[ Smartass issues a low whine when Ignis kisses the bandage instead of his cheek, depriving him of those incredible lips, squirming indignantly when Ignis rests his elbow on his head.
Aah, good times. George meows, but Noctis' attention is on Ignis when he leans away from his elbow and reaches put to tug on his collar, smiling as he looks to draw him close. But he's largely all right; Noctis might not have as much sleep but he's in a good mood, enough to graciously ignore the fainting jibe. A rarity, all things considered. ]
I demand a do-over of that greeting before I consent to answering any more questions. Come fine-tune my engine, Mr. Mechanic.
[ Sappiness knows no bounds, cheesiness springs eternal. His convictions are but a single drop in the deep, deep well known as his affections for the prince. Elbow-on-head notwithstanding, he's beautifulā€” snared in closer and he's privy to the preternaturally intense shade of blue in Noctis's eyes, which never fail to fascinate.
With the choice of getting on George's good side or gleaning the truth from him, the choice is clear. His sense of etiquette isn't offended by evilness of puns at all, because his whole moral scale is defunct. And it's particularly nice when Noctis humors him this much. ]
Gladly.
[ So he's carefully leaning in this time to press his lips to the very corner of Noctis's mouth, then gliding his mouth over, nice and chaste, but indubitably fond. The pressure waxes on for a bit longer than usual when he hums, then it wanes and he's dropping back some, smile tenderly drawn-out in nonverbal acquiescence. ]
[ Luckily for Ignis, Noctis loves all the things they get to do when his moral scale is defunct. Nobody likes a boy scout, Iggy. Except other boy scouts, probably. Ignis pulls away and Noctis' smile is impossibly soft, lips curving, warmed by that gesture. He doesn't hide his affection from him, all sass aside, and those striking green eyes does things to him he cannot actually mention in polite company.
Soft mouth, too -- for all of Ignis' nagging the man is an exceptional kisses, and George headbutts Noctis in annoyance, climbing onto his lap before the prince can do anything like invite Ignis in it. ] It'll do for a start. [ He says haughtily, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ] I may also have finished that pot of coffee. Didn't want to be asleep when you came around.
[ Because they both know how difficult he is to wake, and he doesn't want his new pet to be lonely. And so getting eviscerated by aliens it is. ] C'mon, sit. I bet you haven't eaten either.
[ Good thing he's not particularly polite company, then. Cordial, if need be. Taxing and a little bossy, otherwise, but Noctis takes it in stride, his own streak of impertinence something to behold. Ignis drops back with the leniency of a grin, rueful and charmed, when George evidently takes dominion of Noctis's lap in envy. ]
Just awful. Now you'll never be able to sleep again.
[ He'll turn into an insomniac and Ignis will be forced to stay up with him the whole night, lulling him to something resembling sleep. Kidding. He leans out some, dragging off Noctis's fingers from his collar, but only after snaring them in his own awhile. ]
But of course. Your wish is my command. [ Fetching the food off the table, he hands Noctis a sandwich, leaving his own still carefully wrapped while he goes about feeding George bite-sized chunks of chicken from the tupperware, which after a brief period of sniffling, readily accepts. ] I've been meaning to ask. What sort of game is this? Horror survival?
[ Some kind of campy scientific adventure ending in mutilation via aliens? But here he is, readily taking the utterly entrancing sight of the pause screen. Dang, wow. That sure is something to behold. ]
Horror survival, [ He confirms, scooting over on the couch carefully with George in his lap to give him space, picking up the sandwich in one hand and the controller in another. Thankfully, George slinks out of his lap, settling herself in between them both and choosing to eat from his fingers. Hey, food's food.
Feeling extremely pleased that Ignis is at least showing some interest in his game of the week, Noctis takes a bite of the sandwich, a burst of flavor surprising him in its intensity. The softest, tastiest bread paired impeccably with the steak within, the meat so impossibly tender and rich and marinated in something Noctis doesn't have the most remote idea about but is aware probably cost the GDP of a small island. ] Mmmph -- this is good.
[ He's chewing, swallowing, appreciating compatibility of the baked bread and the meat -- Ignis should really look into opening a restaurant -- before he unpauses the game.
Big mistake. He hands the sandwich back to him absently when ominous music swells, and this happens right in front of his character:
Which is the worst ever thing to happen all of a sudden because oh, hell no. ]
Fuck. [ He says very quietly, like the volume of his voice has any bearing at all whatsoever in the context of the game. ] Oh, fuck, I didn't see this dude coming.
[ George, the good sport, is a champ that doesn't mind sharing Noct as soon as carefully draping himself in the prince's lap doesn't strike itself as an entirely viable option, between the controller and Noctis's predisposition toward getting overly slinky once the video game's consumed him. Bemused, Ignis takes his time feeding the feline, which is all too content in swatting his face with a bushy tail like a really unsubtle backhand whenever he dares to get anywhere remotely close to Noct's face. Narrowly avoiding swallowing a hairball, Ignis dodges to cough dispassionately into his hand. ]
I'm all too glad it's to your liking.
[ At least someone appreciates his culinary talent, thusly squandered toward primarily feeding a bratty prince and his egregiously testy cat. When Noctis hands the sandwich back, Ignisā€” in keeping with wanton impulses todayā€” takes a bite out of the same sandwich as Noctis relents to actually play the game just in time to meet his demise, by the looks of it. Death by tentacle vore, a truly awful way to go. Swallowing, Ignis sets the sandwich aside to make a bid at wrapping his hand around Noctis's back, only to find himself somehow petting the cat again, its spine a lenient crane-arch effectively blocking him from touching Noct at all. Alright, well. ]
I always took you for the sprightly sort. You'll need to be particularly quick on your feet to avoid his clutches, but I suppose this should be a cinch for you.
[ Evading responsibility, evading intergalactic aliens on a space station, same difference. Just like a sleight of hand, honestly: all in the flick of the wrist. ]
[ Noctis smirks, gently coaxing George onto his lap, cuddling him and deciding that he wants some quality time with the man who's just about pulled out all the stops when it comes to feeding him and his new cat, as well as sorting out the mess that he had been last night, when he'd been too out of it to remember exact proceedings. He's wrapping an arm around Ignis, leaning up to steal a soft kiss from him, tasting the smoky-sweet flavor of the cured steak on his lips. It's about the hottest thing ever, getting to taste what he tasted, and getting to be with him good and proper right now, with nothing getting in the way.
Impulse control? What impulse control? He's edging towards him, closing the distance and tucking warmly against his arm -- apparently George doesn't have a counterattack when it comes to Noctis initiating contact (perhaps because the cat hadn't yet factored in a betrayal of that magnitude). He offers him the controller, too. ]
I feel like you just shaded me, but I can't get mad at you about it.
You should know I've got zero ideas for working the controls.
[ But his sense of adventure is thriving and well, regardless of the fact that he pauses the game as soon as the controller's in his possession, mechanically tapping each button on the control menu like jabbing the R3 button repeatedly will ensure Noctis's avatar isn't immediately eviscerated on-screen. In the meantime, Noctis and George cozy up to each other like two lovebirds at the height of their infatuation. It's enough to make a man green with envy, mind you, his beloved in the company of another contender for his love. But Noct kisses him, full and enamored, and Ignis presses his mouth back and smiles, nice and genuine with the embrace while the cat meows again, still processing this latest conundrum in Noctis's lap, endlessly fussing about, tail reminiscent of a geisha fan with each harried swish.
The warmth of Noct's cheek on his arm prove to be his undoing, though, slashing his concentration into pitiable slivers when he continues the game and promptly forgets the controls, unable to do much more than back the poor character into a wall as the alien comes slinking in. The end comes blood and gruesome, rife with the heart-stopping moment where the monster displays two pairs of gleaming teeth (at least an advocate of good and proper hygiene, who would've thought that creatures most foul owned toothbrushes) and he's promptly devoured. As game over blips despondently on the screen, Ignis tips his head to one side, sobered by his demise. ]
Just my luck. I've narrowly avoided your wrath at the cost of my own death.
[ Who knew love could be preposterous and life-threatening in nature? Shows him to get wooed to distraction. Setting the controller down on one knee, Ignis leans over someā€” all bluster, all bravadoā€” and blows a hot line down the cartilage of one of Noct's ears. ]
[ He murmurs magnanimously; wrath is indeed thwarted, for the moment. Hangover forgotten and nestled so cozily against his older lover, Noctis is basking, warm and contented and so very pleased. It also helps that Ignis, multi-talented and adroit when it comes to educational, political, and all manner of culinary pursuits, is still altogether terrible when it comes to murderous animated extraterrestrials.
Although, to be fair, part of that might be because Noctis is insinuating himself against him the way George is with Noctis, sleekly commanding attention for himself -- after all, Ignis is only temporarily on loan to the game station, and he claims him in good time, shivering at the warmth of his breath before tilting his head back just so, capturing his mouth with his again. It must be said that Noctis can never resist a kiss from him, the feel of that lovely cupid's bow pressed against his own inciting a potent pleasure that's so much like a drug. Ignis, after all, has never been one to express outward affection, and Noctis is all too happy to draw it out of him, the Pied Piper to all those repressed feelings. His open, genuine smile is hopelessly charming, Noctis thinks, and he wonders who's charmed whom after all. ]
I like knowing that you're actually terrible at something. [ He says against his lips when he pulls away slowly, George impatiently swishing its tail between their faces, impertinent in its quandary. ] That you're not absolutely, impeccably perfect at everything you do. Is that weird to say?
[ How Noctis falls for his flaws, real and imagined. ]
Very weird. I'm the farthest thing from infallible, especially for you.
[ After all, he's just been killed by aliens, and killed by Noct, too. They're talking a double-whammy KO here, completely disregarding all of his other, singularly terrible flaws, like his inability to chill or his patent desire to replace his entire bloodstream with coffee. He can get awfully cranky off-schedule, fusses like a nanny too harried to think straight, and leeches off these little moments of closeness with Noctis like this is what King Regis meant when entrusting him with his son, the very apple of his father's eye, but they get along well enough, otherwise.
Disingenuous to this tumult of a conversation is George, rolling and rolling about Noctis's lap when they take to kissing, and Ignis suns his mouth on the warmth of his mouth, filthy and perverse and entirely decadent the way stolen holidays are. His forearm's on the upholstery when he pressed his fingertips to Noctis's nape, skirting a few depraved inches up his collar, committing his backbone to memory.
The quandary current at hand is pet peeves, or something, while Noctis comes up with another reason to tear him down, but what he might not realize is that Ignis is rarely perfect at anything. It's all about compensating; three-fourths of his life devoted to pretending he knows more than he lets on, the last quarter given up to the fate that consigned him with the prince, what force twined their destinies together. ]
I absolutely can't stand cat hair, if that counts for a flaw. I'll need to arm every single one of your drawers with lint rollers if you have any desire of stalling my sharp decline into blubbering insanity.
[ He's flawed, just like this: smiling, smiling, over such a small happiness like spending time with Noctis. ]
[ There is a sort of innocence about Ignis when he smiles like this, genuine and true, like sunlight dappled through the leaves. There's something about it that lifts Noctis' spirits -- not that they need much lifting aside from the snafu with the alien -- infectious and catchy, and it makes him want to lean over and kiss him again, again and again until affection becomes intent. But he doesn't, happy to bask in the impossible sweetness of this moment. George is momentarily forgotten in Noctis' pursuit for Ignis' love, and he snorts at the assertion of his infallibility.
Smooth, really. But he knows. He knows the flaws that crack him open and finds them both frustrating and endearing all the same. One does not love a masterpiece the way they do a living, breathing person, rife with shortcomings and yet gleaming with a veneer of perfection, a collection of neuroses and quirks sealed under a dignified front. Noctis loves him fiercely, wholly, and in this moment he feels that with an incredible passion. Ignis life might be given over to the prince and the crown, but Noctis' heart is irretrievably his, already given before he even knew what love was.
He reaches out and runs his hand through Ignis' hair, carding through soft spikes and that impeccable coiffure, mussing it up just because he can. He leans languidly into his hand, as if allowing him free rein and full access, and he gently nudges George off his lap now, if only to climb into Ignis' and insinuate himself into his personal space, pressing warm and inviting against him. ]
Or you could just decide that you could live with cat hair.
[ It's what Noctis does to him that leaves his smiles saccharine, eyes swimmy with tenderness, like he's just another one of the protagonists that frequent Gladio's ten-gil paperbacks the few times he's perused a chapter in curiosity, the sort that thwarts evil and is endlessly saved by the power of love.
Couched in conciliation is the barely-veiled touch of Noctis's fingers over his hair, ruffling it to a state of eternal disrepair. As George is ousted with a plaintive meow and a shake of its head, he takes Noct's insinuation into his lap with stride, fingers dripping over his ribs and mapping the landscape of his lower back. ]
And show up before politicians with cat hair on my slacks from my tussle with your bedfellow? I'd never. Unlike certain members of royalty, I've a reputation to keep.
[ He's the prince's stand-in, after all, and any deficiency on his part reflects badly on Noctis. Casually, Ignis immerses his face just shy of the collar of Noctis's shirt, nose idly skimming across his collarbones. ]
I'm rather envious of George, cuddled so intimately by you. You scarcely allow me the same pleasure when we're both in bed and you've gone and dozed off.
[ You know, given how Noctis starfishes himself beneath the covers when he isn't trying to bodily hurl himself off the mattress in his sleep. ]
[ Noctis groans and settles against him, spoiling for Ignis' affection and claiming the entirety of it as if it's his birthright. He's cupping his face to kiss him softly, mouth against mouth before tracing down over his cheek, down to his jawline -- a silent gesture of gratitude for all the lengths he'd gone to to prepare dinner for them both, how he'd come to his rescue late last night -- likely making everyone involved pretty damn sorry that they had to make him go all the way there.
The aches and pains from yesterday are swiftly forgotten, even the sprained ankle is relegated to the back of his mind in lieu of Ignis' warm attentions. He's wrapping his arms around him when he feels the way he nuzzles into his collarbone, and he thinks he would like this to last forever. Ignis is not usually the most demonstrative of men, nor the most tactile, his love exhibited through food, good-natured nagging, and the not-so-occasional burst of profound violence, as well as the summary reports, concise and clear, that always find their way to his desk every single day, come rain or shine.
He could make a list of all the ways Ignis shows love, but open affection like this is not his forte. But here, now, just for him, he's warm and loving and everything Noctis revels in, delighted by his amorous overtures. He's peppering kisses to the crown of his head, trying not to sneeze when the stray spikes of his hair tickle his nose. Fair enough, really, his sleeping habits leave a lot to be desired. Making a soft noise of amusement, he comments. ]
Maybe you just need to get me from behind. [ He smirks. ] Or kiss me behind the ears. I could be persuaded to be cuddled by you, you know.
[ Probably, he's not sure how that works out when he's sleeping, but he does remember a memorable moment when he'd absently swatted his lover away, and had fallen off the bed for his troubles. Damn it, that still hurt to think about, especially when his head hit the tile. Turns out, blanket burritos can only protect so much. ]
[ His fingers palm along the concavity of Noctis's back, up and down, flirting with the gaps between, when his chest heaves and his breath staggers on out. The kiss is soft, the touch softer, and he smooths his cheek along Noct's palm. It's true, he's not so given over to closeness, his mind like a prayer wheel, spinning and ever-constant to no avail, but Noct wrenches gentleness out of him, taking him apart until he's reaching to kiss at Noctis's neck, the little pulse ticking in his throat. ]
Lure you in with a few conniving tricks? There's an idea.
[ Another kiss, greeting his body again. His hand is sloping down his temple and he mouths over that next, lips trailing over every slim finger, then he tugs himself up from the cradle made of Noctis's hands to besot the cartilage of Noct's ears. ]
But well, I've tried that. Kissing you right here. [ He pecks them, breathing a hot line down the shell. ] You don't like them touched when you're asleep, actually. I think you'll know I'll take advantage of them.
[ And oftentimes Ignis does, like the reason he'd been swatted away in the first place during that exercise in futility. Just like now, actually, licking at the cartilage, teething bites down the pink shell of it until they bear the marks of his transgressions. ]
Regardless, you're in luck. I could be persuaded to cuddle you right now.
[ Even if they aren't unconscious, his fingers held snug around Noctis's waist, holding him steady as he studiously mistreats one ear, then the next, breathing hotly over the marks with any shiver that happens to ripple through his Highness. ]
And what kind of arguments -- aaah -- should I put up? [ Noctis is surely shivering under his ministrations, the scrape of teeth on the sensitive shell of his ear lending credence to Ignis' observation of Noctis' subconscious bid to protect himself, even from a lover whose touch he craves with a ferocity that should be terrifying.
He's leaning into his touch, coming undone. It should be embarrassing, really, how easily Ignis finds all his weaknesses and lovingly exploits them, but the heat of his breath over his ear is a master stroke of seduction and Noctis loses the train of his thought, teeth and tongue inciting a fierce arousal that takes his breath away. They shouldn't be getting hot and heavy with a cat in the living room -- what would George think? He would be permanently scarred and lose his faith in humanity as a whole, or something. But tucked right here in the circle of his arms, feeling those glorious soft lips pressed so lightly against his neck, and he swears Ignis can feel the way his pulse skips just for him.
His hand coming up to curl through Ignis' hair, curving over the back of his head, making as if to keep his chamberlain here in his arms, at the mercy of his overflowing affection. He basks in the other man's gentleness, and he presses his lips to the side of his head with a low, pleased moan. ] Or should I demand that you take me to bed and cuddle me? And if you're lucky -- [ He gently tugs on his hair. ] -- I'll let you into the burrito.
[ Even when George is throwing a minor conniption fit on the floor, puffing and irritable as Noctis folds himself into his arms, Ignis remains incorrigible, hands soft around his waist. Although he's reluctantly agreed to adopt a new member of the household, there shouldn't be anything vaguely unclear about who remains Noct's favorite as he takes out his more debased impulses on Noctis's ears and neck, mouthing over each erogenous zone. Better learn sooner than later that Ignis has more than two decades of experience over a cat who wandered into the prince's good graces. He was here first, fiend. ]
What a tantalizing prospect. Folded into the duvet just in time for you to send us both asunder. [ Down on the ground and rollicking with the tile from another one of Noctis's sleep-induced tumbles, what a wild time. Ignis's mouth settles over the bob of his Adam's apple, soft into the throat. ] My king is a generous one. A favor would be in my best interests, I think. Those usually imply a degree of mutuality. A good deed to be reciprocated, if you will.
[ So let him be stalwart on cashing in on that solid Noct'll do him later when he sweeps his Highness's legs to one side, hooking an arm beneath, and neatly hoists him up in his arms. And now he's held hostage from properly walking, a victim of his chamberlain's whims; George plaintively meows around Ignis's ankles, swishing irreverently around as he tucks the prince to his chest, mouth curved up just so. ]
You're a lucky man to be loved so much by animals. I'd chalk it down to that charismatic air about you.
[ It's the same one that has George trying for a last-minute save as he tows Noctis over the threshold and toward the bedroom for a safe and easy landing on the mattress. ]
Mercenary. [ Noctis laughs once, loud and bright with a joy that only Ignis can inspire -- how bold, that his chamberlain will so boldly barter the terms of their arrangement, trading invitation for favor. It's granted all the same -- because as it turns out, more often than not his favors involve something at least a little pleasant for Noctis somewhere down the line, and he's feeling recklessly affectionate. It must be Ignis, his enthusiasm for him a heady, intoxicating thing that only serves to pull Noctis in deeper.
He's startled when Ignis lifts him, the heat of his eager mouth lingering on his Adam's apple still, and he finds himself clinging to his neck when the couch falls away and he feels himself hefted into his arms like a particularly blue-blooded sack of potatoes. He can see those muscles flex under that fitting shirt; Ignis is no Gladio (he swears the muscles that man has has a life of its own), but he's still impressive in his own right, with a solid, broad chest he finds himself pressed up against, a willing and flustered hostage in his arms. ] Whoa, hey --
[ He's pretty sure dudes don't carry other dudes that way! But Six, it feels good, and he can feel his cheeks flush a dull, abiding pink, the tips of his ears reddening violently in ways that both have nothing and absolutely everything to do with Ignis and his proclivity for reducing princes to an incorrigible mess, warmed from the inside out by his relentless charm. But Noctis, see, is nothing if not resilient, reaching out to push the door shut behind them before George can slip in. Sorry, he thinks apologetically, oblivious to the war brewing under his nose and Ignis' forceful reclamation of his territory. After all, he was here first.
He lands on the mattress, but his arms locked around Ignis ensures that the man comes down after him -- mutually assured affection at its finest. Leaning back against his pillows, he loosens only to trace his fingers over the line of his buttons. ]
So what does that make you? [ He asks with a slow, lazy smile; being loved by animals is an enjoyable burden to bear, but to be the recipient of Ignis' attention, his love and loyalty, that means more than anything in the world. Dad would frown upon him for having thoughts like these, he knows, but it's too late to turn back now. ] Which wild animal are you, Iggy?
[ His fingers trace absently over the prints in his shirt, small and classy but still strikingly, elegantly fashionable. Noctis won't be surprised if he finds that people in the Citadel consider his style worth emulating. ] A leopard, tiger, or a jaguar?
[ Roping Noctis into playing willing accomplice is the nail in the coffin; George's yowls lose their tenor behind the door, the adamance of swiping paws from beneath the door scrabbling to no avail. He might be an ordinary man to beasts and monarchs of much worldly renown, but he's got a power of his own vying for his king when he ends up tussled up on the mattress, hands slung down around his elbows and knees accommodating the loose jumble of their limbs as transfixed on each other.
Fronting like this is an easy preoccupation as long as Noctis remains muddled in his grasp, lithely stretching out on the pillows, but then he's beaming up a rainstormā€” the thunder of Noct's smile splitting his lips first, and that lightning-struck dazedness that comes after Ignis when he tips his head with the prince trapped in the confines of his reaching hands. No gloves hinder that contact, skin on skin; he'd made a point to remove them in his apartment, if just for the indelicacy of pressing Noctis to his side, palm gliding along the soft heap of black hair where it's fallen over his forehead. ]
I must confess I've much preferred foxes.
[ The sly, sneaky sort with black rings around their eyes, in particular; if that's in any way indicative of him as a person, pretending to be one animal and caricaturing as another, he wouldn't know. Any higher thinking beyond the slow volley of Noctis's fingers tracing burn-warm over the side pocket and the heinousness of leopard print. Cheek against the pillow, he presses his fingers up to the smile cutting up the angle of Noctis's mouth, lingering at the corner with deep gentleness. ]
I'll have you bake a cake with me as payment for your antics. Tiramisu with enough chocolate ganache to make even you renounce sweets forevermore. You'll need to hobble quick to evade my sugar-laden clutches.
[ Turns out this was all a backhanded plan to indoctrinate vegetables into Noctis's sumptuously saccharine-heavy diet, sorry. He's the sort of insidious villain that can't help spilling his equally underhanded plans, his hand coming flat against Noct's lower jaw. As a wild animal, being feral enough to tuck Noct to his side, tempering the fickleness. When it comes to taking the high ground, Ignis is morally defunct; there's no expecting any good out of an adviser who would draw Noctis into a kiss along his temple that condenses those several long hours he's spent worrying over someone's busted ankle into a couple of seconds before releasing him, quiet and satisfied. ]
I love you dearly, Noct. Please don't make me worry too relentlessly over you. It's quite horrid on the heart.
[ A fox, sounds about right. Ignis is shrewd and intelligent; cool pleasantry and dry wit a cover for that formidable, calculating mind -- Ignis can smile while he plots an enemy's inevitable downfall to an almost-near certainty, and Noctis knows enough of him to be aware that he never wants to be on that side of him. It's a trait that Noctis has learned to appreciate through the years, all of his considerations geared towards Noctis like he's somehow his true north, which should be too much for the prince alone to bear, but for Noctis it seems light as air.
It's the only thing that's light, being loved by Ignis, a reprieve in a world full of thorns and brambles, loaded with peril along the way; but he's not alone when he's with Ignis, and he finds himself intoxicated by the warmth of his finger along his lips, tracing over his lower jaw as Noctis basks in it, contented as a cat. George, the real cat in the household now, ceases its petulant temper tantrum and settles for insistent meowing.
Noctis, unfortunately, only has eyes and ears for his charming boyfriend, shifting to kiss the palm of his hand briefly before he's unbuttoning Ignis' shirt. Ignis is all remarkably handsome and put-together and all, but Noctis' favorite look on him is half-undone, well on the way to sharing passion and being painstakingly taken apart, rendered at Noctis' mercy not because he's his prince, but because the man in him wants to be. The younger man expects all sorts of amorous attentions -- none of them affiliated with decency, and he sighs when Ignis releases him, sweet and satisfied after informing him about the toll due (Noctis' capacity for sweets know no bounds, and Ignis plays a dangerous game). But he doesn't release Ignis, instead sliding an arm around his waist to keep him close, grinning with all the warmth of a summer storm, mercurial and playful. ]
Tell me again how you took them out.
[ A play by play, if you will; because Ignis certainly didn't let his worry get in the way when he'd discarded just about everything to come to Noctis' aid, as ferocious as a wolf amongst hyenas, tearing into them with a savagery that Noctis only dimly remembers. Laying soft kisses downwards to stop over his heart as if it's a thing that's needs soothing after last night's shenanigans, Noctis continues quietly. ]
I think your heart's a strong, sturdy thing. [ And I love you, too. So much. He nuzzles at him, ultimately unhelpful in his next assessment even if his words are impossibly fond. ] You do know you have to worry less, right?
I'm well-aware. I won't always be there to save you in your hour of need.
[ That'll come back to devour him, sooner or later, making blanket statements like predicting his own downfall. But it's like a dream here, nestled with Noctis while he takes to carefully ransacking his shirt like he prefers him some level of debauched. Ignis remains half-immersed in the kingdom that's made of Noctis where he's laid up next to him, half on the mattress.
The kisses fluted down his chest are small, ticklish little bouts of fancy, ones that tremor and shudder through him, and he reaches just to raise Noctis's face from pouring his attentions onto his body and instead rubbing across his nose with his own. Just an eskimo kiss, enough to get him from calling out the truth that his heart isn't so fragile, that it's just his love for Noct that has him rushing in and causing a storm where calling the authorities would've suited his purposes much better. ]
Braggarts never make it anywhere decent, you know.
[ And fighting a bunch of hoodlums in some nondescript alleyway shouldn't count as sound logic, but then self-righteous monologues don't seem to hold up to snuff when placed underneath a magnifying lens. His fingers slope along Noctis's neck, meandering down until they reach his collarbones, then sternum, then sit right above his heart, feeling out the heartbeat thrumming beneath the cage of rib and sinew and flesh. ]
Besides that, all I could focus on was you, hunched by the dumpster and fending off several men with your bare fists alone. What an inspiring sight you were, abstaining from magic to protect your father's reputationā€” or perhaps you were far too intoxicated to summon your Armiger. What else could I do but follow in my liege's stead?
[ Like a man to fixed to his routines to be steered off-course, even in the face of destruction. His love for Noctis well outlasts self-preservation, and he rests his cheek to the pillow, gazing with the reverence of a man restored his sight after ten years of bleak darkness. ]
I do dimly recall smashing in a man's face to make it to you. I can only hope that his recovery is a speedy one. [ There's only so much he can do otherwise, persevering in the face of necessary evils like concussing Noct's assailants in lieu of beating them within an inch of their lives. ] If you promise to look after yourself better, I'll rest much easier.
[ So cough up the confession, your esteemed Highness, while he takes to brazenly making out with Noctis, pursuing the corners of his lips out of sheer instinct. ]
[ There's something primitive about every single one of them, no matter how evolved and dignified they boast of themselves to be. There will always be a seed of savagery, buried deep inside, that revels in the concept of violence for the sake of them -- it's couched as a lover's passion, the inspiration behind more than its fair share of love songs; it's an animal instinct, sure as they come, hidden away in plain sight because it's just not nice to talk about it. That primitive part lights up with pleasure and delight, stoked in being fought over, fought for; the reason behind the swift violence Ignis enacts with terrifying brutality and efficiency. Noctis doesn't hide this from him, eyes gleaming and dark as he summarizes the night's recollections, heart racing by his lover's heroics. ]
You're brave, fierce, wonderful --
[ He shouldn't have been doing that, they all know it -- it would be wiser to call up law enforcement, to deal with it the civilised, proper war; but people are not all civilised and proper all of the time, and Noctis appreciates the lapse in Ignis' judgement as much as his own, a delightful reflection of primal instincts, logic given way to emotion.
His fingers coming up to trace over his cheek, his jaw, his chin, Noctis' gaze is fervid, his mouth finding his before he's rolling Ignis onto his back, the sweetest confession on his lips. Hands come to undo the buttons of Ignis' shirt, splaying sleekly over his stomach, his chest, shoving it off his shoulders. ]
-- and you're going to get everywhere with me. [ Even sweeter still, his free hand sliding down to curve between Ignis' legs. ] Should I help you rest easy tonight?
Oh, but I am. I'm more insolent than a man in my position has any right being. I'm entirely too fond of you.
[ Back on the mattress, he's savage, he's a person who's let his goodwill get abducted away by self-absorption, an egotist absorbed with only the tinny matters of his own heart as they concern Noctis. Every ounce of his compassion for others has strained down to pulp; he doesn't have a single inch of generosity to spare for anyone else when he's went and spent it all on his king.
Noctis raises himself above the world, lavishing compliments on him like brute force is something to be celebrated, and in the kingdom of blankets and cushions, Ignis shakes his head in ridicule; there's a certain ludicrousness to peeling away his dress shirt when Noctis's eyes are striped in the sort of ferocity that forces obedience, chest bared, legs spread just so. ]
I'd much rather ride you all the way to exhaustion. [ Longing compels his teasing to turn despicable, hand lounging just so on Noctis's sternum before mimicking the gesture, spanning flat along his abdomen. ] Although I'd settle for cuddling you into a tizzy, if worse comes to worst.
[ And isn't that the weirdest threat he's ever made, his face tingling with the ghosting presence of Noctis on him before he drags him down, palming all along him, rucking up his shirt. ]
[ Noctis breathes, overwhelmed by intent, spurred on by his passion. Noctis lavishes compliments on Ignis because it's his due, because he has done so much more than he has ever imagined. Back on the mattress here, Ignis is all Noctis has ever desired, generous and warm and ferocious, and Noctis hoards his generosity and kindness for himself, as if all of Ignis is his birthright.
He's leaning into his touch with a pleased little shiver, taking to his teasing and savoring it like the finest wine. Ignis intoxicates, overwhelms his senses, and he pauses only to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He's greedy for his chamberlain's attention, jealously selfish and yearning, lifting himself only to tug on the older man's trousers. ]
Pants off. I want you naked. We can cuddle stupidly after I have you.
[ Well, he is part of Noct's birthright, even if it isn't the conventional sense, what with the conditional surrender of his time and effort, and the unconditional surrender of his love to the ever-demanding prince of Lucis. It's all very gross and domestic and not likely what King Regis had in mind when entrusting him with his child. Noctis, the louse, is already shedding his shirt, having forsaken propriety, and Ignis dips some where he's crouched over Noct. With deep responsibility comes the deeper scandal of rumpled clothes, or the proposed lack thereof. ]
You know, I'm still on-the-fence with whether or not you deserve that much after all the bother you've put me through.
[ The garbled drunk call, the drive through the streets, the erupting fight with all the poor souls who'd thought the prince inept instead of drunkenly impaired. What an evening. But here he is, relenting to it with deathly composure, unraveling his pants from their crinkled state and down from each knee, tugging them off with due stride so they end up estranged somewhere by the end of the mattress.
There's no bothering with the rest of his garments, though, since none of that spiel was an order when he swoops down for that stupid cuddling an hour too early than Noct's probably intended. He's a devious one, tucking Noct against him, but only in jest. ]
Are you asking me to convince you? Because I will.
[ Noctis informs him bluntly, the events that transpired the past night already mostly dissipating from memory. The advantage of not being a chronic overthinker like Ignis: what's done is over, out of sight and out of mind. Noctis doesn't brood over this, too, the fact that they're essentially doing something terribly forbidden -- he's pretty sure Dad didn't intend for them to develop a relationship like this, but stranger things have happened, right? Stranger things than princes falling for their accomplished, too-handsome chamberlains have happened. Like a rain of frogs, for example.
Noctis claims Ignis love like it's his birthright; which isn't wrong when he's coveted it ever since they both had first met in the throne room, and Noctis had been barely more than a precocious toddler, lighting up at the sight of Ignis, and grasping his hand like he's a lifeline. Now, he's busy helping Ignis to shuck his pants off, and Noctis forgets all about the ache of his sprain.
His hand reaches down, pressing wicked, questing fingers between his legs, lower, lower, slipping between both cheeks to press at that familiar, puckered little rim that Noctis is always amazed manages to take his cock inside of him. ]
Mmm. Because think about having me inside you. Fucking you into exhaustion. We can call out for pizza after that.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Aah, good times. George meows, but Noctis' attention is on Ignis when he leans away from his elbow and reaches put to tug on his collar, smiling as he looks to draw him close. But he's largely all right; Noctis might not have as much sleep but he's in a good mood, enough to graciously ignore the fainting jibe. A rarity, all things considered. ]
I demand a do-over of that greeting before I consent to answering any more questions. Come fine-tune my engine, Mr. Mechanic.
[ Ha. See what he did there? ]
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With the choice of getting on George's good side or gleaning the truth from him, the choice is clear. His sense of etiquette isn't offended by evilness of puns at all, because his whole moral scale is defunct. And it's particularly nice when Noctis humors him this much. ]
Gladly.
[ So he's carefully leaning in this time to press his lips to the very corner of Noctis's mouth, then gliding his mouth over, nice and chaste, but indubitably fond. The pressure waxes on for a bit longer than usual when he hums, then it wanes and he's dropping back some, smile tenderly drawn-out in nonverbal acquiescence. ]
Did that do the trick?
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Soft mouth, too -- for all of Ignis' nagging the man is an exceptional kisses, and George headbutts Noctis in annoyance, climbing onto his lap before the prince can do anything like invite Ignis in it. ] It'll do for a start. [ He says haughtily, a spark of mischief in his eyes. ] I may also have finished that pot of coffee. Didn't want to be asleep when you came around.
[ Because they both know how difficult he is to wake, and he doesn't want his new pet to be lonely. And so getting eviscerated by aliens it is. ] C'mon, sit. I bet you haven't eaten either.
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Just awful. Now you'll never be able to sleep again.
[ He'll turn into an insomniac and Ignis will be forced to stay up with him the whole night, lulling him to something resembling sleep. Kidding. He leans out some, dragging off Noctis's fingers from his collar, but only after snaring them in his own awhile. ]
But of course. Your wish is my command. [ Fetching the food off the table, he hands Noctis a sandwich, leaving his own still carefully wrapped while he goes about feeding George bite-sized chunks of chicken from the tupperware, which after a brief period of sniffling, readily accepts. ] I've been meaning to ask. What sort of game is this? Horror survival?
[ Some kind of campy scientific adventure ending in mutilation via aliens? But here he is, readily taking the utterly entrancing sight of the pause screen. Dang, wow. That sure is something to behold. ]
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Feeling extremely pleased that Ignis is at least showing some interest in his game of the week, Noctis takes a bite of the sandwich, a burst of flavor surprising him in its intensity. The softest, tastiest bread paired impeccably with the steak within, the meat so impossibly tender and rich and marinated in something Noctis doesn't have the most remote idea about but is aware probably cost the GDP of a small island. ] Mmmph -- this is good.
[ He's chewing, swallowing, appreciating compatibility of the baked bread and the meat -- Ignis should really look into opening a restaurant -- before he unpauses the game.
Big mistake. He hands the sandwich back to him absently when ominous music swells, and this happens right in front of his character:
Which is the worst ever thing to happen all of a sudden because oh, hell no. ]
Fuck. [ He says very quietly, like the volume of his voice has any bearing at all whatsoever in the context of the game. ] Oh, fuck, I didn't see this dude coming.
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I'm all too glad it's to your liking.
[ At least someone appreciates his culinary talent, thusly squandered toward primarily feeding a bratty prince and his egregiously testy cat. When Noctis hands the sandwich back, Ignisā€” in keeping with wanton impulses todayā€” takes a bite out of the same sandwich as Noctis relents to actually play the game just in time to meet his demise, by the looks of it. Death by tentacle vore, a truly awful way to go. Swallowing, Ignis sets the sandwich aside to make a bid at wrapping his hand around Noctis's back, only to find himself somehow petting the cat again, its spine a lenient crane-arch effectively blocking him from touching Noct at all. Alright, well. ]
I always took you for the sprightly sort. You'll need to be particularly quick on your feet to avoid his clutches, but I suppose this should be a cinch for you.
[ Evading responsibility, evading intergalactic aliens on a space station, same difference. Just like a sleight of hand, honestly: all in the flick of the wrist. ]
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[ Noctis smirks, gently coaxing George onto his lap, cuddling him and deciding that he wants some quality time with the man who's just about pulled out all the stops when it comes to feeding him and his new cat, as well as sorting out the mess that he had been last night, when he'd been too out of it to remember exact proceedings. He's wrapping an arm around Ignis, leaning up to steal a soft kiss from him, tasting the smoky-sweet flavor of the cured steak on his lips. It's about the hottest thing ever, getting to taste what he tasted, and getting to be with him good and proper right now, with nothing getting in the way.
Impulse control? What impulse control? He's edging towards him, closing the distance and tucking warmly against his arm -- apparently George doesn't have a counterattack when it comes to Noctis initiating contact (perhaps because the cat hadn't yet factored in a betrayal of that magnitude). He offers him the controller, too. ]
I feel like you just shaded me, but I can't get mad at you about it.
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You should know I've got zero ideas for working the controls.
[ But his sense of adventure is thriving and well, regardless of the fact that he pauses the game as soon as the controller's in his possession, mechanically tapping each button on the control menu like jabbing the R3 button repeatedly will ensure Noctis's avatar isn't immediately eviscerated on-screen. In the meantime, Noctis and George cozy up to each other like two lovebirds at the height of their infatuation. It's enough to make a man green with envy, mind you, his beloved in the company of another contender for his love. But Noct kisses him, full and enamored, and Ignis presses his mouth back and smiles, nice and genuine with the embrace while the cat meows again, still processing this latest conundrum in Noctis's lap, endlessly fussing about, tail reminiscent of a geisha fan with each harried swish.
The warmth of Noct's cheek on his arm prove to be his undoing, though, slashing his concentration into pitiable slivers when he continues the game and promptly forgets the controls, unable to do much more than back the poor character into a wall as the alien comes slinking in. The end comes blood and gruesome, rife with the heart-stopping moment where the monster displays two pairs of gleaming teeth (at least an advocate of good and proper hygiene, who would've thought that creatures most foul owned toothbrushes) and he's promptly devoured. As game over blips despondently on the screen, Ignis tips his head to one side, sobered by his demise. ]
Just my luck. I've narrowly avoided your wrath at the cost of my own death.
[ Who knew love could be preposterous and life-threatening in nature? Shows him to get wooed to distraction. Setting the controller down on one knee, Ignis leans over someā€” all bluster, all bravadoā€” and blows a hot line down the cartilage of one of Noct's ears. ]
Comfortable?
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[ He murmurs magnanimously; wrath is indeed thwarted, for the moment. Hangover forgotten and nestled so cozily against his older lover, Noctis is basking, warm and contented and so very pleased. It also helps that Ignis, multi-talented and adroit when it comes to educational, political, and all manner of culinary pursuits, is still altogether terrible when it comes to murderous animated extraterrestrials.
Although, to be fair, part of that might be because Noctis is insinuating himself against him the way George is with Noctis, sleekly commanding attention for himself -- after all, Ignis is only temporarily on loan to the game station, and he claims him in good time, shivering at the warmth of his breath before tilting his head back just so, capturing his mouth with his again. It must be said that Noctis can never resist a kiss from him, the feel of that lovely cupid's bow pressed against his own inciting a potent pleasure that's so much like a drug. Ignis, after all, has never been one to express outward affection, and Noctis is all too happy to draw it out of him, the Pied Piper to all those repressed feelings. His open, genuine smile is hopelessly charming, Noctis thinks, and he wonders who's charmed whom after all. ]
I like knowing that you're actually terrible at something. [ He says against his lips when he pulls away slowly, George impatiently swishing its tail between their faces, impertinent in its quandary. ] That you're not absolutely, impeccably perfect at everything you do. Is that weird to say?
[ How Noctis falls for his flaws, real and imagined. ]
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[ After all, he's just been killed by aliens, and killed by Noct, too. They're talking a double-whammy KO here, completely disregarding all of his other, singularly terrible flaws, like his inability to chill or his patent desire to replace his entire bloodstream with coffee. He can get awfully cranky off-schedule, fusses like a nanny too harried to think straight, and leeches off these little moments of closeness with Noctis like this is what King Regis meant when entrusting him with his son, the very apple of his father's eye, but they get along well enough, otherwise.
Disingenuous to this tumult of a conversation is George, rolling and rolling about Noctis's lap when they take to kissing, and Ignis suns his mouth on the warmth of his mouth, filthy and perverse and entirely decadent the way stolen holidays are. His forearm's on the upholstery when he pressed his fingertips to Noctis's nape, skirting a few depraved inches up his collar, committing his backbone to memory.
The quandary current at hand is pet peeves, or something, while Noctis comes up with another reason to tear him down, but what he might not realize is that Ignis is rarely perfect at anything. It's all about compensating; three-fourths of his life devoted to pretending he knows more than he lets on, the last quarter given up to the fate that consigned him with the prince, what force twined their destinies together. ]
I absolutely can't stand cat hair, if that counts for a flaw. I'll need to arm every single one of your drawers with lint rollers if you have any desire of stalling my sharp decline into blubbering insanity.
[ He's flawed, just like this: smiling, smiling, over such a small happiness like spending time with Noctis. ]
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Smooth, really. But he knows. He knows the flaws that crack him open and finds them both frustrating and endearing all the same. One does not love a masterpiece the way they do a living, breathing person, rife with shortcomings and yet gleaming with a veneer of perfection, a collection of neuroses and quirks sealed under a dignified front. Noctis loves him fiercely, wholly, and in this moment he feels that with an incredible passion. Ignis life might be given over to the prince and the crown, but Noctis' heart is irretrievably his, already given before he even knew what love was.
He reaches out and runs his hand through Ignis' hair, carding through soft spikes and that impeccable coiffure, mussing it up just because he can. He leans languidly into his hand, as if allowing him free rein and full access, and he gently nudges George off his lap now, if only to climb into Ignis' and insinuate himself into his personal space, pressing warm and inviting against him. ]
Or you could just decide that you could live with cat hair.
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Couched in conciliation is the barely-veiled touch of Noctis's fingers over his hair, ruffling it to a state of eternal disrepair. As George is ousted with a plaintive meow and a shake of its head, he takes Noct's insinuation into his lap with stride, fingers dripping over his ribs and mapping the landscape of his lower back. ]
And show up before politicians with cat hair on my slacks from my tussle with your bedfellow? I'd never. Unlike certain members of royalty, I've a reputation to keep.
[ He's the prince's stand-in, after all, and any deficiency on his part reflects badly on Noctis. Casually, Ignis immerses his face just shy of the collar of Noctis's shirt, nose idly skimming across his collarbones. ]
I'm rather envious of George, cuddled so intimately by you. You scarcely allow me the same pleasure when we're both in bed and you've gone and dozed off.
[ You know, given how Noctis starfishes himself beneath the covers when he isn't trying to bodily hurl himself off the mattress in his sleep. ]
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The aches and pains from yesterday are swiftly forgotten, even the sprained ankle is relegated to the back of his mind in lieu of Ignis' warm attentions. He's wrapping his arms around him when he feels the way he nuzzles into his collarbone, and he thinks he would like this to last forever. Ignis is not usually the most demonstrative of men, nor the most tactile, his love exhibited through food, good-natured nagging, and the not-so-occasional burst of profound violence, as well as the summary reports, concise and clear, that always find their way to his desk every single day, come rain or shine.
He could make a list of all the ways Ignis shows love, but open affection like this is not his forte. But here, now, just for him, he's warm and loving and everything Noctis revels in, delighted by his amorous overtures. He's peppering kisses to the crown of his head, trying not to sneeze when the stray spikes of his hair tickle his nose. Fair enough, really, his sleeping habits leave a lot to be desired. Making a soft noise of amusement, he comments. ]
Maybe you just need to get me from behind. [ He smirks. ] Or kiss me behind the ears. I could be persuaded to be cuddled by you, you know.
[ Probably, he's not sure how that works out when he's sleeping, but he does remember a memorable moment when he'd absently swatted his lover away, and had fallen off the bed for his troubles. Damn it, that still hurt to think about, especially when his head hit the tile. Turns out, blanket burritos can only protect so much. ]
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Lure you in with a few conniving tricks? There's an idea.
[ Another kiss, greeting his body again. His hand is sloping down his temple and he mouths over that next, lips trailing over every slim finger, then he tugs himself up from the cradle made of Noctis's hands to besot the cartilage of Noct's ears. ]
But well, I've tried that. Kissing you right here. [ He pecks them, breathing a hot line down the shell. ] You don't like them touched when you're asleep, actually. I think you'll know I'll take advantage of them.
[ And oftentimes Ignis does, like the reason he'd been swatted away in the first place during that exercise in futility. Just like now, actually, licking at the cartilage, teething bites down the pink shell of it until they bear the marks of his transgressions. ]
Regardless, you're in luck. I could be persuaded to cuddle you right now.
[ Even if they aren't unconscious, his fingers held snug around Noctis's waist, holding him steady as he studiously mistreats one ear, then the next, breathing hotly over the marks with any shiver that happens to ripple through his Highness. ]
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He's leaning into his touch, coming undone. It should be embarrassing, really, how easily Ignis finds all his weaknesses and lovingly exploits them, but the heat of his breath over his ear is a master stroke of seduction and Noctis loses the train of his thought, teeth and tongue inciting a fierce arousal that takes his breath away. They shouldn't be getting hot and heavy with a cat in the living room -- what would George think? He would be permanently scarred and lose his faith in humanity as a whole, or something. But tucked right here in the circle of his arms, feeling those glorious soft lips pressed so lightly against his neck, and he swears Ignis can feel the way his pulse skips just for him.
His hand coming up to curl through Ignis' hair, curving over the back of his head, making as if to keep his chamberlain here in his arms, at the mercy of his overflowing affection. He basks in the other man's gentleness, and he presses his lips to the side of his head with a low, pleased moan. ] Or should I demand that you take me to bed and cuddle me? And if you're lucky -- [ He gently tugs on his hair. ] -- I'll let you into the burrito.
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What a tantalizing prospect. Folded into the duvet just in time for you to send us both asunder. [ Down on the ground and rollicking with the tile from another one of Noctis's sleep-induced tumbles, what a wild time. Ignis's mouth settles over the bob of his Adam's apple, soft into the throat. ] My king is a generous one. A favor would be in my best interests, I think. Those usually imply a degree of mutuality. A good deed to be reciprocated, if you will.
[ So let him be stalwart on cashing in on that solid Noct'll do him later when he sweeps his Highness's legs to one side, hooking an arm beneath, and neatly hoists him up in his arms. And now he's held hostage from properly walking, a victim of his chamberlain's whims; George plaintively meows around Ignis's ankles, swishing irreverently around as he tucks the prince to his chest, mouth curved up just so. ]
You're a lucky man to be loved so much by animals. I'd chalk it down to that charismatic air about you.
[ It's the same one that has George trying for a last-minute save as he tows Noctis over the threshold and toward the bedroom for a safe and easy landing on the mattress. ]
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He's startled when Ignis lifts him, the heat of his eager mouth lingering on his Adam's apple still, and he finds himself clinging to his neck when the couch falls away and he feels himself hefted into his arms like a particularly blue-blooded sack of potatoes. He can see those muscles flex under that fitting shirt; Ignis is no Gladio (he swears the muscles that man has has a life of its own), but he's still impressive in his own right, with a solid, broad chest he finds himself pressed up against, a willing and flustered hostage in his arms. ] Whoa, hey --
[ He's pretty sure dudes don't carry other dudes that way! But Six, it feels good, and he can feel his cheeks flush a dull, abiding pink, the tips of his ears reddening violently in ways that both have nothing and absolutely everything to do with Ignis and his proclivity for reducing princes to an incorrigible mess, warmed from the inside out by his relentless charm. But Noctis, see, is nothing if not resilient, reaching out to push the door shut behind them before George can slip in. Sorry, he thinks apologetically, oblivious to the war brewing under his nose and Ignis' forceful reclamation of his territory. After all, he was here first.
He lands on the mattress, but his arms locked around Ignis ensures that the man comes down after him -- mutually assured affection at its finest. Leaning back against his pillows, he loosens only to trace his fingers over the line of his buttons. ]
So what does that make you? [ He asks with a slow, lazy smile; being loved by animals is an enjoyable burden to bear, but to be the recipient of Ignis' attention, his love and loyalty, that means more than anything in the world. Dad would frown upon him for having thoughts like these, he knows, but it's too late to turn back now. ] Which wild animal are you, Iggy?
[ His fingers trace absently over the prints in his shirt, small and classy but still strikingly, elegantly fashionable. Noctis won't be surprised if he finds that people in the Citadel consider his style worth emulating. ] A leopard, tiger, or a jaguar?
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Fronting like this is an easy preoccupation as long as Noctis remains muddled in his grasp, lithely stretching out on the pillows, but then he's beaming up a rainstormā€” the thunder of Noct's smile splitting his lips first, and that lightning-struck dazedness that comes after Ignis when he tips his head with the prince trapped in the confines of his reaching hands. No gloves hinder that contact, skin on skin; he'd made a point to remove them in his apartment, if just for the indelicacy of pressing Noctis to his side, palm gliding along the soft heap of black hair where it's fallen over his forehead. ]
I must confess I've much preferred foxes.
[ The sly, sneaky sort with black rings around their eyes, in particular; if that's in any way indicative of him as a person, pretending to be one animal and caricaturing as another, he wouldn't know. Any higher thinking beyond the slow volley of Noctis's fingers tracing burn-warm over the side pocket and the heinousness of leopard print. Cheek against the pillow, he presses his fingers up to the smile cutting up the angle of Noctis's mouth, lingering at the corner with deep gentleness. ]
I'll have you bake a cake with me as payment for your antics. Tiramisu with enough chocolate ganache to make even you renounce sweets forevermore. You'll need to hobble quick to evade my sugar-laden clutches.
[ Turns out this was all a backhanded plan to indoctrinate vegetables into Noctis's sumptuously saccharine-heavy diet, sorry. He's the sort of insidious villain that can't help spilling his equally underhanded plans, his hand coming flat against Noct's lower jaw. As a wild animal, being feral enough to tuck Noct to his side, tempering the fickleness. When it comes to taking the high ground, Ignis is morally defunct; there's no expecting any good out of an adviser who would draw Noctis into a kiss along his temple that condenses those several long hours he's spent worrying over someone's busted ankle into a couple of seconds before releasing him, quiet and satisfied. ]
I love you dearly, Noct. Please don't make me worry too relentlessly over you. It's quite horrid on the heart.
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It's the only thing that's light, being loved by Ignis, a reprieve in a world full of thorns and brambles, loaded with peril along the way; but he's not alone when he's with Ignis, and he finds himself intoxicated by the warmth of his finger along his lips, tracing over his lower jaw as Noctis basks in it, contented as a cat. George, the real cat in the household now, ceases its petulant temper tantrum and settles for insistent meowing.
Noctis, unfortunately, only has eyes and ears for his charming boyfriend, shifting to kiss the palm of his hand briefly before he's unbuttoning Ignis' shirt. Ignis is all remarkably handsome and put-together and all, but Noctis' favorite look on him is half-undone, well on the way to sharing passion and being painstakingly taken apart, rendered at Noctis' mercy not because he's his prince, but because the man in him wants to be. The younger man expects all sorts of amorous attentions -- none of them affiliated with decency, and he sighs when Ignis releases him, sweet and satisfied after informing him about the toll due (Noctis' capacity for sweets know no bounds, and Ignis plays a dangerous game). But he doesn't release Ignis, instead sliding an arm around his waist to keep him close, grinning with all the warmth of a summer storm, mercurial and playful. ]
Tell me again how you took them out.
[ A play by play, if you will; because Ignis certainly didn't let his worry get in the way when he'd discarded just about everything to come to Noctis' aid, as ferocious as a wolf amongst hyenas, tearing into them with a savagery that Noctis only dimly remembers. Laying soft kisses downwards to stop over his heart as if it's a thing that's needs soothing after last night's shenanigans, Noctis continues quietly. ]
I think your heart's a strong, sturdy thing. [ And I love you, too. So much. He nuzzles at him, ultimately unhelpful in his next assessment even if his words are impossibly fond. ] You do know you have to worry less, right?
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[ That'll come back to devour him, sooner or later, making blanket statements like predicting his own downfall. But it's like a dream here, nestled with Noctis while he takes to carefully ransacking his shirt like he prefers him some level of debauched. Ignis remains half-immersed in the kingdom that's made of Noctis where he's laid up next to him, half on the mattress.
The kisses fluted down his chest are small, ticklish little bouts of fancy, ones that tremor and shudder through him, and he reaches just to raise Noctis's face from pouring his attentions onto his body and instead rubbing across his nose with his own. Just an eskimo kiss, enough to get him from calling out the truth that his heart isn't so fragile, that it's just his love for Noct that has him rushing in and causing a storm where calling the authorities would've suited his purposes much better. ]
Braggarts never make it anywhere decent, you know.
[ And fighting a bunch of hoodlums in some nondescript alleyway shouldn't count as sound logic, but then self-righteous monologues don't seem to hold up to snuff when placed underneath a magnifying lens. His fingers slope along Noctis's neck, meandering down until they reach his collarbones, then sternum, then sit right above his heart, feeling out the heartbeat thrumming beneath the cage of rib and sinew and flesh. ]
Besides that, all I could focus on was you, hunched by the dumpster and fending off several men with your bare fists alone. What an inspiring sight you were, abstaining from magic to protect your father's reputationā€” or perhaps you were far too intoxicated to summon your Armiger. What else could I do but follow in my liege's stead?
[ Like a man to fixed to his routines to be steered off-course, even in the face of destruction. His love for Noctis well outlasts self-preservation, and he rests his cheek to the pillow, gazing with the reverence of a man restored his sight after ten years of bleak darkness. ]
I do dimly recall smashing in a man's face to make it to you. I can only hope that his recovery is a speedy one. [ There's only so much he can do otherwise, persevering in the face of necessary evils like concussing Noct's assailants in lieu of beating them within an inch of their lives. ] If you promise to look after yourself better, I'll rest much easier.
[ So cough up the confession, your esteemed Highness, while he takes to brazenly making out with Noctis, pursuing the corners of his lips out of sheer instinct. ]
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[ There's something primitive about every single one of them, no matter how evolved and dignified they boast of themselves to be. There will always be a seed of savagery, buried deep inside, that revels in the concept of violence for the sake of them -- it's couched as a lover's passion, the inspiration behind more than its fair share of love songs; it's an animal instinct, sure as they come, hidden away in plain sight because it's just not nice to talk about it. That primitive part lights up with pleasure and delight, stoked in being fought over, fought for; the reason behind the swift violence Ignis enacts with terrifying brutality and efficiency. Noctis doesn't hide this from him, eyes gleaming and dark as he summarizes the night's recollections, heart racing by his lover's heroics. ]
You're brave, fierce, wonderful --
[ He shouldn't have been doing that, they all know it -- it would be wiser to call up law enforcement, to deal with it the civilised, proper war; but people are not all civilised and proper all of the time, and Noctis appreciates the lapse in Ignis' judgement as much as his own, a delightful reflection of primal instincts, logic given way to emotion.
His fingers coming up to trace over his cheek, his jaw, his chin, Noctis' gaze is fervid, his mouth finding his before he's rolling Ignis onto his back, the sweetest confession on his lips. Hands come to undo the buttons of Ignis' shirt, splaying sleekly over his stomach, his chest, shoving it off his shoulders. ]
-- and you're going to get everywhere with me. [ Even sweeter still, his free hand sliding down to curve between Ignis' legs. ] Should I help you rest easy tonight?
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[ Back on the mattress, he's savage, he's a person who's let his goodwill get abducted away by self-absorption, an egotist absorbed with only the tinny matters of his own heart as they concern Noctis. Every ounce of his compassion for others has strained down to pulp; he doesn't have a single inch of generosity to spare for anyone else when he's went and spent it all on his king.
Noctis raises himself above the world, lavishing compliments on him like brute force is something to be celebrated, and in the kingdom of blankets and cushions, Ignis shakes his head in ridicule; there's a certain ludicrousness to peeling away his dress shirt when Noctis's eyes are striped in the sort of ferocity that forces obedience, chest bared, legs spread just so. ]
I'd much rather ride you all the way to exhaustion. [ Longing compels his teasing to turn despicable, hand lounging just so on Noctis's sternum before mimicking the gesture, spanning flat along his abdomen. ] Although I'd settle for cuddling you into a tizzy, if worse comes to worst.
[ And isn't that the weirdest threat he's ever made, his face tingling with the ghosting presence of Noctis on him before he drags him down, palming all along him, rucking up his shirt. ]
Any complaints?
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[ Noctis breathes, overwhelmed by intent, spurred on by his passion. Noctis lavishes compliments on Ignis because it's his due, because he has done so much more than he has ever imagined. Back on the mattress here, Ignis is all Noctis has ever desired, generous and warm and ferocious, and Noctis hoards his generosity and kindness for himself, as if all of Ignis is his birthright.
He's leaning into his touch with a pleased little shiver, taking to his teasing and savoring it like the finest wine. Ignis intoxicates, overwhelms his senses, and he pauses only to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it over his shoulder. He's greedy for his chamberlain's attention, jealously selfish and yearning, lifting himself only to tug on the older man's trousers. ]
Pants off. I want you naked. We can cuddle stupidly after I have you.
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You know, I'm still on-the-fence with whether or not you deserve that much after all the bother you've put me through.
[ The garbled drunk call, the drive through the streets, the erupting fight with all the poor souls who'd thought the prince inept instead of drunkenly impaired. What an evening. But here he is, relenting to it with deathly composure, unraveling his pants from their crinkled state and down from each knee, tugging them off with due stride so they end up estranged somewhere by the end of the mattress.
There's no bothering with the rest of his garments, though, since none of that spiel was an order when he swoops down for that stupid cuddling an hour too early than Noct's probably intended. He's a devious one, tucking Noct against him, but only in jest. ]
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[ Noctis informs him bluntly, the events that transpired the past night already mostly dissipating from memory. The advantage of not being a chronic overthinker like Ignis: what's done is over, out of sight and out of mind. Noctis doesn't brood over this, too, the fact that they're essentially doing something terribly forbidden -- he's pretty sure Dad didn't intend for them to develop a relationship like this, but stranger things have happened, right? Stranger things than princes falling for their accomplished, too-handsome chamberlains have happened. Like a rain of frogs, for example.
Noctis claims Ignis love like it's his birthright; which isn't wrong when he's coveted it ever since they both had first met in the throne room, and Noctis had been barely more than a precocious toddler, lighting up at the sight of Ignis, and grasping his hand like he's a lifeline. Now, he's busy helping Ignis to shuck his pants off, and Noctis forgets all about the ache of his sprain.
His hand reaches down, pressing wicked, questing fingers between his legs, lower, lower, slipping between both cheeks to press at that familiar, puckered little rim that Noctis is always amazed manages to take his cock inside of him. ]
Mmm. Because think about having me inside you. Fucking you into exhaustion. We can call out for pizza after that.
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