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for whatsina_name

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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There is a half a moment of hesitation, something that might be as simple as just not fully understanding how Phillip is moving, or why. And then all of the slight amounts of tension in Gustavain leave in a rush, noticeable only in their absence. He winds his arms fully around Phillip and takes one shuddering breath before he stills. He has cried himself out but recently in a different set of arms, there's no tears left, but it's indescribable, every time, the relief he feels each time he has the chance to set his burden down and just be.

The smirking and the rest of it isn't an act, or if it is, it's less that it's something he does to hide any of this and more that it's something he does in defiance. Everything else can be taken from him, he'll give everything he has, but he won't let all of this turn him into someone else. That person meeting Phillip for drinks as old friends is the person he's fighting for and he's not going to let anyone forget it.

Still, this feels good, bordering on obscene in it's intensity, and that Phillip is an Ascian apparently makes little difference. He tightens his arms around him and, after a moment, tilts his head up, hopefully for a kiss.

Phillip did half expect to be thrown off or pushed away, still deeply uncertain of where this puts the two of them. He has no quarrel with Gustavain or what he's done, what he means to do, other than it being an incredibly foolish thing to take on alone and he doesn't wish to see him come to harm. But even though he has argued his case on how he is not the sort of Ascian that has hunted him down, he wasn't sure that would be returned.

Therefore, the kiss is something of a surprise to him, but other than a curious noise when their lips connect he doesn't have any objection to it. He leans into it, still a little cautious, but much of his own tension beginning to release as they hold onto each other and he continues to stroke that long, fine hair. He still doesn't know where this is going. But... perhaps he should just let them be for a time.

There is a deep, fundamental problem, here. Phillip is an Ascian and their stated goals and the continued safety of this world are not things that can coexist. Gustavain has already made the choice on which side of that divide he stands, even though he's deeply conflicted about needing to destroy the Ascians to do it. There's neither victory nor joy in it and hasn't been from the beginning, only a deep, deep sadness, burrowing into his soul, each time one of them falls. He does not want to do this.

Even so, he will do what he can to protect this world, the people he cares about in it. He has made that choice. Phillip... hasn't, at least not to his knowledge. His choice has been, so far, to not really be involved in either, to just be and while there's nothing Gustavain can find to disrespect in that, he also doesn't believe for even a moment that there won't come a point where Phillip will have to chose a side-- where inaction is no longer a place of neutrality, but a choice itself-- all that is needed for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. And he genuinely doesn't know which side Phillip will choose when that time comes.

And, too, he's enough of a pragmatist to realize that all Phillip would have to do here is lie and Gustavain is much easier pickings. He doesn't think he's lying, not really, but the Ascians are masters of deceit. It would be easy to lie to him, he thinks, when it's one he so desperately wants to believe.

All of that fuels into the kiss, turns it heated and searching and there's something defiant about that, too, as though he's waiting for Hydaelyn to strike him down, or that Ascians to burst in the door for a fight.

Though it is likely of no comfort to Gustavain, Phillip hasn't made the choice, to pick a side. He has known the sides existed, of course, if not the precise shape they took after the Calamity, but his neutrality itself is a somewhat complicated thing. It is partly just a desire to be, to absorb the mortal world as a participant inside of an outsider. It is partly indifference, too old and having seen too much death to really think much of the fate of the world anymore. But a part of it is also a seeking of balance, of believing both that the current state and the one he fellows propose are unnatural, shifted too heavily towards one side or the other. He hadn't thought much about what that would mean, what the inevitable fight between the two would entail since he knew his own well enough to know that they would certainly not call a truce.

He hadn't, at least, until now.

He still does not know what he would pick and likely won't until the moment he has to make that decision, if and when that time comes. For now, he focuses in on their kiss, rising to match the heat and take it deeper, sinking further into it. Neither of them are likely to find answers like this, no simple kiss is going to solve anything... but maybe the universe at least has a smidgen of mercy, nothing but the distant sounds of the tavern and streets interrupting them.

Gustavain kisses him until they both run out of air, like he's trying to give the universe the longest amount of time to smite him down for this and, when he doesn't, he breaks, gasps to fill his lungs. He knows what he needs to do here, now, knows that it's unlikely Phillip will refuse him, but there's one small remaining matter to be settled before he can ask what he needs to ask,

"Your name," he breathes it against Phillip's mouth and he both does and does not understand what he is asking, "is it really Phillip?" He strokes the hair out of Phillip's face, tender and curious, "Here, when it's just us, I would have the truth from you. This, all of this, is insanity. If I would do this, I don't wish to hide from it in any way."

Phillip is very much not used to being seen in this way, and there is a discomfort to being known even this fully. He is not much of a liar, but he is secretive and can certainly deal in deception with the best of them, play around technicalities to get his way. He could answer yes, and it would be the truth. But it would not be the full truth, and while he may not know what he's going to do when the time to make the choice comes, he knows what he should do in this moment.

The name glides off his tongue in that smooth, somewhat unsettling way the Ascian language is, the way his lips form to make the words even foreign feeling again Gustavain's lips. "...I certainly prefer Phillip," he says, his thumb trailing over the curve of the other man's jaw. If he had it his way, he would never hear that name again. He doubts he will be so lucky.

Hear. Feel. Think.

It's only a memory. He hasn't heard Her in a long time, hadn't been the one to hear her in the midst of crisis. Is he broken? Is he not important to Her anymore, after being Her champion? Is there something wrong with him?

If so, he chooses it gladly this time, where the only person here to save is himself.

He has understood, before, when the Ascians have spoken, a gift of the Echo, but he's never tried to speak it himself. His mouth is clumsy around the word, but he does surprisingly well with it. The accent is off, awkward, and yet it sounds right in his mouth, musical.

"I like it," he says, after a moment of consideration, confirmation that he's said it correctly, "Of course, I do think Phillip suits you better," there's a wry little smile, small, but his eyes crinkle with it "but I think I might be biased."

"I'd like to have a formal truce," he says after a moment, chuckles at himself, hands trailing down Phillip's sides, "Well, more than a truce, if I'm honest. I'm sure I'm about to go getting myself in trouble the longer I stay here. It would be good to have a familiar face to return to, someone I know inside and out," the tone there leaves little to the imagination, an innuendo in words only, meaning perfectly clear. "If you want, of course. There's only one thing I would need from you in return, if you did."

...Well, he might take his last thought back, at least a little. It doesn't bother him as much coming from Gustavain's mouth.

He chuckles softly, letting his fingers drift over the other man's face, brushing against his lips. "I would almost hope so," he says dryly, given their previous conversation and what he is at least pretending to be. He certainly wants to be more of a 'Phillip.'

The talk of a truce earns Gustavain an arched eyebrow, though Phillip is quiet through his explanation, sliding his own hand in a soothing motion over the man's neck. "What is it?" he asks, cocking his head curiously, not quite wary but certainly not about to agree to something before he's heard it. There are likely things that Gustavain would want from him that he cannot promise to give.

Gustavain pauses for a moment, considering. It's not that there's any hesitation in him now, it's that how this is phrased is important, at least to him. He doesn't want there to be a misunderstanding, doubt. He slides his hand up Phillip's side, back down, contemplative for a moment.

"I don't know why it is that you prefer to be known as mortal man when all of the others are almost disgusted by us. Perhaps I should be more concerned about that than I am but..." he shrugs, "your reasons are your own and can remain that way if you wish. If that's what you want, I would not wish you to be uncomfortable in our time together or make you feel as though I only saw you as an enemy. But..." this is the harder part, he takes a deep breath, "you are an Ascian. My being here is stupid, foolish, the worst thing I could possibly think to do at best and a betrayal of everyone else on this journey with me at worst." He reaches up as he says it, lays his fingers against Phillip's mouth, the touch half stopping him from saying anything and half a soft caress against his lips.

"I'm going to do it anyway, you understand. I want to do it anyway. But I need to do so with my eyes open. Just once is enough, but just once, I need you to be as you are, or as much of that as is possible with you like this."

"After that, we need never speak of it again, if you wish. But just the once, I need to know. I need to see."

Phillip is quiet for a long moment, though it's clearly not a refusal, hands still tracing over his skin. It might be read as contemplative, or there's a possibility that he's simply trying to gear himself up to do it. He understands, of course, why Gustavain would ask, why his choices and status don't make any sense to him. He is not terribly inclined to explain himself, in large part because he simply doesn't know how. It is not as though self-reflection has been a major part of either culture he has lived in.

He could refuse the request, could flee Ishgard immediately and return to being relatively unknown, unseen for what he is. That would be far more comfortable than the tension in this moment. But, that is a part of mortality, isn't it? Being known?

Sighing, he tips his head against the other's. "Alright," he agrees, the discomfort in him obvious but he pushes through all the same. The mortal frame he has taken doesn't move, still pressed up against Gustavain's body, but the aether behind him ripples to life with a form much like those the Warrior of Light has seen before.

It takes more than he thought it would, to not recoil, even though he knew it was going to be something like this. It takes less than he thought he would to roll them so Phillip's on top of him again, pressing him down into the bed. He's taking deep breaths, obvious how much he's controlling his breathing, making sure he is still breathing, adjusting. It's uncomfortable, for both of them, but he needs this, needs to confront it if anything between them is going to be anything real at all, if he's going to trust Phillip in the future.

He reaches up slowly, hands shaking just a little bit, slides his fingers against Phillip's jaw, into his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that starts tentative, a bit, but slips slowly sideways into heat, mouth opening under his on a low moan, even as there's still a fine tremor in his arms. Even like this, even with his eyes closed, he can feel the difference, somehow, taste darkness on his tongue, strange and alien.

Something about this is undeniably wrong, twisted, sideways. But Hydaelyn doesn't smite him or scream at him or even so much as warn him about anything, even the Echo feels as though it lies silent. And something about this is also right, warm, familiar. If nothing else, he believes Phillip that this has been who he has been all along, now, in a way that he never could have with just words-- there's no denying it now.

Gustavain's restraint is appreciated, as deeply disconcerting as this clearly is for the both of them. Phillip's not immediately clear on what he's doing, why he rolls them over even as he's struggling to breathe steadily, the surprise when that hand reaches up to caress him palpable in the air.

The kiss is returned just as carefully at first, unsure how it would even feel like this, but when Gustavain opens into it he does as well, the darkness mixing with heat into something like hunger. There is a danger to it, there is no denying that, but, well, danger is hardly something new to him, now is it?

There had been the distant, wry thought that perhaps the Light would burn him, see the darkness inherent in him as only an enemy with no other path, but it does not- though whether that is because said light seems more muted than it should, he cannot say. For the time, at least, he is grateful for it, and he will hold onto the kiss as long as Gustavain wants, before letting that form fade away once more.

What precisely happens next is something Gustavain can unpack later sometime, whether it's just adrenaline or if maybe somewhere deep down he's got some kind of unaddressed death-wish or if fighting primals has left him with some kind of adrenaline addiction at this point or what. But the kiss shades deeper into hunger and it feels like falling off a cliff, the ground steady between his feet, a moment of weightlessness and then the abruptness of gravity taking hold.

He's clinging suddenly, a reflection of that hunger and heat, winds one arm around Phillip's back, the other hand tangled tight in his hair and something yawns like a pit in his chest, deep and fathomless, and the kiss goes wild for a moment, desperate, and he's not sure if he's pushing up against Phillip or pulling him down against him or both. There's a dim thought that this is likely not the best reaction or impression to leave Phillip with, but once the avalanche has started, it's entirely too late for the pebbles to vote. He can no more stop what's happening than stop the sun from rising.

When the kiss breaks, it's with a gasp of that name, the strange Ascian language rolling of Gustavain's tongue perfectly in that moment, possibly assisted by the Echo with his conscious mind stood aside for a moment. How long has it been since Phillip has heard it said in passion?

There is a definite shudder as the kiss turns desperate, and while Gustavain might not be giving the best example of how he should likely respond to the feel of darkness pressed up against him and all but threatening to devour him, Phillip personally has no issue with it. He gasps into it, holding him closer until there is essentially no space between them, no place for either of them to hide in that brief moment.

And then they pull apart, Phillip’s own name burning in his ears and sending an after wave of heat through him. Has he ever heard it quite like that? Even he’s not sure.

He lets them rest against each other for a moment, letting them both just breathe before lifting his head up. “It sounds better when you say it,” he admits teasingly, brushing his lips against the corner of the man’s mouth.

"Gods..." is all he manages for a moment, breathing gone staggered in lust rather than fear, still reeling from whatever that had been. He'd know he was going to react to it, but that was... not the reaction he was expecting. It's left something in it's wake, a strange, dizzy feeling like everything in him has been upended sideways, but it's not bad. If anything, it's the opposite of bad, and everything tumbles through his head in the space of a breath before he's doubling up, "Fuck me," breathless, nearly over Phillip's next words.

It's clear from the blinking expression a moment later that that... wasn't exactly something he'd planned to say, just something that tumbled out, and Phillip has a moment to enjoy that, before he gets the pleasure, too, of watching Gustavain's expression go sly at his words, dangerous, much more the teasing young man he used to be able to pull out of him, the smart-assed bard he's turned into, than whatever serious, life and death thing that they've been dealing with.

And then, because it's who Gustavain is, he smashes the two together.

He's mostly a singer and musician, but you don't do the whole "bard" thing without a bit of acting thrown in there too. It's a simple matter to get a little sweetly dazed expression on his face, absolutely pornographic compared to the real thing Phillip had just gotten to see a moment before. Gustavain breathes that name again, pronunciation back to being a little bit off, but he manages to hit a heated, crooning tone with it all the same,

"Fuck me," he says, again, but this time, it's with a bat of his eyelashes, a stretch of his body underneath Phillip's.

It's possible teasing about this isn't the wisest thing he's done. But he can't think of a better way to show Phillip that the whole point was to do what he'd just done so that they could do this without it changing anything.

Phillip wasn't at all sure what he should have expected from this experiment, nor had he really thought there was something to prove to him. There is every right to be wary of him, and to want or need to see him in his true form before any kind of trust to be established- a trust that may very well not extend to discussion of his plans, how he intends to fight his battles, but at least enough to be trusted when at least his body is vulnerable. He didn't like it (or hadn't), but he'd thought he understood.

Turns out he can still be quite bad at predicting mortal behavior.

In his defense, it does seem that even Gustavain hadn't imagined that this is what the outcome would be, and there's something in him that relishes that just as much those lustful breaths. And then it shifts again, to something else he didn't expect but is much easier to deal with and respond to than sincere emotion.

"With pleasure," he all but purrs back, shoving his hands with playful roughness to 'force' him against the mattress, leaning down to catch him in another deep kiss.

There's a line here, strange and thin, where they're playing but not playing, but also definitely playing. He lets himself be pushed down and there's that discordant spray of notes in his head, but the heat is already surging through his veins even before Phillip's finished the motion and he's kissing back without any kind of restraint whatsoever, lapping his tongue into Phillip's mouth as soon as he has the opportunity to.

He struggles a bit, but it's playful, not even really testing so much as just a squirm that has him bucking Phillip just enough off him that he can get his thighs around his instead of the other way around. The "dismayed" moan he makes when he "realizes" it is loud, showy, the one that follows when he manages some friction there lower and more heartfelt.

This could definitely turn somewhere uncomfortable if they're not careful, the lead up to this likely leaving the both of them a little raw and very aware of what this would be like if it was any less playful. Phillip, at least, is in something of a strange place, having been forcibly pushed out of his mindset as a young Ishgardian man or his approximation thereof. He has been generally quite good at keeping the two mentalities separated, not letting his old life weigh him down as much as he might have done, but now that it's been exposed it feels like the two have mixed together in a way he doesn't really know how to handle.

It's easier to just not focus on it, throw himself into what's happening now and forget what was going on before, but there's still bits of it that sneak in. The darkness may not be as present with his true form hidden once again, but there's still some of that deep richness and lingering hunger to the kiss. His hands stay on his chest, 'pinning' him down as their hips grind together, a low, pleased hum reverberating in their mouths.

Any "resistance" on Gustavain's part happens only when he remembers he ought to be resisting. There are moments when that sense of darkness feels thicker, something no one coming into the room would be able to sense or feel, but something that the Echo picks up, somehow. Those points cause a bit more of something like a struggle, though it's really just a deeper writhe more than anything, a breathless noise. He presses upwards into the press down and while it's a bit more like he's trying to throw Phillip off where his hands are, lower it turns into a grinding pressure that has his head tipping back on a moan.

Too much touching on his part ruins the illusion he's going for and while he's going to easily toss that to the winds once they get a little further along, this is surprisingly fun at the moment, and he's not going to give it up that easily. His hands fist into the sheets near his head, instead, knowing all too well that that throws the lines of his muscles in sharper relief, is posing like this to be looked at.

And look Phillip definitely does, though he’s not long satisfied with just looking. One of his hands finds that long stretch of limb, stroking over the muscle and tracing the sharp lines and angles they make under his skin. Even with that hand distracted, he is not letting up on his hold over the man underneath him, the weight of his body slight against the taller, more muscled man, but employed with such a leverage that if Gustavain wanted to get free, he would have to try.

But it is in good fun, and Phillip presses his lips to his collar bone, a threatening tease of teeth without biting down or making to leave a mark- yet. Their hips keep up that slow grind, aided by some lingering slickness but it likely won’t be long before they’re ready to move on. It’s not like there will be much prep needed, and the end of the conversation had taken a surprisingly pleasant turn...

Gustavain makes a deeply satisfied noise to those hands on his body, almost a purr, and arches into the touch. There's still the strange balance of a kind of playful sort of attempt to escape (without any kind of real force or effort behind it) and the very real internal struggle every now and then when something about the Echo or something else behind his eyes picks up the feeling of darkness and enemy and he has to beat that down, choose to stay and keep letting this happen.

But layered thick on top of any of that is the reality that he loves having sex, more for the interesting nature of his partners than solely for the pleasure of it, and they don't come more interesting than this, and he loves the sensual pleasure of being touched like this as well. He'd be hard-pressed to give an answer on whether Phillip's hands or the friction of their cocks is more pleasurable, but regardless, the one begets the other anyway, so it hardly matters. There's a deep shudder as well to the threat of teeth and he bares more of his neck instinctively, neck arching to try to press them harder against his skin.

Even if it may not look it, Phillip is very much aware of Gustavain's mood during this, or is at least trying to be. It is, after all, as he said- he has absolutely no desire to hurt the man, and while he's less likely than he might have been before to open himself up to potential vulnerabilities, he doesn't think Gustavain is likely to try and hurt him either. That doesn't mean neither of them could. And in this case, it's likely that Phillip has more to prove.

He grins against his neck when he feels the shudder, giving a teasing, warning nip before biting down properly, working a mark into the soft skin. (If people hadn't already guessed what they were getting up to in here...) He unfortunately does have to take his hands off of the other briefly to find that set aside bottle, rubbing a playful and slicked hand over both of their cocks. It doesn't take much more work to get them both ready, and he winds up with his hands on either side of the elezen's head as carefully presses in.

Edited 2021-05-18 22:02 (UTC)

Almost no time at all, really, Gustavain adjusting very quickly to the preparation, clearly both knowing what to do to make this easier on himself and also in no mood to wait. All fighting aside, real and playful, he goes completely pliant for Phillip when he actually lines up and presses in, eyes locked on his right up until the moment he has to tip his head back on the pillows and let out a low groan. It sounds a bit more overwhelmed than pleasured for a moment, thin with a lack of air, but it's clear from the way he moves, the way he shifts and adjust his hips, that the remedy is more motion, not less.

He'll end up with one long leg hiked up around Phillip's waist before too long, pulling him in against him with each thrust. His hands finally reach up and drag Phillip's head down, first for a kiss and then to press against his neck again,

"Do that again," the taunting Ascian on the end is silent, more for Phillip's sake than his own, really, but it's heavily implied in the tone of the rest of it. "Cover me in them."

This is absolute madness. This isn't just some young lover's tryst, even though that's actually also absolutely what this is. But there's a gnawing hunger opening up in him-- suddenly that first time and now again, slowly, with the feeling of Phillip moving inside of him.

Mark me. Claim me.

This should, by any reasonable account, not be how this should go. Sex, certainly, was almost a foregone conclusion since the moment they stumbled across each other again, and perhaps the hunger of the years spent apart would have still be present- though, it is not as if either of them had been pining for the other or anything, seeing no point in doing so. But for a reunion of childhood friends, there's an edge of darkness there, something desire than just the desire for pleasure, possibly even more than a want for intimacy. Phillip can't shake the feeling that he should probably know what it is, but he doesn't. Though he's long come to terms with the fact that he doesn't know near as much as he feels he should, at his age.

He tries not to think on it much, letting his body react the way it wants to, breath hitching as their bodies finally join together and he feels the tight heat around him, leaning where he's pulled into the hungry kiss.

It's not so much the silent taunt that sends a shiver through him as much as the desire he can sense, equally wordless but sinking somewhere deeper. He wants to be claimed, does he...?

"Want to make sure everyone knows you got a proper welcome?" he says instead, lips brushing against the still tender skin of the mark before finding a place next to it, sinking in again and working the skin as his hips continue to move, pressing himself deeper in as he leaves another sign of just how welcoming he's been.

There's a smart-assed comment there about how half the inn definitely already knows he's gotten a proper welcome, but the roll of Phillip's hips steals the comment except for the smirk for it, and then the bite causes another sharp noise of pleasure and he just opts for,

"Yes," instead and it's a breath or two before he can manage to add, "They're going to stare anyway, might as well give them a reason."

It's both very much a Gus sort of quip to make and also implies a startling amount of boldness compared to how he was when he was younger. It's not as though Phillip hasn't seem ample evidence of that already, but it's probably still a little shocking.

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