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“Hey Prompto, can you make me some cereal?” Noctis yawns, burrowing into the oversize cable-knit throw on the couch. He wiggles his way into Gladio’s lap like a small child; the shield lifts his arms and his steaming cup of coffee while the prince gets situated. The morning news is background noise on the television, and Ignis is curled up on the other side of the couch, laptop atop his linen-clad thighs.
Noctis can’t help but look at his handsome advisor; can’t help but admire the sharp cut of his jaw, the little beauty marks on his cheek, his sandy-blond hair swept low and messy across his high forehead.
“Oi, princess, are you settled?”
Noctis rips his gaze back up to Gladio, and fuck him, he’s only human—Noctis cranes his neck to press a messy kiss to Gladio’s broad mouth, ducking down to nuzzle into his shield’s thick neck. He inhales the earthy smells of his shampoo and soap, the sharp mint of his aftershave; and underneath it all, the rugged musk that’s distinctly Gladiolus. Dizzy from the pheromones this early in the morning, Noctis trembles as he presses his lips to tanned, tattooed skin.
Gladiolus grins, broad chest rumbling with laughter as he brings his arms back down, free hand sliding across Noct’s back to support him, the other hand holding the coffee mug resting on Noct’s bent legs. “Good morning to you too.”
Noctis hums, peering through his own messy bangs at Ignis at the far end of the couch; who, despite the appearance of a relaxed man in monogrammed linen pajamas, is frowning intently at the laptop screen, grimacing into his latte.
“One bowl of cereal for his royal thottiness,” Prompto sings, swooping into the living room holding a black bowl with a spoon sticking out.
“Is it fruity marshmallow crunch?”
“The fruitiest,” Prompto assures him, holding the bowl low and level so Noctis can dig himself out of the blanket. “C’mon, bro, as if I know you’d want any other cereal.”
“It’s fruity, just like me,” Noctis observes, pleased.
“Made with whole grain, my arse,” Ignis mutters from his soapbox. “That sugary concoction wouldn’t keep a houseplant alive, much less a human. They have the absolute gall to attempt to market is as healthful.”
“It says organic, right on the box!” Prompto exclaims, laughing. “C’mon Igster, you know that major corporations don’t lie.”
“Of course not,” Ignis mocks, sipping his six-dollar coffee.
Noctis smiles at his boyfriends’ banter and sleepy stares down at the colorful rice and marshmallow bits in milk. He idly thinks it odd that the bowl is cold, but maybe Prompto just got done hand-washing some dishes, so he shoves it into the back of his brain—until he grabs the spoon and tries to lift a bite to his mouth.
The spoon doesn’t budge.
Noctis blinks, scrubbing at his face with one hand. Is he really that tired? He peers wide-eyed into the cereal bowl—yep, looks like fruity marshmallow crunch, mired in stark-white milk...the usual fare. He grabs the spoon again and tries, with a little more effort, but to no avail. It’s...
“Prompto,” Noctis pouts. “Stuck.”
Prompto Argentum, who has exactly zero poker face, doubles over with laughter, collapsing onto the couch between Ignis and Gladiolus, crying into the throw pillows. “Dude,” he wheezes. “Your face!”
Noctis tries the spoon again, and slowly, he puts two and two together—the bowl is cold. His cereal is frozen. Unless Prompto’s learned magic in the last ten minutes... “You little shit, you planned this!”
Prompto giggle-snorts, nodding, holding his ribs as he trembles on the couch. “Last night after you went to bed, bro!”
Noctis sticks out his bottom lip, glancing up to Gladiolus. “Gladio,” he whines. “My cereal.”
Gladio laughs, shaking his head and sipping his homemade coffee. “Sorry baby, Blondie made me keep mum.”
“Treason,” Noctis gasps, whipping his head to peer at Ignis again. “I suppose you don’t have any issue barring me from my favorite cereal, Specs.”
“Indeed,” Ignis says with a small smirk. He’s furiously typing what can only be an email, probably professionally calling someone a twat.
“You’re all fired,” Noctis groans, thudding back against Gladio’s chest. He turns the bowl upside down, but the frozen milk doesn’t budge. “Promptoooooo,” he cries. “Hungryyyyyy.”
Prompto manages to slow his sniffles; he wipes his eyes and sits up, taking the prank bowl from Noct’s hands. “Sorry dude. I love you, but I couldn’t resist.” He pecks Noctis on the lips and stands. “I was gonna make you actual breakfast, don’t worry.”
“Rude,” Noctis grunts—but he licks his lips anyway and stares up at his sexy practical joker. “I’ll just have to punish you later.”
“Oh, yes please, your Highness,” Prompto winks, spinning on his heel to return to the kitchen to prepare the cereal properly.
Noctis can’t help but blush as he wiggles against Gladio’s warm, solid body, thinking of all the delicious ways he can make Prompto pay for his terrible joke.