[Prompto let out a self-deprecating chuckle, shaking his head even as his eyes refuse to leave the skin Gladio has on display. He's always known the Shield was photogenic but he's never had the proof this close before. His hands itch to reach out, his fingers desperately needing to run the tips over those muscles and he barely manages to shake his head at Gladio's words. There's no way either one of them can buy into that. Not when Prompto is usually one to rush in without thinking. Self control is something he can manage when his walls are up, when he's putting on his best face for his friends, but whatever the hell was in those skewers has completely wrecked him.]
Come on man, we both know that's a lie.
[As if to illustrate his point he licks his lips, accidentally brushing the tip across Gladio's chest. Oh, that's... huh, the saltiness of his friend's skin actually tastes pretty good. He flicks his tongue out again to lap at the hot muscles against him, his teeth nipping at the flesh available before his mind can clear enough of the drugged fog to put words together and feel any semblance of shame.
When Prompto does manage words his throat is rough and his body is still moving without a conscious decision, his hips tilting to find some sort of friction. It's so hard to think, to speak, when everything feels so damn good.]
The dressing rooms. [He clears his throat, pulling back enough so the urge to just press his lips against his friend is a little easier to ignore. If only his lower body would get the damn memo! Prompto leans back and uses his hands to scramble at the sand around them, a whimper escaping as he finally finds a hard angle to rub against that goes straight to his dick. FUCK! So good.] Help me to the dressing rooms?
[Prompto's eyes meet Gladio's, a pout on his lips and he hopes the big guy can forgive him for all of this. Everything is so hot and he just wants to give in.]
no subject
Come on man, we both know that's a lie.
[As if to illustrate his point he licks his lips, accidentally brushing the tip across Gladio's chest. Oh, that's... huh, the saltiness of his friend's skin actually tastes pretty good. He flicks his tongue out again to lap at the hot muscles against him, his teeth nipping at the flesh available before his mind can clear enough of the drugged fog to put words together and feel any semblance of shame.
When Prompto does manage words his throat is rough and his body is still moving without a conscious decision, his hips tilting to find some sort of friction. It's so hard to think, to speak, when everything feels so damn good.]
The dressing rooms. [He clears his throat, pulling back enough so the urge to just press his lips against his friend is a little easier to ignore. If only his lower body would get the damn memo! Prompto leans back and uses his hands to scramble at the sand around them, a whimper escaping as he finally finds a hard angle to rub against that goes straight to his dick. FUCK! So good.] Help me to the dressing rooms?
[Prompto's eyes meet Gladio's, a pout on his lips and he hopes the big guy can forgive him for all of this. Everything is so hot and he just wants to give in.]