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Prompto’s so excited he’s literally quivering, and he stays on his knees longer than he needs to, because he wants to steady out before he dares to meet his prince’s eyes. He’s finally doing it. His biggest dreams are coming true. He’s had several photography gigs, each one bigger than the last, and now he’s doing a photoshoot for the Citadel. Ignis is the one that organized the shoot and that will pay him after, but the money’s coming from the king. Prompto’s really made it. He’s a professional photographer. And to top it all off, he’s capturing his favourite subject: Noctis.
He sucks in a deep breath and finally pushes to his feet, camera in tow. The room is all set up—a spare one in the Citadel, currently outfitted like a sitting room, with an enormous wall of books and an old fashioned sofa in front of it, framed in elaborate end tables with exotic plants and exquisite lamps. The whole thing screams money. It’s beautiful. And Noctis lounges in the center, looking every bit the gorgeous prince he is.
The lighting’s perfect. The windows are tall enough, and it’s a bright enough day, that the natural sunlight sidelights Noctis just right, though Prompto has a plethora of equipment behind him that the Citadel provided. Apparently, the press has been hounding them more than usual, which is understandable, given that Noctis has just graduated university and is clearly the most eligible bachelor in Insomnia. And he’s spread out before Prompto in all his best royal black clothes. Prompto’s supposed to take a number of tasteful photographs that the crown will hand out to the magazines themselves. Prompto knows full well that he’s only gotten such an important gig because Noctis recommended him, but he doesn’t care. He’s glad Noctis is too stubborn and difficult to collaborate with anyone else. He loves having Noctis all to himself. His heart’s racing, and it only spikes when Noctis asks, “Are you actually gonna start soon, or are you just going to stare at me all day?”
Prompto would be quite happy to stare at Noctis all day. But Noctis probably wants to move on with their lives, so Prompto lifts his camera and splutters, “Right! Uh, yeah, I’ll just—can you—no, actually, just stay like that—yeah—um...” He snaps a few pictures without any adjustments, capturing Noctis’ growing smirk. It goes well with his dark eyes and the mischievous glint inside them. His hair’s been brushed so much it’s gleaming, but a few deliberate black strands drape down across his forehead, adding to his roguish features. He leans back against the cushions as Prompto shifts to a new angle.
Prompto gets all he can out of that, then asks, “Could you, uh... maybe sit up...?”
“Do you normally stutter at your models?” Noctis snorts. Prompto knew Noctis would tease him the entire time, but it’s so worth it.
He tries again, “Sit up, bitch!”
Noctis bursts out laughing but obeys the order. Prompto’s grinning too, and he has to wait for the chuckles to pass before he takes the shot, even though Noctis is ridiculous cute when he’s having so much fun. The crown will probably want the pictures more serious. Noctis eventually steels over again, leaning forward with the face of a predator, like a wild cat on the prowl, and a shiver runs down Prompto’s spine as he captures the moment. Then Noctis tilts his head aside and shrugs his shoulders—his jacket slips a little lower down them. Prompto’s flash goes off.
Noctis spreads the jacket open himself, holds it wide for one shot, and then strips it off completely and tosses it over the back of the couch. Prompto hesitates before deciding he likes that. It makes Noctis look more approachable. The t-shirt underneath still bears the royal crest, but it shows off his arms, and more bare skin is always a good thing. It even rides up his stomach when he leans back too much.
Prompto doesn’t correct him. Prompto doesn’t even say anything when Noctis runs one hand back through his hair and arches his broad chest forward. His shirt stretches across his taut muscles, showing off his pecs. Prompto swallows and takes the shot.
Noctis places one hand on his stomach. Between shots, it creeps lower down, until his pinky’s grazing the hem of his pants, and his tongue comes out to trace his lips. Prompto’s breath catches. He fumbles the next shot. Noctis cups his crotch completely, and Prompto hesitates, but still takes the picture.
The flash that goes off is grounding. Prompto mumbles, “Noct...”
Noctis turns and lies down across the sofa, one boot lifting over the armrest, one arm behind his head. He smirks at the camera, like daring the viewer to come and mount him. He pops his fly open.
Prompto halts his trigger finger just in time. He feels like if he takes one more picture, he’ll get arrested.
He slowly lowers the camera. A part of him is furious with his best friend. This job is important. It’s probably the most important one he’ll ever have in his life. Then Noctis drawls, “Maybe we should take a break. I promise I’ll behave later.”
In that moment, Noctis doesn’t look very trustworthy. He looks like the living embodiment of sin: a seductive demon sent to drive Prompto wild. But Prompto’s too hard to care.
He puts down the camera and hurries over to enjoy the hottest model he’s ever had.