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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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It's quite the tale, all told. Taking on minor adventuring tasks, singing in taverns (and when had Gustavain ever been allowed to sing, other than in worship services) sometimes for his supper, scraping together enough to pay for travel to the next town, his early days spin out for what seems like an age, one story to the next, up to trading his spear in for a bow and never looking back.

He doesn't talk about why, about the journey that led him back to his roots, about the Eye, about a strange man that came into and out of his life like a ghost. There's nothing to say about his time with a weapon forced on him by his parents and the pressure of his life here, or how the thing pursing it further taught him was just another layer of freedom. He could walk away. Other people couldn't.

Instead, he talks about song, about a discovered love for stories and the people who tell them. He shows off his Bard stone, once common enough, now desperately rare, hopefully soon to be more common again. He talks about meeting the Scions in the woods of Gridania and traveling the breadth of the land with them, the way they've opened up the world for him. He talks about slaying the early primals, about Ifrit and Garuda, Titan and Ramuh... and then, suddenly he stops, mid-way through a sentence about Little Solace, and just stares down into his glass for a long moment, before finishing it, abruptly.

"... but I've talked your ears off, I'm sure," he segues, suddenly, and only because Phillip knows him is he able to see it as any kind of avoidance. "You must also tell me about yourself. Are you still entertaining?"

The story ends much sooner than Phillip thought it would, the abrupt ending of the tale almost startling. He's quite sure, at this point, that the rumors he's heard are indeed about Gustavain, and it seems there are some key later events that are being left out.

"It's been years, I hardly mind," he says, a bit pointedly, knowing full well that something has caused the man to change the subject. But he'll at least humor him for the moment, taking a long sip of his own wine. "I am. No longer just for a single house, at least." He neglects to mention why that is, but given Gustavain's knowledge of his own 'fate' he can probably make a guess.

He shrugs. "I do well enough to keep myself out of much trouble. Though I can't say I've been up to much that's interesting. Ishgard hasn't changed much at all, as I'm sure you can tell."

There's a bit of chagrin on his face, as though Gustavain can't quite tell if that's something he should apologize for or not, Phillip having to entertain for more than a single house.

"She does. She seems trapped in time. I never much thought so, before, but seeing the rest of Eorzea... I never realized how stagnant this place was." He can't help the curve of his smile as he turns more personal, though,

"I find I'm somewhat disappointed to hear that you're the one who's changed, if you're keeping out of trouble. I confess I always presumed you'd only grow more troublesome," something in his look grows sly and this, too, is new, "Does that mean you've no desire to sing for an old friend? If you're avoiding trouble these days."

He's not talking about music and his tone makes it obvious, warm and soft.

There is a certain freedom in not being tied to one house, at least; Phillip certainly doesn't have any regrets about that. Some other regrets, maybe, likely he should not have stayed in Ishgard as long as he has, but he's having a hard time regretting that too much in the moment either.

He laughs, leaning forward with his arms on the table. "I think you should know that there are very different kinds of trouble," he teases right back- he's not starving in the streets, knows well enough to keep his tongue between his teeth around much of the upper crust and gives all Ishgard's knights as much of a wide berth as he can, but there's still some fun trouble he's more than happy to wind up in.

Phillip regards Gustavain quietly for a moment, taking in both the expression and the tone. This, too, is a good look on him. "I'm always happy to sing for you," he says, his own voice low and tender, something of a song in itself.

"A room, then?" he asks with a grin, "I'd not want to trouble the other patrons with an overabundance of bardsong." He has his "host family" of course, to return to and Phillip has a house somewhere, presumably, but Gustavain is oddly more comfortable now in inn rooms than houses. He's seen more of them as of late.

If the answer is positive, it will be a simple matter to get a room, though he gets a knowing sort of look from the young Lalafel woman as he gets the key...

"Mmhm." Phillip is fine with that, honestly- the room he lives in is certainly not anything fancy, and while Gustavain may no longer be used to the luxury afforded even the lower houses, it's still something quite different to see exactly how the other half of Ishgard lives. He's not particularly eager to show it off.

He has a sly smile of his own as he waits for him to get the key, absolutely radiating an utter lack of shame (to the point that if said Lalafel woman looks at him, he'd give her a grin and a wink). He can hardly think of a better way to reunite with his old friend, slipping into room with any easy grace and near immediately pulling on some part of Gustavain's clothes to pull him down into a kiss.

The Gustavain Phillip remembers was never exactly shy, precisely, entirely too avid and shameless about certain things for that. But even though he wasn't particularly good at being a noble, he was one, and there was a certain level of a type of shyness, of shame, perhaps, to their previous encounters. Gustavain has always been a fond participant in them, but they'd mostly been led and initiated by Phillip, a sort of gentle coaxing necessary, a bid to get the elezen to relax, let his guard down.

Now, he goes easily with the tug to his clothes, his side of the kiss open and lush, eager and heated.

Very different indeed. And this is a difference he definitely doesn't mind.

Sensing that the amount of persuasion he used to need to employ won't be necessary, Phillip leans into the kiss, absolutely blossoming with warmth and desire and openness. His hands find purchase on the other's chest, part to keep him from straightening up out of reach and part to determine just what else about him has changed in their years apart. Even through his clothes he can tell that the dedication to the bow has built up some muscle that was not there previously, and likely one hand finds skin to smooth over, given how much of it is showing in his new garb.

He'd been training ostensibly to be a dragoon when they'd known each other-- like his sister, whom Phillip had never met. It was clear she'd made an impression on Gustavain before her death, however, and while he was always struggling to be someone he wasn't, it seemed almost more her memory that drove him than any kind of desire to keep his family happy or propriety or any of that. He's never been scrawny.

But then, he also hadn't been the Warrior of Light, then, and had only barely made it through puberty into the gangly, coltish stage, burning through too many calories to really keep his muscle. He's built like a rock now, with just a hint of softness wrapped around it, years on the road and having meager rations turning him leaner, far more muscular than Phillip remembers.

He'll quickly discover the other thing that's different, if he explores much further, are the scars. Gustavain's face is still young, lovely, with his wide, clear eyes, but his body is the body of a seasoned warrior in other ways, too, healed over bits of flesh every which direction, where healers hadn't gotten to him fast enough to fully knit the skin back together. He doesn't shy away from Phillip finding them, however, doesn't even wholly seem to notice-- they're so much a part of him at this point, he doesn't really even think about them until someone else points them out.

His Bard's clothing looks complicated, but he reaches back and up and unhooks a few things and the vast majority of it just falls off to pool on the floor, leaving him in a kind of under-tunic, smallclothes and his boots, along with a frankly sort of impressive amount of jewelry. If there was any doubt about where he presumes this is going, that certainly removes it, though he makes no move to further undress to start with, all of the rest of his focus going into the kiss.

Phillip had certainly hoped that was where this was going, though he hadn't quite known if he should expect it from the new Gustavain. Apparently he can, and there's a grin to his side of the kiss as his hands press against the newly exposed skin, tracing lightly over the scars that shouldn't surprise him but still do, a little.

He removes his hands long enough to work at the buttons of his own shirt, shrugging out of it and letting it drop to the floor. He still has an undershirt as well, to protect against the chill of Coerthas, not to mention pants to be dealt with, but that may have to wait for a moment. He locks a hand onto Gustavain's waist, just above his small clothes, to move them a bit further into the room, more towards the direction of the passable looking bed.

They've fooled around a little bit, when they were younger, but it had always been more in the way of exploring children than adults-- learning to kiss, the thrilling sweetness of being in someone else's arms. If he hadn't left, they undoubtedly would have had sex, the innocence had been swiftly fading from their touches as they'd gotten older, kisses heavier, the friction of a thigh first a strange new addition and then not nearly enough anymore. But they hadn't gotten there, this is new.

Even so, they fit together as well as they've always have and this has escalated quickly, but it feels right, Gustavain sliding his hands up underneath Phillip's undershirt with a soft sigh of pleasure as though he's the one being touched, rejoining the kisses each time they part. When Phillip tugs him closer to the bed, he goes easily, won't push to fall to it, but will either press Phillip against the side of it to wind closer or pull him closer if he's pushed.

"I couldn't let myself dwell on the past while it was the past," he murmurs, between kisses, "but I have missed this. You." It's followed by another one of those kisses, lush, lingering. His fingers slide down to work at Phillip's pants and this whole thing feels breakneck and also almost languid, like all he wants is to toss everything aside so he can savor Phillip properly.

For all else that has changed, for all that they didn't have time to do before Gustavain left, the progression here may be fast but feels utterly natural. They never were anything with a label, and the both of them have certainly gained experience in the interim years, but in a way this is the most familiar things have felt.

Phillip's legs wind up pressed against the side of the bed, not yet aiming to fall into it but pleased by their altered position all the same. He leans into the kiss, savoring it as he helps slide his pants down, toeing off his shoes until they have to break to breathe. "I missed you too." He said it before, but there's a definitely quality now to the context, a fondness that never went away.

Once his pants are out of the way, he goes for Gustavain's undertunic, having to stand on the tip of his toes to have a prayer of making it over his head. He presses in for another of those deep kisses, hands splayed across the bare skin of his chest, exploring with tender presses.

He gets his own shoes off quickly as well, helps Phillip a bit in getting it off over his head, though he mostly laughs warmly at the attempt. His own hands follow suit, dragging the undertunic off of Phillip.

And then, for a moment, he freezes.

It's not like he's never seen the necklace before. In fact, he's never seen him withoutit. He hadn't really even remembered it, it was so much a part of Phillip. But now, now he has a context for it as he's seeing it again and his blood runs cold for a moment.

No. No, this can't be what it looks like... it can't be. Or... maybe it can be but does it matter? Phillip has had it as long as he's known him and multiple things pass through his mind all in a rush. Gustavain has never been good at stealth, but he's reasonably good at subterfuge, when he wants to be and he needs a minute to think about this.

So it's the easiest thing in the world to slip to his knees, sliding his hands up the back of Phillip's thighs, slow and sensual, his mouth meeting the skin of his inner thighs with a low, pleased hum, working upwards. Hopefully, the anticipation is enough to still any questions.

Something happens in that moment, and perhaps if Phillip thought about it a bit more, thought about what being called the Warrior of Light might imply, he could figure it out. But he doesn’t, and Gustavain moves fluidly enough to his knees to distract him for the moment. If he’s undeterred, it’s probably not important, right?

He lets out a low sigh as he feels the lips against his skin, reaching up to thread a hand through the other’s long hair, a gentle, stroking motion. It’s still a very tender touch, a fondness clearly present that at bare minimum would be exceedingly difficult to fake. As would be the interest evident through his small clothes.

Gustavain scrapes his teeth along the tender skin, will suck a little love bite high on his thigh as Phillip curls his fingers in his hair. He voices a purring noise of pleasure, leans a little more into him, and neither the smallclothes nor the thought of the pendant, deters him from sliding his mouth higher, mouthing his way up his cock through the cloth.

He teases him through his smalls for a long moment before dragging them down, replacing his mouth quickly. There's nothing frantic about it, but he does want to not think for now, wants to ignore the necklace and everything that it means. The best way to do so seems to be to throw himself wholly into what's happening, and so he takes him deep, clear that he knows precisely what he's doing, the motion easy and practiced.

There’s a low, deeply pleased hum in his throat as that marks work into his skin, fingers briefly tightening in his hair. It’s been clear to him that Gustavain has a very good idea of what he’s doing up until now, from the way he touches and kisses just to the way he moves, but he’s still not quite prepared for the ease of it all. Which means when he’s quite suddenly taken as deep as he is, there’s something of a startled noise before it turns deeply pleasured.

“Gods,” he gasps out, one of his hands sliding down to briefly cradle his face before resting on his shoulder, gripping tightly there. Any thoughts he might have had about anything else in this moment are thoroughly gone, focused entirely on the present.

He purrs a response around him, pleased at that quiet curse. There's no thought to deliberately bring this to a head quickly or to hold back at all, he just gets caught in the rhythm of it all, something about this hitting something musical, a beat to this, a dance. Gustavain doesn't specifically particularly have a thing for this, but he adores those moments where his body and someone else's are moving in a kind of harmony, resonating with one another, and it's easy to turn this into a feedback loop, where every one of Phillip's reactions only feeds his own passion.

If Phillip comes at some point during this, they'll end up on the bed while he recovers, limbs tangled warm and sweet. If he doesn't, after a while, Gustavain will pull off to look up a him with a wicked sort of gleam in his eyes. Either way, the question is the same,

"How do you want me?" it's said with a slightly smirking lilt, quite secure in the knowledge that Phillip does, in fact, want him.

Phillip does come that, likely able to hold himself back but having absolutely no desire to, caught up in it all himself. He's more than happy to lay tangled up with Gustavain on the bed, legs twined together as he rests against his chest, hands still moving over him, carefree in the way he touches.

He tilts his head up to face him at the question, a grin spreading across his features. "That confident, are you?" he teases, but it's barely one because it's true, he does very much want him. He leans in for a kiss, cupping the other man's cheek to pull him into it. "Stay right where you are," he says when he finally pulls back from it, rolling himself so that he's straddling the taller man before leaning down into another heated kiss.

His hands slide down the body below him, resting on his thighs before one wraps around him, giving him a long firm stroke. "Do you have oil or anything?" he asks, making his intention quite obvious, but he can shift course if need be.

"Mm, confident enough," he teases back, before falling easily into the kiss. "As you wish, then," he teases, moaning at the stroke but not otherwise acknowledging it in favor of moving things along to a conclusion they both very much want. "In my bag, yes," he gestures to the pack he's carried with him. It's luckily not far from the bed, but he will have to keep himself stationary-- Phillip will have to get off him to reach it.

Gustavain goes nowhere while he does, though there's perhaps a slightly odd expression on his face when Phillip turns back around. He'll pull Phillip back down easily enough, though, dragging him back over him and kissing him deeply and thoroughly.

Phillip goes to fetch it, finding it easily enough, but the expression he sees when he turns back around reminds him that something else is going on- whether it's about the rest of the story that Gustavain failed to tell him or something else entirely, he doesn't know. It's swiftly put out of his mind again for the moment as he's pulled down and into another kiss, returning it with equal depth and fervor.

He opens the little bottle and drips some oil on his fingers, making them quite slick as he finds his way down again to press one inside of him, followed shortly by the second. He'll take a bit longer then, partly because of the stretch needed but mostly because he wants to savor this for a moment, his fingers pressing deeper in every so often, teasing him with them.

At first, Gustavain is perfectly content to just watch. The sight is gorgeous, after all. But it's not very long before that's not enough, and he's slicking his own fingers with oil. He strokes Phillip's cock with them first, but if Phillip takes much longer to prep himself he'll find one of Gustavain's long, slender fingers sliding slowly in beside his own.

He'll leave when to move on entirely to Phillip, despite pushing himself into the procedure, but he'll grow impatient not with how long this has or hasn't take, but with not being able to kiss Phillip during it and pull him down with the other hand until he can lick into his mouth.

Phillip won't make him wait too long, too eager for where this is going himself. He lets out a sigh when he's touched, laugh a bit as he's pulled down into a kiss, but shortly after he'll drag fingers out, waiting only for Gustavain to move his own before replacing them with his cock.

He presses down into him slowly, all the way, back arching into the pleasure of it as they sink together at last. This time he doesn't linger much at all, just allowing them a brief moment to adjust to the sensation and gripping onto the Elezan's shoulders before carefully pulling out and pressing in again, picking up in speed and force quite quickly.

The noise he makes to the first slide is delicious, a low, drawn out groan similar perhaps to sinking into a bathtub or a warm bed, the overwhelming first sensation of something lovely. There's no sense here of this being something finally happening, so much as it being the obvious next logical step of a dance they've been performing since they were much younger.

"You feel as good as I thought you might," he murmurs ardently, fingers settling on Phillip's hips, and then, "Don't go too slow, I won't last like this," it's said with zero sense of shame-- he knows already that he can almost always go another round, certainly at least one if he likes his partner, and he definitely, definitely likes his partner.

When Phillip actually starts to move, Gustavain arches his back, mostly lets him take the pace but moans without restraint whenever he does something particularly good, the moans coming increasingly more often and taking on a slightly slurred quality the more he picks up the pace.

"As do you." It might feel trite, if it weren't so low and breathless sounding as Phillip massages at his shoulders. It would be a stretch to say he'd gone much imagining, having thought Gustavain dead and eternally fourteen, but there's no denying that it does feel good, that he thought it would even before they stepped into this room.

He doesn't hold back, building up to a steady and quick pace, relishing each noise pulled from the man. "Fuck, but you sound gorgeous," he murmurs, leaning down enough to press a wet kiss to the corner of his mouth, "A beautiful bardsong." They did come in here talking about singing, and it turns out that Gustavain does it wonderfully.

There is no attempt to make this last long, dogged in his pursuit of pleasure, gasping for air and holding on tighter as he speeds up, trying very deliberately to drive at least one of them to the edge.

"Nn... feels too good to be quiet," he says back, honest and flirty at once. It's beautiful on another, unexpected level, seeing how little Gustavain bothers to hold back of himself like this, when once he was always nervous someone would see, would catch them. Now it seems like he doesn't particularly care if the whole inn knows they're fucking, though there's still somehow a pleased flush at the compliment all the same.

He hangs on for as long as he can, almost as though he's making a game of whether he or Phillip will come first. Right at the end, though, he does muffle himself with one hand, knowing the noise he's about to make is more liable to have people running if they hear it, rather than any attempt at censorship. The other wraps around Phillip's cock as he makes a final effort to bring him with him before he comes with a shout behind his hand.

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