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" -- nd then he's all meet me out back with a shovel so of course I'm like, nuh-uh, I am not ready to die today, and besides, I never took out the trash like my parents asked, so then I -- "

"Uh-huh," Gladio says around a mouthful of bacon, only vaguely pretending to listen to Prompto's story. He's grown to like the kid over the last few months, but sometimes it's like he doesn't know how to shut up and right now Gladio's more than a little distracted. Well, distracted is an understatement -- he might as well be on another planet, preoccupied as he is with his favorite pastime: daydreaming about fucking Ignis.

It isn't necessarily that Gladio has no interest in his boyfriend's dick. It's a nice dick, curved and thick and the perfect shape to nail Gladio's sweet spot with every thrust; he enjoys stroking it, sucking it, being fucked by it on the rare occasion he feels like bottoming, loves it like he loves everything else about Ignis, but when all is said and done nothing compares to Ignis's exquisitely perfect ass.

More specifically, Ignis's hole. That sweet, inviting little furl of skin; Gladio would even go so far as to call it cute. The first time they fucked, he was too busy thinking with his dick to really appreciate the scenery, but ten months later and he's memorized the exact topography of Ignis's body, right down to that favorite spot of his, tucked away between Ignis's lean cheeks. It's the same dusky pink as his face when he gets really embarrassed or turned-on, the texture smooth and velvet-soft, the taste addictively natural; Gladio could look at it for hours, could lick and kiss and pet it till it began to loosen underneath his attentions and its owner started swearing at him to stop being such an infuriating tease and Gladio, in his infinite generosity, would finally delve inside, the heat of Ignis's body around his fingers and tongue like coming home.

It's a strange obsession, truth be told, and Gladio knows it. He's never had this kind of singular fixation with anyone else he's dated: maybe it's because Ignis is the first guy Gladio's ever been with, or maybe it's 'cause he always keeps everything completely bare down there, like a girl, so it's all on immaculate display, or maybe it's because he's got something stuffed inside himself a good forty-percent of the time and isn't shy about letting Gladio know, even in the middle of a hunt, just to get him all wound-up -- whatever the reason, there's something utterly tantalizing about being granted access to such a vulnerable place, somewhere Ignis reserves just for him, especially considering how buttoned-up the guy usually is. Gladio wouldn't be surprised to hear he'd come out of the womb wearing gloves and a three-piece suit; that he lets Gladio see him naked on the regular, much less get his hands all over every inch of that gorgeous body, is clearly a sign from the gods he's doing something right.

Across the table, Ignis makes eye contact and just as quickly breaks it, his ears reddening. Damn right, Gladio thinks, allowing himself a small smirk; Ignis can read his mind after all these years, and Gladio has no qualms about using that to his advantage. Ignis even fidgets slightly, and Gladio wonders if he's sore -- probably is, what with the workout his ass has been getting these last two weeks, but Gladio can't help it and it's not like Iggy's been complaining much, either. Hell, he'd even taken the lead a few days ago: sent Prompto and His Highness out on a transparently pointless errand before pushing Gladio down into a pile of sleeping bags and sitting on his face, moaning with abandon as Gladio licked him open before letting Gladio roll them over and fuck him so hard it nearly brought the tent crashing down. He'd even torn Gladio's shirt in the fray -- and watching Ignis stitch it back together that night over the campfire almost had Gladio tossing aside his plate and carrying Iggy off into the woods to repeat the process until neither of them had anything left to wear but rags.

So maybe Gladio's a little oversexed and overenthusiastic, even for a young, red-blooded Lucian male. The other Crownsguard can't possibly be getting this much tail; otherwise nothing would ever get done. Still -- he might be the metaphorical coeurl in this scenario, but the henhouse he's guarding is more than perfectly willing. Iggy's never had it so good and he knows it.

"Specs," says Noct, frowning, as Prompto continues to gesticulate. "You're not eating."

Ignis nearly drops his fork. "I'm fine," he says, a little too forceful, and Noct's gaze flicks immediately in Gladio's direction. Gladio just stares back, serene, until Noct sighs loudly and rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone as he slouches down into the booth.

Noctis  <12:04:26>  right in front of my sandwich >:T
Noctis  <12:04:31>  also leave him alone omg

He kicks Gladio's shin underneath the table for emphasis, but honestly, Gladio doesn't have much interest in complying, not when Ignis is so easy to fluster and so fun to tease. The guy seems perfectly poised and unflappable, but if you know the right buttons to push you can have him vaulting clear over the boundary between embarrassed and mortified in a matter of seconds. It's a good thing Ignis isn't sitting next to him, or Gladio would probably be feeling him up, too -- eating lunch with one hand while the other crept down the back of Ignis's tailored slacks and pressed between his cheeks, feeling the fabric of his underwear still wet from this morning with Gladio's come. He's rock-hard just thinking about it; Iggy'd protested, of course, saying they needed to be on the move, but that all stopped once Gladio pushed him up against the bark of a tree and got his pants down, lazily rubbing the tip of his cock over Ignis's fluttering hole until he was downright begging Gladio to put it inside, lube and prep be damned, his aristocratic voice rising in pitch and volume despite the others asleep only meters away.

To think most of the Citadel finds Ignis cold and intimidating: they've never seen him impaled on four of Gladio's fingers, his face flushed and mouth open, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he trembles and writhes on the soaked sheets and rocks his whole body downwards to take Gladio's thumb. They've never seen him on his knees with a mouth full of cock, one hand on Gladio's hip and the other working himself open with his own spit, too impatient to wait a single second more. They've never seen him spread over Gladio's lap, both sets of cheeks bright red, so turned-on from getting his ass beat that he comes the moment Gladio hooks a fingertip into him, barely even up to the knuckle. They've never heard him crying and pleading for Gladio to fuck him, fill him up, make him scream; never heard him cursing in desperation, demanding Gladio give him that Astrals-damned cock of yours, Gladio, now, before I throw you out and sate myself by artificial means -- hard and fast and deep and raw, every time since the very first, and if Gladio has his way no one else ever will. He's not about to share Ignis with anyone else, some guy who won't appreciate him the way Gladio does. Who won't worship him like the most beautiful fucking thing in all Eos, who won't treasure every inch of that smooth, warm skin, who won't spend every waking minute thinking about getting their hands all over him -- like that ex of his who made Ignis feel greedy and ashamed for wanting to get fucked all the time, or that bookish secretary he dated who always stopped at second base, or even Prompto, who's started to look at Ignis like he wants to take a bite out of him but who could never, Gladio knows, give Ignis everything he needs.

Ignis works so hard, pushes himself so far, wears himself down to the bone; it makes sense that he wants to get spoiled and worshipped and utterly destroyed. And maybe it is kind of selfish of Ignis, always counting on Gladio to wreck him, but then again it's hardly work when Gladio enjoys it so goddamn much. Noct may be his prince, but Ignis is his, and Gladio has never put anything less than one-hundred percent into his efforts; he could start a new career out of making Ignis come completely undone.

Hell, it's practically an addiction at this point: Gladio can never get enough of the way Ignis's hole looks stretched around his fingers, his cock, his wrist, the taut pink rim clutching at him like Ignis's body can't bear to let him go, or the way it widens and winks shut and widens again when Gladio pushes a string of beads into him, each one larger than the last, as Ignis gasps and shivers helplessly with need; he'll never be over how beautifully it gapes after Gladio's fucked him, wet and loose and perfect for hooking his thumbs into and pulling Ignis open to see the two, three loads of come he's spilled deep inside that eager little hole. Gladio's been having sex for seven years and he's never met anyone who takes cock like Ignis does, who loves cock like Ignis does -- who painstakingly went and taught himself how to come just from getting fucked, without even needing to touch himself -- and Gladio respects him too much to ever say it out loud but a part of him's convinced Ignis was born just for this, that he was put on Eos for the sole purpose of becoming Gladio's willing little fuckhole.

(Although he's pretty sure that, at least when they're in bed together, a part of Ignis feels exactly the same way.)

"Man," Prompto says, waving a hand in front of Gladio's face and bringing him back to the present. "You did not just hear a single word I said right now, did you."

"Nope. Bet it was a hell of a story, though."

"You'd know if you were actually listening," says Prompto, but he doesn't seem too broken-up about it. "Hey, you sure you're good to go? You've been spacing out non-stop lately. Everything okay up there, big guy?"

"I'm always good to go." Today's hunt is your basic mesmenir bag-and-tag -- Gladio could do it in his sleep, and for the obscene amount of gil they've been promised it's practically free money. "Just thinkin', that's all."

"About what?"

Gladio grins. "Wouldn't you like to know," he says, and Noct makes a face like he's just swallowed battery acid; next to him, Ignis exhales audibly and pinches the bridge of his nose. His ears are still bright pink, and Gladio wants to lean across the table and lick them. "Come on, let's get moving. Can't let the other hunters have all the fun."

"Finally," says Noct. "Budge over, Specs."

Prompto slides out of the booth from beside Gladio and shakes out his limbs with a yawn, but Ignis doesn't move an inch and from his tortured expression Gladio can tell exactly what the problem is. "Just a moment," Ignis says, strained. "My, ah. My leg. It's -- fallen asleep."

Noct, go figure, gets it right away. "You're the worst," he groans, pressing his forehead to the table. "Both of you. The worst."

"Then it's a good thing we can afford a hotel tonight," says Gladio, throwing all subtlety to the wind. "Separate rooms, so you and Blondie won't have to put up with us . . . hot showers, real beds. Sounds nice, don't it, Iggy?"

Ignis's face is so red Gladio thinks it might permanently stay that way. "I . . . suppose," he says, and Gladio knows his imagination's running wild with all the different things Gladio could be planning to do to him in a real bed. They won't even make it to the bed for round one, knowing them; wouldn't be the first time Gladio fucked him up against a door, slamming into him so hard the hinges rattled and the neighbors started pounding on the walls for them to keep it down. The second round -- in the shower, probably, Ignis pressed face-first to the tile and sobbing while Gladio licks out all the come he'd spilled deep inside of him, just to fill him up all over again; after that, Gladio's earned the right to take a breather, to lie back on the pillows and watch Ignis bounce up and down on his dick, hand clamped tight over his own mouth so the other guests won't call security on them again, convinced someone's getting violently murdered on hotel grounds.

Well -- besides Ignis's ass, that is. He'll be lucky if he can walk after Gladio's done with him -- might as well write off tomorrow completely. Maybe even the day after; Noct and Prompto are big boys, surely they can handle themselves --

Gladio shuts his eyes, shakes his head like a dog. Damn. Guess we really are insatiable, huh.

"Separate floors," Noct says, all huffy, then he's clambering over Ignis on his way out of the booth. Ignis makes a face of pure agony at that -- it's not every day the crown prince of Lucis climbs over your inappropriate lunchtime boner -- and Gladio can't help grinning at his distress.

"Oh, do not even start with me, Gladiolus," says Ignis. "This is all your fault, you know."

"My fault? I thought you were the one who got wasted at that banquet and literally threw yourself at m -- "

Ignis kicks him, even harder than Noct did, and buries his face in his hands. "Gods," he says plaintively, voice muffled. "He used to respect us, Gladio."

"Not so sure about that." Gladio downs the rest of his soda and slides out of the booth, giving Ignis's shoulder a heavy pat as he moves past. He's still pretty damn hard, but his pants are loose enough it won't show, unlike those skintight jeans of Iggy's that won't hide a thing. Ignis just groans, and Gladio runs his index finger along the burning shell of Ignis's ear, causing him to shiver.

"Meet you outside," says Gladio, and goes to catch up with the guys. It's a lost opportunity to watch Ignis walk away, yeah, but there's plenty of time for that later. He'll make sure of it.