FFXV Kinkmeme

Gladiolus woke in the early hours of the morning to a dull ripple of movement at the foot of the bed. Thrown into instant alertness, he pushed himself up by one hand, reaching for the blade he kept hidden behind the mattress and headboard.

At his feet, obscured partly by the ironwork of the bedpost, the former prince Noctis panted in the dark. He was drenched in sweat, his hair curling at his temples and neck, and his pupils were blown with adrenaline. Gladiolus recognized the wild-eyed, erratic gasping of night terrors from his time on the field, when companions would wake in the ditches with no notion of where they were, frozen in a too-close memory of death and fear. Gladio watched the young man slowly gather his bearings, registering the quiet of the fortress around them, the safety of enclosed walls. His hands were still bound, so he leaned heavily on the foot of the bed to hold himself upright.

"It smells like death in here," he whispered.

"No," said Gladio. "That's just your brain fucking with you."

"Prince Gladiolus?" the man turned unfocused eyes to him, and Gladio cursed inwardly. Noctis was well and truly gone, lost in whatever dream had overtaken him.

"King Gladiolus, now," he said. "Do you know who you are?"

There was a long silence. "I don't know. Gods. I don't know, I--"

"Alright. Shit. I'm coming." Though he didn't know why. It was almost instinct--Gladio always looked out for his soldiers, was quick to put himself first in battle and last in a retreat, just like his father, and even if this man on the floor was nothing more than a war criminal raised to command, he was... in a way, his.

"I'm gonna untie you," he said, in a low voice. "But you need to promise not to try and strangle me."

Noctis didn't respond. He sat back on his knees as Gladio untied the rope from his neck and wrists, and let himself be lifted to the bed. Gladio sat in front of him, and waved a hand in front of his eyes, checking his response time.

"You're Noctis," he said, in the same low tone. "You lost the battle of Leide a week ago, and the Lucian army surrendered. You've been given to me as part of the terms of peace. That make sense?"

"Yes," Noctis said, slowly. "You're going to execute me."

"What? I--"

But the young man wasn't listening. He lifted his hands to his face, shoulders trembling as he tipped forward. His forehead touched the center of Gladio's chest, and the king carefully, carefully laid a hand over his soft black hair.

"Thank you," the former prince of Lucis whispered. "Thank the gods."



When Gladio woke again, it was to the sound of a body falling out of the bed next to him.

"Oh," he said, in a dry voice. "You're awake."

Noctis let out a string of Lucian swears that was almost inspiring, and made to climb onto the bed again. Gladio made a clicking sound against his teeth, and the man looked at him with frank confusion.

"Once you're out, you're out," he said. "You only use the bed on my order. Last night was an exception."

"Last night?" Noctis' eyes widened, and he scrambled at the hem of his tunic. Gladio rolled his eyes.

"You just slept, princess. When I fuck you, you'll know." He groaned and got out of bed.

"And will you?" Noctis asked. "Fuck me, I mean?"

"That's why they sent you," Gladio said. "You know what Lucian appeasement gifts are. Also, it's early, so I'm letting this slide, but from now on? You ask for permission before you speak to me."

"Do I need to ask for permission in order to ask for--" Noctis gasped as Gladio grabbed a fistful of his hair, looking down at him for a long moment.

"That right there?" he said. "That's the kind of shit I don't need. You want the peace talks to fail?"

The color drained from the prisoner's face. He opened his mouth, closed it, blinked slowly.

"Permission to--"

"No," he said, and he watched a shiver run down Noctis' skin at the sound of it. "I think it's time we lay down some ground rules."