[ Question of the hour: where did Ignis put the key?
Noctis' deliberate once-over is carefully crafted to emulate desire -- although in all fairness it's really not difficult when Ignis is really, really sexy with sleeves carefully folded up to his elbows, muscles evident in the way he scrubs at a particularly stubborn patch by the window. Do all men look this desirable when doing housework? Because there should be an argument for those who look like Ignis to do it more often.
The difficult part is forcing himself not to be distracted by his older boyfriend's general comeliness, especially not by that lovely patch of skin left exposed a shirt that's less buttoned up than it normally is. In this moment, he contemplates the efficacy of tasteful glimpses of skin as compared to the strategy of upfront partial nudity. But it seems to be working, if the look Ignis gives him is anything to go by.
Really, when Noctis manages to divine the intentions behind this particular course of action, Noctis would lay the truth out for his corpse: there is only one man he would willingly stay encircled with, one man whose lap he would sink into and seduce in the same breath: that man is the man whose slow and painful death he's currently plotting. Noctis is calmly indifferent to Tiberius' advances not because he's unobservant or slow on the uptake: it's that all his attentions are mired in all that he's developing with Ignis, so moored to the older man that there is no space for anyone else. In short: Noctis isn't dropping his trousers for anyone but Ignis. And maybe the royal proctologist.
Of course, his taciturnity in the face of such advances translates to seemingly enabling the hijinks of a competitor, rousing a jealousy that has led to this. Which, really, should be partly Noctis' fault, whose strongest traits do not include the ability to communicate effectively. Anyway, he's approaching the minor tornado in a bid to discover a possible relationship between proximity and sexual appeal, a hunter casing his prey. ]
Nah, there's pizza in the fridge, I can heat it up. Join me.
[ But does Noct also think his lemon-yellow rubber gloves and equally eye-searing apron he's donned are just as attractive? Things to consider. The partially unbuttoned shirt is just a tactical choice when he hasn't abandoned his usual attire in favor of scouring away at the build-up of dirt just caked to the glass. Unintentionally, so in a way, a complete inverse to Noctis's concerted effort to lure him into his trap. Ignis can't help the slow pan down along Noctis's body, however briefly, because he's human and thus susceptible to very human needs and wants.
It's been difficult for him too, alright; he's not jonesing for sex in particular, but he'd relent to alleviating some of the burden if Noctis threw a hysterical fit and demanded release. It's not like the prince is wholly at fault, only that Tiberius is a sordid git who can't keep his hands off of Noct even when his target's lover is in the same room. Even more so when baking pies is an opportunity to lay another threat on the guy feeding him dessert like a glorified maid.
Mildly, Ignis tilts his head, then sets the squeeze bottle down on the coffee table, meticulously peeling off his gloves to join it. There's no attempt to remove his apron, though, since he'll go back to hosing down the place with sudsy water and determination soon enough. ]
Alright, if that's what you'd prefer.
[ While Noctis canvasses the distance and makes his calculations, Ignis makes a beeline for the fridge in search of that pizza. The refrigerator itself is always a sad affair with vegetables left to mildew in cold purgatory, ones he'll inevitably have to throw out before the infect the rest of the food, and he's already mentally preparing the trash disposal part of housecleaning on his agenda when he retrieves the couple of plated slices of pizza, greasy-looking under saran wrap, and casually sets it on the counter.
The answer to the question of the hour, however unspoken: the key's somewhere on his person, but god knows if he'll reveal where, exactly. ]
There doesn't seem to be much in the way of leftovers. What are your plans for lunch?
[ As a matter of fact, Noctis does think those things are quite attractive -- but only if he's wearing it. There's something really hot about a man confident enough to wear such egregiously awful things and who knows his way around household products, but the fact that he's not taking off his apron is tossing a spanner into the inner workings of Noctis' plan. Nevermind, he'll just have to frisk him when he gets close enough; he can't even pretend that that's any kind of hardship. ]
Specs, we haven't even had breakfast yet.
[ And he hasn't actually planned his day past getting Ignis to cough up the key no matter what. The prince yawns as he circles around to him, deciding to make himself useful. He peels the greasy saran wrap from the plates, combines the pizzas onto one plate, haphazardly leaves the greased wrap on the counter. Look, there is only so much domesticity that he can adopt, and he's doing his best. Shoving the plate loaded high with pizza slices into the microwave, he sets it to three minutes waits, leaning against the counter now. ]
But hey. I got nothing to do today. We could order in lunch. [ He says, not quite letting Ignis get at the abandoned saran wrap just yet, reaching out to tug him towards him by the front of his apron. Front pockets? Back pockets?
Back pockets. His hands come to surreptitiously slide down his back, waist, tucking into his back pockets. He's also stealing a chance to cop a feel of that ass -- one can always mix business with pleasure -- but disappointment ensues. No key. Great ass, firm as anything, but unfortunately empty. Damn it. ]
You know, I'm awfully fond of that nickname. You're the only one who calls me that.
[ It's a residual leftover from ages back, when they were both children and Noctis was a brazen boy who pegged his one defining trait as his glasses. They've outgrown some things, like the chase of children around the Citadel when he thought he could still salvage the prince's diet, or catch him before he slipped underneath the greenhouse atrium's hedges to explore the great outdoors, but he still calls him that, after all this time, like an old, sentimental relic of all the good times come rolling past. When Noct gets handsy, instilling himself with the infallibility of a deranged man and going right for his ass, Ignis patiently bides his time in the embrace until the search comes upā€” predictablyā€” empty. ]
You won't find the key tucked about there, unfortunately. Best work on your contingency plan.
[ And with a soft (he's not callous, he's well-aware of Noctis's needs) pat to his bottom, he cleanly disentangles himself, off to scour the dirt off of what few dishes remain in the sink. ]
One: the flicker of suspicion at that affectionate recolletion (despite the fact that Noctis is the one with less than stellar intentions here), does this lead up to something particularly aggravating? Ignis is too trusting while Noctis is too calm, tension coiling like a restless snake underneath his skin. He's aching, frustrated, and it's one of the best performances of his entire damn life. Which, of course, means that it frays just as rapidly -- he's not one predisposed to play-acting, it frays unreasonably on the nerves. They might have outgrown a lot of things, but Noctis hasn't yet outgrown the talent to do what it takes to get what he wants.
Two: what he wants, he isn't getting, and the easy foiling of his excellently (read: not) laid plans combined with that insufferably gentle pat to his bottom flicks a switch in him, sending all that pent up frustration and irascible nature up to the surface. He's practically boiling with it, too-calm exterior tossed aside in the face of failure as he stalks angrily towards him, finally giving over to all that's boiling inside him. Lips curled into an aggravated snarl, the 180 flip in disposition is immediate, amiability crumbling like a cheap suit: ]
Get it the fuck off me, Ignis, or I swear to the gods the next chance I get I'm tying you to the bed and leaving you there.
[ Oh, his prince is a prickly one. None of it placates that fury on his heels as chagrin filters in, then Noctis snaps his jaw, unholy retribution on two feet, and Ignis doesn't attempt to defend himself. He's resting easy against the counter as the timer beeps, all that cholesterol and grease just waiting to go down the throat, and Ignis transmits ruefulness with just his eyes. ]
I appreciate the warning, but you're well within your rights to, whether or not I've stripped the chastity device from you.
[ Whether or not they're talking about kinky exploits and kinkier consequences, like whoever will have Ignis's head once the prince's chamberlain doesn't show up on the Citadel's premises for some meeting on his schedule. It'll be a little inconvenient when he needs to eat or possibly die of starvation, but in this battle of wits between Noctis's rationale and his own, he's cavalier. He wouldn't have trapped Noctis so insidiously in a cage if he wasn't the least bit prepared of recourse.
That isn't to say that he's unfeeling, though, eyes dropped away from the insistent beep of the microwave to Noctis and all of his inflamed aggravation as it lives and breathes. ]
Now, if you want to go about convincing me to remove it, that can be arranged. [ Talking like he's the reasonable person here? The audacity of him. ] I suppose I'd have to, if you could manage to force my hand.
[ Looks like they're gonna have to duke it out in combat. Survival of the fittest is the law of the land, and the way Ignis is sizing him up should provide clear signs that he was merely waiting for this development. No better idea than the kind Noctis can fool himself into believing he's manufactured himself. ]
If looks could kill, Ignis would surely be one of the casualties in Noctis' wrath, because the nerve of the man, does he think Noctis can be easily pushed around and caged in? Did he intend for this to eventually happen? His frustration and annoyance reaches burning point, right where he's ignoring freshly reheated overnight pizza in order to meet the challenge Ignis now presents.
That can be arranged, is it? Noctis narrows his eyes, ready and willing to do what it takes if only he can free himself from that incredibly limiting device. ]
You and me, [ Noctis snaps, blue eyes blazing with anger and the promise of a good fight to take the edge off his sexual frustration. Wearing a cock cage for three days straight is a shitty, shitty thing without payoff. ] Winner gets the key. Loser has to do whatever the hell the winner says for the entire day.
From the sheer force of your enthusiasm, I thought you would have come up with higher stakes.
[ Up the ante, up the bet until it's something loft and nigh-terrifying in quality. Anticlimactically, the alarm continues beeping on until Ignis relieves the microwave of its burden and press-clicks the door open, leaving the pizza to cool in its rectangle of death. While Noctis consorts with unbridled regrets, the repercussions are rather tame, so here, allow him to provide the payoff. ]
Three days of obedience, and the loser eats their vegetables. I'll settle for nothing less.
[ Fables always seem to favor the number three, so they'll take this fight to mythical heights as Ignis's drop to loosen in a shrug where he leans back in his counter. He's smiling, but not maliciously so; just rueful with Noct's show of anger. ]
I personally wouldn't recommend having the fight here, unless you've got a ready-made excuse for the licensed contractor who'll need to patch up the holes left afterwards.
You try living with this fucking thing on your dick for three days, then tell me about about higher stakes.
[ Noctis, on a hair trigger and furious beyond comprehension, is practically vibrating with it as he stomps past the pizza and into the bedroom to pull a shirt on. Unfortunately, stomping makes the cock cage swing awkwardly and press up in all the weird places, which only serves to make the prince even angrier.
He glares at him before throwing open the door. If that is how Ignis wants to play it, then Noctis is more than ready to meet him head on, nevermind the consequences-- he just wants the gratifying chance of working out his aggression on his lover, chamberlain, and as of three days ago: sadistic tormentor. ]
You're on, Specs. I'm going to hand your pretty ass to you on a platter in the backyard of this apartment complex. Move it.
[ If it's in bad taste to look forward to his own impending damnation, then he doesn't want to be good and proper about this. Ignis remains entirely too flippant as Noctis slow-broils under the gamut of indignation to soured outrage to acquiescence as he regains his decency (never one to show off his chest in public) and tosses the door open. The cock cage must be swung erratically with each movement, and it's more erotic than he's giving him credit for.
Spearheading the effort on commentary that will get him killed, Ignis smiles, glib in acknowledgement. ]
Let's see if your sessions with Gladio have wised you up some since our last spar.
[ He's only seen a few in passing, but since Gladio's been his training partner on a few occasions, he's more than well-aware of how heated things become on the mats after a few bouts of combat. Ignis, assuming the role of suspect legal guardian in Noct's life, locks the door, and after the walk down the corridor, they're treated to possibly the most tense elevator ride they've both experienced in the past decade or so. The jaunt to the field outside of the apartment complex is uneventful, otherwiseā€” Ignis shields his eyes some as he glances about at the sky and not the homicidal glares Noctis has been tossing like daggers at him for the last few minutes. ]
[ When was Ignis ever proper, the devil? Noctis is positive that there is nothing proper about tricking him into wearing a cock cage for days, and even worse -- absolutely nothing redeemable about challenging him to some sort of duel with escalated stakes like he'd been biding his time just for this. Well, whatever; Noctis has run out of patience and the motivation to figure out just why he's doing what he does.
Every so often, his Ignis tends to experience bouts of a certain sort of sadism, and Noctis is too enthusiastic about the idea of kicking his ass to decipher just what lies behind this particular bout of depravity. Also: he's too far gone in his dreams of vengeance to care. Which explains why Noctis leaps at him without a word, and the message is clear in the way he goes for him: screw this nice fucking day, you jerk, he's going to make you eat your words.
The fight commences, the two going toe to toe and holding little back. One good thing about having healing potions on hand is that you don't actually have to worry too much about consequences beyond the standard ground rules. Ignis is strong, a powerful and deadly adversary for anyone stupid enough to want to take him on -- he has a vicious edge that Noctis has barely managed to avoid being caught on. He gives as good as he gets, but soon he's starting to realize that they're too evenly matched. Ignis is just as skilled, shrewd enough to almost lure Noctis into his trap. Perhaps if he hadn't known Ignis this intimately for this long, he would have yet been another victim, swallowing the stakes for himself. But he's not in the mood to be obedient or to lose the second fight to vegetables, and so he puts to use everything he's learned about how Ignis fights.
And how Ignis fights is magnificent. Say what you want about his methods, but increasingly Noctis realizes that he's enjoying this fight; his blood roaring in his ears and every ounce of him awake and alert, high off the rush of adrenaline that hits him like a drug to the system. He's parrying and deflecting, striking and warping, but Ignis seems to be able to read him just as well.
Stalemate.
It's been more than an hour, and Noctis has lost track of how many rounds they've gone at each other, only that he knows he can't stop, and he's damn sure out for blood. Ignis is impossibly alluring when he fights him, the sheer power and precision in his strikes making Noctis come back for more, swords and weapons clashing, catching the light in a brutal dance that the prince relishes, swept up in a thirst for more. And he goes for it, heart pounding a wild beat against his ribs, spoiling for much more than just the meeting of weapons. He ducks the daggers, and grabs at Ignis' collar, pushing him down onto the field.
This move isn't called for, he knows. He knows -- but fighting like this incites a heated livewire of tension that cannot be dispelled with a victory or loss, and the feral serenity in Ignis' eyes wreaks havoc on his already chaotic libido, and Noctis has just about had enough. He pins him to the grass, savage and thrumming with excess energy, eyes almost glowing with power. ]
Enough. [ He growls, almost guttural, hands on the grass on either side of his head, knees on either side of his thighs. He's caging him down, and there's a different kind of hunger alight in his eyes. It's not Ignis' head on a pike he wants; they've gone beyond that now. It's everything else that he possesses. It's him that he wants, seduction cast aside in favor of adrenaline and endorphins turned potent lust. Noctis is not usually the most forceful of men -- but he is of the line of kings after all, and there is an undeniable dominance in his bearing that had laid dormant up until now. Blue eyes blaze, savage passion leashed by a commanding ease that surprises even himself. ] We're done with this damned game.
[ Noctis bends his faith with just one blood-searing look, like kerosene soaking through a match waiting to be lit, or magic like flame licking up his backbone and burning after his equanimity. Death by fire can't be so atrocious if it's this enthralling to be consumed, when combustion's not unlike catharsis (razing down everything). He's scalded when Noctis lurches into unruly motion, trampling across the grass, and he calls out to the power the prince has lent him, borrowing from the arsenal for a weapon to defend himself with.
Ten seconds later, his body's pinging with the grip of the spear he's wrestled out of his air, round and round as Noctis comes after him with a blade, eyes flashing just as sharp. It morphs into a greatsword as Ignis veers hard to the left, then launches himself up to gouge a crater into the earth Noct previously occupied. Back and forth, touch-and-go. Side-stepping turns into barely-evaded dodges, plucking out potions for the nicks and cuts and smashing the bottles against Noct's ribs when he can near him, onto his own when he stumbles and earns a graze. His intention isn't the wound him, after all, even as he trades out his poles for halberds and pikes, then abandons long-range for proximity, trading out javelins for daggers, lancing through the no-man's space between them.
His lungs are spoiling for air, beaten back a few inches, wheeling back when Noct comes down after him, the very visage of unholy vengeance, disposing the shield he's wielded to effortless glide through the air. Always with these stunts come a level of uncertainty, that small margin for preeminent failure, but Noctis defies gravity like he does defeat, clean and focused, like madness has clarified him instead of muddling his control. Ignis, barely intact, cartwheels away into a handspring, showy and ostentatious, like a peacock with a plumage to prove, but he's still got to pull out another high-potion to treat his elbow. Back arched, he takes on an exultant bearing.
This is it. This is the sun-melting ferocity that proves Noctis won't be spirited away by bastards (read: Tiberius) unable to hold their own in a fight with him. Launched a few feet back from the next warpstrike, he's already stuttering himself, gripping sorely at the knives that he rematerializes, only to be cast down. It takes him a second to acknowledge itā€” undone by a single tug to his collarā€” and then he's flat on his back, deposed.
Cruise control for a brain that doesn't understand self-preservation: the way his hands reach up to clasp, blades clattered and dissipating into the grass, fingers insinuating around Noctis's shoulders. ]
Stunning. Your form was marvelous.
[ Kind of incongruous to say, really, what with being a couple of seconds away from his impending doom. Noctis cuts out the brutal machinations of their dance to insinuates his knees in further, and Ignis laughs, inflection stung with all the consistency of a whip, dragging all the welts of his amusement up his throat. ]
Apologies. You're gorgeous. [ Should've never introduced him to madness this insatiable; Ignis disrupts his hair and the neatly manicured look he's got on him, eyes barely able to keep up with the pridefulness. ] A draw, then? Or my loss.
[ Either way, there's no recovering from this, when he reaches into his front pocket, previously hidden by the apron he'd cast off, and procures the key. Occam's razor, cut down to slivers: the simplest answer is usually the most infuriating. ]
[ To think that Noctis, in his irate, unforgiving depths, had been momentarily willing to dispense mercy: a draw -- but then Ignis pulls the key out of his front pocket, of all things, and Noctis' fury is incandescent. Front pocket; he could have had it all if Noctis had just gone dick first. Instead, his downfall had been Ignis' ass and damn if he's going to let himself live it down.
Snarling, because Occam can go and fuck himself as well, Noctis reaches down and tugs his shirt open out of pure spite (that sentiment no less incited by a lust that's been coiling like a hungry serpent in the pit of his stomach, roiling under his skin), ruining the impeccable tailoring Ignis takes so much pride in, plying his mouth against the soft flesh between neck and shoulder and sinking his teeth in a fevered move that would put the hungriest vampires to shame. He doesn't break skin, but he sucks hard on that patch of skin, creating the most vengeful, vivid lovebite that will probably last days. ]
You lose. [ Noctis declares, because he will take his victory in every shape and form he can have it, claiming his obedience and submission as payment for the torture he's endured the past three days. Three for three, that's only fair, right? He grabs a hold of Ignis' wrist, bruising-quick and sharp, tugging it down to where the cage is pressing insistently into his thigh. He's too far gone to be gentle, lost in the perfect storm of fire and fury distilled into arousal and rage.
He trails burning kisses down to his clavicle, biting and licking and sucking, obscene and ferocious with his prize. He's feral with passion, rendered graceless with all that pent-up aggression. Noctis doesn't do well when denied for too long, caged in and bereft of what he wants, especially when Ignis is both architect and subject of this quandary. Noctis has always had eyes for no other, even when he ravages the remains of Ignis' shirt like a tiger going for the kill -- he loves and desires no other, even when reserves of goodwill are long exhausted.
He's popping the button on Ignis' pants as well, tugging down the zipper impatiently to palm his cock, only half-surprised to find him already hard. His mouth finds his nipple, lips and teeth coaxing it to full attention with deceptive gentleness. There is a limit to his patience, and Ignis has breached it countless times over, his generous praise rolling off him like water off a duck's feathers. ]
[ Not a bad way to go, then, basking under the shape of a liability, courting Noct's swarming malevolence with the key tethered to his fingers. Noct's resplendent, ringed in so much sun, and Ignis hums under the surety of dishevelment that comes, when those fingers come prowling for his shirt, furiously peeling down buttons. Offering up his neck for the bite's done like a ceremony, even when Noctis ensures he'll be tucking in a scarf for days to avoid being assailed with questions regarding the systematic mauling of his neck or the reason why his throat will scrape pain over with each nod or shake of the head for the next few days.
He hasn't pulled away. He should, under the glittering and furious scrutiny of Noct's glare, an omen of the savagery to come, but even with one wrist left free of a manacle, he kisses at Noct's temple, lying pliant under the wounds that grow outlines in the form of the prince's mouth, where he presses his teeth to Ignis's skin with bruising fixation. ]
I understand. I wouldn't want to besmirch your record with homicide.
[ It's fine just like this, though, already done in by Noct's scrutiny, blistering to the core, held so unrepentantly in his arms. This is more joy than terror when his hand undoes the zipper and presses around the cage as obscured by the heaving set of Noct's body, piecing together the location of the lock through faulty guesswork. The mechanism's untampered withā€” no locksmith has taken to cracking the metal, and when the encasing comes off, Noct's beating hotly into his grip, there's nothing but signs of his restraint. ]
You've been good, Noct. I'm proud.
[ The lunge is imminent; all that's left is biding the time in a mussed-up shirt and partially-undone trousers, which'll go across terribly in the police interrogation room later, when they're both arrested for indecent exposure. The noise that comes out of him is ungainly, struggling to lift out of Noctis's ministrations with one hand wrangled down, but then he's sitting up, sloppy with the kiss. ]
I love you. I'll love you. [ He's not always so predisposed to fits of passion, but his smile's acrid with it, bittersweet as he claims Noctis's mouth, leaning pressure against the side of one cheek, the corner of his mouth where it meets in the scowl. ] But not in public.
[ Exhibitionism's better saved for their neighbor's much-suffering ears, and not the authorities that hound for propriety, as he pulls off the rest of the shelled casing from Noct's cock entirely free, sliding his key back into his pocket. ]
[ Noctis impatiently tosses the cage aside when it's loosened, helping Ignis to pull it off him because he's so impossibly hard it hurts, and he swears he can see the faintest imprints of the cage on his dick. The relief that inevitably comes from being free doesn't do very much to lift his mood -- mainly because he's rapidly switching from incandescent rage to irate fury mixed with a potent iteration of fiery arousal, a consequence of that no-holds-barred fight that serves only to heat up the blood more than any thing else.
Ignis was likewise magnificent in his parrying and handling of Noctis' unbridled aggression, sleek and strong and everything that Noctis hates himself for lusting over because his sexual frustration level's just about buried the needle. It's even worse when Ignis is this breathtaking, seemingly unruffled but somehow smouldering with passion, profoundly seductive despite Noctis' desire to just about take everything out on him.
And then it occurs to him, is he turned on by this? By all of this? He won't put it past Ignis' tastes; despite that elegant, dignified front, Noctis is aware that there is a more degenerate side of him just raring to get out, and that cock ring is only the tip of the iceberg. Ignis is turned on, and Noctis finds that incredibly, shamefully hot, cheeks flushing at the praise despite himself, tugged along by the sinfully decadent promise of his love. ]
[ He'll love him, but not in public, and Noctis is too impatient to make the trek up when Ignis' dick is thick in his hand. He's pressing his mouth to his, passionate and searing, and he grips him tightly. ] Hang on.
[ A zip, a violent burst of magic, and off they go, Noctis warping right up to the balcony of his apartment. They land easy; and in Ignis' case, with his dick out, and Noctis promptly pushes him up against the wall by the railings, shamelessly taking it into his mouth. A revenge blowjob? More likely than you think.
Or, well, it's just because he wants to; punishment can come later. ]
Love me here, then. [ He grumbles with a mouth full of his dick, hands coming to curve over his hips. ]
[ Whether or not Noct's going to horrifically maim him right now or postpone his execution for later remains to be seen, but he wouldn't underestimate the ferocity in the prince that hasn't retreated with the cock cage's removal. For the span of several seconds does Ignis consider alighting on the grass and over the fence, but he ultimately stays where he's squarely pinned down. All these ways to go on the lam and any yearning for escape's given up the ghost, owlishly calm as his hand reaches up to Noctis's cheek, so half of his face is buried in his palm. As if he'd flee from any of this.
So that's the nature of the beast, feigning nonchalance against calls for self-preservation, settling back to the rigors of Noct's embrace like he's the least affected by the violence clamoring in him. He didn't retain his position as Noctis's chamberlain out of birthright alone, but perhaps the madness of a man single-minded in his passions.
Disabused of any goodness, there's just no decency left to Ignis past the point of no return, barely any vestiges of goodness left to salvage and piece into something modest. Too bad. Noct's laying his hands on him, and that's a countermeasure long overdue, given seventy-hours of semi-restrained dialogue between them after their unfortunate lock-and-key incident. Hair mussed, Ignis cradles his hands around the fair and noble king-to-be, expecting to be bodily dragged upright and entirely willing to princess-carry Noct up a few flights of stairs if his pride can withstand the hit.
Instead, inertia beats up Ignis's sense of balanceā€” suddenly the world's built on topsy-turvy motion, and he's barely managed to wrestle a firmer grip around Noctis's shoulder when they're both spirited right up to the balcony, and bloody hellā€” they've practiced a few times, a few stunts and jaunts in the training room, but Noct's magic is something thunderous and overwhelming, and he's slightly dizzy on the outset when his feet touch solid ground a couple of seconds later, fingers clamping down on the railings to conjure up a center of gravity he's lost.
And Noctisā€” Noctis has a heartbreaking pathos to him, cheeks hot with vehemence, stalking forward to trap him between the railing and the wall with a casual irreverence that shines and shines out of him, and that's the blessed death blow to Ignis's already ailing conscience. From this vantage point, peering down the long cord of Noct's spine as he bends until he's eye-level with his groin, he's terribly gorgeous, mouth opening up to take him whole. Another kind of devouring.
Blowjobs might just be another form of exsanguination; all the heat and the rest of his common sense has since fled to his cock, and now he's bloodless everywhere else, ravenous for affection. ]
I'd want nothing more.
[ First attempt to pretend at refinement and Ignis botches it. Tough break, even tougher when he's purposefully reaching to tug at Noct's damp collar to yank him up for a kiss, only to gasp back into the wall, gasps flatlining in the back of his throat. Noctis is sullen and sweet at once, sulking around his dick, and there's no shortage of surreality in curling his hands to his outline. ]
The timing leavesā€” something to beā€” desired, Noct.
[ Two seconds away from his own demise and he's getting treated to the soft lick of Noctis's tongue, the beseeching quality his mouth takes on when split open around the shaft instead. Talk about mood whiplash, even if his complaint's more of a vague observation than his usual criticisms. Furthermore, is this any way to speak to the prince of Lucis, denunciatory and halting but horribly fond? Not at all, but Ignis is currently buying himself time away from the sighs touching at his throat, the noises braced between the teeth as his breathing takes on a ragged tenor. ]
[ Because Noctis will not be held responsible for what he sees as fallout from Ignis' plans, and because, really, none of this will be happening if Ignis hadn't given in to whatever perverse impulse that had led him to cage his cock up anyway -- and three days' worth of sexual frustration is enough to make Noctis profoundly uncharitable, not even when his mouth is around his cock and the prince is pointedly refusing to come up for a kiss quite yet.
No, Ignis doesn't deserve it.
He's pinning his hips to the wall, moving to deepthroat him, taking him down, down before pulling out and stifling his own gag reflex, moving to kiss up his cock, pressing heated little kisses up and down his length before he takes it back into his mouth to suck, hard, as if he could draw out everything that keeps him standing by this alone. Noctis is aware, too, that Ignis is entirely given over to this, and Noctis pinches his thigh briefly, leaving the smallest bruise on the inside of it.
He'll be even more ruined before Noctis is done with him, but it's a good start. Fuelled by an unholy mixture of vengeance and lust, Noctis ignores the fact that they're on his balcony; hell, they're too high for anyone to see anything good, anyway, and his cock's halfway down his mouth again, Noctis going so deep his nose presses against his belly before he pulls out, lips reddened and his eyes almost black with hunger, as ravenous as he is vengeful. ]
You didn't give a shit about timing before when you put that stupid thing on me.
[ Why is something he ought to ask in the near future, a small part of him suggests, because Ignis rarely ever initiates something without cause, and he's halfway certain this hadn't been born of some kind of sadistic whim. Ignis might have a vicious streak a mile wide, but it's rarely ever unfounded. But first, however, to take all of his frustrations out on him and to make him very, very sorry he'd decided to leash him in the first place. Maybe one day Noctis would put a cage on him; or maybe a leash, or maybe a myriad other things that he can dream of. His lips smack, wet and obscene around his dick, lavishing his full attention on him, intent on making him come, to feel that spurt of heat and bittersalty spend down his throat.
Or maybe he ought to deny him that at the last second, won't that be something, too? ] Mmm --
[ If it offers any last-minute solace, he's not particularly proud of his atrocious behavior as of late. He's been treading over regret, but he wasn't nearly penitent enough to warrant the removal of the cock cage until Noct's fury settled down over him, prying depravities out of him by blunt force.
Stepping into his wrath should count for something, though. Ignis isn't senselessly malicious, and he accepts the consequences stacked up against him. Anger coasts on Noctis with all the magnitude of a storm, relentless and turbulent and forsaking propriety to suck him off, and Ignis sinks into it, the daring ferocity of it that flies in the face of common sense. There's not much to Noctis that isn't cutthroat or liable to get his knees buckling before the day's out, though, when his legs won't hold out for much, and his reflexes debilitate. It's not just the illicitness of it, out on the balcony with his clothes shucked some ways to off and the prince haranguing his cock, that provokes so much scrutiny.
It's the profundity of it, desecrating laws and any wayward eyes to keep Noctis focused on him, the pained undercurrent of want and need seeping into him.
Noctis brands himself, skin against skin and teasing pressure around the head of his dick, and Ignis's fingers where they've stopped to brace him, choking down another noise, shallowly sucking in air through his mouth. ]
My deepest apologies. It wasā€”
[ It's unfounded, using education as an excuse to keep Noctis's modesty intact instead of removed to fall into someone else's clutches, and he's jealous even under the susurrations propped up to the pelvic bone, the bleary sound of Noctis licking his way through to him.
Hemorrhaging away from the moment is the molten look in Noctis's eyes, betraying his longing and lashing his mouth to him, and he gasps, shuddering into the ache. ]
It was foul play.
[ So Noctis should know that he can acknowledge unfairness, at least, even when he's slipped so far down the wall that his dress shoes are skidding across the floor, back scraping at the wall, just a couple feet away from the sliding glass doors. Slack at his sides are his hands, which twist back open to pull him forward, back for another shoddy attempt at a kiss. He's less impudent than to ask forgiveness, so he'll look for one last mercy, hips struggling mid-thrust. ]
[ Noctis knows now that he can acknowledge unfairness, and it mollifies him only a little, takes the sharp edge off his frustration and temper -- he's mad but not furious, and in this moment, as Ignis looks for mercy, Noctis offers none.
He pulls his mouth off of his cock, now wet with saliva and pre-cum, the bittersalty trace of it on his tongue as he makes his decision in that one moment. Ignis understands that it's foul play, and Noctis hasn't yet understood why Ignis had gone to such lengths to cage his dick up. Not that it hurt him in any way -- only that it's pissed him off enough to deny Ignis the one thing that will tip him over. He leans back on his heels to look back up at him, unwilling to come up to give him that kiss either, because Noctis is fully capable of pettiness when the mood comes upon him.
He licks his lips, reddened and full from how he'd so enthusiastically taken to his cock earlier, and all the more to torment him with. His gaze is dark with lust but even, full of longing and unspoken wrath all at once -- even so, it doesn't escape how beautiful he is, which annoys him even further because how can he possibly stay mad at him, no matter how much he wants to kill him for putting that cage on him in the first place?
Now, he slowly straightens up to get to his feet, careful not to touch Ignis' cock again -- no, he doesn't deserve an easy orgasm after everything he's put him through, and the prince is also ridiculously curious about the entire thing, mercy withheld and keeping Ignis on the edge, just past frustration with no relief in sight. ]
[ Just gut him. His breath's already hemorrhaging out, heaving irrepressibly from up his throat when Noctis pries off of him. It's not the dissatisfaction that's playing its chords on his lungs, though, but that terrifyingly gorgeous look on Noct's face when he stirs to gaze at him, mouth streaked with liberal amounts of saliva, pre-cum, and he can't remember his vicious envy anymore under the weight of so much wrath. ]
You're beautiful.
[ That's the extent of it, resorting to drastic measures like caging him in under the duplicity of studying. If not for his finals, then restraint. If not for restraint, then Ignis's insanity reaching a fever pitch with Tiberius draping his touch on Noctis, the paragon of a bad influence on him. ]
I was afraid you'd wise up to better options.
[ At the heart of the matter, he can't satisfy him; he can cook and clean and take up a handmaid's duties around him, but he can't be all that Noct needsā€” that he should ever need, for that matter, and that's enough to work on wrenching up his trousers and brusquely button them up. ]
I've been a jealous fool, Noct. I'm sorry. I'll leave you be.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Noctis' deliberate once-over is carefully crafted to emulate desire -- although in all fairness it's really not difficult when Ignis is really, really sexy with sleeves carefully folded up to his elbows, muscles evident in the way he scrubs at a particularly stubborn patch by the window. Do all men look this desirable when doing housework? Because there should be an argument for those who look like Ignis to do it more often.
The difficult part is forcing himself not to be distracted by his older boyfriend's general comeliness, especially not by that lovely patch of skin left exposed a shirt that's less buttoned up than it normally is. In this moment, he contemplates the efficacy of tasteful glimpses of skin as compared to the strategy of upfront partial nudity. But it seems to be working, if the look Ignis gives him is anything to go by.
Really, when Noctis manages to divine the intentions behind this particular course of action, Noctis would lay the truth out for his corpse: there is only one man he would willingly stay encircled with, one man whose lap he would sink into and seduce in the same breath: that man is the man whose slow and painful death he's currently plotting. Noctis is calmly indifferent to Tiberius' advances not because he's unobservant or slow on the uptake: it's that all his attentions are mired in all that he's developing with Ignis, so moored to the older man that there is no space for anyone else. In short: Noctis isn't dropping his trousers for anyone but Ignis. And maybe the royal proctologist.
Of course, his taciturnity in the face of such advances translates to seemingly enabling the hijinks of a competitor, rousing a jealousy that has led to this. Which, really, should be partly Noctis' fault, whose strongest traits do not include the ability to communicate effectively. Anyway, he's approaching the minor tornado in a bid to discover a possible relationship between proximity and sexual appeal, a hunter casing his prey. ]
Nah, there's pizza in the fridge, I can heat it up. Join me.
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It's been difficult for him too, alright; he's not jonesing for sex in particular, but he'd relent to alleviating some of the burden if Noctis threw a hysterical fit and demanded release. It's not like the prince is wholly at fault, only that Tiberius is a sordid git who can't keep his hands off of Noct even when his target's lover is in the same room. Even more so when baking pies is an opportunity to lay another threat on the guy feeding him dessert like a glorified maid.
Mildly, Ignis tilts his head, then sets the squeeze bottle down on the coffee table, meticulously peeling off his gloves to join it. There's no attempt to remove his apron, though, since he'll go back to hosing down the place with sudsy water and determination soon enough. ]
Alright, if that's what you'd prefer.
[ While Noctis canvasses the distance and makes his calculations, Ignis makes a beeline for the fridge in search of that pizza. The refrigerator itself is always a sad affair with vegetables left to mildew in cold purgatory, ones he'll inevitably have to throw out before the infect the rest of the food, and he's already mentally preparing the trash disposal part of housecleaning on his agenda when he retrieves the couple of plated slices of pizza, greasy-looking under saran wrap, and casually sets it on the counter.
The answer to the question of the hour, however unspoken: the key's somewhere on his person, but god knows if he'll reveal where, exactly. ]
There doesn't seem to be much in the way of leftovers. What are your plans for lunch?
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Specs, we haven't even had breakfast yet.
[ And he hasn't actually planned his day past getting Ignis to cough up the key no matter what. The prince yawns as he circles around to him, deciding to make himself useful. He peels the greasy saran wrap from the plates, combines the pizzas onto one plate, haphazardly leaves the greased wrap on the counter. Look, there is only so much domesticity that he can adopt, and he's doing his best. Shoving the plate loaded high with pizza slices into the microwave, he sets it to three minutes waits, leaning against the counter now. ]
But hey. I got nothing to do today. We could order in lunch. [ He says, not quite letting Ignis get at the abandoned saran wrap just yet, reaching out to tug him towards him by the front of his apron. Front pockets? Back pockets?
Back pockets. His hands come to surreptitiously slide down his back, waist, tucking into his back pockets. He's also stealing a chance to cop a feel of that ass -- one can always mix business with pleasure -- but disappointment ensues. No key. Great ass, firm as anything, but unfortunately empty. Damn it. ]
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[ Nonchalance becomes him, completely blasƩ with pizza for breakfast; no need to exacerbate the finer points of tension, like the critical tipoff Noctis lets loose, too calm for the storm brewing in him. There's not enough bluster to him, but even Ignis, with a healthy gauge for deceit, rests a hand on the counter, fingers drumming the time while he handily sets the rest of the ceramic plates in the sink. ]
You know, I'm awfully fond of that nickname. You're the only one who calls me that.
[ It's a residual leftover from ages back, when they were both children and Noctis was a brazen boy who pegged his one defining trait as his glasses. They've outgrown some things, like the chase of children around the Citadel when he thought he could still salvage the prince's diet, or catch him before he slipped underneath the greenhouse atrium's hedges to explore the great outdoors, but he still calls him that, after all this time, like an old, sentimental relic of all the good times come rolling past. When Noct gets handsy, instilling himself with the infallibility of a deranged man and going right for his ass, Ignis patiently bides his time in the embrace until the search comes upā€” predictablyā€” empty. ]
You won't find the key tucked about there, unfortunately. Best work on your contingency plan.
[ And with a soft (he's not callous, he's well-aware of Noctis's needs) pat to his bottom, he cleanly disentangles himself, off to scour the dirt off of what few dishes remain in the sink. ]
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One: the flicker of suspicion at that affectionate recolletion (despite the fact that Noctis is the one with less than stellar intentions here), does this lead up to something particularly aggravating? Ignis is too trusting while Noctis is too calm, tension coiling like a restless snake underneath his skin. He's aching, frustrated, and it's one of the best performances of his entire damn life. Which, of course, means that it frays just as rapidly -- he's not one predisposed to play-acting, it frays unreasonably on the nerves. They might have outgrown a lot of things, but Noctis hasn't yet outgrown the talent to do what it takes to get what he wants.
Two: what he wants, he isn't getting, and the easy foiling of his excellently (read: not) laid plans combined with that insufferably gentle pat to his bottom flicks a switch in him, sending all that pent up frustration and irascible nature up to the surface. He's practically boiling with it, too-calm exterior tossed aside in the face of failure as he stalks angrily towards him, finally giving over to all that's boiling inside him. Lips curled into an aggravated snarl, the 180 flip in disposition is immediate, amiability crumbling like a cheap suit: ]
Get it the fuck off me, Ignis, or I swear to the gods the next chance I get I'm tying you to the bed and leaving you there.
[ How's that for Plan B, you insufferable jerk? ]
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I appreciate the warning, but you're well within your rights to, whether or not I've stripped the chastity device from you.
[ Whether or not they're talking about kinky exploits and kinkier consequences, like whoever will have Ignis's head once the prince's chamberlain doesn't show up on the Citadel's premises for some meeting on his schedule. It'll be a little inconvenient when he needs to eat or possibly die of starvation, but in this battle of wits between Noctis's rationale and his own, he's cavalier. He wouldn't have trapped Noctis so insidiously in a cage if he wasn't the least bit prepared of recourse.
That isn't to say that he's unfeeling, though, eyes dropped away from the insistent beep of the microwave to Noctis and all of his inflamed aggravation as it lives and breathes. ]
Now, if you want to go about convincing me to remove it, that can be arranged. [ Talking like he's the reasonable person here? The audacity of him. ] I suppose I'd have to, if you could manage to force my hand.
[ Looks like they're gonna have to duke it out in combat. Survival of the fittest is the law of the land, and the way Ignis is sizing him up should provide clear signs that he was merely waiting for this development. No better idea than the kind Noctis can fool himself into believing he's manufactured himself. ]
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If looks could kill, Ignis would surely be one of the casualties in Noctis' wrath, because the nerve of the man, does he think Noctis can be easily pushed around and caged in? Did he intend for this to eventually happen? His frustration and annoyance reaches burning point, right where he's ignoring freshly reheated overnight pizza in order to meet the challenge Ignis now presents.
That can be arranged, is it? Noctis narrows his eyes, ready and willing to do what it takes if only he can free himself from that incredibly limiting device. ]
You and me, [ Noctis snaps, blue eyes blazing with anger and the promise of a good fight to take the edge off his sexual frustration. Wearing a cock cage for three days straight is a shitty, shitty thing without payoff. ] Winner gets the key. Loser has to do whatever the hell the winner says for the entire day.
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[ Up the ante, up the bet until it's something loft and nigh-terrifying in quality. Anticlimactically, the alarm continues beeping on until Ignis relieves the microwave of its burden and press-clicks the door open, leaving the pizza to cool in its rectangle of death. While Noctis consorts with unbridled regrets, the repercussions are rather tame, so here, allow him to provide the payoff. ]
Three days of obedience, and the loser eats their vegetables. I'll settle for nothing less.
[ Fables always seem to favor the number three, so they'll take this fight to mythical heights as Ignis's drop to loosen in a shrug where he leans back in his counter. He's smiling, but not maliciously so; just rueful with Noct's show of anger. ]
I personally wouldn't recommend having the fight here, unless you've got a ready-made excuse for the licensed contractor who'll need to patch up the holes left afterwards.
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[ Noctis, on a hair trigger and furious beyond comprehension, is practically vibrating with it as he stomps past the pizza and into the bedroom to pull a shirt on. Unfortunately, stomping makes the cock cage swing awkwardly and press up in all the weird places, which only serves to make the prince even angrier.
He glares at him before throwing open the door. If that is how Ignis wants to play it, then Noctis is more than ready to meet him head on, nevermind the consequences-- he just wants the gratifying chance of working out his aggression on his lover, chamberlain, and as of three days ago: sadistic tormentor. ]
You're on, Specs. I'm going to hand your pretty ass to you on a platter in the backyard of this apartment complex. Move it.
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Spearheading the effort on commentary that will get him killed, Ignis smiles, glib in acknowledgement. ]
Let's see if your sessions with Gladio have wised you up some since our last spar.
[ He's only seen a few in passing, but since Gladio's been his training partner on a few occasions, he's more than well-aware of how heated things become on the mats after a few bouts of combat. Ignis, assuming the role of suspect legal guardian in Noct's life, locks the door, and after the walk down the corridor, they're treated to possibly the most tense elevator ride they've both experienced in the past decade or so. The jaunt to the field outside of the apartment complex is uneventful, otherwiseā€” Ignis shields his eyes some as he glances about at the sky and not the homicidal glares Noctis has been tossing like daggers at him for the last few minutes. ]
It's quite a nice day out, isn't it?
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Every so often, his Ignis tends to experience bouts of a certain sort of sadism, and Noctis is too enthusiastic about the idea of kicking his ass to decipher just what lies behind this particular bout of depravity. Also: he's too far gone in his dreams of vengeance to care. Which explains why Noctis leaps at him without a word, and the message is clear in the way he goes for him: screw this nice fucking day, you jerk, he's going to make you eat your words.
The fight commences, the two going toe to toe and holding little back. One good thing about having healing potions on hand is that you don't actually have to worry too much about consequences beyond the standard ground rules. Ignis is strong, a powerful and deadly adversary for anyone stupid enough to want to take him on -- he has a vicious edge that Noctis has barely managed to avoid being caught on. He gives as good as he gets, but soon he's starting to realize that they're too evenly matched. Ignis is just as skilled, shrewd enough to almost lure Noctis into his trap. Perhaps if he hadn't known Ignis this intimately for this long, he would have yet been another victim, swallowing the stakes for himself. But he's not in the mood to be obedient or to lose the second fight to vegetables, and so he puts to use everything he's learned about how Ignis fights.
And how Ignis fights is magnificent. Say what you want about his methods, but increasingly Noctis realizes that he's enjoying this fight; his blood roaring in his ears and every ounce of him awake and alert, high off the rush of adrenaline that hits him like a drug to the system. He's parrying and deflecting, striking and warping, but Ignis seems to be able to read him just as well.
Stalemate.
It's been more than an hour, and Noctis has lost track of how many rounds they've gone at each other, only that he knows he can't stop, and he's damn sure out for blood. Ignis is impossibly alluring when he fights him, the sheer power and precision in his strikes making Noctis come back for more, swords and weapons clashing, catching the light in a brutal dance that the prince relishes, swept up in a thirst for more. And he goes for it, heart pounding a wild beat against his ribs, spoiling for much more than just the meeting of weapons. He ducks the daggers, and grabs at Ignis' collar, pushing him down onto the field.
This move isn't called for, he knows. He knows -- but fighting like this incites a heated livewire of tension that cannot be dispelled with a victory or loss, and the feral serenity in Ignis' eyes wreaks havoc on his already chaotic libido, and Noctis has just about had enough. He pins him to the grass, savage and thrumming with excess energy, eyes almost glowing with power. ]
Enough. [ He growls, almost guttural, hands on the grass on either side of his head, knees on either side of his thighs. He's caging him down, and there's a different kind of hunger alight in his eyes. It's not Ignis' head on a pike he wants; they've gone beyond that now. It's everything else that he possesses. It's him that he wants, seduction cast aside in favor of adrenaline and endorphins turned potent lust. Noctis is not usually the most forceful of men -- but he is of the line of kings after all, and there is an undeniable dominance in his bearing that had laid dormant up until now. Blue eyes blaze, savage passion leashed by a commanding ease that surprises even himself. ] We're done with this damned game.
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Ten seconds later, his body's pinging with the grip of the spear he's wrestled out of his air, round and round as Noctis comes after him with a blade, eyes flashing just as sharp. It morphs into a greatsword as Ignis veers hard to the left, then launches himself up to gouge a crater into the earth Noct previously occupied. Back and forth, touch-and-go. Side-stepping turns into barely-evaded dodges, plucking out potions for the nicks and cuts and smashing the bottles against Noct's ribs when he can near him, onto his own when he stumbles and earns a graze. His intention isn't the wound him, after all, even as he trades out his poles for halberds and pikes, then abandons long-range for proximity, trading out javelins for daggers, lancing through the no-man's space between them.
His lungs are spoiling for air, beaten back a few inches, wheeling back when Noct comes down after him, the very visage of unholy vengeance, disposing the shield he's wielded to effortless glide through the air. Always with these stunts come a level of uncertainty, that small margin for preeminent failure, but Noctis defies gravity like he does defeat, clean and focused, like madness has clarified him instead of muddling his control. Ignis, barely intact, cartwheels away into a handspring, showy and ostentatious, like a peacock with a plumage to prove, but he's still got to pull out another high-potion to treat his elbow. Back arched, he takes on an exultant bearing.
This is it. This is the sun-melting ferocity that proves Noctis won't be spirited away by bastards (read: Tiberius) unable to hold their own in a fight with him. Launched a few feet back from the next warpstrike, he's already stuttering himself, gripping sorely at the knives that he rematerializes, only to be cast down. It takes him a second to acknowledge itā€” undone by a single tug to his collarā€” and then he's flat on his back, deposed.
Cruise control for a brain that doesn't understand self-preservation: the way his hands reach up to clasp, blades clattered and dissipating into the grass, fingers insinuating around Noctis's shoulders. ]
Stunning. Your form was marvelous.
[ Kind of incongruous to say, really, what with being a couple of seconds away from his impending doom. Noctis cuts out the brutal machinations of their dance to insinuates his knees in further, and Ignis laughs, inflection stung with all the consistency of a whip, dragging all the welts of his amusement up his throat. ]
Apologies. You're gorgeous. [ Should've never introduced him to madness this insatiable; Ignis disrupts his hair and the neatly manicured look he's got on him, eyes barely able to keep up with the pridefulness. ] A draw, then? Or my loss.
[ Either way, there's no recovering from this, when he reaches into his front pocket, previously hidden by the apron he'd cast off, and procures the key. Occam's razor, cut down to slivers: the simplest answer is usually the most infuriating. ]
Shall we get that cage off you?
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Snarling, because Occam can go and fuck himself as well, Noctis reaches down and tugs his shirt open out of pure spite (that sentiment no less incited by a lust that's been coiling like a hungry serpent in the pit of his stomach, roiling under his skin), ruining the impeccable tailoring Ignis takes so much pride in, plying his mouth against the soft flesh between neck and shoulder and sinking his teeth in a fevered move that would put the hungriest vampires to shame. He doesn't break skin, but he sucks hard on that patch of skin, creating the most vengeful, vivid lovebite that will probably last days. ]
You lose. [ Noctis declares, because he will take his victory in every shape and form he can have it, claiming his obedience and submission as payment for the torture he's endured the past three days. Three for three, that's only fair, right? He grabs a hold of Ignis' wrist, bruising-quick and sharp, tugging it down to where the cage is pressing insistently into his thigh. He's too far gone to be gentle, lost in the perfect storm of fire and fury distilled into arousal and rage.
He trails burning kisses down to his clavicle, biting and licking and sucking, obscene and ferocious with his prize. He's feral with passion, rendered graceless with all that pent-up aggression. Noctis doesn't do well when denied for too long, caged in and bereft of what he wants, especially when Ignis is both architect and subject of this quandary. Noctis has always had eyes for no other, even when he ravages the remains of Ignis' shirt like a tiger going for the kill -- he loves and desires no other, even when reserves of goodwill are long exhausted.
He's popping the button on Ignis' pants as well, tugging down the zipper impatiently to palm his cock, only half-surprised to find him already hard. His mouth finds his nipple, lips and teeth coaxing it to full attention with deceptive gentleness. There is a limit to his patience, and Ignis has breached it countless times over, his generous praise rolling off him like water off a duck's feathers. ]
Let me out, Iggy, or I'm going to kill you.
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He hasn't pulled away. He should, under the glittering and furious scrutiny of Noct's glare, an omen of the savagery to come, but even with one wrist left free of a manacle, he kisses at Noct's temple, lying pliant under the wounds that grow outlines in the form of the prince's mouth, where he presses his teeth to Ignis's skin with bruising fixation. ]
I understand. I wouldn't want to besmirch your record with homicide.
[ It's fine just like this, though, already done in by Noct's scrutiny, blistering to the core, held so unrepentantly in his arms. This is more joy than terror when his hand undoes the zipper and presses around the cage as obscured by the heaving set of Noct's body, piecing together the location of the lock through faulty guesswork. The mechanism's untampered withā€” no locksmith has taken to cracking the metal, and when the encasing comes off, Noct's beating hotly into his grip, there's nothing but signs of his restraint. ]
You've been good, Noct. I'm proud.
[ The lunge is imminent; all that's left is biding the time in a mussed-up shirt and partially-undone trousers, which'll go across terribly in the police interrogation room later, when they're both arrested for indecent exposure. The noise that comes out of him is ungainly, struggling to lift out of Noctis's ministrations with one hand wrangled down, but then he's sitting up, sloppy with the kiss. ]
I love you. I'll love you. [ He's not always so predisposed to fits of passion, but his smile's acrid with it, bittersweet as he claims Noctis's mouth, leaning pressure against the side of one cheek, the corner of his mouth where it meets in the scowl. ] But not in public.
[ Exhibitionism's better saved for their neighbor's much-suffering ears, and not the authorities that hound for propriety, as he pulls off the rest of the shelled casing from Noct's cock entirely free, sliding his key back into his pocket. ]
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Ignis was likewise magnificent in his parrying and handling of Noctis' unbridled aggression, sleek and strong and everything that Noctis hates himself for lusting over because his sexual frustration level's just about buried the needle. It's even worse when Ignis is this breathtaking, seemingly unruffled but somehow smouldering with passion, profoundly seductive despite Noctis' desire to just about take everything out on him.
And then it occurs to him, is he turned on by this? By all of this? He won't put it past Ignis' tastes; despite that elegant, dignified front, Noctis is aware that there is a more degenerate side of him just raring to get out, and that cock ring is only the tip of the iceberg. Ignis is turned on, and Noctis finds that incredibly, shamefully hot, cheeks flushing at the praise despite himself, tugged along by the sinfully decadent promise of his love. ]
[ He'll love him, but not in public, and Noctis is too impatient to make the trek up when Ignis' dick is thick in his hand. He's pressing his mouth to his, passionate and searing, and he grips him tightly. ] Hang on.
[ A zip, a violent burst of magic, and off they go, Noctis warping right up to the balcony of his apartment. They land easy; and in Ignis' case, with his dick out, and Noctis promptly pushes him up against the wall by the railings, shamelessly taking it into his mouth. A revenge blowjob? More likely than you think.
Or, well, it's just because he wants to; punishment can come later. ]
Love me here, then. [ He grumbles with a mouth full of his dick, hands coming to curve over his hips. ]
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So that's the nature of the beast, feigning nonchalance against calls for self-preservation, settling back to the rigors of Noct's embrace like he's the least affected by the violence clamoring in him. He didn't retain his position as Noctis's chamberlain out of birthright alone, but perhaps the madness of a man single-minded in his passions.
Disabused of any goodness, there's just no decency left to Ignis past the point of no return, barely any vestiges of goodness left to salvage and piece into something modest. Too bad. Noct's laying his hands on him, and that's a countermeasure long overdue, given seventy-hours of semi-restrained dialogue between them after their unfortunate lock-and-key incident. Hair mussed, Ignis cradles his hands around the fair and noble king-to-be, expecting to be bodily dragged upright and entirely willing to princess-carry Noct up a few flights of stairs if his pride can withstand the hit.
Instead, inertia beats up Ignis's sense of balanceā€” suddenly the world's built on topsy-turvy motion, and he's barely managed to wrestle a firmer grip around Noctis's shoulder when they're both spirited right up to the balcony, and bloody hellā€” they've practiced a few times, a few stunts and jaunts in the training room, but Noct's magic is something thunderous and overwhelming, and he's slightly dizzy on the outset when his feet touch solid ground a couple of seconds later, fingers clamping down on the railings to conjure up a center of gravity he's lost.
And Noctisā€” Noctis has a heartbreaking pathos to him, cheeks hot with vehemence, stalking forward to trap him between the railing and the wall with a casual irreverence that shines and shines out of him, and that's the blessed death blow to Ignis's already ailing conscience. From this vantage point, peering down the long cord of Noct's spine as he bends until he's eye-level with his groin, he's terribly gorgeous, mouth opening up to take him whole. Another kind of devouring.
Blowjobs might just be another form of exsanguination; all the heat and the rest of his common sense has since fled to his cock, and now he's bloodless everywhere else, ravenous for affection. ]
I'd want nothing more.
[ First attempt to pretend at refinement and Ignis botches it. Tough break, even tougher when he's purposefully reaching to tug at Noct's damp collar to yank him up for a kiss, only to gasp back into the wall, gasps flatlining in the back of his throat. Noctis is sullen and sweet at once, sulking around his dick, and there's no shortage of surreality in curling his hands to his outline. ]
The timing leavesā€” something to beā€” desired, Noct.
[ Two seconds away from his own demise and he's getting treated to the soft lick of Noctis's tongue, the beseeching quality his mouth takes on when split open around the shaft instead. Talk about mood whiplash, even if his complaint's more of a vague observation than his usual criticisms. Furthermore, is this any way to speak to the prince of Lucis, denunciatory and halting but horribly fond? Not at all, but Ignis is currently buying himself time away from the sighs touching at his throat, the noises braced between the teeth as his breathing takes on a ragged tenor. ]
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[ Because Noctis will not be held responsible for what he sees as fallout from Ignis' plans, and because, really, none of this will be happening if Ignis hadn't given in to whatever perverse impulse that had led him to cage his cock up anyway -- and three days' worth of sexual frustration is enough to make Noctis profoundly uncharitable, not even when his mouth is around his cock and the prince is pointedly refusing to come up for a kiss quite yet.
No, Ignis doesn't deserve it.
He's pinning his hips to the wall, moving to deepthroat him, taking him down, down before pulling out and stifling his own gag reflex, moving to kiss up his cock, pressing heated little kisses up and down his length before he takes it back into his mouth to suck, hard, as if he could draw out everything that keeps him standing by this alone. Noctis is aware, too, that Ignis is entirely given over to this, and Noctis pinches his thigh briefly, leaving the smallest bruise on the inside of it.
He'll be even more ruined before Noctis is done with him, but it's a good start. Fuelled by an unholy mixture of vengeance and lust, Noctis ignores the fact that they're on his balcony; hell, they're too high for anyone to see anything good, anyway, and his cock's halfway down his mouth again, Noctis going so deep his nose presses against his belly before he pulls out, lips reddened and his eyes almost black with hunger, as ravenous as he is vengeful. ]
You didn't give a shit about timing before when you put that stupid thing on me.
[ Why is something he ought to ask in the near future, a small part of him suggests, because Ignis rarely ever initiates something without cause, and he's halfway certain this hadn't been born of some kind of sadistic whim. Ignis might have a vicious streak a mile wide, but it's rarely ever unfounded. But first, however, to take all of his frustrations out on him and to make him very, very sorry he'd decided to leash him in the first place. Maybe one day Noctis would put a cage on him; or maybe a leash, or maybe a myriad other things that he can dream of. His lips smack, wet and obscene around his dick, lavishing his full attention on him, intent on making him come, to feel that spurt of heat and bittersalty spend down his throat.
Or maybe he ought to deny him that at the last second, won't that be something, too? ] Mmm --
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Stepping into his wrath should count for something, though. Ignis isn't senselessly malicious, and he accepts the consequences stacked up against him. Anger coasts on Noctis with all the magnitude of a storm, relentless and turbulent and forsaking propriety to suck him off, and Ignis sinks into it, the daring ferocity of it that flies in the face of common sense. There's not much to Noctis that isn't cutthroat or liable to get his knees buckling before the day's out, though, when his legs won't hold out for much, and his reflexes debilitate. It's not just the illicitness of it, out on the balcony with his clothes shucked some ways to off and the prince haranguing his cock, that provokes so much scrutiny.
It's the profundity of it, desecrating laws and any wayward eyes to keep Noctis focused on him, the pained undercurrent of want and need seeping into him.
Noctis brands himself, skin against skin and teasing pressure around the head of his dick, and Ignis's fingers where they've stopped to brace him, choking down another noise, shallowly sucking in air through his mouth. ]
My deepest apologies. It wasā€”
[ It's unfounded, using education as an excuse to keep Noctis's modesty intact instead of removed to fall into someone else's clutches, and he's jealous even under the susurrations propped up to the pelvic bone, the bleary sound of Noctis licking his way through to him.
Hemorrhaging away from the moment is the molten look in Noctis's eyes, betraying his longing and lashing his mouth to him, and he gasps, shuddering into the ache. ]
It was foul play.
[ So Noctis should know that he can acknowledge unfairness, at least, even when he's slipped so far down the wall that his dress shoes are skidding across the floor, back scraping at the wall, just a couple feet away from the sliding glass doors. Slack at his sides are his hands, which twist back open to pull him forward, back for another shoddy attempt at a kiss. He's less impudent than to ask forgiveness, so he'll look for one last mercy, hips struggling mid-thrust. ]
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He pulls his mouth off of his cock, now wet with saliva and pre-cum, the bittersalty trace of it on his tongue as he makes his decision in that one moment. Ignis understands that it's foul play, and Noctis hasn't yet understood why Ignis had gone to such lengths to cage his dick up. Not that it hurt him in any way -- only that it's pissed him off enough to deny Ignis the one thing that will tip him over. He leans back on his heels to look back up at him, unwilling to come up to give him that kiss either, because Noctis is fully capable of pettiness when the mood comes upon him.
He licks his lips, reddened and full from how he'd so enthusiastically taken to his cock earlier, and all the more to torment him with. His gaze is dark with lust but even, full of longing and unspoken wrath all at once -- even so, it doesn't escape how beautiful he is, which annoys him even further because how can he possibly stay mad at him, no matter how much he wants to kill him for putting that cage on him in the first place?
Now, he slowly straightens up to get to his feet, careful not to touch Ignis' cock again -- no, he doesn't deserve an easy orgasm after everything he's put him through, and the prince is also ridiculously curious about the entire thing, mercy withheld and keeping Ignis on the edge, just past frustration with no relief in sight. ]
There's always a reason, with you. What is it?
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You're beautiful.
[ That's the extent of it, resorting to drastic measures like caging him in under the duplicity of studying. If not for his finals, then restraint. If not for restraint, then Ignis's insanity reaching a fever pitch with Tiberius draping his touch on Noctis, the paragon of a bad influence on him. ]
I was afraid you'd wise up to better options.
[ At the heart of the matter, he can't satisfy him; he can cook and clean and take up a handmaid's duties around him, but he can't be all that Noct needsā€” that he should ever need, for that matter, and that's enough to work on wrenching up his trousers and brusquely button them up. ]
I've been a jealous fool, Noct. I'm sorry. I'll leave you be.