It had not been the smartest idea of Prompto’s young life, he knew.
His one hope was to keep running until Gladio cooled off enough to think
it was funny, but in retrospect he realized that might take three or
four years, at minimum. And so he ran, pell-mell through the fading
afternoon, trees flickering by like streetlights as he tried to put as
much distance between himself and Gladio as possible. He’d have to be
back at the campsite before full dark–they both would–but Prompto
figured it would be easy enough to circle around and come at it from the
other side. He hadn’t been wrong in his assessment: he was the fastest.
But then, Gladio was tireless, and he could be just as cunning
as Ignis, in his own way. Prompto had just started to make his first
turn back to the campsite when a tattooed arm shot out of the trees,
snatched him by the front of the shirt, and threw him down on the ground
before he’d fully realized he’d been caught. And by the time he did
realize it, Gladio was already sitting across his chest, arms folded,
glowering down at Prompto with all the ominous doom of a death-spell
countdown. One that had just gone into the single-digits.
“Got you,” Gladio said, barely winded. Why wear yourself out running when you could lie in wait and spring an ambush instead?
Prompto’s legs scrabbled around in the grass; he put his hands on
Gladio’s thighs and tried to push himself away, but there was no escape.
“Haaaa… ahahaha… c'mon. Gladio–it was a joke–”
“Now,” Gladio continued, as if Prompto hadn’t spoken, “What am I going to do with you, hmmmm?” He leaned over until they were nose-to-nose, and Prompto’s useless wriggling intensified.
“Aahhhh Gladio omigod don’t hurt me help–”
“Oh,” Gladio purred, as his hands landed on either side of Prompto’s
head, caging him in. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Not much. Not more than
Prompto’s panicked whimper made an abrupt change in pitch as Gladio’s
mouth came down over his, hot and inescapable, and his tongue pushed
between Prompto’s teeth in a messy and uncompromising kiss.
It was, Prompto announced, simply the most romantic place at night. And that was a declaration that none of them would let slide.
“And you get to spend it with us,” Gladio said, as if somehow this would make the prospect less appealing.
“All three of us.” Noct’s voice was full of mischief, and he
probably only meant to tease, but it sure as hell sounded like a
“You… are a lucky man.” And Ignis, of course, was so damn Ignisy
that there was no way to tell if he was joking or not. Not that it
mattered, because he was right. Prompto was lucky as hell. And he knew
Still, he probably should have kept his mouth shut. Or at least
considered the outcome before he didn’t. But how could he? It was
beautiful. They were beautiful! It had been a spectacular amount of gin.
“Damn night I am,” Prompto said, reeling in the direction of the
camper door, trying to find the handle, “and I’d take you all right
here, you buncha hot bitches.”
There was a telling, dangerous pause. A shared glance. A nod. And
then suddenly they were all crammed into the camper, the door was
bolted, and Prompto Argentum was obliged to put his money where his
mouth was. Or to put something where his mouth was, anyway. Currently,
it was Gladio.