Liliana's Office, Thursday

[deathsmajesty]

Liliana was certainly In A Mood^TM when she got to her office today. Not only to lose valuable class time to something that wasn't part of her lesson plans, but to do so to something that was just ridiculous? That was just adding insult to injury. Those depictions of ghouls! The perpetuation of the myth that they only ate brains! The idea that they could be held off by giant plants.

She tried to sit down, realized that she was too upset for that, and prowled about her office in an angry, almost feline stalk. If she had a tail, it would be lashing.

Clearly, the only thing to do was to find whoever programmed that simulation and show them exactly what being hunted by a zombie really entailed.

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[deathsmajesty]

Ignis was a consummate tactician and strategist, one who had been making a study of Liliana and her reactions for half a year now, so she could only assume that he knew the consequences of what his actions would be even as he claimed that highly improper kiss. She was a woman of strong passions and even though she was no longer seething, her temper was still simmered not very far below the surface.

And when he kissed her like that, it exploded.

Suddenly, there was a Liliana in his lap, hands frantic at the buttons on his shirt, mouth demanding on his. Normally, she was careful, delicate, making sure to send him off to class looking tidy and put together. Not now. Her mouth was demanding, hard enough on his that their lips would be sore later. One of her nails snagged a button and she only barely controlled it enough to keep from popping the ridiculous thing right off his shirt. She ground against his lap, impatient and demanding.

Ignis. Darling. You had to know.

[chef_chocobro]

Oh, Liliana, darling. He knew.

It might be a minor ding to his ego, a little bit later, to discover that his deft and clever machinations to revert that energy into something more...productive had not fully diffused that explosiveness, but, then again, this was Liliana, she had more than enough to burn, and he'd never expect any spark inside of her ever truly being extinguished.

And he was ready for it, had been hoping for it, almost aching for it before he even walked through that door, a drive that only grew stronger once he had. When she pushed, he pulled in kind. When she pulled, he obediently followed. Ans the sooner he helped with those buttons, the sooner his hands would be free to start tugging at her clothes, as well, though getting slightly distracted in the process with his hands on her hips, encouraging her grinding with a soft, deep moan.

[deathsmajesty]

Whole salacious sonnets had been written for her in the past and none of them had done a damn thing for her even half so much as that single moan had.

She bit down on his throat, hips responding to the encouragement of his hands and yearning noises both, and whispered to him, "Tell me you want me."

It wasn't a question. It was never a question; Ignis didn't let it be a question. But she wanted to hear it, his deep voice in her ear, with that soft, rolling accent that neither Prompto nor Gladio shared. A rich voice that promised sin and salvation, both. Honestly, she might have fallen in love with his voice, even before--

Her hands slid beneath his open shirt, following the contours of his body, fingers finding the dips and curls of the musculature under his skin, the lines and scars across it, her own aching need rising to a fever pitch.

"Know that I need you."