Gladio's hands were tighter on his hips, forcing as much as guiding him in the up and down motion, bouncing on his cock. He was stretched open, wet, hot; Gladio's cock pounded into him, hard and fast. He'd fallen into the rhythm, and with Gladio's hands it was easy to not stop. He let his head fall back to rest on Gladio's shoulder. He clutched at Gladio's hands, at his thighs, reaching up and back to grasp at Gladio's hair that he was growing out. His own cock bounced, soft, slapping against his thighs; he thought briefly he might touch it, but couldn't stomach even the thought of it, let alone the action. He felt like there were a void in front of him he might topple over and fall into, for the first time in a while. His mind conjured up images of people sitting, watching as he fucked himself on Gladio's fat cock, legs spread, face red and mouth open to pant for breath; they were close enough they could smell the sweat on them, close enough they might touch if only they reached out a hand. He almost said Gladio's name, just because he wanted Gladio to speak, for confirmation that it was Gladio fucking him, pressed to him, mouth on the tender skin of his jawline – then changed his mind abruptly, because he wasn't entirely sure through his fogged thoughts that he did want confirmation after all.
How much longer? The pain was building, rubbing him raw, bruised and battered like someone had taken one of the Crownsguard's blunt training swords and beaten him across the hips with it. There was heat, friction, the wet slap of his skin on Gladio's skin, the squelch of the excess lube. He felt fever-hot. His head was spinning again. He couldn't stop. If he stopped he wouldn't be able to start again, and this would all be for nothing, and he'd be forced to take his lance and slash Gladio's wolf open with it, pin him down and push the blade through his flesh and bone and the harsh crunch of connective tissue, blood and guts spilling across the floor of their prison for him to soak in until what time their captors saw fit to let him out.
Gladio's hands were forcing him higher, falling harder, deeper. His hips were thrusting up to meet Ignis', the force of it making Ignis jerk bodily with each impact. Did he realise what he was doing? Was the proximity to the moon bringing out the wolf in him even before he'd turned? Perhaps – perhaps this was the reason Gladio liked to be alone even hours before moonrise.
Ignis gripped at Gladio's knees, trying to lean forwards, to gain some leverage, but his legs were weak and Gladio bit his shoulder at the slope of his neck, hard, taking a mouthful of flesh and bruising it with his teeth. Something in the room changed abruptly, like a switch; Ignis twisted – no weapons – he couldn't draw weapons – this was exactly what they'd planned on anyway, this was all according to the plan, he'd meant for this–
The noise that came out of his mouth was wordless, a cry rasping from the back of his throat. Gladio let go of him, all at once, teeth and hands, and Ignis toppled forwards onto his hands and knees. He crawled, shaking as the realisation of what he'd done set in – he hadn't been able to go through with it, not even something so simple as sex. He'd ruined it, and now he'd never be able to finish the rest of the plan because he was useless and weak and his uselessness and weakness would cost Gladio his life–
Hands gripped his hips, at once dragging him backwards and flipping him over, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. 'Gladio,' he croaked, as Gladio knelt between his legs, leaning forwards over him to hoist him up onto his lap. He could feel Gladio's cock, hot, solid, on his skin. Gladio's mouth found Ignis' neck again, and turning his head with a rough hand fisted into Ignis' hair, he licked just under Ignis' chin, then bit down across his windpipe.
Ignis froze in pain and shock; there was a split-second his hands grasped for Gladio's head, his thumbs moving to push out his eyes, when Gladio let go and reared back. He pawed at Ignis' chest and head as Ignis covered his neck with his arms and gagged for breath.
It took a moment to realise Gladio was speaking. 'Shit, Iggy, Iggy, fuck – I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I hadn't known it'd get this bad–'
Gladio hooked Ignis' ankles over his shoulders, and bonelessly, still gagging and choking for breath, Ignis let him. This was what he'd wanted, after all, the thought occurring to him as if from a great distance. This was, even, was a contingency for his uselessness. It was good. 'I'm always alone so I didn't know how I'd get around people,' Gladio said, stroking Ignis' skin – his legs, his sides, his face. 'I know I get wolf-like but I swear I've never lost control like this, I fucking swear, Iggy.' Gladio pushed into him; Ignis' back arched up from the floor, and he made a sobbing cry.
Bent over almost in half, his shoulders and upper back scraping the floor with every pounding thrust, Ignis let Gladio pry his hands from his throat to pin them up over his head. This was, after all, what he'd wanted. He needed Gladio's wolf to want this, to think of him as a mate, not something to kill. It was, in fact, even better than he'd hoped for, given that this was Gladio's wolf reacting even before it emerged. It proved his plan was working.
Just so long as he ignored the pain, and the way Gladio was mouthing at his unprotected throat, making him flinch with every touch. Just so long as he did that, it was undoubtable his plan – seeming so tentative and risky to begin with – was actually working.
He put his hands on Gladio's back, just gently, feeling the muscles there ripple with each thrust. His throat was raw, swollen, hot with pain. He retched, and shuddered with the motion of it.
'Iggy,' Gladio said, pressing the word into Ignis' neck. 'Iggy.' He stiffened, and grunted, hoisting Ignis up a little closer, pulling him in to force his thrusts that much harder; he came deep inside Ignis, who shivered at the feeling of wetness, then pulled out and finished over Ignis' hole and the insides of his thighs. He was panting hard, and he gathered Ignis up in his arms as he flopped over to lie down, not minding of the hard, cold floor. His thigh between Ignis' legs, pressed tight as possible up beneath Ignis' balls, was an awkward weight, parting his legs uncomfortably. Ignis wriggled, but Gladio only clenched him tighter to his body, forcing his leg up all the harder. Ignis stopped wriggling; Gladio pressed his teeth to the back of Ignis' neck.
A little time passed, filled with the empty sound of breathing. Ignis managed to catch his breath, slow and quieten it to something more approaching normal; he tried to ignore the way his body hurt, and skin itched to be crawled out of, and the inescapable weight of Gladio at his back and between his legs.
'Gladio,' he said, and swallowed, thinking that if he weren't so tired and distracted he might be appalled at how hoarse his voice was. 'Gladio, how much longer?'
Gladio didn't reply.
It was only bruises, and potions were only for emergencies, these days: wounds that would cripple, or kill. He was in no danger of either of those. The floor was cold, leeching the heat from his body. He couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood dripping down his throat, making his skin itch. He couldn't smell blood, so likely it was sweat.
He thought again to the hypothetical video feed watched even now by their captors. Perhaps they even had a small window or peep-hole to observe through. He wondered if they were satisfied by the performance.
Half-way through the thought, Gladio shifted. His breathing deepened, his body heating with the electric crackle of magic. For a moment Ignis could no longer feel him – then the weight returned, heavily furred, scent changed from human and leather and the outdoors to animal, musky and overpowering. Ignis lay still, and held his breath.
The cold press of something against his back, between his shoulder blades – Gladio's wolf's nose, Ignis realised. Breathing in his scent. Not attacking – or not yet, anyway. Ignis let out his breath, which trembled over his lips and teeth. The intangible weight of his dagger in one hand, to drive the wolf off, and a lance in the other, to keep it out of range, prickled in Ignis' skin. He could draw them from the armiger in an instant. If he could not manage to wound the wolf just enough to keep it from killing him, he would kill it to keep himself alive. He would kill Gladio. He would not die before Noct returned.
The wolf sniffed at him, nose trailing across the expanse of his upper back, disappearing into the hair at the base of his skull, then moving away. The click of its claws circled Ignis, its rough fur brushing his naked, sweat-slick skin as it crouched and crawled around him on its belly.
When teeth gripped his shoulder, Ignis tensed, fingers closing around hilts that were not quite yet there – but the teeth were gentle, at least in as much as teeth that could crush his shoulder with a single bite were gentle. Ignis breathed out shakily and let the wolf tug him up; he pushed himself onto his heels.
The weight of the wolf on his back forced him to his hands and knees. Mounting him, with its forelegs braced against his hips, its cock slid back and forth a few times before finding his stretched, abused hole, and forced its way in.
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timeasmymeasure
FFXV - Ignis/any, werewolf [FILL 1b/2]
Date: 2018-02-03 11:01 pm (UTC)How much longer? The pain was building, rubbing him raw, bruised and battered like someone had taken one of the Crownsguard's blunt training swords and beaten him across the hips with it. There was heat, friction, the wet slap of his skin on Gladio's skin, the squelch of the excess lube. He felt fever-hot. His head was spinning again. He couldn't stop. If he stopped he wouldn't be able to start again, and this would all be for nothing, and he'd be forced to take his lance and slash Gladio's wolf open with it, pin him down and push the blade through his flesh and bone and the harsh crunch of connective tissue, blood and guts spilling across the floor of their prison for him to soak in until what time their captors saw fit to let him out.
Gladio's hands were forcing him higher, falling harder, deeper. His hips were thrusting up to meet Ignis', the force of it making Ignis jerk bodily with each impact. Did he realise what he was doing? Was the proximity to the moon bringing out the wolf in him even before he'd turned? Perhaps – perhaps this was the reason Gladio liked to be alone even hours before moonrise.
Ignis gripped at Gladio's knees, trying to lean forwards, to gain some leverage, but his legs were weak and Gladio bit his shoulder at the slope of his neck, hard, taking a mouthful of flesh and bruising it with his teeth. Something in the room changed abruptly, like a switch; Ignis twisted – no weapons – he couldn't draw weapons – this was exactly what they'd planned on anyway, this was all according to the plan, he'd meant for this–
The noise that came out of his mouth was wordless, a cry rasping from the back of his throat. Gladio let go of him, all at once, teeth and hands, and Ignis toppled forwards onto his hands and knees. He crawled, shaking as the realisation of what he'd done set in – he hadn't been able to go through with it, not even something so simple as sex. He'd ruined it, and now he'd never be able to finish the rest of the plan because he was useless and weak and his uselessness and weakness would cost Gladio his life–
Hands gripped his hips, at once dragging him backwards and flipping him over, the breath leaving his lungs in a rush. 'Gladio,' he croaked, as Gladio knelt between his legs, leaning forwards over him to hoist him up onto his lap. He could feel Gladio's cock, hot, solid, on his skin. Gladio's mouth found Ignis' neck again, and turning his head with a rough hand fisted into Ignis' hair, he licked just under Ignis' chin, then bit down across his windpipe.
Ignis froze in pain and shock; there was a split-second his hands grasped for Gladio's head, his thumbs moving to push out his eyes, when Gladio let go and reared back. He pawed at Ignis' chest and head as Ignis covered his neck with his arms and gagged for breath.
It took a moment to realise Gladio was speaking. 'Shit, Iggy, Iggy, fuck – I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I hadn't known it'd get this bad–'
Gladio hooked Ignis' ankles over his shoulders, and bonelessly, still gagging and choking for breath, Ignis let him. This was what he'd wanted, after all, the thought occurring to him as if from a great distance. This was, even, was a contingency for his uselessness. It was good. 'I'm always alone so I didn't know how I'd get around people,' Gladio said, stroking Ignis' skin – his legs, his sides, his face. 'I know I get wolf-like but I swear I've never lost control like this, I fucking swear, Iggy.' Gladio pushed into him; Ignis' back arched up from the floor, and he made a sobbing cry.
Bent over almost in half, his shoulders and upper back scraping the floor with every pounding thrust, Ignis let Gladio pry his hands from his throat to pin them up over his head. This was, after all, what he'd wanted. He needed Gladio's wolf to want this, to think of him as a mate, not something to kill. It was, in fact, even better than he'd hoped for, given that this was Gladio's wolf reacting even before it emerged. It proved his plan was working.
Just so long as he ignored the pain, and the way Gladio was mouthing at his unprotected throat, making him flinch with every touch. Just so long as he did that, it was undoubtable his plan – seeming so tentative and risky to begin with – was actually working.
He put his hands on Gladio's back, just gently, feeling the muscles there ripple with each thrust. His throat was raw, swollen, hot with pain. He retched, and shuddered with the motion of it.
'Iggy,' Gladio said, pressing the word into Ignis' neck. 'Iggy.' He stiffened, and grunted, hoisting Ignis up a little closer, pulling him in to force his thrusts that much harder; he came deep inside Ignis, who shivered at the feeling of wetness, then pulled out and finished over Ignis' hole and the insides of his thighs. He was panting hard, and he gathered Ignis up in his arms as he flopped over to lie down, not minding of the hard, cold floor. His thigh between Ignis' legs, pressed tight as possible up beneath Ignis' balls, was an awkward weight, parting his legs uncomfortably. Ignis wriggled, but Gladio only clenched him tighter to his body, forcing his leg up all the harder. Ignis stopped wriggling; Gladio pressed his teeth to the back of Ignis' neck.
A little time passed, filled with the empty sound of breathing. Ignis managed to catch his breath, slow and quieten it to something more approaching normal; he tried to ignore the way his body hurt, and skin itched to be crawled out of, and the inescapable weight of Gladio at his back and between his legs.
'Gladio,' he said, and swallowed, thinking that if he weren't so tired and distracted he might be appalled at how hoarse his voice was. 'Gladio, how much longer?'
Gladio didn't reply.
It was only bruises, and potions were only for emergencies, these days: wounds that would cripple, or kill. He was in no danger of either of those. The floor was cold, leeching the heat from his body. He couldn't tell if it was sweat or blood dripping down his throat, making his skin itch. He couldn't smell blood, so likely it was sweat.
He thought again to the hypothetical video feed watched even now by their captors. Perhaps they even had a small window or peep-hole to observe through. He wondered if they were satisfied by the performance.
Half-way through the thought, Gladio shifted. His breathing deepened, his body heating with the electric crackle of magic. For a moment Ignis could no longer feel him – then the weight returned, heavily furred, scent changed from human and leather and the outdoors to animal, musky and overpowering. Ignis lay still, and held his breath.
The cold press of something against his back, between his shoulder blades – Gladio's wolf's nose, Ignis realised. Breathing in his scent. Not attacking – or not yet, anyway. Ignis let out his breath, which trembled over his lips and teeth. The intangible weight of his dagger in one hand, to drive the wolf off, and a lance in the other, to keep it out of range, prickled in Ignis' skin. He could draw them from the armiger in an instant. If he could not manage to wound the wolf just enough to keep it from killing him, he would kill it to keep himself alive. He would kill Gladio. He would not die before Noct returned.
The wolf sniffed at him, nose trailing across the expanse of his upper back, disappearing into the hair at the base of his skull, then moving away. The click of its claws circled Ignis, its rough fur brushing his naked, sweat-slick skin as it crouched and crawled around him on its belly.
When teeth gripped his shoulder, Ignis tensed, fingers closing around hilts that were not quite yet there – but the teeth were gentle, at least in as much as teeth that could crush his shoulder with a single bite were gentle. Ignis breathed out shakily and let the wolf tug him up; he pushed himself onto his heels.
The weight of the wolf on his back forced him to his hands and knees. Mounting him, with its forelegs braced against his hips, its cock slid back and forth a few times before finding his stretched, abused hole, and forced its way in.