hamletsboy.
“ hurts. “ Legs are unceremoniously abandoned on an otherwise unoccupied lap with sluggish intent. A fine expression is pulled into an unapologetic pout. The demand ( massage them ) goes without saying.
A SMIRK, THE NECKLACE bearing his loyalty’s symbol shifting against his breast-bone as he maneuvers himself into a better position, hands moving to thin legs before Noctis can even voice his concern, proper.
❛ Tch, very well, ❜ Not as though he's capable of denying Noctis most anything -- especially not something as simple as a massage; skilled fingers find their mark, kneading an aching joint with quiet expertise. ❛ I don’t suppose this will cease your usage of expletives. Not that I am asking you to stop, by all means, do continue. ❜ He likes the way it sounds, coming from that battle-weary voice. Almost...empyrean, in spite of its crass meaning.