fourstrings | a broken kiss and an aching sigh

a broken kiss and an aching sigh

[ They're together a year before anyone even mentions blood.

Nobody even says it; he's told to go meet Noctis a little earlier than usual, and when the door is pushed open for him Noctis is sitting in his nurse's lap, mouth fixed to her neck. Ignis freezes, not understanding but feeling that he's intruding on something, but the nurse smiles and tells him they'll be done in just a moment before Noctis pulls away and smiles brightly, his mouth stained red.

“Ignis!” he says, full of cheer, but Ignis is staring at the pinprick wounds on the nurse's neck, leaking blood.

“Have you had enough?” she asks, and when Noctis nods at her she ruffles his hair. “Can you fix it?”

He leans in again, little pink tongue painting a cat-lick over the wounds, and suddenly they're gone. Noctis hugs her tight, says thank you, and wriggles out of her lap to run to Ignis' side.

“I got a new ball,” he says, like nothing strange has happened at all, “let's play!”

Ignis doesn't know how to ask what he's seen, so he takes the hand expectantly extended to him and goes.

It's less than a month later that they're packing up a game because Noctis is supposed to leave for dinner and Ignis drops a glass. In his hurry to pick up the shards he cuts his hand, bright blood blooming along the angry line of it as he sucks air in pain.

“I can fix it,” Noctis says, with childish certainty, and Ignis remembers the way those tiny wounds had vanished and lets Noctis lift his hand to his mouth. His tongue pokes at the skin, which feels funny, but then Noctis' eyes get strange and unfocused and there's a sharper pain, a needle stab that makes Ignis cry out. Noctis only holds his hand tighter, sucking furiously until Ignis starts to feel dizzy.

He wakes up in bed, with a needle attached to a plasticky bag on a stand poking into his arm and a serious lady in all green clothes looking at him in a way that feels like it's poking into his face. He can tell he's in trouble even before Noctis' nurse – the one who'd held him in her lap and let him bite her – leads him away to show him a video.

On the screen, everything is jostly and shaky. He can see himself, though, gray-faced and floppy as he's scooped up and carried away. The picture is steady when it settles on Noctis' face, tears rolling down his cheeks and tracking into the blood that smears his chin. He's crying so loudly it's a scream, and Ignis ducks his head. The nurse puts gentle fingers under his chin and tips it back up.

“You have to watch,” she says. “You have to understand why you need to be more careful. He thought he'd killed you. If we hadn't got there in time, he might have. Can you imagine how he would have felt?”

“Yes,” says Ignis, only a whisper sneaking out past the sick feeling in his stomach, the tight squeeze in his chest.

“Then you understand why you need to take more care.”

“Yes.”

He's not allowed to see Noctis before meals after that, which is sad, but it's okay.

Eventually he enters the rotation, as he was always meant to. It doesn't hurt as much if he's expecting it, and by the time they start Noctis is older and has better control, and it's fine. At least, it's fine until Noctis hits puberty, and certain abilities start to kick in. Ignis is bigger, so they've always done it the way he saw with the nurse, Noctis clambering into his lap where it's easy for them both, Ignis settling his arms comfortably around him to support him. But Noctis is about fourteen when that changes, and the bite gives Ignis a feeling that starts out hazy and unfocused and sharpens quickly to something that makes him urgently want to get Noctis out of his lap. But it's too much, too fast, and before he can protest he's lost to need. Noctis... doesn't seem to mind, because he just nestles in and keeps drinking, heedless of the desperate little sounds Ignis makes. In fact, he doesn't stop until Ignis' head lolls back, eyes rolling, and he realizes he needs to get help.

Ignis is carried away from the Prince for the second time, given over to the tender mercies of a pair of attendants apparently kept around specifically for incidents like this. It takes three hours between them, trading off in shifts to speak to him in soothing voices and touching him everywhere except where he desperately wants to be touched, to calm him down. And then, for the first time in ten years, there are restrictions in place about when he's allowed to see Noctis and when he isn't.

It's better now. Noctis has learned to control the other aspects of his situation the same way he controls his thirst, eliminating the requirement for rules. And they're still close, though Noctis now sits next to Ignis when he feeds instead of across his lap, and it's been years since they shared a bed. He misses that, sometimes; the closeness, the ease they had with each other. He can't help wondering if it was that second incident that keeps this space between them, and he'd reassure Noctis that he has nothing to worry about, but... it's not entirely true. Noctis has grown handsome in a way that he'd probably hate to hear called pretty, blossomed in both his looks and a sly intelligence, little bursts of humor peeking through that make Ignis laugh in a way that he doesn't laugh with anyone else, and there have been times when the fact that Noctis keeps the aphrodisiac effect out of his bite doesn't do anything to keep Ignis from feeling his mouth go dry, crossing his legs defensively and mentally rehashing the dullest points of the very driest reports to keep his focus.

He's re-read one in preparation for tonight's visit. He lets himself in, sees Noctis sprawled on the couch, one arm folded behind his head and a slice of pale stomach and hip showing between the borders of his t-shirt and his pants, and a hundred mind-numbing facts about the difficulty of raising crops in the salty air of Altissia and their dependence on agricultural trade are all there, ready to assist him in his time of need. ]

Good evening, Highness.

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[ he snorts, but it's a derisive thing instead of a laugh, jutting his chin stubbornly. ] That doesn't matter, and you know it.

[ if ignis thought it was his duty, noctis knows that ignis would do it without complaint. no matter how much he despised it, no matter if it was painful or uncomfortable or humiliating. he'd do it, and do it perfectly, and never voice a word of discontent to noctis or his father. ]

And I know you hate it. [ he squeezes his hands into tight fists in his lap, the words tumbling out rapidly now that they've found their outlet. ] You don't even touch me, and you just sit there like you already wish it was over, and you leave as soon as you can.

[ there's a stinging in his throat and at the corner of his eyes, but he's had a lot of practice at swallowing back his tears, and he puts the skill to good use. ] ... so you either hate it, or you hate me.

[ When Noctis says it doesn't matter, voicing Ignis' thoughts so clearly, he can't help the rise of blood that flushes his cheeks. It ought to be a comfort when he continues and makes it clear that Ignis has not, in fact, been caught out, but it's no comfort at all. Ignis feels a muscle in his jaw jump, and he fixes Noctis with a gimlet stare. ]

Don't ever think I hate you.

[ It's quiet, far softer than the look in his eyes. Explaining is harder, though. He's seen people who give over to a bite, becoming pliant and wanton, and he's always assumed that part of the reason Noctis relies on him as a primary source of sustenance is a desire to avoid that. If he wanted someone who would swoon and writhe under his power there are certainly people better suited. There are volunteers. Ignis knows; he's often the one they approach to offer their services, and it's clear that it's not food they have in mind. He dutifully refers them to the correct channels, and tries never to think of them again. Imagining either Noctis or his father partaking is equally horrifying, for very different reasons. ]

I only --

[ should have planned out the end of that sentence before he started to speak, perhaps? ]

[ he doesn't quail underneath the intensity of the look that ignis gives him, but it does temper some of that lashing anger. ... because noctis knows ignis, and he recognizes that sincere quality in his voice for what it is. and maybe it soothes some fear in him, but the rest is still brimming over with that confused hurt, so. ]

Only what?

[ before ignis even has a chance to collect his thoughts. he's half-leaning forward, eyes bright and fixed on the older man's face, as if he'll have a chance to glean the truth before ignis says it out loud. he's hurt, but he's also eager to fix this; he wants things back to the way they were, when ignis was his friend and not just his... chaperone? advisor? ] ... if I did something wrong, you should at least tell me what it is.

You've done nothing wrong.

[ Gods, but this is hard. It's almost enough to make him wish the stories about mind-reading were true; at least he wouldn't have to say it. And Noctis looks so fierce, so beautiful under the hurt, that the urge to tell him plainly is strong.

His training is stronger, for now. ]

I need to remain professional. I've... overcorrected somewhat, if I've given you the impression I hate it, but I can't behave like a --

[ there are terms for the sorts of people who take undisguised pleasure in being bitten. None of them are polite. He settles on ] groupie.

[ ... out of everything he was expecting, the idea that ignis might like it too much hadn't even entered into his thoughts as a possibility. so it takes him a long moment to understand what he's getting at, blinking and knitting his brows together in bewilderment.

he's never actually met a groupie, but he's old enough to get the gist of their reputation. they're people who enjoy being bitten so much that they flock to vampires, hoping to be kept like pets underneath a blissful thrall. but why would ignis be worried about that? his role as noctis' advisor is already clearly defined, and no one would think to accuse him of being kept around just to be the pet of a prince.

and noctis wouldn't think that's what ignis is after, when he doesn't even like --

... but that's enough to help connect the dots.

and he blinks, color blooming high on his cheeks as he wraps his mind around what ignis is telling him. ] ... you mean... you like it?

Yes.

[ He sounds wretched in admitting it. It's embarrassing, it's unprofessional, and seeing Noctis blush as he figures it out certainly doesn't help things. He can't help but imagine Noctis picturing him as one of them, hopeful and sluttish, their presumptuous all-black attire cut low for easy access, all the gaudy silver jewelry and too-dark eye makeup that always seems to go with the aesthetic. He can't imagine it's anything but hilariously revolting, and his gaze goes to the polished surface of his shoes.

Unfortunately, his misery means that yes is all the answer Noctis gets. ]

[ his mind is racing, and it's hard to hear his own thoughts over the eager thunder of his pulse. he's undeniably exhilarated by the idea, but... ]

... when anyone does it? [ guarded, but cautiously hopeful. ] Or...?

I wouldn't know.

[ Ifrit's balls, he's not going to make this easy, is he? And while it's entirely true that he doesn't have a basis for comparison... that answer isn't really the entire truth.

His eyes slide towards Noctis -- still not quite looking at him, but at least in his general direction. ]

I suspect not.

[ he snorts immediately at the response, all set to brush it off and insist that ignis knows what he means. but he's satisfied when ignis speaks again, even though it just fans that bright spark of excitement even higher in his veins. it's hard to stifle the urge to lunge forward immediately and twine himself around ignis, possessive and greedy and adoring all at once, but.

... the tense set of ignis' shoulders is enough to keep him still, because he doesn't look happy at all about the idea. ]

... isn't that a good thing? [ and there's something almost shy about the question as he reaches out, catching the cuff of ignis' sleeve and rubbing it gently between his fingers. ] I mean, I...

I want you to like it. [ and he hesitates for a moment, the color in his cheeks darkening a little. ] ... and I... want to make you feel good, I guess. If I can.

[ When Noctis rubs at the fabric of his cuff, his heart starts to pound. That... can't be a good thing, considering, though it does make him wonder guiltily if Noctis has been taking the way his pulse quickens as fear. Good for Ignis, when he'd been trying to keep the secret, but also a fairly solid clue as to why Noctis had assumed he'd hated the process.

But then Noctis keeps talking, and Ignis swallows hard and meets his eyes. There's still guilt and concern in his expression, but it's undercut with a hope that he tries frantically to deny as he speaks. ]

That's -- not necessary. I...

[ and a little sigh, something bordering on desperate. This is a conversation he'd hoped never to have, even if Noctis did someday figure it out all on his own. What's wrong with a little denial? ]

You don't have to do anything differently.

[ he huffs a little at that, shaking his head. ]

I didn't say I thought I had to. I said I wanted to.

[ ... and he's made a little bolder by the fact that ignis doesn't shake off that first tentative touch, so. noctis scoots a little closer, enough to let their knees bump, still watching ignis' face intently. it'd probably be wisest, safest, to just let the matter drop; he knows that ignis doesn't hate him, doesn't hate the idea of noctis feeding from him, and that should be enough, but...

... it isn't. not now, not after he's been teased with the idea of more. ]

I'd never -- [ noctis hesitates again, swallowing hard before he plunges on with his thought. ] ... I don't want to make you into... one of those people. Or ask you to do something that you didn't want, but...

I'd like it if you were -- [ and his voice catches again, color burning brilliantly in his cheeks as he ducks his chin. ] If we were --

[ he can't say it. ]

[ Those people Noctis says, and it should be enough to shut it down immediately. He knows they don't have a choice, and Ignis still thinks poorly of them. Some of them are refugees, really, smuggled away from places where they'd be permitted to forget they needed food or water or sleep, forget that they needed anything other than to be bitten until they let themselves be killed, and he can't help but look at them and think: not me. Never me. But he struggles as it is, trying to keep his emotions in check when Noctis has his mouth at his neck, and it's easy to imagine himself twitchily counting down the hours until he's due again.

And yet. And yet. His hand lifts to Noctis' face, tentative fingers brushing against his cheek. ]

I don't know that you'd have a choice. You're very difficult to resist as it it.

I wouldn't.

[ and his voice is firm with the strength of his own conviction, because this he knows for sure. his father has explained some of this to him -- the first time he bit ignis and accidentally caused that reaction that left ignis all but swooning into him. his father told him then how important it was to always give people a choice, how precious a gift it was to have someone offer you their blood willingly.

... but he can't help but lean into the hand at his cheek, struggling to keep himself from turning and nosing up against ignis' wrist. the skin is thinner there, soft and delicate, and the spiderweb veins carry the rich scent of his blood closer to the surface of his skin. ] ... you're my friend, Ignis. Before anything else.

You can always say no to me. Even if I'm a king, or... anything else.

[ He's never been afraid that Noctis wouldn't take no for an answer, and still the strength behind hearing him say it is freeing, somehow. Noctis is the crown prince and Ignis is his advisor. Ignis is supposed to be the one making rational decisions, the one to put his foot down when something is politically unwise, or unbecoming, or downright stupid. This is all of those things, but the way Noctis speaks feels like he's lifting that burden and Ignis, giddly free of the weight of it -- if only for a moment -- leans in to kiss him. Maybe too much before they've even finished the conversation, pressing in firm, seeking as much as Noctis will allow. ]

[ perhaps he should be a little startled, but honestly? it feels like he's been drawn helplessly closer to ignis from the moment he sat down, pulled by some magnetic connection that he needs to obey the way he needs to breathe. so ignis dipping down to kiss him only serves to answer that desire in a way that's better than anything noctis might have dared to hope for on his own, and he's more than happy to respond.

almost immediately, he leans up and into him, twining his arms around ignis' shoulders and trying to press himself closer. ]

[ It's easy -- too easy, perhaps -- to curl his arms around Noctis' waist in an answering pull to that push for closeness. Side-by-side is not the ideal position for it even angled in to face each other as they are, and it makes him want to haul Noctis into his lap and hold him there. He actually starts, arms dragging him over, before he catches himself and breaks the kiss to rest his forehead against Noctis' and just... breathe, for a moment.

Still. Noctis knows how he feels about their situation, and the world has not ended. He kissed Noctis, and he seemed to enjoy it. It's undeniably strange, but it's good.

Even if it makes him want to ask Noctis to bite him, right now. ]

[ noctis said ignis can say no to him whenever he wants, and he means that with every fiber of his being. but he still can't quite stifle a little whine when ignis breaks suddenly away from the kiss, and there's a little flex in his fingers where he fights the urge to drag him closer again.

it's hard, being so close to him when he hasn't fed yet. and it's just as hard to be close to him and not lean up to kiss him again, because kissing ignis is something new and wonderful and exciting.

... but he's stubborn, and he wants desperately to prove that he can hold his appetites in check when he needs to. when ignis needs him to. so he squeezes his eyes shut and keeps himself still, even though his breath is coming out of him in quick little pants. ]

[ It's too much to resist. The sweet little whine in Noctis' voice when he breaks the kiss, the feeling of his fingers clutching him back momentarily, the rapid pace of his breath, close enough to feel. Ignis drops a hand low, traces along the hem of Noctis' shirt in lieu of actually slipping his hand up under it, and sighs to himself. Whatever else has happened, whatever else might happen, he had a purpose in coming here tonight. That's reason enough to ask for what he wants, surely.

His voice is low and breathy when he finally speaks. ]

Still not hungry?

[ his next intake of breath is sharp, a ragged little thing that betrays his eagerness. and already, his eyes are beginning to take on the eerie glow that always comes along with a feeding. the hunger is a sharp and insistent itch; it's not the same stomach-rumbling hunger that comes along with a normal meal, but something deeper, almost as strong as a physical pull. ]

... can I?

[ breathless, and asking for everything at once. ]

[ Can he. He'd laugh, if everything in him wasn't tangled up in the anticipation of it. Instead he unfastens an extra button of his shirt (common sense would dictate that something without a collar would be more suited, but in this matter his need to keep up appearances has always prevailed), and finally reaches for Noctis. ]

Come here.

[ When he pulls him into his lap he's not aiming to settle him across it sidesaddle, as when they were younger. He wants Noctis straddling him, chest-to-chest. It'll probably make things easier anyway, but for the extra height that being seated over Ignis' thighs will give him. ]

Alright?

[ he's more than happy to be pulled into ignis' lap, a low sound that's almost a purr rumbling in his chest as he settles himself closer. almost immediately, he winds his arms around ignis' shoulders, curling possessively around ignis the way he's always wanted to. ]

All right.

[ an understatement. it's more than all right.

and the temptation to bite already is real, but he takes his time to savor it. so he noses closer first, breathing deeply and letting himself enjoy the rich smell of ignis' blood underneath the surface of his skin. ] ... you're ready?

[ He can feel his pulse quicken as Noctis moves in close. To say it's something he's done hundreds of times would be an understatement, and on the surface of it very little has changed; Noctis knows that it's not unpleasant for him, and they've kissed really only very briefly. It still feels wildly different. There's something almost debauched about going into it this way, with the secret pleasure he finds in it no longer a secret.

He can't bring himself to feel bad about that. Not with Noctis so close, the weight of him in his lap. He tips his head back, baring his throat, and fastens an arm around Noctis' waist. ]

Very.

[ his breath shudders as ignis tips his chin back and bares his throat for him, and an answering pulse of heat flows down his spine. ignis has always been alluring, but now? to know that he wants this, that he'll enjoy it just as much as noctis...

it makes it so much better.

which is why he doesn't bother hesitating any further before he bites. he's had years of practice at it now, and the slide of his fangs into ignis' jugular is a smooth and practiced motion. and then he's attaching his mouth to the wound and sucking greedily, eyes falling half-shut as the pleasurable warmth of a feeding sweeps over him. and this time, there's no need to fight the way his magic spills outward in response, curling warmly around ignis like vines and pulling him down into the senseless bliss of a thrall. ]

[ It's been so long since that first and only accident that he's forgotten how instant it is, and his existing attraction to Noctis blurs the lines. He can't pinpoint the exact time at which the feeling of Noctis pressing the wet heat of his mouth against his neck became a pleasure of its own, but it's been long enough that he barely notices the slide from that familiar want into something deeper, heated and blissful. It's just as well, really; any panic response he might have had from he association is lost entirely to a liquid warmth that spills through his whole body. His eyes fall closed and he sighs, completely without shame. ]

[ he can feel the way that ignis relaxes against him, and taste the answering spike of warmth in his blood. and noctis mms a low sound back at him in response, tucking himself closer and falling into the familiar rhythm of feeding.

and it isn't hard to see why it would be easy to overindulge, to let himself take too much, especially when ignis is so warm and willing against him. but noctis meant it when he said that he cared too much about him to let anything happen to him. so he only takes what he absolutely needs before he pulls back, lapping at the wound to let his magic heal it before he nestles in close again, rubbing his cheek lazily against ignis' shoulder. almost like a housecat after a meal, satisfied and lazy. ]

[ Noctis has been careful. Ignis knows this because he's able to think it; the heat of Noctis' body against his is wonderful, the stroke of his tongue closing the wound is heaven, even the way the fabric of his clothes brush his skin as he shifts feels like a caress, but in it all he's aware enough to be thankful he's aware, present enough to know he probably shouldn't admit that he would have liked it if Noctis had been just a little greedy.

There's still enough of that magic moving through him that he'd have to concentrate hard to form the sentence, in any case. As it is, he likely gives himself away. There's a little disgruntled noise curling up from the back of his throat as his hands clutch pleadingly at Noctis, one gripping tight at his hip and the other fisting needily in the fabric of his shirt. ]

Edited 2017-02-06 04:45 (UTC)

[ a certain heavy satisfaction always comes after a feeding, and it's enough to make him miss those first few telling signs. but the feeling of ignis gripping at his shirt is enough to bring him back around, lifting his head with a heavy blink as he gets a read on ignis' expression.

and the want there is enough to make his stomach twist with desire, fingers twitching as he tries to stifle the urge to bite him all over again. all those childhood lectures about being careful, taking only what he absolutely needs -- they're all a roar inside his skull, a leash that struggles to hold back his impulse. ]

Ignis, we -- [ he licks his lips, eyes flicking to the pulse he can see jumping underneath ignis' skin before he squeezes them shut, instead. ] We're not supposed to --

[ but he wants to, he wants to so badly he can already taste it on his tongue. ] Ignis.

[ You're right, of course. Apologies; I'll see myself out. I appreciate your caution.

Unfortunately, none of that gets spoken aloud. He's too focused on trying (unsuccessfully) to unclench his hand from Noctis' clothing, and on not subsequently using it to pull Noctis back down to his throat. The best he manages is ]

Mmm,

[ Which is supposed to sound like agreement but even to his own ears, sounds fairly slutty, and ]

Noct.

[ which is hopeless. He takes a breath, loosens his deathgrip on Noctis' shirt and takes another. It starts to clear the fog a little, which really only serves to make it plain that he wants it for himself. Not because of the bite, not because of the magic, but because of Noctis. It's something that he's able to stroke that hand over Noctis' side rather than grasping at him, at least.]

[ there's a reason they play the roles that they do.

... and it's because noctis is absolutely terrible at this one. just the low sound of that mmm is almost all it takes to undo him, dropping his forehead down against ignis' shoulder with a low groan in answer. that's a mistake, because he's now close enough to smell the blood underneath his skin, warm and rich and tempting, and it sends a shudder up his spine.

it's impossible to think, impossible to remind himself why he should be holding back. not when ignis is so close, head still tipped back and throat bared to him in offering. he wants to bite until ignis is an undone mess underneath him, utterly possessed by him, until all that composure is ripped away to nothing. until ignis is his beyond any shadow of a doubt.

but he's still fighting with it, reining himself in, and --

then ignis says noct, and the thin cord of his resistance snaps and falls away into nothing.

his teeth are back in ignis' throat before he's half-aware of what he's doing, and even though the feeding isn't as greedy as before, his magic is alive and crackling in the air between them. enough so that he can taste it on ignis' skin, in his blood, and it makes him growl a low sound as he cradles the back of ignis' skull in one hand and draws him possessively closer. ]

Mine. [ not biting, but kissing him, streaking blood over his throat with the messy press of his mouth. ] You're all mine, Ignis.

[ Oh, but it's wonderful. Too good for him to be embarrassed at the sound he makes at the sink of teeth, the feeling of that bliss kindling again until the only thing he can do is wrap his arms around Noctis and pull him closer. The thought of resistance is long fled; now it feels like there's nothing to him but need, like his body is an overtuned string between the warm, sticky smear of Noctis' mouth against his throat and the undeniable pressure where the prince sits astride his lap, wound far beyond his natural key. ]

Highness, [ and his voice is all but a gasp, breathy sibilance before it turns rough around the harsh consonants of his name and Ignis, shamefully but well past shame, grinds his hips upward for the promise of pressure. ] Noct, please -

[ it feels like every inch of ignis invites him claim, and that primal hunger thrumming at the forefront of noctis' mind revels in it. it's so easy to push down all those nagging thoughts about what he should and shouldn't do, to lick at the smeared blood along the other man's throat and listen to the breathless noises ignis makes for him in turn.

but. ] Tell me.

[ and noctis grinds his hips back down against him with one smooth roll, eyes blazing crimson as he pulls away to admire his handwork. there's still blood on his lips, blood spilling down from one corner of his mouth, but he only licks at it absently. ignis is a far better treat. ] Tell me who you belong to.

[ He can't honestly expect an immediate answer, not when he's moving like that. So the first response Ignis makes is a moan, helpless and unguarded, though he practically falls over himself to answer once he can. ]

You. You. I'm yours, Noct.

[ Red at his mouth, red in his eyes, and Ignis has never seen anything so beautiful. Noctis is sleek and fierce over him, a hunter, and the usual delicacy of Ignis' hands is all but gone from him as he paws desperately over cloth and skin before his hand settles over Noctis' cock and squeezes. The pressure of Noctis in his lap isn't enough, not nearly, but he still feels as if he's right at the edge. It's the sort of feeling that ought to be confusing; craving more when he already feels pushed well beyond his normal limit and at the same time hopelessly aware of just how little he's been actually, physically touched.

But then he looks at Noctis, and it's not confusing at all. He shifts his hand almost pleadingly; Noctis. What he needs is Noctis.]

[ if he was, then that moan that ignis offers him instead more than makes up for any disappointment. especially because ignis is quick to reply with the answer that noctis wants, breathless with the force of his devotion. and noctis thrills at the sound of it, already ducking down to catch his mouth in a proper kiss even as ignis reaches to cup his fingers around noctis' cock.

he moans a low sound into his mouth, fingers tightening in his hair as his hips thrust forward into the other man's hand. and there's nothing sweet about the kiss -- it's meant to claim just as much as his words, licking into ignis' mouth with a muffled growl that rumbles up from his chest. ignis is his. his, and he won't let him go, won't let anyone else have him. it's a greedy, jealously possessive thought, but it spurs him on, rocking forward into the tight grip of ignis' fingers and then rolling his hips back against the bulge he can feel straining against him. ]

[ Ignis has tasted his own blood often enough. Bitten cheeks, or split lips in training, or a slip with a needle while sewing an errant button back in place when the fastest way to keep a pricked finger from bleeding over Noctis' clothes was to put it in his mouth. It's always been... unremarkable. Faintly metallic, but inoffensive.

When Noctis crushes their mouths together, kissing him with an intensity that feels almost like fury, the taste of his own blood lingering on Noctis' tongue is both overwhelming and exhilarating and he has no way of telling whether it's due to the sizzle of magic between them. Noctis' grip in his hair is certainly tight enough that in any other situation he'd consider it painful, but the possessiveness makes him thrill.

His whole life since childhood has been built up around Noctis. All his studies, his learning, the training he took upon himself, everything he is -- it's for Noctis. He's warmed through with the feeling of having that accepted, claimed it in a way he'd not dared to imagine might ever become a reality, but -- he wants more. He fumbles briefly as he tries to get Noctis' pants open, fingers jittery and nervous before he can reach on and grasp his dick unimpeded as he spills little sounds of need into the press of Noctis' mouth. ]

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a broken kiss and an aching sigh

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