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It's so strange, being back.

Ishgard hasn't changed in hundreds of years, strange to think it would have changed since he'd been here last, but then, everywhere else he'd been has changed just in the time he's been there. So it's strange to be walking streets he knows from his childhood but with eyes that are so different.

Beside him, Emmanelain chatters on about the different facets of city life. He had made sure Haurchefant knew to petition his former family with as much discretion as possible. They, of course, had simply said their son had died and they were certain some fugitive from Uldah couldn't be him anyway. He hadn't expected any differently. He feels like that person is dead and he breathes on as someone wholly different anyway, but it's strange, to be being shown around the place he grew up in by a member of one of the High Houses, someone his parents would have killed for him to be friends with just a few short years earlier, as though he were a stranger to this place.

He has always been a stranger to this place.

Dressed in Gridanian fashion and tanned lightly by the sun, he doesn't expect there's anyone here who would recognize him. He'd been barely more than a ghost when he left, hardly a warrior of anything. But as they pass through the Jeweled Croizer and Emmanelain gets caught up talking to some girl he's been trying to woo, there's a sudden, strange sensation at the back of his head, something like and unlike the Echo, and he turns, eyes scanning the busy street for... something. Someone.

(For some reason, unbidden, he remembers the night of the Calamity, giant pieces of some other part of Eorzea raining from the sky..

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The reactions are definitely positive, and there's another similarity to the man he'll become in the way Thanatos stretches out a little, arching carefully enough not to disrupt anything with a sigh of pleasure and a glint of mischief in his eye. He is entirely aware of how good he looks like this, laid bare on the grass, long hair almost artfully mussed and stretched out underneath the man. He's not quite egging Gustavain on, is more than happy to let him take his time, but there's no hiding how they both want and there's no attempt to.

Even if he were interested in egging Gustavain on, he might find it hard to egg him on much more than he's already moving. He's waiting only for the signs that things don't hurt before he moves onwards, and if there are no signs that anything hurts, he'll barely bother with prep at all before he's slicking his cock with the oil.

Really, really, he ought to give this more consideration. He's fairly certain that Phillip wouldn't mind him doing this, is fairly certain that it isn't wrong in any way, but just because something isn't wrong doesn't mean that it's right, or even a good idea. This is not a good idea. There are a hundred reasons why this is not a good idea.

He's pushing inside him anyway.

He goes slow, or tries to, but unless there's any pained sounds, he also doesn't stop. He's tired of thinking about all of this, tired of having the world rest on his shoulders, tired already of carrying the truth and he's only borne it a few minutes. He's not about to throw any of it away, but he's more than willing to just... set it down for a few minutes, lose himself in this.

Thanatos is not completely oblivious to Gustavain's mental state; he can tell that something is affecting the familiar, though he has no idea what it might be. He doesn't seem to be in distress exactly, so he's not worried about this being a bad idea. (It certainly doesn't feel like one to him.) Maybe he needed a distraction, too, and Thanatos is more than happy to provide.

There are soft noises as the elezen presses in, but they are all clearly pleasured noises and it's well in line with how he looks, near blissful against the flowers. His hands are reached up to hold on to him, hands rubbing absently against the skin and seeming to soak in the warmth of him. Even though they are theoretically out in the open, there's something about it that seems to center them on just them, the expectations of the world (this time or any other) far, far away.

With his head between his thighs or absorbed in the work of trying to get inside him, even though he usually enjoys lingering on the prep just as much, the building of a tension that knows it will be satisfied, he hasn't had much time to just look. He's been aware Thanatos is pretty, laid out like this on the flowers, but his partner can feel the moment he finally has the ability to fully take that in. He uses his clean hand to sweep some hair back behind Thanatos's ears and doesn't so much pause as take his time in a slow grind of his hips, after he's fully seated, one of Thanatos's legs thrown almost carelessly over one shoulder to get him in deeper.

"Beautiful," he breathes out, "Fury, you're beautiful," he doesn't think about the curse being odd, but he wouldn't know how to cover it if he had. He rocks his hips once, a little more properly, clear that he's mostly just doing it to see what it does to Thanatos's face.

This should feel more frenzied, shouldn't it? He's chasing something dark, to be here at all, stealing something he very literally shouldn't be able to have. But it feels unhurried instead, despite the desperation of a minute earlier.

The curse registers as vaguely odd in Thanatos's mind, but he hardly has time to contemplate on it or even ask and it near immediately forgotten. He makes a soft little noise as Gustavain rocks into him, his eyes flittering shut briefly as he tilts his head into the hand by his face. He's near radiating a sort of blissful contentment, adoring the way it feels to be pressed underneath him and the way he's being touched. It's so intimate, so loving, and yet it feels entirely right. Surely that can't just be from being one of Azem's, but there's also no other explanation that comes to mind, and he's not much up for questioning it in the moment.

He shifts, using the hands still on him to coax him down into a kiss, deep and hungry but still entirely unhurried now, more like he's savoring every moment of it.

He's giving too much of himself away with every motion, knows that this is too familiar, too sweet for some random fuck out in the flowers somewhere, but while he always puts himself back together again, his strength has always been in his resilience, not in his imperviousness, and there's just... nothing left at the moment to be able to care much about what Thanatos even thinks is happening here, beyond that it's enjoyable.

He cries out softly with every slow, dragging thrust and he's not really going this slow to tease either one of them (though it might) but just to savor, letting the sensations pull him under. He follows the pull of Thanatos's hands down into the kiss, moans his pleasure into his mouth. The sun is warm against his back and he wants the release suddenly as much as he wants to keep going, wishes it were possible to shudder through it and just keep going. There's the crazed thought that if there's a manipulation of dynamis happening that maybe it would be possible... but he holds himself back from it anyway, doesn't want to risk ending this before it's even really started.

There is no denying that this is enjoyable, that they're both basking in the pleasure and sweetness of it all even though there are questions there, of what is happening and why and how. Thanatos is not in near as harried of a mental state, but somehow he can also tell this isn't going to hurt him and so he feels no need at all to call it off.

His body shudders with each thrust, each drag of their bodies luxurious and inciting more and more want, whatever that may be. Thanatos can't quite tell what it is that he wants, other than he knows he would be absolutely content to stay here for a long while, however low they can keep this going- with or without releases.

He does hold out for a while, at least, until the pleasure builds into something like a soreness. Even then, it takes him slowly, no real change in pace, a touch faster perhaps but still slow and dragging and deep, savoring every sensation. The peak rolls through him more like a wave coming to shore, the peak definitive but fluid, blood rushing in his ears. He sobs his way through it, not exactly crying but gathering Thanatos close with a noise more like a wail, and he suddenly has to move, almost violently, as though all the slowness has found sudden motion in the climax.

He grips Thanatos's thigh hard enough to bruise and rolls them, hard, even as he can feel his own muscles starting to want to go limp in stunned aftermath, so that the other man is sitting astride him, can collapse against his larger form instead of being crushed by his. It might also let him stay inside him longer, particularly if Thanatos hasn't found his own release yet-- he might be able to pursue it, while Gustavain can't control his limbs for a moment.

Above all else, it seems imperative that they stay together, pressed close, in whatever way possible.

Thanatos gasps, somewhere between that line of pain and pleasure, though holding on to Gustavain as if to make sure he doesn't dare pull away. As firm as the hold is, it's still sweet, like he's cradling the man's head, not sure what has him so emotionally wrecked but determined to try and comfort him all the same.

There's a surprised cry as suddenly they're rolling, gravity pulling him firmly down on top of the man as their releases finish washing over them, shuddering on his cock before relaxing utterly. They indeed should stay close, bodies connected even as they begin to soften, and the young Ancient tips his head down, pressing his nose into the curve of Gustavain's neck to bring them even closer.

It's more a factor of intensity than emotion, though the emotion is part of the intensity, that leaves him wrecked in the aftermath. He can't seem to stop petting the other man, even as the rest of his body seems to want to just melt into the earth.

The wholeness of it feels strange, even now. They are both making love to someone who is not their lover and who is all the same. He can't stop the tenderness in his gestures, the intimacy, even if he had wanted to. He can't imagine wanting to.

He needs to talk to Phillip. His Phillip. He never wants to move again.

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