[ Ignis offers it and Noctis takes it without thinking, fingers brushing his. He tries to ignore how that feels, the electricity that sparks in his fingertips. Grasping the warm cup and sipping from it. He doesn't like coffee -- but it's sweet and creamy-tasting and he takes another, the warmth suffusing him; as does the childish adage of indirect kisses. So this is what Ignis tastes, what he likes. It's strong, a little strange-tasting, but nothing too objectionable about it. Studying him out of the corner of his eye, Noctis watches how involved he is with the movie, musing at how he seems to be parsing the information so very seriously, those fine brows knitting as if he could puzzle out just why movie-people are that stupid.
Noctis has no answer for that, sweetheart, but he does like watching when Ignis gets perplexed. But then he realizes he's staring, watching the play of the light on those gorgeous features, and he looks away. Gods, but he's so beautiful, and Noctis doesn't have the fortitude to stay away.
He shifts then, coming to a decision. His hand rests on the spot between them, palm-up and silent. ]
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Noctis has no answer for that, sweetheart, but he does like watching when Ignis gets perplexed. But then he realizes he's staring, watching the play of the light on those gorgeous features, and he looks away. Gods, but he's so beautiful, and Noctis doesn't have the fortitude to stay away.
He shifts then, coming to a decision. His hand rests on the spot between them, palm-up and silent. ]