stardiving | IC Inbox (Victory Road)

[When he'd woken up this morning, Aymeric had plans, had fully intended on being as productive with this day as any other. Following his conversation with G'rhyf, however, he finds that the day quickly gets away from him. Once, he might have thought himself above spending every waking hour fretting over something as fleeting as romance. Indeed, he'd previously managed to swallow most of his pining for the Warrior of Light for the sake of duty. But with a job at a Pokemart being far less pressing than the needs of an entire country, there was little chance of turning to work for a proper distraction.

There was no reason to distrust G'rhyf and their observation, after all. Orn Khai was naïve, something that (perhaps unfortunately, in this case) Aymeric would never claim of his dear Miqo'te friend. And while the Warrior of Light might have been mischievous, they were not malicious. Spreading a lie for the game of it simply was not their way. What they'd discussed earlier was something that G'rhyf truly believed.

Thus, there were two possibilities: they were right, or they had drastically misjudged the situation. And while reaching the truth of the matter might have been a good thing if the former were the case, in the event of the latter, he would only put strain upon his friendship with Estinien.

Hence why he spends most of the day weighing his options, chasing down mental scenarios in which he confessed his fledgling feelings to Estinien, where he kept his silence, or where he was rejected in his attempts. And while he had not yet settled on an answer, one thing was certain: there was no "potential" about what he felt about his companion. How could there be, when his very presence had brought joy unending to Aymeric since arriving in Johto -- to say nothing of their friendship back home? How elated he had felt as they shared a dance with one another despite Estinien's protests otherwise. The desperation that had seared through him over the idea of his companion suffering Nidhogg's return alone. And of course, the secret thrill that had shot through him at the concept of Orn Khai's assumption being true.

Halone above, was he in trouble.

Yet for his revelations, little could be said about the path forward. Even if he was confident in his own feelings, he was far less certain about Estinien. Talented as Aymeric might have been in reading him, it was still an imperfect art. That he mattered to the man was not in question, but a romantic interest? That seemed questionable, at best.

As the hour of his usual return drew near, Aymeric found he'd made no headway in finding an answer. The only thing that was clear was that, if he were to make a confession, it was not to be this evening. Like as it was, he would need to speak with G'rhyf at length as to how to proceed.

Not that it keeps that strange giddiness at bay, however. The tips of his ears seem to have any intent in cooling off and he doesn't need a mirror to know that his cheeks are flushed. His first priority, then, should be making himself presentable -- or at least slightly less lovesick.

With a sigh, he trudges into the washroom, hoping to splash water on his face. Likely, it's where he'll be when Estinien finally returns.]

[Aymeric oft forgot to get himself proper food--it was just the way of things, had been for years. Before his ascension to the seat of the Lord Commander and Lucia taking over the duty of making sure he sat down long enough to at least take some tea and a scone before he fell over, Estinien would often perform that role himself.

He'd found himself falling back into it here, as it was hardly any bother to get a second portion of whatever he had decided to try that day. (And Aymeric was still terrible at remembering to damn well eat something, despite having nothing more pressing than simple menial labor awaiting him on a daily basis.)

Some things, it seemed, really did not change.

Tonight on his way back from his own work, he'd gotten meat skewers - some sort of fowl, cooked with spice that reminded him of the way hamsa was prepared in Thavnair, with fragrant rice and salad, with hot spiced, sweet tea.

It did leave his hands a little full, but the door had a handle that was easy enough for Iceheart to manage, a lever that she just had to push down with a paw, so it wasn't much of an obstacle.

He notes as he comes in Aymeric's bag sat where he usually leaves it after he's in for the day, and the sound of water from the washroom, and goes to lay out the food and drink on the table without thinking too much of it.]

[For better or for worse, Aymeric hears the rustling from the main room. The cadence of Estinien's footfalls are familiar enough that Aymeric doesn't even begin to worry -- at least not for his physical safety. There is something to be said about how his mind begins to race anew, but a few steadying breaths at least keep him from going too far down that rabbit hole.

He glances once in the mirror, checking to see if he's at least mildly presentable. His hair is tousled in a way that is less artful and more fretful, though after a few swipes of his fingers through it, it's clear that it's not an easily fixed job. At least his cheeks have paled once more, though the very tips of his ears still burn.

It will have to do.

He steps into the room with a small smile and a quick nod. The smell of food is quick to hit him, and it takes only a glance to see that Estinien has provided for them both. It's almost ridiculous, how readily the gesture winds him. Estinien has brought food time and time again, but the new found context of the moment makes it seem all the sweeter.

He turns quickly, busying himself with shifting a few pieces of equipment back and forth, all in an effort to make it seem like he'd clearing a spot for himself. At least if his cheeks are flushed anew, it's out of frustration rather than anything else. He was being ridiculous.

With another steadying breath, and after assuring himself that his composure is once more intact, he turns back to Estinien once more. The smile, at least, comes as easy as ever.]

Welcome back, my friend.

[Really, Aymeric, you're worrying about your hair--it's fairly obvious that you're well and gone down that rabbit hole that you were just congratulating yourself on avoiding.

There's a smile on Estinien's face as well--the small but sincere one that's been there more often than not over the last few months, especially in Aymeric's presence.]

Had a good day, I trust?

[Some faint part of Aymeric's mind begins to spin anew, this time wondering whether or not that smile has always been so charming, or if he's in further trouble than he might have thought.]

Decent enough. [His voice remains smooth, untroubled by the whirling thoughts in his head. In fact, if not for how quickly he responds, as if fearing to dwell upon the question, it might have seemed entirely normal.

He speaks again before Estinien can be allowed to question it.]

What did you bring home this evening, then?

[You're in deep, ser.

There's a moment where Estinien looks like he's puzzling it over, but he just tilts his head and glances down at the food he's setting out.]

Spiced fowl--they're called kebab here. And masala chai, it ought to be sweet enough for your liking.

[It's no small blessing, that he's able to get away with that. He's quick to move closer, studying the food and trying to not think about his proximity to Estinien. The last thing he needs is to twist that around in his head.

Perhaps unconsciously, he leaves a bit of a berth between them, though.]

We shall have to see about that. [He nods to the tea, very intrigued.] The rest of it sounds good as well. Truly, I am grateful for your kindness and consideration.

[He waves a hand.]

Ever with the formalities. Tis no need for it.

[One would think he would have gotten that through his head by now, but alas. Estinien flops into his own chair gracelessly.]

[Any progress made had been quickly dashed by his conversation with G'rhyf, unfortunately. Now every movement is second-guessed. He serves himself -- a small portion despite everything, and finds his own seat.

He sips his tea silently -- tries not to think about how well Estinien knows him to know that the tea would suit him -- and does what he can to quell his thoughts.]

It's good, thank you. The tea as well.

[This is... painful.]

[Estinien rolls his eyes, grabs another skewer from the takeout box, and drops it on Aymeric's plate--then stares as if daring him to say something about it before taking another bite of his own.

The conversation does seem especially stilted today, for someone of Aymeric's usual outgoing nature. There's something going on--he's fair sure of it--but what it could possibly be...

For now he decides to just wait it out, though he does keep watching. Puzzling on what is going through Aymeric's head and if he'll crack and say something before Estinien has to call him on it.]

[Aymeric does open his mouth to protest, but quickly cuts off the moment that gaze settles on him. He glances down at his plate and gives a quick nod -- letting Estinien off easy, it would seem. His head swims with far too many thoughts to well and truly process his aggravation, however teasing it might be.

Deep down, he knows would be easier if he just brought it up right now. It's better, certainly, than worrying himself in circles about the matter. Instead, he chews on his cheek, plate left to sit idle in his hand as his focus drifts in and out.

He replays the conversation over in his head. Turns the phrase "special kind of softness" around and around again. G'rhyf hadn't been wrong about that much -- the additional food on his plate, or the fact that Estinien had brought something to eat at all, says that much.

Without much thought, he offers up:]

I spoke to G'rhyf this morning.

About whatever has you running in circles in your head, I hope.

[The thought, now that it's out in the world, has him feeling a flash of disappointment, and jealousy. That Aymeric didn't think he could come to Estinien with his concerns--though that was fair, now wasn't it? He'd ever done things on his own, without regard to any trouble or pain it would put Aymeric through. And it's not like he's ever welcomed those sorts of conversations before.

Those feelings morph to a gut-twisting guilt, and he picks up his cup to mask it. It's good that Aymeric has more people that he can depend on than just him--unreliable as he is.]

[Estinien hides his expression quickly, but there’s a span of just a few seconds where Aymeric sees something. The shift in mood is enough to blunt whatever effort he’d put forth in approaching the topic at hand. Even if Estinien could have no idea as to where he was going with this subject, it was hardly encouraging behavior.]

That is correct. [His words come slow now, fretting anew over whether it’s worth pursuing at all. As he deliberates, his gaze falls to the floor, focusing on an errant piece of carpet.]

We were discussing the events of that… rather tumultuous weekend. The visitors we had. [Each word seems to come with considerable thought, dripping with the weight of his own turbulent thoughts.]

Orn Khai’s thoughts on our… friendship, came up.

[That, if anything, makes Estinien even more suspicious of Aymeric's motives in bringing it up.

If he were content with the tale they had told the dragonet, surely he would have forgotten all about it, save for some embarrassment that it had occurred at all. He wouldn't have been fretting about it this much, certainly not to the point of asking G'rhyf about it. Would he?

No, there would be no reason to.

So the answer is...he wishes it were truth (or as close to it as two Elezen men could get, at any rate.) Aymeric was only ever this evasive when it came to something he truly wished for.

The thought sends a jolt of misgiving through him--not because he doesn't care for Aymeric, deeply, but because why him. Aymeric deserved the world, the best of everything--and that surely wasn't him. There was no more rage in him, to be fair, but he was still piecing together who and what he was meant to be without it. The piece that held Aymeric was dear and would stay with him always, but...what if the rest didn't hold a shape that he could care for in that way? And, Fury, that wasn't even considering the likelihood of him buggering it up, which was high.]

...you wouldn't work yourself into such a state if you were content with what we told him.

[In all honesty, Aymeric wasn't expecting Estinien to get it so quick. Certainly, it isn't quite the right conclusion, but only because it had taken the Lord Commander a bit longer to process why it had stuck with him. He reaches the important part, at least.

He offers Estinien a rueful sort of smile, one that threatens to collapse at the edges. The moment of truth, as it were.]

'Twas not quite why I went to them. In truth I... felt guilty. [At this, he glances away. His fingers still, gripping tightly against one another.] Men like myself are hardly a blessing in Ishgard, as I am sure you are aware. That I might have brought that same shame upon you, to have sullied your name...

[He gives a faint shrug of his shoulders.]

When I asked them if we gave that impression, they said that while we might not have come off as a pair, it... seemed as if it was something we wanted.

Needless to say, it put a great many things in perspective for myself.

[He hadn't realized just how terribly his heart was racing, at least not until he finished speaking. He swallows, finding it a little difficult to do around the steadily forming lump in his throat. He thinks of mentioning G'rhyf's other observation but... keeps it to himself for the moment. With everything he's said, the last thing he needs to add is the presumption of both himself and a friend into the mix.

He can let it settle for now. Let Estinien make sense of his own feelings.]

[That strikes him mute right there--how in the world could Aymeric possibly believe that he was anything but the greatest thing to happen to Ishgard--to him--in years?

But that was part of the church's doctrine, wasn't it--that men shouldn't lie with one another. Not nearly as taboo as the thought of lying with dragons, but close enough that anyone who did so in the barracks did so in secret.

Before he can think about it, he reaches out, covering Aymeric's clenched fingers with his own hands and tightening his grip.]

Believe me when I say I give not one swiving thought as to what anyone in Ishgard might think of me, never mind that you could not possibly bring shame upon me, because it is absolutely bloody nothing to be ashamed of. If Halone Herself came down to tell us off, I'd fight her myself.

[That all-too familiar bolt of levin shoots through Aymeric the moment their fingers brush. He looks up at Estinien, almost startled by the intensity of his voice and the contact they make. The declaration that follows leaves little time to him to catch his breath, either.

To fight a god -- To blaspheme for him. It should have made him shrivel, the idea of his dearest friend being damned, simply to make a statement regarding his own honor. Yet there's a romance to it, the likes of which was better contained to more salacious reading materials. A fantasy, rather than the tale shared between Ishgard's beloved Lord Speaker and her former Azure Dragoon.

With a swallow, Aymeric turns his hands 'round within Estinien's grasp. There's a delicacy to his grasp, as if fearing that holding too tight might make the entire moment shatter around him. He hesitates, even as he laces their fingers together.]

I would not have that, Estinien. I could not bear you being barred from her halls for me. But... it matters not. [He squeezes Estinien's hands, just barely.] We are worlds away from doctrine and decree. If ever there was a time for us to be at peace, and ever a desire for you to share that with me, 'twould be here.

[How he longs to cling to that moment, to pretend that Estinien's vitriol perhaps meant more than that it did. He wanted to keep those fingers laced between his for ages, perhaps never to let go.

Instead, his grip loosens. He shifts back, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.]

'Tis not solely for me to decide, however. While I suspect it is the truth that my heart yearns for yours, I will not declare the same in reverse. It is your decision as well.

[Estinien stares at Aymeric after he pulls away, after that declaration, and after saying that he's not sure how Estinien feels, if he feels the same way.

He'd thought he'd made that fairly clear. Apparently, he didn't. He's never been good with words.

Abruptly, he shoves back from the table with a growl and gets up. It's a matter of two steps to cross the distance between them--two steps and a massive leap, but he's excellent at jumping.

Before he can second-guess, he reaches down and grabs two fistfuls of Aymeric's overly-fine shirt and yanks him up to kiss him.

Let him try to find the ambiguity in that.]

[There is an added benefit to the speed in which Estinien moves -- just as the dragoon cannot second-guess his intentions, neither can Aymeric. Though a base instinct balks at being handled so fiercely, the rest of him is pliant beneath Estinien's touch. He has always, and will ever, trust the man with every bit of him. No harm would come to him by those hands.

And it doesn't. Though surprise stills him momentarily, it is only just that. Though it has been some time since his last dalliance with anyone, he is not inexperienced, has not forgotten what to do in this moment. His lips melt against Estinien's, shifting perhaps too eagerly to return that kiss. It takes everything in his power to keep from kissing him until their lips are blue and their lungs are breathless.

He settles with cradling Estinien's cheek as he pulls away. There's a wildness to his gaze, and naturally his cheeks are flushed a deep red. But more importantly, there's clear adoration there, never mind the obvious relief.

He clears his throat after a moment, glancing away almost shyly.]

... I believe you have made your stance quite clear.

[Estinien, on the other hand, is inexperienced--though he's making up for that in enthusiasm. He lets Aymeric pull away, though, because as much as he'd rather demonstrate how he feels, he knows it's important for Aymeric to talk.]

Good. I would hate to be misinterpreted.

[He does smooth Aymeric's shirt back down, though it is probably unfortunately still a bit wrinkled. Oops.]

[It's an odd reversal, Estinien being the one to fret and fuss. He lets the attempt to smoothe his shirt carry on for a few seconds, before finally laying his hands over Estinien's. Even in that brief moment, where their hands had pressed together, his mind had begun to run away with countless different fantasies. Of how those hands might feel against his face. Or perhaps --

He lifts one up, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm, then flips it over to do the same on the opposite side. Even these small points of contact feel right.]

I suppose it should be asked, though. What now?

[It's only this once and it's only because he knows Aymeric will give him grief about the wrinkles.

Well. Partially about that. Now that everything is out in the open so to speak--and Aymeric has asked 'what now', he realizes that he truly doesn't know. He'd barely begun to think about any sort of attraction to others when he was a child before the destruction of Ferndale--and then his only interest had been the pursuit of strength, his quest to become the Azure. By the time his age group was pursuing the sorts of interpersonal relationships rife in the ranks of the Temple Knights, he'd developed such a fearsome reputation that no one was interested in approaching him for any kind of tryst, not that he would have welcomed such advances. He's completely adrift.

(Well. There are half-recalled memories that weren't his, but he and Aymeric certainly weren't going to be engaging in any sort of courtship flights.)

Despite having just initiated things, so to speak, there's something more fearfully intimate about Aymeric kissing his hand, on top of realizing that he doesn't know how to answer that question, and he blushes bright red.]

To be honest? I've no swiving clue.

Edited 2022-06-02 05:03 (UTC)

[There's something about that flush that's positively endearing. A part of him wants to take Estinien's face into his hands once more, press kisses to those flushed cheeks and draw it out further. His fingers twitch, tips itching with the desire, but he bites it down. Instead, he presses one hand hand into his lap, glancing to the side even as the tips of his own ears warm. The other remains firmly fastened to Estinien's.

For now, he offers a reassuring smile, shaking his head even as he does.]

Mayhap that is a good thing. 'Tis better to stumble together, would you not agree?

[His thumb swoops over the spot he had only just kissed. He can practically feel his heart in his throat, and though it all seems so juvenile, he doesn't dislike it.]

[Fury preserve, he's awakened some kind of affection monster.

He nods, relieved that seems to be the end of it--of that question at least.]

Little needs to change.

...save that I suppose we no longer need request a room with two beds.

[Halone, if that doesn't awaken something horrendously embarrassing within him. He closes his eyes, feeling a wash of heat spread over his features. Save him, please.]

I... suppose we do not.

[Not that they haven't shared beds before, of course. And even now, it wouldn't be the first time they woke wrapped up in one another. But there's something entirely different about doing so with intent.]

I shall do my best not to kick while I slumber.

IC Inbox (Victory Road)

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cw: mild references to homophobia

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