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It often struck him off guard, how people could display their emotions so openly. The people of Ishgard too often wore masks, hiding their truths behind stony façades.
Aymeric had learned the power of his own masks at a young age. Some were swords that could cut the way through to things he wanted to achieve, while others were shields for protecting himself and the people close to him. He had learned to dance with words. And though all of these things had allowed him to climb to his current position, they had not brought him that strange kind of happiness he sees in their faces.
Haurchefant and the Warrior of Light. They’re talking in the snow, sharing some final joke before she must depart. He has not known her long enough to become a confidant, but with the way she looks at the lord of Camp Dragonhead she may as well have shouted it in his ear.
It was harder to say what Haurchefant felt. He who was used to the dance and the masquerade, generous with his kindness but certainly not with his heart. He and Aymeric had been friends for years but he still could never quite tell what was going on in that strange head of his.
No matter though. They looked happy, and seeing the unguarded affection on her face made his heart ache. It must be nice to live with such freedom.
The journey back to Ishgard was quiet. He let Lucia lead and she left him to his thoughts, knowing better than to pry. There were some secrets that even she didn’t know and he was ever grateful for her ability to know when to push and when to leave him be. And yet somehow, though they had never spoken of it, he felt that she knew what bothered him so. After all, she was one of the few people he trusted enough to see him without a mask.
Upon their arrival Lucia excused herself, leaving Aymeric to look over the mess that his office had become in his absence. With him away and Lucia at his side, the paperwork seemed to have lapsed. With a sigh he sat, and began smoothing the pile of documents into something of a stack. He intended to make a dent in it before retiring, really, but after several minutes of watching the words waver before his eyes he thought better of it. He’d only make mistakes in such a state.
His chambers, at least, were welcoming. Someone had stoked the fire – possibly Lucia, he thought with a smile – and he stood staring at the flames a moment. It wasn’t until they crackled violently that he remembered that rooms were in fact not merely for standing in, and he moved to lock the door. Once that was done he set about readying himself for bed, carefully removing each piece of armour and setting it in its place. Usually he would shine the pieces as he removed them, but tonight he simply did not have the energy.
It seemed an eternity until he sank into the sheets. But once there he found his eyes simply refused to stay closed. Truth be told, he was hoping that he’d hear the soft sounds of someone opening the lock on his door and slipping inside. It had so been so long...
He pulled the blankets over his head. Estinien had been avoiding him since the last time; that much was painfully obvious. He’d caught glimpses of the familiar armour a few times before it ducked away around a corner, and once he could have sworn he saw the dragoon approach his office and then immediately retreat upon realising that the person he sought was not inside.
Aymeric relaxed under the protection of the sheets. He remembered his own hitched breathing in sync with each thrust and how he’d dragged his nails down Estinien’s back, determined to leave marks, to stake a claim on him in some private way. Estinien answered by grabbing his wrists and forcing them down to the mattress. He stifled the resulting complaint with a hard kiss before trailing down to Aymeric’s earlobe and teasing it gently with his teeth.
Aymeric struggled to free his hands but he only earned a low, throaty laugh in his ear before Estinien started to move his hips again, and he lost what little remained of his will to resist.
His memory grew fuzzy then, at least with the specifics. He remembered Estinien breathing soft sounds against his neck, how the hands around his wrists became so tight he was sure they’d leave marks. Everything is warm and out of focus after that, and the next clear thing he remembers is lying on his side, his hands free, his lungs racing to catch his breath and his forehead pressed against his lover’s. He tangles his fingers in the white mess of hair and when he finally, finally feels like he can breathe again he opens his eyes.
Estinien watches him with the same piercing gaze as always, but there’s a contentedness there that brings a smile to his face. He can’t help nudging their noses together and trying to pull him closer again. This is trust. This is the time when they are both free to be two people without all the responsibilities pressing down on them. He smiles and closes his eyes, humming as Estinien wraps his arms around him. This is warmth and safety and he always, always finds himself wishing that dawn will never come and they can stay as they are, shielded from the world by something as thin as a bed sheet.
Aymeric draws back just enough to look him in the eyes again, just enough to see how his hair is sticking out at odd angles and that there’s a mark on his shoulder that he doesn’t remember making. There is really only one way he can think to say all this without sounding like a terrible excuse for a poet, and every fibre of his being is urging him to say something because if he doesn’t the moment might escape and he won’t be able to cement the feeling as something real.
“I l-” he begins, but is cut off by the pair of lips that crash into his own. It’s a moment before he regains the ability to think again, and another until Estinien finally lets him go. He tries again, but this time his words are silenced by a finger.
“You and I both know that such oaths are not for us,” the dragoon says.
The memory breaks and Aymeric is back in his room. Alone. With the words he wanted to say still caught in his throat.
Estinien was right, as usual. Even if their activities would not cause a scandal the likes of which Ishgard hadn’t seen in a good few years, they both had important roles to fulfil and to voice such things would only hinder them. There was no one else to carry the weight of the war – no one he wished to burden with such responsibility, in any case – and no one else to carry the Eye. They had known since the beginning, known and still pressed on anyway.
Foolishness. Or perhaps weakness. It mattered little what it had been then when what it was now was keeping him awake. He pulls the blankets tighter around him and chastises himself. Such brooding fits him ill, and he cannot afford for his attention to be divided with the Dravanians on his doorstep.
He’s about to start counting karakul when he hears someone fumbling with his door and his breath catches in his throat. There are only two people who would be trying to open his door in the middle of the night and one of them at least has the courtesy to knock first.
The door swings open and he struggles to relax his face, relax everything. He’s asleep. He certainly has not been lying awake, pining like some lovestruck teenager. The door closes and the lock clicks back in place, followed by a set of soft footsteps that stop just behind him.
He’s sleeping. Counting karakul. Definitely not in the middle of a sparring match with his lungs.
“You think me fool enough to believe you’re asleep?”
His cocoon of blankets is ripped away and he rolls over to find Estinien wearing his usual frown. He’s dressed in soft clothes and his hair is half pulled out of its usual ponytail, a mess of white tangles hanging around his neck.
Aymeric can’t help but laugh at his dishevelled appearance. “Either give the blankets back or get in, I’ve not the time to catch a chill and I suspect the same is true for you.”
Estinien grumbles something he doesn’t quite catch and shoves him over to make just enough room to slide in next to him. He presses close to Aymeric’s back and wraps one arm around him.
Aymeric feels Estinien’s foot brush against the bare skin of his ankle and he jerks away. “By Halone, you’re freezing!”
Estinien doesn’t answer, just pulls him into a tighter embrace. He feels the dragoon’s face buried in his neck, struggles not to jump at the cold touch of his nose. Moments pass in silence and when Estinien finally speaks, it’s little more than a whisper.
“Sleep eluded me as well.”
He’s cold. Aymeric can feel the lack of heat through his tunic and is occurs to him that he didn’t hear Estinien kick his shoes off at the door or remove a cloak. It’s been snowing for days now and, though there isn’t far between here and the dragoons’ barracks, it’s certainly enough to chill a man to the bone if he’s fool enough to step out into the weather unprepared. Instead of voicing this suspicion he simply takes Estinien’s hand in his own and uses the heat to try to warm the frozen fingers.
“How long has it been?” Aymeric yawns. Now that the initial surprise from his unexpected guest has worn off, he’s finding himself growing drowsy. He knows he needs sleep, knows that there are hundreds – thousands – of people that need him rested, but he wants to stay awake a little longer. He knows exactly how long it’s been since the last time they were both here, could probably count the minutes if he had a moment to think on it, and he certainly isn’t going to waste a single one now.
He feels Estinien shrug behind him. “Three weeks, or thereabouts.”
Aymeric rolls to face him and Estinien shifts just enough to let him. They’re nose to nose, so little space between, and Aymeric closes the distance by pressing their foreheads together. He closes his eyes. The cold is gone now, replaced by comforting warmth.
It’s another few moments before Estinien says anything. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”
Aymeric shushes him with a gentle nose bump. “I might have said the same an hour ago, but now I don’t think it matters.”
“You were unhappy with my answer when-”
“Because you were right.”
“Even so-”
Aymeric laughs. “Why Estinien, I do believe you are attempting something of an apology.”
Estinien furrows his brow. “Perhaps, if you would be so kind as to let me get a word in. Another interruption and I fear my generosity will be at its limit.”
“Very well then,” Aymeric says.
Estinien makes a show of clearing his throat. “I have never claimed to be skilled in the use of words and I have, on occasion, been accused of insensitivity-” Aymeric can’t help but laugh at that, and Estinien silences him with a glare, “and it is perhaps because I place so little value on things spoken.”
Aymeric runs a hand through Estinien’s white hair, letting it linger on his cheek. “Such has always been your way. You need not make excuses.”
Estinien tilts his face into the warm hand and closes his eyes. He makes a small sound of agreement. “If I had known I wouldn’t need these words after all mayhap I wouldn’t have spent so long trying to find the right ones.”
Aymeric traces the dragoon’s cheekbone with his thumb. “Did you find any others?”
Estinien pauses for a moment, as if considering. “I l-”
This time, it’s Aymeric who stops the words with a kiss. He’s so tired that he knocks their teeth together in his haste and then draws back sheepishly when he feels Estinien’s lips curve into a smile.
“Impatient today,” the dragoon laughs.
Aymeric yawns. “I thought it might be time to take a leaf out of your book.”
“Oh?”
“A painfully honest man once told me ‘I simply see no point in dallying around with words when what would be said is already known’.”
Estinien barks out a laugh and pulls him into a tight embrace against his chest. “So be it then. Fighting my own advice would be unwise when you’ve finally seen fit to start using it.”
Aymeric makes a small sound of agreement before winding an arm around Estinien’s neck. Really, he should be making some snide comment at that last remark but he’s so warm and so tired and so, so glad to not be spending another night alone that he’s willing to let it go. Instead he pulls the dragoon down into a kiss, taking care not to clash teeth this time.
Estinien responds by tightening his hold on him, hands coming to rest on the exposed skin where his shirt has ridden up. Aymeric tangles the fingers of one hand through the white mess of his hair, letting the other slide down his side. He sighs into the kiss before moving both hands down to fumble with the drawstring on Estinien’s trousers, frustrated when he just ends up tying them tighter.
Estinien laughs and pushes him until he’s rolled over, facing away. “You are entirely too tired for this.”
Aymeric shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’m not-” whatever denial he was about to make, a yawn betrays him. He tries to turn over again but Estinien pushes close, stopping him.
“You’ll be no good to anyone if you’re not rested.”
He’s right. Again. And, although it’s infuriating, there’s no point fighting.
Estinien rests his face against Aymeric’s neck. “Besides... there’s always the morning. I’m not about to leave any time soon.”
He’s entirely too warm. Was he always this warm? It’s hard to remember exactly when the last time they were together was so long ago. But with drowsiness overtaking him, it doesn’t seem to matter. Aymeric closes his eyes and lets himself fade into the warmth, everything else can wait.
Really, it’s enough that he’s here.