[ Honestly, there's something about the way Prompto replies, quick, easy, too honest, that's maybe a little funny. Shutting down the attempt at reassurance, both of them knowing Gladio's only saying it to help maintain some semblance of control over the inevitable. He can more or less guess what's coming, all thing hints lining up, the grill cooks boasting about fresh rabbit—in some ways the confirmation is as sad as it is triggering. Especially at he watches the way his friend unfurls, leaving him wondering if he'd looked the same at the beginning, if his body had slowly eased into base desires, muscles relaxed but scalding to the touch, expression a mix of resistant and compliant desperation. He's embarrassed, but he isn't quite sure of what.
Maybe the tongue and teeth that suddenly taste and tease at his skin, and the way he compartmentalizes the what and the who in an instant. His nipples peak in response, goosebumps rippling outward, too fast for him to press on the fact that this is Prompto. (Not that they're wide open for viewing; not that things are moving far too quickly, even for him.) ]
You gotta get off me to do that.
[ His voice is gruff but his hands are gentle, hardly shoving as he rolls them both over into the rough sand. It's not in time to avoid a few passes of hips over his thigh, the tension going to his head despite himself. He blames the heat—of the sand, of the "sun," of Prompto's skin against his—as he pushes himself to his feet.
He's just got to hope Prompto stays pliant enough then to be lifted, bridal style, and carried over to the dressing rooms. He doesn't trust the wave to crash any time soon rather to keep crescendoing, and he's not about to bother with dragging the guy 20 yards to the stalls. Easier to carry him, easier to hold him at least a little bit still for his own sake until they're past the relative safety of what turns out to be just a curtain facing the water. The stalls are in pairs, boxed eight together, with windows carved high right into the wood. It'll have to do, but he positions himself, back against the curtain, as they squeeze into one together, like some sort of bouncer.
His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, over his molars, thoughtful, maybe a bit worried. ]
Hopefully it'll be one and done. I can...keep watch 'til you're finished... [ Said, perhaps inadvertently, with a curious dip of his gaze to Prompto's waist before he looks back at his face. He still won't offer outright, even though he's almost positive something solo isn't going to cut it. But that also means he's not gonna say no if they circle the suggestion enough times. ]
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Maybe the tongue and teeth that suddenly taste and tease at his skin, and the way he compartmentalizes the what and the who in an instant. His nipples peak in response, goosebumps rippling outward, too fast for him to press on the fact that this is Prompto. (Not that they're wide open for viewing; not that things are moving far too quickly, even for him.) ]
You gotta get off me to do that.
[ His voice is gruff but his hands are gentle, hardly shoving as he rolls them both over into the rough sand. It's not in time to avoid a few passes of hips over his thigh, the tension going to his head despite himself. He blames the heat—of the sand, of the "sun," of Prompto's skin against his—as he pushes himself to his feet.
He's just got to hope Prompto stays pliant enough then to be lifted, bridal style, and carried over to the dressing rooms. He doesn't trust the wave to crash any time soon rather to keep crescendoing, and he's not about to bother with dragging the guy 20 yards to the stalls. Easier to carry him, easier to hold him at least a little bit still for his own sake until they're past the relative safety of what turns out to be just a curtain facing the water. The stalls are in pairs, boxed eight together, with windows carved high right into the wood. It'll have to do, but he positions himself, back against the curtain, as they squeeze into one together, like some sort of bouncer.
His tongue runs along the inside of his cheek, over his molars, thoughtful, maybe a bit worried. ]
Hopefully it'll be one and done. I can...keep watch 'til you're finished... [ Said, perhaps inadvertently, with a curious dip of his gaze to Prompto's waist before he looks back at his face. He still won't offer outright, even though he's almost positive something solo isn't going to cut it. But that also means he's not gonna say no if they circle the suggestion enough times. ]