[ And Noct's pulling the trigger on his self-control, setting off that stupid grin that rises unannounced on him, smug like he's the one in control, even after he'd gone and brought this crime of passion on himself. If there are devils around, they're jumping his back right nowโ he's like a man bewitched or possessed, watching Noctis as his cheek skims over his shoulder, fingers lounging in his lap. His voice punctures his concentration in its call, beneath it that flicker of adrenaline running through. He's got enough air in his lungs to squeeze out a reply, afterwards, legs spread just so. ]
If only.
[ Being barbaric better left for other people, but he's no less receptive, ankle twitching just so when Noctis pinches at his thigh. Concentration fits to his hands, one by the base, the other by the head of his cock. The ministrations themselves are slow, but Ignis's gaze, flicked up to meet Noct, isn't, when it's cast back down to pay scrutiny to the crass art of jerking himself off.
Over these ten years, he's missed Noctis terriblyโ to the point of piningโ but it might be worse still like this near to his king, fingertips ghosting by his knees as his hands take to himself, instead. The friction's only an issue in the beginning, with his hands falling short of chafing at himself. Assiduousness comes afterwards, languid with the strokes as the initial discomfort wears off; Noctis might be staring at him with a mortifying laser-point focus, but this isn't anymore extreme than nearly dying for his sake or swearing the entirety of his life to the king's service, so he'll live, palming at himself until the heat he's generated grows irascible, then further beyond that. Pardon his sighs as they elongate, breathy on the exhale. ]
[ It's not all that crass when it's Ignis, when Noctis cannot bring himself to look away from the way he strokes himself -- it's an art form, what he does with his own cock, and a part of him wonders if this is what Ignis does on his own, in the privacy of his room, quiet and empty, left to his own devices. What does he think about when he touches himself?
Noctis rocks back on his heels, affording him space when curiosity gets the better of lurid desires, voyeurism still in full, heated swing. He treasures how his breathing changes, sweet sighs threaded into every exhale, giving life to wistfulness and want, and Noctis' mouth is dry. He relishes his submission, his obedience a special sort of intoxication that Noctis can get used to. He presses soft kisses on the inside of his thigh now, soothing over the little pinch after getting comfortably between his legs, lavishly affectionate.
He doesn't touch his cock, not yet -- there is value in drawing out the hunt, stirring up anticipation, Noctis learns that better than anyone else where Ignis is concerned. He is a man to be discovered in degrees, loved in measures, adored and wholly worthy of attention. But the important thing is this, what is he like on his own, when he's not in Noctis' bed? ]
Show me how you get off when you're on your own. [ He says at last, pulling back again only to let him have his space, if not freedom. ] What do you think about?
Ten years, and the abstraction of it hasn't become anymore precise. The passage of time is acute on him; the age is in his bones, the certain lack of sprightliness he had ten years before in Noctis's entourage, counting down the hours, or the last moment he'd seen Noctis. What came after wasn't all that erotic as opposed to desperate, the haunted wait and all the hours that came between the highs of pleasure and the lows of despair after, fear cut up and partitioned only when left entirely to his own devices.
But that's no longer the case, when Noct's returned looking every bit twenty years old again, and he's scarcely had enough time to want for anything like masturbation when he finds himself in Noct's bed, and the servants scatter clear of the area to afford them their privacy. A whole wing to themselves, Noctis. It's the height of debauchery. ]
For ritual ablutions, or in my own spare time?
[ Just joking. His hand briefly twitches where it's collapsed around him, where he'd rather just gather Noctis to him and span fingers through his hair, afford him the fondness he'd sorely missed this last decade. Instead, he trains his gaze on the cut of his shirt as clung to Noctis's body, how the blocky material hides the curves of his body, voluptuous and only barely, barely modest. ]
I think a frankly absurd amount about the person I love. [ You brat. Ignis's head readjusts from its slant along his shoulder as Noct pulls up some. ] More specifically, what I'd like to do to him as soon as he's caught unawares. He's frightfully pretty when he's dozing off on the bed we share.
[ His strokes take a turn toward generous, framed just so, bold down the shaft. ]
I think about the way I'd like to take him apart, though he does a good job of dismantling me in a similar manner. It's all very messy. [ And he's glancing up through his lashes, eyes soft, expression softer. ] Might I ask you the same?
[ Despite appearances, Noctis is not immune to Ignis' charms. He's hopelessly drawn to every elegant movement, to the way the older man opens up like a flower under him, those long, long fingers stroking his cock, sleek and bold and everything he's ever desired. This is even better his most lurid, unbridled fantasies, and Noctis moves over him, loosely straddling his hips so he's afforded a much better view. It takes all the self-discipline that he has not to reach down to clasp his hand, but he allows himself to be undone with Ignis' sweet words all the same.
The gentle joke doesn't go unnoticed, and he supposes that he's one of the very few people who can truly appreciate his lover's terrible sense of humor -- it really is awful, and he doesn't care. It's Ignis, and no matter how often he drives him up the wall, everything about him is precious, treasured, wanted.
His shirt rides up now, exposing the thick slant of his cock, flushed dark and hard -- his arousal Ignis' own doing. It's the soft green of his eyes, the tender expression that speaks more than even the most fervent verbal confession of love. Ignis is doing this for him, and he reaches down now, curling his hand over himself, guiding his cock up against Ignis' own, gently nudging so that their hands can wrap around both their shafts, the sweetness of initial friction sending a shiver up his spine.
This, he thinks. This is more than what he's asked for, and there is everything profoundly intoxicating about knowing that they've both earned this, making up for ten years of lost time. He softens, leaning down to kiss his mouth. ] I think of kissing you, again and again. [ He murmurs heatedly against his full, parted lips, as if Ignis could swallow his words if he tried, stroking both their cocks in long, slow pulls. ]
I think of taking you apart slow and tender, when I press myself onto you and watch you slide all the way up inside. I think of the mess we make, and how I'm happy to make it with you every time. [ Just as soft, his lips finding his way to his jaw. ] And then I think of how lucky I am to be loved by the most beautiful man in the world. The smartest -- the most loyal -- [ Every word uttered, punctuated by a deliberate, hard stroke. ] -- and how I love him so.
[ Catch Ignis dying under this cerebral monologue. A decade's gone by, and he's still the worst at keeping any kind of tact when Noct's lavishing praise on him, forcing his hand without lifting a finger. For Noctis's sake, he's going to pretend at composure when he's shook to his core by him. Even ruefulness comes and goes, gasps taking a breathy tenor as Noctis's mouth works up from jawline to cheekbone. ]
I sound no better than the common housepet.
[ Oh, but he's like a dog right now, inexorably beholden to his owner, following his whims out of sheer affection. The collar's a blatant sign of possession, but he was mesmerized long before they opted for kinky foreplay in the bedroom. This is a long time comingโ this is the culmination of living ten years through Noct's absence, knowing full well he'd failed to protect him. ]
Shouldn't I have a say in this? It doesn't seem very fair that I can't very well hold a candle to your brand of flattery.
[ Even with his fingers prying in and out and in, stirring his words into hoarseness. He's a masochist, alright. ]
Even though I love a man like no other. One that defies description. More than anything, I'd wantโ [ And here Ignis's breathing stutters into raggedness, as he's stroked into heated disrepair. ] โyou to take me apart. Only you. I'm already at my limit.
[ The laugh that ensues is rushingly loud, emphatic, the sort given when everything's gone down the shitter. Looks like he's a glutton for annihilation at his lover's hands, above all else. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If only.
[ Being barbaric better left for other people, but he's no less receptive, ankle twitching just so when Noctis pinches at his thigh. Concentration fits to his hands, one by the base, the other by the head of his cock. The ministrations themselves are slow, but Ignis's gaze, flicked up to meet Noct, isn't, when it's cast back down to pay scrutiny to the crass art of jerking himself off.
Over these ten years, he's missed Noctis terriblyโ to the point of piningโ but it might be worse still like this near to his king, fingertips ghosting by his knees as his hands take to himself, instead. The friction's only an issue in the beginning, with his hands falling short of chafing at himself. Assiduousness comes afterwards, languid with the strokes as the initial discomfort wears off; Noctis might be staring at him with a mortifying laser-point focus, but this isn't anymore extreme than nearly dying for his sake or swearing the entirety of his life to the king's service, so he'll live, palming at himself until the heat he's generated grows irascible, then further beyond that. Pardon his sighs as they elongate, breathy on the exhale. ]
no subject
Noctis rocks back on his heels, affording him space when curiosity gets the better of lurid desires, voyeurism still in full, heated swing. He treasures how his breathing changes, sweet sighs threaded into every exhale, giving life to wistfulness and want, and Noctis' mouth is dry. He relishes his submission, his obedience a special sort of intoxication that Noctis can get used to. He presses soft kisses on the inside of his thigh now, soothing over the little pinch after getting comfortably between his legs, lavishly affectionate.
He doesn't touch his cock, not yet -- there is value in drawing out the hunt, stirring up anticipation, Noctis learns that better than anyone else where Ignis is concerned. He is a man to be discovered in degrees, loved in measures, adored and wholly worthy of attention. But the important thing is this, what is he like on his own, when he's not in Noctis' bed? ]
Show me how you get off when you're on your own. [ He says at last, pulling back again only to let him have his space, if not freedom. ] What do you think about?
no subject
Ten years, and the abstraction of it hasn't become anymore precise. The passage of time is acute on him; the age is in his bones, the certain lack of sprightliness he had ten years before in Noctis's entourage, counting down the hours, or the last moment he'd seen Noctis. What came after wasn't all that erotic as opposed to desperate, the haunted wait and all the hours that came between the highs of pleasure and the lows of despair after, fear cut up and partitioned only when left entirely to his own devices.
But that's no longer the case, when Noct's returned looking every bit twenty years old again, and he's scarcely had enough time to want for anything like masturbation when he finds himself in Noct's bed, and the servants scatter clear of the area to afford them their privacy. A whole wing to themselves, Noctis. It's the height of debauchery. ]
For ritual ablutions, or in my own spare time?
[ Just joking. His hand briefly twitches where it's collapsed around him, where he'd rather just gather Noctis to him and span fingers through his hair, afford him the fondness he'd sorely missed this last decade. Instead, he trains his gaze on the cut of his shirt as clung to Noctis's body, how the blocky material hides the curves of his body, voluptuous and only barely, barely modest. ]
I think a frankly absurd amount about the person I love. [ You brat. Ignis's head readjusts from its slant along his shoulder as Noct pulls up some. ] More specifically, what I'd like to do to him as soon as he's caught unawares. He's frightfully pretty when he's dozing off on the bed we share.
[ His strokes take a turn toward generous, framed just so, bold down the shaft. ]
I think about the way I'd like to take him apart, though he does a good job of dismantling me in a similar manner. It's all very messy. [ And he's glancing up through his lashes, eyes soft, expression softer. ] Might I ask you the same?
no subject
[ Despite appearances, Noctis is not immune to Ignis' charms. He's hopelessly drawn to every elegant movement, to the way the older man opens up like a flower under him, those long, long fingers stroking his cock, sleek and bold and everything he's ever desired. This is even better his most lurid, unbridled fantasies, and Noctis moves over him, loosely straddling his hips so he's afforded a much better view. It takes all the self-discipline that he has not to reach down to clasp his hand, but he allows himself to be undone with Ignis' sweet words all the same.
The gentle joke doesn't go unnoticed, and he supposes that he's one of the very few people who can truly appreciate his lover's terrible sense of humor -- it really is awful, and he doesn't care. It's Ignis, and no matter how often he drives him up the wall, everything about him is precious, treasured, wanted.
His shirt rides up now, exposing the thick slant of his cock, flushed dark and hard -- his arousal Ignis' own doing. It's the soft green of his eyes, the tender expression that speaks more than even the most fervent verbal confession of love. Ignis is doing this for him, and he reaches down now, curling his hand over himself, guiding his cock up against Ignis' own, gently nudging so that their hands can wrap around both their shafts, the sweetness of initial friction sending a shiver up his spine.
This, he thinks. This is more than what he's asked for, and there is everything profoundly intoxicating about knowing that they've both earned this, making up for ten years of lost time. He softens, leaning down to kiss his mouth. ] I think of kissing you, again and again. [ He murmurs heatedly against his full, parted lips, as if Ignis could swallow his words if he tried, stroking both their cocks in long, slow pulls. ]
I think of taking you apart slow and tender, when I press myself onto you and watch you slide all the way up inside. I think of the mess we make, and how I'm happy to make it with you every time. [ Just as soft, his lips finding his way to his jaw. ] And then I think of how lucky I am to be loved by the most beautiful man in the world. The smartest -- the most loyal -- [ Every word uttered, punctuated by a deliberate, hard stroke. ] -- and how I love him so.
no subject
I sound no better than the common housepet.
[ Oh, but he's like a dog right now, inexorably beholden to his owner, following his whims out of sheer affection. The collar's a blatant sign of possession, but he was mesmerized long before they opted for kinky foreplay in the bedroom. This is a long time comingโ this is the culmination of living ten years through Noct's absence, knowing full well he'd failed to protect him. ]
Shouldn't I have a say in this? It doesn't seem very fair that I can't very well hold a candle to your brand of flattery.
[ Even with his fingers prying in and out and in, stirring his words into hoarseness. He's a masochist, alright. ]
Even though I love a man like no other. One that defies description. More than anything, I'd wantโ [ And here Ignis's breathing stutters into raggedness, as he's stroked into heated disrepair. ] โyou to take me apart. Only you. I'm already at my limit.
[ The laugh that ensues is rushingly loud, emphatic, the sort given when everything's gone down the shitter. Looks like he's a glutton for annihilation at his lover's hands, above all else. ]