There should be something horrifying about that. If he hadn't had his friends with him, Prompto'd be dead already, or at least some writhing, mindless daemon-snack-to-be, waiting to be eaten. Instead, the recollection of the incubus' skin, smooth and pale and flawless, sends a rush of want spearing through him. Well. So much for the spell not working.

An elegant hand cups the side of Prompto’s jaw, gently – slides around to below his chin, to tip his face up. Then Ignis is leaning down to kiss Prompto stupid, not that it takes much. Just an insinuating glance in his direction is enough to make Prompto feel like his brains are melting out his ears. When Iggy actually sets hands on him? That’s it, game over. RIP rational thought. Prompto’s still not sure what the smartest, sexiest, most incredibly put-together man he’s ever laid eyes on sees in him, but hey. He’s not complaining. He’ll take whatever he can get, for as long as it lasts.