fic: Breathe In, Breathe Out
Nov. 3rd, 2011 10:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bonnefoisDammit if this pair doesn't give me so many feelings.
Title: Breathe In, Breathe Out.
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren
Rating: PG
Word count: 978
Author's Note: kink bingo: washing/bathing. Happy winter holidays, Janet.
Soren wrings out the washcloth, his hands shaking as he does. He tries to steady himself, and grips harder. Ike sits to the side, his hands to his sides. He's waiting, and Soren never keeps Ike waiting. Soren brings the cloth to his shoulders, letting the warm water flow down his back. Dirt, sweat and caked blood meld into a brown mix of dirty water which Soren washes away with another swipe of the soft cloth.
He wrings out and cleanses the cloth again, and begins over this simple ritual they have kept for every battle they have ever shared together, even before they realized the things they know now about each other. He keeps the water steaming, but not enough to burn with a bit of applied magic. He usually doesn't waste magic on trivial things, but nothing is trivial when it comes to Ike.
Though this, Ike has not uttered a complaint. He never does, never thinks of himself in the cold and would probably give his coat to a Daein orphan in the middle of winter when Daein was the enemy.
Because that's just the kind of fool Ike is. A fool who defies the cruel conventions of the world, who ignores things like race, class and gender. A fool who takes those ideals and puts them into reality, who doesn't accept good enough for an answer when it comes to changing the world.
A world who doesn't deserve him.
The candle is getting a bit low, barely illuminating his tent. It flickers over the brown tarpaulin, the brown blankets. Soren's quarters are always dull, dead leaves and autumn. He mentally makes notes. He only has two more candles, and he can't afford to waste them. They've been on the road for three days now and already gotten into their first true battle in years. There will be tens, even hundreds of them to come. Soren's jaw sets as he cleans off the washcloth again.
The peace Ike has fought so hard for has barely lasted three years. He can't help but feel rage at these nobles for dragging Ike out and demanding Ike to be their hero when once was far more than they ever deserved to have him. The machinations of the last war already stole his mother and father from him, Soren doesn't know what this one will drive him to, for even Ike has his limits.
The cure staff doesn't mend everything. The wounds are healed, yes, but in its wake there are zigzagging crosses of white scars. It doesn't hurt, at least, not anymore. Still, Soren feels his chest tighten at the thought of what could have been if he hadn't stayed close to Ike's side.
Uncaring of the consequences, the clothes to wash and things to change, Soren pulls his arms tight around Ike and lays his head against his scarred back. He breathes in the lingering scent of sweat and blood, and tries to calm his racing heart.
He's alive, he survived...this time, for now.
Ike puts his hands over Soren's, connecting right over his chest. He can feel every breath as Ike's chest rises and falls underneath his palms.
"I didn't mean to make you worry," Ike says.
"Well, you did," Soren chokes out. His forehead is damp, to Ike's scarred skin. Each breath Ike makes reminds him, reminds him.
He hasn't lost Ike yet.
"That's war for you. But I know I can lead everyone because you'll be there," Ike says. "Between your tactics and healing and magic, I don't really worry."
"It seems that I do all the worrying for you," Soren says, his voice growing tight.
"Come here," Ike says. Soren reluctantly lets go, moves around so he can be pulled over to Ike as easily as a rag doll. Ike's chest is still bloody and dirty, but Soren lays his head down without a thought to hygiene, or that he will have to wash his hair later or the scent of Ike's blood will make him have nightmares again for sure.
Soren lives by rules, but all the rules apply only as far as how they best fit to Ike.
He leans in, and Ike strokes his hair, kisses his neck.
"I don't plan to be checking out anytime soon," Ike says.
Soren clutches more tightly, possessively. "You'd better not."
Ike bends down to kiss his forehead, a gesture which just a few years ago would've made him pull back. But now he knows that Ike views him like any other beorc, even if laguz blood does flow through his veins.
Even if the rest of the world would shun him as a branded, Ike won't.
He sighs and reaches up to touch Ike's cheek. His body is scarred and beautiful, rough and muscled. He's a hero through and through, and he can't help but be can't up in their foolish histrionic battles.
The innate goodness within him that Soren so cherishes refuses to let him simply look aside when people are suffering.
Soren supposes he can tolerate the world claiming Ike as its hero again. Ike is far more than any of them deserve, but he will always take up the heroic cause, always defend the downtrodden, even as he rejects the possibility of noble titles and gold to be common again.
And Soren can't deny him this, for this is the reason why he loves Ike, why he even believes there's any capacity for good in the world.
Instead, he lays his head against Ike's dirty, scarred, bloodied chest and listens to him living. Breathing.
He reminds himself that Ike is still alive.
Title: Breathe In, Breathe Out.
Series: FE10
Character/Pairing: Ike/Soren
Rating: PG
Word count: 978
Author's Note: kink bingo: washing/bathing. Happy winter holidays, Janet.
Soren wrings out the washcloth, his hands shaking as he does. He tries to steady himself, and grips harder. Ike sits to the side, his hands to his sides. He's waiting, and Soren never keeps Ike waiting. Soren brings the cloth to his shoulders, letting the warm water flow down his back. Dirt, sweat and caked blood meld into a brown mix of dirty water which Soren washes away with another swipe of the soft cloth.
He wrings out and cleanses the cloth again, and begins over this simple ritual they have kept for every battle they have ever shared together, even before they realized the things they know now about each other. He keeps the water steaming, but not enough to burn with a bit of applied magic. He usually doesn't waste magic on trivial things, but nothing is trivial when it comes to Ike.
Though this, Ike has not uttered a complaint. He never does, never thinks of himself in the cold and would probably give his coat to a Daein orphan in the middle of winter when Daein was the enemy.
Because that's just the kind of fool Ike is. A fool who defies the cruel conventions of the world, who ignores things like race, class and gender. A fool who takes those ideals and puts them into reality, who doesn't accept good enough for an answer when it comes to changing the world.
A world who doesn't deserve him.
The candle is getting a bit low, barely illuminating his tent. It flickers over the brown tarpaulin, the brown blankets. Soren's quarters are always dull, dead leaves and autumn. He mentally makes notes. He only has two more candles, and he can't afford to waste them. They've been on the road for three days now and already gotten into their first true battle in years. There will be tens, even hundreds of them to come. Soren's jaw sets as he cleans off the washcloth again.
The peace Ike has fought so hard for has barely lasted three years. He can't help but feel rage at these nobles for dragging Ike out and demanding Ike to be their hero when once was far more than they ever deserved to have him. The machinations of the last war already stole his mother and father from him, Soren doesn't know what this one will drive him to, for even Ike has his limits.
The cure staff doesn't mend everything. The wounds are healed, yes, but in its wake there are zigzagging crosses of white scars. It doesn't hurt, at least, not anymore. Still, Soren feels his chest tighten at the thought of what could have been if he hadn't stayed close to Ike's side.
Uncaring of the consequences, the clothes to wash and things to change, Soren pulls his arms tight around Ike and lays his head against his scarred back. He breathes in the lingering scent of sweat and blood, and tries to calm his racing heart.
He's alive, he survived...this time, for now.
Ike puts his hands over Soren's, connecting right over his chest. He can feel every breath as Ike's chest rises and falls underneath his palms.
"I didn't mean to make you worry," Ike says.
"Well, you did," Soren chokes out. His forehead is damp, to Ike's scarred skin. Each breath Ike makes reminds him, reminds him.
He hasn't lost Ike yet.
"That's war for you. But I know I can lead everyone because you'll be there," Ike says. "Between your tactics and healing and magic, I don't really worry."
"It seems that I do all the worrying for you," Soren says, his voice growing tight.
"Come here," Ike says. Soren reluctantly lets go, moves around so he can be pulled over to Ike as easily as a rag doll. Ike's chest is still bloody and dirty, but Soren lays his head down without a thought to hygiene, or that he will have to wash his hair later or the scent of Ike's blood will make him have nightmares again for sure.
Soren lives by rules, but all the rules apply only as far as how they best fit to Ike.
He leans in, and Ike strokes his hair, kisses his neck.
"I don't plan to be checking out anytime soon," Ike says.
Soren clutches more tightly, possessively. "You'd better not."
Ike bends down to kiss his forehead, a gesture which just a few years ago would've made him pull back. But now he knows that Ike views him like any other beorc, even if laguz blood does flow through his veins.
Even if the rest of the world would shun him as a branded, Ike won't.
He sighs and reaches up to touch Ike's cheek. His body is scarred and beautiful, rough and muscled. He's a hero through and through, and he can't help but be can't up in their foolish histrionic battles.
The innate goodness within him that Soren so cherishes refuses to let him simply look aside when people are suffering.
Soren supposes he can tolerate the world claiming Ike as its hero again. Ike is far more than any of them deserve, but he will always take up the heroic cause, always defend the downtrodden, even as he rejects the possibility of noble titles and gold to be common again.
And Soren can't deny him this, for this is the reason why he loves Ike, why he even believes there's any capacity for good in the world.
Instead, he lays his head against Ike's dirty, scarred, bloodied chest and listens to him living. Breathing.
He reminds himself that Ike is still alive.
