ok, so I don't know if you're actually taking requests or not, but imagine this. An AU where Ignis was always blind, or maybe lost his sight in the accident that hurt Noctis, and he gets used to it and stays as Noct's adviser, but everyone is constantly underestimating him. So when he wants to learn to fight, everyone is against it, which gets him down, until Gladio's like, well, why the fuck not? And teaches him himself... and well... I know you like Gladnis, so... anyway hugs, you're awesome x
Anon, Brotherhood Gladnis is one of my big weaknesses. Thank you for facilitating this, and I loved this idea. Have some sexy, confident blind!Ignis and Gladio.
“I don’t see the problem, and please, for the love of all the Astrals, do not think I’m making a joke at that,” Ignis growled. His hands gripped the top of his white cane, knuckles white.
“Clarus just said he wasn’t sure it was a good idea,” Noct said, obviously trying to placate his advisor.
Ignis at nineteen was tall, lean, and incredibly good looking, but had an acerbic temperament that kept most people at arm’s length. But not the prince, and not Gladiolus Amicitia. They were perhaps the two people in the whole of Lucis who were not entirely intimidated by the prince’s sharp-tongued advisor.
“Ig,” Gladio said, clearly also trying to calm him, “Look…”
“Don’t you dare ‘Ig, look’ me, Amicitia,” Ignis snarled. “I think it would be beneficial for me to train with a lance or some other bō staff related weapon, and you have no right to try and prevent me.”
Noctis sighed and looked over at Gladio, who shrugged. “You didn’t let me finish,” Gladio whined in mock-outrage.
Ignis breathed out a great exhale of his own and softened, sliding his eye-shield further up his nose reflexively. “I apologise. It’s not your fault.”
“So… if it’s not my fault,” Gladio grinned, placing a heavy palm on Ignis’ shoulder, earning himself a surprisingly fond smile, “Does that mean I get to train you?”
Ignis chuckled. “But we haven’t had it cleared yet…”
“You’re doing me a favour,” Gladio breezed. “Come on, please? I suck at lance work compared to greatsword etc.…”
“Did you just say you suck at lance work?” Noctis smirked, one eyebrow quirked.
“Please don’t,” Ignis deadpanned. “I don’t need that image.”
“You can’t see though…” Noctis frowned.
“Exactly. Mental images disappear a lot more slowly than real-time ones,” he said, smacking the prince on the back of the head with bullseye precision.
“You mean you don’t want to imagine my hands on the shaft–?” Gladio began, but Ignis brought the white cane up in a lighting-fast strike, halting its trajectory an inch away from Gladio’s temple. “Never mind,” Gladio squeaked comically.
“I’ll be at the training centre at half five,” Ignis said flatly, turning away and swinging his cane in a wide arc at his feet, faultlessly heading towards the palace again for a meeting with the king.
Gladio had just sunk into his third rep of press-ups when he heard the tell-tale tap tap tap of Ignis’ cane. The doors opened, and the advisor paused on the threshold, ears straining. “Gladio?”
“Yup,” he grunted, biceps and shoulders burning.
“You started without me?” he chuckled, dropping his bag in a corner and unabashedly stripping his dress-shirt off.
Gladio swallowed at the sight of him. His back was lithe and toned, not an ounce of fat on him, his muscles clearly defined, although he was not built like Gladio. He also had an enormous scorch mark across his back and shoulders, though it did nothing to detract from his beauty.
Gladio had reached his full height at barely sixteen, but Ignis had lagged behind, only shooting up to his six foot height in the past year. Gladio had always thought the advisor, injured and blinded at the age of ten in the same assassination attempt on the prince, had been elegant and beautiful, confident and sassy, but ever since that incredibly vivid sex dream a month previous, Gladio had had a hard time concentrating around Ignis.
“Ready to start?” Ignis asked, his deep, lyrical voice ringing off the walls of the training room and startling Gladio back into his own brain.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he laughed awkwardly. “Sure.”
“Do you have a lance for me?” he asked archly when no weapon was presented to him. He walked towards the centre of the room, but stopped when he wasn’t sure where Gladio was. He let his elegant hands hang freely by his sides, but Gladio could see he was tense, ready, almost nervous.
He knew how Ignis felt about being alone in the centre of a large space with no reference points, so he walked over, bare feet padding quietly on the mats, and touched him lightly on the upper arm to offer him a landmark. “Be right back with one.”
He returned a while later and chewed his lip for a moment, eyes locked on Ignis’ passive hand where it dangled at his side. Gladio leaned down a little and slid his fingers tantalisingly into Ignis’ palm before replacing them with the wooden bō staff. If Ignis jumped at the unexpected touch, he hid it behind a quiet shuffle. “Thank you,” he smiled.
“As I believe I’ll ever be,” Ignis said. His jaw was grinding.
“Ok, basic forms,” Gladio began.
“I thought you said you were terrible with a bō staff,” Ignis smirked as he adopted a ready-stance from what he already knew from his unarmed combat lessons. “Not sure I want you as my teacher…”
“I said I wasn’t as good with a lance as I am with a greatsword,” Gladio said, “Not that I wasn’t good.”
Ignis only chuckled in response.
It turned out that Gladio found it harder to explain the forms to Ignis than he had anticipated. After half an hour of half-successful attacks and parries, Gladio’s patience with himself was running thin.
“Perhaps you could show me instead?” Ignis asked when Gladio turned away, shooting a noise of disgust out of his nose as he failed yet again to make it clear to Ignis what he wanted him to do.
“Show you? Gods, Iggy, I’m trying…”
“No,” Ignis smiled. “What I mean is you could move me to the appropriate position…” He raised the staff in his hands slowly, deliberately, waiting for Gladio to correct him physically instead of verbally.
“You want me to show you positions, eh?” Gladio asked. He screwed his eyes shut the instant the words were out of his mouth. “Shit, Ig, I’m sorry,” he moaned. “I say stupid things when I’m nervous and frustrated.”
Ignis let the tip of the bō staff rest on the floor and turned his ear towards Gladio. “I make you nervous?” he asked.
“No!” Gladio fired. “I mean… It’s not…”
“So I frustrate you?”
“No!” he barked.
“Not my blindness, is it?” Ignis murmured, relaxing further, one hip beginning to slant downwards.
“No,” Gladio half-choked, much more softly this third time.
“Something else then?” he asked. His tone shifted, a hidden harmonic in his voice that did strange things to Gladio.
He tried to swallow, but had nothing. The entirety of Leide had more moisture than his mouth and throat.
“What is it, Gladio?” Ignis asked coyly, now leaning on the staff.
With his slender hips and narrow waist, Ignis looked somehow like he was about to swing around the tall bō staff like a pole dancer, and Gladio felt a rush of blood in his groin at the thought. “Fuck,” he hissed.
“First rule of battle is not to show your weaknesses, Gladio,” Ignis chuckled.
“Ig,” Gladio rasped.
“My weaknesses are always out there for people to see,” Ignis continued. “But what about yours, Gladio?”
“You’re not weak, Ignis,” Gladio managed to hiss.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ignis said, stepping close. Too close. So close Gladio could see every eyelash of his closed eyes, every detail of the scars on his face, every nick on his skin. He longed to press a kiss into the one that bisected his lower lip. “What’s your weakness, Gladio?”
“You,” Gladio finally breathed as Ignis’ figure hovered like a mirage before him, gaze blurring.
Ignis closed the gap between them.
Hands tangled in hair, breaths exchanged, kisses crushed, bodies pressed against one another.
Breathing hard, Gladio backed Ignis up against the wall of the training centre, Ignis’ breath leaving his lungs with a grunt as he collided with the cold stone. Ignis inhaled sharply as Gladio tugged his head back, letting out a long, low moan as Gladio’s teeth began to nip and suck at Ignis’ neck. “You’re my weakness,” Gladio grunted, working his fingers under Ignis’ lightweight training vest. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”
Ignis braced his hands on Gladio’s enormous shoulders and then effortlessly hooked his thighs around Gladio’s hips. Gladio let out a deep, gorgeous, rumbling moan and ground his hard cock into Ignis, the friction of his clothes nowhere near enough to satisfy him.
“Gladio,” Ignis gasped, “We can’t do this here.”
“No,” Gladio agreed, though he made no move to stop rutting up against Ignis.
“Stop. Showers. We can do it in the showers.”
“Oh fuck, Ignis,” Gladio groaned. “You serious?”
Ignis nodded, and Gladio grabbed him by the hand, tugging him out of the training room towards the showers, bō staff forgotten, clothes half abandoned, with no thought for the hour or for who might see them leaving like that.