Flashback time, then exposition time, then smut time!
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Gladiolus had long known that the Lucian army was nothing without their magecraft. Even at the end of the war, with the loss of many of their on-the-ground soldiers, their mages called up winds, threw fire, and made the earth slippery and treacherous with ice. The worst of them could summon lightning, but only the royal family could do so with any real strength.
Prince Noctis was the one mage who didn’t stay behind King Regis’ walls of protection. He seemed to take the fire of King Clarus’ death as permission to charge into the press of battle himself, wearing nothing but his mage robes and a sheen of ethereal fire that made both his own troops and enemy combatants fall before him.
At the battle of Leide, he was in top form. When the diminished troops of Lucis were given the order to retreat, he stood in their midst as a rock before the tide, drawing down webs of lightning onto the oncoming ranks of Gladiolus’ army. One of Gladiolus’ Generals fell to a pillar of flame, another to a bolt of lightning out of the blue, and when Gladiolus and Cor flanked the young mage at last, the king felt a chill curl in his chest and saw the flash of violet fire flicker in the prince’s eyes.
“Your king has surrendered,” he said to the prince. “And your magic is nearly gone.” It had to be, for Gladio to still be alive, and the prince knew it. He turned part-ways to the figure of King Regis on the crest of the hill, and saw a white banner cracking in the mid-summer heat.
He looked back to Gladio, bowed deeply, and disappeared in a burst of magic. There was another burst fifty feet up—Gladio’s men leveled their bows—and another, and another, until a bloom of blue fire coalesced into a dark figure standing at King Regis’ side, safe behind the king’s wall of protective light.
“What I’d give to muzzle that one,” Cor said, and Gladiolus laughed.
“You never know, Cor,” he said. “Before this is over, we might get the chance.”
Three days later, King Gladiolus and his men and women at arms met with the enemy king. King Regis stood tall and proud on the baking earth of Leide, showing no discomfort at the heat that must have been constricting in his dark robes. At his left stood a member of his Kingsglaive, and on his right the Kingsglaive captain, Drautos. Further still stood the prince—an odd placement, Gladio thought, but then he wasn’t cognizant of every Lucian rule of order.
One, however, he did know, and it was one he’d been dreading ever since the surrender had been called.
A line of men and women in Lucian black stood just to the left, several feet behind King Regis and his retinue. Gladio kept an eye on them as the useless formalities were made, words of peace spoken through gritted teeth. At last, King Regis gestured towards them with an idle air.
“As per tradition,” he said, in his low, musical voice, “the conquering kingdom has the right to an appeasement prize. The men and women you see here are well trained in the arts, both in pleasure and in entertainment, and are all exemplary servants with the privilege of formal educations.”
“As per tradition,” Gladio said, testing the words with careful deliberation. He knew that the Lucian people would not consider the gift to be akin to slavery, but the thought of it made his stomach turn. A citizen of their country shouldn’t be considered free for another to use or discard as they will. He quested among the faces there, the young men and women behind the King who had been trained for this task, who showed no fear, no trepidation.
Then his gaze rested on the prince.
“Him,” King Gladiolus said, at last. “As per tradition, we will accept Prince Noctis as the appeasement prize for your terms of surrender.”
There was a brief silence. Wind swept through the dust at their feet, and Gladio waited for the inevitable protest, the cries of dismay, the insistence that tradition meant trained and common. That the kingdom needed this monster to survive. It didn’t come.
“Very well,” said King Regis, without a flicker of emotion.
“We’ll have him to you by the end of the week,” said Captain Drautos.
And Prince Noctis, the mad mage of Lucis, the man who slaughtered troops in domes of lightning and shattered their hearts with ice, threw back his head and laughed.
------
“What do we say?”
Noctis looked up at Gladiolus through half-lidded eyes, a slight smirk on his shadowed face. “Please, Your Majesty,” he said. “Will you, in your eternal grace and wisdom take off these fucking cuffs?”
Some ways behind them, Gladio heard a suppressed snort of laughter. He gazed down at the prisoner with a look of polite disdain.
“You know, I don’t think you’re being sincere,” he said, and rested a heavy elbow on his shoulder. Noctis scowled and leaned in to the side of the couch Gladio was reclining on, and one of the members of Gladiolus' inner council laughed.
"Never thought I'd see the mage used as furniture," said Monica. Gladio shrugged. He could almost feel the heat from Noctis' cheeks. "Anyways, back to important matters. It's been three weeks now, and King Regis keeps sending the treaty back with corrections."
"Again? He does know he surrendered?" Gladio caught the closed file from Monica and unhooked the cover. "Furniture," he said, to Noctis. "Does your language have a word for Surrender?"
Noctis raised one eyebrow, and spoke the word in his native tongue.
"Well, he would know," said Cor. Gladio felt the man tense beneath his arm, and shook him slightly, a warning to behave. Noctis raised his cuffed hands a fraction and gave him a deeply sarcastic look.
"It's not really the terms," Cor said. "He keeps changing his heir. It's Nyx Ulric this time. Set in stone--literally. The Crystal accepted him a few days ago."
Noctis was suddenly very still indeed.
"And Captain Drautos says he can dismantle the mages within five weeks, but they need a select number to protect their northern border. Excuse me, did I miss something?" Cor turned to Noctis, who was staring woodenly at the floor. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, and the edges of his mouth were hard, as though he were grinding his teeth together.
"It's nothing," he said, at last. "Nyx Ulric's a good man."
"Better than some," Monica said, pointedly. Noct shrugged the shoulder not currently occupied, and lifted his gaze.
"I wouldn't trust Drautos, though," he said. A short silence greeted this, and Cor and Gladio exchanged glances.
"You'll forgive us if we don't take your word for it," Gladio said. Again, the one-shouldered shrug. "Cor, as you were saying."
-------
"You gonna offer an explanation for that?"
The council had broken up after three hours of dithering over border disputes and grain silos, and Gladio requested a moment of privacy in the receiving room to gather his thoughts. Gathering his thoughts, it turned out, meant leaning back with his hands in Noctis' hair as he thrust into his willing mouth. The man had begged earnestly for this, when there was no one but Gladio to witness it, and not for the first time, the king wondered what pleasure he took out of this particular brand of debasement.
Noctis pulled off of Gladio's cock with a slick, wet sound, and Gladio heard the chain on his cuffs clink as he tried and failed to make one of his typical broad gestures. "Your Majesty," he said. His accent was thicker, slurring the hard consonants and dragging out the vowels. "I can suck your cock, or I can talk politics."
Gladio tried to school the amusement from his face, and dragged Noctis forward again.
"Thank you," Noctis murmured, and the warm heat of his mouth engulfed Gladio again, tongue working along the underside as he bore down. Gladio held back a moan.
"Where does a prince learn this kind of skill?" There was another clank of chains, and Noctis' brows furrowed. He relaxed his throat and took Gladio down to the base, his lips pressed to the soft skin there, and hollowed his cheeks as he leaned back. That was as much of an answer as he was willing to give, clearly.
When Gladio came, he bucked into him hard, an involuntary jerk that had Noctis gagging and struggling to work his throat around the warm come that coated his mouth and tongue. His fingers pressed against Gladio's inner thigh as he pulled back, and Gladio leaned down to press his thumb into Noctis' partly open mouth. Noctis let him push down along his tongue, and moaned faintly.
"Do you want to come?" Gladio asked. He pulled his thumb out and wiped it off on the other man's jaw.
"If you want me to, Your Majesty," he said, looking up at him with that same, vague expression Gladio was starting to recognize as edging the border of desire and blissful thoughtlessness.
"Go ahead, if you can," Gladio said. He leaned down on his elbows, watching Noctis try to jerk himself off awkwardly with both hands linked together. It took him a minute or two, but he was already aching for it, and he fell forward with the strength of his release and pressed his lips to the side of Gladio's thigh.
Gladio knew that he was taking advantage of Noct's dazed state of mind, but he pressed a hand to the man's collar and forced him to look up.
"What was that about Captain Drautos?" he asked. "Nyx Ulric?"
For a minute, Noctis just breathed, slow and open-mouthed, throat rising under Gladio's fingers.
"Nyx Ulric is a good man," Noctis said, in his slurred, thick voice. His eyelids fluttered, and he closed them lazily, tilting his head to rest on Gladio's knee. "And Captain Drautos will ruin him."
Fill: 7/? Re: Gladio/Noctis - war prize AU
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Gladiolus had long known that the Lucian army was nothing without their magecraft. Even at the end of the war, with the loss of many of their on-the-ground soldiers, their mages called up winds, threw fire, and made the earth slippery and treacherous with ice. The worst of them could summon lightning, but only the royal family could do so with any real strength.
Prince Noctis was the one mage who didn’t stay behind King Regis’ walls of protection. He seemed to take the fire of King Clarus’ death as permission to charge into the press of battle himself, wearing nothing but his mage robes and a sheen of ethereal fire that made both his own troops and enemy combatants fall before him.
At the battle of Leide, he was in top form. When the diminished troops of Lucis were given the order to retreat, he stood in their midst as a rock before the tide, drawing down webs of lightning onto the oncoming ranks of Gladiolus’ army. One of Gladiolus’ Generals fell to a pillar of flame, another to a bolt of lightning out of the blue, and when Gladiolus and Cor flanked the young mage at last, the king felt a chill curl in his chest and saw the flash of violet fire flicker in the prince’s eyes.
“Your king has surrendered,” he said to the prince. “And your magic is nearly gone.” It had to be, for Gladio to still be alive, and the prince knew it. He turned part-ways to the figure of King Regis on the crest of the hill, and saw a white banner cracking in the mid-summer heat.
He looked back to Gladio, bowed deeply, and disappeared in a burst of magic. There was another burst fifty feet up—Gladio’s men leveled their bows—and another, and another, until a bloom of blue fire coalesced into a dark figure standing at King Regis’ side, safe behind the king’s wall of protective light.
“What I’d give to muzzle that one,” Cor said, and Gladiolus laughed.
“You never know, Cor,” he said. “Before this is over, we might get the chance.”
Three days later, King Gladiolus and his men and women at arms met with the enemy king. King Regis stood tall and proud on the baking earth of Leide, showing no discomfort at the heat that must have been constricting in his dark robes. At his left stood a member of his Kingsglaive, and on his right the Kingsglaive captain, Drautos. Further still stood the prince—an odd placement, Gladio thought, but then he wasn’t cognizant of every Lucian rule of order.
One, however, he did know, and it was one he’d been dreading ever since the surrender had been called.
A line of men and women in Lucian black stood just to the left, several feet behind King Regis and his retinue. Gladio kept an eye on them as the useless formalities were made, words of peace spoken through gritted teeth. At last, King Regis gestured towards them with an idle air.
“As per tradition,” he said, in his low, musical voice, “the conquering kingdom has the right to an appeasement prize. The men and women you see here are well trained in the arts, both in pleasure and in entertainment, and are all exemplary servants with the privilege of formal educations.”
“As per tradition,” Gladio said, testing the words with careful deliberation. He knew that the Lucian people would not consider the gift to be akin to slavery, but the thought of it made his stomach turn. A citizen of their country shouldn’t be considered free for another to use or discard as they will. He quested among the faces there, the young men and women behind the King who had been trained for this task, who showed no fear, no trepidation.
Then his gaze rested on the prince.
“Him,” King Gladiolus said, at last. “As per tradition, we will accept Prince Noctis as the appeasement prize for your terms of surrender.”
There was a brief silence. Wind swept through the dust at their feet, and Gladio waited for the inevitable protest, the cries of dismay, the insistence that tradition meant trained and common. That the kingdom needed this monster to survive. It didn’t come.
“Very well,” said King Regis, without a flicker of emotion.
“We’ll have him to you by the end of the week,” said Captain Drautos.
And Prince Noctis, the mad mage of Lucis, the man who slaughtered troops in domes of lightning and shattered their hearts with ice, threw back his head and laughed.
------
“What do we say?”
Noctis looked up at Gladiolus through half-lidded eyes, a slight smirk on his shadowed face. “Please, Your Majesty,” he said. “Will you, in your eternal grace and wisdom take off these fucking cuffs?”
Some ways behind them, Gladio heard a suppressed snort of laughter. He gazed down at the prisoner with a look of polite disdain.
“You know, I don’t think you’re being sincere,” he said, and rested a heavy elbow on his shoulder. Noctis scowled and leaned in to the side of the couch Gladio was reclining on, and one of the members of Gladiolus' inner council laughed.
"Never thought I'd see the mage used as furniture," said Monica. Gladio shrugged. He could almost feel the heat from Noctis' cheeks. "Anyways, back to important matters. It's been three weeks now, and King Regis keeps sending the treaty back with corrections."
"Again? He does know he surrendered?" Gladio caught the closed file from Monica and unhooked the cover. "Furniture," he said, to Noctis. "Does your language have a word for Surrender?"
Noctis raised one eyebrow, and spoke the word in his native tongue.
"Well, he would know," said Cor. Gladio felt the man tense beneath his arm, and shook him slightly, a warning to behave. Noctis raised his cuffed hands a fraction and gave him a deeply sarcastic look.
"It's not really the terms," Cor said. "He keeps changing his heir. It's Nyx Ulric this time. Set in stone--literally. The Crystal accepted him a few days ago."
Noctis was suddenly very still indeed.
"And Captain Drautos says he can dismantle the mages within five weeks, but they need a select number to protect their northern border. Excuse me, did I miss something?" Cor turned to Noctis, who was staring woodenly at the floor. His hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, and the edges of his mouth were hard, as though he were grinding his teeth together.
"It's nothing," he said, at last. "Nyx Ulric's a good man."
"Better than some," Monica said, pointedly. Noct shrugged the shoulder not currently occupied, and lifted his gaze.
"I wouldn't trust Drautos, though," he said. A short silence greeted this, and Cor and Gladio exchanged glances.
"You'll forgive us if we don't take your word for it," Gladio said. Again, the one-shouldered shrug. "Cor, as you were saying."
-------
"You gonna offer an explanation for that?"
The council had broken up after three hours of dithering over border disputes and grain silos, and Gladio requested a moment of privacy in the receiving room to gather his thoughts. Gathering his thoughts, it turned out, meant leaning back with his hands in Noctis' hair as he thrust into his willing mouth. The man had begged earnestly for this, when there was no one but Gladio to witness it, and not for the first time, the king wondered what pleasure he took out of this particular brand of debasement.
Noctis pulled off of Gladio's cock with a slick, wet sound, and Gladio heard the chain on his cuffs clink as he tried and failed to make one of his typical broad gestures. "Your Majesty," he said. His accent was thicker, slurring the hard consonants and dragging out the vowels. "I can suck your cock, or I can talk politics."
Gladio tried to school the amusement from his face, and dragged Noctis forward again.
"Thank you," Noctis murmured, and the warm heat of his mouth engulfed Gladio again, tongue working along the underside as he bore down. Gladio held back a moan.
"Where does a prince learn this kind of skill?" There was another clank of chains, and Noctis' brows furrowed. He relaxed his throat and took Gladio down to the base, his lips pressed to the soft skin there, and hollowed his cheeks as he leaned back. That was as much of an answer as he was willing to give, clearly.
When Gladio came, he bucked into him hard, an involuntary jerk that had Noctis gagging and struggling to work his throat around the warm come that coated his mouth and tongue. His fingers pressed against Gladio's inner thigh as he pulled back, and Gladio leaned down to press his thumb into Noctis' partly open mouth. Noctis let him push down along his tongue, and moaned faintly.
"Do you want to come?" Gladio asked. He pulled his thumb out and wiped it off on the other man's jaw.
"If you want me to, Your Majesty," he said, looking up at him with that same, vague expression Gladio was starting to recognize as edging the border of desire and blissful thoughtlessness.
"Go ahead, if you can," Gladio said. He leaned down on his elbows, watching Noctis try to jerk himself off awkwardly with both hands linked together. It took him a minute or two, but he was already aching for it, and he fell forward with the strength of his release and pressed his lips to the side of Gladio's thigh.
Gladio knew that he was taking advantage of Noct's dazed state of mind, but he pressed a hand to the man's collar and forced him to look up.
"What was that about Captain Drautos?" he asked. "Nyx Ulric?"
For a minute, Noctis just breathed, slow and open-mouthed, throat rising under Gladio's fingers.
"Nyx Ulric is a good man," Noctis said, in his slurred, thick voice. His eyelids fluttered, and he closed them lazily, tilting his head to rest on Gladio's knee. "And Captain Drautos will ruin him."