A/N: Dedicated to Flammenschwert. Your reviews have motivated me, my dear, so this is for you.

Also dedicated to Queers on Campus and other groups such as this. You guys are all awesome.

So sorry for the delays, everyone. I worked all summer to afford my (horrifying) tuition and now I've just learned how to properly fail a history midterm. The breakup of a three-year boyfriend didn't help things much and sleeping on the floor for three weeks also didn't help.

I promise you all that I'm fine. Much love to everyone who's reviewed lately. I've spent the last hour reading reviews and I think I've just burst a blood vessel trying to contain my laughter. It's brought much joy to an otherwise depressing existence. (Wow, that sort of counteracts the 'I'm fine' statement. Rest assured, life is good. If something was seriously wrong, you would know.)

So this was inspired by I-don't-know-what; it just sort of happened last night and I needed to get it down on paper. Written in two hours during my study breaks (being a music major is hard!) so forgive me if things aren't what they usually sound like.

Yaoi Emblem will update sometime in the next two weeks.

Enjoy.

"Have I ever told you that you're beautiful?"

The words had been a shock, the first time. He had stuttered over his words and blushed until his cheeks matched his Brand and tried as hard as he could to avoid Ike's gaze, instead burying his nose in a Blizzard tome and committing the spell to memory. Silence met his ears, though, and after a moment he had shifted his gaze just slightly to the right.

Beautiful? What right did Ike have to call him that? He was skin and bones in comparison, hardly able to lift a sword, much less use one. His skin was a stark contrast to his friend's

(lovers)

tan. Ike was younger by a year and yet looked so much older, more and more like his father with each passing day. In comparison, his skin was pale, almost sickly-looking. His eyes were just a bit too large for his age and this, he mused, was why so many people thought he was a child. Or a spectre, as he'd been called from time to time. During the Mad King's War, in Castle Nados, two serving girls had come across him in the halls one night, giggling about how to do their hair and faces and how much cleavage to show to catch the attention of the famed General Ike. He had glared at them then, and they had frozen in place. He supposed that he had looked terrible. Sleep-deprived and hungry, there were bags underneath his eyes and he was paler than usual due to low blood sugar. The candle he held cast sharp shadows over his cheekbones, bathing his eyes in simultaneous darkness and flickering light. Black robes, just a touch too big on his arms and around his legs but tight enough around his abdomen to show how frail he was. His lower lip was cut open from battle a few days before and hadn't yet had time to heal; it had been chewed on

(kissed and goddess no dont let my blood in your mouth it will taint you)

for days as he made battle plans, listened to reports, made lists of weapons to be forged.

"Never yours," he had whispered to them. His voice was hoarse, and that was probably what had broken them from their trance. Screaming for Lord Ike, their saviour, they had run off. With what could almost be considered a smirk on his face, he had returned to his

(their)

room.

What a taboo they were. Two men, sharing the same room, the same bed. Unthinkable, really, that anyone but a man and a woman could do these things, fall in love, carve a tentative relationship from an already tentative friendship. Steal a kiss after dinner one night, fall asleep in one another's arms the next. Grow on one another in a completely different way than they had before, when they were just friends.

Was he even in love? He didn't know; he'd never known what it was to love, to be loved. His whole life he had been abandoned time and time again, first by his father and then his mother. His adoptive mother, who had looked upon him with disgust and gladly sold him when he was only four years old. The sage, who had beaten him for years, finally dying and leaving him nothing. The village he had taken refuge in was devastated by an unknown force. Humans and sub-humans alike rejected him, ignored him.

Through the years he had searched for the one person who had reached out to him, the one boy whose eyes didn't judge, whose body language didn't tense as he approached. After ages of fruitless searching he had nearly given up. And then they had found each other, simply by chance, in the market one day. Since that day, they had built a friendship. A tense one at times, filled with arguments, but that was how friendships worked, wasn't it?

One day Ike had asked him, nonchalantly, if he had ever been kissed. He had almost laughed at the question. It was ridiculous, wasn't it? That an abomination such as himself could be loved? A kiss was out of the question.

But then Ike's warm eyes were melting him and their lips were just barely touching. That was the first time that he had ever felt truly warm, truly safe. At peace with himself.

That had been five years ago.

He glanced up again, this time meeting and holding Ike's gaze. Those piercing blue eyes, capable of digging into his soul and resting there for hours at a time.

Ike smiled and leaned forward, looking up at him through his lashes.

"You've got such pretty eyes," he said. "You could have your whole face covered and I would still know what you were thinking, just by looking at your eyes."

"Don't speak nonsense," he replied softly.

"I'm not," Ike insisted. "I know you well enough by now, don't I?"

"You didn't know my biggest secret until halfway through the Mad King's War," he retorted, averting his eyes again.

Ike frowned. "Well you're the one who didn't tell me. I never wanted to push. I love you. I don't want to ever hurt you or force you to do anything against your will."

"You love me." Now he was smiling, but it was crooked, dishonest. "What does that entail, really? A shared bed and a kiss here or there? Perhaps I'll sleep with you one day. Taint your blood with mine."

Ike's gaze hardened and he pulled a small knife from somewhere on his person. "I would gladly share your blood. That wouldn't be tainting it."

He frowned; surely Ike couldn't mean this. Briefly he went through possible escapes. Ike wasn't between him and the door, but the other man was faster, stronger. There was the Blizzard spell, but it wasn't meant to be used at close range like this. He certainly wouldn't be able to fend off the other man with the Heal staff that stood, obediently, next to his desk.

"You are not tainted," Ike whispered, and suddenly they were on the bed, Ike's body weighing down his own, Ike's hands rolling the sleeve of his robes up. Running his thumb gently over the pulse flickering steadily in his wrist.

There was a slash, still somehow gentle, and now he was bleeding. He wondered if this was what Ike had meant all along, to be with him until he got bored and then to dispose of him quietly. It would not had been the first time, and really he should be thankful. This would be a peaceful death, at least.

But as he watched, Ike cut his own wrist, and now he noticed that the gash was not deep enough to kill, only to draw blood in a steady but slow stream.

Blue eyes met crimson and a gentle hand tucked his hair away from his face, thumb resting on his Brand. Suddenly he knew what Ike was about to do.

"Don't you dare," he started, but it was too late. Ike had their wrists pressed together, their blood mixing even as he fought against it, trying to pull away, to keep this angel from being tainted by his blood.

"I love you," Ike was whispering. "I would go to the ends of the earth for you if it would make you happy. I will gladly share the blood of my best friend, my lover, my everything. You are my world, Soren, and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe and happy."

At that moment, as he bled into Ike and as Ike bled into him, he knew it for certain. He was in love with the idiot, the stupid commander who didn't know where bonus experience came from and who forgot to shave every other day. Who left his gauntlets and boots and sword—the blessed sword Ragnell—out in the open, where anyone could take them. Who bought food for the beggars while they were in town, who had volunteered to help build an orphanage, who had defeated a tyrant and killed The Goddess Herself to save the entire continent of Tellius.

Tears sprang to his eyes and for once he was the one kissing Ike instead of the other way around, clinging to the other man with his good arm and still continuing to bleed into him with the other.

Neither was aware of how long they were there, but when their senses returned the blood around their wrists had coagulated and was firmly holding them together.

"If you are an abomination, then so am I," Ike whispered, smiling. "And if I am pure, then so are you."

"Thank you."

The words were so soft that even he had to strain to hear them, and he was the one who had spoken. Ike smiled.

"Run away with me."

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Run away with me. North of Tellius, past Hatari. Come see the world with me. I'm tired of this. Titania is more than capable of running things herself. I want to see the world and I want to do it with you." Ike's eyes were pleading even as he smiled that goddess-damned smile that made him want to do anything so long as it never faltered.

He smiled then, pressed his forehead to Ike's where even now a faint smear of red was appearing. Ike's own Brand, it seemed, even now appearing after such a short time.

"Why would you even need to ask such a thing?" he asked.

Ike looked crestfallen and pulled away just slightly.

He held on tightly, burying his face in his partner's neck, kissing him there. He felt Ike's pulse quicken just slightly. Ike paused.

"Run away with me," he whispered one last time, squeezing him just slightly, his tone indicating that he would leave regardless of his choice.

"Yes."