The door was, to neither of their surprise, still locked. Ignis kicked it and swore, and Gladio, behind him, made a small noise as if he'd meant to say something then decided against it last second.
Ignis turned around, tapping out a rapid beat on his thigh, and twitched as Gladio's phone beeped.
'One hour,' Gladio said. 'Look, Iggy, we should probably prepare...'
'I am not going to kill you.' Ignis' voice was hard and flat. 'So you can stop thinking about it now.'
'What, so you want me to live with having killed you instead?'
Ignis blew out a harsh breath between his teeth. 'No one is killing anyone.'
A short silence. Ignis couldn't tell if he was glad he couldn't see Gladio's expression or not. He suspected he would be shortly, at least. There was no other plan he could think of, short of crippling Gladio, and if that were an option they might as well fight to the death.
'Well that's great,' Gladio said. 'If you got a plan to escape, I'm all ears. If not...'
'You're being obtuse. You know werewolves don't harm their mates.'
A second's pause, then another, stretching out in the silence of their tiny prison cell.
'Yeah – like I know you're not my mate, Iggy, and how there'd be no time to make you it in the ten seconds we got between me turning and me killing you. Or, y'know, you killing me.'
Ignis didn't bother replying. Instead he took off his visor and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then shrugged out of his jacket. He let it drop into the armiger unfolded, even as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
'Iggy? Iggy, the fuck do you think–'
'There's no time after you turn, no,' Ignis said, as his shirt went the same way as his jacket, and his hands moved to his belt. 'We do, however, have a little under an hour before that.'
Gladio's throat was unmistakably dry as he said: 'Fucking while human really isn't the same thing, Iggy. You think my wolf'll pay attention to that?'
'If we do it correctly? I'm willing to bet my life on it.' Ignis toed off his shoes, bent down to tug off his socks, and shimmied his hips to pull down his trousers and underwear in one go. The floor of their prison was cold and rough under his bare feet. The idea of fucking Gladio was unappealing at best; in this scenario, where they'd been forced into it and the threat of Gladio's transformation loomed over them – Ignis' skin prickled at the thought of teeth and claws, well over a hundred kilos of muscle bearing down on him to tear him apart – Gladio bearing down on him to tear him apart – it was abominable. Still. They'd been trapped for the better part of the day. He hadn't been able to think of a better plan than this.
He sat down on Gladio's lap, who was, irritatingly but not particularly surprisingly, still dressed, though at least he hadn't moved to avoid him. 'And what,' Gladio said, hoarse, as Ignis undid his belt, 'is the correct way?'
'Skin contact, scent,' Ignis said. He leant back as Gladio pulled off his top and tossed it to one side. 'Sexual fluids. If we're obviously just out of the act, I can't see why your wolf would not make the connection on its own.'
'You're giving it too much credit.' Gladio nudged Ignis backwards, off his lap, then he hesitated. 'I think – shit, Iggy, I don't know. I–'
'Can you think of another way?' There wasn't an answer, except, eventually, the sound of fabric being removed. It made Ignis' throat tighten, his stomach clenching unpleasantly. He ignored it, crawling back onto Gladio's lap to kiss him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other trailing down his chest, across his waist and hips, to find his cock. Ignis brought that hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, then returned it to grasp Gladio's cock – soft, but slowly hardening under Ignis' fingers, and already promising to be considerably larger than practical. Ignis tried not to think about it. They would make this perfunctory. Sex was regularly nothing but a means to an end; there was no reason they couldn't make it so now.
They kissed again, a little awkwardly as they tried out the shape and taste of each other, the bare skin contact between them. Ignis rolled his wrist, fingers tightening, and Gladio broke the kiss to make a harsh noise, a stifled groan that sounded far too familiar, given that Ignis had only ever heard him groan like that in battle, wounded, in pain. 'Forgive me,' he said, his hand still on Gladio's cock, stroking the underside of it where shaft met head.
'Nothing to forgive,' Gladio said, then made that sound again. The muscles in his thighs tensed, and he gripped Ignis' hips, blunt tips of his fingers digging into his skin. 'If it – if it saves both our skins–'
'That is the plan.' Ignis kissed the side of Gladio's mouth, then across his cheek to his jawline, scraping his teeth across the strong line of it. He buried his face in the crook of Gladio's neck and sucked gentle bruises on his skin, telling himself to ignore the heat of Gladio's skin on his, the rough texture of his scars, the way the both of them had started to sweat even in the coolness of the empty room. The intimacy of it roiled in his guts like the instinctive fear of heights on unsteady ground, sickening, consuming. His stomach clenched as Gladio's hands scraped down his back, from shoulders over his arse to hold him by the backs of his thighs. His hands were calloused on the soft skin of Ignis' flanks. They felt larger than Ignis remembered – stronger. His breath hitched. He forced away the urge to get them off him.
There was the unspoken agreement between the four of them that some things in Noct's armiger were private, and shouldn't be touched except by the one who put it there. Ignis didn't know what the others used that agreement for, but he expected Gladio was not surprised to see the small bottle of lube he pulled into his hand – unscented, plain, unobtrusive. He flicked the cap off and squeezed a little amount onto the hand still stroking Gladio's cock, now hard, thick, hot, and entirely too present to ignore.
He handed the bottle to Gladio, bumping it against his fingers until he took it. 'You should probably prepare me,' he said, and cursed himself for how his voice was already thick, a little unsteady, and they'd barely even started yet. Gladio grunted in agreement, and Ignis listened to the wet sound of the bottle being squeezed with his heart hammering in his ears, in the back of his throat, making him feel sick.
Gladio's fingers were cold, thick – far too large for how Ignis was tensed up and resisting even the one fingertip. He arched his back, hips moving forwards instinctively to escape the intrusion until he was pressed flush to Gladio's front, nowhere left to retreat to, and Gladio's finger had chased him to sink in to the knuckle. When Gladio moved, tugging the finger to one side, stretching him in a burn that was terrifying for its intensity – if this was only one finger, how much more would his cock force him wide open? – Ignis panted, short and shallow into Gladio's shoulder.
'Don't stop,' he said, and bit down on the whine that burnt up his throat as Gladio slipped in a second finger.
Gladio didn't reply, not even to tell Ignis to relax – which was just as well, Ignis couldn't help but think, his whole body tensed until his bones ached with it.
It hurt, but not as the pleasant burn he usually associated with sex. It was deep, sharply wrong, reaching up into his guts to be persistent in the forefront of his mind, for all that he'd dealt with pain ten times worse. It felt wrong, tasted wrong, like the taste of Gladio on his tongue and teeth, and the smell of him sticking to the inside of his nose, and the encompassing press of his skin on Ignis' skin, slick with sweat and hot and moving to adjust to every twitch or shudder or little jerk of Ignis' hips. Gladio's arm encircled his waist, and Ignis told himself it wasn't to hold him down, that Gladio meant it as a comfort, except that it felt like he was being held down and when the fingers inside him scissored open it hurt, and it felt wrong, and it was the only way he could see for them both to survive this but he still couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand being in his own squirming body, couldn't stand Gladio, and what would Gladio think of him, writhing in his arms, impaled on his fingers, panting wetly?
Pumping his fingers in and out, slow and gentle, or at least Ignis imagined he was trying to be, Gladio dipped his face to press his lips against Ignis' crown, the heat and dampness of his breath seeping into Ignis' scalp through his hair. Gladio had three fingers in now, and that still couldn't be comparable to the girth of his cock, but if he made to add a fourth – Ignis tightened his grip on Gladio's waist, solid muscle rippling beneath the skin as he moved fractionally with the slow thrusts of his fingers. He had to control his breathing, which was getting choppy and unsteady. He could do this. It wasn't so bad.
Gladio withdrew his fingers almost all the way, and the sound of squelching, more lube being squeezed from the bottle, came a moment before the shock of fresh coldness hit him. Ignis jolted, his body trying to pull away, but Gladio's hand on his waist held him, and his three fingers pushed in all at once.
Gladio made a sound, a noise of apology. 'Don't,' Ignis said, harsh through his throat that felt like it was closing up around the words. 'Carry on.'
'Iggy. My wolf is really not gonna think we're mated if you reek of stress and pain.'
Ignis forced a short laugh, bark-like. 'Is it really true one can smell fear? I'd always thought it a myth.'
He pushed away Gladio's hand inside him, the gaping absence almost as inescapable as the weight and presence his fingers had been. Shifting, Ignis turned on Gladio's lap until he sat facing out, back to Gladio's chest, half-kneeling so his arse hovered a foot above Gladio's lap. He reached behind himself, grasping for Gladio's cock, and found Gladio's hand already stroking it where it lay across one thigh, half-flaccid. His skin was smeared with lube – Ignis was smeared with lube, and he could feel it, cold in the air, his hole still feeling obscenely open, twitching. Ignis' hand joined Gladio's as they stroked him to hardness again, Gladio's breath hot, humid puff of air against Ignis' back. Then, not caring that he was being rough, Ignis pushed Gladio's hand away and grasped his cock, positioning it; he sat down on it, trying for one smooth motion, but his legs betrayed him and he'd barely forced the head inside when he froze, whole body motionless save for its trembling.
Too big. It was as if it pushed the air from his lungs, a bludgeon on the inside of his body, crushing his guts up into his chest cavity, ruining the vital order and structure. His stomach clenched, violently. Gladio's hands landed tentative on his hips. They didn't push or pull, or hold, just touched the skin feather-light.
'I'm fine,' Ignis said, the words like scrunched up paper, barely intelligible. His breath was coming in great heaves. 'A moment – I just need a moment.'
Gladio gave him a moment, then another, then another. The time stretched out and the burn didn't get less, or the roiling sickness less, or the urge to pry himself away from Gladio and strip off his skin just to get away from the feeling of it.
It was fine. It was Gladio; they had to do this to survive. Out of all the demanding things they'd ever had to do this really was one of the lesser ones.
He wondered if their captives were watching. Recording. He wondered if they knew what they were attempting, and were laying bets on whether it'd succeed or not.
Gladio's hands shivered against his skin. That was right – he was being selfish, forcing this to his own pace when Gladio was just as much a participant as he was. It was that thought that finally let his legs give way, collapsing until he sank down on Gladio's cock, biting his lip and telling himself every inch had to be the last, inch after inch after inch, until he finally bottomed out. His breathing came in broken-up moans, split-second noises pushed unwilling from him to the tempo of his ragged panting. Gladio's cock inside him felt like it filled him up to the brim, stretching him so wide that if he moved in the slightest he'd split open, ruptured from the inside.
Gladio's hips were trembling a little. 'Can I move?' His voice was strained.
'Yes,' Ignis said, then: 'No. Not yet.' His head was spinning; he needed to slow down his breathing. He took a deep breath, but only felt like he was suffocating himself. How much longer did they have? He'd lost track of time completely.
They had time. This would be fine. It would be hardly a memory they'd look back on and laugh over, but at least they'd both get through it alive.
'Gladio.' He tried rolling his hips but had to stop as his body protested, a violent twinge making his breath hitch. 'You could be putting your scent on me.' It was not, he thought distantly, the most clear or eloquent of instructions, but at least Gladio seemed to understand. He sighed, long and tight, and pulled Ignis so his back was pressed to Gladio's front, and Gladio's mouth was on his neck, behind one ear. Gladio moved his lips as if speaking soundlessly, stubble grazing Ignis' skin, sharp and prickling and unpleasant. Resisting the urge to jerk his head out of Gladio's reach, Ignis shivered as Gladio's tongue pressed to his skin, trailing a long, wet line from the back of his left ear to the bumps of his spine, then nuzzling the same line on his right. He mouthed at Ignis' neck, sucking and biting at his pulse point that Ignis turned his head to allow him access to, and his hands scraped up and down Ignis' sides, from underarms to the junction of his thighs. He kissed across Ignis' shoulders, teeth scraping, alternating little nips and wet, open-mouthed kisses. He put his hands on Ignis' legs and stroked the skin of his inner thighs, so close to his flaccid cock and balls, with his thumbs.
The urge to put a knife through each of Gladio's wrists, to spin a blade in his hand to face backwards and gut Gladio with one motion – Ignis took a gulping breath and raised himself, knees braced on the concrete floor, hands on Gladio's, that were holding him by the hips. He rolled his hips, sinking down, then rose and sank again then again before he could stop himself, creating a rhythm. His throat bobbed, gorge rising. He could feel himself clench down on Gladio, trying to force him out. He wondered, briefly, if it felt good for Gladio.
That wasn't worthwhile to consider. He just needed to get the job done. He'd done less savoury things in his past; this would amount to nothing. If he just acted like it was natural, and told himself it was fine, then it would become natural, and fine, and he'd lose no sleep over it.
It was sex; of course it was fine. Honestly, given how long he and Gladio had known each other, and lived out of each other's pockets, and the necessary limitation of their social circles and confidants, it was more surprising that they'd never tried experimenting with each other until now.
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timeasmymeasure
FFXV - Ignis/any, werewolf [FILL 1a/2]
Date: 2018-02-03 11:00 pm (UTC).
.
The door was, to neither of their surprise, still locked. Ignis kicked it and swore, and Gladio, behind him, made a small noise as if he'd meant to say something then decided against it last second.
Ignis turned around, tapping out a rapid beat on his thigh, and twitched as Gladio's phone beeped.
'One hour,' Gladio said. 'Look, Iggy, we should probably prepare...'
'I am not going to kill you.' Ignis' voice was hard and flat. 'So you can stop thinking about it now.'
'What, so you want me to live with having killed you instead?'
Ignis blew out a harsh breath between his teeth. 'No one is killing anyone.'
A short silence. Ignis couldn't tell if he was glad he couldn't see Gladio's expression or not. He suspected he would be shortly, at least. There was no other plan he could think of, short of crippling Gladio, and if that were an option they might as well fight to the death.
'Well that's great,' Gladio said. 'If you got a plan to escape, I'm all ears. If not...'
'You're being obtuse. You know werewolves don't harm their mates.'
A second's pause, then another, stretching out in the silence of their tiny prison cell.
'Yeah – like I know you're not my mate, Iggy, and how there'd be no time to make you it in the ten seconds we got between me turning and me killing you. Or, y'know, you killing me.'
Ignis didn't bother replying. Instead he took off his visor and tucked it into his jacket pocket, then shrugged out of his jacket. He let it drop into the armiger unfolded, even as he started undoing the buttons on his shirt.
'Iggy? Iggy, the fuck do you think–'
'There's no time after you turn, no,' Ignis said, as his shirt went the same way as his jacket, and his hands moved to his belt. 'We do, however, have a little under an hour before that.'
Gladio's throat was unmistakably dry as he said: 'Fucking while human really isn't the same thing, Iggy. You think my wolf'll pay attention to that?'
'If we do it correctly? I'm willing to bet my life on it.' Ignis toed off his shoes, bent down to tug off his socks, and shimmied his hips to pull down his trousers and underwear in one go. The floor of their prison was cold and rough under his bare feet. The idea of fucking Gladio was unappealing at best; in this scenario, where they'd been forced into it and the threat of Gladio's transformation loomed over them – Ignis' skin prickled at the thought of teeth and claws, well over a hundred kilos of muscle bearing down on him to tear him apart – Gladio bearing down on him to tear him apart – it was abominable. Still. They'd been trapped for the better part of the day. He hadn't been able to think of a better plan than this.
He sat down on Gladio's lap, who was, irritatingly but not particularly surprisingly, still dressed, though at least he hadn't moved to avoid him. 'And what,' Gladio said, hoarse, as Ignis undid his belt, 'is the correct way?'
'Skin contact, scent,' Ignis said. He leant back as Gladio pulled off his top and tossed it to one side. 'Sexual fluids. If we're obviously just out of the act, I can't see why your wolf would not make the connection on its own.'
'You're giving it too much credit.' Gladio nudged Ignis backwards, off his lap, then he hesitated. 'I think – shit, Iggy, I don't know. I–'
'Can you think of another way?' There wasn't an answer, except, eventually, the sound of fabric being removed. It made Ignis' throat tighten, his stomach clenching unpleasantly. He ignored it, crawling back onto Gladio's lap to kiss him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other trailing down his chest, across his waist and hips, to find his cock. Ignis brought that hand up to his mouth and licked his palm, then returned it to grasp Gladio's cock – soft, but slowly hardening under Ignis' fingers, and already promising to be considerably larger than practical. Ignis tried not to think about it. They would make this perfunctory. Sex was regularly nothing but a means to an end; there was no reason they couldn't make it so now.
They kissed again, a little awkwardly as they tried out the shape and taste of each other, the bare skin contact between them. Ignis rolled his wrist, fingers tightening, and Gladio broke the kiss to make a harsh noise, a stifled groan that sounded far too familiar, given that Ignis had only ever heard him groan like that in battle, wounded, in pain. 'Forgive me,' he said, his hand still on Gladio's cock, stroking the underside of it where shaft met head.
'Nothing to forgive,' Gladio said, then made that sound again. The muscles in his thighs tensed, and he gripped Ignis' hips, blunt tips of his fingers digging into his skin. 'If it – if it saves both our skins–'
'That is the plan.' Ignis kissed the side of Gladio's mouth, then across his cheek to his jawline, scraping his teeth across the strong line of it. He buried his face in the crook of Gladio's neck and sucked gentle bruises on his skin, telling himself to ignore the heat of Gladio's skin on his, the rough texture of his scars, the way the both of them had started to sweat even in the coolness of the empty room. The intimacy of it roiled in his guts like the instinctive fear of heights on unsteady ground, sickening, consuming. His stomach clenched as Gladio's hands scraped down his back, from shoulders over his arse to hold him by the backs of his thighs. His hands were calloused on the soft skin of Ignis' flanks. They felt larger than Ignis remembered – stronger. His breath hitched. He forced away the urge to get them off him.
There was the unspoken agreement between the four of them that some things in Noct's armiger were private, and shouldn't be touched except by the one who put it there. Ignis didn't know what the others used that agreement for, but he expected Gladio was not surprised to see the small bottle of lube he pulled into his hand – unscented, plain, unobtrusive. He flicked the cap off and squeezed a little amount onto the hand still stroking Gladio's cock, now hard, thick, hot, and entirely too present to ignore.
He handed the bottle to Gladio, bumping it against his fingers until he took it. 'You should probably prepare me,' he said, and cursed himself for how his voice was already thick, a little unsteady, and they'd barely even started yet. Gladio grunted in agreement, and Ignis listened to the wet sound of the bottle being squeezed with his heart hammering in his ears, in the back of his throat, making him feel sick.
Gladio's fingers were cold, thick – far too large for how Ignis was tensed up and resisting even the one fingertip. He arched his back, hips moving forwards instinctively to escape the intrusion until he was pressed flush to Gladio's front, nowhere left to retreat to, and Gladio's finger had chased him to sink in to the knuckle. When Gladio moved, tugging the finger to one side, stretching him in a burn that was terrifying for its intensity – if this was only one finger, how much more would his cock force him wide open? – Ignis panted, short and shallow into Gladio's shoulder.
'Don't stop,' he said, and bit down on the whine that burnt up his throat as Gladio slipped in a second finger.
Gladio didn't reply, not even to tell Ignis to relax – which was just as well, Ignis couldn't help but think, his whole body tensed until his bones ached with it.
It hurt, but not as the pleasant burn he usually associated with sex. It was deep, sharply wrong, reaching up into his guts to be persistent in the forefront of his mind, for all that he'd dealt with pain ten times worse. It felt wrong, tasted wrong, like the taste of Gladio on his tongue and teeth, and the smell of him sticking to the inside of his nose, and the encompassing press of his skin on Ignis' skin, slick with sweat and hot and moving to adjust to every twitch or shudder or little jerk of Ignis' hips. Gladio's arm encircled his waist, and Ignis told himself it wasn't to hold him down, that Gladio meant it as a comfort, except that it felt like he was being held down and when the fingers inside him scissored open it hurt, and it felt wrong, and it was the only way he could see for them both to survive this but he still couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand being in his own squirming body, couldn't stand Gladio, and what would Gladio think of him, writhing in his arms, impaled on his fingers, panting wetly?
Pumping his fingers in and out, slow and gentle, or at least Ignis imagined he was trying to be, Gladio dipped his face to press his lips against Ignis' crown, the heat and dampness of his breath seeping into Ignis' scalp through his hair. Gladio had three fingers in now, and that still couldn't be comparable to the girth of his cock, but if he made to add a fourth – Ignis tightened his grip on Gladio's waist, solid muscle rippling beneath the skin as he moved fractionally with the slow thrusts of his fingers. He had to control his breathing, which was getting choppy and unsteady. He could do this. It wasn't so bad.
Gladio withdrew his fingers almost all the way, and the sound of squelching, more lube being squeezed from the bottle, came a moment before the shock of fresh coldness hit him. Ignis jolted, his body trying to pull away, but Gladio's hand on his waist held him, and his three fingers pushed in all at once.
Gladio made a sound, a noise of apology. 'Don't,' Ignis said, harsh through his throat that felt like it was closing up around the words. 'Carry on.'
'Iggy. My wolf is really not gonna think we're mated if you reek of stress and pain.'
Ignis forced a short laugh, bark-like. 'Is it really true one can smell fear? I'd always thought it a myth.'
He pushed away Gladio's hand inside him, the gaping absence almost as inescapable as the weight and presence his fingers had been. Shifting, Ignis turned on Gladio's lap until he sat facing out, back to Gladio's chest, half-kneeling so his arse hovered a foot above Gladio's lap. He reached behind himself, grasping for Gladio's cock, and found Gladio's hand already stroking it where it lay across one thigh, half-flaccid. His skin was smeared with lube – Ignis was smeared with lube, and he could feel it, cold in the air, his hole still feeling obscenely open, twitching. Ignis' hand joined Gladio's as they stroked him to hardness again, Gladio's breath hot, humid puff of air against Ignis' back. Then, not caring that he was being rough, Ignis pushed Gladio's hand away and grasped his cock, positioning it; he sat down on it, trying for one smooth motion, but his legs betrayed him and he'd barely forced the head inside when he froze, whole body motionless save for its trembling.
Too big. It was as if it pushed the air from his lungs, a bludgeon on the inside of his body, crushing his guts up into his chest cavity, ruining the vital order and structure. His stomach clenched, violently. Gladio's hands landed tentative on his hips. They didn't push or pull, or hold, just touched the skin feather-light.
'I'm fine,' Ignis said, the words like scrunched up paper, barely intelligible. His breath was coming in great heaves. 'A moment – I just need a moment.'
Gladio gave him a moment, then another, then another. The time stretched out and the burn didn't get less, or the roiling sickness less, or the urge to pry himself away from Gladio and strip off his skin just to get away from the feeling of it.
It was fine. It was Gladio; they had to do this to survive. Out of all the demanding things they'd ever had to do this really was one of the lesser ones.
He wondered if their captives were watching. Recording. He wondered if they knew what they were attempting, and were laying bets on whether it'd succeed or not.
Gladio's hands shivered against his skin. That was right – he was being selfish, forcing this to his own pace when Gladio was just as much a participant as he was. It was that thought that finally let his legs give way, collapsing until he sank down on Gladio's cock, biting his lip and telling himself every inch had to be the last, inch after inch after inch, until he finally bottomed out. His breathing came in broken-up moans, split-second noises pushed unwilling from him to the tempo of his ragged panting. Gladio's cock inside him felt like it filled him up to the brim, stretching him so wide that if he moved in the slightest he'd split open, ruptured from the inside.
Gladio's hips were trembling a little. 'Can I move?' His voice was strained.
'Yes,' Ignis said, then: 'No. Not yet.' His head was spinning; he needed to slow down his breathing. He took a deep breath, but only felt like he was suffocating himself. How much longer did they have? He'd lost track of time completely.
They had time. This would be fine. It would be hardly a memory they'd look back on and laugh over, but at least they'd both get through it alive.
'Gladio.' He tried rolling his hips but had to stop as his body protested, a violent twinge making his breath hitch. 'You could be putting your scent on me.' It was not, he thought distantly, the most clear or eloquent of instructions, but at least Gladio seemed to understand. He sighed, long and tight, and pulled Ignis so his back was pressed to Gladio's front, and Gladio's mouth was on his neck, behind one ear. Gladio moved his lips as if speaking soundlessly, stubble grazing Ignis' skin, sharp and prickling and unpleasant. Resisting the urge to jerk his head out of Gladio's reach, Ignis shivered as Gladio's tongue pressed to his skin, trailing a long, wet line from the back of his left ear to the bumps of his spine, then nuzzling the same line on his right. He mouthed at Ignis' neck, sucking and biting at his pulse point that Ignis turned his head to allow him access to, and his hands scraped up and down Ignis' sides, from underarms to the junction of his thighs. He kissed across Ignis' shoulders, teeth scraping, alternating little nips and wet, open-mouthed kisses. He put his hands on Ignis' legs and stroked the skin of his inner thighs, so close to his flaccid cock and balls, with his thumbs.
The urge to put a knife through each of Gladio's wrists, to spin a blade in his hand to face backwards and gut Gladio with one motion – Ignis took a gulping breath and raised himself, knees braced on the concrete floor, hands on Gladio's, that were holding him by the hips. He rolled his hips, sinking down, then rose and sank again then again before he could stop himself, creating a rhythm. His throat bobbed, gorge rising. He could feel himself clench down on Gladio, trying to force him out. He wondered, briefly, if it felt good for Gladio.
That wasn't worthwhile to consider. He just needed to get the job done. He'd done less savoury things in his past; this would amount to nothing. If he just acted like it was natural, and told himself it was fine, then it would become natural, and fine, and he'd lose no sleep over it.
It was sex; of course it was fine. Honestly, given how long he and Gladio had known each other, and lived out of each other's pockets, and the necessary limitation of their social circles and confidants, it was more surprising that they'd never tried experimenting with each other until now.