The order made Ignis' stomach twist in odd ways. There was anticipation there, a hint of what was to come thanks to the conditions laid out in that order, but there was a faint undercurrent of fear. It wasn't something that he ever spoke of with Gladio simply because that was a failure all his own. Ignis worked himself to the bone in service to others, but even now, with years of experience under his belt, there were moments he felt as if he wasn't enough. Inadequate. That one day, Gladio would see that. Sure, his rational mind knew better and he really owed Gladio more than that kind of thinking, but again, that failing was his and his alone.

He watched as Gladio made his way to the balcony and silently mused to himself that if he knew Iris, he'd have plenty of time to actually finish the dishes and not just wash them. Sure enough, he did. Once he had them drying, he made his way to the bedroom and did as he'd been told, deft fingers undoing and stripping away anything below his waist. Once he was done, he gave himself a quick once over, then pulled his glasses off and settled them on the large dresser he shared with Gladio and settled himself into position.

He knew how Gladio had wanted him. Years together had taught him such things. Gladio would find him on his knees at the edge of the bed, his toes hanging off the edge and the loose, faintly wrinkled shirt tail draped over his newly bared skin.