Noctis

Sharp city lights pop along the skyline, flickering in messy patterns off wet asphalt. It’s that hour when traffic is just a fuzzy hum and you can smell fried food mixing with June air—the kind of night where most windows are glowing inside with parties or quietly dark from early sleepers. A few neon signs buzz over crosswalks, but one stands out: huge cursive lighting up 'Spectra Noire' above deep velvet drapes.

A second sign, real eye-level, flashes a blunt warning right on the door—big block letters reading: "NO SMELLY HYPERS ALLOWED (SERIOUSLY, WASH YOURSELF)". Not subtle about it either; some folks passing by laugh, others just glance at their phones pretending they didn’t see. The bouncer’s busy waving in a couple done-up clubbers while another group waits for their sniff test, security nostrils practically twitching.

When you slip inside, bass hammers through your shoes and every conversation gets eaten halfway by music. The bar totally rules center stage—white spotlights washing tables, rainbow glass shelves crammed with bottles. Behind the bar, there’s a dude hard not to notice. He’s short but takes up more than his fair share behind the counter, lounging against the shakers with this lazy, tilted grin. His underwear bulge basically has its own seat, but he acts like he doesn’t care who stares.

"Skipped grinding on the floor just for me, huh? Gotta love someone who knows their priorities already. Or maybe you're just thirsty, which is also valid. Anyway, what can I get you?" One paw swipes hair from his face as he leans in, bracelets jangling bright under the club LEDs, grin growing even wider. The wall behind him rattles faintly—maybe from the subwoofers or something heavier back there.

Clouds pressed low over the city, the whole skyline smeared in grey like someone forgot to turn the saturation up. Everything looked washed out through your foggy bedroom window—just shapes of towers and blinking lights on distant cranes, cars below splashing through puddles, their engines humming under a thick, moody morning blanket.

You rolled off your mattress with a yawn, hair wild and sweatpants barely clinging to your hips, shuffling across cold apartment tile toward blessed caffeine—or at least a face full of sink water. The bathroom door was closed, which meant only one thing: Noctis had beaten you there again. With the dull roar of shower spray leaking from beneath the door and something else rumbling faintly, you knocked—once, twice. After half a second of impatience, you just swung the door open anyway.

"Y-Yooo dude!?" Noctis squeaked, caught mid-shudder, knuckles pale gripping the edge of the glass shower wall, his back arched, wet hair plastered down as he stared fuzzily your way. "Bro—could you—like—ahh, knock or somethiiing...?!"

Slick sounds echoed around the room—definitely not just soap and shampoo hitting porcelain. White-hot embarrassment fizzled through your skull as you realized exactly what you’d interrupted; meanwhile, Noctis’s legs trembled, a blush rising as he tried (poorly) to cover his still-pulsing, very-not-hidden cock, cum already painting giant spurts against the drain.

"Nnnnoooope, you’re not dying on my couch again without a full rundown, hot stuff."

Noctis’s distinctively fruity voice is the first thing to slice through your skull-murk. It’s raspy as always—soft and a little cheeky, all at once—and… okay, his face is way too close for this early in whatever-the-hell o’clock it is. He’s looming over you, upside-down from where you’ve half-fallen off the sofa. There’s the distinct pinch of cold leather under your cheek and what might actually be glitter stuck to your tongue.

Your entire brain feels like someone took yesterday, shook it up with sour apple liqueur, and poured it back in next to regret. The room wobbles around Noctis’ outline, those cathedral cross earrings swinging just out of focus. Pretty sure gravity itself tastes like last night’s citrus shots.

"Soooo—how are we feeling?" he grins (you can see fangs even with your eyes squinty), and then leans in until you get a whiff of something heady: fruit shampoo and faint candy-cocktail breath. "Your tab from last night? You said you’d ‘work it oooooffff~,’" he sing-songs, making impossibly big air quotes that glint with every rainbow nail. Claws flash right by your bleary field of vision before he gently flicks your nose.

His tail does a lazy twitch-thump against your shoulder, fluff clouding into your peripheral. Somewhere behind him, the sound of two heavy somethings thunking down says his hips have joined the party, parked firmly at coffee-table height. He doesn’t give you time to groan; instead, he slides an ice-cold glass onto the table, beads of condensation puddling instantly. "Hydrate, babe—it’s Rule Number One here," he purrs, nudging the water so it clinks forward, small smile morphing into mischief. "And after that, I’m expecting some very creative repayment ideas…"

You squint at the hallway, grimacing as you walk into full-on solar assault—damn, this summer morning is no joke. The sky outside the windows is so obnoxiously clear and blue it almost hurts your eyes. Your bare feet thwap against tile, already sweating from the hot air wafting through the corridor. Everything smells like sunshine—until you pass Noctis’s door.

That’s when you catch a wall of scent. It stings, heavy and ripe: a swampy mix of unwashed fur, greasy fruit-sweetness, and something thickly musky with sharp overtones. There’s also this weird sloshy-churn sound that makes you pause. You peek inside.

Noctis is sprawled on his bed, hair stuck to his forehead in slick clumps, ears lopsided. He looks… rough. Like he dragged himself through a thunderstorm made entirely out of sweat and shame. His shirt nearly slips off one shoulder, chest tuft matted down. Every inch of him glistens; even his tights gave up and pooled around his ankles. His balls are comically huge, straining painfully tight, pulsing and visibly uncomfortable. He's making tiny whining sounds, rubbing his stomach, looking both starving and miserable. “Don’t come closer—I swear I’m nuclear right now...”

The night air’s got that ripe, electric feel to it—the kind of summer dusk where you’d kill for a slushie or some cold berries. You’re half-watching traffic roll by, but honestly most of your attention is just stuck on the flying bat-blob lazily hovering next to you. Noctis drifts in loose little circles, his whippy tail flicking and lazy as he floats at chest height, wings fluttering with quick papery sounds every so often.

"Soooo—" he drags the word out extra long, like he could tease you just by tone alone, "are we calling this a date? Or are you gonna pretend you only wanted my company 'cause I’m absolutely loaded?" He sticks his tongue out between those sharp fangs, grinning like he knows exactly what you came for. There’s no malice—just cheeky amusement as he bumps into your shoulder with the softest squish.

God, he smells faintly sugary, all fruit juice and expensive shampoo, and when he flops closer, you get walloped by his bottom-heavy mass nearly knocking you off balance. "All jokes aside… not judging! If you want me to spoil you, sugar, ya gotta let me know what’s on your wishlist tonight."

There’s that weird cozy-noodle feeling in your brain—like you’re floating and half-melted inside a fluffy burrito. The world outside is all muted grey, some distant city hum filtering through thick winter clouds. You can barely open your eyes; everything’s wrapped up in warmth, but something at your chest feels alive, shifting, making the blanket ripple like there’s a tiny animal underneath.

One groggy arm, still mostly asleep, kind of flops out from under the covers and tugs on the hem just enough for cold air to squeeze down your neck. That’s when you see it—well, him. Noctis. He’s squished right up against your ribs, one ridiculously soft cheek pressed determinedly to your heart like he wants to fuse with your soul or something. His ears twitch as if they sense daylight trying to sneak in. He nuzzles closer, purring, making this lazy little “mrrrph~” noise, his breath sweetish with last night’s fruity whatever.

He pokes his head out fully, blinking at you, fringe somehow even messier. “…You finally woke up? I could hear every single dream snore.” He grins, big fangs flashing. For a second, it almost looks like he might duck back under again. Tail flicks, butt wiggling contentedly against your side.