Ignis can only rock against the useless fabric of the apron as he and Gladio watch—who he envies more at this moment is impossible to say. Gladio clamps his hand like a vise on Ignis' thigh to force him still and growls, "Settle down," the gentlest of or elses when Ignis has been freed from obedience. It feels too good to be real hurt, though more than enough to bring Ignis' futile clenching to a shuddering stop. His cock betrays him with an eager throb under the apron that makes Gladio give a pleased hum Ignis might call purring if it were the sound of a coeurl and not a housecat. He squeezes hard enough to punch the breath out of Ignis' chest, and then begins to knead the flesh in large handfuls over and over, leaching the tension from Ignis' muscles with a harsher pleasure.
It's impossible to know simply from watching Noct how close he is; he's seldom effusive, more one to soak up pleasure than shout it. The telling of it is all in Prompto kneeling up, redoubling his efforts, hard and fast, and Noct falls silent, only steady panting. Ignis knows too well what the sensation of Noct's cock growing harder in his mouth before he comes is like, he can practically taste it. Gladio must too: his hands tighten, his breath rough but measured as Noct's hips lift off the chair, a few thrusts into Prompto's mouth right at the end that Prompto lets roll through him like waves.
Prompto stays there when Noct has done moving and melted back down into his chair, watching them through the filter of half-closed lashes. He pats Prompto's shoulder, and for a moment after he pulls off Prompto is hunched over like he's pain, clinging to Noct's waist like he's drowning. Then they are bent together, his face in Noct's hands, Prompto laughing at whatever Noct has whispered to him.
"Can you make some room for when he's done trying not to come in his shorts?" Noct says with a glance at Gladio, and Prompto groans, burying his face between Noct's thighs. His pained arousal is a siren call; Ignis would just as soon fall to the floor and end Prompto's misery as his own. When he moves it is Gladio hoisting him up to slide back and get Ignis' other leg over his own, an arm over his collarbone to pin him back and catch his wrists tight between them.
"It's gonna be a minute," Prompto chokes out.
"That's fine," Noct adds with a teasing gleam in his eye. "You're not in any rush, are you, Ignis?"
"He'll be just fine," Gladio says in Ignis' ear, grabbing another handful of his thigh with his free hand. It's no match for the sight of Prompto crawling between Gladio's feet. The loose collar of Prompto's shirt is even more enticing than when Ignis first saw him, Prompto grinning up at him with his wispy, unstyled hair covering his forehead and a freshly-fucked mouth, brushing kisses against Gladio's knuckles and the reddened patch of Ignis' thigh in a greeting before he begins fussing with the apronstrings. Ignis thrusts up against even that meager pressure, more than he's had all morning. Even the abrasion of the twill as Prompto heedlessly tugs at it is welcome, so much Ignis fails to notice Noct standing behind Prompto until he is a shadow bending over them.
He tries to turn away—he's unwashed, hasn't so much as brushed his teeth—only to find himself gasping at Gladio's thumb and finger prodding the underside of his jaw. What he assumed was an attempt to kiss him is much more, and whatever remnants of his control could possibly remain are banished as Gladio holds him by the throat so Noct can tug his spectacles off. He is. . .reduced, undone.
Noct watches him placidly, folding his spectacles and hooking them over the collar of his own shirt. He is untouchable and not because Ignis cannot touch. He is immovable, no tension and all satisfaction. Begging for the very last of his armor back would grant Ignis nothing, he's sure of it, and he cannot name that knowledge peaceful when he's filled with so much want, but it is as it should be.
There is muttered cursing from the floor, and when Ignis drops his gaze Prompto's hair is only an indistinct halo as he frowns at the apronstrings, until Noct takes pity on his losing battle and flips the whole apron out of the way.
"Oh, thank fuck," Prompto sighs. He holds the knot of it at his hip as he takes the head of Ignis' cock in his mouth with a delighted swirl of his tongue. Ignis' moan is thankfully modulated by Gladio's hand caging his throat. Noct bunches the fabric between his nipples first to brush both thumbs over them, drawing another sound from him—they are as exquisitely sensitive as the rest of him—and then to roll them between his fingers.
Ignis' reticence to be the center of so much attention has always been more than propriety: with both of them on him his senses have gone from filled to flooded, overwhelmed. Noct's gentle touch begins to slide into a deep throb of squeezing and releasing pressure, and Ignis has no defense against the intensity building. Devastated by the onslaught, he curls in, or tries anyway. There's no relief when it is all muscles on fire straining against their hands and bodies, his throat and arms caught and thighs pinned open while Prompto moans in pleasure around his cock as though he's another course to the meal.
"You really love getting fucked, don't you?" Noct says.
The clamp on Ignis' neck squeezes so very gently. "Puts on a hell of a show too."
As he always will when he has nothing else left, Ignis says, "Noct," his voice a rough, broken thing in his own ears, choked by the cage of Gladio's palm and his own fear.
Noct bends to kiss Ignis as he burns, his forehead, his open panting mouth. "Let it happen," Noct says in between lush, open-mouthed tastes of him, "we're not going anywhere."
Although it feels like Ignis has already been pushed over the precipice and can now only wait to fall the moment must be longer than it seems—his cock throbs in Prompto's wet heat, his chest in Noct's hands, his throat in Gladio's, pulse after pulse of being fucked by all of them. Even with time to brace himself it still hits him with the force of a bolt of Noct's lightning, tearing him apart from the inside out as he writhes futilely for more of Prompto's mouth, more heat, not reduced but purified by fire, with the parts of him Noct has no need of set aside and the rest a wanton plaything spread over Gladio's thighs.
The heat is more than he can bear, Prompto's nose pressed against him, swallowing around him as Ignis comes down his eager throat. The sounds Noct takes from his mouth are shameless until they are drowned out by the rush of his own blood, the inferno blotting out the rest of his senses. He cannot see Noct as his vision greys but he can feel all of them. Feeling is all Noct has left him.
Ignis trembles afterwards, his body nearly aching at the loss of tension, so disoriented he can hear talking but not words. The grey becomes black; his eyes are closed and he is too wrung out to bother opening them, to move. He has no need to worry when he's still being held. Indeed he's lifted with no effort of his own, scooped up under each thigh then jostled until he's cradled by the crook of his knees and under his back.
He is able, as his senses return, to take stock as Gladio cushions a hand under his neck and lays him down in the warmth of another body. He is on the sofa between Noct's legs, Gladio sitting on the open cushion at their feet. Prompto has planted himself in Gladio's lap with not a moment to lose.
"There's a blanket," Noct points out quickly, circling Ignis in his arms.
Ignis sighs in contented exhaustion at the proof of Noct's life beating against his back. The absurdity of the apron still tied around him isn't lost on him. "I'm flattered you think I'd have the wherewithal to complain."
"Well, you know," Noct says as he begins working at the mangled knot of the apron ties. "I know how seriously you take upholstery."
He knows a great deal more than that. Ignis is. . .entirely known. The thought doesn't hold quite the same terror it did when he braved the cold a few hours ago. For the moment his world has contracted to all he truly needs, the four of them sharing breath and food and pleasure, and there is no room or cause to hide in a sphere so small and safe, though he shied at the thought of loving something that felt like it could kill him, consume him. Yet all he's known in the world as intense as being enveloped by the three of them is power a human body isn't meant to hold, pain that was unimaginable.
Yes, for better or worse so much it could kill him is precisely how Ignis loves.
Behind him Noct snorts in disgust. "Prompto, what the hell did you do to this thing?"
"I was a little distracted at the time!"
"Yeah, look at you," Gladio says. "Got yourself all worked up sucking off Iggy and Noct."
"If you're gonna be jerk about it maybe I don't want you touching me," Prompto says, all petulance, completely at odds with the way his hips roll in Gladio's lap, grinding their cocks together through their clothes. "Maybe I'm gonna do it myself and make you watch."
Gladio pulls him in tighter with both hands shoved down the back of Prompto's shorts, pushing them down over the swell of his ass. "You couldn't make me do anything even if I had one hand tied behind my back—both hands."
"I could make you come," Prompto says, and Gladio throws his head head backing laughing, full-bellied, just gorgeous.
"Then get to it." His fingertips leave divots in Prompto's hip as Prompto's teeth scrape his throat. Their abandon is beautiful, infectious even when Ignis is already sated, and Prompto is luminous with pleasure at giving pleasure to all three of them. A hat trick, he likes to call it.
Noct grunts in annoyance at the apronstrings.
"It's beyond hope, I'm afraid," Ignis tells him, moving to push himself up. "Let me—" The gap between them has widened to let Noct's shirt brush his back when his instinct is cut short by Noct's hand splayed through the apron.
"Nah, I'm not going to lose to an apron if I have to pull something from the freaking Armiger," Noct says. "Stay, relax. Enjoy the show. Then we nap."
"Why am I unsurprised?" Ignis says, but under the welcome weight of that hand and voice he leans back and, as he always will, lets Noct undo him.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: FILL: (4/4) OT4, D/s, Ignis naked except an apron
Date: 2018-04-08 01:15 am (UTC)It's impossible to know simply from watching Noct how close he is; he's seldom effusive, more one to soak up pleasure than shout it. The telling of it is all in Prompto kneeling up, redoubling his efforts, hard and fast, and Noct falls silent, only steady panting. Ignis knows too well what the sensation of Noct's cock growing harder in his mouth before he comes is like, he can practically taste it. Gladio must too: his hands tighten, his breath rough but measured as Noct's hips lift off the chair, a few thrusts into Prompto's mouth right at the end that Prompto lets roll through him like waves.
Prompto stays there when Noct has done moving and melted back down into his chair, watching them through the filter of half-closed lashes. He pats Prompto's shoulder, and for a moment after he pulls off Prompto is hunched over like he's pain, clinging to Noct's waist like he's drowning. Then they are bent together, his face in Noct's hands, Prompto laughing at whatever Noct has whispered to him.
"Can you make some room for when he's done trying not to come in his shorts?" Noct says with a glance at Gladio, and Prompto groans, burying his face between Noct's thighs. His pained arousal is a siren call; Ignis would just as soon fall to the floor and end Prompto's misery as his own. When he moves it is Gladio hoisting him up to slide back and get Ignis' other leg over his own, an arm over his collarbone to pin him back and catch his wrists tight between them.
"It's gonna be a minute," Prompto chokes out.
"That's fine," Noct adds with a teasing gleam in his eye. "You're not in any rush, are you, Ignis?"
"He'll be just fine," Gladio says in Ignis' ear, grabbing another handful of his thigh with his free hand. It's no match for the sight of Prompto crawling between Gladio's feet. The loose collar of Prompto's shirt is even more enticing than when Ignis first saw him, Prompto grinning up at him with his wispy, unstyled hair covering his forehead and a freshly-fucked mouth, brushing kisses against Gladio's knuckles and the reddened patch of Ignis' thigh in a greeting before he begins fussing with the apronstrings. Ignis thrusts up against even that meager pressure, more than he's had all morning. Even the abrasion of the twill as Prompto heedlessly tugs at it is welcome, so much Ignis fails to notice Noct standing behind Prompto until he is a shadow bending over them.
He tries to turn away—he's unwashed, hasn't so much as brushed his teeth—only to find himself gasping at Gladio's thumb and finger prodding the underside of his jaw. What he assumed was an attempt to kiss him is much more, and whatever remnants of his control could possibly remain are banished as Gladio holds him by the throat so Noct can tug his spectacles off. He is. . .reduced, undone.
Noct watches him placidly, folding his spectacles and hooking them over the collar of his own shirt. He is untouchable and not because Ignis cannot touch. He is immovable, no tension and all satisfaction. Begging for the very last of his armor back would grant Ignis nothing, he's sure of it, and he cannot name that knowledge peaceful when he's filled with so much want, but it is as it should be.
There is muttered cursing from the floor, and when Ignis drops his gaze Prompto's hair is only an indistinct halo as he frowns at the apronstrings, until Noct takes pity on his losing battle and flips the whole apron out of the way.
"Oh, thank fuck," Prompto sighs. He holds the knot of it at his hip as he takes the head of Ignis' cock in his mouth with a delighted swirl of his tongue. Ignis' moan is thankfully modulated by Gladio's hand caging his throat. Noct bunches the fabric between his nipples first to brush both thumbs over them, drawing another sound from him—they are as exquisitely sensitive as the rest of him—and then to roll them between his fingers.
Ignis' reticence to be the center of so much attention has always been more than propriety: with both of them on him his senses have gone from filled to flooded, overwhelmed. Noct's gentle touch begins to slide into a deep throb of squeezing and releasing pressure, and Ignis has no defense against the intensity building. Devastated by the onslaught, he curls in, or tries anyway. There's no relief when it is all muscles on fire straining against their hands and bodies, his throat and arms caught and thighs pinned open while Prompto moans in pleasure around his cock as though he's another course to the meal.
"You really love getting fucked, don't you?" Noct says.
The clamp on Ignis' neck squeezes so very gently. "Puts on a hell of a show too."
As he always will when he has nothing else left, Ignis says, "Noct," his voice a rough, broken thing in his own ears, choked by the cage of Gladio's palm and his own fear.
Noct bends to kiss Ignis as he burns, his forehead, his open panting mouth. "Let it happen," Noct says in between lush, open-mouthed tastes of him, "we're not going anywhere."
Although it feels like Ignis has already been pushed over the precipice and can now only wait to fall the moment must be longer than it seems—his cock throbs in Prompto's wet heat, his chest in Noct's hands, his throat in Gladio's, pulse after pulse of being fucked by all of them. Even with time to brace himself it still hits him with the force of a bolt of Noct's lightning, tearing him apart from the inside out as he writhes futilely for more of Prompto's mouth, more heat, not reduced but purified by fire, with the parts of him Noct has no need of set aside and the rest a wanton plaything spread over Gladio's thighs.
The heat is more than he can bear, Prompto's nose pressed against him, swallowing around him as Ignis comes down his eager throat. The sounds Noct takes from his mouth are shameless until they are drowned out by the rush of his own blood, the inferno blotting out the rest of his senses. He cannot see Noct as his vision greys but he can feel all of them. Feeling is all Noct has left him.
Ignis trembles afterwards, his body nearly aching at the loss of tension, so disoriented he can hear talking but not words. The grey becomes black; his eyes are closed and he is too wrung out to bother opening them, to move. He has no need to worry when he's still being held. Indeed he's lifted with no effort of his own, scooped up under each thigh then jostled until he's cradled by the crook of his knees and under his back.
He is able, as his senses return, to take stock as Gladio cushions a hand under his neck and lays him down in the warmth of another body. He is on the sofa between Noct's legs, Gladio sitting on the open cushion at their feet. Prompto has planted himself in Gladio's lap with not a moment to lose.
"There's a blanket," Noct points out quickly, circling Ignis in his arms.
Ignis sighs in contented exhaustion at the proof of Noct's life beating against his back. The absurdity of the apron still tied around him isn't lost on him. "I'm flattered you think I'd have the wherewithal to complain."
"Well, you know," Noct says as he begins working at the mangled knot of the apron ties. "I know how seriously you take upholstery."
He knows a great deal more than that. Ignis is. . .entirely known. The thought doesn't hold quite the same terror it did when he braved the cold a few hours ago. For the moment his world has contracted to all he truly needs, the four of them sharing breath and food and pleasure, and there is no room or cause to hide in a sphere so small and safe, though he shied at the thought of loving something that felt like it could kill him, consume him. Yet all he's known in the world as intense as being enveloped by the three of them is power a human body isn't meant to hold, pain that was unimaginable.
Yes, for better or worse so much it could kill him is precisely how Ignis loves.
Behind him Noct snorts in disgust. "Prompto, what the hell did you do to this thing?"
"I was a little distracted at the time!"
"Yeah, look at you," Gladio says. "Got yourself all worked up sucking off Iggy and Noct."
"If you're gonna be jerk about it maybe I don't want you touching me," Prompto says, all petulance, completely at odds with the way his hips roll in Gladio's lap, grinding their cocks together through their clothes. "Maybe I'm gonna do it myself and make you watch."
Gladio pulls him in tighter with both hands shoved down the back of Prompto's shorts, pushing them down over the swell of his ass. "You couldn't make me do anything even if I had one hand tied behind my back—both hands."
"I could make you come," Prompto says, and Gladio throws his head head backing laughing, full-bellied, just gorgeous.
"Then get to it." His fingertips leave divots in Prompto's hip as Prompto's teeth scrape his throat. Their abandon is beautiful, infectious even when Ignis is already sated, and Prompto is luminous with pleasure at giving pleasure to all three of them. A hat trick, he likes to call it.
Noct grunts in annoyance at the apronstrings.
"It's beyond hope, I'm afraid," Ignis tells him, moving to push himself up. "Let me—" The gap between them has widened to let Noct's shirt brush his back when his instinct is cut short by Noct's hand splayed through the apron.
"Nah, I'm not going to lose to an apron if I have to pull something from the freaking Armiger," Noct says. "Stay, relax. Enjoy the show. Then we nap."
"Why am I unsurprised?" Ignis says, but under the welcome weight of that hand and voice he leans back and, as he always will, lets Noct undo him.