[ Her hope, while they were both still (relatively) clothed and atop of him, pressing and grinding upon his hips, had been to coax out his pleasure further until neither of them could bear it any longer. Had been. For when his hand slips in between the crux of her legs, just the bare twitch of her fingers against sensitive flesh causes her body to sit up straighter, a small whine to escape her. Then with the guidance of his hand rubbing and moving against her, slipping inside, she bites her bottom lip until she can't hold back a pitched, breathy moan. Sweat drips from the side of her cheek to the curve of jaw.
Her hips seem to move on their own against his generosity, gliding across and into his fingers with each of his strokes, causing her body to tremble and her chest to rise and fall with pants. Heat fills her body, what he's doing is too damn hot for her to contain to herself, too pleasurable, with the signs of her sex coating his fingers and pants. And when his hips lift against hers, helping the force of his hand up and against her body, his name staggers out more desperately between her lips.
He's being generous, but she wants more-- and wants to do more to him. She wants to stroke him, she wants to touch and kiss and suck lavish her tongue on him, if she can to give him back what he's feeling her. But she's also impatient, and she wants to be connected to him more than just this. His hand is preventing that, distracting her and also creating distance between their bodies. ] N-noct-- [ She pants his name, eyes opening to look down upon him, surprised to see that her hands are doing nothing but gripping his shirt tightly, bereft of pleasuring him in return anywhere else.
She must look a desperate mess, breathless and skin glistening with exertion, eyes glowing with hunger. It takes a good amount of effort for her to raise her hips off of his hand, creating a space between them as she leans forward, supporting herself with one hand on the ground beside his waist while the other snakes down to his trousers. Her palm slides to his arousal to cup him, generously giving his awakened hardness a few strokes atop of the fabric of his pants, then pulling at the drawstring to loosen it so she might slip her hand beneath to finally put fingers to flesh.
It would be ridiculous for her to ever be so vulgar, but the truth is that, sometimes, there comes a point where she has to admit that she just wants to fuck him. ]
[He's known, since they began this journey together a year and change ago, that her craving for this is much stronger than his. He's never been driven by sex the way many youths his age can be, never wrestled with it in locker rooms throughout high school, never chased the 'babes' the way Prompto and Gladio seemed to love doing. The role he enjoyed was to tease them for it, or be exasperated when the chase interfered with his fun- when Prompto wanted to flirt at the arcades instead of tossing his coin in a 2-player machine, or when Gladio dropped embarrassing lines on complete strangers. It never bothered him. He liked being driven by his own thoughts and desires, not the bits between his legs. Even now, he's fine with taking it easy, would be satisfied most days with training and games and the simple enjoyment of his loved ones' company, clean and clothed.
The truth, he's learned, is thus: he is aroused by her pleasure. That feeling of being wanted, the look in her eyes when her body calls to his, the memory of how she feels around him and how she cries out when he's touching her just so. He enjoys her hands on him, or her mouth, but he's driven deepest into his pleasures when he knows she's with him, or soon to follow when he gets there. He loves the noises she makes, the tension in her body and the way she melts afterwards. Maybe there's a secret possessiveness to it, buried somewhere- he wants her to want him, he wants to be the one granting her that pleasure, and his own desire is an offshoot from that when he'd never really needed it before. In the end, does it matter? He wants her. And if his body wants her because she wants him, then he's glad for it, that he can finally wake up that part of himself and share it with her.
Like here, and now. He watches her, enraptured, as she moves above his fingers, clenching tremulously around him, gasping his name like a plea. Hot and wet and sweaty, maybe she is a mess, but he's delighted because that desperation means she's aching for it and he's giving her that, what she wants and needs. When she draws back to free his erection she'll find him full and eager already, lazily dripping and hot within her fingers. He groans and props himself up on his elbows, watching her with heady eyes, carrying a different sort of gleam in the dark now that the magic has faded. His hand lifts to his mouth, licking the taste of her off his fingers as he watches her free him and begin to stroke, trying to find his voice but failing miserably, managing only a shaky,]
Nngh... Py... y-you look...
[Hot, sexy, needy, urgent, beautiful. If he could get any harder just by looking at her he would. She might think herself desperate for it but there's something about the untamed, unrestrained look in her eyes that he craves.]
[ Using what drips from his arousal, she glides her fingers down and up his shaft, grip accommodating for any movement of his hips or twitch of his erection. From tip to base and back again and again and again, she works to bring more out of him, grip slippery but firm, accenting his words and breaths with pumps that glide over bulging veins and skin. His noises, in turn, serve her the same amount of pleasure: letting her know that he's nearly ready, that he's enjoying this, that she's the one who's giving him this pleasure, and she can watch him as he enjoys himself in a way that only she can see.
But she wants to be with him more, more connected, and for that, her hand is not enough. With one final pump, Pyra stops her fingers around his base and positions him against her, gliding wetness along the length of his shaft, a tease for them both, touching each other in a way that hands, palms, and fingers simply can't bring about in the same way. Heat pulses from between her legs and up her spine, spreading down awakening ether lines to the rest of her body, and she trembles, bracing herself as she positions her body above him. A moment passes, and she lowers herself onto him, biting down on her bottom lip, allowing the sound of wetness between them to speak for her instead of another moan, but she gasps anyway when she's completely sheathed him, body going taut as she acclimates to his size and the feeling of him within.
She pants, once, eyes opening to see how he's responding-- because she loves this moment, this moment when they come together for the initial part of coupling, the feeling of him inside her, the heat that winds and builds without either of them moving but both waiting for the next action, the tension that builds, that feels like eternity and agony but so very pleasurable.
Then she begins to move. Up, slowly, then down again, up, then down, incorporating a grind in between, moving her hips more against him. She repeats this motion, building a rhythm, hands finding his chest again and feeling his muscles beneath her palms and fingers or the vibration of his chest whenever he might breathe.
Each time her hips reconnect with his, they do so with a slap, with a soft gasp as she feels pleasure strike her like one match after another being lit within. The length of him, the texture of him passing within her, she feels it all, and she knows best how to angle herself so that when he responds, he hits where she's most sensitive. She's trying not to be as loud-- they're still outside, it's night-- but whenever she's close, she tends to be more vocal than when first starting with whines, gasps, pants, and moans whenever his hips rise up to hers. Especially whenever he's faster, harder, or deeper than before. Whether she climaxes first or second, she'll be staying connected to him, spent and sticky and sweaty. ]
[He's only halfway conscious of their location, as she sinks down on him. He can feel the grass and stone beneath the blanket he's lying on, the coolness of the open air, smell the smoke of the abandoned fire as it slowly burns out not far away. Most of his attention is on her, though, the way her body swallows him in, the familiarity of her tight, wet heat, the sweat and the noises she tries and fails to restrain. He's never been gifted at dancing but this is one he knows well now, and every move she makes is met by one of his own. When she lifts and sinks back down his hips follow and seek out her warmth, fleeing from the cool summer air on his length and jerking into her with quick, eager thrusts. The fact that they're outside will surely catch up with him later, but that's future-Noct's problem.
When she rests her hands on his chest for balance or simply to feel his body, his own hands unfurl from where he'd rested at his sides to slide cool, damp fingers up the lengths of her arms, dipping underneath to catch her breasts as she leans in towards him. They're not completely nude, and she could dissolve her clothes if she wished, but he kind of likes the way the fabric clings to her as she moves, sweat beading beneath the edges, glistening in the firelight. His thumbs tuck into the material as if to hold it there while the rest of his hands sneak underneath, squeezing and kneading her breasts the way he knows she responds to best. He murmurs sweet nothings, whispers encouragements, moans her name when he can't hold back his voice. Every sound she drags out of him is a battle he doesn't mind losing, especially when he feels her body tense around him in response, muscles clenching and giving away how she likes it.
Perhaps it's the thrill of their location, subconsciously, or how she'd prepped him so well, or how aroused he'd been at her pleasure- regardless of the reason, he's quicker to reach his apex than usual. Before too long his hands release at her chest and trail down to her hips, bracing against them for leverage and pushing, suddenly taking control and picking up the pace as if desperate for the climax he knows they both deserve. His hips lurch upwards, plunging into her as deeply as he can before withdrawing to repeat, fast, faster, longing to overwhelm her. It isn't a pace he can keep up for too long, but he lasts long enough to finish, gasping with a stilted exhale as he releases deep, holding her close for every drop. It takes him a moment to ease the pressure, slumping back on the stone with a gasp, thumbs stroking at her waist, hips rocking to help her carry out that feeling as long as she needs it. He pants beneath her, breathless, but thoroughly sated. His eyes lift to find her face and he's struck for a moment: her silhouette is stunning, backlit by flames with the spotlight of the moon like a halo. All he can do is murmur,]
[ Her body been made to mimic that of any living human's, up to and including things like breathing. How she can feel breathless is an extension of that. Still atop of him, still joined, even if she doesn't have lungs, she's gasping after her climax, back arched dramatically, head tilted back, thighs, hips, and stomach tensing with each wave of pleasure that comes from any movement afterward. She's hot, but still she shudders and swallows as the waves come and go,
Everything had been wonderful. How is hips rose up to meet hers when she first started moving against him, how he had touched her breasts as she gasped out her pleasure, how he had spoken her name and encouraged her, how his own desires encouraged him to pick up his pace into her, how she likes seeing him lose a little of his own restraint, how he looked in that moment, how their hips connected even when she leaned more over him, how she felt his body releasing into her... It was perfect, with only the moonlight as their witness.
She's careful not to collapse over him, but as she lowers herself over his chest, her head flops against the side of his neck, kissing it once and tasting the sweet salt of his sweat upon his skin. ]
No fair... [ Her murmur is beyond content, though. Affectionate and warm, lovingly tender. ] You beat me to say that about you.
[ The fabric of both of their shirts are clinging with sweat. Everything below waist is damp. She doesn't care at all. ]
[He huffs a quiet, tired laugh against her hair, lifting his hand up again to slide up her back and sink into her locks, gently stroking, his other arm curving around her waist to hold her. His chest lifts her up and down as he breathes slowly to try to steady his heartbeat, still pounding feather-fast from adrenaline. His lips catch against her temple, humming in amused agreement.]
Hey, you know me. I like to come out on top.
[He can't miss the double-meaning of his own words, scoffing with another laughing exhale. Silly. And here they've made a hot mess of themselves, should probably clean up before long, but he really can't bring himself to move. She still feels so good, nestled around him, and the energy of their combined pleasure is buzzing around in his mind.]
Her mind is in a pleasant fog, and her body is wrapped in a pleasant warmth, so it takes her a moment before the double entendre clicks. When it does, she giggle, her breath set to tickle against his neck as he does. ]
You know I wouldn't ever argue with you, if you ever wanted to be on top. [ ... ] Or beneath. Or behind.
[ She kisses his neck again, this time with a small, playful nip-- although it doesn't have as much vigor. She's not up for a second round, and her body is relaxed against his, perfectly satisfied to be as they are. ]
[He pauses for a moment, a faint, thoughtful noise vibrating softly against her head.]
We could switch it up more. [A beat, and then-] Next time.
[He can sense it from her as well, but he's feeling it. Between the creation of the flasks, the fact that it's getting later, and the mess of energy that round required (incredibly good and fun as it was), his stamina is awfully spent. In a good way. In all the good ways.
Not that he hasn't been on top before, she just seems to like it this way most often. Never tried the latter, though. He'll try to remember that.]
[ It's easier to talk about sex when they've just shared their bodies with each other, but that doesn't mean she's not blushing...
Which reminds her of something else during this particular session.
Pyra uncouples herself from him, quivering slightly when the night breeze hits the coated sex in between her legs. She finds her warmth by cuddling against his body, lying on her side and allowing her breasts to wedge against his arm, her own hand draping across his chest. ]
By the way... [ She says, her tone almost shy. ] I liked it-- when you called me 'Py'.
[ Perhaps he couldn't utter her full name at the time, but she liked it regardless. That. That was something special. No one's ever given her a nickname before. ]
[He shares her shiver, now just as exposed to the cool air, and releases her with one arm just long enough to tug at the other half of the blanket beneath him, ignoring the flasks as they roll further away. He wraps his arm back around her and flings the blanket over them at the same time, covering their exposed nethers. It's beginning to sink in just what they did and where, his cheeks growing pink, so it doesn't hurt to be cautious in case anyone in the distant neighbourhood decides to go on a midnight stroll by the lake.
He blinks down at her at the mention, pausing.] Did I? [Thinking back... he did, didn't he. He'd thought that he'd just run out of breath before the second syllable, but he and his usual social group have a habit of switching to nicknames, so maybe it was a subconscious choice. It's fitting, either way, so after a moment he adds,] Py... it's cute. [Then, with the obvious curve of a smile,] It's because you're a snack.
[ She smiles fondly into the crook of his neck, feeling her cheeks warm, more from when he calls her “Py” again rather than any shame of nudity. She’s still basking in the afterglow. ]
Oh, Noct. [ She giggles softly, adjusting so that she might look up at him, her lips curved into an affectionate smile. ]
I suppose together, we make the perfect nighttime snack.
[Fun as it is to show off and share their magic together, this wins out in the excitement department, there's no denying it. He tilts his head a little, kissing her hair. Gods, they're sweaty.]
[ Pyra’s fond smile breaks into a grin, truly touched. ] My first nickname…
[ She won’t be getting over this any time soon, and it’s likely that when he calls her the nickname in the future, she’ll be delighted and blushing again just because. ] I’m glad you’re the one who’s given it to me.
[He means it, actually. It's odd to think about, someone so apparently long-lived hasn't had an experience so simple and integral as getting a nickname, something he's so used to that he doesn't even think about it- at least, not unless someone uses his when he's not yet comfortable enough. A part of him feels bad about it, but he's mostly glad that he gets to enjoy her first reaction.]
[ Her head shakes against his shoulder. ] Mm… She was more often referred to by a title.
[ Or “simpleton”, when she was being foolish.
Pyra doesn’t seem particular bothered by the lack of a nickname up until now, though. It simple wasn’t a thing they had, not something they thought about before. But now that Pyra has a nickname, she’ll cherish the moments when he calls her by it. ] “Aegis”… or… “it”. We’ve been called that, too.
[ Her body adjusts slightly against his, as if aware that telling him this might ruin the comfortable mood they’ve just found. So much of her past isn’t pleasant, though, so it’s hard to discuss it without some level of bittersweetness.
But she doesn’t want to make things awkward, so: ] Our names… we like those better than titles. [ That, she knows, is something to which he can relate, so she turns her head to look at him, eyes glimmering with appreciation. ] And the nickname you have for me, too.
[He makes a faint, displeased noise at the "it" part, quietly stewing on it and the injustice of the unpleasant things that he's learned of her world and history, how she's been treated. He can recognize that she's trying not to dwell on those bad memories though, especially when she looks at him, so he exhales and goes back to stroking her hair, hoping the gesture will mollify the both of them, at least a little.]
I never liked titles all that much, either. Anybody can have a title- there's been a hundred princes, you know? A name's personal, it's yours. Nicknames are even better.
[There was probably another Noctis in history- maybe a different prince, or an everyday citizen, he has no idea. But did the others go by "Noct" to their friends? Was the pronunciation the same, did they prefer a different or a middle name instead? Who knows. It isn't him. And the same goes for Pyra; there must have been others, but none of them were her.
Something pulses in the back of his mind, heavy and ominous, and the feeling is familiar enough that he knows not to chase it, pushing it aside in favour of holding her more tightly. This is better.]
[ He doesn't like titles... she doesn't like them either. Is there anyone who does-- anyone who's born (or created) into them, at least? Other titles like captain, doctor, senior, she can understand. But among royals, she's found that at least some of them prefer to simply go by their name.
She allows herself to be pressed against him as his arm holds her slightly more tightly, just enough to notice. Just enough to wonder if something else has bothered him. So she'll continue to talk, to keep his mind off of whatever it is. ]
You know... when we awakened, it felt if our names came to us instinctively. Mythra for light. Pyra for fire. [ Keepin' it simple. There's a pause, and she seems to suppress a giggle. ] You'd never guess what my brother's name is.
[ It's close enough that she'll give it. ] Mm... Pretty much. He decided to call himself Malos.
...A bit too on the nose. [ Then again, so are "Pyra" and "Mythra". ] But that's how we all are as siblings, apparently.
[ It's strange to think of it that way, truthfully. Malos has committed a number of horrendous acts, things she personally abhors and wants to fight against completely, and yet, there's something quaint about being able to make fun of him in this manner. ]
Damn, I was closer than I expected. [Well, even with so many words for darkness, the way she narrowed it down was very helpful. Not as many words for that.] I can't point fingers, my family's super obvious about names, too. My dad might as well have been called His Majesty King King the Kingliest.
[That's not even getting into Mors when their whole family is all about death. And Somnus? "Sleep", really, when he napped in the ring for thousands of years? It's kind of silly how on point it all is.]
[ She comments, happily, and makes a soft pleased sound. Really, both of their "families" are unconventional, which is something they can relate to as well. The names-aspect to it is just icing on the cake. ]
Were there ever any other Noctis-es... Nocti? In your family? Or other Regises?
[He chokes back a laugh at that- Nocti, god. That sure would be a way to pluralize him, huh.]
I can't think of any. A lot of the names of old kings have been lost to time. None of the kings I've researched or come in contact with have had those names, though.
[The ring hasn't shared any name twins, either, though he's not sure how he would even begin to check that. Shouting into the void, metaphorically speaking, doesn't get him that far.]
Mm… That means you’re the one and only. [ Not that it would have made a difference if a prior king had his name, but she likes to remind him that he’s special to her in every which way she can point out.
For a fleeting moment, she wonders what he would name any children he’d have, if he’d continue the tradition of naming his family so… traditionally, but simply. But that’s a thought not for right now.
Pyra turns further on her side, propping up her head with a hand, her elbow resting on the ground. ]
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Her hips seem to move on their own against his generosity, gliding across and into his fingers with each of his strokes, causing her body to tremble and her chest to rise and fall with pants. Heat fills her body, what he's doing is too damn hot for her to contain to herself, too pleasurable, with the signs of her sex coating his fingers and pants. And when his hips lift against hers, helping the force of his hand up and against her body, his name staggers out more desperately between her lips.
He's being generous, but she wants more-- and wants to do more to him. She wants to stroke him, she wants to touch and kiss and suck lavish her tongue on him, if she can to give him back what he's feeling her. But she's also impatient, and she wants to be connected to him more than just this. His hand is preventing that, distracting her and also creating distance between their bodies. ] N-noct-- [ She pants his name, eyes opening to look down upon him, surprised to see that her hands are doing nothing but gripping his shirt tightly, bereft of pleasuring him in return anywhere else.
She must look a desperate mess, breathless and skin glistening with exertion, eyes glowing with hunger. It takes a good amount of effort for her to raise her hips off of his hand, creating a space between them as she leans forward, supporting herself with one hand on the ground beside his waist while the other snakes down to his trousers. Her palm slides to his arousal to cup him, generously giving his awakened hardness a few strokes atop of the fabric of his pants, then pulling at the drawstring to loosen it so she might slip her hand beneath to finally put fingers to flesh.
It would be ridiculous for her to ever be so vulgar, but the truth is that, sometimes, there comes a point where she has to admit that she just wants to fuck him. ]
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The truth, he's learned, is thus: he is aroused by her pleasure. That feeling of being wanted, the look in her eyes when her body calls to his, the memory of how she feels around him and how she cries out when he's touching her just so. He enjoys her hands on him, or her mouth, but he's driven deepest into his pleasures when he knows she's with him, or soon to follow when he gets there. He loves the noises she makes, the tension in her body and the way she melts afterwards. Maybe there's a secret possessiveness to it, buried somewhere- he wants her to want him, he wants to be the one granting her that pleasure, and his own desire is an offshoot from that when he'd never really needed it before. In the end, does it matter? He wants her. And if his body wants her because she wants him, then he's glad for it, that he can finally wake up that part of himself and share it with her.
Like here, and now. He watches her, enraptured, as she moves above his fingers, clenching tremulously around him, gasping his name like a plea. Hot and wet and sweaty, maybe she is a mess, but he's delighted because that desperation means she's aching for it and he's giving her that, what she wants and needs. When she draws back to free his erection she'll find him full and eager already, lazily dripping and hot within her fingers. He groans and props himself up on his elbows, watching her with heady eyes, carrying a different sort of gleam in the dark now that the magic has faded. His hand lifts to his mouth, licking the taste of her off his fingers as he watches her free him and begin to stroke, trying to find his voice but failing miserably, managing only a shaky,]
Nngh... Py... y-you look...
[Hot, sexy, needy, urgent, beautiful. If he could get any harder just by looking at her he would. She might think herself desperate for it but there's something about the untamed, unrestrained look in her eyes that he craves.]
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But she wants to be with him more, more connected, and for that, her hand is not enough. With one final pump, Pyra stops her fingers around his base and positions him against her, gliding wetness along the length of his shaft, a tease for them both, touching each other in a way that hands, palms, and fingers simply can't bring about in the same way. Heat pulses from between her legs and up her spine, spreading down awakening ether lines to the rest of her body, and she trembles, bracing herself as she positions her body above him. A moment passes, and she lowers herself onto him, biting down on her bottom lip, allowing the sound of wetness between them to speak for her instead of another moan, but she gasps anyway when she's completely sheathed him, body going taut as she acclimates to his size and the feeling of him within.
She pants, once, eyes opening to see how he's responding-- because she loves this moment, this moment when they come together for the initial part of coupling, the feeling of him inside her, the heat that winds and builds without either of them moving but both waiting for the next action, the tension that builds, that feels like eternity and agony but so very pleasurable.
Then she begins to move. Up, slowly, then down again, up, then down, incorporating a grind in between, moving her hips more against him. She repeats this motion, building a rhythm, hands finding his chest again and feeling his muscles beneath her palms and fingers or the vibration of his chest whenever he might breathe.
Each time her hips reconnect with his, they do so with a slap, with a soft gasp as she feels pleasure strike her like one match after another being lit within. The length of him, the texture of him passing within her, she feels it all, and she knows best how to angle herself so that when he responds, he hits where she's most sensitive. She's trying not to be as loud-- they're still outside, it's night-- but whenever she's close, she tends to be more vocal than when first starting with whines, gasps, pants, and moans whenever his hips rise up to hers. Especially whenever he's faster, harder, or deeper than before. Whether she climaxes first or second, she'll be staying connected to him, spent and sticky and sweaty. ]
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When she rests her hands on his chest for balance or simply to feel his body, his own hands unfurl from where he'd rested at his sides to slide cool, damp fingers up the lengths of her arms, dipping underneath to catch her breasts as she leans in towards him. They're not completely nude, and she could dissolve her clothes if she wished, but he kind of likes the way the fabric clings to her as she moves, sweat beading beneath the edges, glistening in the firelight. His thumbs tuck into the material as if to hold it there while the rest of his hands sneak underneath, squeezing and kneading her breasts the way he knows she responds to best. He murmurs sweet nothings, whispers encouragements, moans her name when he can't hold back his voice. Every sound she drags out of him is a battle he doesn't mind losing, especially when he feels her body tense around him in response, muscles clenching and giving away how she likes it.
Perhaps it's the thrill of their location, subconsciously, or how she'd prepped him so well, or how aroused he'd been at her pleasure- regardless of the reason, he's quicker to reach his apex than usual. Before too long his hands release at her chest and trail down to her hips, bracing against them for leverage and pushing, suddenly taking control and picking up the pace as if desperate for the climax he knows they both deserve. His hips lurch upwards, plunging into her as deeply as he can before withdrawing to repeat, fast, faster, longing to overwhelm her. It isn't a pace he can keep up for too long, but he lasts long enough to finish, gasping with a stilted exhale as he releases deep, holding her close for every drop. It takes him a moment to ease the pressure, slumping back on the stone with a gasp, thumbs stroking at her waist, hips rocking to help her carry out that feeling as long as she needs it. He pants beneath her, breathless, but thoroughly sated. His eyes lift to find her face and he's struck for a moment: her silhouette is stunning, backlit by flames with the spotlight of the moon like a halo. All he can do is murmur,]
Beautiful.
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Everything had been wonderful. How is hips rose up to meet hers when she first started moving against him, how he had touched her breasts as she gasped out her pleasure, how he had spoken her name and encouraged her, how his own desires encouraged him to pick up his pace into her, how she likes seeing him lose a little of his own restraint, how he looked in that moment, how their hips connected even when she leaned more over him, how she felt his body releasing into her... It was perfect, with only the moonlight as their witness.
She's careful not to collapse over him, but as she lowers herself over his chest, her head flops against the side of his neck, kissing it once and tasting the sweet salt of his sweat upon his skin. ]
No fair... [ Her murmur is beyond content, though. Affectionate and warm, lovingly tender. ] You beat me to say that about you.
[ The fabric of both of their shirts are clinging with sweat. Everything below waist is damp. She doesn't care at all. ]
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Hey, you know me. I like to come out on top.
[He can't miss the double-meaning of his own words, scoffing with another laughing exhale. Silly. And here they've made a hot mess of themselves, should probably clean up before long, but he really can't bring himself to move. She still feels so good, nestled around him, and the energy of their combined pleasure is buzzing around in his mind.]
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Her mind is in a pleasant fog, and her body is wrapped in a pleasant warmth, so it takes her a moment before the double entendre clicks. When it does, she giggle, her breath set to tickle against his neck as he does. ]
You know I wouldn't ever argue with you, if you ever wanted to be on top. [ ... ] Or beneath. Or behind.
[ She kisses his neck again, this time with a small, playful nip-- although it doesn't have as much vigor. She's not up for a second round, and her body is relaxed against his, perfectly satisfied to be as they are. ]
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We could switch it up more. [A beat, and then-] Next time.
[He can sense it from her as well, but he's feeling it. Between the creation of the flasks, the fact that it's getting later, and the mess of energy that round required (incredibly good and fun as it was), his stamina is awfully spent. In a good way. In all the good ways.
Not that he hasn't been on top before, she just seems to like it this way most often. Never tried the latter, though. He'll try to remember that.]
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Which reminds her of something else during this particular session.
Pyra uncouples herself from him, quivering slightly when the night breeze hits the coated sex in between her legs. She finds her warmth by cuddling against his body, lying on her side and allowing her breasts to wedge against his arm, her own hand draping across his chest. ]
By the way... [ She says, her tone almost shy. ] I liked it-- when you called me 'Py'.
[ Perhaps he couldn't utter her full name at the time, but she liked it regardless. That. That was something special. No one's ever given her a nickname before. ]
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He blinks down at her at the mention, pausing.] Did I? [Thinking back... he did, didn't he. He'd thought that he'd just run out of breath before the second syllable, but he and his usual social group have a habit of switching to nicknames, so maybe it was a subconscious choice. It's fitting, either way, so after a moment he adds,] Py... it's cute. [Then, with the obvious curve of a smile,] It's because you're a snack.
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Oh, Noct. [ She giggles softly, adjusting so that she might look up at him, her lips curved into an affectionate smile. ]
I suppose together, we make the perfect nighttime snack.
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[Fun as it is to show off and share their magic together, this wins out in the excitement department, there's no denying it. He tilts his head a little, kissing her hair. Gods, they're sweaty.]
Welcome to the one-syllable club.
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[ She won’t be getting over this any time soon, and it’s likely that when he calls her the nickname in the future, she’ll be delighted and blushing again just because. ] I’m glad you’re the one who’s given it to me.
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[He means it, actually. It's odd to think about, someone so apparently long-lived hasn't had an experience so simple and integral as getting a nickname, something he's so used to that he doesn't even think about it- at least, not unless someone uses his when he's not yet comfortable enough. A part of him feels bad about it, but he's mostly glad that he gets to enjoy her first reaction.]
Mythra never got one either?
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[ Or “simpleton”, when she was being foolish.
Pyra doesn’t seem particular bothered by the lack of a nickname up until now, though. It simple wasn’t a thing they had, not something they thought about before. But now that Pyra has a nickname, she’ll cherish the moments when he calls her by it. ] “Aegis”… or… “it”. We’ve been called that, too.
[ Her body adjusts slightly against his, as if aware that telling him this might ruin the comfortable mood they’ve just found. So much of her past isn’t pleasant, though, so it’s hard to discuss it without some level of bittersweetness.
But she doesn’t want to make things awkward, so: ] Our names… we like those better than titles. [ That, she knows, is something to which he can relate, so she turns her head to look at him, eyes glimmering with appreciation. ] And the nickname you have for me, too.
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I never liked titles all that much, either. Anybody can have a title- there's been a hundred princes, you know? A name's personal, it's yours. Nicknames are even better.
[There was probably another Noctis in history- maybe a different prince, or an everyday citizen, he has no idea. But did the others go by "Noct" to their friends? Was the pronunciation the same, did they prefer a different or a middle name instead? Who knows. It isn't him. And the same goes for Pyra; there must have been others, but none of them were her.
Something pulses in the back of his mind, heavy and ominous, and the feeling is familiar enough that he knows not to chase it, pushing it aside in favour of holding her more tightly. This is better.]
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She allows herself to be pressed against him as his arm holds her slightly more tightly, just enough to notice. Just enough to wonder if something else has bothered him. So she'll continue to talk, to keep his mind off of whatever it is. ]
You know... when we awakened, it felt if our names came to us instinctively. Mythra for light. Pyra for fire. [ Keepin' it simple. There's a pause, and she seems to suppress a giggle. ] You'd never guess what my brother's name is.
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Bet I could if I knew his element. Mythra's brother... would be dark, maybe? But there's like eight words for darkness in my world.
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[ Easy deduction, there. ] But try more on the darkness-evil [ "Evil" is said with a playfully spookier tone here. ] side of things.
[ She looks at him expectantly, as if she can imagine he'll guess it correctly. ]
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...A bit too on the nose. [ Then again, so are "Pyra" and "Mythra". ] But that's how we all are as siblings, apparently.
[ It's strange to think of it that way, truthfully. Malos has committed a number of horrendous acts, things she personally abhors and wants to fight against completely, and yet, there's something quaint about being able to make fun of him in this manner. ]
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[That's not even getting into Mors when their whole family is all about death. And Somnus? "Sleep", really, when he napped in the ring for thousands of years? It's kind of silly how on point it all is.]
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[ She comments, happily, and makes a soft pleased sound. Really, both of their "families" are unconventional, which is something they can relate to as well. The names-aspect to it is just icing on the cake. ]
Were there ever any other Noctis-es... Nocti? In your family? Or other Regises?
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I can't think of any. A lot of the names of old kings have been lost to time. None of the kings I've researched or come in contact with have had those names, though.
[The ring hasn't shared any name twins, either, though he's not sure how he would even begin to check that. Shouting into the void, metaphorically speaking, doesn't get him that far.]
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For a fleeting moment, she wonders what he would name any children he’d have, if he’d continue the tradition of naming his family so… traditionally, but simply. But that’s a thought not for right now.
Pyra turns further on her side, propping up her head with a hand, her elbow resting on the ground. ]
I like it that way. Just… Noctis.
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