nascere | LET'S PLAY {open post}

[ 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?

[ How difficult it is to pull himself out of all the things that could happen -- how difficult it is to look him in the eye like this. Noctis doesn't pull away from him. It's true, it's all true and he hates that he cannot refute a thing; that even now Ignis is thinking of him, putting himself first despite all the pain Noctis is sure is causing him. If Ignis had been less noble, less honorable, would they still have a conversation like this?

But Noctis shakes his head anyway, willful to a fault. Say yes to him again, deny him nothing; he's done it all his life, he cannot stop now. ]

What do you want? Tell me.

[ He shouldn't have mentioned what he wanted; it's not possible. There's no point in breathing life into something that can never really live so he shakes his head a little bit in response. No sense in wasting away hoping for something that neither of them can have. ]

I don't want this.

[ It slips out quiet, raw, like it takes everything in him to say those four words. Once he's said it, though, there's no taking it back. I don't want this. He never wanted this, but they're slaves to the system they've helped build and Ignis' life was never his own to begin with. It was always Noctis'. ]

[ I don't want this, Ignis says, and something breaks inside Noctis. There it is, the pain, wounded and raw, overriding every selfish thought Noctis has, every possessive desire, everything that makes him want to keep him with him. The king swallows hard, and finds that he can't quite look at him anymore. Ignis must be in such pain, if he's willing to want to leave him for it, and Noctis knows, he knows he cannot ask him to stay.

Something hot prickles behind his eyelids, and he looks away. Looks down. He doesn't want this either -- this is never what he wants, to hide Ignis like a guilty secret, to keep him by his side even though being near him hurts like nothing else he's ever known. ]

Then go. [ And it's the hardest thing to say, the words choking the life out of him. Once he leaves, he will be empty -- there really will be nothing here for him, save for the rigors of his duty. ] But... will you give me tonight?

[ The problem isn't that he doesn't want Noctis. The problem is that he wants too much. Ignis wants things that he knows he'll never be able to have, and while normally it's not a concern for him, this time it is. This time, the person he wants is next to him at almost all hours during the day, and when he's weak, at night. He could get used to it - he has gotten used to it and he needs to do better.

Please don't tell me no, don't ask me to stay, he pleads silently, willing Noctis to let this go. When he does -- when he agrees, Ignis isn't sure what to do with the sense of overwhelming disappointment. He hadn't wanted Noctis to fight him on it, but he also hadn't considered how final it would feel knowing that he was going to do this. He's not prone to split-second decisions. The paperwork had only been a consideration, but in the span of twenty minutes, his choice had been made. It was made the moment that Aranea gave him the option.

Noctis asks him for more directly after and Ignis closes his eyes again, strokes his hand over the line of his back, wishes things were different and then whispers, ] No. I don't think I can.

[ There's never just one more time with him. One more turns into another and another and another and while Ignis was always destined to follow Noctis to the ends of the world, he can't do this. ]

Octavia is a good woman. She'll likely be the mother of your children. Your country needs this to work.

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