Chapter Text
Soft, white light woke Gladio with soft, warm kisses to his nose and cheeks. It spilled in through the open window just above the bed like warm honey from a spoon- a delicacy deserveding to be savored and enjoyed in all ways. Its gentle cadence was scattered across the blankets and furs that Gladio had spread across his mattress. The spring nights were chilly, and most certainly nipped at his nose and fingers no matter the size of the fire in his hearth.
It wasn’t often that Gladio could describe his mood as lazy or lackadaisical; however, this morning was definitely suited to that description. There was nothing that could draw Gladio from bed that morning: no gil, no work, no promises large enough to lure him away from such perfection.
There was, however, one very good reason to stay in.
Gladio could count the mornings he would wake, go out in search of him, and return to bed with Prompto, but never had it been like this. Never had he managed to convince his flighty partner to stay, embalmed in warmth and love under the cover of night to await this delicious morning light. They’d enjoyed each other’s company more than once the night before; something about their reunion had made Prompto voracious, and Gladio could never complain about taking the man in his arms and loving him wholly.
Soft blonde waves spilled across the tender, supple skin of his chest like a waterfall of golden flax. Gladio had never realized before how delightfully soft Prompto’s hair was. Then again, all of Prompto was soft; his hair, his skin, his eyes, his smile. His heart, first and foremost. He couldn’t help himself, he had to reach out and touch him, dare to disturb such perfect slumber as he brushed an errant curl from his cheek.
Eyelashes, long and curling, barely fluttered over peachy, freckled skin as he slept. Though Prompto was always full of energy and nearly nervous, his slumber was deep and calm. The elf merely wriggled closer to Gladio, using his large body as a pillow; with a freckled arm tossed over his shoulder, a slight body nearly atop him, and a thigh resting over his, he wasn’t going anywhere, even if he wanted to.
Which he definitely didn’t.
Gladio rested his head comfortably against his free arm and entertained himself idly with the delicate green tendrils that traced across Prompto’s skin. He dragged his calloused fingertips across their surfaces, tracing every curl and memorizing their tangling paths across his lover’s body. Creeping up his neck and onto the graceful planes of Prompto’s face, Gladio wondered how far they went. Did they travel into his hair? Behind the shell of his ear?
They’d spent so much time together, and yet there was still so much left to know. The thought both elated and depressed him. A barrier as strong as language and culture was difficult to overcome. It felt nearly glacial in size and pace, but Gladio knew it was melting away. Whether it would take months or years was the true, terrifying question.
“Nn,” Prompto murmured. Almost immediately, his face scrunched and pressed into the valley of Gladio’s chest. He smiled and chuckled at Prompto’s sleepiness, and was nearly surprised by how someone so vibrant could resist the pull of the sun so strongly.
“Good morning,” Gladio said, his voice rumbling through him.
There was just a peek of clematis-colored eyes looking at him sourly before the elf lowered his face to Gladio once again.
“The sun’s up,” he murmured, running his hand through golden flax. “You up?”
“ Limbe kal ,” Prompto muttered, pulling a blanket over his head.
“In Lucian, Prompto,” Gladio chuckled, lifting the blanket to peek at him.
Yanking the blanket back down, he squeaked, “too much sun!”
It took him a moment to realize that Prompto probably slept somewhere inside the great tree- Mother tree, he reminded himself- that he revered so deeply. It was probably dark and warm in there, unlike here, where the air’s chilly kiss and the sun’s unrelenting rays woke him. Gladio sighed before pulling the blanket further until it covered both their heads.
“Good now?” Gladio asked. “Or still grumpy?”
“Hm….” Prompto said, resting his chin on his hands so he could peer up at Gladio. Sleep shrouded his eyes in a haze. “Good,” he started, interrupting himself with a yawn.
Gladio thought his heart would quite possibly burst with affection. He gently took the slender elf in his arms to better hold him against his chest and was met with no resistance. Prompto merely melted into his surface, filling every gap, scar, and curve of his body happily. The blonde wriggled closer until the tips of their noses just barely brushed.
“Perfection, Gladiolus,” Prompto whispered. The dazed sleepiness was lifting from his eyes, reflecting their brilliance deep within their amethyst pools. Gladio settled his hands low on Prompto’s back as he relished the feel of their bodies moving against each other’s, of supple skin lying flush. If it were possible, Gladio would have willed the imprint of every one of Prompto’s freckles to lay in his skin like perfect little scars.
“What is perfection?” Gladio teased, for he liked to think he already knew the answer, and that it lied flat across his chest.
Prompto hummed nervously as a shy smile crossed his cheeks and a blush painted his face. “You know.”
“I do not,” Gladio scoffed.
The blonde wriggled against him anxiously. His hands shot up to cover his face; it was then that Gladio took a moment to admire the creeping vines of his tattoo that grew here, too, even snaking up the third finger of his left hand to coil around it like a snake. Gladio set his fingertips into his ribs and wiggled them gently into his sides, eliciting a shrill shriek he was sure his neighbors could hear.
“Prompto!” Gladio laughed. The sound echoed through him like a drum.
“You! You!” the elf shrieked. Gladio dropped his hands to his sides as he looked at Prompto with an expectant smile.
“Perfection Gladiolus,” Prompto squeaked.
“ Perfect . Perfect is a word for a word. Perfection is a word all by itself.”
“What??”
“Nevermind,” Gladio said, rolling his eyes and smiling. Glacial, he reminded himself.
“Perfection,” Prompto murmured, pressing a kiss to Gladio’s waiting lips. “Perfection is Gladiolus.”
Gladio could feel a blush rise in his cheeks, as much as he tried to fight it. The sight of it made Prompto giggle impishly. “Gladiolus…” he said teasingly.
“I’m getting up,” Gladio grunted, tossing the blonde to the side and rising from the bed. “Work, for the both of us.”
“No!” Prompto exclaimed, holding Gladio’s wrists so tightly it almost hurt him, if Prompto could hurt anything. “Stay. Please? Stay in bed with me.”
“Prompto…”
“No, no, no,” Prompto said anxiously, rising to his knees and scooting to the edge of the mattress so he could wrap his arms around Gladio’s trunk. “Stay. Please?” he begged before kissing the sensitive, tan skin of Gladio’s stomach. Prompto made quick work of Gladio’s pliant will, bending it easily with kisses and touches. “Stay here. Stay in bed with me,” he pleaded again, his voice dropping, low and husky.
Gladio smirked at him before lowering himself back into bed. Little did he know that Prompto would keep him there in a mess of tangled limbs and love all day long.
“No, Gladiolus.”
“Prompto, we need-”
“No!”
“I’m all out, I used all the lumber during the winter.”
“So braid cord. You are braid maker.”
“Prompto.”
“No more wood. Let forest be.”
With that, Prompto dropped his head back down to the mattress and pulled one of Gladio’s furs over his head. Though small and delicate like a flower, the elf’s nature was more stubborn and obstinate as stone. This wasn’t the first time that morning the blacksmith had tried to prod his moody lover out of bed. He was sure, though, that it would be the last.
“ I’m going,” Gladio said, rising from the mattress. His hips ached and his back screamed for relief; Prompto’s voraciousness, while incredibly enjoyable, continued to remind him that he was only human and that his lover was not. The elf’s vitality proved trying in more than one way, and for him to keep up was a sure test of endurance.
“Gladiolus! No. No trees. You need me,” Prompto gasped, popping out from under the dingy grey fur, violet eyes alight and shining.
Gladio shrugged a shirt over his head and slipped on his trousers. “Better hurry, then,” He said with a grin.
“ No ,” Prompto whined.
With a furrowed brow and slight frown, Gladio beheld his companion. Prompto was utterly disheveled. The perfect, plush form of his lips, still swollen from frenzied kisses and more sultry acts, curved downwards in a tight frown. Blonde locks were strewn across his face haphazardly, the gentle curls and waves long gone to the harsh touch of the mattress and fingers tangled in it time after time.
More disturbing than the messy hair and discontent, though, was his lack of color. The elf’s normal, freckled, tattooed pallor, which was always gently sunkissed, was faded at best. Beautiful, green vines, which normally stood stark against his skin like stones in the snow, had grown so faint Gladio was sure the only reason he could see them was because he’d memorized every single one.
Even the vibrant lavender hue of his irises looked bleak. Their usual, mesmerizing sparkle was replaced with a distant haze. The only thing truly apparent in his gaze was the desperation. Gladio could see it in the graceful arc of his eyebrow, the gentle flare of his nostrils, the moisture welling at the corners, promising to spill over.
It was terrifying, the stark, painful memory of Prompto’s eyes imbued in Gladio’s mind. A heart-shattering song, a limp body, panic. The certainty of death staring him straight in the face.
Prompto had gone without his forest for too long and Gladio could see it plain as day in his withering features. How , exactly, Prompto got his magic, his energy, his very life from the forest, Gladio had no idea. He’d spent nights sipping mead and wracking his brain, hoping that a mind saturated with the spirit would bring him some kind of wisdom, but all he got was a headache. When he’d asked Prompto, the barrier of language stood stronger and taller than any wall.
Gladio sighed as he looked at his companion. There had to be some kind of compromise, anything to get him into the woods and saturate his body with his magic. Work was out of the question, which was unfortunate- Gladio needed to make some money after the winter- but he could live off of the healthy savings he’d accrued over the past year. Prompto had helped him so much, after all. He felt as if he owed the little elf part of the small fortune.
Though Gladio was tempted to ask him what was wrong, over the past few days Prompto had successfully diverted any attempts at what they called conversation with frantic kisses that builded quickly. There was no way Gladio would willingly object to that, but now, he could see that Prompto needed more. He needed green trees, grass, and the flow of warm water over him. There was one place he could think of that his conniving lover couldn’t resist.
“Let’s go to the spring,” Gladio said with a soft smile as he brushed the edge of Prompto’s jaw with a weathered thumb. “We smell.”
“Smell?” Prompto asked, his face contorting in confusion adorably.
Gladio mimed smelling the inside of his shirt and fanning his nose. Prompto laughed at the gesture; the musical chime of his laugh, enchanted more by his accent, was bleary compared to others.
“But…” Prompto began, concern rippling across his features.
“Nope,” Gladio said firmly, picking Prompto’s tunic up off the floor and thrusting it into his chest. “Dress.”
Prompto sourly pulled the luscious, green fabric over his head and took far too long primping little wrinkles out of the sleeves. Gladio sighed before bending over and tossing Prompto over his shoulder.
“Gladiolus!” Prompto exclaimed, both surprised and offended.
“Sorry, little elf. No more waiting.”
“No!” Prompto cried, his voice breaking as he pounded weakly against the firm muscles of Gladio’s back. His fists bounced off the muscled planes of his torso like pebbles off a pond, scarcely disturbing the large man and eventually fading away to defeat. As Gladio left his home and marched into the forest with a dawdling, curious Carbuncle in tow, he could hear the sad sigh of his lover from over his shoulder.
The fists stopped raining down across the broad planes of his upper back. Prompto laid limp over his shoulder as Gladio finally entered the sanctity of the inner forest. They were nearing the hotspring now, and the faint smell of sulfur and moisture in the air was a wondrous welcome. Gladio stopped to set Prompto on his feet, who fell behind to walk beside Carbuncle with a fistful of her mane in his hand.
The elf was upset. Gladio couldn’t blame him; he’d literally dragged him out of bed against his will. He knew Prompto needed to be here though, to be amongst the trees to recharge himself and his magic. Gladio looked over his shoulder to find sagging bags beneath Prompto’s eyes and wilted posture in his thin frame. They had arrived at just the right time.
Snow still littered the forest floor in thin, icy patches. Prompto tiptoed across the forest floor gracefully, as he always did, uncaring about sinking his bare feet into the greying, sludgy snow. Gladio watched with a chuckle as one particularly deep patch sent a shiver up the elf’s spine. Reaching for him, Prompto timidly took Gladio’s hand as they neared the hotspring. He couldn’t help but notice the apprehension hiding among clematis.
They both stripped before stepping into the steaming water of the hot spring. Morning sunshine filtered through the naked branches overhead; tiny buds of promise were beginning to sprout, showing the little green leaves each branch had endured to create. The hot water shrouded Gladio’s body, and he sighed in relief as he settled his back against a broad, hot stone.
Prompto had chosen to sit beside a particularly tall boulder, sinking so deeply Gladio could only see his freckled nose and violet eyes. The fear he’d seen before was more apparent now; it was almost as if the elf was trying to hide himself in the hot spring. Of course, that was impossible with his flaxen hair shining in the sun and tattooed flesh standing out in front of his dark, stony background.
“Prompto,” Gladio said softly, beckoning him closer. The elf glided through the spring before settling in Gladio’s lap. Prompto gently trembled in Gladio’s embrace as he hugged him back. “Tell me.”
The elf shook his head aggressively. “Can’t.”
“Words?” Gladio offered. “I can help.”
Prompto paused, sitting back in Gladio’s lap to clasp his hands over his heart and shake his head. “No, Gladio,” he sighed. “So, so bad.”
“What?” Gladio asked, his brow furrowed in concern. “What is it?”
The elf merely tipped his head back, tightening his lips into a thin line as tears began to fall from his eyes. Shoulders bobbing with each sob, Gladio watched as Prompto broke down. He’d never seen him so upset. His heart ached as he watched with confusion and empathy ripping a hole wide open in him.
“Prompto, Prompto,” Gladio murmured, holding the elf tight against his chest. He murmured soft, comforting sounds under his breath as he stroked his hair. Waiting patiently for Prompto to calm himself, Gladio let out a disgruntled sigh before the elf finally managed to draw a breath.
“Can you show me?” he asked, taking Prompto’s hands and pressing them to nape of his neck.
“Not good, Gladio.”
“I don’t care. I want to know.”
Prompto sighed shakily before pressing his fingertips to Gladio’s neck. The melody of their song was broken and warbled with Prompto’s sobs, but the magic still worked, thankfully. Or at least Gladio thought so, until the elf’s emotions seeped into him like poison, confirming its presence.
Unrelenting fear rattled him to his core. Gladio could feel his heart begin to race, feel the cortisol shooting through his veins, making his chest hurt. Could feel the wash of anxiety begin to cloud his brain and fog his thoughts. He held onto Prompto tighter; his body brought him some sense of comfort.
Then there was the sickly sadness that seemed to echo in the shadows of that fear. It only got worse when Prompto would look at him. His verdant eyes were overflowing with tears as they sparkled with his magic. Gladio reached up to wipe them away, only for Prompto to replace his drying cheeks with more tears.
“Why?” Gladio choked as fear and melancholy gripped his throat so tightly he felt he couldn’t breathe.
Prompto only shook his head weakly before his arms dropped from Gladio’s neck. He collapsed against his broad chest, and the blacksmith enfolded him in his arms as he settled against the rock. The revelation he’d just experienced made him sick to his stomach with worry. Whatever was making Prompto feel that way was obviously not good. Perhaps that was why he didn’t want to leave the house.
A twig snapped far off in the distance, and Gladio whipped his head around to look in the direction of the sound. Prompto’s fear was still bubbling in his belly, tainting his calm nature, making him wary of his surroundings. There was nothing there, though- at least nothing Gladio could see.
With a shaky breath, he ducked his head to Prompto’s temple to press a kiss there before listening to the sounds of the forest around them.
Gladio awoke the next morning to a lonely bed. It was achingly empty; the moment he had woken, he’d reached to the side nearest the window in search of his companion and found nothing but cold. It had been empty for some time. The sun was high above the horizon- perhaps Prompto had finally overcome his fear and left the house to hunt trees.
That was still odd, though. Prompto surely would have woken him to bring him along. He’d just been talking about how he needed to collect more wood for the forge. As much as he wanted to spend his days wandering the expanse of the forest with Prompto, it just wasn’t possible. His heart longed for the elf, for his sparkling smile and fluttering eyelashes over a steaming cup of tea.
Wasting no time, Gladio slipped from the warmth of his bed and dressed himself. It would take some time to catch up to Prompto; surely, the elf had already begun his work near the hotspring, climbed the ridge, and made his way into the valley below. They hadn’t been there for a long time, not since winter. There would surely be trees to cull and cut there.
He fumbled with his boots as he fought a sense of urgency that clawed at his insides. It made his fingers tremble and his brow furrow. The foreign feeling made him worry. It didn’t belong to him- he’d been feeling a sense of calm and anticipation of the day ahead. This was alien. Was it Prompto?
After nearly a week together, shared in close quarters, Gladio had noticed something new. He could feel Prompto lingering at the edges of his mind. If he rid himself of thought and preoccupation, the elf would slowly trickle in through the grooves of his brain and sense him. Was this because of the joinings? During the week they’d spent practically hiding away from the world in Gladio’s cabin, they’d joined in body and mind numerous times. With each join, it became easier and easier until Prompto only had to touch the nape of his neck to broadcast himself into Gladio’s brain.
Was this Prompto’s apprehension he felt lingering?
If it was, Gladio wanted to be there to reassure him. Help him, if need be. It certainly wasn’t helping - Gladio could feel the little elf’s fear, but it wasn’t like a homing beacon. It was like static, filling every spare inch with no direction or reason. He wanted to find Prompto not only to lend him aid, but to ease the itch the elf had given Gladio.
Carbuncle was chewing absently on grass in the field behind Gladio’s house when he found her. She greeted him with a heavy snort as she bobbed her head up and down. He whispered calming words to her as he stroked her neck, brushing her long mane from her eyes. Her eagerness spurred him on and without thought, he hopped on her back and rode her in a gallop straight to the forest.
By the time Gladio realized he wasn’t going to find Prompto, the sun was low in the sky. Carbuncle was tired; Gladio could tell by the way she lazily dragged her feet across the soggy forest floor. “Home, Carbuncle. I guess he’s gone back to the clan.”
The fear had faded, but Gladio couldn’t help the pang of heartache he felt when he got home. He’d become accustomed to the elf’s company, the melody of his voice as he told stories or sang songs in his native tongue, the gentle caress of his fingers at Gladio’s back as he cooked meat over the fire, little tufts of blonde hair peeking out from under his furs. Gladio wanted Prompto here with him, not deep in the forest. Immediately, he was rocked with guilt; he knew that Prompto needed Mother and that Mother needed him as well.
After eating a short meal, Gladio made his way into bed, enjoying the supple leather of his book between his hands as he admired the imagery. Again, he found his way to the images of wood elves, enjoying the illustrations of beautiful, arced features and pointed ears. These elves didn’t have tattoos, didn’t have magic, didn’t have clematis colored eyes that captured him with every look. Gladio closed his eyes and tried to imagine them as he drifted off to sleep.