Water Under the Bridge
Passes
"Stay safe walking back!"
"Thanks, man; you stay safe, also. I'll catch you later."
Prompto climbed down the ladder from his post atop the guard gate at the front of Lestallum, starving and ready to go home. Yet another riveting shift of guard duty had come and gone and Prompto was officially done for the evening, and not a moment too soon.
He understood why it was necessary for Lestallum to have people posted at various points around the city's gated limits but, for the love of Shiva, it was the most mind-numbing and draining job anyone could be assigned these days. The city's power plant did a great job at keeping daemons at bay, but guard duty was the extra level of protection Lestallum needed.
And, for some dumb reason, Cor always put Prompto on guard duty and Prompto hated every waking minute of it.
Prompto was told that it was because he was the best sharpshooter in the city and he could take down any daemon with one shot within a mile radius. Of course, Prompto smiled and nodded, accepting his duty as gatekeeper, but inside he screamed and raged. Why couldn't he get the good daemon hunting jobs that always went to Gladio? It wasn't fair.
Oh well.
As Prompto waved goodbye to the person who took over his shift of guarding the gate (some guy he saw in passing, but never really got to know), a loud squawking caught his attention. He whirled around, excited to see a yapping Chocobo at the gate. It, too, seemed excited to see Prompto standing there. With every hop and flailing of its wings, yellow feathers flew this way and that. Saddled on its back was a brown messenger-type bag and it looked pathetically empty.
"Aw, hey there buddy!" the blonde greeted happily. Nowadays in Eos, some Chocobo's were trained to carry mail over long distances. A few could even swim the entire length of the ocean from Accordo to Lucis, all the way to Niflheim, and back. It wasn't exactly conventional and the service could be slow sometimes, but it worked.
Prompto urged the new guard to open the gate for the Chocobo. As soon as there was enough clearance, he squeezed through and hugged the animal around its neck.
He'd never get tired of seeing these magnificent creatures.
"Let's see what you have for us today, hm?" he said aloud, reaching his hand into the bag and feeling around for any new mail, but came up empty. He frowned and looked up at the Chocobo. "Are you lost? Or maybe you're at the wrong post? There's nothing in your bag."
"KWEH!" the Chocobo screeched right in Prompto's ear, causing him to jump back in surprise. The bird bumped him with its weight and flapped its wings excitedly.
"Dude, what the hell? I just told you, your bag is empty!"
Once again, the Chocobo rammed against him and Prompto rolled his eyes.
Ok, maybe he was getting a little tired of this magnificent creature.
He sighed and reached back into the bag, now checking every single pocket both inside and out. Just as he was ready to shoo the bird away for wasting his time, his fingers reached into one last pocket and he felt a small, thin envelope pressed against the side. Between his pointer and middle finger, he pulled the envelope out and looked at it sheepishly. "Ahhh, sorry about that. Guess I missed that last little pocket."
The Chocobo pecked him three times on top of his head. "Hey!" he complained, face twisted into mild annoyance and pain. He lightly bopped it on its beak before grabbing its reins, leading the bird through the gates and into the city. The Chocobo was probably hungry, thirsty, and tired, so Prompto took it to a small building set up to allow Chocobo to rest and eat in peace until they were sent away with more letters and packages.
As soon as he handed the bird off to the person who looked after the animals—someone else that Prompto didn't really know—he looked at the envelope for the first time since grabbing it from the bag, seeing who it belonged to and where he needed to take it.
To his surprise, in gorgeous cursive writing, it was addressed to Ignis at the Levelle in Lestallum.
Prompto scrunched his face, thoughts unclear from hunger and lack of sleep, before coming to the quick realization that a certain someone must have sent this letter to Ignis. He broke into a jog through the streets, down some shortcuts through narrow alleyways, and made his way back to the Levelle. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and burst through the door to find Ignis standing by the window, staring outside without glasses to shield his face, as if he could see any of what was going on outside.
The silence gave him time to think, although Ignis wished he could escape his own thoughts.
He thought about Noctis and his friends. He sometimes thought about his eyesight, but that wasn't something he dwelled on much anymore (What's done is done, he'd reason). He thought about Eos and daemons and when the next assignment for him would come rolling in. If he thought long enough, he'd conjure images of Ardyn and Ignis would wonder what he was up to and who he really was.
Lately, though, he let his mind wander back to Aranea, her safety, and her wellbeing. He hadn't received anything from her in at least a few weeks, but she was undoubtedly busy. That didn't stop him from worrying and, if he was honest, from missing her.
As if the Gods heard his contemplations, the door to the room flew open. This almost startled Ignis, but he had been forewarned of the person's arrival with the thumping of footsteps up the Levelle stairs. For Ignis, it was easy to discern, between Prompto and Gladio, who was who when they came into the room. One always entered and moved about with purpose, strength, and heavy paces; the other never failed to barrel in with the energy of a million suns.
Upon his entrance, Ignis turned his ear to the door. "Prompto," he greeted solemnly. At first, Prompto didn't say or do anything and Ignis only then remembered he had removed his tinted glasses earlier in the day.
Often, Prompto was relatively normal around Ignis, but he also had a kind and sensitive soul. He knew it was hard for his friend to come to terms with his disfigurement, despite the years between Altissia and now. Ignis could feel it in the way that Prompto hesitated around him when he went without his glasses. He could hear it in the way that Prompto's voice hitched when he'd throw a marred glare the blonde's way. When Ignis picked up on Prompto's uneasiness, it made him feel uncomfortable and anxious, much like he was feeling now.
The quiet only lasted for a few more seconds, give or take, before Prompto crossed the threshold into the room and over to the window. "Something came for you," he announced breathlessly, taking Ignis' arm with one hand and placing the letter into his hand with the other. Prompto never once took his eyes from Ignis' face as he watched his intense expression slowly transform into one of soft contentment. Their eyes met and Prompto nodded happily, knowing just what that letter meant to the advisor.
Ignis' shoulders, before tensed and rigid, slackened. "Thank you, Prompto," he exhaled quietly, running his fingers over the envelope and the indentations that the writing left across the paper.
Prompto turned to flop on Gladio's claimed bed, exhausted from his guard shift. He put both hands under his head and closed his eyes, but Ignis remained standing by the window with the envelope in his possession. When he didn't hear anything, Prompto opened one eye and smirked. "Love letter from your secret admirer?"
That comment snapped Ignis out of his thoughts and he made a noise that was a cross between an annoyed hum and a frustrated groan. He walked to his bed and opened the drawer in the nightstand. Prompto sat up on his elbows and noticed, for the first time, a pile of similar envelopes—some opened, some still sealed—neatly stacked to the side next to another pair of visor sunglasses and the old recipe notebook. Ignis sat on the edge of the bed, springs creaking under his weight, and placed this envelope on top of the others, shutting the drawer with sad resignation.
Prompto kicked his legs over and moved into a sitting position opposite of Ignis. "How long has she been writing you?" he asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands interlocked together.
Ignis shrugged. "She handed me her first letter on her departure. After that, I estimate a letter fortnightly, give or take." He looked like he was calculating something in his head. "Eight months? Nine? There are roughly 15 or 16 letters in that drawer, so I assume that's correct."
Prompto's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Ignis has made no mention of communication going back and forth between the pair, but that wasn't what shocked him; Prompto was amazed at the fact that Ignis was able to keep something like this so low-key. Typical of the advisor. Never one to reveal the inner workings of his mind—or heart.
"Do you know what they say?" Prompto questioned, letting curiosity get the better of him as he rudely reached forward, attempting to grab one of the letters. Remarkably, Ignis obstructed him with a stern, gloved hand clenched around his wrist. Prompto cringed as he looked up and saw the almost imperceptible annoyance in Ignis' face and his wrist was released and pushed away in one fluid motion.
"Does it appear that I would know what they say?" Ignis retorted, shaking his head and wordlessly getting to his feet again. He paced back to the window, ignoring Prompto's obvious stare as he did so. The room remained still for what felt like forever and Prompto, once more, felt the need to interrupt the silence.
"You know, it's ok to admit you like her," he assured, his back to Ignis but he spoke over his shoulder. "We all know she likes you, too."
Ignis flicked a hand up, waving away Prompto's encouragements. Outside, dark clouds rolled through the sky. "I fear revealing my true sentiments would be far easier said than done."
"Dude, I promise you it's not that hard to tell someone you like them. What's the worst she can say? No?"
Ignis continued to gaze blankly out the window. "As someone who seems to be well-versed in the art of romance, I assume that you, too, have told the object of your affections of your feelings?"
Prompto reddened at this, nervously picking at an errant string sticking out of the hem of his right glove. "Well, not . . . no, not exactly. But, come on Iggy, that's different."
"It's always different when it's your own situation, is it not?"
When Ignis refused to look back at Prompto, the blonde bit his lip and gave up on pulling at the stupid string on his glove anymore. "I guess you have a point," Prompto bitterly accepted this nugget of knowledge as he stood up and walked around the bed. He took a position beside Ignis in front of the large—yet incredibly murky and dirty—window.
His eyes cut from the pane to Ignis, back to the outside world of Lestallum, and then to Ignis once more. He took a deep breath. "But, just because I haven't found the courage to man up and admit my . . . er . . . like for a certain someone, that doesn't mean that you have to follow in my footsteps, you know? Why deprive yourself of that chance at happiness?"
"Because, with her, there is no chance at happiness." Ignis remained impassive, but the subtle shifting of his weight from one leg to the other gave Prompto all the information he needed to know that his friend was feeling emotionally vulnerable and exposed. He didn't press Ignis to continue, but Ignis spoke willingly at this point. "She's made it apparent that there is nothing between us. Never has been and never will be."
"You really don't know women, do you?" A chuckle from Prompto brought an ire expression to Ignis' face, but Prompto quickly recovered and explained himself. "She's afraid. She's doing whatever she can to keep you at a distance so she can't get hurt—or, so she can't hurt you. Maybe there isn't something there, but what if there is? I mean, come on dude; she hasn't done a great job at hiding the fact that she at least enjoys your company and finds you attractive."
Ignis huffed. He started to cross his arms over his chest defensively, but then let his arms fall back to his side. The seconds crept by as he tried to find the right words, but speech evaded him and he was unable to voice any of his thoughts aloud.
As he stood there, he reflected on the last several months and how the time apart allowed him the opportunity to come to terms with what he truly wanted from Aranea. By the Six, he was beyond crazy about her. There was no doubt about that, but it scared him more than he ever thought possible.
There was no true love lost parting with his high school sweetheart as they'd known there was an expiration to their relationship. Despite how long they'd been together and how head over heels he felt for her at the time, everything was so matter-of-fact on their separation and they wished each other well with nothing but absolute fondness.
But whatever this was that he felt for Aranea was different. This was no fairy tale. It wasn't safe and comfortable. It twisted everything he ever thought about love and flipped it on its head. The concept of handing over his heart to someone, only to lose them or to have it broken was foreign and unfamiliar.
Ignis did not do well with foreign or unfamiliar. He was not a fan of the ambiguous.
Everything about his life, up until now, was structured and organized. Everything had a reason and nothing was ever uncertain. He had control over everything and he liked it that way. Relinquishing that control was never an option.
But Altissia happened. And then Noctis was pulled away and everything went dark, literally and metaphorically speaking. Ignis felt lost. And afraid. And confused. And alone.
Then, Aranea walked in.
She helped him. She brought him so much joy and happiness during a time when he felt he had no purpose or meaning. She never gave up on him and stuck by him day after day. It wasn't something she had to do. Ignis was well aware of the fact that she didn't have to offer her assistance with relearning to fight all those years ago after the hobgoblin fight. He knew she could have walked away at any moment because she had bigger, better things to do than to help some guy she barely knew.
But her devotion never waned.
Now, every letter she sent him, every minute that ticked by until she came home, all the sleepless nights worrying if she was alright, every waking minute and every tiny thought revolved around her drew him closer to her. She was irritable, somewhat spiteful, always spontaneous, strong willed—and he loved her for it.
Loved? Was that what this was?
Did he love Aranea Highwind?
Ignis leaned against the window for support, lightheaded and weak, as he allowed himself the chance to, finally, feel what he was always too afraid to open his heart to. He ran a hand down his face and released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Prompto picked up on the change in expression and behavior. He laid a hand on Ignis' shoulder and Ignis looked his way, an idea forming in his mind as his eye lit up.
"Prompto, I have a favor to ask of you and Gladio, should time allow it."
Prompto blinked several times before nodding enthusiastically, ready and willing to help Ignis with whatever he needed.
Peace.
For once.
It was such a welcome change of pace compared to the last several months.
The team they'd started with had dwindled from seven to four, with two losses and one man sent back to Lestallum with a handful of survivors, ensuring they'd make it back safely. Aranea retreated to her tent after another long day of beating off daemons and traveling. She gave the order to Biggs to send off a transmission to Cor that they were still doing well and a Chocobo was coming his way with papers noting the carnage across Accordo, especially within Altissia.
It was important, Cor said, to keep records for future reference.
Aranea just rolled her eyes. What future?
Still, she did as she was told and wrote out every sordid detail since the day they made landfall at Altissia's port. Upon their arrival, it chilled her to the bone that they were stepping foot on the same hallowed grounds where everything had gone to shit—and, more importantly to her, where Ignis lost his eyesight. She swallowed the lump that, unexpectedly, formed in her throat and pushed onward, forcing the gruesome imagery from her head of what possibly happened during that battle.
Little had been done in the way of repairs since the Battle at Altissia, but the daemons had made themselves at home within the ruined buildings. Once the daemons were out of the way, Aranea ordered her team to spread out and grab what important items they could find, big or small. A potion here, a Phoenix Down there, and everything in between. Nothing was too minute to pass up.
Now, here they were, several months later, hoping for some sort of sign or signal that one day it would be ok to come home. In front of her team, Aranea put on a brave and strong guise. She had to. But as soon as she was alone in her tent, all fronts went out the proverbial window and she collapsed into a heap of exhaustion and failure. To pass the time and to divert her mind from everything, she poured her soul into multi-paged letters to Ignis. He wasn't reading them, that she knew, but she didn't care. If it helped her and it alleviated his worries about her being gone, then what did it matter if he could read them or not?
She would ask how he was and if everything was ok. Was Iris enjoying the room to herself? Was everything alright back home? Yes, she'd write as if he'd asked, she was safe and she'd only picked up a few extra scars while away. She wrote of the weather and how beautiful it felt, though it would be a lot nicer if the sun were out to make it more picturesque. She recounted her battles with various daemons, how she took down two Red Giants nearly all by herself, and that she thought the darkness was getting just a little darker every day—but maybe that was all in her head.
Most importantly, she ended every letter with a decent sized paragraph about how much she missed him and how she couldn't wait to get home to see him. Normally, Aranea wouldn't be so bold with her emotions, especially when it dealt with putting them to paper, but she relied on the fact that Ignis really had no idea what she was sending to him. As a result, she felt gutsy enough to tell him that she did miss him, more than she ever thought possible and with every ounce of her entire being, and hopefully she'd be home soon.
These letters allowed her some sort of outlet to her feelings, but still granted her the ability to guard her heart— and Ignis' heart as well. Yes, she liked him. Admittedly, she was rendered speechless around him, her heart racing involuntarily, and she was so grateful that he could never see the blush that tinted her cheeks when he stood too close to her, but she wasn't ready to open up. She wasn't sure she'd ever be ready.
It was confusing and weird and frustrating and Aranea hated that she wanted to just grab Ignis and kiss him, more passionately than that stupid peck on the lips after Cerberus, but she also didn't want to put herself out there.
So, she didn't and probably never would.
Fuck, she thought. Emotions are so dumb.
"Lady A!" Biggs called out, his boots clambering about as he searched around outside the tent and then finally opening the flap to said tent. He found Aranea on her stomach by a lantern as she wrote feverously across the lines of the piece of paper under her.
When Biggs trampled into the tent like an animal, she threw a scowl over her shoulder and covered her words up with her hands. "Can I help you?"
"Jus' checkin' to see how yeh were. Been a wee bit since we heard from yeh. Thought maybe you fell asleep er somethin', but obviously tha's not the case," he drawled in his accent, motioning to the paper she was attempting to hide.
"Gods, I just wanted five seconds of peace from you guys. Five. Seconds," she growled, pushing back onto all fours from her stomach and then upwards to her knees, gathering her letter in her hands and folding it in half precariously. She kept one uncertain eye on her comrade and they engaged in a weird sort of stare down, neither one making the first move to blink first.
"Yeh been writing a lot lately," he observed, sitting beside her. "Not somethin' I 'member you doin' before. Lemme guess; those letters headed to Mr. Scientia?"
Her eyes doubled in size. "Hell no! I'm just . . . it's poetry! To a . . . friend!"
Wedge chose that moment to poke his head into the tent. "I heard someone talkin' about poetry?"
"Lady A said she's writin' poetry to a friend," Biggs said.
"Aranea, you have no friends. At least, none that aren't within the vicinity," Wedge noted innocently.
"For the love of the Six, will you both leave me alone?!"
Wedge squeezed into the tent with his two companions and made ample noise as he sat down, much to Aranea's chagrin. Her eyes narrowed and she felt her pulse hasten, wanting to push and kick them right out of the tent, but both Biggs and Wedge smiled ignorantly and refused to budge. Obviously, they knew something she didn't and just that notion alone annoyed her even more. Back and forth her eyes darted between both men crammed with her in the tiny tent as her hands clenched her half-written letter to her side.
"What do you two know that I don't?"
Biggs and Wedge exchanged wider grins between each other. "Do yeh want to say it?" Biggs asked.
Wedge held a hand up and shook his head, smirking. "Oh, no. I insist you tell her."
Aranea's teeth ground noisily. While she counted Biggs and Wedge as two of her closest cohorts, it didn't mean she always appreciated their antics or presence. "Will one of you please tell me what is going on?"
Biggs could hardly contain his excitement, his smile so big that it took over much of his face. "Cor gave us clearance to pack up and move out. Just came in about twenty er so minutes ago."
"You mean—"
Wedge finished her train of thought. "Lady A, we're going home!"
"We leave the end of this week once the new refugees have all been accounted for back in Lestallum," Biggs interjected one final time. "The boat will be in Altissia to pick us up and then we're off."
Aranea, at first apathetic, slowly accepted the fact that yes, they were going home. Soon. Way soon. Like, as soon as the records were received by Cor. Aranea wasn't fond of the guy, but on Ifrit's lair, she'd give the man a huge hug right now. She'd never been more thrilled about anything than she was now.
Her own bed. Actual food. People other than freakin' Biggs and Wedge to talk to. The occasional alcoholic beverage.
A shrill yelp sound escaped her mouth, startling the two men in front of her. She pumped her fists in the air, but the sound of crinkling paper brought her back down to Eos and she looked to see the letter to Ignis in her hand crumpled across the middle.
She didn't forget the greatest reason of all why she was excited to go home.
The recipient of her letters.
Perfectly capable of seeing everything around him, Ignis was led down the narrow halls by two large, muscular men. It seemed he was a patient at some unnamed psych ward, judging by the straitjacket he was confined in. Other cases were screaming to be let out from behind the heavy, metal doors. Some slammed their hands and fists against the windows, begging to be set free. Ignis continued to walk, eyes forward, with hands holding onto each side of him, lest he tried to bolt. Honestly, how could he get away when the straitjacket inhibited any free range of motion? Either way, he wouldn't dare try to escape, though he was still confused as to why he was here in the first place.
It didn't seem like a place he'd be found in, but what did he know anymore. Maybe he snapped recently and went insane?
Unlikely, but still a possibility.
They—Ignis and his . . . doctors? —finally reached his room. One of the hands reached forward and opened the door for him, guiding him inside and sitting him on a metal chair in the middle of the room. The man nodded once, satisfied, before turning on his heels and striding back outside, closing the door behind him. A final click told Ignis that the door was locked and there was no way out.
The walls were stark white. The bed to the side looked unpleasant, with the paint on metal frame chipping and flaking. There was little color to the room. A quick glance around showed there was no key to be found, no sharp object, nothing to help unbind him from the constraints he found himself in.
In the distance, he heard someone screaming for help and the slamming of a metal door, effectively shutting the screams off from the rest of the world. From where Ignis was sitting, his line of sight was just short of seeing anything worthwhile through the small glass pane on the door to his room. He strained every which way, but there was nothing to see.
As he sat back in his chair, giving in to defeat, he heard the sound of heels succinctly clicking down the hall. They came closer and closer until they were right outside his room. Ignis tried to sit up straighter, waiting in anticipation for what would happen next or who would walk into this room. Keys were inserted into the lock and the door swung open to reveal Aranea—only it wasn't the Aranea he was familiar with and she wasn't decked out in her battle gear or typical attire. Instead, Ignis observed, she was dressed as a nurse of the facility.
An exceptionally attractive nurse, at that.
Her attire hardly left anything to the imagination. Her breasts were pushed up by her white, tight corset top hugging tight to her chest and abdomen, exposing a long and deep cleavage line. A white skirt barely covered her bottom and accentuated her curves in all the right places. She wore white stockings over her long and lean legs and stood tall in red heels.
Everything else about Aranea was the same. Her silver hair was pulled back into several small braids with a black ribbon to hold them together. Her smoky makeup was done to emphasize her smoldering eyes and tinted lip gloss highlighted her lips. The harsh, fluorescent lighting reflecting off the gloss, giving a shine in a way that made them look so damn kissable.
He just had to be in a straitjacket right now.
Aranea flipped through a few pages on her clipboard and clicked a pen several times before finally regarding the patient sitting in front of her. "Ignis Scientia?" she droned, bringing the pen to her mouth and biting it lazily.
She even made chewing on pens look sexy.
He needed to get to the bottom of this and figure out what was going on, but Aranea standing there distracted him. Looking around the room, baffled, he settled his eyes firmly on hers, not daring to look at anything below her neckline. "Aranea? Do you not know who I am?"
She rolled her eyes and jutted her hip out, licking her lips before speaking again. "Do you have any idea why you're here?"
Ignis struggled within the confines of the jacket, moving to better situate himself on the chair. Somewhere between the time he was brought into his room and now, his glasses had slipped down his nose and it irritated him that he couldn't push them back up. He looked over the rims at the woman in front of him, still not surrendering to the sight of her curves—though, Gods, did he want to. "I can't say I have the slightest idea why I'm here, though maybe you could enlighten me?"
She sighed, exasperated, as though he was the biggest idiot for asking such a question. Tossing the clipboard on the desk in the corner of the room, Aranea leaned against the ledge of said desk and crossed her ankles, a seductive smirk painted on her face. "Mr. Scientia, are you really so daft?"
He angled his head. "It appears I am. I've never been one to fall under the 'foolish' category, but I must have done something rather irrational to land myself here."
Aranea shook her head and her heels clicked on the concrete floor as she made her way over to Ignis, standing unreasonably close to his side. He felt his cheeks flush as she bent forward, her breasts inches from his face as she checked each strap on the straightjacket, making sure they were fastened correctly and snugly.
He was a gentleman. He'd never stoop so low as to leer upon a woman's chest.
Then his eyes wandered unintentionally and he caught sight of her cleavage. It was damn near impossible for him to pretend he didn't notice or see. His cheeks turned a shade darker and he snapped his head forward, his gaze focused on the door in front of them.
He realized Aranea was now watching him and . . . was she . . . sneering?
"You like what you see?" she goaded, bowing further with narrowed eyes.
Before he could articulate a reasonable response, she has one hand on his shoulder to steady herself as she straddled him.
For the love of the Astrals.
"Well? Do you?" she smirked, a glint of mischievousness in her eyes as she leaned in, her lips ghosting his right ear. "Because it's ok if you do."
His breath caught in his throat and he tried to, vainly, free his arms but to no avail. Originally, he was so mentally absent that he almost missed that she was dragging her tongue along his neck, back up to his ear. Her breath gave him goosebumps and she tantalized him by nibbling on his earlobe, giggling as she did so. His pulse quickened. She pulled back and ran a hand through his hair with one hand while removing his askew glasses with the other, folding and placing them on a random wooden stool behind him.
Ignis knew his eyes were hooded with lust, though he tried to keep a sharp wit about him. Aranea must have picked up on the battle between intellect and desire that waged inside of him because her hand stopped at the base of his neck, playing with the little hairs at the edge of his hairline. She poked her lower lip out, mockingly, as she massaged his neck. "What's wrong? You don't look so well. No wonder they brought you in here," she teased.
He tried to say something. Anything. Dear Gods, why couldn't he formulate a single sentence? Where was his voice?
Her lips were now hovering over his. She smelled like her strawberry lip gloss. Ignis always took her for a lipstick kind of girl, not a lip gloss one. Normally, he abhorred the stuff because of how messy and unseemly it was when caked on a woman's lips, but right now he wasn't complaining. He'd give anything for her to touch those lips to his at this second, but Aranea knew what she was doing. He realized she wasn't about to give in to his wants so easy.
Ignis felt her grind her hips into his and he let out a groan, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Had it been so long that he felt any sort of contact in this way? He couldn't remember, though that wasn't saying much. With the way she was toying with him, he could barely remember his own name.
"Aww, you liked that?" she cooed, rolling her hips again and eliciting the same response from him. "You know, it's a shame that you're in that jacket."
"You could always undo it," he rasped, thrusting upwards as she leaned forward into his neck. He felt his pants grow tighter on him in response to her actions and he tried to will away what was going on below the beltline, but she caught on quickly.
With her lips tracing light kisses from his neck to his shoulder, she snickered. "I see I did something right," she whispered as her fingers danced down his side to his hips before squeezing his thighs tightly. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
"Aranea . . ." he moaned, allowing her access again to his neck as she kissed him there, more fervently than before. Ignis knew his hands were tied—literally—but he still squirmed and writhed under her, trying desperately to rid himself of the bonds that hindered him. He wanted to run his hands through her hair, pull her closer to him while he worked her out of her outfit . . .
"Tell me what you want," she needled, leaning back with one hand on his knee and the other on his shoulder. If she leaned back any further, her skirt would be pushed just high enough for him to see—
No, stop, he mentally chided himself, pinching his eyes shut.
Ignis shook his head but he couldn't rid himself of the lustful thoughts that invaded his mind. He wanted her. No, he needed her. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it. What was wrong with him? He was usually so composed! She'd reduced him to nothing more than a sex-crazed man and—
The corners of Aranea's plump, red lips turned upwards and she pressed herself into him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, willing her to kiss him but she denied him that simple, unstated request. Instead, she shifted backward and moved her left hand from his shoulder, down his arm, all the way to the hemline of his asylum-issued pants, tugging ardently. His hips bucked upwards, imploring her to continue.
Please, he begged inwardly. Just a little further.
"Tell me you want me."
His eyes were half-opened and he tried to find the words to express just how bad he craved her in this moment, his erection throbbing against her. He couldn't take it. "Aranea, I-I . . ."
"I can't hear you," she spurred him on as her fingers reached further and further, under his belly button and alongside the V-muscles beside his hips. He let a gasp escape his lips and his arms, once again, flinched in the sleeves of the jacket he was bound within. He was putty in her hands, compulsorily responding to every stroke and caress. He closed his eyes, inhaling through clenched teeth.
She was pulling the band of his pants lower and he closed his eyes.
Lower.
This was it.
As she brought her lips to his, he leaned up.
But there was nothing there.
He snapped his eyes open and suddenly—
There were no white walls. No sounds of screaming patients.
Aranea wasn't sitting on his lap anymore.
In fact, there was no pressure on him whatsoever. On top of that, he was devoid of seeing anything but emptiness and darkness.
Ignis was laying on his back, tangled in his bedsheets. It was all a dream. Nothing more than a sex-riddled, lust-filled dream.
As he started to sit up, the thought hit him that it probably wasn't best for him to get out of bed just yet. Not only was he completely snarled within his sheets, but he was hard and very much turned on.
"Prompto? Gladio? Are you here?" he hissed, listening for their snoring or heavy breathing. After a second and stark silence, he gathered he was alone for the night, both his friends on guard shift, daemon duty, or just away for whatever reason.
Ignis laid still for a few more minutes, his heart still racing, mouth dry. It had been a long time—maybe his teenage years—since he'd had a dream like this. Nightmares? Sure, those were a regular occurrence. But this? It was an entirely new sensation.
Well, not entirely new—he was human, after all. But it had been a long while.
He counted to three and freed himself from the sheets that trapped him, throwing them away from his body as he sat at the edge of his bed. He grimaced as his arousal pressed a little too tight against his pajama pants before he warily made his way to the bathroom.
Once in the bathroom, he shut the door behind him, silently thanking the Gods for allowing him the solitude he so desperately needed right now. It would take a long, cold shower to bring him back down to Eos after that dream.
He turned the shower on, colder than would have liked, and rested his forehead on the chilled bathroom wall before stripping down and stepping into the steady stream of water.
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Aranea had a hold on him. Tonight's dream proved that.
For what it was worth, he wasn't about to deny that he liked it.
Author's Note: Hokay! So, first of all, I hope that was ok. :)
Second, I believe I've outlined everything from here on out and it looks like this will round out at about 21-22 chapters. There is a chance that that chapter count could change (if inspiration for something hits me or if I find that certain scenes could be condensed and combined, stuff like that), but not drastically by any means!
And finally, I hope everyone had a great week this week! Once again, you all motivate me to no end with your reviews. I wish I could buy you guys presents or throw a party for you all or something lol. Complete with cupcakes and party hats! I just don't know how else to convey how much it means to me that you all take time out of your day to read this story. I love you!