[ A time existed when Ignis would have scoffed at the mere mention of most romantic conventions: butterflies in the stomach, weak knees, endless foolishness. Then before he could even really conceptualize what it was to want with one's whole person, it all made an embarrassing kind of sense; after hiding his feelings for so long the butterflies shrank to a rippling breeze, the weak knees just a tremble--things he could manage. Manageable seems like a distant memory now, wide wing spanned predator birds under his heart, tremors like earthquakes in his traitorous muscles. Probably, a man with more self-preservation would back away, and yet--

And yet, here they are. Self-preservation far below Noctis on his hierarchy of needs, as it's always been. ]

Good morning. [ Nearly overshooting his usual formality and going straight into Stilted, but his fingers link tight with Noct's, gaze warm behind the shield of his glasses. He more takes them off (with the other hand, momentarily ignoring breakfast) because they get in the way of kissing, but the symbolism seems somewhat inescapable. ]

Bear in mind you mustn't allow me to burn these. We both know Prompto to be more than willing to wear a joke to rags. I'd never live it down.

[ His eyebrows are trying for emphatic here, but Noct is warm and close and for a moment there's nothing but him, just the lack of space between their bodies and the improbable blue of the prince's eyes. Ignis can feel his mouth doing something idiotically fond before he leans down to find Noct's a brush of lips that passes, about three seconds, for light.

Again, for about three seconds. Then it's just hungry, hungrier than Ignis knows what to do with. ]