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The first time is an accident.
Prompto is breathless in the tent. He's never run so hard in his whole life. They'd seen him. They had to have seen him. And when he closes his eyes, he can see them, too. It's jammed into his memory, like a lance through the heart.
"What's the matter with you?" Gladio asks. He's as he always is on the other side of their tent: big and gruff and blunt.
"N-nothing!" Prompto replies brightly instead of, "I saw Ignis giving Noct a blowjob," which is what he can feel itching on the tip of his tongue, trying to get free and zip around the hanging lantern.
"Hmph," Gladio replies. He stands, all stooped over and uncomfortable in the low space, and shuffles to the tent opening, lifting the flap. "Gonna pee," he tosses over his shoulder as he goes and Prompto nods.
"Yeah, sure," he says, but Gladio is already gone. The tent flap falls back down, but not before Prompto catches a brief, breathtaking view of the Vesperpool at night. The stars are impossible to count, the trees mysterious and graceful. And he's alone with his nerves now, so Prompto exhales. It doesn't seem real. Most of the time when he went out to take pictures in the evening, he got frightening shots of inky purple and black clouds as daemons clawed their way from the ground in the distance. They prowled around the havens, massive, waiting, waiting; hoping the four of them would make a mistake, take a step too far. He had dozens of pictures of death stalking the night for him. So finding Ignis and Noct together in the dark, fearless, touching, sucking…
Prompto had frozen, caught by his own shock. He'd watched for far too long, as if his mind was trying to understand what it was seeing, like putting together a jigsaw puzzle.
Ignis had been on his knees before Noct in a patch of grass just north of their haven. The blue light from the runes had just barely illuminated his form, tall and narrow except for his shoulders which were broad and impressive. And Noct had been leaning against a small and twisted tree, skin glowing in the runelight, the fingers of one hand clawed in the fabric covering one of those impressive shoulders. The noises had been...wet, is the word that comes to Prompto's mind. Ignis' head had bobbed back and forth, his face strange with his lips curled around his teeth as he moved in a steady, determined rhythm. Sometimes he stopped to catch his breath, turned to the side and let Noct rub against his cheek while he waited, his cock red and wet and leaking. Wanting more.
Noct's other hand had been at his own chest, exposed to the night with his black shirt pushed up high beneath his underarms. He'd been clenching one of Ignis' gloved hands to his thin body, moving it roughly against his budded nipple. Prompto had noticed that it was small, pink, and looked tormented between Ignis' fingers when he pinched it.
Noct had made some desperate little noise and thrust wilder into Ignis' mouth. "H-harder," Noct had whispered and Prompto thought at first he meant the sucking — that he wanted Ignis to move faster, rougher — but then he saw Noct's fingers flex on Ignis' hand against his chest and that hand had shifted and…
If Prompto had lifted his camera, zoomed in, he knows he would have seen gloved fingers mercilessly pinching Noct's nipple, abusing it past what should have felt good. But Noct had groaned, curled in closer to that hand.
Hissed, "Yes," low and wild.
Sometimes, when Titan appears, Prompto feels so insignificant that Titan might as well step on him, smash him to dust. Dust is all he is. Nothing.
He kinda felt like that, listening to Noct lose control against Ignis' hand and mouth.
"Like that, like that." Then Noct's other hand had drifted up from Ignis' shoulder, grabbed the back of Ignis' head and then jerked him forward. Ignis hadn't made a sound, just caught himself on the tree to either side of Noct as he was dragged forward and tilted off balance.
Prompto winces in sympathy at the memory. Ignis must have fought not to gag.
Noct had tried to be quiet, but he still made uncontrolled sound, somewhat like sobbing, high-pitched and broken. Growing louder and louder as he chased completion. He slumped forward, hips still moving in short jerks, as if he wanted to keep fucking Ignis' mouth even when he'd just come. It was almost in slow motion how he curled down, wrapping his arms around Ignis' neck, leaning on him in a slump. Ignis was quick to shift his hands to Noct's pale hips, holding him up as he gasped for breath and shook. How long he stayed that way Prompto wasn't sure, but Ignis probably couldn't breathe. At long last, a gloved hand tapped gently at Noct's hip and Noct jerked in surprise.
"Sorry, sorry," he panted and finally pulled away, unfolding; unraveling his arms from around Ignis. There came a soft gasp, mostly breath — the only sound Ignis made, once he was able to breathe without Noct in his throat.
And Prompto had looked hard, tried to see if there was a telltale splash on the ground, or the sound of someone spitting. There wasn't. Prompto's face had already been hot with embarrassment, but it somehow grew hotter at the idea that Ignis had swallowed, hadn't spilled a drop.
It all formed a picture in his mind. A strange picture. This wasn't the first time Ignis had sunk to his knees for Noct. Not the first time Noct had ground his hips into Ignis' face at the feel of his nipple being squeezed and twisted.
Then Ignis had been busy, gently helping Noct back into his pants. He'd been slow and careful. Noct had watched his hands on him and Prompto hadn't known what the look on his face was.
Finally, Noct had reached down and helped Ignis to his feet, and that was the moment Prompto realized that he was spying on his best friend and his Chamberlain having sex in the woods. He wasn't supposed to be here.
Ignis was fussily dusting off his knees. Then he started to turn, and Noct was lifting his eyes as he straightened his rumpled clothing. They would see him. They would know what he had watched.
Prompto fled, ran for his life, not even trying to be silent, just trying to be away — and his feet were moving, moving, and he was fast because he jogged every day in Insomnia and he needed that speed now, had to keep going, had to escape…
Couldn't forget what he'd seen, a permanent mark, like the symbol on his wrist, but that mark he could hide. How could he hide from this?
The memory will not fade.
His throat is dry from gasping for breath after that terrified sprint, even though his breathing had calmed a long time ago. Now it's just his heart racing in fear. He doesn't know what happens now .
Gladio comes back first, yawning and sneezing at turns. He looks sleepy, but he glances around with a question on his face. "Where are those two?" he grumbles.
"I don't know," Prompto says too quickly, which earns him a high eyebrow from Gladio, but Prompto looks away so he doesn't have to deal with his questions.
"Well, they can sleep out there for all I care," Gladio mumbles. "If they wake me up coming back, I'm gonna be pissed." Without warning, he reaches up and turns the lantern off with a practiced flip of his finger, plunging the tent into darkness and silence. He settles down on the ground with a gruff, "'Night."
Prompto closes his eyes to adjust to the dark, sees Ignis on his knees brutally squeezing Noct's nipple because Noct had begged him to. It's burned on the back of his eyelids.
He opens his eyes and stares at the dark instead.
So this is what his friends get up to, he thinks. And he's not a part of this, hadn't been trusted with the information. No matter how close he is to Noct; no matter how well he gets along with Ignis, this is a part of them he wasn't meant to see.
He's outside this. The other. Excluded. Like always. He feels the brand on his wrist like a hot iron. There's nothing to make it feel like that: no sprain, no scratch, but it hurts all the same.
It's about ten minutes later when Ignis and Noct enter the tent. Gladio is already snoring. Noct rolls his small body down next to Prompto and Ignis takes a moment to arrange his long limbs between Noct and Gladio. Prompto listens in the dark for any sign, any acknowledgement between the two of what had happened. He imagines Ignis reaching for Noct's hand in the dark, of Noct squeezing that hand, pulling it close.
There are no sounds, no shuffling noises of one hand holding another. Prompto falls into a fitful sleep, wondering if the two had ever even kissed.
He is groggy and silent the following morning. They have a long trip back to Hammerhead ahead of them and Prompto is already dreading the sensation of his butt falling asleep as Ignis stoically sips coffee and takes them safely from gas station to gas station. The ride is quieter than usual because Prompto can't make himself speak. Every look from Ignis or comment from Noctis makes fear slither down his body and shame settle in his heart. It keeps his lips sealed, even if his mind is noisy.
Prompto is suddenly aware of the fact that he usually fills up the silence in the car with chatter and laughter. Most of the conversations? He starts them. He asks them silly questions like "What was your childhood dream?" and used to feel like he was getting to know them with every answer he pulled from them.
To be the Shield of the King, Gladio had said. To be invisible, Noct had answered. Yes, getting to know them.
Now he's pretty sure he doesn't know them at all.
So the ride is silent and difficult. And this is what it would always be like, he realizes, if he never tried to play silly games with them and never asked them icebreaker questions. Gladio reads, Ignis just focuses on driving, and Noct is stubbornly silent, lost in his own mind and gazing out the window. Sometimes Noct snaps out of his reverie long enough to hand Ignis a coffee, and Prompto doesn't look to see if their fingers touch.
The question "Did they see me watching?" repeats in his head the whole trip. Everything seems different. Nothing seems different. His head is a mess.
They stop in Lestallum for gas. Prompto stays in the car for a change while Gladio and Noct head to the store for snacks.
"A few more elixirs, if you would," Ignis asks Noct who tosses back, "Sure." It's all so normal that Prompto feels like he's going a little crazy.
Ignis straightens his gloves, pulls the nozzle from the pump, and smoothly slides it into the Regalia, and even that makes Prompto shift and look away, his face heating up. Everything will be innuendo from now on, he guesses. He'll never be able to forget.
When Ignis settles back behind the wheel, Prompto looks at his profile for a long moment before sighing and giving in to curiosity. He turns to Ignis, drops his eyes to his own hands, and just asks what's on his mind.
"Do you get anything from it?" he asks. He remembers Ignis coming to his feet smoothly, dusting off his knees as if he had fulfilled some duty or something, checked the task off his list, and was ready to move on to the next one. It made Prompto think of all the other things Ignis did without question. Cooking meals and doing laundry and sewing buttons back on; driving long into the night, planning their strategies, and keeping track of their gil. Pulling Noct away from monsters, standing before him in battle like he thought he was the Shield of the King instead of Gladio.
Ignis glances at him and Prompto can't meet his gaze. His fingers are twisting in his lap, tangling up like knots.
"It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable," is Ignis' reply and Prompto almost laughs. Of course Ignis would find the most polite way to refuse to answer his question. Prompto notices how Ignis doesn't speak for the king either, how he says nothing about Noct being sorry that Prompto was uncomfortable after catching them fucking in the woods. Ignis always knows the right thing to do. Ignis would never presume to speak for the king in a situation like this , Prompto thinks scornfully.
"I didn't mean to spy on you," Prompto manages after an inelegant shrug. He chances a look up and Ignis has this kind, understanding expression on his face and Prompto kind of hates him for it. He wants Ignis to be human about this. To feel something. To be his idea of what normal is so Prompto can strive for that too. If Ignis would just say that he feels angry or used or uncertain, Prompto would feel better about all of this. If he would just...be normal , Prompto would feel less like he was drowning in confusion. He knows there's a template for normal because it's been made clear to him his whole life that he doesn't fit that template, so normal exists . It does .
And it's what Ignis is supposed to be, what Prompto has always believed, anyway.
Maybe what he's wanted to believe. Prompto needs his friends to be a map for him, something to follow, something to strive for. He wants to be like them.
Just a regular guy. Just a normal guy.
But now it's clear to him: Ignis isn't normal at all. Ignis is cold and calculating and maybe more machine than the MTs.
Because when he asked Ignis what his childhood dream was, Ignis hadn't been able to answer.
Because he'd never had a dream. Because all Ignis had ever had was Noct and that idea sickens Prompto.
Because Ignis gave Noct blowjobs in secret and probably didn't even get turned on by it; didn't touch himself while he sucked Noct off. Didn't ask for reciprocation as he tucked Noct back into his clothing, helped him tug down his shirt. And Ignis probably did it just because Noct wanted it and Ignis didn't have any dreams and that made anger bubble up inside Prompto like lava coming to the surface. He didn't know if it was anger on Ignis' behalf or anger for himself because he knew what it was like to give and give and still get left behind.
"No harm done, I think," Ignis says with a nonchalant wave of his hand and Prompto clenches his jaw to stay silent.
"Again, please do accept my apology," Ignis adds.
Prompto knows he's punching above his weight here, has no idea how to get Ignis to crack and own up to feeling anything. All at once, he just deflates, the anger cooling and leaving a sad, empty cavern in its place. "So, what, you two will be more careful now?" Prompto grumbles.
Ignis takes a moment to answer. "I will endeavor to make sure everyone is as comfortable as possible for the remainder of the trip," he says. His expression doesn't change.
He'll make sure everyone is comfortable. He will. Ignis would never presume to speak for the king.
Prompto opens his mouth, but never gets to say anything else on the subject.
The king in question returns then, a small bag in his arm. He hands a can of Ebony Coffee to Ignis who thanks him. Prompto looks this time. Their fingers don't touch. It's just a can being handed from one man to the next.
He doesn't know anything.
He stares at Gladio sometimes, wondering what he knows. What he pretends not to see. If he sees anything at all.
He assumes Ignis and Noct are trying to be more careful because he doesn't run across them again. Not for several weeks. He is honest enough with himself to know he's looking for them now, hunting for the image of them together when he goes out to shoot the evening vistas of Duscae and Leide, the creatures and rippling lakes. He has unanswered questions and is convinced that he'll have answers if he could just see Ignis and Noct together in the woods again. Unguarded in their movements and uninhibited.
But there is nothing but the daemons to see at night. At camp, Noct and Ignis are the same as ever. Ignis nags and Noct complains about it. The sun comes up, goes down, the daemons come out.
Noct gains Ramuh's favor soon enough. Sometimes, in the middle of a hunt when things look really bad — when there's blood on the dusty ground and Gladio is staggering around the battlefield lost and weak — Noct drops to his knees and the sky opens up and the ground rumbles like a million earthquakes happening all at once.
The gods are larger than life, they make the air sizzle with energy.
They win those hunts easily with Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto having nothing much to do but stand back and brace themselves as Noct exerts his will on Eos. On heaven. On the gods themselves.
"The power of the gods," Ignis says reverently, watching Ramuh merge back into the sky.
"They're on our side," Noct replies, drawing Ignis' attention. The reverence on Ignis' face doesn't disappear. Quite the opposite. Prompto looks between his two friends and tries not to think of Ignis dropping to his knees in worship.
The next time he catches them, it's after days of trying, venturing further and further away from the haven, checking every patch of shadow. When he finds them, he keeps his distance, uses his camera to zoom in close to watch Ignis sheath his teeth and lower his head. Noct grabs his hand, pulls it to his chest and begs for pressure, for pain. After he gets what he wants — his nipple battered and ruined — he does something new. He moves Ignis' gloved hand higher, to his mouth, and he sucks on the fingers, gets the fabric wet. Ignis obliges, thrusts his fingers into Noct's mouth in time with the movement of his head up and down.
Prompto is far away, can't hear the wet noises and moans. He doesn't even hear Noct's orgasm this time. Ignis comes to his feet just like before, dusts a leaf off Noct's shoulder, helps straighten his clothing. His fingers must be soaking, his throat must be sore. Noct hadn't exactly been slow and gentle.
Noct steps away from Ignis' fussing, runs a finger through his hair and Ignis waits patiently, like a dog looking for instructions from its master.
Prompto lowers his camera and wonders for the first time if Ignis even knows what love looks like.
They're back in Lestallum a week later. Gladio has dragged Noct out to help him carry Cup Noodles and Prompto is pretty sure Gladio will end up at one of Lestallum's cheaper bars. Noct sometimes stays out quite late, staring at the disc where Titan used to be, thinking about whatever it was that reluctant kings thought about.
So Prompto is alone with Ignis.
Ignis is leaning against the door to the balcony, a cup of coffee in his hands. The sky is velvet and star-scattered. He's heard Ignis and Noct talk about the stars before, nostalgic and familiar.
He wonders if Ignis is reminiscing about the past, or planning for the future. Making more lists, checking more boxes.
Prompto is wasting time on his phone, not really doing anything, his eyes darting between the bright screen and Ignis' long back. There's tension in the room and he's not sure how much of it is in his head or not. He gives up on the game when the atmosphere is so heavy he can't breathe through it.
He puts down his phone, bites his lip when nerves make him start to shake a bit. Ignis shouldn't be intimidating — he's a gangly, serious man made almost ridiculous by how bland he tries to be — but somehow, there is an air about Ignis of someone waiting for the world to catch up to him.
"Did he ask you?" Prompto says after a long stretch of silence. He doesn't feel any anger now. Not for himself. Not for Ignis. Everyone is free to make their own choices. Sure, why not?
Ignis turns, looks at him over the rim of his coffee cup. He's not one to pretend misunderstanding. He places the cup on the table by the door, crosses his arms.
"Yes," he says.
Prompto nods. He isn't surprised. "Do you...like doing it?" he asks, scrutinizing the planes and angles of Ignis' face, the shape of his eyes behind his glasses, trying to read some emotion, some truth.
"It's not as simple as that," Ignis says. Prompto nods again. He gets it somehow, knows that Ignis will always keep his secrets. No matter how he phrases the question, Ignis won't answer it.
"What if I asked?" Prompto says and holds his breath and Ignis shifts against the doorframe, a small, almost imperceptible move.
"Is that what you want?" Ignis' voice is low. Curious. Prompto flatters himself by thinking it's surprised, too. He has surprised a man who must pride himself on being ahead of the game. That has to count for something.
Prompto stares hard at his hands on the bed, the band around his wrist. "Yes," he says. It boils down to this, he realizes: Noct has this. Noct has Ignis, on his knees, obedient, whenever he wants.
Prompto wants what everyone else has.
Ignis very deliberately crosses the room and locks the door. He turns back to Prompto. "On the edge of the bed, please."
Prompto is graceless stumbling into position, his heart in his throat. Ignis is graceful when he kneels and Prompto thinks of the times Ignis has backflipped right past him in the middle of a fight, not even breathless, just fast and light like a feather.
Ignis places his hands on Prompto's knees. "Alright?" he asks.
"Yeah," Prompto manages, the word coming out a croak. He almost, almost gasps when Ignis pushes his knees apart. Then his hands are at his belt — slid up his thighs slowly to get there, firm and sure. His knuckles brush against his stomach as he opens the buckle, an accidental tease that…
Well, no. It can't be an accident. Nothing Ignis does is an accident.
It's strange to see Ignis on his knees in front of him. His face is impassive and his eyes hard to read.
"Take them off?" Prompto asks. Ignis hesitates for the briefest moment, then reaches up, removes his glasses, and sets them gently on the bed beside Prompto's legs.
"Mind them," he says.
"Sure," Prompto agrees. Ignis has green eyes that Prompto's never really thought about before, but now he can't look away. They're bright and intelligent and…
More than a little distant. Almost cold.
Ignis gently taps Prompto's thigh when he wants him to lift up so his pants and briefs can be tugged down to his ankles. He thinks of Ignis tapping Noct's hip, asking him to pull back so he could breathe, and his heart starts beating faster.
It's all so clinical Prompto can't even be nervous like he normally would be about sex. It's that checklist, Ignis going down the items one at a time. Clothing off? Check. Prompto's cock in his hand? Check.
He's not wearing the gloves and so it's smooth skin that slides along his shaft, dry and a little too hot from holding the coffee cup.
Prompto hardens quickly and a bead of white forms at the head. Ignis gathers that up and now his strokes are slick, his grip hardening. Prompto's hand flies to Ignis' face and Ignis gives his palm a distracted, lazy kiss that makes Prompto gape at him.
"S-say something," Prompto says, fighting to keep his hips still, to let Ignis do what he does.
"What do you want to hear?" Ignis asks then licks up the underside of his cock. It's wet and tickles and makes his balls ache deliciously. He's not going to last long.
"Ungh," Prompto groans. "I don't know. Just. What are you thinking?"
Ignis looks up at him, one thin eyebrow high, then slowly opens his mouth and pushes Prompto's cock inside. It feels like heaven.
Ignis' mouth his hot and wet and he doesn't waste time but sheaths his teeth and starts to move, to suck and lick.
"Shit, shit," Prompto hisses. He can't stop rocking forward now, the blankets beneath him getting hot and uncomfortable beneath his naked ass. None of that matters because Ignis is stroking at the base where his mouth misses and gently rolling his balls with his other hand, like it's easy to be that coordinated and thoughtful while you have a cock shoving deeper and deeper into your throat because it's so good and Prompto can't stop himself.
Ignis stops just once to catch his breath. Prompto remembers Noct not holding still when Ignis stopped. Remembers Noct pushing his cock against Ignis' cheek, wanting his mouth back right away and Prompto gets it now. He gets it.
The hand on his balls moves to his hip and Ignis is guiding him with that hand, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed. "Don't worry. Move however you want," Ignis says, then takes him even deeper.
Prompto's mind goes white then black and then he's grabbing Ignis' hair hard and fucking forward, thrusting into the wet heat that Ignis makes tight for him with suction and his tongue. Ignis hums a little and the vibrations make Prompto curl down, bend himself around the head bobbing between his legs.
He comes before he knows it's happening, feels rude for not warning Ignis. But Ignis just swallows around the head of his cock, takes every spurt without coughing, without a sound.
Ignis releases Prompto's cock and strokes him through it all as he shakes and shivers. The night is silent around them. He doesn't know if he screamed or not. Doesn't know who might have heard him come so hard so quickly.
His cock softens slowly in Ignis' grip and all he can do is flop backwards on the bed and let Ignis take care of him. He knows what it feels like now to have Ignis gently slide him back into his clothing, tuck him back into his underwear, zip him back up, button him back into place.
His eyes are half closed, but he studies Ignis hips, tries to see if he's hard, but his jacket is long enough that it blocks the view. Maybe he'll never know.
"What...what did you think about?"
Ignis has backed away from the bed and is placing his glasses back on his face, hiding the green behind glass. "What you might like. How best to give you what you asked for."
It's an awful answer. Prompto rolls to his side, looks at the locked door with his hands beneath his face. They smell like whatever product Ignis uses to keep his hair in that high style and he winces at that because they smell like that, really, because he'd tugged Ignis' hair too hard, held him in place by the soft strands as he'd taken his mouth too hard. Because it had felt good. Because Ignis had let him.
"Is it just, like, work for you?"
Ignis shakes his head. "You worry far too much," is his reply, and Prompto feels more uncomfortable now than ever before.
"Um. Right. So...I should say thank you," Prompto says.
"There's no need. However, you are welcome. Water?"
"Um. Yeah," Prompto says. He kind of wants to die. He should have offered to get Ignis water, should have been a gentleman and given something back at least. Ignis would need water, right now, anyway. Ignis had swallowed and let himself be used. Again. And yet, off he goes to the sink and back he comes with a glass. And of course he helps Prompto sit up, pushes the cup into his hand, and waits for his fingers to wrap around it.
Prompto takes a drink, looks at Ignis' impassive face over the rim of his glass.
"I don't understand you," he says once the glass is lowered, once his throat doesn't feel like he's breathed in all the dust and sand of Duscae.
"Hmmm. Well. The others will be back soon," Ignis says. He stands again, moves to the door and unlocks it. The sound is very loud. Very final.
Over his shoulder Ignis asks, "Any idea what you might like for dinner?"
Prompto thinks about that a lot in the following days. Of Ignis getting him water. Asking what he wants to eat, and then actually making it.
Just because Prompto asked.
Letting Prompto use his mouth.
Just because Prompto asked.
Things are as normal as they can be with this secret weighing him down. He doesn't know if Noct knows. He has no idea how Gladio is ignoring all the tension.
Ignis treats him just the same, but Prompto isn't fooled. Something is different now.
If he asked again, would Ignis lock the door, tell him to sit on the edge of the bed, and then drop to his knees?
He catches Noct and Ignis again, but he hadn't really been trying. Not really.
This time Noct is on his back, stretched out on the grass near the lighthouse in Cape Caem. The moon is full and his skin is alabaster in the light it casts down on the hillside. He's twisting roughly, making little noises. Ignis is above him, just using his hand this time. The other is on Noct's belly, holding him down. No gloves, so Prompto knows what that feels like, the dry brush of his fingertips.
He wonders if this is the buildup to Ignis lowering his head, breathing on the head of Noct's cock before taking him into his mouth. Or maybe he'll bring Noct off just like this, have to lick the come off his fingers. Clean his glasses because of the mess.
Prompto doesn't stay to find out. He turns away, but hears Noct softly crying out as he pads back to the house.
"Please, please, " Noct begs and Prompto doesn't need to see to know that Ignis will give him whatever it is he's asking for.
Prompto rubs at his wrist in bed that night, staring at the ceiling lit up by the blinding brightness of the moon, lulled by the crashing sound of water far below them. He knows he's not normal, but now he's starting to doubt that normal even exists. Noct has never been normal, after all. He's a king chosen to lead a nation from darkness. He can move across great distances in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail of blue phantoms behind him. His body is a graveyard to the weapons and hopes of dead kings and queens.
Gods split the earth and sky for him. Noct is a living fairytale. Not normal at all.
Noct had the audacity to ask a servant who gave him everything, to give him even more.
No, not normal.
And what chance did Gladio have of ever being like anyone else? He's ruined his body with tattoos and scars to serve a king who expects as much, just like his father. He threw himself in front of blows aimed at Noct like his own life was meaningless.
And Ignis…
And here Prompto has to pause. He has no idea what Ignis is .
Not in any real sense.
Noct and Gladio are almost a clearer picture for him. What they do. What they are.
But Ignis…
What kind of man serves to this degree? A man with no dreams.
All he knows is that these three men — the only friends he's ever had — are no map for him. They can't teach him how to be like everyone else. They can't give him a route to follow to feel like he belongs. He exhales louder than he meant to, but Noct doesn't make a sound beside him. It's almost chilling how he can sleep like the dead.
Gladio, Noct, Ignis...they can't teach him normal, he realizes. But maybe they can teach him how to be. Just how to be . Maybe he really can be himself around a group of guys so weird he can't define it. A group of guys who have grown used to seeing gods shake the earth.
The world is mad. The world is at war, and somehow they are surviving. That has to count for something. A hell of a lot more than being just normal ever could.
Ignis told him that he worried too much. Ignis, Prompto has learned, is usually right.
Prompto doesn't go looking for Noct and Ignis anymore. He lets them have...whatever it is they have. He has no more answers than he did before, but a part of him wonders if it even matters.
The gods appear when they want, snatch Noct up from the sky, raze the land, and then disappear again. In what world is that fair? And Noct thinks it's no big deal that his eyes glow and that lightning crackles around him. The gods are there to aid him, to rescue him when he's weak. That's Noct's reality.
So who is Prompto to say what Ignis is allowed to offer to someone like that?
They have to return to the Vesperpool a few weeks later. It's strange to be back, to trudge through the woods towards the haven and look at every tree trying to recall if that was the tree Noct had leaned against while Ignis opened his mouth wide and took him in.
But after all, he can't remember the exact tree. It's silly to think he might have.
Gladio and Noct disappear to go fishing the next morning, neither giving much by way of a farewell, just vague noises about catching a monster of a fish. By lunchtime, Ignis is resigned to fixing lunch for two and is making displeased sounds about hoping Gladio remembered to pack something for Noct to eat.
Prompto sits beside him in the folding chairs by the fire, watches the light change; watches it bounce off the water and paint the leaves golden. He's made a decision.
"I want..." Prompto says, but the words die in his throat. He tries again. "Will you…?"
Ignis checks the time on his phone. Sets his cup down. "I don't see why not," he says, then stands, long and graceful.
Prompto stands too. He's just a little nervous. "Come on," he says and disappears into the tent. He doesn't look to see if Ignis is following him, he just goes, ducking in and settling down with his legs crossed. Ignis joins him less than a minute later.
"Prompto?" he asks. Ignis is good at cramming a lot of meaning into one word, Prompto realizes.
"Come here," Prompto says. Ignis sits beside him on the ground, an arm's length away.
"Your clothing," Ignis says, eyes dropping to his pants, but Prompto shakes his head.
He's very slow and deliberate when he reaches forward and works the buckle of Ignis' belt open. Ignis doesn't stop him, but he doesn't help either. Prompto watches him as his hands move to the buttons of Ignis' pants, and then the zipper, wonders at Ignis' thoughtful expression, the gentle lift of one eyebrow.
"Why?" he says at last.
Prompto smiles shyly. "I'm asking," he says.
He doesn't know why, but that does the trick. Ignis lets him open the fly of his pants, let's him palm him to hardness, and makes no protest when Prompto sits forward and takes him in his mouth. Ignis isn't small, but Prompto is good at improvising, uses his hand to stroke what his mouth can't take.
It must be practice — habit from clandestine meetings in the woods where discovery was always possible — or perhaps just ironclad will, but Ignis is silent. He places a hand gently on Prompto's hair, almost like a reminder that he's there, and makes no demands. He doesn't thrust, doesn't grab. The only sounds are the wet sucking and slurping sounds of Prompto moving on his cock.
Prompto likes this. Ignis feels nice in his mouth, hard and hot. There is a burst of salt and bitter on his tongue and it's nice to know Ignis is enjoying this, is well on his way to coming. He'd like to make Ignis scream — like Ignis did to Noct — but he understands that this is just Ignis: silent, patient.
It is neither too quick, nor too long (which Prompto appreciates because his jaw starts to hurt after a while when a partner takes too long).
Leave it to Ignis to find just the right and proper length of time for a blowjob.
Of course Ignis is very polite. He even orgasms politely saying, "You should stop if you don't want to swallow," when he's about to come. His voice is only a little strained. Prompto is so surprised and impressed that he pulls back, uses his hand to tip Ignis over the edge. If Noct came like a wild wind, barely contained, Ignis comes like a gentle breeze. He turns his face away, holds his body as rigidly as possible, and only exhales loudly once as he spends. Prompto sits back, licks his hand just once in curiosity, and doesn't look away when Ignis watches him. He takes another slow lick and Ignis' eyes follow the movement.
Green eyes, Prompto thinks. He should have asked him to take his glasses off again. Ah, well, he thinks.
Then he stops thinking at all when Ignis reaches for him. For his buckle, specifically.
Prompto backs away. "No," he says.
This makes Ignis pause. He tilts his head as he thinks. "Certainly you hoped for reciprocity," he says.
Prompto shakes his head. "No. I...wanted you to have something. Just once. To get something."
"Pity?" Ignis asks. He doesn't sound angry, just intrigued. He sounds ready to correct Prompto if his answer is the wrong one. Because of course Ignis would never stand for pity.
"No!" Prompto says, surprised and nervous suddenly. "Not that. Just…" He sighs, shuffles forward and kisses Ignis. He has no idea if Ignis will appreciate where his mouth just was, but it's too late to change his mind about it now.
He's pleased when Ignis kisses him back. There's nothing much to the kiss, just lips moving together easily, slowly. But it's nice. Prompto pulls back and waits for Ignis to speak.
"So it's not pity. And it's not because you want me to return the favor. I'm afraid I can't figure this out."
Prompto has never heard Ignis admit to ignorance before and the novelty makes him smile.
"I wanted to," Prompto says. "I just..wanted to."
Ignis watches him, like he's a blueprint he needs to plan a raid on an enemy camp.
Finally, "I enjoyed it. Thank you," Ignis says, almost robotically. It's clear he's still unbalanced by all of this. "Please know you're under no obligation to me."
"I know."
"I won't make demands on you."
"Figured that, too," Prompto replies.
"I can't offer exclusivity," Ignis continues.
"Yeah, that's...let's not talk about Noct after sex, okay?"
"That's fair," Ignis agrees. "Will you ever want —"
But Prompto interrupts him. "You worry too much," he says and there is an audible clack as Ignis closes his mouth on the unasked question.
"Indeed," he says flatly. Prompto can't help it: he laughs and Ignis looks at him as if he's a curiosity, something not quite normal. It's a good feeling, like a little fire in his heart. He's done with all that.
He wants...he wants them to love him for what he is. Wants his friends to beg him not to change. Maybe he'll hear it one day, the things he wants to hear.
When Noct and Gladio return — empty handed because, "My line snapped. Twice ," — Prompto and Ignis are playing a round of King's Knight, silently tapping away on their phones.
"Miss us?" Gladio asks, flopping back into the chair that can surprisingly hold his weight.
"No," Ignis says without looking up from his phone.
Noct laughs, a surprising blast of humor, and Prompto smiles at him from beneath his bangs, then looks over at Ignis. "Good one, Iggy," he says.
Ignis smirks. "Dinner?" he asks.
"Oh, yeah," Gladio exclaims. "I'm starving."
"What are you making?" Noct wonders, drifting closer to Ignis, staring at his screen.
"Nothing but vegetables, Highness," Ignis says dryly.
"You've got to be kidding me!" Noct protests and Prompto laughs again. It's a good day, he decides.
And if Ignis can joke like this, in the middle of a war, in the middle of Prompto having some kind of emotional and sexual crisis, then things are probably fine. This is normal enough for him.
The gods are on their side.