( She's many things. Really, he couldn't ask for a better prospective wife, as Prince. He knows this, doesn't need reminding, and will never deny any of it, nor the fact that she's more than worth the blush, the flutter, the awkward-childhood crush that still leaves a fondness even now.
They say you never forget your first. That something always lingers. But all thoughts of Luna seem to fly from his mind, like the swirl of a blizzard spell, scattering ice everywhere, emptying the space within him, replacing it with sunlit flares of warm gold; the strands of hair threading through his fingers as one of his hands becomes a bit more certain, a bit more emboldened by the shift of weight, the body pressing in against his. The brush of lips, the sensation of skin against skin, against fabric, the curl of his fingers against rough denim and soft layers of feathery hair, the ghost of a tongue that brushes against his lip, so brief it has Noctis chasing it with his own, trying for something more firm.
Something as real as the weight of the body now pressing closer to his. Something that comes alive in the same way Prompto does when he realises there's a great photo spot near by - and doesn't Noctis always acquiesce, even when it'd be better not to take the detour, unable to dampen the sunshine beaming from the passenger side seat - and runs through all his veins, sets faint hairs across his arms on end.
Something that makes him feel like this all just might be worth it. That there's light to take on the darkness, one that isn't supposed to come from him. One that requires no magic or artifacts, that is found in nothing more than a smile and the echo of a voice saying hey, Noct-
His tongue brushes against Prompto's, just as that hand leaves those strands of hair alone long enough to trail down a cheek, rest at his jawline. Just. There. Still and present. )
( no, you never forget your first. the lingering flutter of butterflies in the pit of your stomach, the skitter of something electric along nerves that still feel too hypersensitive, no matter how long it's been. the fondness, even after it's faded, nostalgia taking the place of something impermanent –
even if, when he really thinks about it, as embarrassing as it might be: who had been his first?
you're not supposed to have a crush on the crown prince.
and he doesn't think about it now, though the flutter of butterflies still rests in his core, lighting him up from the inside out and setting all those peripheral nerve endings tingling, just short of burning with how close noct is to him now, the weight of his mouth against his own and that hand at his thigh, both a comfort and something that sets his heart to near-pounding behind his ribs.
( he'd never thought he would get this. never thought he'd be worthy of it, even for as much as just a single look from the other is enough to leave his heart wanting, the willingness to follow him anywhere more resolute than any thought that has passed through his mind before. )
one of his own hands slips down, fingers grazing over the hollow of his throat and resting, ultimately, splayed against the point at which his heart beats, the comfort of each thump behind clothing and skin and bone washing over him as something tangible, something warm and inviting, and he finds himself leaning even closer –
until he's found that he's all but crawled into the prince's lap, lean thighs framing the other's as he settles against him, fitting almost too easily into the spot he's made for himself. he pauses, pulls back just a little like he's only just realized he'd moved – and he makes a frantic sort of sound in the back of his throat, the flush painting his cheeks deepening by several shades. ) I – is this … okay?
( little late for that, isn't it? teeth worry the edge of his bottom lip, but he doesn't move away, because this feels good, right in some way that he can't quite put a finger on, something almost like … coming home after a too-long absence.
but then again, noct has always felt like that to him. )
Well, whatever this is. First kisses, first friend, friend not chosen by duty or title, but simply by being nice. Fun. Someone worth knowing, worth keeping.
Keeping. He could have lost Prompto right here and now, could have made the wrong step entirely by giving into the urges that flickered and burned within, by letting fire consume him and bringing them to this point, but he's kissing back, he's getting closer and the slow, almost clumsy way they're melting together is somehow too hard and too easy to stick to. Things that are and aren't enough all at the same time, where his hands freeze in their bid to explore, his tongue moves slow and hesitant. It's an edge, a precipice. Somewhere he could freefall, just dive into the depths and let everything else disappear into meaninglessness. But each thud of his heart comes with the weight of hesitation, of not wanting to spoil something that's already so delicate, as though Prompto himself is a skittish cat Noctis might scare off at any moment by going just a touch too far.
Of course, it's hard to continue that train of thought when Prompto's ended up in his lap, warm and heavy and present and all too real. It's hard to do anything when that sensation is there, distracting, finally leading his hands to unlock and trail across Prompto's shoulders, down his arms.
Noctis smiles, a brief little thing that comes with the softest exhale of laughter, as though this manages to wash away all the things that have him mixed up. )
Yeah.
( And, if the answer wasn't enough, Noctis is happy to demonstrate how okay this is with the brush and nip of lips against Prompto's jawline. )
( yeah. first. whatever this is, because he's convinced there has been nothing before it that could have even come close to the way noctis can make his stomach tighten with just a look, whether he's conscious of it or not, the way his heart trips over itself and his breath catches in the back of his throat whenever they're close like this –
well. they've never been close like this but that's just one more of those firsts, one of the smallest things that leaves him with the anticipation of what might come next, if he'll be pulled in close or pushed away, if he'd somehow managed to overstep their collective ( albeit blurred ) boundaries by taking the smallest liberties. closing the distance between them.
( and here he is, settled into the other's lap as though he'd never been anywhere else, warm and comfortable and all too real as his arms slide over noct's shoulders, fingers linking together behind his head as he hums out a small sound at that yeah he gets in return. it isn't much, but it doesn't have to be, because it's always been the little things between them that have made the biggest impact. )
lips against his jaw, and his head tilts to offer a little more should the other push a little further, a shaky but relieved breath pushing out of him as he turns back toward the line of that nipping mouth, catches it with his own, bolder by degrees. ) Yeah. ( he echoes, a natural mimic, voice still soft and almost delicate around the edges as he kisses him. sweet, grateful, reverent –
everything owed to him by noct's presence alone. )
( It's just a first. Maybe that's all it needs to be. Maybe there's no real word for what they were, are, or are becoming. Perhaps all they need to have is this feeling, this spark that lingers there, something indescribable and vibrant. Alive with colour in a world that steadily gets darker and darker.
And in this dark, in the pitch black and silence of the night, all Noctis wants is to be closer, to find the light that they're losing, being denied with each passing day, to clutch it close to his chest and never let go. His fingers find places to rest, the strength to cling and curl and tug him closer with the pieces of clothing he latches onto, the slight emboldening of Prompto's movements, of his lips catching his own opening floodgates, knocking away skittishness and dragging out a sort of clumsy, aching need, his fingertips caught in their own prayer for more, for everything of the other to wrap around him and never let go.
He presses into the kiss a little harder, tongue no longer hesitating, nothing but curiosity in his movements, exploring new land for the first time.
Maybe that's what they are. A first exploration, with all the promise and wonder that comes from a body not your own; anticipation that causes Noctis' hips to rock slightly, has his hands skirting under the hem of Prompto's shirt, to map out all the little things (muscles and skin and bone) that lie there. )
( he's never been that great with words — always finding himself flustered, tripping over the ones he wants to find the meanings to, falling short of the ones that really make an impression — but it just might be that there isn't a word for what they are, or what they're becoming. there are a few that might fit, a few that give over what stirs in the very bottom of his heart, what lingers at the base of his spine, what dries the back of his throat, but they're the sort of things that don't require a voice to be heard, or need to be said at all, because it's all in the way he touches him that every little point is driven home.
( it might be hesitant, unsure, inexperienced, but they've gone through so many firsts together already, all those tiny little steps that had brought them here in the first place, the careful, meticulous shuffle into friendship, into trust, into this. it's in the way he touches him, kisses him, looks at him as though he wants to keep him —
even if he can't, and they both know it. ah, well. what's the hurt in living in the moment? )
the smallest noise, the simplest thing filters up to rest on the tip of his tongue at that experimental upward rock of hips, a motion that he finds himself pressing into at the same moment fingers slip beneath his shirt, as his own slip around to the nape of noct's neck and clasp there. twined together beneath the fall of dark hair just for the sake of something to serve as a grounding point, something to keep him tethered to this moment, because he might just still be convinced that he'll wake up; back in the tent, back in his bedroll, back with nothing but himself for company as the other three sleep away the small hours of the morning, and his heart is left wanting.
a whimper, a moan, he isn't quite sure what it is — but it's given over all too easily, from the tip of his own tongue to noctis' as it curls against him, as it plies a subtle roll of his own hips in retaliation, something that lets him chase down the slivers of pleasure that play tag along his nerve-endings. that spike and ebb, and leave him breathless.
this is one first he'd play reruns of, again and again, until he's gotten it all memorized — and then once more, for the sake of it, frame by frame until it's all worn thin, just to lose himself in the touch of hands and lips, in the warmth of him. )
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owntempos2016-12-21 12:57 am
no subject
They say you never forget your first. That something always lingers. But all thoughts of Luna seem to fly from his mind, like the swirl of a blizzard spell, scattering ice everywhere, emptying the space within him, replacing it with sunlit flares of warm gold; the strands of hair threading through his fingers as one of his hands becomes a bit more certain, a bit more emboldened by the shift of weight, the body pressing in against his. The brush of lips, the sensation of skin against skin, against fabric, the curl of his fingers against rough denim and soft layers of feathery hair, the ghost of a tongue that brushes against his lip, so brief it has Noctis chasing it with his own, trying for something more firm.
Something as real as the weight of the body now pressing closer to his. Something that comes alive in the same way Prompto does when he realises there's a great photo spot near by - and doesn't Noctis always acquiesce, even when it'd be better not to take the detour, unable to dampen the sunshine beaming from the passenger side seat - and runs through all his veins, sets faint hairs across his arms on end.
Something that makes him feel like this all just might be worth it. That there's light to take on the darkness, one that isn't supposed to come from him. One that requires no magic or artifacts, that is found in nothing more than a smile and the echo of a voice saying hey, Noct-
His tongue brushes against Prompto's, just as that hand leaves those strands of hair alone long enough to trail down a cheek, rest at his jawline. Just. There. Still and present. )
no subject
even if, when he really thinks about it, as embarrassing as it might be: who had been his first?
you're not supposed to have a crush on the crown prince.and he doesn't think about it now, though the flutter of butterflies still rests in his core, lighting him up from the inside out and setting all those peripheral nerve endings tingling, just short of burning with how close noct is to him now, the weight of his mouth against his own and that hand at his thigh, both a comfort and something that sets his heart to near-pounding behind his ribs.
( he'd never thought he would get this. never thought he'd be worthy of it, even for as much as just a single look from the other is enough to leave his heart wanting, the willingness to follow him anywhere more resolute than any thought that has passed through his mind before. )
one of his own hands slips down, fingers grazing over the hollow of his throat and resting, ultimately, splayed against the point at which his heart beats, the comfort of each thump behind clothing and skin and bone washing over him as something tangible, something warm and inviting, and he finds himself leaning even closer –
until he's found that he's all but crawled into the prince's lap, lean thighs framing the other's as he settles against him, fitting almost too easily into the spot he's made for himself. he pauses, pulls back just a little like he's only just realized he'd moved – and he makes a frantic sort of sound in the back of his throat, the flush painting his cheeks deepening by several shades. ) I – is this … okay?
( little late for that, isn't it? teeth worry the edge of his bottom lip, but he doesn't move away, because this feels good, right in some way that he can't quite put a finger on, something almost like … coming home after a too-long absence.
but then again, noct has always felt like that to him. )
no subject
Well, whatever this is. First kisses, first friend, friend not chosen by duty or title, but simply by being nice. Fun. Someone worth knowing, worth keeping.
Keeping. He could have lost Prompto right here and now, could have made the wrong step entirely by giving into the urges that flickered and burned within, by letting fire consume him and bringing them to this point, but he's kissing back, he's getting closer and the slow, almost clumsy way they're melting together is somehow too hard and too easy to stick to. Things that are and aren't enough all at the same time, where his hands freeze in their bid to explore, his tongue moves slow and hesitant. It's an edge, a precipice. Somewhere he could freefall, just dive into the depths and let everything else disappear into meaninglessness. But each thud of his heart comes with the weight of hesitation, of not wanting to spoil something that's already so delicate, as though Prompto himself is a skittish cat Noctis might scare off at any moment by going just a touch too far.
Of course, it's hard to continue that train of thought when Prompto's ended up in his lap, warm and heavy and present and all too real. It's hard to do anything when that sensation is there, distracting, finally leading his hands to unlock and trail across Prompto's shoulders, down his arms.
Noctis smiles, a brief little thing that comes with the softest exhale of laughter, as though this manages to wash away all the things that have him mixed up. )
Yeah.
( And, if the answer wasn't enough, Noctis is happy to demonstrate how okay this is with the brush and nip of lips against Prompto's jawline. )
no subject
well. they've never been close like this but that's just one more of those firsts, one of the smallest things that leaves him with the anticipation of what might come next, if he'll be pulled in close or pushed away, if he'd somehow managed to overstep their collective ( albeit blurred ) boundaries by taking the smallest liberties. closing the distance between them.
( and here he is, settled into the other's lap as though he'd never been anywhere else, warm and comfortable and all too real as his arms slide over noct's shoulders, fingers linking together behind his head as he hums out a small sound at that yeah he gets in return. it isn't much, but it doesn't have to be, because it's always been the little things between them that have made the biggest impact. )
lips against his jaw, and his head tilts to offer a little more should the other push a little further, a shaky but relieved breath pushing out of him as he turns back toward the line of that nipping mouth, catches it with his own, bolder by degrees. ) Yeah. ( he echoes, a natural mimic, voice still soft and almost delicate around the edges as he kisses him. sweet, grateful, reverent –
everything owed to him by noct's presence alone. )
no subject
And in this dark, in the pitch black and silence of the night, all Noctis wants is to be closer, to find the light that they're losing, being denied with each passing day, to clutch it close to his chest and never let go. His fingers find places to rest, the strength to cling and curl and tug him closer with the pieces of clothing he latches onto, the slight emboldening of Prompto's movements, of his lips catching his own opening floodgates, knocking away skittishness and dragging out a sort of clumsy, aching need, his fingertips caught in their own prayer for more, for everything of the other to wrap around him and never let go.
He presses into the kiss a little harder, tongue no longer hesitating, nothing but curiosity in his movements, exploring new land for the first time.
Maybe that's what they are. A first exploration, with all the promise and wonder that comes from a body not your own; anticipation that causes Noctis' hips to rock slightly, has his hands skirting under the hem of Prompto's shirt, to map out all the little things (muscles and skin and bone) that lie there. )
no subject
( it might be hesitant, unsure, inexperienced, but they've gone through so many firsts together already, all those tiny little steps that had brought them here in the first place, the careful, meticulous shuffle into friendship, into trust, into this. it's in the way he touches him, kisses him, looks at him as though he wants to keep him —
even if he can't, and they both know it. ah, well. what's the hurt in living in the moment? )
the smallest noise, the simplest thing filters up to rest on the tip of his tongue at that experimental upward rock of hips, a motion that he finds himself pressing into at the same moment fingers slip beneath his shirt, as his own slip around to the nape of noct's neck and clasp there. twined together beneath the fall of dark hair just for the sake of something to serve as a grounding point, something to keep him tethered to this moment, because he might just still be convinced that he'll wake up; back in the tent, back in his bedroll, back with nothing but himself for company as the other three sleep away the small hours of the morning, and his heart is left wanting.
a whimper, a moan, he isn't quite sure what it is — but it's given over all too easily, from the tip of his own tongue to noctis' as it curls against him, as it plies a subtle roll of his own hips in retaliation, something that lets him chase down the slivers of pleasure that play tag along his nerve-endings. that spike and ebb, and leave him breathless.
this is one first he'd play reruns of, again and again, until he's gotten it all memorized — and then once more, for the sake of it, frame by frame until it's all worn thin, just to lose himself in the touch of hands and lips, in the warmth of him. )