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Blasphemer

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Candles burn orange across the hotel room with an audible flicker and crack, bathing the walls and floors in a blinking glow that accentuates the warmth in the night air. There hasn't been a single sound to accompany their hushed ooos and aahs throughout the evening and into the late night, and the solitude they share has most certainly been a boon thus far.

They'd survived a ceaselessly hot summer, the kind that might break records were records kept anymore. The King takes solace in the fact that it is near its end. Takes solace in that, as well as his plans to find refuge in the company of the only other person left to him that truly held this day of the year as sacrosanct.

Noctis sinks onto his knees atop his adviser, bare chested and pants still taut around his thighs as he finally stills, Ignis nestling hard in the cleft of his ass. He sighs audibly in response, teeth grazing his bottom lip, drinking in the sight of Ignis beneath him, neatly propped up on their good satin pillows with his shirt splayed open and hair attractively askew. Like a thief in the night he comes to steal Noct’s breath, and so shall it happen every time; he's left bereft of both words and air.

“I love you,” Ignis murmurs in his most cloying tone, eye canted upward and glowing in the ambient lighting.

He says it purposefully, as if aware Noct’s gaze has fallen appreciatively on him and he must meet it in kind with something, anything. When he lifts a searching hand, Noctis takes it up, burying his face in it, smiling into a warm palm.

“I know,” he responds adoringly, “what's not to love?”

Ignis laughs under his breath, the rise and fall of a chest that is already too distracting, lips curling to reveal the perfect white of a few pointed teeth.

“Certainly not humility .”

Noctis can't help but lean forward to press his thumb to the sharp edge of those teeth in that smiling mouth, still smiling himself, even as his stiff cock brushes along the slope of perfectly maintained abs and nearly has him forgetting how to speak. The corners of Ignis’ lips drop as he lazily kisses the intruding digit, not the least bit put off by its sudden persistence.

Noctis holds his hand, holds his face, holds his gaze and his entire being as he pins him there between his powerful but tired legs. The scar splitting Ignis’ bottom lip attracts an absentminded kiss, then another, until the need wrapping tightly about Noct’s heart is too great to ignore. He draws back, sliding his hand upward to trace the scarred brow of Ignis’ sealed eye, lingering over the uneven skin beneath his fingertips before dragging the hand gently down his cheekbone and jaw, throat and collarbone, to rest at last in the center of his chest.

“You’re still gonna let me, right?” he asks tentatively, his thumb running covetously over the curve of Ignis’ breast.

Ignis waits a beat, tongue darting out to wet a wanting bottom lip, before answering with a shallow nod.

“Of course.”

Noctis drops the hand in his grasp then, unfastening his slacks with a slight wriggle of the hips, exhaling when his cock is relieved of some of the pressure that had burdened it. Ignis buries his hands in the fabric to wrestle his King free of his briefs as Noctis closes the distance between them again, searching for the taste of his lips and tongue. It isn't long before they're gasping and moaning as one, swallowing one another’s sighs, feeling soft skin and tense muscle as they grope and tease at will.

Noctis takes Ignis by the chest with both hands, squeezing with enough might that he catches a warm little surprised cry into his mouth. He keens and straightens when Ignis snakes his hands down the back of his slacks, following the bend of his ass and digging his fingers into the meat. It's sharp and curt; beckoning.

“Alright,” Noctis whispers, admiring the way the flesh of Ignis’ chest flushes pink and swells between his clutching fingers.

He spares himself a few extra seconds to play idly with the pert nipples on display for him, having hardened only moments after Noct unbuttoned Ignis’ shirt and exposed them to the open air. It's all too easy to enjoy it when it has Ignis folding in only seconds, his eyes fluttering shut and cheeks blushing deeper. He twists at the waist, clearly enjoying it, and Noctis fails to stifle affectionate, no less amused laughter.

“You like it,” the King accuses, rolling the tip of one nipple between his thumb and middle finger before curling to flick the point of his tongue over the other.

“And you like to torture,” Ignis replies with a jolt that has him clawing at Noct’s ass even more.

Noctis chuckles open mouthed, laving at his chosen spot and blowing, watching it find a way to shrink and harden further. Ignis whines, bending at the knee and clenching his thighs together, just as Noctis takes the nipple into his mouth and sucks. He doesn't stop until Ignis’ hands are tangled in his hair and his pitchy mewling fills the room and the spot where Noctis had been adhered is sucked red and spit slick. Only then does he repeat the treatment on the other nipple, stroking himself with his free hand because his cock is now too damn hard to be ignored.

This time he detaches from Ignis with a ruddy groan, saliva still tethering them from the end of a bitten and swollen nipple to an equally wet and reddened set of lips. Ignis throws his head back into the pillows with a relieved sigh, his hands dropping to Noct’s hips when he stretches to snatch the bottle of lube from their bedside table. Staring at Ignis, lying there in the bed looking used already, he can't keep himself from touching him as he coats his erect cock and tosses the bottle, all with one hand. He massages lube into his length, tracing the scars across Ignis’ face with the tip of his finger, trailing it over each little valley gouged into flesh every time he pulls at his own cock.

Ignis stirs beneath him, desperate to be touched and pleasured and held, but it would still be a time before his relief comes. He grips at Noct’s hips, kneading his thumbs into his hipbones, silently entreating. Pleading without uttering a word. It's not that Noctis isn't sympathetic; he definitely understands the strength behind that sort of need. But he wipes the excess lube on Ignis regardless, focusing on the dip between his impressive pecs, possessed entirely by the gravity of what he’s planned to do.

Ignis appears to take in a breath and hold it as Noctis slides the tip of his cock slowly up his adviser’s sternum, holding it steady with one hand while the other braces against a strong, sinewy shoulder. The heat of Ignis’ body is smoldering as he lies perfectly still, perfectly silent. Noctis indulges in a few swipes to the glistening flesh before his hand is full again with the round swell of Ignis’ chest. He drags the head of his cock along the soft curve from center to nipple, wincing when the tip slips momentarily into the slit, leaving behind trails of lube and precome wherever he chooses to roam.

Finally, he rests his length heavy along the dip between two rounded muscles, pressed slightly together by the narrow reach of Ignis’ arms. Noctis absorbs the sight of himself nestled there, twitching against taut, dewy flesh accented by the gentle hums and breathing floating down from Ignis’ lips. The pretty picture transforms when he clings to that chest with his hands, pushing both pecs inward as his cock disappears beneath and between them, tearing a wolfish sound from his throat before he can catch it.

“Ignis,” he hisses, his head hanging between his shoulders as he rolls his hips for the first time, willing himself to keep his eyes open to witness the spectacle before him.

Ignis is only slightly furrowed, eye drawn upward and lips parted, keeping an expression that almost made Noctis feel as if he could be seen. He tightens Ignis around his cock with his next thrust, hearing a labored exhale slip from between his lover’s teeth just as the tip of his head slips from between Ignis’ pinched together pecs. Noctis loses himself with dizzying speed, finding a rhythm on top of Ignis that threatens to bring him to climax faster than he's willing.

Still, Ignis vocalizes quietly, his hands searching timidly between Noct’s cheeks, prompting him to arch his back, lift his head and release a fraught whimper, eyes going wide with shock when met with two, glossy, cloudy eyes he gets the opportunity to see very rarely.  His hips slow their oscillation almost automatically, as if he can't process what he's seen without stillness and silence.

Ignis pants at him rather densely, watching sightlessly from beneath two lidded eyes obscured only by the gentle sway of errant strands of hair that had fallen loose from his immaculate coif. Noctis just about chokes on his moan as he grabs stupidly at Ignis’ hands, positioning them at his chest and freeing himself of the task. Without hesitation Ignis acquiesces, long fingers leaving deep indentations in his skin as he kneads his King’s cock with his own body.

Noct reaches for Ignis’ face almost frantically, hands hovering on either side of Ignis’ lovely cheekbones as he pitches lightly with the motion of Noctis’ noncommittal rutting and his own squeezing and releasing. He tilts his chin upward, knowing Noctis is right there and searching for his warmth. The hair loosed frames his forehead like a halo, signifying his importance, his worth to this world, his divinity.

At least he seemed divine by Noctis’ estimation, suddenly too precious to touch and yet too beautiful to ignore; a hopeful, broken but resilient symbol of everything he could ever hope to deserve, but always finds himself falling short.

“Noct,” Ignis urges as if he knows that something dark has cast its shadow over the man he loves, and the need in his voice is enough to warrant a touch to the jagged edges of his left scar.

Noctis cradled Ignis’ face in his obsequious hands, rubbing the tattered flesh with his thumb as he pumps his hips again and again. He starts to fracture under the weight of milky eyes and an encroaching orgasm, grip tightening and thrusts erratic but singular in their goal. He can't tear himself from those unseeing eyes, can't stop imagining the searing heat that stole from him the man that he spent nearly an entire life beside. His jaw slackens as Ignis’ name tumbles from his mouth again and again, all the while staring at marred flesh that wounded him and made him proud and indicted his conscience more times than he could possibly count.

“Come, Majesty,” Ignis coos, wielding the title like a sharpened weapon.

It does the trick, sending pleasure radiating through Noctis from cell to cell as he yanks his cock suddenly from Ignis’ chest, curling fingers tight about the shaft to lean forward and come hard across his face. The first stream splatters from just below the left socket to parted lips and tongue; Ignis immediately licking them clean almost involuntarily. However, Noctis isn't finished; he milks himself of stream after stream of warm come, coating the largest scar with himself, watching as it becomes something different. Something marked.

Ignis had already turned his right cheek to the pillow, waiting for Noctis to finish, but when he's presented with the head of his King’s cock, still dribbling come, he shifts to take it between his velvety lips, sighing when Noctis withdraws to drag himself messily down the cut on his lower lip and over his chin, leaving a streak of moisture behind. Noctis takes it all in, astonished at what he's done but utterly enchanted by it. Facing forward has the come pooled in the grooves of Ignis’ scar sliding slowly in wide streaks down over the jut of his cheekbone, to which Ignis responds by turning again into the pillow.

“Hold still,” Noctis commands, leaning down without thinking to lick a path clean across the lines of come beginning to trickle free of the scar’s ruined edge.

He pulls back only momentarily to look in Ignis’ eyes, as if seeking some sort of mutual understanding that he feared might not be there, but Ignis only settles into his pillow, scar upturned and waiting. Feeling more sure footed, Noctis returns to his creation, dipping his tongue into the corner of Ignis’ eye where the most liquid had gathered, lapping up what he could in thick strands before swallowing it down. He follows the orbit of the socket, cleaning up the lower lid and then circling around to the upper. Come clings to the sparse lash line, so Noctis cleans that too, as best he can.

Ignis sighs softly, seeming to melt beneath the wide, sweeping licks across the cheek and broader parts of the scar which Noctis utilizes to lave up the last of any spatter he may have missed. The first few tastes were warm but the last are cool against his tongue, somehow sharpening the salt of Ignis’ skin mingled with the taste of himself lingering like a film at the back of his own throat.

“Am I presentable?” Ignis asks with a smile that Noctis can feel beneath his tongue when laugh lines form from out of the blue.

Snorting in amusement, Noctis sits up a little begrudgingly, tracing Ignis’ jaw with his knuckles.

“Actually I kinda like you both ways,” he replies, still sounding repentant even as he jokes. “ Sorry, I got...I got carried away.”

Ignis makes an inquisitive face, lips pursing and head cocked to one side. Now that Noctis can get a good look at him in the candlelight, he can see his chest rubbed raw and red, still shiny with lube and all of Noct’s amorous fluids. It's a sight that Noctis couldn't find words to describe if he tried.

“You were actually quite gentle, you needn't apologize.”

Noct sits back against Ignis’ thighs, scratching his head almost bashfully, remembering that Ignis was likely still painfully hard underneath him. Hastily, he pries himself from the bed, finding the nicest towels in their bathroom and pulling one out to soak it in warm water. He returns to Ignis’ bedside to wipe him clean properly, gingerly, still admiring the inherent beauty in this terrible reminder of unfathomable tragedy that Ignis has somehow come to wear with heartening pride.

He doesn't deserve him, Ignis. He knows he wouldn't be alive without him, nor would he have much reason left to stay that way in his absence. His scars haunt and empower Noctis, remind him that he spends every day in the presence of something higher than even himself; that he lives amongst a walking, breathing embodiment of sacrifice and perseverance.

Of love, unconditional. Borderless.

His wiping apparently comes to a stop by the time Ignis takes him gently by the wrist, turning just enough to ghost his lips over the sensitive skin there, the heat of his breath lighting a fire deep inside of the King all over again.

“Noctis. Happy birthday.”