[ 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.
[ Reflex is quick than terror or sensibility; he rolls his head back, eying him, gaze a complacent footnote to his pulse as it rolls and rolls about in his chest, convinced with battering itself to a pulp against his ribs. Acknowledging the mercilessness that Noct's capable of comes as easy as clamping a hand around Noctis's sprained ankle while they're jostling about on the mattress, rucking up the sheets, making a casualty of the pillows that go overboard.
Part of him will always be committed to ceding to Noctis's whims even when he asserts pressure just above the bandages he laid down himself, warning him of the dangers of too much weight applied to one foot. The pain that'll come raining down after, if he forgets: all the price of too much goodness in him, unable to ignore anyone in need of help. One of these days, that generosity's certain to kill Noct. Staving off the inevitable is just about the best Ignis can do underneath these terrible circumstances, even if the situation is hardly dire.
And it's kind of ridiculous, the boxed-in torture of his pulse coming down to nothing when Noctis eases a finger between his legs and he hooks his legs around the small of his waist, cauterizing the moment even as the ferociousness continues thrumming away. ]
Thatβ can be arranged. [ A pause ensues, a minor reprieve when his voice stutters along like his calves clumsily tuck around the smooth lines of Noctis's frame. ] As long as you let me pick the toppings.
[ Like he's got nothing to say about sex as much as he can order a vegan pizza with enough antioxidants to steer Noct off the effort; he'll bend if the king should assert his rights for absolute power (dialing up the local pizzeria for something that'll congest every artery in his body and then some). Underneath the borrowed warmth of Noctis's body, he's sounding congested and huffy, but he gathers up his hesitation and splits it right down the middle, pressing a palm to the knuckles of the hand between his legs, adjusting it to take on a crasser rhythm, in and out and in. ]
I'd always thought you to be a man of action, Noct.
[ And hell if that isn't the most cavalier thing that's ever passed his mouth with Noctis's fingers prying him wide open. ]
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no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
Part of him will always be committed to ceding to Noctis's whims even when he asserts pressure just above the bandages he laid down himself, warning him of the dangers of too much weight applied to one foot. The pain that'll come raining down after, if he forgets: all the price of too much goodness in him, unable to ignore anyone in need of help. One of these days, that generosity's certain to kill Noct. Staving off the inevitable is just about the best Ignis can do underneath these terrible circumstances, even if the situation is hardly dire.
And it's kind of ridiculous, the boxed-in torture of his pulse coming down to nothing when Noctis eases a finger between his legs and he hooks his legs around the small of his waist, cauterizing the moment even as the ferociousness continues thrumming away. ]
Thatβ can be arranged. [ A pause ensues, a minor reprieve when his voice stutters along like his calves clumsily tuck around the smooth lines of Noctis's frame. ] As long as you let me pick the toppings.
[ Like he's got nothing to say about sex as much as he can order a vegan pizza with enough antioxidants to steer Noct off the effort; he'll bend if the king should assert his rights for absolute power (dialing up the local pizzeria for something that'll congest every artery in his body and then some). Underneath the borrowed warmth of Noctis's body, he's sounding congested and huffy, but he gathers up his hesitation and splits it right down the middle, pressing a palm to the knuckles of the hand between his legs, adjusting it to take on a crasser rhythm, in and out and in. ]
I'd always thought you to be a man of action, Noct.
[ And hell if that isn't the most cavalier thing that's ever passed his mouth with Noctis's fingers prying him wide open. ]