( Goosebumps rise beneath the hand on his arm, spreading higher along his shoulder. When they hit the back of his neck, feeling them raise fine follicles along his hairline, he's willing to admit that he's wanted this for a while now. Kissing Noctis doesn't just feel good; it feels right. It feels like a promise that's being branded against his mouth as it opens against Noctis' to deepen what they started.
The soft exhale might as well be his name for how closely he listens for it, and when Noctis connects them again, a warm, dry hand comes to rest on his cheek. They're gathered together, then, chest to chest, finding the angle that's comfortable between them. Committing to the second is easy. Directing it is easier. He tastes spiced liquor and dried fruit. His thumb skims a high cheekbone and the shell of a soft ear, seeking feathery black hair. It's as touchable as he suspected it'd be; he's spent a few late nights now gazing up at the alien nightscape from the skylight in his tent, finding it impossible not to think about them.
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The soft exhale might as well be his name for how closely he listens for it, and when Noctis connects them again, a warm, dry hand comes to rest on his cheek. They're gathered together, then, chest to chest, finding the angle that's comfortable between them. Committing to the second is easy. Directing it is easier. He tastes spiced liquor and dried fruit. His thumb skims a high cheekbone and the shell of a soft ear, seeking feathery black hair. It's as touchable as he suspected it'd be; he's spent a few late nights now gazing up at the alien nightscape from the skylight in his tent, finding it impossible not to think about them.
Noctis. Cain. )