downrightfierce | 008. prompto/gladio; oh, you're in my veins

008. prompto/gladio; oh, you're in my veins

and i cannot get you out

Prompto was pretty sure he was an idiot. No… not pretty sure. He knew he was an idiot.

And really… Cid and his never ending taunts to the marks on his neck were not helping. Nor was the fact he fucking hurt. He felt a little bit like he'd gotten hit by a truck. Or, more accurately, that he'd almost died, had his side torn to shreds and then decided to have some of the most intense sex of his life. Yeah… he was definitely feeling it.

But as much as a mess as his body was, it had nothing on his state of mind.

Because he had had some of the most intense sex of his life with Gladio, proceeded to spend the night with him cuddling, and then the morning he'd tried to fucking high five the other man, thanked him for the sex with a thumbs up and tripped over his own damn two feet as he tried to hightail it out of the caravan. Not exactly his smoothest moment.

“You. Are. Such. An. Idiot.” He mumbled and let his head fall onto the workbench. Gave it a few more hits with his forehead for good measure and realized he'd forgotten all about Cid for half a minute, at least until the older man started to laugh.

“Well I ain't gonna argue you on that one, kid, but you think you can keep the dramatics to a minimum here… we got work to do,” Cid said and pointed the end of a screwdriver at the pile of weapons on the end of the bench.

Prompto lifted his head. Sighed. Straightened up and grabbed the gun next to him. If nothing else it could maybe distract him from his own idiocy for a while. Distract him from that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had completely fucked everything up with his inability to be normal that morning. Distract him from how he could still feel Gladio's hands all over him, how the marks on his body still felt the ghost of lips, how he could still feel Gladio in him every time he moved.

Distract him from how he wanted more.

And it worked. For a while. He got lost in the work with Cid, found his mind clearing as he focused on the repairs and modifications, felt better as he took something broken and made it better. Worked at least until his phone buzzed against the bench where he had plugged it in to charge. He glanced up from his work and seeing that it was a text from Cindy he put his tool down and grabbed the phone.

Hey, Heartbreaker… looks like tall, dark, and handsome is getting ready to take off… thought you might like to know

The panic was almost immediate. Gladio was… leaving!?!? And that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach threatened to overt take him, felt massive all the sudden as his throat went dry and he could barely swallow against the hard lump caught in the back of it. His hands started to shake… and he knew from experience that this could quickly go into a full out panic attack if he didn't nip it in the bud.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe…

Five things to see; gun, screwdriver, phone, hammer, Cid. His eyes darted to each in kind. Four things he could touch; metal, workbench, denim, his own arm. And so his hand moved from gun to table top to his knee to arm. Three things to smell; gunpowder, the terribly fruity shampoo he'd borrowed from Cindy when he'd gotten back to the garage, the smoke from Cid’s pipe on the table. Two things he could hear; Cid drumming his fingers on the workbench… the blood as it rushed in his own ears and one thing he could taste was the bile that threatened in the back of his throat.

Fuck.

Prompto scrambled off the stool and ignoring Cid’s concerned voice behind him he bolted from the back room and to where he knew Gladio had parked his bike. He stopped a few feet short and now there had no idea what to even say.

“You're leaving?” he asked after a moment. His voice thin and tight.

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In the end, he wouldn't have been surprised if Prompto, and Ignis, were angry with him. It was something he would have accepted because it was fair. He had been the beginning of the cracks that should have destroyed their friendship, yet... this was proof it wasn't beyond repair. It had been changed, cracked, but not completely gone.

He was grateful as anything for that. It would have been another marker on his grave to have been the murderer of their brotherhood.

Gladio reached over and turned the water off, running his fingers through his hair a few times to get out the tangles from washing it, then grabbed for a towel. A brisk drying, body first, then his hair, before he tucked it around his waist. When he came to peer into the mirror, he had to bend over, but he did rub his thumb over his jaw. "Been needing to clean this up for a while, but ain't doing shit without a mirror and time."

...Might take the chance to slap Prompto's backside sticking out.

He jumped a little with a hey! at the slap to his ass, but there was a laugh that was quick follow. "Come on now, that's a sensitive area today," he pointed out with a wink and moved to let Gladio at the mirror.

"Yeah you're looking a little mountain man-y," he pointed out and sat on the closed toilet seat lid. A small shrug. "Not that it's not a good look, because it is, but..." another little shrug. "There's like good mountain man-y and then I haven't shaved in two years mountain man-y..." he was rambling.

"I promised you a massage, I remember." Gladio's smirk showed that he definitely had no problem in that ass slap and probably would do it again if he had the chance.

"Speaking of," Gladio said as he pulled out the small shaving kit, the straight razor flashing out before he checked the edge, "see you're starting to not do the shaving thing, either. Bit of a mess, kid." His voice was teasing, looking amused but actually serious in his offer.

He had a bit of soap in there and he worked up a lather, running the lather over his cheeks and neck. "I think I can rock the mountain man look, though."

"Hey, it's distinguished!" he tried to counter but ended up scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. A shrug and he looked up at Gladio. "I uh - ran out of a razors like four months back," and really it's probably pathetic that it even took four months to get where he was. Which was patchy and admittedly fairly terrible even with all his posturing to the opposite.

"You could probably pull off any look though, Gladio, I mean... come on," said with a light chuckle and he made quick work of tossing his boxers back on but didn't make a move to get dressed much past that.

"Distinguished? Yeah that's a word for it." He reached over and brushed his thumb over Prompto's stubble, silently being like yep, peach fuzz, this is what he grows in the space of a day, but just gave a quiet laugh. "Here. If you want to clean it up." He folded the straight razor back up and offered it over to Prompto, the concept that the blond might not know how to use it not even crossing his mind.

Those shitty disposables couldn't handle his beard, and his father had taught him at a young age how to shave with the straight razor. You won't always have electric laying around, and besides, it's a hell of a weapon if you ever need to shove it in your boot. He could still remember staring up at his father, there in the safe, warm comfort of his parent's bathroom back at home, surprised to hear that but nodding as if he completely understood.

Now he did. All the little things he couldn't go back and thank his father for.

He made a bit of a face at Gladio as he poked fun. A shake of his head at the offered razor. "Oh come on, dude," he started with his tone light and self deprecating. "You really think it's a good idea to let me anywhere near my neck with that kind of blade," finished with a small laugh.

Which, in addition to pointing out his ability to trip over nothing on a good day level of clumsiness at times, also means he has no freaking clue how to use that thank you very much. His dad hadn't really been around enough, or cared enough really, to take the time to pass along any sort of sage man knowledge. And given he hadn't though the world would end up how it was, he never sought out how to shave with anything other than the easy to use disposables himself.

For a long few seconds, Gladio eyed Prompto over, then a warm smirk touched his lips and he gestured at the toilet. "Sit." Pointed and simple, trusting that the other would do so. He continued on his preparation, but it wouldn't be for him.

Hot water on the cloth, a bit of shaving soap to foam up, then Gladio came over, looming over Prompto. "Chin up, then don't move."

He'd wrap the hot cloth over Prompto's chin, cheeks, and neck.

He huffed a questioning sort of sound but followed the directions anyways. Sitting on the lid of the toilet and chin jutted up it was only when Gladio came back with the cloth did he really clue into what was happening.

Gladio was going to shave the shitty, patchy, terrible chin fuzz he had going on.

It was at once utterly endearing, kind of hot and downright terrifying. Any by far one of the most intimate things he'd ever done in his life. He forced himself to stay present as he realized Gladio was moments away from holding a blade to his skin, forced himself to remember where he was, who he was with. Shoved the panic at the vulnerability to the back of his mind.

Gladio, this was Gladio… a silent mantra that ran through his mind.

First, Gladio slid the cloth around Prompto's neck, letting the wet heat soak into the skin. "...gotta get your skin wet and the heat softens everything up. Trying to shave dry you might as well be shaving with sandpaper." He chuckled, not really aware of just how terrified Prompto really was in that moment. "Plus I've got some soap I save just for shaving - gotta find another bar, sometime, almost out - makes it so the razor glides."

It was so strange, the idea of teaching someone their age how to shave, but it came easier than he expected. A lot of that, he suspected, was because it was Prompto and it just was hard to be awkward around him. His fingers slowly massaged the cloth in against Prompto's skin, watching him as he stood there. "You probably could manage something on your chin, if you let it grow." His thumb rubbed across that chin.

He was quiet as Gladio talked, his eyes on the other as he worked. It was nice, letting someone take care of him. Nice to have something to focus on other than the sad state of affairs their world had turned out to be. And if he was feeling lame for this impromptu lesson he didn't show it. Didn't much feel it either. Not with Gladio.

There's a wrinkle of his nose at the suggestion of growing it out. “Yeah but I'd have to get through the gross patchy thing first,” though he'd thought about it a few times. “Might make me not look twelve though,” with a shrug and a little laugh.

His hands rested on his knees, fingers flexed but not nearly as tight as he'd expected. But still… “Can you - can you keep talking, when you start,” asked softly, asked because he wants to keep this the way it feels right then. Like being taken care of by Gladio was nice and not fall into the traps of his own mind.

"You don't look twelve," Gladio grumbled, frowning down at Prompto about that before pointing out, "I'm not into teens." His thumb brushed over a bit of cheek above the towel before he pulled it away and slid that thumb along the rougher part of the cheek, nodding in approval. After he put the cloth aside, he worked the soap in between calloused palms until he had some foam to work with and patted it along where the razor would need to go.

The request made him raise an eyebrow, but he just gave a nod. "Sure." As simple as that, though he wondered why. His gaze asked the dozen questions his lips didn't, but he finally did give into one easier one. "So, you keeping the soul patch or am I getting rid of it?" He grabbed the razor and flipped it open, letting Prompto make the final decision on the bit of hair. "Or I could clean you up and leave it, see what you think, and trash it if it doesn't look good."

He knew it was an odd request, but still asked. The situation playing into some still very vivid memories of blades - albeit quite larger ones - being held close to his throat with his life gleefully threatened. And while Ardyn had certainly made a convincing Noctis it had still been off in subtle ways. The inflection of a word, the tone of a sentence, a word choice that Noctis never would have dreamed of making.

So yeah, it would be better to hear Gladio talk.

Prompto shrugged a little though at the question asked of him. “Second,” he answered after a moment. “I kind of like the chin fuzz,” aka the only part of his facial hair that hadn't come in as a patchy mess.

Gladio knew basically nothing of Prompto's time away from the group, no more than Prompto knew about his, but his didn't come with the quiet, subtle signs of trauma that Prompto still carried with him, nor had they found Gladio hurt (...well, the scar on his forehead but-) or bound up in an enemy lair. Yet it didn't feel like he had the right to ask or even to offer up an ear. If Prompto wanted to talk about it, Gladio imagined he would.

Then again, he never would have imagined Prompto capable of keeping in a secret like he had about what he was for all of those years. It didn't change who Prompto was, not for any of them, but it did tell Gladio back then that there was more to Prompto than met the eye.

"Alright, alright. Let me clean you up and maybe you can make the fuzz look decent." Gladio chuckled and lightly took hold of that chin, looking over the angles of Prompto's face. "It's all about the angle you hold it at. Gotta put it at just the right angle so it slides without chaffing." The razor finally touched skin, then he gave a light scrape, showing Prompto what it would feel like. "See? Just like that." He tilted the blade up in front of Prompto's eyes so he could see the foam and the little bits of hair.

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008. prompto/gladio; oh, you're in my veins

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