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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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"Better that they're not watching, wouldn't you say," he growls in Phillip's ear and the only reason Phillip doesn't have his pants torn off of him is that they're easy enough to just loosen and yank down, along with his smallclothes. Gustavain wipes his fingers along Phillip's hip, enough to get the worst of the gore off of them, but he doesn't bother taking off the gloves, even though his hands would be clean beneath.

There's no way to have anticipated any of this, but it's clear Gustavain had anticipated something, because there's oil a moment later, scented with flowers, something intended for the bedroom rather than something being repurposed and, given the speed with which he'd found himself on the ground, Phillip might be surprised to find that he's not immediately speared through.

Instead, a hand finds the back of his neck, fingers pressed down into that bruise without serious strength, but clearly deliberately, putting a pressure on the back of his neck until he bows his head down to the ground, ass still in the air. It's only then that Gustavain touches him with the other, oiled hand, and then it's only to rub firm, slow circles around his rim. It's not kindness, this slowness, it's vulnerability-- less like he specifically wants to humiliate Phillip in any way and more like he's showing Phillip how much Phillip will give him.

He doesn’t need to show Phillip anything, not really- even if he won’t admit it, he knows just how much he’s willing to give, and the answer is everything he’d want and more. The only reason he hasn’t openly helped out before is that Gustavain didn’t ask. Even before he’s fully made up his mind he would have said yes, and did plenty in the background to supply help that couldn’t be traced to him. Had this happened earlier, it may have been harder to accept, more difficult to give up control, but in this moment? The vulnerability feels easy.

He tips his head down, the scent of blood mingling strongly with the smell of the oil and that should be far more disconcerting than it is. His arms are still braced against the ground to at least keep his face out of the dirt as much as possible, but even if Gustavain pushes him further he won’t fight it. For the moment he’s quiet, breathing ragged and seeming to just try and clear his head.

Clear his head? Well that won't do.

It's really that that spurs him onward, whether it's some strange-but-normal way he's keyed into the other or some twisted manifestation of the Echo, he knows somehow, the moment it starts to get easier for Phillip to think, and that's the moment he pushes the first finger inside of him. It's not harsh or intended to cause pain-- in fact, there's even more oil, to the point Phillip can hear the first wet slide in-- but it's inexorable, a slow, steady push until he's taken the whole of the long, slender digit, thicker than he's used to with the protective leather of the glove.

From there, there's a pace, steady, slow without being lazy, directed. There's a goal, here, and every touch doesn't let Phillip forget it.

As planned, that press of the finger inside of him shatters his thought process once again, Phillip making a noise somewhere between a whimper and a moan. It doesn't hurt thanks to how much oil is being used, but it is tight and certainly pulls his focus away from literally anything else, especially once Gustavain starts moving it.

His hands making grasping motions at the ground, wanting to hold onto something but finding nothing suitable. Were they facing each other, it's very easy to imagine him tangling them up in Gus's hair, holding on for dear life. But he's currently being denied even that, and the lack of anything to hold onto makes them, and him by extension, more restless and searching. (In his current state, it's probably not hard to imagine just how much 'worse' it would be if he actually couldn't move them.)

"Hm. Shall I tie you down, darling?" he just seems to know, no indication of if this is the darkness or the Echo or just Gustavain... and is this new to this strange form of his or does he always know and he's just usually not so keen to wield it like a weapon?

"It's alright, you know," he says it tenderly enough but also casually, as though there's not a chance that there's a millennia of it not being alright, "you're allowed to just feel and not reach." Whatever the answer to that might be, though, either bit of it, Phillip will have to work it out while he pushes another finger in, slower than the first but just as firm and unyielding. It's perhaps a bit soon, but as much as Gustavain is unhurried feeling about this, he is aware that someone's going to come looking for the squadron eventually.

Gustavain might be sure that it's alright, but Phillip is not. For all that he is accustomed to performing, he is very much not used to this kind of attention focused all on him. Which isn't to say he doesn't or won't enjoy it, but allowing himself to just feel is something he's still working on in more ways than one.

Luckily, what he is feeling is enough to override any worries he might have and most of the inhibitions that remain. The press of that second finger elicits a moan, and perhaps paradoxically it does get him to relax and still more (though he will absolutely keep that offer of tying him down in mind for later). His front is absolutely stained with blood and dirt at this point, but that is the farthest thing possible from his mind as each push and pull of those fingers starts pulling softer noises from him.

Edited (twelve hours later noticed an html fail) 2021-05-27 13:20 (UTC)

Gustavain sits back for a moment, pets the hand on Phillip's back down his spine and back up to his neck. It's very clear that what he's doing is admiring his handiwork for a long moment, spreading his fingers wide inside of him to be able to get a good look at that, too. It's merciless, the regard, there's nowhere to hide.

There's even less when the firm push of his fingers back in ends with him searching with them until he can tease that spot inside him with a surprisingly gentle touch.

Well. To start with.

It would be borderline cruel, unacceptable if it were anyone else, and even as is it’s not comfortable. Not the stretch, of course, but the fact he’s been laid bare with no method of concealment. Phillip hasn’t really been able to hide from him for a while, but Gustavain being who he is has never drawn attention to that and let him claim his relative safety wrapped up in clever words and outlandish mannerisms. That has all be stripped away in this moment, and Phillip can honestly say he’s never felt more exposed.

The gentle touches may well be the only thing keeping him from full on panic, reminding him that however much Gustavain has seen of him, he still wants. It does not stop his face from being red or his limbs from shaking, but it gives him enough to not move and try to relax into being known, being seen.

Cruel or not, there is no kindness, here and, perhaps, if Phillip is to think of it later, it will stand to reason that the very selflessness that propels Gustavain into danger is the same that also makes him loveable. Certainly, this would not be allowable or desired if it came out of nowhere, without all of the things before and would Phillip have allowed those things if this version of Gustavain was the one he knew first? Freedom may look good on him, but how much of that is simply contrast?

All questions for another time, when he's not adding a third finger, too fast, still, but with even more oil, a delicate balance between haste and at least enough care to make it clear that he doesn't want to damage Phillip, even if he doesn't seem to care overmuch about whether or not he makes him uncomfortable, physically or otherwise.

"Tell me you're ready," strangely, it's not really an order. It has more the feeling of a reprieve, an out. If he's fucking him, he can't really look at him, not the same way, and once again it seems like Gustavain is completely aware of what he's doing, even though it's not stopping him.

There is an argument somewhere that for all this is uncomfortable for Phillip, it might be good for him, to take down the walls he's so stubbornly built. But a lot of that depends on how Gustavain reacts afterwards- it's only good if he learns he's still safe without the walls, after all.

The third finger is a bit much too fast, and there's a sharp little noise that accompanies it, but physical pain is something he can deal with much better than whatever the hells else is happening right now. So he says "I'm ready," even though that's not entirely physically true, though he is definitely ready to stop feeling so openly vulnerable.

"Good," it once again straddles some strange kind of line, where this isn't quite praise or intended to be diminutive, but sounds more soothing, like he knows Phillip is deeply uncomfortable and is talking him through it without coddling him at all.

He shifts again, wraps an arm around Phillip and shifts to where he's more holding him down with his weight than his hands, lining himself up to push inside a moment later. Phillip won't find much physical reprieve with this either, though it's done in slow rolls of Gustavain's hips, bit by bit. Before he's fully hilted, he'll have his other hand planted on the ground, now, his teeth back in Phillip's neck.

The weight of the body on top of him does help ground him, and the reprieve from the intense gaze makes up for the physical discomfort of being taken before he's entirely ready. Phillip had tensed up quite a bit when he was being looked over, even though he'd tried not to, and in the absence of those eyes he's able to relax more which at least makes the going easier. It's still not comfortable, but it's certainly better than it could have been.

The bite on his neck at least takes his focus more thoroughly away from the discomfort of before, a heavy sigh leaving him but in a good way, a bit more of the tension seeming to leak out with it. This is... better. Not ideal and there are still ways this could go wrong, but it feels better like this.

There's nothing in particular about this "form" of Gustavain's that demands haste, but the location does, and so he slides the arm around Phillip down until he can curl his fingers around his cock, stroking slowly as he bottoms out inside him. He makes a low, pleased noise, rumbling in that same purring tone and then rolls his hips again.

"Better?" he murmurs in Phillip's ear, and it's taunting, but it's also tender, darkly sweet, and he nibbles against his neck a moment later.

Once the emotional discomfort is well and truly past, the pleasure comes back in full force. He sighs heavily as the gloved hand wraps around him, the texture of it different from what he's used to but not unpleasant. There's a soft hum as well as he tips his neck slightly, making it easier for Gustavain to do what he likes.

"Better," he answers, because even though being taunted for a genuine vulnerability risks raising his heckles again, the underlying sweetness does enough to soothe him for now.

"Good," the praise is soft, but genuine. It's not really his intention to make Phillip uncomfortable, after all, he just doesn't care enough about any feelings of discomfort to not pursue what he wants. What they both want.

The hand around his cock is still partially slick with oil (and other things he probably shouldn't think about) and it only takes a few, testing thrusts before Gustavain starts to claim him in earnest. He's rough, uncaring, but it's in passion, not in dismissal, like pounding into Phillip's body in the middle of the wilds is everything in the entire world he wants, and he doesn't care what he has to do to get it.

There is an almost strange level of trust in there, because even though he definitely had been uncomfortable, pushed farther emotionally than he was really ready for, Phillip did trust that it wasn't Gustavain's intention. Despite where they both have stood, what they both are, he knew that the Warrior of Light would almost never intentionally hurt him, and if he did, it would be purely physical and because he felt like he had no other choice.

Luckily, they are now well past that, and if nothing else Gustavain is right that they both want this. Each of those thrusts is followed by a pleasured noise, the roughness not at all a problem in this case and claiming nature making it all the more desirable. It's still a little difficult, to let go of it all and just feel, but each movement seems to take him further and further away from his thoughts and closer to just this moment.

It was never going to last very long.

Maybe this is something that they'll need to revisit at a later date when they can take their time. Maybe they'll mutually agree they're never talking about this again. Either way, this time can't be dragged out and Gustavain's pace speeds, thrusts still strong enough to rattle Phillip down to the core.

There's a moment right at the end, where it almost feels like Gustavain falters for a moment. Robbed of the ability to see him, Phillip can't wholly be sure, but it feels like his hips stagger for a moment and there's a breathier,

"Oh fuck... oh Halone..." that seems incongruous with the rest. But the hand moves from his cock a moment later to grip his hips tighter, pulling him backwards to meet each thrust forwards, now, and it somehow tips forward even more into being taken, robbed now of any of his own momentum.

"Mine," is growled out a moment later, "Mine. Mine. Mine." Each word is a thrust, deep, fingers raising bruises on his hips from how hard he's pulling Phillip back against him, covetous and possessive.

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.

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