Archive of Our Own

He likes their home.

Noctis could’ve asked for a lot of things. It sorta’ comes with the gig.

But life has hurt and scarred and it’s so hard to think about the future when for so long — you never thought you’d have one.

So Noctis asked for a house. Not a big house. Just a house.

“But – there are Royal chambers here for you, my Liege,” the adviser had bowed. “We believe you will find them to your liking. You will be well taken care of.”

Oh, Noctis knows he would be. Sometimes it feels like everyone decided to conveniently forget he was fuckin’ born here. He played in the hallways and would skateboard down the banisters and sat outside his father’s door in the late hour, only to be whisked away by Nannies and told to play somewhere else.

It’s definitely not a home.

“No,” Noctis had said. “I want a house.”

“But what about your meetings, your Highness? What about the citadel?”

“I know how to drive,” Noctis said, and that was that.

He had to argue against security. They wanted Crownsguard at his front door —  which, hi, fuck no.

He lives with three of the highest-ranking officers in the Kingsglaive, and if Noctis was able to fight and defeat a god but can’t protect himself against a simple home invasion, then he just shouldn’t be king. They weren’t happy when he said that, but tough shit.

They were able to negotiate down to a neighborhood security. At least they’re not on his front door.

Noctis is proud of who he is. He’s proud of where he comes from; he’s proud of their slowgoing work, he’s proud of his dream to reign peace.

But he needs this...separation, for his own sanity.

It’s not obscenely large. Two stories, three bedrooms, an entertainment room and an office. The kitchen is Ignis’s domain; Noctis told him to go buckwild, so they have nice pots and pans from some brand Noctis has never heard of. But they’re nothing like the fine six-hundred year old china back at the citadel, and Noctis is grateful for that.

He’s scrubbing his eyes in his office chair, when he hears something clang in the kitchen. Noctis blinks down at his paperwork; armistices and legislature and new budget propositions and it’s giving him a headache. Fun shit.

Something clangs louder. It startles him, because Noctis remembers that he was supposed to be home alone today. There’s a childish pang of excitement that lights him up with newfound energy.

It’s funny – for people he sees all the time, every day, he still manages to miss them. Noctis pushes out from his chair and stands, rubbing out the stiffness in his knee. He stretches it a little, and crosses down the hall.

“Iggy?”

Prompto is on the counter. He’s got an arm up, and he looks like a kid who just got stealing from the cookie jar.

“Sorry, just me,” he grins, and continues to reach for a box placed on the top of the cabinets. He grabs it under one arm, and plops back down on the counter, eventually sliding to the floor.

“What are you doing home?” Noctis laughs.

“I sent the kids home early,” Prompto says. “No need to keep ‘em around any longer. Their eyes glazed over after the second hour of target practice.”

“Gladio hates when you do that.”

“I know.”

“What’s that?” Noctis points.

“The good kush, baby,” Prompto grins, and shows off a bag of vinegar chips hidden in a cereal box. “Gladio keeps trying to hide them from me. Fool, he underestimates my power level.”

Noctis dips his hand in first, and takes one, “He’s gonna’ be so mad.”

“Add it to the list.” Prompto finally slips an arm around his waist, and pecks at his temple. “He can punish me later.”

Noctis smiles.

“He will.”

“Come on – “ Prompto prods them towards the living room. “Tell me about your day. Get anything done?”

“Pfft,” Noctis snorts, and Prompto laughs.

There’s something about Prompto that just...sucks the stress right out of him. His hair is slightly darker, and there’s a crinkle around his eyes that now shows only when he smiles — but he’s still just as bright and bubbly as ten years ago.

Prompto makes him feel like they could still go steal bikes and jump them over the half-pipes at the skate park. Noctis loves him with every fiber of his soul, but at their very core, they’re still best friends. It’s how all relationships should be.

Prompto squishes him onto the couch, and leans on his shoulder as they talk.

His face is all squeaky clean and soft. Last week Ignis sat him up on the bathroom counter, and shaved his face slowly – with a traditional razer blade and musky aftershave – and it ended with Prompto on his knees and Ignis white-knuckled against the countertop, which should’ve been expected from the beginning.

“When are you going to show me my birthday present?” Noctis asks.

Prompto flushes on cue. He clears his throat, and picks through the chip bag.

“Um. Soon. Probably.”

His birthday was a week ago. Prompto got him a book of new fishing lures, and promised something ‘significantly more sexy’ for later, and Noctis is tapping his watch, because it’s totally later.

It feels like they haven’t fooled around in forever (which is realistically a couple of weeks, but still). There’s meetings and paperwork and parties to host and famines to solve and half the time they come home and crash before they even make it to the bedroom.

Prompto fumbles with the chip bag. Noctis presses a grin to the corner of his mouth, and eases a kiss from him.

“Why are you so nervous about your own present?”

“Uh, I’ve never been nervous in my life,” Prompto says. “I’m a beacon of confidence,” but his voice still manages to crack at 32, and it draws a laugh from them both. Prompto clicks on the T.V., and they cuddle until the garage door cracks open.

 They really don’t fit in this bathtub at all, but Noctis will dig in his claws and hiss if anyone has the gall to say anything about it.

Noctis slides lower in the bath, so the water eases up to his chest. His legs are bent on either side of Gladio – who uses his free hand to massage Noct’s knee. He has these massively strong hands, and he seems to know right where to dig, because Noctis rolls his eyes back and moans.

“Right there?”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Gladio looks fucking gorgeous. Hair damp from the bath, perfectly naked and tan and good enough to eat. Noctis wants to run his tongue across his tattoos — swallow ‘em up till he’s dry.

But it was a full fourteen hours of hearings today, and Noctis feels exhaustion behind his eyes. As much as he doesn’t want to, he closes them.

“Remember when we used to spend days in those caves?” Noctis curls his toes into porcelain, and shifts his legs against Gladio’s – the feeling of wet skin on skin is sublime. “We’d fight straight through the night. Not even a catnap.”

“Yeah, and we were all the worse for fuckin’ wear,” Gladio grunts. He digs in his thumb and presses at the knot, and Noctis gasps, back arching. This is making him a little hard, but it’s an ungodly hour, so he reaches between his legs to press a palm against his dick, and then splashes water on his face. Gladio grins at him, but doesn’t say anything else.

The bathroom door slides open. Ignis steps in and lifts a bag.

“I brought dinner. Although the hour might be closer to breakfast.”

“You’re a saint,” Noctis purrs.

Gladio lifts a brow, “Takeout?”

“A request from our King,” Ignis teases. There’s a folding chair in the bathroom, for the mornings where Noct’s knee aches and he’s too tired to stand and dry his hair. Ignis drags it over and sits, pulling out a carton of Chow Mein and chopsticks. He passes one box to Noctis, who waits patiently for Ignis to kiss him before taking it.

“Where’s Prom?”

“Asleep already, clothes and all.” Ignis hands a second carton to Gladio.

“Thanks baby. But you can’t let him fall asleep in his fatigues, he’ll wake up cranky.”

“I’m aware,” Ignis smiles. “He can rest for now. I will undress him later.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Noctis asks, mouth full.

“A tad,” Ignis opens his own box of food and breaks his chopsticks. “But no less so than usual.”

“You work insane hours, Ig.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna’ start dragging you to bed,” Noctis teases.

Ignis turns towards him, and smiles. Noctis is glad that he’s not wearing his glasses. His face is so beautiful.

Ignis never faltered in his duties as an advisor; not in childhood, and not now, even without his eyes. He still records meetings and types up summaries and works hard so Noctis doesn’t always have to.

“Stick your feet in,” Gladio says. “The rim is wide enough.”

Naturally, Ignis feels over the rim of the tub.

“Water’s still hot,” Noctis adds.

Ignis briefly considers. He sets his meal off to the side, and sets to work rolling up his pants. The water shifts as Noctis folds both his legs to Gladio’s right side, so Ignis can step in and sit at his left. Gladio hands him his food, and Ignis nods thankfully.

“You lot are quite squished in here, aren’t you,” Ignis hums. Noctis reaches with his free hand, and skims up the back of his calf.

“Gotta’ take what time I can. Seeing that I’m on house arrest again.”

“It is not a meeting that concerns you,” Ignis sighs. “You’d only be wasting your time.”

“And it’s only a few hours,” Gladio adds. “Citadel security briefing. We’ll give you the summaries.”

“A King cannot attend every council. There’s not enough –“

“-hours in the day, whatever,” Noctis finishes. “Just let me know if you need me.” He slurps his noodles, and Ignis’s eye twitches.

“Hey Iggy,” Gladio starts, setting aside his food.

“Hm?”

“Listen to this.”

He digs his fingers into Noctis’s knee once again, thumb rubbing a steady circle in the knot along the side. Heat rolls up his leg and into his hip, and Noctis moans, head snapping back against the tub.

“Oh,” Ignis breathes. “Dare I ask?”

“There’s a hard spot on his bad knee. I’ll show you.”

He massages it rough, and Noctis nearly thrashes, sending water up and over the edge. Ignis looks intrigued, nevermind his soaked pant cuffs. He lets Gladio take his hand and lead it towards Noctis’s leg. He presses Ignis into the same spot; Iggy’s fingers are leaner and hold less brute strength, but Noctis still sighs, tension draining.

“So that’s where it is…” Ignis mumbles. There’s a twitch in his fingers — a telltale sign that Ignis wants to skim his hands and see, but he pulls back and shakes out his wrist. “We’ll have to test this when we return tomorrow.”

"I'll look forward to it," Noctis says. 

Damn, it feels like someone is sticking his spine with the blunt end of a sword.

He figures his office chair is the verdict, so Noctis moves to their bed, and reads through the rest of his reports on his phone.

Their room is a bit of a hodgepodge; the bed is big enough to fit four, and they have a sizable closet, but Prompto insisted on buying neon lights to rim their ceiling, and Gladio has an entire bookshelf hung too high for anyone else to reach, and Ignis keeps a spare desk full of his work paraphernalia – but it’s always organized into neat little piles, and everyone knows not to touch.

Noctis sits up against his headboard to pretend like he’s getting something done, but he loses to temptation, and browses through social media on his phone.

You don’t have to tell Noctis; he knows he should probably give up the videogames and the YouTube videos and the urge to sprint out and see every new movie – but it’s hard to be a king and not a person too. Sometimes, he wishes he could ask his dad for advice. 

Noctis sets down his phone. There’s an uneasiness in his skin — something he wants to claw out and throw away. He’s always tired, but he feels unsettled instead. Maybe he should meet Gladio at the citadel and spar for a few rounds.

He’s just beginning to wonder where Prompto went, when the door creaks open.

“Knock-a-doodle-do?”

“Yeehaw,” Noctis answers. Prompto opens the door and beams at him. Noctis sits up a little further. “What’ve you been up to?” 

They ate breakfast together this morning, and then Ignis and Gladio left for their roundtable, and Prompto mysteriously disappeared. Noctis won’t admit that he’s lonely, but.

“Just watchin’ T.V.,” Prompto shrugs. “I didn’t wanna’ bug you if you were doing anything important, but I didn’t see you in your study, so…”

“This is technically our day off. Bug away.”

Prompto does a running jump on the bed, and it makes Noctis laugh. He gathers Prompto up in his arms, and it’s so nice to see him out of uniform. Baggy t-shirt and sweatpants and little batman socks. He nuzzles into his shirt collar.

“You took this from Gladio.”

“It smells like him,” Prompto says, and Noctis breathes in – and it’s true.

Prompto twists to lay his head against Noctis’s shoulder, and he taps a rhythm against his chest. There’s a lull, where all you can hear is the occasional car drive by, covered by their slow breathing.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,” Noctis says.

“Nah. It’s just nice to be with you. Sometimes I see you on the throne and – you just feel so far away.”

Tap, tap tap.

As much as they’ve told him, Noctis will never really know what those ten years were like. Sometimes, Prompto needs to be reminded that the sun is up and fruits are back and that Noctis is still not dead.

“I’m here,” Noctis says, “I’m always here.”

Prompto smiles.

“Hey, do you think we could sneak you away for a date soon?”

“You know you have to deck that one out with Iggy.”

“I knooow but if we both beg, maybe we’ll get some leeway.”

Noctis snorts, and catches Prompto’s hand, mid tap. He brings his fingers to his lips, and kisses the pads of his fingertips. Something deeper flickers in Prompto’s eyes. Noctis noses into his palm.

“Funny thing is, you have a point.”

“Maybe we can make a new holiday called The King’s Boyfriends Really Miss Him So Lets All Just Go Home Day.”

Noctis snickers, squeezing his fingers. “You know you can come find me whenever you want. I’m the only one that can tell you no.”

“Yeah but we all got shit to do,” Prompto grins. “Changing the world and all. You, up on your fancy throne.”

“I miss our roadtrip, sometimes,” Noctis squeezes down to his wrist, and wraps his hand around the exposed barcode. “Maybe we should just go for a drive.”

Prompto bumps his nose into Noctis’s ear, and then kisses below it. With his hands restrained, his fidgety energy moves to his mouth, where he presses his teeth into Noctis’s cheek, and then lightly bites below his jaw. Noctis hums happily. Prompto presses their cheeks together.

“Hey, are you busy?”

Noctis nearly laughs at the abruptness of the question. He traps Prompto’s wrists, letting him wiggle loosely in his grip. He turns his head, and meets him for a short kiss.

“Not currently.”

“Cool,” Prompto rocks back on his heels. “Then I’m going to give you your late present.”

“What? Now?”

“Yuuup!” Prompto squirms out of his grip, and slides off the bed. He bounces into the closet and slams the door shut. His voice is muffled, but audible. “Stay there!”

“What are you doing?”

“Just hold ya’ horses!”

“I don’t want to!” Noctis laughs. “I want to hold you!”

Prompto doesn’t respond, so Noctis sighs, and sits back against the headboard. He waits somewhat patiently, tipping his head up to stare at the ceiling, and then licking along the back of his teeth and tapping against his thigh. He absently feels up to his neck, where it’s still a little sticky.

The door slightly creaks open. A pause. 

“Prom?”

“Um,” Prompto peers out, and slowly opens the door the rest of the way. “A couple months ago – you said something that um – you said. Well.”

He’s still in Gladio’s oversized ‘Both? Both’ graphic tee, but Noctis’s eyes drop downwards, and his lungs suck straight into his throat.

The shirt barely falls below his butt, leaving a perfect gap between the hem, and the tops of his socks. A single line of a garter belt disappears up beneath the shirt.

Noctis stares, speechless. Prompto squirms, rubbing his arm.

“You said you liked stockings. So, yeah.”

Noctis opens his mouth. Nothing comes out.

Prompto starts to grow red, confidence bleeding from him like a wound. He sets his jaw and turns, “Fuck, forget it. This was stupid—“

“Come here,” Noctis croaks. It comes out raw. He slides to the edge of the bed, and Prompto hesitantly approaches him.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, baby,” Noctis whispers, more to himself than anything. “Your legs.”

They’re friggin’ gorgeous. They look so slim and soft in the black socks, perfectly shaped calves curving up into his thighs. Prompto comes within reach, and Noctis immediately slips his hand back around and beneath the hem of the shirt, and then pulls. He’s wearing white boyshorts, with a little pink bow at the front. Noctis’s mouth waters.

“Astrals,” he curses. Prompto starts to puff back up again, leaning into him when Noctis reaches around to finger the line of the shorts. They don’t quite cover his ass, and Noctis groans. “Happy birthday to me.”

Prompto giggles, happily holding up the shirt to his chest when Noctis runs his finger along the line of the garter belt, and snaps the strap.  Gods. Dammit. Noctis has never gone from zero to a hundred so fast in his life; it’s like someone grabbed the chord around his dick and revved it like a fucking lawnmower. He feels hot under his skin and behind his eyes and inside his stomach. They could be a hundred and he’d still find Prompto one of the three sexiest things on this side of the galaxy.

Noctis pats the spot next to him on the bed.

“Knee,” he commands.

Prompto is dutifully obedient, and Noctis uses the new leverage to feel the outside of his thigh. There’s muscle here, forced soft by silky fabric and a top lace trim.

“Where did you even get this?” 

“Um. Department store.”

Prompto squirms when Noctis runs his finger into his hip-flexor, and presses. He holds Prompto by the thigh, and leans forward to drag his mouth along his bare sternum. He smiles when sees goosebumps raise on his arms.

“And how did that go?”

Prompto pulls a higher voice, “Oh— yeah, this is totally for my girlfriend-“

Noctis starts to laugh; he pulls Prompto down so he’s kissing him. It sparks down to his gut, an ignition to all that fuel laying in his blood. He parts his lips, and preens when Prompto goes lax for him, encouraging Noct to slip his tongue past his own and suck down on his bottom lip. Noctis reigns back control, pulling back for shorter kisses in-between, and he slips his fingers back around to feel over the cotton boyshorts. Prompto groans when he runs a finger down between his cheeks.

Noctis gets the complete pleasure of watching Prompto’s pink little cock grow above the line of lace. Noctis kisses long and deep this time, and rubs his index finger against his hole through the fabric, and the head of his cock pops up against his belly, like pressing a button.

“You have to take a picture of yourself,” Noctis begs.

“Dude, no way.”

“Please, you take a picture of everything.”

“It’s a live only concert,” Prompto grins, running his hands through the back of Noctis’s hair. “Tickets are exclusive. No flash photography.”

“Then I guess I should make the most of it,” Noctis says, slapping him once on the butt. “Turn around.”

There’s a questionable look on his face, but Prompto turns around obediently. Noctis wraps his arms around him from behind, pressing a single kiss to the back of his neck, before hauling him up and back, bringing them both down on the sheets.

Prompto squeaks, but they land how Noctis wants ‘em. He hauls up a thigh, and pulls Prompto until he’s laying perfectly on top of him, head resting back on Noctis’s shoulder.

“What are you-“ Prompto starts, but Noctis reaches down and pulls him up by the tops of the socks, forcing his legs to part as he grinds back – and Prompto makes a little oh sound, feeling Noctis rock solid against his butt.

“Indulge me,” Noctis murmurs, and grinds up, rolling his eyes shut when he finally gets some friction. His cock rubs right up against Prompto’s ass, sweatpants against soft cotton, and they both arch up in the sheets.

“Oh- Noctis —” Prompto starts, but cuts off when Noctis grips the sock of his right leg and pulls higher, grinding him right back. His left-hand skims up and over Prompto’s chest, pushing the shirt as he flicks over a nipple – and they’re so perfectly aligned, the motion is amazingly similar to touching himself.

Noctis experimentally dips his hand down across his navel. He can feel feather-light hair and pointed hipbones. Warm skin and a scar from their daemon-hunting days. His fingers brush the tip of his cock, and Prompto preens, squirming back against him like a bloody fucking siren.

“You’re so sexy Prompto,” Noctis breathes, head tipping back in the sheets. He arches up, Prompto grinds back, he pulls on his leg and Prompto spreads wider. “Fuck me. I want to tie you up and keep you forever. Sit you on my lap and fuck you on the throne.” He snaps the garter strap again, “Nothin’ but these.”

“Oh – Six, you have me — upside down and sideways, buddy,”  Prompto chants, arm coming up and back to grip into the bedsheets above them. He uses it for purchase, a noise keening from his throat when Noctis rubs his palm flat between his legs. “Fuck!”

The sound of Prompto’s socked feet skimming against the comforter propels Noctis towards the edge at an alarming speed. Noctis bites his lip to fight the feeling, but he still shivers, shakily breathing in as Prompto starts to get a hang of the rhythm, and arches back against him, grinding his ass into his crotch — and it’s like a stab to the guy each time.

He knows Prompto’s body inside out and head to toe, but he can never get enough, he always needs more –

Noctis drags both hands up Prompto’s chest. Soft, soft skin, thin muscle and warm freckles. He’s burning up, heart rate thudding in that little chest of his, and Noctis finally dips his hand beneath the shorts, and squeezes over his cock.

“You’re wet,” he whispers, and Prompto hiccups, back arching off his chest in a perfect curve. 

“I’m a genius, I’m a friggin’ rocket-scientist,” Prompto babbles, “I’m going to clear out Victoria’s Secret and get laid every day for the rest of my –“ Noctis slams a hand over his mouth, and Prompto makes a weak sound against his palm.

The sound of socks against fabric. Fingernails digging in sheets. They both moan.

Noctis feels hot all the way down to his fucking bones. He can’t remember the last time he was so turned on (which was probably recent? He’s so out of it -) and it feels like every nerve is being plucked like a violin.

Somewhere, deep in the coherent part of his mind, he registers the sound of the front door opening and shutting. But Prompto squirms, twisting his neck to find his lips, and Noctis meets him for a sloppy kiss. It’s wet and sticky and spit rolls down his chin, and for some reason it’s dope as fuck. Noctis jerks his hips up, feet planted, and it’s a reverberation of sounds split between them.

The bedroom door creaks.

“I thought I heard some puppy noises in here,” Gladio teases, stepping in and shedding his jacket. He pauses to get a good look, and curses. “Fuckin’ Ifrit. Were we gone that long?”

Ignis steps in, removing his sunglasses and setting them on the dresser.

“Up to no good, are they?”

“You gotta’ see this,” Gladio mumbles, still kind of hesitant in the doorway. His eyes are soaking it in, flickering over them from head to toe – and it’s a feat to stun sex-god Gladio, so Noctis feels a shred of pride in them both. 

Noctis runs his hand down as far as he can reach, fingers dipping just between Prompto’s thighs. He gets his knees inside of Prom’s so he can spread his own legs, and force him wider. Prompto is delightfully pliant tonight. 

“Come take a look, Specs,” Noctis purrs.

Ignis approaches the bed, eyebrow raised, and reaches out for Prompto’s leg. He seems to have a general idea of where they are – for he grabs Prompto’s ankle exactly – but the look his face changes as soon as he feels fabric instead of skin.

“H-hey Iggy, nice weather we’re ah— having,” Prompto starts – but his voice is a little broken, and hell, Noctis knows that tone intimately. He didn’t know he was so wrecked already. That’s kinda’ awesome.

Ignis shifts to sit on the bed; he runs his hand up Prompto’s leg until he reaches the top of the sock. Fingers follow the line of the garter belt, and his lips part when he feels soft underwear.

“Goodness,” Ignis breathes. “What has Noct done to deserve such a prize?”

“Late – nnn – birthday present,” Prompto grits, and closes his eyes again when Noctis grips the stocking and pulls, frotting him right back against his crotch. Ignis trails his fingers along the outside of Prompto’s thigh, and hums.

“Should I fetch the lube?”

“No,” Noctis groans. “Gonna’ come.”

“Like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Hot,” Gladio says, and sits at their side. He reaches over and pulls down the line of Prompto’s shorts, humming, “This is cute. Jeez, lookit’ you two. Like a buffet all rolled out on a silver platter.” He pushes Prompto’s hair out of his face, “You bein’ a good boy?”

Prompto’s cock visibly throbs, and he gasps wetly.

“Touch him,” Noctis says.

“Great idea,” Prompto babbles. “Perfect, awesome, please –“

Ignis keels up between their thighs and damn, Noctis can hear the sound of his nails catching on Prompto’s stockings. He moves until his nose is brushing against Prompto’s inner knee. He feels over the fabric with his lips, not quite pressing a kiss – and then he moves upwards, decidedly sinking his teeth into the fabric over his thigh. He caresses his legs with such loving tenderness, but bites down hard in a stark pleasure-pain.

Prompto moans, and Noctis echoes him, and it’s so hot in here he can’t breathe.  Noctis is left to gasp through his mouth, heart beating out of his ears. Prompto is a dream against him – wiggly and smooth and Noctis settles his hands on his hips, and shifts his head just enough to see Ignis move higher up on Prompto’s thigh, and bite down again.

Gladio dips his head down, leaning over to fill up Noctis’s entire field of view.

“Hello there, Highness,” he jokes. “Looks like someone’s in charge tonight.” 

“No titles-“ he grits, but Gladio grabs his chin and kisses him, and Noctis’s brain shuts off. Gladio isn’t forceful or dirty, but he kisses in a I can’t get enough of you - kind of way, and it’s like shoving in the last key and flipping a switch in Noctis’s blood.

Prompto is digging his nails into the outside of Noctis’s thighs, and fuck Noctis is so close. He thrusts up again, feeling heat build and bubble, never quite spilling over – teetering back each time Prompto arches away. 

“Ah!” Prompto shouts, and Gladio pulls back long enough to see Ignis peel down the line of his underwear and swallow his swollen cock. Noctis rolls his hips up, forcing Prompto to bottom out in Ignis’s mouth, and Ignis swallows a pleased sound, and they come like a chorus. Like a perfectly synchronized dance.

Prompto’s toes curl up and over Ignis’s back. His head smacks back along Noctis’s shoulder, and Noctis digs his hands into Prompto’s hips and groans through his teeth, spilling right into his sweats like he’s eighteen. 

It takes a moment to tune back in to reality. All his bones are useless, and he only now starts to feel the strain in his knee again.

Prompto is mewling, tiredly wiggling as Ignis continues to swallow around him, licking back up to the head once, and then pulling back up when he’s decidedly clean.

Prompto reaches forwards, and proudly brushes a thumb into his mouth. Ignis parts his lips willingly, and lets Prompto pet once along his tongue.  

“Wow Iggy,” Prompto sighs lovingly. “What sex factory do they make you in?”

Ignis goes soft around the edges. 

“The same as you, I’d presume.” 

“That’s not funny,” Prompto flops back, smiling. “I was actually made in a factory.”

“Alright, come here you,” Gladio hums, but Prompto squirms –

“No, wait-“ he twists around so he’s straddling Noctis’s lap, and squishes his face in hand, so he can give him a fat kiss before Gladio pulls him off. Noctis squeezes his hand, while it’s still in reach. His brain is still playing catch up, but Prompto needs to know how amazing he is.

“You’re beautiful,” Noctis says. “God fuckin’ beautiful.”

Prompto doesn’t quite meet his eyes, but he smiles to himself, rubbing his own cheek. 

“Says the pretty one.” 

“Details, details.”

Ignis peers down at Noct. He knows Ignis can’t see him – but the softness in his lips shows that he knows who he’s looking at. Ignis has only popped the top button of his shirt, but the buckle of his belt is undone, hanging loosely in the loops, and his pants are tight. Noctis presses a foot to his thigh.

“Well,” Ignis starts, amid Gladio pulling a wiggly Prompto into his lap, and cleaning him with a tissue, “-these are surely ruined.” He tugs at the waistband of Noctis’s sweats, and pulls them down to his thighs. Noctis lazily lifts his hips, and Ignis tosses his pants to the floor.

“I was kinda’ preoccupied,” Noctis mumbles. “You know, having the ultimate wet dream in my lap.”

Prompto snickers, and then makes a huffy sound when Gladio starts to undo the garter belt.

“No! Keep it!”

“You can’t, you’re gonna’ be all gross.”

“But Noctis said I look beautiful-“

“You always look beautiful baby, but you’re gonna smell fuckin’ rank.” Gladio unsnaps the strap, and undoes the hook on the stockings. “And I don’t wanna hear you complain about bein’ sticky. At least take this off. You can leave the socks.”

That seems to satisfy Prompto. Noctis watches them sleepily, already feeling warm and tingly. Gladio rolls down the underwear with a slow admiration, like unwrapping a present, and Noctis distantly wonders if he’s too old to get hard again.

Ignis runs the palm of his hand up Noctis’s inner thigh, and presses it flat across his cock. Noctis shivers, oversensitive. He’s going soft, but Ignis gives him a single squeeze, just to feel him twitch.

“Lemme taste him,” Noctis mumbles, tapping his mouth. Ignis climbs up and over him, and thumbs across the corner of his lips, before leaning down and kissing him straight on. There’s a bitter taste, but it’s very familiar, and Noctis licks it out of his mouth. Ignis purrs.

Noctis pets into his hair. Some of the strands are slipping, and he messes it up further. He loves the way Ignis kisses; fully focused and painstakingly tedious. Like Ignis will die if he doesn’t count every tooth in his mouth. Sometimes if he flicks his tongue right, Ignis will moan, and it’s a total score. 

“Alright,” Gladio smacks Prompto’s butt. “All clean. Take ‘em.”

Ignis pops back, and Prompto rolls like a sardine, laughing as he squirms back on Noctis. Noct flips them, so he’s laying on top, and noses right into his neck.

“You smell like sex.”

“Wow, weird. Wonder why?”

Noctis bites his ear, and Prompto snickers. He’s still got the socks on, and he’s distractedly running his feet along the sheets, so Noctis presses more of his bodyweight on him to stop that shit immediately. 

 Ignis sits back up on his heels. He’s listening, from the way his head is slightly turned, and his eye is unfocused. Noctis bites Prompto’s neck – Prompto laughs, ticklish, and Ignis palms between his legs, a smile twitching at his lips.

“They’re right trouble, aren’t they?”

Gladio unhooks his own belt, and pulls it through the loops.

“Yeah I know. Come here.”

 Ignis crawls forward, and Gladio grabs him by the waist, pulling so Ignis is straddling his thigh. Gladio supports him by the lower back, and Ignis works at their clothes, pulling Gladio’s shirt over his head, and undoing his own buttons.

“So was there a backstory to all this?” Gladio asks, petting up Ignis’s spine.

“I thought it was a foot fetish,” Prompto admits. “But I don’t think that’s what it is. It might just be the socks.”

Noctis rolls his eyes, “I like legs okay? Sue me.” A pause. “Wait, you were willing to indulge my nonexistent foot fetish?” 

“Of course! I love you!”

“Oh, baby—“

Gladio lifts a brow, “Wait. So is it Prom’s legs? Or any legs?”

“Chicken legs?”

“I don’t know! You’ve got an oral fixation, Prompto likes asses –“ an undignified squeak, “- and Iggy would gag us until we die. Let me live.”

Ignis hums at the indication.

“I think Ignis just likes to shut us up,” Prompto pipes.

“Perhaps,” Ignis starts, fingers drawing up to Gladio’s mouth. “I just like the sound of you choking on something significantly large.”

He presses his fingers to Gladio’s throat, and pets across his lips with his other hand, and he feels for the swallow, and the content hum that vibrates. The way they look at each other is intoxicating, and Noctis feels heat slowly return to his stomach.

Gladio grabs Ignis’s wrists in one hand, and pulls them down. Ignis doesn’t fight him, but simply waits for the inevitable; and Gladio leans up, to press his lips against his closed eye.

A day hasn’t passed that Gladio hasn’t kissed his scar. Noctis doesn’t know what it means, but he does it every day, a single press, and Ignis never takes offense, never puts up a fight, and never says a thing.

Noctis could fall asleep right now. Prompto is warm and smooth and bleeding content from every pore – but Ignis’s mouth seeks out Gladio’s, and their clothes melt from them, and Noctis can’t bear to miss a part of it. Not now, not then, not ever.

 Ignis’s internal clock is a blessing and a curse. It’s always accurate, and his own body has never failed him.

However, on late mornings such as these, he often wishes he had the ability to sleep until noon.

The coffee maker has just started to drip, when he hears stirring in the bedroom. The footsteps are immediately distinguishable – a futile attempt at being quiet;  light footed, but still audible on the tile.

Ignis can smell sandalwood and musky cologne, before arms wrap around him from behind.

“Mornin’ beautiful.”

Gladio is a surprisingly early riser. Days of early Crownsguard training, morning college classes, camping out in the desert and never knowing when an attacker is on the prowl. Habits do die hard, indeed.

Ignis hums when Gladio hooks his chin on his shoulder. He can feel his scruff against his cheek, and Ignis rubs back against it.

“We haven’t a roundtable until one.”

“I know.” Gladio tips his face against Ignis’s, so he can feel that his eyes are closed. “But there was a cold spot.”

Ignis huffs, “With those two? Unlikely.”

Gladio breathes a laugh through his nose.

“They’re still conked out.”

“Good.” Ignis reaches up into the cabinet and pulls out two mugs. He waits until he hears the last drip of the coffeemaker, and then begins to pour. “They deserve the rest.”

“We,” Gladio corrects. “Don’t think I’m here of any goodwill. I’m draggin’ you back with me.”

Ignis snorts, and adds sugar in Gladio’s mug. He tips his head back, and waits expectantly for Gladio to kiss him. Ignis is sensitive to the roughness of his lips, the strength of his hands, the hair tickling the side of his face.

Ignis reaches back to pull on it. His hair has become delightfully long. He’s always pleased to feel across his head and find it pulled in a bun, or done up in a braid, (or from Prompto’s doing, pulled into pigtails).

Gladio is only in boxers. Ignis can feel it in the leg that brushes against his own.

“I need you to know what you look like right now,” Gladio rumbles. His hands press flat against his torso, and his breath is hot on his neck. “Longsleeve shirt, no pants, are you trying to kill me?”

Ignis snorts.

“If I was to kill you, it wouldn’t be in this attire.”

“Though you definitely could,” Gladio adds. He rubs a knee between his own. “I always said you had stellar legs. How likely are we to stop Noct’s heart if we put you in those socks?”

 Ignis considers, bringing his coffee to his lips.  His mind fills with images, scents, and sounds — Noctis's ragged gasps, fingers clenched and toes digging into the comforter, Prompto supple and liquid in his arms. The prospect is intriguing, indeed.

Ignis swallows, and says,

“You are under the assumption that I would play along.”

“I’d have you in fishnets,” Gladio mumbles, fingers falling around to dig beneath the elastic of his pants. “The big kind. So I could rip ‘em off you.”

Ignis isn’t sure why he shivers at the prospect. But it’s obvious that the goosebumps are not lost on Gladio. Ignis sets down his mug, and turns in Gladio’s arms. Gladio grins against his neck, and Ignis loses himself to the sensation, zeroing in on his smell, his touch, his stature and his ever-radiating heat. Ignis sighs as he buries his nose in his collar, arms happily pawing into his back.

He distantly mumbles, far away to his own ears.

“A great misuse of our Gil.”

A happy breath from Gladio.

Ignis hears the feet pattering down the stairs, way before Gladio shows any indication of hearing them either.

“Guuuys,” Prompto whines. “Seriously? This is why you left? Coffee?”

“We were just on our way, darling.”

Gladio tenses, breath catching just only – and Ignis feels a rare shred of jealousy.

There’s the sound of fabric ruffling, and Prompto’s voice muffles, likely rubbing at his eyes.

“You guys owe me like, a whole dollar for every second you’re not in that bed.”

“Get back up there, and maybe I’ll give ya’ more than just some Gil,” Gladio growls. There’s a happy gasp from Prompto, and feet thump back up the stairs.

“Clock’s ticking!” Prompto calls, voice growing fainter. Ignis presses his eyes into Gladio’s shoulder. They don’t ache much anymore, but the pressure still feels good.

His voice is dim. 

“Describe him to me.”

“His hair was muffed up on one side.” Gladio pets into his hair, showing him. “There’s a hickey on his neck with Noct’s name all over it.” He presses his pointer finger into the high spot of his throat. “Here. He’s still wearing those fuckin’ socks– which is uh, concerning. Cause we took showers last night.”

Ignis vibrates contently. 

“Perhaps we created a monster.”

“Mm. If it means we can dress ‘em up more, then I’m down.”

Ignis reaches back for his coffee, and hears Gladio do the same.

“Best return before you owe too many favors.”

Gladio sets a hand at his lower back, and guides him up the stairs. It used to feel condescending, but now he just feels loved.

“There’s worse things." 

 “You would know.”

 Noctis stirs to rustling sheets.

He groans, rolling onto his other side – but his eyes snap open when he reaches out for nothing but bed. Noctis shoots upwards, and jerks his head over. Prompto is halfway in the sheets, frozen, Gladio and Ignis approaching in the doorway.

Noctis scoffs, offended, “You left me?”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Gladio grins. He sets a half-empty mug on the dresser, and climbs onto the mattress alongside Ignis.

“They left us,” Prompto accuses, using his octopus powers to wrap around Noctis’s accessible limbs. He yanks him back into the sheets, “I returned from my righteous crusade with thy prisoners in tow. Your Highness is welcome.”

Noctis lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. He reluctantly cuddles back into Prompto, but continues to glare over his shoulder.

“Spare us the dirty look-” Ignis says, shocking Noctis silent, “-and yes, I can feel it.”

Gladio snickers, flopping down over Noctis and Prompto. They let out a combined ow! He squeezes an arm over them both, legs kicking to get comfortable.

“Heavy,” Noctis whines. 

“Lazy,” Gladio returns, fingers wiggling first into Prompto’s armpit, and then jabbing into Noctis’s high spot on his ribs, and they let out a combined squeal. Gladio dodges a pillow, giggling, and it’s hard to believe Noctis sat through Crownsguard auditions and watched this behemoth of a man take on six trainees all at once. Yeah. He loves Gladio a lot. 

“Where’s my morning sex,” Prompto pouts, flopping to his back. “I wasn’t even fucked last night. Three boyfriends, useless.”

“You were quite the rag-doll, if I so remember correctly,” Ignis says. “Hardly in a state to be ‘fucked’.”

Noctis smiles, because he loves when Ignis curses.

“Hey,” Gladio pets down Prompto’s stomach, turning him to jelly. “I still haven’t had breakfast yet.”

Prompto squints, “What-“

Gladio rolls him over to his stomach, pulling him ass-up, and Prompto squawks. Gladio noses into his tailbone and says,

“Thanks for the meal!”

He spreads Prompto and licks flat against his hole, and Prompto nearly busts a nail digging into the headboard, screaming. Noctis almost hyperventilates from laughing.

He’s half hard and half asleep, but Noctis can’t help but snicker at the downright shocked look on Prompto’s face. His eyes are rolled back, and he keeps starting sentences and biting them off, and it’s hilarious because Noctis knows exactly how that feels. He chooses not to look at the stockings bunched around Prom's knees, because believe it or not, Noctis thinks himself still too young to die.

Ignis curiously sets down his mug on the side table and reaches over. He skims his fingers down Prompto’s spine, carefully feeling over each bump, until his fingers find where Gladio’s tongue is.

“Ah,” Ignis says.

“Help – me-“ Prompto cries. Literally cries, there’s literally tear tracks down his cheeks and his legs are shaking. His cock bobs helplessly between his legs, and he gasps, “I’m – die.”

The three of them laugh. Gladio tenses his tongue and presses his fingers into the bite-marks on his thighs, and Prompto makes a sound not too dissimilar to a dying cat.

“Noct.” Ignis holds out a hand. “Why so far away, love?”

Good question. Noctis scrambles over to the other end of the bed. He unceremoniously climbs into his lap, and happily hums when fingers come to rest at his lower back. Ignis doesn’t like to kiss with morning breath, so he takes it as a compliment that Ignis is willing to indulge him. His mouth tastes overwhelmingly like coffee. Noctis licks over the scar on his lip - and Ignis stops.

“Your knee?" 

“Sore,” Noctis says. “But fine.” 

Noctis shifts to get comfortable, but his breath catches short.

“Fuckin’ Six, Iggy.” He shifts his weight off, and immediately reaches for his waistband, pulling at elastic  — and Ignis is way hard. Like, thrusters to full Capn’ Kirk. He twitches when Noctis’s knuckles brush against the head. “Are you okay?”

“You can blame that one,” Ignis drawls, nodding in Gladio’s direction. Gladio holds up a peace sign. 

Noctis makes a face like okay that makes sense, but breathes a laugh so Ignis knows.

“Well I’m definitely awake now.” Noctis pumps him once, dry and smooth and thick in his hand. Ignis lets out a low breath, eyelid fluttering shut when Noctis tips his head and spits. “Can I have this in me?”

“This early?” Ignis teases, but reaches over into the bedside drawer. “Well, I suppose it would be an honor to seat the King.”

Noctis huffs, tossing away his own shirt and peeling off his boxers. “I’m beheading you first.”

“I would take offense otherwise,” Ignis smiles, and pours a gracious amount of lube across his fingers. Gladio snaps his fingers, and Ignis tosses it his way.

Ignis feels up Noctis’s thigh, slippery and sticky soft; he pokes against his perineum, and finally slides between his legs. Noctis sighs happily, and Ignis bites his own lip. Noctis soaks him in; pale beauty marks and long lashes, littered scarring and wide, broad shoulders. Ignis sinks in the first finger easily, and makes a sound deep in his chest.

“Gorgeously malleable as always,” Ignis hums, bumping his nose against Noctis’s. He grins, and works Ignis slow and long in his hand.

Meanwhile, Prompto is gasping like a man six feet under. Gladio grins wicked evil, and douses two fingers in lube, crooking them with no hesitation. Prompto screams, and comes in a dry orgasm.

“That’s what you get for eating my chips!” Gladio laughs. 

“Wow,” Prompto wipes his eyes, heaving in air. “I can’t believe I met Satan today. Hey guys, have you met the literal devil?”

“We might be affiliated,” Ignis hums, kissing into Noctis’s neck. It makes him tingly, heat striking up his stomach when Ignis really starts to work his hand. Ignis has this way of making him feel safe and hunted all at once. Noctis tips his head, and drinks in the growl he gets when he squeezes Ignis’s cock at the base.

Prompto is still hiccuping, legs completely giving out on him, and Gladio takes pity. He rolls Prompto onto his back and smiles at him, kissing up his cheek and into his hair.

”You alright?”

“Yeah, that was good, put your dick in me,” Prompto says, still wiping off tear tracks, and the room breaks with laughter.

Noctis rides Ignis with a lazy arm flopped over his shoulder, slow and deep to spare his bad leg. Gladio shoves Prompto’s knees to his ears, and Prompto happily mewls when he nearly gets Gladio to break the headboard. Ignis isn’t nearly as thrilled, but Noct won’t lie. It was pretty hot.

These are long days. Sometimes, Noctis feels that he’ll never be prepared enough.

But Noctis carries himself with a strong will and a tight lip. It's how his Dad ruled on the throne, so Noctis will follow suit. 

Walk tall. 

He sits there, legs spread, arms at the sides of the throne, and listens as a viscount kneels at his feet, and delivers a speech about poverty and the worth of their dollar and the financial state of Tenebrae.

He listens, and he nods, and he sends him off with a wave of his finger,  summoning the next adviser.

But as they begin, head bowed, Noctis’s eye flickers to his right. Ignis stands in uniform, head up, shoulders back – and Gladio, at his left, body at military rest, boots spit-shined and combat ready – and Prompto, gun holster at his waist, fatigues buttoned up to his chin with a steady set to his jaw –

And Noctis swells with pride. The door opens, more problems walk through, but only Noctis will know about the bite marks under their collars, and he likes it that way.

They’ll return home, and he’s grateful for that. Because it’s their home, and not anyone else’s.