Soft, useless slippers, stained with blood at the heels, lay against the oak dresser of King Gladiolus' bedchambers. They were joined by grey leggings, and a tunic in grey and blue that fell in an unruly tangle of sleeves and wide hems.
Gladio hissed through his teeth.
"That beautiful, Your Majesty?" Noctis' voice had a mocking edge, and his eyes were bright and cold. Gladiolus had seen that look in battle, when Noctis had been a prince and the most terrifying of his father's mages, breaking through the lines of the enemy as he froze their blood from the heart outwards. The young king was suddenly grateful for the stasis spell on Noctis' collar. Even now, stripped of his power, his title, his pride, there was something dangerous twisting behind his too-bright eyes.
Gladiolus ran a hand along the other man's shoulder-blades, and felt a tremor ripple under his touch.
The young man's back was riddled with scars. Some were old and faded almost white, some raw and pink, raised in criss-crossing patterns. Hardly a palm's breadth of bare skin was left to him; the damage was so extensive that Gladio wondered how he could possibly still be alive.
"Those are whip weals," the king said. "We're you captured...?"
"No."
Gladio's smile was wry. "Your people love their royal family," he said. "No one would whip a prince."
"I haven't been a prince in anything more than name," Noctis said, slowly, "for two years now."
Two years. That was the time that Gladiolus' father had been killed, along with hundreds of Lucian soldiers--at Noctis' hand. He met his eyes again, and Noctis' smile made his stomach go heavy in dread.
"King's orders, after the battle," he said. "One for every squad we lost." His smile was humorless. "It took a while."
"People believe what they have to," he said, which was an odd thing to say, but Gladio was through listening to him. This was a terrible idea, letting a viper into his bed, but he'd gone this far already...
When he gave his next order, Noctis came willingly.
For all that he was forever speaking out of turn, Noctis was strangely quiet when Gladiolus took him, stretched and sloppy with lube, on the soft carpet. Gladio was used to responsive partners, to drawing out their pleasure and adapting to fit their needs. An indifferent man just left him cold, and he pulled out after a minute of this, looking down at the scarred mess of Noctis' back.
"This was a mistake," he said.
Noctis rolled to face him. "Permission to--"
"You'll do it anyways."
"You weren't going hard enough," Noctis said. Gladio raised his eyebrows. "You aren't looking for a lover, Your Majesty." He lifted a foot to Gladio's shoulder, and closed his eyes briefly when his thigh was shifted for a better grip. "Quit acting like I am one."
"You don't give the orders," Gladio said, in a low voice, but when he thrust into Noctis anew, hard and fast and to the hilt, the man beneath him moaned.
The carpet, however plush, had to chafe the sensitive scar tissue of Noctis' back, but he simply writhed and panted and whimpered under the swift, forceful thrusts of the larger man pinning him down. His hands clutched at Gladiolus' chest, and he rocked back onto him, urging him to push deeper, the slap of flesh drowned out in his helpless cries to keep going, Your Majesty. Gladiolus. Please, please, gods, I want, I want you to...
He came before Gladio, tightening around him as his seed spilled onto his chest and stomach. The tension in the other man's body proved too much, and the king came on the heels of it, slamming into him once, twice, before letting pleasure take him.
Noctis lay sprawled beneath him, gaze hazy and dark, not at all like the battle-ready gleam that had been there before. He looked oddly vulnerable, almost melancholy, and when he let his head fall back, Gladio almost forgot who he was and swept back his sweat-damp bangs.
Almost.
He smacked the side of Noctis' thigh and pulled out. "Clean yourself up," he ordered. "The day isn't over, yet."
"Yes, my Lord," Noctis whispered, still lost in the fog. Gladio shuddered, and rose to retrieve his discarded clothes.
Fill: 5/? Re: Gladio/Noctis - war prize AU
------------------------
Soft, useless slippers, stained with blood at the heels, lay against the oak dresser of King Gladiolus' bedchambers. They were joined by grey leggings, and a tunic in grey and blue that fell in an unruly tangle of sleeves and wide hems.
Gladio hissed through his teeth.
"That beautiful, Your Majesty?" Noctis' voice had a mocking edge, and his eyes were bright and cold. Gladiolus had seen that look in battle, when Noctis had been a prince and the most terrifying of his father's mages, breaking through the lines of the enemy as he froze their blood from the heart outwards. The young king was suddenly grateful for the stasis spell on Noctis' collar. Even now, stripped of his power, his title, his pride, there was something dangerous twisting behind his too-bright eyes.
Gladiolus ran a hand along the other man's shoulder-blades, and felt a tremor ripple under his touch.
The young man's back was riddled with scars. Some were old and faded almost white, some raw and pink, raised in criss-crossing patterns. Hardly a palm's breadth of bare skin was left to him; the damage was so extensive that Gladio wondered how he could possibly still be alive.
"Those are whip weals," the king said. "We're you captured...?"
"No."
Gladio's smile was wry. "Your people love their royal family," he said. "No one would whip a prince."
"I haven't been a prince in anything more than name," Noctis said, slowly, "for two years now."
Two years. That was the time that Gladiolus' father had been killed, along with hundreds of Lucian soldiers--at Noctis' hand. He met his eyes again, and Noctis' smile made his stomach go heavy in dread.
"King's orders, after the battle," he said. "One for every squad we lost." His smile was humorless. "It took a while."
"You're sick," Gladio whispered. Again, Noctis shrugged.
"People believe what they have to," he said, which was an odd thing to say, but Gladio was through listening to him. This was a terrible idea, letting a viper into his bed, but he'd gone this far already...
When he gave his next order, Noctis came willingly.
For all that he was forever speaking out of turn, Noctis was strangely quiet when Gladiolus took him, stretched and sloppy with lube, on the soft carpet. Gladio was used to responsive partners, to drawing out their pleasure and adapting to fit their needs. An indifferent man just left him cold, and he pulled out after a minute of this, looking down at the scarred mess of Noctis' back.
"This was a mistake," he said.
Noctis rolled to face him. "Permission to--"
"You'll do it anyways."
"You weren't going hard enough," Noctis said. Gladio raised his eyebrows. "You aren't looking for a lover, Your Majesty." He lifted a foot to Gladio's shoulder, and closed his eyes briefly when his thigh was shifted for a better grip. "Quit acting like I am one."
"You don't give the orders," Gladio said, in a low voice, but when he thrust into Noctis anew, hard and fast and to the hilt, the man beneath him moaned.
The carpet, however plush, had to chafe the sensitive scar tissue of Noctis' back, but he simply writhed and panted and whimpered under the swift, forceful thrusts of the larger man pinning him down. His hands clutched at Gladiolus' chest, and he rocked back onto him, urging him to push deeper, the slap of flesh drowned out in his helpless cries to keep going, Your Majesty. Gladiolus. Please, please, gods, I want, I want you to...
He came before Gladio, tightening around him as his seed spilled onto his chest and stomach. The tension in the other man's body proved too much, and the king came on the heels of it, slamming into him once, twice, before letting pleasure take him.
Noctis lay sprawled beneath him, gaze hazy and dark, not at all like the battle-ready gleam that had been there before. He looked oddly vulnerable, almost melancholy, and when he let his head fall back, Gladio almost forgot who he was and swept back his sweat-damp bangs.
Almost.
He smacked the side of Noctis' thigh and pulled out. "Clean yourself up," he ordered. "The day isn't over, yet."
"Yes, my Lord," Noctis whispered, still lost in the fog. Gladio shuddered, and rose to retrieve his discarded clothes.