If you think about it, the term unconventional is kinda’ stupid.
Prompto has spent his entire life trying to fit in. Tryna’ whiten his teeth and drop the babyfat and not laugh too loud or sneeze weird or walk funny. You can’t be too soft, or you’re a stereotype. You can’t be too outspoken, or you’re undesirable.
Like, who gets to decide what is and isn’t ‘conventional?’
Prompto is still self-conscious about the way he runs. And sometimes, he’ll cover up his laugh after he snorts. But he refuses to be embarrassed about this.
Noctis is slumped against his side. He’s heavy, knees drawn up in the booth and pushed against the table, phone held up by his nose as he grunts, huffs, and then makes a pleased sound, shoving his phone in Prompto’s face.
“Whatever dude,” Prompto sniffs. “Grind all you want, you’ll never beat my record in Candy Crush.”
“Really? How long you gonna’ ride that one out?”
He smells buttery and sweet, and despite the way he’s curled up tight, Noctis is oozing content out of his pores. It settles Prompto, makes him a bit sleeper than usual. He knocks his head against Noct’s, and whatever retaliation he had dies behind his teeth.
Gladio and Ignis are across the restaurant, speaking to the proprietor over the bar. Gladio is relaxed, body language open and non-threatening, and it’s obvious he’s turning on the charm to squeeze whatever information he can get out of the beta behind the counter.
Ignis is at his side, head turned and feigning boredom, but Prompto knows he’s attuned to every single sound in this restaurant. He rests his hand at Gladio’s lower back, and that would be a great way to start a fuckin’ fight, if Gladio were any other alpha.
What they have – they say it’s not right.
Noctis yawns, tipping his head back and briefly shoving his nose in Prompto’s neck. It’s relatively empty at this hour of night, so Prompto purrs momentarily, and lets Noctis snuff against his skin. Another wave washes through him – warm honey and sickle sweet that tingles under his skin.
Prompto didn’t ask to be born an omega. And according to Noct, he didn’t exactly beg for it either. But you are what you are, and Noctis never gave a single shit about his second-gender, so Prompto aspires to be more like him by the day.
“I want a real bed tonight,” Noctis mumbles. Prompto turns his face towards his hair, and breathes in the scent he knows by heart.
“Same, man. My spine is gonna’ snap if we have to sleep on one more haven.”
Noctis snorts, and slips an arm between Prompto and the booth. He smooths up between his shoulder blades, squirming closer, not giving a single shit of who else might be in the restaurant.
“Funny, we’ve been sleeping on the haven. You have been sleeping on Gladio’s chest like a baby kangaroo.”
“You gotta’ get better at calling dibs dude.”
Noctis trills in his chest – a sound not usually heard anywhere but in private – and it makes Prompto smile, turning to meet his mouth when Noctis moves to kiss him.
“Ah, the sacrifices we make for the baby.”
Prompto jokingly punches his arm, and Noctis snickers.
“Well, aren’t you two fuckin’ adorable.”
Prompto tenses all the way to his toes. All the relaxed, sultry aromas exuding from Noctis stops with an annoyed huff.
It’s two alphas. They’re big, but not that big.
“Whataya’ want,” Noctis grunts, ever fearless. Prompto is on edge, but Noctis stays where he is, half tangled up with Prompto, eyes gazing up and unamused.
The dark haired one snorts, “Shit, well it’s not like you two ain’t smellin’ up the whole joint. What are two lil’ bitches doin’ out this late?”
Prompto rolls his eyes, and he can almost feel Noctis do the same.
“Oh fuck off,” Noctis sets his head back on Prompto’s shoulder, and turns to his phone. “I’m on a date.”
Sort of true? If you wanted to call the last three months of their life one horrendously long date.
The second alpha laughs, and then stops. “Oh fuck – are you serious?
“Yeah right, what good is another omega? Can’t do shit for dick without a real man, baby.”
“God,” Prompto rubs between his eyebrows. “You know it’s not the thirteenth century anymore, right?”
He looks across the restaurant, and Ignis is watching them, physically annoyed, but knowingly silent.
“Hey, we’re just offerin’,” the guy grins. “You come in here puttin’ on a show, and we’ll show you a good time.”
“No thanks,” Prompto and Noctis say together. They wait for the inevitable.
The first alpha huffs up, voice growling, and the moment he reaches for Prompto’s arm, it’s over. Noctis sets down his phone, Prompto twists the dude’s arm behind his back, and Noctis cracks his open rootbeer bottle over the second alpha’s head. The alpha fights against Prompto’s grip, so Prompto knees him in the crotch and watches him drop.
“Ramuh!” The proprietor shouts, “Get out! All of yous!”
Gladio winks, “Thanks for the info,” and shoves his hand in Ignis’s back pocket. Prompto steps over the bodies on the floor, and Noctis slings an arm over his shoulder.
“There’s a tomb hidden in the mine,” Gladio says, holding open the door. It chimes as they walk through.
“Oh good,” Prompto sighs. “More dark, cramped spaces. Totally my favorite!”
Ignis spares a glance to the two alphas reeling in pain, and turns back with a raised eyebrow.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Well I wasn’t trying to get a rouse out of them,” Noctis grunts, jamming his nose right into the gland on Prompto’s neck, immediately making his knees wobble.
“Quit it!” Prompto whines, pawing at him. Fuck, he can smell himself. Noctis laughs, but Prompto sees the way both Gladio and Ignis walk closer, not really their own doing.
When they crawl in the caravan, it’s Prompto’s turn to squirm up over Noctis and breathe him in.
Prompto isn’t sure when he first started liking Noctis. He always smelled good – and he knew he wasn’t really supposed to, but he did. Other omegas smell sticky, sometimes. Too sweet, like those candy-flavored freezies they serve at gas stations. It’s alright at first, but then it gives you a headache.
Noct was never like that. They could be rooms apart, and Prompto would still drift his way. It’s inevitable.
He’s always felt safe with Noctis. Textbooks say sharing alphas should drive them to hate each other, but it really couldn’t be any further from the truth.
Gladio comes out of the shower smelling like a whole-ass forest. Woodsy and soapy and so delicious, Prompto has him in his arms before he can even change out of his towel. Ignis has decided to steal Noctis and pull him to the other bed, and Prompto would whine, but there’s a whole lotta’ naked Gladio in his face, so he can’t get too mad.
Ignis and Noct are fun to watch. Ignis pets through his hair, and Noctis melts like ice cream. You know, there’s only two alphas on the planet Noct would submit to, and they’re in this very room. Funny stuff.
This – here. This thing they have. It’s not right if it’s not all of them. It’s never been right, until now, but it’s always been there, simmering under the surface.
Even in highschool — Ignis would come by and pick them up from school and Prompto would say no it’s fine I can walk home and Ignis wouldn’t hear a word of it. (And only later did Prompto notice him subtly warding off the other alphas in his grade). Gladio would always suggest movies and dinner and he’d always pay, even when Ignis bitched and whined and moaned – and they’d go bowling on weekends and Noct would hiss at anyone that tried to hit on them and it just made sense, the day Ignis sat them down and suggested they try something new.
Prompto was a naysayer. But dude, can you blame him? It was a disaster waiting to happen, and Prompto would rather lose an arm than their friendship, and you can hella quote him on that.
“It’s impossible,” he said.
But Gladio squared his shoulders and said, “No. We’d be a pack.” and the word clicked right and perfect and the clouds parted and sun shined and the Halo themesong played in the background because oh.
Can you really have your cake and eat it too?
Noctis is vibrating in Ignis’s arms, chest purring so loud Prompto can hear it from across the room.
Yeah, you can.
Fuck caves, fuck caves, fuck caves.
This shit sucks, like, seriously. There’s bugs crawling at their feet and demons spawning out of the floor and why the hell are the walls wet – ew ew ew –
“Quit bitching and move it,” Gladio gruffs, squeezing between a thin shelf in the rocking.
“Why are they always in caves? Why can’t the tomb just be built above ground on a nice little field surrounded by sheep and bunny rabbits,” Prompto sighs. His feet slip a little on the rocks, and his nails scrabble against the walls.
“There was a tomb built on a hill,” Ignis says. “It was ransacked, if you so remember.”
Prompto bites his lip, and sighs. It smells disgusting in here, but he can only imagine how the alphas feel, so he decides to keep his mouth shut on that one.
Noctis is determined, pressing forward at the front of the group. More daemons spawn, and Ignis summons his knifes, immediately tossing one into the head of a goblin. Prompto feels sluggish, too anxious to focus straight.
“Just what I needed,” Noctis huffs, turning on his heel and summoning a sword. There’s not enough room for Gladio’s broadsword, so he takes to conking them with his shield, using his legs to kick them in the face, which is weirdly hot and – okay, not now please.
Prompto is careful with his ammo; he’s horrified of missing and ricocheting the bullets off of the rockwalls, so he only takes the shots he knows he can nail.
“On your left,” Ignis calls. Noctis turns, and pierces a daemon skull.
“We have to be close, right?”
“Keep moving,” Gladio ushers. Prompto sighs, sticking towards the back. Gladio kicks a can, and Prompto nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Quit being a baby,” Gladio says, but Prompto can hear the tease. He tries to smile back, but it’s so dark and damp and small – Prompto takes in deep breaths, as not to set the whole group on edge.
A hand settles on his shoulder, and Prompto nearly trips.
“It’s alright,” Ignis says, squeezing his shoulder. He’s not using The voice, but the reassurance is nice. Prompto briefly noses into his hand, and Ignis’s eyes smile down at him. Ignis is a chilly, six-foot bitch of an alpha, and Prompto loves him so much.
Relief washes over him as soon as they find the tomb doors. Noctis adds the spear to his armiger, and finally they can get the fuck out of here.
The trek back up the cave is quiet and tense. Prompto saves his blabbering for counting his breath, and he knows he’s unsettling the pack, but he just can’t help it. His lungs are burning – like the whole cave is about to collapse in on himself and oh god.
“Prompto move it!” Gladio growls, and Prompto jerks into action. There’s a giant spider daemon crawling out of the ground. He tries to fire at the legs, but his hands are shaky, and there’s not enough room for a fight. They’re sitting ducks — fuck, the walls are gonna’ cave in and Prompto is going to die from a giant spider lady and he’ll never get to ride a chocobo ever again —
“Retreat!” Ignis calls, pushing Noctis by the shoulder. “Make for the cave entrance!”
The Arachne skitters after them, legs scrabbling over rocks, and hey, it’s probably the worst thing ever. Prompto tries to keep up, the cave entrance growing closer and closer, but his ankle twists in the shelving, and his face smacks against the ground.
“Prompto!” Noctis cries.
The Arachne howls, and Prompto breathes in to scream, except Gladio scoops him up, taking off in a dead run. Ignis and Noctis are already outside the cave, waiting with spells in their hands, and as soon as Gladio clears the opening, the cave freezes over with blizzara.
Prompto heaves in fresh air.
“Fuckin’ Astrals,” Gladio pants, setting Prompto down in the grass. He bends over to catch his own breath, and then looks to Prompto and snarls, “Can you be any more useless?”
Prompto flinches, hand fluttering down to his swollen ankle. Yeah, not really his brightest moment. The sun beats down on them, and Prompto can finally breathe again, so he closes his eyes and rubs at them. The pit in his chest really kinda’ sucks; he doesn’t mean to be – it’s not like he —
There’s a low, rumbling sound, and Prompto peeks open an eye when he realizes that Ignis and Gladio are growling at each other.
“Knock it off,” Gladio barks. Ignis’s lips are sealed shut, eyes narrowed in fury.
The hair on Prompto’s arms stands up by instinct. Ignis is at his full height, throat growling – and Noctis has his arms crossed, and Gladio never stood a chance against both Ignis, and their pack leader.
Gladio secedes, head turning, “Fuck, fine.” He slumps down next to Prompto, and bonks their heads together. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Noctis shields his face against the sun, and sighs, “Is everyone okay?”
“Prompto rotated his ankle,” Ignis says. “But otherwise, none the worse for wear.”
Gladio reaches out for Prompto’s calf– and pain screeches up his leg, boiling white hot in his bones. Prompto bites his fist as he screams, and the entire group tenses.
Instinctually, almost frantic - Gladio presses against him and croons. It washes over him, like a hot, warm wave, and Prompto goes slack again. Thanks, biology – you don’t actually suck for once.
“Shit, that looks broken,” Noctis says.
“Huh, really?” Prompto slurs.
Ignis kneels in the grass. His fingers are feather light as he reaches for his boot, and Prompto thrashes again, only held down by Gladio’s arms. Noctis hovers, mild horror on his face, hands tucked to his chest like he wants to reach out but is afraid to. Ignis mutters soft words, and tugs once more on the sole of his boot, and Noctis jerks in a hiss,
“Quit it! You’re hurting him!”
“It’s fine, it’s fine, just take it off,” Prompto wheezes. “Hurts, hurts.”
“Grab a potion,” Ignis tells, as he yanks off the boot, and Prompto shrieks into Gladio’s neck. His scent is all over the place, guilt and concern masked by a strong front – and Prompto gulps it like air, desperate to have any distraction he can get. He’s too afraid to look at his own foot because gross gross gross.
“Broken,” Ignis confirms. “Hold on.” Noctis pulls out a potion from the armiger, Ignis pops it open over his leg, and Prompto nearly passes out from the instant relief.
“Sorry baby,” Gladio mumbles, “Sorry.”
“No, no,” Prompto sags, breath heavy. “I’m – I’ll – I’ll watch my feet next time.”
Noctis ruffles his hair in passing, Prompto starts to relax, and the intensity slowly starts to bleed from the pack. Ah, oops.
Mom used to get after him about throwing his emotions around.
You’ll upset alphas like that, she’d say, but whatever, not his problem, he’d huff.
But Gladio decides to carry him to the car anyways, and Ignis’s hands are tight on the wheel, and Prompto notes, dully, that the alphas are still on edge, even after they drive back to Hammerhead and settle in the shitty caravan.
Noctis is already comfortable, curled up in the corner and thumbing away at his phone – but the mood still isn’t right. Ignis sits on the bench and begins to undo his shoes, one by one, and it’s too quiet in here.
Prompto can fix that, probably.
Gladio shuts the door to the caravan, and Prompto crowds him against it, jumping once and trusting that Gladio will catch him. Hands immediately land under his thighs, and Prompto grins, squishing Gladio’s face in his hands. He’s so handsome – with the scar and the long hair and the scruffy beard. Gladio’s eyes are humorously wide with surprise, and Prompto almost can’t handle the butterflies it gives him.
“Thank you for saving me,” Prompto purrs, face slipping along his. He noses under his jaw, feels stubble against his cheek, and Gladio’s chest rumbles against his own.
“You’re gonna’ give me a goddamn heart attack one day,” Gladio grunts. Prompto tries to exude as much content as he can, and he feels Gladio physically relax under him, nose bumping back against his. His voice drops softer, “Please be careful.”
Alright, confession time? Prompto lives for this shit. The fairer sex his ass, you calm down a six’six alpha and not get an adrenaline rush from it.
Heck, Gladio smells so good. He’s all business and strong will, broad shoulders and strong arms – but there’s a softness to him. In his romance novels and his giggles and his unhealthy snuggling addiction.
Ignis smiles toothlessly, undoing the buttons on his cuffs and popping the first few on his collar.
“Is anyone up for a game of spades?”
“Wager what? – we’re dirt broke.”
Gladio squeezes beneath his thighs and grins, “I can think of a few things.”
It’s okay that they’re not like everyone else. The world is ending anyways, so what does it matter?
Noct is a fury of an omega. Chin up and headstrong, but squirmy and soft behind the zipper of their tent.
It’s so fun to watch Gladio pet down his spine, and see Noct arch up and sigh. Today Noctis phased thirty feet in the air, chopped off the head of a giant snake and flayed a daemon the way down, and now he smells like a honey jar, stretched out and lax against Gladio like a big tomcat.
There’s chip wrappers and clothes and blankets scattered all around the tent, but it feels homey. It feels good. Something twist a little, in his chest – a burn that he knows is coming – but he pushes it back. Not here. Not today.
Ignis slides to his back, and Prompto slumps against him.
Ignis has a totally different scent than Gladio. It’s cooler, like chewing mint gum and breathing in cold air. But it’s so good he can taste it. It swallows you up, and makes you kinda’ wanna’ drop to your knees. A biology thing, Prompto guesses.
“What is it?” Ignis mumbles.
Ignis doesn’t blatantly go for his neck, but he pushes back his bangs, and prods Prompto to roll towards him.
Oh. Prompto stops, and Ignis smiles at him, “Well don’t stop on my account.”
Prompto reaches for Iggy’s ears. He thumbs behind one, and slides his hand across his neck. A part of him – deep down – hopes to see a bite mark here one day. His, Noct’s – fuck, maybe even Gladio’s. He doesn’t really care who it is, as long as it’s them. Prompto smiles, “Just happy from a dope meal. My compliments to the chef.”
Ignis doesn’t preen, but Prompto can tell he’s happy. He isn’t as vocal as Gladio, but Prompto has learned to read the small things. Quirks in his lips, the twinge in his scent – one day, he hopes to read him as good as Gladio can. Prompto chooses to lean up and kiss him instead. Ignis contently kisses back.
Ignis kisses sweet and dirty all at once. One moment he’s pressing soft and kissing slow, the next he’s licking into your mouth and sucking on your tongue. It’s not really something you get used to.
Prompto sighs when he pulls away, and Ignis presses his lips hot against his jaw.
“You’re in pre-heat.”
“They both are,” Gladio scratches at Noctis’s spine, and he moans. “Like, smell this dude.”
“Oh, I can,” Ignis says.
Prompto inhales, trying to tell a difference, but his nose isn’t as strong. He huffs.
“It’s not for a while!”
“Nevertheless, it changes nothing,” Ignis licks across his scent spot, and Prompto keens. “The smell is maddening.”
Noctis grins, squirming around to pull Prompto back towards him. “This is gonna’ be fun.” Noctis pauses, “Oh, you do smell fuckin’ good.”
“Dude…” Prompto gasps. “So do you.”
Ignis rolls his eyes and flops to his back, and Gladio shuts off the lantern, and Noctis and Prompto have a very long-winded discussion about if you can, indeed bottle up a smell and sell it.
“It’s called perfume,” Gladio barks, exasperated, when the clock reaches one. “Shut the fuck up!”
There’s a long, tense silence. But Ignis snorts a laugh once, and then the whole tent breaks out in laughter, and nobody falls asleep for a while. It’s alright though, they’ll take turns driving tomorrow.
Lestallum is delightfully endearing. The delicacies are an obvious given – it’s a relief to have access to real, quality ingredients – but there’s a spark in the people. A comradery that you don’t see in big cities, like Insomnia.
Gladio likes to complain about the heat, but Ignis figures it’s nothing you can’t sweat through. The hotel room has fans, and yet it’s nothing compared to a desert night air. Lestallum nightlife is full of, well, life. To be honest, Ignis was against leaving the room so late in the hour, but he isn’t against it now.
The meat skewers have an intriguing spice on them – it’s hot in your sinuses, but it doesn’t make your eyes water. Ignis is taking notes when Gladio elbows him. Ignis looks up, and then follows his gaze.
“They’re only twenty,” Gladio says, and it has this weight to it that Ignis can almost taste.
Prompto and Noctis are amid the crowd of people; there’s musicians playing in the square, and the people dance messy in a folk manner. Prompto and Noctis have their arms hooked, nearly tripping each other and laughing because of it. They turn with everyone else, and Ignis smiles shortly. He looks back to his notebook, and tucks his pen in the binding.
“And we are only twenty-three.”
Gladio fumbles with the empty stick from his skewer, picking at the sharp point with his thumbnail. His back is against the railing, and Ignis has never been one to fool himself – he looks stunning.
“I wanna’ protect them from shit I have no control over.”
Lestallum isn’t so conservative as some of the western towns they’ve been to – but even if it was, Ignis wouldn’t care. He tucks his notepad in the breast pocket of his blazer, and then crowds Gladio up against the bar. Cheering erupts from the crowd, but Ignis doesn’t turn to see what for. He locks his hands behind Gladio’s slim lower back, and looks up.
“They are stronger than you give them credit for.”
“I give ‘em plenty of credit,” Gladio says, fingers rising to brush the stray bang out of his face. Ignis can feel the backs of his knuckles scrape against his skin, and his senses fill with him – tangy and musky and deliciously Gladio. He continues, “It’s not about strength.”
Ignis hums. Gladio is so talented at the rugged, masculine persona, but his underlying worry is delectably sweet.
Ignis looks over his shoulder, and Noctis has Prompto in his arms, spinning him around the square – and Prompto is giggling so hard he’s snorting, a hand over his mouth, and Ignis huffs a laugh beyond his own will.
He turns back and presses his cheek to Gladio’s shoulder. They’re in a long, relaxed hug, tucked behind a streetlamp, so Ignis breathes him in.
“It won’t always be okay,” Ignis says. “But we will be there nonetheless.”
Gladio’s nose dips into his hair, just once, and Ignis feels his heartrate spike. Ignis was always aware of his attraction to alphas and omegas alike, but Ignis knows he’s the first and only alpha Gladio has ever had — and that means something to him. Something to them both.
His blood always burns when they’re this close. Instinct slithers and hisses to him, a low underlaying tone of danger. The closer Gladio breathes to this throat, the stronger the feeling, and Ignis absolutely lives for it. Nature tells him to bare his teeth and growl – but Ignis tips his neck and submits, and Gladio near bloody preens, right in the square.
Ignis kisses his bottom lip, and Gladio’s hands tighten at his waist, and it feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest – but Ignis is a reluctant adrenaline junky, and he craves this like coffee.
“Fuck,” Gladio mutters between kisses. He tucks away suddenly, nose pressing under his ear, and Ignis hums, eyes falling shut. Gladio mouths over his jaw and says, “Still can’t believe you let me do this. God you’re hot.”
“For you,” Ignis says, nails finding the skin of his lower back, knowing it’ll make him shiver. It does, and Ignis resists a smile.
“S’been a while.”
“As long as our last shower.”
Gladio hums; his eyes flicker over his shoulder, and Ignis knows he’s looking for the omegas. He kisses Ignis one last time, closed mouth and sincere, and then he threads their fingers together.
“Come on. They’re ready to go.”
Sex takes a bit more patience, with them. It’s not like with Prompto and Noctis – where if you kiss them right and work at their skin, they’ll open up slick and melt into the sheets. But Ignis has never shied away from hard work – especially when you know the reward will be all the sweeter for it.
And, well. He knows Noctis and Prompto enjoy the show anyways.
Gladio’s hand is large on his hip, strong and digging into bone, and it’s grounding. Ignis kneels over him, his own fingers slipped behind and stretching – and he internally pats himself on the back for restocking their lube at the last gas station.
Prompto had twitched his nose and blinked what do you need THAT f- oh! oh, nevermind --
Gladio’s teeth are working a heavy spot on his shoulder. He knows to steer clear above the collar, but anything beneath his neck is fair game, and Ignis will wear the bruises for some time. It’s not an unpleasant thought.
Gladio’s skin is hot against his own – naked and tanned and so mouthwateringly gorgeous, Ignis nearly gets distracted from the job at hand. Gladio’s fingers slip along his own, and Ignis’s breath catches, eyes snapping wider.
“I’ve got you babe,” Gladio says low, and Ignis hums a response.
“Just a moment longer.”
“Don’t gotta’ rush.”
“I want to,” Ignis stresses, forehead bumping Gladio’s as he tips forward - and the groan bubbles out of him. Gladio’s fingers are wider than his own, and the stretch burns like a brand.
Noctis is mewling with delight in the next bed over. Prompto’s chin is hooked over his shoulder, and they’re enfolded together like a present made for unwrapping – all that’s missing is a bow.
He’s not sure why Prompto and Noctis enjoy watching him couple with Gladio as so; Ignis has never been anything but an alpha, so he can only understand what has been explained to him. However, if he’s to draw an analogy, it’s likely the feeling he gets when he sees Prompto straddle Noct and cry sweet nothings into his skin. A magma hot curl – alluring and beautiful and a combined scent so attractive, it stops him dead in his tracks, every time.
Ignis has their full attention, so he grips Gladio’s chin with his free hand and licks along his tongue, and the sweet little noises bubble from the next bed over. Gladio smiles against his mouth and Ignis briefly smiles back, pulling out his fingers and letting Gladio line himself between his legs.
“Don’t hold back,” Ignis says, knowing full well he’ll be sore tomorrow.
“You want me to hurt you?” There’s a growl to it – but it’s more of a rasp. His hands slip down, squeezing his ass and teasing a bruise.
But Ignis knows he’d never hurt him. Never in a hundred years.
So Ignis smooths his fingers up Gladio’s chest, and dips his nose against the pulse point in his neck. Gladio freezes – and Ignis can feel him, stretching and huge and fragrant, like burning pine needles in a campfire. It’s so intense, Ignis blinks through the white – through the sting and all the chemicals in his blood saying he shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t be so close to another alpha’s throat. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t.
His thighs meet Gladio’s, sunken all the way down, a pressure low in his stomach; Ignis kisses his neck once, and Gladio holds his waist and croons.
For him. For Ignis. A low, sweet sound, and Ignis can’t help his own noise in response.
To his own chagrin, it’s not until he’s halfway mad and sweating through his hair, does he realize they’ve fully tranced Prompto and Noct in the second bed. They’re no longer sitting up, but laid together and watching quietly, obediently – almost sleepy. A deep breath, and Ignis knows why. The pheromones are strong, so entangled and buzzing with energy.
Hmm…it’s Ignis’s fault, but he won’t apologize.
There is no higher honor than to ghost a kiss across sticky tattoos and solid brawn. Gladio moans beneath his breath, fingers sweeping up his back as Ignis rises up and rides him, and Ignis has never felt such a strong desire to be bitten – but he wants it. Bloody hell, does he. It’s a hard pace that strains his thighs, but it reminds him of training mats and shared gym showers and shoving towels under the door hinge, in hopes that no one will catch their scent.
“Love you,” Gladio says, hands branding the backs of his thighs. His ass. His spine. “Fuck, love you so much.”
Ignis can’t purr, but he almost wants to. He rumbles a sound in hopes that Gladio will know what it means – and it seems to get the point across, because Gladio snaps up his hips and bites at his lower lip, and Ignis, for a moment, is convinced he can see the gods.
“Oh –“ Ignis breathes, eyes rolling back, and Gladio holds him still and fucks him perfect.
“You’re so pretty, Iggy,” Noctis says, and it sounds sleepy, but Ignis enjoys the sentiment anyways.
There’s a long, “Mmmmm yeah, smells good,” mumbled from Prompto.
Ignis will admit his pettiness is a character flaw, but he doesn’t regret digging his nails into Gladio’s shoulder and moaning through his teeth, because it means Gladio will fuck him that much harder, and Ignis is a smart type, you see.
It’s so much at once. His own scent rubbed against Gladio’s, sweat and a pleasure-pain that Ignis cherishes at his core. The adrenaline doesn’t leave, and probably never will, but Ignis does love him, and tells him so.
His darlings in the bed over. His sweet nothings watching how it’s truly done.
An embarrassment? How foolish. Gladio is trembling and groaning and no – this is power.
“Knot me,” Ignis grits, knowing Gladio can’t, but it gets the reaction he wants anyways. He rubs his cheek against Ignis and whines, and he comes so beautifully, it fills him to his core. Ignis finally remembers to grab his own cock and pull, and he comes like a trigger.
He aches; head to toe, his skin burns with the bite marks, and he’s slick and sticky and Ignis doesn’t even have the shame to feel bad about it. Gladio kisses his temple, his cheek and his jaw and his ear, and the content rumbling in his chest makes Ignis smile.
Prompto and Noctis are getting up to their own trouble now, but Ignis is so worn out, he can’t spare a glance over and risk getting hard again. Gladio is absolutely glowing, so Ignis pets along the shaved fuzzies above his ear, and tries to memorize the rare softness in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Gladio says.
Gladio’s fingers slip to where they’re still connected.
“You’re gonna’ feel that tomorrow.”
Ignis rubs against his neck, and relishes in the stubble.
“As if that wasn’t my plan all along.”
“You’re a fuckin’ menace.” Gladio pats his hip, “Come on, you up for a shower?”
“Carry me,” Ignis tells. He lets his voice drop, just a little, and he sees the way Gladio’s pupils dilate.
“Hangin’ around the princess too much,” Gladio teases, but hauls him up by the thighs and carries him anyways.
In all honesty, Ignis doesn’t mind being their designated driver. He feels much more relaxed behind the wheel, but there’s something to be said about the comfort of control.
Prompto is wiggly and a never-ending spark of energy in the passenger seat. He takes photos, squirms and sits cross legged, rolls around and talks to Gladio over the headrest, bores, and fiddles with the radio – plays on his phone and picks the tab off his coffee and whistles at chocobos they pass on the road. He’s a busy kind, but Ignis doesn’t mind.
A hand fiddles with the middle console, so Ignis adjusts his grip on the wheel, and grabs Prompto’s fingers in his own. Prompto looks up, startled, and Ignis keeps his eyes on the road.
Prompto has always had a (rather obvious) liking to Noct. That is a simple given. But it was harder for him to warm to Ignis, and even more so, Gladio. But he’s edgy around alphas in general, and Ignis would like to personally speak to whoever was the cause.
If there’s a downside to the long car rides, then it is the wind. Ignis tries to avoid stereotypes, but he is quite meticulous in the way he scents the pack before they continue on their day. A good morning kiss in the tent, brushing wrists during breakfast, passing jackets on their walk to the car; his hard work is quickly washed away by the open-top of the Regalia, and it leaves Ignis to start all over again once they reach their destination.
He simply cannot help it. He likes when they smell like him. Gladio is quite aware of his agenda, but he allows it as such, and it’s quite satisfying.
Prompto threads their fingers together and squeezes. He looks back out the window, but he’s less fidgety, and Ignis allows a smile when he thinks no one is looking. Ignis meets Noct’s eyes in the rearview mirror – and by the smirk on his face, Ignis knows he’s caught.
“Would it kill you to sit still?”
“Yes,” Noctis deadpans.
Ignis squeezes his thighs a little tighter and strengthens his hold on Noctis’s hair. The yellow bathroom overhead gives just enough light for Ignis to see his handiwork, so he sits up on the edge of the tub, and carefully snips the next section of Noctis’s hair.
He’s cut Noct’s hair for as long as he can remember. Noctis was a rowdy little thing – it was hard to sit him down long enough to enjoy a meal, let alone a haircut. So Ignis told the stylist not to worry, he’d take care of it himself. And he did.
Gladio’s snores can be heard from the motel washroom. It isn’t as much of a bother as it used to be; more of a white noise – like a calm that tells you he’s near.
Noctis impatiently shifts again, and Ignis feigns a snip by his ear.
“Oops,” he lies.
“Kidding,” he says, snipping the hair at the base of his neck. “But you’d be wise to quit squirming. I’m not perfect.”
He can nearly hear Noctis’s eyeroll.
Noctis is testier than usual. Ignis tries to hurry, grazing off some of the ends and ruffling his hair with his hands. Noctis is still now, gaze steady on the floor, and Ignis sighs through his nose. He reaches down towards his ear and tucks a strand behind it. Careful, he grazes his fingers along the soft cartilage, and Noctis sniffs once.
It’s quiet, beyond the occasional snore. If Ignis looks up, he can see Prompto dead asleep over the foot of the bed. So Ignis drops his voice, and brushes his knuckles against the smooth skin of Noctis’s neck.
“Are you alright?”
Ignis hums. He sets the scissors aside, and digs his nails into his scalp. Noctis sags a little, just as Ignis expected him to.
“You don’t need to charade around me,” Ignis says. “You know I can’t be fooled.”
This close, Ignis can nearly smell it on him. It’s not particular, but it’s a wave of distress, and Ignis is not fond of it. He wishes for that day in Lestallum, where he watched him dance and smile.
Noctis turns his nose towards the palm of his hand, and Ignis lets him. Noct’s hands fold in his lap, fingers ghosting over his right middle finger, and it dawns on him all at once.
“You are allowed to mourn.”
Noctis rips his head back and snarls.
Ignis narrows his eyes.
“If you try to swallow all at once, you will choke. No one is expecting you to be perfect.”
“I’m not the only one who lost someone that day,” Noctis snaps, bristly and puffed up to his shoulders. "I don't have the right to sit around and feel bad for myself."
Ignis makes a noise in his throat, hand reaching out – and Noctis only softens when he realizes that Ignis is not in for a fight tonight.
“No.” Ignis glances up and through the doorway, and back down. “You were not. But that does not invalidate your pain.”
Noctis crumples, just a little. Turning on the bathroom floor, he slides forward and slings his arms around Ignis’s waist, face pressed to his stomach. Ignis reels a little, still perched on the lip of the tub – but he finds his balance and presses his hands to Noctis’s shoulders.
Duty and heart fight by the day. Gods, does Ignis love him – more than is feasibly possible – but he mourns for the burden on his shoulders, and swells with pride from the fight set in his eyes.
Noctis swallows, and speaks into his shirt.
“I feel like I’m not doing enough.”
“We will reach Altissia.” Ignis is weak, weak weak – “ Only worry about what you can control.”
Noctis trills a noise, and it tugs right in his chest. A pull, like a bell tied to a rope. Ignis holds him by the jaw and brushes their noses together, only kissing him once Noctis has decided to kiss him first. It’s extensive, and slow, and Ignis’s back aches from leaning over on the tub, but it’s no concern. Noctis meets him kiss for kiss, allowing Ignis to lead, but never falling behind.
The urge swallows him whole; Ignis simply can’t resist – he holds Noctis’s head still and scents him, rubbing cheek on cheek, then down along the perfect, unmarked skin of his neck. Noctis’s scent changes, sweet mixed with the musk of his own, and Ignis stomps down the possessive nature of his kind, but it’s hard, when Noctis is so supple in his hands.
Still, despite his own will.
He is mine.
Cloudy blue eyes look up at him. There’s authority in them, and Ignis admires that most of all. Contently, Noctis smooths his hand up his neck, and relishes in the new smell. He smiles, and kneels up to look in the mirror.
“Not bad, Specs.”
There’s hair littered on the tile, but Noctis pulls on his arm and bats his little eyelashes — come to bed, the little bastard – but it's alright. Ignis will sweep in the morning.
He swears to stop paying for two beds. What a waste of Gil.
“Alright, your turn,” Prompto says.
“Uhhh,” Noctis pauses. “Ointment.”
“It sounds weird, dude. Oint-ment. Too many T’s.”
“You don’t pronounce the first T anyways,” Gladio grunts. “So whazzit matter?”
Ignis turns up his nose, “You are supposed to.”
“Alright then Iggy, what’s your ugly word?”
“Hors d’oeurves,” Ignis snaps. “Ugh, the French were out of their goddamn minds.”
It’s so genuine, it catches Gladio off guard. He laughs, head back, and Noctis and Prom laugh with him.
“I kinda’ like it,” Prompto says. He sets a salt packet in his palm and extends it, attempting Ignis’s accent, “Hors d’oeurves, my good sir?”
“Oh dearest Prompto, how do you think it’s spelled?”
Ignis pulls out a pen from his breast pocket (he's a Mary Poppins of stationary) and clicks it on the napkin, scribbling, and when he slides it over, Prompto squints.
“That’s not the same word.”
Noctis snorts. The back of his hand rises up to cover his laugh, but Gladio catches his smile anyways.
It’s lively at Takka’s today. They braved the drive back from the chocobo post, and Gladio wasn’t too keen on sittin’ for so long, but Takka’s payout was well worth it (this time).
Honestly, Gladio doesn’t mind the noise. It’s nice to see the place so busy, specially ‘cause it’s been dead out in these parts, as of late.
Half-eaten burgers and a multitude of fries spread between them. Gladio has accepted that whatever he orders, someone is gonna’ want a bite – and soon they’re stealing fries off plates and hey, quit givin’ me your vegetables – and it’s just a fact of life, man. It ain’t bad.
However, Gladio isn’t too excited about the alphas at the bar. Noctis and Prompto are laughing, clean from their first shower in weeks, and together? They might as well be an attention magnet. They’re too hot for their own good, but Gladio keeps that to himself. Ignis is talking with his hands, and Prompto and Noct are none the wiser to the stares from across the restaurant, but that doesn’t mean Gladio has to be.
He isn’t gonna’ downright growl and embarrass his pack like that – but he slings his arm over Noct’s shoulders and squints a glare in the alpha’s direction, and that seems to do the trick. They turn away in a huff, and Gladio feels satisfied.
He catches Iggy’s eye. He’s smiling at him; not outright, lips pressed thin, but his eyes are all sparkly and beautiful, and Gladio knows that smug look anywhere.
Gladio breathes out through his nose, and Ignis takes a sip of his coffee, still watching him beneath his lenses.
“Kay Gladio,” Prompto says, tucking his feet under himself. “Your turn.”
Prompto is so bubbly and cute, sweet smelling and dangerously strong, Gladio always humors him, even when he doesn’t want to.
Gladio hums. “An ugly word, huh?” He pauses to think, then, “Bunion.”
Prompto cringes in the booth, but Noctis bites on his straw and grins, “Hey, you remember our old crownsguard captain that had-“
“No!!!” Prompto cries, covering his ears.
“I saw it once, in the changing room,” Ignis says. “When Sonia said it was the size of a golfball, I honestly thought she was joking.”
Prompto is going la la la la la la – but Gladio snorts, “Hey, at least you two didn’t have to one-v-one him on the mats. If you want motivation to avoid a leg sweep, that’s a great one.”
“You were such a lucky dear,” Ignis says, playfully pulling Prompto’s hands away from his ear. “You had Nyx as your teacher.”
“Mm? I guess. But he was so…straight.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what that means.”
“But you cannot deny that he was beautiful.”
Prompto blanches, “You had a thing for Nyx?”
Ignis blinks back, “I have eyes.”
Gladio decides his burger is safe from any more steals, so he finishes it off one handed, not really willing to pull his arm back from Noctis. He’s all warm and relaxed, and it’s nice to see him smilin’ again, especially after their break-in at the imperial base. Can’t really blame the guy; it feels good to have the Regalia back.
He thinks, maybe, when it’s all over – it’d be nice to stay like this. It’s hard not to look at them and feel a hot, sweltering pride. It’s a blaze in him; an urge to protect, to keep them all away where they’ll be safe – but it burns him, to see them so fluid in battle. Rolling over backs, sharing weapons and calling shots. They’re strong and they’re his, and Gladio kicks his foot against Iggy’s, just so nobody in the restaurant gets the wrong idea. All or nothing.
People are staring, but whatever, Ignis rubbed all up in his face this morning, so Gladio expected it.
“Hey, ten bucks you can’t land this wrapper in that dude’s hat,” says Noct.
Gladio takes one look at the guy’s cowboy hat and says, “You’re on.”
Gladio is strong. He’s fuckin’ strong, okay. He can do this. He can do this.
“No,” Gladio says.
Prompto bites his bottom lip and looks up through his lashes and fuck fucking fuck.
“It’s not fair! You two get to go have fun while we have to say here and do nothing.”
“It’s not fun, it is gathering intelligence,” Ignis says.
Noctis crosses his arms, “So why can’t we come?” Prompto nods, biting his lip again, and Gladio has to look away.
“Because the landlady is a widowed omega,” says Ignis.
“And quite frankly, you two have the combined charisma of a wet pancake,” Gladio finishes.
Prompto scoffs, but Noctis narrows his eyes and glares harder.
Ignis rolls his eyes, “It is only a kilometer up the road. She will tell us the location of the tomb, and we can be on our way within the hour. Have patience.”
“And stay put.”
“I’m charismatic!” Prompto whines. “Come on! I can totally seduce some old lady.”
“We’re not— ugh,” Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You only care because you heard about the pink Chocobo,” Gladio accuses, and Prompto’s jaw clicks shut. Ugh, the pout on his face pulls at way too many heartstrings.
Gladio has made the mistake of being too rough with Prompto in the past, so he sighs, and fluffs Noctis and Prompto’s hair in both hands. “There’s a pond down the road. Maybe there’s some fish down there.”
“The altitude is too high,” Noctis mumbles, “what pond is gonna’ have anything bigger than a carp…waste of time…no lures…”
"And boring," Prompto adds.
Gladio gives them a solid slap between the shoulder blades, and follows Ignis as he starts up the trail. Prompto huffs and sits on the hood of the Regalia, and Noctis stares after them.
It’s a steep climb; the suns beatin’ down real tough, and Gladio has to wipe his forehead with the hem of his shirt
Iggy’s shoulders are tense; Gladio brushes the backs of their hands together, ignoring the short little spark it gives him.
Ignis glances at him, and nods wordlessly.
Gladio knows how he feels; shield, retainer, lover or not, it sucks to leave behind omegas in a bad mood. There’s something more to it — something ingrained in ya’ that makes you want to fix it.
But this is the real world, and they’ve got shit to do.
The house starts to come into view, which – thank gods, because it’s hot as balls out here.
“Fuck,” Gladio mumbles, “Aren’t mountains supposed to be like, cold?”
“Supposedly,” Ignis says. “It is a bit odd. The temperature is increasing with altitude.”
Shit luck, then. The house is built near a cliffside. There’s a rocking chair out front, and a rickety porch with peeling paint. Gladio wipes his hands on his jeans, and scours the area, looking for signs of life. There’s the sound of a distant chocobo coo, but that’s it.
Fearless, Ignis steps up to the door and knocks. Gladio peeks around the trees, tentative of any traps.
“Hello?” Ignis calls. He raps the door once more and waits. The wind blows a little, and Gladio closes his eyes, soaking in the breeze. One more knock, and Gladio sighs.
Ignis looks up, and wordlessly points to the smoke coming from the brick chimney. Oh.
“Hello? Miss Aliza?” Ignis folds his hands behind his back. “We were directed by your sister down in Lestallum. We only need a moment of your time.”
Silence. Ignis sighs.
“Damn,” Gladio scrubs his eyes, “Maybe-“ he bites off on his tongue, and jerks upright. The hair on his neck stands on end. The breeze blows and it’s hot. Too hot. Too—
He meets Ignis’s eyes for just a moment; and by the wide, green stare, Gladio knows he feels it too.
All he gets out is “Iggy run!-“ but Imperials rush out from the trees, and suddenly there’s a dart in his neck.
“Shit-“ Gladio slaps a hand to his skin, but it scalds him. His knees start to wobble, and he goes to pull his broadsword out from the Armiger, but Ignis takes a step forwards and drops hard to the floor, taking his heart with him.
Ignis! he tries, but his mouth is full of cotton. Syrupy and slow and heavy. Gladio growls, teeth bared, and rises up to a knee, prepared to pull back a fist and fight through the fog, but there’s a second dart to his spine, and he goes down hard.
Waking up hog-tied to a chair was really not on his to-do list today. It takes a moment to blink out the haze, but as soon as his vision clears, Gladio knows where he is almost immediately. Cool, fucking awesome.
They’re dead center in an imperial base. Mechs thunder past them with massive guns in their arms; MT’s walk with pinpoint accuracy, and there are way too many soldiers to fight his way out.
Still doesn’t mean Gladio ain’t gonna’ try. His initial thought is pfft, rope, really? but he flexes his wrists, and the fiber cuts into his skin.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
“Don’t-“ a voice snaps, and –
“The bindings are laced with metal,” Ignis says. His voice wavers a little, and Gladio whips his head around to find him. Fingers graze his own, and Gladio stills when he realizes that their chairs are back to back.
“I can bust us outta’ here,” Gladio whispers. An MT is staring straight at him, weapon in hand, but it doesn’t move. He hates those fuckin’ things; they don’t smell like anything, and it’s really unsettling.
“I wouldn’t advise it at the moment,” Ignis says. “We’d be dead before we reached the bay door.”
“Well well,” a familiar voice says. “Good morning, sleeping beauties.”
Gladio immediately bares his teeth and snarls. Ravus steps into view, and Gladio tenses his arms so tight, the fibers start to break the skin around his wrists.
“I wasn’t thrilled with the way our last meeting ended,” Ravus says, sword at his hip. “I think we might get somewhere, now that the chancellor is away.”
Ignis’s voice is level. It’s hot, but Gladio can’t think about that right now.
“What do you want?”
Ravus rolls his eyes, “Now don’t tell me you’re the brains?” He taps his chin, “Hmm, now, out of all three of us, who is best friends with a little prince with unimaginable power?”
“Eat shit and die,” Gladio snaps. “I’ll feed you my fist before I ever let you lay a hand on Noct.”
“No,” Ravus points. “You — are bait.”
“His highness will never let you have the ring,” Ignis says. “Your plan is futile.”
Noctis doesn’t have the ring, but Ravus doesn’t need to know that.
“Let me have it?” Ravus laughs. “Oh, no. Prince Noctis going to beg for your lives, and then he is going to give it to me. Simple as that.”
Gladio jerks in the chair, the legs scraping against the ground. Fury fuels him, the pain in his wrists a goddamn delight compared to the anger in his chest.
“Oh you fuckin’ wish — I’ll take that arm and shove it up your goddamn ass you traitor—“
“Muzzle him,” Ravus waves.
“You can’t do shit to me,” Gladio grits, fighting through the restraints. Ravus growls in challenge, and Ignis growls back alongside him.
“You?” Ravus grips the back of Gladio's chair and hauls it sideways. “Perhaps not.” Gladio sways with the offset of the chair, prepared to open his mouth and fight, but Ravus leans towards Ignis and smiles, “But you…”
Ignis’s canines are bared, and his snarl sets Gladio’s hair on end. It’s absolutely seeping with a dangerous do not touch me tone, and it’s such a rarity, from Ignis.
But Ravus lifts a foot, and kicks him straight across the face. Iggy’s head whips from the impact. Gladio’s heart drops into his stomach, and ignites like a match to an oil spill.
He cries out – a roar even to his own ears – but an MT binds a muzzle around his jaw, and Gladio sees the boot print on Ignis’s face, and his eyes start to burn with panic. He jerks hard, jamming the metal into the meat of his skin.
“Shhh,” Ignis breathes, slightly offset from his busted nose. “Calm down, Gladio. Please.”
Ravus snorts, and disappears behind the chairs. Gladio burns his wrists against the ropes, and tenses every muscle in his body. He can’t hear Ravus’s footsteps anymore, but he swallows around the frog in his throat and hopes to meet Ignis’s eye.
He knows his pheromones are all over the place. Gladio can’t help it; everything is a reddish hue, and his blood boils with a murderous intent. There’s a mark across his Ignis. His, his -
“I’m fine,” Ignis says. “Please Gladio, calm down, darling. We’ll figure it out – yes, like that, breathe in. You’re okay.”
Who gives a shit if Gladio is okay? Ignis’s nose is dripping blood, and Gladio can’t focus on anything else. He breathes in through his nose, and exhales shakily.
When the MT comes by, Gladio doesn’t make a move. The boot print across Iggy’s face is proof enough of what can happen if he steps out of line.
That was his fault. He did that.
“It’s okay,” Ignis repeats, sensing Gladio’s panic. “It’s okay.”
Gladios jaw is clamped shut from the muzzle, but he manages a short whine in response.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
Ignis croons for him. A low, lovely sound, short and so brief, Gladio nearly misses it. But he closes his eyes, and evens out his breathing, and Ignis makes the sound again, clearing out the fury in his mind.
Ah, shit. So that’s what a panic attack feels like – alright, he owes Prompto some apologies.
He wakes up who knows when. Gladio wasn’t even aware that he fell asleep. He snaps up his head and blinks, but the sky is dark, and the base lights are on full blast, which, fuckin’ ouch.
Ignis’s head is tipped back in the chair. Gladio watches for the rise and fall in his chest, and he realizes that he’s awake too. Ignis turns his head and meets his eye. Ever so clever, he knows Gladio’s question right away.
“It’s been four hours,” Ignis says. He looks back up to the scaffolding. “The soldiers are MTs, so there’s no shift changes. Each step is programmed to an exact. There’s a slight window on the end of the hour, but four security cameras are pointed in our direction.”
Fuck. So, long story short, they ain’t getting out of here without a fight.
The blood is drying around his wrists, and it’s not the best feeling. When he moves the skin tears again, and Gladio winces a little. Ignis’s eyes darken, and he throws his weight, trying to scoot the chair closer, but he doesn’t make it far. They’re heavy chairs, and they’ve grown weaker sitting here.
“Damn,” Ignis curses. “I can’t reach you from here.”
I’m sorry, Gladio tries. Ignis narrows his eyes, and Gladio knows he’s over the apologies – even if Gladio never got to say it out loud.
He looks for anything sharp. A forgotten knife, the sharp end of a box; anything.
“I’ve looked,” Ignis says. “Even if we could throw our chairs within an eight-foot radius, we would still make too much noise.”
Gladio sighs. Ignis’s face is tight, and Gladio knows he hasn’t given up yet, but their odds don’t look good.
He hopes Noctis and Prompto are okay. The only good part of Ravus’s little villain monologue was the knowledge that they don’t have the babies yet. That alone gives him hope.
Noctis is too smart to play into their trap. But fuck, he doesn’t know how strong his heart is. Hell, if the roles were reversed – Gladio would give just about anything to keep them safe. Noctis doesn't have the ring. But he knows where to find it, and that alone is dangerous.
Ignis has dark circles under his eyes. Gladio should’ve hiked alone. Should’ve told Ignis to stay with the car. Should’ve –
There’s a loud pop. Like a generator going out. It rings along the concrete walls, and it grabs his attention the second time it happens. The pop is louder, followed by a very distinct bang, and suddenly the wall lights up in an explosion of fire.
Gladio closes his eyes and turns his head, and the heat washes their way. White noise rings in his ears, but Gladio can still make out yelling; metal on metal, the sound of MT’s scrambling from their posts.
Two figures emerge out of the wall, and Gladio almost wishes he could laugh.
Imperials start dropping like flies. Bam, bam, bam, one after another. Ravus comes barreling out of nowhere, hilariously astonished, and Ignis says exactly what Gladio is thinking.
“You are fucked.”
Prompto and Noct look like a righteous fury born from hell.
Prompto has his semi-automatic in hand, and Noctis is holding a rifle he yanked off a guard, and they pop MT’s like it’s a video game. To be honest, Gladio isn’t sure if he’s ever seen them look so livid. They walk in step, and Prompto headshots an imperial without even looking and okay, not the time to get hard.
“So you’ve come!” Ravus calls, pulling his sword from his hip. He points it at Gladio’s throat. “Give me the ring or he dies!”
Noctis’s face doesn’t even change; he flips out the weapon in the armiger, raises a blow-dart looking gun, and nails Ravus right in the neck.
“You-“ Ravus starts, but he hits the pavement, and it’s — muah, beautiful. Poetic cinema.
Fuck, Gladio loves them so much. Sooo so so much.
“Noct! Prompto!” Ignis calls.
Noctis turns to start giving them cover, and Prompto skitters to their side. The fury in his eyes bleeds back to pearly blue, and his hands tremble over Ignis’s face.
“Oh, oh Iggy,” Prompto cries, brushing their cheeks together. “Are you okay?” He turns, “G-Gladio-“
“We’re fine. The bindings, please-“
“Oh!” Prompto pulls out a pocketknife, and jerks to cut off the back of Gladio’s muzzle. Gladio takes in a deep breath, and immediately has a faceful of Prompto.
“Shit,” Gladio exhales, “Thanks baby. You’re my fuckin’ hero.”
Prompto bumps their noses together quickly, and jerks to look at his wrists, “Gods – Iggy – what – what do I do?”
“It’s microfiber steel,” Ignis says. “It has to be cut with a hot knife.” A bullet whizzes past his ear, and Noctis turns and howls, switching out a grenade launcher and knocking down an entire wall of scaffolding.
“Hurry it up!” Noctis calls.
“I’ll burn you!”
“It’s of no consequence now. Just do it.”
Prompto swallows, and brings out his lighter. An explosion pops off in the distance.
“They have mechs in the bay,” Gladio says through his teeth, trying not to flinch when the knife burns against his swollen wrists. “We gotta- fuck we gotta’ go.”
“Kind of the plan!” Prompto chirps, and reheats the knife to tend to Ignis. Gladio flexes his arms, finally feeling the blood back in his hands.
“Thank you,” Ignis pecks Prompto’s forehead. He rubs out his arm and says, “Let’s move!”
Noctis turns on his heel, Gladio summons his broadsword, and they step over Ravus’s sleeping body as they run for the exit.
Gladio turns back around.
Quick, before they can notice, Gladio kicks Ravus across the shoulder, and knocks the arm loose. It bangs across the cement wall, and holy shit is that satisfying.
“Gladio, come on!”
He spits once, and turns on his heel, smashing his sword into an Imperial along the way, just because he can.
From the look on Noct’s face, Gladio is expecting the absolute reaming of a lifetime.
Funny, how the tables can turn like this. He’s not usually at the unfortunate end of Noctis’s wrath, and it sorta' sucks. Omega or not, Noct is their prince, their pack leader — and that means something, to people like Gladio.
Noctis stares, and stares, and stares, so Gladio rolls his eyes and huffs.
“Just spit it out already.”
His wrists are still sore, even after an hi-elixir. It’ll take a while to get the feeling back in his hands, but it could’ve been a hell of a lot worse.
Noctis narrows his eyes. Gladio stares back. Prompto bites his thumbnail. Ignis sighs.
The campfire pops and flickers, the logs rolling over with heat from the flame.
Noctis starts into a dead run, and slams into his chest.
“Don’t do that,” Noctis muffles, face in his shirt. “Don’t you fuckin’ scare me like that.”
Gladio can’t help it; he smiles all toothy and stupid. It’s easier to lift Noct in his arms and hug him, so he picks him up by the thighs and lets Noctis wrap his arms around his neck.
“Now you know how I feel.”
“You were amazing,” Ignis coos, fingers reaching out to pull Prompto towards him. Prompto falls right into him, fingers gripping into the back of his button-up.
“Way fuckin’ amazing,” Gladio adds. “Holy shit, you two stormed the whole place up like it was nothing.”
“We were mad.”
“They tied you up!”
“They muzzled you,” Noctis huffs, and his fingers are cold as they pet across his stubble.
“Well, you knew his mouth would get him into trouble one day,” Prompto teases.
“You wanna’ repeat that?”
Ignis actually laughs, and Noctis is nuzzling into his throat, and Prompto’s face is all cute and red, so Gladio lets it slide.
It’s not until they’re in the tent, Noctis kissing him for filth and grinding against his thigh, does he then sit up against his chest and send Gladio’s entire world to a screeching halt.
“I want you to bite me.”
Gladio stares wide-eyed and struck fucking stupid. He opens his mouth, and has to physically unclench his hands from Noctis’s waist. Ignis lifts himself up, turning his face away from the mark he was working into Prom’s hip.
“Both of you,” Noctis continues, straight faced. He points to both sides of his neck.
“You wanna’ what?”
“Me too,” says Prompto.
“We’ve been talking about it.”
“Yeah, for a while dude.”
Fuckin’ Astrals. The idea alone flips a switch he didn’t even know he had. Gladio tips his head back against his sleeping mat and breathes in, trying to stomp down the alpha that screeches yes!! yesss!
Breathing does little to help; he’s flooded with the scents of all three of them – and the thought of them being bonded, holy shit.
“Do you even know what you’re askin’ for?”
Noctis deadpans, “I’m not stupid.”
“You can’t take it back.”
“Well no shit, Sherlock.”
“Noct…” Ignis starts. There’s not a lot of space in the tent, so he only has to reach a short distance to press a hand against Noctis’s bare spine. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.” There’s a tightness to his voice, and it’s telling of how much the idea affects him too.
The thought of his teeth in Noct’s neck– his mark on Prompto’s skin -
Gladio tips his head back again. One, two, three, four…
“How could you say that?” Noctis barks.
“To bond on a whim—“
“It’s not a – a whim.” Prompto says, face tightening. “We…we wanna’ be together.”
Ignis swallows, “It is permanent.”
“Good.” Noctis smooths his hands back up Gladio’s chest, and rests his hands on his shoulders. Gladio makes the mistake of meeting his eye again, and it’s soft. Determined and stubborn but…loving. “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
Prompto pulls the double whammy. He rests his hands on Ignis’s thighs, and blinks up with bleary eyes.
“Don’t you feel the same?”
Gladio can see the exact moment that Ignis breaks. The mask falls like a sheet, and suddenly he’s leaning over, kissing Prompto long and hard – and Gladio’s heart nearly pole-vaults out of his chest.
“Please,” Noctis begs, bending over so they’re nose to nose. “Please.”
Gladio cups the back of Noct’s head, and smashes their mouths together. Their teeth click, and Noctis nearly vibrates with a purr, molding into him and filling his senses with sickle honey and a salty sweet he can taste in his throat.
Gods – were they always meant to be like this? Forging unbreakable bonds in a flimsy tent, hiked out in the middle of buttfuck nowhere? Somehow, Gladio can’t imagine it any other way.
Ignis is way too good at sucking cock, and Prompto is mewling next to him, and Noctis leans over to kiss Prom, and the tent smells so fuckin’ strong, Gladio hopes to god that the daemons stay far from the haven, because he has a feeling its gonna’ be a long night.
Ignis meets his eye. Pupils blown, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
Don’t you feel the same?
Hell yeah he does.
It starts with a sock.
Just one sock.
Noctis usually wouldn’t notice if his sock-supply was in low pickings, but, he doesn’t really own a lot to begin with.
They’re still adjusting to the new house, so Noctis figures he kicked it off and lost it somewhere. It’s kinda’ disheartening, because it’s not like there’s a shitton of sock-companies back in business, but hey — it’s motivation to work a little harder.
But then he loses an entire pair. He checks the washer, the dryer, under the couch and beneath their bed but nope – nothing.
“Hey Specs, have you seen my green socks?”
Ignis inquires, entirely deadpan, “The cannabis ones?”
“I have not.”
“Hmm.” Noctis crosses his arms.
“Maybe the King of Lucis shouldn’t have weed socks to begin with,” Gladio says, from behind his book.
Noctis squints, “Ah-ha! So you took them.”
“Why would I take your socks?”
“You just admitted it! You have a grudge against my toke-fuzzies.”
“On what planet do I have time to dig through your shit and hide your socks? Because it’s definitely not this one.”
Noctis waits a moment longer, just to see if Gladio is lying, but he flips the page in his book and yawns, so Noctis figures it a dead lead.
Ignis is chopping celery in the kitchen, and it’s nice to have fresh vegetables again. Whenever Noctis sees the scars on his face, his heart dips a little. It’s faded, from where the crystal healed his eyes, but it’s an obvious reminder of the extent he was willing to go to save Noctis’s own life.
They’re still adjusting to a…domestic lifestyle. Noctis spends most of his time delegating at the citadel, but they return to a house that smells like them, and it’s really nice. There’s a lot of questions he doesn’t have answers to; a lot of problems he just can’t solve; but he’s not alone, and that’s what makes it okay.
Something sweet-smelling slips under the bathroom door. Ignis and Gladio inhale simultaneously, but don’t make any indication of moving. Hey, Noctis isn’t one to pass up such a good opportunity. He approaches the sound of a running shower, and finds the door already halfway open.
Ignis forbade scent-blockers, so Prompto scrubs himself with a scentless soap bar. The smell is all him, baby – flowery and more fragrant than usual. Prompto has always been beautiful; from chubby cheeks to flat stomachs, through barcodes and nightmares and tears – a moment hasn’t passed that Noctis didn’t love him.
“Hey babe,” Noctis knocks. “Room for one more?”
“Hey, you’re in luck,” Prompto grins, pushing open the shower door. “I just so happen to be mates with a prince, and he’s got big-shower money.”
Noctis peels off his kings’ garb, and tosses it on the bathroom counter.
“Iggy, babe. Have you seen my sweatshirt?”
“The grey one,” Gladio says, tearing through their closet. “I can’t find it.”
“I have not.”
“I lost my grey sweatpants last week…” Noctis mumbles. “I think there’s a conspiracy going on.” Noctis and Gladio simultaneously look to Ignis. Ignis lifts an eyebrow.
“You think this is my doing?”
“Well…you kinda’ do the laundry.”
“Then I would remember washing it, would I not?” Ignis huffs. “I assure you, it wasn’t in the last load.”
“Damn,” Gladio rubs his nose. “I hope I didn’t leave it at the bar.”
Noctis walks behind him, and squirms his arms around Gladio’s waist. Tattoo on display, Noctis face plants right into the feathers. Gladio is warm and always smells good, even when he’s sweaty from training the Crownsguard, but Noctis won’t ever tell him that.
“Now we have an excuse to go shopping. I lost another pair of socks today.”
“Babe, you’re gonna’ lose sock privileges.”
“It’s not my fault!”
Gladio turns around to face him, and Ignis crowds at his back, fingers slipping to Noctis’s hips. He tips his head so Ignis can nose along his own bite mark. It's too early to fool around, but the sun is coming through the window, and it's nice. The room smells like hella alpha, and normally Noct hates that shit — but with them...it’s good.
“We will buy you new socks. But you must wait until after the council on Saturday.”
“Ugh, why do we have meetings on Saturdays? I’m the king, I should be allowed to ban whatever I want.”
Gladio teases, and pecks the corner of his mouth, “So why don’t you?”
Ignis noses up into his ear. Noctis huffs.
“You know why.”
“Ah, so the real King of Lucis reveals himself,” Gladio grins, reaching far enough to stick a finger in Iggy’s belt loops. “Behold, the man behind the curtain.”
“No work on Saturday means more work on Monday, of which it would never get done, because-“
“Mondays are the devil,” Noctis finishes.
“Hey!” Prompto peeps in the doorway. “How come nobody invited me to the sexy sandwich?!”
Gladio wordlessly opens an arm, and Noctis grins as Prompto squishes between them.
Prompto plants a fat one on his nose, and Noctis can’t help his own laugh.
“We leave in ten,” Ignis says, turning to thoroughly scent Prompto’s neck.
A harmony follows;
Later, when Ignis is still trying to coral them all into their uniforms, he pauses at the dresser and blinks, “I believe I’ve misplaced my driving gloves.”
Noctis is gonna’ lose his goddamn mind.
He knows, with a hundred percent certainty, that his pillow was right here last night. You know, seeing that he fuckin’ slept on it.
It’s his one (1) night off in literally weeks, and he just wants to flop on the couch and chill, but it’s totally gone. Which wouldn’t be a big deal – he could just use Iggy’s – but that one’s gone too. And Prompto’s. And Gladio’s.
The blankets are missing from the living room, and Noctis stomps to the laundry because really, Ignis chose today to leave a load in the dryer; but it’s empty.
Noctis scratches his head. He’s tempted to call Iggy and Gladio, but they left with Cor to take the recruits on some ‘beyond the wall’ training exorcise, and he has a feeling he’d catch a bit of a tongue lashing to interrupt them now.
Noctis sighs, and flops on the couch and ow.
Holy shit, are the couch cushions missing too? Noctis rubs at his bad knee, and squints around the living room. Did they get robbed? Did he? The King of Lucis? Get robbed?
Noctis is just about to call it quits and head for the guest room, when he hears the door creak open down the hall.
“Prompto?” He calls. There’s no answer, so he sways to his feet. “Hey Prom? Do you know where all the pillows went?”
Prompto’s voice is croaky, and a bit withered. It whispers down the hall. “Noct?”
He’s never moved so fast in his adult life. Noctis all but phases down the hall, scrambling in the direction of the guest room.
He stops short, and inhales shallow. The most amazing, delicious, absolute mindboggling scent floods up his nose, and Noctis can almost feel his pupils dilate into little pinpricks. Yo, hello boner.
Prompto is clutching the door hinge of the guest room; his hair is sticking to his forehead, and he smells like slick, holy shit.
Noctis quickly reaches for him, fingers pressing against his skin – and he’s burning hot.
“Prom— shit,” Noctis feels his forehead. “You’re in heat.”
“Noct,” Prompto wheezes. Noctis has to catch his chin to check his eyes, and fuck, he’s in deep. Arousal immediately kicks into his gut - but realization dawns on him, and his heart drops into his stomach.
Gladio and Ignis aren’t home.
“Noct I…” Prompto grips onto him, and his hands are sweaty, but he smells incredible. “H-hurts…”
“I know, it’s okay, you’re alright,” Noctis coos, trying not to panic himself. He knows that pain; shit, his last heat was after ten years in the crystal, and he never thought he’d say the words, but there is such a thing as too much marathon sex. He didn't walk for weeks.
Prompto sticks his face in his neck and inhales, and Noctis’s stomach churns, knowing he can’t help him. “Okay, okay. Um, you go sit down, I’ll call Specs.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just-“ Noctis blinks. “Are those my socks?"
Yep. Two little weed socks are sitting dead atop a giant pile of clothes, pillows, blankets and socks. Noctis’s socks. So many socks.
Prompto has been nesting.
It’s built beside the bed, wedged along the wall, but it’s all filled with their crap. Gladio’s t-shirts and Iggy’s gloves. Stuff that smells like them.
Oh Ramuh, Noctis’s heart squeezes so hard, he almost forgets to breathe. Prompto won’t let go of him, fingers slipping onto his arms, and Noctis has to pull him away gently.
“I’ll be right back,” Noctis promises. “Just one second baby.”
Prompto sways a little, and nods blearily.
He gives Prompto a smile, and immediately books it down the hall. He almost trips over his own foot trying to find his phone, and he jams his finger while dialing Ignis’s number.
Come on, come on – pick up.
Noctis’s heart is beating wicked fast. Prompto is smelling up the whole house, and his head swims a little with each breath.
“Ignis!” Noctis shouts. “You have to come home now!”
Iggy’s voice goes ice cold.
“Prompto’s in heat.”
There’s a short pause. He can hear mumbling on the other end, and a low damn from Gladio in the distance. Ignis brings the phone back to his ear.
“This is unexpected.”
“Yeah, and surprise! I found all our missing shit. Prompto’s been nesting, Iggy. Nesting. He’s never nested! I’ve never nested! What the hell is going on?”
“It’s also likely that neither of you have had a home you’ve felt comfortable enough to nest IN.”
“What do I do?” Noctis asks, lowering his voice. “I – I can’t. I can’t help him, I can’t take the pain away, I can’t-“
Ignis’s voice lowers, and there’s a ring to it that vibrates even through the phone. The Voice.
“Noctis, calm down.”
It’s said with such authority, it tingles all the way down to his feet. Noctis numbly sits on the arm of the loveseat, and waits for another command.
Prompto’s voice whines, “Noct?”
“H-he’s calling me,” Noctis whispers.
“He wants you,” Ignis says. “We will be there within the hour. You are more than capable of taking care of him.”
Noctis’s throat feels tight. He can’t make the pain go away. It’s a useless chase – heat boils you from the inside out, scratches out your insides and turns your stomach, only chipping away once you’ve been fucked raw and knotted out of your stupid mind.
Noctis hates being useless.
Ignis’s voice is chillingly level.
“Take care of him.”
There’s a whine from the guest room, and Noctis’s heart lurches. He swallows away the fog.
“I love you both. We’ll be there soon.”
The line hangs up, and Prompto is back in the doorway, staring.
“Are – are they okay?”
“Everything’s good,” Noctis says, gathering him back up in his arms. Astrals, he’s warm. “They’re gonna’ come home.”
Prompto whines, “Noo, I don’t – I’ll be okay. Don’t wanna’ — ruin their trip.”
He’s still a little lucid. That’s good.
“You’re not ruining anything,” Noctis says, kissing his temple. Prompto curls into him, and Noctis kisses his upper lip. “Let’s get you undressed, okay? We’ll probably have to burn those boxers, dude.”
Prompto flip flops his hand around, and Noctis nuzzles his ear, more for himself than anything. Prompto is twisting his hands around in his shirt, almost nervous, and he pulls away until Noctis can meet his eye. His freckles are flushed under red, eyes nearly black with heat.
“Do you like it?”
It takes way too long for Noctis to realize he’s talking about the nest.
“Oh, it— it’s beautiful baby. Gladio and Iggy are gonna’ love it.”
Prompto preens, yanking him down by the back of his neck, and they tumble into the nest, and it’s actually pretty comfy. Prompto found the softest blankets in the house, so it just feels like a big squishy bed. It flickers something in the back of Noctis’s mind – some kind of instinct – but he can’t focus on that right now.
They kiss face forward, noses squished, and he loves that he can taste Prompto so thick against his tongue. Everything is hot hot hot — red on freckles and sizzling skin, and the eager way he kisses is so familar, Noctis tries not to get too sentimental about it.
“Alright, lets get these off,” Noctis grins, and yanks down Prompto’s sweatpants.
Prompto was farther along than originally thought.
The half-sentences have devolved into Noctis’s name. High pitched whines and low growls, when a wave hits especially hard. Noctis feels for him, he really does, but wow – he’s so pretty like this.
This is the best way to ebb the burn, at least until the alphas get here – so Noctis has him spread over his lap, so he can slide three fingers along his entrance and attempt to take away some of the need. There’s no resistance; Prompto presses his face into the pillows and whines more, please Noct please, please – so he crooks his fingers, and helps Prompto come again.
“You’re doing so good – fuck, that’s it.” Noctis slides out his fingers, and they slick lewdly as Prompto rises up on his elbows and pushes back, cock still hard between his legs. “Gladio is gonna’ lose his mind when he sees you.”
Prompto makes a long humming sound, and bares his neck, showing off one of the bite marks. It’s Gladio’s – Noctis can tell from the shape of the scar, and from his own matching one. He uses his fingers to skim along the gland in his neck, and Prompto makes a broken purring sound.
It's weird; Prompto totally naked, while Noctis still has all his clothes on. There's something hot about Prompto bent over his lap, face first in his jeans - and they'll definitely have to explore that later. But right now Noctis can't stop watching the way his fingers just disappear, and shit, if he thinks Prompto smells good, he can't imagine how it is for the alphas.
He doesn't know how long it's been — but another wave hits, and Prompto bites his lip and whines. Noctis shushes him, fingers gently brushing his flushed neck, where blonde meets red.
"It's okay, they're coming home, they'll-"
The door swings open.
"Fuckin' six," Gladio blanches, hand coming up to his nose. Noctis nearly sighs in relief.
"Gladiooo," Prompto whines, face digging into his thigh. "I'm - I'm-"
"Holy shit, look at you," Gladio crosses the room, undoing his watch and dumping his phone on the bed. "Look at this nest, baby you made this? I'm so fuckin' proud of you sweetheart, you've been so good for Noct, huh?"
“You’ve done very well,” Ignis says coolly. “Gladio is going to take good care of you.”
Prompto scrambles to him. Gladio's hands absolutely swallow his waist, and when Gladio kisses him, it means something deeper than what Noctis can give him. He's not jealous — not really. It's amazing in it's own sense; the shift from normal Gladio to an Alpha, eyes black and hands moving exactly where Prompto needs them. He can see his jagged inhales, can see how Prompto flips his instincts on like a light switch. It’s instinct in its rawest form.
Noctis jumps when fingers graze his hair.
Ignis twists the strands at the nape of his neck, and settles on the foot of the bed. Noctis turns around to look up at him - and Ignis is fighting the change, breathing through his mouth to keep his sanity, but the flush down his neck is the only tell. Gladio fucks Prompto up against the nest. Ignis reaches for Noctis's cheek.
"You did beautifully," Ignis says. "Just as I said.”
Noctis's breath catches. He didn't realize he was still under an order, until right this very second. His body tingles and his mouth parts, but nothing comes out. He wants to duck his head and submit, but he narrowly resists.
Ignis is always beautiful. Long legs and sharp eyes behind thin glass. He looks down at him — and it’s wild. Spurred on by Prompto’s scent, fully directed at Noctis as he kneels at his feet.
Ignis pets along his cheekbone with his thumb and says, "Let's take care of you, shall we?"
Noctis swallows, trying to find his pride, "But Prompto-"
"Well taken care of," Ignis says, glancing to Prompto, who's mewling and squirming and cross eyed in the pillows. "For now."
Noctis plants his hands on Iggy's knees, and surges up to kiss him.
They pop a window open to air the place out, but it doesn't really do much.
Ignis remembered that they needed actual water to survive, so he left the nest and returned with a few bottles in hand. Prompto is curled up and dead asleep in Gladio's arms, finally sated (thank god) for at least the rest of the night. He gave Gladio and Iggy both a run for their money, but hey, Noctis got dinner and a show. Prompto’s fingers are tangled with Noct's, even as he sleeps.
"He wanted you too," Gladio whispers, voice scratchy in the late hour. Noctis is immediately flooded with the memory - Prompto begging Noctis to fuck him, and Noctis was way too fuckin' weak to say no. He's not sure what good it did, but Prompto seemed to like it.
"Yeah," Noctis says. "You're losing your edge, big guy."
"I'm getting too old to keep up with you kids."
"Shut the fuck up, oh my god."
Ignis props himself up against the foot of the bed, and drags his fingers along the freckles on Prompto's shoulder. Noctis stares, because it’s rare to see Ignis fully naked (gods bless).
Prompto stirs a little, mumbling, and Ignis says, "Love, you need to drink."
"And eat," Gladio adds.
"I can't," Prompto mumbles. "I got the soul fucked outta' me. Come back in three to four business days."
"He's back," Noctis says, just as Ignis grabs a cold bottle and presses it Prompto's neck. He squeals, nearly elbowing Gladio in the face, and they still have a few more days ahead of them, but Noctis is glad to know they'll be semi-lucid for it.
Prompto and Ignis are bickering about food, and Gladio is playing with Prompto's hair, turning it into little horns, and Noctis looks down at them and feels proud that this is his pack. That he's bonded to these people for life, and there's no taking it back. Proud of who he is and what they are and who cares if the media talks. Who fuckin' cares.
Society says he was born with a disadvantage, but Noctis thinks it’s far from the truth. He should’ve died, but he didn’t, so Noctis is going to make each day count for something.
"Hey, do you think all four of us could fit in the shower?" Noctis asks.
Ignis pauses mid speech. Prompto grins, lopsided.
"Hell yeah, I'm great at Tetris."
But it's better that way.
Noctis is mid chew, when he looks up and blinks.
“Isn’t this kind of outta’ left field?”
“Whataya’ mean?” Prompto asks, from where Ignis has him propped up against the kitchen counter, fucking him to a rhythm that quite frankly, Noctis is a bit jealous of.
“You’re usually six months to a T. Isn’t your cycle like, way off?”
“Yeah,” Gladio adds, lowering his book. “What brought this on anyways?”
“Hmm,” Prompto tips his head back against the cabinet, and drags his nails up Iggy’s spine. “Ahhn – um, well. I dunno’. I ahh – I guess if I had to narrow it down, it was probably because of that day Gladio bench pressed you for an hour.”
Ignis stops, mid thrust, and squints at him. Noctis stirs his spoon in his cereal and rolls his eyes.
“What?! It’s not my fault!”
“Ifrit,” Ignis curses, and readjusts Prompto’s weight against the cabinet.
“Hey, note to self,” Gladio says. “Turn Prom on enough, and you’ll throw off a ten-year heat cycle.”
“Don’t get used to the idea,” Ignis says, glaring in their combined direction and Noctis laughs.