[ The coffee stand set outside of the board room has been his only solace for the past two weeks. Given Noct's exams, his correspondence came few and far-between, which has helped him nurture far too heavy of an over-reliance on Ebony, concluding in him quitting the stuff cold turkey for two days. During his stint he's avoided a caffeine-induced death, but the meetings themselves are long, droll affairs with old men and women vested with too much power and a pronounced lack of concern for statutes that deviate even one centimeter from their own.
But even this is no different than all the other countless times he's been called to these meetings since the height of his adolescence, first to merely attend these affairs, then participate in them to a certain, limited degree. The condescension's especially thick when they take him for an overly ambitious man, but he's always been Noctis's chamberlain first and foremost, so nothing to fear. He won't usurp of their long-winded meetings, talking around a solution instead of making strides for it.
There's less time, this jaunt around, to stop by a novelty shop, so Ignis's presents dip below the acceptable margin for tacky shit, mainly composed of terrible shirts that'll never see the outside of the bedroom (specifically ones printed with key phrases like good things come to those who bait and it's about to get reel and paired with stock outlines of salmon and fishing rods). They're a little large, given their one-size-fits-all touristy nature, but the most atrocious of the bunch is probably the hoodie with the word masterbaiter emblazoned right across the front. They're a step down from the tacky Christmas sweaters of several months prior, the ones with fish embroidered right next to the snowflakes, but no less kitschy for it. Noct'll need something he can actually wear in public, though, hence the last-minute addition of fish-shaped sunglasses thrown into the mix, a pair that'll still find most of its use roosting next to the manta ray snow globe he gifted Noctis many weeks before.
All of it's summarily folded and settled in a large gift bag as he jimmies with the key to Noctis's apartment and rolls his luggage behind him, bolting the door behind him. It's odd that the prince hasn't greeted him at the entryway like usual, although the overhead beams twinkle their warm welcome as he sets his bag next to the couch, gifts in tow, but an entirely week of exams might've winded him. It's not unlike Noctis to doze off at the drop of a pin when he's especially tired, so Ignis flips the light switches off as he goes with every intention of chastely kissing Noct's forehead and preparing for bed.
Strange, though, how George hasn't come to assert her dominance in their household yet with a meow and a few raking bats of her paw along his slacks.
Absolutely nothing prepares him for Noctis standing right beside the mirror in lingerie that lavishes its compliments on him and then some. It's an intricate, form-fitting sprawl of fabric that accentuates his legs, already gazelle-like, and coupled with that sooty gaze of his, pierces Ignis right where he stands, skewering him to the floor.
So no, it doesn't crack the top five instances he's seen his Highness naked, intentional or otherwise. It shatters it, and shatters him. Noctis evidently underestimated that Ignis's heart might cut the shit out and go immediately into cardiac arrest at this breathtaking sight, but he manages to salvage the moment by speaking up before he permanently loses his voice. ]
Noct.
[ Eloquent. The novelty gift bag drops beside him with a dull thud, similar to the way Ignis's mind drops logic and renounces all ability to properly function, like the final stages of a collapsing star. ]
[ Ignis looks good. Even when returning home at the end of what must have been another very, very long day (Noctis doesn't envy him the task of being in the company of all the old, pompous stuffed shirts), the man still manages an air of understated elegance, stunning even in his weariness. Sometimes, Noctis thinks, he should just bottle that particular talent up and sell it -- he'd make a killing.
But speaking of killing, this is one look he hasn't actually seen on his face before. It's not altogether dissimilar to being suckerpunched, maybe? Although Ignis hasn't actually been suckerpunched either, and Noctis' brain works overtime to classifying the closest possible approximation as a gauge to how much he likes or doesn't like this... surprise. What's the next best classification for an Ignis who is possible three seconds away from imminent cardiac arrest?
Noct, he says, and Noctis is certain that the gift bag is for him, although he supposes it'd probably be tacky to ask about it when Ignis looks like all the wind's been knocked out of his sails. But the burning question right now is: is it a good or bad thing? Is he going to walk back out that door after telling him that he'll see him tomorrow? For all of the things Noctis has learned about sexuality and how sometimes it's a moving target, and hits and misses are a very vivid reality, he still finds himself uncertain. Does he like it? It's imperative that Noctis puzzles this out, because for all of Ignis' talents, hiding what he really feels is at the top of them, which is deeply inconvenient at times like these.
Then again, when in doubt, always go for the lowest expectations -- better to be surprised than disappointed. ]
You don't like it.
[ He says abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest because gods, this is stupid, he should have talked himself out of this stupid thing before it all becomes a disaster he can never live down, and he's practically striding towards his wardrobe to pull out something more acceptable, like a full length gunny sack to crawl into to spare himself and Ignis both from further mortification.
Is their relationship going to survive this hit? Probably. He fucking hopes so. ] I'll get changed. Uh -- just hang on.
[ At this rate, he'll need a crowbar just to be pried off of the flooring. He's dazed, enamored with the look of him, blinking and gorgeous and hesitant all at once, and it's going right to his dick, which is kind of awful. This isn't how he'd much wanted to meet Noctis, equipped with enough fish puns to keep them both preoccupied for days, but he can scarcely remember his own name right now, taken aback by Noct wrapped in so much lace and silk.
But then Noctis interprets this breakdown in him as rejection, and Ignis uproots himself off the floor by sheer force of will, stumbling (he never stumbles, it's all graceless) and reaching to properly cement his prince (his king) in place before he abandons the effort. ]
No, Iā€” wait. If you would.
[ He's flushed, all over: terrifically red in the face, blotchy with the urgency of a deranged man. But then he's crushing Noctis to him, mouth-to-mouth, impertinence jackknifing its way through in lieu of complete sentences. He needs him to hold, stay still, before he gets any smart ideas about abandoning lingerie and writing it off as a lost cause.
Breaking the kiss, his fingers slide to Noctis's waist, tentative. ]
Forgive my manners. I was, well, taken aback. You look lovely with it on. I can only hope you don't mind me saying as much. Honestly, I'd never imagined you'd do this for me. It was beyond me. [ And now he's just babbling, only semi-coherent. ] You're splendid as you are, Noct. You always have been.
[ Oh, but he's stunning, long, elegant curves, even with one strap hanging askew that he carefully rights as he folds Noctis into his grasp. His hands clasp where the sheer fabric runs thinnest, revealing a pale stretch of skin, yieldingly soft beneath his touch. ]
... I love it. I love you. You're terribly beautiful right now.
[ Note to self: Ignis looking entirely sucker-punched is apparently one of intense personal approval. He's going to file that away for future reference, as is the fact that he's actually managed to catch him off-guard enough to lapse into a kind of semi-coherence Noctis would be much more smug about if the man hadn't just kissed him stupid.
Okay. Okay. So this is a good thing. This works, and his deflated ego is rapidly puffing up again, his arms coming around Ignis to press against his back. He's leaning up to kiss him again, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. By the Six, he thinks, if he needs to smash past Ignis' well-constructed defenses again, he'll have to pull this on and press up against him and watch all that dignified poise crumble. Impossibly flattered and warmed by Ignis' apparent appreciation of his impulsive initiative, he shivers with pleasure when those light, elegant fingers right that strap and fuck, fuck, how is that one little gesture going right to his dick already?
He can feel nothing else but the heat of his palm through the lace, but Noctis recognises an advantage when he sees one, insinuating himself against the long, lean line of Ignis' body, so solid and strong against his own. Look at that blush flaring across Ignis' cheeks, the red rising so beautifully, the heat in his eyes. His heart skips a beat, pulse fluttering with renewed affection. ]
And so are you. [ He tells him with a low purr, lips pressing against his jaw, his throat, leaning so completely into his hands. He loves being touched by him, he loves claiming Ignis' full attention, elipsing and predominating all else the way Ignis so effortlessly does to him. Lips finding his, a hand coming to splay possessively over Ignis' chest, he murmurs. ] I love it when you come undone for me like this, Iggy. Now's a good time to tell you I'm wearing nothing underneath it.
[ Have mercy on his soul as it evaporates clean out of him. He's having an out-of-body experience, or something; out of his body but not, sending off distress signals to his brain when he glances down at Noctis where the chemise starts and rapidly plunges down. It takes a bit of reconciling with his brain; he's still figuring out how to move his limbs where they've deadlocked as Noctis leans in, sultry-sweet and soft with pleasure, and the feeling's going right to his dick again, and quarantining his conscience there for good measure. So is the prince's abdomen too, apparently, as he insinuates himself chest-to-chest, voice dripping over his throat and down his chin, and Ignis finds his motor reflex just in time to clasp at Noctis's wrist. ]
Oh, well. Goodness.
[ Good heavens, bloody hell. He's smoothing his other hand down, marveling the silken fabric, then Noctis, a couple fingers shy of lifting up the hem and pressing his palm against Noctis's upper thigh like an invocation of prayer. Or maybe a pledge of impious treason, since quite a number of unspeakable things are firing off in his brain in a rapid-fire pace, neurons either killing each other or resuscitating him just in time to talk above a faint warble. Whatever outcome wins doesn't have Ignis's best interests at heart, anyways. ]
You shouldn't have doubted yourself. You look incredible. If you were any more mesmerizing than this, I wouldn't be able to handle it.
[ But down his mouth goes, because he can lie, too; truth is that he's already snared, mouthing at the little junction between Noct's neck and shoulder, teasingly close to the strap. ]
If you're amenable, perhaps we can figure out a way to fix your dilemma.
[ Or figuring out how to resolve the issue of being entirely naked under this little slip of lingerie, you heathen. ]
[ How quickly his ego puffs up, from uncertainty to affectionate smugness. Now that he's appropriately classified Ignis reaction, it's time to bask and to tempt, to push his buttons and see for himself what works for future reference. Dressing up in this doesn't seem as mortifying now, now that he realizes Ignis likes it beyond anything they've ever done before. A surreptitious glance downwards -- not that he needs it, but confirmation that it isn't a revolver in his pocket helps -- assures him that the reaction is ultimately genuine. Which, of course, makes Noctis press up against it all the more, feeling the warmth of him against his abdomen, heated against silk.
He doesn't stop him when he clasps his wrist, looking back at him askance, but it's easy to tip his head back and sigh in open appreciation when velvet-warm lips press against his neck and shoulder, his skin tingling as desire stirs, his pulse a quick-beat thrum of anticipation. ]
Mmm. What dilemma is this? [ He tempts, his voice a touch more shaky and breathy than he likes, but it works, right? Ignis' pleasure does one hell of a number on him, makes him bold and shameless, makes him comfortable in the circle of his arms. He can feel the heat of his fingers right at where the impossibly high hem is, and it takes immense effort to school his impatience. He's doing this for Ignis, to draw out the pleasure and make it a night he won't forget in a hurry. Really, Noctis is all for having Ignis' interests at heart. His free hand comes up, curling into Ignis' hair, loosening that impeccable coiffure just because he can, and because rendering Ignis a mess is one of his favorite things to do. ] The one where you're trying to decide whether you want me to keep this on or off?
[ The insinuation's lancing through him, a smoking gun that's fired off its rounds and left him riddled with the damage. Everywhere is that heat, rampant and artless, snaking around his hands and reaches to the jut of Noctis's hips. There's neither the drippy run of undergarmentsā€” he's entirely naked underneath, courting disasterā€” and Ignis's fingers ghost, peeling it up some, talking through his bangs as Noctis takes his contempt to his hair, disheveling it. ]
The one where you decide how I'll make love to you before I lose my endurance and succumb.
[ He's learned his lesson, but he's already been contaminated by the shaky little breaths that peter out of Noctis's throats when he speaks, shiny and disorienting, folding all of his neat conclusions back into conjecture. All stakes are off when he's pressed flush against him, so it's possibly the easiest thing in the world to act in conjunction with inertia and back Noct down to the bed, then down. The king-to-be has all the blessings of his birthright on his side, breathing in power and authority and brazenness, and Ignis is all too affected by the proximity to cede as he's too prone to, sloppy in the resultant kiss he applies high on Noctis's chin.
A noise ribbons out of the back of his throat that sounds just like yearning where his knees have dug into the mattress between either of Noctis's legs, splayed open. He's got to break for air soon or he might never surface from this longing, but more importantly, he's got to drown in his influence as it suffuses, rises in while he's palming down Noctis's inner thigh, dangerously close to his pelvis. ]
[ Complaints, when has Noctis ever been one to succumb without drawing it out, making it as enjoyable for Ignis as it is for him? He's missed him to his bones, two weeks of absence as profoundly felt as a day without sunlight; crucial, but it goes on all the same. And now Ignis is here, home, all heat and intent as he backs the prince languidly against the bed, and it's only a heartbeat later that Noctis finds the cool sheets press against his mostly-bare back. The lace itches, just a little, but is swiftly ignored.
He doesn't hesitate to pull him above him, whining with soft impatience when he tries to angle his lips against his, only to catch the kiss high on his chin. An arm wrapping around his broad, strong shoulders, the other comes to unbutton his shirt. Two, then three, then the fourth, admiring the way the fabric gives away that gloriously sculpted chest, proof of just how much care Ignis puts into his body. The skull pendant swings from his throat, a well-preserved gift Noctis had earnestly presented to him when he had been a child, clutched tightly in small fingers.
It's longer ones that drift fondly over the pendant now, his thighs splaying open with sensuous ease. The cool air of the room makes him tingle, his cock twitching as goosebumps prickle along his skin. He's curling in the circle of his arms, sliding boldly up against his palm. He meets his gaze, blue eyes glittering in the warm yellow light. His own hand slides down his open shirt, possessive and affectionate -- because look at Ignis, sleek and near-overwhelming, disheveled and all his. ] You're wearing too much clothes. Touch me.
[ His fondness for skulls can be partially attributed to his own horrid taste (no order beyond the damning totality of sheer will could possess a human being to wear leopard print, for example), much of it can be chalked down to his own disgusting fondness for the trinkets Noctis would offer him from time to time, like he'd needed any more of a reason to become endeared.
Noct's beautiful, lavishly spread out on the mattress, and Ignis takes to the laughter that burns up his throat at that whine. Lovely. Dying contented after hearing that noise is entirely feasible, but he's got no plans to relinquish himself to anyone but the man undoing his shirt, fingers spanned like Ignis is the main attraction instead of the prince himself. Rolling him onto his back, he effortlessly assumes such a depraved form, and Ignis's mind promptly devolves into juvenile notions of pressing him open. ]
Yes.
[ Yes, he's entirely too clothed. Too bad he's incognizant to anything but the sight searing his retinas as Ignis's mouth drapes down the sharp cut of the neckline in mock-teasing. His hand comes up from beneath the hem, huddled over the swell of Noct's balls, kneading them between his fingers as he takes his mouth down the silken valley of the chest heaving beneath him, breath suspended over one of Noctis's pectorals, where one nipple stands out. Instead of reaching around to pinch at the bud until it hardens, he presses his mouth flush to it, kissing at the shape of it, mouthing his enthrallment over the slip of fabric thinly separating them. ]
Aaaah -- [ A soft cry uttered at the mercy of Ignis' hot, hot mouth, the way it closes over his nipple through the slip, mouthing at him like he intends to break him just from this alone, and Noctis has never been more sensitive. He has never been more turned on, there's just something about Ignis' reaction to the slip that he wears that thrums hot in his veins, heightens the anticipation and excitement. His hands tremble when they finish the last button, shucking the shirt off his shoulders with obvious impatience.
His chest burns with traces of his kiss, and Noctis squirms under the teasing, half-tempted to twist away from the way he cups his balls, lightly-calloused palm providing a glorious heat and friction that makes him giddy. Instead, he instinctively tries to close his thighs around his hand. ]
Ignis. [ He breathes, ragged and besotted and three degrees shy of wrecked. There is color high on his cheeks as he shamelessly arches into his mouth. More, he needs more -- Ignis courses like a drug in his veins, his attentions a frightfully coveted thing. He's so hard it hurts, and a hand comes to curve at the back of Ignis' head, brushing over the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. The other splays over his shoulder, blunt nails digging gently into him. ]
Do something about it. [ Ignis is too far out of reach for Noctis to strip him of his trousers, so he settles for the next best thing: bossing Ignis around. ]
[ Mediating that longing in Noctis is just like trying to placate a third-degree burn on skin; there's no curbing the damage, just salvaging what's left behind in the disaster and making the best of it. His hands trace shallow curves and the shallower dip of the chemise, silky, and then he's got to lift his hands for the eventuality of his shirt getting summarily tugged off, fabric pooling at his wrists that he takes a slight detour to remove.
While Noctis's fingers prey upon his shoulder, nails enamored, voice even more enamored, Ignis hums his pleasantries, dragging his attentions to the other nipple, teeth raking just shy of perverseness. His mouth lifts with a grin, unseen from this treacherous angle. ]
Duly noted.
[ Unfortunately, a good portion of the lingerie below his waist will need to be stranded above it as one of his hands fondly scope out the space between his legs, kneading and kneading him down. But he's insufferably gentle for being invasive, long fingers slipping around the head of Noct's cock as it beads with precum, taking the weepy mess of it along his fingers as he tucks around the frenulum, feeling out the underside with a softly biding thumb. ]
Patience.
[ He'll console him. He will. He'd even offer himself to the pyre if that'd mitigate his agony some, but he's too much of a glutton for his Highness's aching cries like some kind of insatiable sadomasochist, so he takes his time pulling an orgasm from him, stroking over the intricacy of his veins, the stiffness that Noct's taken on while carefully perching himself to undo the button on his trousers, then unzipping them. ]
[ Noctis says archly, because really, what kind of good came out of patience? And that seems even worse where Ignis is concerned, because at this point Noctis will do just about anything to make sure that he keeps touching him, which comprises boldly wrapping both of his legs high on his waist to lock him in place, pulling him close impatiently.
It's not often that Noctis reconsiders, but the idea comes to him unbidden as he watches Ignis unbutton and unzip, himself reaching down to slip his hand into the confines of his briefs, fingers curling around his cock, tucked so snugly inside there. He draws his cock out in return, shivering at the pleasure Ignis provides him with his fingers alone, rubbing over the veins on the underside of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine and rendering him a mess. He's rolling his hips hopelessly into his grip, as if doing so would afford him more of what Ignis is currently giving. His nipples are taut and stiff, sensitive the way Noctis had never really thought they would be, aching for attention when Ignis draws away; the lace scraping over sensitive buds make him squirm, the purest form of torture his chamberlain's just devised. ]
Second thought. Keep your clothes on. [ And the full length mirror just off to the side reveals them in all their debauchery beautifully; he turns his head to look, watching himself splayed shamelessly underneath Ignis, a gift to be unwrapped, and Ignis bent above him, all feral grace and calculating passion, Noctis' legs wrapped around his waist, lace and silk riding up to pool at his sternum, his cock almost obscene, the way it fills under Ignis' avid attentions. ]
Look at us. [ He murmurs, breath catching as he returns the favor, thumbing gently over the large, thick vein on the underside of Ignis' dick, tracing over it with loving care. Look at them here like this; in Noctis' heady intoxication he discovers a taste for exhibitionism, admiring how their bodies are slotted together, two halves of a whole. ]
[ It's true. Nothing good comes out of waiting but an anticipation that won't consign itself or find the least bit solace in the trouble taken. Yearning becomes Ignis, rolling off in turbulent waves, and every ounce of his frustration imparts itself with relief when he's pressed this close, leaning into Noctis and precariously balancing on him when he's ungovernable. ]
Good impulse.
[ Good instincts. He's not very patient to exercise restraint or the bodily inconvenience of removing clothing either, lavishing affection on Noctis's chest, a self-assured glide of his mouth down his sternum as Ignis hitches that leg wandering around his waist up further along his back, casts it around to join the other so he'll be dragged down into the undertow.
From now on, he'll need to ban enticements that come so slim and alluring on Noctis, slinky in the material, flippantly turning his head so it gives with just a push, directed sidelong at the mirror. But beauty's in the eye of the beholder, and although he can see himself, thoroughly debauched and down a shirt, there's only one person in that mirror who matters. ]
Look at you. You're more than I know what to do with.
[ More than he can bear. He's thwarted by it, their bodies pressed together, Noctis's thighs soft and insistent at his sides, fingers crumpled irresistibly around his erection, and Ignis shudders, sated and wanting. He closes his fingers around his hipbones then, grinding them together so they're worked snug, like they're twining together, made whole and complete. It's obscenity cast like reverence, his fingers slipping around Noct's so their hard-ons are angled together, movements sloppy and undermined with each pulse of heat that radiates outwards, but he's a man possessed by his king. He can't help it, the throb of his erection, the loosely sobbing breaths when the hem of the lace ends and his mouth is warm over Noctis's bare ribs. ]
You ever gonna -- aaah -- stop flattering me that way?
[ It's no secret that for all of Noctis' ego, he has little idea of how to gracefully accept compliments, especially when they're uttered by Ignis with such intensity that he feels his cheeks heat up. Gods, he's behaving like a teenage girl that's just sad. He's supposed to be seducing Ignis, primed to drive him out of his mind with mounting desire, and here he is, hopelessly seduced.
Not about to admit defeat, he continues to stroke his cock where they both can see, languid and thorough and deliberate, enjoying how he feels in his hand as he rubs his thumb up and down the veined ridges of his dick, lingering at the root of it before sliding back up to curve his thumb deliberately over the flared tip, toying with the foreskin just because he can, gently pulling it back before releasing.
He's letting himself be hitched up a little higher, exposing himself shamelessly as he digs his heel into the small of his back, gasping with unbridled pleasure at the warmth of his mouth, the sin he lavishes onto his skin. And oh, how Ignis seems to close to becoming undone, when his hungry mouth is pressed over his ribs and Noctis swears Ignis can hear the wild pounding of his heart from here. They are tangled together as one, and he issues a quiet, pleasure-filled keen of approval and want, and he's grinding his hips impatiently against him, wild and in need of a good taming. ]
Gods, Iggy, you feel so fucking -- [ He continues breathlessly, his words thick and heavy, tossing his head back when their cocks slide each other again and again, their hands joined in mutual yearning, and oh, how Ignis feels so, so very good. He tightens his hand. ] Come on me.
[ On the lace and satin, on his flat stomach; the first of a few rounds they will surely go tonight. Noctis wants to be marked, had, and after all, this particular piece of lingerie is made for ruining. ]
Youā€” you can't teach an old dog new tricks, I'm afraid.
[ And he's like a hound, bloodthirsty and preying on what he can get, triumphant when he's the one losing to savagery. Bad to the bones, with yearning shaking tremors out of him, sharing their warmth until it's something melting and horrifically visceral, gouging out his lungs for breath so each exhales ends on a moan. Sweat's raining down his temples, glasses condensed with the heat that clouds his vision, so Noct's misting up and all that's left is the heartbeat ticking beneath his mouth, the frantic staccato of it humming in time with his own. He's smudging the insults and compliments alike away, the material of the silken fabric coming up when Noctis tugs him down and he crumples with the drop, grinding furiously hard into their hands, choking down his erection.
When Noctis makes the request, he's past coherency and proper speech, panting a fevered tempo into the side of his neck, groaning with the need that's clambering up him. When Noct's head falls back, the pale stretch of his neck exposed, it shouldn't be a shock that Ignis goes right for the maiming, lifting Noct's leg further along his waist with a fervor that should fall under critique later, when they're both back to relying on sanity instead of instinct.
But there's no halting right now, even when he near-sobs along the lace, mouth wandering by Noct's clavicles, clung to him so he's enshrined more in his arms than lying on the bed. There's no controlling the trajectory of release; it's just enough to cut loose, shuddering underneath the tumult of orgasm, spurting in some jerky rush on him, against his best efforts to contain it just his fingers. Bent over the bed, the mess of it is clinging to his fingers, but there's cum on Noctis's stomach, trickling through the half-aborted intricacy of their bodies when twined this close, and it's awful, how much this says about his restraint (coming on command, like something rehearsed). He can't control the slump, either, so he just goes with itā€” sinks down on one side, nosing by Noct's shoulder, beyond articulation. ]
[ His Ignis comes on command, and there's everything intoxicating about having him unravel just so. It's a rush of power, potent and exhilarating, and Noctis makes a low noise of approval as his fingers stroke his cock, milking every pulse from him, watching the sticky spurts of cum spatter-spill past his fingers onto his stomach, dripping on his own cock, staining the lace-silk concoction with his seed, welcome and wanted. It's wonderful, what it says about his beloved's willingness to indulge him his lurid whims, and Noctis swipes some of the cum from his stomach when he's done, licking it off his fingers, tasting the familiar bittersaltiness of it before he turns his head, draws him into a slow, languorous kiss.
He's still hard, still aching, dripping with need, but he doesn't pay much attention to his dick right now, not when Ignis sinks down on his side, pressed closed to him. ] I think you're delicious.
[ He murmurs, a soft smile tugging at the side of his mouth, his leg coming to drape over his waist again all the same, turning fully to him. It's after a moment that he's gently removing his glasses, folding it and setting it neatly on the nightstand next to him. ] Do you want to fuck me?
[ Because he wants this, because he's ached for his cock inside him for the past many days, Ignis' absence a constant, low-level sort of misery that's only endurable because of exams, of all the other things that were present to take his mind off the fact that the bed has been bereft of him for so long. ]
[ He'll give himself up for consumption if that'll satiate Noct, tearing into the core of Ignis as he effortlessly does, appropriating his heart for his own whims. Not a bad way to go. Not at all. Otherwise, Ignis takes after a shark enamored by the spill of blood, searching out the source and brings in Noctis with a hand around his nape for that bruising, draining kiss that siphons away some of the ache.
The barbarity in him abates, little by little, and he comes away with his mouth wet and gaze focused, recovering enough obscene grace to take the loss of his glasses in good stride. The taste lingers in his mouth as it presses into a thin line, an undercurrent of languor traveling his voice. ]
You're beautiful. [ Just a non-sequitur to add to all of those other non-sequiturs, arbitrated just so. He's got a face on him that speaks of his amusement even when his humor's felled, legs braced on the mattress. His smile revives. ] Do you want me to?
[ A soft-edged accusation, the corners of his mouth tugging up. Coyness is hardly an asset, dispelling the twist of Noctis's legs to scoot down and down so that the prince's kneecaps are riding at his shoulders, soles of his feet someways down his back, as he kisses him, down the pale wash of his thighs, then up along his groin, lips pressed along the base of his cock and his balls in idle patterns, Noctis providing the axis of the world upon which to spiral himself around. ]
[ Noctis breathes. His yearning makes him polite when he asks Ignis to fuck him, to make love to him -- the prince has missed his beloved in the days that span between them, all of it taken up by their respective duties, but it doesn't mean the absence goes unnoticed. And here they are, Noctis with Ignis' cum on his stomach, his own cock still hard and dripping with need, and he's gasping when he's folded nearly into two, knees over those strong, broad shoulders.
It's a good thing he's so flexible, because he's issuing a soft whine of longing when Ignis presses his lips to his thighs, his cock, his balls, pulling taut with potent arousal. He feels empty inside, needy, and pinned down like this he could do little more but squirm, his hand coming down to curl through Ignis' hair, gently pulling but not forcing him everywhere. ]
Aaah -- Iggy...! [ Soft cries as he feels his tongue against his heated skin, and he's so turned on he fears he might burst into pieces, his cock bobbing obscenely against his mouth. Ignis is so very beautiful when he goes down on him, and Noctis will make good on that offer to devour him in time. Now, now it's time to be consumed, to be taken whole, and to remember just how good Ignis feels buried deep inside of him.
He squirms, pressing up into his mouth, begging without words, cheeks flushed pink at the compliment. It seems like Ignis always knows how to get to him, to know what to say to make him unfold and offer himself to him, his spine tingling with his talented ministrations. ]
[ Muscle memory, after all this time spent away. His heart's stuck in a bell jar or something equally oppressive, tinny and echoing and loud out of his chest, or crushed where Noct's somehow gotten his hands around it for safekeeping. Not in the literal sense, but the sort that rolls an entire ocean over him so his balance is irrevocably torn asunder, his hands sliding to shape around him, pulling in like just Noct can transfix him, keep him from going entirely lost.
Inelegance is preying on his mouth, otherwise, sweet on him, kissing him out of the keening fits and the start of panting as it all runs down his throat, like his presence is wounding on him, and Ignis stops some, if just to give him a moment to catch his breath before he resumes down by Noctis's inner thigh, supplanting another kiss there.
Please. Please, please, please. His lungs are inarticulate, but also planted on the words that shudder out of Noctis, panting, the lithe lines of his body pulling up to meet the shape he's cast, only to startle as his lips travel down the scope of him. No immaculacy, this time. Just yearning for its own profane sake.
Ignis musters up a smile. It sits shrewd on his mouth after Noct's let him topple them both over, leaving him flat on his back while he splits Noct's legs apart. Briefly, he leans back up, teeth scraping over Noct's lips, then reorients himself: ]
Yes.
[ And that answer comes from being undone too many times by Noct's whims, like the slinky spill of his lingerie or the cum ribboning over it, the heat in him that translates its way over into Noctis when he presses tight against him, then insideā€” wrenching in as Noctis's body stretches to conform around him. The clutch is unbearable, pouring on down from base to tip, but he sinks in a little more until he's seated fully inside him. His face fortifies even in lounging decline, waiting for his Highness to acclimate, then he broaches him for these slow, minute thrusts, his balls slapping against Noct with every lurch forward. ]
[ Yes, and it's one word with a world of meaning in it.
Yes, Ignis says, and Noctis' heart skips a beat because no matter how often his lover yields to him, all beauty and grace and elegance with a feral savagery threaded underneath it, brought to almost breaking point, it will never cease to be something of untold magnificence. His lips burn with Ignis' kisses, burning a line down his throat, making an invisible mark over his racing pulse.
His heart belongs to Ignis, and he aches and sighs, soft and willing with an equally fervent yearning. His absence is an unwelcome change that Noctis has never gotten used to, no matter the duration or frequency, and he's an unholy mess of sweat, drying cum, and a tight, hot hole that's more than ready for Ignis to slide back inside of him.
And slide back he does, smooth but firm, Ignis pouring all of himself into this sacred, carnal act, and Noctis reaches up to cling, to hold tight as he swallows him whole, accommodates and encomapsses all of him, taking his cock inside with a warm sigh. He's welcome here, forever and always, and his words catch when he feels him fill him up, thick and long and so, so very full that the ever-constant irrational fear of Ignis possibly not fitting inside of him sparks in the back of his mind, and is summarily dismissed.
No, Ignis will always fit inside of him like the perfect piece of a missing puzzle, slotting into place as he closes around him, warm and pulsing and fully intent on pleasing him and making up for lost time. His hand coming to rest on his cheek, Noctis grinds back against him with soft, breathless moans, laying out his pleasure for Ignis' consumption, cheeks flushed with color and mouth parted in shameless enjoyment. ]
Missed you. [ He pants, clenching down tight around his cock, feeling the press of his balls against his ass and the obscene sounds of their fucking in the silence of their apartment. Gods, but he loves when Ignis fucks him, when he opens up and takes him inside and gives himself over. His hands slip right down to cup and squeeze Ignis' ass, feeling the tight, firm flesh in his palms. He huffs softly. ] Missed all of you. Tell me you liked ruining my lingerie.
[ His fingers curl, briefly, adjusting his hold on Noctis like Noctis adjusts his hold on him, forcing the bend to his elbow when he crashes down into the first thrust. It's not a long plummet, posed as inches instead of miles. Ignis learns, and relearns; he sees Noct's mouth ebb into a sharp arc of a grin, then sees through it. (And it's maddening, leaving him wry under the strain of that gaze, and those eyes, and that heart, all slicing him open to something undone. He's the one coming apart. His back's relenting to arch just so, telegraphing every ounce of his intent.)
One failed attempt at subtlety, and now he's never going to live it down. Ignis gasps, a low sound, when Noctis bends his knees, limbs loose, and steadies him. A minute passes. He's thinking about the drop of sweat perilously running down the slope of his cheek, drawn out like any tear. Noct's reaching ferociously for him, spitfire and challenging, grappling down his spinal cord, then his ass.
And Ignis laughs, indulgent. All of his infatuation shines in his throat. Too much. Too much. Noct would've been better with someone who could match that teetering absorption in him; Ignis has no talent for love, he's not daring enough. Fortune favors the bold, and he's chronic with his scruples.
But he's rising to the challenge, because that's all that can be done. His knuckles momentarily rasp on the bones of Noctis's ribs as he stills just to admire him, grinding and sweet. ]
Beautiful.
[ Years of pondering Noct and squashing down that pining for him have rendered him inarticulate. Let him amend that, shaking his head when he resumes the pace, the next thrust steady and clean as any cut. His breath is lost in a wash of sighing, words coming up in startled fits, clouding up like steam. ]
I loathed it. You know that better than anyone. [ Especially later when he'll do laundry and contend with the potential for stains, salvaging what he's destroyed. Ignis inhales, hummingbird-quick, then loosens, slowly, then all at once, mouth draped over his throat, thrusts taking a turn for the severe. ] But I've got an appetite for ruining you that I can't seem to satiate.
[ Noncommittal, though, even with the thrum of Noctis's body enfolding him like one overlong heartbeat, jumpstarting pulses of heat in his groin. ]
I love you. I love you so much I can scarcely wrap my mind around it.
[ And isn't that affection, shaped like Noctis's hand on his cheek, eloping with all of his common sense and decency. ]
[ 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 holdā€” Noctis's iron-clad grip, spiking up to clutch and take him even furtherā€” 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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But even this is no different than all the other countless times he's been called to these meetings since the height of his adolescence, first to merely attend these affairs, then participate in them to a certain, limited degree. The condescension's especially thick when they take him for an overly ambitious man, but he's always been Noctis's chamberlain first and foremost, so nothing to fear. He won't usurp of their long-winded meetings, talking around a solution instead of making strides for it.
There's less time, this jaunt around, to stop by a novelty shop, so Ignis's presents dip below the acceptable margin for tacky shit, mainly composed of terrible shirts that'll never see the outside of the bedroom (specifically ones printed with key phrases like good things come to those who bait and it's about to get reel and paired with stock outlines of salmon and fishing rods). They're a little large, given their one-size-fits-all touristy nature, but the most atrocious of the bunch is probably the hoodie with the word masterbaiter emblazoned right across the front. They're a step down from the tacky Christmas sweaters of several months prior, the ones with fish embroidered right next to the snowflakes, but no less kitschy for it. Noct'll need something he can actually wear in public, though, hence the last-minute addition of fish-shaped sunglasses thrown into the mix, a pair that'll still find most of its use roosting next to the manta ray snow globe he gifted Noctis many weeks before.
All of it's summarily folded and settled in a large gift bag as he jimmies with the key to Noctis's apartment and rolls his luggage behind him, bolting the door behind him. It's odd that the prince hasn't greeted him at the entryway like usual, although the overhead beams twinkle their warm welcome as he sets his bag next to the couch, gifts in tow, but an entirely week of exams might've winded him. It's not unlike Noctis to doze off at the drop of a pin when he's especially tired, so Ignis flips the light switches off as he goes with every intention of chastely kissing Noct's forehead and preparing for bed.
Strange, though, how George hasn't come to assert her dominance in their household yet with a meow and a few raking bats of her paw along his slacks.
Absolutely nothing prepares him for Noctis standing right beside the mirror in lingerie that lavishes its compliments on him and then some. It's an intricate, form-fitting sprawl of fabric that accentuates his legs, already gazelle-like, and coupled with that sooty gaze of his, pierces Ignis right where he stands, skewering him to the floor.
So no, it doesn't crack the top five instances he's seen his Highness naked, intentional or otherwise. It shatters it, and shatters him. Noctis evidently underestimated that Ignis's heart might cut the shit out and go immediately into cardiac arrest at this breathtaking sight, but he manages to salvage the moment by speaking up before he permanently loses his voice. ]
Noct.
[ Eloquent. The novelty gift bag drops beside him with a dull thud, similar to the way Ignis's mind drops logic and renounces all ability to properly function, like the final stages of a collapsing star. ]
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But speaking of killing, this is one look he hasn't actually seen on his face before. It's not altogether dissimilar to being suckerpunched, maybe? Although Ignis hasn't actually been suckerpunched either, and Noctis' brain works overtime to classifying the closest possible approximation as a gauge to how much he likes or doesn't like this... surprise. What's the next best classification for an Ignis who is possible three seconds away from imminent cardiac arrest?
Noct, he says, and Noctis is certain that the gift bag is for him, although he supposes it'd probably be tacky to ask about it when Ignis looks like all the wind's been knocked out of his sails. But the burning question right now is: is it a good or bad thing? Is he going to walk back out that door after telling him that he'll see him tomorrow? For all of the things Noctis has learned about sexuality and how sometimes it's a moving target, and hits and misses are a very vivid reality, he still finds himself uncertain. Does he like it? It's imperative that Noctis puzzles this out, because for all of Ignis' talents, hiding what he really feels is at the top of them, which is deeply inconvenient at times like these.
Then again, when in doubt, always go for the lowest expectations -- better to be surprised than disappointed. ]
You don't like it.
[ He says abruptly, his heart hammering in his chest because gods, this is stupid, he should have talked himself out of this stupid thing before it all becomes a disaster he can never live down, and he's practically striding towards his wardrobe to pull out something more acceptable, like a full length gunny sack to crawl into to spare himself and Ignis both from further mortification.
Is their relationship going to survive this hit? Probably. He fucking hopes so. ] I'll get changed. Uh -- just hang on.
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But then Noctis interprets this breakdown in him as rejection, and Ignis uproots himself off the floor by sheer force of will, stumbling (he never stumbles, it's all graceless) and reaching to properly cement his prince (his king) in place before he abandons the effort. ]
No, Iā€” wait. If you would.
[ He's flushed, all over: terrifically red in the face, blotchy with the urgency of a deranged man. But then he's crushing Noctis to him, mouth-to-mouth, impertinence jackknifing its way through in lieu of complete sentences. He needs him to hold, stay still, before he gets any smart ideas about abandoning lingerie and writing it off as a lost cause.
Breaking the kiss, his fingers slide to Noctis's waist, tentative. ]
Forgive my manners. I was, well, taken aback. You look lovely with it on. I can only hope you don't mind me saying as much. Honestly, I'd never imagined you'd do this for me. It was beyond me. [ And now he's just babbling, only semi-coherent. ] You're splendid as you are, Noct. You always have been.
[ Oh, but he's stunning, long, elegant curves, even with one strap hanging askew that he carefully rights as he folds Noctis into his grasp. His hands clasp where the sheer fabric runs thinnest, revealing a pale stretch of skin, yieldingly soft beneath his touch. ]
... I love it. I love you. You're terribly beautiful right now.
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Okay. Okay. So this is a good thing. This works, and his deflated ego is rapidly puffing up again, his arms coming around Ignis to press against his back. He's leaning up to kiss him again, a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. By the Six, he thinks, if he needs to smash past Ignis' well-constructed defenses again, he'll have to pull this on and press up against him and watch all that dignified poise crumble. Impossibly flattered and warmed by Ignis' apparent appreciation of his impulsive initiative, he shivers with pleasure when those light, elegant fingers right that strap and fuck, fuck, how is that one little gesture going right to his dick already?
He can feel nothing else but the heat of his palm through the lace, but Noctis recognises an advantage when he sees one, insinuating himself against the long, lean line of Ignis' body, so solid and strong against his own. Look at that blush flaring across Ignis' cheeks, the red rising so beautifully, the heat in his eyes. His heart skips a beat, pulse fluttering with renewed affection. ]
And so are you. [ He tells him with a low purr, lips pressing against his jaw, his throat, leaning so completely into his hands. He loves being touched by him, he loves claiming Ignis' full attention, elipsing and predominating all else the way Ignis so effortlessly does to him. Lips finding his, a hand coming to splay possessively over Ignis' chest, he murmurs. ] I love it when you come undone for me like this, Iggy. Now's a good time to tell you I'm wearing nothing underneath it.
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Oh, well. Goodness.
[ Good heavens, bloody hell. He's smoothing his other hand down, marveling the silken fabric, then Noctis, a couple fingers shy of lifting up the hem and pressing his palm against Noctis's upper thigh like an invocation of prayer. Or maybe a pledge of impious treason, since quite a number of unspeakable things are firing off in his brain in a rapid-fire pace, neurons either killing each other or resuscitating him just in time to talk above a faint warble. Whatever outcome wins doesn't have Ignis's best interests at heart, anyways. ]
You shouldn't have doubted yourself. You look incredible. If you were any more mesmerizing than this, I wouldn't be able to handle it.
[ But down his mouth goes, because he can lie, too; truth is that he's already snared, mouthing at the little junction between Noct's neck and shoulder, teasingly close to the strap. ]
If you're amenable, perhaps we can figure out a way to fix your dilemma.
[ Or figuring out how to resolve the issue of being entirely naked under this little slip of lingerie, you heathen. ]
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[ How quickly his ego puffs up, from uncertainty to affectionate smugness. Now that he's appropriately classified Ignis reaction, it's time to bask and to tempt, to push his buttons and see for himself what works for future reference. Dressing up in this doesn't seem as mortifying now, now that he realizes Ignis likes it beyond anything they've ever done before. A surreptitious glance downwards -- not that he needs it, but confirmation that it isn't a revolver in his pocket helps -- assures him that the reaction is ultimately genuine. Which, of course, makes Noctis press up against it all the more, feeling the warmth of him against his abdomen, heated against silk.
He doesn't stop him when he clasps his wrist, looking back at him askance, but it's easy to tip his head back and sigh in open appreciation when velvet-warm lips press against his neck and shoulder, his skin tingling as desire stirs, his pulse a quick-beat thrum of anticipation. ]
Mmm. What dilemma is this? [ He tempts, his voice a touch more shaky and breathy than he likes, but it works, right? Ignis' pleasure does one hell of a number on him, makes him bold and shameless, makes him comfortable in the circle of his arms. He can feel the heat of his fingers right at where the impossibly high hem is, and it takes immense effort to school his impatience. He's doing this for Ignis, to draw out the pleasure and make it a night he won't forget in a hurry. Really, Noctis is all for having Ignis' interests at heart. His free hand comes up, curling into Ignis' hair, loosening that impeccable coiffure just because he can, and because rendering Ignis a mess is one of his favorite things to do. ] The one where you're trying to decide whether you want me to keep this on or off?
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The one where you decide how I'll make love to you before I lose my endurance and succumb.
[ He's learned his lesson, but he's already been contaminated by the shaky little breaths that peter out of Noctis's throats when he speaks, shiny and disorienting, folding all of his neat conclusions back into conjecture. All stakes are off when he's pressed flush against him, so it's possibly the easiest thing in the world to act in conjunction with inertia and back Noct down to the bed, then down. The king-to-be has all the blessings of his birthright on his side, breathing in power and authority and brazenness, and Ignis is all too affected by the proximity to cede as he's too prone to, sloppy in the resultant kiss he applies high on Noctis's chin.
A noise ribbons out of the back of his throat that sounds just like yearning where his knees have dug into the mattress between either of Noctis's legs, splayed open. He's got to break for air soon or he might never surface from this longing, but more importantly, he's got to drown in his influence as it suffuses, rises in while he's palming down Noctis's inner thigh, dangerously close to his pelvis. ]
Any complaints?
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[ Complaints, when has Noctis ever been one to succumb without drawing it out, making it as enjoyable for Ignis as it is for him? He's missed him to his bones, two weeks of absence as profoundly felt as a day without sunlight; crucial, but it goes on all the same. And now Ignis is here, home, all heat and intent as he backs the prince languidly against the bed, and it's only a heartbeat later that Noctis finds the cool sheets press against his mostly-bare back. The lace itches, just a little, but is swiftly ignored.
He doesn't hesitate to pull him above him, whining with soft impatience when he tries to angle his lips against his, only to catch the kiss high on his chin. An arm wrapping around his broad, strong shoulders, the other comes to unbutton his shirt. Two, then three, then the fourth, admiring the way the fabric gives away that gloriously sculpted chest, proof of just how much care Ignis puts into his body. The skull pendant swings from his throat, a well-preserved gift Noctis had earnestly presented to him when he had been a child, clutched tightly in small fingers.
It's longer ones that drift fondly over the pendant now, his thighs splaying open with sensuous ease. The cool air of the room makes him tingle, his cock twitching as goosebumps prickle along his skin. He's curling in the circle of his arms, sliding boldly up against his palm. He meets his gaze, blue eyes glittering in the warm yellow light. His own hand slides down his open shirt, possessive and affectionate -- because look at Ignis, sleek and near-overwhelming, disheveled and all his. ] You're wearing too much clothes. Touch me.
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Noct's beautiful, lavishly spread out on the mattress, and Ignis takes to the laughter that burns up his throat at that whine. Lovely. Dying contented after hearing that noise is entirely feasible, but he's got no plans to relinquish himself to anyone but the man undoing his shirt, fingers spanned like Ignis is the main attraction instead of the prince himself. Rolling him onto his back, he effortlessly assumes such a depraved form, and Ignis's mind promptly devolves into juvenile notions of pressing him open. ]
Yes.
[ Yes, he's entirely too clothed. Too bad he's incognizant to anything but the sight searing his retinas as Ignis's mouth drapes down the sharp cut of the neckline in mock-teasing. His hand comes up from beneath the hem, huddled over the swell of Noct's balls, kneading them between his fingers as he takes his mouth down the silken valley of the chest heaving beneath him, breath suspended over one of Noctis's pectorals, where one nipple stands out. Instead of reaching around to pinch at the bud until it hardens, he presses his mouth flush to it, kissing at the shape of it, mouthing his enthrallment over the slip of fabric thinly separating them. ]
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His chest burns with traces of his kiss, and Noctis squirms under the teasing, half-tempted to twist away from the way he cups his balls, lightly-calloused palm providing a glorious heat and friction that makes him giddy. Instead, he instinctively tries to close his thighs around his hand. ]
Ignis. [ He breathes, ragged and besotted and three degrees shy of wrecked. There is color high on his cheeks as he shamelessly arches into his mouth. More, he needs more -- Ignis courses like a drug in his veins, his attentions a frightfully coveted thing. He's so hard it hurts, and a hand comes to curve at the back of Ignis' head, brushing over the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. The other splays over his shoulder, blunt nails digging gently into him. ]
Do something about it. [ Ignis is too far out of reach for Noctis to strip him of his trousers, so he settles for the next best thing: bossing Ignis around. ]
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While Noctis's fingers prey upon his shoulder, nails enamored, voice even more enamored, Ignis hums his pleasantries, dragging his attentions to the other nipple, teeth raking just shy of perverseness. His mouth lifts with a grin, unseen from this treacherous angle. ]
Duly noted.
[ Unfortunately, a good portion of the lingerie below his waist will need to be stranded above it as one of his hands fondly scope out the space between his legs, kneading and kneading him down. But he's insufferably gentle for being invasive, long fingers slipping around the head of Noct's cock as it beads with precum, taking the weepy mess of it along his fingers as he tucks around the frenulum, feeling out the underside with a softly biding thumb. ]
Patience.
[ He'll console him. He will. He'd even offer himself to the pyre if that'd mitigate his agony some, but he's too much of a glutton for his Highness's aching cries like some kind of insatiable sadomasochist, so he takes his time pulling an orgasm from him, stroking over the intricacy of his veins, the stiffness that Noct's taken on while carefully perching himself to undo the button on his trousers, then unzipping them. ]
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[ Noctis says archly, because really, what kind of good came out of patience? And that seems even worse where Ignis is concerned, because at this point Noctis will do just about anything to make sure that he keeps touching him, which comprises boldly wrapping both of his legs high on his waist to lock him in place, pulling him close impatiently.
It's not often that Noctis reconsiders, but the idea comes to him unbidden as he watches Ignis unbutton and unzip, himself reaching down to slip his hand into the confines of his briefs, fingers curling around his cock, tucked so snugly inside there. He draws his cock out in return, shivering at the pleasure Ignis provides him with his fingers alone, rubbing over the veins on the underside of his cock, sending sparks of pleasure up his spine and rendering him a mess. He's rolling his hips hopelessly into his grip, as if doing so would afford him more of what Ignis is currently giving. His nipples are taut and stiff, sensitive the way Noctis had never really thought they would be, aching for attention when Ignis draws away; the lace scraping over sensitive buds make him squirm, the purest form of torture his chamberlain's just devised. ]
Second thought. Keep your clothes on. [ And the full length mirror just off to the side reveals them in all their debauchery beautifully; he turns his head to look, watching himself splayed shamelessly underneath Ignis, a gift to be unwrapped, and Ignis bent above him, all feral grace and calculating passion, Noctis' legs wrapped around his waist, lace and silk riding up to pool at his sternum, his cock almost obscene, the way it fills under Ignis' avid attentions. ]
Look at us. [ He murmurs, breath catching as he returns the favor, thumbing gently over the large, thick vein on the underside of Ignis' dick, tracing over it with loving care. Look at them here like this; in Noctis' heady intoxication he discovers a taste for exhibitionism, admiring how their bodies are slotted together, two halves of a whole. ]
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Good impulse.
[ Good instincts. He's not very patient to exercise restraint or the bodily inconvenience of removing clothing either, lavishing affection on Noctis's chest, a self-assured glide of his mouth down his sternum as Ignis hitches that leg wandering around his waist up further along his back, casts it around to join the other so he'll be dragged down into the undertow.
From now on, he'll need to ban enticements that come so slim and alluring on Noctis, slinky in the material, flippantly turning his head so it gives with just a push, directed sidelong at the mirror. But beauty's in the eye of the beholder, and although he can see himself, thoroughly debauched and down a shirt, there's only one person in that mirror who matters. ]
Look at you. You're more than I know what to do with.
[ More than he can bear. He's thwarted by it, their bodies pressed together, Noctis's thighs soft and insistent at his sides, fingers crumpled irresistibly around his erection, and Ignis shudders, sated and wanting. He closes his fingers around his hipbones then, grinding them together so they're worked snug, like they're twining together, made whole and complete. It's obscenity cast like reverence, his fingers slipping around Noct's so their hard-ons are angled together, movements sloppy and undermined with each pulse of heat that radiates outwards, but he's a man possessed by his king. He can't help it, the throb of his erection, the loosely sobbing breaths when the hem of the lace ends and his mouth is warm over Noctis's bare ribs. ]
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[ It's no secret that for all of Noctis' ego, he has little idea of how to gracefully accept compliments, especially when they're uttered by Ignis with such intensity that he feels his cheeks heat up. Gods, he's behaving like a teenage girl that's just sad. He's supposed to be seducing Ignis, primed to drive him out of his mind with mounting desire, and here he is, hopelessly seduced.
Not about to admit defeat, he continues to stroke his cock where they both can see, languid and thorough and deliberate, enjoying how he feels in his hand as he rubs his thumb up and down the veined ridges of his dick, lingering at the root of it before sliding back up to curve his thumb deliberately over the flared tip, toying with the foreskin just because he can, gently pulling it back before releasing.
He's letting himself be hitched up a little higher, exposing himself shamelessly as he digs his heel into the small of his back, gasping with unbridled pleasure at the warmth of his mouth, the sin he lavishes onto his skin. And oh, how Ignis seems to close to becoming undone, when his hungry mouth is pressed over his ribs and Noctis swears Ignis can hear the wild pounding of his heart from here. They are tangled together as one, and he issues a quiet, pleasure-filled keen of approval and want, and he's grinding his hips impatiently against him, wild and in need of a good taming. ]
Gods, Iggy, you feel so fucking -- [ He continues breathlessly, his words thick and heavy, tossing his head back when their cocks slide each other again and again, their hands joined in mutual yearning, and oh, how Ignis feels so, so very good. He tightens his hand. ] Come on me.
[ On the lace and satin, on his flat stomach; the first of a few rounds they will surely go tonight. Noctis wants to be marked, had, and after all, this particular piece of lingerie is made for ruining. ]
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[ And he's like a hound, bloodthirsty and preying on what he can get, triumphant when he's the one losing to savagery. Bad to the bones, with yearning shaking tremors out of him, sharing their warmth until it's something melting and horrifically visceral, gouging out his lungs for breath so each exhales ends on a moan. Sweat's raining down his temples, glasses condensed with the heat that clouds his vision, so Noct's misting up and all that's left is the heartbeat ticking beneath his mouth, the frantic staccato of it humming in time with his own. He's smudging the insults and compliments alike away, the material of the silken fabric coming up when Noctis tugs him down and he crumples with the drop, grinding furiously hard into their hands, choking down his erection.
When Noctis makes the request, he's past coherency and proper speech, panting a fevered tempo into the side of his neck, groaning with the need that's clambering up him. When Noct's head falls back, the pale stretch of his neck exposed, it shouldn't be a shock that Ignis goes right for the maiming, lifting Noct's leg further along his waist with a fervor that should fall under critique later, when they're both back to relying on sanity instead of instinct.
But there's no halting right now, even when he near-sobs along the lace, mouth wandering by Noct's clavicles, clung to him so he's enshrined more in his arms than lying on the bed. There's no controlling the trajectory of release; it's just enough to cut loose, shuddering underneath the tumult of orgasm, spurting in some jerky rush on him, against his best efforts to contain it just his fingers. Bent over the bed, the mess of it is clinging to his fingers, but there's cum on Noctis's stomach, trickling through the half-aborted intricacy of their bodies when twined this close, and it's awful, how much this says about his restraint (coming on command, like something rehearsed). He can't control the slump, either, so he just goes with itā€” sinks down on one side, nosing by Noct's shoulder, beyond articulation. ]
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He's still hard, still aching, dripping with need, but he doesn't pay much attention to his dick right now, not when Ignis sinks down on his side, pressed closed to him. ] I think you're delicious.
[ He murmurs, a soft smile tugging at the side of his mouth, his leg coming to drape over his waist again all the same, turning fully to him. It's after a moment that he's gently removing his glasses, folding it and setting it neatly on the nightstand next to him. ] Do you want to fuck me?
[ Because he wants this, because he's ached for his cock inside him for the past many days, Ignis' absence a constant, low-level sort of misery that's only endurable because of exams, of all the other things that were present to take his mind off the fact that the bed has been bereft of him for so long. ]
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[ He'll give himself up for consumption if that'll satiate Noct, tearing into the core of Ignis as he effortlessly does, appropriating his heart for his own whims. Not a bad way to go. Not at all. Otherwise, Ignis takes after a shark enamored by the spill of blood, searching out the source and brings in Noctis with a hand around his nape for that bruising, draining kiss that siphons away some of the ache.
The barbarity in him abates, little by little, and he comes away with his mouth wet and gaze focused, recovering enough obscene grace to take the loss of his glasses in good stride. The taste lingers in his mouth as it presses into a thin line, an undercurrent of languor traveling his voice. ]
You're beautiful. [ Just a non-sequitur to add to all of those other non-sequiturs, arbitrated just so. He's got a face on him that speaks of his amusement even when his humor's felled, legs braced on the mattress. His smile revives. ] Do you want me to?
[ A soft-edged accusation, the corners of his mouth tugging up. Coyness is hardly an asset, dispelling the twist of Noctis's legs to scoot down and down so that the prince's kneecaps are riding at his shoulders, soles of his feet someways down his back, as he kisses him, down the pale wash of his thighs, then up along his groin, lips pressed along the base of his cock and his balls in idle patterns, Noctis providing the axis of the world upon which to spiral himself around. ]
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[ Noctis breathes. His yearning makes him polite when he asks Ignis to fuck him, to make love to him -- the prince has missed his beloved in the days that span between them, all of it taken up by their respective duties, but it doesn't mean the absence goes unnoticed. And here they are, Noctis with Ignis' cum on his stomach, his own cock still hard and dripping with need, and he's gasping when he's folded nearly into two, knees over those strong, broad shoulders.
It's a good thing he's so flexible, because he's issuing a soft whine of longing when Ignis presses his lips to his thighs, his cock, his balls, pulling taut with potent arousal. He feels empty inside, needy, and pinned down like this he could do little more but squirm, his hand coming down to curl through Ignis' hair, gently pulling but not forcing him everywhere. ]
Aaah -- Iggy...! [ Soft cries as he feels his tongue against his heated skin, and he's so turned on he fears he might burst into pieces, his cock bobbing obscenely against his mouth. Ignis is so very beautiful when he goes down on him, and Noctis will make good on that offer to devour him in time. Now, now it's time to be consumed, to be taken whole, and to remember just how good Ignis feels buried deep inside of him.
He squirms, pressing up into his mouth, begging without words, cheeks flushed pink at the compliment. It seems like Ignis always knows how to get to him, to know what to say to make him unfold and offer himself to him, his spine tingling with his talented ministrations. ]
Mmmm -- please.
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Inelegance is preying on his mouth, otherwise, sweet on him, kissing him out of the keening fits and the start of panting as it all runs down his throat, like his presence is wounding on him, and Ignis stops some, if just to give him a moment to catch his breath before he resumes down by Noctis's inner thigh, supplanting another kiss there.
Please. Please, please, please. His lungs are inarticulate, but also planted on the words that shudder out of Noctis, panting, the lithe lines of his body pulling up to meet the shape he's cast, only to startle as his lips travel down the scope of him. No immaculacy, this time. Just yearning for its own profane sake.
Ignis musters up a smile. It sits shrewd on his mouth after Noct's let him topple them both over, leaving him flat on his back while he splits Noct's legs apart. Briefly, he leans back up, teeth scraping over Noct's lips, then reorients himself: ]
Yes.
[ And that answer comes from being undone too many times by Noct's whims, like the slinky spill of his lingerie or the cum ribboning over it, the heat in him that translates its way over into Noctis when he presses tight against him, then insideā€” wrenching in as Noctis's body stretches to conform around him. The clutch is unbearable, pouring on down from base to tip, but he sinks in a little more until he's seated fully inside him. His face fortifies even in lounging decline, waiting for his Highness to acclimate, then he broaches him for these slow, minute thrusts, his balls slapping against Noct with every lurch forward. ]
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Yes, Ignis says, and Noctis' heart skips a beat because no matter how often his lover yields to him, all beauty and grace and elegance with a feral savagery threaded underneath it, brought to almost breaking point, it will never cease to be something of untold magnificence. His lips burn with Ignis' kisses, burning a line down his throat, making an invisible mark over his racing pulse.
His heart belongs to Ignis, and he aches and sighs, soft and willing with an equally fervent yearning. His absence is an unwelcome change that Noctis has never gotten used to, no matter the duration or frequency, and he's an unholy mess of sweat, drying cum, and a tight, hot hole that's more than ready for Ignis to slide back inside of him.
And slide back he does, smooth but firm, Ignis pouring all of himself into this sacred, carnal act, and Noctis reaches up to cling, to hold tight as he swallows him whole, accommodates and encomapsses all of him, taking his cock inside with a warm sigh. He's welcome here, forever and always, and his words catch when he feels him fill him up, thick and long and so, so very full that the ever-constant irrational fear of Ignis possibly not fitting inside of him sparks in the back of his mind, and is summarily dismissed.
No, Ignis will always fit inside of him like the perfect piece of a missing puzzle, slotting into place as he closes around him, warm and pulsing and fully intent on pleasing him and making up for lost time. His hand coming to rest on his cheek, Noctis grinds back against him with soft, breathless moans, laying out his pleasure for Ignis' consumption, cheeks flushed with color and mouth parted in shameless enjoyment. ]
Missed you. [ He pants, clenching down tight around his cock, feeling the press of his balls against his ass and the obscene sounds of their fucking in the silence of their apartment. Gods, but he loves when Ignis fucks him, when he opens up and takes him inside and gives himself over. His hands slip right down to cup and squeeze Ignis' ass, feeling the tight, firm flesh in his palms. He huffs softly. ] Missed all of you. Tell me you liked ruining my lingerie.
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One failed attempt at subtlety, and now he's never going to live it down. Ignis gasps, a low sound, when Noctis bends his knees, limbs loose, and steadies him. A minute passes. He's thinking about the drop of sweat perilously running down the slope of his cheek, drawn out like any tear. Noct's reaching ferociously for him, spitfire and challenging, grappling down his spinal cord, then his ass.
And Ignis laughs, indulgent. All of his infatuation shines in his throat. Too much. Too much. Noct would've been better with someone who could match that teetering absorption in him; Ignis has no talent for love, he's not daring enough. Fortune favors the bold, and he's chronic with his scruples.
But he's rising to the challenge, because that's all that can be done. His knuckles momentarily rasp on the bones of Noctis's ribs as he stills just to admire him, grinding and sweet. ]
Beautiful.
[ Years of pondering Noct and squashing down that pining for him have rendered him inarticulate. Let him amend that, shaking his head when he resumes the pace, the next thrust steady and clean as any cut. His breath is lost in a wash of sighing, words coming up in startled fits, clouding up like steam. ]
I loathed it. You know that better than anyone. [ Especially later when he'll do laundry and contend with the potential for stains, salvaging what he's destroyed. Ignis inhales, hummingbird-quick, then loosens, slowly, then all at once, mouth draped over his throat, thrusts taking a turn for the severe. ] But I've got an appetite for ruining you that I can't seem to satiate.
[ Noncommittal, though, even with the thrum of Noctis's body enfolding him like one overlong heartbeat, jumpstarting pulses of heat in his groin. ]
I love you. I love you so much I can scarcely wrap my mind around it.
[ And isn't that affection, shaped like Noctis's hand on his cheek, eloping with all of his common sense and decency. ]
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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. ]
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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.