Chapter 1

Ignis Scientia had a secret.

As with any seventeen year old, he had an array of secrets and insecurities, most of which concerned very few amongst the tiny circle of friends he held. As a young, royal advisor however he held the secrets of others, issues of national security bound to himself and the royal council. The former paled in significance to the latter, and yet the former held considerable ownership over him. He had a duty to the crown to be responsible, trustworthy, proper. Such secrets were indecent to say the least. At least for the majority, indecent or otherwise he could share a few with the prince: a boy he trusted completely without question.
But this particular secret however, one that chased and irritated relentlessly, he would not share - with anyone.

It was not that he couldn't trust the prince to keep his secret, nor was it that he feared repercussions from a higher authority.

This secret, as he had convinced himself, was utterly shameful, abhorrent even. The young advisor kept it buried away, like a dreadful thorn stuck in his side. At times he wondered how long such a thorn had been there, festering away, day in and day out. For the length of time he had known Gladiolus Amicitia, he assumed it had been there for many years.

The sound of the Amicitia boy's name heard in passing, often in council or in training, was enough to distract the advisor from his well trained thoughts and self control. The sight of him, his strong build and warm eyes made him feel weak. Emotions he believed, not fitting of the prince's royal advisor. It had been difficult for several years, a severe and endless test of wills.
The crown came first, there was no doubt about it for the young man - this was his life-bound duty - yet he fought endlessly with himself.

He remembered the first time he saw Gladiolus fight, in training with his father, perhaps no older than twelve or thirteen. Barely an advisor at all but a precocious, gawky child, Ignis had been fascinated by the slightly older, slightly taller shield, unable to watch a single other person in the room. Looking back on the occasion, he was sure someone had noticed. Gladiolus at least, had always avoided the younger stare of green eyes, following him relentlessly with each and every movement. It was a little thing really, but of course, said little things added up. The advisor often wondered if he had made the older boy uncomfortable at the time, having a younger boy stare so frequently in awe. It was hard not to, of course, particularly becoming the case as the pair grew older. Even as a child, Gladio had been tremendously strong, talented, in ways the advisor knew he could not compete. As he became a young man, he only grew stronger, more determined, substantially more difficult to match in training even by his own father. Clarus had pushed him hard. The Amicitia boy rarely, if ever, let him down.

As the years progressed, the advisor himself came to face the shield time and time again, in passing of course, their roles to Noctis becoming increasingly parallel with growing responsibility. With time he came to experience a sort of, professional, working friendship with the shield. They shared several hobbies and interests - Gladiolus had a love of reading - something Ignis had noticed the few times he had seen the shield in the citadel library.
Whilst their select genres in reading differed, it had paved the way for some sort of conversation between the two young men on a shared evening in the citadel library. For a while, their shared time together became a near daily occurrence. Whilst he was sure it meant little to the young shield, it had meant a great deal to the young advisor. Ignis hoped, as he so often did, that he was considered a sort of friend. He was not certain however. Gladio was and always had been remarkably popular.
In passing, and at times in conversation, he had spoken of numerous friends, countless parties and camping trips beyond the city wall. Ignis had always listened graciously, if of course the conversation had been directed at him. It was at times difficult to discuss things he had minimal experience of - yet he would always smile in return, regardless. He couldn't help it.
His attraction for the older boy had grown immensely, horribly, far beyond his measure of control. It worsened with each passing year that the shield grew older, and more terribly handsome.
Ignis struggled, particularly, when the shield became popular with women.

The few evenings a week Gladio once would've spent in the library, soon became one evening, perhaps every other week.
The sudden change came to be quite the challenge, the little flicker of friendship the advisor held onto so dearly with the shield had seemingly extinguished by the time the pair reached their sixteenth and seventeenth birthday.
The shield, as striking as he was, had a different girl under his arm every weekend. When he wasn't in training, he seemed to be invited to every party in the city, girl in tow.

The advisor always remained rather uninvited. He spent his occasional free nights alone in the library, reading something, anything to occupy his mind, or of course, taking care of a particular demanding fifteen year old. He would often find himself deep cleaning the princes chambers, cooking extensively for him, entertaining him into the late hours of the night. At times, he was sure Noct felt smothered by his own advisor. The boy had mentioned a thing or two.

To an extent the advisor realised early on he was using the prince as a crutch, a sort of temporary quick fix for loneliness. He would do anything he could to please the prince, just to take the edge off how he felt. The need to please had always been relentless. It only worsened with time.
His uncle, a minor father figure in his life and a man who Ignis had always tried to please, fared increasingly absent on long assignments away from the citadel, sometimes for months at a time. It went without mention that Ignis's parents were several years dead. Such were things beyond his control, past issues, things he shouldn't dwell on - that he knew well. Yet the present time was little better than the past when He realised the person he had feelings for had outgrown him.
As his seventeenth year loomed, he was sure he had never felt quite so isolated in all his short life.

It was understandable, Ignis had thought so often, what did he possibly have to offer another human being? He was bound to the crown indefinitely, with no room for anything else. He tried desperately to forget how he felt; for a short while he thought he was succeeding.

Until of course, on a ridiculously warm evening in summer, the specific date of which he could not remember.
The young advisor had been seventeen for just a few months. That he knew for certain. Perhaps, of course, it had been earlier than this initial date, not that it had mattered to him. What truly mattered was that he had fallen hard for a man, an older man of high status. In all his short life, he had never felt so utterly caught up in something so trivial as an attraction. Quite frankly he had never been very good at understanding his feelings or emotions - they were unprofessional, inappropriate - parts of himself he would rather keep contained. All conflicting thought he banished into a small, shameful corner in his mind. However this one occasion had hit him with the force of an angry Behemoth. It was stifling.

As mentioned, it had been warm. Worse so, for the advisor, head to toe in layers of stuffy formality. Even his polished leather shoes had formed a minor irritation, hot and uncomfortable. He struggled onward.
The night sky glowed pink with the threat of dusk, the streetlights of Insomnia beginning to twinkle in the darkness. It was a weekend to be held in upmost regard - the days had been long and uncharacteristically warm - most citizens of the city were out and about enjoying themselves long into the evening.

So often the young advisor found himself wandering to the citadel library at this time, his presence now at seventeen no longer so required by the prince in the droves it once had been on a weekend. Noct too, after all, was growing up. He'd begun spending an increasing amount of time with a skinny blonde from school, in tow with a camera and some video game Ignis had never heard of.
Naturally, Ignis assumed, he could not compete. He pretended he didn't care.

A little overdressed for such a humid evening, he found himself at the grand door to the citadel library. It was locked up, dark inside beside emergency lighting. As a regular to the library he had the key code to the entrance, given to him by the librarian who took pity on the young man who spent many a weekend in the facility by himself. Tonight was no different.

Once inside he closed the door behind him as quietly as he could, sighing with relief at the cool, dark air. A bead of sweat dropped down his forehead. He regretted the waistcoat he so often wore, as he always did in summer. His accelerated position in the royal council called for him to dress in such a manner, older and much more formal than his seventeen years, in all weather. With a sigh he wiped a layer of sweat from under the hair that covered his forehead. At least, he thought, in the library he may cool down...

Leaving the summer heat at the entrance, he made his way to the cooking section, following the green haze of the emergency lighting. From memory he made his way through the near darkness, through the maze of tall hallways and towering bookcases, his shoes padding near-silently on the carpeted floors.

It didn't take him long to find what he came for.
Ignis had been searching for a particular book - Altissian sweet treats and pastries - for Noct's benefit rather than his own.
It was an old book; his mother had owned a copy herself when she had been alive to take care of him as a child. This particular version was a little worse for wear, the spine deeply creased and the cover overtly dusty, yet it's contents of traditional Altissian recipes still perfectly in tact.

Ignis carried it over to the main desk in the central area, silently abandoned in the evening darkness. He took a moment to find a pen and some paper to make a quick note of what he had borrowed. As usual, he left the note under a glass paperweight for the librarian. He had done this many a time. Signing off with his name, the date and the time from his watch, he placed the old book carefully under his arm and wandered silently back the way he came.

He had finally started to cool down, his hair no longer quite sticking to his forehead. His eyes however, were taking their time to adjust to the darkness, as they usually did. The emergency lighting worked its magic at least and he followed it back the way he had come.

This time however, the route in which he took into the library did not feel in quite the same lonely yet comforting manner as which he had entered. Something creaked, shifted even.

He felt a strange shiver tingle down his spine, warning. The young advisor stopped silently in his tracks. Despite the heat, he shivered.

He paused for a moment, eyes still not fully adjusted to the near-darkness. His sight had always let him down in darkened conditions: not that he had expected to be interrupted. This had never happened before.

Using his free hand, he pushed his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose, nervous and concerned. The floorboards creaked several metres away behind a row of bookcases.

The young advisor held his breath, frozen to the spot.
He listened.

He heard the sound of a woman, breathless, shaken, and a man.

He felt afraid, his skin shivering in the cooler air, just for a moment.

Have I been followed?

With little thought he cowered against the bookcase beside him in the hallway, listening carefully to the continued creak of floorboards and whispers. In his naivety, he assumed the worst, at the ready to summon his daggers. In the darkness he felt a little helpless, blind even.

The young advisor trembled.

The sound of cursing came from behind the bookcase he stood beside.

As he peered around the edge of the bookcase, his eyes nervously followed the sound of the intruders he believed to be hiding in the darkness.
What he saw however, was quite different.

In amongst the bookcases of the Historic section, a slightly dusty, crowded study area with an old oak table, he caught sight of a female silhouette.

Ignis froze.

In the darkness it was too difficult to make out any fine detail. She however, was not alone, straddling the lap of a much larger, darker individual.

Despite the adrenaline urging him to leave quickly, the young advisor did not. He assumed he was frightened, naively terrified of who they were and why there were in the library in the dark with him. Out of pure fear, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, adrenaline fighting his corner, if only to help. It only took a moment of watching, listening nervously to realise that the man he encountered was Gladiolus Amicitia.

Ignis swallowed, a shift in the pit of his stomach churning and twisting uncomfortably. He felt, weird, sick even. Fight or flight urged him to go, before it was too late.
Yet, he couldn't turn away.
The young advisor stared helplessly.

His eyes crawled over the pair as they undressed one another, kissing desperately, fumbling clumsily with one another. Strong, masculine arms grasped the smaller, female form, desperate and in control. The shield stripped of his shirt revealed his powerful upper body, marked only by the beginnings of a tattoo that had yet to be completed.

Ignis closed his eyes momentarily, head turned towards the floor.
He fought with the impulse to run, scared, terrified to be heard and caught by the older man he knew so well as the shield, taller and much, much stronger than himself. If he were to be seen, he presumed, it would not end well. Ignis could take a punch - he had many a time - but not from anyone quite like the prince's shield. The thought of it made his blood run cold. He felt his knuckles whiten and strain as he gripped the book beneath his arm, biting his lower lip nervously.

Any attempt to turn away from the scene as it played before him continually failed. He watched the older man, defined arms lifting his female partner off his lap and onto the table, a sight which stirred the advisor uncomfortably. He bit his lower lip, horribly captivated. It didn't however deflect from the internal, visceral need to leave - he needed to run and get the hell out of there - but his limbs had frozen solid in betrayal.

In the deathly silence of the library, his place of former sanctuary, he struggled relentlessly to tear his eyes away from the older man in the throws of passion, small sounds of pleasure resonating in the quiet, the table creaking with every desperate movement.
It was dark, terribly dark, and yet the image of the half undressed shield had burned itself into his memory like an unruly curse, worsened only by the sound of the shield's shuddering, possessive voice as he came.

For the advisor, it was unbearable.
He remained behind the bookcase, frozen, possibly for half an hour or more, until finally the pair dressed haphazardly and left through a different entrance.

Ignis stood in the darkness, blinking, forgetful of time and the reason for his standing there. His stomach did somersaults. He wondered for a few moments if he might be sick.
The young advisor had little recollection of the walk back to his rooms in the citadel that night, the old recipe book having taken a beating from the stressful, sweating grip of his clutches. All thought of Altissian pastries, and Noct for the matter, had vanished from his mind.

As soon as he made his way through the front door and into his living room, he threw the book carelessly onto the table, sweating horribly from the summer heat and trembling with adrenaline and something else.
He threw himself into the shower without question, deliberately running it ice cold, stinging his skin until his limbs shook violently with pure rejection. He hadn't bothered to remove his glasses. He'd even discarded his expensive tailored clothes onto the damp bathroom floor. It was the very least of his concern at this moment, too caught up in his own desires despite the freezing water pouring down on him.
The scene still fresh in his memory appeared to have no intention of fading, no matter how much he cursed himself or for how long he endured the torturous temperature of the water. His closed his eyes in frustration and gave up the fight.
He leaned against the shower wall, an arm resting his weight against the cold tiles, a hand finding it's way down to the hard, frustrated length, desperate for relief. It did not take long - a minute perhaps - before he came, helplessly dizzied and biting his lower lip until it stung profusely. Despite the promise of relief, it did little to satiate his needs.

The young advisor swore.

He continually tried to ignore the urgent stirring he felt, building inside of him, pent up, twisting and taunting. It kept him awake for hours as he lay in bed, overheating under the duvet until he gave up and threw it violently across the room.
The amber eyes of the shield haunted him, even with his own eyes closed tight. Such thoughts manipulated themselves beyond subtle images; before long he found himself fantasising about strong, rough hands on him, frantic undressing, chapped lips crushed against his own. He was at utter mercy to fantasy as it ran away with him.
Ignis rolled over onto his front, hoping to stifle the utterly uncontrollable. His fingers twitched in retaliation.

He hated himself for the somewhat dreadful relief that coursed through him as he gave in to his weakness, again, his hand finding its way down once more to betray his overtly controlled mind.
It took longer this time - his body less sensitive in the second instance. Despite the involuntary pink that flushed his face, Ignis took his time, eyes closed and memory plagued by the sight of the shield, half naked and fucking his lover. His mind played games of torture and despair, hurt to see the man he wanted so urgently with a woman but mesmerised with how it might feel to be wanted and claimed by him. He trembled with awful pleasure, mouth open with small gasps, flickers of the shield's shuddering voice in his memory forcing the seventeen year old to come violently into his hand, hot, white release coating his stomach and the bedsheets.

It took a little longer this time for the advisor to sober up to reality, his whole body weakened and overheated. He was thoroughly out of breath. His glasses had slipped down over his nose, skewed at an odd angle, something he corrected with urgency.
He'd made a terrible mess, he thought regretfully, and proceeded to the extremities of changing the bedsheets and showering again. It did little to calm his nerves, but at least, he reminded himself, the overwhelming brunt of need had weakened temporarily for the time being. He only hoped it would stay that way.

##

Gladiolus Amicitia returned to the citadel library at the crack of dawn, via the side entrance, much as he had the night before. Despite the pleasures of the night still reminiscent in his mind, he was horribly anxious.

He had forgotten something.

He made his way through the hallway, a little nervous but hopeful that no one would be around. The thought of being caught so early to retrieve a discarded box of condoms and some of his clothing from such a respected place sent shivers down his spine. At least, he thought, he had another hour before the librarian would be in to open the doors. He had plenty of time.

The shield passed the cooking section, barely giving it a second glance. Yet as he passed the central desk, the librarian's place of work, something caused the shield to stop.

The dawn light reflected through a glass paperweight on the librarians table, twinkling in the corner of his vision. He looked at it, thoughtfully. To this day, he questioned why he stopped for something so small, so trivial. He did not quite understand what drew him to the heavy, lumbering object in the first instance, yet he had stopped without question.
A note beneath it in particular, caught his eye more so than the glass, handwritten, utterly familiar. He knew that handwriting anywhere.

Frowning and without further thought, the shield reached for the note, innocently curious as to the content of the italic handwritten words. It was a curiosity that would stick with him forever.

His frown hardened.

"Altissian sweet treats and pastries"
Borrowed 10:45pm, 20th June,
Ignis Scientia.