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Gladio had seen his fair share of shitholes over the years, but Cleigne Wennathside Motel made him think fondly of every grimy, hazardous club or bar he had ever been dragged too under the guise of fun.
Damn place reeked. As Gladio shouldered his way into the motel reception thick cigarette smoke poured out like mist along the lakeside. It clung to his hair and skin, agitating his throat and Gladio’s nose wrinkled. It was all he could do to withhold a coughing fit. At the main desk Gladio could see a stranger smoking casually, perched right beside a no smoking sign that Gladio could barely make out through the dispersing haze. A magazine balanced in one of his hands and he tapped his cigarette against the rim of a drinking glass.
Gladio hesitated at the door. Immediately a body collided hard from behind, a cheery song cut short, interrupted with an oof.
“Sorry,” Gladio murmured, framing an arm against the door to prevent their entry. The receptionist didn’t look up, either not hearing or caring. Probably the latter, Gladio thought. “You should stay out here, Prom. Your asthma.”
Prompto paused, inhaling curiously. The moment it hit he stepped back, exhaling harshly to rid himself of the stench and shaking his head. “Oh, jeez. Okay, okay.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” Gladio told him. “Let Igs stretch his legs a bit, get some fresh air. I got the cash already.”
Prompto’s heat shrank away. The song didn’t resume. Steeling himself, taking one last deep inhale of cold clean air, Gladio stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him to save his loved ones.
A bell chimed overhead. Still Gladio went unrecognised. The man simply licked his finger to twist the page, smoke bobbing between his fingers, and Gladio strode forward, breathing as little as he could get away with. Finally he waited impatiently in front of the desk with his hands shoved deeply into his pockets. As far as he could see they were alone – still he kept a careful grip on Ignis’ wallet. Gladio knew that they never could be too careful. A phantom pain stung along his face.
“Excuse me,” he said gruffly after a minute of being ignored and watery eyes swivelled his way.
A plume of smoke escaped the man’s nostrils. He wore no name tag and made no move to put out his cigarette. “Hi,” he drawled and gave Gladio a long, lingering look from head to toe.
It was enough to make his skin crawl. If there were no locks upon the doors of their room Gladio would happily watch for danger all night, content with his companions catching up their desperately needed sleep around him, greatsword across his lap. The heaviness of his own eyes meant nothing. “Need a room or two,” he grunted. “Whatever works for four.”
The man set down his magazine. A brick of a computer came to life as he wriggled the mouse, screen blazingly bright. It was nothing like Gladio had ever seen before. It lagged horribly as the records were brought up.
Silence stretched between them. Gladio thought he rather liked it better than casual chat. The less this man knew about him the better. An old radio behind the desk spat out fuzzy tunes and outside came the slamming of the Regalia’s trunk, a brief song trilling from Prompto.
The receptionist caught it too. A thoughtful look was directed toward the doors, the man slyly leaning forward to get a better look. But Gladio stepped into his range of vision, arms crossed against his chest. His biceps bulged pointedly against his shirt. “Anything’ll do.”
It worked. The man thankfully lost interest, clicking away a moment longer. “We got two rooms left,” he said, tone droll. “A twin XL and a queen room. That’s it.”
It was better than nothing. Gladio’s back ached something fierce from their long journey, feet hot and sweaty in his boots. A night on the haven stones or in the Regalia would not cut it. Sleep was sleep as long as they had a proper roof above their heads and a lock to keep them safe. The drumming rain along the plastic tent was enough to keep him up all night, distant guttural roars still enough to freeze his heart, and Gladio loathed to have his sleep interrupted.
And tonight of all nights Noct’s old wounds were playing havoc on his back like never before. To top things off Ignis was running on empty. They simply couldn’t defend themselves should the worst happen, and even if Gladio had to scrounge up coin doing any bit of unsavoury business just to give them a night of peace – he would do it, swallowing any complaint. “Sounds great.”
Grunting, the man smacked his hand upon the oak. Ash overbuilt and fell from his cigarette. “Seven hundred gil.”
It left Ignis’ wallet even lighter than before. If they were lucky they would have enough for a modest breakfast. Maybe Gladio could wait until lunch. That would be Gladio’s problem come morning.
Two keys, bronze and old fashioned slid across the desk. Tiny tags were tied to the heads. “No smoking in the rooms,” he said firmly and without a hint of irony before taking a long drag and turning away, as if Gladio had never even been there.
Before the smoke overwhelmed his lungs entirely Gladio headed out, holding his breath all the while. Sweet relief flooded him in the face of the cool night air, prickling his sweaty skin. He allowed the door to slam shut behind him and the sound made each of his companions jump.
A pair of legs swung out from the back seat. Prompto quickly got up and jumped to his feet. “Got anything?”
Gladio let the keys gleam beneath the floodlights. “Managed to nab the last two rooms. Twin and a queen.”
From behind the car Ignis appeared. His hand rest against the roof and his glasses were missing. “How much was-”
“C’mon,” he interrupted, rougher than he had hoped. “Lock up the car and we’ll decide who goes where when we’re upstairs, alright?”
Everyone obeyed instantly. It wasn’t often that not even one man protested. Not even Prompto made his jokes and not even Ignis pressed the matter of money. Their heads hung low and Ignis hurriedly crossed to help Noctis slide out of the front seat, wrapping a careful arm around him. They wound together and Ignis grasped his hand, the Regalia flashing as it locked down. Noctis didn’t say a word, expression taut.
Each of his companions huddled together. The worry bound them tight and Noctis moaned softly as he braced his hand against his lower back, the loudest he would ever dare show his pain. Prompto shrank in close and murmured something Gladio couldn’t pick up – reassurances, promises, platitudes.
As they shuffled by Ignis looked up. Vulnerable eyes met Gladio’s, seeking reassurance from the only man who Ignis would allow to provide it. No other man would see him this way.
It hurt. Never before had he seen Ignis so run down. All his wit had been bled from him bit by bit and Gladio refused to add any burden to an already overstretched man. Rather than show any of his weaknesses – all manner of what if, nagging and frightening - he nodded. “Second story. Rooms 209 and 224. There’s some stairs up across the way.”
Noctis made to trundle off. When Ignis lingered their limbs almost slipped apart and Noctis paused, unwilling to walk without his oldest friends. “Are you not coming, Gladio?”
“I, uh,” he jerked his head to the other side of the courtyard. There they had driven in and winced against potholes, but a bright light had caught Gladio’s weary attentions. A drinks machine was a beacon against the miserable grey walls, advertising juices and fizz – and Ebony. Ignis had run out long ago and usually Gladio was not one to fuel his habit. But after the day they had, Ignis taking kicking after kicking for days, Gladio was willing to be freer with their cash. For him. Tomorrow he would make up the deficit anyway he could. Anything to see Ignis smile even for a moment. “Just gotta stretch my legs a little before we hit the hay.”
Without missing a beat Ignis laughed. A smile did appear finally, but it pulled taut. “You’re going for that drinks machine, aren’t you?”
Curse those omniscient eyes. Gladio could hide few secrets. “Something like that,” he admitted.
“Aren’t you a treasure,” Ignis murmured, expression painfully genuine. Gladio’s chest constricted hard, brimming and yet hollow, a feeling he had become well acquainted with over the years. “Don’t worry about that. Come and rest – we’ll focus on the little things come morning.”
There was no sense in arguing. Not when Ignis reached for him, wiggling his fingers expectantly when faced with Gladio’s hesitation. Ignis gave his physical affection freely, in a way that Gladio had half come to dread. He had stripped off his gloves and the thought of Ignis’ warm, rough palms was dizzying. In the face of witnessing Ignis’ undeserved sting of rejection, he accepted, thrilled when Ignis carefully threaded their fingers together, capturing Noctis safely between them. Prompto never went forgotten, Ignis binding him in tight.
“Come on,” Ignis murmured and all the cars in the courtyard and the people behind their doors meant nothing. It was them above all else, and always would be. “Time enough for a shower, I think.”
It was a brief yet tedious journey to the second floor. Noctis nearly twisted his ankle on a pothole in the darkness and Prompto yawned widely, following faithfully but unevenly. The keys warmed in Gladio’s newly sweating hands. Ignis was wonderfully warm and one hell of a distraction but Gladio kept his eyes on every single deep shadow they passed. Littered scars told him that a confrontation could be mere moments away. He would not allow his loved ones to suffer the same pain.
At the top of the stairs they paused. The numbers of the rooms guided them in different directions. Prompto shot a look towards Ignis. “Luck of the draw?”
“Mm,” Ignis said and pushed his glasses along his nose with the back of his hand. “Any preferences?”
“I guess I’ll take one of the twin beds,” Gladio said at the exact time the others shrugged. A light flickered off in a nearby window and Gladio glowered towards it, considering who might be eavesdropping on the other side. It was then a sudden droplet of rainwater spat upon his nose, cold and bracing and Gladio grunted. Figures, he thought, but at least it had not started out on the road. “Which pairs?”
“Anything,” Noctis moaned, heavy brows creased. The light didn’t touch his face. “Can we just get into our rooms?”
“Alright,” Ignis interrupted smoothly, sympathetic in all the right ways. Letting go of Noctis temporarily Ignis took the keys to 224, pressing it into Noctis’ hand. “See if this is the queen room for you - would you like to bunk with Prom, Noct?”
It was almost sweet how quickly the light returned to Prompto’s eyes. He offered a pleased and lopsided grin, his enthusiasm endearing and almost contagious. Even Noctis could manage a weak smile in the face of it. “Sure.”
“Then it’s agreed,” Ignis said and looked towards Gladio. “Yes?”
“You got it,” he said, perfectly satisfied with Ignis’ hand still knotted within his, content with the thought of listening to his slow, steady breathing as he slept. “Kiddos need anything before we go?”
For once Noctis didn’t rise to the bait. Lazily shrugging, back to staring at his own feet, Prompto stepped in for him. “We’re good,” he promised. “Thanks, guys.”
Without a word Ignis’ hand fell free from Gladio’s. It left a void, the evening cold creeping back in. Ignis’ hands braced both Prompto and Noctis’ shoulders and he lowered his voice, turning away from Gladio fully. As he murmured the slow rain picked up its pace. There was no sight of the stars.
It was his cue to turn away and give them the privacy they so rarely were allowed. Boots scuffing the metal grates he counted each door, reaching 209 slowly. The curtains were drawn tight in the window – Gladio said a modest prayer as he fumbled with the rain-slick key. But premature relief soothed his terse shoulders – bed, at long last. They had been on their feet or their asses all damn day.
An automatic light clicked on in the doorway as he shoved his way inside. It was glaringly bright, fluorescent. The small corridor was tight too, barely wide enough for his broad shoulders. Luckily it widened out as he stepped inside, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms, satisfied to note a bar and chain lock for the door. Then he paused, startled out of his calm, and fumbled for the real light switch upon the wall.
Cheap plastic snapped and the room burst into life. He was greeted with true apathy – mixed emotion, relief and palpable anxiety. The surprisingly pleasant look of the room struck him first. Everything within had a good decade on Gladio at the least with plain and dusty curtains, gaudy wallpaper that reminded Gladio uncannily of great aunt Lux’s old parlour. It was modest enough to warrant the price and yet neatly kept. There was no stench of smoke. Gladio took his blessings in the form of no mildew and clean bedsheets.
Bedsheets that covered the room’s sole bed.
“Shit,” Gladio said plainly, and ran a hand through his hair.
It wasn’t the queen bed. It was plain to see. It would be incredibly generous to say it could fit Gladio alone comfortably. Nor was it the twin bedroom promised, the idea of large beds halfway across the room from one another the only thing keeping Gladio’s traitorous heart still. One small bed rest in the centre of the room, generously enough to fit Ignis alone.
Gladio tried hard not to think of the facts that stared him down and instead he sought a compromise.
In the corner there was a plush looking armchair. With any luck, the kind of fortune that seemed to be in short supply these days, there would be spare blankets within the airing cupboard. The chair would take his weight but certainly not his size. The floor it was, Gladio supposed, all hope sinking. Dreams of a comfortable mattress for each them both became exactly that – a dream.
With a long sigh he shucked off his jacket. All he wanted now was to strip down to his boxers and stare at the cracks upon the ceiling, counting them until he could slip into an uneasy rest. Twin XL, my ass.
In the time it took to hunker down on the bed and unlace his boots, Ignis joined him. Softer footfalls rattled the grates and the door carefully clicked closed, chain and bar sliding across. It took everything Gladio had to play it cool, keep his eyes down and posture casual.
When Ignis spotted the bed, all he could do was laugh. It made his eyes wrinkle sweetly. “I think you might be able to squeeze in by yourself there,” he said, tone warm. In a surge of bravery Gladio peeked at him, finding Ignis smiling good naturedly, setting his gloves on the counter. An array of instant teas and coffees awaited them upon a beaten old tray. Gladio didn’t trust the water enough. “Goodness knows how I might manage to slip in without a cuddle.”
“I think we might have taken the queen accidentally,” he said, knowing they hadn’t.
True to form Ignis shook his head, still laughing. “No, I walked the boys to their room – just to double check the security. It’s the queen for sure. Did the receptionist tell you the twin was a larger bed rather than two separates?”
“He definitely didn’t,” Gladio said, thinking of marching down for a visit.
“Ah,” Ignis murmured. “Well, it’s no bother. A room is a room.”
Laughter was fine. Good, even, and Ignis would never suspect if Gladio stayed quiet. Gladio let him laugh and softly winced at just how tired he sounded. “Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat firmly. “You can have it. I’ll take the floor.”
“Nonsense,” Ignis answered briskly, his moment of weakness passed, consoled by being alone with someone he knew understood him perfectly. “I’m sure we can make it work.”
Gladio threw up his brows. Ignis was in no way a small man – Gladio knew all too well the broad slopes of his shoulders, the length of those legs, the thick muscle that Ignis had worked damn hard to build. There was no way the bed could carry them both. They would be lucky if they could fit side by side. “With what space?”
“If we can make the tent work, we can make this work,” Ignis said as if it were that simple. In his black and white world it may have been. “I won’t hear anything about the floor – you’ve been hauling that greatsword around half the cursed day.”
“You’ve been driving, planning, cooking-”
Those firm eyes met his and frowned. “It’s hardly a competition, Gladiolus. You’ve had as difficult a day as anyone else.”
The ache of his shoulders throbbed as if in agreement. Removing his shoes had been blissful and his body cried out for the sweet release of sleep if only for an hour – but the yearning had been laced beneath his skin and Gladio could not bear to be so close. It was a matter of self-preservation. Gladio’s tongue could never truly withhold his wit, rage, passion. Being so unstable and pressed close against the man he had dreamt of all these years was unthinkable.
There was still a chance to protest. “It’s really not that bad-”
“If you would rather not, you can simply say.”
Gladio’s jaw clicked shut. Ignis’ tone was a fraction blunter, amusement still present but muted, as if Gladio had mistakenly done him an insult. He removed his own jacket, neatly folding and placing, expression smoothing out again. “I’ll not be offended,” he said and Gladio knew he had become so good at those half-truths within the Citadel. Instead he would simply be hurt.
“No, it’s fine,” Gladio forced out a lie that stuck to his teeth, tongue rot black. “Was worried more about you having enough space to stretch your legs.”
“Kind of you,” Ignis murmured, and that standoffish tone lingered still. Rather than wander into the bathroom he reached for his shirt, pulling each button apart. Silver gleamed at his throat. Ink was revealed at his stark collarbones – that damned compass, bearing the sigil of their king and the initials of those he loved at every point. Gladiolus guided him east.
Gladio released a long breath that didn’t relieve the pressure upon his chest. There was room for nothing but want. It nagged and nagged, ceaseless.
His desires had grown to be part of him over time. Oxygen in his blood, calcium of his bones. Ignis carried him beneath his skin like it was nothing at all and undressed before his eyes like he were his. It was easy for him. Just skin, camaraderie, and he stood blissfully unaware of Gladio’s voyeuristic eyes. Shame thickened Gladio’s breath.
The laces of his boots were suddenly fascinating things. Already they were beginning to fray. Come morning Gladio would beg a dagger to cut them short and tie them off. He prised a bit of dried filth off and tried extremely hard to think of other things that Ignis undressing. The simple sound of fabric creasing was newly domestic, damn near erotic in a way that killed him, stirring something he could not bear to face.
Rain drizzled against the walkway. It was a gentle rainstorm barely audible, even the rustle of Ignis’ clothes louder. For once in such a place they could not hear their neighbours as well as if they shared the room, no yelling or sounds of pleasure. Thank the gods. Gladio knew he wouldn’t have been able to take it.
Minutes later, spent in dull silence, Ignis crossed the room. Gladio glanced over and found Ignis in his close fit boxer briefs only. So free with one another, and expecting their journey to be brief, they had not thought to bring any better suited pyjamas. His clothes were dumped upon the armchair and Gladio helplessly took in the toned muscles of his back, the unspoken strength of his thighs and softness of his rear. Light brown hair dusted his legs and Gladio’s mouth ran dry. It was no part of another man he hadn’t seen before, but it was different with Ignis – different in a way he could not put into words.
This was Iggy.
When Ignis turned around he caught Gladio staring. Hurriedly Gladio looked away, shamed to his core.The memory would linger – still Ignis from almost a decade past tormented his mind, breathless on a training mat and at peace in the showers, unaware of the boy who stole glances,unable to push away the feeling like a voyeur, like a creep.
He needed to undress. Every part of him longed for the night, for Ignis’ warmth alone at his side. They had never shared a bed without another. There was always Prompto snoozing between them, Iris a time or two. A body to use as a shield, saving Gladio from stumbling into a fool’s hope. Gladio could not shake the feeling of being unable to rely upon his own body - Gladio’s tongue and hands never quite followed his brain, to his father’s chagrin. He had never been a boy to fully think things through. Ignis had been there to ask the right questions and shoot later, to encourage him to take a breath. Gladio followed his heart and Ignis followed his head, the one who held him back, protecting him from consequence while Gladio made him laugh, was his constant companion.Over the years they had become a team, supporting and defending one another, and Gladio would not risk the loss of a dear friend.
Their fraternal love was give and take. Gladio would rather die than take too much.
“Sorry,” Gladio croaked. Swallowing around the lump in his throat was no use. “Didn’t mean to sound like an asshole. Came out the wrong way.”
“I see,” Ignis said and slipped off his glasses, tapping them on the bedside counter. His necklace and phone followed. Shadow pooled in the hollow of his collarbones. “May I?”
“Of course,” Gladio said and distracted himself with shedding his own clothes lest he stick his foot in his mouth.
He needed a shower desperately. A cold one, to calm his skin and dull the thoughts run riot. Maybe it would do him some good – and Ignis folded back the bedsheets, murmuring in approval, and slid in beside him.
“Go to sleep,” he commanded, emphasis ruined by a yawn breaking free. “It’ll be another early start tomorrow, as always.”
“In a minute,” Gladio murmured listlessly, and considered his options.
Gods, he was tired. There were only scraps of him left. He longed to be held together, treated fondly, with all the care Ignis possessed. A shower would provide some façade at the warmth he needed so desperately and yet could summon no energy for it. He barely had enough sense left to strip.
All other options had been cut away from him. Taking the floor would be awkward and only lead to a fight that he was unwilling to suffer – Gladio did not care to spend the morning in awkward silence, wilting in discomfort as their companions looked between them with pain and confusion. So he pulled his tank over his head, grunting as he agitated sore muscles, and struggled to ignore Ignis settling into bed behind him. The man sighed, satisfied and shattered, at peace with the night at long last.
The top dropped to the floor and his phone was set on the cabinet beside Ignis’. The morning alarms always set for the same time. Gladio stood to wrestle with his belt, exhaling harshly and squinting against the hotel light. Thank the gods for his own briefs. Gladio had begun to go commando the day a permanent home was cut off from them, desperate to save on clean underwear. They would have to stop off at Old Lestallum’s laundrette eventually, and Gladio distracted himself with thoughts of the drive and the motions of the machine, anything to not feel the humid air upon his bare skin as he shucked off his jeans.
He swore it hadn’t been so warm before. The rain grew to hammering blows, drumming as hard as it could before it would die out. Something – anticipation, perhaps dread, crawled along his skin and he stood anxiously in his underwear for the first time in years, hyperaware of Ignis’ silence behind him. It never took him long to settle down, a lighter sleeper than most of them, but one who had grown accustomed to sleeping wherever he could.
Fuck. There was nothing he could do but pretend he was anywhere but here. There would be no sleep to be had tonight. No fucking way would he fit.
Having Ignis pressed so close would be unbearable – and yet –
“Stop thinking so hard,” Ignis called, voice thick through the mass of a pillow, rough from weariness. “It’s late, and you won’t end up kicking me out of bed if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m more worried about your snoring, if anything.”
“Sorry,” Gladio said without laughing, no single trace of humour lightening his sour tension, and made quick to turn the light off. A cold fist gripped his heart.
Gladio’s eyes adjusted quickly to the pitch black. In such darkness Ignis’ eyes still gleamed with impatience. They watched him as he approached, the man made comfortable. Faint light shone beneath the curtains and the rain slowed before finally, gradually stopping.
“Sorry,” he said again as the mattress sunk beneath his knee, and he condemned himself to a night lying beside the man he couldn’t help but love, try as he might to move on from sheer hopelessness.
It was unspeakably awkward, though Ignis seemed not to feel it stirring between them. When it quickly became apparent that there had to be a readjustment Ignis only laughed low and fond in his throat, the way Gladio loved best. He wriggled back without complaint, allowing Gladio to stretch out. Tentatively Gladio settled with his back to the mattress, shoulder to shoulder with his closest companion, and his heat was searing.
“Ah,” Ignis said, still wearing that grin. “Pardon me,” and with some work they lie together with just enough space to breath freely, little room remaining between them. Gladio had never felt so unwieldy before, so ashamed of his own size. Even the intensity of teenage mortification had not been so prevalent.
“Sorry,” he said, brows furrowing.
“Stop apologising,” Ignis said, exasperation still clear as day. A hand pushed against Gladio’s bare shoulder. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Gladio.”
“Alright,” he replied, barely able to stop himself before choking on sorry. There were dozens of things to be sorry for, largely unspoken – sorry you have to drive all this way. Sorry about that hunt. Sorry about home. Sorry you’re trapped with me, and each stung worse than the last.
As if their world were perfectly normal Ignis leant over, chin thudding on the muscle of Gladio’s shoulder. His hand slipped to Gladio’s bicep and ghosted over satin soft feathers. Those wonderful eyes drifted closed and those damnable hands helped themselves. “What’s going on in that head of yours tonight,” he asked.
Ignis was alluringly in every way. Sinking against him would have been a dream, to cherish his skin and drag his hand through honey hued hair. Ignis was a wonder, head to toe, too beautiful for Gladio’s tired words to express. And he cared so much, always, it tore Gladio’s heart.
“Same old, same old,” he muttered, spine stiff against the mattress. To the motel’s credit it was softer than Gladio could ever have dreamed from the sloppy exterior, the kind of mattress it would be hard to rouse from. Sleep would be beyond him for sure and getting up without a wink of sleep was going to destroy him. Gladio strove to only think of the coming dawn, a good shower to wash away his longing and the stresses of facing another day on the road. “You know me.”
“Mm, I do,” Ignis tilted his cheek to rest against the cool pillow. Those long legs stretched, toes curling. The sheets sunk dangerously at his waist. “Are you going to toss and turn all night then?”
“If I’m feeling adventurous,” Gladio joked, scrambling for any glimmer of humour, and it was enough to award him a smile.
He dared not look too close. Ignis’ lips were mesmerising at the worst of times, even when bitten to hell in throes of anxiety, his unique scent warm and captivating. Too many times had Gladio entertained dreams of nuzzling into his throat, so clean and delicious after a shower, inhaling him. That dream was an illusion of being wanted, Ignis drawing him close no matter their station, no matter their duty.
Simply meeting Ignis’ gaze was foolhardy enough. It was a weakness that Gladio could not afford.
It would be far better that he spent the night with others, though Gladio did hate being kept up by fussy sleepers. Being tangled up with Prompto could be a chore but nowhere near as messy a situation. Every night the kid slept fitfully, unused to sleeping in temporary accommodation, occasionally whining about the familiar mattress he had left behind. He checked his phone on full brightness every few minutes, ignoring his companion’s grumbles. And Noctis tonight would be no greater improvement. Most nights he passed into dreams with startling efficiency, quiet as a damn corpse, but never on the days his old wounds hurt. With the pain came haunting memories that sunk their claws into malleable flesh. They destroyed any chance of sleep and the only cure was time, helped along by firm arms settling around Noctis and never letting go.
No matter which option Gladio took, there would be little chance of sleep in his future. Here there would be none at all – Ignis gnawed at his heart until only scraps remained.
It was remarkable that the frame carried their weight. As expected, there was little room, Gladio’s right arm condemned to hanging from the side of the bed uncomfortably, so he folded it over his stomach and exhaled softly. Ignis lay upon his side facing Gladio, seemingly content with his chin still against Gladio’s shoulder.
They breathed together steadily. Suddenly the once intrusive rain was an aching absence, stifling in a different way. Gladio’s heartbeat thumped steadily in his ears, and no matter how tired, no matter how long he closed his eyes, sleep refused to come to him.
It was easy to fall in tune with Ignis’ breath. Their chests rose and fell almost in tandem. Gladio couldn’t help but think of better days, long past – when they were young and their concerns only books and candies and their parent’s kisses, and Gladio’s love had felt possible. It had been an impossible dream for almost a decade now, something which hurt rather than soothed.
Footsteps clattered outside – Gladio tensed and Ignis turned his head, but they shuffled past until they slipped away – and later a car drifted into the parking lot. It left shortly after, doors slamming and tearing out of the courtyard, unwilling to spend too much precious time on the road in the all-encompassing darkness. Over the weeks Gladio had come to know these roads like the creases of his palms. They did not have much time to reach the next motel. All Gladio could do for them was hope.
By his side Ignis settled again, muscles loosening as the tension passed. Just like all the years that came before he was comfortably ignorant, unaware of how Gladio’s heart overworked itself with want. Getting truly comfortable he pulled their sheet back up over his waist. His arm slipped up and settled casually upon Gladio’s belly, curling around his waist. Not for the first time Gladio cursed Ignis’ tactile manner, his instinct for seeking warmth. “Hell of a day,” he mused, quiet enough to be half to himself. Gladio knew better. Ignis didn’t waste his words on himself.
After all these years Gladio had gotten quite good at living in the midst of emotional turmoil. Even as his heart seized he choked out a laugh, praying it didn’t sound as strained as he felt. “Over now,” he tried to soothe. “Get your sleep, Iggy. You’ve earned it.”
The mattress shifted as Ignis hummed and readjusted. His head tucked anew against Gladio’s bicep, a heavy exhale billowing air against his skin. It was a pillow well loved by Prompto, but it was far more intimate with Ignis of all men. The gods were toying with him. “Would you really have gone to get me a coffee?”
The cracks above in the ceiling made strange shapes. Barely there faces, letters, patterns. Gladio reached for those. “’course I would have.”
A smile almost warmed Gladio’s inner chill. “A treasure, you are,” he said again. Ignis’ eyes were lazy, his expression finally gentle. The pomade had been brushed out of his hair hours before thanks to anxious hands and his hair was swept across his forehead. It made him look as young as he truly was, all smooth skin and unable to hide the earnest heart he carried, the loving nature that he tried so hard to harden. “I know it’s been a difficult day. But - there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you – you know that, yes? Nothing I don’t trust you with.” A hand squeezed his hip. “You are deeply special to me, Gladiolus.”
Holding back the strain of agony Gladio paused before turning his head. Their faces were agonizingly close. Mere inches apart, eyes still adjusting to the darkness, Gladio stared only at the bridge of his nose. There was no good that could come from meeting his eyes.
There were acne scars all across, marks to last for a lifetime. A tiny scar crossed from his nostril, a story Gladio had never noticed before. Such a handsome face, such a good man to his very core, held dear to his heart always. If he were a weaker man he could have wept at the sight.
“I feel the same way,” he said, voice dangerously raw. If he dared say more, he would be lost.
Ignis’ charming, lopsided smile creased, and his thumb swept reassuringly across Gladio’s bare ribs. In the quiet of the room Ignis was focused and much too close for Gladio’s sanity. Stealing one kiss would be so simple, and destructive beyond measure. Their foundations were strong and Gladio would not take a sledgehammer to the core simply for a moment of satisfaction.
“I’m glad,” Ignis murmured simply, misunderstanding what lie beneath, and drew away again.
It was easier to let the moment pass. Stepping off the straight and narrow was the scheme of a fool, a risk Gladio was unwilling to take. Still Gladio could have sworn disappointment temporarily consumed Ignis’ expression – but Gladio cherished the moment to breathe. It eased the solid stone trapped within his throat, the croak of his voice.
Such pleasures were not meant for him. An opportunity missed was another day of being Ignis’ trusted companion, and Gladio would force himself to be content.
“Good night, Gladio,” Ignis said, already sounding half asleep and teetering, and then he was gone in a matter of minutes. Gladio envied him, watching how his body laxed.
That hand still sealed warmth over his belly. Steady breaths tousled the fine hairs upon Gladio’s nape, slow and deep. Ignis slept lightly and silently, sunken into pleasant dreams.
Gladio billowed air from his mouth and the tension barely budged. Ignis was limp and carefree beside him for the first time in weeks. They had all been barely sleeping as the days slipped by, fitful and stressed. Ignis slept the worst of all, and only on the night he managed to sleep. Mostly he sat up, flicking through his dimmed phone, sometimes leafing mindlessly through one of Gladio’s paperbacks, careful to retain his place. The lines around his eyes etched deeper.
On the rare occasions that Ignis ran so low he was forced to catch a few hours rest it was spent slumped in the backseat, head nestled against Prompto’s. Both would stir awake at the slightest bump in the road, only to fall back asleep within moments. Their chins sagged against their chests. Noctis faithfully kept his eyes on the winding roads and quietly wore a fond smile.
Ignis was content and beautiful in rest. Long and fine eyelashes rest upon his cheeks. Delightfully soft looking lips parted and his breathing barely rattled. Every inch of him was what Gladio longed for and he watched, less afraid to take in the rise and the fall. It was strange still to see him without his necklace – it was a rare thing to see an Ignis wholly vulnerable, utterly bare. Gladio felt the same without his own and left it on throughout the night.
There wasn’t a single sound from beyond the room. Everything was still.
Time moved strangely. Gladio thought he knew seconds intimately and yet when he gave in and groped for his phone he found that over an hour had slipped him by. Sluggish and stale, another hour that Gladio spent with his arm damn near close to going numb. Ignis was heavier than he looked.
Wriggling it free was not a simple task. Nor was it something that Gladio wanted – Ignis’ expression was earnest in his slumber. Usually it was reserved, stubborn, pinched. Day to day stresses were carried in the taut lines of his shoulders. Never before had Gladio had the chance to bask in him up close. The hard line of his cheek bones was cutting, the strong jaw and the heavy hooded eyes. There was an aristocratic dignity to the purse of his lips, an air of propriety that Gladio had long thought to kiss away. Long had Gladio wanted to see Ignis undone, gasping with his lips flushed and swollen.
Over the years there had been a short string of lovers. None of them lasted more than a handful of months. It was nowhere near good enough for Ignis to show them off in front of his friends or bring them home to his parents. Their names even had gone unspoken. Gladio had only known through the bruises upon Ignis’ hips and the bites littered along his throat. The jealousy had left small dents in the slammed door of his locker.
Gladio sighed heavily and forced himself to look away. An Amicitia’s self-control was legendary, and Gladio had missed the memo. All things had their end. The thread was beginning to fray. Memories of bruises and Ignis’ soft, dismissive laughter when Noctis had asked filled his mind, enough to force a grunt from him, and he began to gently pull his arm out from beneath Ignis. Better that he turn away, face the window and stare, waiting for dawn to come. Better they be apart, lest Gladio lose himself in thoughts of gifting Ignis marks of his own.
It was delicate work. He inched himself free bit by bit, wincing and freezing when Ignis heaved a sigh, tilting his head closer. In the moment Gladio could see more scars, and he had no idea that Ignis had his ears pierced once upon a time. They seemed to have closed up years ago. The little secret fascinated him and he peered closer, close enough that Ignis’ hair rustled with each breath.
The ridge of Ignis’ ear was bumpy, scarred. They were paler than the rest of Ignis’ skin and so subtle they would be hidden by Ignis’ hair. Gladio tucked a loose strand out of the way, touching without thinking, marvelling at the feeling. It was softer than he dared dream.
Gladio moved cautiously not to disturb Ignis’ tentative rest, moving on without thinking and trailing featherlight fingertips down along his jaw. It was an action wildly out of bounds, a half dozen steps over the line and Gladio’s mind was fogged, reckless. Gladio countered every little scar from shaving accidents, bruises from unforgiving knuckles and scratches from overgrown bushes. The curve and dip of his mouth was his end goal. The skin was not flawless, the stresses of the day rendering Ignis’ lower lip bloodied and torn. Days ago Ignis had run entirely out of his lip balm, the kind he brought specifically for his easily chapped lips, and it was yet another expense, one that Ignis would no doubt refuse to indulge in despite his discomfort.
Gladio would hunt it down for him. It would be worth it to see his smile, and Gladio might fantasise that Ignis would thank him with a kiss.
In the past week alone Gladio had considered kissing Ignis a half dozen times.
In the bright sunlight Ignis thrived. He was a marvel to behold and as breath-taking as the sun itself. Unfortunately, Gladio could not be so generous when it came to the heat – Ignis soured on humid days, unhappy to be anywhere but the shade of a Crow’s Nest, scowling as he slipped into the stifling atmosphere of the Regalia. But the bold sunlight made his hair rich, his skin blessed and tan, and Ignis always smiled on those days. Even if he sweat hard and he stank by the end of the day, bashfully apologetic and waiting his turn for their cramped shower, Gladio still longed to kiss him.
Kiss him amongst the swamps of the Vesperpool, to kiss him amongst the dust and dirt of Leide. In their hastily made tent and behind Hammerhead’s sheds, in the abandoned old engine rooms dotted around Duscae. Anywhere, and Gladio long to kiss him here, taking a gentle hold of his jaw and leaning in without thought.
So enthralled with the bow of Ignis’ lips, sunken into the dreams of how he might laugh against Gladio’s mouth, he didn’t realise that Ignis was watching him until Ignis sighed against him.
The cut of green just beneath his eyelids made his heart tremble, skipping a beat before kicking into overdrive. There was no way to escape, to play it cool – Ignis lay upon Gladio’s arm still, his arms yet tangled around his companion’s waist. Between dreams and waking Ignis careened thoughtlessly forward, leaning into Gladio’s chest and pressing his hands upon Gladio’s chest in some form of wild instinct. “Mm,” Ignis murmured with heavy eyes and Gladio’s heart gave in, feeling like it had stopped completely.
There was nothing to be done. He was caught. “Shit,” he hissed, and those blinking eyes lingered on his face. They carried nothing but the temporary haze of interrupted sleep and Gladio suffered in the stretch of silence, waiting for them to widen into shock and alarm, to push away the hands that dug his own grave.
Blood roared in his ears. His arm ached endlessly and Ignis lay yawning, a flicker of restless confusion sinking his brows. “Gladio,” he rubbed at his eyes, dragging his hands along his face. He swallowed another, longer yawn, sensing no danger and trusting Gladio implicitly.
In the moment, their end felt calm. It might have been easy to rip away as the tension tightened his chest, the self-loathing coiling hard in his guts. But Gladio accepted it, coming to terms with the future slowly. An awful kind of peace settled in his chest. A buzz built and built within his skull until he could hear nothing else. Fucking stupid. How could you be so stupid?
Lingering in the throes of awkward confusion Ignis fumbled to sit up. Gladio took his chance and pulled his lumbering arm out of the way. It was entirely dead and Gladio deserved it, his other traitorous hand remaining upon Ignis’ cheek, unable to let go just yet. The room shrank around them and the temperature seemed to plummet, Gladio’s air thinning. “I’m sorry,” he began, sick to his stomach with the shame. “I’m so fucking stupid, Igs. I’m sorry.”
Curling from him the way he should have, Gladio braced himself to push away. The gods only knew how Ignis would respond to his trespasses and Gladio’s life rest in their hands. Ignis’ wrath was a rare thing, but it would be well deserved, and Gladio would bear it far easier than his disappointment or disgust.
Before Gladio could drop his hand Ignis caught it for his own, hands sure. Caught by surprise Gladio couldn’t bear to pull away. “Wait,” Ignis said and the waver to his voice was gone. Ignis always woke slowly, sullenly in the mornings, and his eyes were beginning to pinpoint Gladio, who prayed that he would be met with mercy. “Don’t be sorry.”
Reluctant, ready to make his escape in his briefs if necessary, Gladio hung his head. He stared at his own lap. “I am. I should have – I should have stuck with Prompto tonight. I’m really sorry, Ignis, I mean it.”
“Gladio,” Ignis stressed, and coherent eyes met his. That hand squeezed his wrist a second with painful intensity, trying to gain his attentions. “Look at me.”
Gladio couldn’t. Sour shame spread across his tongue. Squeezing his eyes shut he ran his hand through his hair, knotting a fist and swearing under his breath. Regret mixed with panic and he could scarcely open his eyes, let alone meet Ignis’, and he summoned every single scrap of Amicitia pride and bravery to look his way, eyes caught between his brows.
In a remarkable show of compassion, he didn’t seem angry. But it was early days yet – there was nothing for Gladio to find in his expression. No anger and no disgust and Gladio clung to it instead. Indifference was far simpler than rage. “I’m sorry,” he said again, hopeless. Meaningful words were made meaningless with repetition, and he could manage no other.
Ignis leaned forward. There were stray hairs between his brows and wild locks fell into his eyes. “Don’t be,” he murmured, and his other hand came to slide along Gladio’s heavyset shoulder, all the way to the base of his throat. “Gladio, do you…?”
Electricity coursed through his heated blood. Ignis’ fingertips were hot enough to leave burns. “I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said again, a stuck record, damaged in panic. Words stuck awkwardly in his throat, tight enough to choke.
Ignis’ hand disappeared from his. Before the dread could flare up it relocated to his cheek, scratching lightly across his beard, nails a touch too long. Prompto had borrowed and quickly lost his nail clippers. “Stop,” he murmured. “Listen to me. I don’t want you to be sorry.”
It didn’t make any sense. Gladio’s mind softly disconnected from the rest of him in an attempt to recuperate without being overwhelmed. It was Ignis’ palms that sent him haywire, reassuring against his bare skin. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s alright,” Ignis’ said lowly, coming in even closer, close enough for Gladio to close to gap and kiss him if he were brave enough, stupid enough.
In the end, it seemed Ignis was enough of that for them both.
Ignis tasted of his flavoured water. Watermelon had been the only bottle left in the shop and Ignis loathed watermelon. Still to chase off the hounding headache he had drank the whole bottle, grimacing with every intense mouthful. It lingered on his lips and Gladio’s brain followed his still heart, closing down for business.
Everything else fizzled out. The tension from his body dissipated like it had never even been. With Ignis’ touch everything slot into place like it hadn’t been shrapnel seconds before, ready to embed deep and kill them both. Ignis kissed him soundly, growing in confidence as the world returned to him and Gladio was still frozen in surprise.
Ignis slipped one hand down to cup the space between his throat and his shoulder. In this moment Ignis was thoughtless, leaning forward for more even as Gladio remained shocked still, and it took another pulsing heartbeat of dawning realisation before Gladio realised how much time he continued to waste.
With a choked sound against Ignis’ lips, Gladio surged forward. He let his mouth meld against Ignis’ the way he had always dreamed. It was easy and it wasn’t perfect – it was better, accidentally clashing against Ignis’ teeth or missing his mouth when they ducked in for more. It healed the sting of wounds, the self-doubt, the fear that there was nothing Gladio could do to salvage them. Disbelief fuelled him and all the energy of his lonely teen years thundered to the surface.
Breathless under Gladio’s focus, Ignis had to pull away. He never slipped out of reach. Right there against Gladio’s mouth he panted, touching their sweaty foreheads together. Between them were tangled sheets and spread legs and Ignis shuffled closer, winding his calf innocuously over Gladio’s thigh. The bare skin remained electric, a flurry of nervous excitement. Gladio had no idea what might come next and the anguish was slipping away, replaced instead by thrill and hope. He succumbed to watching the flushed rise and fall of Ignis’ chest, the way the pink spread from soft cheeks all the way to his collarbones.
“Gladio,” Ignis murmured, in a way he had never heard before – satisfied and yet longing for more, and Gladio’s lips were no longer his own.
Ignis leant forward again and again, sealing kisses only to break them and reforge their bond. In the dead of night and the half-formed haze of sleep he was sloppy, catching the corner of Gladio’s mouth or chin a handful of times, but Gladio didn’t care. Ignis’ hands were steady, and his heart was full.
They shared half a dozen kisses. Gladio lost himself in the moment, thinking nothing of the coming morning, their companions down the long walkway. His large hands braced Ignis’ hips, never daring to sink lower but Ignis accepted the mindless invitation, coming closer and closer, leaning into his companion. Losing themselves in the late hour was easy. Pulling themselves out of the shared dream was close to impossible.
Somehow Ignis found his waylaid wits. He broke away, breathing unsteady, and heavy-lidded eyes managed to find Gladio’s. The concept of sleep was far beyond Gladio now – he could spend the whole damn night kissing Ignis without complaint, perfectly energised for the dawn.
It was difficult to supress the urge to kiss Ignis again. Now that what Gladio wanted most was so close, so within his reach and yet utterly unknown, he couldn’t bear break away. “The morning,” Ignis mumbled, surging forward again for one last, brief kiss. His hands slid across Gladio’s broad chest, smoothing over his ribs. The sensation tickled. “We can talk about this in the morning. Can we? Please.”
In this moment Gladio would do anything Ignis wanted. “Yeah,” Gladio said, lips numb and tingling. “Yeah, of course. Tomorrow. Sure.”
A true and brilliant smile lit up Ignis’ face. Gladio hadn’t seen the like in days and his heart was brimming, full to bursting, longing to taste the smile again and again. “Tomorrow,” Ignis said before he could act, and wrapped his arms around Gladio, trying to pull him back down to the bed. Gladio went willingly, the lack of space no longer awkward and rather blessed, able to lie chest to chest with Ignis.
Immediately Ignis took advantage. The sheets were pulled back up over their waists as they shuffled to lie comfortably, Ignis sliding his leg over Gladio’s knee and sinking down to happily lay his head over Gladio’s thumping heart. A smile brightened his face and the rest of the room, as if dawn had come upon them.
Gladio sighed, long and low. The contentment settled snugly inside his ribs and it spread a glow throughout. “Tomorrow,” he agreed again, so quietly it appeared Ignis did not hear, and stole the chance to press a firm, meaningful kiss to Ignis’ forehead. Disbelief drove his body to act without the say so of his brain. Gladiolus Amicitia, he could recall his father saying, exhausted beyond his years.
Ignis made a satisfied sound deep within his throat, another hand smoothing along Gladio’s belly. Gladio knew the feeling well. It was often he was used as the party’s pillow, bigger and running warmer than any other, but never like this before. It was an intimacy that had gone unshared and Gladio knew he would not manage a wink of sleep tonight.
On the other hand, Ignis was gone in less than a minute. Without ceremony his breathing evened out, pleased expression laxing, and Gladio had never seen a man so sweet.
Carefully he reached to thread his hand through his hair. Very careful not to wake Ignis again he stroked, all along Ignis’ crown and daring to dip and brush over his temples. It was freeing to touch even if Gladio had no idea what tomorrow would bring. Ignis’ hands still burnt upon his cheeks. A flurry in his heart kept him from rest. It was all Ignis’ doing, and Gladio could find no bitterness inside him.
The dawn came slowly. Underneath the tightly drawn curtains the light shifted until it glowed and Ignis never budged, never squirmed. All the while the gentle pressure and the excitement for tomorrow kept Gladio wide awake, gazing up at the ceiling.
For the first time, he didn’t mind at all.