The king’s hands are steady on his hips. There is life in his hands now, a warmth and strength where tremors and weak grasps used to be.

                It isn’t that the room is cold, or that Ignis is cold. His body is burning from the inside out, but the king’s hands- they hold him still, they hold him in place with a quiet authority he hadn’t truly appreciated- are hot coals pressed against him even through his clothes.

                Regis is a slight man, a mix of giving his life force to Lucis and damning genetics. The throne, made to impress and depress, dwarfs them both. It seems miles wide, with enough room for Ignis‘s legs on either side of the king.

                “How long have you thought about this?” Regis asks, cradling Ignis’ head. His hip freezes over where Regis’ hand once was, and his shiver is not just from Regis’ voice.

                “Quite some time,” Ignis tells him, voice low. He has a practiced voice for these moments; something sultry and low, with heavy emphasis on his accent and perfectly charming. He can’t manage it now. His voice is young and whispery to Regis’, sounding loud in the cavernous throne room.

                He loses his breath somewhere between Regis’ tender expression and being pulled closer. Ignis’ mind is a cacophony of mindless noise as Regis presses his lips to Ignis’, his train of thought derailing and flying off a cliff.

                Something in his chest twists until it snaps as he kisses Regis. He wants to be coy and charming, but he isn’t. He makes a desperate noise and grabs at Regis’ lapels, angling his mouth to kiss him deeper.

                The noise Regis makes is soft and wanting, half a whisper and half a groan. His hand runs through Ignis’ hair before tightening and gently pulling him away.

                “There’s something I need to tell you,” Regis says, voice calm even as Ignis’ blood pounds.

                “Anything,” Ignis says, only half present as the rest of him is lost in the memory of their kiss, of the tingling along his jaw.

                Regis continues, but his voice is suddenly lost to Ignis. His mouth moves, but there’s a ringing in the air, a noise that drowns out everything. Ignis holds Regis’ face, desperately tries to listen to Regis, but his words are lost in an endless, repetitive ringing.

---

 

There is bright morning sun coming through his windows.

                Ignis sits upright with a strangled gasp, flailing limbs tangling with his sheets. He stares at his ringing alarm clock, at the bright digital numbers shining at him; 8:27 a.m.

                With a croak, Ignis flings himself to his feet. He’s a mess of midnight want and sweat, pajamas sticking uncomfortably to his back. His blankets try to come with him as he stumbles onto his feet, catching himself on the bedside table.

                Rushing through his rooms, Ignis manages to dress and tidy himself, even feed himself something that he finishes while shoving shoes on.

                All his work is where he set it the night before; folders and notebook, tablet and stylus all accounted for. Ignis stops and stares at his desk, at the folders tidily stacked, little tabs sticking out the side. He can’t dream of kissing his king in the same reality where he lays everything out the night before.

                A pause by the mirror at his door tells him he is an absolute disaster- glasses smudged, hair a wild mess barely held back- but being a disaster is better than being any later to today’s meetings.

---

                “How old are you, Noctis?” Ignis asks as he straightens the prince’s tie, eyes narrowed.

                “’Twenty, but I haven’t checked lately.” Noctis shrugs, attention focused on his phone, playing a puzzle game.

                “You’ve been a prince for twenty years, yet you can’t knot a tie?” He does, in fact, allow his voice to drip with exhaustion and annoyance. His hands are smeared with ink- a pen exploded during an expenses meeting- and a headache is lurking somewhere in his cranium.

                “That wasn’t covered in Princeing 101 , or Princing for Dummies - great read, by the way, very educational,” Noctis grins at his phone, glancing up to Ignis. “Hey, don’t do too good of a job; someone might get suspicious.”

                Giving a half hearted snort, Ignis stops to inspect his work, taking a step back. Noctis’ suit is plain, with no patterns or exciting embellishments, but it’s cut smartly in a popular style and makes the prince look taller. The cufflinks are a nice touch.

                Noctis is elegant, but nicely subdued. A good look for a charity event.

                An event Ignis is relieved has finally arrived. The past three months have been an absolute nightmare, but this is a strong step forward for Lucis. A place of healing for those displaced by the advancing Starscourge will give the people hope.

                “Remind me why you can’t come with?” Noctis glances up from his phone, expression somber to match his tone.

                “Because,” Ignis sighs, “it has to do with appearances, Noct; even your father’s advisors won’t be present. The people of Insomnia need to see father and son, not the royal entourage.”

                “Gladiolus will be there, though, right?” There is a flicker of something in Noctis’ voice that makes Ignis frown, makes him look closer at the prince. His shoulders are stiff, eyes nervous when he looks to Ignis.

                “Of course,” Ignis holds Noctis’ shoulder and squeezes gently, “both Amicitias will be by your side.” Noctis’ expression relaxes with relief, and Ignis realizes it isn’t nerves bothering Noctis, but fear.

                “Now, I want you to promise me,” Ignis gives Noctis his best glare, looking down his nose, “that you’ll try the vegetables at this dinner.”

                Sticking his tongue out, the crown prince of Lucis flashes Ignis a rude gesture. “Yeah, alright Mom, I’ll eat the stupid greens.”

                Ignis jumps out of his skin as someone asks “Mom?” from behind him, and Noctis looks at their visitor with a bored expression.

                It is King Regis, softly silhouetted by a halo of light from the windows that stretch upwards behind him.

                “Inside joke, Dad. It’s older than you at this point,” Noctis tells his father, examining the king’s jacket.

Ignis’ throat is dry, so dry now, and his words trip on each other as he tries to speak. He manages “I- it’s- forgive me, your Highness, I meant no insult with the joke, I shouldn’t hav-“ before Regis interrupts him with a wave.

                “Please, Ignis, you would make a fine spouse.” Regis leans heavier on his cane, smiling at his son. The soft wrinkles at his eyes are new, making his warm expression all the friendlier.

                “Though that’s a long joke to run,” Regis laughs, “considering I walked alongside the gods. Did you know the roads were wider back then?” Regis lets Noctis steal his pocket square, Noctis tucking it into his own jacket pocket.

                And then Regis looks to Ignis, his expression bright. “And how are you, Mother Caelum?” His hazel eyes are full of warm browns, green speckling the edges.

                The clouds move away from the sun in the window, and the room brightens. Ignis watches as Noctis and Regis are outlined in sun, at how they stand next to each other. Noctis doesn’t slouch next to his father, hands out of his pockets and phone put away.

                “I’m doing well,” Ignis manages. He’s doing fantastic. His tone is friendly, casual even. “You should know he has done a fantastic job,” Ignis nods to Noctis, “writing his own speech. It’s admirable.”

                “Tsk, only because you were there to correct me. ‘No, Noct, you cannot say ‘like’ five times in the same sentence!’ and ‘No, Noct, you cannot address the king as ‘my main and only man.’” Noctis has his phone out again, ignoring Regis’ sigh. “Imagine how fun my speech would be if Gladio had helped me instead!”

                “I’m sure that’s a speech people would talk about,” Regis says, putting an arm around Noctis and turning him towards the doors, “but you’ll have to suffer through this version.”

                Noctis grumbles something into his father’s side as they leave, a burst of noise filling the room as the doors open.

                For a moment, Regis and Noctis stand before a background of people and color. The streets outside are decorated as if for a festival; this is a dawn of good news in their nighttime of fear and worry. Regis says something to Noctis and Noctis laughs, gently pushing his father away. There is a moment as a pair of crownsguard comes to escort them to their car that Regis looks back.

                He looks at Ignis with soft appreciation, still smiling. Regis waves, mouthing thank you to Ignis before the doors close and he’s gone.

                Giving a sigh, Ignis takes a heavy seat. His chair is less than comfortable- these are meant for those waiting to be called for meetings, and no one wants you to get comfortable for those- but he sinks into it anyhow.

                In truth, he has nothing planned now. His entire day was last minute planning and preparations, getting Noctis ready for one of his first princely appearances and triple checking the little details. It was shocking how much work went into just arranging the opening of a single hospice.

                Rubbing his face, Ignis considers the windows. Bright afternoon sun comes through them. They make this antechamber shine; it is true that Lucis decoration is subdued and calm comparatively, but there are subtle pops of purple in the wallpaper and the walls’ paneling is rich.

                His phone beeps at him.

                All clear on this end, Gladiolus texts. What you gonna do with an entire afternoon off? There’s a practically party in the streets down here. Are we opening a casino?

                Ignis taps his phone case, considering.

                A quiet afternoon is difficult to resist . Ignis considers his next words. Remind Noctis about his enunciation.

                There is a long pause before his phone buzzes again, and he sees Gladiolus’ reply of Noct says Mom needs to go take a nap- his Highness agrees.

---

There is no softness in Regis’ touch.

                He grabs at Ignis and holds him close, teeth and beard rough against Ignis’ throat. The dark interior of the car makes everything close and nearly claustrophobic, their breaths loud and ragged.

                Ignis is putty in the king’s grip. He presses back into Regis’ chest, biting at his lip to keep quiet as Regis’ hands run under his shirt. His hands are cool against Ignis’ skin. They leave tingles of cold across him as Regis maps his torso.

                There is a want in Regis’ touch, a want that sparks in Ignis’ veins and lights him aflame. It’s in the way he mouths along Ignis’ neck, the way he splays Ignis’ legs and holds him close. It seems to fill the car, making the air too thick to breathe, making Ignis dizzy with ache and desire.

                His ability for politeness and etiquette went away about the time Regis had pulled him down into the car, and Ignis doesn’t intend to go find it as Regis palms him through his trousers. The touch makes his back arch, makes him whimper and press into the king’s grip. A special type of terror boils in Ignis’ gut alongside the want; he would agree to anything if it meant more of this .

                Tugging Ignis’ head back, Regis says something into his skin. He drags teeth and lips down to Ignis’ shoulder as he grinds himself into Ignis’ back. The king’s voice is a growl as he pulls Ignis’ shirt away, barely bothering with the remaining buttons.

                Writhing in Regis’ lap, Ignis tries to focus on what the king is saying, because he’s repeating himself. His words are hurried and quiet, a tone that tugs at him and he wants more of that voice, wants to hear it forever.

                “Ignis…” Regis breaths against his neck, pausing his affections to turn Ignis around in his lap. His eyes reflect streetlights from the world outside the car, harsh shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. Ignis tries to press forward to kiss him properly but Regis stops him roughly.

“Specs, seriously,” Regis continues, his voice suddenly younger and higher, “how long have you been napping here?”

Someone shakes Ignis’ shoulder, and when he turns to order them away- gods, who would interrupt a moment like this- to find himself sitting up straight, his world is no longer a dark car but instead his own office, the blinds drawn closed.

                “Hey, you in there?” Noctis asks, leaning against Ignis’ table and raising an eyebrow.

                Setting his glasses aside, Ignis rubs his eyes and shakes his head. He’s in his office, not the Regalia. He isn’t half undressed nor writhing in the king’s lap.

                “What time is it?” Ignis asks.

                “’Bout 2 o’clock, I’d guess.” Noctis idly flips through an open folder, freely browsing Ignis’ papers as Ignis sits up straight as a rail. “You alright? You were talking in your sleep, sayin’ Dad’s name n’ stuff.”

                “I’m going to be horrible if we don’t get to the Council meeting,” Ignis bursts from his chair, sweeping papers up into his arms, “which we are supposed to be early for, Noctis!”

                “Gods, chill out Ignis, it was pushed ahead a bit; Dad’s last meeting took… a bit… longer than expected…” Noctis’ sentence starts chipper, but he looks at Ignis with a strange expression, his voice taking a slow descent into a horrified tone.

                This is not the time for dramatics, for a new game with Noctis. Ignis fishes a fresh folder out from his desk and tries to organize a handful of papers and straighten his shirt at once, ignoring Noctis.

                “You’re fucking fired.”

                That stops Ignis instantly, papers slipping from his hand. “Excuse me?” He stares at Noctis, feeling incredibly cold.

                “You-“ Noctis gulps, his ears beginning to turn red, suddenly refusing to look at Igis.

                His attitude makes Ignis take a step back from the situation. He takes a moment to look at himself; realizes how uncomfortable he is, how the back of his neck is sticky with sweat and the weakness in his legs, the ache he’d missed because of his panic over their meeting.

Noctis stares at Ignis with such a betrayed look. “You sat here and got a boner over my dad , Ignis?! You are- you’re exiled!”

                Ignis takes a step back as Noctis grabs at his own head, ruining his carefully styled hair. “Gods, please tell me it was younger Dad, like, Dad when he looked decent-“

                In all honesty, Ignis doesn’t hear the rest of Noctis’ words. He simply sits back down at his desk, carefully puts away his glasses, and holds his face. He keeps sitting there as Noctis flees the room still ranting.

                The door slams behind the prince, and Ignis sits very still and very quiet.

                He allows himself the smallest, quietest of internal screams.

---

Spring in Lucis is beautiful, even in Insomnia.

                The city’s carefully curated greenery blooms and spreads towards the sky; streets lined with trees become shady and cool, the large swaths of park coming alive with color and birdsong. Even in the depths of Insomnia there are hanging plants, plants sprawling from window edges and rooftop gardens.

                But here- the Citadel gardens- are a true sight of beauty to Ignis.

                Even when he’s spending his time being shunted by the prince, who is currently all too enthusiastic in attacking him.

                “ Distance , Noct, he’s got longer arms than you,” Gladiolus says from the shade of a tree. He has a book propped open on a knee- it’s a thick tome, but the cover is modern and freshly printed- and a drink in hand.

                Warping is off limits for both of them; Gladiolus latest scathing review of Noctis’ fighting is that he relies too heavily on ‘jumping around like a mad squirrel’ and needs to learn what to do when ‘stuck between a hard place and something sharp’.

                It’s a saddening decision, because Ignis would be quite happy to warp himself over the garden’s edge and die on the fencing below. It would be a kinder fate than dealing with the prince’s new attitude.

                Noctis slashes in close with his practice dagger, sweat dripping down his temples. Ignis grabs his elbow and steps aside, using the prince’s momentum to pull him down to the ground.

                Maybe he shouldn’t be so pleased to see Noctis spitting out dirt, but it lightens Ignis’ chest.

                “Told you,” Gladiolus sighs, “longer arms.”

                Proper etiquette makes Ignis offer Noctis a hand, but he is far from hurt as Noctis hefts himself up without help. They stay there, standing a few feet apart in the afternoon sun, in silence. Gladiolus is scribbling down a note as Noctis picks pieces of grass from his boot laces.

                “Huddle time.” Gladiolus gestures them in, and Ignis is a mature adult who doesn’t drag his feet. Unlike Noctis.

                “So, much as I’m loving you’re whole out-for-blood thing,” Gladiolus gets to his feet and pats Noctis’ shoulder, “you can’t keep losing your cool every spar.”

                “I want a different training partner.” Noctis crosses his arms. “I know Ignis’ moves too well. It’s boring.”

                Gladiolus snorts, raising an eyebrow. “You can train with someone else when Specs doesn’t beat your ass with stuff so simple it’d be an insult to call ‘em tactics.” Gladiolus rolls his eyes as Noctis pouts, mimicking Noctis’ crossed arms. “Either of you wanna tell me what’s up? Because I’m dog tired of you two being pissy all the time.”

                Ignis and Noctis speak in unison, saying “It was a misunderstanding” and “He betrayed me”.

                There is nothing like being laughed at to make Ignis feel like a child, and Ignis’ lips thin as Gladiolus laughs. He grabs the tree beside them for support and keeps laughing as Ignis checks his watch and turns to leave.

                “Oh, shit, no you stay right here. You gotta explain this to me.” Gladiolus smiles wide with bright eyes.

                They speak at the same time again, “It was a misunderstanding” and “He wants to fuck Dad ”.

                A silence stretches out slowly after Noctis’ words. It sits thick and heavy between the three of them, Gladiolus’ amusement clearing away for blatant surprise, Noctis digging at the ground with a boot toe.

                “Noctis… I…” Gladiolus scratches the back of his neck.

                “I know, it’s disgusting,” Noctis spits his tongue out.

                “No, man, can’t you see where he’s coming from?” Gladiolus smiles again as Noctis’ arms and jaw drop.

                “No, no , not you too!”

                “Look,” Gladiolus says gravely as he takes Noctis’ shoulders, “I have to tell you that half the Crownsguard-“ Noctis interrupts him by covering his ears and shrieking to the sky. Gladiolus roars with laughter as Noctis escapes his grasp and flees from the garden, ignoring the startled expressions from loiterers across the garden, who had been enjoying the nice sun.

                The two of them watch the prince disappear back inside, Gladiolus still chuckling. Ignis checks his watch again as Gladiolus tries to compose himself. Ignis has a solid hour before his responsibilities call for him again.

                “Alright,” Gladiolus finally straightens, “I do have to ask you.”

                Dread settles in the back of Ignis’ throat but he faces Gladiolus anyway. “Ask me what?” His expression is empty and calm.

                “What is it about his Majesty?” Gladiolus leans against the tree, smile turning deceptively sly.

                “I’m not having this conversation.”

                “Is it his kind eyes? Battle worn yet gentle looking hands?”

“Stoppit, Gladiolus.”

                Gladiolus leans close, smiling wider. “Nah, you’re right, it’s totally his a-“

                “I’m leaving.”

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