Gladio found out next, because Gladio could read Ignis like his favorite harlequin romance novel, the pages worn from how many times he had turned them. It only took the announcement of the Imperial forces above them for Ignis to flinch, and that was more telling than if Ignis had said something out loud.
Ignis didn't flinch.
When he sliced into one of the Troopers, he noticed the way Ignis seemed to avoid some of the troops, and that was the second red flag.
“You hurt, Iggy?” Gladio asked as he sliced through the mechanical shell of the enemy, wincing as hot black grease hit his face. Those bastards always left so much of a goddamn mess on his blade, and Gladio loved that wherever Noctis’s magic came from seemed to clean the slick fluid right off. Still, that never helped with rubbing it off his skin.
Ignis darted his eyes towards Noctis and Prompto. They were just a little ways away, easily barreling through a few stragglers of the snipers. The enemies weren't even able to hold their weapons up at that point, so Gladio wasn't too worried. Noctis had easily handled worse, and at this point so had Prompto.
“Gladio, I need you to do something,” Ignis said, standing closer to Gladio’s side, his back to the Prince. There was something pinching at his cheeks, a sallow color that made Gladio worried Ignis was coming down with something. “And please… don't call attention to it.”
Gladio furrowed his eyebrows but nodded to Ignis. “Sure, what is it?”
Ignis looked down at the ground, his green eyes staring at the decimated trooper at their feet. It was still twitching; the electricity hadn't been gorked yet. That was weird-- usually when he cut them in half it killed their electrical current. Huh. Weird.
“Sure, what is it Specs?”
“Gladio…”
Gladio didn’t like where this was going. Ignis’s mouth was drawn down in a frown and he was holding his daggers in front of him like a safety blanket. It was almost like he expected the trooper Gladio had cut in half would rise like a zombie from one of Noct’s games.
That was making him more nervous than he cared to admit. Ignis didn’t worry. Ignis didn’t run his sentences off, because that was so unlike Ignis. The guy knew every word he wanted to say and already had the perfect reply to answer with. Yet in the field of broken machinery, surrounded by black engine fuel spit out across the grass, Ignis was… well, Ignis looked nervous.
“Iggy, what’s going on? What do you need?”
Ignis looked up at him and then back down to the cut down trooper. “Take off its helmet. And… Don’t make any noise. I need to see if it is the same, that I’m not going mad.”
Iggy, going mad? What the hell was going on?
Gladio put his hand out and pulled his clean sword from the ether, taking comfort in its weight and perfection in his hand. “Is it gunna come back to life?”
Ignis shook his head. “I rather doubt it. But… you may not like what is underneath.”
Well, if that wasn’t cryptic as fuck. After spending so many years listening to Ignis talk, cryptic Iggy was the worst Iggy. It made him nervous, like someone was walking over his damn grave.
“Okay, Iggy. If you say so.” He hoped the other man would understand his seriousness, and Gladio leaned down and ran his fingers over the crack in the helmet. When he had fought with the trooper he had taken the heavy, dull side to the back of its head, causing the metal to crack like an eggshell. Sometimes it helped him short-circuit them, just like cutting them in half did the trick, and he should have known there was something not so right with that. MTs had their core in their chests. The only reason they even had heads was so that it looked vaguely human, or at least that was what he was taught in the Academy. People were more willing to follow orders and obey the MTs when they looked like people.
Fucking people.
Of course it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did-- because that thing looked like--
“What the fuck is this--some kind of joke?” Gladio couldn’t look at it because its lips were trembling and that black sludge, the warm black sludge he had called engine grease and oil, it had never been that at all. It wasn’t the right color for humans and yet now that he could see it sliding out of that fucking face, dripping down its nose and ears and holy shit, was it crying black blood?
And Gladio could only stare back at Ignis, who only raised his hand over his mouth as explanation, holding out his own dagger.
“Is it-- fuck.”
The thing drew a jagged breath, and Gladio looked away from Ignis and back down to Prompto, because it was fucking Prompto, wasn’t it?
But Prompto was on the other side of the field with Noctis, and the two were busy laughing and shooting off a few rounds as target practice. The MTs were all dead now, and that was what they were…. Weren’t they? They were fucking dead, because at one point they were alive and they had the same fucking face as Prompto and Prompto was alive and breathing and laughing as he wrapped one hand around Noctis’s waist to pull him close while the other showed the prince how to best aim and fuck.
“I..is that…?”
Ignis shook his head. Not even Iggy had any idea what the answer for this could possibly be.
The thing, that poor, fucking pitiful thing, hacked and cried silently as black bubbled out of its mouth. Gladio couldn’t look away-- he had seen Prompto’s entire body over the years and knew it like he knew his own. And seeing it laid out in MT armor at his feet, cut in half and gasping for air as its skin began to burn and then crack in the sunlight...
Gladio needed to put it out of its misery. He couldn’t watch--he just couldn’t fucking do it.
He looked up to Prompto, at the way his hand was slowly snaking into the hem of Noctis’s cargo pants and the way Noct could only laugh in response as his shot took a curve unexpectedly. That was Prompto, snorting and laughing when Noctis tried to punch him with one hand, his other making the gun disappear into the void.
That was Prompto.
This thing, this fucking thing wearing Prom’s face… this thing with its red eyes, gurgling on black daemon blood…
Gladio needed it to stop. He needed it like he needed air in his lungs or a sword in his hands.
He could feel it, now. When he slid the sword down to the junction where that thing’s neck met its head. It was the snapping of bones and the squirt of blood. After having spent years knowing the feel of killing monsters, animals, daemons and machinery…
He had never killed a person.
(Except he had, hadn't he? And each one of them wore the smattering of freckles on their nose that Prompto did.)
“We say nothing. Not now. Not like this.”
And Gladio agreed, because Ignis knew just as well as Gladio did that something like this would destroy Prompto. The man was strong, had become so much stronger in their journey together, but Gladio could see the cracks in his mask, just like he could see the cracks in the MT’s helmet.
That night they stayed in Old Lestallum in a motel with two beds to a room, and Gladio fucked Prompto harder than he usually did. He was a soft lover, a tender lover, a big fucking teddy bear of a lover who was gentle and delicate with his too big hands… yet that night he bit Prompto on the shoulder until he bled, only feeling a sinking in his gut when he saw the red blood pooling in his teeth marks.
“What’s gotten into you, big guy?” Prompto hissed, though it wasn't accusatory. Part of Gladio wished it was, that way he could think something different, to come up with some kind of blame.
“Sorry. Just,” Gladio grunted as he withdrew, making sure to be more gentle. Prompto wasn't at fault, this had nothing (everything) to do with him. “Just a long day.”
Prompto rubbed at the indents on his shoulder and swore, but he turned to Gladio and swung his leg over Gladio’s calf. “It’s ‘kay. I can handle it.” The blond man nuzzled his forehead against Gladio’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”
Could he? Could Prompto handle that black blood and those red eyes?
So, Gladio held the blond in his arms, running the tips of his fingers across his developing muscles and up to Prom’s neck, all the while the remembering the way the MT’s skin parted under his sword.
(He held Prompto’s neck like one would a new sylleblossom, trying to protect it from himself.)
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fill: Noctis/Prompto - in somnis veritas (In sleep there is truth) 2/?
Date: 2017-01-09 12:13 pm (UTC)Gladio found out next, because Gladio could read Ignis like his favorite harlequin romance novel, the pages worn from how many times he had turned them. It only took the announcement of the Imperial forces above them for Ignis to flinch, and that was more telling than if Ignis had said something out loud.
Ignis didn't flinch.
When he sliced into one of the Troopers, he noticed the way Ignis seemed to avoid some of the troops, and that was the second red flag.
“You hurt, Iggy?” Gladio asked as he sliced through the mechanical shell of the enemy, wincing as hot black grease hit his face. Those bastards always left so much of a goddamn mess on his blade, and Gladio loved that wherever Noctis’s magic came from seemed to clean the slick fluid right off. Still, that never helped with rubbing it off his skin.
Ignis darted his eyes towards Noctis and Prompto. They were just a little ways away, easily barreling through a few stragglers of the snipers. The enemies weren't even able to hold their weapons up at that point, so Gladio wasn't too worried. Noctis had easily handled worse, and at this point so had Prompto.
“Gladio, I need you to do something,” Ignis said, standing closer to Gladio’s side, his back to the Prince. There was something pinching at his cheeks, a sallow color that made Gladio worried Ignis was coming down with something. “And please… don't call attention to it.”
Gladio furrowed his eyebrows but nodded to Ignis. “Sure, what is it?”
Ignis looked down at the ground, his green eyes staring at the decimated trooper at their feet. It was still twitching; the electricity hadn't been gorked yet. That was weird-- usually when he cut them in half it killed their electrical current. Huh. Weird.
“Sure, what is it Specs?”
“Gladio…”
Gladio didn’t like where this was going. Ignis’s mouth was drawn down in a frown and he was holding his daggers in front of him like a safety blanket. It was almost like he expected the trooper Gladio had cut in half would rise like a zombie from one of Noct’s games.
That was making him more nervous than he cared to admit. Ignis didn’t worry. Ignis didn’t run his sentences off, because that was so unlike Ignis. The guy knew every word he wanted to say and already had the perfect reply to answer with. Yet in the field of broken machinery, surrounded by black engine fuel spit out across the grass, Ignis was… well, Ignis looked nervous.
“Iggy, what’s going on? What do you need?”
Ignis looked up at him and then back down to the cut down trooper. “Take off its helmet. And… Don’t make any noise. I need to see if it is the same, that I’m not going mad.”
Iggy, going mad? What the hell was going on?
Gladio put his hand out and pulled his clean sword from the ether, taking comfort in its weight and perfection in his hand. “Is it gunna come back to life?”
Ignis shook his head. “I rather doubt it. But… you may not like what is underneath.”
Well, if that wasn’t cryptic as fuck. After spending so many years listening to Ignis talk, cryptic Iggy was the worst Iggy. It made him nervous, like someone was walking over his damn grave.
“Okay, Iggy. If you say so.” He hoped the other man would understand his seriousness, and Gladio leaned down and ran his fingers over the crack in the helmet. When he had fought with the trooper he had taken the heavy, dull side to the back of its head, causing the metal to crack like an eggshell. Sometimes it helped him short-circuit them, just like cutting them in half did the trick, and he should have known there was something not so right with that. MTs had their core in their chests. The only reason they even had heads was so that it looked vaguely human, or at least that was what he was taught in the Academy. People were more willing to follow orders and obey the MTs when they looked like people.
Fucking people.
Of course it shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did-- because that thing looked like--
“What the fuck is this--some kind of joke?” Gladio couldn’t look at it because its lips were trembling and that black sludge, the warm black sludge he had called engine grease and oil, it had never been that at all. It wasn’t the right color for humans and yet now that he could see it sliding out of that fucking face, dripping down its nose and ears and holy shit, was it crying black blood?
And Gladio could only stare back at Ignis, who only raised his hand over his mouth as explanation, holding out his own dagger.
“Is it-- fuck.”
The thing drew a jagged breath, and Gladio looked away from Ignis and back down to Prompto, because it was fucking Prompto, wasn’t it?
But Prompto was on the other side of the field with Noctis, and the two were busy laughing and shooting off a few rounds as target practice. The MTs were all dead now, and that was what they were…. Weren’t they? They were fucking dead, because at one point they were alive and they had the same fucking face as Prompto and Prompto was alive and breathing and laughing as he wrapped one hand around Noctis’s waist to pull him close while the other showed the prince how to best aim and fuck.
“I..is that…?”
Ignis shook his head. Not even Iggy had any idea what the answer for this could possibly be.
The thing, that poor, fucking pitiful thing, hacked and cried silently as black bubbled out of its mouth. Gladio couldn’t look away-- he had seen Prompto’s entire body over the years and knew it like he knew his own. And seeing it laid out in MT armor at his feet, cut in half and gasping for air as its skin began to burn and then crack in the sunlight...
Gladio needed to put it out of its misery. He couldn’t watch--he just couldn’t fucking do it.
He looked up to Prompto, at the way his hand was slowly snaking into the hem of Noctis’s cargo pants and the way Noct could only laugh in response as his shot took a curve unexpectedly. That was Prompto, snorting and laughing when Noctis tried to punch him with one hand, his other making the gun disappear into the void.
That was Prompto.
This thing, this fucking thing wearing Prom’s face… this thing with its red eyes, gurgling on black daemon blood…
Gladio needed it to stop. He needed it like he needed air in his lungs or a sword in his hands.
He could feel it, now. When he slid the sword down to the junction where that thing’s neck met its head. It was the snapping of bones and the squirt of blood. After having spent years knowing the feel of killing monsters, animals, daemons and machinery…
He had never killed a person.
(Except he had, hadn't he? And each one of them wore the smattering of freckles on their nose that Prompto did.)
“We say nothing. Not now. Not like this.”
And Gladio agreed, because Ignis knew just as well as Gladio did that something like this would destroy Prompto. The man was strong, had become so much stronger in their journey together, but Gladio could see the cracks in his mask, just like he could see the cracks in the MT’s helmet.
That night they stayed in Old Lestallum in a motel with two beds to a room, and Gladio fucked Prompto harder than he usually did. He was a soft lover, a tender lover, a big fucking teddy bear of a lover who was gentle and delicate with his too big hands… yet that night he bit Prompto on the shoulder until he bled, only feeling a sinking in his gut when he saw the red blood pooling in his teeth marks.
“What’s gotten into you, big guy?” Prompto hissed, though it wasn't accusatory. Part of Gladio wished it was, that way he could think something different, to come up with some kind of blame.
“Sorry. Just,” Gladio grunted as he withdrew, making sure to be more gentle. Prompto wasn't at fault, this had nothing (everything) to do with him. “Just a long day.”
Prompto rubbed at the indents on his shoulder and swore, but he turned to Gladio and swung his leg over Gladio’s calf. “It’s ‘kay. I can handle it.” The blond man nuzzled his forehead against Gladio’s shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”
Could he? Could Prompto handle that black blood and those red eyes?
So, Gladio held the blond in his arms, running the tips of his fingers across his developing muscles and up to Prom’s neck, all the while the remembering the way the MT’s skin parted under his sword.
(He held Prompto’s neck like one would a new sylleblossom, trying to protect it from himself.)