[ Perhaps it's just as well the time for discussion has yet to present itself; Ignis has no idea how to recount the fumbling of his clumsy heart, growing in fits and starts across years as ungainly as their side-by-side progression through adolescence. He's only not a lovestruck teenager because he's not a teenager anymore.
So when his mouth slants open for Noct's there's an almost arch cast to it, another of those low laughs caught in the back of his throat. It's Gladio's job to crack the whip, as it were, meaning Ignis can afford a little indulgence, even if that's a very recent thing in this particular area. Noct isn't wrong that the way Ignis touches him owes a great deal to the awareness that not much else in his life is gentle, but underneath that, stronger, the determination that if he tries hard enough he can earn this. The two of them, whatever that as of yet unnamed thing can be called.
In little moments like this he feels as if he's at least getting close, if he can tug out sounds like that satisfied laugh, if Noct--wants him back. The idea still seems like madness. Not because it's so unlikely, Ignis certainly wouldn't do his hair the way he does if he thought he was some kind of terrible physical monstrosity, but because the world does seem so intent on impossibility.
Then again, the world can go hang itself, for the time being; its pressures and obstacles seem entirely outside the slow rise of the sun warming his back, where Noct's hands feel like each fingerprint will leave marks when they pull apart. ]
His majesty can "get" whatever he wants. As he well knows.
[ Speaking of indulgence. And speaking of pulling apart, Ignis like, doesn't actually do that at all, just murmurs this right up against Noct's lips as he links arms around slender waist, tracing down from the top vertebrae like following beads on a string, leaving the meandering stream of banter behind in favor of the wet electricity ramping up between their mouths, current snaking through his bloodstream. Something that was probably the spatula falls off the table and clatters to the ground; Ignis registers it dimly and then proceeds to ignore it, pressing in closer like there's much 'closer' left, teeth just grazing the curve of Noct's lower lip, tacitly experimental. ]
no subject
So when his mouth slants open for Noct's there's an almost arch cast to it, another of those low laughs caught in the back of his throat. It's Gladio's job to crack the whip, as it were, meaning Ignis can afford a little indulgence, even if that's a very recent thing in this particular area. Noct isn't wrong that the way Ignis touches him owes a great deal to the awareness that not much else in his life is gentle, but underneath that, stronger, the determination that if he tries hard enough he can earn this. The two of them, whatever that as of yet unnamed thing can be called.
In little moments like this he feels as if he's at least getting close, if he can tug out sounds like that satisfied laugh, if Noct--wants him back. The idea still seems like madness. Not because it's so unlikely, Ignis certainly wouldn't do his hair the way he does if he thought he was some kind of terrible physical monstrosity, but because the world does seem so intent on impossibility.
Then again, the world can go hang itself, for the time being; its pressures and obstacles seem entirely outside the slow rise of the sun warming his back, where Noct's hands feel like each fingerprint will leave marks when they pull apart. ]
His majesty can "get" whatever he wants. As he well knows.
[ Speaking of indulgence. And speaking of pulling apart, Ignis like, doesn't actually do that at all, just murmurs this right up against Noct's lips as he links arms around slender waist, tracing down from the top vertebrae like following beads on a string, leaving the meandering stream of banter behind in favor of the wet electricity ramping up between their mouths, current snaking through his bloodstream. Something that was probably the spatula falls off the table and clatters to the ground; Ignis registers it dimly and then proceeds to ignore it, pressing in closer like there's much 'closer' left, teeth just grazing the curve of Noct's lower lip, tacitly experimental. ]