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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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Phillip certainly wouldn't mind revisiting this at some point, some time where they actually spend it wrapped up each other and not worry about an enemy battalion finding them half naked in the blood and dirt. But there are likely a number of conversations that need to happen between then and now, and he's personally not sure where or when to start.

Those are concerns for later, though, when he's not being fucked out of his mind. He makes a sharp but no less pleasured joins when he's grabbed and pulled back, stretched out and held in place with no way to move on his own. Every call of 'mine' seems to send another shudder through him, each more intense than the last, until he finally lets out a strangled cry and spills out onto the ground.

There is a moment, in the hazed aftermath where he tries to collect his thoughts and catch his breath, where he hopes Gustavain doesn't wind up regretting this, allowing his dark side to come out. Phillip certainly doesn't.

Gustavain doesn't follow him in a fashion that's entirely simultaneous, but rather like he's been pulled along with the tide. There's enough time for him to fuck Phillip straight through the orgasm, for him to be in that space just before oversensitivity when Gustavain's teeth sink into the meat of his shoulder again and he shudders and stills. The drag of his tongue across the wound a moment later is slow, hazy with his own aftermath, nose pressing a moment later into the hair at the base of Phillip's scalp.

His hands unclench their deathgrip on his hips a moment later and soothe once, slowly, up his sides and then back down again before he pulls out, slow and smooth. He sets about putting them to rights in silence and it's a place where from anyone else, things would feel perfunctory, but Phillip knows from experience that it's just something Gustavain always likes doing. He doesn't mind being a mess, but the act of cleaning up seems to be a form of care, not fastidiousness.

"I am going to need a bath," his voice is soft, as he nears the end of getting them settled, "and a drink."

Whenever in the process Phillip next actually turns around and looks at him, Gustavain is still in the dark armor, giant sword still clipped to his back, but his eyes are their normal glass-green color.

Phillip needs a moment to let the strength come back to his body, otherwise he's going to try to get up and just fall over again. He does at least manage to get his pants back up and shift around on his knees so he can look at the man again, to see that whatever it was that happened has passed.

He reaches out, brushing over his cheek and making a mostly futile attempt to get some of the blood and dirt off of him. "That bad?" he asks, a faint smile on his lips because sometimes Phillip is utterly incapable of asking a direct question. But then again, maybe after what just happened and the uncertainty around everything that is them, he can't really be blamed for retreating into old habits.

Gustavain arches an eyebrow at that, the side of his mouth quirking upwards,

"If you think otherwise, then what you need is a mirror," the words are teasing in the way Gustavain is normally teasing, a return to the lighter, less direct way they move around one another.

All we ever do is run from one another. He's been direct about his own truth as much as Phillip's. And yet... He leans in and brushes a kiss, light, against Phillip's lips,

"Anything else can wait until after." It holds the door open to this conversation they need to have, but it also holds the door open to run from it. It's one of those weird places where Gustavain seems wiser than he ought to be, really, despite having numerous failings-- by giving them a time and a place, he clearly defines that they are NOT talking about it NOW, there's no need to worry that Gustavain is going to blindside him with something else. They are going to both have time to think. And it's done casually and expertly, with all the ease of a tactician.

Meanwhile, he'll slowly get up, help Phillip to his feet as well.

They do need to have it, Phillip as at least come to terms with that by now, though he hadn't expected this outing to be the thing that might actually push them to have it. It is tempting to run, he'll admit. But that part of him is slowly but surely ceding ground to the part that wants to stop running.

"Alright," he says with a slight nod as the kiss breaks, lingering in his space for a little longer than he needs to. He is trying communicate in his own way that he did mean it all, but those feelings are all the harder to put to words when he doesn't entirely know what they are. He is a little envious of that ability to communicate so much with so little, at the moment.

He does need a bit of help getting to his feeling, his legs not entirely steady beneath him and it may be a few steps before they remember how they work and he doesn't need Gustavain for support. "So," he says after a few moments of silence, to firmly place a boundary between what just happened and now, to be put aside for the moment until they're ready, "How do we make sure everyone doesn't just panic when we show up?"

"Experience says we don't," he says, simply. "Either they'll be afraid of us or they'll coddle us and either way we'll get privacy and a bath," he might have to check Gustavain's eyes, because that's a bit of out character for him, but they're still green, yet another signal that whatever that was, it was still Gustavain.

"The places I can go without being immediately recognized shrinks every day," he says, with a soft sigh that sounds both bemused and beleaguered. "I guess we'll just add this village to the list."

They get the "frightened" version, it turns out, or at least, the version where the village treats them more like whatever passes for yakuza, here. But, also true to his expectations, part of that ends with them getting fine foods and a private place to bathe and rest practically thrown at them. Usually, Gustavain tries somewhat to show that he's not some kind of monster killing machine or a monster himself but tonight he just kind of... lets them, is very polite but not particularly warm as they're shuffled off both out of sight and also being given no reason to complain about the village's hospitality.

He's mostly silent, a kind of tension in him that's more just "get from point a to point b before you fall over" than anything that has to do with the other things that happened, but it's still noticeable when he's finally clean and dressed in comfortable sleeping clothes and he sits down in front of the low table piled with food and practically wilts down onto it in something akin to exhaustion, other things taken care of.

Phillip more or less follows his lead, breaking from him only long enough to complete the task that sent him here in the first place. The bath is incredibly welcome and his hair is still wet by the time they finally sit and have a chance to be alone with no other outside pressing matters. (Which doesn't mean they're done.)

He sits next to Gustavain, gently petting the back of his head and giving him a moment of quiet. "How are you?" he asks after a few minutes, whether or not the man pulls himself back up. Even though what he saw back there was definitely still him, Phillip isn't sure how affected he was by it, and there was certainly plenty else that he's had to deal with on top of it.

"Tired," he admits, and he's talking about physically but he's also not and then he just kind of rolls himself sideways so his head lands in Phillip's lap, curled up against the floor cushions. Despite the statement, he doesn't seem like someone about to fall asleep, so much as someone taking comfort where he can. "I can't get too distracted before I eat something but... it's not the first time that's happened."

Address the easy things, first. Easier, anyway.

"I don't know why the job stone works like that, but it does. Sometimes." There's a deeper story there, but he's not sure how much either of them actually want to get into it right now. And, really, he's got no more answers for why than he did when he was still calling out for Fray.

Phillip doesn't stop his gentle petting motions, carefully combing through his hair and against his scalp but with no real goal, other than to give comfort and to keep touching him. He does want to get into the story of all of that eventually, and maybe that story would be an easier place to start, but it's also far from the most important thing they need to discuss.

"So sometimes it just... what? Brings our your 'darker instincts'? It was still you." He could tell that much, at least. And clarifying that it was still him is certainly more pressing than the why, if they're to move to discussing the rest of it.

"Something like that," he confirms, "It wasn't always but we... I? reached an accord. We fought. I don't know what I would have become, if I had lost," he adds, quietly, after a moment. He just lets that sit for a moment, mostly because he needs to sit with it. He takes a deep breath,

"But he's still me," it might be surprising, considering what he'd just said, considering what he'd done that it's said without shame, just acceptance. "I think he would argue that he's the real me, what's left when all the lies are stripped away. And it's true that he's more... pure, in that way. But I think our choices define us, more than our natures. Whatever I am, I choose this."

Phillip doesn't interrupt him, lets him think and take his time. "I certainly hope that's the case," he says, voice a bit wry as Gustavain finishes. That is certainly a distinction he's thought about quite a bit, in the time since they're run into each other again.

"In case it's not clear," he says after another pause, and it's obvious that it is not easy for him to say it, "it doesn't really change how I feel about you."

Ah. 'Feel.' That's why it's hard for him to say.

Because Gustavain is Gustavain, he blinks up at him at that puzzled for a moment before comprehension dawns,

"Oh," he says, simply, "I never really considered that it might," he says, honestly, "all things considered."

Also, implicit in that statement, was the easy acceptance of the word feel, as though it comes as little surprise to hear Phillip use it, even though... surely it must.

Then again, Gustavain always seems to see more than other people.

That response actually gets a little laugh out of him, and a soft smile with it. Really, that shouldn't surprise him. He really hasn't been able to hide from Gustavain for quite a while now.

"Just making sure," he says, with a little shrug, "It seems like the kind of thing people like to know in these situations. ...Though admittedly I haven't heard of anything quite like this before." Not that this part really matters anymore.

"It's nice to hear, all the same," he says, warmly, rolling more over onto his back so it's easier to look at Phillip. "Honestly, I was more worried that you would be worried about me than think differently of me-- at least once we had a chance to talk about it. I guess it's pretty abnormal, you know? It didn't seem like the other Dark Knights had this problem, and I don't know why I do," he shrugs, "I mean, they talk about unleashing their dark sides and all of that and calling on the power of the darkness, but it doesn't seem like it's usually quite so... divisive? Literal?" Another soft shrug.

"I mean, I am a little worried," Phillip admits, "More because of how divisive it seems to be. But if you don't know why it does that then I'm not sure much can be done about it."

He's quiet for a moment, but Gustavain can probably tell he's not done, instead trying to figure out how to say what he wants. "...And I admit there was a part of me that worried you'd regret the whole thing and avoid me for days." The last part is a bit of a joke, but saying what he means is progress.

Gustavain studies him for a moment, considering what to say in return. It's not exactly fraught or even very long, but it's long enough to notice it, and to know that, if nothing else, he's choosing his words.

"And what part of it were you worried I might regret?" There's an easy answer here, given the violence of the whole thing, but there are several doors also left open, if Phillip wants to walk through them-- the emotional one, but also the slightly less harrowing one if he would like more of that particular type of treatment.

Phillip knows why Gustavain does that, leaves the paths of conversation open and plenty of 'outs' available. But in times like this, he really wishes he wouldn't. They do need to talk about it, sooner or later, and at this point later will be all the more difficult for all the chances they've had and chose to ignore. It's still tempting, every time it's offered, to just abandon this and go back to something lighter, back to their now customary dance where they admit nothing.

He keeps the gentle movement through Gustavain's hair, though there's a tension to him now, primed for that regret, for rejection. "What you said," he replies after a long moment, clearly have to push his way down the path, forge through unknown territory, "About wanting me."

And this, right here, is why they need to talk, because Gustavain is running from this, make no mistake, but not in the same way Phillip is. Because his brow furrows slightly to that,

"Why would I regret the obvious?" he says with a small smile, a moment later. Though he sobers in the next, "'Tis never been the wanting that's the problem," he reaches up, lays his hand against Phillip's face, his own surprisingly serene, "But I'll not take back the claiming, either. Not now."

Phillip reaches up with one of his hands to cover Gustavain's, leaning into the touch. "Obvious, hm?" he says with a little smile, clearly not thinking it was- but then again, they are coming at this from very different places. One who is all but fueled by want and connections, and one who has scarce ever seen it.

There is a moment of quiet between them as Phillip just soaks in the gentle warmth of the hand before he speaks again, a little uncertain. "What is next, then?" He's not trying to be clever, he genuinely does not know. In a way, to him the path forward is incredibly obvious, a devotion that comes with want and belonging and everything Gustavain is. But if it was so simple as that, he feels like Gustavain would have laid his claim before now.

Gustavain raises both his eyebrows,

"Is it not? We've known each other nearly my entire life. Do you think I would allow myself to be any kind of vulnerable around you, knowing what you are, if I didn't love you in some fashion? Do you think if Nabriales had been good in bed I would have crawled into his?" he references Phillip's connections very sparingly, mentions his own interactions with other Ascians even less, but there's a point to be made here and he's going to make it. "That I would lie to my friends about it, to keep him close?"

"You are the one who is ever a mystery," he strokes his thumb against Phillip's cheek, gently, "At least to me. I would think both my feelings and my hesitations would be obvious."

Phillip is quiet for a long, long moment, still holding on to Gustavain's hand and still leaning into it. It is not quite that he has never thought of it in that manner, he has certainly wondered why Gustavain did not tell the Scions, why he keeps coming back even when he has every excuse to not. He has known that there has been trust between them, but had not known if that extended to anything more. He realizes, with hindsight, that without love the trust may not have been possible at all.

"I do not intend to be," he says, his eyes slightly averted from Gustavain's not in shame or avoidance but in thought, clearly trying to find the words as he speaks, "I suppose I may well not know how to be otherwise. Especially since I was so often sure you'd come to your senses and write me off sooner or later."

That is a tease, but also not, in the way these things so often are with Phillip. He tried not to feel anything because to do so was an invitation to get his heart broken, and he has never forgotten what Gustavain said to him that first night, that to be with him was at minimum a betrayal of everyone who fought for and with him. Even now, he struggles with how to put it into clear words and not just subtle, easy to obscure actions. "I was going to tell them myself, soon," he says, and perhaps that is a bit out of nowhere but he is trying, so much, "Though I'd prefer that be a conversation I only have once and I feel like Y'shtola would be very cross if it was something she had to find out second-hand."

"I've oft been told I'm nonsensical," he says with a grin, "most often by you. I don't know why it would come as a surprise that I would not come to my senses," it's teasing, but soft. And then, a shift, but it's not avoidance this time, not really.

"Let us go ahead and eat. I feel like this is a conversation best had in bed at this point and I long to be there," he sits up, but he remains close, pulling Phillip against his side while he works to fill a small plate with food from their small feast, "Making sure Y'shtola is present and can box your ears properly from the start is likely the wisest thing you've said all day. It only gets worse with avoidance."

Phillip lets out a short laugh, staying tucked against Gustavain's side as they turn the attention to the display in front of them. "Oh I'm quite sure I've already avoided it too long for her liking," he says, shaking his head as he too begins to help himself, "Though honestly the reprieve I'll get from Tataru's hassling may well be worth the lecture and ear boxing both."

Tataru has no idea he's an Ascian. She's had plenty idea of how he's felt and has been utterly impossible about it.

They likely don't talk much while they eat, the exhaustion from the day momentarily put aside for the hunger that came with it. But once they've had their fill the bed is not too far off, comfortable and warm and all but waiting to be fallen into.

"Oh? Has she been meddling?" he asks it, but it's an idle question, more something to fill the silence while they eat than anything of any real consequence. Whatever conversation there might be is light and Gustavain doesn't waste much time with the food, eating just enough to keep his hunger at bay for a bit before rising to move over and all but flop into the bed. He'll finish the rest tomorrow, if he's still hungry, he figures, or maybe just later in the evening after he's had a chance to rest, but his body is feeling every last swing of that giant sword, now, and laying down is too fine a thing to resist anymore.

He leaves the soft robe they've been given the use of on when he collapses into bed, but it gapes in a way that suggests he's not wearing anything underneath it, and the picture he paints on the bed is both sensual and cozy, moreso for how little he seems to realize it. Phillip coming closer (if he hasn't just followed him down to start with) will get him caught with that longer reach and dragged over into the bed, pulled close and warm almost immediately.

"Much better," Gustavain intones, humorously grave, once he can settle his head on Phillip's collarbone, limbs wound around him.

“Doesn’t she always?” Likewise, Phillip doesn’t take the conversation anywhere meaningful, a very gentle and fond ribbing of their friend being the most of it. He doesn’t eat much either, enough that he won’t starve through the night but the weight of both the exhaustion and the pending conversation (however cautiously optimistic he is about it) pull him to the bed before too long.

He allows himself to be pulled in with a smile, hand finding its familiar perch in Gustavain’s hair and smoothing gently through it. “Indeed,” he hums playfully, shifting the two of them close as he can get.

He’s quiet for a moment, looking over the man beside him and taking in the picture of him lounged on the bed, relaxed and impossible to resist despite everything. “I do love you,” he says softly, realizing now that that might not have been as painfully obvious as he’d thought it was.

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