[ There's a reason why people shouldn't talk during sex -- all good sense goes out the window and all that's left is good-natured babbling, with Noctis more than anyone else. Ignis looks at him like he's a work of art, but he knows he's unworthy of such regard; the man is elegant, sleek and graceful, consuming him like a panther with prey, and Noctis, unwieldy and too eager, all sharp angles and rough corners, approaching this like he approaches a fight.
After all, there's not all that much difference when it comes to fighting and fucking, and so on. Far from inarticulate, Ignis seems to pull the requisite measure of seduction out his ass, rendering Noctis hapless to his charms all the same. He meets him halfway, enveloping Ignis into the clasp of his body, and he arches his neck to reveal his throat, feeling the heat of his lips against his pulse.
Oh, it's delicious, how Ignis fits so beautifully against him, in him, that his gasps punctuate every sleek, glorious thrust, filling him up and making his toes curl. He ruins him, of course he does; with every word, with every kiss, the prince forgets himself, giving himself over to Ignis, to press his heart against his own and to confess his own love in ragged whispers. He's leaning up to kiss him fully, guiding him to his lips as he presses his forehead to his helplessly. ]
Mnngh -- please...
[ So sweet, too sweet; oh, he will drown in him. ]
[ All the shrewdness in him bleeds out at once. Ignis can't help it, gutted first by that proprietary holdβ Noctis's iron-clad grip, spiking up to clutch and take him even furtherβ and then that guilelessness when running his resolve raw when he's met mid-thrust. Crushed fingers are a nascent possibility he doesn't bother entertaining even when he's tucked them to cradle around Noctis's lower back, tucked underneath his ribs and the sheer fabric spread thin over it. Sense-touch, while he's slouching low like he's in his death throes, coasting over mortality like he's coasting down Noct's throat with his lips.
The despicable man that Ignis is, the smile he affords that bared throat is tangibly felt when he's pressing his mouth so ardently, parodying so much of his fondly terrible humor. This is who you have to live with, your Highness. The happiness in him is climbing to absurd levels and only careening from there. It's only a free-fall from here on out. There's no doubting where Ignis's allegiance lies with the heavy affront of a kiss on his Adam's apple, legs braced either side of him. ]
You're lovelier than I can put to words. I absolutely detest it.
[ Of course. Feigning polite abhorrence won't keep Noctis from exploiting this loophole the next time he's gone and left his room in disarray. Averse to common sense, Ignis doesn't retreat when the warmth goes rampant, Noctis fit about him and clenching to snare, and his breathing cuts down to ribbons.
Inevitably, it's sweet. That alone is an unbelievably perverse thought to entertain when his dick's grinding against Noctis on every plunge forward, adrenaline on the rise. His mouth's impaired with the salt on Noct's skin, voice coming out thick and blurry on the next downswing. ]
Noctis. Don't look away. Keep your eyes trained on me.
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[ There's a reason why people shouldn't talk during sex -- all good sense goes out the window and all that's left is good-natured babbling, with Noctis more than anyone else. Ignis looks at him like he's a work of art, but he knows he's unworthy of such regard; the man is elegant, sleek and graceful, consuming him like a panther with prey, and Noctis, unwieldy and too eager, all sharp angles and rough corners, approaching this like he approaches a fight.
After all, there's not all that much difference when it comes to fighting and fucking, and so on. Far from inarticulate, Ignis seems to pull the requisite measure of seduction out his ass, rendering Noctis hapless to his charms all the same. He meets him halfway, enveloping Ignis into the clasp of his body, and he arches his neck to reveal his throat, feeling the heat of his lips against his pulse.
Oh, it's delicious, how Ignis fits so beautifully against him, in him, that his gasps punctuate every sleek, glorious thrust, filling him up and making his toes curl. He ruins him, of course he does; with every word, with every kiss, the prince forgets himself, giving himself over to Ignis, to press his heart against his own and to confess his own love in ragged whispers. He's leaning up to kiss him fully, guiding him to his lips as he presses his forehead to his helplessly. ]
Mnngh -- please...
[ So sweet, too sweet; oh, he will drown in him. ]
no subject
The despicable man that Ignis is, the smile he affords that bared throat is tangibly felt when he's pressing his mouth so ardently, parodying so much of his fondly terrible humor. This is who you have to live with, your Highness. The happiness in him is climbing to absurd levels and only careening from there. It's only a free-fall from here on out. There's no doubting where Ignis's allegiance lies with the heavy affront of a kiss on his Adam's apple, legs braced either side of him. ]
You're lovelier than I can put to words. I absolutely detest it.
[ Of course. Feigning polite abhorrence won't keep Noctis from exploiting this loophole the next time he's gone and left his room in disarray. Averse to common sense, Ignis doesn't retreat when the warmth goes rampant, Noctis fit about him and clenching to snare, and his breathing cuts down to ribbons.
Inevitably, it's sweet. That alone is an unbelievably perverse thought to entertain when his dick's grinding against Noctis on every plunge forward, adrenaline on the rise. His mouth's impaired with the salt on Noct's skin, voice coming out thick and blurry on the next downswing. ]
Noctis. Don't look away. Keep your eyes trained on me.