[ He's not actually sure what to expect. Up until this moment, he'd only had the benefit of rumors and overheard anecdotes from the other people in his class; kissing ranges anywhere from kind of boring to mindblowingly good, and as with most things, Prompto tends to assume that they're exaggerating in either direction. (Never mind that he's practiced a bit-- on his hand. And his lips have always been a bit sensitive, so at least in fantasies he's always imagined it feeling nice--)
His heart slams up into his throat as Noctis leans down, the wave of self-consciousness he'd managed to stave off before suddenly breaking through the dam and washing through him; what if he's no good at this? It's not like he has any practical experience (in any of this), and there's no way that Noctis hasn't had his fair share, and what if he decides he doesn't have the patience to lead him through this (of course, if there's anything he knows Noctis as, it's patient, but his nerves are getting the better of him)?
But-- there. Noctis' lips gently press against his own, his head cradled gently by one hand. And Prompto's mind, for a moment, goes utterly blank. The man's mouth is every bit as soft as he's always imagined, warm, juxtaposed so sweetly against the faint scrape of his slightly-unkempt beard against his chin, his cheek. Noct moves slowly, coaxing Prompto's mouth into softening, and oh, oh, something clicks, something bubbles up in his chest before trickling slowly down his spine--
He's about to part his lips (instinctively, somehow) to Noctis' soft lick at the split between them, when the alpha sudden leans back, looking down at him like he's assessing the situation. Prompto's eyelids feel heavy; he feels dazed and he must look it, his slightly stunned gaze gliding down from those dark eyes to his mouth and back again. How had that felt...? Oh. Apparently Noctis had seen what he needed to see, because he's suddenly crushing back against him, clasping their mouths together and licking him open. A gasp gets stuck in Prompto's throat, a heady moan caught behind it; Noctis' scent, his taste,, he's saturated from the inside out and oh gods he's boiling now, the sensation making a beeline to the molten ache between his legs.
It's torture, Noctis pulling back again. That trapped moan comes out as a slightly tormented whine, but it quiets in lieu of the direct praise he's given (and oh, there is no reason that should have made its own little twitch in his cock). He's beautiful? Had Noct ever seen himself? Watching him unbutton his shirt, letting it hang open on his shoulders for a moment, Prompto can tell that he's cut from the very cloth of his fantasies, all subtle lines and hidden strength, and... oh. Oh. His hand, moving down between his own legs, giving himself a slow squeeze, a low sort of growl of idle pleasure rolling up his throat. Prompto's body reacts with a hard jolt of arousal, and gods Noctis must be able to feel it by now-- as much as Prompto can feel the thick weight of Noctis' cock through the simple cotton of his underwear, heavy, once he'd freed himself from the restriction of his pants. (A dark streak of musk shoots through the heaviness of their scents in the room, pure lust, and fuck Prompto's mouth is watering.)
Noctis' hands are on his body again before he can process-- gods, any of it, his mouth hot and wet against his scent gland (and Prompto can't help it, he can't, he tilts his head in favor of his alpha and pushes up against his mouth just to feel the hard press of teeth and the surge of heat that rushes through him from the feeling). How can Noct expect him to answer? He can barely form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. But he's blushing harder, arching up to the older man's touch, moaning helplessly, and he wants... he wants... ]
E-everything-- [ It's a little choked, high in his throat. ] Noct, it aches, I need... I need more. Please-- your hands. Mouth. [ His own hands, shivering and shy even as he's being rather bold, come up to gently cup around the bulge heavily pressed against him. Fuck, it's warm, throbbing-- Prompto whimpers a little, giving that thick cock a soft squeeze of his own. ] This--
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Date: 2018-03-27 12:07 am (UTC)His heart slams up into his throat as Noctis leans down, the wave of self-consciousness he'd managed to stave off before suddenly breaking through the dam and washing through him; what if he's no good at this? It's not like he has any practical experience (in any of this), and there's no way that Noctis hasn't had his fair share, and what if he decides he doesn't have the patience to lead him through this (of course, if there's anything he knows Noctis as, it's patient, but his nerves are getting the better of him)?
But-- there. Noctis' lips gently press against his own, his head cradled gently by one hand. And Prompto's mind, for a moment, goes utterly blank. The man's mouth is every bit as soft as he's always imagined, warm, juxtaposed so sweetly against the faint scrape of his slightly-unkempt beard against his chin, his cheek. Noct moves slowly, coaxing Prompto's mouth into softening, and oh, oh, something clicks, something bubbles up in his chest before trickling slowly down his spine--
He's about to part his lips (instinctively, somehow) to Noctis' soft lick at the split between them, when the alpha sudden leans back, looking down at him like he's assessing the situation. Prompto's eyelids feel heavy; he feels dazed and he must look it, his slightly stunned gaze gliding down from those dark eyes to his mouth and back again. How had that felt...? Oh. Apparently Noctis had seen what he needed to see, because he's suddenly crushing back against him, clasping their mouths together and licking him open. A gasp gets stuck in Prompto's throat, a heady moan caught behind it; Noctis' scent, his taste,, he's saturated from the inside out and oh gods he's boiling now, the sensation making a beeline to the molten ache between his legs.
It's torture, Noctis pulling back again. That trapped moan comes out as a slightly tormented whine, but it quiets in lieu of the direct praise he's given (and oh, there is no reason that should have made its own little twitch in his cock). He's beautiful? Had Noct ever seen himself? Watching him unbutton his shirt, letting it hang open on his shoulders for a moment, Prompto can tell that he's cut from the very cloth of his fantasies, all subtle lines and hidden strength, and... oh. Oh. His hand, moving down between his own legs, giving himself a slow squeeze, a low sort of growl of idle pleasure rolling up his throat. Prompto's body reacts with a hard jolt of arousal, and gods Noctis must be able to feel it by now-- as much as Prompto can feel the thick weight of Noctis' cock through the simple cotton of his underwear, heavy, once he'd freed himself from the restriction of his pants. (A dark streak of musk shoots through the heaviness of their scents in the room, pure lust, and fuck Prompto's mouth is watering.)
Noctis' hands are on his body again before he can process-- gods, any of it, his mouth hot and wet against his scent gland (and Prompto can't help it, he can't, he tilts his head in favor of his alpha and pushes up against his mouth just to feel the hard press of teeth and the surge of heat that rushes through him from the feeling). How can Noct expect him to answer? He can barely form a coherent thought, much less a sentence. But he's blushing harder, arching up to the older man's touch, moaning helplessly, and he wants... he wants... ]
E-everything-- [ It's a little choked, high in his throat. ] Noct, it aches, I need... I need more. Please-- your hands. Mouth. [ His own hands, shivering and shy even as he's being rather bold, come up to gently cup around the bulge heavily pressed against him. Fuck, it's warm, throbbing-- Prompto whimpers a little, giving that thick cock a soft squeeze of his own. ] This--