[ 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 couldβ run this deep, but I can safely say all the blame rests squarelyβ 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
[ 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 couldβ run this deep, but I can safely say all the blame rests squarelyβ 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.