Chapter Text
A gift of a breeze flows through the open doors, warm when it wafts the delicious smell of spices from nearby food stalls over Ignis as he shrugs out of his jacket. He rolls his sleeves to the elbow, undoing the top buttons of the collar as he meanders over to the balcony. Late afternoon sunshine spills in boxed puddles on the floor, Gladio’s figure a dark outline against the golden backdrop where he leans against the railing.
Several reassurances cross Ignis’ mind, but he settles for silence, arm pressed solidly against Gladio’s as he waits. A cacophony of laughter and noise difts over from the direction of Lestallum’s main boulevard and slowly the strain seeps out of Gladio’s shoulders.
Ignis traces the line of his profile with his eyes - along Gladio’s proud brow and strong nose, the delicate sweep of his lashes against his cheek. So many look to him and see an impervious stronghold, a boulder with nothing to fear, but Ignis knows otherwise.
“Shall we join the festivities?”
Gladio snorts. “If Noct saw us there, he’d assume we were following them.”
“Would he be wrong?”
“No.”
He’d never forgive them if they did, but it’s hard to resist the urge. Noctis isn’t defenseless by any means, but there are still so many unknown factors. It’s hard to let go, to keep distance, for if anything were to happen to him, Ignis will never be able to forgive himself.
Shaking the thoughts free of his mind - trust, they have to trust him - he slips an arm around Gladio to tuck his chin over his shoulder. “There’s time to relax.”
“I don’t think I can,” says Gladio as he leans back into the hold regardless, sighing when one of Ignis’ bare hands slips beneath his open jacket to rest above his heart. “Do you think they’re okay?”
“Noctis checked in only fifteen minutes ago.”
“I know…”
The reminder is for them both, a band-aid for the tension which has been a constant companion since the day the messenger brought word of visitors, there to change the course of their futures. Ignis thinks back to the hell of a week after the Niflheim envoy arrived, chaos in their wake, back to how Gladio had folded into his arms in the privacy of their rooms and broke, confessions of uselessness spilling from his lips - the fear, the anger, the guilt. There’s nothing they can protect Noctis from with this - no weapon to jump in front, no attack to save him from - only the burden of an entire war’s end, too important to forego.
No matter how much Ignis had reassured him he hadn’t failed and that he’s worth so much more than he gives himself credit, he knows it will take more than words to overcome years of deep-rooted insecurities. While Gladio can shut off the water that feeds them, twist the faucet shut and act only on his duty, their devotion to Noctis runs deeper than anything that can be staunched, and it’s only so long before the dam breaks.
They stand together and breathe, the steady pulse of Gladio’s heartbeat a solid comfort. Not only has their affection with Noctis taken a blow, but so has it between each other as well. There’s hardly time to seek comfort when every moment is balanced on a knife’s edge.
Beneath his hand, Gladio’s chest stutters. “He’s going to forget about us.”
Ignis knows he isn’t talking about the texts.
They’ve always known Noctis’ hand was still a card in the deck of political negotiation, but it’s so much harder to deal with the consequences head on. Ignis will forever remain by his side, no matter the context, and a part of him can find it to be content with that, but there’s also the fear of being overshadowed in the light of Prompto’s return. It’s a disservice to even consider Noctis to be so heartless as to cast them aside, but doubts can be awfully hard to silence when even their slightest affection must be distanced and concealed.
It would be devastating for the treaty to be called off before it’s finalized, and at the end of the day, Noctis is doing this for his people. Conflict and guilt roil in Ignis’ stomach for even entertaining the notion of being more important than Insomnia’s populace. No, he will be happy with whatever status is granted to him once the marriage is said and done.
Ignis folds closer against Gladio’s back, squeezing his arms tight as if to hold the fissures together while he repeats the words he said back in Insomnia. “No matter what happens, we are going to stick together.”
There’s no response, but he isn’t expecting one. He can only hope to offer comfort best he can, but still he worries. How much solace can he be when Gladio is already mourning the death of a relationship which hasn’t even ended?
“You need to speak with him,” he says, brushing aside Gladio’s soft locks to kiss his neck.
Dancing around these topics has never been a luxury they could afford, not if they wanted their unconventional relationship to work. Negative emotions don’t vanish overnight, they have to be nipped in the bud upon arrival, aired out in the open between them all, and they were better for it.
Gladio laughs and it comes out a rattling, empty sort of thing. “When will we have the time? He’s always with Prompto.”
As he considers this, Ignis’ lips twist into a thoughtful frown. It’s true that the two have hardly been separable, aside from a few stolen moments, and then of course, Prince Prompto is a curiosity all his own.
During their journey he’s hardly come across as the type to be needlessly cruel, if even the opposite. He may be open to the discussion of Noctis retaining official consorts, but doubt is a fickle visitor. There are a great many mysteries surrounding him - how he ended up in the Tenebrae of Noctis’ childhood, if he had been prince even then, what his goals may be in the hurricane of this mess - and despite how believably nervous and kind-hearted he acts, there’s still the threat of more sinister intentions. Ignis won’t deign to hope until everything is official. Then perhaps there will be time to discuss, to court.
But it won’t do any good to linger over the fantasy of it now, and instead Ignis prods for the deeper problem at hand. “What are your thoughts on him, now that we’ve traveled together?”
“He’s a Niff.”
Ignis tsks. “That’s not the problem, now is it?”
He maintains his silence until Gladio wilts. “I never thought it’d go like this,” he says wearily. “Noctis’ childhood friend returns and he’s a prince? There’s no chance. He can actually… be with him, in a way he can’t with us.”
A pang of hurt chases his words close behind in Ignis’ chest. Isn’t he enough? If Noctis really were to pull away from them, would Gladio be unsatisfied with only him? He steadies himself with a deep breath, relaxing into the soft scent of shampoo and sunkissed skin. There are the negative feelings he was expecting, but now is not the time to address his own uncertainties. He needs to stay here and be present as a pillar for Gladio to lean on.
“Perhaps not, but that hardly means he cares for us any less. We don’t know if Niflheim’s intentions are true,” he says and debates over the truth of his next words, “but there’s a chance the treaty will hold and Prompto… won’t be going away.”
Gladio says nothing, jaw clenching.
“It isn’t a competition.”
“I know!” he snaps, but the second the words leave his lips he’s apologizing, bringing Ignis’ hand up to kiss the knuckles. It’s followed by a softer, more resigned repetition. “I know.”
Still, Ignis does not move from his back, accepting his remorse silently. “At any rate,” he continues, “getting to know him may help our endeavor either way - both in getting close for answers or in the case that things end of going as they’re intended.”
“Right, right.” Gladio sighs and tilts his head back to rest on Ignis’ shoulder. “Okay. I’ll… talk to Noct, and I’ll try to - to be more amicable towards Prompto. To get more information, but that’s all I’ll promise.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Business said and done, Ignis changes course, wiping his mind as he presses his lips to the strong curve of Gladio’s jaw before sliding them to his ear. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”
It has the intended effect, Gladio’s eyes slipping closed as his chest rumbles. “You and Noct had a fight,” he recounts, and flashes of angry words, sharp and bitter, papers across the floor and a pan tossed in the sink cut clear in Ignis’ mind. “When I found you, you were so upset.”
“You love him don’t you.”
Ignis sputters in shock. He and Gladio may have grown closer over the last few years in their circles around their prince, but he’s never confessed the notion to even himself. “Of course not! That would be…” He falters. “Inappropriate.”
“It’s okay, Iggy,” says Gladio, a sad tilt to his sheepish smile. “I get it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
Jealousy sprouts in his chest like a weed - Noctis is his to look after, to care for and protect and… love - but it’s cut short by Gladio’s hand grabbing his own. He lets go right away, looking sheepish. “I thought maybe, since neither of us can be with who we want…”
Ignis stares at him, unsure if he’s jumping to conclusions, and Gladio shrugs. “Nevermind. Sorry for bothering you,” he says as he ducks his head, cheeks flush with embarrassment, and turns to leave, when Ignis snatches at his wrist to stop him.
It’s not as if he’s been blind to how Gladio has grown into his body and station - strong shoulders broadening to match a strong will - and he admires the way he’s firm with Noctis and yet encouraging. It never occurred to Ignis to look for affection elsewhere, not when his heart would always belong to his first love, but perhaps…
When their lips meet it’s like the crash of waves upon the shore, pent up emotions threatening to drag them under.
Somewhere down the line it had bloomed into something more, something genuine - the frantic kisses slowing down into softer touches, their late nights spent in conversation turning to confessions. Gladio admitted to how much he struggled to accept how his duty ordained his life worth less than Noctis’ in the grand scheme of things, to how his duty evolved into love. In return, Ignis talked of how his affection had only grown stronger over the years, how he feared being removed from his position if he confessed. They may have fallen out of shared desperation, but together they found comfort and understanding. They would always be in the circle of Noctis’ gravity, but nothing prevented them from drawing near each other as well.
“We were so dumb,” says Gladio with a laugh, and oh, how good it is to hear the sound again.
Ignis smiles. “But it worked out in the end.”
It had come so suddenly, and yet not at all, Gladio standing before him with sincerity shining deep in his eyes.
“I care for you.”
“And what of Noct?” asks Ignis, despite the frantic pounding of his heart.
Gladio shrugs. “Can’t I have enough love in my heart for you both?”
The notion is so deceptively simple that Ignis can’t help but wonder why he’d never entertained it himself. Afraid to hope, perhaps. It’s frightening how much it makes sense to him, how his devotion to Noctis an underlying current even as he nods.
He doesn’t mention how much work it had taken - how Noctis had found out, caught them kissing in an alcove of the Citadel and ran away. The heartbreak and seedling jealousy they’d all had to sort through even after Ignis had found him hiding in the gardens and explained. It hadn’t been the easiest path to take, but they’d made it work, three satellites orbiting in tandem.
Prompto is a meteor, and in the end, no amount of understanding and forethought could have prepared them for the instability he threw them in. Perhaps there could be enough love in Ignis’ heart for him, too - endearing affection slowly creeping into his consciousness - but it’s too soon, too uncertain, to hope. Especially with Gladio pulling away from them all.
When he turns around, Ignis draws him near, their kiss familiar and gentle, like coming home after miles of distance between them. He reaches up, Gladio’s stubble rough against his palm as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. There are shadows looming in the back of his mind - his worry for Noctis, apprehension of Prompto, and a sprout of jealousy yet unpruned - but for now he wants to escape, wants to harbor Gladio in a safe bubble away from the mess their lives have become.
Ignis pours this into their embrace, their lips giving and taking until he has to pull away to breathe, staring up into Gladio’s glassy eyes searchingly. “Shall we take this inside?”
They stumble into the shade of the hotel room, lit by the first fingers of the sunset streaking across the sky in a blaze of golds and reds that bounce across the bedspread. Taking off their clothes serves as a loving ritual, gently undressing each other as they fall deeper into the present, into each other, until at last Ignis sets aside his glasses for safekeeping and snags some supplies to set aside on the bed.
Gladio has already made himself at home, sat in the center leaning back on his hands as he openly admires Ignis, watching him cross the room to climb into his lap. He shifts then, the brush of their cocks encouraging a moan from Ignis’ lips as he sits up fully, until they’re sat so closely together it’s hard to distinguish where one ends and the other begins.
It’s pure relief, the contact between them, and Ignis leans his forehead against Gladio’s, closing his eyes as he relishes the warmth of skin on skin. They take their time remapping each others’ bodies, hands following the curves and sinew of muscle and bone, Ignis stifling a laugh when Gladio’s calloused hands skirt a hair too close to the sensitive spot along his ribs.
He kisses him again, chaste despite their vulnerability, and loops his arms about Gladio’s strong shoulders to roll his hips gently. The sound it evokes is heaven to his ears and Ignis grins, despite his own state of arousal.
“How would you like me?” he asks, unsure of what would best help Gladio hide from his thoughts - even after years of exploring each other every which way.
Pausing, Gladio stares up at him with lidded eyes and heavy breaths. “Iggy,” he says softly. “Like this? Please.”
In answer, Ignis kisses the corner of his eye and reaches for the bottle of lube. It’s been a while since they’ve had any suitable alone time, the anticipation building and building as he fumbles the cap. He wants so badly to feel connected, to forget the stress of having to restrain his affections, his need to touch, to comfort.
Gladio takes it from his hands. “Let me.”
His fingers are slick when he touches him and Ignis falls forward against his chest with a shudder as he rubs gently. The first slip inside only stokes the flames, the pressure and stretch working him open steadily as he sucks lazily at the juncture of Gladio’s collarbone. By the time a second finger slides home alongside the first, there’s a faint mark underneath his lips and he lets go to moan when they brush past where he needs them most.
“Tease,” he breathes, and Gladio laughs, stretching him further until he can fit in a third.
Sweat sticks along the curve of Ignis’ back, the hot press of their arousals between them maddening as he rocks down on Gladio’s thick fingers. It feels as though he has never existed out of this moment - outside of here and now, full and needy for more as he lifts himself up and away, rolling on the condom and slicking Gladio’s length.
They both cry out when he presses down, the heat alone enough for Ignis’ toes to curl, and by the time he’s fully seated they’re both panting hard. He pauses, letting them catch their breath as he adjusts to the stretch. Gladio’s forehead rests against where his heart knocks frantically against his chest, arms holding him close as close can be.
Ignis sweeps the cloud of his hair back from his face, rubbing his fingers over the stubble of the shaved sides before sinking into the soft locks. He focuses on brushing through them until at last Gladio raises his head to kiss him.
Their lips whisper across each other, feather light as they brush again and again. Ignis is the one to break, hips circling as he grows impatient and Gladio moans against his mouth. The kisses devolve into sloppy caresses, their breath mingling as Ignis strikes up a rhythm, the sound of their hips meeting filling the air. Vaguely Ignis wonders if anyone could hear them from over the balcony and the fire in his stomach grows.
His thighs are already aching dully, the kind only a thorough workout can instill, but still Ignis is relentless. Every noise he pulls from Gladio is encouragement, every groan of his name a blessing. The heat of Lestallum is unforgiving, even as the sun sets, and the bronze of Gladio’s skin glistens in the dying light.
“Do you remember the first time you fucked me?” asks Ignis, bending to nibble along the column of his neck. “Held me down until your sheets smelled only of us.”
“I made love to you,” says Gladio breathlessly. He cries out when Ignis snaps down sharply, smearing a kiss across his cheek.
“Mmm yes, you laid out an entire candlelit dinner, if I remember correctly.”
Gladio laughs, the sound breaking off halfway. “Went cold ‘cause you pounced on me at the door.”
“Always such a romantic,” Ignis teases.
“That such a bad thing?”
It comes out softer, unsure, and Ignis slows, catching his breath as he cups his cheeks between his hands. The throb inside him is an inferno, the cradle of Gladio’s hips a sanctuary as he leans in to whisper in his ear. “Of course not, love, you’re so good for me.”
The praise evokes a full body shudder from Gladio, the soft noise that spills from his lips driving Ignis to pick up the pace again, lifting himself up and falling roughly as the words spill out of his mouth like a waterfall. “You take such good care of us, don’t you?” he gasps, Gladio’s fingers on his waist digging deep. “Only want to keep us close to you, to keep us safe, protected.”
Ignis cries out when Gladio yanks him down, striking hard and deep as he holds him close. It’s difficult to keep track of who pushes and who pulls, the heat building higher and higher until the edge is there and suddenly Ignis is falling, shaking apart in Gladio’s arms as he follows right behind.
They collapse against the bed, chests heaving in tandem as they come down. For a while Ignis’ mind is blissfully blank, focused only the warmth of Gladio beneath him and the trace of his fingertips down the notches of his spine. Slowly the cadence of their hearts slows to something steady, but still they don’t move. Gladio kisses his temple, stubble rasping against his skin, and Ignis knows they should move - should clean up and see where the others have run off to - but he’s afraid of breaking the bubble they’ve crafted for themselves, of the relaxed intimacy between them.
It can wait, he thinks, and for now he memorizes the loops and swirls Gladio draws and smiles at the series of hearts. So much about their future is uncertain, but Ignis knows his place is both by their prince’s side and here in Gladio’s arms, and for now, that’s enough.