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Epiphany

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Noctis Caelum doesn’t make a habit of drinking, but it’s been one hell of a day.

 

He’s used to this lifestyle. It’s a nonstop blur of business class flights, airports and five-star hotels, long, rambling meetings that are more circlejerk and etiquette than actual business strategy, and fancy restaurants that have Noctis pushing food around on his plate. Sometimes – okay, a lot of the time – it gets lonely, living like this. Usually, Noctis pushes it aside, crawls into the king bed in his expensive hotel suite and sleeps through the depressed stupor.

 

Tonight, though, he finds himself sitting at a bar, a couple shots deep.

 

Noct’s exhausted. He should be in bed already. He’d flown into Niflhem this morning. Their landing had been delayed because of snow and ice – they’re deep into winter – and the cold hurts his bones. He’d rushed from the airport to their Niflheim office, and it’s been nonstop meetings all day. Noctis is fairly certain he didn’t eat lunch. He had absolutely skipped dinner, too. Drinking on an empty stomach is an awful idea. He’s old enough that the hangover will be brutal, but whatever.

 

There’s a bit of laughter from a booth nearby, and when Noctis looks over his shoulder, he sees a group of kids – are they even legal? – grinning and nudging each other. Fuck. Kids these days, they just keep getting younger, as Noctis keeps getting older. Still, he can’t help but stare, just for a moment, as a blonde kid looks up at the exact same moment. Their eyes meet, from across the room, and then Noctis is quickly looking away, dragging his gaze back to the empty shot glass in front of him.

 

“Another?” the bartender asks, immediately. He’s been pretty damn attentive, but Noct’s not an idiot. The bartender is smart enough to recognize an expensive suit when he sees it, and Noct’s already slipped him a couple of extra bills.

 

Noctis shouldn’t drink any more.

 

“Sure,” Noctis says, instead, with a shrug, reaching for his wallet. 

 

He hands over a bill, and the bartender smiles appreciatively, pouring out a double. “Here. On the house.”

 

Noctis manages a smile back, before knocking it back. He hates alcohol, he really does, but this fucking Niflheim winter cold is eating away at him. It’s a wet cold, the kind that creeps into his bones, aggravates old wounds that he had when he was a kid that he’d really like to forget.


He needs to stop drinking, Noctis thinks, a bit bitterly. He needs to get back to his hotel, too, but that’s another thought, because somehow, being at a bar in the heart of the city is better than being alone at his suite. It’s a fancy hotel; the usual, with a giant, king-sized bed, and a fantastic view of the entire city. There’s a tub big enough for two, but it’s not like Noctis has anyone to share it with.

 

It’s part of the package of being a rich, successful executive of a large company. Noctis is pretty much in a long-term, committed relationship with his job. Sometimes, some nights, he feels it more than others.

 

“You want another?” the bartender asks, returning for his rounds.

 

Noctis is sorely tempted, but he sighs. “Water,” he groans, because he’s already starting to feel the alcohol. It’s sneaking up on him, making him feel lightheaded, and maybe full of false bravado.

 

He still tips, though, as a glass of water slides across the table. Noctis takes a sip, and he groans a little at the feeling of the cold liquid washing down his throat. He’s tired. He’s a little tipsy. This was a bad idea.

 

“You got a story?” the bartender asks, curious, smiling at him with that tell-tale kindness that comes with the job. He tips well, so they’ve got time for him. Figures.

 

Noctis shrugs. “Not really. Just a long day.” It’s not a lie, really. He’s got everything going for him. Money, success, arguably looks. Noctis sighs and tugs his phone out of his pocket, though – he doesn’t really want to talk – and the bartender understands the universal symbol of ‘leave me alone’ and turns back to another customer.

 

It figures, Noct’s at a bar in the middle of a bustling city, and he finds himself checking his goddamn work email, anyway. The time difference between here and Lucis is significant, and already, there’s emails from the morning coming in. He’s only going to respond to one, Noctis tells himself, and then, suddenly, he’s several in.


There’s sounds behind him, and Noctis figures that the loud group of young kids is leaving. They’ve probably got better things to do, than sit in a bar and drink the night away. Or, well, maybe not. Whatever.

 

There’s the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, though, and Noctis blinks as he realizes someone’s hopping into the seat next to him.

 

“Seat taken?” a cheerful voice asks, and Noctis lifts his eyes from his phone, realizing, suddenly, that it’s the kid from earlier, the one he’d exchanged looks with. The cute blonde one, specifically. Noctis, inwardly, groans.

 

“All yours,” he says, setting his phone down on the table long enough to get a good, proper look at the kid.

 

Noctis’s first impression is that there’s no way this kid is old enough to be here. He’s young, fresh-faced and eager, with burning, bright blue eyes, and blonde hair that’s soft and falls over his face. His skin looks deliciously sun-kissed – something of a miracle, given that it’s dead-middle of winter – golden, with freckles dotting high cheekbones. This kid’s the most gorgeous thing Noctis has ever seen, and that realization hits him head-on. Fuck. He’s drunk.

 

“Cool,” the boy replies, waving down the bartender. “Tequila sunrise, please!”

 

Noctis snorts. “Tequila? You’re brave.”

 

“Can barely taste it with all the sugary stuff,” the kid replies cheerfully enough. “That’s kinda the point!”

 

“Tequila tastes way worse coming up,” Noctis replies, with a shake of his head. “I’m not babysitting you tonight. You even old enough to be here?”

 

“Duh,” the kid replies, and he procures his ID out of his back pocket to wave in the bartender’s face. “I’m like, twenty four, dude.”

 

Noctis doubts that very much. The bartender smiles wryly, and chooses not to comment. He must at least be of age, though, because a few moments later, the mixed drink’s sliding across the table.

 

“On your tab?” he asks.

 

Noctis must be drunker than he had initially suspected. That, or he just has a goddamn weakness for cute blondes. Likely, it’s a combination of the two. “Add his tab to mine,” he says, quickly, before he can second-guess himself.

 

The bartender smiles knowingly. Goddamn, is it obvious?

 

“Thanks,” the kid says, flushing a little, toying with a strand of hair, as he sips at his drink. “Name’s Prompto, by the way.”

 

Prompto. Noctis likes the sound of his name, and somehow, it suits the kid. “Noctis,” he offers, in response. “Don’t normally talk to people at bars, but then again, I don’t normally come to bars.”

 

That earns a grin from Prompto, in response. “Figured. You’re dressed way too nice for a place like this. That suit must’ve set you back, what, a small fortune?”

 

Noctis appreciates that Prompto, at least, has an eye for expensive suits. Noct himself doesn’t particularly care for the look, but it comes with the territory. He’s maintained the polished exterior for so long that it’s second nature to simply have the best. Nice clothing, Rolex watch on his wrist, brand new cell phone, expensive cars, penthouse suite… it’s just his life. He doesn’t think that he takes it for granted, but it’s simply… how things are.

 

“About that much,” Noctis agrees. “So, those your friends you were sitting with?” he nods slightly in the direction of the now-empty booth against the wall directly behind where they’re seated at the bar.

 

Prompto nods. He’s still playing with a strand of hair, and he’s got a playful little smile written all over his face. “Yeah. You could say that. They’re off to… I dunno, probably get high,” he flushes a bit at that confession, tipping his head to the side, and Noctis notices, with that angle, that he’s got a lot of piercings in his ear. It’s cute—a look of youthful rebellion that suits him. God knows it reminds Noctis of his college days.

 

“Not your thing, then?” Noctis offers up. He doesn’t know why he’s engaging with this kid. He doesn’t come to bars to talk, not really. He’s had his share of hookups – it’s simply part of the perpetual single life – but this isn’t exactly what he came here to do, not tonight. And, as cute as this kid is, he’s absolutely too young for Noctis to be considering taking him back to his hotel. There’s no way in hell.

 

Prompto shrugs, and takes another sip of his drink. “Nah. Thought you look way more interesting than my dumb ass friends.”

 

Noctis doesn’t blush. He absolutely doesn’t. He’s generally rather stoic, carrying an air of bored disdain with him wherever he goes. Right now, though, this kid is working his way under his skin, slowly and steadily. There’s a moment where Noctis hesitates, damnit, and he doesn’t hesitate, either.

 

“You’ve got pretty bad judgment, then,” Noctis replies, with a lazy sort of smile. “I’m pretty boring.”

 

“I don’t think so,” Prompto replies, leaning in a little closer. He’s downing that drink alarmingly fast, and Noctis wonders, vaguely, how much he’s already had to drink. He doesn’t think it’s very much—Prompto doesn’t look drunk. His cheeks are a little flushed, but his eyes are sharp, alarm, and his motions are fluid enough.

 

“You know absolutely nothing about me,” Noctis replies, with a laugh. “What exactly could you possibly think is interesting, other than my expensive suit?”

 

Prompto doesn’t reply for a moment, and when he does, he’s frowning a little. That’s a disgustingly cute look, too, Noctis thinks idly – another alarming thought. There’s a little crease where his brow is furrowing, and he wrinkles his nose, and he’s got the most disgustingly cute pout on his lips. It’s very kissable, Noctis thinks.

 

“You looked bored,” Prompto replies, slowly. He’s lazily tapping his fingers against his half-empty glass, as he eyes Noctis. “… and your voice. You’ve got an accent. You’re from Lucis, aren’t you?”

 

Noctis blinks. His accent, he likes to think, is subtle. There’s no language barrier between the two countries, and they speak in the same dialect. Maybe his words are a little more lilting, but he’s used to traveling, and he sounds distinctly less-Lucian than most people back home.

 

“I’m from Insomnia,” he agrees, “here on business. Surprised you recognized the accent.”

 

Prompto grins. “You kinda enunciate your vowels. I like it. Sounds… foreign. Adventurous.”

 

Noctis tips his head, and he eyes the blonde. Okay, his curiosity has been piqued. Whoever this Prompto is… well, Noctis has no idea who he is. They’ve only exchanged a few words, and nothing of real substance. So, why is he fascinated? Why is Noctis already painting a picture for this kid—educated, eager and easily excited, dreaming of the day that he gets to leave home and see the world? The kid’s got an adventurous spirit, maybe, and that, somehow, resonates with Noctis in some strange way.

 

“It’s pretty boring back home, I promise you that,” Noctis laughs quietly, though, as he finishes off his water. “Weather’s nicer, but… otherwise, it’s just the same. Busy city, everyone has their own business to attend to.”

 

“Sounds lonely,” Prompto smiles, but there’s a hint of sadness there. “You sound like you work too much, dude. Bet if you looked, you’d find people who are interested in more than their own business.”

 

Noctis smiles. He can’t help it, something about this kid is making it easy to smile, making his heart thump, and his throat feel just a little bit tight. “That obvious I’m a workaholic?”

 

Prompto laughs. “Noctis,” and fuck, Noct likes how his name sounds coming from his lips,  “I watched you texting on your phone from the bar. Either you’ve got a girlfriend or something back home, or you’re working, in a foreign city, late at night.”

 

“Pretty perceptive,” Noctis finds himself laughing alongside Prompto, though, impossibly. “No girlfriend. No… anything, really. And yeah, I was working.”

 

“Told ya. I’m good at reading people,” Prompto replies, brightly enough. He’s finished off his tequila, and he’s eyeing the bartender, clearly debating a second one.

 

“I’m pretty good at reading people, too,” Noctis says, and he flags down the bartender on Prompto’s behalf. What the hell, the kid is good conversation. Absolutely better than he’d expected, because not only is he tolerable, but Noctis is also enjoying the banter. The fact that he’s fantastic eye candy is only an added benefit, too. “Speaking of. You sure you’re legal?”

 

Prompto laughs. “Yeah, dude. You sure you’re single?”

 

“Absolutely,” Noctis replies, shaking his head and snorting into his glass. The bartender refills his water, too, and Noctis makes a mental note to cut Prompto off, after drink number two, because there’s an alarming amount of tequila in that fucking glass.

 

Prompto, it turns out, isn’t just sharp-witted and entertaining. He shares some of Noctis’s common interests, too. The subject comes up in a rather reluctant, roundabout way, because Noctis isn’t the type to offer up those little details. It comes with the territory of being terribly successful—nobody really wants to know that the guy running the big company would much rather spend his days sitting at the kitchen table on his laptop with a cup of coffee, a gaming mouse, and a terribly nerdy video game on the screen.

 

“What’s Insomnia like?” Prompto asks, partway through his second drink.

 

Noctis mulls it over. The alcohol’s fully settled in, and he’s got that slow, hazy quality to his thoughts. “It’s… bigger than Niflheim. More impersonal,” he offers, finally. “Tall and imposing. But beautiful. I grew up there, and… I’ll never really leave, I don’t think.”

 

Prompto nods, slowly. “I’d like to get out there and see it someday, y’know. But… money,” and he laughs a little awkwardly, flushing. Noctis knows that look. It’s the look of someone who’s trying to pretend that they’re not dirt poor, while in the presence of someone who clearly has money. He hates that look, it always makes him feel so guilty.

 

“I have pictures on my phone,” Noctis says, suddenly. “You wanna see?”

 

“Photos? Yeah, dude, I love that shit,” Prompto grins brightly. “I take a lot of pictures too, I should show you some…”

 

Prompto hops out of his chair long enough to push it closer to Noctis, and then he’s clambering back on. They’re close enough that their shoulders touch, and he’s leaning in as Noctis swipes through his photo album. There’s lots of pictures from around the city—the coffee shop Noctis frequents (“Stella’s”—the best coffee in town), the park near his high rise, and some well-known landmarks, like the Insomnia library, the giant government building that damn near dominates the skyline, the waterfront, with choppy seas cut by the breakwater out in the horizon. Prompto drinks it all in, eyes wide, and there’s something in his expression that fascinates Noctis.

 

Of course, Noctis ends up swiping one photo too far, and he’s flushing a little, awkward despite it all, when he lands on a hastily taken picture he’d snapped of his stupid character in an MMO he plays, when he’d given her new armor a few weeks back.

 

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Noctis mumbles, and he’s blaming it on the alcohol for him getting just a bit flustered, “… just a dumb game I play.”

 

“Dude,” Prompto says, his eyes widening a little. “You play that game? Didn’t take you for the gaming type, you look… well, don’t take this wrong, but way too put together to be into that stuff. No offense.”

 

Noctis outright laughs, even though it’s absolutely true. “None taken. Yeah. I don’t… really talk about it.”

 

Prompto pouts. He bumps his shoulder into Noct’s playfully. “Hey! I’m into that stuff too, y’know! You played that new Demon Hunter game that came out last week…?”

 

Okay. So, maybe he has a lot in common with this damn kid who Noctis absolutely doubts is actually in his mid-twenties. Noctis should maybe he bothered by that. But hell, it’s been ages since he’s had a conversation with someone that isn’t about business, or mundane shit. Hell, even talking with his friends has gotten exhausting, since they’re all so wrapped up in their lives, never any time for fun.

 

“Not yet,” Noctis confesses, “work’s been insane, and I’ve been traveling… I watched videos during the flight, though, and it looks amazing…”

 

“Dude. Noctis. Fuck, it’s so good, you gotta play it, when you get the time—” Prompto starts, quite dramatically, and suddenly he’s ranting about his adventures as a demon hunter extraordinaire, instead of just Prompto, the cute boy from the bar in the middle of Niflhem. Noctis listens, though, surprisingly enthusiastically, asking questions and nodding along. And, before either of them know it, it’s suddenly midnight.

 

Prompto stopped drinking after the second one, and he’d only been mildly annoyed when Noctis told him not to get a third. He’s tipsy, yeah. He’s leaning on Noctis a little, and he’s getting a bit handsy, casually throwing an arm around Noct’s shoulders. Noctis should be discouraging it, but somehow, a hand of his own ended up on Prompto’s thigh. The warmth of his skin, under the damn skinny jeans Prompto is wearing, is slowly driving Noctis absolutely insane.

 

Noct’s already starting to sober up a little. He should know better. He can’t get Prompto out of his mind, though. This close, he can smell the scent of Prompto’s shampoo. He can tell, this close up, that he’s wearing makeup. Noctis is doing his best to convince himself that it’s a bad idea.

 

“I’m kinda sick of the bar scene,” Noctis finds himself saying, though, as Prompto giggles his way through a retelling of an absolutely awful superhero movie they’d both been cursed enough to see – Prompto in theatre, with a few friends, Noctis on a long overseas flight a few weeks ago. “Been here all night.”

 

Prompto pauses, and he frowns. Noctis hates that he recognizes the emotion in his eyes as disappointment. “… you gonna be in town for long?” he asks, a bit hopeful.

 

The smart thing for Noctis Caelum to do is to give a vague answer, to casually dismiss, and to disappear into the night. He won’t come back to this particular bar, because it’s too dangerous. Despite everything, he hasn’t given away too much personal information. Prompto doesn’t know where he works. He knows Noctis, the guy who works too much, plays video games in his free time, wears lingering cologne and expensive suits.

 

“A while,” Noctis says, instead, and then, “hey. You wanna come back to my room? I’m… enjoying this.”

 

Prompto leans closer. Noctis can feel the warm puff of his breath against his neck, and it’s sending a rough shudder down his spine. God, Prompto is gorgeous, and Noctis can’t fucking deny how badly he suddenly wants this boy.

 

“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” Prompto says, in a low voice, but he follows the words with a quiet giggle, and the arm thrown around Noct’s shoulder is squeezing. “Yeah, Noctis, I—I’m having a good night.”

 

Me too, Noctis thinks, as he passes his credit card – black platinum, not that Prompto probably recognizes that – over to the bartender. The bartender sure as hell does, though, eyeing Noctis for a long moment as he swipes the card and hands it back.

 

Noctis signs the tab, and he tacks an extra tip on top, too, even with the bills he’s been passing over all night. The poor idiot’s been listening to him flirt nonstop with a guy clearly several years younger than him. It’s probably been a rough shift. It’s the least Noctis can do.

 

“Come on, then,” Noctis says, as he slips out of his chair and tugs his heavy winter coat back on. Prompto follows, grabbing his coat off the back of his chair and shrugging it on. “My hotel’s just around the block. Figured we’d walk if you don’t mind the cold?”

 

“Me, mind the cold?” Prompto laughs, grinning at Noctis, and there’s only a slight waver to his steps to betray the tequila he’s been knocking back. “Noctis, I’m the one from around here. You’re the poorly-acclimated foreigner. Figured you’d be the type to call an Uber to take you half a block, dude.”

 

Noctis laughs, “think you need to readjust your opinion of me, then. Didn’t we just spend two hours talking about how I’m not your typical rich dude?”

 

“Mmm, guess we did,” Prompto agrees, as they make their way across the bar, “sorry, Noct. Got distracted by how hot you are.”

 

Noct. They’ve apparently upgraded to nicknames, now. Prompto’s apparently upped his flirt game, too, from thinly veiled to overt. Noctis, somehow, isn’t terribly upset by this. In fact, he’s outright smirking as he picks up the pace, getting a few steps ahead of Prompto to open the door for him. The blonde absolutely blushes at the small gesture, and he flushes again, when Noct’s hand settles at the small of his back, a bit protective, a whole lot flirtatious.

 

Hey, two can play at this game. Noctis is quite certain he’ll win at it.

 

It’s freezing out, and there’s a harsh gust of wind that’s working against them. It makes Noct’s job harder—it’s difficult to be seductive, really, when the wind is threatening to freeze them both into ice cubes. Prompto’s swaying his hips, though, and they’re bumping together, shoulders knocking, as they make their way down the street. Noctis wonders, idly, if it’s going to snow.

 

“You picked a shitty time to visit, dude,” Prompto shivers, as Noctis guides them across the street, both of them bustling to make the crosswalk before the light changes, reluctant to stand around and wait for the next round in the cold. “It wasn’t this bad last week.”

 

Noctis wishes he’d packed a warmer coat. And a scarf. He’s absolutely going to be going shopping in the morning for better winter gear. “It’s never been this cold when I’ve visited,” he confesses, and he lets Prompto glean a bit of information, here, “my company recently picked up a subsidiary here. I’ve had to visit a few times now.”

 

Prompto blinks. “Hey, leading me on, like it’s your first visit!”

 

“I never said that,” Noct’s laughing in response, though. He’s getting a little braver, too, the hand that’s gently nudged against Prompo’s spine shifting, gloved fingers curling around his hip. He feels how Prompto tenses under the touch, and then relaxes, his hip swaying, pressing into the touch. He’s got curves, under the heavy winter gear, and Noctis desperately wants to touch him. So much for keeping his head on straight, here. So much for resisting this.

 

Prompto pouts. “It was implied.”

 

“No, you assumed,” Noctis grins, “you should still show me all your photos, though. A local always knows the best places. I’ve only been to the touristy stuff.”

 

That seems to brighten Prompto’s mood. “I’ll show you around, if you’d like,” he says, almost shyly. Noctis tightens his grip on Prompto’s hip, and guides him gently to the side, to the front of the fancy hotel front that marks their destination.

 

“If there’s time,” Noctis says, mildly enough – and not even to play hard to get, but merely because it’s true – as he leads them inside. The blast of warm air is a relief, though Noctis realizes, as they step inside, that the cold was sobering, at least. He feels far steadier on his feet than he did before. A quick glance in Prompto’s direction serves as reassurance, because the bright red flush of the boy’s cheeks is from the cold instead of the tequila.

 

Prompto’s already peeling his jacket off, as they make their way across the lobby. “You’re a hard sell,” he grumbles, but he’s only half-complaining, no real sincerity to it. His eyes have a mischievous spark to them, and fuck, it might be Noct’s imagination, but he swears, there’s an extra sway to Prompto’s hips, an exaggerated bump of contact. The damn skinny jeans he’s wearing look good on him, and so does the simple t-shirt he’s got on. Fuck, Noctis absolutely did the wrong thing, inviting him back to his room.

 

“I’ve heard that before,” Noctis replies, mildly, as they stop in front of the elevator. It’s late enough that nobody’s using it, and there’s one waiting immediately. The doors open, and they pile inside.

 

“What, that you play hard to get?” Prompto replies. He’s leaning in, a playful smile on his face.

 

Noctis should tread carefully here. He hits the button for their floor, and the doors shut. It’s just the two of them, alone, and even though there’s surely security cameras, it’s not like anyone manning them cares.

 

“You know how many asshole execs I have to deal with in a day?” Noctis says, taking a step forward. Prompto tips his head up – even though there’s barely more than an inch or two between them – and offers up a haughty look. He takes a step back. Then another, and his back is against the elevator wall. Fuck, that’s a good look for him.

 

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Prompto’s tone is demanding. He’s reaching a hand back, bracing it against the wall, and Noctis can’t look away.

 

Noct takes a step forward.

 

“Just that I know how to say ‘no’ to idiots that are way more stubborn than you are,” Noctis replies. The words are a challenge.

 

Prompto grins. “Yeah, those are people you want to say no to, though. You really wanna resist me?”

 

“It isn’t about what I want to do,” despite the words, Noctis is taking another step forward, and suddenly, he’s pressed flushed against Prompto. A hand reaches forward, bracing against the wall next to Prompto’s head. Noctis is leaning in, until their foreheads are damn near touching. There’s only an inch or so between them, and the electricity is crackling in the air, damn near tangible.


“What’s it about, then?” Prompto asks, and his voice is a hoarse whisper now. A hand’s reaching out, fingers curling around Noct’s arm, squeezing. The touch is electric, too, a shock of warmth centered there, spreading through Noct’s whole body. Somewhere along the way, this night took a horrible turn. Somewhere, everything went terribly wrong, because Noctis wants Prompto more than he’s maybe wanted anything. He’s not drunk, either, so he can’t even blame it on the alcohol.

 

“It’s about what’s right and wrong,” Noctis says, in a tone that suggests that even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. Don’t say anything, unless you say it with conviction, he’s always told himself. His father used to say it, and it’s good life advice. Funny, Noctis can’t seem to take his own fucking advice right now.

 

“Noctis,” Prompto says, quietly, steeling himself, and there’s that damn rise of emotion in Prompto’s eyes again. “Stop acting like you’re some noble martyr or whatever. I’m a consenting adult. Worst case… what? It’s bad, and I have a fucking shitty walk of shame in the morning?”

 

“I have morals,” Noctis tries to reply, quickly, his eyes narrowed, “I—”

 

What Noctis possesses, what he’s trying to say, it’s all lost. That’s probably a good thing, because Noctis doesn’t even really know where that conversation is going. It doesn’t matter, anyway, because Prompto’s the one to close the distance between them. He’s arching forward, grinding their hips together, in the same moment their lips meet in a desperate, needy kiss.

 

It’s not a terrible kiss. Noct’s definitely had better, though. Prompto’s nervous, clearly, a bit off-balance, and he doesn’t quite get the right angle. Their noses bump, and Prompto’s gasping against Noct’s lips, all messy and frantic. Noctis can tell that Prompto’s half-hard in his jeans, already, from that little roll of hips, and hell if that isn’t the hottest thing, that he’s already so worked up.

 

“Noctis—” Prompto starts to say, as Noctis draws back, his teeth digging into Prompto’s lower lip as he does, in a little bit of playful drag. The reactions Noct’s drawing, already, are absolutely adorable, Prompto all flushed and breathing heavily, his eyes taking on that distant, blissed-out quality that Noctis, quite honestly, is pretty sure is a love-at-first-sight kind of look for him.

 

“Come on,” Noctis says, interrupting, because the elevator’s chiming, and the door is opening. He doesn’t give Prompto an opportunity to say anything else, reaching for his hand and tugging him along. “Let’s get back to the room.”

 

---

 

They’ve made it as far as the edge of the bed, and Noctis is realizing, pretty fucking fast, that Prompto’s absolutely not been fully truthful about some things.

 

Prompto’s straddling Noct’s lap. He’s got his arms curled around Noctis’s neck, face pressed into his shoulder as he stifles a needy sound. He’s open and honest, here, and so utterly needy, it’s driving Noctis insane. Prompto’s fully hard, his cock straining against the front of his jeans, and as Noct slides his hands down to cup Prompto’s ass, giving a rough squeeze, reveling in the amazing sound he earns in return.

 

“Noct,” Prompto’s keening out, his fingers tugging at the long hair at the nape of Noct’s neck, “fuck, don’t stop, I need you—”

 

It’s such a strong reaction, and it’s hot, but it has Noctis frowning a little. Prompto’s kisses are sloppy, and he’s holding on for dear life. He seems about thirty seconds from coming at any given moment, and already, Noct’s had to still his hips to keep him from grinding one out. He’s giving Prompto’s ass a rough squeeze again, then putting some distance between them.

 

“Hey,” Noct mumbles, and Prompto goes in for another kiss, rough and wet and frantic. When they part, though, Noct’s barreling forward, “… how old are you again?”

 

Prompto groans. “Noctis. Old enough to consent, I swear—”

 

Noctis sighs. He wants this, and badly. His own erection is tenting in his fancy dress pants. He’s already shrugged off the suit jacket, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone, the sleeves rolled up. His hair’s a disheveled mess. “… you’re sure? This is important, I don’t want to get arrested—”

 

Prompto’s responding sound is somewhere between needy and annoyed. “Fuck, yes, I swear, Noctis, just touch me, damnit!”

 

Noctis has a deep, burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, one that tells him he’s going to hell over this. But fuck, Prompto lifts his head, and their eyes meet. It’s dark out, only the dim, ambient lighting from the living room of the suite casting a dull, orange glow on Prompto’s faces. It’s more shadows and angles than anything, but Prompto’s features are soft. That strange feeling twists and turns into a relentless affection, and Noctis is leaning in again, nuzzling the scruff of his beard over Prompto’s cheek.

 

“You’re so impatient,” Noctis chides, even as he’s slipping his hands around, in the space between their tightly-pressed bodies, thumbing over the button of Prompto’s jeans. “Calm down. Learn to enjoy it.”

 

“I—” Prompto whines, but he pauses to keen out, his nails biting at the back of Noct’s neck, “… fuck, Noctis, I just wanna get off, then we can take things slow—”

 

Noctis is relatively experienced in bed. It comes with being thirty, attractive, single and rich. He just happens to find people to sleep with, easily enough, when he wants to. That doesn’t mean he goes out seeking one-night stands, but he’s had his opportunities. He has a few failed relationships under his belt, too. One thing Noctis is quite certain of: Prompto isn’t very experienced. His reactions are too raw, too unbridled passion. It’s hot as hell, but Noctis has to ask—

 

“Another question,” He mumbles, as he works the zipper of Prompto’s jeans down, pausing to palm over his erection. He can already feel the heat radiating, through the heavy denim. Fuck, Prompto’s whining out there, too, hips rocking forward, cock in its confines. “… you’ve done this before, right?”

 

Prompto’s lips quirk into the faintest frown. “Yeah, dude,” he says, quickly. Noctis isn’t convinced. There’s a pause, a moment where he really does debate pushing the boy away, but fuck it, they’ve already come this far.

 

“Lift up,” Noctis instructs, instead. Prompto’s thighs are trembling as he adjusts, rising fully onto his knees so that Noctis can slide his pants and his underwear down. There’s a bit of awkward shuffling, Prompto shimmying his jeans down, kicking them off one leg, then the other, and then he’s arching his back, showing off in the dim light. His hands draw away from Noct’s neck, just long enough to tug his t-shirt off over his head, and then…

 

Noctis hates how his breath catches, drinking in the sight of Prompto. He’s gorgeous, lean muscle, a bit gangly, but in an endearing sort of way. The freckles that spread over his cheekbones dust his shoulders as well, and Noctis can’t help it. He’s leaning in, swiping a wet path with his tongue over the pattern of freckles along one clavicle.

 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, y’know that?” Noctis mumbles, quietly, pressing wet-hot kisses over the sharp curve of Prompto’s collar, across to his shoulder. He’s nuzzling his beard in there, too, and the wiry scratch has Prompto whining. Noctis wants to pull him close, and suddenly, he wants to hold on forever, to never let him go.

 

This is supposed to be a one-night stand. Fuck.

 

“You’re gonna embarrass me, Noct,” Prompto laughs breathlessly. He gives Noct’s shoulders a little shove, readjusting his grip again, and Noctis, curious, lets Prompto take the lead here.

 

To Prompto’s credit, his fingers are only shaking a little as he spreads them down across Noct’s shoulders. He spends a long moment smoothing out a heavy crease in his dress shirt, before his fingers flutter and settle at the row of buttons. There’s only a bit of fumbling as Prompto works the buttons undone, one at a time, sliding his fingers over the hem of Noct’s fancy shirt, pushing the edges aside to reveal smooth, pale skin underneath. It’s a slow process, reverent, and with this underlying discovery that has Noct’s heart doing strange things.

 

“And you said I’m impatient,” Prompto teases, when he finally works his way down. He’s pushing the shirt aside, and Noctis is quick enough to shrug off the fine fabric. He’s been dressed so stiffly all damn day, and it’s nice to finally be out of the clothes.

 

“Guess I stand corrected,” Noctis laughs, dragging his eyes down Prompto’s fully naked body. His gaze settles between Prompto’s thighs, and fuck, even his cock is cute, flushed red and slick at the tip, smearing a line of precome where it’s rubbing against his belly. God, Noctis wants him. “You wanna c’mere and let me take care of you?”

 

Please,” Prompto suddenly gasps out, in the neediest, most sinful voice Noct’s ever heard, and that’s all it takes.

 

Noctis falls backwards on the bed, so he’s lying sprawled over it, his legs still dangling off the edge. His strong hands shift, sliding up over Prompto’s thighs. Noctis pauses, takes his time, massaging his fingers into the tense muscle of Prompto’s upper thighs. Then, he’s dragging them around – pausing to pinch at a protruding hipbone – and gripping at his ass.

 

“Scoot up,” Noct mumbles, but he doesn’t really need to instruct, not with the way he’s practically manhandling Prompto. His hands are digging in almost rough enough to bruise, as he drags Prompto’s form up his body.

 

Prompto gasps, but he’s pliant under Noct’s grip. He reaches a hand down, bracing it on Noct’s shoulders, as he’s pulled up into position.

 

“What are you…?” Prompto starts to ask, but he’s cut off, immediately, by the scratch of Noct’s beard against his inner thigh, as Noctis tugs him higher. Prompto’s thighs are spread, and he’s trembling a little, poised over Noct’s face.

 

“You’ve never been eaten out before?” Noctis teases, and fuck, the sound he gets in return is his answer there. Prompto makes the most obscene noises, and Noct knows, already, that he’d do anything to coax out that response again.

 

Prompto’s gasps turn hoarse and needy, when Noctis licks a hot line from the base of his cock all the way back. He swipes his tongue over Prompto’s balls, pausing to draw one, sensitive sac into his mouth, and then the other. Prompto’s got one hand braced on his shoulder still, and the other, on instinct, slides down to tangle in Noct’s hair. There’s a gentle tug, a give-and-take and a pull that doesn’t quite hurt, but speaks volumes about how badly he needs this, and Noct’s happy to indulge. His tongue trails further back, over Prompto’s perineum, hands sliding to grip firmly at his ass, spreading him open.

 

“Noctis, fuck—” is all Prompto manages to say, when Noct’s tongue teases his opening, and the full-bodied shudder Noctis gets, the desperate clawing at his hair, it has him achingly hard. It’s a miracle, Noctis thinks, that Prompto doesn’t come on the spot.

 

Noct gets lost in it. He’s an attentive lover normally, but Prompto’s the damn hottest thing he’s ever had in his bed, and he’s absolutely drowning in this desire to satisfy the boy. All Noctis can focus on is the way Prompto’s skin is hot under his fingers, the way his thighs are trembling violently, spread on either side of his face. He’s making the most amazing sounds, gasping and crying out, when Noct’s tongue works past his rim, splitting him open. The room’s full of the noises Prompto’s making, and the lewd, wet sounds of Noct’s tongue fucking into him. He can feel his beard scraping against Prompto’s thighs as the boy shifts and grinds on his face, and fuck, that’s going to leave nice, red scratches all over his delicious, freckled skin.

 

Noct,” Prompto’s gasping, “please, I need it, need you, gotta have more—”

 

He’s incoherent, babbling in a way that Noctis hadn’t expected, but it’s enough that Noctis is drawing back. His firm hands are still splayed over Prompto’s ass, and as he lifts him up, he playfully smacks one cheek with the flat of his palm, just harsh enough to sting a little. That earns him a shocked sound, Prompto’s thighs like jelly as he shifts to the side, collapsing onto the bed.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Prompto whines out, needy, more than a little demanding. Noct wipes the back of his mouth with his arm, and makes a long, lingering act of staring down the blonde. Prompto looks like he’s right on the edge. His cock’s so achingly hard, twitching where it’s laying heavily against his belly. The tip is swollen, bright red and engorged and slick with precome. There’s a smear of it across his belly, too, and Noctis has the urge to just drag him back in, to let the kid fuck his face until he’s coming. But hell, Prompto looks too good like this. There’s a wild neediness in his eyes, and his whole body’s trembling, tense with arousal, with the need to get off. It’s driving Noctis insane.

 

“I wanna fuck you,” Noctis says, bluntly, because he’s too old for games. He’s lifting his own hips as he speaks, working his fancy dress pants down. Prompto looks like he’s going to reply, but instead, he’s distracted by the motion, simply staring as Noctis is finally fully bared for him.

 

Maybe there’s a bit of nervous energy in the air that Noctis should be picking up on more. Prompto’s eyes are narrowing, though, and he’s looking at Noctis with a hunger that, honestly, ends all rational thought. “I’m yours,” he’s saying quickly, and oh fuck, how those words go straight through Noctis, reducing him to nothing but pure need.

 

“Fuck. Stay here,” Noct’s instructing, and he’s slipping off the bed, pacing into the bathroom to dig through his travel bag. Prompto starts to say something, but he silences himself, a little act of self-control that has Noct chuckling under his breath at how goddamn cute he is. This isn’t something Noctis makes a habit of, but he’s old enough, and well-travelled enough, to always be prepared. There’s a tube of lubricant and a few condoms tucked in a side pouch of his travel bag, for circumstances just like this one.

 

Prompto’s sprawled out on his back across Noct’s king-sized bed when he returns. He’s all gangly limbs and lean muscle, and absolutely gorgeous. Their eyes meet, and Prompto smiles something shy, but so damn inviting, a hand splayed over his belly, smearing through the precome pooling there.

 

“Missed you,” Prompto purrs, as Noctis crawls onto the bed, supplies in hand.

 

“Missed me?” Noctis laughs, but he’s nudging Prompto’s thighs apart, settling between them. The condom’s set aside on the bed next to them as he uncaps the lube, smearing some of the cold slick between his fingers, warming it up. “I was gone for like, two minutes max.”

 

“Two minutes too long,” Prompto sighs. He’s arching up already, lifting his hips, thighs parting further, inviting Noctis, and like hell he’s going to refuse such a beautiful offer.

 

“Yeah,” Noctis agrees, his fingers sliding along the cleft of Prompto’s ass, thumb circling his tight rim, before a finger works inside, “fuck, anyone ever told you how gorgeous you are?”

 

Prompto both flushes and gasps, his hips lifting as he instinctively clenches down. Gods, he’s tight, sinfully so, enough that Noct’s pressing a kiss into his shoulder. “Relax,” he’s mumbling, and yet again, the thought’s forming in his mind that he really doesn’t know if Prompto’s done this before. If this is new, if he’s a virgin, Noctis doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do. Come on the spot, maybe, his cock throbbing eagerly against his belly at mere idea. Noctis doesn’t do this, he doesn’t fuck outside of his age range, generally, and he sure as hell isn’t up for breaking someone’s heart by taking their virginity, but god, Prompto is everything that Noctis never knew he wanted.

 

“You’re fine,” Prompto groans out, but the way his fingers have found Noct’s shoulders, nails digging in, Noctis isn’t so sure. “Just… ah, it’s weird.”

 

Weird. Yeah. Noctis manages a quiet little laugh. “Been a while?” he asks, as nonjudgmental as possible, “fuck, Prompto, you’re tight.”

 

“Ah—” Prompto’s gasping again, making more of those sinful noises, his thighs trembling as he presses back against the probing touch, “y-yeah, a while…”

 

Noctis distracts the boy with the gentle press of lips over the column of his throat. He pauses to nip, heavy and a bit rough, at his shoulder, and then his tongue’s dragging hot-wet lines over the sharp curve of his clavicle. The action has Prompto squirming, and his cock twitching nonstop between their bellies. It’s messy and Noctis can feel the sticky smear of precome—it’s enough that he’s pressing forward, a second finger working inside.

 

Noctis pauses, at the pained gasp he gets. “Hey. Real talk,” he breaks the kisses along Prompto’s collar to lift his head, to get their foreheads pressed together. It’s oddly intimate, having two fingers buried in Prompto’s ass, their eyes meeting, “… you gotta tell me if I have to stop, here, Prom, because fuck, you’re driving me crazy, I need to know if this isn’t okay—”

 

Prompto silences him with a kiss, harsh and eager, his fingers shifting from shoulder to tangle in the hair at the nape of Noct’s neck again, “please,” he’s gasping against his lips, “just keep going,” and Noctis doesn’t know if it’s pain or need that’s making his voice twist and stretch out the way it does, but he finds it so hard to care.

 

The first crook of Noct’s fingers in just the right way, anyway, has that tone twisting into pure arousal, sheer need as Prompto keens out, his head suddenly tossing back against the pillow. His hips are lifting and his ass is tightening around Noct’s fingers, as he rides out the sensation. “Fuck, Noct—fuck—”

 

The boy’s so worked up, and Noctis, honestly, is so damn torn, because he wants to watch Prompto lose it, here and there. He wants to get him off, fingers deep in his ass, twisting and hooking into his prostate, and in his mind, he can see it. It’s not hard to fill in the blanks, because Prompto’s so damn pretty underneath him. He’s gasping, trembling, cock throbbing with need. It’d just take his free hand reaching between them, curling around his erection, jerking it in time with the slick fingers fucking his ass open—

 

“I wanna come,” Prompto’s whining, twisting and trying to press back on Noct’s fingers, to draw them in deeper, like the needy creature he’s quickly becoming, “please, Noct, keep going—”

 

Hell, how can Noctis really deny him? He’s drawing his fingers out, twisting evilly against his prostate as he does, and when he works back in, there’s a third finger pressing in alongside. The stretch has to burn, because god, Noctis doesn’t know how he’s ever going to actually fuck Prompto, it’s so tight and hot and gripping him, his fingers all wrapped up in throbbing heat.

 

Prompto’s nails are digging in again, little bites of pain, and he’s got one leg braced against the bed, heel digging in. There’s a quiet sound escaping, and it sounds a bit like agony. It has Noct’s heart twisting up, something rising in the back of his throat, and he’s about to ease his fingers out, about to say that they can do something else, that he can just jerk him off, or they can call it off—

 

Prompto must sense the hesitance, though, because suddenly, he’s adjusting again, a hand reaching down between their bodies. His fingers curl around Noct’s wrist, holding him there, three fingers deep in his sloppy, stretched ass, tugging. “No, Noct,” – that damn nickname again – “don’t stop, it’s fine, I promise…”

 

Noctis frowns. He’s hesitating, even as Prompto holds his wrist there, delicate fingers curled around Noct’s wrist, thumb pressed right into his racing pulse point. “… Prom,” he tries the nickname out, finds that he likes it, and suddenly, somehow, his lips are working rough over his jaw. Prompto seems to like it, sighing, tipping his head and nuzzling back into the scruff of beard that’s scraping over his skin.

 

“Seriously,” Noctis frowns, pauses, and tries again. Figures, he’s successful, he’s so used to public speaking – as much as he hates it – that it’s simply second nature. But he can’t figure out the fucking words to say to this idiot blonde he’s so immediately enamored with. “… you gotta tell me if you haven’t done this before, fuck, I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Prompto’s making that face, the damn pouty one, when Noctis lifts his head again. His hips are slowly starting to rock though, relaxing and adjusting to the intrusion. It’s sinful and delicious, how tight he is, how Noctis can fucking practically feel his heartbeat pulsing around his fingers, and gods, he wants to be buried balls deep, yesterday.

 

“It’s fine, please,” Prompto’s lifting his hips, trying to draw Noctis deeper, and fuck, he gives in. He can’t resist, even if he has his doubts, even if he’s fairly certain that Prompto’s never done this before, god, he’s lost. His lips are pressing into the boy’s neck, leaving heavy, rough marks, and his fingers are crooking, rubbing into his prostate, making Prompto cry out, desperate and needy.

 

It’s a damn good thing the walls in Noct’s suite are thick – and it’s part of why he’s paying a small fortune to stay here – because Prompto’s apparently a screamer. He’s loud, his fingers grasping desperately for purchase against Noct’s back, as Noctis works his ass open. He pulls out, just a little, enough to slick up with more lube, and the he’s pressing back in. Slowly, Prompto’s relaxing, those little delicious bursts of pressure against his prostate making him tremble, his cock a twitching, wet mess against his belly by the time his fingers are buried all the way in.

 

Prompto’s damn near a sobbing mess when Noctis pulls his fingers free. He wipes them idly on the bed – it’s not like he’s changing the sheets, anyway – and reaches for the condom and the lube again. There’s a moment where he wants to ask, again, if this is okay, but fuck, dragging his eyes over Prompto?

 

Noctis gets the feeling that nothing can tear him away from Prompto. He’s the hottest thing Noctis has ever seen. His cheeks are flushed so pretty, a deep red that extends all the way down to his shoulders. The freckles stand out stark, and his eyes are blissed out, far-off. His thighs are trembling as he hikes his legs up, one lifting to curl around Noct’s waist, to tug him in.

 

“Please,” Prompto outright whines, a hand reaching between them, curling around Noct’s cock, touching him properly for the first time, and Noctis is lost. “Fuck me.”

 

“Gods,” is all Noctis can manage, as he fumbles for the lube. He’s losing his cool, he’s gone, totally captivated. There’s nothing in hell that could stop him, damnit, he doesn’t care if Prompto is very clearly not the age he said he is – he’s legal, he repeats in his head – or if he’s inexperienced. It’s all adding to the spell that’s wrapped him up, that’s got Noctis here. He fumbles with the condom wrapper, gets it eased down over his erection, and then he’s poised, cock slicked up, swollen head nudging against the puffy, stretched rim of Prompto’s ass.

 

If Noctis was inexperienced, the insane tightness might have been an issue. He’s gripping the base of his cock with one hand, the other holding Prompto’s ass apart. That first thrust is brutal, tight heat gripping him, pulling him into oblivion. It’s a miracle that Prompto can even take him, but Noct’s captivated, staring, panting, as his cock sinks into the blonde’s spread ass willingly.

 

“Fuck…” Prompto’s gasping, and it hurts, but he’s trying to hide it, and he sounds so needy, even through the pain, that Noct can’t bring himself to stop. “Keep going. Wanna feel it, Noct…”

 

Noctis isn’t stopping. He isn’t sure if he can, and he doesn’t want to find out. He’s groaning, grip shifting from Prompto’s ass to his hip, holding him steady, hips tilted up, as he sinks inside. It’s slow, but steady, his cock disappearing inch by inch until he’s bottoming out. His balls are pressed flush against Prompto’s ass, and it’s all Noct can focus on, the tight feeling of Prompto gripping him. His insides are so hot, pulsing with desire, and Noctis swears, if he was younger, more inexperienced, he’d be ready to come on the spot.

 

“Hold on,” Noctis hisses, as he leans in. He’s bracing one hand on the bed, the other tugging Prompto’s other leg up around his waist, “and let me hear you…”

 

When Prompto’s labored breath starts to even out, when he starts to relax, Noctis starts to move, to properly fuck into him, and from there, the whole world goes blurry.

 

Prompto’s been noisy all along, but that’s apparently nothing compared to how he is now. He’s all wrapped up around Noctis, clinging for dear life as he’s fucked into the mattress. His heels dig into Noct’s lower back, one arm desperately wrapped around his neck, the other frantically gripping at his shoulder. His cock’s leaking, trapped between their bellies, a thin stream of precome beading at the tip with every well-angled thrust against his prostate.

 

“Fuck,” Prompto’s keening out, muffling his needy sounds in the crook of Noct’s neck, when he snaps his hips forward, bottoming out, balls slapping wetly against Prompto’s lube-slicked ass. There’s no such thing as silence anymore, between the sloppy wet sounds of sex, skin-against-skin, Prompto’s desperate sounds and Noct’s labored breathing. He doesn’t want it any other way, either. He’s intoxicated, absolutely desperately crazy about this foolish boy beneath him, and Noctis doesn’t understand it.

 

He doesn’t want to understand it.

 

Prompto’s so tight, so hot, clenching desperately as he reaches his peak. He’s not going to last long, and Noctis doesn’t care, he needs to make him come. Bracing his weight on one hand, thrusts rough and fast, hips pivoting forward to grind the head of his aching cock into Prompto’s prostate, Noct’s reaching between them. Prompto’s cock is wet beneath his fingertips, the hard flesh outright throbbing with need.

 

“Noctis, I’m gonna---!”

 

It’s miracle that Prompto even manages to get the words out. It’s more of half-sob, half-cry, the words strangled and jumbled together. It’s a split second before his cock is twitching and jumping in Noct’s fist, and then Prompto’s coming, in hot, wet stripes, messy between them. He comes for a long time, clinging for dear life, sobbing through his orgasm, his ass so impossibly tight, gripping and clenching and contracting around Noct’s cock as he rides it out.

 

Noctis keeps stroking Prompto through his release, his thumb teasing the oversensitive head, until Prompto’s a gasping mess, until he’s so tight, so worked up, it’s too much. He wants it to last forever. He doesn’t want to come, and he holds off for a few thrusts. The pressure is building in his belly, though, his balls drawn tight, his own cock so hard it hurts—

 

“Please,” Prompto gasps, and that’s what does Noctis in, the needy, blissed-out begging that’s somewhere on the border between pain and pleasure. The mattress is shaking, Noct’s thrusts rough and fast and aimed so perfectly, overstimulating and perfect, and suddenly his orgasm is wrenching through him. It hits Noctis hard, pleasure bursting through him, turning his vision white, his mind to mush. His limbs are shaky, and everything’s far off and distant, and it’s all Noctis can do to not outright collapse on Prompto.

 

He’s gasping through it, Prompto’s name on his lips, as he buries his face in the soft column of the blonde’s throat. Noct’s hips are snapping forward, no method or rhythm to his motions, jerky and desperate as he rides it out, as he spills his release into the condom. There’s the urge to properly fill Prompto, to mark him, but fuck he can’t do that. God, it’d be so good though, Prompto’s so tight, gripping him snugly as wave after wave wracks through Noct’s body, until finally, panting, exhausted, he withdraws and collapses to the side.

 

They don’t talk for a long moment. Noctis is panting heavily, and Prompto’s still half-sobbing, whole body trembling as he tries to come down. Noct’s slowly drifting back to consciousness, to reality, enough to wobble up off the bed, to shuffle into the bathroom. He tugs the condom off, ties it, and tosses it in the trash.

 

Noctis catches a long, lingering look at himself in the mirror, as he wipes his belly off with a towel. He gets the water running, dipping a warm cloth in lukewarm water, and wringing out the excess. Fuck, he’s a mess. He looks very thoroughly fucked. There’s a line of red marks over his throat, and they’ll fate spectacularly into bruises. He’s got little crescent-shaped marks on his shoulders, too.

 

He’s almost afraid to flick the bathroom light off and return to the bed.

 

Prompto’s rolled onto his side, when Noctis returns, and his eyes are half-open. He’s got a dreamy, far-off smile on his face, and he looks half asleep.

 

“You okay?” Noctis asks, carefully, as he reaches with the cloth, carefully swiping it over Prompto’s belly, clearing away the cooling smear of sex.

 

Prompto nods, though his cheeks flush, with the intimacy of the gesture. Noctis can’t help it. He feels compelled to clean him up, yeah, because there’s a knot of guilt twisting in his belly. It’s more than that, though. There’s this desire to keep touching Prompto, even though they’ve both gotten what they came here for, even though he could, in theory, just roll over and go to sleep.

 

“… that was good,” Prompto laughs through the embarrassment.

 

“Lift up,” Noctis instructs, dragging the cloth further down, over Prompto’s softening cock, beneath his balls. Prompto flushes even brighter, looking obviously flustered and fidgeting. He obeys, though, lifting up so Noct can wipe away the mess of lubricant coating his ass and thighs. In the dim light, Noctis can tell that he looks sore, and there’s another sharp spear of guilt stabbing into him.

 

“Don’t’,” Prompto says, though, as their eyes meet. “Don’t apologize. Don’t… look like you’re upset about this. I wanted it. I wanted you. It was… fuck, Noctis, it was perfect.”

 

God, this boy is perfect, Noctis tells himself. There’s no way he’s twenty four, or whatever age he’d even claimed to be. Noct doesn’t even know if he’s twenty. This is a nightmare. He’s already debating reaching for his phone to call him a ride home.

 

“You staying the night?” Noctis realizes he’s saying, though, as he tosses the rag aside, as he settles down onto the bed. It’s big enough that he can avoid the wet spots, and Noctis snuggles down under the heavy duvet, pulling it up over both of their forms, Prompto grumbling a little and kicking his way down under.

 

They fit together perfectly. Far too perfectly.

 

Prompto’s head settles on Noct’s chest, and he smiles sleepily, fingers tracing little patterns over his skin. Cuddling after sex isn’t something that’s necessarily unfamiliar to Noctis. Even if his relationships are few and far-between, a bit of cuddling after a one-night stand isn’t forbidden. It’s nice, sometimes, to pretend that intimacy exists, past the obvious physical needs.

 

This is different, though. Noctis curls an arm around Prompto’s waist, tugging him just a little bit closer than he would, otherwise. He’s ducking his head down, and when his lips press into the top of the blonde’s head, kissing into mussed blonde hair, there’s an emotion rising up in him. This was a bad idea, and in the morning, Noctis is going to have to deal with this. That’s future Noct’s problem, though. For tonight? Noctis is happy to pretend that this is something, that it’s everything.

 

“It was a good night,” Noctis mumbles, sleepily, as he squeezes at Prompto’s hip, “… thanks.”

 

“Don’t need to be thanking me, dude,” Prompto laughs sleepily, and if he says anything else, Noctis doesn’t catch it, because he’s dozing off, holding the blonde close and safe.

 

---

 

When Noctis wakes up in the morning, he’s in bed alone.

 

There’s a crack of sunlight streaming in through the blinds; he’d apparently forgotten to ensure that they were fully shut, because the strip of sun is cast right over his fucking face. Noctis groans, and rolls over, and that’s when the memories flood back. Prompto. The cute blonde kid from the bar. He’d taken him home, he’d done sinful things to him, fucked him into the mattress…

 

Noctis groans. At least he’s gone.

 

Why is he gone? He’s wondering at the same fucking time, damnit. He both hopes and dreads he’ll find a phone number written somewhere. He doesn’t know what to do. Noctis, immediately, wants to see the blonde again, even though it’s dangerous and bad news.

 

Noctis leans over the side of the bed and fumbles for his phone – tossed aside during the frantic sex he’d been having last night – groaning at the effort of it. He glances at his phone when he finds it, and checks the time. It’s mid-morning. He’s got a meeting scheduled in a few hours, but nothing until then.

 

Good. Noctis can go back to bed. He’s swinging himself upright, though, when he realizes he hears the faint clink of silverware. He smells bacon.

 

Fuck.

 

Dragging his ass out of bed, Noctis grabs a bunched up pair of sweatpants out of his bag and tugs them up his hips as he pushes open the slightly-ajar door that leads into the main living area of the suite. His eyes widen, and his breath catches at the sight.

 

Prompto’s still here. He’s sitting on the couch. And, he’s totally naked, except for the button-up dress shirt Noctis had been wearing yesterday. It’s too big for the blonde, pooling at his waist, mostly unbuttoned, the sleeves loose and rolled up to his elbows.

 

There’s a couple of plates of breakfast on the coffee table, and Prompto’s halfway through devouring some sort of fancy looking pastry. A cup of coffee’s steaming in front of him.

 

“Oh, hey!” Prompto says brightly, and when he looks at Noctis and smiles, his eyes light up like nothing else. Noctis could damn near groan because he feels his heart thumping, he’s suddenly drawn back to last night. This kid, whoever he is, he’s fucking irresistible. In the proper daylight, Noctis realizes he’s even more beautiful—the sunlight’s catching in his blonde hair, the caramel hue of sun-kissed skin damn near glowing. The freckles… Noctis wants to trace his fingers over them. And damn, his gaze is drifting down, to creamy thighs, the damn shirt barely covering up anything at all.

 

“I ordered breakfast,” Prompto smiles, flushing a little, gesturing at the plates of food. “Hope you don’t mind. You want some?”

 

There’s a heartbeat of silence between them, as Noctis stares Prompto down. Dignified as he is, right now, Noct’s pretty sure his eyes are bugging out of his head. He’s shirtless, wearing just low-hanging sweatpants, and already, they’re starting to feel too tight. This kid is insane, he’s gorgeous, and Noctis can’t get enough.

 

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but goddamn, Prompto is going to test that.

 

“Can I eat you, instead?” Noctis asks, after another tick of silence.

 

Prompto flushes bright, and he stares, and then, slowly, his smile is widening. He reaches to put the mostly-eaten pastry back down on the plate. “Didn’t you already do that last night? Hungry for seconds already?”

 

“We barely even got started last night,” Noctis replies, smugly, and he can’t quite contain the outright dirty smirk that’s spreading across his face. He’s got that one meeting later. He can reschedule it. He pauses, but then, because he has to say it—“you’re so not twenty-four, are you?”

 

Prompto groans. “Noctis. I’m legal, I swear on it, don’t worry, dude…”

 

Noctis wants to say more. He wants to sit Prompto down, to demand the truth, but fuck, as Prompto stands up, the dress shirt rides up, showing off a cock that’s starting to thicken already, thighs that are shapely and gorgeous, and goddamn, he’s captivated. That’s a conversation for later, right? After all, he’s already taken the first step into hell—why not make the full descent?

 

Oh, the things he’s going to do to.