Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The trident flies through the air, dead on target. Noctis doesn’t have to look, he recognises the type of weapon by the sound it makes as it narrowly misses his torso. The three arrow-point heads rip through his shirt and sink deep into the wall. He’s yanked back, mid-leap and slams against the cold surface.

“Damn it!”

He can see the flag. Still a good few feet out of reach; the bright yellow fabric hanging as if in disappointment that Noctis won’t reach it in time.

He twists in place, the t-shirt ripping further as he wrenches on the oversized weapon. It doesn’t budge - metal spokes sunk too deep into the plaster and Noctis too close to get any decent leverage.

The prince twists again, taking a few seconds to glare back at Gladio. The shield says nothing, just gives a smug wave while looking utterly pleased with both the aim and execution of his throw.  

Noctis turns back to the matter at hand. He will not be beaten. Especially not by someone who’s only job is standing around throwing daggers about like they’re cheap shots at his ability.

He rips through the rest of his shirt, slides free of the trident’s grip and phases through the next few targets. Something must have distracted Gladio as no further blades are thrown. The prince takes the advantage, earning back his lead by warping up to the highest point to triumphantly seize the flag.

He doesn’t hesitate, throwing himself off the high training balcony and only warping out of the fall when he’s more than halfway down. He lands close enough to Gladio that his soft brown hair moves in the breeze and Noctis grins up at him.

“That has got to be a new record, right?” He huffs, waving the flag between them. Gladio doesn’t reply, only blinks at him and lost in thought. A small drop of red on Noct’s waist pulls the shield’s attention. Noctis follows the line of his frown and gives his torso a quick swipe with the back of his hand. He shrugs carelessly, unworried and eyes still bright with victory.

“So? Did I beat it?” He presses the other, stretching up on toes to see the timer that Gladio held in his hand.

“A new record – not bad.”

While not exactly a ringing endorsement, the words are the closest thing to a celebration Noctis will get from Gladio. Still, despite Gladio’s reluctance to gush over Noctis’ wins, he didn’t usually stare at the prince as intently as he was doing.

“You wanna tell that to your face, big guy?” Noctis quips.

A scar-sliced eyebrow furrows in response, words on the tip of Gladio’s tongue before he stops himself and gives his watch a quick glance.

“We’ve still got five minutes,” his tone lands gruff and irritated as if the time was an important inconvenience. “Clear this place up.”  

Noctis drops his shoulders. Pivoting in place, he begins retrieving the scattered arsenal that Gladio had thrown into every surface of the training room. He mutters to himself as he does so, quiet enough to be petulant but loud enough for Gladio to hear.

“That was awesome, Noctis. A new record, Noctis. You’re really coming along, Noctis!”

Gladio cuts him off with a sharp look.

“It was awesome, and it is a new record. And, given the improvement in your defence and increased duration of mana, I’d say you’ve been putting in some hours on your own. Which is probably the most impressive thing of all. I just didn’t think you needed me to say it.”

Gladio grabs a bag from the bench at the edge of the room, pulling the water bottle from the side pocket and throwing it casually across the space towards the prince.

“Now clear the damn room.”

Noctis winces as he catches the bottle, both chastised and pleased by Gladio commenting on the extra time he’d put in.

“I don’t need you to say it,” He clicks the bottle cap open and closed. “It’s just nice to hear.”

After a quick drink and a quicker ‘thanks’ as he hands the bottle back, the prince does as he’s told. Clear up was easily the most boring part of their sessions. In fact, Noct would rather have another hour of actual training than do any tidying. Ignis had been banned from the training centre just so he wouldn’t be tempted to scurry around, cleaning up after him.

He summons the sword and pair of daggers that lay nearest to him, hanging them up on the open armiger display left out for training. Gladio was always happy to push the prince to exhaustion in these sessions but still refused to carry all twenty-three armaments they trained with, to-and-from the training centre.  

Noct grimaces as he calls a broadsword from fifteen feet up the wall, dislodging paint and plaster. He’s glad there are no windows in this suite; Gladio really loves to smash shit up in the guise of ‘training’.

Taking advantage of the downtime, he studies Gladio over his shoulder. The shield moves with a surprising grace for someone his size; quick and light on his feet as he makes short work of pushing the floating targets back into their sections along the far wall. He watches the cords of muscle tense and relax, inked biceps bulging with each movement and he can’t help but compare his own lithe and lean frame to that of the shield’s.

Exactly how much would Noctis have to lift—and eat—to be even half Gladio’s size. He flexes his own arms, a small sigh escaping followed by a rapid blush as he catches Gladio watching him. Suddenly aware that he’s still shirtless, he calls the trident back to his hand, tugs his ripped shirt free and dismisses it to the armiger to deal with later.

He puts the last of the gear away, calling the final three to his hands easily and warping them to the storage unit. Gladio watches him patiently, arms crossed calmly and a foot resting on the wall behind him. The shield waits until the last of the weapons are away before he strides quickly to the display stand. Pulling a few daggers and spears out, he hurls them out across the room.

“What the hell?!”

Noctis shouts but Gladio doesn’t stop, grabbing and hurtling piece after piece until all twenty-three are once again strewn across the room. He turns back to Noctis, thunder in his eyes.

“Did you not listen to me?”

“You said to put them away!” Noctis throws his arms up, his voice reaching a Prompto level of indignant “Which I did!”

“And what do I say at the beginning of every session?”

Noctis groans, more annoyed at himself than his trainer.

“Lazy weapon handling leads to a quick death…” He recites, not missing a beat.

“…Take time with your gear and you get time on your life.” Gladio finishes. “Put them away. Properly.”

Noctis rolls his eyes, huffing as he does so, but he knows better than to use his magic as a short cut. Besides, it’s not the first time he’s been told.  

“You know, if we weren’t friends, I’d hate you so much.” His tone is full of disdain but the quirk of his lips and flash of blue steel in his eyes say otherwise.

“And if you weren’t the prince, I’d probably like you a whole lot more.” Gladio returns, firing an easy grin and cheeky wink - quick to form in social settings but a rarity during training where he was all business. He makes his way to the exit, slinging his bag over one shoulder.

“You not waiting?” Noctis asks, unable to hide his disappointment. He yanks a lance out of the ground, bringing with it a few of the wooden floor tiles. He kicks them back into place, pressing them down with his foot, the section of flooring now cracked and uneven.

Totally fine.

“Nah, I’ve er…” Gladio looks away, eyes on the doorframe. He forms a fist, giving the wood a light double tap as he takes his time. “I’ve got something I need to think on, so I’m gonna get.”

“Oh, OK. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. I guess.”

Gladio considers the prince again, silently and thoroughly. Finally, he looks away. Rifling through his bag, he pulls one of his own spare shirts out and throws it to Noct. It’ll dwarf his frame, will no doubt look more like a dress than a shirt. But he can’t have the Prince of Lucis walking around the Citadel without a shirt on. Not only would it reflect badly on the king but honestly the idiot would probably cause a riot just from looking perfectly unkempt and innocent.

“You er, free for a bit before the start of training tomorrow? I’ve got to drop Iris off at karate but I’ll be coming in a little early.” Gladio asks, his mind seemingly made up about something.

“11:00 right? I’m with Iggy first thing—Cor wants me to meet the new glaives—but sure, I should have time for an earlier start.”

“Meet at 10.30? Don’t be late.” Gladio is already out of the door before Noctis can reply.

Chapter Text

The changing room door bursts open and Noctis charges through. The whole panel slams into the wall; ricocheting then banging shut with a loud echo.

He swings around the corner, sliding on the glossy tiles and throws his bag into an open locker. A whirlwind of energy, panting breath and frenzied movements, he begins stripping out of his day clothes and into his gym gear.

“Sorry!” He grimaces at Gladio, face still red from his run through the Citadel. “The introduction was delayed. The recruits screwed up making their bunks, can you believe?”

He bounces on one leg, talking and dressing with equal speed as he throws some trousers on. A t-shirt is hurriedly shoved over his head next.

“So, we had to wait while they were made to strip their beds and remake them – FIVE times! Just to formally meet them,” The prince drops to the bench, pausing as he yanks on one of his trainers to dead eye Gladio. “Even though we were right there, in the room with them the whole time!”

A tightening of laces, and a final huff to his breathing, and Noctis is ready in record time.

Gladio stares at him, impassive. Giant arms crossed and a foot resting on the wall behind him as if he’s been there for hours.

“You’re late.” It’s the only response Gladio gives.

No shit, Shield. Noct blinks slowly, blowing his fringe out of his eye.

“Er yeah. Did you not just hear everything I said?”

Again, Gladio ignores him. The twitch in his jaw lets Noct know the shield is more annoyed than he should be given the prince had a valid reason.

“Training starts in three minutes.” The words are barked out, an unknown frustration behind them.

Noct never really understood how Gladio could switch so easily into training mode. It was like the drills existed in a different time zone. It made no difference to Noctis whether they started in a few minutes or an hour. He goes to say as much but he knows Gladio will argue about responsibility and duty and other words that make Noctis’ skin itch.

“Its fine, we’ll start late. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Gladio looks back to Noctis, thinking but not answering as the prince ruffles his hair back in its usual state of ‘deliberately’ messy (which was not to be confused with actually messy).

Gladio’s pulse quickens as Noctis approaches, the scent of his soap and own scent stirring a quiet desire beneath the irritation.

Noctis, with a face of concern at the extended silence, delivers a light tap to the tattooed bicep.

“You’re making your scar angry. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“We don’t have time to get into it now.” The shield gives an uncharacteristic sigh, the nervous tension weighing on him like a heavy coat. Noctis pushes his hands deep into his pockets, leans back into a deviant stance and glowers.

“Fine,” Gladio concedes. “Look, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to say it.”

“Gladio-Style,” Noctis relaxes, nodding at him to continue. “Go for it.”

He clears his throat first, then dives right in.

“I like you.”

“And not in a friend way. But in the Cosmogony way. The NSFW version - not the Sunday school edition.”

The words come tumbling out, so fast that Noctis almost doesn’t register them.

Cosmo-what…

He’d heard the words, understood them even, but still, something was not quite fitting into place.

NSFW – WTF.

Noctis stares blankly at Gladio. At the five o’clock shadow he already had so early in the day and the fire in the amber gaze that was frantically searching Noct’s own for understanding.

“Cosmogony way means—”

“I know what it means Gladio.” Noctis says, holding a palm up to stop him, a shake of his head in disbelief.

“Oh OK,” The shield takes a breath, even smiles as if he hadn’t just dropped a ‘last episode in the season’ cliffhanger. “Sorry, you seemed confused.”

Gladio, on the other hand seems absolutely fine. Completely unaffected and mostly just relieved that he had finally said it. Which made no sense at all to Noctis because…

Wait, was he being serious?

“I am confused, but—” The shrill beeping of an alarm goes off.

Gladio looks down to his watch, pressing a button and silencing the noise. His face shifts, Shield Amicitia once again in play. Meanwhile, Noctis was still processing a hundred mental images he’d never had before that moment.

“Training - lets go.”

Gladio brushes past him, leaving the locker room and making for the training suite. A dumfounded Noctis stares after him with not enough what the actual fucks in the world to cover what had just happened.

The prince shakes himself out of his revere and stalks after him.

He knew Gladio was a stickler for discipline and routine. It was always work and training first and everything else second with him. However, there were some things that shouldn’t be dropped into a conversation and just as quickly forgotten.

Confessing to your best friend, who you work for and have a life-long duty to protect, had to be one, Noctis reasons as he barges into the training room.

“Astrals’ ass is this conversation done.”

Gladio, now all business, gestures to his wrist. Any previous hesitation and reservation gone as he commands, “We’re on Citadel time; we’ll talk about it later.”

Noctis barks out a laugh.

“Nu huh, sorry,” he says in a tone that was anything but. “We’re on crown time right now and this royal timepiece says what the hell was that about?”

The prince felt completely blind sighted. Thrown off even more by the way his heart had doubled in pace at the words ‘I like you.’

Never in a million years would he have expected the great Gladiolus Amicitia to show any inclination for ‘the bratty prince’ as Gladio called him on every occasion he could.

No. This made absolutely no sense.

Zero.

Unless…

“Ooh,” Noctis draws out, rolling his eyes. A smile creeps over his face, a low laugh flowing from him as he shakes a finger towards his friend.

“Damn Gladdy, you almost had me! Shit, you really did.”

Noct’s laugh grows; all good humour as he lets himself in on the joke. He gives himself a slap to the forehead for being such an idiot and not realising it sooner.

“Did Prompto put you up to this? That little cockatrice, I knew it! He said he would get me, and boy did he!”

Gladio pauses from where he was dragging mats into the centre of the room, a session on long distance warping in mind.  

“What? No, Noctis, I—”

“Damn you Blondie! Using your new found friend connections to prank me.” The laugh peters out into a low chuckle. “Gotta respect the attempt… But it needed to be more believable.”

Gladio opens his mouth, then closes it again. A faint frown creasing his forehead as he tries to get a word in.

“Honestly, he should have gone with someone else. Because this,” Noctis strides over to him, eyeing the shield from head to toe. He grabs a handful of biceps, squeezing gently before clasping a broad feathered shoulder. “…being into this?”

Holding both arms aloft, Noctis looks down at himself despairingly.

“Is a joke.”

“Wait, what?” Gladio’s voice rings hard and upset. He reaches out, pulling on Noctis’ hand to get his attention but Noctis bats him away.

“Seriously, stick to your lane Gladio. You’re not the funny one; leave that to Prompto.”

A new type of anger runs through the shield and he steps into the challenge, mats, training and kind words forgotten.

“Hang on, I am funny! And what am I, if Prompto is the funny one?”

“You know…” Gladio glares at Noctis as if he very much didn’t know. “Prompto is the fun guy. Specs is the serious one. And you’re….”

The glare turns into a full scowl, Gladio daring Noctis to finish his sentence.

“The angry one.”

“The angry one?!”

Noctis recoils from the volume, gesturing with his hands as if to say, I rest my case.

Gladio takes a breath. A curiosity he knows he’ll regret making him ask, “Well, what the hell does that make you, Princess?”

Prince Noctis doesn’t miss a beat, responding with not a hint of sarcasm and as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m the Chosen One.”

Gladio laughs at the absurdity of it, a full deep belly laugh that takes it time to quiet. He glances back to the object of his confession and knows there isn’t a hint of irony in the moniker he’d given himself.

Only Noctis Lucis Caelum could take something as sacred as an ancient prophecy and use it for something so damn immature. It was almost charming.

The shield runs a hand through his hair and can’t help but smile. Genuine affection lighting up his usually serious features.

“You’re so full of it.” The smile deepens as he watches Noctis finish the task of pulling out the mats. He wants to correct the prince, to make him realise just how much all of this really was into all of that.

“Oh, I’m full of it? I’m telling you big guy, you’re getting your ass whopped today for that stunt you just pulled.”

But now wasn’t the time. And if it meant Noctis was going to work harder in the session, as some weird form of retaliation, then for once it didn’t matter that they had started a few minutes late.

Chapter Text

The mattress dips as Gladio shifts on the bed, phone pressed to his ear and the bedroom door locked to keep prying sisters out. He’d already said hello—twice. Too late to hang up now.

“So er—I was wondering…have you, you know…thought any further on what we’d talked about?”

It rushes out. The sentence was both longer and quicker than it needed to be. He slaps the phone to his forehead and groans, sinking further into the pillows, wishing they’d just swallow him whole.

Since when did he stumble over his words? It was bad enough it had taken him over an hour to ring the prince in the first place. By the second round of cleaning the kitchen, Iris had started pestering him, asking what he was avoiding.

He was being stupid.

He’d already done the hard part. And yet what should have been a simple recon call had turned Gladio into an incoherent 13-year-old, blushing and stuttering at just the thought of speaking to Noctis.

“It’s totally fine if you haven’t, I just…thought I’d check in; you know?” Great, now he was sounding like Prompto – with all of the internal panic to match.   

“At training?” There’s a painful pause before Noctis continues. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking it over.”

He had?

“I was actually just talking to Iggy about it last night, you know — just to get an outsider’s opinion.”

He was?

“Really?” Gladio couldn’t keep the hope out of his voice. Surely that was a good thing, right? And Noct hadn’t shot him down, so maybe…

“Yeah, he made some really good points.” There’s a noise through the receiver, Noctis’ voice sounding muffled and some further scuffling. Gladio catches enough to blush at the word ‘stamina’. Just what exactly had he and Ignis discussed?

“Wait, back up, I lost you there for a sec.” Gladio leans forward, as if that would help with his hearing.

“Oh, my bad, I was getting comfy. As I was saying; I’m going to start using magic in short bursts in the days between training. See if that builds up my stamina to delay stasis. I reckon that should help with the long-distance warping.”

Long distance warping…

Something finally clicks in Gladio’s brain, like a train pulling into the station three stops late. Another conversation they’d had at training comes back to him - strategies to improve the distance and altitude of warpstrikes.

The proposal distracts him. It was a solid theory, and would explain why the Glaives were so adept at warping, considering all their daily spell use. He goes to say as much when he remembers he rang for a different reason.

The last thing he needed was for his declaration to be derailed for the second time.  

“Not that, Prince Clueless,” a quirk of irritation restores Gladio’s frank confidence. “Me being into you.”

Another pause, and just a hint of a sigh leaks through the receiver.

“Ooh, right. Sure, of course. It’s allll I’ve been thinking of.” Gladio can feel the sarcasm as if Noctis had reached out and slapped him.

“Look Noct, I don’t want to make anything weird between us. I only said it because—”

“I get it. You just had to say it. I mean, what’s more classic than the bodyguard falling for their charge, right?”

Gladio sits up sharply, nearly dropping the phone at both the accusation and the fact that in lonely parts of the night, he’d had the exact same thought.

“It’s not like that! I don’t even know how it happened,” he bursts out, nothing but sincerity in the words. Truthfully, he had no idea when he’d fallen for Noctis, but the thought of protecting both his life and his heart sat far too comfortably with Gladio to be ignored.  

“I know exactly how it happened - a conspiracy against me. I appreciate your commitment to this prank, but come on Gladio, it’s had its moment.” Noctis sounds both annoyed and bored – his general default setting.

Gladio jumps to his feet, pillows scattering as he starts pacing his room in frustration.

“This is my moment — and I’ve definitely not had it!”

“Whatever big guy! I’ll tell Prom you played the role well, OK? And honestly for a moment there you really had me! I mean, damn can you imagine? Talk about a power couple.”

The idea of them as a couple throws out all of the profanities running through Gladio’s head.

Power couple. Noctis had actually referred to them as a power couple. Shit.  

Noctis doesn’t wait for a response, ploughing on regardless.

“So fine—I admit it—for twenty seconds you had me. Good for you. I accept your confession, Let’s get married; how’s next week suit you?”

“You listen here you little shit—”

 “Oh, hey Specs.” Noctis calls out before returning to Gladio. “Gladio, I gotta go, my other husband has arrived. But I promise I love you and your rock-hard abs more.”

“Noct… NOCTIS!”

Gladio is treated to a series of increasingly exaggerated kissing noises and lewd whispers of goodbye, lover before the line goes dead.

It takes a full ten seconds before Gladio lowers the phone, staring at the screen before it times out. With his temper barely in check, and another failed confession to his name, he wonders just what in the Six made him decide to tell Noctis in the first place.

Chapter Text

It’s hindsight—and Noctis storming out of the training room—that makes Gladio wonder if he should have waited the full minute after training ended, before broaching the topic of them.

“This again, really?” Noctis rolls his eyes and marches off, all but slamming the training suite door into Gladio. He barely gets a few feet down the corridor before he about-faces. “See, this is why you’re not the funny one! You keep flogging a dead horse. The joke is done, Gladio.”  

“Astrals alive, I’m going to give you to the Empire myself if you don’t shut up and listen!” Gladio’s words echo down the bright corridor, earning a few stifled laughs from a line of Crownsguard heading to drills with the Marshal.

The scowl on Noctis’ face tells him just how sick of this conversation he is – a sentiment Gladio felt all too keenly. As a second, larger group of guards round the corner, Noct shifts sideways—right into Gladio’s space, his arm skimming the shield’s chest. It isn’t deliberate, but he ends up close enough that Gladio’s shoulders brush the wall.

The prince steps in close, tilting his neck to meet Gladio’s molten gold gaze—his own eyes dark and flashing from beneath long lashes. It’s a challenge, they both know it. Noct’s raised brow daring Gladio to mention it again.

But Gladio doesn’t. Hell, he can’t even remember what he was going to say as he loses all motor senses. Noctis’ heat and breath stirring into a delicious storm of temptation. His do-over plans and good intentions now silenced by the quickening beat of his heart.

Maybe he should just give up.

Try a more…physical approach.  

He blinks slowly, the picture playing out teasingly in his head.

Grab the shirt…

Pull him close…

Gladio had never allowed himself to indulge in fantasies about Noctis before now – even innocent ones like a quiet, stolen kiss. The shield was too wary of acknowledged desires bleeding through into training. Yet another battle he’d lost this week.

Along with the war of wills as Noctis steps back, silent in victory, a thoughtful look on his face. “Shit, I know what this is really about.”

“Apparently, short-stuff, you don’t,” Gladio’s voice sounds thick with things unsaid. He coughs, sidestepping away and heading once again for the changing rooms.

“You’re feeling threatened. Look, Gladio, just because I have a new best friend that doesn’t mean that you and I are going to change.”

Gladio hovers at the threshold of the changing rooms, an objection already on his lips. But in a weird, twisted way of where Noctis still has the wrong end of the stick – he’d manage to get something right.

 Gladio clamps his mouth closed, the tension in his jaw and deep pride holding him back.

He did feel threatened by the strong bond Noctis had forged with Prompto in such a short time. And if Gladio took a longer look at himself, he’d realise that was part of the reason for telling Noctis how he felt.

But Gladio wasn’t one to dwell too heavily on the whys, so he dismisses it as easily as it was mentioned.

“Noct, that’s not it—"

“Alright, alright, big guy. Whatever you say.” The prince shoulders past him and beelines for the row of lockers.

“Can you just stop and hear me out!”

“No can do.” The tone grates on Gladio, irritation growing as Noctis has already checked out of the conversation. “I’m due to meet Prom when his shift ends and I still need to get across the city.”

Pulling his bag from the locker, Noct grabs his shower supplies.

“He’s trying to convince me to go out with a guy he works with—”

“What? Who?” Gladio’s eyes narrow, his blood heating as he imagines Noct casually blowing off what should be a confession just to hop across town for a date. “Never mind, fuck Prompto and his meet-cute—Noctis listen to me.”

Noctis doesn’t even pause; ignoring the outburst and rambling on about how the guy likes fishing and that Prompto’s found the perfect spot for a first date.

Gladio rubs his eyes with rough fingers as he takes a deep breath, the fuel of frustration driving his impulses. This brat was giving him whiplash from how quickly he could hijack a simple ‘you’re hot, let’s kiss’ speech.  

Damn it!

Why can’t Noctis just shut up and listen to him? It should be simple—ears open and mouth closed.

But instead, he talks on and on until eventually, Gladio snaps.

“You are an incredibly difficult person, do you know that?!”

He yells; a second wave of irritation hits as he falls into the ‘angry one’ trap yet again. As if anyone could blame him dealing with this knucklehead.

“I’m difficult?! Are you kidding me?” The prince scoffs, throws his bag down and turns a glare on Gladio. “You’re always on my back, or having a go at me for something!

“I mean, would it kill you to be a decent human being once in a while and just say something nice—”

“—On your back?” Gladio cuts him off. “You mean preparing you so you don’t die? Pushing you to be your best? That is pretty damn nice if you ask me!”

“That’s not being nice, that’s called doing your job!”

“Well Shiva, I wish someone would invest that level of care and attention into preserving my life! Maybe I’ll just bitch about it like you do instead!”

Both voices fight to shout over the other. The noise striking the lockers and hard walls yet never reaching the other person as arguments collide in a tangled mess.

Noctis shoves his hair back into a hybrid mock-mullet and starts firing off impressions of Gladio. He drops his voice comically deep, struggling to match the baritone.

“Oh, Noctis, you just did something amazing! I better not mention it in case you actually feel good about yourself!” He puffs up his chest, his arms in a power pose that Gladio sometimes pulled when he was in full teacher-mode.

“Hey Iggy, stop being so soft on the guy! Just burn him over an open fire so he’s prepared in case it’s a bit too sunny one day.”

Gladio stops, his own argument wilting as he takes in the display.

The prince looks ridiculous and so damn cute it makes Gladio’s heart ache.

Noct’s hair lays plastered with sweat, limbs bent at odd angles and royal features twisted to mimic Gladio’s expressions. The mannerisms are surprisingly accurate, scarily so. But it looks so out of place on Noct that Gladio can’t help the bubble of endearment blooming in his chest and the smile that pulls at his lips.

Noctis was irritating, prone to distraction, lazy most of the time and often had Gladio considering the benefits of corporal punishment. But he was his idiot, and it didn’t take much for the prince to unknowingly disarm the shield.

“Ifrit’s crack, Noct, can you not be so infuriatingly adorable when I’m pissed at you?”

Noct, like a novice fisherman, catches only the last part and retaliates immediately.

“The Great Gladiolus pissed off with the prince! Well, there’s a surprise!” He cries, throwing his hands up in the air. “It’s not my fault you get henpecked by your little sister every day. Maybe you should be pissed at her for a change instead of me!”

“I don’t get hen—fuck!” Gladio takes a second to stare at the prince, all hope of restoring control gone. “This is not working.”

Gladio storms into the shower cubicle, towel forgotten, radiating frustration and defeat.

*

Ignis’ apartment was minimal and practical, yet somehow—with overstuffed cushions and soft blankets—it remained irresistibly comfortable after a marathon day in the metal-and-marble world of the Citadel.

Still, that didn’t stop Gladio from perching on the edge of the sofa, tension coiled through his frame as he hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees.  

“You can see where my problem is, right?” Gladio’s expression was all seriousness, ready to absorb whatever advice Iggy would give. “And here I was thinking the whole ‘prince-and-shield’ thing would be the hardest part.”

Ignis takes his time to respond, weighing each word carefully. He makes himself a fresh cup of coffee, holding a cup up for Gladio who refuses, a quick shake of his head. The shield already had enough energy in him.

“Noctis is the prince yes,” Ignis begins with all of the sage tone of a man of wisdom. “But he can also be an idiot.”

Gladio huffs, mouth quirking — hard to argue with that. Iggy sinks in the occasional chair opposite the sofa, crossing long legs and letting a hint of a satisfied smile warm his features as he takes his first sip of coffee.

“Perhaps, if he’s not getting the hint then try a different tact? What do you do for example when he doesn’t follow instruction in training?”

“Throw a sword at his nutsack,” Gladio states immediately with such conviction that Ignis can hear the unsaid ‘obviously’.

Ignis blinks, waiting in the vein hope there was maybe something more than just brutal below-the-belt violence. Eventually he concedes.

“Of course you do.” The adviser takes another, longer drink and moves on with all of the diplomacy in the world.

“While I don’t agree with every teaching method you have; I dare say it is an effective one.”

Gladio shrugs in casual agreement, a proud smirk on his face.

“Then I’d suggest you try something of a similar approach – perhaps less life threatening. But something…blunt that comes from a place of emotion.

The shield sits back, a hand scratching at the light scruff on his face as he gives it some thought.

Blunt. He could do that. It’s pretty much what he’s known for.

“And I’d consider an alternative venue, if I were you. Clearly, squeezing in a heartfelt declaration of affection in the corridor between training suites one and two isn’t the most felicitous of locations.”

A sharp brow angles and Ignis stares at him over the rim of the coffee cup. Gladio, oblivious and unaffected, just nods as he runs through options in his mind.

“Hm. OK, let me think on it. Thanks Iggy,” He slaps a decisive hand to his leg, as he stands, a first draft of a plan already forming.

“Don’t mention it,” Green eyes crinkle as Ignis smiles, before coldly adding. “Or this conversation ideally, ever again.”

Gladio claps a quick, grateful hand to Ignis’ shoulder before heading for the door. He knows what he needs to do now. Direct, no room for misunderstandings or escalating squabbles, yet still a declaration from his heart. Ignis calls to him when he’s halfway out the door.

“Oh, and Gladio - good luck. Something tells me you both need it.”

Ignis waits until the door is closed before he pulls out the trashy lifestyle magazine he’d gotten on the way home from work.

“And myself, for that matter,” he murmurs, flipping open the glossy pages.

Chapter Text

Gladio fires off a text to Noct. Checking that he’s home, his fingers move across the screen’s keyboard as swiftly as his legs carry him down the hallway. The recently formed plan and pent-up energy coursing through him refused to leave things for another day. This was getting resolved tonight—one way or another.

The near-instant reply from the prince has him picking up his speed. Impatiently jabbing at the button for the lift. He doesn’t wait, slipping between the doors as they continue to slide open. By the time he reaches Noct’s door, he’s so adrenaline fuelled, he knocks twice as usual, then keeps knocking. Again and again until at last its answered.

He bursts into Noct’s apartment. Avoiding eye contact and talking quicker than Prompto would, hands gesticulating every word.

“Listen up. I’m going to say some things to you, a lot of things. You’re going to joke and dismiss them. Instead, try keeping your mouth shut.”

His voice was too loud, too fast — the kind of pace that made it clear he was running from his own hesitation.

“Oh, please do come in, Gladio,” Noctis drawls. “Make yourself right at home by berating me before I’ve even shut the door.”

Gladio mentally runs through the Crownsguard vow—his lucky mantra—as a final boost of confidence.

Now or never.

Noct swings the door closed. Turning back, he catches a glimpse of a very determined looking shield before he’s pushed forcefully up against the door. A protest hangs on his lips, instantly cut off as he’s pressed flush against the wood, Gladio’s hand on his hip keeping him firmly in place.  

The click of the latch catching forces a breath out of him.

Gladio is so close.

Closer than he’s ever been, even in all of their years of training together. And Astrals, that look. Not angry — no. Something just as passionate, just as powerful. New, unseen. And Noctis could drink it up all day.

Gladio towers over him, the space between them as narrow as the distance between Noct’s heartbeats as he spirals into the hope that Gladio will kiss him. But the shield doesn’t, stopping a hair’s breadth from doing so, a steady, controlled exhale misting Noct’s upper lip.

“Look at me,” Gladio commands. The husk in the words has Noctis obeying, his gaze flickering up to meet the fire that burned in the other’s. He has to tilt his head to do so, a lip fleetingly brushing the stubble on Gladio’s jaw. The blush that colours Noct’s face at the touch has Gladio wishing he’d done this from the very beginning.

“You need to listen the fuck up to what I’m about to say. Am I clear?”

Noctis blinks slowly, his gaze dropping of its own accord to Gladio’s lips before he remembers his orders and meets his eyes again. He nods once, before shakily answering.

“Crystal.”

So Gladio starts.

And once he starts, he finds he can’t stop. Every thought, every fleeting desire and deep-seated, heartfelt respect he has pours out so quickly and unbidden it’s as if his jaw unhinged under the weight of it all.

He probably should’ve written a script first. Heck even bullet points would have been better.

Instead, he says some colourful things — about wanting to do things to Noct that are wholly inappropriate and, honestly, probably unsanitary. The kind of stuff that would have Ignis reaching for disinfectant and divine intervention. Then a few tamer comments. About how Noct’s ridiculous hair is beautiful and perfect. And how every smile he gives Gladio, pierces straight through his chest. Every flip, every hard-earned comeback during training makes those sessions both a thrill and a challenge.

And if Noct ever actually did as he was told, he’d probably have a heart attack — but still, Gladio notices every tiny improvement, every bit of progress. No one’s prouder than he is. If he could, Gladio would keep Noctis by his side every damn day, even when he’s being Crown Prince of Pain in the Ass.

“Now, I have no idea how we ended up here, and no idea what happens next. But I needed you to know, because—shit. I don’t even know why, but I couldn’t take another day of you not knowing just what you mean to me.”

“Which is everything, Noctis. You, are everything.”

And suddenly he stops.

He feels both drained, like after council meetings, and wired, like he’s just run a mile. He exhales, solid and sudden. Noctis’ own chest, rising and falling quickly.

The two watch one another and Gladio realises, about a minute too late that he really didn’t have an end game. The very real fear of rejection making him question if he’d just kicked up a shit storm and an even greater fear that, fuck – he’d need to explain to his dad how he’d been the first Amicitian fired as shield for perving on the prince.

Eventually Noctis speaks, pressing his lips together slowly before doing so.

“You’re serious.” It’s not a question. And the two continue their silent stare-down. The hand on Noct’s hip moves, only to settle into a more comfortable (but still possessive) grip.

“…as Ignis.”

“And you’re not—” Noctis wavers, eyes searching as he considers his next words.

“—being Prompto and having a joke?” Gladio provides. “No.”

Gladio relaxes into the familiar territory of typical conversation, declaration done and feeling confident that for the first time this week he’s actually been heard. The anxiety slides from him, a sweet new tension heating his core instead as he rests an arm on the wall above Noctis’ head.

He’d always wanted to do this—to back his prince into a corner, pressed temptingly against a wall. Using his height for something other than just a strategic advantage in battle.

Noctis doesn’t push him away, the furrowed brow and rouge cheeks evidence he was still trying to process the myriad of affection—and filth—Gladio had bestowed upon him. He looks the most adorable shade of muddled that the shield takes advantage, the hand on Noct’s hip tightens — just enough to make him twitch.

“Oh-kay,” The word comes out as a stutter, followed by a hurried licking of dry lips. Noctis gets just enough composure to tame his racing heart. He traces the line of Gladio’s jaw with his gaze as he says, “and you’re not,”

“Angry?” Gladio responds with a low chuckle. “No. Not this time.”

Gladio’s hand drifts from Noct’s waist, tracing a careful path up his torso. The touch is languid — nothing like the proficient, disciplined contact of their training. When his palm finds Noctis’ cheek, the prince’s breath stirs against his skin. A calloused thumb grazes the curve of Noct’s lower lip as he goes to speak.

“And I, apparently really am Chosen.” Despite the intimacy of the situation, Noctis can’t keep the smug satisfaction from his voice.

Gladio concedes a laugh at that, moving his fingers to smooth a stray lock of hair, his voice full of deference as he agrees. “Heck, you’re right Noct; you are most definitely chosen.”

“So… all those times—it wasn’t a prank?” He replays all of their earlier conversations – from the ambush to the evening call and brusque corridor chat. “You really were trying to tell me, you…liked me?”

The absurdity of it all has him biting his lip to keep from laughing. Instead, he grounds himself by playing with the skull necklace that the shield has worn since he’d known him.

“Yup.” Gladio delivers, sharp and to the point.

“Wow. That must have been really annoying.” He doesn’t even try to hide the lilt of humour as he pushes Gladio back, just enough to be able to focus properly.

“Yup,” the word lands crisper this time, all edge and hidden exasperation. 

Noctis drops his shoulders, feeling completely at peace, as if being pinned to his front door by his trainer was just an average Friday night occurrence. Gods I hope so.

He straightens the necklace, catching the smooth planes of Gladio’s chest.

“You know, in my defence,” the tone shifts, Noct’s voice less thick. “You probably could have been clearer.”

“No—” Gladio jerks his head back, eyes narrowing and jaw locked as he says. “I definitely couldn’t have been clearer. I literally said the words ‘I like you’. You’re just an idiot.”

Noctis scoffs, face twisting but he keeps his hand on the shield. The gentle stroke from his fingers in complete contrast to his clipped words.

“You dropped it on me and then went off to training. What kind of love declaration is that?”

Gladio gapes at him. Was this brat seriously trying to turn this around on Gladio? He leans his legs into Noctis, grabbing his chin in one hand and lifting his face harshly so Noctis had to look directly at him.

“YOU were the one that was late! And hold your warpstrikes there Princess, who said anything about love?” Gladio was absolutely not ready for that conversation.

Bahamut, I’ve not even survived this one yet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I robbed you of twenty-seven minutes before we would have then gone straight into training.” With how much Gladio was now crowding him, Noct could do little more than roll his eyes and tsk.

“You know what—” Gladio pulls away, then stops, catching the coy sheen in Noctis’ eye and the self-congratulating smirk. “No way am I letting your railroad me this time.”

Oh, he’d make him smirk alright.

Gladio would make Noctis sorry for every day, every hour he’d delayed the next thing from happening.  

He doesn’t wait for Noctis to finish smiling—closing the distance in one impulsive move, kissing him hard and full, with all the intensity of their sparring matches. The world shrinks to shared air, heat, and the rough drag of fabric as Noct’s fingers bunch in his shirt, tugging him closer—
when Noct starts kissing him back just as fiercely.

For a second, Gladio’s brain blanks. Then it hits him — the Son of an Astral is trying to lead.

Is he seriously trying to win his own confession kiss?

Gladio tightens his grip, matching the pace, deepening until the power shifts again. The air between them crackles until he breaks away. He lingers close enough for his next words to brush against Noctis’ mouth.

“Are you absolutely clear now?”

“To be honest big guy,” Noctis takes his time answering, talking through a grin. “I think I’m still confused – can you explain it to me again?”

The comment brings both colour to Gladio’s cheek and confidence to his movements as he wraps an arm around the small of Noct’s back, pulling him flush to him.

“Only if that is your way to get me to kiss you again and not you actually missing the punch line. For the fourth time.”

“What do you think?” Noctis arches an eyebrow, a flick of his tongue relishing the taste of Gladio on his lips. Slowly, he snakes his hands around Gladio’s neck, air warming and fingers lacing into soft waves of hair.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan to do any training in three, or thirty minutes.”
They both lean in, as Noctis hums, “So feel free to take your time with your explanation.”

Gladio kisses him again — slower this time, just enough to make his point — then pulls back with a smirk.
“Y’know,” he says, voice low and smug, “on second thought… maybe now’s the perfect time for a little training.”

Noctis groans, dropping his forehead to Gladio’s chest, but the shield is already on the move. He yanks the door open, pushes Noct into the hallway, a pair of trainers thrown at him for good measure.

“Gladio, come on, you’re not seriously—” He glances up and down the corridor, as if it might offer an escape. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nothing about this week has been funny, Princess.” Gladio steps into the long, marbled hallway, checking the distance before pressing the timer on his watch.

After much bemoaning, muttering, and generally being a little bitch, Noctis finally pulls his shoes on, tying his laces with impressive rage.

“Twenty laps ought to do it.” Gladio leans forward, delivers a short, swoon-worthy kiss—already knowing this is how he plans to start every training session from now on—and slaps a palm across Noct’s arse.

“Go!”