladiolus Amicitia.]

( Perhaps, as racked and exhausted by their last session as they are, the lube is unnecessary. The fingers too. But Gladiolus has found a second wind in these confessions, a fire stoked that makes him want to do this entire dance, every step that leads up to it. Hands cling to him and for once he feels them for more than just the need of the physical act or the need to forget. They're warm and solid and as reassuring as the words pressed into his lips, and Gladio exhales as his fingers slide in deep, slow and even thrusts in time with each kiss and nip of teeth.

He has loved this man for longer than he can truly pinpoint, from days in the Citadel pressed against the wall, always holding back for the sake of Ignis' comfort. Always being patient because they'd too many responsibilities as teenagers to get tangled up in feelings the way they are now. He's loved him through days on the road, sleeping in tents surrounded by glowing light that keeps daemons away or in motels they all secretly complained about because they were twenty years old and grew up in the lap of luxury. Loved him through the wreckage of Altissia and the stumbling blindness, right up until this moment.

Perhaps they have more responsibilities than their teenage selves did. Perhaps the tent seems like luxury and the motels even more so. And perhaps Ignis moves as though his sight still exists, flawless and elegant, but Gladiolus is too tired and has aged too much in this world to let the one spark of light in a world of permanent night be extinguished by holding it too tightly in his chest. He loves Ignis, and he always will. That is the one thing the Starscourge cannot change. )

[Unnecessary, yes, but Gladio will hear no complaints from Ignis. He'll hear nothing at all from him but the soft, low moan as fingers slide in so easily and Ignis presses down against the sensation, pleasure tingling along already sensitive nerves. His hips rock down slowly, following the movement of Gladio's hand and his breathing unsteadies all too quickly against the sensations flaring back to life again.

Things were simpler when they were younger. Sometimes Ignis feels like fifty years have passed since they last gathered around a campfire or piled into a single hotel room and argued over who would have to share a bed or sleep on the floor. Years since his sight was taken. Years since the four of them were all together. Six, the problems they faced then seem so juvenile in comparison.

But all the while, Ignis had Gladio. He's always known it. Through glances shared, through the way they would grudgingly volunteer to share a tent or a sleeping space, through morning runs and breakfasts and the gentle brush of hands as they passed one another, and the kisses stolen when no one was watching. Gladio has always been there, and Ignis has loved him for longer than he can remember.

His hips twitch, jerking up as a pulse of sudden need draws a gasp from his chest and he pulls the man against him for another kiss, muffling another shaky moan against his lips.]

( Something which has always, or nearly always, been there. The retinue of his father's generation ended with two dead and two strangers, miles apart with nothing but veiled references to that time. They could have easily stumbled into the same places, nearly did in the worst moments when everything became too much. Without Noctis here, it's easy to be so caught up in their individual responsibilities that they lose track of each other, but Ignis has always had his own sort of pull. Beyond this, beyond the smell of an excellent meal, Ignis is the closest thing to home Gladio has any more. A place of comfort and history, as familiar as the path from the Amicitia estate to the Citadel or the local schools.

He doesn't need to think here, nor doubt meanings behind Ignis' grasping fingers and firm kisses. Words repeated just moments ago echo in his skull, and Gladiolus doesn't waste any more time with the thrusts of his hand, urging Ignis' legs further apart as he presses down between them and guides himself inside carefully, slowly, the habit ingrained more than anything.

He wants to say more, to repeat those three words again, but the sensation snatches breath from his lungs every goddamned time and all that comes out is a low groan of a curse as he leans over, forehead brushing Ignis' lightly. )

[As over-stimulated and weary as he is already, it doesn't take much at all to have Ignis producing the kinds of sounds that Gladio usually has to put some time into working for. He groans out loudly at the fullness of his lover pressing inside him again, head tilting back and his legs shifting restlessly before they come to rest hooked loosely against the base of Gladio's back.

His fingers tremble, but find some stability in running into his lover's hair, holding his forehead gently against his own with his eyes half shut and hazy with arousal despite their blindness.

I love you.

Gods, he should have said it months ago. Years ago. It's as if those words forged something instant between them that makes this all the more intense. He makes a sound that might have been the start of gasping Gladio's name, but it chokes off at the first syllable, interrupted by a smooth, deep thrust.]

( Gladio's too distracted by the noises, by the brushing of warm skin against his, to think about should haves and could have beens. Things might have been different if he'd pressed the issue earlier, but right now there's a man - beautiful and smart and really, really bad at handling his attraction - wrapped around him like he needs nothing else right now and it's far more important than letting himself get caught up in the impossible.

Those words are there, permanent and unable to be taken away, and they play through Gladio's mind with each rock of his hips, each time his mouth finds Ignis' between gasps and low moans. First lips, then cheeks and jaw and neck, anything Gladio can reach as he keeps the pace steady long enough to shift his weight onto one hand and wrap the other around Ignis' cock, stroking in time with each press of his hips inside him. )