[Couldn’t resist taking a shot at this with Prompto! This will probably not involve any actual sex, but lots of touching and also drugging for compliance.]
Prompto comes to consciousness little by little, gradually becoming aware of the sound of running water somewhere close by and hands working on the straps and buckles of his snow gear. When he realizes whose hands they are, he tries to shove them away, but his arms feel loose and heavy and he ends up just pushing weakly at Ardyn’s shoulder.
“Ah, there you are.” Ardyn’s voice is low, gentle. “I was beginning to worry.”
His hands slide under Prompto and, despite the feeble attempts at resistance, lift him into a sitting position to divest him of his jacket. Prompto slumps forward, his head falling onto Ardyn’s shoulder. This close to him without a gun in hand, a spike of fear pierces the fuzziness in Prompto’s brain—and then another as Ardyn’s hands slide under his shirt and glide along bare skin.
“Wha—what are you—“ is all he gets out, the last word muffled as his shirt is pulled over his head.
“Just bear with me a moment,” Ardyn murmurs as he lays him back down. His hands linger on Prompto for just a few moments, thumbs stroking lightly over his skin, before he reaches down to remove the boots. Prompto’s attempt to kick him is as ineffectual as everything else has been, but for his trouble he gets a hand wrapped around his ankle in a grip hard enough to bruise, and Ardyn’s soft, cajoling voice turns to cold steel as he says “None of that.”
Then he’s back to soft and gentle, whispering “Shhh,” in response to Prompto’s weak protest as those relentless hands undo his belt. Casting about for something to focus on besides the fact that Ardyn Izunia is taking off his pants and he can’t do anything about it, Prompto notices that Ardyn, too, is much less clothed than usual—just a shirt and trousers, his feet bare and his sleeves rolled up past the elbows. It’s so weird to see him without, like, five other layers of clothing that it’s a few seconds before Prompto’s fuzzy brain can work past that to being grateful he’s not more undressed and hoping it stays that way.
Then the last of Prompto’s clothing is being pulled away, and it’s a weird, stomach-churning mashup of every bad dream he’s ever had about showing up to class naked and every worse dream he’s ever had where he’s facing down an enemy and grabs for his gun but it’s not there, and Ardyn is slipping one arm around his back and another beneath his knees and lifting him from the bench he’s been lying on.
Head lolling against Ardyn’s shoulder, Prompto finally gets out the question he tried to ask earlier, much as he dreads the answer. “What are you doing?”
When Ardyn answers, Prompto can feel every word reverberate through his chest. His voice is patient and indulgent now, as though he were explaining something to a child. “My dear boy, I know customs in Lucis differ somewhat from those here in Niflheim, but I’m quite certain they have baths there.”
Fill: Ardyn/Any, Non-Consensual Bathing (Ardyn/Prompto, 1/?)
Prompto comes to consciousness little by little, gradually becoming aware of the sound of running water somewhere close by and hands working on the straps and buckles of his snow gear. When he realizes whose hands they are, he tries to shove them away, but his arms feel loose and heavy and he ends up just pushing weakly at Ardyn’s shoulder.
“Ah, there you are.” Ardyn’s voice is low, gentle. “I was beginning to worry.”
His hands slide under Prompto and, despite the feeble attempts at resistance, lift him into a sitting position to divest him of his jacket. Prompto slumps forward, his head falling onto Ardyn’s shoulder. This close to him without a gun in hand, a spike of fear pierces the fuzziness in Prompto’s brain—and then another as Ardyn’s hands slide under his shirt and glide along bare skin.
“Wha—what are you—“ is all he gets out, the last word muffled as his shirt is pulled over his head.
“Just bear with me a moment,” Ardyn murmurs as he lays him back down. His hands linger on Prompto for just a few moments, thumbs stroking lightly over his skin, before he reaches down to remove the boots. Prompto’s attempt to kick him is as ineffectual as everything else has been, but for his trouble he gets a hand wrapped around his ankle in a grip hard enough to bruise, and Ardyn’s soft, cajoling voice turns to cold steel as he says “None of that.”
Then he’s back to soft and gentle, whispering “Shhh,” in response to Prompto’s weak protest as those relentless hands undo his belt. Casting about for something to focus on besides the fact that Ardyn Izunia is taking off his pants and he can’t do anything about it, Prompto notices that Ardyn, too, is much less clothed than usual—just a shirt and trousers, his feet bare and his sleeves rolled up past the elbows. It’s so weird to see him without, like, five other layers of clothing that it’s a few seconds before Prompto’s fuzzy brain can work past that to being grateful he’s not more undressed and hoping it stays that way.
Then the last of Prompto’s clothing is being pulled away, and it’s a weird, stomach-churning mashup of every bad dream he’s ever had about showing up to class naked and every worse dream he’s ever had where he’s facing down an enemy and grabs for his gun but it’s not there, and Ardyn is slipping one arm around his back and another beneath his knees and lifting him from the bench he’s been lying on.
Head lolling against Ardyn’s shoulder, Prompto finally gets out the question he tried to ask earlier, much as he dreads the answer. “What are you doing?”
When Ardyn answers, Prompto can feel every word reverberate through his chest. His voice is patient and indulgent now, as though he were explaining something to a child. “My dear boy, I know customs in Lucis differ somewhat from those here in Niflheim, but I’m quite certain they have baths there.”