The sixth level ends right around the time the sun sets, like it’s all lining up on purpose: an ideal place to pause. Prompto’s mouth opens on its own, the words on the tip of his tongue, his brain screaming to just say them already. But Noctis snuggles against his side, nosing into his shoulder, arm tossed so casually across his lap, and Prompto’s mouth snaps closed. Bundled up in one of Prompto’s oversized, second-hand sweaters because it’s a cold time of year and he didn’t come prepared, Noctis is deliciously warm. That whole side of Prompto’s body is on fire. The other side is leaning against the armrest, clutching the controller—it’s been his ‘turn’ for the past three levels. Every time he tries to pass it to Noctis, Noctis yawns and tells him to keep playing. Prompto takes it like a royal order and does it.
He has work tomorrow. Five a.m. sharp. Noctis probably has something to do at the Citadel—something important. Ignis will probably be furious if he’s late and probably aim that fury at Prompto if he thinks Prompto kept his prince up all night. Prompto knows they should stop. It’s late. But he starts the seventh level, because Noctis’ fingers are drawing a lazy pattern across his outer thigh, and Prompto’s so weak for Noctis.
He does a terrible job. His character drowns three times, and it’s not even a water level. A vulture takes a bite out of his EV suit and he runs out of ammo less than a quarter of the way through the track. He really is a good gamer sometimes, but not when the most beautiful omega in all of Insomnia is resting on his shoulder. He can feel Noctis’ breath tickling his bare skin, ghosting across his collarbone, making him flush and want and—
Prompto swallows and hits ‘pause.’ Noctis shifts against him, probably wondering what’s up. It takes a few attempts for Prompto to get out, “You should go home.”
Noctis sleepily mumbles, “Mm?” like he didn’t hear. Maybe he didn’t. He sleeps like a cat sometimes. In Prompto’s lap. Prompto resists the urge to pet him.
“You, uh... it’s just... it’s gotten pretty late.”
He’s not looking at Noctis. That would make things too difficult. But he can feel Noctis shrug against him. “S’fine, dude. I’ll just stay over.” Like it’s no big deal.
It so is. Prompto hates to deny his prince and shut his best friend down, but he makes himself say, “S’not a good idea.”
“Why not?” As if he doesn’t already know.
The whole time Prompto’s fumbling through an explanation, he’s wondering how many times Ignis has given Noctis the same lecture, because Noctis definitely knows this stuff. “C’mon, man, I’m an alpha... it’s dangerous for an omega to stay with an alpha overnight—everybody knows that. What if I have a wet dream or something, and then my hormones go all wacky and you’re right there, sleeping and totally vulnerable? What if I wake up in a rut or... or you go into heat? Or I sleepwalk and bite you...” That last one’s ridiculous, but when it comes to Noctis, Prompto’s not willing to take any chances.
Noctis just snorts. “You worry too much.”
“It’s fine, okay? I get it, but you’re not like other alphas...”
Prompto knows that. His nose wrinkles, and before he can help himself, he’s blurted, “Ouch.” He can see Noctis’ head finally tilting up in his peripherals—fixing him with a frown.
“’Didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a big beefcake like Gladio, I get it...”
Noctis rolls his eyes. “Nobody’s as big as Gladio. It wasn’t a size thing. You’re just... I dunno. gentle.”
Prompto shifts uncomfortably. He sort of gets what Noctis is saying, and he appreciates the thought, but Noctis doesn’t really get it.
Maybe Noctis can see that discomfort, because he goes on, “You’re, like... you’re cooler, y’know? You don’t get all scary and demanding, or even... hungry, I guess. You hardly ever look at omegas like you seriously want them. So if you don’t have those kind of urges... what’s the big deal?”
Nothing’s really changed, but suddenly, Prompto feels horrible. He bites his bottom lip, chewing it hard, frowning so deep that Noctis stops lounging against him and straightens up properly. It puts them on the same level, eye-to-eye. Noctis has really amazing eyes.
Noctis has amazing everything, and he doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Prompto didn’t realize the lie was that deep. He didn’t think Noctis thought he just didn’t have urges at all.
There are a few stiff seconds where Prompto’s internal panic cycles through gut-wrenching guilt and bristling anxiety, while Noctis just waits on him, not going anywhere. It’d be easier if Noctis just took the hint and left. But he’s the prince and he can stay where he wants, and besides, they would’ve had to have this talk eventually. The generic background music from the game isn’t quite enough to drown out Prompto’s frantic pulse.
Noctis’ forehead creases, expression puzzled, adorable as always, and Prompto finally breaks and admits, “I... I wouldn’t put it quite like that...” Noctis lifts a brow. Prompto swallows. “Look, Noct... I’m super glad you feel like it’s safe to stay with me. Seriously, I mean, I try really hard to keep myself in check and not go all alpha on you no matter what happens, but I’m... I am consciously holding back. Like, a lot. A lot a lot. I do feel those urges, so it really wouldn’t be safe for you here. Especially you. I feel like I do sometimes look at omegas because hey, cute omegas are nice and I’m lonely, but I guess I don’t look-look because I’m so busy looking at you all the time. But, like... I try not to with you? ‘Cause I super value our friendship? And I totally love that you’re so comfortable with me that you can snuggle with me on the couch and sleep on me and stuff, but... y’know... I’m not not thinking about mating with you every time you do?” His voice gets unusually high pitched near the end, fading out as he realizes he’s digging himself a deeper and deeper hole. Noctis’ eyes are wide around the edges, abruptly wide awake.
Prompto silently prays to every one of the Six that he hasn’t irrevocably ruined their relationship. Because he was willing to go the rest of his life without ever inflating his knot in someone if he could stay by Noctis’ side.
“You... you do?” Noctis blinks. He looks completely dazed, like he’s seeing Prompto in a whole new light, which just makes Prompto feel worse. He knows he’s scrawny and small for an alpha, but he didn’t think he was that bad. Then Noctis croaks, “You want me? Like... sexually?”
Prompto weakly shrugs and tries to save it. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“What do you want to do to me?”
If Prompto weren’t blushing hot red, the colour would be draining from his face. “What?”
“What do you want to do to me? Like, as an alpha to an omega... be more specific.”
It’s so dreadfully blunt that it feels like an order. A royal decree. Prompto’s powerless to resist, even though he’s desperate not to make things any worse. He’s shaking when he admits, “I’d, um... kinda like to snuggle with you back? Like, not how you were doing it earlier but, like... full on spooning... in bed... naked... I totally want you naked. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s super hot having you in my sweater—I dig that—but I’d totally tear it off you if I could, and then I’d push you down and climb on top of you, pin you down, lean in and lick your throat, then bite all over it, bite your cheek, your shoulders, everywhere—I’d cover you in big, red marks so everyone knew you were mine, and then I’d rub all over you and scent you up so you smell like me, and then I’d flip you over and get behind you and plug you up and mate you—” He can’t stop talking and he’s going to die of embarrassment—
“You’re an idiot.”
Prompto’s mouth snaps closed.
“I can’t believe you! I’ve been after you since the day my first heat hit and you came over to help me in your skimpy little gym shorts and your alpha pheromones all over the place!”
Prompto... stops working. His whole brain just shuts down. Noctis wrinkles his nose and huffs, “Damn, Prom, do you know how many royal suitors I’ve turned down because I’ve been waiting on you? I think about your stupid knot every time I jerk off, for fuck’s sakes!”
Somehow, Prompto manages to squeak, “You shouldn’t say that.” Because Prompto’s perilously close to snapping and claiming Noctis right over his parent’s coffee table. They’re not around, of course. Every time they call, they ask if he’s brought home any nice omegas lately, and Prompto’s never been brave enough to say he has the prince over all the time. Dry-mouthed, he tries to be responsible—“You must be going into heat or something, so—”
“If all those alpha senses are working after all, then you know damn well I’m not anywhere near heat.” He’s not. Prompto keeps track of those. He makes sure not to be around and instead locks himself in his room and sobs as he guilty strokes himself to the thought of Noctis swamped in arousal.
“Shut up.” Prompto does. Noctis abruptly lurches forward, slamming his mouth into Prompto’s like an alpha on the prowl, and Prompto just takes it because he’s too stunned to move.
Noctis is kissing him. Closed-mouth and at a bad angle where their noses are smashed into each other, but still. Kissing him. He digs his fingernails into his palms so hard that he might be drawing blood. Noctis pulls back and stubbornly commands, “Stop holding back, Prom. Seriously. Because I’m staying the night, and you better spend it touching me and marking me and all that good stuff I’ve been craving for years.”
Prompto looks at him. Noctis Lucis Caelum. The most handsome, talented, coolest omega in the entire kingdom. Sitting on Prompto’s couch. Staring at his mouth.
Prompto finally snaps and surges forward, claiming his prize.