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innoctuousAll things considered, it's been a really long day, and it was only a matter of time before the snap of patience breaking was heard 'round the world.
The drive had been longer than usual, which never bodes well for any of them in the larger scheme of things; Noct had, at the very least, the innate gift of being able to fall asleep literally anywhere, and while the backseat of his father car has never been the most comfortable napping spot, for as much time as they have a tendency to spend on the road, it works well enough. Drifting in and out of conscious for a handful of hours had found him an idle eavesdropper, the chatter of Prompto in the front seat, compelled to comment on damned near everything they see along the way. Gladio grumbling next to him that his ass is killing him, that they should probably stop and let everyone stretch their legs soon — and the chamberlain himself behind the wheel, the telltale crack of a can of Ebony being opened in more frequent intervals than is typical, and he has to wonder the last time the older had gotten a full night's rest.
( Not in the last little while, he doesn't think, for all he spends their nights curled against his side, there are only a few hours in which he hears the low, even breaths of sleep before he's up and seeing to them all over again, preparing breakfast, checking supplies, effectively babysitting three grown men when his only charge is the prince himself. They're all thankful, grateful for what Ignis does for them, even if none of them are in the habit of saying as much out loud — they really should work on that, really — but sometimes enough is enough, and too much is too much, and no man can subsist on canned caffeine and sheer stubborn will forever. )
Ignis only makes toast for dinner when he's had enough of everything. And while his demeanor hasn't changed by way of different treatment in the cat prince's general direction, everything else in him has become little more than clipped responses with regard to the others. They curl up together at the end of the night as they always do, and Noct tucks himself beneath his chin as easily as anything else, but there's so much tension in jaw and neck and shoulders that it's very nearly like draping himself over a particularly sharp-and-angled bit of rock.
But this is when one ( 1 ) cat prince gets an idea, as he lingers at the very edge of consciousness before falling face-first into the arms of sleep, and if he does so with the smallest smirk painted across the line of his mouth, it's surely just a trick of the light.
He rarely ( … okay, never ) wakes up naturally before the sun has come up, and it might just be his nefarious plans that have turned his body clock into something more akin to what is normal for a human being — but he drifts awake before even Ignis' alarm has had a chance to sound, and with probably the most effort he's ever put into being careful, he reaches for the other's phone and turns it off, lays the thing well out of reach and just. Watches his chamberlain for a small moment before he begins to move, extracting arms and legs and re-positioning them until he can settle himself between lean thighs. That smirk is still there, because of course it is, as he pushes fingers beneath the hem of the other's shirt, dips his head to dust pale skin with soft, reverent kisses. From the base of his sternum to the dip of his navel, off to the side to trace the point of a hipbone with his tongue and down again, tugging at the band of sleep pants until he can brush over the sleeping line of his cock.
Let him take care of you, hm? Since you spend pretty much every waking hour taking care of them.
The drive had been longer than usual, which never bodes well for any of them in the larger scheme of things; Noct had, at the very least, the innate gift of being able to fall asleep literally anywhere, and while the backseat of his father car has never been the most comfortable napping spot, for as much time as they have a tendency to spend on the road, it works well enough. Drifting in and out of conscious for a handful of hours had found him an idle eavesdropper, the chatter of Prompto in the front seat, compelled to comment on damned near everything they see along the way. Gladio grumbling next to him that his ass is killing him, that they should probably stop and let everyone stretch their legs soon — and the chamberlain himself behind the wheel, the telltale crack of a can of Ebony being opened in more frequent intervals than is typical, and he has to wonder the last time the older had gotten a full night's rest.
( Not in the last little while, he doesn't think, for all he spends their nights curled against his side, there are only a few hours in which he hears the low, even breaths of sleep before he's up and seeing to them all over again, preparing breakfast, checking supplies, effectively babysitting three grown men when his only charge is the prince himself. They're all thankful, grateful for what Ignis does for them, even if none of them are in the habit of saying as much out loud — they really should work on that, really — but sometimes enough is enough, and too much is too much, and no man can subsist on canned caffeine and sheer stubborn will forever. )
Ignis only makes toast for dinner when he's had enough of everything. And while his demeanor hasn't changed by way of different treatment in the cat prince's general direction, everything else in him has become little more than clipped responses with regard to the others. They curl up together at the end of the night as they always do, and Noct tucks himself beneath his chin as easily as anything else, but there's so much tension in jaw and neck and shoulders that it's very nearly like draping himself over a particularly sharp-and-angled bit of rock.
But this is when one ( 1 ) cat prince gets an idea, as he lingers at the very edge of consciousness before falling face-first into the arms of sleep, and if he does so with the smallest smirk painted across the line of his mouth, it's surely just a trick of the light.
He rarely ( … okay, never ) wakes up naturally before the sun has come up, and it might just be his nefarious plans that have turned his body clock into something more akin to what is normal for a human being — but he drifts awake before even Ignis' alarm has had a chance to sound, and with probably the most effort he's ever put into being careful, he reaches for the other's phone and turns it off, lays the thing well out of reach and just. Watches his chamberlain for a small moment before he begins to move, extracting arms and legs and re-positioning them until he can settle himself between lean thighs. That smirk is still there, because of course it is, as he pushes fingers beneath the hem of the other's shirt, dips his head to dust pale skin with soft, reverent kisses. From the base of his sternum to the dip of his navel, off to the side to trace the point of a hipbone with his tongue and down again, tugging at the band of sleep pants until he can brush over the sleeping line of his cock.
Let him take care of you, hm? Since you spend pretty much every waking hour taking care of them.
