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Every moment with Gladio throws Ignis into vertigo.
Gladio’s lips are hot against his neck, and Ignis is breathing hard as his fingers scramble for purchase on Gladio’s broad shoulders. He’s trying to remember how he ended up with his back against the wall of a dark corridor with his reports strewn across the floor, but all he recalls is a sudden and rough grip on his arm, then being yanked into their makeshift hiding spot. Gladio delivers a well-placed bite to Ignis’s collar bone, and Ignis’s eyes screw shut. He brings a hand to his own mouth, bites down so that no one passing by might hear what they’re up to. His leg instinctively hooks around Gladio’s hip, pulling him in so that he can feel the ripple of firm, defined muscle against his body.
Gladio chuckles, runs his tongue slowly along where he just bit Ignis before lightly kissing him there as an apology. Ignis opens his eyes, looks down at Gladio through long lashes. It is a mistake. That stare of molten gold is aimed right at him, and he is locked in place. He feels chained to this moment, this topsy-turvy reality, and his breathing stutters, stills. Gladio slowly brings his face up, keeps Ignis’s gaze the whole time, and leans in, his breath ghosting across Ignis’s lips as he stares.
It’s too close for comfort. Ignis wants to look away. He wants to break free from those too-gentle hands that he feels will leave raised burns in their wake. He wants to collect his things and walk away as the composed man he knows himself to be.
But Gladio leans in, his lips feather light against Ignis’s, and rolls his hips. Ignis intakes a sharp breath, the noise swallowed by Gladio swooping in like the bird of prey laying across his chest. His tongue pushes past Ignis’s lips, that hot muscle tangling with his own and reacquainting itself with every wall of Ignis’s mouth. Gladio’s kiss is eager, passionate, longing. He kisses like it has been too long — as if he’s been wanting this too badly to hold back any modicum of his desperation to have Ignis in his arms again. Ignis returns it, wishing he could say that the fervor with which he kisses Gladio is a diluted, disinterested reciprocation of the raw passion Gladio is ravaging his mouth with. However, it is not. Ignis is incapable of reigning himself in from the tidal waves of lust and concealed emotion that come forth when Gladio kisses him like that.
It is too sudden when Gladio pulls away, and Ignis catches himself before he can chase his lips. He forces his head back with a dull thud against the wall. Gladio presses quick, chaste kisses anywhere he can reach — his forehead, his half-lidded eyes, his brows, nose, cheeks, jaw, the corners of each side of his lips. Then, he returns to Ignis’s mouth with a forceful, closed-mouth kiss. Ignis is ready to part his lips again to welcome a tongue just as eager as his, but the kiss is cut short before he can. Gladio presses in quickly — once, twice, three more times, before extracting himself from Ignis’s grip with a smile that is so smug, Ignis feels his heart sink. Disappointment, longing, desire, shame — he refuses to acknowledge these emotions and how they manifest as strings that attach to his heart to yank it down, into his stomach.
Gladio licks his lips, traps Ignis between his arms with a hand on either side of the wall by his head. “Good to know you’ve still got it in ya’.” He says, voice low-thrumming and gravelly and everything Ignis wants to hear for the rest of his life. He swallows, brings a hand to his glasses in the tight space between them to push them up. He tries to think of something, anything, to say before the conclusion he knows is coming. If he can just get the last word in, something snarky and intelligent, then it won’t feel like a loss. He can regain control of the situation.
“Yes, well, I don’t believe there’s much skill to be had in tolerating the ambush of a lust-crazed barbarian.” He reasons, dropping his hand to level Gladio with a disapproving look. He means none of it — Gladio is so much more than that, so much more than anything his masterful command of language is capable of elaborating on. He does not tell Gladio this. He continues to gaze upon that maddening visage that is too amused for the harsh words just spoken. Perhaps Gladio sees through those disdainful eyes, perhaps he is too confident to really care what Ignis thinks. What matters is that he is smiling, and his eyes are sparkling, and Ignis wants to burn the image of Gladio practically vibrating with quiet joy to the backs of his eyelids. But there is not enough time, as Gladio pushes off the wall before Ignis can try. He trails a large, calloused hand along Ignis’s cheek, and then turns, heading back down the corridor. Ignis watches him, feeling disoriented by how quickly everything happened, until Gladio calls over his shoulder, “Maybe next time, it won’t just be ‘tolerating.’”
And that’s it. Gladio got the last word. He successfully leaves Ignis feeling out of place, dumbfounded, and embarrassed — like there is a loose end that he simply must tie up. Perhaps that is his plan; to leave Ignis constantly wanting, constantly on edge, so that he may never extricate himself from this inane dance they’ve developed over years of service to the crown.
He tried to end it himself, in the past and present. He thrusts himself wholeheartedly into his work, fusses over Noct, and when that is not enough, he fills what spare time he has with finding someone else to occupy his thoughts. He’s gone through so many names and faces of potential lovers and barely-there sparks that he can hardly care to remember them. He tried the fresh-faced, bright eyed scholars who are so much like himself, and so gentle that it almost hurt Ignis to end things. He kept one man around for nearly a year, reciprocating I love yous, just to see if he could make it true. He never could, but he wanted to love him. After trying for a while, he found that he would never be interested in any of them. It does not matter that they are the sort he wants to be with — the type of men who suit him best. He likes to think he could have loved at least one of them, had he never been involved with Gladiolus.
Gladio was the detrimental precursor, the nail in the coffin of his love life. Once he experienced the feel of leather-clad muscle against his skin, and the raw power that was tightly contained behind copious amounts of self-control, which Gladio let loose with every demand for more, there was no going back. Ever since the first time he’d fallen into bed with Gladio, he craved everything that made him who he was, and could not take anything less.
But Gladio is not right for him.
Gladio is a man with notches on his bedpost just for the sake of having them there. He cares so much about everyone, that it is impossible for him to care about any one who is not his sister or the prince. This is something Ignis knows, and can sympathize with, to an extent. Ignis will never devote himself to anyone more than Noctis, and he expects nothing else from Gladio. It is something Ignis respects about him. He, however, is selective in who he cares for. Gladio does not hold the same reservations. In his commitment to all, it is impossible for Gladio to deeply devote himself to one more person. To do that would be to stretch himself thinner than he already has, and it would be unfair to ask that of him. Ignis wants Gladio, but not at the risk of his own self-worth.
He’d attempted relationships with other men like Gladio — men from the Glaive, men in bars around Insomnia — men who were charming and strong, and showed promise, ambition, and devotion to something greater than themselves. He was attracted to them; he felt the sparks fly and thought that, perhaps, he could finally be rid of the slow-spreading plague of mind and heart that was Gladiolus Amicitia. It never lasted, however. When the relationships seemed to be going somewhere, Ignis would grow restless, and Gladio would always be waiting in the wings. He never cheated on any of them, of course. He had sense, and was far too polite and moral for that. He did break it off, however, and then promptly fell back into bed with Gladio. He always hated himself for it.
Now, he is freshly single, and Gladio, as always, was eagerly awaiting to pounce. It should feel too soon. It is too soon. Nyx was everything he wanted, and far more than he deserved. He was strong, kind, intelligent, and a hero in every sense of the word. Nyx loved Ignis, and Ignis returned the sentiments in the only ways his mangled heart knew how. They shared hushed conversations whilst tangled in bedsheets in the darkest hours of the night, and exchanged gentle kisses that belied nothing of the fierce high they’d just come off from. He reminded him so much of Gladio in all the important ways, with none of the personality quirks that made Ignis hesitant. Ignis truly did believe that Nyx Ulric would be the one to kick Gladio, that Nyx would be the one he could love truly and deeply for who he was. There was no reason he shouldn’t have.
However, that did not stop him from finding something wrong. It was a growing itch, an anxiety and discomfort that suddenly crept upon him whenever Nyx would whisper sweet nothings in his ear, or get too close. Ignis felt his personal space was invaded, his privacy infringed upon, even though nothing had changed in Nyx’s approach to him. Ignis recognized the signs, and cut it off immediately. If he could have pushed through it and overcome his discomfort for someone, something, worth it, he would have. He knew, however, that there was no coming out of that. Once he started feeling the anxiety associated with his significant other, it was over. It would have been unfair to let Nyx fall more in love with him, or to mislead him. So he cut it off, and that was that.
It only happened yesterday.
Ignis sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and leans his leaden body against the wall as he counts his breathing. He does not have time to be dwelling on his guilt. He does not have the desire to deal with his self-loathing. He calms himself, pushes off from the wall, and collects the papers that scattered in the wake of Gladio’s return.
It is later that night, when he’s returned from Noct’s apartment and is sipping Ebony while looking over reports, that he gets a text from Gladio.
He knows who it is when his phone buzzes. Anxiety claws at his throat. His body feels tingly and distant, and he cannot control the speed with which his hand reaches for his phone, yet hesitates to unlock it. He knows what is coming, he knows he should refuse, and he knows he will, inevitably, do the wrong thing.
He takes a deep breath and tells himself that he is being ridiculous, as he always does. He tells himself that he is a man of endless self-control, and that he is known for his logical, strategic mind. He can keep himself from Gladio, and he will this time. He told himself this last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. This time, he means it.
He unlocks his phone, opens the text, and reads.
He is surprised.
Movie and dinner tonight, Iggy?
Ignis pauses, chews on the inside of his mouth for a moment as he stares at his phone. Gladio attempted to take him out on dates before, back when he was initially courting Ignis, and when Ignis was somewhat willing to let himself be courted. The new norm, after the first time Ignis fell into bed with Gladio, and then promptly cut things off, was for Gladio to simply ask if he could come over. He does not know what caused the change, but he knows he should refuse. He is too polite and aware of their closeness in position to flat-out reject a fellow member of the Crownsguard, however, so he uses reason.
It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?
He tries not to think about the question’s multiple meanings. It is too late — for dinner and a movie, for Gladio to be rekindling his efforts, for them. He waits, thinking he’s caught Gladio and that he can politely decline, then move on with his night. His phone vibrates again, and he sighs at his naivety.
Yup. Problem?
He should go with his original plan to cut things off with Gladio here and now — propriety and convenience be damned. He’s tired of this cycle, of his endless infatuation with a man who he can never have, a man he won’t give himself the chance to be hurt by. But his body is disconnected from his mind when it comes to Gladio, and even as he rationalizes himself out of it, he’s typing some form of an affirmative reply.
Yes, it is. However, I will accept. It must be an important matter of the state, if the future king of Lucis’s shield is calling upon me so late at night.
Ignis barely sets his phone down before Gladio’s reply comes through.
I’ll swing by in ten.
He sighs, and feels the tension headache forming in the space between his brows and aching in the backs of his eyes. He should have said no, he knows he should have. He’s attributing his acceptance to curiosity; he wants to understand why Gladio is asking him on a proper date this time. Surely, there must be something important he wants to discuss. Perhaps, Gladio will make this easy on him, and cut things off himself. At this point, Ignis would be thankful for the clean break, and for the fact that he won’t have to do it himself. With this in mind, he pushes off from the couch, organizes the reports, and checks himself in the mirror to ensure that he is presentable.
A few hairs are out of place, there’s a fine line settling across the center of his forehead, and he looks far more stressed than he cares to admit. He sprays the pesky strands back into a semblance of their former glory, and relaxes his facial muscles into a mask of neutrality. When he hears three knocks on his door, he undoes the top two buttons of his dress shirt as an after-thought. He doesn’t want to think about why he does this, so he resolutely does not.
Gladio looks entirely at ease when Ignis opens the door, but there’s a serious air about him that makes Ignis feel tense all over again. In an effort to erase the tension, he briefly grasps Ignis’s hand, gives it a firm squeeze and then a tug, before releasing it and taking a step forward. “C’mon, movie starts in thirty minutes. I already grabbed the tickets. If we’re lucky, we’ll miss the previews.” He says, grinning, and Ignis can’t help the fond warmth juxtaposed with self-exasperation spreading through him. Of course Gladio knew he would say yes. Of course he bought the tickets before he even asked. Ignis curses himself for his inability to say no to Gladio, and feels a twinge of resentment toward Gladio for figuring that out as well as flaunting it.
“I, for one, am fond of being on time.” He replies, voice awash with indignation. Gladio laughs, clapping him on the back before increasing his pace.
“We’d better hurry, then.”
They end up arriving just as the first preview starts, and Ignis almost wishes they missed them. He was never a fan of going to the movies, so it’s pointless to sit through the trailers. However, his instinct to argue with Gladio and his affinity for punctuality warred with his distaste, and he chose the lesser of the evils. They end up being harmless enough. He sits back and watches them with polite disinterest, arms crossed over his chest and one leg crossed over his knee. He doesn’t have to look at Gladio to feel the intensity of his eyes each time he glances at Ignis. Ignis resolutely does not stare at Gladio, despite a small part of his mind desperately urging him to. He allows himself a little of pride at this victory — he’s been worried of his inability to control his urges when it comes to Gladio. Perhaps this is an indication of his progress.
The movie itself is a disaster. A wonderful, comical disaster that has the two of them snickering and whispering about the dreadful writing and how could something so awful get a movie? It is a poor attempt at disguising a controlling relationship for BDSM, and Ignis would feel offended were it not so ridiculous. He thinks multiple others in the audience are of the same opinion as himself, and feels a degree of worry for those who are not — namely, the ones who seem enamored with the main character’s love interest.
Ignis is having a hard time containing his mirth by the end of the movie, but he manages. Gladio, however, has more trouble keeping himself in check. There are many instances in which he lets out a loud guffaw, and the girls swooning over the movie shoot him stern glares. Each time, he waves apologetically, but his amusement is ceaseless. He turns to Ignis, holding back a laugh, brow raised in disbelief at the ridiculousness of it all. Ignis shoves him lightly with his shoulder, before pointing at the screen to redirect his attention. They survive the endeavor with few other incidents, and leave the theater with mocking voices to quote the characters.
They forego the dinner portion of their night. It is simply too late to find a place open this late that meets Ignis’s standards, and they are too restless from sitting in a theater for so long, especially when the night is so beautiful. They choose to take a walk around the lake beside the theater, their jibes at the movie continuing as they make their way down the path.
“What I don’t get,” Gladio begins, when their teasing dies down and they are coming off the high of amusement, “is why so many girls are into that kind of shit. I mean, he’s possessive, controlling, he won’t leave her alone, and that’s considered romantic?” He rubs the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I just don’t get it. Isn’t the respectful thing to let someone go when you love them, if it’s what they want?”
Ignis swallows back the nervous lump in his throat, the conversation taking too real of a turn for his liking. But this is what he wants, he surmises. If this is Gladio leading up to a clean break, then Ignis should be pleased. He wants this. He wants Gladio to break things off, so that Ignis can move on. Gladio respects him, and if Ignis is reading his words correctly, then Gladio is aware that they should end this.
He realizes, belatedly, that there was a stall in his registry of Gladio’s phrasing, and his heart stutters as he recognizes what Gladio just threw at him.
Gladio loves him. That is not the case, Ignis knows.
He keeps his breathing regular, and does not stop his careful stride, nor does he whip his head around to stare at Gladio in disbelief. He is a perfect mask of composure while his head feels light and his body feels off-kilter. He thinks he read into the words improperly, and is reeling back his initial train of thought. Gladio is only speaking about the movie, of course. His initial misjudgment was due to his intense desire for Gladio to make a firm decision that they would end their trysts. That must be the case, he reasons.
He feels Gladio watching him, and Ignis keeps his eyes forward. He thinks carefully about his next words, about whether to subtly address both possibilities at once, or ignore his speculation entirely.
“You would think she would not want him anymore. By all means, she shouldn’t.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, releases while he counts to five. “However, the poor writing put her at war with her heart and her head, and it begs the question: was staying away what she really wanted?”
He is uncomfortable with the parallel of his own predicament to the main character’s. These emotions and actions do not suit him, in his abundance of self-control and logic. He has never been so indecisive in his life. It makes him feel silly, like a poorly written character in a bad romance novel. To be fair, his situation is nothing like hers — he is nowhere near an abusive relationship, and he would never abide by one. Still, his explanation hits too close to home, and he finds himself uncomfortable with how honest he’s being.
“Staying away would have been the smart thing to do.” Gladio mutters, idly kicking a rock in the middle of his path. Ignis sighs, and looks up at the night sky.
“Indeed.”
The walk back to the car is quiet, and the ride back even more so. Gladio puts in a good effort to rekindle the conversation, but Ignis is tired and past the pretenses. He just wants this to end so he can crawl into his bed and deal with whatever heartbreak is to come. Whether it is by Gladio’s finality or his own, he’s determined to put an end to this. Comparing himself to a character whom he has little respect for shocked him back to his senses, and he’s aware of what must happen. Now that this silly game is infringing on his sense of self and his self-respect, he knows that enough is enough.
He tolerates Gladio following him to his door, tolerates his hovering, until he turns the key in the lock and places his hand on the knob with a very firm, “Goodnight, Gladio.” But Gladio places his hand atop Ignis’s, and Ignis is a fool to look back. Gladio is staring at him, all intensity and no hint of good humor in that aureate gaze. Ignis’s breathing stutters before he closes his eyes and shakes himself from his transfixion. He is done with this.
“Yes, Gladio?”
“Mind if I come in?” Gladio asks quietly, and there’s a hint of uncertainty in a voice that tends to exude confidence. It is warranted.
“I do, actually.” The reply is curt, and Ignis ignores the stab of guilt and longing that twists just behind his ribcage. He feels his throat constricting, his eyes are tired and heavy. He wants to go to bed.
Gladio’s touch on his hand lightens for a moment, before he shakes his head at himself, and firmly presses it against Ignis’s. “Iggy, we’ve gotta talk.” He says, and his voice has lost all traces of uncertainty.
“About what?” Ignis nearly snaps, his near endless reserves of patience seeping out of him to make room for his exhaustion.
“I think you know. Look, I’m not looking for a fuck, I just want to talk.” Gladio sounds on the verge of pleading, and Ignis does not have it in him to reject him. He is not cold enough to do that, and he is not nearly as detached from this man as he would love to be. He sighs, nods, and when Gladio’s hand lifts from his, he opens the door and steps inside. Gladio follows, close enough for Ignis to know he’s there, but a comfortable and respectful distance away. He’s too sensitive, too aware, and it makes Ignis’s chest feel too heavy.
Ignis turns to face Gladio when he makes it into his main living space, arms crossed over his chest and hip cocked to the side. His face is a carefully composed mask of detachment, with an eyebrow raised in question. “Well, Gladio? Do enlighten me on what is so important that you’re demanding entry into my home round about midnight. You know I’ve a busy schedule and an early morning.” He says, and it hurts for his words to be so biting toward someone he only feels incessant warmth toward. He adjusts his glasses, the closest to fidgeting he will allow himself despite his discomfort, then reassumes his former position.
Gladio sighs, walks over to Ignis’s couch, and sits down on it, elbows against his parted knees. He pats the cushion beside him, and looks at Ignis. His gaze is not expectant, nor pleading. Gladio is comfortingly undemanding, allowing Ignis to move at his own pace and do as he pleases. It is maddening.
He sits down against his better judgment, but keeps his guarded position. He looks Gladio straight in the eyes, a hard gaze that belies none of the anxiety raging beneath the surface. “Go on.”
Gladio sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and leans into the couch, arms spread across the back. His head lands softly against the wall, and he stares at the ceiling. This is hard for him, Ignis can tell. Gladio is never this hesitant. Ignis is never this nervous.
“Iggy, I —,” he stops himself, shakes his head, tries again. “Ignis, I’m tired of this.”
And there it is, what Ignis has been waiting for. He should be happy. He should agree. He should smile and tell Gladio that he’s glad that they’re on the same page. He should clap him on the shoulder, tell him to have a good night, and continue their professional relationship on good terms. He feels and does none of those things. He can only feel the knife in his chest twisting, driving in harder and deeper and suddenly, the air in his apartment is too thick and hot. His throat is parched. He thinks, absurdly, that he really should start keeping water bottles out on his coffee table.
He doesn’t realize how long he’s taken to reply until Gladio’s head turns from its place on the back of the couch. He looks as exhausted as Ignis feels. Ignis is still, his breathing and face miraculously in check as his mind works to find the right answer. Gladio is waiting, and is not planning to prompt Ignis into a response, he realizes.
“I’ve…never been one for ambiguity.” He says, slowly, then clarifies. “What, exactly, are you tired of?” And perhaps he’s stalling now, or just trying to be sure before anything permanent happens. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, if he’s honest with himself.
Gladio rolls his head back to return his gaze to the ceiling, then closes his eyes, shakes his head. “All of it. I’m tired of how much I want you, and how I can’t tell if you want me back or not. I’m tired of seeing you in a relationship with one guy after another, only to break it off as soon as I start to think I can let it go. I’ve tried to let you go, Iggy. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I have.” He pauses to take a deep breath, exhales it slowly. “I just want to know if I’ve even got a shot at something permanent with you.” He finishes, his voice so quiet Ignis must strain to hear him.
Ignis is reeling. Gladio threw all his misbehavior back at him along with all the pieces of Ignis’s heart that he shattered like glass and stole over the course of three long years. Ignis tries, desperately, to figure out how to respond to it all. He has lost control of his breathing, the first crack in the composure he prides himself on.
Gladio wants him. Gladio wants a lot of things, he reasons.
Gladio is unsure if Ignis wants him. Ignis does not want him, he tells himself.
Gladio is tired of seeing him with so many others. Gladio is a hypocrite.
It is the last thought that is the final snap in Ignis’s careful mask. He is irritated now. Ignis swallows, takes a breath through his nose, and glares at Gladio. “Gladiolus Amicitia, forgive me for being harsh, but that is really rather rich, coming from someone with your extensive history.”
Gladio’s eyes snap open, and he shoots up from the back of the couch, sitting up straight and levelling Ignis with a glare of equal intensity. “Say that again?” He says, voice low. Ignis is not sure why he is so offended — it is the truth.
“Come now, Gladio. We both know that I’m just another notch in the bed post. The only difference is that I beat you at a game. It’s like cat-and-mouse, you want what you cannot have, and the chase is exciting.” He replies, voice calm but there are years’ worth of simmering lividity deep within his eyes.
“Ignis, I don’t know what’s got you so uptight all of a sudden, but I don’t think I have to remind you that you weren’t squeaky clean before we got together, either.” Ignis is about to bite back a nasty reply, but Gladio beats him to the punch. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s dated and probably fucked a fourth of the Glaive in just three years.”
Ignis is dumbfounded at that. The fact that Gladio would say something so crude and offensive leaves him astonished. He suddenly wants to kick Gladio out and slam the door in his face.
“Excuse me? I was in a monogamous relationship with every single one of them, and my sex life is none of your business.”
“Oh no, Iggy. You don’t get to play that card, not when you made my past your business.” He barks back, turning so his torso is facing Ignis and his arm is slung along the back of the couch. He’s leaning forward, unaware of his natural inclination to intimidate the people who have angered him. Ignis can play that game just as well, and leans forward so that there are mere inches between their faces.
“Your past, Gladio? I’m well aware of all the men and women you were seeing while we were dating.”
“Yeah, Ignis. It’s called dating. We weren’t an official thing. And it is my past.”
“A past that very well extends into your present. Besides, I recognize that we were never in an official relationship, Gladio. I was never mad that you were with others while we were dating. However, I made the decision to leave a situation I was dissatisfied with. Is that so wrong?”
“Yeah, a little. Coulda done it before we fucked. You could have made a clean break. You could have told me you weren’t interested in anything more.” Gladio sighs, leans back against the couch. He closes his eyes and drags his hands down his face in a long, exasperated motion. “Don’t know why you wanted it from all of those guys, but not me…’Sides, you don’t know shit. I haven’t touched anyone else since our first time together.”
The final sentence stops all of Ignis’s mental processes in one moment. He is blank, for what feels like the first time in his life. There is no cognition, no emotion. Just his eyes on Gladio in an empty stare. He cannot process the idea that he has been so wrong for so many years, that he wasted time on misconceptions based on his rational mind trying to save him from desires that seemed ill-advised given all the information available to him. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He clears his throat, forces his eyes to shut until he mentally counts to ten to try to think of something, anything to say or do to regain his bearings and find out how to move on from this revelation.
Yet again, he takes too long to reply, because Gladio opens his eyes and looks at Ignis with such a serious stare that it could not be a lie. Gladio is so tired, and Ignis feels, for the first time in his life, so stupid.
Gladio is serious about him now, just as he was then. He always has been, and Ignis was too guarded to ever consider it. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. He closes his eyes, then opens them, and now, he is calm. His brief lapse in composure is no more. Worrying over how wrong he was will do him no good now. He is trying to continue telling himself this, trying to keep himself serene and open to new possibilities, even as his self-preservation screams at him to stick to his old ways.
“Why?” He asks, and there is no inflection.
Gladio sighs again, and Ignis does not think he’s ever heard him do so this many times before. “I guess I just realized that that was it. I woke up next to you, and it was like something clicked into place. Nothing could fit that well, and nothing would be that good or feel right after that. I knew no one else would ever make me feel like that, and I didn’t want to try to fill that space just to end up hurting someone.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have it in me to hurt someone like that.”
Ignis swallows, and feels ashamed of himself. Gladio is so selfless, so much better than him. Gladio is so much more than he deserves. He refuses to do exactly what Ignis did, and he is brave enough to face the daunting feeling of someone not wanting him head on. Ignis cannot do that, has refused to for years.
“I saw you dating other guys, and I wanted to be happy for you. I figured, maybe I just wasn’t the right fit for you, the way you were for me. But you went through them all so fast, I thought that maybe, you just wanted to get something out of your system before settling down. I tried to stay away. I wanted you to feel like you could do what you want without me imposing expectations on you, but I guess you’re kinda the weakness in my self-control.” Gladio laughs humorlessly, and Ignis thinks yes, that is exactly what you are to me.
He cannot convey these thoughts. They are too personal, and he is too reticent. He can show Gladio, however, and tell him less directly. He places his hand on Gladio’s forearm, gives it a squeeze.
“I have been so unfair to you.” He admits, forcing himself to make eye contact, despite how desperately he wishes to look away.
Gladio does not force Ignis to say anything more, does not force him into a state of discomfort more than he is already experiencing. Gladio is so kind, so selfless, so otherworldly and perfect that Ignis is now positive that an Astral must have taken special care in crafting him. Ignis loves him, he realizes, when Gladio slowly rises to meet Ignis in a slow, burning kiss. All his years of studying and council meetings could not prepare him for this information, nor the waves of emotion that come with it. He loves him, and he is unworthy of this God-like man, but he cannot help it. He wants him, and Gladio wants him back, and it is all he can do to kiss him with the same release of misunderstanding, desperation, and yearning that they both clung to like a precious keepsake.
Gladio pulls away, leaving Ignis breathless and chasing after his lips. Gladio chuckles in response, places a hand on Ignis’s chest to press him back slightly. He’s beaming, and there’s three years’ worth of weight that Ignis never noticed before visibly lifted from Gladio’s eyes. There is a reinvigoration in their sparkle — the sweet, honeyed hue that is reminiscent of warm days spent lounging as the sun filters through the window. Ignis loves him.
“As much as I want to see where this goes,” he says softly, still close enough that Ignis can feel his breath fanning across his lips, “I promised I wasn’t coming here to get laid.”
“Oh, fuck that promise.” Ignis replies, breathless, wrapping his arms around Gladio’s neck and pulling him in for a deep, desperate kiss. Gladio’s noise of amused surprise at the curse morphs into a groan as he kisses back, pressing Ignis into the couch and leaning them down against the armrest.
Gladio is a welcome weight on top of Ignis. He cannot help how he arches into him, to close any space that may exist between them. He wants to feel Gladio’s presence all over him. He wants him to leave scalding trails that will tingle and remind him for days of Gladio against him, around him, inside him.
Gladio slowly trails his tongue along the seam of Ignis’s lips, and Ignis opens his mouth, ready to taste him and react wholeheartedly to his advances in a way he hasn’t allowed himself to for years. Gladio is trying to keep things slow and romantic, but Ignis is far past that. He grabs Gladio’s scruff-lined jaw in either of his hands as he pushes up and into Gladio’s mouth, dominating the kiss. Gladio is trying so hard not to smile, but Ignis can feel it. His mouth is getting narrower and narrower as he tries to suppress the grin, until he can no longer contain himself. He pulls away from Ignis, laughing. Ignis is torn between joining him and being frustrated at the cessation. He opts for raising a brow, but he’s smiling. “What’s all this about?”
“Sorry, Iggy. You were just so eager, and kinda clumsy, too. It’s just not your usual style. I was pretty into it.” He replies, taking hold of Ignis’s cheeks and leaning forward to nuzzle their noses together affectionately.
Ignis pulls back and bats his hands away, crossing his arms. “I most certainly was not ‘clumsy.’” He huffs indignantly.
“Hey, I said I was into it.” Gladio says, swooping in for a quick kiss to Ignis’s lips. “But you’re right, you could never be clumsy. Let’s just stick with eager.” Ignis knows he’s mocking him, and he should care; but he doesn’t. Gladio isn’t wrong. Ignis is eager, very much so. So, he shakes his head and stands, sighing in faux exasperation.
“Your ego never ceases to amaze me. Well, if you want to insist that I’m so invested in this encounter, then why are you stalling?” He asks, turning toward the hallway and walking to the bedroom. He shoots Gladio a suggestive look from over his shoulder, brow raised. “Come, Gladio. You’re wasting the more clandestine hours of our evening.”
He does not have to ask Gladio twice.
Gladio is on his heels immediately, already having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Ignis keeps having to pause as large hands grip his hips and pull him back, so that they’re standing back to chest. Gladio tries multiple times to press him to the wall, too enthusiastic to wait the short while it would take to make it to Ignis’s room. He is shot down each time, though, with Ignis snickering and reminding him that they can’t get to the good part until Gladio lets him walk.
“We could just do it here,” he purrs in his ear, when he’s got an iron-clad grip around Ignis’s waist and he’s pressing his hips to Ignis’s backside. He notes, with no small amount of intrigue, that Gladio is already semi-hard. “Then we can take all the time we want to get back to the bedroom, and do it again there. I don’t see a problem with that plan, Mr. Strategist.” Gladio’s tongue slips out, licks a slow line down the shell of Ignis’s ear that makes him shiver.
He considers it for the briefest of moments, but Ignis’s resolve is firm when he slides his hands around Gladio’s arms, a slow, sensual caress meant to deceive, before he rips them from his midsection and puts some space between them. “It would be a fair plan, were it not for my strict schedule.” He reminds him, smirking. “Much as I would love to ride you all night, I simply haven’t the time.”
The words light a new fire in Gladio’s eyes, and perhaps that was Ignis’s intention with such explicit language. Perhaps he wants to rile Gladio up, so that he snaps the moment they make it to the bedroom — so that he takes Ignis apart in the most ferocious of ways.
He takes the few more steps needed to get to his bedroom door, this time unhindered by the warmth hovering at his back. That is the farthest Gladio will let him go, however, before he grabs him again, and this time, there is no room for argument.
Gladio wraps one arm around Ignis’s waist, the other pressed against the bedroom door as he leans Ignis against it and kisses him fervently. Ignis kisses him back, one arm locking around Gladio’s neck to pull him in closer, deeper, while his other fumbles for the door knob. He finds it, and they stumble back once he finally gets the door open. Gladio’s hands slide down to his backside, giving a firm squeeze, and Ignis gasps into the kiss, pressing his hips forward to roll against Gladio. The growl Gladio releases in response is guttural and there is no semblance of the slow romance he strove for earlier. It is carnal and wanting; it has been too long, and Gladio is too worked up.
That suits Ignis just fine. He releases his hold on Gladio and shoves him back, not too gently, before gripping the ends of his tank top to yank it over his head and toss it to the other side of the room. He’ll pick it up and fold it later, he reasons. But for now, all that matters is Gladio’s fingers making quick work of the buttons down his shirt, and their hot breaths mingling between them.
Gladio throws Ignis’s shirt in the same direction his tank had gone, and immediately sets to work marking up the flesh of Ignis’s torso. Ignis tangles his hands in Gladio’s wild mane, breathing heavily as he sucks small, randomly placed marks against his pectorals, his sternum, his abdominals, anywhere he can reach. Even in his lust-fueled haze, Ignis can recognize that they are meant to be possessive. Normally, it would bother him. Now, he cannot be bothered to care. His heart has belonged to Gladio for years, and denying him this after all the mistreatment would be an injustice. So long as the marks are not visible when he’s clothed, he supposes it’s fine.
Gladio falls to his knees and undoes the clasp on Ignis’s belt, pulling it free before placing his mouth to the button on his pants. He manages, somehow, miraculously, to pop it open with his lips, teeth, and tongue. He uses his teeth to pull the zipper down, painstakingly slow, keeping his eyes locked to Ignis’s the whole time. Ignis feels his breathing coming out in short puffs, transfixed on the sight beneath him as his cock twitches in its confines.
Gladio looks back down as he pulls Ignis’s pants to his ankles. He brings his hands to his hips, holding him steady as he leans forward with half-lidded eyes, tongue out and flattened, to lick a long, thick stripe through the fabric of Ignis’s underwear. Ignis jolts forward, his grip in Gladio’s hair tightening as Gladio continues with his firm licks to Ignis’s throbbing, covered length.
“Stop teasing,” Ignis demands, blessedly managing to keep his voice even. Gladio, however, does not seem too keen on that idea. With a smirk and a look of utter defiance in his eyes, he slides his hands from Ignis’s hips, down to Ignis’s thighs in a feather-light, teasing touch. His lips follow in their wake, ignoring the hard cock right in front of him in lieu of pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down and between muscular thighs. It’s quite the wrong direction from where Ignis wants him, and he huffs in exasperation, yanking Gladio off and stepping back. He kicks off his shoes, then his pants, aiming the latter article in Gladio’s face. It’s almost comical, how Gladio sits there looking confused and almost offended for a moment, before he growls playfully and tackles Ignis to the bed. He pins Ignis down with his wrists on either side of his head, snapping his jaw and taking on the role of a predator so well.
Ignis wants to laugh — he nearly does. He’s got a small smile playing upon his lips, watching how enthusiastic Gladio is in his roughhousing. His amusement dissipates, however, when Gladio rolls his hips down against Ignis’s at the same moment he leans down to bite Ignis’s collar bone. He tries to hold back a moan, but the surprise makes it difficult. He manages to suppress it to a strangled hum in the back of his throat, and Gladio brings his head back up. He looks at Ignis with mock disappointment, still rolling his hips with that slow intensity.
“Would it kill ya’ to let me know you’re enjoying this?” He asks, his breathing a little more shallow than usual. Ignis hums in thought, before he hooks a leg around him and thrusts his pelvis up to meet Gladio mid-undulation. Ignis bites on his lower lip to keep himself quiet as he watches for Gladio’s reaction, very pleased with what he finds. Gladio groans, dropping his head to the crook of Ignis’s neck, and Ignis puffs out a quiet laugh.
“So you’re assuming I enjoy this?” He replies, only slightly out of breath as the friction increases between them.
“Damn right I am.” Gladio says into his skin, pressing firm kisses to the junction between his neck and shoulder. “What happened to admitting how eager you were just a few minutes ago?”
“Perhaps I’ve had a change of heart.” He teases, and wiggles his torso to shake Gladio from where he’s growing quite comfortable. “You could always try to get me interested again, if only you would move on with things.”
Gladio pushes himself up, stops rolling his hips, hovers over Ignis in quiet contemplation for a moment before shaking his head. “Always so bossy, aren’t you?” He says, but he sounds so fond, like he wouldn’t change a thing about Ignis. Ignis realizes he feels the same way. Anyone who was only similar to Gladio was never enough — it’s all the minute details, the infuriating and wonderful things he does, that captivate Ignis. No one could ever compare to him, and it took him this long to figure that out.
His face softens, and he leans up, closing his eyes to meet Gladio halfway in a more serene kiss than the previous ones. The realization that it has to be Gladio — that it always had to be him — makes him warm, makes him feel too gentle, too vulnerable, but it doesn’t matter in this moment. He wants Gladio, and Gladio alone. The thought is grounding.
Gladio kisses him back, mouth closed as they just barely brush against each other with soft tilts of their heads, more a nuzzling of lips than a real kiss. Gladio removes his hands from Ignis’s wrists and wraps his arms around his waist, crushing Ignis with his immense weight and the tight comfort of his embrace. Ignis hugs Gladio’s shoulders, opening his mouth as he wraps his legs around Gladio’s hips and hooks his ankles behind his thighs. He gently bites and tugs at Gladio’s lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and flicking at it with his tongue before releasing it. Ignis parts from Gladio’s lips, presses his head back into the pillow, just to look into that deep amber hue he’s grown so desperately fond of.
Gladio’s breathing is uneven, his pupils dilated. He’s looking right back at Ignis with so much adoration that Ignis wants to look away. He does not. He stares, and feels the hot blush creeping up his cheeks from the attention. He could freeze this moment in time and be happy, he thinks. It’s absurd and preposterous, because he has so many responsibilities, and a prince he’s more devoted to than anyone in this world. But with Gladio looking at him like the stars are in his eyes, he can almost forget about all of it.
Gladio slowly rises, much to Ignis’s dismay, to kneel between Ignis’s legs. Ignis drops his ankles from his thighs, and he probably looks disappointed, because Gladio gives him an apologetic smile before reaching to undo the buckle on his own belt. “It’d be a little hard to do this with all these layers still on me.” He explains, and Ignis is inclined to agree, despite how cold the room suddenly feels without Gladio on top of him.
Gladio does not make a show of removing the rest of his garments the way he normally would. Ignis is quietly grateful for this, because all he wants is to have Gladio against him. He’s naked in a matter of seconds, and Ignis reaches out for him, but his hands are batted away. He looks confused for the briefest of moments, before Gladio gives a pointed look down at Ignis’s lower half.
He’s still clad in damp boxer-briefs, he realizes, and reaches down to remove them. Yet again, his hands are moved, and Gladio shuffles down the bed so that he’s propped on his elbows, his head positioned just above Ignis’s aching cock.
“You didn’t let me get around to this earlier.” He says, teasing a finger just under the waistband. “Let someone else take care of you for once, won’t you?”
Ignis swallows at the mouthwatering sight of Gladio, naked with a hungry gaze directed right at him, and nods in silent assent. He leans back on his elbows, keeping his eyes on Gladio as he pulls down his underwear and gently grips the base of his length while his other hand falls to his hip, rubbing small circles there with his thumb.
Gladio brings his lips to the tip, pressing a soft kiss to it before popping the head in his mouth and giving a hard suck. Ignis groans, his eyes shutting involuntarily while his head falls back. He slowly works his way down, lapping at the vein on the underside while sucking with every new inch he takes, until he’s deep-throating Ignis.
There is no pressure from the hand on his hip, just soothing circles. Ignis rolls his hips experimentally, feeling the breath knocked from him when it earns a deep hum from the back of Gladio’s throat. It sends vibrations that wrack his whole body, and he can’t stop himself from moving his hips back, and then softly up again. He does not fuck Gladio’s mouth with fervor — he’s much too in-control for that; despite how he knows Gladio could, and gladly would, take it, he’s not going to rush this.
He’s too distracted by the otherworldly pressure on his cock to notice Gladio’s free hand reaching into his bedside table to pull out the bottle of lubricant and a condom. He does, however, notice when a cool, slick finger snakes beneath him and begins to gently circle his entrance.
Ignis gasps and cants his hips up so that Gladio has room to work. He’s aided by Gladio’s free hand on his hip, holding him up while he continues humming against and sucking on Ignis’s length. He bobs his head back before pushing back in with a harder suck as the first finger presses in, and Ignis arches his back, breathing shakily at the pressure attacking him from both sides. It isn’t painful, not with one finger, but he knows it won’t stay that way for long. Gladio is considerably larger than anyone else Ignis has been with, and it always takes a bit more time and care to reacquaint himself with the sheer size of him. It’s always worth it, though, and Gladio is always such a caring, attentive partner that they’ve never run into any roadblocks.
Gladio pushes his finger in, slowly at first, then he’s gently thrusting it in and out, loosening Ignis up and acclimating him to the intrusion. There’s little resistance, and Ignis feels the smallest stab of guilt for the most miniscule of moments, before Gladio’s pressing a second finger in, and Ignis releases a slow, forced breath. There’s finally a little bit of tension, and Ignis thinks he feels Gladio smirking around his cock. He doesn’t dwell on it, though, because Gladio’s bobbing his head just a little faster, sucking just a little harder, while he scissors his fingers, trying to get Ignis loose enough to take him. Ignis bites the inside of his cheek and screws his eyes shut, his breathing laborious as he attempts to relax. He tends to forget that, like everything about Gladio, his fingers are also quite a bit bigger than most people’s. One was not much, but two spreading him has about as much strain as the standard three-finger prep most people finish off with.
Gladio’s thumb starts rubbing soothing circles into his hip again. It’s a reassurance. If he can just release the tension in his body, then it’ll start to feel good again. He finally manages to relax, and the moment his body isn’t so seized up, Gladio works a little more freely. It takes almost no time for him to find that blessed bundle of nerves inside Ignis. He pulls his mouth off from his cock, simultaneously crooking his fingers to press directly onto his prostate. Ignis hisses at the cool air on his wet cock, a noise that turns into a moan partway through.
Gladio gently abuses that spot for a moment, before pulling out and pushing back in with three fingers, just to be sure. The scissoring acclimated his body enough that the extra intrusion hardly bothers him, and he grinds down on his fingers, urging Gladio to hit that sweet spot again. He does, jabbing it once, twice, before he removes his fingers completely and sits up. Ignis has half a mind to be upset, but the complaint dies before it forms on his lips when he sees Gladio tearing the condom packet with his teeth.
Ignis’s eyes dart down to Gladio’s cock, and he almost wants to moan at the sight. It’s leaking and an appealing shade of red, and Ignis’s head swims with the very thought of having something so large and solid inside of him. He looks back up and catches Gladio’s eyes to find him smirking, eyebrow raised as he takes the packet from his mouth and removes the condom.
“Like what you see?” He asks, and it’s such a silly question that Ignis has half a mind to smack him.
“No, actually. I’d rather see it disappearing inside me right about now.” He quips, and Gladio barks out a laugh.
“Guess I can make that happen.” He murmurs, rolling on the condom and shuffling forward on his knees. He grabs Ignis by the thighs and wraps them around his hips before grabbing the base of his dick and lining it up.
The anticipation as the head of Gladio’s cock just barely presses against him is maddening. He rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling as his chest rises and falls heavily. But the pressure of Gladio sliding inside him never comes.
He furrows his brow, mildly irritated that he’s so close to having what he’s so desperately wanted for too long, only for Gladio to hold out on him. He lifts his head back up and opens his mouth to say something snarky, but the moment he looks back at Gladio, the words die on his lips and he’s groaning as Gladio pushes in to the hilt. On instinct, he reaches out, gripping Gladio by the shoulders and dragging him down as he lays back against the pillows.
“Sorry, Iggy. I really wanted to see your face when I finally did it…and catching you by surprise is pretty rich, too.” He whispers into Ignis’s ear. He does not sound apologetic at all.
Ignis huffs, rolling his hips in response as he drags his nails down Gladio’s back. That pulls a choked groan from Gladio, which Ignis chalks up as some well-earned revenge.
“That’s all very well, but I’d like to get on to the good part, if you don’t mind.” Ignis replies, one hand feathering caresses along the angry red trails he just left along Gladio’s back, while the other plays with the hair at the base of his skull.
“What, you’re saying the rest of it isn’t any fun?” Gladio says as he starts up a slow, shallow rhythm with his hips. Ignis sighs, quietly, and tilts his head back to look at Gladio with a smirk.
“Not at all. But this,” he arches up, and forces his hips down while clenching his muscles to meet Gladio in the middle of a thrust, “is what I like best.”
Gladio’s eyes practically roll into the back of his head, and suddenly he’s done with being slow and shallow. He breathes through his teeth, and his grip on Ignis’s hips is bruising now. Ignis revels in it, undulating his hips in time with Gladio’s more vigorous thrusts as he listens to Gladio’s breath coming out harder with his exertion.
“Damn tease.” He grumbles, burying his face into Ignis’s neck.
“You wouldn’t have me any other way.” He replies, voice quiet and wispy as he gasps into Gladio’s hair. His arms tighten around Gladio’s shoulders, the hand playing with his hair gripping just shy of painful.
Gladio moans into his neck, and angles his hips so that he barely brushes against Ignis’s prostate. Ignis gasps, a dichotomous tonic of pleasure and frustration roiling within him at the teasing.
“Damn right, I wouldn’t.” Gladio bites out through his teeth, and this time when he thrusts back in, it’s hard and fast and aimed directly at where Ignis wants him.
He cannot help himself, gasping “Gladio,” like a quiet, breathy prayer directly into his lover’s ear. Gladio’s dick twitches inside of him, right against his prostate, and Ignis feels his own precum leaking down his length at the sensation.
Gladio groans into his neck, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses against his pulse as he thrusts harder, deeper, sacrificing some of his speed for the more powerful thrusts. Ignis is writhing beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat and pressure of Gladio surrounding him and inside of him and he feels a light sheen of sweat at his brow. He can feel his hair sticking to his forehead, and he knows he’s a mess and that he’s coming undone beneath this beautiful man, but he can’t be bothered to care. Not when he’s positively vibrating with pleasure and practically suffocating on every other breath with the effort to keep his noises in check.
Gladio is taking none of that. The moment he feels himself getting close, his hand is on Ignis’s dick, and he’s aiming for Ignis’s prostate with every thrust, even as his pace grows erratic. Ignis can hardly contain his mewls of pleasure any longer, and he practically cries out when Gladio swipes his thumb over the head and hits that tantalizing bundle of nerves at the same time.
His legs lock around Gladio’s waist, nails digging into the flesh of shoulder and scalp as he comes undone. He calls out Gladio’s name as he comes across their stomachs, seizing and clenching and positively writhing as Gladio continues to thrust and milk his orgasm from him.
Gladio comes just as Ignis finishes, on the verge of overstimulation and pain, but never quite reaching that point. Gladio pushes all the way in and comes deep inside him, biting out a strained, “Ignis,” through his teeth. His hands come around to grip Ignis’s backside and squeeze hard enough that Ignis is sure there will be handprint bruises there in the morning. Admittedly, he’s looking forward to it.
Gladio thrusts shallowly a few times as he finishes off the final waves of bliss, before dropping down and landing chest to sticky chest with Ignis.
Ignis’s face screws up in distaste, and he presses a hand to Gladio’s shoulder in an attempt to shove him off.
Gladio, for all the prowess he has, becomes quite the lazy lion in his afterglow. He grunts, but makes no move to shift positions. Rather, he moves his hands from Ignis’s ass and wraps them around his waist, pulling him in against him tightly enough that breathing becomes difficult.
“Gladio, cuddling is fine, but at least wash up first.” He reasons, squirming in his behemoth of a lover’s embrace.
This time, Gladio groans in irritation as he lifts himself up and slides out of Ignis, both wincing at the sensation. Gladio removes the condom and ties it off, tossing it into the trash by Ignis’s bed.
“Alright, I’m up.” He says, and gets off the bed. Ignis moves to follow him, but Gladio pushes him down. When Ignis gives him a questioning look, Gladio shakes his head and moves toward the door.
“I said I’m taking care of you, didn’t I? Just relax, I’ll be back in a second.”
“I doubt you’ll be that quick.” Ignis replies, relishing in the eyeroll it grants him. But Gladio dutifully walks away, and is back with a damp towelette shortly enough.
He cleans off Ignis’s torso, then his own, and throws the cloth into the laundry basket before getting back into bed and pulling the covers over them.
Ignis sighs contentedly, turning to his side with his back facing Gladio, while Gladio moves to press against him, wrapping his arms around his midsection. He presses a kiss to the back of Ignis’s neck, and mutters a soft, “Good night.”
Ignis only hums in response. After all, it is the first of many to come — he’ll have plenty of opportunities to wish Gladio the same.