Phillip lets himself settle down in his arms, hand brushing lightly over his arms in aimless, lazy patterns while making sure to keep his upper body still, allowing himself to be a headrest. He's utterly relaxed, a gentle sort of peace settling over him as they lay together, only puzzled enough by the thanks to give a little laugh. "You don't need to thank me, you ridiculous man," he says, voice soft and fond as he reaches up, tucking a lock of his hair back behind his ear.
And then he says Ascian.
Suddenly he bolts up to sitting on the bed, so quick as if the word had burned him, bright blue eyes staring at Gustavain in a mix of bewilderment and something almost like horror. Phillip has had to learn how to be cautious, moving around Ishgard, but Gustavain would never have seen him intimidated or beaten down, relenting eventually because he learned it was the only way to get anything done rather than anything else. It is it, then, that bared in bed with him is the first time he would have seen him looking afraid, a glimmer of it peaking through in the moment of shock before he tries to mask it with anything else.
"I am not going to kill you, you--" He wants to call him an idiot, but the word fails on his tongue, just staring in utter disbelief. He can hardly deny it, not if Gustavain already knows, knows what the word even means. Phillip takes in a breath to try to steady himself, not sure if he wants to project anger or hurt and therefore fluctuating somewhere in between. "Why do you-- how?"
The pieces are beginning to come together in his mind, but not fast enough that he doesn't still ask the question. What in the hells has he been through, that he would know--?
no subject
And then he says Ascian.
Suddenly he bolts up to sitting on the bed, so quick as if the word had burned him, bright blue eyes staring at Gustavain in a mix of bewilderment and something almost like horror. Phillip has had to learn how to be cautious, moving around Ishgard, but Gustavain would never have seen him intimidated or beaten down, relenting eventually because he learned it was the only way to get anything done rather than anything else. It is it, then, that bared in bed with him is the first time he would have seen him looking afraid, a glimmer of it peaking through in the moment of shock before he tries to mask it with anything else.
"I am not going to kill you, you--" He wants to call him an idiot, but the word fails on his tongue, just staring in utter disbelief. He can hardly deny it, not if Gustavain already knows, knows what the word even means. Phillip takes in a breath to try to steady himself, not sure if he wants to project anger or hurt and therefore fluctuating somewhere in between. "Why do you-- how?"
The pieces are beginning to come together in his mind, but not fast enough that he doesn't still ask the question. What in the hells has he been through, that he would know--?