Apples and Oranges
(A short drabble on Ike/Soren and Ike/Ranulf. It gets a little spicy, so read at your own risk!)
There was no use comparing Ikeâs feelings for Soren with his feelings for Ranulf. He loved them both equally, though his relationship with each lover was distinctly different.
Ikeâs love for Soren was heavy, like a chunk of rock pressing down on his chest.
Soren was his closest confidant, his oldest friend, the man he trusted most in the world. It seemed that fate itself had tied them together. Soren owed his life to Ike, and though he had repaid that debt several times over, Ike knew that Soren would never be fully satisfied. No, Soren would be at his side until the day he took his last breath, and Ike didnât want it any other way.
Soren was a moody one, withdrawn and contemplative. Ike didnât think that he would ever comprehend the enormity of pain Soren carried in his heart, causing him to lash out like an animal caught in a bear trap whenever someone attempted to befriend him. The trauma of his past was something he might never fully shed.
But Ike accepted that, as he accepted all of Soren. When the burden became too much to bear, Ike would bear it for him, would be the one to hold him together when Soren seemed on the verge of falling apart.
Soren needed him.
And that was just fine, because Ike needed that, needed that grounding sense of obligation. He had always been compelled to help others. Soren affectionately referred to it as his heroâs complex. Having Soren depend on him settled something in Ike, kept him rooted to himself. There was no way to describe it. That was just how it was, as if they had been crafted by some higher power for one another.
And Ike needed Soren, too. Soren needed Ike like animals need shelter, a place of safety to which he could retreat when his thoughts became too stormy. But Ike needed Soren like a traveler needs a map, someone to explain things in a way he understood. He depended on Sorenâs attention to detail, his ability to juggle multiple tasks without losing his train of thought, to keep Ikeâs life organized. Ike was a man of action, of seeing the big picture. But in order to achieve his goals, he needed Soren to handle the details, and handle them he did.
Their love was intense, but also as innate as Ikeâs own body. He couldnât imagine life without Soren. At times, it felt strange to think that they inhabited separate bodies, as if they were two halves of a whole.
Perhaps that was why Ike was addicted to Sorenâs touch. Ike had never craved physical affection before, but since their embrace that fateful night at the Tower of the Guidance, Ike suddenly couldnât live without it. And it wasnât about sex, not really. Rather, it seemed as though there were a magnetic force pulling them together. Just getting to hold Soren in his arms every night was enough to satisfy Ikeâs desire, making it more bearable to part the following morning.
Ikeâs interest in sex was generally perfectly neutral. He accepted that it was a natural part of life, and he was as happy to have it as he was to forgo it.
When they did make love, though, it was equally as intense. They got hopelessly entangled in each other, desperate to have as much skin to skin contact as possible. Ike was never as half as interested in his own pleasure than he was on Sorenâs, and he knew Soren felt the same. They took turns delighting in the act of servicing each other, drawing out the moment for as long as they could, worshipping each other as well as two atheists could. Every gasp of Ikeâs name on Sorenâs lips was a prayer. And every bruise Ike sucked into Sorenâs skin was a token of his devotion.
In contrast, Ikeâs love for Ranulf was light and airy, like the tune of a harp being carried by the breeze.
Ever since they first met, there had been a spark, like a thousand tiny bolts of lightning dancing over Ikeâs skin. When Ranulf was around, Ike felt out of breath, giggly, the way crushes were described in the sorts of books Mist liked to read. It should have been embarrassing. Yet Ike, who before had been a great skeptic of romance, found it impossible to think rationally around Ranulf. His thoughts took on a hazy quality, like something out of a dream.
Unconsciously, Ikeâs eyes tracked Ranulf, fascinated with the manâs lithe form, the muscle in his arms and shoulders contrasting so nicely with the shapely dip of his waist. He moved like a dancer, strong yet graceful. It was bewitching, and Ike struggled not to stare at Ranulf from afar, aware that his feline friend was too perceptive not to notice.
Ike wanted him. And luckily, Ranulf wanted him back.
Whenever Ranulf flirted with him, turning that coquettish smile on him, Ike tingled all over. It was his first crush, and he didnât know what to do with himself.
Even after they became lovers, Ikeâs infatuation never completely disappeared. It became easier to manage, certainly, but Ike still experienced that same flutter in his heart whenever Ranulf was near. No matter how many years passed, Ranulf kept Ike feeling like a besotted schoolboy. All it took was a little lop-sided smile, or an endearment whispered into his ear, and Ike was falling in love all over again.
Ranulf didnât need him, not like Soren. He didnât need anyone. He was too independent for that, like a street cat that refuses to be domesticated. But Ike didnât mind. He had chosen Ranulf, and Ranulf had chosen him, and there was something equally as magical about that.
It was so easy to love Ranulf. He was bright and cheerful, and he made Ike laugh harder than anyone had ever made him laugh before. And behind the jokes and flirtations was a surprisingly sensitive man. Ranulf was a person who had keen insight on the thoughts and feelings of others, and this empathy was matched with the strength of his compassion. He cared deeply for the world and the people in it, the same as Ike did. In Ranulf, Ike found someone who shared both his sense of humor and his values.
It was Ranulf who constantly introduced him to new things. Every day was an adventure when Ranulf was involved. There was always something new to taste, to explore, or to try out. Together, they took the path less explored, and they grew stronger for it.
Ranulfâs sense of whimsy extended to the bedroom. They were often trying new positions, or turning things into a game, and Ike was more than happy to be led along by a man who knew what he wanted. With new experiences came awkward moments, but that didnât matter. They could laugh about it, and that made sex even better, somehow.
So Ike loved them differently, but equally. He couldnât imagine life without a sour-faced Soren by his side, nor did he ever want to stop falling in love with Ranulf.
As for Soren and Ranulfâs relationship, it was neither fully platonic nor romantic. Ike didnât know how to label it, and Soren wouldnât have wanted one, anyway. He maintained that Ike was the only man he loved, and for all that Ranulf pretended to be hurt by that, Ike knew he didnât mean it.
They bickered constantly, in the way an old couple might. It hadnât started like that. It had taken time for Soren to stop instinctively flinching away from Ranulf whenever he got too close. But Ranulf was the persistent sort, and gradually he coaxed Soren from his shell, until one day Ike overheard them discussing the decades-long animosity between their races. He didnât mean to eavesdrop for so long, butâŚ
It had given Ike hope to know that they would have each other, once his shorter lifespan reached its inevitable end.
After that, something small yet monumental shifted in Soren and Ranulfâs relationship. They still bickered, but Ike heard the affection underneath the cutting remarks. At times it veered close to flirting.
More importantly, they had each otherâs backs. Ranulf never quite lost his cool quite like he did whenever a laguz said something rude about Soren. And Soren never fussed so hard than when Ranulf was late getting home, even they both knew that the cat had most likely gotten sidetracked by one thing or another.
Perhaps the best advantage of Soren and Ranulf getting along was the fact that they could tend to each other when Ike didnât feel up to the task.
Ikeâs interest in sex was generally perfectly neutral⌠âgenerallyâ being the key term. At times, he found himself pulled in one of the two extremes. On one end, he experienced an unexpected surge of desire for his lovers that always caught him off guard. And on the other end was a sharp decline of interest, when he couldnât get over the uncleanliness of the act, and he found himself mildly disgusted by the very thought.
When the latter mood struck, Ike encouraged his lovers to spend more time together. There was some reluctance from Sorenâs end at the beginning, but with time and ample reassurance from Ike that no, he really didnât mind, it became something that benefitted all three of them.
And if Ranulf and Soren occasionally fooled around even when Ike was feeling neutral about sex, then he wasnât going to complain. Rather, it often propelled him into the very interested side of the spectrum.
Though Ikeâs favorite thing was when he found his lovers sharing the bed in the literal sense. Nothing warmed his heart more than the sight of them curled up together, Soren using Ranulfâs chest as a pillow, and Ranulf purring oh so quietly in his sleep.
It was endlessly endearing, filling Ike with a love that was somehow both heavy and light, and if Ike could have loved them any more, he would.
(If anyone made it this far: Thanks for reading!)
(And yes, I know the ending is abrupt, but I didnât know how else to end it. This is mainly just my headcanons on Ike/Soren and Ike/Ranulf, just put into prose. I do not know why I felt compelled to write it, only that this ot3 has taken up permanent residence in my brain, and thus I am physically incapable of shutting up about them.)
