Somehow, Ignis is merciless even when he’s on the bottom physically, lying luxuriously across the rumpled sheets with one arm draped across the pillow. The other rests on Prompto’s hips, carefully guiding Prompto into each rolling movement. Straddling Ignis’ lap and riding his long cock with an exhausted fervour, Prompto can only try to keep up. Originally, he thought for sure that he’d by the one humping Ignis in the middle of the night, trying to milk out one round after another, but it turns out Ignis’ stamina is just as impressive as everything else about him. He’s fucked Prompto through two orgasms and still shows no signs of stopping. He hasn’t so much as loosened the tight ring around the base of Prompto’s cock. He thrusts up in a steady, brutal rhythm, and Prompto gasps and moans every time he’s slammed into, every bit as giddy as he is tired. If Ignis wants to use him all night before letting him come, so be it. Prompto asked for this. He begged for it. And it’s just as magical as he’d hoped it’d be.
When Prompto’s phone rings from the bedside table, he doesn’t even think of answering it. Normally, he’s glued to the screen, always in messenger or King’s Knight or the camera, always the first to text anyone back. But that was before he finally convinced his boyfriend to let loose and fuck him right. Now he can’t think of anything but how insanely hot Ignis is and how great his dick feels.
He holds onto Prompto’s gaze, eyes intense beneath his glasses. He usually takes them off for sex, but this position doesn’t jostle them much, and he said he wanted to see Prompto in minute detail. Prompto can only hope he looks half as good as Ignis does. He isn’t wearing any real clothing, save for his fingerless gloves and knee-high socks. Ignis just has his driving gloves on, because Prompto likes the way they feel against his flushed skin. They look good on Ignis. Then again, so does everything.
Prompto feels so lucky, and he’s still basking in that when the phone goes off a second time. He ignores it. He bounces up and down on Ignis’ perfect cock and moans as Ignis praises, “You’re doing beautifully, Prompto.”
“You’re killing me,” Prompto gasps, but he loves it. Ignis smiles fondly and rubs soothing circles on his hip. A particularly hard thrust makes Prompto cry out. His fingers splay across Ignis’ toned chest. He gulps in air and writhes as he’s filled up, only to be emptied out again.
The phone rings a third time, and something clicks in Prompto’s brain—there’s only one person who would want to talk to him that badly. His eyes flicker to the nightstand. He bites his bottom lip, absently chewing on it as he wonders if there’s any chance it’s worth answering. He probably should. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be impaled on Ignis’ glorious cock—maybe there won’t be any chance to answer until tomorrow. But it would feel wrong to ignore Ignis for his phone, especially at a time like this, and that might crush his chances at ever getting to come.
The fourth ring worries him, and Prompto mutters, “Sorry,” whilst reaching for the phone. Before his fingers can connect, Ignis’ grip tightens on Prompto’s hip.
In a sudden flurry of movement, Ignis rolls them over. Prompto squawks indignantly as he’s thrown onto his back, Ignis looming up over him, one hand on either side of his shoulders. His legs stay spread open, pressed back against Ignis’ front, knees hooked around Ignis’ sides. Ignis stays buried to the hilt and grinds down, leaning in to kiss Prompto’s neck while his talented fingers play with Prompto’s body.
Prompto’s dizzy with pleasure. It’s hard to think about the phone. It confuses him when the ringtone changes—he doesn’t realize at first that that one isn’t his.
Without missing a beat, Ignis smoothly retrieves his own phone and answers, “Hello?”
Prompto can only gawk at the sheer skill of it. Ignis’ voice is completely flat and unperturbed. But his body is still very much fucking Prompto’s. His face is a little pink, his skin shimmering, though not as sweat-slicked as Prompto’s is. He fucks Prompto in precise, horribly fulfilling thrusts while he continues, “I’m sure he’s fine, Your Highness.”
Prompto starts to say, “Noct—” then cuts off in a groan as Ignis’ cock slams into his prostate. He doesn’t get any more words out, because Ignis’ hand darts for his mouth, clamping down around him. Prompto whimpers into the taste of faux-leather. It constricts his already difficult breathing, but that only makes it hotter. Ignis is amazing. Prompto stares hazily up at him, utterly entranced.
“Yes, I’ve spoken to him. ...Noct... Noct, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure he has missed your calls before. And he will tonight, because I happen to know he’s quite busy.” Ignis pauses, and the phone makes a series of undistinguishable noises that must be Noctis talking back. Prompto can’t make it out. He’s busy flexing his channel around Ignis’ thick shaft. “...Yes, I’ll be sure to tell him. Although I’m more sure he’ll call you back soon enough.”
Another pause, and Ignis hangs up the phone. He puts it back next to Prompto’s and returns to business.
When his hand leaves Prompto’s mouth, Prompto mumbles, “What’d he want?”
Prompto snorts. He wants a more specific answer. But Ignis murmurs, “Tonight, you’re mine.” And he leans down to kiss Prompto so fiercely that Prompto really doesn’t mind.