[ Unaware of all this vicious psychoanalyzing currently taking place, Ignis curates his brain to forego higher thinking in favor of more debased impulses like cock strangulation, up until Noct's calling him out and he's got to check to make sure FaceTime isn't running, like he went and recorded this messy affair for all to see.
The reply takes a while. Chiefly, it's him reigning in his erection where it's throbbing between his fingers, a pulsing time-bomb of his libido at horrible work. ]
You're awfully convinced of a hasty conclusion.
[ When in danger, deflect until he can regain control of the situation. ]
Good things come to those who wait. [ Is that a pun, or innuendo, or refusal? Probably a mishmash of all three. Not like he's forgotten his zero-photo stipulation, even now. ] I trust you'll be able to bide the time until I can offer you a sight in person you won't soon forget.
[ And with that, he turns off his phone, because he's got to jack the rest of this shame off in time for a meeting. Hope Noctis has a plan for the next several hours of radio silence. ]
[ Noctis' plan goes as follows: jacking himself off to the incredible mental image of Ignis furiously masturbating in the chef's room all by himself and tucking his dick back in before heading for an extremely dull meeting, washing up, and keeping his phone on alert just in case his wayward boyfriend decides to wander back in for round two.
He doesn't.
And so Noctis behaves during the extended period of radio silence (and a part of him wonders if Ignis is deliberately doing it because he probably fears that Noctis will send him yet another dick pic, sending him back into the spiral of shame -- the thought fills him with much amusement), finishes up his homework, sends him a sassy text that says: ]
Wear buttplug. Know you have one.
[ Because guess who's going to hold him to his earlier declaration of offering Noctis a sight he won't soon forget? But the meeting drags long, long, and Noctis finally decides to curl up on the couch to nap, and wait. But mostly nap. ]
[ His reprieve comes a while later, after that little stunt he pulled in the chef's backroom with none the wiser. It's incredibly indecent to take a pen with the same hand he previously asphyxiated his hard-on with, but beggars can't be choosers. (Except, possibly, for his Highness, who knows depravity better than the back of his own hand.) If Noct checks his phone again in the interim, he'll notice the message is read, but conspicuously left unanswered.
Some hours afterward, he's slipping into the apartment, padding in quiet and subdued. The suitcase is left deposited on the counter, but he's no worse for the wear than usual; the only sign of something remotely ajar is in his breath as it runs itself a little more ragged, cycling and cycling around, but otherwise unchanged as he makes his way down the corridor, only to pause and freeze at the sight of Noct draped over the couch's upholstery, soundly asleep.
So much for sexual extortion. Every plan he's cooked up is promptly dashed to pieces and burn to a crisp, but he's not disappointed. Pulling off one of the throw blankets to neatly tuck around Noctis is a given, rather than lug him into a princess-carry into his bed and risk jostling him awakeβ and then Ignis sets off for the washroom. There's paperwork on paperwork to peruse, but he's got to take care of a more pressing issue to attend to, first and foremost. ]
[ Noctis might be more than capable of sleeping through a storm, but he rouses the moment the throw rug is draped over him with care -- the difference in the temperature is enough for him to wake, and he starts to sit up the moment he hears footsteps heading towards the bathroom. Ignis, his drowsy mind supplies; he knows the pattern of his footsteps like the back of his hand, and there's the faintest trace of his cologne in the air. A glance at the counter reveals the existence of his suitcase, and at this point he's awake enough to decide that sleep is a distant second thing to do.
No, he's home after hours of meetings, and had obviously read his message even if he hadn't seen fit to answer, must to Noctis' amusement (he likes to think that Ignis might have throttled the life out of both his dick and his proclivity to answer shamelessly salacious texts from a lover. Now is the time to find out just how obedient Ignis is.
Padding towards the bathroom where he is, he gently nudges the door open. His words thick with sleep, soft and husky, he murmurs. ] Iggy?
[ Leaving the bathroom door unlocked is a recipe for disaster, one that tastes absolutely vile when left to ripen. But Ignis isn't expecting company when he enters, flicking on the light switch on so it pours everything into illumination, his sleep-deprived face included. He looks every bit like a man deranged in the mirror, which just makes handling the little conundrum of removing the butt plug he sank into himself a few hours earlier that much more obscene.
There's no going about the fact that he can only stretch his slacks at certain angles that don't resemble doing the splits until they start to split, so off his trousers go. His underwear's the next to evacuate his body, leaving him in his dress and sock garters as heβ with the great pains of a man who's just gone about driving through stop-and-go traffic with a sex toy up his rearβ gently sets himself on the rim of the bathtub to go about the process of removing the foreign object lodged in him.
It's not so much difficult as it is extremely mortifying, pulling at the flared base and easing, easing it out. He's gotten a fourth of the way through when, like a scene straight out of a slasher film, Noctis appears in the doorway, bleary-eyed and muggy with sleep, a villain out of his worst nightmares. Granted, he isn't wielding a knife and lobbing stock phrases like evil phrases, but given that Ignis is entirely naked from the waist-down and uncomfortably tugging a plug out of the recesses of his body, the encounter's less than ideal. It doesn't help that he hasn't even reacted at first to the sight so much as Ignis's presence in the apartment, still half-asleep, which really makes lifting his leg like some wanton showgirl to pull a piece of silicone out of his ass that much more heinous. ]
Noct?
[ If he sounds strangled, it's because he is. He is strangled, both by this situation and the fact that he can't really hide the travesty of what he's done and his very last-ditch effort to save face. ]
[ Leaving the bathroom door unlocked is possibly the best thing Ignis can accidentally do, because Noctis comes awake much quicker than he does even with the squirt bottle in play. The first thing he sees is Ignis elegantly perched on the edge of the bathtub, looking like he'd just stepped out of a lover's embrace (Noctis would know, he's been privy to that particular aesthetic more than once), and it really doesn't help that those sock garters are incredibly sexy on his long, long legs. Noctis doesn't share the same love for socks as Ignis does, but he can appreciate beauty in all its forms, especially when it's one so carefully cultivated by his chamberlain.
Eyes travelling from his legs to his dick, which is flushed dark, full and hard, he's taking in what Ignis is evidently doing all by himself, judging from the way his name is wrenched from him, strangled and steeped in profound mortification -- a particular trait Noctis doesn't quite understand. Awareness bleeds in, as is the fact that he's trying to extract what is ostensibly a buttplug from his ass. Which, of course, sends a spark right to Noctis' still-asleep dick with this realization:
Ignis obeyed.
Ignis obeyed and drove all the way here from the Citadel with a buttplug up his ass, and considering the traffic at this time of night, it's practically impossible for the drive here to be anything resembling smooth. That he hadn't come just from it casts Ignis' self-control in an entirely new light: he's lasted this long, rock hard in those fitted trousers with a toy up his ass.
Holy shit.
Instead of teasing him, Noctis steps forward and closes the distance between them -- Ignis must be tormented beyond anything else, and despite his lover's sadistic streak whenever it comes to Noctis, the prince finds that it's in his (and his slowly awakening dick's) best interests to alleviate this as soon as he can. Reaching out to take his hand, he murmurs. ]
Come on, it's all right. Let me take it out for you. [ A glance over at the marble sink counter and the large mirror above it. ] Let's get you to brace yourself over there, huh? In front of that mirror.
[ Honestly, he wasn't aware he'd invoked unholy wrath upon himself. It's not so often that Noctis stirs from his slumber while he busies about the kitchen or the loft, sweeping up uncured disasters of trash and refuse threatening to weep mold onto the walls, grime sodden over utensils ostensibly shoved beneath the couch. Usually he can catch a shower with little precursor and Noctis none the wiser, which is exactly what he'd hedged upon here, between an aching hard-on and the deeper, more immediate anguish of the plug stoppering his ass for the better part of two hours.
But Noct's standing in the doorframe, so it's first the revelatory death that assaults him and then, only afterwards, the demise of his pride, because he'd rather Noct think him a liar and a cheat than the sort of man that spends an entire stop-and-go session of traffic irascibly hard. He's stiff enough that the reflex twist of his leg (shielding his modesty when Noctis has seen him naked on plenty of occassions, and then some) well and truly stings.
Faced with the choice of yanking the obstruction out or coming to terms with the truth, Ignis's voice takes a turn for the resigned. ]
As you know, if left to my own devices, I'm perfectly capable of removing it on my own. [ Sore loser? Sore loser. Obeisance has its rigors over his soul when he retracts his fingers from where they'd been working at the base of the sex toy and stands, stiff-shouldered in his chagrin. ] The mirror, was it?
[ That's just like Noct, isn't it. But rather back down from a challenge in the making, he props his elbows on either side of the sink, hunched over just enough to regret providing Noctis with enough ammunition to tear down his reputation and half-baked composure. Closing his eyes just reigns all the steadily ramping terror in him just fine. ]
[ Noctis addresses him after a few moments, coming up behind him in the mirror. His gaze is intent, unwavering, and there is no trace of mockery in his eyes -- why would he claim victory over what Ignis has so willingly given him? This is a gift, a mark of his devotion, his trust and love; why would he consider this a weakness to lord it over him with? There is no winner or loser in this game, and Noctis doesn't look away as his hands come to rest on his hips, his lips pressing a soft, appreciative kiss to the wing of his shoulder, then another further down.
His hand drifts, brushes over the plug before he delicately, gently draws it out of him, deliberate but infinitely gentle. ] I love you, and yeah -- you've always been enough. [ He utters quietly against the heat of his skin, sensing the resistance of his body before urging him to relax. Let him. Let him do this for him, let Noctis take care of him, now. It's not weakness that Ignis had driven all the way here with that plug up his ass; in fact, it's pretty damn impressive, pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable, and Noctis -- Noctis loves him all the more for it. ]
[ Now his guilt's a pulpy, irreconcilable mess, wounded and wounding when he's not met with teasing ridicule or the blunt end of any snappy taunt but Noct's gaze on him, striking pay dirt. The prince's hands smooth down over him and Ignis's head dips, trying to contain the shudders wracking their way out when those fingers insinuate around the base of the plug, easing and easing it out. ]
I'm perfectly fine. My, ahβ apologies.
[ There's no evading how badly he's clung to it, no discretion to the sharp bite he takes around the air when Noctis pulls it from the rim. Clamping around it is doing nothing conducive to releasing him of the minor torture of penetration without release, but neither is gouging his fingers along the sink in an attempt to remain upright, so Noct will have to put up with all the shudders cascading down him. Havoc wreaked on his senses does his self-control no favors, but by the time Noct's slotted the plug out, or close to it, he laughs, breathy and unconstrained. ]
I've gravely underestimated your tendency toward naps. I'll need to lock the door the next time you come knocking.
[ Or just traipsing in for the hell of it, as is Noct's custom. ]
[ Noctis asks quietly, handling the plug with care -- removing it from him when it's pressed so snugly inside is a delicate process, and far be it from the prince to hurt his lover, now that tenderness has inexplicably become the order of the day. He's studying him in the mirror, learning his unguarded reactions, appreciating his trust, even if he's noticed Ignis seems curiously skewed towards the assumption that there's some sort of unpleasantness coming.
But then he laughs, a beautiful, lovely little sound that makes Noctis' heart skip, and his hand comes to rest on his hip, the other up to the base of his throat, undoing the buttons of his shirt with slow, deliberate purpose. The material parts, and he gently urges him to shed his shirt, to coax his fingers from gouging along the sink. The marble always wins in that fight, sweetheart. ]
Don't lock the door. [ He says quietly, steadily searching out his gaze in the mirror. ] I think you're pretty damn sexy.
[ Tact, Noct. Undressing him is just going to give him ideas, all of them obscene and crafty and entirely not meant for polite company.
Laughing up what he can't handle is just about how he's going to get by today, between the systematic removal of his shirt and the fingers he's clung to the sink, his last bastion to all things decent and good, summarily pried off. Ignis's shoulders take on a shuddering hunch afterwards, shoulder-blades jumping just so when Noctis's fingers skim his hip, sprawl high enough on his throat that they apply pressure with the swallowing inhale. ]
Ah, well. I'm not one for exhibitionism.
[ And luring Noctis into the bathroom just to witness him removing the plug hardly seems conducive to anything remotely good. Getting stripped down to his garter socks and glasses only bodes disaster, a cataclysm in the making. But even this forecast sees to not the end of a storm, but the start to it, when Ignis, still stricken with his fair share of mortification, reaches around by way of compromise, layers his hands over the little knob of Noctis's upper spine. ]
Though there are always exceptions to the rule. [ Every inch of his lingering fondness for Noctis, even at its worst, makes itself known in his vice grip, blinking away from the mirror and it's dull fascimile to Noct, proper. ] I missed you quite dreadfully today. I've lost the element of surprise, but I hope I've managed to shock you some, all the same.
[ Tact is just saying things that are not true, Ignis. Nobody has time for that. ] And it is my house.
[ He hums softly, helping him to shed the rest of his clothes, save for the sock garters that look so deliciously comely on him. He gets to wear that for the rest of the night, he decides, and he's momentarily derailed from his nefarious plan to love the hell out of Ignis when he feels his chamberlain reaches around to press over his spine, pressing against the upper knobs of it the way he likes it. He's leaning in to kiss his mouth now that Ignis has turned to look at him, greedy for the plush softness of his answering kiss. ]
You have, you know. I never knew you could be this beautiful.
[ And this alluring, all long legs and lean body and that plug up his ass. Noctis bites back the rest of that, impossibly fond and full of affection for the man pressed up against him. ] Maybe you shouldn't have turned off your phone if you've missed me that much.
[ A glint of playful mischief, but he understands. Ignis has one of the smartest, sharpest minds in Lucis, and it stands to reason that he is exposed to as many meetings and political facets as possible in order to best do his job -- and that requires focus, not minutes wasted looking at Noctis' dick.
Risk jeopardizing our relationship for a facsimile of the real thing? I have a tad more restraint than that.
[ Not enough to keep him from inflicting a butt plug on himself, as per his Highness's candid wishes, but he'd much rather keep this space in Noctis's life, entirely out of his depths and drowning under the brunt of subjectivity. He'd be more obliging under a few glasses of wine, but he'd always fold to Noct, which has squarely landed him in his sock garters and nothing else as of late. Kind of appalling, but not at all improbably, given his track record.
Ignis slides down until he's eye-level with Noct's groin, his back a crane-arch when he affixes his hands pulled thin over Noctis's hips. ]
Would you do me the honors?
[ Do him the honors and remain perfectly calm while he peels down Noctis's pants, then goes about laboriously stripping away his underwear. Instead of taking his mouth to what's greeted him, though, he presses his hands to the shape of it, fingers crested around the shaft, soft as his grip has a tendency for being. The strokes that come down are benignβ fickle, soft, keeping up with that look of jackals and hyenas on him, coy as he can get while bent down, utterly naked, and jerking Noct into a state of incoherence. ]
Only now does my prince lavish me with praise. [ Thoughtfully spoken, like Noct's affection is something discrepant and easily trifled with, challenging over the phone, sweet in-person. ] You should know that you're exquisite to behold. You've always been, but the years have done you exceptionally well.
I -- aaaah -- lavish you with praise all the time!
[ Probably! Noctis is pretty sure he's incoherent with sweet nothings whenever they have incredible, mindblowing, wonderful sex that makes Noctis' toes curl just remembering it. The prince has never really been good at expressing himself beyond that, when all boundaries had been broken down between them and Noctis, in heated, passionate moments, know that continuing to play it cool does no one any favors. He's effusive during their lovemaking, genuine and eager, lavishing praise and compliments on him like raindrops on a flower.
Ignis is on his knees before him now, and Noctis swallows hard, mouth dry at the fact that he's kneeling on the tile in those glorious sock-garters that Noctis swears he will never have Ignis remove, ever. His older lover folds, and Noctis claims without question, so greedy for Ignis that he'll willingly take what he gets, a trait that will inevitably lead to his own downfall.
His chamberlain is coy but no less beautiful for it, a fox in the grasp of his own mischief, far from benign but hopelessly soft, and Noctis falls for him over and over again, breath catching in his throat as he gentle rocks into his hand, stiffening in his grasp, his pants pooled around his feet. He wants more, and he wraps his hand around Ignis' too, sharing in the jerking off, his desire sparking and inflaming, and his free hand comes to curl in Ignis' hair, gently tugging on him so that he'll look up properly at him. Pink-cheeked and flattered, Noctis finds himself wanting more. ] Ignis -- come up and kiss me.
[ Probably! This whole tangent he's gone off on is a self-defeating prophecy, talking in circles about praise and reciprocity when he wouldn't refuse Noct of anything. It doesn't take sweet words and the soft grip of his fingers on him lacing to keep Ignis grounded; it's all that Noct is that compels him to cede, boyish and brilliant and utterly transfixing. Something in the prince's nature that keeps Ignis so besotted even when he's stranded his knees on the ground, mouth sickled into a smile. ]
I know. You're more affectionate than I rightly deserve.
[ The ruse: how calm he's playing his devotion off when he replaces his hand with his mouth, pretending at emotional repose when he's a man harangued by love. Give it a second and he'll be driven half-mad when Noct's delicate, fine-boned fingers wrap around him to jerk him off, messy and unbefitting of any future king, and Ignis's no-nonsense pragmatism slips off for laughter, pulled off and away from him so he doesn't start choking on the utter ridiculousness of it all. ]
You know you'll have to contend with three cups of Ebony, Noct.
[ The acrid, crushed taste he's imbibed over the course of the day and how Ignis has only staved off coffee breath by picking up a dental hygienist's habits, but he readily obeys, pulling himself up to his feet. Against his palms, the fabric of Noct's shirt is a sense-memory he's all too acquainted with (his face was tucked up against it just the evening prior, curled around the body it swathed in his sleep) and Ignis pulls Noctis into the kiss, their mouths brushing to stick when he leans in.
Another slow inhale, and Noct should be able to detect how the muscles in his arm bunch up when he sneaks an arm around the small of his waist to keep him from retreating. The nudity's a bit of a spin on their usual kiss-and-tell, causing him to flush from the shoulders up, but it's hard to justify tossing on the button-up that Noct's so surreptitiously removed when he's seen him naked countless times before. Best just save any regrets for the morning after, when he's got the time to gripe and bemoan looking anything less than modest. ]
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The reply takes a while. Chiefly, it's him reigning in his erection where it's throbbing between his fingers, a pulsing time-bomb of his libido at horrible work. ]
You're awfully convinced of a hasty conclusion.
[ When in danger, deflect until he can regain control of the situation. ]
Good things come to those who wait. [ Is that a pun, or innuendo, or refusal? Probably a mishmash of all three. Not like he's forgotten his zero-photo stipulation, even now. ] I trust you'll be able to bide the time until I can offer you a sight in person you won't soon forget.
[ And with that, he turns off his phone, because he's got to jack the rest of this shame off in time for a meeting. Hope Noctis has a plan for the next several hours of radio silence. ]
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He doesn't.
And so Noctis behaves during the extended period of radio silence (and a part of him wonders if Ignis is deliberately doing it because he probably fears that Noctis will send him yet another dick pic, sending him back into the spiral of shame -- the thought fills him with much amusement), finishes up his homework, sends him a sassy text that says: ]
Wear buttplug. Know you have one.
[ Because guess who's going to hold him to his earlier declaration of offering Noctis a sight he won't soon forget? But the meeting drags long, long, and Noctis finally decides to curl up on the couch to nap, and wait. But mostly nap. ]
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Some hours afterward, he's slipping into the apartment, padding in quiet and subdued. The suitcase is left deposited on the counter, but he's no worse for the wear than usual; the only sign of something remotely ajar is in his breath as it runs itself a little more ragged, cycling and cycling around, but otherwise unchanged as he makes his way down the corridor, only to pause and freeze at the sight of Noct draped over the couch's upholstery, soundly asleep.
So much for sexual extortion. Every plan he's cooked up is promptly dashed to pieces and burn to a crisp, but he's not disappointed. Pulling off one of the throw blankets to neatly tuck around Noctis is a given, rather than lug him into a princess-carry into his bed and risk jostling him awakeβ and then Ignis sets off for the washroom. There's paperwork on paperwork to peruse, but he's got to take care of a more pressing issue to attend to, first and foremost. ]
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No, he's home after hours of meetings, and had obviously read his message even if he hadn't seen fit to answer, must to Noctis' amusement (he likes to think that Ignis might have throttled the life out of both his dick and his proclivity to answer shamelessly salacious texts from a lover. Now is the time to find out just how obedient Ignis is.
Padding towards the bathroom where he is, he gently nudges the door open. His words thick with sleep, soft and husky, he murmurs. ] Iggy?
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There's no going about the fact that he can only stretch his slacks at certain angles that don't resemble doing the splits until they start to split, so off his trousers go. His underwear's the next to evacuate his body, leaving him in his dress and sock garters as heβ with the great pains of a man who's just gone about driving through stop-and-go traffic with a sex toy up his rearβ gently sets himself on the rim of the bathtub to go about the process of removing the foreign object lodged in him.
It's not so much difficult as it is extremely mortifying, pulling at the flared base and easing, easing it out. He's gotten a fourth of the way through when, like a scene straight out of a slasher film, Noctis appears in the doorway, bleary-eyed and muggy with sleep, a villain out of his worst nightmares. Granted, he isn't wielding a knife and lobbing stock phrases like evil phrases, but given that Ignis is entirely naked from the waist-down and uncomfortably tugging a plug out of the recesses of his body, the encounter's less than ideal. It doesn't help that he hasn't even reacted at first to the sight so much as Ignis's presence in the apartment, still half-asleep, which really makes lifting his leg like some wanton showgirl to pull a piece of silicone out of his ass that much more heinous. ]
Noct?
[ If he sounds strangled, it's because he is. He is strangled, both by this situation and the fact that he can't really hide the travesty of what he's done and his very last-ditch effort to save face. ]
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Eyes travelling from his legs to his dick, which is flushed dark, full and hard, he's taking in what Ignis is evidently doing all by himself, judging from the way his name is wrenched from him, strangled and steeped in profound mortification -- a particular trait Noctis doesn't quite understand. Awareness bleeds in, as is the fact that he's trying to extract what is ostensibly a buttplug from his ass. Which, of course, sends a spark right to Noctis' still-asleep dick with this realization:
Ignis obeyed.
Ignis obeyed and drove all the way here from the Citadel with a buttplug up his ass, and considering the traffic at this time of night, it's practically impossible for the drive here to be anything resembling smooth. That he hadn't come just from it casts Ignis' self-control in an entirely new light: he's lasted this long, rock hard in those fitted trousers with a toy up his ass.
Holy shit.
Instead of teasing him, Noctis steps forward and closes the distance between them -- Ignis must be tormented beyond anything else, and despite his lover's sadistic streak whenever it comes to Noctis, the prince finds that it's in his (and his slowly awakening dick's) best interests to alleviate this as soon as he can. Reaching out to take his hand, he murmurs. ]
Come on, it's all right. Let me take it out for you. [ A glance over at the marble sink counter and the large mirror above it. ] Let's get you to brace yourself over there, huh? In front of that mirror.
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But Noct's standing in the doorframe, so it's first the revelatory death that assaults him and then, only afterwards, the demise of his pride, because he'd rather Noct think him a liar and a cheat than the sort of man that spends an entire stop-and-go session of traffic irascibly hard. He's stiff enough that the reflex twist of his leg (shielding his modesty when Noctis has seen him naked on plenty of occassions, and then some) well and truly stings.
Faced with the choice of yanking the obstruction out or coming to terms with the truth, Ignis's voice takes a turn for the resigned. ]
As you know, if left to my own devices, I'm perfectly capable of removing it on my own. [ Sore loser? Sore loser. Obeisance has its rigors over his soul when he retracts his fingers from where they'd been working at the base of the sex toy and stands, stiff-shouldered in his chagrin. ] The mirror, was it?
[ That's just like Noct, isn't it. But rather back down from a challenge in the making, he props his elbows on either side of the sink, hunched over just enough to regret providing Noctis with enough ammunition to tear down his reputation and half-baked composure. Closing his eyes just reigns all the steadily ramping terror in him just fine. ]
Will this suffice?
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[ Noctis addresses him after a few moments, coming up behind him in the mirror. His gaze is intent, unwavering, and there is no trace of mockery in his eyes -- why would he claim victory over what Ignis has so willingly given him? This is a gift, a mark of his devotion, his trust and love; why would he consider this a weakness to lord it over him with? There is no winner or loser in this game, and Noctis doesn't look away as his hands come to rest on his hips, his lips pressing a soft, appreciative kiss to the wing of his shoulder, then another further down.
His hand drifts, brushes over the plug before he delicately, gently draws it out of him, deliberate but infinitely gentle. ] I love you, and yeah -- you've always been enough. [ He utters quietly against the heat of his skin, sensing the resistance of his body before urging him to relax. Let him. Let him do this for him, let Noctis take care of him, now. It's not weakness that Ignis had driven all the way here with that plug up his ass; in fact, it's pretty damn impressive, pushing the boundaries of what is acceptable, and Noctis -- Noctis loves him all the more for it. ]
Are you all right?
no subject
I'm perfectly fine. My, ahβ apologies.
[ There's no evading how badly he's clung to it, no discretion to the sharp bite he takes around the air when Noctis pulls it from the rim. Clamping around it is doing nothing conducive to releasing him of the minor torture of penetration without release, but neither is gouging his fingers along the sink in an attempt to remain upright, so Noct will have to put up with all the shudders cascading down him. Havoc wreaked on his senses does his self-control no favors, but by the time Noct's slotted the plug out, or close to it, he laughs, breathy and unconstrained. ]
I've gravely underestimated your tendency toward naps. I'll need to lock the door the next time you come knocking.
[ Or just traipsing in for the hell of it, as is Noct's custom. ]
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[ Noctis asks quietly, handling the plug with care -- removing it from him when it's pressed so snugly inside is a delicate process, and far be it from the prince to hurt his lover, now that tenderness has inexplicably become the order of the day. He's studying him in the mirror, learning his unguarded reactions, appreciating his trust, even if he's noticed Ignis seems curiously skewed towards the assumption that there's some sort of unpleasantness coming.
But then he laughs, a beautiful, lovely little sound that makes Noctis' heart skip, and his hand comes to rest on his hip, the other up to the base of his throat, undoing the buttons of his shirt with slow, deliberate purpose. The material parts, and he gently urges him to shed his shirt, to coax his fingers from gouging along the sink. The marble always wins in that fight, sweetheart. ]
Don't lock the door. [ He says quietly, steadily searching out his gaze in the mirror. ] I think you're pretty damn sexy.
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Laughing up what he can't handle is just about how he's going to get by today, between the systematic removal of his shirt and the fingers he's clung to the sink, his last bastion to all things decent and good, summarily pried off. Ignis's shoulders take on a shuddering hunch afterwards, shoulder-blades jumping just so when Noctis's fingers skim his hip, sprawl high enough on his throat that they apply pressure with the swallowing inhale. ]
Ah, well. I'm not one for exhibitionism.
[ And luring Noctis into the bathroom just to witness him removing the plug hardly seems conducive to anything remotely good. Getting stripped down to his garter socks and glasses only bodes disaster, a cataclysm in the making. But even this forecast sees to not the end of a storm, but the start to it, when Ignis, still stricken with his fair share of mortification, reaches around by way of compromise, layers his hands over the little knob of Noctis's upper spine. ]
Though there are always exceptions to the rule. [ Every inch of his lingering fondness for Noctis, even at its worst, makes itself known in his vice grip, blinking away from the mirror and it's dull fascimile to Noct, proper. ] I missed you quite dreadfully today. I've lost the element of surprise, but I hope I've managed to shock you some, all the same.
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[ Tact is just saying things that are not true, Ignis. Nobody has time for that. ] And it is my house.
[ He hums softly, helping him to shed the rest of his clothes, save for the sock garters that look so deliciously comely on him. He gets to wear that for the rest of the night, he decides, and he's momentarily derailed from his nefarious plan to love the hell out of Ignis when he feels his chamberlain reaches around to press over his spine, pressing against the upper knobs of it the way he likes it. He's leaning in to kiss his mouth now that Ignis has turned to look at him, greedy for the plush softness of his answering kiss. ]
You have, you know. I never knew you could be this beautiful.
[ And this alluring, all long legs and lean body and that plug up his ass. Noctis bites back the rest of that, impossibly fond and full of affection for the man pressed up against him. ] Maybe you shouldn't have turned off your phone if you've missed me that much.
[ A glint of playful mischief, but he understands. Ignis has one of the smartest, sharpest minds in Lucis, and it stands to reason that he is exposed to as many meetings and political facets as possible in order to best do his job -- and that requires focus, not minutes wasted looking at Noctis' dick.
Still. ]
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[ Not enough to keep him from inflicting a butt plug on himself, as per his Highness's candid wishes, but he'd much rather keep this space in Noctis's life, entirely out of his depths and drowning under the brunt of subjectivity. He'd be more obliging under a few glasses of wine, but he'd always fold to Noct, which has squarely landed him in his sock garters and nothing else as of late. Kind of appalling, but not at all improbably, given his track record.
Ignis slides down until he's eye-level with Noct's groin, his back a crane-arch when he affixes his hands pulled thin over Noctis's hips. ]
Would you do me the honors?
[ Do him the honors and remain perfectly calm while he peels down Noctis's pants, then goes about laboriously stripping away his underwear. Instead of taking his mouth to what's greeted him, though, he presses his hands to the shape of it, fingers crested around the shaft, soft as his grip has a tendency for being. The strokes that come down are benignβ fickle, soft, keeping up with that look of jackals and hyenas on him, coy as he can get while bent down, utterly naked, and jerking Noct into a state of incoherence. ]
Only now does my prince lavish me with praise. [ Thoughtfully spoken, like Noct's affection is something discrepant and easily trifled with, challenging over the phone, sweet in-person. ] You should know that you're exquisite to behold. You've always been, but the years have done you exceptionally well.
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[ Probably! Noctis is pretty sure he's incoherent with sweet nothings whenever they have incredible, mindblowing, wonderful sex that makes Noctis' toes curl just remembering it. The prince has never really been good at expressing himself beyond that, when all boundaries had been broken down between them and Noctis, in heated, passionate moments, know that continuing to play it cool does no one any favors. He's effusive during their lovemaking, genuine and eager, lavishing praise and compliments on him like raindrops on a flower.
Ignis is on his knees before him now, and Noctis swallows hard, mouth dry at the fact that he's kneeling on the tile in those glorious sock-garters that Noctis swears he will never have Ignis remove, ever. His older lover folds, and Noctis claims without question, so greedy for Ignis that he'll willingly take what he gets, a trait that will inevitably lead to his own downfall.
His chamberlain is coy but no less beautiful for it, a fox in the grasp of his own mischief, far from benign but hopelessly soft, and Noctis falls for him over and over again, breath catching in his throat as he gentle rocks into his hand, stiffening in his grasp, his pants pooled around his feet. He wants more, and he wraps his hand around Ignis' too, sharing in the jerking off, his desire sparking and inflaming, and his free hand comes to curl in Ignis' hair, gently tugging on him so that he'll look up properly at him. Pink-cheeked and flattered, Noctis finds himself wanting more. ] Ignis -- come up and kiss me.
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I know. You're more affectionate than I rightly deserve.
[ The ruse: how calm he's playing his devotion off when he replaces his hand with his mouth, pretending at emotional repose when he's a man harangued by love. Give it a second and he'll be driven half-mad when Noct's delicate, fine-boned fingers wrap around him to jerk him off, messy and unbefitting of any future king, and Ignis's no-nonsense pragmatism slips off for laughter, pulled off and away from him so he doesn't start choking on the utter ridiculousness of it all. ]
You know you'll have to contend with three cups of Ebony, Noct.
[ The acrid, crushed taste he's imbibed over the course of the day and how Ignis has only staved off coffee breath by picking up a dental hygienist's habits, but he readily obeys, pulling himself up to his feet. Against his palms, the fabric of Noct's shirt is a sense-memory he's all too acquainted with (his face was tucked up against it just the evening prior, curled around the body it swathed in his sleep) and Ignis pulls Noctis into the kiss, their mouths brushing to stick when he leans in.
Another slow inhale, and Noct should be able to detect how the muscles in his arm bunch up when he sneaks an arm around the small of his waist to keep him from retreating. The nudity's a bit of a spin on their usual kiss-and-tell, causing him to flush from the shoulders up, but it's hard to justify tossing on the button-up that Noct's so surreptitiously removed when he's seen him naked countless times before. Best just save any regrets for the morning after, when he's got the time to gripe and bemoan looking anything less than modest. ]