[The noise that leaves Ignis' throat is something like a cross between keening need and a huff of disbelief. Noctis Lucis Caelum is straddling his lap. He was doomed. His hands land on Noct's sides, to hold him steady and to keep him in place. It's an automatic gesture at first, but then it's deliberate.]
Erm. Not...no? Erm. Gods. You're going to be the death of me.
no subject
Erm. Not...no? Erm. Gods. You're going to be the death of me.