fourstrings | 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.

Threaded | Flat

[ honestly, drinking blood is just one more mildly annoying part of being born into his role of a crown prince. and it's less of a (literal) pain in the ass than having to suffer through combat training with gladio, so.

to him, the whole thing has always been as natural as breathing or eating -- it was only when he was older that he was taught to keep the practice secret, when he realized that not all children had the same need. but it still doesn't bother him, because everyone around him has always been gently insistent about it being perfectly all right, and he knows that he doesn't have to hurt anyone as long as he's careful. ... and he has been, as much as he can, because the few times he's slipped up are still enough to needle painfully at his conscience.

especially, especially, where it concerns ignis.

there's a part of noctis that's always suspected the second incident, the one when he was just coming into puberty, might account for the reason that they're not as close as they were as children. of course, ignis is still being groomed for the role of his confidante and advisor, and he's always there, but... it's different. there's something between them that wasn't there when he was younger, a sort of distance, and it's always enough to make noctis feel confused and awkward and vaguely lonely.

... talking to him about it might be the easiest way of handling it, but talking has never been one of noctis' strong suits. and lately, he's been running himself ragged turning the problem over in his head, even more distracted than usual from his schooling and his sword practice. and he's frustrated with the entire thing, wild and restless with this feeling of wanting to be closer that he seems to be denied at every turn. that he's supposed to deny himself, even though he doesn't even understand why.

so by the time ignis shows up at his apartment, punctual as always for the nightly ritual, noctis has managed to work himself up into a proper sour mood. and the idea of having to hold himself stiffly beside ignis as he feeds (instead of melting into him, curling possessively around him, the way he wants to) just makes him feel that much more ill-tempered. and it's why he rolls onto his side, back facing ignis, instead of greeting him properly. ]

I'm not hungry. [ which is a lie, but. it's his absolute best weapon for being Petulant. ]

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