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By the time Noctis emerges from the washroom, teeth brushed and fully changed into his favourite chocobo-pattern pajamas that Prompto got him for their first ‘friendship anniversary,’ Prompto’s already got the game booted up. He’s sitting square in the middle of Noctis’ living room, having pushed the coffee table back and made a nest out of blankets and discarded jackets. It looks ridiculously comfortable, but not as comfortable as Prompto, whose cute figure always seems to scream ’cuddle me!’ It helps that he doesn’t look like he’s wearing any pants. His oversized shirt covers his thighs and any underwear he might be wearing, and his socks match Noctis’ pajamas. For a moment, Noctis hovers in the doorway, just staring at his adorable best friend in the low light of the television screen. Then he realizes where he’s seen that shirt before.
“Are you wearing Gladio’s hand-me-downs?”
Prompto startles. His head swivels sideways, his hand jumping to his chest, which is perfect—neither of them have work in the morning, so they’re going to play horror games all night. Noctis can’t wait until Prompto inevitably freaks out and burrows into him, whimpering and begging for Noctis to hold him. The game on the screen is a generic slasher with a blood-red room for a title scream and the words scratched out in white. When Prompto recovers, he mutters, “Yeah. He gave me a whole bunch.”
“It’s like... twenty sizes too big...”
Noctis wanders over, and Prompto pushes a pillow aside to make room for him, but Noctis already knows where he wants to sit. He drops down behind Prompto and rolls up the hem of the battered grey material. Prompto twists back to watch him.
Noctis ducks and pokes inside the shirt, to Prompto’s snort of laughter. Grinning wide, Noctis squirms his way up, flattened tight against Prompto’s trim back—the shirt’s not quite as huge as he expected. But he makes it work. He wriggles into it until he can poke his head through the neck-hole and gasp for air. It stretches tight across the sides of his throat, threatening to break. Prompto wheezes, “Get out of there, dumbass! You don’t fit!”
“Sure I do,” Noctis insists, because once he starts, he never backs down. He shifts to try and get a better position, knees bracketing Prompto’s hips, arms wrapping loosely around Prompto’s waist. The shirt rides up to try and accommodate them. Noctis can practically hear the seams splitting.
Prompto groans and tries to elbow Noctis, but there’s no room for it. He can’t get any leverage. They’re practically glued together. Noctis wouldn’t have it any other way.
Prompto’s back is warm, kind of clammy, and super smooth. Soft. Deliciously naked. Noctis rests his head on Prompto’s shoulder and lightly squeezes his sides.
“C’mon. Start playing.”
“Pfft, what, you’re staying in there?”
“Never lettin’ you go, babe.”
Prompto laughs. It’s a beautiful, wonderful sound that always makes Noctis smile. It’s totally worth the discomfort.
Prompto obeys his prince, and they stay like that until the first jump scare knocks them both over and Prompto’s terrified, flailing limbs make it too untenable.