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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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Everything spills out of him, then.

He's spent weeks, months, with enough light aether to kill anyone else swirling around inside him. He's fallen to the absolute depths of hopelessness, was ready to sacrifice himself not for any hope of victory or redemption, but just to give his friends more time to kill him, to figure out some kind of alternate plan. He's had to kill Emet-Selch and he's never wanted to do anything less, though he's not even fully sure why he's more conflicted about that than the other Ascians, just that he is. Maybe it's simply because he hadn't known, when he was killing Lahabrea, the gravity of what he did, the difference in Sundered and Unsundered.

But there's also something about Emet-Selch that reminded him of Phillip and he hasn't fully figured out what that is or was, yet, and so it just itches under his skin, just out of reach.

It's too much for one man, any man, but there's been no help and no choice for it and the cracks through him haven't just been to let the light out, not for a while now. Safe, home, here, he finally just comes apart, and the force of it is too much for him to get words out for a long series of minutes.

Phillip has clearly missed a lot, is missing incredibly large gaps of the story even including what Feo Ul had passed on to Tataru. He wants to know, but at the moment he doesn’t need to. The way Gustavain falls apart in his arms tells him enough.

He doesn’t try to stop it or cheer him up or anything like that; such motions would feel far too hollow, in the face of all this. So offers the only thing he can- his presence, his tight hold around the trembling man, hand in his hair and cradling him as much as he can. He doesn’t push for anything, murmuring soft assurances that he’s here, he’s not going anywhere, he won’t let go, soothing his hands over the other and at least trying to give him some comfort amidst the despair.

Depending on how long they stay there, Phillip may fetch a blanket to wrap around them, a pillow or two when the floor becomes too hard. But before then, there may be a different kind of comfort, of his darkness slipping into those cracks, a gentle press of their contrasting auras not fighting but trying to mend.

Edited 2021-06-11 14:53 (UTC)

Depending on the order of things, they very well may end up at least slightly more comfortable on the floor. The tempest rages, now that it's been unleashed, but there's a tension to it, a rush of water through a constricted area, a violence that comes from trying to get too much through too little a space, like there's still something held back.

The brush of Phillip's aether against his has him letting out a shuddering gasp and opening, not so much calming as very suddenly having all the bindings removed. They've never done much of this, not since that first night, and the reaction that night was spectacular, but very different from this.

It doesn't stop the flood of tears, doesn't bring sudden coherence or even really quiet him, but Gustavain's grip eases, abruptly, tension dropping of him like discarded clothing, and while he still cries himself out for a bit afterwards before he even starts to calm down, all of an anguish of it slides away in that moment.

With the anguish gone, the desperation that Phillip didn't even realize he had goes with it. He still stays where he is, still tries to sooth and comfort, but it's less panicked response to try and make any of it hurt less and more just letting the rest of the wave ride its way out. He's not sure he's any good at comfort, despite how much he wants to make this easier, but focusing on Gustavain is at least a convenient way of keeping his mind from how many-- or how few-- of them are left.

By the time things begin to calm, Phillip has somehow acquired some softer things for them on the floor, draping a blanket over them not because he's sure it'll help but because it feels like it's some kind of barrier, between them and the rest of the world. A little bit of separation from it all. Gustavain is likely tucked in his favorite spot too, heading resting against collar with hands in his hair, still stroking it. There still aren't really any words, because what is there to say to all of that, but the protective arms around him likely speak volumes.

It's a bit odd, a piece of a story that Phillip is still missing, that Gustavain opens so easily to the touch of his aether. It's not something that's usually comfortable immediately, even before considering what someone like Phillip's aether likely feels like. It's usually a bit like trying to climb into a very hot bath-- you can make yourself hold still until the water feels good, but it takes effort to not hiss a little about it. There's no effort. Phillip brushes against his soul and Gustavain just comes unspooled in his arms without even a flinch.

And while it does take several more minutes for him to quiet, he does quiet, finally. And then he starts to tell the story-- the real story, not the parts he'd given Feo Ul. About the light aether and about Emet-Selch and Amaurot, all of it.

There's a clear, strange affection there in the telling for Emet-Selch, something he doesn't try to hide. It doesn't particularly sound like they were lovers, exactly, and that's not something Gustavain would be likely to hide, if they had been. But it's markedly different than how he's talked about the other Ascians, a strange, soft vulnerability about it. Perhaps it is as simple as Emet-Selch being the only one (aside from Phillip) to try to talk to him. Knowing how Gustavain's mind works, it's liable to be something else.

Still, the anger and hurt that comes towards the end of the tale tells the ending before Gustavain does, gives more credence to an incredible story of the last few weeks of his time on the First.

"There was so much to do, in the wake of it all," he says, finally, "There is still so much to do. But I came as soon as I could."

Phillip never stops touching him, though there are key parts of the story where his hands pause in their passage through his hair, and it might be Gustavain's imagination but also probably not, that they shake a little after hearing about Amaurot. He doesn't interrupt, not even to ask any questions or clarify just why his voice is so tender when he talks about Emet-Selch, letting the words come out as they may. He's a little afraid that stopping the flow may make it harder to come out again.

He needs a moment to process it all after Gustavain is done, but he does his best to not leave them in silence for too long. "I'm sorry," he says, kissing the side of the man's head and it's an apology for many things, first and foremost how much Gustavain has suffered, "I wish-- I wish I had gone with you. I could have-- I don't know, but maybe I could have helped with something."

To his knowledge (as flawed as it may be), he doesn't think there was anything he could have really done. He could not have talked down Emet-Selch, he likely would have been mostly useless in any battles, and he's near certain that he wouldn't have been able to do anything about the light aether (though not entirely). But at minimum he could have been there to just do more of this, hold him when it was too much.

"I don't know if having you there would have made it better or worse. I would have certainly been more than happy of your support, of course. But... when I thought I might turn into a monster, the only thing that brought me comfort was knowing you, at least, were safe beyond my reach." He says it so simply, like so much else he says. It's almost difficult to believe he was sobbing but a few minutes ago. But then, that's just always been how he is-- it's not precisely that he holds things in, so much as things just have never surfaced in him the same way they do in other people.

"Still. I missed you." He's been back, of course, several times, but it's not the same when he knows he's leaving again in the morning, when the Light inside him had started to make him antsy about spending time here at all.

That is quite possibly the most Gustavain thing he could have said in that moment, and Phillip whole heartedly believes that to him it is as simple as it sounds. When faced with possibly ending the world he was trying to save and many of his friends in one fell swoop... well, given what he was really fighting for focusing on those who wouldn't be lost fits right in.

"I missed you too." And he understands why Gustavain wouldn't have told him in those brief visits, especially if he'd wanted him to stay put. "You're staying a bit longer this time."

It's phrased like a question, but not really asked as one, while still sort of asking. Phillip won't force Gustavain to stay, obviously, knows there's plenty still else to do. But if he can, he is at the very least going to encourage a break, and perhaps try to convince him that his bed is the best place for him for at least a day or two, a process he starts by bending down to lay a kiss at the crook of his neck, slightly below and behind his ear.

"Mm. I shouldn't," it's what he says, but he's tilting his head pliant as can be for that kiss against his neck, "There's still the matter of getting our friends home and there are... loose ends I need to see to, besides." Not the least of which being yelling at both G'raha and Urianger for about a week each.

But he also very blatantly doesn't say that he isn't staying and even though it's a bit shaky in a voice worn out from crying, there's clearly a teasing note to the words-- he's not bothering with being subtle about how much he wants to be convinced to stay.

“What you need is to rest,” Phillip replies, firm but teasing in its own way as his lips find their way down the man’s jaw, “I don’t believe for a second that you got nearly enough of it while you were there, even before the light was trying to crack you open.” His lips continue their trail, his hands moving to slowly work out the knots that almost certainly exist in Gustavain’s shoulders and upper back, while also trying to feel out his aether as subtly as he can. He didn’t really notice in the moment just how easily Gus had allowed himself to open at the last touch of his own soul, too caught up in panic, but he is trying to reach out again, to assure himself if nothing else that those cracks don’t remain.

“You won’t be any good to anyone if you fall over with exhaustion trying to fix things,” he continues, his hands kneading their way slowly over his body, “And if it means I have to tie you to the bed to get you to stay there, I’ll do it.” Whether that sounds like a threat or a promise is almost entirely up to Gustavain’s interpretation and desire.

There's a soft noise of pain as Phillip's fingers find a knot (wherever they first touch, there's a knot there, that's how bad it is) and then a low groan of pleasure when the muscles give way, and it's a startling sign of how tired he must be that he doesn't even really keep teasing at protest very long.

"I rested," he does at least protest that, though his voice is lazy, almost slurred, though he doesn't seem on the verge of falling asleep or anything, "... Well. I tried to rest. Genuinely, I did." The knots tell the story of how successful he was, but he's honest that he had tried. It's also quite clear that he's wanted to relax for some time now, because there's only the physical resistance of his muscles to knead into submission, everything else about him relaxing down into the pressure of those hands.

And the pressure of Phillip's aether, as well. More easy to feel how unconsciously welcoming he is, how it's not just his muscles unwinding that has him almost purring in contentment. His own aether is incredibly strong, more than it should be, considering what he says he's been through, but even though unexpected aether-touch is usually something to be flinched from a moment, his own rolls over like a dog for a belly rub. He doesn't seem to notice a difference.

"You'd do that?" he teases softly with a warm chuckle, "Tie me up and keep me all to yourself while I'm needed elsewhere? Dastardly." He sounds halfway to tying himself to the bedpost.

“Mmhmm…” He’s not really doubting that Gustavain made the effort to rest, but under his hands is all the proof he needs that it wasn’t nearly enough. He’s methodical in his approach, loosening up the muscles bit by bit as the warrior sinks into him.

The way their aethers interact does catch his attention this time, and there’s a moment of quiet kneading while his attention goes to it, slightly puzzled. Gustavain has usually done a fairly good job of not panicking when they’ve brushed against each other’s before, but he’s certainly never reacted like this. Curious, he presses a little deeper, a little closer, wondering if it’s just him not noticing admits the exhaustion or something else.

“That’s me,” he says as he does this, the slow massage of his hands not giving up, “the villain who captures the fair hero and imprisons them until they submit.” He tilts his head so they can press into a kiss, heated and brimming with an unspoken mine, claiming his mouth with a slow tongue. “Of course,” he continues as they pull apart, lips still close enough to touch, “it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

Gustavain makes a low noise, sensual but not an outright sex sort of noise, when Phillip's aether presses in deeper and Phillip can feel something inside of him give way in relaxation as well. Ridiculous as it is, it's almost like his aether is touch-starved, which is... new. Gustavain does seem to be at least passingly aware of what's happening, if the noise is any indication, but the way his aether pushes back, twines softly against Phillip's in a way that's gentle, but clinging all the same, seems to be involuntary.

Another knot falls to Phillip's fingers and the richness of Gustavain's moan says it's for a combination of that and his words. There's a slow, lazy roll of his hips, not really purposeful in the slightest, just adding a hint of hedonistic friction to his own words,

"Keep up on my back like that and I'll spread my legs for you too," they both know it's a forgone conclusion that Phillip is likely to work each and every knot out of his back before this is over and that Gustavain is far more likely to beg for more than deny him anything, but he's missed this banter they have, too, and he's not giving that up easily.

That is utterly bizarre and Phillip doesn’t really know what to make of it. Why would his aether react this way all of a sudden? His mind wanders back to the way he’d talked about Emet-Selch, wondering if whatever happened there had something to do with it but— later. For now, he just enjoys the way their aether presses together, twining in and around each other, bringing them so much closer than they’ve ever been with just their bodies.

There are so many knots bound so tightly in his muscles that this could go on for quite a while, Phillip dutifully working through one after the other. There is it’s own kind of pleasure in this and he’s enjoying the way a careful knowing touch can ease the tension in the body beneath him. “Just spread your legs?” he hums thoughtfully, as he finds a particularly nasty one below his right shoulder and presses deep into it, painful before it works into pleasure, “No, love. By the time I’m done with you you’ll be begging for me to have you again and again, and forget that there’s anywhere else you could be.”

He ducks his head down to press a kiss to the base of his neck, before it turns sharp and he works a mark into the delicate skin. He can’t make Gustavain forget his duty forever. But he can certainly make it slip his mind for a night.

Gustavain's never been much for a whole lot of sustained pain in the bedroom, but sharp spikes of it have always gotten a good reaction, particularly coupled with teasing, and this is no exception. The noise he makes when Phillip digs his fingers in is more orgasmic than pained and his aether twines sharply around Phillip's for a moment. It's still not particularly controlled, but it's clearly reactive all the same.

"Doesn't sound very villainous," he points out, when he's capable of speech again, "Sounds... mmm... sounds lovely."

He thinks this may be the part he likes this best, when they're still both coherent enough to play, but he's starting to have to work for it. Gustavain has never minded a little begging or dirty talking, but he likes how it feels to hold himself back until he has to plead or curse.

Phillip laughs, playful but rich, pressing a kiss to the mark he made before leaning up to nip at the lobe of his ear. "That's how I get you," he teases, pressing down to work through the last of this knot before moving on.

He lets the words fade for a moment, just taking in the various noises Gustavain makes as he works his back. "Hm..." he hums as his hand glides down his arm, "Of course the rest of you is probably this tight too..."

Getting down to the end of it, Phillip pulls his palm up, brushing a thumb over the skin of it and down his fingers. The touch is light, at first, until he begins to press in to each of the muscles there too. Apparently he knows what he's doing, because even if Gustavain didn't realize he had tension there the release of it is ridiculously>/i> good.

He can't help but laugh at that, more than a little breathless,

"I suppose it is a bit difficult to go back to saving the world if my legs don't work. And easier still for you if I don't... mmm... don't want to fight it," it's still in the same playful tone and his hips work again in a single, languid roll, but it's as much a confession as it is play, voicing a desire he has a hard time speaking in earnest, but will bring up again and again and again as some kind of bedroom game.

Claim me. Keep me. Take care of me, when no one else can. If he's forced to stay, if there's an excuse, it seems so much less like he's letting other people down and more like just something that's happened, like a stopped train or a lost item.

He looks at Phillip curiously when he moves to his hand. The curious look continues while he works at his fingers a bit, while the touch is lighter, but as soon as he starts to really work the tension out of the meat of his palm, he's coming as much unspooled against him as he did for his back.

It's tempting to read more into that, and it would be all the more tempting if he'd only connected to Gustavain. There are still moments like this one where he wonders what it would be like to take the playing out of it and actually abscond with the Warrior of Light, keep him somewhere where he couldn't get caught up in the world's petty troubles and occupy him enough for him to not realize he missed it. He's fairly certain he could, but the desire is usually fleeting these days. There are others he would miss too.

But he can claim without that, and he does, working a slow mark into Gustavain's shoulder as he massages his hand, working the muscles grown tight from carrying weapon after weapon. "Much easier," he agrees, grinning down at him, "Good thing I seem to have convinced you."

Eventually, eventually, he'd probably fight it, if Phillip did actually spirit him away somewhere. Eventually, it would feel more like a violation than something good. But that "eventually" is likely after more time than either one of them would expect. In some ways, Gustavain is entirely too selfless, thinks nothing of throwing himself into danger when other people are at stake, but he knows well enough there's a part of him that wants to leave it all behind, that misses singing for his supper and having a "hero's welcome" be a few people in a village when he killed an unruly boar, not when he comes back from slaying yet another primal. Or another friend. There's a part of him that wants Phillip to take him up on it, to lose himself in something other than death, to forget.

Eventually, eventually, he would be angry. But until then...

It's neither here nor there, right now. This is still at least a kind of play and he's entirely too eager to lose himself in it utterly for a night. He rolls his head to the side to give Phillip more room to mark him, and they both know from experience he'll do nothing to hide them whenever they next make it out of the room.

"I don't know... I might need more convincing..." he absolutely does not, but he's also not about to let Phillip think he can stop, not when they've not even made it to a bed yet. And then he lets his mouth curve wicked, "After all, my thighs are still plenty tense and we've not even made it to a bed yet," the grin widens, "Mm, surely you don't think to keep someone as illustrious as myself content with a rug on the floor."

Listen, he would absolutely let Phillip fuck him all night right here without even a single thought of protest and they both know it. He's not actually got a single air to put on and he'd let a stranger at a bar do a lot worse, much less someone he loves. But he also doesn't expect Phillip's going to end the game by calling him on it, either.

If there comes a time where the world stops threatening to end for more than a day, there is a good chance Phillip would do it as a temporary measure, at least, to make sure Gustavain actually gets a break and a chance to rest without having to be at the beck and call of Eorzea. If he knew just how long it would take for Gustavain to get mad about it, it may even be something he'd do to force him to retire when the time came, assuming he lived that long.

But that time is likely a long ways off, and so Phillip takes his time with this moment, working through the last of the knots in his hand before glancing up at that wicked smile. "Illustrious as you, hm...?" he says, and his expression is anything but impressed, though there's a spark of mischief behind his own eyes. Without warning, his hand darts up into Gustavain's hair, pulling it taut from his head- not enough to hurt, but enough to apply a bit of pressure against his scalp.

"Now, love, let's be clear." His voice is rich and dark and his mouth is perfectly position by one of his ears. "Whatever you may be outside of here, right now, in this room, you are mine and nothing else, and I'll go with you what I like. Understand?"

To many, this would likely cross that border to cruel, to a violation, to be denied their self beyond this. But Phillip knows Gustavain well enough to know that even though he would not allow this forever, tonight, after all he's been through? Leaving it behind may be exactly what he needs.

Gustavain makes a sharp noise to the tug on his hair, but it doesn't sound pained so much as rich with a different type of release than either what Phillip is doing to his muscles or what Phillip is likely about to do to the rest of him. This, too, is something he enjoys about this relationship-- how swiftly they can flow from one sort of thing to another, as though each one of them is keen to hold open door after door, until they find something the other person will step through. Perhaps it's a bit low on negotiation? But they've hardly ever seemed to either need nor want it-- Gustavain certainly would rather do than talk about, as much as he can be silver tongued when he wants to be.

"And here I thought you'd find getting me so relaxed I couldn't resist you to be it's own reward," he purrs back, tempting in turn, yet another door held open, but he's not at all unwilling to go with the direction Phillip seems to be pulling things, either, curious to see if he'll find a way to combine the two. And so, after a moment, he adds a sweetly murmured, "Understood."

From someone else, perhaps the lack of embellishments would seem like he was less into this, but their banter often serves as it's own kind of negotiation, seeing where the other will give and hold firm, feeling out where each other are for the evening. For him to just give in like that, without any further comment to modify it is unusual, a signal that he accepts wherever he's going with this as is.

There have certainly been occasions where their tendency to not talk about things has gotten them in trouble- such as their months long refusal to discuss what they meant to each other and what they wanted. But for much of their actual sex, they're both reasonably content to just wander where the mood takes them, where a little spark in the conversation can inspire something new to chase. Had Gustavain not brought his role in the outside world into this, Phillip wouldn't have thought to draw the line, but the pleased hum he makes as his lips move down his jaw indicate he doesn't regret it.

"Do you think I can't have both?" he asks, loosening the grip on his hair and bringing his hand closer to kneed at his scalp, working out the tension there and down to his neck, "I still have every intention of making you beg."

Once any kinks in his neck are dealt with, Phillip shifts them around so Gustavain is laying on his stomach, the soft blankets underneath him. (They'll move to the bed eventually, but now he just has a point to prove.) He starts working on the muscles in the elezen's lower back, working his way down to his ass and then his thighs.

The kneading fingers have his eyes drifting closed, his whole body relaxing into the touch with a low hum of pleasure,

"You can have whatever you'd like," he returns, another statement bold in it's lack of embellishment. He's easily eased back down to the pillows and blankets, easily rolled over, though Phillip's going to have to do something before too long if he's going to start working the tension out of his thighs, or rubbing his ass like that, because it takes almost nothing before Gustavain is a bit uncomfortable from having only the hard floor to meet his arousal, trying to shift some of his weight off it while also chasing just the slightest bit of friction...

Even so, he doesn't really complain, just lets the lingering tension in his hips and thighs speak for him.

"Still a bit tense, it seems." He's teasing, massaging deep into his thighs before having mercy, rolling Gustavain over so the discomfort is gone but so is the chance for friction. He winds up straddling over him, leaning down to massage the front of his chest and shoulders.

If Gus tries to interfere at all with his own hands, there will be 'repercussions' for that- first, just a quiet displacement, putting them back on the ground, but if he feels like testing things he's more than likely going to end up with them bound. Either way, Phillip works his way down the front, find every bit of him that might be experiencing some tension. Except the one obvious place, of course.

It's very clear that his thighs are tense and Phillip is going to have to spend some more time there if he actually wants to get the tension out and also that Gustavain really likes that. There's definitely the feeling that, given a bit more comfortable resting spot, it's the place to really go after if he wants him to beg-- he's moaning deeply for even the small time he spends there.

Not that his shoulders and chest get a bad reaction, but it's clearly back into the low, sensual noises and relaxation, though his cock isn't getting any less hard from it, certainly. He does reach up once or twice, but once it becomes obvious that Phillip doesn't want him using them, he gladly just leaves them on the ground, seems content, for once, to just let Phillip do what he wants.

He seems lazily content enough that, were it not for seeing how he was a minute before, Phillip might think he's got his work cut out for him, if he wants him begging and desperate. But perhaps that will actually make it all the sweeter, when he does.

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