Work Text:
Sometimes sleep comes swiftly, and other times it’s more elusive than lasting peace. On occasion, the exhaustion of the day weighs heavy on his shoulders, and Regis feels like he could easily succumb to it, yet chooses not to. He wants to be the second to sleep. He wants to linger in the moment and enjoy the gorgeous view before him: his delectable young lover.
Ignis Scientia is too young for him—he knows that. But, as Ignis so persistently reminds him, Ignis is old enough to make that choice for himself. In so many ways, he’s wise beyond his years, mature enough that the gap is rarely felt, except at times like these where Ignis is just so very beautiful that the distance is undeniable; Regis has no right to someone so ripe in their prime. His own is long passed. He’s acutely aware of every wrinkle, every grey hair flattened in the pillow, every ache in his old bones. The ring, the throne, the responsibility of a nation all make him feel ancient. Ignis lies next to him, unencumbered by such problems. Yet there’s a furrow in that handsome brow, a downturn to the delicate ends of that fine mouth. Ignis lies on his back, his gaze wide open, piercing the ceiling through the dark. His glasses are on the nightstand, and though a crack in the curtains lets in enough starlight to silhouette him in an ethereal glow, he can’t possibly see anything of note. The trouble must be in his mind. His long fingers idly drum his chest over the thick blanket draped there—the same one that Regis is tucked underneath. For a long moment, Regis allows Ignis the space to think and simply, silently, enjoys the masterpiece before him.
Then Ignis’ nose wrinkles—he’s particularly cute when he does that. He’s always cute. He’s tall, lean, and has taken to styling his hair off his forehead, matching the sleek suits that seem to harden him, but the nature of a shared bedroom softens him. If only Regis had the energy to follow up on it, he’d reach over and pull Ignis in close, cuddle up to him and offer to soothe every worry away. Physical contact would only make Regis yearn for more, and he doesn’t think his body could deliver another round. The first was thorough and intense enough to wear him out once. It was already wildly satisfying. The bedroom still reeks of it, Ignis still bare because of it, though he insisted on helping Regis into his pajamas afterwards. He has a tendency to get cold in the middle of the night so can no longer afford to sleep naked, though he much prefers the warmth of Ignis’ body to pajamas.
Ignis fidgets in place, something uncommon for him, and Regis finally murmurs, “What’s wrong, my love?”
Ignis startles. His gaze turns to Regis, the frown tightening—he must’ve thought Regis asleep. He instantly whispers back, hushed for the quiet atmosphere of the moment, “Nothing. I apologize if I woke you.” At least things can’t be too bad. Despite all of Regis’ insistence on dropping titles in private, Ignis would’ve added Your Majesty if he were gravely troubled. He can’t seem to help himself—he’s dreadfully proper, meticulous, perfect. It’s a shame more of him hasn’t rubbed of on Noctis.
“You didn’t.” Regis would let it go, except: “But your distress distresses me. Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”
Ignis visibly hesitates. Regis rolls that much closer, over onto his side, and reaches a hand out of the blankets to tenderly cup Ignis’ cheek. That cheek flushes darker, warmer, Ignis’ eyes crinkling with obvious pleasure as he leans into the touch. In the back of Regis’ mind, it did occur to him that Ignis could be upset over their situation—he knows it’s cruel of him to date at all, because he has no political equals, and anyone could fear retribution for trying to leave. He only hopes that Ignis knows him well enough to realize that he wouldn’t protest if Ignis wanted to break up, he wouldn’t cause any trouble for Ignis, and he wouldn’t allow any negative changes. Ignis would still be a staple in Noctis’ life, if not Regis’, and Regis would face that heartbreak privately, still showing nothing but respect to his son’s advisor. There are so many reasons Ignis could leave—their stations, their ages, Regis’ too-busy schedule or his deteriorating condition, the fact that he’s never been as good a father as he’d like, and some days can barely keep the council together. It’s a relief every time Ignis responds well to his affection, and he knows that his paradise can last a little longer.
Ignis lifts his hand to cover Regis’, gently stroking Regis’ knuckles. Then he squints his eyes shut and, with some apparent difficulty, explains, “It may be... I might be overreacting, or being foolish. I always knew the day would come when we would have to face this anyway, I just wasn’t... I don’t know. I still don’t know how to handle it.”
Regis hums consolingly and nudges, “And that day is...?”
Ignis sighs. “The day that Noct realizes I’m in love with his father.”
Regis can’t help himself. He tenses. Ignis must feel it, because his eyes flutter open, and he winces with a look of, of all things, guilt. It’s not his fault. If they’ve been discovered, Regis is sure it’s from his own longing looks. Still, like Ignis pointed out, one day, it would have to come out. They can’t treat it like the end of the world, though there’s no chance Noctis would take it well. Swallowing a breath, Regis comments, “It’s not one-sided, but entirely mutual. You can’t take all the blame.”
Another sigh, all the heavier. Ignis shuffles closer too, his knee colliding with Regis’ under the blankets, thankfully not the damaged one. When they’re so close, it’s impossible for Regis not to drape an arm over Ignis’ waist: a makeshift, lingering embrace. Ignis chews his bottom lip, and when he takes too long to continue, Regis begrudgingly prods, “How... did this come about?”
“I’m not sure how he figured it out, to be honest... and I’m not even completely sure he does know...”
It’d certainly be easier on both of them if he didn’t, honesty be damned. Regis tries, “Then tell me what makes you suspect otherwise, and perhaps we can work it out.”
Ignis nods. He opens his mouth, only to close it, trying a few times before slowly explaining, “It was... just a passing comment, really... he was being sarcastic, I’m sure, so it’s possible there was no intent behind it, but... well...”
“Ignis...”
“I told him he really must stop staying up so horrendously late just to catch a certain TV show, and he responded with ‘fine, mom.’”
Regis doesn’t respond. Not right away. He looks at Ignis, who’s dropped his gaze, still tucked close to his king but avoiding eye contact, as though he’s commit such a terribly grave sin. To be fair, Regis supposes that it is, technically, possible for Noctis to be aware of their relationship and let them know through a random passive-aggressive reference to Regis remarrying, and either replacing Noctis’ mother with his new spouse or expecting Ignis to change his gender. If Noctis had said “fine, dad number two”, Regis might’ve worried a little more, although the chance of that being a covertly accurate statement would be similarly small.
As it is, Regis has to bite the inside of his mouth to hold back a chuckle. Instead, he drags his hand over Ignis’ back, attempting to rub soothing circles. Ignis’ gaze finally flickers back up, sheepish under long lashes, undeniably pretty. Regis truly is blessed. He murmurs, “Ignis... I don’t think you have to worry.”
Ignis’ expression twists—he doesn’t have to say it aloud for Regis to know he’s thinking something along the lines of: all I do is worry about Noctis. Regis isn’t too far off the same problem.
“Granted, I wasn’t there. But I do think there’s a very good chance that he was simply teasing you.”
Ignis nods into the pillow. “Again, I’m sure it was sarcasm, but to use that term...”
“But you do mother him sometimes, darling.” Regis can’t help smiling, both at how sweet Ignis is being and how wonderful he’s been in general. “Please, don’t misunderstand. I adore that about you. You have no idea what a relief it is to me to know that he has you in his life. ...But I remember what it’s like to be a young man and have advisors structuring your entire life, and it can be... challenging. Even when it’s solid advice.” Ignis is a young man but never requires such prodding. He can’t possibly have experienced anywhere near the level of mother-henning Noctis gets. Still, Ignis doesn’t look entirely convinced, and Regis doesn’t have the heart to hammer home just how motherly Ignis can be.
So he simply pulls Ignis into him, ensconcing his beloved partner in a warm hug. He promises, “It’s alright, sweetheart. I highly doubt that was Noctis’ way of telling you that he knows. But even if he does someday learn of us, while I’m sure he’d express displeasure at first, I hope, in time, he would come to realize just how much I value you, and not begrudge me this great gift.”
He can feel Ignis’ arms wrapping around him too, and the hug tightens—Ignis pressing close against him as though to crush away all worries. He whispers, “I hope so. I love you. I do. ...But I love him too, in a different way, and don’t want him to be angry with me.” A long pause, and he adds, “That is, not truly angry. I don’t mind when he’s bothered about the vegetables I always try to include in his meals.” Regis chuckles, eternally grateful. “...And I don’t want him to feel like my son, even if I do plan to stay with his father.”
It is a complicated mess they’ve made. But it’s too late to go back. Regis already can’t imagine his life without Ignis at his side. He pats Ignis, quietly stroking him, and Ignis hums appreciatively. At least the distress seems to be dissipating. He must know that he and Noctis will always be akin to brothers. Regis holds him until there’s nothing left, until his lashes have lowered, and his breathing evens out—Regis’ heart clenches; it’s such a privilege to have such a beautiful creature fall asleep in his arms.
He lies next to that, a man worthy of a place amongst the Astrals, and wishes there were a way that they really could marry without causing a raucous worse than either of them wants. It’s so much easier in private, and still feels just as profound to Regis, but isn’t fair to Ignis. He hopes that someday, when enough time has passed, when Ignis is older and Regis hopefully hasn’t degraded too far, when the situation with Niflheim has completely settled and their own home is absolutely stable, they could breach the subject. In the meantime, they only have each other in secret.
At some point, Regis drifts off too, swimming in vague daydreams of Ignis in a wedding dress.
In the morning, he’s awoken by a petrified gasp—Ignis is sitting up in bed, ogling his phone. Regis blinks away the sleep and leans up enough to read Noctis’ text—“i know what u did last night, mom. D:<”
Ignis is shaking. The last of Regis’ dream disappears. He straightens, fully alert.
Ignis can’t seem to respond. He’s frozen. Then Noctis follows up with: u watched the new Justice Monsters anime ep too! u were getting all up in my grill, but i talked to gladio, and he says you watch it too!!
Slowly, the air filters back into the room. The colour comes back into Ignis’ cheeks. He squints at his phone.
Noctis sends a third one, simply: so now we know u a hippocrit u gotta let me stay up to watch :P
As Ignis still hasn’t answered, and Ignis is always up and active before Noctis, Noctis rightly seems to notice something’s wrong, abruptly switching to: ...iggy? r u mad?
sorry. ilu.
i just wanna watch my anime
...r u coming with breakfast, or.....?
Ignis has probably never sighed so loudly. He sinks back into the headboard with a heavy thunk. He seems to have recovered. He types back a shaky, “I love you too.” Regis had no idea Noctis was so active with his phone—he never texts his father. At least, not outside a quick, far more formal confirmation when pestered about royal events he needs to attend.
Thus, it’s the first time Regis has seen him text casually and can’t help wondering, “Does he truly not bother to type out the whole word half the time? And where are the capitals? And that spelling...”
“I know,” Ignis mutters, “I’m on him about his horrendous typing habits all the time.”
In fact, Ignis swiftly sends: You mean ‘hypocrite.’ And I stream the show online at far more appropriate times.
There’s a lengthy pause of wavering and disappearing ellipses before a response comes through: c this is y we call u mom. (gladio and prom do 2 they just don’t have the balls to say it to ur face)
...still lu. but like. ur such a mom sumtimes.
Another pause. Regis settles back, turning his attention to his lover.
And finally, Ignis laughs. Just laughs. It’s a lovely sound, lovely enough to overcome the stale taste in Regis’ mouth and the crusty sleep still clinging to his eyes. He joins in, and the two of them ignore the next incoming texts pestering for a catered breakfast in favour of enjoying their morning.