A— a glowing skull— [ She can hardly finish her sentence as it revolves into another fit of soft laughter. No, she wouldn’t want a glowing skull. But the idea is funny. ]
I’m not sure. Would that make it spookier or sillier? [ Definitely not “cool”. ]
[ Joking around with him like this, she finds that she cannot stop grinning at the silliness of it all. ]
Exactly who were you attempting to warn or scare off with reflective skulls? The moon?
[ It’s times like these that fit the criteria of “comfortable” with another, enough to deem it a home... And so, her tone softens naturally, as if this has only endeared him more to her. ] As tough as you must have seemed... I think one look at your smile would have convinced anyone that you were friendly.
[He pauses, considering playing it off- he's not sure if he'll be able to respond in earnest without killing the mood. They've been honest here, though, and he doesn't like the idea of being disingenuous with her now, so finally he shrugs and gives it his best shot, trying to look nonchalant as he speaks. This part of his past isn't so bad compared to most others, and his situation was vastly improved by meeting Prompto, so the perception of his peers from years ago hardly matters.]
I didn't smile as much then as I do now, so I don't know what they must have thought, with or without the skulls. If I were gonna guess I'd say the flashy skulls were the problem- subtle patches are better for everybody, me included.
[ He didn’t smile often, and now he does even if, comparatively speaking, he has fewer reasons to smile with the future looming over him.
The mood hasn’t diminished. She’s only become sentimental as usual, effected by kindness and the goodness she sees in others, including him. There’s something clouded about her gaze, or perhaps unfocused as she looks over his expression as if she’s debating saying— or doing— something else.
She’s musing many things, in fact— inquiring why he may not have smiled as much during his formative years, for one. Or with how close he is with her, she can see that subtle glow within his eyes again, her own reflection with them as well. She also thinks of his embellishment of skulls, of where, when, and why he first thought of using them upon his clothing. Where that inspiration came from, if he had smiled to himself when he first embellished his jacket, instead of others. Then she thinks of his smile again, what she’s seen here, and her gaze drops to his lips.
It’s subconscious, but she’s already moved closer to him; between them, their warmth is trapped.. but not uncomfortable. Her voice drops to a meaningful whisper. ]
Well... I’ll be sure to do my best to give you more reasons to smile.
[It's hard to guess what she might be thinking of, looking at him like that. That she's content, happy even, that his attempt to keep things light didn't fail, that she's considering where next to guide the conversation or whether to let it linger on something as silly as skull motifs and glowing crystals that don't hurt people. with her sitting so close, he can feel her breathe - or the facade of breath, he doesn't know or especially care if it's real or not - and his eyes wander almost shyly between her features, marveling at how close she is and wondering what sort of favour would suit her best, to carry his family's motif. For Prompto, a bracelet, for Ignis cufflinks, for Gladio a belt chain of sorts. Pyra, he's not certain yet. Something more elegant, maybe a little flashy. Maybe he should ask a girl again, since he'd likely have done poorly with her clothes had Era not guided him.
When she speaks, his eyes drift back towards hers, though her gaze has dropped- and he wonders what exactly she's seeing. His smile, perhaps, as the topic she had chosen? Because he is smiling again, soft and subtle and almost without realizing it, uncertain but pleased at her attention.]
You've got enough practice by now to manage it, I think.
[ Within the span of a conversation, not only had he been able to read her and determine that she, too, had been affected by the cruel visions imparted onto others, calling her bluff— if not for their content then the guilt of being the one responsible for them— but he's also comforted her, reassured her. All this, while he’s clearly still in a great deal of hurt himself.
As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]
[At her touch, delicate and cautious, he too closes his eyes- but not before catching the look on her face that twists something bittersweet and buried in his chest, something familiar, something warm. An expression he'd seen glimpses of months ago, almost half a year now, between time spent here and back on Eos. When Luna was here. When she looked at him and he thought, for a moment, he could see his own future in her eyes, a future they would share together one day. If he could save her. If he could keep her beside him.
He'd failed, though, and his silence had been a chasm left between them even after her absence. His inability to acknowledge what he saw in her, or what he felt in himself, left nothing but missed opportunity in its wake. Whatever joy they might have found together here, fleeting yet beautiful, was wasted. He'd regretted not doing all he could to give her the happiness she deserved, to coax that smile to her lips again, and again, and again, to fill her heart to bursting with everything he'd wanted her to know and lacked the words with which to share.
It's why the familiarity... hurts, here and now, in this moment. Feeling her fingertips gracing his cheek, her forehead pressed to his, her breath on his skin. She's warm, pressed so close to him, and what he'd felt before - not just with Luna, through his cowardice, but here, earlier with Pyra, not even that long ago - is returning to the forefront with a vengeance to call him out. To not be a coward, to not misunderstand the signals he's receiving and back away, to not miss another opportunity for some small, fleeting happiness. To hold close to himself a beautiful soul, someone he can protect and care for, someone who gives and gives and receives so little in return but never hesitates to give again.
He... wants this. Is he allowed to want this? He, an uncrowned king of a distant world, born to die for the sunrise, decreed by the gods and the soul of his world to end with no true life to be lived, no family to carry on after him, no kingdom to mourn. She's akin to a god herself, commander of her world's Messengers, carrier of the future and power he's unlikely to ever understand, the scope of it too great for him. Someone of her caliber who thought less of him would probably smite him where he stands. In the stretch of infinity and time he's barely a speck with too much nerve and ego to be contained in one human vessel. Is this allowed?
"Who's going to say no to a king?" His own words are a reminder. Who is to tell him what he is or is not permitted to do? The only one who could force his hand is her. She'd pulled away earlier, and he hadn't chased her; he wouldn't chase her this time, either, even if he wants it. But she's come back now, drawn closer, and he-
-he wants-
He could be wrong. He could be so very wrong, and she'd be within her rights to push him away. But... he regrets too much already. He waited, and he lost someone. The thought of repeating that mistake... surely that's worse than any rejection. At least she's likely to be kind when she refuses the offer.
A soft tremor passes through his body, his breath hitching, and he leans in to meet her, a subtle shift, his nose brushing hers. His breath mingles with hers, the only thing to exist in the space between them. He murmurs her name, questioningly, unsure. He doesn't ask with his voice - he knows the words are a struggle for her - but the question is, he hopes, obvious: what does she want?]
[ The excitement and anticipation, tcause her to hold her breath still the moment he comes closer, murmuring her name. What would a heart feel like in this moment, if not like a flock of doves that suddenly takes flight? It's the lift of their wings, the fluttering sound of wind, the suddenly clarity of the world as white feathers scatter then settle all around her. Unveiled yet gaussian, she sees only one before her. She's gripped by this overwhelming feeling. Guilt, doubt, and questioning if this is right escape her in his presence.
In the span of a second, she melts.
Her lips press softly to his, neither firm nor light in contact, but present and whole, straggling yet stable, hesitant but wanting... And it feels like warmth all around her, as if something has completed her, like she's found something all over again just from this kiss: a comfort, a treasure, not of gold or power, but of him and all the joy he brings, and she drinks it in. In a single kiss she's reminded of everything that he is, all the times he's smiled and brought a smile to her face, every time he's held her hand, every time she's caught him discouraged only to see him triumph, and all the times he's spoken to her with understanding. She's kissing this man, this incredible person--
He's warm and soft beneath her touch and lips, he smells like himself and his hair gel and like wine, his lips are rough compared to her own in texture, but sweet to feel against her own. By now her eyes have closed, and her fingers have extended against his cheek. Her body shifts, pressing closer, tight and tense for all of that span of few moments she lingers against his lips, and then her breath staggers softly from her as she breaks from the single kiss, as if it has been a struggle to do so. ]
N-Noct... I...
[ With the pause, now comes the dreaded scrape of doubt against all of the impulsive, wonderful warmth from before. Is this too much?
She does not pull further away from him, eyes opening to take in his expression, then closing once more, breathing him in. She keeps him close, her head dipping so that their noses touch again, nuzzling against him for a contented sigh, dazed by her own actions and the effect of the kiss upon her. She swallows, and her lips part again, her chest rising and falling against his. Alongside his cheek her thumb brushes back and forth in a comfortable pattern, unable to voice more of what she had been about to say. She's overwhelmed, yet... she wants nothing more but to kiss him again. ]
[For that brief and beautiful moment, he thinks he might have done something right. He thinks that he read her body language correctly, that she felt something the same way he does, that at last he's reached it: the crossing of a threshold he'd thought closed to him, the warm embrace he'd long denied himself, the crumbling wall of fears and insecurities and unworthiness, and it feels so nice-
-and then it stops, just as quickly as it had begun. As she pulls away, he tries to chase her at first - now, now with confirmation that she might want it, he chases her - but halts before they reconnect, his lips barely an inch away from hers. Cautiously he opens his eyes to look her over and drink in her reaction, almost afraid of what he might find; did she intend for this to happen? Was she testing some unknown waters and found him unsatisfying? He's hardly what one could call talented at this sort of thing, lacking experience that boys five years his junior had in high school.
The expression he wears is stunned, as if despite how close they'd become he never imagined that might happen, but also... hopeful. That it wasn't a fluke. And she looks... stunning. The soft pink of her cheeks accented by tufts of red hair framing her face, the soft padding of her fingers on his skin, gently stroking. She isn't smiling but with the way her lips curve, she looks so close to it, like she's waiting for something - someone - to draw it out of her.
He licks his lips, tentative, tasting her. Waits a moment, to see if she withdraws further. He has no idea what he's doing, he doesn't want to hold her against her will or make it seem as if she's under some sort of obligation just because she started this, but he doesn't want her to feel like it was unwanted, either. He wants- he still wants- he wants to try, to trust his instincts and believe in what he's feeling right now, from her and from himself. She kissed him. That's a message, loud and clear, and he wants to believe it isn't an accident.
With a faint exhale he closes his eyes and leans in once more- this time, he does not stop. He catches her lips with his own, taking a chance, drawing her closer to himself with a hand gently curled at her waist. If words are so often failing him he'll tell her like this what he's asking for, and that she's welcome to what little he has to offer her if she'll have him. He has enough regrets to last a lifetime already. Not this time.]
[ To the question if this is too much, he answers her with his lips taking hers. Immediately, the rest of her thoughts and doubts scatter like clouds at dawn, and she-- she basks in it, the warmth, this touch, him.
Something gives, a restraint undone, and her lips envelope his as if she could conserve the heat between them, her hand sifting along the side of his head to the back of it, dropping to the nape of his neck, her touch trembling-- this is really happening-- and then softening. Then he'll feel the graze of her teeth along his bottom lip, because now she's smiling, kissing and smiling at once as if she doesn't know what to do in this moment, what emotion to give into, this joy or this specific want to continue to kiss him. Perhaps it's both, and that's why her actions become serial, expressing her joy and appreciation. One kiss is soft, another is peppered with a giggle, another kiss is right at the corner of his lips with a smile of her own, then she says his name before yet another kiss, and finally it's followed with firmer press of her mouth against his, noses bumping, lips parted, drinking him in if she can...
This is happening. He's with her. His lips-- she can taste him, she can feel him, he's holding her, he's giving her this, he's showing her affection. She's consumed with nothing but the thought of how wonderful it all is.
--And how each kiss of his sends a shiver of pleasant warmth through her, how his hand moving to her waist engenders the same, because this is what he is doing, and the thought alone of him wanting to pull her close is just as powerful as the physical sensation itself. Taken in by the rush, her body presses against him, legs shifting against his; her arm is now over his shoulder, hooking to slowly stroke along his back, rippling his shirt while being careful of the scars, making room so that her torso can be flush against him. She wants this, this warmth, this thrill that comes with each time he moves, and the levity of holding him. And she wants-- she wants to give it all back to him, with her lips, with her body against his. Now her mouth moves against his in a slower, sensual fashion, savoring each time they come together... ]
[A subtle tremor of relief passes through his body as she leans into him, as she kisses back again. He can feel her lips curve against his and it makes him smile, shy and clumsy but no longer as unsure as he was a moment ago. His experience may be limited but he can follow her lead just fine, and his hand at her waist draws her close with more confidence that she won't push him away. The rich heat of her body against his is intoxicating, a sweet mixture of familiar and new, an embrace made to be re-learned, memorized, treasured. She knows how to touch him, and he finds himself suddenly wondering how to touch her, what she likes or doesn't like, what areas would welcome his hands and what would be off-limits. He trusts her to tell him as he slides one hand up along her side, the other rising to cup the curve of her cheek, calloused fingers gently scraping at the smooth silk of her skin.
It's hard to break for air, though he needs to; he feels as if he's floating, lost in the sky, free from gravity and empowered like when the Armiger is unleashed. Held aloft now not by magic but by her presence, the taste of her kiss, the heat of her hands on him. There's no hesitation this time as he leans back in for more, initiating the next kiss, seeking to echo her movements from before, learning steps and angles and where the hell his tongue goes. He doesn't know what he's doing, he just- he wants her to keep smiling, he wants to be the one to make her smile. If his clumsy, foolish self can manage it, he's glad.]
[ His hands go up to her cheeks, her own moves lower, slowly and steadily past his shoulder to his side, warmly then to his waist, hugging his hip... just-- just enjoying the feel of him, tracing him beneath her palm. He feels wonderful. He tastes wonderful, too. Wonderful enough to answer his clumsiness with some of her own, returning her smile within their kiss, teeth intermittently clinking against his.
Kiss after subsequent kiss, she doesn't stop. Nor is there a need to. Her sighs and breaths only convey and emphasize the emotions she's feeling, not derived physical need for air. But, it would be fittingly poetic to say that he's taken the very breath from her. Each time he draws away for his own, it's a delay for her, but sweet is the tease that precedes his return... and his tongue, should he be open. It's different. It's a coiling, needy sensation, it makes her more aware-- more aware of him, if that is at all possible, each and every part along themselves that are in contact, and how much more she has left to learn about him.
She wouldn't know about his apparent inexperience. Everything he does, each way he kisses her, feels like firecrackers during the late summer festivals strung together. They sparkle and spark within her, again and again, and she trails their lights, his light, lost in it, not daring to stop lest she fall from the stars. ]
[Something about this feels... too good. He's quietly lost in the sensation, content to remain so, but there's always an ugly part of his mind ready to cast doubts on his choices, whether it's right or fair or permissible. What feels good isn't always the best for all involved, that much he's learned over time. And it does feel good; each and every kiss, whether clumsy or comfortable, feels more amazing than the last. Her hand at his hip urges him ever closer, his leg shifting to curl affectionately around one of hers as if to gently lock her near to him. The soft noises she makes, sweet and encouraging utterances, coax him slowly from brief and shallow kisses to go deeper, opening up and following the instinctive need to explore her, to learn this dance of lips and teeth and tongues. He'll think too much on this, if he allows himself to. He'll worry and wonder and question, weighing the differences between right and good, and what's right for himself and the world has so long been nothing but pain that pleasure has become too alien.
Is this allowed? Still, his mind questions this, fighting with what his heart cries out for.
Worst, he's the worst, and at last he forces himself backwards, his breath catching, eyes fluttering open to properly look at her. He opens his mouth to speak - falters immediately, because looking at her honestly takes his breath away, how content she is in his arms and how sweet her smile appears - licks his lips and tries again.]
Pyra... I'm not-
[I'm not him, he nearly says, but catches himself in time. I'm not Somnus. But that's unfair, to assume she would be so shallow or that she wouldn't care for him unless they shared the same face. He would think himself a poor substitute for the Founder King either way, and it's impossible not to feel... insufficient... in light of what he might have offered her, were he still here.
There's a sincerity in her expression that can't be denied, however. And he doesn't want to dismiss or devalue that. Fool that he is, he knows the answer before he can even utter the question; his doubts are not of her but rather of himself, so it needs to be asked. Taking a slow, shaky breath, he tries once more.]
[ Parting from his lips grants little respite for the dancing energy within, but she remains steady against him, allowing him to take his time to parse through whatever he is feeling in turn. However, when he speaks, she does not follow. Opening her eyes to regard his more reserved expression doesn't help her, either. Briefly the corners of her lips turn downward in her puzzlement before correcting to a soft, fond smile.
She's seen him charge into battle without a thought-- she's seen him leap into the mouth of a beast as if he'd done it before. She's surprised that he has this doubt within him, wondering from just where it comes. Too high upon that cloud of affection herself, she's unable to guess at the reasons. ] You're not... warm? [ She finishes his earlier sentence for him. ] You're not courageous, strong, soft, ...incredible?
[ Pyra closes her eyes briefly, and when she opens them, they're sparkling brightly as she looks upon him, more words tumbling past her lips affectionately. He wants reassurance, she'll give it. She'll give all of it, whatever he needs. ] If it's you, it's... more than okay. [ She speaks breathlessly, her hand rising from his up back up to his side as she holds his gaze for as long as he wishes. ] It's wonderful. [ She whispers this to his lips, then continues: ] You're wonderful. Why are you so wonderful?
[His gaze drops again - first low, as he's often done when he's uncertain, then up again towards her lips, unable to help himself - before rising to return to her eyes. It's impossible not to notice how she looks at him, all smiles and affection and kindness pointed in his direction and no one else's. It's just them, he and her, none between or around them. He can't deny the truth: that the expression on her face is for him, to him, from him. She deserves better than his doubting thoughts.
Wonderful, she says. I'm not wonderful, he wants to rebuff; someone wonderful wouldn't have failed so often, would have accepted his fate with the sort of grace and regality that his kingdom demands, like the rulers before him, like the man who started it all. Someone wonderful would be able to give her everything she wants and more, and he doesn't know if he can, doesn't know what this is yet.
But... she's wonderful, warm and sweet and holding him so gently, like he's all that matters in this moment. He wants to be wonderful for her. He wants to be better, to feel worthy of the look she's gracing him. If she thinks he's wonderful as he is, he won't try and tell her she's wrong. He'll earn it.]
...Okay, [is at last his quiet, humbled reply, cupping her cheeks and pulling her in for another kiss before his idiot head and equally idiot mouth can say anything else to contradict her. Indulging in her embrace is much better than listening to any lingering insecurities; those can wait their damn turn.]
[ She waits patiently for his response, noting how he looks at her, uncertain and quiet, before he finally answers with a kiss. Is this something she should ask more about? Should she pause here to inquire further, pulling whatever he's thinking of out of him, if only to encourage that he can voice whatever he's feeling...? Just where is such doubt coming from?
"..Is it okay? If it's me?"
She knows all too well the insidiousness of doubts. Later, she'll have them herself. But now she wants to do all that she can to assuage some of those doubts, that this is all for him. She wants to show him it's not 'okay', not some mediocre emotion she feels for him, but everything-- a tidal wave of feelings and awe of those feelings, of him for being the one to make her feel this way, especially as he cups her face and kisses her so softly. Of course he's soft and slow with his motions. He's careful, he's caring, his fingers delicate as feathers upon her cheeks. Her cheeks burn red with such a gently shared kiss. For one that he initiates on his own, it means so much. ] ...But really, Noct--
[ Her hand moves to his shoulder, and the other slips out from beneath her to place it upon his chest between them. With a push, she rolls him over in a light, playful, haphazard tumble. Now atop of him, she lowers her head to his, repeating the question. ] ...why are you so wonderful?
[ She kisses him just at the corner of his lips. Then she kisses him upon the side of his jaw. Then it's a another kiss and another and another up to his cheek in playful little pecks, where at last she ends just at the outer edge of his eye, lips dusting against his long lashes. She draws away then, looking at him fondly.
[Surprised by her boldness, he moves with her without resistance, pinned by her body but lifting himself up in whatever way he can to meet her, both curious and thirsty for the affection she's peppering down upon him. When she bends to kiss him he tilts his head towards her lips, as she shifts against his body his hands rise to touch her thighs, tentative at first to gauge her reaction as they are the first point of contact his hands reach, and then, if she shows no objection, slide gently upwards, fingertips gliding to her hips, her sides, her shoulders, the spots he can reach. It's nowhere that he wouldn't likely have touched already either through training or their time spent together, but this time is different- intentional, an exploration of how she feels, the shape of her, what she likes. He's so careful, with this being so new, the restraints of his position and duties tying him to some grounded-in propriety yet wanting to give back to her nonetheless. Her smooth, unblemished skin makes for easy passage, an open pathway with no scars or marks to distract, only her clothes, and thank goodness for those or he'd be even less elegant in his words than usual.
Wonderful, she says again. Is she serious? He sets free a huff of breathy laughter between kisses, another helpless smile crossing his lips, his hands gliding down her arms at both sides to find her hands, both to support her and to wind their fingers together for a few moments at least.]
Guess I can't help it. Takes one to know one?
[He's not the one who gets to decide that, is it? He can talk a big game, especially in battle or training where he knows he has the skill, but here where it's safe, that isn't really up to him. But it means he can be the one to decide she's wonderful, too, so- fair is fair.]
[ She reacts only to his first tentative touch upon her thighs first by a slight raise of her brows, but her expression relaxes as his hands make their way over her skin, up her body in that same careful, calloused touch. By the way she lets her body relax over his, his hands indeed have permission to indulgently travel anywhere upon her. In return, her own touch is mindful, her lips gentle at the side of his cheek for one last kiss; she can call him wonderful and amazing as long as needed, because he may not be ready for more. For what she truly feels is nothing but affection for him, the kind that whenever she looks at him she can't help but smile with appreciation and fondness. The world seems that much colorful, musical, whimsical, wonderful with him, and when she looks into his eyes, she's certain that even if an artist would lavish their most luxurious paints for the color, they'd still be woefully short of capturing their essence.
Another small smile and another blush forms at his response: he's calling her wonderful in return, and that is-- also wonderful. It seems that wonderful is the word of the day, because she cannot think of how else to describe it... Well. Besides love.
But he may not be ready for that. So, she'll keep such tender feelings hidden behind that word, wonderful, for now.
Her arms settle into an embrace around his shoulders, settling over him, simply enjoying the warmth of his body beneath her, letting gravity bring them flush. ] I think you pass every hug test with flying colors. What else is there for me to teach you?
[He shivers a little as she presses against him, his arms shifting to wind around her, one hand to her shoulder and the other at her waist. He's genuinely not sure that he'd know how to define this if asked - is this a thing, now? is she just cozy with this? are they going to date? oh gods - but it is, as she'd said multiple times already, wonderful. And if only this much is wonderful, if spending time with her as friends is wonderful, how much better would it be to combine the two? To feel no hesitation or worry in taking her hand or touching her, pulling her close without fear of his own shyness or impropriety... to show the world without shame that she's with him, she chose to be with him, that his company is wanted rather than required by birth or rank or position. It was a rarity in his life for so long, and now there are so many who welcome him. Among them, she is unique. She's in his arms, smiling, blushing, kissing him.
He doesn't know what this is, but he wants to find out.]
Bet you can get creative enough to come up with something. [His lips quirk.] Or maybe I will.
[He honestly has no idea- he just knows this is surely insufficient. This isn't some endgame, some finale- it's the start of a new level, with all new moves and perks to master. He's learning how to kiss, now. That's a pretty big deal.]
[ With his arms secure around her, there's even less of a reason for her to move from how she's lying against him. It's further reassurance that he wishes to have her there with him, that he's not afraid of who or what she is, that he accepts her presence, her secrets, with both patience and grace. Right here, right now, he's become her very favorite spot and source of warmth within this entire house, city, and world.
She wants to kiss him more. But she also wants to talk to him more, if only to have him speak more about himself, of what he wishes for, what he hopes for, what he wants to do, what he wants to joke about or more. She also wants to smile more. It's the best of dilemmas.
Her hand finds his cheek again as she shifts her weight over him, careful of how their hips align, being gentle in how she lowers herself. ] Teach me... how you smile the way you do? [ Her fingers fall slowly down his cheek to those very same lips of his, the very same ones that have captivated her with what he's said, how he's smiled, and-- ] And how you kiss.
[ Because they're both beautiful things about him, both his smile and the way he shows affection. Earlier, she is sure there was some purpose to her bringing him here-- perhaps to rest, because... yes, of course, he's had a rough day. But it's so hard not to do anything but bask in this peace. ]
Mm... don't know if you'd want lessons on that from me just yet. Maybe once I get more practice in.
[His lips brush against her fingertips as he speaks, his voice quiet with her so close to him. His brows furrow, quite serious all of a sudden - or at least giving the illusion of it - and slides his hands up her back, tucking her hair behind her ears and cupping both of her cheeks.
And then, inelegantly, he uses his thumbs to lift up the corners of her lips, similarly to how she'd fussed with his face when he was in his older body.]
I think this is how smiling works, though. You might want to check with an expert on that. Did you know Prompto lives here too?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Well… a few skulls would be a good start. Like an earring, or a shoulder patch. Somewhere people can see it.
no subject
Unfortunately she cannot hold the expression for long, breaking it to giggle. ]
All black clothes and skulls... instead of glowing crystals. Watch out, I might out-cool you!
[ That. Will never happen... ]
no subject
[By his tone, it's pretty obvious that he doesn't care. Not like he's her king.]
How about… a glowing skull?
no subject
I’m not sure. Would that make it spookier or sillier? [ Definitely not “cool”. ]
no subject
[He leans in, giving her shoulder a nudge with a playful grin.]
I'll have you know I wore reflective skull patches on my night jacket during high school, and everyone agreed it was very cool.
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Exactly who were you attempting to warn or scare off with reflective skulls? The moon?
[ It’s times like these that fit the criteria of “comfortable” with another, enough to deem it a home... And so, her tone softens naturally, as if this has only endeared him more to her. ] As tough as you must have seemed... I think one look at your smile would have convinced anyone that you were friendly.
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I didn't smile as much then as I do now, so I don't know what they must have thought, with or without the skulls. If I were gonna guess I'd say the flashy skulls were the problem- subtle patches are better for everybody, me included.
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The mood hasn’t diminished. She’s only become sentimental as usual, effected by kindness and the goodness she sees in others, including him. There’s something clouded about her gaze, or perhaps unfocused as she looks over his expression as if she’s debating saying— or doing— something else.
She’s musing many things, in fact— inquiring why he may not have smiled as much during his formative years, for one. Or with how close he is with her, she can see that subtle glow within his eyes again, her own reflection with them as well. She also thinks of his embellishment of skulls, of where, when, and why he first thought of using them upon his clothing. Where that inspiration came from, if he had smiled to himself when he first embellished his jacket, instead of others. Then she thinks of his smile again, what she’s seen here, and her gaze drops to his lips.
It’s subconscious, but she’s already moved closer to him; between them, their warmth is trapped.. but not uncomfortable. Her voice drops to a meaningful whisper. ]
Well... I’ll be sure to do my best to give you more reasons to smile.
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When she speaks, his eyes drift back towards hers, though her gaze has dropped- and he wonders what exactly she's seeing. His smile, perhaps, as the topic she had chosen? Because he is smiling again, soft and subtle and almost without realizing it, uncertain but pleased at her attention.]
You've got enough practice by now to manage it, I think.
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As if following instinct, her hand lifts to his cheek, fingers dusting softly alongside his face. Not too long ago, she had seen his decade-aged visage instead, pale and worn... But his smile had been the same.
Within the span of a single conversation, he’s gotten her to feel safe enough to divulge a portion of her past. That safeness is only a portion of what he’s given her here, in this world, hasn’t he? Safe, comfortable, and...
Her fingers curl inward against his skin, gently raking a lock of his dark hair past his ear. There’s a slight, cautious tremble to her touch, aware and in awe of how fleeting this moment is, that it will end, that they must part.
Within the span of a conversation, he's enchanted her with his kindness, his courage, his strength, his smile. How can she not look upon him with that bittersweet fondness from before? She doesn’t part. Not now. This smile, which he says is owed in part to what she brings him, is something she only wishes to be close to. Something she wishes to celebrate, commemorate, and cherish. If only she could with a kiss.
Pyra closes her eyes. There’s that feeling again, that fluttering warmth, that want to stay close, to lean in and give in. It's almost unbearable, too much, it's a monster, a conqueror, something she's been defeated by and has no hope of overcoming herself-- but it's so good, wonderful, and light and inspiring. Uplifting as well, because she wants to take this feeling and hold it both up high above her and close to her breast, to declare it and keep it secret, to tell it and to show it. It's love, and it's both cruel and wonderful. Yet is this really the time?
Her head dips forward, and once more she's resting her forehead to his, drawing in a slow, steady breath, just as she had been a few minutes ago when she had first stumbled with him onto his bead. There's a tension within her shoulders, but she's smiling as if she's convincing herself of something-- to be still, perhaps, or try to be still and satisfied, only with this... ]
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He'd failed, though, and his silence had been a chasm left between them even after her absence. His inability to acknowledge what he saw in her, or what he felt in himself, left nothing but missed opportunity in its wake. Whatever joy they might have found together here, fleeting yet beautiful, was wasted. He'd regretted not doing all he could to give her the happiness she deserved, to coax that smile to her lips again, and again, and again, to fill her heart to bursting with everything he'd wanted her to know and lacked the words with which to share.
It's why the familiarity... hurts, here and now, in this moment. Feeling her fingertips gracing his cheek, her forehead pressed to his, her breath on his skin. She's warm, pressed so close to him, and what he'd felt before - not just with Luna, through his cowardice, but here, earlier with Pyra, not even that long ago - is returning to the forefront with a vengeance to call him out. To not be a coward, to not misunderstand the signals he's receiving and back away, to not miss another opportunity for some small, fleeting happiness. To hold close to himself a beautiful soul, someone he can protect and care for, someone who gives and gives and receives so little in return but never hesitates to give again.
He... wants this. Is he allowed to want this? He, an uncrowned king of a distant world, born to die for the sunrise, decreed by the gods and the soul of his world to end with no true life to be lived, no family to carry on after him, no kingdom to mourn. She's akin to a god herself, commander of her world's Messengers, carrier of the future and power he's unlikely to ever understand, the scope of it too great for him. Someone of her caliber who thought less of him would probably smite him where he stands. In the stretch of infinity and time he's barely a speck with too much nerve and ego to be contained in one human vessel. Is this allowed?
"Who's going to say no to a king?" His own words are a reminder. Who is to tell him what he is or is not permitted to do? The only one who could force his hand is her. She'd pulled away earlier, and he hadn't chased her; he wouldn't chase her this time, either, even if he wants it. But she's come back now, drawn closer, and he-
-he wants-
He could be wrong. He could be so very wrong, and she'd be within her rights to push him away. But... he regrets too much already. He waited, and he lost someone. The thought of repeating that mistake... surely that's worse than any rejection. At least she's likely to be kind when she refuses the offer.
A soft tremor passes through his body, his breath hitching, and he leans in to meet her, a subtle shift, his nose brushing hers. His breath mingles with hers, the only thing to exist in the space between them. He murmurs her name, questioningly, unsure. He doesn't ask with his voice - he knows the words are a struggle for her - but the question is, he hopes, obvious: what does she want?]
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In the span of a second, she melts.
Her lips press softly to his, neither firm nor light in contact, but present and whole, straggling yet stable, hesitant but wanting... And it feels like warmth all around her, as if something has completed her, like she's found something all over again just from this kiss: a comfort, a treasure, not of gold or power, but of him and all the joy he brings, and she drinks it in. In a single kiss she's reminded of everything that he is, all the times he's smiled and brought a smile to her face, every time he's held her hand, every time she's caught him discouraged only to see him triumph, and all the times he's spoken to her with understanding. She's kissing this man, this incredible person--
He's warm and soft beneath her touch and lips, he smells like himself and his hair gel and like wine, his lips are rough compared to her own in texture, but sweet to feel against her own. By now her eyes have closed, and her fingers have extended against his cheek. Her body shifts, pressing closer, tight and tense for all of that span of few moments she lingers against his lips, and then her breath staggers softly from her as she breaks from the single kiss, as if it has been a struggle to do so. ]
N-Noct... I...
[ With the pause, now comes the dreaded scrape of doubt against all of the impulsive, wonderful warmth from before. Is this too much?
She does not pull further away from him, eyes opening to take in his expression, then closing once more, breathing him in. She keeps him close, her head dipping so that their noses touch again, nuzzling against him for a contented sigh, dazed by her own actions and the effect of the kiss upon her. She swallows, and her lips part again, her chest rising and falling against his. Alongside his cheek her thumb brushes back and forth in a comfortable pattern, unable to voice more of what she had been about to say. She's overwhelmed, yet... she wants nothing more but to kiss him again. ]
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-and then it stops, just as quickly as it had begun. As she pulls away, he tries to chase her at first - now, now with confirmation that she might want it, he chases her - but halts before they reconnect, his lips barely an inch away from hers. Cautiously he opens his eyes to look her over and drink in her reaction, almost afraid of what he might find; did she intend for this to happen? Was she testing some unknown waters and found him unsatisfying? He's hardly what one could call talented at this sort of thing, lacking experience that boys five years his junior had in high school.
The expression he wears is stunned, as if despite how close they'd become he never imagined that might happen, but also... hopeful. That it wasn't a fluke. And she looks... stunning. The soft pink of her cheeks accented by tufts of red hair framing her face, the soft padding of her fingers on his skin, gently stroking. She isn't smiling but with the way her lips curve, she looks so close to it, like she's waiting for something - someone - to draw it out of her.
He licks his lips, tentative, tasting her. Waits a moment, to see if she withdraws further. He has no idea what he's doing, he doesn't want to hold her against her will or make it seem as if she's under some sort of obligation just because she started this, but he doesn't want her to feel like it was unwanted, either. He wants- he still wants- he wants to try, to trust his instincts and believe in what he's feeling right now, from her and from himself. She kissed him. That's a message, loud and clear, and he wants to believe it isn't an accident.
With a faint exhale he closes his eyes and leans in once more- this time, he does not stop. He catches her lips with his own, taking a chance, drawing her closer to himself with a hand gently curled at her waist. If words are so often failing him he'll tell her like this what he's asking for, and that she's welcome to what little he has to offer her if she'll have him. He has enough regrets to last a lifetime already. Not this time.]
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Something gives, a restraint undone, and her lips envelope his as if she could conserve the heat between them, her hand sifting along the side of his head to the back of it, dropping to the nape of his neck, her touch trembling-- this is really happening-- and then softening. Then he'll feel the graze of her teeth along his bottom lip, because now she's smiling, kissing and smiling at once as if she doesn't know what to do in this moment, what emotion to give into, this joy or this specific want to continue to kiss him. Perhaps it's both, and that's why her actions become serial, expressing her joy and appreciation. One kiss is soft, another is peppered with a giggle, another kiss is right at the corner of his lips with a smile of her own, then she says his name before yet another kiss, and finally it's followed with firmer press of her mouth against his, noses bumping, lips parted, drinking him in if she can...
This is happening. He's with her. His lips-- she can taste him, she can feel him, he's holding her, he's giving her this, he's showing her affection. She's consumed with nothing but the thought of how wonderful it all is.
--And how each kiss of his sends a shiver of pleasant warmth through her, how his hand moving to her waist engenders the same, because this is what he is doing, and the thought alone of him wanting to pull her close is just as powerful as the physical sensation itself. Taken in by the rush, her body presses against him, legs shifting against his; her arm is now over his shoulder, hooking to slowly stroke along his back, rippling his shirt while being careful of the scars, making room so that her torso can be flush against him. She wants this, this warmth, this thrill that comes with each time he moves, and the levity of holding him. And she wants-- she wants to give it all back to him, with her lips, with her body against his. Now her mouth moves against his in a slower, sensual fashion, savoring each time they come together... ]
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It's hard to break for air, though he needs to; he feels as if he's floating, lost in the sky, free from gravity and empowered like when the Armiger is unleashed. Held aloft now not by magic but by her presence, the taste of her kiss, the heat of her hands on him. There's no hesitation this time as he leans back in for more, initiating the next kiss, seeking to echo her movements from before, learning steps and angles and where the hell his tongue goes. He doesn't know what he's doing, he just- he wants her to keep smiling, he wants to be the one to make her smile. If his clumsy, foolish self can manage it, he's glad.]
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Kiss after subsequent kiss, she doesn't stop. Nor is there a need to. Her sighs and breaths only convey and emphasize the emotions she's feeling, not derived physical need for air. But, it would be fittingly poetic to say that he's taken the very breath from her. Each time he draws away for his own, it's a delay for her, but sweet is the tease that precedes his return... and his tongue, should he be open. It's different. It's a coiling, needy sensation, it makes her more aware-- more aware of him, if that is at all possible, each and every part along themselves that are in contact, and how much more she has left to learn about him.
She wouldn't know about his apparent inexperience. Everything he does, each way he kisses her, feels like firecrackers during the late summer festivals strung together. They sparkle and spark within her, again and again, and she trails their lights, his light, lost in it, not daring to stop lest she fall from the stars. ]
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Is this allowed? Still, his mind questions this, fighting with what his heart cries out for.
Worst, he's the worst, and at last he forces himself backwards, his breath catching, eyes fluttering open to properly look at her. He opens his mouth to speak - falters immediately, because looking at her honestly takes his breath away, how content she is in his arms and how sweet her smile appears - licks his lips and tries again.]
Pyra... I'm not-
[I'm not him, he nearly says, but catches himself in time. I'm not Somnus. But that's unfair, to assume she would be so shallow or that she wouldn't care for him unless they shared the same face. He would think himself a poor substitute for the Founder King either way, and it's impossible not to feel... insufficient... in light of what he might have offered her, were he still here.
There's a sincerity in her expression that can't be denied, however. And he doesn't want to dismiss or devalue that. Fool that he is, he knows the answer before he can even utter the question; his doubts are not of her but rather of himself, so it needs to be asked. Taking a slow, shaky breath, he tries once more.]
...Is it okay? If it's me?
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She's seen him charge into battle without a thought-- she's seen him leap into the mouth of a beast as if he'd done it before. She's surprised that he has this doubt within him, wondering from just where it comes. Too high upon that cloud of affection herself, she's unable to guess at the reasons. ] You're not... warm? [ She finishes his earlier sentence for him. ] You're not courageous, strong, soft, ...incredible?
[ Pyra closes her eyes briefly, and when she opens them, they're sparkling brightly as she looks upon him, more words tumbling past her lips affectionately. He wants reassurance, she'll give it. She'll give all of it, whatever he needs. ] If it's you, it's... more than okay. [ She speaks breathlessly, her hand rising from his up back up to his side as she holds his gaze for as long as he wishes. ] It's wonderful. [ She whispers this to his lips, then continues: ] You're wonderful. Why are you so wonderful?
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Wonderful, she says. I'm not wonderful, he wants to rebuff; someone wonderful wouldn't have failed so often, would have accepted his fate with the sort of grace and regality that his kingdom demands, like the rulers before him, like the man who started it all. Someone wonderful would be able to give her everything she wants and more, and he doesn't know if he can, doesn't know what this is yet.
But... she's wonderful, warm and sweet and holding him so gently, like he's all that matters in this moment. He wants to be wonderful for her. He wants to be better, to feel worthy of the look she's gracing him. If she thinks he's wonderful as he is, he won't try and tell her she's wrong. He'll earn it.]
...Okay, [is at last his quiet, humbled reply, cupping her cheeks and pulling her in for another kiss before his idiot head and equally idiot mouth can say anything else to contradict her. Indulging in her embrace is much better than listening to any lingering insecurities; those can wait their damn turn.]
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"..Is it okay? If it's me?"
She knows all too well the insidiousness of doubts. Later, she'll have them herself. But now she wants to do all that she can to assuage some of those doubts, that this is all for him. She wants to show him it's not 'okay', not some mediocre emotion she feels for him, but everything-- a tidal wave of feelings and awe of those feelings, of him for being the one to make her feel this way, especially as he cups her face and kisses her so softly. Of course he's soft and slow with his motions. He's careful, he's caring, his fingers delicate as feathers upon her cheeks. Her cheeks burn red with such a gently shared kiss. For one that he initiates on his own, it means so much. ] ...But really, Noct--
[ Her hand moves to his shoulder, and the other slips out from beneath her to place it upon his chest between them. With a push, she rolls him over in a light, playful, haphazard tumble. Now atop of him, she lowers her head to his, repeating the question. ] ...why are you so wonderful?
[ She kisses him just at the corner of his lips. Then she kisses him upon the side of his jaw. Then it's a another kiss and another and another up to his cheek in playful little pecks, where at last she ends just at the outer edge of his eye, lips dusting against his long lashes. She draws away then, looking at him fondly.
(What does this make them, she wonders.) ]
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Wonderful, she says again. Is she serious? He sets free a huff of breathy laughter between kisses, another helpless smile crossing his lips, his hands gliding down her arms at both sides to find her hands, both to support her and to wind their fingers together for a few moments at least.]
Guess I can't help it. Takes one to know one?
[He's not the one who gets to decide that, is it? He can talk a big game, especially in battle or training where he knows he has the skill, but here where it's safe, that isn't really up to him. But it means he can be the one to decide she's wonderful, too, so- fair is fair.]
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Another small smile and another blush forms at his response: he's calling her wonderful in return, and that is-- also wonderful. It seems that wonderful is the word of the day, because she cannot think of how else to describe it... Well. Besides love.
But he may not be ready for that. So, she'll keep such tender feelings hidden behind that word, wonderful, for now.
Her arms settle into an embrace around his shoulders, settling over him, simply enjoying the warmth of his body beneath her, letting gravity bring them flush. ] I think you pass every hug test with flying colors. What else is there for me to teach you?
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He doesn't know what this is, but he wants to find out.]
Bet you can get creative enough to come up with something. [His lips quirk.] Or maybe I will.
[He honestly has no idea- he just knows this is surely insufficient. This isn't some endgame, some finale- it's the start of a new level, with all new moves and perks to master. He's learning how to kiss, now. That's a pretty big deal.]
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She wants to kiss him more. But she also wants to talk to him more, if only to have him speak more about himself, of what he wishes for, what he hopes for, what he wants to do, what he wants to joke about or more. She also wants to smile more. It's the best of dilemmas.
Her hand finds his cheek again as she shifts her weight over him, careful of how their hips align, being gentle in how she lowers herself. ] Teach me... how you smile the way you do? [ Her fingers fall slowly down his cheek to those very same lips of his, the very same ones that have captivated her with what he's said, how he's smiled, and-- ] And how you kiss.
[ Because they're both beautiful things about him, both his smile and the way he shows affection. Earlier, she is sure there was some purpose to her bringing him here-- perhaps to rest, because... yes, of course, he's had a rough day. But it's so hard not to do anything but bask in this peace. ]
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[His lips brush against her fingertips as he speaks, his voice quiet with her so close to him. His brows furrow, quite serious all of a sudden - or at least giving the illusion of it - and slides his hands up her back, tucking her hair behind her ears and cupping both of her cheeks.
And then, inelegantly, he uses his thumbs to lift up the corners of her lips, similarly to how she'd fussed with his face when he was in his older body.]
I think this is how smiling works, though. You might want to check with an expert on that. Did you know Prompto lives here too?
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