[ For a long moment Ignis is not sure if the king could get three orgasms out of him or not. There's a few sharp moments where between Noctis' cock in his ass and Noctis' hand on his softened cock, he thinks maybe? It aches in the best of ways to the point of him not being sure if he really wants it or just wants Noctis to come because he can't bear how good it is. Both maybe. Part of him wants to be good for his king, wants to please him and knows that if they weren't on a time limit, there's a very good chance that Noctis could coax a third one out for him simply because Ignis wanted so bad to give him anything he wanted.
It's a little bizarre to think about, but if he bore the pain of the ring, then he thinks he can bear anything for Noctis. Anything, especially when it's just good riding a knife's edge. He'd never come near the rush that the ring brought, but this came fair close sometimes. This -- pleasure so good it teased at the edges of too good was as close as he could get. Instead of the white-hot burn of fire, though, it's just a burning awareness of Noctis.
His hands can't seem to decide where is best to touch and his body doesn't seem to want to obey his commands; it's not unlike being confused in the field, under the effect of some monster. Instead of lashing out indiscriminately, however, his hands dig bruises into Noctis' shoulders, his arms, the meat of his ass and his toes curls so hard his legs threaten to cramp. He can't orgasm again so soon, but physical reactions betray him all the same. Earlier this morning he would have been able to stifle himself but now, he's making punched-out little noises with each thrust, trying to work with Noctis for each one. ]
Come on, in me, in me-- [ It's not begging but it's certainly not as stern as an order. Urging, maybe, hungrily mouthing along the line of his jaw, skimming teeth and tongue over his pulse, lingering. He can't pretend as if his thigh aren't trembling as he feels Noctis come. Ignis shudders under him with a strangled groan at those last few thrusts , shoving a hand up against the headboard, riding all of it out until his body seems to realize how tight it's holding Noctis' own in response to those final few moments. His thighs slide lazily to either side of Noctis' waist and hungrily, he lunges up to kiss at Noctis like he didn't just scold him about time limits. Everything feels like it's too much, the sheets against his skin registering as too soft, the insides of his thighs aching but instead of it feeling bad it feels so satisfying he just wants to melt. ]
Turnabout is fair play, isn't it? [He painstakingly articulates because he'll be damned if he slurs it like Noctis has fucked the words out of him. It's damn near close, though, the hand from the headboard stroking mindlessly through Noctis' damp hair. ] Consider this fair warning.
no subject
It's a little bizarre to think about, but if he bore the pain of the ring, then he thinks he can bear anything for Noctis. Anything, especially when it's just good riding a knife's edge. He'd never come near the rush that the ring brought, but this came fair close sometimes. This -- pleasure so good it teased at the edges of too good was as close as he could get. Instead of the white-hot burn of fire, though, it's just a burning awareness of Noctis.
His hands can't seem to decide where is best to touch and his body doesn't seem to want to obey his commands; it's not unlike being confused in the field, under the effect of some monster. Instead of lashing out indiscriminately, however, his hands dig bruises into Noctis' shoulders, his arms, the meat of his ass and his toes curls so hard his legs threaten to cramp. He can't orgasm again so soon, but physical reactions betray him all the same. Earlier this morning he would have been able to stifle himself but now, he's making punched-out little noises with each thrust, trying to work with Noctis for each one. ]
Come on, in me, in me-- [ It's not begging but it's certainly not as stern as an order. Urging, maybe, hungrily mouthing along the line of his jaw, skimming teeth and tongue over his pulse, lingering. He can't pretend as if his thigh aren't trembling as he feels Noctis come. Ignis shudders under him with a strangled groan at those last few thrusts , shoving a hand up against the headboard, riding all of it out until his body seems to realize how tight it's holding Noctis' own in response to those final few moments. His thighs slide lazily to either side of Noctis' waist and hungrily, he lunges up to kiss at Noctis like he didn't just scold him about time limits. Everything feels like it's too much, the sheets against his skin registering as too soft, the insides of his thighs aching but instead of it feeling bad it feels so satisfying he just wants to melt. ]
Turnabout is fair play, isn't it? [He painstakingly articulates because he'll be damned if he slurs it like Noctis has fucked the words out of him. It's damn near close, though, the hand from the headboard stroking mindlessly through Noctis' damp hair. ] Consider this fair warning.