[ It's ridiculously affectionate despite the fact it could come across as a complaint. His eyes slide closed as Noctis takes the cool towel and starts wiping him down; he's gotten over the idea of complaining about his king taking care of him. Now, he leans into it, drowsy with the lack of adrenaline in him and the exhaustion seeping back.
Noctis drags the towel over his front and his back and Ignis does his best to cooperate, moving along with him mindlessly and when it's done, he presses a kiss to his jaw rather than his lips. He may have caught this from Noctis but he isn't about to give it back by kissing him. ]
Prompto and Gladio are just as brave, but your faith and kind words are still appreciated.
[ Ignis lifts a hand, stroking it over Noct's jaw, tucking hair behind his ear and then slowly, achingly, goes back to resting against the broad stretch of his chest. It still hurts, that kind of ache where anything touching his skin is bad but he'd rather cuddle Noctis than just lay miserably on the bed. It takes time and he has a few false starts but eventually, tracing idle patterns over Noctis' chest, he begins: ]
I dream of losing you. Of not being enough. Of the thousand ways everything could have gone wrong - or, with the prophecy, right for a given meaning of the word.
no subject
[ It's ridiculously affectionate despite the fact it could come across as a complaint. His eyes slide closed as Noctis takes the cool towel and starts wiping him down; he's gotten over the idea of complaining about his king taking care of him. Now, he leans into it, drowsy with the lack of adrenaline in him and the exhaustion seeping back.
Noctis drags the towel over his front and his back and Ignis does his best to cooperate, moving along with him mindlessly and when it's done, he presses a kiss to his jaw rather than his lips. He may have caught this from Noctis but he isn't about to give it back by kissing him. ]
Prompto and Gladio are just as brave, but your faith and kind words are still appreciated.
[ Ignis lifts a hand, stroking it over Noct's jaw, tucking hair behind his ear and then slowly, achingly, goes back to resting against the broad stretch of his chest. It still hurts, that kind of ache where anything touching his skin is bad but he'd rather cuddle Noctis than just lay miserably on the bed. It takes time and he has a few false starts but eventually, tracing idle patterns over Noctis' chest, he begins: ]
I dream of losing you. Of not being enough. Of the thousand ways everything could have gone wrong - or, with the prophecy, right for a given meaning of the word.