[ noctis does want him, and it's a want so large and startling that he barely knows how to keep it check. it's a visceral thing in that it prickles his skin, squeezes around his throat, presses with wind-knocking force against his chest, within and without. but it's there in his head, too, a nonsensical jumble of feelings that add up to what is indisputably love. and he doesn't claim to know what that is exactly, but if he's sure of anything in the mess of confusions and blunders that is his life, it's this.
if he knew ignis felt he had to earn it—the right or the honor or whatever to be with him—he'd tell him he already has. months, years ago. long before noct really understood how much of ignis's life he was giving up in exchange for being a part of noctis's, to be a protector and a guide and a friend. he might also laugh, soft in it's mocking, because how incredibly ignis to approach this like he has to work for it, like he has to find himself worthy.
he doesn't have to do anything, in noctis's opinion. just make him feel like he does now. ]
Anything? [ a whisper against ignis's mouth before noctis's tongue returns to the more pressing task of sliding slick against ignis's, kisses slow and seeking but hanging onto that feeling of desperation. because he knows this will have to end before it can go too far.
he wishes that this were how it could always be. he wishes the others could return and gladio would make some long-suffering crack about how they're ruining the scenery and prompto would take an embarrassing photo and that would be it. they'd return to the folding chairs and breakfast serving but it wouldn't be so unthinkable that noct might squeeze ignis's fingers before stepping into the chill of a royal tomb or rest his head on ignis's shoulder in the back of the car. it would be normal.
he wishes without quite wishing, because no, he's not really interested in prompto and gladio's return as he shivers under ignis's touch, letting his own hands slide down over his chest and stomach, fingers tugging the bottom of ignis's shirt free from where it's been neatly tucked into his waistband. he'd like it very much if he could convince ignis to shed the shirt completely, but that might be harder to recover from than the fallen spatula or noctis's lightly mused hair. he settles for sliding his hands just underneath the fabric, thumbing over the curves of hipbones before migrating to the small of ignis's back where his skin is hot from the sun and hot from— well. this.
it should be pretty much impossible for ignis to miss the low ah that escapes him under ignis's teeth, proving the experiment overwhelmingly positive. ]
no subject
if he knew ignis felt he had to earn it—the right or the honor or whatever to be with him—he'd tell him he already has. months, years ago. long before noct really understood how much of ignis's life he was giving up in exchange for being a part of noctis's, to be a protector and a guide and a friend. he might also laugh, soft in it's mocking, because how incredibly ignis to approach this like he has to work for it, like he has to find himself worthy.
he doesn't have to do anything, in noctis's opinion. just make him feel like he does now. ]
Anything? [ a whisper against ignis's mouth before noctis's tongue returns to the more pressing task of sliding slick against ignis's, kisses slow and seeking but hanging onto that feeling of desperation. because he knows this will have to end before it can go too far.
he wishes that this were how it could always be. he wishes the others could return and gladio would make some long-suffering crack about how they're ruining the scenery and prompto would take an embarrassing photo and that would be it. they'd return to the folding chairs and breakfast serving but it wouldn't be so unthinkable that noct might squeeze ignis's fingers before stepping into the chill of a royal tomb or rest his head on ignis's shoulder in the back of the car. it would be normal.
he wishes without quite wishing, because no, he's not really interested in prompto and gladio's return as he shivers under ignis's touch, letting his own hands slide down over his chest and stomach, fingers tugging the bottom of ignis's shirt free from where it's been neatly tucked into his waistband. he'd like it very much if he could convince ignis to shed the shirt completely, but that might be harder to recover from than the fallen spatula or noctis's lightly mused hair. he settles for sliding his hands just underneath the fabric, thumbing over the curves of hipbones before migrating to the small of ignis's back where his skin is hot from the sun and hot from— well. this.
it should be pretty much impossible for ignis to miss the low ah that escapes him under ignis's teeth, proving the experiment overwhelmingly positive. ]