[ Probably! This whole tangent he's gone off on is a self-defeating prophecy, talking in circles about praise and reciprocity when he wouldn't refuse Noct of anything. It doesn't take sweet words and the soft grip of his fingers on him lacing to keep Ignis grounded; it's all that Noct is that compels him to cede, boyish and brilliant and utterly transfixing. Something in the prince's nature that keeps Ignis so besotted even when he's stranded his knees on the ground, mouth sickled into a smile. ]
I know. You're more affectionate than I rightly deserve.
[ The ruse: how calm he's playing his devotion off when he replaces his hand with his mouth, pretending at emotional repose when he's a man harangued by love. Give it a second and he'll be driven half-mad when Noct's delicate, fine-boned fingers wrap around him to jerk him off, messy and unbefitting of any future king, and Ignis's no-nonsense pragmatism slips off for laughter, pulled off and away from him so he doesn't start choking on the utter ridiculousness of it all. ]
You know you'll have to contend with three cups of Ebony, Noct.
[ The acrid, crushed taste he's imbibed over the course of the day and how Ignis has only staved off coffee breath by picking up a dental hygienist's habits, but he readily obeys, pulling himself up to his feet. Against his palms, the fabric of Noct's shirt is a sense-memory he's all too acquainted with (his face was tucked up against it just the evening prior, curled around the body it swathed in his sleep) and Ignis pulls Noctis into the kiss, their mouths brushing to stick when he leans in.
Another slow inhale, and Noct should be able to detect how the muscles in his arm bunch up when he sneaks an arm around the small of his waist to keep him from retreating. The nudity's a bit of a spin on their usual kiss-and-tell, causing him to flush from the shoulders up, but it's hard to justify tossing on the button-up that Noct's so surreptitiously removed when he's seen him naked countless times before. Best just save any regrets for the morning after, when he's got the time to gripe and bemoan looking anything less than modest. ]
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I know. You're more affectionate than I rightly deserve.
[ The ruse: how calm he's playing his devotion off when he replaces his hand with his mouth, pretending at emotional repose when he's a man harangued by love. Give it a second and he'll be driven half-mad when Noct's delicate, fine-boned fingers wrap around him to jerk him off, messy and unbefitting of any future king, and Ignis's no-nonsense pragmatism slips off for laughter, pulled off and away from him so he doesn't start choking on the utter ridiculousness of it all. ]
You know you'll have to contend with three cups of Ebony, Noct.
[ The acrid, crushed taste he's imbibed over the course of the day and how Ignis has only staved off coffee breath by picking up a dental hygienist's habits, but he readily obeys, pulling himself up to his feet. Against his palms, the fabric of Noct's shirt is a sense-memory he's all too acquainted with (his face was tucked up against it just the evening prior, curled around the body it swathed in his sleep) and Ignis pulls Noctis into the kiss, their mouths brushing to stick when he leans in.
Another slow inhale, and Noct should be able to detect how the muscles in his arm bunch up when he sneaks an arm around the small of his waist to keep him from retreating. The nudity's a bit of a spin on their usual kiss-and-tell, causing him to flush from the shoulders up, but it's hard to justify tossing on the button-up that Noct's so surreptitiously removed when he's seen him naked countless times before. Best just save any regrets for the morning after, when he's got the time to gripe and bemoan looking anything less than modest. ]