Work Text:
Working as the handler for a Nifleheim informant is anything but easy—or glamorous. Ignis has had his fair share of grit and grime, and he’s definitely no stranger to getting his hands dirty but this—ugh, this was just disgusting. Stood in an alleyway in downtown Insomnia, the chamberlain tries his best not to gag as he breathes in whatever gods-awful smell is wafting out of that dumpster over there.
“Hello again, Scientia,” a slippery voice rings out from the shadows deeper down the passageway.
Ignis turns towards his newly arrived company. Stepping into a patch of light, a figure reveals itself. Cloaked in his typical white and purple duster and gaudy armor, the High Commander of the Imperial Army of Nifleheim emerges.
Call it a lack of self-preservation, but the dangerous glint in those mismatched eyes makes Ignis’s heart leap just a teeny bit.
“Ravus,” he greets coolly. A breeze whips through the alley, and the young tactician shivers.
“Chilly?” The other mocks, raising a thin brow. The slanted shadows falling on his face make his smirk look something sinister. “I could warm you up quite well, you know.”
Ignis rolls his eyes.
“I’m here to talk business, Ravus,” he sighs. “You promised me updates. Are we in yet?” The advisor shifts his weight from one foot to the other, crossing his arms over his chest. The annoyance is clear in his tone and Ravus must get the hint that he’s not in the mood to joke around because he straightens up, however reluctantly.
“Come now, my flame, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I simply wanted to catch up a bit. But fine, if we must move on, I guess we’ll have to save the celebration for later.”
The man snickers at Ignis’s sigh, but does what’s asked of him. Reaching into his cloak pocket, he pulls out a folded piece of paper with several lines of coordinates scribbled on it.
“These are the locations of the next three bases to be put into commission, all in the processes of completing construction and being filled with MagiTek Troopers. Leide, Duscae, and Cleigne are all completely locked down with them in position, blah, blah, the Chancellor and Emperor have eyes everywhere, blah. Is this sufficient, my lord?”
Ignis hides his involuntary smirk behind his hand at Ravus’s lazy and sarcastic attitude but takes the paper with a nod nonetheless.
“Yes, the ‘blah’s surely cleared things up for me.” A sly smile is directed his way and he feels a tremble in his spine and the pit of his stomach at the look of clear interest in the contrasting eyes staring him down.
“I knew you couldn’t stay cross with me.”
Ignis keeps it together, only puffing out a gentle laugh into the cold night air.
“You’re insatiable,” he says.
“And what of it?”
Ravus’s long legs cover the distance between them in two strides, and he’s suddenly hovering in Ignis’s space. One hand, the one thrumming with daemonic energy, comes to rest against the slighter man’s collar.
Those cold, restless fingers dig at the carotid arteries on either side of his neck, applying just enough pressure to make his ears buzz. The breathless gasp that’s drawn from Ignis makes all of the blood rush straight south from Ravus’s head and he snaps his teeth at his companion’s face. Ignis doesn’t even flinch, he just allows his eyes to flutter closed as he bares his jugular some more.
Docile little creature, Ravus thinks .
The heat radiating off of the leering Commander seeps through their layers of clothing and the tactician melts into it.
Leaning close, Ravus runs the tip of his nose from Ignis’s sharp jawline up to his temple, relishing the shudder that his body takes on at the fleeting contact. He urgently arches into him, chasing the feeling of the other like he was being drawn to it by a magnet, and pressing their chests together.
“Are we quite finished with the politics? Or are you planning to make me wait some more? You know well that I am quite impatient and easy to provoke,” Ravus warns lowly, but it comes with no bite.
And even if it did, Ignis would have leaned into the temptation to see just how much he could provoke him.
That otherwise untapped desire in him to play with fire, to see how fast and how hot he could get something to burn… it was purely addictive. Being the right hand to the future king of a nation allows one little to no time to themself, but in moments like these, with Ravus, Ignis had no reason not to indulge; nothing was stopping him from allowing the little arsonist in him have his time.
“Tick tock, dear chamberlain,” Ravus clicks his tongue. “If you continue to stall, then I have no problem taking what I want and leaving.” The last word is delivered with a sharp squeeze of Ignis’s throat and yeah, okay, maybe he whined a little.
Ravus just chuckles and turns up the pressure of his fingertips.
“I’m ready when you are,” the younger man finally gasps out, too dizzy to think up something more clever.
Ravus snorts, “I am quite happy to hear it.”
The former prince of Tenebrae sweeps in and bites down on Ignis’s lower lip, clamping on just shy of too hard, until right before he breaks the fragile skin. Perfectly hard enough to be painful for the typically sensation- and pleasure-deprived man beneath him. The advisor lets out a needy whimper, and it is just music to Ravus’s ears.
Without another moment’s delay, Ravus drags Ignis back into the darkness of the alley, around a corner, and into an abandoned building just next to them. It isn’t exactly cushy, but all they really needed at the moment was a horizontal surface and a wall or two in case they felt like switching it up.
Speaking of walls, the second the creaky front door is kicked closed, Ravus has thrown Ignis against the nearest one and stepped back. He pauses to soak in the sight of the crown prince’s counsel surrendering to him so completely, head pressed back, hips straining forward eagerly as he strips off his coat like it’s suffocating him. It is a spectacle and a rush all at once and the Commander’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips, all but salivating at the thought of being the one who’s been gifted the opportunity to ruin him.
Tension settles around the pair before Ignis’s bright green eyes drift open, meeting Ravus’s in a heated stare. The air fills with static and the smell of tangy arousal before an order is growled out across the plain concrete room.
“Face the wall.”
Puffs of steam spill past Ravus’s lips as his instructions are followed and Ignis turns around, pressing his hips back. Like he’s presenting himself. Teeth snag at a lower lip when those very hips wriggle desperately.
“Lewd little thing,” Ravus breathes. He strips off his armor and coat, making his way over to Ignis and finally, fucking finally, touching him.
One hot and one cold hand run from his hips to his chest to his shoulders, hooking under slender and lithe arms. Ignis arches his back, shrugging his shoulder blades together with the movement. Ravus smirks at this display of willingness and links his fingers behind Ignis’s neck, locking him in a loose restraining hold, one of his personal favorites.
Ravus doesn’t give him room to breathe at all, using his strong hips and torso to push them both closer to the wall and forcing his submissive’s face against the rough concrete. The subdued man groans in discomfort as his spectacles press against his temple, but Ravus ignores it, clicking his tongue in disapproval.
Resting his cheek against a bed of surprisingly soft sandy strands, the silver-haired man brings his lips close enough to caress Ignis’s ear as he speaks.
“Look at you, rendered prone,” his hiss sends a shiver through the curved spine below him and his leer just grows. “Just how I like you.” Sharp hips roll forward and Ignis moans noisily at the weight grinding against his ass.
“Do you know what else I like about you?” Ravus continues, rocking his pelvis forward again and starting up a steady rhythm.
Ignis doesn’t quite have the functioning brain cells left to respond appropriately, but he does let out a lascivious little cry (which he tries and fails to muffle against the wall); it’s encouragement enough for the older man.
“I like how desperate you are. You make the filthiest noises with the simplest touch.”
To emphasize his claim, Ravus winds the fingers of one hand into the strands at the base of Ignis’s skull. Proving his point, the latter lets out a completely depraved moan.
“See? By gods, lover, one of these days, I plan to make you come undone using just two fingers. Over your clothes,” Ravus snickers.
The object of his ridicule does little more than whine and writhe against the rock and the hard place he’s caught between.
Ravus gives one more frot of his hips before he unwinds his arms from their hold and steps away.
“I am feeling charitable today,” the Commander says indifferently. “I will allow you to take me in your mouth since I can see that you are all but drooling for it.”
With quick fingers, Ravus undoes his trousers and pulls out his long, curved cock, shooting an expectant frown at the dazed Ignis. It takes a moment, but he eventually snaps to and promptly starts towards Ravus.
He’s barely taken a step when the sharp sound of a belt being whipped against the ground stops him dead in his tracks.
Ignis jolts away with a muffled yelp, clearly not expecting the outburst. Eyes now clear, he stares cluelessly, not sure where his fault was. Ravus shakes his head and frowns, mock disappointment deepening the wrinkles around mischievous blue and violet eyes. He doesn’t need to say it, though. Ignis is too well trained.
Ravus snaps once with his unoccupied hand and points at the ground.
Those pretty emerald eyes widen with understanding and knees meet the cold floor at once, hands following soon after. Now propped up on all fours, Ignis crawls across the space between them, never breaking eye contact; he maintains the arch in his back and the roll to his shoulders as he moves.
Ravus’s head is tipped back and he’s looking down his nose at the wretched sight before him: a member of the royal retinue on his hands and knees for the High Commander of an encroaching nation’s military.
Exquisite.
“Imagine if your friends and your council saw you like this,” Ravus drawls once Ignis is finally in front of him. He strokes his cock leisurely, blasé sigh escaping as his gaze runs over the shivering body below him.
“What would the tabloids say? Ignis Scientia, future Hand of the King crawling through mud and rubble for a taste of the enemy on his needy tongue. Lowering himself to the level of what appears to be a traitor! ” The white-haired man laughs mockingly. “All because he is just aching to be touched.” A wicked snarl leaves his mouth and he snatches up a handful of the kneeling man’s pompadour, yanking him closer to his crotch.
“Imagine if everyone knew that you were such a whore for me,” he continues. “Dribbling for your adversary.” As if he had summoned it, the advisor licks his lips and gulps, desperation wracking his frame. Ravus chuckles sinisterly, gesturing with his chin for Ignis to do what he does best.
“Go on, my formidable foe, put that silver tongue of yours to use.”
And Ignis does.
With the enthusiasm of an animal finally freed from the hindrance of an enclosure, Ignis dives forwards and swallows Ravus nearly to the base in one go. They both moan, one in surprise and the other in delight; once Iggy starts moving, Ravus is already tumbling headfirst towards his rapture.
Hollowed cheeks and swollen lips are a lovely look on the uptight Chamberlain, and the way he moans is downright edible. Ravus’s own mouth hangs open and unfocused heterochromatic eyes try to follow the movements of his pet, but he’s getting too close to maintain his concentration.
As soon as that familiar tingle starts working its way up to his spine, Ravus tightens his grip on the hair in his hands and halts Ignis’s movements. A confused flutter of lashes cast shadows across scar-pocked cheekbones as those big doll eyes gaze up at Ravus, brows raised in question.
Ravus caresses that glorious bone structure and reaches up to remove the fogged glasses sliding down Ignis’s nose. With a smile and a tilt of his head, he folds in the arms delicately and tucks them into his breast pocket.
Ignis stays as he is, lips red and puffy as they stay stretched around the hot girth between them. Ravus pats his head, delighted with his obedience, and then re-secures his grip on sweaty hair. Ignis makes one more noise of confusion, not understanding the halt in the scene.
Ravus just smirks and stays still for another moment, allowing the anticipation to build.
And then he slams his cock all the way to the back of Ignis’s throat.
The poor thing doesn’t have time to prepare himself or relax his jaw, so he gags messily around the intrusion. The way his throat spasms and convulses around Ravus’s cock— oh sweet Shiva —it drives him mad and next thing he knows, he’s pistoning into Ignis’s mouth without a shred of restraint. The man below keeps choking and crying out and it feels too good, too tight— oh Ramuh, he’s going to cum.
Ravus pulls out suddenly, taking himself in one hand and maneuvering Ignis’s head with the other, shoving his face back so that he can see every inch of it while he paints it with his spend.
He pauses only briefly to recover before he lazily tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up, still ogling the sight in front of him. Ignis’s eyes are rolled up in his head his eyes flickering around beneath his closed eyelids. He’s trembling all over and glistening with sweat, his face and ears red as a Ulwaat berry.
He’s so beautiful like this. Gods, Ravus should have brought something with which to document this; he needs a picture... for personal use.
In the lull in the action, he pinches Ignis’s chin between his artificial thumb and forefinger, repositioning his face for a better look. His ashen-haired head lolls sideways and a drop of cum decorating his ridiculously long eyelashes drips down onto his cheek. Ravus smiles to himself, downright ecstatic with how out of it Ignis is.
This is his favorite part, completely. When Ignis sub-drops from the present and loses all sense of himself.
It is inarguably the most beautiful thing on Eos, Ravus decides.
In a rare moment of tenderness, he delicately runs his thumb across Ignis’s swollen bottom lip. The shaky exhale that results from the touch should be served on a plate at a five-star restaurant, it is so satisfying.
“Gorgeous,” the Commander mumbles.
A minute or so passes while he patiently waits for Ignis to come back into himself. Once he does, Ravus notices the way that his long singers are clenching and twitching against his pant legs, fists shaky as they pull at the fabric to maintain some semblance of self-control.
The older man smiles and murmurs down at him, “You still have yet to find release, hmm? Would you like some help?”
“Y-Yes,” Ignis gasps out, breathless, “Please.”
“Ask and ye shall receive,” Ravus is smug.
He hums as he slides an admittedly shaky leg forward, nudging the steel toe of his boot between Ignis’s knees. Getting the idea, the kneeling man lifts himself up and spreads his thighs, allowing Ravus to nestle his foot snugly under him. He can see the exact moment that the oh-so-bright tactician puts two and two together, and an intoxicated whine works up from his throat as he drops himself back down onto the boot beneath him.
“Go on, lover,” Ravus instructs him.
He settles a hand onto his head again and pats it as Ignis starts to hump down onto the top of the Nifleheim issued boot. It takes him a moment to find the right position and angle, but once he does, he starts grinding down frantically.
Clammy hands grasp at the leg of Ravus’s slacks to stabilize himself, or maybe just for something to do, and it makes the larger man smile. A sweaty forehead drops forward, resting against Ravus’s hip as he works himself over his foot like a dog fucking in heat. A derisive chuckle reaches Ignis’s ears and he whines, embarrassed.
“You look so good like this it is a sight for sore eyes.” Ignis whimpers, hiding his face against Ravus’s leg. “Do not be shy now,” he coos, only slightly teasing.
Ignis’s hips speed up and Ravus resolves that this is something that he cannot miss.
The hand that had been tenderly stroking Ignis’s hair now grips at his pomaded locks roughly, tugging his head back and again forcing him to look up at the man ruining him with nothing more than a well-placed foot. His lashes are clumped together by overstimulated tears, and the drops leaking down from them are blurring with the sweat on his face, then mixing with the cum smeared there.
Ravus drinks it in like water in the middle of a Gralean summer. The sadistic smile splitting his face in half is almost too much, and Ignis’s frenzied hips stutter once, twice.
Another dark laugh rolls over him.
“Look at you riding my boot like you have absolutely nothing else to live for,” Ravus grits out, grip tightening.
The sharp tug pulls a noise from deep in the kneeling man’s chest. It vibrates through his throat and comes out as a needy keen.
It’s all too much.
Two more gyrations of his hips and he’s shuddering, scrabbling at Ravus’s leg for balance. His mouth falls into that pretty “O” shape, and his eyes squeeze shut, body completely overtaken by tremors.
Yes, now Ravus really wishes he could take a picture. Ignis looks delectable .
The Commander runs his fingers through Ignis’s hair soothingly as he waits for the aftershocks to die off and the quivering to stop. He tries to untangle some of the knots that he knows are his fault, but with how much of a perfectionist the advisor is, there’s nary a hope of finessing it to meet his impossibly high standards.
Neither man speaks for a few long minutes, but eventually, Ravus is the one to break the silence.
With a soft nudge: “Are you alright, Scientia?”
Ignis nods and releases his grip on Ravus’s leg.
“Of course,” his voice is hoarse. “My legs are quite numb though.”
Ravus barks a laugh and pats Ignis’s head once more before reaching down to help him up.
“I’m sure it is.”
After helping him up, Ravus hands Ignis back his spectacles and the pair busy themselves with redressing and adjusting themselves until they appear presentable.
A long, drawn-out silence fills the air as Ignis turns his gaze to his phone, taking out the coordinates that Ravus had given him and inputting them for one reason or another. Ravus sighs, and tries to ignore the chest pain that he feels at seeing the astute advisor turn his back to him as he attends to more important business.
A frown screws up his features as he looks on and repositions his baldric and scabbard. He has no claim to Ignis Scientia, no matter what delusions he may have about them. If only he could get that through his stubborn head.
With a sigh, “I must be going. Lots of treachery to commit against the Nifs.”
Ignis glances up from his device and readjusts his glasses with two deft fingers pushing up the bridge.
“Of course. I’ll be on my way as well. The Citadel never sleeps.” The last bit is delivered with a wry smile that turns into a genuine one as his eyes meet Ravus’s.
The Commander feels whatever discontent that had been stirring in his gut simmer out and he mimics the smile.
“As it would seem. I will be seeing you per our next correspondence?” The hopeful tone is embarrassing, to say the least, but Ignis ignores it gracefully.
“It’s a date.”
And with that, Ignis Scientia briskly walks out through the same door that he had tumbled through with Ravus, none of the latter’s emotional turmoil present in his mind.
Why would he feel it, after all? This is Ravus's affliction alone.