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Write Drunk, Email Sober - Verse 2

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Ignis can’t say that he is too surprised to find Prompto absent from his class when he finally walks in to the lecture hall ten minutes late, and he is too flustered from running behind for the first time in his career to give it much thought—until he checks his email afterwards to find a message from Karen Buchanan in the Insomnia University Registrar’s office.

Dear Professor Scientia,

I had a student by the name of Prompto Argentum attempt to drop your History of Lucis 101 class this morning. I informed him that it is past the drop-add date. Just wanted to make you aware.


K. Buchanan

Head Advisor – Insomnia University Registrar

Lips twitching down in mild irritation, the professor packs up his briefcase and starts heading towards his office, chewing on the corner of his lip as his frown grows steadily more pronounced. He ignores the people who greet him in the hall, feeling his annoyance building with every step.

Why in the world would he want to drop my class after I graciously gave him an extension? Or write the paper, for that matter? Perhaps the document title was a joke after all, albeit in poor taste.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Ignis locks it and tosses his things down in his chair, pacing as he pulls up the message he sent to Prompto earlier that morning.

Was my tone too harsh? he wonders. Perhaps I intimidated him. Ignis debates sending a follow up email, or maybe requesting a meeting with the student, but thinks better of it. At least give him the opportunity to resubmit his work, he chides himself. You mustn’t appear too accommodating—or eager.

With his mind made up, he prepares himself to get some work done before his next class, but no matter how much Ignis tries to focus on grading the remaining abysmally written essays, his thoughts keep drifting back to his blond, freckle-faced student.

Prompto does resubmit his paper by noon that day, under the title of HST 101-01 PARGENT 07, and Ignis stops in the middle of grading another student’s work to finish reading it. Aside from the one unfortunate blunder, it really is an excellent piece of work, and Ignis, still feeling unusually generous, puts it in his gradebook as a B+, smiling the entire time.

You never give pluses or minuses, a voice protests. He makes the exception anyway, then closes his laptop, leaving the rest of his work unfinished.

It’s an uneventful Saturday evening at Ignis’s apartment. The History Channel is on for background noise, and he is curled up on his sofa in sweatpants and a t-shirt, computer perched in his lap and a glass of wine in hand. He’s almost finished grading the papers for his History of Lucis 101 courses, and although the clock on the wall is telling him it’s ten past midnight already, he’s determined to knock out the last bit of grading to have a blissfully free Sunday to enjoy when he wakes up.

However, he made the mistake of saving his worst student’s paper for last, and he keeps navigating away from the document out of disinterest to check on other things, scrolling absently through apps as the level of liquid in his wineglass grows lower and lower.

He rereads the same line for the third time when his cellphone gently buzzes, and his gaze darts down to the notification from Insomniagram, @gladicitia posted a new photo. Curious, he clicks on it, and he is met with a candid of the frat boy on a couch of questionable color (whether from stains or poor lighting, he cannot be sure). Laughing beside him is none other than Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum, with a head of blond hair positioned in his lap, the profile of which he recognizes as Prompto Argentum’s.

Ignis studies the photo longer than intended, eyes hovering over his student’s lanky frame lying horizontal on the couch, knees hooked over the edge of it and bare feet left to dangle. An arm is thrown behind the blond’s head, and in spite of the dimness of the picture, Prompto’s freckles and blue eyes stand out—along with the way his t-shirt has slid up to reveal part of his abdomen and the top of his boxer briefs.

The professor scrolls slowly down to the caption: Just chillin’ with His Highness himself. #brosbeingbros #ABOHouse #workhardplayharder

Ignis rolls his eyes forcefully and downs the rest of his wine. “And you call me oblivious,” he mutters. Then he slides back up to the picture, hitting the bookmark tab in the corner of the photo.

Saving it for future reference, are we? that pesky conscience of his questions accusingly.

Choosing not to follow the train of thought that will only serve to make him feel guiltier, Ignis sets the phone aside and puts his fingers back on the keyboard, intent on getting back to work, but less than a minute later the device is in his hand again and pulling up Gladio’s photo gallery.

He quickly locates the one photo from a previous ‘Final Hurrah’ at the ABO House where Gladio has an arm hooked around the prince’s neck and the other around Prompto’s. They’re all grinning, faces redder than usual and in questionable states of undress, but Ignis only has eyes for Prompto. The blond’s jeans are unbuttoned and he’s shirtless, a tie loosely hanging around his neck, and whoever took the picture caught him in mid-laugh.

Ignis isn’t aware he is smiling at first, but then he feels a strange stirring in-between his legs and his eyebrows furrow in confusion, brain not immediately conscious of what is happening in his body. When it is brought to his attention—pointedly—he tosses his phone to the other side of the couch as if it just burned his skin, gaping in horror as he forcibly shuts his laptop.

Sweet Six, what are you, a pre-pubescent boy?

Hopping lithely to his feet, Ignis rushes to the bathroom to turn on the sink and pulls off his glasses, all but shoving his head under the stream of cold water. A few seconds later Ignis straightens, finding a towel to smother his face in. Even with the shock of the sudden dousing, the heat in his groin remains, and he groans loudly into the soft fabric in dismay.

“Obviously, it is time for bed,” Ignis decides aloud. Despite the declaration, he stands in front of the mirror for a minute longer, water droplets clinging to his hair as he glares into his own eyes. “You best stop acting like a fool,” he grumbles.

Then, reluctantly returning to the living room, Ignis scoops up the discarded phone and performs a walk of shame quietly back to his bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The knock is unexpected, and at first Ignis thinks he must have imagined it, but then he hears it again, louder and more insistent.

It’s Sunday—I’m not expecting anyone

Groggy and bleary eyed, Ignis searches for his glasses, and not finding them on the nightstand, grabs the t-shirt and sweats from off the back of his desk chair as he slips out of bed and heads towards the sound. He just finishes pulling on his clothes when he unlocks and answers the front door, and despite the blurry background, Prompto Argentum fills his view with perfect clarity, and it takes all Ignis’s composure not to gasp.

The student is wearing his signature hoodie and jeans, and he smiles apologetically, long golden eyelashes fluttering demurely as he glances down. “Uh, hello Mr. Scientia, sorry to bother you on a weekend, but…can I talk to you for a minute?” Prompto’s voice, just like his facial features, is full of sunshine, and to keep from gawking, Ignis waves the boy inside without a word, unsure what could have possibly inspired a surprise visit.

How does he know my address? This must be Gladio’s doing, that bastard.

Ignis turns, saying: “Mr. Argentum, it may be better for us to meet—” But he stops, voice strangled by the sight of Prompto shrugging out of his hoodie so that he stands bare-chested in Ignis’s entryway. “What are you…?” Ignis doesn’t complete the question, as it becomes obvious when Prompto unzips his own pants, pink coloring his cheeks.

“I wanted to make up for the other day,” the blond mutters, still not looking at Ignis directly, and the professor finds it so endearing that he stands frozen with one hand pressed against the wall to prevent himself from tilting sideways, knees going weak.

“You…? Don’t be silly, that’s…” Ignis has never had so much trouble stringing words together, but as Prompto sinks to his knees in front of him, he forces his eyes shut in an attempt to focus is mind.

Ignis, you must put a stop to this immediately, the sensible voice inside him hisses, but then Prompto frees his erection and the voice mysteriously quiets, replaced by a hunger too consuming to deny. Ignis takes one step back so that his body presses against the wall, and he hears the front door close softly as a warm mouth envelops his straining hard-on.

Fuck,” Ignis whispers roughly.

He slaps one hand over his mouth when Prompto applies pressure with his lips, head tilting back when the student begins to move in a steady rhythm.

“Prompto—” Ignis starts to protest, but his desire is climbing at an alarming rate, and he knows it’s impossible to stop. He’s going to—


Ignis bolts upright in bed while the scene ends abruptly, chest rising and falling rapidly as his head whips left and right in search of his phone. He finds it on the floor, most likely knocked off his nightstand in his sleep, and silences the alarm, the whispers of his dream still fresh in his thoughts and in his body, as is reflected by the unpleasant hardness of his cock.

Not bothering to put his glasses on, Ignis runs a hand over his face and flops back into his pillows with a frustrated noise as he acknowledges the sad truth: he, Ignis Scientia, is having illicit sexual fantasies about one of his students.

Head throbbing from too much wine and lack of quality sleep, Ignis opens his mouth and murmurs: “Fuck.”

Monday morning inevitably comes (although Ignis doesn’t for the duration of the weekend, and is miserable for it), and the professor spends a good minute standing outside the door of his own classroom, attempting to compose himself as he debates canceling the lecture. He knows that his first instinct when he walks through the door will be to check the top row, something he must not do this morning under any circumstances, lest he suffer in silence to conceal a boner for an unbearable fifty minutes.

Don’t be such a child, that familiar voice in his head scolds. Surely, you can act like the professional you are. Simply do your job. Easier said than done.

It’s eight o’ clock exactly when Ignis finally decides to push the door to the room open, a little more aggressively than intended, and he keeps his eyes trained strictly on the podium as he walks in, side conversations dying as he does.

“Good morning, class,” he greets, fighting to maintain an even cadence to his words. “Your grades have been updated in your online portal. Feel free to email me directly with any concerns or inquiries regarding the rubric. As a reminder, I do not accept late work. For any other questions, please consult your syllabus before contacting me.” Realizing his words are running together, Ignis takes a moment to shuffle through his notes, giving himself time to breathe.

Unfortunately, the desire is too strong for him to fight—he has to look—and Ignis’s eyes flit up to Prompto’s seat, pulse skipping when he sees the blond’s head tilted downwards to stare at the sheet of paper in front of him. Ignis then glances back to his lecture outline, clearing his throat.

“Today we will be discussing the key female monarchs of Lucis, most notably, Queen Crepera Lucis Caelum. If you brought your books, you can turn to chapter seven…” He begins to set up his presentation so that it will project onto the screen behind him, his heart eventually slowing as he listens to the rustle of paper and gentle murmur of voices as he does so. The professor tells himself that if he just focuses on the task at hand, he should be able to put his silly feelings aside.

It’s nothing but lust, nothing you cannot overcome in time.

To his credit, he is able to avoid looking at the student for most of the class and is nearing the end of the lecture when a silence lulls. While waiting for pens and pencils to stop scratching furiously, he makes the mistake of allowing his gaze to slide up the rows once more to land squarely on Prompto. This time, the blond happens to be looking at him, and Ignis feels his breath forcibly leave his lungs, making him thankful for the fact that Prompto is too far away to hear the audible noise it creates.

Ignis is held prisoner by twin pools of icy blue, and he mentally counts the seconds as he refuses to blink, unsure of what action to take next. He keeps his face carefully neutral when Prompto doesn’t look away, and images from the professor’s unwelcome dreams flash suddenly through his mind. He knows he shouldn’t encourage it, this terrible attraction, but his mouth is already moving on its own, and to his horror, settles into a natural smile.

Astrals above, what is wrong with me?

He turns away in an attempt to hide it, but he knows the damage is done. Hitting a button to progress the presentation, he grasps in vain for the information he had planned to relay to the class, eventually settling for reading directly off his slides. Abhorrent.

“Referred to merely as ‘the Rogue,’ not much is known about Crepera Lucis Caelum…” Ignis’s heart is beating like he just sprinted (or drank two full carafes of coffee), and it doesn’t slow even when the final bell rings.

Ignis grasps the edges of the podium like a life line, knowing full well that he cannot continue teaching under these conditions, and seeing that Prompto is bent forward, zipping up his backpack, finds that his legs are suddenly moving as if they have a mind of their own, causing him to ascend the set of stairs towards the back of the room.

This is a terrible idea, he thinks, and yet, Ignis makes it all the way to Prompto’s side, waiting patiently, albeit anxiously, for the student to notice him. When he finally does, the blond jerks back and his head collides with the edge of the desk with a loud thud.

Fuck—!” Prompto hisses in pain.

Ignis instantly feels guilty, hand reaching out for Prompto on instinct as the student curls momentarily at the professor’s feet, gripping his skull.

“Are you all right?” the professor’s arm hesitates before it keeps going, but it never quite reaches Prompto.

“Y-yeah, fine.” Scooting away, the student gets slowly to his feet, and Ignis is suddenly very aware of how close they are, but at this point stepping back would only draw attention to it, so Ignis tries to appear nonchalant, adopting body language that might suggest he isn’t perturbed in the slightest. (A complete and utter lie. He is beyond bothered by the strange power the student has over him.)

You are a fool, Scientia, and you will live to regret this.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. Mr. Argentum, may I speak to you for a moment?” Ignis notices his accent thickening, something that only happens when he is nervous, but he plays it off with another smile, hoping that it makes him appear more approachable and less guilty.

What are you doing, for gods’ sakes? Quit while you’re ahead! Another alarm bell is ringing in his mind, but he reassures himself that he has done nothing wrong—yet, anyway.

Prompto, after an awkward moment of silence, gives an apprehensive nod, and it makes the tuft of hair sticking up on his head bob like a moogle’s antenna. “Sure.”

Adorable—the word pops into Ignis’s mind and his smile grows as tight as the knot in his stomach. The professor then turns on his heel, leading the way towards his office, and he refuses to give in to the pressing need to look over his shoulder to confirm that Prompto is following him.

Prompto does follow him, however, and they end up in Ignis’s tiny office without incident, but as soon as the door shuts, all the professor can think about is Prompto on his knees in front of him with his mouth around his—

“Please, have a seat,” Ignis says neutrally as he takes his own. Prompto obeys without speaking, eyes pointed in the professor’s direction, but they are focused more on the man’s desk than on his face. Even so, now that Ignis has Prompto in front of him, he cannot for the life of him figure out what his plan is.

Time to improvise.

“I noticed you weren’t in class on Friday. Were you ill?” The question is rooted in genuine concern, but its purpose is to set the tone for the conversation, giving Prompto the chance to open up about the unfortunate submission mishap.

Ignis watches as Prompto’s eyes dart up, then down again, and the professor clasps both hands together on top of his desk when he feels his dick twinge, subtly crossing one leg over the other.

Now, of all times? He is appalled and embarrassed but knows he cannot give any indication of his distress, so he stays the course—whatever that may be.

“Yeah, I was sick,” Prompto admits, not offering any further details. It’s a safe answer, which is to be expected, but Ignis still finds it unsatisfying.

“Ah, well, I hope you are feeling better.” The professor pauses to lean back, pulling his hands beneath the desk to fold them in his lap in the unlikely event Prompto can somehow see where there is now an obvious bulge in his slacks. “In the future, take care to remember that you will need a doctor’s note on an official letterhead in order to count illness as an excused absence.” Prompto inclines his head slightly, already half-rising from his chair to leave, and although Ignis knows he should let the conversation end there, he cannot resist the urge to keep the student longer.

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about your essay,” Ignis says casually, and noticing how Prompto stiffens slightly, already regrets his choice of words.

Smooth, Scientia.

“Oh?” Prompto barely whispers, sitting back down.

Is it just me, or is he paler than before? Is he…nervous?

It is in that moment that Ignis has the crazy idea that he might have been right after all—that Prompto does find him attractive. And would it not be a terrible irony if they were both experiencing this animalistic attraction to each other without any way to relieve it due to the simple fact that Ignis is Prompto’s teacher? It’s such a ridiculous notion that Ignis feels himself smiling again, cursing the gods’ cruel sense of humor, but it also gives him enough confidence to regain control over his mind, and he directs the conversation with more ease than before.

“You cited Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum as one of your sources,” he reminds Prompto, thinking of Gladio’s Insomniagram pictures of the three boys together.

Prompto blinks in surprise before replying. “Oh. Yeah, he’s my roommate.” Ignis’s raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise and leans forward, returning his hands to the top of his desk before allowing his eyes to narrow slightly. A thrill of pleasure runs through him when he sees Prompto squirm, and although it may be unkind, he hopes that it might pressure the student to reveal more.

“I see. So you’re the childhood friend of Prince Noctis’s that Gladiolus mentioned.”

Come now, Prompto, there’s no need to be so humble.

Ignis barely contains a laugh when Prompto looks behind him in confusion, glaring up into the corners of the room as if searching for a hidden camera. The professor settles for a chuckle when Prompto turns back around, regaining the blond’s attention.

“You seem confused. Allow me to enlighten you. Mr. Amicitia’s father is a close family friend of my parents. They work in the Citadel serving His Majesty. If things had been different, I would have been one of Prince Noctis’s retainers, however, I chose to pursue a career in academia, much to their chagrin. I merely wanted to confirm that your source was legitimate and not a thinly-veiled Moogle search.”

He secretly prays that Prompto might come clean—admit that he knows Gladio, that maybe he was the one who put him up to this—or even better, that he finds Ignis just as attractive as the professor finds him, but it doesn’t happen.

“Great. Well, glad we could clear that up,” Prompto exclaims instead, voice a little higher and thinner than before. Ignis rises as Prompto gets to his feet, and the blond finds his way to the door while the professor watches helplessly. Ignis knows he’s losing his grip on the situation, so he makes a last-ditch effort to drop a hint for Prompto.

“Oh, and Mr. Argentum?” Prompto looks back, hand resting on the doorknob as his head cocks into a metaphorical question mark. “I highly recommend reviewing your syllabus and the student ethics handbook for information pertaining to dropping this class after the add-drop date. For instance, three unexcused absences will result in termination from the course.” In the event you’re concerned about the teacher-student relationship part of things. He presents a smile-smirk combo, maybe more flirtatious than is appropriate, but at this point Ignis knows he is the crossing the point of no return.

“Yes, sir.”

Prompto is heading out the door as he responds, and Ignis isn’t prepared for the strength of reaction the words evoke in him, a pressure between his thighs making him sink back into his chair with a subdued moan.

Ignis decides to cancel his remaining classes for the day so that he can try to get a handle on the miserable state he has found himself in, but he has a feeling that it won’t be so easily overcome—and he is one hundred percent correct.

A+, Mr. Scientia.

It gets bad enough that a week’s worth of sleepless nights later (after weighing the pros and cons many, many times), Ignis calls Gladio. He justifies it to himself by saying that Gladio knows both him and Prompto and can give the most objective opinion of the situation, but he feels his stomach drop as he listens to the ringing, nearly hanging up before anyone can answer.

There is a click as the call connects. “Iggy?” he hears Gladio’s voice question skeptically. Ignis tells himself he can still hang up, maybe play it off as an honest mistake, but the professor reminds himself of how he has tossed and turned for the last several nights and swallows his pride.

“Gladiolus. I need to speak with you about a serious matter.”

“Uh…sure.” There is the sound of shifting. Ignis presses his free hand to rub at one temple, feeling a headache forming. “What’s up?” Gladio wonders, still sounding somewhat defensive.

“It’s concerning Prompto Argentum.” There is a silence so pronounced that Ignis thinks for a second that the call dropped, but it is swiftly filled by Gladio’s booming laugh.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me—is this a prank? There’s no way this is for real.” The chuckling continues as Ignis huffs, now seriously doubting his own judgement. “Wait, wait, wait—I know you, don’t hang up,” Gladio begs amidst his chortling. “Tell me what’s wrong, I’m listening, promise.”

Taking a long breath in to the count of five, Ignis decides there’s no use in beating around the bush. “I need you to find out if…Prompto shares my particular tastes, and if he does, whether he has any interest—”

“Oh, he’s definitely into you, man,” Gladio interrupts. “He came to me last week asking about you.”

Ignis’s mouth goes dry, and he’s thankful that he’s sitting on his bed so that he can conveniently fall backwards without any fear of injuring himself.

“Was he?” Ignis tries not to sound too pleased, but he can practically hear Gladio’s grin through the phone.

“Yeah—all concerned about the fact that you’re his teacher. I told him not to worry about it—”

“Gladiolus!” Ignis interjects, mortified.

“—because you won’t be in like, five weeks. Come on, Specs, when was the last time you really took interest in anyone?” Even though he chooses not to answer the question out loud, Ignis considers Gladio’s words. It truly has been some time… “There’s, uh, just one problem. I kinda set him up with a date at Loveless tonight, but if you’re serious about it, I think you have a better shot. He’s had the hots for you since day one, according to Noct.”

“According to Noct?” the professor echoes with amusement. “Very well, I’ll consider it.” He pauses, then amends his statement to keep Gladio from getting too invested in the idea. “Waiting until the end of the semester would be advisable, however.”

“Sure, sure, that’s smart,” Gladio agrees, tone implying he might be holding back another laugh. “If you’re having trouble keeping your cool around him, you could always do what I do in sticky situations—works like a charm—”

“Sleep with women I have no attraction to?” Ignis retorts dryly.

Gladio keeps going, steamrolling through the blatant dig. “—think of my mom. Kills a boner instantly.”

Spewing curses under his breath, Ignis hangs up to the sound of Gladio’s snickers.