nascere | LET'S PLAY {open post}

I know it's not fair. I know precious little has been fair, for you, for most of your life.

[ He's sorry, he's so, so sorry, because if ever there were a person who deserved fairness, who deserved something right, it's Noctis. He's sacrificed everything so that everyone else can lead the lives they did before Ardyn and his machinations, and now he's sacrificing again, every moment in an unhappy marriage.

It could maybe be happy if they weren't both distracted, weren't borderline obsessed with each other. It's love, he's not about to deny that, but it's also something darker, something with sharp edges that they keep cutting themselves and each other on. ]

I told you I would be ever at your side, Noctis. It may not be in the same capacity, but maybe I've been the one letting this drag on for too long. [ Maybe, he says, as if it's not absolutely his fault for letting this go on so long. ] I'm going to shower. I'm not -- Six damn us both but I'm not going to let anything happen before a shower.

[ It could never be a happy marriage as long as Ignis isn't a part of it, it's that simple. Noctis has only ever loved Ignis to the exclusion of just about everything, that streak of cruelty in his singlemindedness that Octavia wordlessly endures, aware at every moment that his love can never be afforded to her, not when Ignis predominates and eclipses all else.

It's obsession, it's something more powerful and immovable than love that takes hold in them both, and Noctis finds that he doesn't care. ]

And I told you I would not have one without the other. [ Noctis hadn't fought him on it that day, but he had not budged from it -- he will not. He doesn't stop him when he heads for the shower, only choosing to open the windows to let the air in. It's absurd in so many little ways, how Ignis doesn't say no to him, how Noctis stubbornly demands to stay. ]

[ He meant alone but maybe he should have realized that by mentioning it, Noctis would simply assume he was invited. Of course.

Teeth clenched, Ignis heads for the bathroom and turns the water on hot, steam filling the bathroom bit by bit as soon as the water kicks on. He doesn't feel dirty after his and Aranea's -- whatever they're calling this. It's more that he doesn't like the implications of it, of Noctis touching him directly after he's spent hours trying to distract himself. Maybe it also doesn't feel fair, but then, fairness has nothing to do with anything these days.

Whatever Noctis is doing in the bedroom is ignored. The windows open will help, of course, and it isn't as if they had sex in his bed; she'd pushed him up against the wall and that's where they'd stayed. Maybe he should've, but he doesn't trust Noctis not to want to fuck where they had, as if he's reclaiming Ignis for his own again. Without waiting to see what the other man will do, he slides into the shower and closes the door firmly, turning his face into the spray. ]

[ Really, Ignis. You should know your liege and lover a lot better than that by now. Of course he's going to assume that he's invited -- Noctis has been denied little, his willfulness augmented by the surety of his birthright. It's a twisted state of matters, how so much has been taken from him and yet how he had been denied little when it comes to Ignis.

It's moments later that he carefully sheds his clothes, willful and demanding to a fault, pushing where Ignis gives, taking where he hasn't asked him to stop, and even if he's grown through the years he would always want Ignis, and he steps into the bathroom with him, sliding open the doors to ease behind him, an arm sliding around his waist. The hot water is nearly scalding, and this time Noctis doesn't mind if it scours Aranea from Ignis' skin. He belongs only to him, heart and mind and soul, and Noctis will relinquish nothing. ]

[ He should but he isn't sure what he's hoping for. Maybe, that Noctis decides to leave, or to wait until they have to talk in his study. Maybe, that he waits until Ignis washes himself, as if that will make things better.

Neither of these happen; Ignis presses his face into the wet-hot stream of water and is endlessly relieved that they'll hide at least some of his shame, and then Noctis is pushing his way in. A better man would be angry. A better man would chastise him, would tell him that he has a wife waiting, that he's cheating with a man who can never give him what they both want. A better man, Ignis is not.

The door opens, the shower door opening next and Ignis, weak as ever, unable and unwilling to say no, shifts into him. He isn't so foolish as to give him full run of the shower, but he does tilt himself enough that he's not hogging all of the hot water, does move so that they can share it and stares at Noctis a long, quiet moment, not sure if he's more disappointed in himself or the king. ]

Hurry up, then.

[ He lifts his hands and squirts the soap into them, quiet as he works it over himself, decidedly not looking at the long, strong lines of Noctis' body, decidedly not thinking about how he could take him here in the shower and Octavia would never know or care. ]

[ There's more than enough disappointment to go around, Ignis -- and Noctis is no stranger to it himself. He wakes to wonder about it, too; the things he's done, dishonorable in the eyes of so many for Ignis' sake, but love is love and for his sake Noctis would rake himself through the coals and come out of it bleeding.

For Ignis' sake, Noctis can be the villain of this story.

They share the shower, and Noctis gently eases his hands away, taking some soap for himself, wet palms coming to smooth over Ignis' shoulders, his chest, stomach, lower. He steps so impossibly close, looking back at him with eyes the color of the bluest sky, unclouded and impossibly clear. He knows exactly what he's doing, what he wants, and Ignis is at the heart of it all. ]

[ It, like all things with Noctis, would be easier if this was just about sex.

If it were only about sex, Ignis could tell him no. He doesn't have any great desire for it, doesn't hunger for it, doesn't desperately desire to feel the touch of another against him. Sex is base, sex is something that he enjoys greatly when done well and passes the time when done mediocre at best.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), sex with Noctis is always fantastic. It's a side-effect of always knowing exactly just what does it for another person. It's a side effect of having sex on a consistent basis for years.

It means that when Noctis slides into the shower and presses in close against him, sliding soapy hands over him, Ignis is familiar. He knows every bit of calluses on the smooth line of his palms, knows just where to touch in return to drag noises out of him. If he doesn't use that knowledge, well, that's his own fault.

Instead, he focuses on washing his hair independent of Noctis, tilting his face into the spray. When it's done and he's clean, he gives Noctis a long, lingering look and then shakes his head. ]

You can finish. I'll be in bed.

Edited 2018-01-01 10:30 (UTC)

[ But it's not about sex at all -- if it were, wouldn't it be so much easier? Ignis leaves the shower too quickly, and Noctis is left to himself for minutes as he cleans himself up, affords himself minutes to clear his head. He will not return to Octavia tonight, he's sure of it; she is a good woman, perhaps even better than anyone deserves, especially him, but it's long past for self-flagellation when Noctis knows he wants nothing else for himself but Ignis.

He dries off after, taking a towel from the rack, and he steps back into the room, and towards the bed Ignis is in, naked as the day he was born and now entirely unconcerned with it. A lifetime ago, he would've been self-conscious; but oh, they have done so much worse in the name of love, haven't they? He thinks of Aranea, wonders if they had fucked in here, if she'd pressed over him just the way he liked, and did she spread her legs for him or did he do it for her?

Does it matter? ]

[ While he's giving himself a cursory pat down, he can almost pretend that he's not about to make a massive mistake all over again. It's when he's in bed, lost in the plush covers and softer pillows that he remembers the little ring box in his closet. He'd moved it along with all of his things out, the last second of the last day.

Now, it felt like he was living in a room too large for him. He probably was, really; the quarters he'd been given were far more than what one person needed. They were perfect for two.

Back in his briefs and a tshirt, one he's had for ages and doesn't even recognize as Noctis' any longer, he thumbs through his phone, eyeing the other man as he pads out from the bathroom, naked. ]

Take care not to slip on the tile.

Yeah, what a way to finally die. Cracking my skull open on the tile in your room.

[ Noctis says dryly, before deciding that he could do with some clothes -- the window's open and it's chilly, and without so much as a by your leave, he snags a shirt and a pair of sweatpants and pulls it on.

And onto Ignis' bed he goes, climbing in under the covers like he's always belonged there even if it still bothers him that he's probably had sex in here. It's surreal, what's happening right here, right now, but he's in too deep to stop now. ] Where did you do it?

Please don't joke about your death, especially in my room.

[ For how mildly it's murmured, Ignis' face looks awful for a moment, because he can imagine it instantly and without any sort of guessing as to how it'd look. He may not have seen someone in real life have that happen to them, but deal with enough death and enough gore and you learn what will probably happen, what to expect. The long period of darkness left too many dead and Ignis has no trouble at all with his traitorous mind whispering that it would be ironic to lose Noctis during an affair like this, rather than in that awful period.

Noctis is going to make himself welcome no matter what he says so Ignis turns back to his phone, waiting for the bed to shift. ( Noctis would leave if he told him. He just needs to be strong enough to. )

Of course, he asks another question he probably doesn't want the answer to. ]

Are you feeling particularly masochistic tonight, or just trying to see where you can dig the blade in to me?

[ No joking about death. Right. He sees the look on Ignis' face and knows that he'd taken a step too far there -- his life had not been assured back then, and he had been slated to die. Ignis had saved it through sheer force of will, through his sacrifice, and Noctis can never repay him enough for it.

He climbs into bed, slides under the familiar covers and closes his eyes. He's not tired, not really -- the warmth of Ignis' body near his is an impossible thing, and for a moment he can fool himself into thinking that they've married each other, that this could be theirs. Moments earned instead of stolen. ]

Can we just -- can we forget everything else just for tonight? [ Everything else but each other; there's plenty of time for self-flagellation after this, but right now, right now Noctis needs him. He needs Ignis the man, the one so beloved of the king -- not the adviser. ]

[ The bed barely shifts with his weight, too expensive to change too much with the addition of another body. After moving out of the royal quarters, Ignis had ordered himself a ridiculously expensive, excessive mattress. If he was going to be sleeping alone at nights, then he was going to spend it somewhere good, somewhere comfortable. ]

Probably not.

[ He isn't prone to fits of melancholy, but right now, that's the only word for it. Noctis climbs into bed with him, clad in his clothes just as Ignis wears Noctis and for a moment, this could be familiar. Ignis rolls over onto his side and looks at the other man, looks at his king across the massive space between them: metaphorical and physical, and hurts. ]

Not that it particularly matters but the sheets are clean. I wouldn't -- I would have changed them before allowing you into them.

[ Probably not, he says, and Noctis doesn't argue, doesn't force his point. He shifts and turns on his side when Ignis does, meeting his eyes head on. He can see it, the pain in his eyes, and how Ignis is hurting. He doesn't miss how his lover still wears his shirt at night, and he wonders if Ignis gleans comfort from it, if he pretends sometimes that they're still together in the ways that matter. ]

I figured, a couple seconds ago. [ He admits. And he's reaching out to touch his cheek, fingers brushing over his cheekbones. It hurts -- there's nothing about this that doesn't bring pain, and he leans in to press a soft kiss to his forehad, brows knitted. ] Didn't think you were cruel enough to let me in with... that.

[ He's quiet for a moment, and sighs. ] I miss you.

Let you in. There's a choice of words.

[ With someone else, those words may have come out sharper, angrier. For Ignis, it's soft and resigned. Let him in, as if Ignis had any choice in the matter, what with Noctis letting himself into the room. Did he camp out and wait for Aranea to leave? That's an...uncomfortable thought that he doesn't want to consider, but he's distracted before he can fully consider the implications. Noctis strokes over his cheekbone and Ignis breathes out, soft and slow, catching Noctis' hand in his so he can tug it in for a kiss. There's no attempt on his part to bridge the gap between them aside from this. ]

I've always been right here, Noctis.

[ It is. maybe, too carefully said. Not I'll always be right here or I'll never leave you. He's left too many times to make that promise but he will and has always come back. ]

No, you haven't.

[ The times Ignis had left had been nothing short of torture, and perhaps he had left with them both knowing that there's little Noctis can do about it -- the king is not the only one that's hurting, and Ignis, too; Ignis must be in hell, fighting to keep it together every moment of every day.

Ignis doesn't breach the distance but Noctis does, closing the space between them, pressing his body up against his as he drapes an arm around his waist the way he always had a lifetime ago, when they had hoped, had dreamed for a day when they could be together out in the open. ] But that's okay. You've been hurting, too.

I have. Everything I've done has been for your benefit, for your country's benefit.

[ It's not fair to justify these trips as if they're something he's forced to go on. He could, if he wanted, avoid some of them. Noctis could order him not to go. Ignis has an assistant for that very reason, after all; he could send her. It's unfair to pretend that each trip hasn't been Ignis running away, trying to reset himself to normal, to adjust to a world where they've fixed everything around them except for themselves.

When Noctis slides across the bed, he doesn't resist. It's habit, or instinct, or whatever you like to call it: one leg slides between both of Noctis' and he fits his body in close like he has a thousand times. Like calls to like. He ought to tell Noctis about that innocuous scrap of paper that means so much, though. ]

Aranea offered me a job.

It's your country too, Ignis. [ Ours. Ignis had fought harder than anyone else, sacrificed more than anyone else -- Noctis will never forget the day he'd seen him wield the ring of the Lucii, how he had almost burned up for Noctis' sake. But he doesn't push more than that, tangling his limbs with his and pulling him close. He's starved of him, he's missed him so sorely, and it doesn't help that Ignis fits so perfectly in his arms, warm and solid and willing.

He holds him tight, because like calls to like and Ignis has always been the other half of his soul, the missing piece in his heart. But then he speaks, and Noctis tenses.

Aranea, offering him a job. Is he going to leave him? ] Yeah?

I'm aware.

[ Noctis seems...smaller, like this. Bundled up under the massive covers, quiet and sad. Ignis hates this - hates the situation, the knowledge that nothing will really change here, hates so much about what's going on that it's like a physical pain inside his chest, like he's being burned from the inside out as with the ring all over again.

He survived that. He'll survive this too. Noctis holds him close and Ignis, weak and exhausted and never able to tell him no, strokes a hand up and down the line of his back, rucking up his shirt to get to bare skin. ]

It would mean more travel. Interfacing directly with her and her men. I would...shift of more of my duties to others and most likely need to maintain conference calls while I work.

[ He's silent for a long moment, finding little comfort in his embrace. But Ignis is warm and here and he presses his lips against the line of his neck. They're both wounded, caught in an endless misery. Another price to pay for stability, one that hurts each time.

He breathes him in, sinking in the scent of him, the thrum of his pulse and tries not to think of how his absence will leave him empty. ]

How long?

[ It would be easier if this was just fucking. If they'd showered, and Ignis had let Noctis bend him over the bed and fuck him until they were both tired and aching and then they went to bed. The intimacy is the hardest part. Knowing someone better than you know yourself, knowing how much they're hurting because you feel it too. It's not fair, but nothing is.

He should pull away. He should put the distance between them again. Instead, he presses their foreheads together and closes his eyes, tracing his spine. ]

Long enough that I learn how to say no to this for good, Noctis. It's too difficult when you're here.

And if I ask you to stay?

[ He asks after a long silence, cupping his face to press a kiss to his lips. His Ignis -- oh, he's not ready to say goodbye to this. He's not ready to say no. He wants him so badly it hurts, and he twines closer to him, frowning. To lose him would be to lose so much of himself, and he presses another, another.

That he would consider this hurts on a whole new level, that he would come to refuse this, to leave him makes his heart break. ]

If I asked you not to leave me?

Noct, please.

[ How many times has he done this? Curled up with Noctis, enjoying the warmth and comfort that another body brought in a too-big bed? There's no one else like Noctis, no one else he loves so much, no one else he trusts as much. Maybe the gossip rags were right about this - maybe he was too invested, borderline obsessed, to a point where he could actively do more damage to Noctis' status as king than anyone else could.

The realization feels like ice pooling inside him, hard and sharp. He can't protect Noctis if he's one of the points of danger to him. If word of an affair got out it could jeopardize the treaty, the relationships they've worked so hard to build. Octavia's kept quiet, but what if she doesn't forever? Stupid, stupid of him to only consider bits and pieces and not the whole. Noctis has always been his blind spot. ]

You've sacrificed everything for this country and her people. I won't let you lose it because of an ill-timed affair.

An ill-timed affair, is that all you think you are? [ Noctis is incredulous when he leans back to look at him. How can he even begin to think that -- who cares what the gossip rags even say?

Noctis loves him too much to be objective, too much to let go and back away; Ignis had been such a fundamental, crucial part of him for so long it's impossible to imagine him leaving. So what if Ignis is his weakness, so what if he cannot think straight around the man? ]

I won't lose anything, Iggy. And I especially won't lose you.

You're a king married to a woman from another country, to forge an alliance that greatly benefits both of us. By definition, as the man you are not married to, I'm an affair and given that it hasn't been that long since the treaty was signed, yes, I think it is rather ill timed. The term is appropriate.

[ It's partially his fault for never denying Noctis anything. The extra serving of dessert and acceptance of vegetables was one thing, but it's gone too far. This -- that this conversation isn't happening in his study, is too far. He's doing it even now and it takes a moment to realize that he's angry at himself for it. Angry when he should be the one who knows better, that he's enabling this even now. Angry that instead of sliding back, he simply lies there. ]

And what about what I want?

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