There aren’t many days in the Citadel that can be characterized as uneventful, however the events of the past day have set a new standard in Ignis’ life in terms of excitement. Or lack thereof . Be that as it may, he and Noctis seem to be sharing an ill-timed malaise, leaving them both a bit like wandering undead, puttering about their quarters with little to no aim.
Upon entering the bedroom, Ignis finds Noctis already sprawled listlessly across the bed, perpendicular and wrapped tight in black athletic leggings that he typically dons before a run. It’s a habit Ignis had passed onto him with no small amount of effort and for that he was understandably proud. However, not a hair is out of place on the King’s head and he still smells of soap and aftershave, so clearly whatever potential for physical exertion the garment signified was either yet to occur or a distant thought at best.
Ignis stops short of the bedside, aware that his presence is known despite the fact that he hasn’t been properly addressed. It isn’t quite dinner time yet and he isn’t so hungry anyway, the subtle twisting in the pit of his stomach having nothing to do with want of a meal.
He intently observes as Noctis bends a knee, plants a heel into the plush give of the comforter, his toes sticking straight up toward the ceiling. The shift in position exposes more of him, hugged by spandex that accentuates every curve of calf or cheek. Even the slightest tremble in his thighs is visible.
Without a word Ignis grins, gaze raking across the almost vulgar stretch of fabric over the precise shape of Noct’s cock as he wedges himself close. The bed objects with only the softest creaks and groans.
“You’re horny, aren’t you?”
Ignis nearly snort laughs into the crook of Noct’s neck, lifting his head with all the grace and poise of a swan just to peer down accusingly between half lids.
“You’re sleepy , aren’t you?”
With that Noctis chuckles, gathering his accuser a few inches closer until the weight on his chest threatens to press out the air in his lungs. Any defense Ignis might construct is already an utter failure if the stiffness digging into Noct’s crotch is any indication.
“I’m always sleepy,” he sighs matter of fact, the smile never leaving his face. “So...are you gonna fuck me or sit on my cock?”
A low, enchanting sort of laughter rumbles from Ignis then, the added pressure straining Noct’s breath despite the momentary nature of it. He braces a little better on his elbows to offer a bit of relief, although his tongue is ever the weapon.
“Sounds as if I’ll be doing all the work either way,” he quips with a tilt of the head, exasperation entirely feigned.
Noctis stretches, a needless, intentional thing of tippy toes and extended arms, his eyes pinching shut with the effort. The curled lips remain, cat-like and youthful despite the thin lines that have formed under his eyes and between his brows over the years. He was never more disarming than when he was practicing disarmament.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he swears, lifting his head until the leftmost curve of his lips brush against Ignis’ left ear. “Eventually.”
The last word comes out quiet and warm, both literally and figuratively, raising the hairs all along Ignis’ skin. If he didn’t already know better he’d playfully admonish Noct a little more, but despite a penchant for lethargy the King has proven himself anything but a selfish lover. That said, his cheshire grin finds Ignis’ lips, flirting with contact, never quite kissing. His fingertips dance at the few loosed buttons of Ignis’ shirt as it imprints wrinkles and studded shapes into Noct’s bare chest.
“Still so very shameless ,” Ignis hisses before stealing a kiss none too kindly. Sliding a hand under and down Noct’s body, he finds the hem of his pants and curls fingers into it, practically peeling it from the modest slope of his ass like a second skin.
“I can do what I want,” he defends himself poorly, wriggling in time with Ignis’ one handed efforts until the leggings are caught around a single ankle. “You’re not going anywhere …”
Up until that moment, Ignis hadn’t quite made up his mind regarding the two choices launched his way, but peering about the room until he spies the vial of lube on the bedside table his decision becomes clear. He doesn’t even have to leave his spot between Noct’s legs to snatch it, just needs a good reach from a long limb and he’s back.
The sun has yet to dip below the horizon and yet here they are, entangled, Ignis tracing scars with his eyes as their master wrests the belt at his waist from five stalwart little loops. Noctis makes short work of clasps and zipper, still unsure which direction the evening might take and seemingly all the more enthralled by it. Ignis slips clear of his briefs and returns promptly, naked from the waist down and face first in one of the more prominent scars slithering its way across Noct’s left breast.
Blindly he wets a few fingers, the snap in the bottle cap a dead giveaway as to what his hands might be doing between their warming bodies. Despite this, Noctis loses a breath when Ignis touches, shirking overt gentleness for the sake of haste. It’s a strategy that isn’t too typical of him, but his desire to keep Noct on edge, to go almost too fast, is just irresistible.
Besides, he’s sort of earned it this time.
He’s already breathy and squirming by the time Ignis slips an entire finger inside, a second primed and prodding at the relentlessly tight little ring of muscle. Noctis reacts as if it’s been too long since he endured this, whatever immunity he built up to the strangeness and discomfort having apparently dissipated.
The impossible heat never leaves the memory, though, and Ignis suffers his own flurry of straining moans as he stretches the King of Eos open there on his good bedding, imagining his cock as the soon to be victim of that smoldering clench.
Ignis immediately retreats the very first time Noct stutters his name on a broken whimper, slotting the slick hand behind his very willing prey’s knee before aligning his cock and giving a swift push.
Only his head disappears inside at first, the sight still an overwhelming thing even at thirty some odd years, and yet the way Noct’s pupils blow wide is just as obscene, precious, innately mortifying. There is some part of Ignis buried deep down inside that will never outgrow his wonderment over Noctis; will never stop questioning whether or not he’s earned these vulnerable moments, childishly. With another meaningful stroke of the hip and a hand braced on the bed, Ignis tries again to reach perfection.
Noctis expels air, the pain of adjustment etched all over his face as he death grips Ignis’ wrist. It never takes long, but it always feels like it will, and that’s enough to make the brain forget all reason for the sake of split second panic. Just about the time his breathing evens out, Ignis moves, albeit slowly, pushing another exasperated sound from behind Noct’s gritted teeth.
“Anger is good,” he placates, tone mocking. The blush is deep in his skin and every muscle is taut with anticipation, the need to launch headlong into gratification a staggering one. “Almost... there …”
Bodies flush, all Ignis can bring himself to do is rock slowly in place, hips keeping a rhythm that rends all manner of sweet sound from Noct’s lips until his blue eyes find focus at last. The leisurely pace deepens sensation, enriches every moment even as it promises to drive Ignis over the edge of madness. Once Noctis starts to twitch and rotate as if finding a better angle, searching for more than he’s got, the table turns completely.
Past the point of quips and scorekeeping, Ignis rises enough to accommodate the sharper incline before gripping a hip in one hand and an ankle in the other. The next thrust is just as strong and calculated as every one that comes after, knowing the King can take it, the determination to serve him right carving a line between his brows.
Their grunting, addled voices lift in unison as euphoria draws tantalizingly near, the sound of wet skin and squelching passions a sort of hi-hat to the bassline of their mewling. Noctis fists the blankets as he comes first, chanting Ignis, Ignis! as he paints himself a milky white.
The vision of it proves too much, punching the air out of Ignis’ lungs and crippling him to near paralysis as he empties himself inside, the weight of his body threatening to fold Noctis in half.
“Agh, Noct,” he chokes, abandoning the hold on legs and hips to counterbalance himself on the bed, an elbow on either side of Noct’s head. His shirt is smeared into the mess between them and that’s more than fine with him. Even in their bliss he can feel Noct’s body rejecting him, pushing him out sloppily as the discomfort becomes too overwhelming.
The grunt is a half exhale of relief followed by a bunch of deep breaths and Ignis takes no offense by any of it. In fact, a grin not dissimilar from the one Noctis wielded against him cuts its way across his face. He doesn’t wait for the limp, spent body beneath him to rouse before stealing yet another kiss, minding Noct’s need to breathe.
Ignis can’t help but laugh as his former sentiment is echoed, rising enough to slide free of Noct’s legs before making any attempt to refute the claim. It’s not entirely baseless, anyway.
“I learned from the best,” he answers, cupping himself gently and pressing a kiss to Noctis’ forehead before slinking off to the bathroom and the promise of a tub filled to the brim with piping hot water and salts.
By the time their heart rates are back to normal the sun is merely a scorched orange memory on the horizon, the skyline a jagged void dappled by countless stars. The steam from Ignis’ bath reaches out into the bedroom, silent and miasmic, enveloping a sleepy night.