[ This is definitely not the wake-up call he'd expected, shuddering into wakefulness with his body complacent to Noct's whims and far too receptive by the time he takes to rolling him onto his back over the blasted mess they'd left. The neurotic in him is demanding to at least save the duvet from the brunt of the mess, or salvage the pillows, but there's no escape where there can't even be evasion, and all too soon is Noctis triumphant, marring his chest and schooling his kiss.
There's no stalling. Granted, he hasn't even calmed down from their last go-around in bed, with Noct too hasty to even take shower sex as a possibility, but he's horrifically amenable to Noctis getting a head-start and angling himself inside, combative as they come.
The sensation stalls for a moment, a grunt caught between Ignis's teeth at the height of pressure reaching deep as Noct sinks into him, body flush, and then he's panting airily, much-diminished from all the rapaciousness of before, legs clung to either side of him. He's stalling, but not quiteโ just straightening out his composure from where it's bottomed out, but no method's entirely perfect. It's just a matter of dealing with the first capsizing burst of pressure, until he's sunk down and gasping as Noct's caved in, sunk so deep that clenching's normal for the few second it takes to acclimate, and then he's reached up to swat Noctis on the cheek, humored and obliging. ]
Not even close, you brat.
[ Noct's exceptional above him, puffing and eager and enlivened, and Ignis has to curb a laugh as heโ elegantly now, can't break the calm facade so soonโ snaps one of his legs flush against the prince, capitalizing on their proximity to each other and applying pressure to force him into a steadier rhythm than an off-kilter pistol firing rounds where it will. ]
[ Noctis chuckles and nuzzles him cheekily, only to be cut short by the way Ignis so sleekly wraps his leg around him, dragging him to a smooth, sleek thrust back in that makes him gasp. He can feel him clench around his cock, so impossibly, gloriously slick and tight around him that he can't resist his own leaping desire. Noctis is hooked on him, snagged by how receptive he is and how he already demands -- without words -- that he fucks him properly.
And of course, the prince is all about the obeying this time around, pulling out almost completely before thrusting in him again, and there is everything obscenely erotic about knowing that there are still generous traces of him inside of Ignis, that they still smell like sex and sweat and his usually-persnickety chamberlain is gone enough to let him do this. Nothing as arousing as knowing lust has momentarily divested him of some principles, and Noctis takes full advantage of it, his strokes thorough and steady, bottoming out every time with a quiet little grunt.
His mouth finds his greedily, morning breath be damned. Pressing his tongue between his lips and opening him up, his free hand finds the thick base of his cock, grasping him fondly and mapping the weight and shape of him in his fingers. It is tenderness that undergirds his lust, it is love that propels him to move as he does, smiling when he kisses him time and time again. He gluts shamelessly on what Ignis offers and chasing sleep from him in a turnabout that would be comically ironic if Noctis isn't buried this deeply inside of him, chasing Ignis' favor. ]
This better? [ His words heated against his lips between kisses, moving just as Ignis intends, as he draws back again to sink in deep, slim hips pistoning with a grace that borders notches shy of rough; the mood just doesn't seem ripe for that, this early in the day. Perhaps in snatches of time they get for themselves during the day, Noctis bent over a long, polished oak table, counting down scant minutes before they are to be proper again. He smiles at the promise of manhandling Ignis into an unused meeting room in the Citadel, and rolls his hips just the way he knows he likes it, brushing up against the familiar knot of sensitive nerves. Oh, the grand plans that he has for him beyond the morning. ]
[ And he's got no modesty to shed or eradicate when he's been naked for a transgression spanning several hours now, the sheets pooling about his legs and the deep cords of his muscles as they languish, lenient with the stretch for as long as Noctis has twisted to bow over him, splitting him wide, then winder. It shows up on Ignis's face, distracted, his hands making slow work of Noctis's back before they thrash. First spent concentration, then aimlessness haunts him as Noctis pours his scrutiny into him. Levering down upon, Ignis lets out a punched-out gasp, his back yielding to the press back into the mattress, clenching up around the absence until Noctis slams in, head light with disorientation.
Noctis's voice reverberates, and the kiss they share is heavily influenced by the delirium that was fucking around several hours before, gripping at the headboard when he couldn't make heads or tails of anything, driven right out of his mind.
He's caught Ignis. The grip on his dick sabotages the rest of his composure, and then he's rearing into the kiss, ill-disposed with muscle memory. Confronted with imminent danger, he still keeps choosing destruction, scratching thin lines over Noct's back that he'll worry himself over, later, potions to treat the cuts and the soft repose of his hand to mediate the burden over any old scars.
Desecration just comes on too strong. Ignis brackets himself to the rhythm of it, beaten down, arousal lifting the corners of his mouth. ]
Much better.
[ Understatement of the century. Suffocating in his own skin, he's still not drowning past the point of no recovery, and he lifts his hips into the next thrust, chasing the throb of an erection where it's situated in him. His smile's a rapid invention, raw-boned when he sets his teeth along Noct's mouth as he darts in and out of proximity, stretching up to entrap him.
The throb's a second beat to the noisiness of his heart, mired deep inside. Resigning himself shouldn't be like crashing headlong, but he's chasing release like he's chasing Noctis's pleasure, not inoculated with thoughts of the future but the present when he squeezes at the cock plunged into him, kneading at his cock to no avail.
Any eloquence that used to sit on Ignis is gone as he tussles for control, raking fingers over the nape of Noctis's neck, biting back the trespass of a puncturing gasp when his prostate is ground up against. It's a distended swell of heat that's got him unmindful of the wet spot of dried cum on the sheets next to him as his grip softens with the kiss, then bruisesโ patterning down Noct's back as his hands drip and drip down until he's gotten a handful of that ass, and then, with no other precursor, slaps it full across the cheek. ]
[ Noctis is certain he'll be feeling all of that after their lovemaking concludes -- already the sting of his nails dragging down his back incite a fierce flare of pleasure that sends a potent thrill down his spine, floods his senses with an intoxicating promise. Ignis clings to him like he's giving all of himself over without question, with all his heart, and Noctis claims him without mercy.
He takes what he gives and meets him halfway, entrapped in the honey of Ignis' embrace when he kisses and chases him in turn, the kneading at his cock making him tremble with the potency of it; does he have any idea how good he feels so deep inside, pulsing around his sensitive dick with an eagerness that will tip anyone else over the edge in seconds. Noctis, at least, has had the privilege of having plenty of sex with Ignis before, and he imagines that inures him to at least some of Ignis' potent charms.
Partly, but not all, because now, still, the world boils down to him and their mingled breathing, the way they move as one when Noctis fucks him and forces him down with a soft snarl, loving how his beloved fights him for control, tries to claim what's his. He only grinds up against his prostate a little harder, punishing him with pleasure as he pounds into him, balls deep and thorough, willing him to feel every inch of him, the pull-drag of his cock in and out of him nearly swallowing him whole. They're falling into a carnal rhythm together, the way they always do, and Noctis finds himself at a loss when Ignis slaps his ass and he yelps, the sudden burn and jolt of a stinging pain and a very obvious handprint on a cheek.
Shit, he likes it. He likes this. There's something freeing about getting spanked by Ignis (and Noctis has never been spanked a day in his life), and he's gripping his hip while he rolls and tampers his thrusts to short, quicker strokes. ]
Iggy -- [ He gasps in between thrusts, ravenous kisses. ] Do it again.
[ Heat's swarming his head, ticking along with his pulse, pulled over his cheeks and flaring in the depth of his stare, infecting their closeness when he's only halfway committed to getting screwed over. What leaves his mouth is a sound only halfway committed toward seeing itself through, amused through the haggardness even when Noctis's thrusts thunder down in severity.
Fortuitous that he only regained his sanity while getting fucked over; any earlier and he'd be dousing himself to cleanliness underneath a shower head, not grimacing into a smile. Ignis can skate over Noctis's meanness, proper. He can contend with the pressure that comes over him, ghosting up his skin when he marries off discretion to foresight and sends them both away.
This is the sort of agony that doesn't unveil itself as pain, but pleasure, uprooting him when he's trying so hard for balance. And the sound that should shudder out as a gasp dissolves into stifled gasping, each one hinged on a wheeze.
But then he focuses his preoccupation on Noctis's shoulders, smearing his mouth over his soft cheeks, the little dip to his mouth when their lips meet, teeth clicking with the words Noct keeps gasping out. He's past speech, really; his other hand's stinging from the crime and the heavy red print he's left on Noct, and who is he to disobey when pleaded with?
His hand comes down in familiarity, inferring the small jolt of Noctis's body before he'll take to rippling with it, when his longer thrusts chop down to quick, shallow rolls of his hips. It's not enough, and he follows; as a human being without a normal conscience, he's penitent only after the fact, rubbing at the second smack he's left, his kisses dipping into something ravenous as he's pried open and that enamoring fullness, eyelashes dragging open and closed, open and closed. ]
You're always on my mind.
[ So is it any wonder that he devolves this easy, content to getting hammered down into the mattress even when his hand takes to groping around the bruise he's left to streak over Noctis's ass? Like there's no virtuousness to him at all, goddamn. ]
[ It's a testament to Ignis' exceptional intelligence that he's able to form sentences right now, because Noctis is finding it difficult to string one together beyond that single word, hopelessly caught up in his lover's grasp, in the way he so obediently does as he demands, jerking with pleasure and hissing against his mouth, feeling the way that palm rubs up against him, soothing the sting with infinite tenderness.
He likes it. He likes the burn of it, the heat and the immediate comfort that comes after, his ass sporting red prints left behind by an ardent lover -- what's not to love, when it's impossible to catch their breath and Ignis is given over to such intoxication, yielding when Noctis demands his submission, consumes him whole and takes him as he is? The prince is close, dangerously so; his strokes are erratic and wild, bucking into Ignis and pressing up against that sensitive bundle of nerves again, again and again. He revels in the kisses they share, lips and teeth and tongue sliding against each other, and Noctis can't have enough of his mouth, of the taste and heat of him.
It's an addiction, intoxicating and overwhelming, and there is no room for penitence when all they do is sin, wrapped up in each other with a reckless passion, and his hand comes down to close over his cock, stroking him up and down, bidding up to fuck into the circle of his fingers while his own dick pistons in and out of him, firm and just this side of rough for a morning fuck. ]
Again. [ He commands, low and soft, breathless and panting, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen with a thousand kisses. ] Harder.
[ Wouldn't shock him at all if the population was evenly divided between those who bait and those who are baited. At any rate, despite all pretense to the contrary, he's part of the latter, fixated on Noctis, breath running hot, spun out into a high, high fever that won't break even. Hot, then tepidly warm with the gasp and the calculation of Noct's mouth and the heaving physicality of him, the brand of his hand on him.
No tricks and no deception, though. There's no spell on him beyond the one Noct's inflicted on him, the one he hasn't even realized he's cast, dick-deep and lunging in, rendering all of his usual wit choppy and incognizant. Right from the start, he never stood a chance, so the way he succumbs is more of a delayed reaction than anything, teething at Noctis's lower lip and coasting in the euphoria. If it's entitled to hitch his legs up for the next thrust, slow to the order, then he'll readily take the consequences. His composure's wavering; his composure's a kite that's plummeting fast, crash-landing when he returns the confrontation of tongue and impertinence. Another sound rises, truculent as it come up out of his mouth the way his hips spasm, attempting not to look as amused as all the bad humor he's radiating. ]
Corrupt a man's heart, would you?
[ He's faintly rueful, he neatness of him scrubbed away for daring appeals to empathy (like he isn't just rotten to the core, affecting Noctis by osmosis). Ignis's eyes don't catch Noctis as much as they train on him with quiet absorption when it takes him under. He's enduring the eye contact and the reality that he's incapable of committing to Noct without wholly devoting himself to the task for a couple short-lived seconds, then spreads his hand out again. First careful reverence, palming down the growing shape of the bruise, the redness spreading deep over the skin. Then he brings his hand down, right over the same inflamed spot, and reduces it down to a hot, seeping point of pain with the next slap. Defamation doesn't really come easy to him, though, apprehending Noct's neck after, lips coming down and soothing away the hurt that comes crashing in after, yearning and yearning pressing in. ]
[ Hissed more than murmured, as if desire has sunk its claws in Noctis and he is lost, lost -- swept up in all that Ignis gives him wordlessly, woken up from his sleep to this, to being penetrated and fucked. He doesn't stop, each thrust almost punishing in its intensity, he adjusts his grip to support his hitched legs, taking a perverse pleasure in wrecking every ounce of his composure, watching it crash-land before him with every heated moment that passes between them.
He hears it, the sound from his mouth, the gloriously wonderful way he addresses him, and Noctis jerks up sharply when his palm connects with his ass, already smarting from the previous smack, stinging pleasure fraying at his unraveling control. It brings everything back into potent, unwavering contrast, and Ignis' command of force is so exquisite it makes him want to beg for more, threatens to undo him. But no, he has a job to do right now, his own pleasure to take and give, a lover to overwhelm and corrupt.
He lowers his head to kiss him deeply, branding his mouth on his the way Ignis has left his mark on his ass, and he growls against him, yearning and longing, balls-deep inside and grinding. He wants to make sure he's felt, his hand coming to curl around his cock, tightening briefly before releasing. ]
[ Alright, corrupt him. When Noctis plunges forward, timing the next thrust with a grapple of his fingers, Ignis's frame contorts, rising briefly off the sheets, out of the decorum of a ramrod-straight spine to reach and snare into the kiss. It's a heavy one, ferocity dealt with full, unblemished intent. Ignis's hands trail after Noct in short order and scrabbling up, long sweeps of his fingertips from the base of his vertebrae to reign near his shoulders, like he's got some dominion over the expanse of his Highness's back that's all his own. ]
Incorrigible.
[ Tugging him out of sleep so he can reward Noctis with a sight that's become increasingly rare since they've entered a relationship is the height of selfishness, but Ignis is infinitely worse, possessed by the demand as his hand maneuvers that dodgy route between their bodies, clutching onto his dick. It's throbbing like nothing else, irascible with the brief squeeze of Noct's hand, but not even the potential friction is keeping him from jerking himself off. Each tug has his cock twitching angrily under confinement, and Ignis drapes back against the cushions, his other hand taking command of the nape of Noctis's neck. ]
You're right. I never suspected my perversions couldโ run this deep, but I can safely say all the blame rests squarelyโ on your shoulders, this time.
[ And in case his dear Majesty's forgotten who he's contending with, Ignis rewards Noct's efforts with a painfully forthright clench of his ass, tight enough for frustration to usurp them both. ]
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no subject
There's no stalling. Granted, he hasn't even calmed down from their last go-around in bed, with Noct too hasty to even take shower sex as a possibility, but he's horrifically amenable to Noctis getting a head-start and angling himself inside, combative as they come.
The sensation stalls for a moment, a grunt caught between Ignis's teeth at the height of pressure reaching deep as Noct sinks into him, body flush, and then he's panting airily, much-diminished from all the rapaciousness of before, legs clung to either side of him. He's stalling, but not quiteโ just straightening out his composure from where it's bottomed out, but no method's entirely perfect. It's just a matter of dealing with the first capsizing burst of pressure, until he's sunk down and gasping as Noct's caved in, sunk so deep that clenching's normal for the few second it takes to acclimate, and then he's reached up to swat Noctis on the cheek, humored and obliging. ]
Not even close, you brat.
[ Noct's exceptional above him, puffing and eager and enlivened, and Ignis has to curb a laugh as heโ elegantly now, can't break the calm facade so soonโ snaps one of his legs flush against the prince, capitalizing on their proximity to each other and applying pressure to force him into a steadier rhythm than an off-kilter pistol firing rounds where it will. ]
no subject
[ Noctis chuckles and nuzzles him cheekily, only to be cut short by the way Ignis so sleekly wraps his leg around him, dragging him to a smooth, sleek thrust back in that makes him gasp. He can feel him clench around his cock, so impossibly, gloriously slick and tight around him that he can't resist his own leaping desire. Noctis is hooked on him, snagged by how receptive he is and how he already demands -- without words -- that he fucks him properly.
And of course, the prince is all about the obeying this time around, pulling out almost completely before thrusting in him again, and there is everything obscenely erotic about knowing that there are still generous traces of him inside of Ignis, that they still smell like sex and sweat and his usually-persnickety chamberlain is gone enough to let him do this. Nothing as arousing as knowing lust has momentarily divested him of some principles, and Noctis takes full advantage of it, his strokes thorough and steady, bottoming out every time with a quiet little grunt.
His mouth finds his greedily, morning breath be damned. Pressing his tongue between his lips and opening him up, his free hand finds the thick base of his cock, grasping him fondly and mapping the weight and shape of him in his fingers. It is tenderness that undergirds his lust, it is love that propels him to move as he does, smiling when he kisses him time and time again. He gluts shamelessly on what Ignis offers and chasing sleep from him in a turnabout that would be comically ironic if Noctis isn't buried this deeply inside of him, chasing Ignis' favor. ]
This better? [ His words heated against his lips between kisses, moving just as Ignis intends, as he draws back again to sink in deep, slim hips pistoning with a grace that borders notches shy of rough; the mood just doesn't seem ripe for that, this early in the day. Perhaps in snatches of time they get for themselves during the day, Noctis bent over a long, polished oak table, counting down scant minutes before they are to be proper again. He smiles at the promise of manhandling Ignis into an unused meeting room in the Citadel, and rolls his hips just the way he knows he likes it, brushing up against the familiar knot of sensitive nerves. Oh, the grand plans that he has for him beyond the morning. ]
no subject
Noctis's voice reverberates, and the kiss they share is heavily influenced by the delirium that was fucking around several hours before, gripping at the headboard when he couldn't make heads or tails of anything, driven right out of his mind.
He's caught Ignis. The grip on his dick sabotages the rest of his composure, and then he's rearing into the kiss, ill-disposed with muscle memory. Confronted with imminent danger, he still keeps choosing destruction, scratching thin lines over Noct's back that he'll worry himself over, later, potions to treat the cuts and the soft repose of his hand to mediate the burden over any old scars.
Desecration just comes on too strong. Ignis brackets himself to the rhythm of it, beaten down, arousal lifting the corners of his mouth. ]
Much better.
[ Understatement of the century. Suffocating in his own skin, he's still not drowning past the point of no recovery, and he lifts his hips into the next thrust, chasing the throb of an erection where it's situated in him. His smile's a rapid invention, raw-boned when he sets his teeth along Noct's mouth as he darts in and out of proximity, stretching up to entrap him.
The throb's a second beat to the noisiness of his heart, mired deep inside. Resigning himself shouldn't be like crashing headlong, but he's chasing release like he's chasing Noctis's pleasure, not inoculated with thoughts of the future but the present when he squeezes at the cock plunged into him, kneading at his cock to no avail.
Any eloquence that used to sit on Ignis is gone as he tussles for control, raking fingers over the nape of Noctis's neck, biting back the trespass of a puncturing gasp when his prostate is ground up against. It's a distended swell of heat that's got him unmindful of the wet spot of dried cum on the sheets next to him as his grip softens with the kiss, then bruisesโ patterning down Noct's back as his hands drip and drip down until he's gotten a handful of that ass, and then, with no other precursor, slaps it full across the cheek. ]
no subject
He takes what he gives and meets him halfway, entrapped in the honey of Ignis' embrace when he kisses and chases him in turn, the kneading at his cock making him tremble with the potency of it; does he have any idea how good he feels so deep inside, pulsing around his sensitive dick with an eagerness that will tip anyone else over the edge in seconds. Noctis, at least, has had the privilege of having plenty of sex with Ignis before, and he imagines that inures him to at least some of Ignis' potent charms.
Partly, but not all, because now, still, the world boils down to him and their mingled breathing, the way they move as one when Noctis fucks him and forces him down with a soft snarl, loving how his beloved fights him for control, tries to claim what's his. He only grinds up against his prostate a little harder, punishing him with pleasure as he pounds into him, balls deep and thorough, willing him to feel every inch of him, the pull-drag of his cock in and out of him nearly swallowing him whole. They're falling into a carnal rhythm together, the way they always do, and Noctis finds himself at a loss when Ignis slaps his ass and he yelps, the sudden burn and jolt of a stinging pain and a very obvious handprint on a cheek.
Shit, he likes it. He likes this. There's something freeing about getting spanked by Ignis (and Noctis has never been spanked a day in his life), and he's gripping his hip while he rolls and tampers his thrusts to short, quicker strokes. ]
Iggy -- [ He gasps in between thrusts, ravenous kisses. ] Do it again.
no subject
Fortuitous that he only regained his sanity while getting fucked over; any earlier and he'd be dousing himself to cleanliness underneath a shower head, not grimacing into a smile. Ignis can skate over Noctis's meanness, proper. He can contend with the pressure that comes over him, ghosting up his skin when he marries off discretion to foresight and sends them both away.
This is the sort of agony that doesn't unveil itself as pain, but pleasure, uprooting him when he's trying so hard for balance. And the sound that should shudder out as a gasp dissolves into stifled gasping, each one hinged on a wheeze.
But then he focuses his preoccupation on Noctis's shoulders, smearing his mouth over his soft cheeks, the little dip to his mouth when their lips meet, teeth clicking with the words Noct keeps gasping out. He's past speech, really; his other hand's stinging from the crime and the heavy red print he's left on Noct, and who is he to disobey when pleaded with?
His hand comes down in familiarity, inferring the small jolt of Noctis's body before he'll take to rippling with it, when his longer thrusts chop down to quick, shallow rolls of his hips. It's not enough, and he follows; as a human being without a normal conscience, he's penitent only after the fact, rubbing at the second smack he's left, his kisses dipping into something ravenous as he's pried open and that enamoring fullness, eyelashes dragging open and closed, open and closed. ]
You're always on my mind.
[ So is it any wonder that he devolves this easy, content to getting hammered down into the mattress even when his hand takes to groping around the bruise he's left to streak over Noctis's ass? Like there's no virtuousness to him at all, goddamn. ]
no subject
[ It's a testament to Ignis' exceptional intelligence that he's able to form sentences right now, because Noctis is finding it difficult to string one together beyond that single word, hopelessly caught up in his lover's grasp, in the way he so obediently does as he demands, jerking with pleasure and hissing against his mouth, feeling the way that palm rubs up against him, soothing the sting with infinite tenderness.
He likes it. He likes the burn of it, the heat and the immediate comfort that comes after, his ass sporting red prints left behind by an ardent lover -- what's not to love, when it's impossible to catch their breath and Ignis is given over to such intoxication, yielding when Noctis demands his submission, consumes him whole and takes him as he is? The prince is close, dangerously so; his strokes are erratic and wild, bucking into Ignis and pressing up against that sensitive bundle of nerves again, again and again. He revels in the kisses they share, lips and teeth and tongue sliding against each other, and Noctis can't have enough of his mouth, of the taste and heat of him.
It's an addiction, intoxicating and overwhelming, and there is no room for penitence when all they do is sin, wrapped up in each other with a reckless passion, and his hand comes down to close over his cock, stroking him up and down, bidding up to fuck into the circle of his fingers while his own dick pistons in and out of him, firm and just this side of rough for a morning fuck. ]
Again. [ He commands, low and soft, breathless and panting, cheeks flushed and mouth swollen with a thousand kisses. ] Harder.
no subject
No tricks and no deception, though. There's no spell on him beyond the one Noct's inflicted on him, the one he hasn't even realized he's cast, dick-deep and lunging in, rendering all of his usual wit choppy and incognizant. Right from the start, he never stood a chance, so the way he succumbs is more of a delayed reaction than anything, teething at Noctis's lower lip and coasting in the euphoria. If it's entitled to hitch his legs up for the next thrust, slow to the order, then he'll readily take the consequences. His composure's wavering; his composure's a kite that's plummeting fast, crash-landing when he returns the confrontation of tongue and impertinence. Another sound rises, truculent as it come up out of his mouth the way his hips spasm, attempting not to look as amused as all the bad humor he's radiating. ]
Corrupt a man's heart, would you?
[ He's faintly rueful, he neatness of him scrubbed away for daring appeals to empathy (like he isn't just rotten to the core, affecting Noctis by osmosis). Ignis's eyes don't catch Noctis as much as they train on him with quiet absorption when it takes him under. He's enduring the eye contact and the reality that he's incapable of committing to Noct without wholly devoting himself to the task for a couple short-lived seconds, then spreads his hand out again. First careful reverence, palming down the growing shape of the bruise, the redness spreading deep over the skin. Then he brings his hand down, right over the same inflamed spot, and reduces it down to a hot, seeping point of pain with the next slap. Defamation doesn't really come easy to him, though, apprehending Noct's neck after, lips coming down and soothing away the hurt that comes crashing in after, yearning and yearning pressing in. ]
no subject
[ Hissed more than murmured, as if desire has sunk its claws in Noctis and he is lost, lost -- swept up in all that Ignis gives him wordlessly, woken up from his sleep to this, to being penetrated and fucked. He doesn't stop, each thrust almost punishing in its intensity, he adjusts his grip to support his hitched legs, taking a perverse pleasure in wrecking every ounce of his composure, watching it crash-land before him with every heated moment that passes between them.
He hears it, the sound from his mouth, the gloriously wonderful way he addresses him, and Noctis jerks up sharply when his palm connects with his ass, already smarting from the previous smack, stinging pleasure fraying at his unraveling control. It brings everything back into potent, unwavering contrast, and Ignis' command of force is so exquisite it makes him want to beg for more, threatens to undo him. But no, he has a job to do right now, his own pleasure to take and give, a lover to overwhelm and corrupt.
He lowers his head to kiss him deeply, branding his mouth on his the way Ignis has left his mark on his ass, and he growls against him, yearning and longing, balls-deep inside and grinding. He wants to make sure he's felt, his hand coming to curl around his cock, tightening briefly before releasing. ]
Touch yourself.
[ He wants to watch. ]
no subject
Incorrigible.
[ Tugging him out of sleep so he can reward Noctis with a sight that's become increasingly rare since they've entered a relationship is the height of selfishness, but Ignis is infinitely worse, possessed by the demand as his hand maneuvers that dodgy route between their bodies, clutching onto his dick. It's throbbing like nothing else, irascible with the brief squeeze of Noct's hand, but not even the potential friction is keeping him from jerking himself off. Each tug has his cock twitching angrily under confinement, and Ignis drapes back against the cushions, his other hand taking command of the nape of Noctis's neck. ]
You're right. I never suspected my perversions couldโ run this deep, but I can safely say all the blame rests squarelyโ on your shoulders, this time.
[ And in case his dear Majesty's forgotten who he's contending with, Ignis rewards Noct's efforts with a painfully forthright clench of his ass, tight enough for frustration to usurp them both. ]
Take responsibility, Noct.