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Prompto started sleeping over at Noct’s apartment a while ago.

He went home, sometimes, but for all intents and purposes, he was essentially living there. Ignis, bless him, turned a blind eye to the situation. Noctis had worried, briefly, that he’d tell his father and it would come to an abrupt halt, but Ignis was loyal, and his father none the wiser.

Noctis really appreciated having Prompto there after his training sessions with Gladios. They were hard, sometimes violent. He was getting older, and Gladio didn’t go easy on him. Noctis had grown up to be a bit shorter than he wanted, a bit slender of build. Gladio towered over him, and hammered down on him with a broadsword that Noctis couldn’t even hope to pick up.

He’d come home, limbs burning, so exhausted he could barely walk. And Prompto, ever faithful, ever loyal, loving Prompto would already have a bath drawn up for Noct. He’d heat up some of Ignis’s leftovers, or throw together something basic that didn’t require a lot of skill, but tasted a hell of a lot better than anything Noctis could cook. They’d eat dinner, and then Prompto would softly run his fingers through Noct’s hair, rub the back of his neck, his sore shoulders, gently knead the kinks from the day’s session from his tired body.

Sometimes it would stay innocent. Other times, they’d end up back in bed. Noct would be sore, but not too sore, and there’d be touching, some fumbling early on, less fumbling as they kept doing this. On these nights, Noct liked it best when Prompto climbed into his lap. He’d dig his fingers into Prompto’s hips and bite the delicious expanse of his tilted neck as Prompto took him inside and rode him to oblivion. They’d lose themselves together, and in the morning Prompto would be pleasantly sore, too.


On days when Noctis isn’t training, they’ll usually play video games. Often, Ignis will drop by with dinner, and he always brings enough for three, because Prompto’s just a given now. They’ll try to do homework, well, Noctis will, and Prompto will whine about how useless school is.

Nights like these, once Ignis leaves, they usually start on the couch, something on TV. Prompto would get greedy, lazily slipping his hands under Noct’s shirt. He’d crawl into Noct’s lap, kiss him hard while he pressed their groins together.

It always felt amazing, and sometimes they’d fuck right there in the living room, Prompto bent over the arm of the couch. Sometimes, Prompto would take the initiative. He liked being on top when he fucked Noctis, liked throwing a leg over his shoulder and looking into his eyes while he slammed forward into the prince. They didn’t do it that way very often—Prompto liked it the other way, usually, required a certain mood—but when they did, it was explosive, exhilarating. Noctis liked feeling the awkward soreness the next day.


When Noctis started his magic training, things shifted a little.

His father warned him it would be horrible at first, exhausting and upsetting like nothing he’d experienced. Noctis grew up without his mom, had a distant dad, was ostracized from his peers and essentially been raised by his mom figure Ignis, so he doubted it was that bad.

Then he’d experienced the crystal’s magic for the first time, and by the end of the first day, he was barely able to walk home.

Prompto hadn’t even been able to coax him to eat dinner. Noctis stumbled into the bedroom, crawled into bed with his clothes still on, and passed out.


It got a little easier, physically. But mentally, it was something else.

His father had warned that the ancient magic took a hold of people’s minds sometimes. “Until you learn to control it, it will try to control you,” he said to Noctis solemnly, “that’s why I am here to guide you.”

It didn’t help that the magic responded to Noctis. It responded so strongly and clearly that even his stoic father was surprised. “You’re going to be very strong, my son,” he had told him, but there was a worried expression in his face that Noctis couldn’t place.

“It’s fucking me up,” he’d warned Prompto. It’d gotten increasingly hard to stay himself the past few sessions, and he didn’t know what would happen if he couldn’t keep a solid grasp of reality. “I know you don’t really go home anymore but—you really should consider going on my training nights.”

But Prompto didn’t go home. Maybe he didn’t believe Noctis, but most likely he just cared enough to stay, knew that he would need him.

Noct’s eyes swirled red with the power of his dead ancestors those nights.

He’d barely utter a word to Prompto when he came in. He’d let the door slam behind him; kick off his shoes; look around. Then he’d notice Prompto.

The first time, Prompto had protested a little when Noctis pushed him back against the wall. He’d started to complain weakly, to tell Noct to stop, when the prince’s lips found his neck. Harsher than usual, he kissed sucked his way down Prompto’s neck, all the way to bite down on his collarbone. Noctis pulled away to quickly examine the bite mark he left, and then he was pulling both his and Prompto’s shirts off.

For someone as slender as Noct was, he was surprisingly powerful. It didn’t take much effort for him to yank at Prompto’s pants, then his own. It was easy for him to push Prompto back against the kitchen wall, pull his legs up around Noct’s waist. He pinned him there, spit on his fingers, rubbed it on his already hard cock. He would have told Prompto he was sorry for the rough treatment, but Noct was gone, lost to lust and emotion and the most primal urges he could have. Prompto cried out, tossed his head back, and bucked on Noct’s dick.

It didn’t take long. They both came, Noctis wildly slamming forward, Prompto wet and sticky between their bellies as he stroked himself.

It was only when Noct came down from his orgasm that the magic’s tendrils faded from him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he gasped, groaned, as he realized that Prompto had said no and he’d continued.

“I didn’t say no,” Prompto reassured him, multiple times, but he walked with such a limp the next day that Noct felt horrible and guilty and promised it wouldn’t happen again.


The second time it happened, Prompto was prepared. He had the lube out and ready, so when Noctis growled and slipped into the living room, he was waiting.

They fucked on the kitchen table, harsh and loud and this time Prompto was slick and ready for Noct to mount him. Noctis threw Prompto down on his back, pulled his legs up over his shoulders, and grasped his hips while he pumped. This time, after he came, Prompto ran a hand through Noct’s hair, told him it was okay, that he had really wanted it, just as badly, and to just focus on recovering.


After the second time, Noctis accepted it as fact. He’d become a slave to the crystal’s energy, and Prompto would gladly give over to his king to serve. But deep down, Noctis wondered what would happen when Prompto wasn’t around—when there was nothing to drain this strange, guttural energy in him. Someday there would be no Prompto, and he’d find out; that was the most terrifying part of all.

Maybe the daemons and the magic were all part of some greater, darker whole.

But for now, Noct was safe, and after he fucked his best friend, they’d crawl into bed, and everything would be okay until next week’s lessons.