Author's Note: If you'd like some mood music for this piece, I recommend playing "Inside Your Love" by Spyro Gyra.

Gladiolus Amicitia hates formal dress. Suits, tuxes, cuffs and ties, khakis and loafers… He hates it all. The clothes are restricting, too warm, and a bitch to clean. He in fact loathes dressing up so much that when he is invited to join Ignis at some conference where he'll have to hang around a bunch of stuffy bureaucrats and royalty, he's half tempted to set all of his formal clothing on fire and claim that he can't go — nothin' to wear.

But he doesn't, and as the days inch ever closer to the weekend of the trip, Ignis has lugged the suitcases out of the closet to start packing. It's still three days away, Iggy, why are you packing now? is all he can think as he watches the man digging every article of clothing he owns out of the closet and stuffing them all into the bag, leaving nothing for him to wear at the moment but his briefs and socks. It's just for the weekend, Gladio reminds himself. Just two days.

He'd gotten away with sitting on the bed and watching Ignis's shapely backside bounce around the room for long enough, he guesses when he sees his partner's disapproving frown.

"Why are you not packing?" Ignis crosses his arms. "Don't tell me you plan to wait until the last minute?"

"Meh," Gladio scoffs. "It'll get done eventually."

Ignis had every right to be annoyed and Gladio fully expected an earful for that. But instead, his voice turns soft and pleading, almost exasperated. "Come now, Gladio, this conference is important. There will be nobles from all across the Kingdom in attendance. More than half the council, the President of Exineris, the entire Coernix Board of Executives, even a number of foreign dignitaries will be there. His Majesty himself would go, were he in better health."

Gladio can't help rolling his eyes. He knows full well who all will be there because Ignis couldn't stop gushing about it all week. It was a big deal. As nothing more than high-ranking crownsguard officers, it was a great honor for either of them to be invited. But that didn't make it sound any less dull.

"Maybe I'm not cut out for a gathering like that, Iggy," he admits. "I mean, look at me. Not exactly a picture of class and sophistication, am I?"

Ignis pauses, looking almost injured by the suggestion. "Well, I think you are."

Gladio smirks, but isn't interested in the argument. "You're too kind."

When he doesn't budge, Ignis is back at the closet, now rummaging through Gladio's clothes instead of his own. He spends a good several minutes picking through each item like a rack in a department store before he finally pulls out a plain white button down and holds it up on display for Gladio to see.

"Shall I pack this for you, then?"

"Cripes, Iggy," Gladio groans as he forces himself up to the edge of the bed. "You don't have to pack for me."

"I don't mind," Ignis answers. "The shirt. Yes or no?"

Gladio takes one glance and cringes. "I hate that one. Neck's too tight."

Ignis shrugs and returns the shirt to its proper place in the closet. A few seconds go by where Gladio sits tensely, cringing at the sound of metal hangers scraping on the hanging rack. Another moment and he can't stand it anymore, so he puts on some music to drown it out. He chooses the smooth jazz radio station, delighted that he's made it in time for their evening show 'Easy Listening.' The tune playing is one that he recognizes, and he's instantly soothed by the handsome tone of a skillful tenor saxophone crooning in his ear.

Unfazed by the noise, Ignis soon pulls out another shirt. This time, a navy blue one with extra long sleeves. "How about this one, then?"

Gladio squints at the shirt before shaking his head. "Nah. That color will be too warm."

Ignis huffs and nudges his glasses up to his brow, but dutifully returns to the closet for another selection. The pattern continues for several more shirts of different materials, colors, and fits — and Gladio was satisfied with precisely none of them. Clearly at his wits end, Ignis is pinching the bridge of his nose as he stares down the remaining items hanging untouched before him.

"There must be something you find suitable here."

Gladio, now sprawled out on the floor and straining to hear the music over Ignis's incessant nagging, is exasperated with the whole ordeal and far more interested in his book than the clothes. "I'm tellin' ya, Iggy, that stuff just wasn't made for me."

"Oh, nonsense," Ignis insists, pulling out another shirt with thin material in a light shade of lavender. "Here, put this one on."

Gladio reluctantly drags his tired eyes off the page and peers at the shirt. "Ugh. That one's so stiff."

"Stiff?" Ignis balks, peering at the tag by the collar. "It's seventy percent Tenebraen cotton. How could it be stiff?"

"Try it on yourself, you'll see what I mean."

If Gladio had any idea what he'd just proposed, he'd have extended the invitation years ago.

The new tune playing is another that Gladio recognizes — one that he quite likes, in fact, even more than the last one. It doesn't swing like the last one, but it has a perfectly laid-back beat that always sets him at ease when he hears it. Satisfied, he returns his attention to his book, immersing himself in the world of some trashy werewolf romance novel he couldn't seem to put down for the life of him. He knew the author was second-rate, he knew the plot was overdone, he knew the characters were cheesy tropes, but damn if he didn't binge read the whole damn series in a week and a half the moment he discovered it. He's a real sucker for that kind of crap and he's not ashamed in the slightest.

Typically, there's very little that can divert his attention from his reading or his music. But when Ignis calls out to him and he responds with a polite glance in his direction, his jaw nearly hits the floor. Ignis is standing beside the closet door, clad in nothing but Gladio's hilariously oversized shirt, the same gray briefs and argyle socks pulled up almost to his knees. It's either a comedic twist of fate or an extraordinary coincidence that the saxophone fires off a brazen riff to announce the man's grandiose entrance, ensuring that he has Gladio's full and undivided attention in more ways than one.

"Gladio, this shirt is delightful. I have no idea what you mean when you say—" he cuts off when he notices the look on Gladio's face. "What? What is it?"

He's practically swimming in the garment, and therein lies the appeal. The fabric hangs loosely off his frame, giving him a graceful silhouette in the dim light of the bedroom. The subtle shade of lavender perfectly suits his fair skin. His hands are obscured inside the long sleeves, making him look innocent and demure as he inadvertently poses against the door frame, eagerly awaiting the verdict — one which he won't be getting right away. Not while he's standing there looking so damn cute.

Gladio closes his book and rises to his feet, taking a good long look at his stunning partner from top to bottom and back again. "It looks great on you."

Ignis blushes, but seems no less confused. "It's a bit too big for me."

"Exactly."

Gladio can't resist. He takes him in for an impatient kiss, his hands slipping under the flowy shirt and clasping around his bare waist. A growl rumbles in his throat as his fingers slide down inside the elastic band of Ignis's briefs and dig into his supple backside. Ignis gasps but doesn't protest, leaning where he's directed and kissing back just as fervently. In no time, Gladio feels heat pooling in the man's cheeks and grins with satisfaction. It never takes long to get Ignis hot and bothered, and Gladio loves the sense of accomplishment he feels after successfully halting him in his tracks.

Ignis soon breaks the kiss, almost entirely winded. "Now… where is all this coming from?"

How he loves the sight of Ignis, flustered and blushing underneath him. Gladio tugs at his collar, leading him backward toward the bed. "C'mere and I'll show you."

It's only a few paces before Gladio collapses onto the mattress, watching intently as Ignis's hips roll with every step, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the music. He stiffens as Ignis climbs onto his lap, drinking in the view of his lithe figure blotting out the ceiling lamp above. For a moment, Gladio can only lie there, gazing up at him. His lips are glistening wet from their kiss. His cheeks are tinted a warm pink hue. His spectacles perfectly frame his clover green eyes. His feathery locks are adorned in a halo of light. There's nothing about Ignis that Gladio doesn't love. Not one feature out of place. No part of him that he doesn't want to devour on the spot.

With another lengthy kiss, Gladio hooks his arms around his back, taking him into a close embrace as he swiftly reverses their positions. Thighs are already parted for him to press between them, and he feels the intense heat through the cotton of his sweats. Both hardened, both aching, kneading into each other until the friction is unbearable.

"Ah, yes, I see now," Ignis utters breathlessly. "It is rather stiff."

Smirking, Gladio grinds inward with his hips once more. "Still think it's delightful?"

"Yes…" Ignis sighs as his eyes roll back. "Gods, yes…"

Gladio makes quick work of shedding his own clothes, leaving his sweats in a heap on the floor before unwrapping Ignis like the gift he is. His briefs are lowered slowly, fingertips caressing every inch of silky skin as the garment glides over his knees and falls from his ankles. Gladio feels a pulsing in his own groin as he catches a glimpse of Ignis's naked form, his arousal on full display and his legs proudly open for him. But he's not finished yet. There's still more to peel away before he has Ignis as bare as he wants him. He slides off the argyle socks one at a time to admire those dainty little toes of his. He carefully lifts the glasses off his nose and folds them neatly on the nightstand. After that, there's nothing left but to stand back and enjoy the view.

Ignis attempts to shrug out of the shirt, but Gladio stops him with hands laid gently over his shoulders. "Leave it on," he whispers with pleading in his eyes.

Ignis furrows his brow in protest. "It'll get dirty."

"Please," Gladio begs again, planting a kiss on his jaw after every other word. "Don't take it off. I want to see you in it."

They're skin on skin, hot to the touch and dripping with anticipation. Gladio rolls his pelvis once more until Ignis melts beneath him with a trembling sigh. "As you wish."

And boy, does he ever wish. As the music serenades them lightly in the background, Gladio is gazing upon Ignis lying there like a buffet table and he doesn't know where to start. Does he begin at the top and taste the man's lips again? Does he skip straight to the sweets and dive below? He can't decide. He wants everything at once. He's practically salivating as he prepares Ignis, plunging wetted fingers deep inside to work him open. His tongue laps at one nipple and then the other while Ignis twitches and writhes against him. Equally famished and equally impatient, Ignis meets Gladio's touch with haste and urgency, groaning loudly whenever the movement stops. One fist clenches the corner of a pillow beside his head. The other, he drapes around his length, his grip delicate and his strokes languid, a soft accompaniment to his partner's skillful performance between his legs. Gladio can barely tear his eyes off him, staring in disbelief that somehow, Ignis manages to make even that look graceful.

But he isn't about to let Ignis lift a finger tonight. Gladio waves his hand away and replaces it with his lips, sinking down onto him so quickly that Ignis gasps sharply and his hips spasm hard. It's exactly the reaction he wanted — everything he'd hoped for. For a moment, he just wants to watch as he chips away at the man's composure, piece by piece. He endeavors to ignore the ache in his own groin for a bit longer while addressing his partner's, tasting his warm skin and hearing his ragged voice whimpering. Three fingers deep, and with Ignis's entire length throbbing against his tongue, Gladio very nearly wrings a climax out of him. Ignis is restless, squirming, clawing at his shoulder blades and tangling his fingers in his hair. Without saying a word, he demands more, and who is Gladio to make him wait?

The music begins to swell toward the chorus as Gladio finally ends the torture and makes ready to give Ignis exactly what he wants. He coats himself in lubricant and settles between his thighs, wasting not another second pressing inside of him. The sensation of every inch slowly entering into his tight embrace is every bit as intoxicating as it was the first time. He has to pause once he reaches the base, thrown by the heat and the tension and the exquisite cry that bursts from Ignis's lips as their hips make contact. It's never surprised him quite like this, not even in his most sinful dreams. The everpresent sight of Ignis under him, clothed in the perfect shade of lavender, his dazzling green eyes half-lidded as they gaze into his own — Gladio is nearly overwhelmed before they've even started.

He begins slightly under tempo, his motions careful and deliberate, giving Ignis the time to adjust to his girth and himself the time to adjust to the pressure, the agonizing friction inside him. Leaning down to nibble at his neck, Gladio digs deep as he bears into him, holding flush against his backside and savoring the warmth. Ankles are crossed behind his back, heels coaxing him further, still desperate for more. He's insatiable. Gladio chuckles against his cheek, more than happy to oblige.

Towering high over Ignis, Gladio cups his hands behind his knees and spreads him wide before picking up the pace. Here, unhindered, he has the perfect view. He watches himself, swollen and slick, plunging rapidly in and out. He admires how easily Ignis accommodates him, how ravenous he looks as he sucks him in deeper, how perfectly they fit together. Stealing a glance upward, he meets his partner's lusty smoulder. He sees Ignis's glistening torso heaving, beads of sweat forming on his temples, his fist pumping furiously between his hips. He catches the grimace etched into his expression, the glint in his teeth. And all the while, he looks magnificent in that damn shirt.

The bed rocks in time as the pair find their rhythm, their bodies locking together in steady unison. The music simmers down to let the pianist have a turn at a solo, a flawless scale sweeping the upper registers of the keyboard to announce his presence. His skill is unmatched; he doesn't make a single error, doesn't trip over keys or play even one sour note throughout his time in the spotlight. Gladio has heard this solo a dozen times or more, but for now his focus is entirely on Ignis, whose motions are just as graceful and elegant as the melodies pouring from the speaker on the nightstand. He's flexible and easy to maneuver — Gladio can throw his legs wherever and the man will never complain — and he knows exactly where he's being led without needing instruction. The two don't become a mess of tangled limbs, aimlessly undulating against each other. Their movements are practiced, efficient, almost choreographed. Shifting from one position to the next is so swift and fluid that one couldn't tell which man is leading and which is following.

When the pianist is finished with his solo, he passes it back to the saxophone player to carry the tune to its end. In sharp contrast to the piano's refined scales and melodic chords, the saxophone has a rugged charm of his own. The player is no less virtuosic, but his style is rough and dirty — just what Gladio loves to hear. He takes Ignis by the ankles and lifts them high in the air, giving himself room to sink as deeply as he can reach, his hips pounding briskly against his backside with a chorus of loud, wet slaps. Long legs rest on his shoulders as he lets his head fall back, his face skyward as he vigorously draws Ignis closer. All the while, he never questions whether or not Ignis shares his enjoyment. Their connection doesn't waver for a second, their communication a new sense all its own. Gladio emits a low moan deep in his throat, and Ignis accompanies with one of his own. He throws his hips and Ignis responds in kind. He tightens his grip at the man's lean waist, and Ignis clenches around him with strength enough to leave him shaking. They don't miss a beat. They never stumble. Their duet is full of thrill and improvisation, always new and always fresh, but every bit as rough and dirty as the jazz music on the radio.

There isn't much left of the tune that's playing. The saxophone is squealing at the height of its range as it takes another chorus. Gladio catches the look on Ignis's face and knows exactly what it means. He's trained himself to watch for the signs — his eyes widening, his teeth baring and his jaw dropping. Ignis never announces it ahead of time, and by now he doesn't need to. Gladio leans down to watch the show as arms are folded around his neck, pulling him close enough to smell the coffee on his breath. The shirt rises along with them, lavender sleeves shrouding both men in thin cotton as Ignis climbs to a staggering peak. Any second now.

Gladio slips a hand between them to take over the grunt work, already feeling the telltale vibrations as he closes his fingers around the pulsing hardness. It takes just a few strokes before Ignis seizes up, then shudders violently through his release. A shout escapes him as warmth spills onto their bellies. Gladio never blinks as he captures every second of his climax, watching him writhe and buck, his head ground into the mattress and his mouth hanging agape. He's beautiful. Breathtaking. A wondrous image of agonizing bliss.

While he comes down from the heights, Gladio can't hold back any longer. The way Ignis tightens during his climax, the almost panicked expression on his face as euphoria overtakes him, and the songs of pleasure that ring from his throat are what drive him over the edge. He explodes with a broken groan and a forceful thrust, tipping his chin up and letting his eyes fall closed. Ignis hums approvingly, his face pulling into a wince as he's filled to the brim. It's then that Gladio understands that he was being watched just as closely, just as much a performer as he was a spectator. His partner delights in seeing him fall to pieces all the same, but rather than succumb to stage fright, Gladio only smirks, glad to have put on a good show.

"Fuck, Iggy…" he rasps, bending down for a kiss. Ignis says nothing — doesn't even frown at the obscene language. There's a dazed look about him as his glassy eyes flutter closed, but he manages a weak smile, content and serene. The music had faded out to silence, the two men releasing long, satisfied sighs as they part at last. They lie still for a moment, basking in the afterglow, catching their breaths before surveying the damage. Ignis was right. They got the shirt dirty.

"Well," Ignis croaked, finally slipping the garment off his shoulders. "Into the wash with this."

As always, it's Ignis who takes the lead with clean up, grabbing his glasses from the nightstand and retreating to the bathroom to take care of the aftermath while Gladio lies on the bed, too tired to move. He grins as he watches his partner leave. "Hate to see you take it off."

Confusion returns to Ignis's expression as he returns from the bathroom, holding the shirt up for emphasis. "Is this all it takes to impress you?" he asks with a hint of disbelief. "Just throw on one of your shirts? I would have thought you'd prefer something with a bit more effort involved."

Gladio thinks on those words for a moment. He's not so cliche as to call himself a 'simple man,' though he does take joy in simple pleasures from time to time. He might love to cap the night off with an ice cold beer, but also has many fond memories of himself and Ignis sharing a bottle of dry red wine together in the wee hours. He appreciates the outdoors and values being fit and active, but nothing beats a lazy day in bed with some smooth jazz records and a trashy romance novel. He adores Ignis's gourmet cooking, but he'll never pass up a Cup Noodle when the opportunity arises. Upon reflection, he supposes he's a pretty complicated guy, and he revels in the inconsistency. Gladio likes what he likes, and he's still not ashamed of it.

He'd meant it when he said he didn't consider himself a picture of class and sophistication — especially when standing beside a man of Ignis's caliber. For Ignis, being beautiful doesn't require work. For Ignis, perfection is effortless. But Gladio sees no threat in that. At the end of the day, it's his arm that Ignis clings to when they go out. It's his bed that Ignis comes home to every night. And, it was his shirt that hung so gracefully off his striking frame that Gladio couldn't peel his eyes away. It shocks him every day, the reminder that Ignis chose him. And so, while he might easily be dazzled by something fancy like garters and lace, Gladio doesn't need any of that to remain firmly head-over-heels for Ignis Scientia. An oversized lavender button down and knee-high argyle socks are more than enough.

"Hey, I'm easy to please," he bats his eyelashes at him. "And you impress me all on your own."

For the last time tonight, Ignis's cheeks flush, and he tries and fails to hide the smile that spreads across his lips. "Then," he props the basket of soiled clothes on his hip and holds out the lavender garment one last time. "Is this shirt coming with us?"

It'll look great on you at the conference. Gladio grins. "Pack it."

The announcer on the radio station is murmuring something about the next tune that was about to play. Ignis is bent over the washing machine, long legs and plump backside in plain view once again. Gladio figures he's paid the toll and is getting out of bed to help with packing when his partner calls out to him from the laundry room.

"Did I fail to mention, Gladio," he queries with a feigned innocence in his tone. "That one of Altissia's top jazz bands will be performing at the main gala?"

Gladnis Spice, anyone? Not much to say about this other than 'Stay tuned. There's more where this came from.'

In all seriousness, I'm just so in love with this absolute power couple. They deserve the world, and I'm glad I could give them this small moment of pure bliss.

Don't forget to follow me on twitter (ostelan), check me out on tumblr (Ostelan Excruciasm), and ask me about my discord server, Ignis Thirsting Hours!

Thanks for reading!

Peace and Love,

Ostelan