Chapter Text
The television in the corner of his living room glows with a movie he lost interest in almost an hour ago. He could find something else but it’s getting late and he should be heading off to bed shortly anyway. With a sigh, his eyes fall on his phone, resting beside him on the arm of the couch. He wakes the screen. No new messages. For all he grumbles (to himself, obviously) about the amount of duties given to him by and on behalf of Noctis it's quite jarring to be left with nothing to do when his highness doesn’t need him.
A quick peruse of the news app informs him things are similarly quiet out in the world. He sighs again. He's about to close his phone when an icon catches his eye.
InsomniaMatch.
How long since he last logged onto the site? The fact that the app needs updating before he can even open it is answer enough. He's used it on and off in the past, had a few matches and dates but they never really went anywhere. Maybe he should give it another go. His finger hovers over the icon, but he hesitates. The truth is he's not really looking for a relationship right now. Ordinarily he’s too busy and his work schedule would make for an understandably disgruntled partner when he has to drop plans at very little notice to go running for his duties.
No. What he needs is something less time intensive. Less serious. Something where he can make a human connection in which growth isn’t required. Fun for fun's sake.
And sex?
Maybe. Maybe not. Recalling a conversation he overheard recently he wakes his phone again and scrolls onto the app store. He hesitates for a moment before typing the word “Poundr” with no small measure of distaste. And there it is. The bright purple icon welcomes him alongside its rating of four out of five stars and the boast of over ten thousand reviews. When the app has installed he hits “Sign Up.”
Select username.
Mmmm, tricky. His go-to for gaming is Sagefire but a twinge of paranoia tells him to choose something else for this site. Glancing around his room for inspiration, his eyes land on the recipe book he used to make dinner earlier. What did he make? When it comes to him he gives a snort of laughter. Salmon in a Suit. Hardly the sexiest name. He tries again and it comes to him. Of course.
SecretRecipe.
He flies through the rest of the biographical information and logs in. Five minutes later and he’s certain he’s got the measure of what Poundr has to offer. Despite its unbelievably crass name, the site isn’t all about hook-ups. He curates his profile to suggest he’d be interested in messaging back and forth with a like-minded individual, which takes the pressure off actually meeting in person. Lastly, he needs a profile picture. This had concerned him initially because he hadn’t exactly wanted to advertise his identity. Sure, he’s not a famous face like the man he serves but all it takes is for one eagle-eyed person with a good memory for faces and his secret identity is no longer, well, secret. So what, then?
Stumped, he decides to do a search, to see what other users of the site do. He makes a quick detour to the kitchen to pour himself some wine before he settles back onto the couch, legs tucked underneath him to begin. His pulse quickens in anticipation and he completely forgets that he was about to head off to bed. First he adjusts the search filters, then lets the app go to work.
Unsurprisingly a sizeable number of the profile pictures are of penises, varying in length, girth, and composition within the small thumbnails. He scrolls past them, not dismissing them as such, but definitely marking them down for their lack of originality. Some who have no need for anonymity post their faces, smiling, not smiling, some making laughable attempts to look brooding and sexy. He's on the verge of thinking this might not be the answer after all when he finds a picture that gives him pause. He’s almost scrolled past it, but he rolls the page back and studies it carefully for a moment.
The image is of a torso, abs mainly, but it’s been shot in a way that highlights the definition almost artistically. Hills and valleys of deep olive skin drop away into shadow. The image is cropped deliberately to leave observers wondering and wanting. Sipping his wine, he studies it thoroughly. If only he could see a little more—a pec or an arm, perhaps. But that’s the point, isn’t it? Evidently this mystery man is showcasing his best feature, the realisation of which finally gives him inspiration for his own profile picture.
Flicking to the camera app he holds it up to take a selfie but he doesn’t smile, instead making his lips slightly fuller, pouting almost. He snaps the picture, then quickly crops the images down to show only his mouth before, as a final touch, he makes the snap decision to add a monochrome filter.
Pleased with his choice, he completes his profile and returns to his searches. The abs avatar is still central on the screen and after a moment's consideration he decides he should at least scan the accompanying profile, although tearing his eyes away from that body is proving embarrassingly difficult.
Male, early twenties, looking for casual, no strings fun. Up for sexting and maybe more. So far so good. The brief profile admittedly doesn’t tell him much about the man behind the muscles but it finishes with "come say hi” and he realises he wants to. So with slightly trembling fingers, he starts to type.
Hello.
He rolls his eyes. He’s only written one word and he’s already sounding too formal. He deletes it and instead types hey. It doesn’t sound like him but he is trying to stay anonymous, after all.
I’m new to the site and saw your profile (and your pic). I wondered if you fancied sexting with me? He almost hits send before deciding to add: I think we could have a lot of fun together.
With a bigger gulp of wine, he hits send before he can change his mind. And then he waits.
*
Gladio’s phone pings when he’s drying off after a late-night shower. Normally, he’d be in bed by now, but his dad wanted to have dinner at Caro’s Steakhouse around the corner from the Citadel after work, and then he still needed to get his workout in (because if there’s one thing he won’t skip, it’s that), and then, when he got home, Iris begged and begged and begged him to watch the newest episode of Housewives of Insomnia, and because his sister’s more stubborn than he is and he can’t refuse her anything she really wants, he was stuck in front of the TV until after 10 p.m.
Now, exhausted, he tosses his towel over the back of his desk chair, flops naked onto his bed, and grabs his phone, expecting a text from Noct. But it ain’t Noct. It’s a message from Poundr, an app he installed on a whim a few weeks ago when he was feeling horny and frustrated by his lack of dating prospects. Or, more to the point, his lack of time to find any. Between his dad ramping up his lessons in the subtler arts of shielding—diplomacy, emotional intelligence, risk assessment, et cetera—and Cor monopolizing his time in the training hall, he’s lucky to get five minutes to himself on any given day.
So Poundr’s been useful in that regard. He’s managed to score a couple of hookups—one via video chat, and the other in person at the guy’s apartment—but it’s tough to compete with all the dicks in the profile pics. He’s considered putting his own up there. It’d probably get him a lot more action. But frankly, half the guys he sees on here can hardly spell, or are walking red flags, or have the conversational skills of old roadkill, and even though he’s just looking to get laid, he still has standards for who he fucks.
There’s also the privacy issue. Being part of the nobility, and so closely connected to the royal family, the last thing he needs is for some rando to figure out it’s him and send his dick pics all over Eosweb. (That’s also why he wears long-sleeved shirts when he’s cybering. ’Cause the tattoo’s pretty fucking distinct and all.)
So he keeps the pic of his abs. It helps that it’s different from all the rest, and he wants to attract the type of people who’ll appreciate that, and how hard he worked for this six-pack. Those are the people he reserves his dick pics for, sent only after a little bit of conversation.
The message is from someone named SecretRecipe. Gladio rolls onto his back, propping his head up on his nest of pillows, and opens it.
I’m new to the site and saw your profile (and your pic). I wondered if you fancied sexting with me? I think we could have a lot of fun together.
“Fancied”? This dude sounds … erudite. At least as erudite as you can sound when you’re trawling the web for dick.
Intrigued, Gladio opens his profile. The picture is just of his mouth, in greyscale. It’s soft and sultry and pouty, and Gladio immediately wonders how those lips would look sucking his cock, which gives a little twitch of interest at that mental image. Shaking himself, he scrolls down to read the profile itself. It’s stiff and bare bones: I’m looking to connect with a like-minded individual. My interests are food, wine, and cars. 🍛 🍷 🚗
Sheesh. Does this guy know what dating service he’s on? Poundr’s clientele ain’t exactly interested in meetings of the mind.
Still, Gladio’s curious about him. Curious enough that he’s not thinking about sleeping anymore, even though he was dead tired ten minutes ago. He gets the sense SecretRecipe is the type who doesn’t do casual hookups, who needs to be eased into the culture of it and make some kind of connection, even if it’s shallow, before he’ll consider putting out. Gladio couldn’t give less of a fuck about cars, but thanks to Ignis, he knows a few things about food, so maybe that’ll be his in.
He opens the keyboard in the messaging window and types a response.
GluteusMaximus: yeah, i bet we could
Then he pauses, chewing his lip. He wants to make some kind of flirty, food-related innuendo, but he’s not half as good at puns as Ignis is. For a second, he considers texting Ignis to ask for help, maybe workshop an opener with him, but then he immediately shelves that thought. The last thing he wants is to mix Ignis into his sex life.
If he’s gonna do this, he’s gotta take a stab at it himself.
GluteusMaximus: i got all the meat and mayo you could ask for 🌭
As soon as it’s sent, he grabs a throw pillow, buries his face in it, and groans. No way is this guy gonna think that’s smooth.
*
The ping of a notification makes Ignis frown. The tone is a swoosh rather than a chime so it’s not a text or email. Or indeed any of the apps he uses with great regularity. He picks up his phone, his stomach fluttering, the sensation intensifying when his suspicions are confirmed.
GluteusMaximus: i got all the meat and mayo you could ask for 🌭
He stares. Then re-reads. Then stares some more. As puns go, that is… terrible. But after a few more moments he starts to laugh. There are very few pun aficionados like himself. If the explanation about the subject matter wouldn’t be so painfully awkward he’d tell Gladio he’d found someone even worse at making puns than him. But unintentionally or not it’s succeeded in making him laugh.
So to summarise: GluteusMaximus could be hot and funny.
Determined to formulate a worthy response he mutes the television. If his mystery correspondent is still awake he could reply quickly so time is of the essence if they want to engage in a little back and forth. And yet a hasty reply would hardly be his best effort and could close the door on things going further.
A full minute ticks by. The television plays silently as he drums his fingers on the arm of his couch. How has his mind gone so very blank? Eventually he lets out a sigh. Good grief. Talk about overthinking things. He's supposed to be sexting, not composing the next great works of Vibianus. He wakes his phone and starts to type.
Hearty fare which I’m indeed partial to. But I’ll admit, I'm also drawn to dishes with… spice. Hopefully you'd be up for some taste testing? But first I’d need to know what flavours you enjoy.
He contemplates a winking face emoji but decides it’s a bridge too far, even if he is trying to distance himself from his real life identity. He reads it back and involuntarily emits a low growl. It sounds too formal, too… him. His finger hovers, about to hit delete but something stops him. It's not great, but it’s salvageable. He makes some amendments and reads it again, washing the words down with a little more wine.
Sounds good! But I also like to go spicy. Maybe we could do some taste testing? But first I’d need to know about your favourite flavours. He hesitates, then accompanied by a disapproving sigh, he adds a 😉 and hits send before he can come to his senses and write the whole thing off as a bad idea.
With the message sent, his eyes return to the profile photo. He wonders if Gluteus is waiting for his reply. Maybe he’s reading it right now. A small shiver runs through him and he wets his lips. When the reply comes through almost instantly he almost drops his phone.
*
GluteusMaximus: i like to start with an amuse-bouche. y’know, a little morsel of conversation, get to know each other a bit.
GluteusMaximus: if we’re on the same page of the menu, then we can move on to an appetizer. like a nice eggplant dish.
GluteusMaximus: if you get my drift. 🍆 📷
SecretRecipe: Amuse-bouche… I like it. I think there's something to be said about a feast made up of many courses. I definitely like to take my time. I mean, you know the main course will be extraordinary, but why rush when there's so much pleasure to be had on the way? If… you get my drift.
GluteusMaximus: yeah, i’m with you 100%
GluteusMaximus: so tell me, besides food, cars, and picking up guys on here, what are you into?
SecretRecipe: Well I’ve been told I’m a workaholic so unfortunately there's very little time for anything else. I’d be interested to know if you could make me switch off from work and how you’d do it?
GluteusMaximus: you kidding? i could make you switch off from work and then some.
GluteusMaximus: you have nice lips. so i’d wanna kiss you for hours, until you were begging for more. but i still wouldn’t give you everything you wanted. just my hand for a while, nice and slow, until i couldn’t take it anymore and had to have your cock in my mouth.
GluteusMaximus: shit, was that too much too fast?
SecretRecipe: Not at all. Although I hope you don’t speed through other activities quite so quickly. I have to say from your profile pic, I really like the view. I’d definitely have to take my time exploring the rest of it.
GluteusMaximus: on the topic of pics
GluteusMaximus: you got more you can show me? your lips are nice, but i bet the rest of you is even nicer.
SecretRecipe: discounting the obvious, what did you have in mind?
GluteusMaximus: well, in the interest of not rushing things…
GluteusMaximus: how about your hand? so i can picture it touching me. 😉
SecretRecipe: [img_4324.jpg]
SecretRecipe: There you go. I play the piano which I find good for improving dexterity. I’ve been told my finger work is exceptional.
GluteusMaximus: 😮 shit, you’re not kidding.
GluteusMaximus: piano, huh? well, i’d let you play me like one anytime.
SecretRecipe: I’d definitely be interested in making music with you in the future. Alas, I’m afraid I’m going to have to call time on our conversation this evening as I’ve an early start in the morning. Would you be up for continuing where we left off tomorrow?
GluteusMaximus: you bet. sweet dreams.
*
By the time SecretRecipe signs off, it’s nearly midnight. Way past Gladio’s bedtime. Not that he regrets it or anything. SecretRecipe has a way with words, and although most of what they talked about was physical stuff, it felt seductive and personal instead of lewd and repetitive, the way most of his conversations on this stupid app go.
There’s also something almost … coy about SecretRecipe. He managed to get Gladio eating out of the palm of his hand without committing to anything or sharing too much about himself. It activated the part of Gladio’s brain that craves the chase. He’s used to getting what he wants from whoever he wants without much effort, so the idea of actually having to work to win SecretRecipe over is exciting and new.
Gladio reads over the conversation again. Okay, so maybe he went a little too hard too fast (like that thing he said about needing SecretRecipe’s cock in his mouth—man, was that overkill?) but SecretRecipe didn’t seem to mind it.
On the other hand, he didn’t seem particularly excited about it either.
Look, he said he wanted to talk again tomorrow. Chill, man.
Yawning, Gladio scratches a hand through his hair and gets up to root through his dresser for a pair of pyjama pants. Once he’s donned them, he climbs into bed and lets himself sink into the mattress, his aching muscles finally relaxing. It was a long day of drills and working out. And tomorrow he’ll have to get up and do it all over again.
Speaking of…
He picks up his phone and blearily taps out a text to Ignis.
Gladiolus: we still on to spar tomorrow a.m.?
Then he sets his phone down on the nightstand and drifts off to sleep.