A special thanks to Fuzzy (@weapons-grade-spork) from the FFXV and Chill Discord! *waves*
Also somewhat inspired by the image found here: wHEEZE
Getting belted upside the head with a lance was, honestly, not a bad trade-off for seeing a sweaty Ignis Scientia pant for breath.
Granted, right now you were seeing two of him, and your head felt ring-y, but his vest and shirt were open and droplets were cascading down his chest and you were pretty sure somewhere under the mild concussion that human beings were not supposed to be this stupidly attractive.
The sparring match had started because you had been punching away at a sand-stuffed heavy bag while Ignis practiced behind you, all swift flips and graceful twists. When you caught sight of him in the mirrors on the back wall, you had stopped beating up the poor bag and turned to him.
“Does any of that actually do anything?”
“Any of what?” He inquired as he stepped into a cartwheel, his lance held tight to his right thigh.
“The… gymnastics.” You gestured to him; he had finished his rotation and was turning into a circular slash.
“I believe so, yes.” Ignis paused in his routine to roll his shoulders. His lance disappeared in a twinkle of light. “It’s a form of Accordan martial arts. The circuitous motion serves the twofold purpose of keeping the fighter from losing momentum and distracting the opponent.”
You uncapped your water and took a long drink, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your arm. “I’m not sure you’d be able to distract me, ninja-flippy-shit aside. I watch you fight all the time.” He was, however, perfectly able to distract you with everything else: his leaf-green eyes, his barely-there smile, his blind-siding tenderness. He didn’t even seem to realize how charming he was.
Ignis smiled faintly and your heart thudded. “Perhaps, but we will not know unless we try. Why not a match? If my recollection is correct, you usually train with Gladio around this time.”
“Yeah, but he’s not here today.” You huffed. Training alone was significantly less fun than going toe-to-toe with the Prince’s Shield, who was six-and-a-half feet of solid muscle and relentless cleverness. He didn’t look it, but he was a tricky opponent.
You had been surprised by Ignis’ presence in the gym. He usually trained early in the morning and was gone before you and Gladio showed up.
Ignis’ voice broke into your thoughts. “While I make a poor substitute for him, I will gladly offer a demonstration of my own abilities.” His lance reappeared in his hand and he nodded to you, settling into a stance.
“You’re not a poor substitute for anyone, Igs. Alright, let’s do this,” you said, summoning your gauntlets. In a flash of pale blue, they materialized on your hands. Setting your feet apart and dropping your shoulders, you prepared for a charge.
When you lunged, Ignis slipped aside, the tip of his lance arcing up toward your chest. You batted the blade aside, stepped in, and took a major-league swing. He flicked his body back and your fist passed harmlessly in front of his face, ruffling his hair.
The follow-through carried you a few feet past him, and his lance sang after you. While you weren’t slow, you were also a power fighter– your primary method of dealing with enemies was to punch them until they stopped moving. Iggy’s main technique was to effortlessly and elegantly demolish them. He was faster than Gladio, his weapon a blur, and when the edge caught your gauntlet just above your wrist you actually staggered.
Okay. You might love this man to distraction, but it was time to stop pulling your punches– literally.
You clenched your fists and your gauntlets groaned. Ignis’ eyebrows rose, and then you were in his space. You slugged him in the abdomen, knocking him clear off his feet. He caught himself, partially on his lance and partially on one arm, and put distance between you with a few backflips. He felt his belly and winced.
“Not working so well now, is it?” You asked, raising a hand to him. “All I have to do is wallop you and the fancy stuff is useless.” The surge of pride you felt was tempered heavily by worry; what if you had really hurt him?
Ignis cut his cool green eyes up to yours. He rested his lance in the crook of his elbow, and his fingers went to the buttons of his vest.
Your mouth fell open, but you disguised it by pretending to yawn. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!
He made swift work of the vest and then the shirt under it, and you were obscenely distracted by the nimbleness of his hands, until both were hanging open.
He was just hot. That was all. He wasn’t actually trying to kill you by giving you some kind of aneurysm. You hoped.
And then his lance whacked you in the side of the head, because you had noticed there was a single drop of sweat sliding down his throat to roll lazily over his collarbone, and you sat down heavily.
Which was how you ended up sitting there, gazing up at the flush of exertion high on Ignis’ cheeks, the soft gasp of his breath as his shoulders rose and fell in gentle waves. He must have pushed himself very hard, to cross the distance so quickly.
This man. This caring, devoted, steel-willed, endlessly patient, intriguing man.
You loved him so much your chest ached.
You gathered your legs under you and tackled him. Your gauntlets has already dematerialized, so when your arms came around his neck you didn’t accidentally punch him in the back of the head.
Ignis made an astonished noise and over-balanced. His lance slipped out of his hand and disappeared as his arms came around your back, but it was too late, and he hit the floor with a grunt that was muffled by your lips. He went, somehow, redder.
You broke the kiss and leaned up a bit. He was frozen, crimson from his forehead to his throat, breathless. His glasses had begun to fog up from the proximity.
Smiling down at him, you scratched at the back of your neck. His wide eyes followed your fingers; always one with an eye for details, even when taken unawares. He swallowed audibly.
You leaned down. Ignis’ lips parted; he leaned up to meet you.
You rubbed the tip of your nose against his. He blinked owlishly.
And then you leaned your forehead on his. “…. I… uh…. I kind of love you. A lot.” You shut your eyes; you said it, you finally said it, you could now die in peace. Never mind you were sitting on a sweaty, blushing Ignis. Who you really, really should let up. Like, now.
The post-head-trauma haziness was beginning to fade. You licked your lip; it tasted like lip balm.
…Wait. You just told Ignis you loved him. You had kissed him.
You jumped off of him like you’d been tazed, and the sudden motion brought with it a stabbing headache that just about knocked you unconscious.
Iggy’s glasses slid down off his nose. He was obviously dumbfounded. You couldn’t recall his expression ever being quite so easy to read.
Haltingly, he reached out to touch your knee, stopping at the last second before his fingertips brushed your skin. Then he murmured in an awe-struck tone, “I never thought you would feel the same…“
You gawked at him. He gazed back, watching the gears in your head turn with titanic slowness. After about ten seconds of total silence broken only by the beating of your heart, your face and ears burned scarlet.
The moment he spotted the color flooding your face, a smile curled Ignis’ lips. Before he could stop it, he snorted with laughter and started giggling. “What a pair we make. Blushing like children…” He was laughing, and it was a sound that set your racing heart to skipping.
“So. Uh. You. Hmm…. Uhm. Would you mind… you know, saying, er, it?” You twisted your fingers like balloon animals in your lap. You did keep eye-contact, in spite of the overwhelming urge to look anywhere else. Ignis’ eyes kept you transfixed.
Iggy sighed fondly through his nose, the soft smile never leaving his face. He pushed himself up with a wince and walked over, offering a gloved hand. “I love you. I… am glad to finally be able to tell you my feelings, even if this confession was not… what I expected.“
When you took his hand, he helped you to your feet but did not let go. Instead, he tipped your head up with a finger under your chin.
“While unexpected, please believe me when I say… all of this is most welcome.” Ignis leaned close, breathing his words against your lips. “Come now. You require medical attention. Once you have been seen to, we can talk about potential futures. I am sorry I hurt you.”
“I’m alright,” you said absently, and before you really meant to you were kissing him again, and Ignis made a warm noise of appreciation.
“I suppose a potion will suffice,” he muttered, then shook his head hard. “Head wounds are serious. We will see a doctor, and then…” Ignis blushed a bit. “I would like to take you to dinner.”
You mumbled what sounded like an affirmation against his mouth. He melted, pulling you closer. Reluctantly he broke the kiss. “You won’t sway me… If I must carry you out of here, I will.”
“Do we have to?” You whined. You wanted nothing more than to smother Ignis with kisses.
He had a singularly longing expression that communicated the same. “Once you have a clean bill of health, we can continue.” Lacing his fingers with yours, Ignis led you out of the gymnasium toward the Kingsglaive clinic.