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Rain patters against the windows softly like fingers tapping on a drum. Moisture clings to the glass, forming bulbous, fat raindrops that race down it straight to the bottom. The sky outside is a foggy grey; the sun is hiding behind the veil of clouds. It casts an odd, ethereal light over the apartment. There aren’t quite shadows, but then again, it isn’t really bright, either. A small fire crackling in the fireplace fills the room with warmth. The space itself seems to be caught in a limbo where time doesn’t seem to pass and the day is for the taking.
Prompto and Gladio are well aware of how rare a moment is like this; one where Gladio’s actually at home for the day instead of accompanying Noctis on his kingly duties and Prompto isn’t out shooting weddings or the occasional family portrait. Sure, evenings are when they spend the most time together, but after their long days, it’s short and usually includes a nap on the couch. Time at home together like this, in the middle of a rainy day with nothing to do, is rare and cherished.
The couch, which is an antique and one of Gladio’s favorites, is old and worn, the cushions a little threadbare. The green velvet has seen better days and the carved claw feet are a little banged up. It’s comfortable, though, and the perfect size for two. Each takes a respective arm to curl over; Gladio, with the book Prompto bought for him on his last weekend work trip, and Prompto, with his laptop open, editing photos. Though they’re silent, it’s comfortable. After nearly five years of marriage, the two speak fluent conversation with few words at all.
Prompto’s fingers skate over Gladio’s brown locks before he rises from the couch. Gladio’s eyes flutter up momentarily to meet his as he walks into the kitchen. He tries to bring his concentration back to his book, but the hiss of the coffee pot being pulled from its base and the slosh of liquid hitting ceramic pulls him further from his solitude. What’s even more distracting is the smell. The strong, bitter aroma emanates through the apartment and assaults Gladio’s senses, bringing his eyes up yet again.
“Coffee?” Prompto says with a smile. He’s holding Gladio’s favorite mug, one that Ignis had made for him for the winter holidays the year before. World’s Best Shield is printed on one side, and a gladiolus flower on the other. Gladio can see the steam rise from the cup like a finger curling in a silent invitation. As Gladio takes the coffee from Prompto, he can see the cream’s lazily mixing with the coffee itself.
“Smells good,” Gladio says, lifting his arm to adjust himself so Prompto can curl up against his side. Gladio relishes the way he and his darling husband fit together like lock and key. “Half and half, right?”
“Of course,” Prompto retorts, and Gladio can hear the small scoff of disbelief in his voice.
Gladio presses a kiss to the top of his head and lets his lips linger against the soft, blonde locks. Prompto’s hair smells like brown sugar and vanilla. “Thanks, babe.”
A contented sigh ripples through Prompto and Gladio pulls him into his lap. Prompto’s pullover is worn with old age, its knit, wool fabric pilled and pulled in various places. It’s the same sweater he presses his nose to on those nights when Prompto’s gone and Gladio’s heart aches a little for his soft body and musical laugh. Prompto peeks at him over the top of his coffee mug as his glasses fog up in the corners from the steam spilling out of it. Gladio can barely see the corners of his mouth curling into a shy smile as they steal looks at each other.
Before he knows it, Prompto’s lips are pressed against his and Gladio can feel his long, delicate eyelashes flutter against the scar on his cheek. The clink of ceramic touching the glass surface of the coffee table fills his ears before Prompto’s warm fingers entwine themselves in the strings of his hoodie. Gladio can feel his heart swelling in his chest; it’s almost as if the organ is pressing down on his diaphragm and stealing his breath away more and more with every kiss. He holds his lover tight against his torso as he buries his nose in that warm space between Prompto’s neck and shoulder, peppering the freckled skin with kisses.
Gladio loves the little gasp of happiness that escapes Prompto’s lips when he squeezes him tight. It fills him up with a warmth he can’t find anywhere else. Prompto lays his head against Gladio’s chest as he fidgets with the frayed end of a drawstring. “What do you wanna do today?” Gladio dares to ask, though he can guess the answer.
Prompto sighs. “Can’t we just… sit here all day?” Gladio feels his head tilt back until it’s against the arm of the sofa and he looks down to see the swirling clouds reflected in Prompto’s violet irises. “We can watch the clouds float by. Take a nap. Doing nothing sounds amazing.”
“It does,” Gladio says with a hum. “Maybe some Cup Noodle. A movie.”
“Perfect,” Prompto squeals, throwing his arms around Gladio’s neck and kissing his scarred cheek. “Can we watch Revengers?”
The shield groans. “Again?”
Prompto’s glasses slide down his nose but he only uses it as a ploy to look even more adorable as he peeks up at his husband from behind his frames. His frown is easily seen through. Gladio knows he’s faking.
“Babe, we just watched that day before yesterday.”
“I fell asleep, though!”
“You might have,” Gladio says, settling against the couch cushions and draping his arms over the back, “But I didn’t.”
The pout that Prompto achieves is unmatched. Gladio could park the Regalia on that lower lip. As much as he loves his husband though, he really, really doesn’t want to watch Prompto lust over Captain Lucis’ rippling muscles underneath his super-suit. He’s too embarrassed to admit it, but Gladio’s a little jealous, and he knows how ridiculous it is to be jealous of a fictional character.
Prompto has been watching him mull it over. Gladio can see the impish grin grow across freckled cheeks and the glint in his lavender eyes. That look is dangerous and he knows it. It’s the look that precedes a suggestion he’s about to give into. “What?” Gladio asks suspiciously.
Reaching over, Prompto begins to twist an errant curl in Gladio’s hair around his finger. Soon, Prompto’s fingers are combing through his hair and his nails are raking gently across his scalp as he continues to grin devilishly at him. A sigh turns into a moan and Gladio tilts his head into Prompto’s hand. Those deft fingers know how to work his hair just right.
“Mmmm, I don’t think so,” Prompto teases, pulling his hand away. Gladio looks at him with hurt eyes. “No, no way! We’ve gotta watch the movie if you want me to work my magic,” he says, wiggling his fingers and his eyebrows in the silliest way.
It’s not fair. It really isn’t. It’s not fair that his husband is so adorable and his fingers are so gods-damned talented.
“Fine,” Gladio grumbles. “I’ll get the DVD.”
“I’ll get my stuff!” Prompto exclaims happily, socked feet sliding across the hardwood floor as he scrambles into the bedroom. Gladio shakes his head and smiles as he watches the blonde rummage around the room. He should be mad- his husband did just play against his greatest weakness- but Prompto’s so excited… and Gladio is too.
There’s a tiny television in their bedroom that sits on top of the dresser. Gladio really didn’t want a television in the apartment. Hell, when he lived alone, he didn’t have one. When Prompto moved in, though, and his hundreds of DVDs came with him… well. Aside from the coffee maker, it’s the only exception Gladio’s had to make in the last fifteen years.
That, and the fact that Prompto’s dirty clothes never quite make it in the hamper.
When Gladio comes in the bedroom, Prompto’s sitting on a pile of pillows atop the bed, legs spread, smiling excitedly at his partner as he pats the empty space between his legs. Gladio rolls his eyes and smirks at him before popping the DVD into the TV. He lays down with his back resting against the stack of pillows Prompto is perched upon.
The opening scene plays and Prompto is already knuckle-deep in Gladio’s hair as he rakes his slender fingers through it, catching the tangles between his fingers gently. Prompto takes his time, working out each knot carefully. Each snarl and tangle is a gentle tug against Gladio’s scalp, a tease at what’s to come. He settles a little closer to Prompto and tips his head forward so Prompto can reach the back of his head.
Once the tangles are gone, nimble fingertips dive into the chocolatey brown locks and begin massaging Gladio’s head. At this point, he doesn’t know what’s happening in the movie, and he doesn’t care. All there is, as far as he’s concerned, is Prompto. The appreciation Gladio feels for Prompto’s acts of love like these is humbling. It reminds him that he’s lucky; lucky that they’ve both survived these insane lives they’ve lived, lucky that he gets to fall into bed with this man every night, lucky that he’s the object of such affections.
It’s hard for him to believe sometimes that it’s ended up this way. There was a time in those dark years where it felt like when the light was gone, happiness was soon to follow. It was then that they found each other, really, truly discovered that the friendship they had could be so much more. During those times of darkness Gladio had doubted himself. Who was he, if not Noct’s shield? What purpose did he have without a king to protect? It was Prompto who showed him that there was so much more to life than just laying it on the line for someone else.
This life is more, he realizes, as he enjoys the way Prompto carefully tugs his hair into long french braids that squeeze at his hairline in the most delightful way. Prompto is careful and patient now as he asks Gladio to turn around, and he happily obliges. Gladio loves to watch Prompto work, no matter what the creative venture is.
“Hey, you,” he says with a smile and a gentle touch to Prompto’s thigh.
Prompto returns the affectionate smile as he reached forward to comb a few stray hairs back into place. “Hey big guy. Looking good. Jeez, your hair is so soft. I love it.”
Gladio catches his hand in his and plants a kiss on his palm with a contented hum. Prompto takes it as an invitation to crawl into his lap, straddling him so he can work yet another braid across the top of Gladio’s ear. “You ever think about when we got together?” Gladio muses, his hands wandering to the small of Prompto’s back.
Prompto giggles. “Of course I do. Feels like so long ago.”
“Ten years is a long time,” Gladio says, his voice trailing.
“Uh oh. I know that tone,” Prompto says, gently turning Gladio’s cheek to face him. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing! Just thinking,” Gladio replies quickly. He doesn’t want to worry his anxious partner. Not when things are so good.
“Mhm,” Prompto says, raising his eyebrows skeptically before turning Gladio’s head to finish off the braid with a small rubber band. “About what? How gods-damn sexy you look with braids?”
Gladio laughs. “Not yet. Maybe later when I look in a mirror,” he quips, diving in to plant a kiss on Prompto’s collarbone, which is peeking out from underneath his sagging, oversized sweater. He relishes the sweet touch Prompto places on the back of his neck, inviting him to continue nibbling at the pale, freckled flesh.
“So what was it?” Prompto asks, an air of anxiety in his voice, which he tries to hide and fails spectacularly. Gladio knows him far better. He knows that Prompto’s probably already obsessing over the worst possible outcome he can think of.
Gladio has to stop a moment before he speaks. Flirting with Prompto is so easy, like taking a breath or swinging his greatsword. Talking, actually talking about his feelings, like Prompto does so effortlessly every day of his life, is challenging. As much as he wants to pour his heart out, to wear it on his sleeve, every finely-trained instinct tells him not to. Don’t expose yourself, he can hear years of combat trainers’ voices echoing in his ears.
This is his husband, though. This is Prom. There is no hiding his feelings with him; the man holds Gladio’s heart in his hands and guards it like a treasure. Gladio pulls his husband close until they’re pressed together and he can feel the arm of Prompto’s glasses pressed into his cheek. The movie’s still going strong in the background, but it’s a mystery to Gladio as to where they are in the plot.
Gladio’s voice is barely a whisper over the clamor of the movie. “I’m just lucky to have you.” It’s not what he wants to say. He wants to tell him he’s the sun, that his day begins and ends with his presence, that he makes everything warm and life literally revolves around him. It’s not quite right, but it will do for now.
“Gladio,” Prompto murmurs.
“Love you, sunshine.”
“Love you too, big guy.”
