Author's Note: 10 pages of smut! Definitely NSFW. You've been warned.

II

The ride home was . . . eventful, to say the least. Prompto complained several times that he was feeling nauseous and he needed to throw up, Noctis droned on and on that Ignis was the best (but stopping short of calling him 'the best advisor' when Ignis promptly slapped his hands on Noctis' mouth to shut him up, lest Aranea find out who he really was), and Gladio snored loudly in the back seat of the cab-van vehicle. The entire time, Ignis looked utterly distraught and continued to shoot Aranea apologetic glances, to which he'd receive a shrug and a wink in return.

Once the men were dropped off at Noctis' apartment for the night, and after insisting that he really didn't want to come inside because he had a large workload to go through the next day before their meeting, Ignis got back into the van and gave the cab driver his address—a flat in the heart of downtown Insomnia, close enough to the Citadel but far enough to grant himself his own space. At first, Ignis and Aranea remained chaste; a lustful side-glance, the 'accidental' skirting of knees together, hearts beating so loud that the other swore it was audible.

They tried—gods willing, they tried to hold out until they reached his place, but their resolve waned quicker than they could imagine, partly due to the copious amount of alcohol they drank, but also because the magnetism between each other was unlike anything they could fathom. It took Aranea all but diving across the back-bench seat of the van, both hands holding Ignis' face as she captured his lips in a dissolute kiss. After that, the floodgates opened and it was no-holds barred. Their hands were all over each other; his finding the bare skin of her stomach under her shirt, hers palming shamelessly at his hardened cock under the seam of his pants.

When they arrived at his building, Ignis hopped out, held his hand out to make sure Aranea stepped out safely, which she took ever so graciously, and he threw a wad of money at the driver, saying something along the lines of 'keep the change' and smirking when the driver mumbled 'lucky bastard' under his breath. The two stumbled toward the elevator, rode up the several floors to his level, and spilled out to his door. As he finagled with his keys (Why were there so many keys, he screamed in his head), Aranea took the opportunity to shove Ignis against the hallway wall in front of his apartment door, moaning desperately into his mouth as their tongues found each others. Once again, her hands pawed at his belt and reached down inside his pants, cupping him as she bit his lower lip.

"What's taking you so long?" she goaded.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. All words were flying out the proverbial window, something he most certainly was not accustomed to. He always had the upper hand. He was a strategist. The Crown City's tactician. It wasn't like him to become mere putty—no less in the hands of a random woman he met at a seedy dive bar. It was too much. Not enough. Everything was muddled. "Goddamn," he hissed, to which Aranea laughed. "I can't . . . ahhhh . . . I can't . . . fuck . . . my keys . . ."

"Having trouble? You better hurry up and find those keys of yours . . . otherwise, I'll have to fuck you right here, and I doubt you'd want that . . . or . . ." she trailed off, squeezing him enough to draw a long, deep gasp from him, "maybe you would want that."

For a few seconds more, Ignis allowed her to fondle him as he grew harder in her hands, only breaking away when he picked out his apartment key amongst the several other keys he had on his ring, shoving it into the lock and throwing the door open.

They crashed through the front door of the apartment, drunkenly kissing and staggering their way inside, not even bothering to turn on a single light in the pristine, immaculate flat. Ignis, a bit dizzy from too much scotch and lust, attempted to drop his keys on the entryway table but missed. The keys fell to the floor with a loud clink. He knew his place like the back of his hand, having lived here since he was the ripe age of twenty, and deftly guided Aranea, while still lip-locked, inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

As the door slammed shut, Aranea moaned. This would be easy, she thought. A quick fuck and she'd be on her way. It had been too long since she last laid in bed with a man, a crushing presence on top of her. She missed that, but fuck if that wasn't happening tonight.

Her hands were in his hair, crunching gelled strands as she pulled him closer, parting his lips with her tongue. Ignis moaned into her mouth, tasting the cheap beer that she chugged earlier. She smirked and Ignis finally found his way to the wall, shoving her against it with such fervor that she gasped loudly. It did little in the way of slowing them down; instead, he wasted no time in peeling off the low-cut top that displayed the plunging cleavage of her chest, tossing it aside.

"You're a man who knows what he wants," she purred, moving her lips down his jaw, to his neck, and along his collarbone; kissing and biting every bare inch of skin. Ignis didn't even dignify that comment with a response—instead, he groaned a low and dangerous sound, his eyes half-closed as he tossed his head to the side to allow her better access to the crook between his neck and shoulder.

Not so incapacitated that he couldn't move, he brought his hands up behind Aranea's back while she continued to bury her face in his shoulder, making quick work of the clasp of her bra. Soon, she was topless and his hands played with her breasts, teasing her pert nipples. She stopped biting at his collarbone long enough to sigh. Despite their height difference—Ignis a good head and a half taller than her—he bent down enough to take a nipple in his mouth. Aranea relaxed against the wall as she allowed him to play with her, her hips rocking slightly with want.

She tried to utter out some words, something to spur him on and provoke his innermost carnal behavior, but all that came out were whimpers. Her nails dug into the back of his neck, creating crescent-shaped marks, as he rolled the erect and tight nubs with his tongue, breathing hot and heavy on her chest. He could have kept going—gods, how he wanted to—but she spun him around with strength he wouldn't have expected from a woman of her stature and appearance and she pinned him against the very wall she was just against.

"My turn," was all she said.

His glasses were slightly askew as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt. It didn't take too long for her to undo the clasp, whipping the accessory from around his waist and abandoning it somewhere behind her. Quickly, her fingers were popping open each button on his shirt, revealing the pale skin of his chest in wide swatches of moonlight through his sweeping window. Ignis leaned forward, desperate to put his lips on hers again, but she tutted under her breath, dodging his attempt and kissing her way down the entire length of his torso, leaving dark marks and love bites along the way. Her tongue left cold trails along the planes of his abdominals, all the way down to the waistline of his pants.

He moaned a guttural sound, his hands snarled in her hair as she knelt before him, tugging his trousers down just enough to show off his dark boxer briefs. She looked up at him through hooded eyes, smirking at the debauched expression he wore as she held him still against the wall with both hands. Her breath was hot against his cock, hard and painfully pressed against his underwear, already a wet mark forming where precome was seeping through. Aranea's fingers crawled up from where they were against his thighs to the band of his briefs, teasing as she peeled said band down to expose him to her. His cock stood at attention in front of her, heavy and engorged, practically throbbing.

"Hmmm, not bad," she murmured, her hand gripping along his length and tugging earnestly while her tongue licked away the bead of precome that pearled at the head of his dick. She didn't devote any more time in teasing him, instead relishing the soft whine that he breathed as she took him in her mouth.

Somewhere, between the van, the elevator, to the door, and this wall, Ignis clued in on the fact that this would be no ordinary night—it was a battle over who would reign dominant in the end.

And like hell, if he was going to lose.

When he started to buck his hips, fucking deep into her mouth, she startled him by pressing against him with her hands, stilling him against the wall. While trapped under her hold, she continued to suck and play with him, moving one hand away from his thigh and traced her fingernail down in between his legs, only to surprise him by lightly following up around his balls. Ignis rocked his head back against the wall, the sound loud and echoing throughout the flat. The whines coming from him were nothing if not obscene and it was downright embarrassing for him. The more he tried to keep quiet, the more she tried to draw out another moan. A gasp. A wanton expression.

He wanted to finish there in her mouth; unload himself into her until she sucked him dry; on the other hand, he also wanted a turn at pleasuring her, to show that he could be just as good, if not better, than her in this department. So, with all the strength he could muster while she kissed up and down his shaft, he yanked her up by her arm and smirked at her startled yelp. "My turn," he growled, using her own words against her this time and pushing her several steps into his kitchen.

On the stainless-steel counter, papers and files were stacked precisely in order of urgency. It took all but one swipe of Ignis' arm to clear the documents away, where they fluttered haphazardly to the ground in a flurry.

"Not important?" Aranea breathed.

Ignis' eyes cut down toward the papers and, in an instant, back up to her. "Apparently not," he responded, lifting Aranea up onto the counter where the papers previously resided, his hand placing slight pressure on her chest as a command to lay back.

Aranea resisted. "Sorry, buddy; I don't lay on my back for just anyone." She was breathless and dizzy, despicable lustful thoughts running through her brain. Ignis raised an eyebrow, daring her to question his intentions one more time. Another forceful press to her upper body and soon she was on her back, the chill of the counter sending shivers up and down her spine.

Though he was heavily inebriated, he still managed to undo the buttons of her jeans and unzip the zipper with surprising ease. She raised her hips up just enough for him to pull her pants off and then her black lace panties, sopping wet. Vulnerable and wanting, she couldn't help but ball her hands into fists as his hands roamed up her legs and between her thighs, parting them so she was exposed to him. At first, he stood there admiring her body as she laid on his countertop. It irritated Aranea for some reason, but when she leaned up to bark an insult at him, she halted. With the moonlight cutting through his windows and lighting up sections of his face, he looked even more ravishing than she ever thought possible.

He caught her stare, pupils dilated and eyes licentious. Leaning forward while both hands held her legs apart, he kissed her knee, up her inner thigh, between the crease where her hips and legs met. The entire time, he maintained eye contact as she held herself up, albeit a bit shaky, on her elbows to watch him lavish her with kisses. She knew he was waiting for the precise moment where she couldn't take his incessant teasing any longer, but he'd have to work a bit harder to get her to crack.

Luckily, he was a patient man, willing to bide his time while she struggled for composure; sucking dark marks onto her skin where her pants would do well to hide them, licking just around the slick of her folds, careful to avoid her clit as she trembled. Whenever she fought to close her legs to him, he'd win out by holding her open, sneering all the while. Right when she thought she'd proven that she would withstand his coquettishness, she let slip an almost indiscernible cry when he let his thumb swipe close to her entrance, wet with want. He clicked his tongue when she tried to strategically move herself down to feel any part of him inside of her, but he denied her that gratification. If looks could kill, the narrowed eyes and snarl she was shooting his way would've been enough to cause instantaneous death.

"I see you fighting to have the upper hand in this game, but you're going to lose. You may think you can hold out against me, Ms. Highwind," he susurrated, his mouth slackened slightly so he was breathing over every pulsating nerve, "but allow me to show you why I never lose at anything I set my mind to."

He saw her begin to nod, desire emitting from every pore of her body. She swallowed forcefully, giving in . . . for now, at least. Finally, when he deigned her subservient enough to him, he closed the small gap between him and her, using the largest part of his tongue to lick the sensitive nub. He drew lazy circles, occasionally planting a sloppy kiss before sucking and playing with her. She cried out—More, gods, please, Ignis—one hand flying up to the back of his head and then holding him in place by wrapping her legs just over his shoulders. Surely, he'd suffocate before long, but what a good way to go if he did say so himself.

Intoxicating. She was intoxicating and he salivated at the sweetness of her nectar. He couldn't breathe, but he was insatiable at the same time, drinking her in and nuzzling her heat in varying tempos—one minute he'd slow and laugh as she tried to catch her breath, the next he was teasing the bundle of nerves and lapping at the fruits of his labor with intense ardor. She arched her back as he hummed softly on her, pulling away just as she begged him again for release.

He didn't even mind the mess she was making on the countertop; fluids slicking the inside of her thighs and smearing under them on the surface of the counter. It only spurred him on to please her more so she could leave proof of herself—of this night's existence—on the stainless steel. Sober Ignis could deal with cleaning up in the morning—for now, he'd revel in the fact that he was between the legs of an impossibly-attractive and fierce woman . . . a woman who approached him. Wanted to be with him. Someone who, crazy enough, challenged him in more ways than one.

As he flattened his tongue against her clit, another loud and keening moan echoing in the apartment, he reached down to jerk himself, hoping for a reprieve. His erection was damn near painful at this point and he was finding it difficult to hold off any longer. It was getting to a point where his cock ached to be inside of her; to feel her warmth, her desire, her desperation. Her walls around him, pulsating.

Once again, he was pulling her up, only now it was into a halfway-sitting position. Their eyes met and the sheen, the result of her arousal, reflected off of his lips and chin. As if she couldn't contain herself, she lurched forward, capturing his lips with hers. Curled forward while still sitting on the counter, she snickered into their kiss while he kept both hands on the surface as leverage.

"Take me to your bedroom," she urged between their kiss. "Fuck me, please. Take me to your room and fuck me."

As she moved from his lips and kissed along his jaw, taking great care to taste herself on him, she felt him hoist her up and away from the counter. On instinct, she wrapped her legs around him and ground against him while he carried her to the bedroom on the other end of the flat. Aranea only looked up for a brief moment, extracting herself from biting marks along his collarbone, to see that the bedroom—dark, modern, and typical from someone like Ignis—was just as immaculate as the rest of the apartment had been, with floor-to-ceiling windows displaying a beautiful view of Insomnia.

"Impressive," she whispered, but at this point, she could've been talking about anything; the apartment, the view, the gigantic windows, his tongue, his cock, the way he just knew what to say and do. . . It had been a long time since Aranea had been pleasured like this and it was obvious that, not only did Ignis know what he was doing, as he'd boasted, but he was also having far too much fun with this.

Maybe she'd met her match after all—someone who could hold their own against her.

They crashed against a large piece of furniture—a beautiful, solid wood dresser with a large mirror behind it. It was supposed to be there for aesthetics and to make the already large room look bigger, but tonight it was being used for more ill-disciplined reasons . . . reasons that Ignis had not intended when he purchased the piece.

Once he let her down, her feet touching the hardwood floors, his lips crashing into hers for a brief, but passionate, kiss. Forcefully, he turned her around to face the mirror, busying himself by opening one of the top drawers and scrabbling for the box of condoms under several pairs of gloves. Ripping the single packet open with his teeth, he quickly rolled the condom on and returned his attention back to the mirror, smirking when he locked eyes with Aranea. Her upper body and neck were splotchy with red marks and perspiration shined between her breasts, a droplet of sweat running down her chest.

His hands slithered up and cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples. The sight of her closing her eyes, face pinched but sounds stifled in her throat, made Ignis' heart flutter. "Have you ever watched yourself in front of a mirror?" he asked, pinching a nipple between his fingers.

"Ahh . . . I . . . no . . . shit, no . . ." she exhaled, her head falling back onto his shoulder as he toyed with her.

He nodded thoughtfully, a dark expression on his face. "I see." Without another word, he dropped his hands to her hips, lined himself up with her and entered slowly. They moaned in ecstasy as he buried himself inside her. She tried to look away, but Ignis twisted his fingers in her hair, jerking back to not only force her to keep watching them in the reflection, but also to grant himself access to her neck as he kissed and bit her.

Every sharp drive into her resulted in a lewd, wet noise of their bodies coming together; skin slapping against skin. Aranea's whining devolved into a low, sobbing sound, punctuated with the occasional 'fuck me', 'harder', and dirty epithets. Ignis yanked her hair again, biting right in the crook of her neck while keeping eye contact with her over the rims of his glasses, somehow still on despite everything.

They looked good—no, fucking flawless—together. The way his deltoid muscles tensed, her taut and flat stomach, how domineering he was over her as he gritted his teeth every time he thrust inside of her, and the way her body quaked when his hands roamed, occasionally reaching to audaciously grab her ass. Every time he drove into her, her breasts swung hypnotically. Was it possible to feel like this moment, every sensation and movement, wasn't enough?

How was that even possible?

He teased her clit as he continued to fuck her and kiss her shoulders, neck, and upper back. Now, she was begging, pleading, for him to push her over the precipice. "What's that?" he murmured, biting her earlobe as he brought his finger up to her lips, moaning as she tasted herself.

"Please . . . make me come . . . I can't . . . I need . . . "

Her breathing was shallow and a luster of sweat had begun to appear on her brow. Another smirk as he pulled her hair again, eliciting a vociferous cry. "Only when I allow it. You see, I want to watch you writhe a bit more."

Before he could do anything else to her—whatever it was he was planning on doing—she shoved back hard enough to knock him away several steps, turning quick and forcing him onto the bed where she straddled him on top of the covers. The fight for dominance switched, but Ignis barely struggled under Aranea's weight, choosing to relax into the bed while his hands wandered up and down her thighs, her hips, anywhere she'd let him. His fingers twitched with desire as Aranea leaned forward, perched above the head of his cock. "I don't think so," she shushed, her hair falling around him. "You don't get to tell me when I can and can't come. We may be in your home and on your turf, but we play by my rules, now."

Ignis shifted under her, thrusting upwards, scowling. "You insufferable cunt," he snapped, his words barely eliciting anything more than a pleased grin from her.

It was a slow, drawn out moment as Aranea lowered herself onto Ignis. "Oh, my dear, I'll show you how insufferable I can be." For the first time, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and the moan that escaped his lips was nothing short of divine. She remained still for a few short seconds, allowing him to jerk his hips, urging her to move. They both knew he wanted to beg, just like she had against the dresser, but he bit his lower lip and resisted. His eyes screwed shut and his mouth fell open into a silent moan while his fingers squeezed tight into the muscle of her thighs, sure to leave tiny bruises in the morning.

"Aranea . . . you're so . . . " he whimpered, trying once again to struggle against her for the sake of getting her to do something.

The powers indeed shifted between them and now Ignis was under her control. Satisfied that he'd learned his lesson—never try to tame a Highwind—she lifted up. He was almost completely out of her before she came crashing back down on top of him, vulgar phrases like a second language to him by now.

Ignis was sure the neighbors could hear them, screaming and crying for each other, but he couldn't care less right now. Sure, being pretty intoxicated helped a lot, but this was . . . fuck. He had to hand it to her—Aranea definitely knew how to move her hips and ride him so they both could feel complete and utter bliss. While she rocked on him, leaned over so her breasts were in his face, she reached between them and played with herself, creeping closer and closer toward the point of no return. Because they'd edged each other all night, like they had something to prove to each other—who was stronger, better, smarter, the dominant one—it was easy to fall over that pinnacle into that boneless state of rapture they were now seeking.

Ignis' movements were becoming more and more erratic and Aranea tensed, fingers still on herself between them, crying out as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body and stars exploded behind her eyes; an orgasm so hard and intense that she could practically taste it on the tip of her tongue. As she was finishing, Ignis pulled her down, kissing her hard and moaning her name into her mouth.

"Aranea." His voice muffled. Clutching tight to her sides. Skin radiating heat and very blotched. He lacked rhythm anymore as he fucked her, thrusting several more times. Harder, heat pooling in his stomach, his toes curling as he was coming inside of her, and then . . .

His grip slackened on her and they tried to catch their breaths, neither one able to move. Aranea laid on top of him. Ignis wrinkled his nose. Despite the size of his room and the height of his ceilings, the room reeked of sweat, sex, and nightlife. Carefully, both overstimulated now and responsive to even the smallest of touches and strokes, she lifted herself off of him and rolled over to lay on her back, staring at the ceiling as he gathered the energy to stumble out of bed to the ensuite bathroom, discarding the used condom. Aranea heard the faucet run and soon he was back with a towel to help clean her up.

Once satisfied with their cleanliness—as much as they could be without drunkenly hopping in the shower—he fell back into bed, still stark naked, as Aranea turned on her side. She hummed her delectation, head propped up with one hand as she observed Ignis trying to keep his eyes open.

Ignis held one finger up, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. "Apologies . . . I . . . give me one moment, if you will."

"Aw, what's the matter?" she cooed, goosebumps forming on his skin as her fingers trailed up and down his arms, chest, side . . . anywhere she could reach, really. A shiver shook him to the core and she snorted. "Did I wear you out? That was only round one!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he mumbled, sleep already beginning to settle in. "I just . . . the scotch was stronger than I anticipated. If you weren't such a bad influence— "

"Oh, I'm a bad influence? Who insisted that the server kept the drinks coming? No, sir . . . that's on you."

"You're nefarious, you know that?"

She brushed a strand of his hair, the spiked hairstyle reduced to a flattened mess of what it was earlier in the night, away from his face. "Can't keep up at the bar or the bedroom."

"That's not what you were saying just moments ago. Dare I recreate what just transpired between us?" He had one eye closed, but he regarded Aranea with a devilish grin and the other eye narrowed, the suggestion of mischievousness lighting up his features.

She leaned in close, her lips but millimeters from his ear while she still teased him by dragging her fingers along his bare skin, light and feather-soft. "Maybe next time you could fuck me against those giant windows of yours . . . my tits pressed against the glass, bent over so we both get a great view of the city . . ."

Ignis' face softened as he groaned, imagining the scene that Aranea was going to great lengths to describe. He didn't want to wait . . . no, he wanted to do that right now. Only . . . only . . . he was heavy. Drowsy. It was getting more difficult to move as everything faded away. He was awake, then asleep. One eye would open and Aranea was still there, lulling him to sleep—not that she meant to—with her sweet voice and gentle touch.

"Aranea . . . that sounds . . . could we . . ."

It was the last thing he said; the sentence hung in the air, unfinished, as he drifted off to dreamland, Aranea's smirk the last thing he remembered as she removed his glasses from his face.

The throbbing of his head lured him from sleep. His throat was thick with sleep and the resulting hangover from too much to drink. It took every bit of energy he could gather to crack open one bleary eye to see what time it was. 4:47 A.M. the bright red digital numbers read out. Gods, he'd have to be up soon anyway to get Noctis ready for the day. Paperwork would need to be sorted through, phones calls to be made, emails to read and respond to . . . why on Eos did he think it was a good idea to indulge Noctis on the eve of the peace talks . . . or, the bigger factor, why did he think it was alright to hang out with that wretched woman from the bar . . .

Upon realization that he'd brought said woman home—Aranea Highwind, he mused, pleased—he sat up and frowned as his hand ran over the side of the bed where she was; or, rather, should be. He remembered her whispering dirty thoughts in his ear as her nails raked carefully over his skin, still sensitive in their post-coital embrace. He fought to keep his eyes opened, but those drinks he had earlier in the night, coupled with Aranea's soothing voice, caught up to him and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

It's too early for this, he thought bitterly, leaning over for his glasses on the nightstand. When did he take those off? He didn't remember placing them on the stand; maybe Aranea did?

A pounding headache, insatiable thirst, and scattered memory of the night before; on top of the fact that he was alone in the early hours of the morning made him entirely too cantankerous. With a final grunt, he threw the covers from him and kicked his legs over the side of his bed, the cool air assaulting his nude body. He needed to get showered and ready for the day, even if it meant being an hour ahead of schedule. He'd need all the time he could get, at this point, to blunder through the morning.

Mumbling under his breath, he padded to the kitchen to get a large, cold glass of water and some aspirin before hopping in the shower. There was no point in putting on any underwear right now, knowing it would just come off in a few minutes, anyway. Still, as he passed the dresser, his breathing hitched as the prior night's activities flashed across his mind.

His fingers teasing her.

Her cries for more.

The dresser pounding against the wall as he fucked her.

The memory of it all, albeit hazy and dulled now that he was sober, caused his heart to race and throat to constrict. His cock began to stiffen as he recalled everything, but Ignis finally shook his head and pried himself from the spot where he stood, continuing on to that enticing glass of water he so badly needed.

Clothes—his clothes—were in small piles by the door and in the open living space. Papers were still scattered on the floor where he'd pushed them off the counter, no order to them anymore. Cautious, he stepped over them and chided himself for doing such a stupid thing—he had those papers in a certain order, dammit, and now he'd have to sort through them again to put them back the way he had them.

Finally, in the kitchen and reaching high into the cabinet, his fingers brushed a glass and he nudged it closer so he could grab it. With the glass in his hand, he moved a few steps over to the oversized refrigerator, pressing his cup to the dispenser to receive chilled water. Never had water tasted so wonderful. It was like he'd been trapped in a desert for a hundred years and he'd finally stumbled upon an oasis of cool, refreshing water. He could feel it trickle down inside his chest and he chugged like he'd never had water before. He finished the glass, never pausing to take a breather, then put his cup under the dispenser to receive more. One more glass and he was starting to feel somewhat human again, though it would take far more water and an IV full of Ebony coffee to the veins to fully come back to life.

The drawer beside the refrigerator housed various medicines—some potions, an elixir, and a handful of ibuprofen and aspirin. He took two doses of aspirin and swallowed them with his water, praying that this would take the edge off of his aching head.

A step back, then another, and he was leaning his hip against the countertop when the stains of last night's encounter halted him, caught in the glare of the city's lights before the sun would inevitably begin to rise. Next to the smudged handprints and dried fluids on his otherwise immaculate counters was a scribbled note and a balled-up pair of panties. His curiosity was piqued. Setting the cup he was sipping from aside, Ignis cocked an eyebrow and tentatively reached for the note, making quite the amused face at the underwear so carelessly placed on the surface.

The lights of the city, twinkling and dancing through his windows, did well to brighten the modern space of Ignis' apartment. Holding the piece of paper out in front of him, Ignis felt the corners of his lips turn upward in a smug type of smile.

Hey there, handsome,

Thanks for a good time. If you're ever bored and in need of company, give me a call. I enjoyed the challenge in the bedroom.

P.S. Here's something to remember me by. Maybe you can use it later for your own fun.

On the bottom of the paper were several numbers—no doubt Aranea's phone number. His eyes flickered from the numbers to the wad of panties still on the counter. The hints of a smirk graced his face and he picked up the underwear and trudged back to his bedroom, knowing that shower would do him good right about now.

He had a long day of peace talks and meetings ahead of him, after all, and this would at least start it off on a good note.

Author's Note: First off, HUGE thanks to DiamondDustOhSnap and Aimakichan for reading this over and helping me out. I'm so incredibly grateful that you guys sat down, read it over, and told me what needed to be fixed. Thank you so much!

Second, I apologize that this is . . . what . . . two days late now? Honestly, it's the first time I delved deep into a more mature scene, so I was slower than I probably should've been.

Third of all! Yes, this is FAR different than my last fic. It is darker, more mature, and ummm . . . yeah! If I didn't say it in my last chapter, I will do my best to note in the beginning if something is coming up that could warrant someone's attention!

Anyway, I'm so happy with the reaction of the last chapter and I'm excited to see how it all goes from here :)