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Some people thought a whole lot about who they gave their virginity to. Some didn’t think about it at all, and some thought of it as something to be rid of as soon as they were aware of it.
Gladio discarded his to a stranger; he didn’t remember who or how, and he never appeared to regret it. Prompto was cagey about his experience and wouldn’t share, and Ignis confessed to losing his own to an older man not terribly long after his 20th birthday.
Noctis unhesitantly gave his own to Ignis.
It started with a kiss in his apartment kitchen and devolved into the counter digging into his back as Ignis devoured his mouth, muttering, “Highness, are you sure?” and Noct brazenly grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and hissed, “If you stop, I will throw you off the balcony.”
He rode Ignis that very same night. Eyes closed, mouth open, lube squelching as he bore down and Ignis pushed up, long hands sprawling the expanse of his hips while manicured nails bit into skin. Ignis pulled Noct down by the thighs to get as deep inside him as possible when he came, mouth open and head pressed backwards into the pillow.
When they recovered, they switched; Noctis lie on his back with his knees over Ignis’s shoulder, and Ignis took him the way he’d always wanted – fantasized – and poured the oft-repressed contents of his heart into the air between them as his cock poured the cumulation of their desire into his Prince.
And so it went, and it went on for days. Days became weeks, weeks became months, months became seasons, and seasons became years. The sparks never stopped, kisses stayed heated, and their hands never stopped wandering.
Then Noct gave Ignis a blowjob from the passenger seat in a parking lot and all Hell broke loose.
He beat Ignis to his Citadel suite after fight practice. The Crown Prince of Insomnia waited for his Advisor and Chamberlain perched on the edge of his work desk wearing nothing but skin, and he was already hard, lubed, and stretched, and Ignis only had to unzip to get inside him.
The end of the day bought them time; a locked door bought them privacy.
“Ignis—”
And nothing could stopper Noct’s voice.
Ignis didn’t want to. It was like praise every time Noct moaned his name like that—like it was too much and not enough and he needed more all at the same time, and Ignis was the only one who could give it to him.
Ignis knew he’d give Noctis everything; everything he had, everything he wanted, everything he was, and more. Anything for his Prince to be happy and healthy.
He nearly came undone when Noct tightened around him, and he forgot to be gentle with his teeth when he bit in retaliation, so close to the edge – so close to the finish and determined to drag Noctis with him (the health of his desk be damned).
Then it happened.
He felt Noctis cant his hips just so and push up on his toes and backwards into him as if there was anything more to take, and the muscle around his organ grew tighter still, abdominal muscles straining.
“Oh god, Ignis—Ignis Ignis Ignis—”
“That’s right, highness,” Ignis breathed against the wet junction of his neck and shoulder, “come for me.”
Porcelain skin and iron tang pressed to his tongue; his teeth closed on Noct’s neck and shoulder again and his jaw clamped, hands turning claw-like. All of Noctis Lucis Caelum went stiff between him and his desk, and his prince’s polished nails clawed the desktop and his own name wrought from his throat as mahogany wood was painted white. Pens and paper fell; something heavy thunked to the floor; but all Ignis truly saw, heard, even felt was Noctis’s flesh on his tongue, his body speared on his cock, and his own orgasm finally storm through and slam into him.
The world went white.
Then it went black.
Then it was a slow-motion burst of color; fireworks exploded behind his eyes.
Noctis pulsed all around him, and Ignis surged forward, grip crushing on the points of his prince’s hips as wet warmth rushed out of him and surrounded the head of his organ. It came in waves, and somewhere, he heard Noct gasp and moan—
It seemed to go on forever – and not long enough.
The throbbing ebbed slowly away, and he came down and his vision returned. Noct bent at the waist over his desk, still impaled with his chest to the desktop, panting.
(Hearing him breathe like that gave Ignis some sort of petty sense of satisfaction; Gladio nor Cor and not even – Shiva’s tits – Clarus could push the Crown Prince enough to breathe so hard.)
Ignis drew back, but life surged into Noct, enough that his hand slapped and grabbed his thigh, those painted nails digging in.
“Wait,” he said. “Not yet.”
Noct was always like this after coupling; he wanted to hold and be held, kiss and be kissed, clutch onto his partner for the moments after—
“As you wish, highness.”
—and gods spare him, Ignis loved being the one to do it.
He stayed inside his prince for as long as his own body could manage, for as long as the blood remained in his organ, but as the minutes passed and Noct didn’t rise, Ignis felt himself soften and slip and withdrew the rest of the way. Precious beads of white slipped out and he repressed that deep desire to thumb it all back in, lying his hand over the chain of Noct’s spine instead.
“Highness?”
“M’okay,” Noct mumbled, arms folding beneath his chest so he could push himself upright. More leaked from him and Ignis forced himself to look away just as his prince turned and pressed their mouths together; the hand that once clutched his thigh now touched his face, stroking the hollow of his cheeks and long line of his jaw.
Noct led; Ignis let him. Their kiss was all lips and tongue and no teeth, their combined energy burnt up by lust, leaving nothing but love in the ashes. Ignis rubbed his sides as Noct touched his face, lips smacking as they met and parted over and over again. Noct was nothing but sweet and soft at the edges, and even chased after him when he broke and touched their noses together.
“We should shower, my prince,” he whispered. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”
“Wash my hair.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Ignis didn’t trust himself to look at the mess on his desk as Noct slid from its edge, lest the sight drive him mad a second time.
The Citadel bathrooms were luxurious and Noct’s was hardly any different. The main addition was a collapsing chair in the shower so the Prince may sit under the spray, which also put him at perfect height for Ignis to dig his fingertips into his scalp and elicit sinful noises from his pretty throat.
More distracting than his moans and sighs were the marks: lavender-scented suds washed over blooming swathes of pink and red on his neck and shoulders, the joint crowned by impressions of Ignis’s very own teeth.
Shame washed over him, thick as the shampoo in Noct’s hair, and Ignis dug his fingertips in harder for it. How on Eos could he mark – damage – one of the greatest loves of his life?
“Ignis,” Noct hissed, “that feels so good.”
“I aim to please,” he purred in spite of himself. “How is your neck?”
“Amazing.”
Ignis kept his disbelief to himself.
Noct left the shower first to towel off. Ignis put away the chair and scrubbed himself just as clean, aromatic clouds of sandalwood mixing with his prince’s lavender soap as he washed his chest and belly, then down his thighs and between his legs.
He tried not to think about the marks.
Yet as he stepped out of the shower, what other sight would greet him than Noctis standing in front of the large mirror? He was still perfectly, gloriously naked, without a stitch of fabric or a single loop of a cotton towel, all creamy, moon-pale skin and lightly defined lines of muscle. Fine dark hair dusted him all over, visible only because of the washroom lighting—
—and on his neck and shoulder, that ghastly mark. Which Noctis touched, like he was admiring the contamination of his skin. Velvet blue eyes moved to Ignis as he entered the view of the mirror, and his prince’s lips curled into a smile. (Gods, but he was handsome when he smiled.)
Ignis didn’t resist the urge to rest his hands on the other’s shoulders and kiss them. He could feel Noct watching him through the mirror, lolling his head to the side for more. Each press became an apology; for the ugly bruise and red print of teeth on his neck, for the purpling dots on his hips, for how rough he’d taken him. Noct sighed and leaned back, shoulders to pecs, and Ignis gave into another urge and kissed the earring in his earlobe.
Noct reached back, tugged his arms around his middle, laced their fingers together, and squeezed.
“Why’re you being so nice to me, Specs?” he mumbled.
Ignis hummed, kissing down. “Because I love you, highness.”
Squeeze.
“I know that.” Now Noct turned his head and nosed into damp, sandy blond. “But you’re treating me like I’ll break.”
“Apologies.” Kiss. “I did not intend to harm you.”
“Why do you think you hurt me?”
Ignis came to the red mark; felt the heat and swell against his lips, and breathed in over it. “I ... fear I lost control earlier.”
“When?”
“Against the desk.”
“You didn’t hurt me,” he said. “Ignis, I...”
Ignis looked up at the silver mirror; blue stared back at him, the reflection of lights dotting his prince’s eyes like distant stars. He felt his chest expanded in his arms, and Noct exhaled as he spoke.
“I – like it when you leave marks.” A royal hand touched the outline of the bite mark, fingertips tracing its swollen edges; Ignis did not resist the opportunity to brush his lips over them. “It’s like… when I wake up in the morning and you’re not there, they remind me when you were. It’s like proof that you love me and still love me, and—no one can take it away from me. Or you.”
“Treasures,” Ignis whispered, feathering more kisses up his prince’s neck, below his ear.
“Yeah.” Noct’s smile spread slowly across his face, head tilting to ask for more. “Little treasures.” He squeezed where their fingers laced together, then leaned his head the other way, prompting Ignis to move his mouth to the other side. “Wanna make more on me, Iggy?”
Ignis paused; daydreams filled his head, shameful and exhilarating; purple-blue on long swathes of cool pink, hidden beneath black silk. Noctis standing before his people, flanked by the Crownsguard, backed by the Kingsglaive, straight and tall beside his father—
—and wearing the marks of love and passion beneath his suit.
Ignis thought he should feel more shame than excitement, but Noctis was asking for more. It boiled the blood in his veins and sent it all rushing away from his brain, and his teeth ached as if begging to have the prince’s skin between them.
Ignis squeezed Noct’s hand, and pressed a kiss against his neck. “Are you certain?”
“Yeah.”
“… then it would be my pleasure.”
Noct withdrew. He turned away from the mirror and touched Ignis’s jaws as they faced one another, the barely-there drag of his fingertips enough to bend his Chamberlain’s will and guide him forward until their lips touched.
This time, Noct led their kiss.
And the next time, Ignis obeyed the rough push and pull of his own carnal desires.