[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
[ The invitation to sit on the bed is obliged, but reluctantly. It's been an age and a half since they've had enough freedom to share space in this way, and on the heels of his early-day musings about Prince Dion and Joshua, the closeness feels－
－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
[Joshua's breath hisses through his teeth at the sight of that.]
Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
[ Founder, Clive trembles at that sound. Please. He could face against an army of Sanbrequians and never once feel compelled to quake, but Joshua imploring him in that sweet voice makes every nerve in his body shudder in unspeakable emotion.
Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
[Something tense in Joshua relaxes at that. He thought it would be harder, but he's glad it wasn't. He didn't want to feel like he was forcing Clive into it - or worse, he didn't want to meet such firm resistance that he had no choice but to give up. Being able to heal Clive makes him happy - it's as simple as that. Knowing he can spare his brother this pain.]
I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
[ Feeling Phoenix course through him almost feels like a homecoming of sorts. Something inherently comfortable and familiar that reorients Clive back into his body, free of pain. It's the closest thing he's ever known to peace, and the closest, he thinks, to knowing what it feels like to be whole.
He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
[He breathes in, quick and soft, as Clive's head settles on his shoulder. It's a gift unasked for, one he wants to cling to. He contents himself with raising his hand, settling it on Clive's head, fingers gentle in his hair. Not holding him there, but offering what comfort he can.]
You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
[ With his head bowed, Clive doesn't have to show Joshua how his expression momentarily twists. The comfort feels good― far better than it needs to be, far better than it reasonably should be― and he knows that he should steel himself against it lest it seep through his defenses and remind him of how wretched his emotions have become.
Joshua has always been kind. It's what makes him so beloved, and it's what makes him so strong, and it's what Clive loves so deeply about him. Because he does: he loves Joshua. As his liege, as his brother, as―
―he cuts his thoughts off, and shakes his head. ]
I have to be. [ Quietly, but firmly. ] ...I've already lost you once due to carelessness, Joshua.
[ Lost, in the sense that he thought he'd lost Joshua. Close his eyes, and he can still remember scrabbling towards his brother's limp body, screaming and wailing and crying while the Undying held him back and away. Pleading for help, pleading to die. Ten years ago to this day, and it still haunts him. ]
[He can't help it, can't resist his need to have Clive just a little closer. Joshua brings his other arm up to hold Clive, a warm half-hug. He wants to comfort Clive, he does - he wants Clive to never, ever think that Joshua hates him for what happened. He wants Clive to understand that even if the rest of the world did, he wouldn't.
But he also knows it isn't just that. He never gets to be this close to Clive. Never gets to hold him. The brush of his fingers on bare skin reminds him that Clive isn't wearing a shirt - but Joshua hasn't forgotten that for a moment, not really. If he feels warmer, it's all right. If his cheeks flush, Clive isn't looking at his face, so it's -
Not safe. But he doesn't let go.]
You've protected me all this time. I don't want you to carry that guilt forever.
[He remembers that night. He tries not to - sometimes he has nightmares about it still - but he does remember. But he never thinks of Ifrit as Clive, not that night. Clive didn't have any control, didn't know what he was doing. How could Joshua blame him? When he woke afterwards, still in pain, still terrified, alive only thanks to the Phoenix, it was Clive's name he called.]
[ Something in Clive shatters when Joshua holds him. There has never been a time in his life when he's wanted to shove Joshua away from him, but he skims close to that feeling now: there's something sick coiled in the pit of his stomach, hot and hungry, that makes him want to shove Joshua down onto the clean sheets of their borrowed bed and sink his teeth into Joshua's soft skin, the way Ifrit had done to Phoenix all those years ago.
It's wretched. He knows what it is, and he knows what to name the pangs of pain he feels whenever the Rosarian court titters at the subject of potential unions for his brother. Jealousy, need, and something else with far worse consequences. Even now, Clive can't bring himself to tear away.]
I'm the reason you need to be protected, Joshua.
[ He lifts his head, and is aware, now, of how close their faces are. Joshua is cast in moonlight, long lashes framing brilliant eyes, perfect brows furrowed in concern. Clive almost holds his breath, his brother is so beautiful.
Instead, he grits his teeth. Grimaces, not at Joshua but himself. ]
I became your burden. [ His voice cracks towards the end; he's replayed this moment so many times that he can recite it by memory. ] I forced you into a prime that you weren't ready for. All because of me, and what I said to you that night.
[ "You must do your duty." "You have to keep Father safe." How could he have said that? Joshua was only ten years old－ a child. He'd done the same thing to his brother as all the others did, as their mother did. He should have told Joshua that it was fine to run. That he should be protected. That he could hide if he needed. ]
[There's something about the way Clive looks at him, just for a moment. He couldn't put it into words, not ones that he would be willing to admit to - but it does something to him, to his heart, to parts of him he shouldn't be thinking about. Not here, not with Clive in his arms.
He's letting his imagination run away from him, surely. Seeing what the deepest, worst parts of him want so badly to see. But for a moment it feels almost real, for a moment he's teetering on the precipice of something terrifying. Even so, he doesn't let go of Clive.
His heart is beating hard, but he still hears every word Clive says. He hears it, and shakes his head. Recovering himself, a little.]
You didn't force me into anything.
[Joshua speaks quietly, but with emotion. It breaks his heart to know that Clive has carried this guilt for so long.]
I've been raised knowing my duty since I was born. I am meant to be Rosaria's protector - I was frightened, but I would have tried regardless.
[Of course Clive's words mattered to him. Everything Clive has ever said to him matters. But they can't be weighed more heavily than ten years of Anabella raising him to know what he was meant for, ten years of Elwin impressing his duty upon him, ten years of expectation. Frightened or not, uncertain or not, Joshua would have tried to do that duty.]
You've never been my burden. You're the only thing that keeps me steady. [Joshua sighs, soft, and tells at least one truth:] I would be lost without you.
[ No, he thinks. No, no, no. He shakes his head, and feels tears sting at the corner of his eyes as he remembers the aftermath of that night, the fits of rage that he went though, how he screamed and screamed and screamed at the Undying not to touch Joshua, that he'd change his brother's bandages himself, for them to choose between leaving the two of them alone or killing him.
They did neither. Clive was kept locked in a room for his own safety until Joshua woke, and Clive knows that Uncle Byron must have told Joshua about it at some point: "oh, there was so much darkness in your brother while you were asleep. He was in pieces, you know. For a good while. Though he did his level best not to let it show when he was finally permitted near you."
Clive feels fifteen again. On the verge of failing Joshua again, when he hears I would be lost without you. He wants to take his brother's face in both palms and kiss him breathless. He wants to hold him close and feel his pulse against his skin. He wants to save Joshua, and hold Joshua, and keep him from everything that would ever look at him with ill intent.
Despicable. But he can't stop himself from acting on a fraction of his unspeakable desires, and so his hands settle on either side of Joshua's blisteringly beautiful face. Gently, with enough give that he could slip away easily if he wishes to. ]
And I'm telling you to let me bear all of this for you. So that you never feel lost again.
[How could he refuse anything Clive says, said like that? With that emotion in his voice, with something that might almost be tears in his eyes. With his gentle touch, palms on Joshua’s cheeks, so tender despite the strength that Joshua knows those hands contain. As if he could never, would never hurt Joshua - something that Joshua wholeheartedly believes to be true.
One of Joshua’s hands comes up, covering Clive’s, holding it there gently.]
If you wish to bear my burdens, you must let me care for you in return.
[The truth is, he can’t stop Clive from continuing to do what he’s done for years: cutting himself to the bone to protect Rosaria, to keep them safe and free so that Joshua might take the throne. It’s Ifrit, it’s Clive, who’s really done it all.
And everyone around them has been content to let it happen. To use Clive’s strength, with little care for Clive himself. Joshua should have done more to stop it, he knows. He shouldn’t be allowing it now. Clive deserves better.
But Joshua can’t ask his brother to stop if it’s truly what he wants. Rosaria needs him, and Joshua needs him even more desperately. Clive is one of the few he truly feels safe with, one of the few he trusts implicitly. What he can do is insist on this. This, if nothing else.]
Let me heal you when you’re hurt. Come to me when you need rest, or - or comfort.
[It can be excused as brotherly affection, perhaps, when Joshua turns his head just a bit, just enough to press his lips to Clive’s palm. He tells himself that, wanting to believe it, though he knows by the rhythm of his heart in his chest that it isn’t true.]
[ Clive wants desperately to believe that he would never, ever harm Joshua, not under threat of death; he wants to believe that he says "never" and means it. But he feels his brother's hand rest over his, feels his soft lips brush his hard palm, and hears the word comfort, and it's all Clive can do to stop himself from leaning in and kissing the word out of Joshua's mouth. Comfort. Clive has never wanted anything more.
His pulse quickens. He's sure Joshua can feel it from where they touch. Like bellows to a fire, Clive can feel his heart heat in his chest.
"If you knew how I look at you, you wouldn't say those things to me." Clive thinks to say it, but the words catch in the back of his throat. ]
Joshua.
[ A chide or a plea, he doesn't even know. His thumb grazes under Joshua's eye, along the peak of his cheekbone. He's so warm; the Phoenix, incarnate. Life and rebirth. Clive's entire world.
He stills for a moment, then breathes through his teeth. He really can't deny Joshua anything. ]
...If that will put your mind at ease. You're the only one I can trust myself with.
[It's hard to think when Clive touches him like that. Hard to think of anything but wanting more of it, though he knows he shouldn't, knows he can't. Clive is his brother, and Clive trusts him. He has to get control of himself, or he'll do something that might shatter that trust. And that's the one thing Joshua knows he couldn't take.
Anything else would be survivable. He's already lost his parents and his last chance to have anything like a peaceful childhood. He could lose his throne, lose his kingdom, and he thinks that he would find a way to carry on, to keep fighting.
But he can't lose Clive. Not to battle - something he fears constantly, for all that he childishly also believes Clive could never lose - but to his own actions. Joshua could so easily misstep, do something stupid and selfish that would drive Clive away. He knows it. Clive would forgive him nearly anything, but how could Clive forgive him something like that?
Still, he can't make himself pull away. Unconsciously, against what should be his better judgement, Joshua leans into Clive's touch.]
It's all I ask for. I hate the thought of you getting hurt for me. I know it's happened - probably more than I think - but if I had my way, no one would ever touch you again.
[Joshua tries not to put that in any context but battle. Anything else is too much - too upsetting to think about. He wants Clive to be happy, he does, but there's a reason he's steadfastly refused to ever listen to rumors, ever to ask about whether his brother has taken lovers.
He doesn't want to know. He doesn't ever want to know.]
[ He can't. This can't go on. The more Joshua lists closer, allows Clive to toe the line, the more Clive will become inclined, at Sanbreque, to start a diplomatic incident if anyone so much as looks at Joshua with heat in their eyes.
Ifrit trills under Clive's skin, mirroring his want, his elation at being granted even a sliver of Joshua's possessiveness. ]
No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours, [ is uncalculated, stated before Clive can stop himself. The palms bracketing Joshua's face hold with more purpose; he wishes he could make Joshua understand the depth of his feeling, how inextricable it is from Clive's fundamental being. ] I belong to you.
[ Too intense to be a declaration by a subject to his liege. Clive knows it, but he can't take it back-- he finally, finally slides his hands off of his brother, and gives him more space to breathe. ]
...I won't go anywhere, Joshua. I'm fine, so... [ A paltry attempt at finding equilibrium. Clive tries for a smile, and squeezes the crest of Joshua's knee. ] ...We should rest. It's been an age since we shared a bed.
[What he should do, he knows, is refuse Clive's assertion. Tell him that he belongs to himself, that he always will. And it's true, too. Joshua doesn't want to be Clive's keeper, not really. What he wants is something that he can't have, something that he can never be. Not even when Clive says things like that, says things that strike straight to his heart and make him think, just for a moment - maybe.
But Clive pulls back before Joshua can teeter and fall over that ledge, and that's for the best. He knows it is, even if he feels the loss keenly. He was so close to doing something terrible - to saying something he shouldn't, to asking Clive (begging him) to allow Joshua to touch him.
Just once. And they could pretend it never happened.
His heart is still beating too hard, but he manages to smile back at Clive.]
We do have another long ride tomorrow.
[He had not thought for a moment about sharing the bed. They did it when they were young, when Joshua would sneak into his room, and Clive never turned him away. But now Joshua knows it will be more difficult. Clive's words won't leave his mind. No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours. He didn't mean it that way. He didn't.
It will haunt Joshua.
Still, there's nothing in the world that could make him exile Clive to the divan. He sets himself to normal tasks, pushing his thoughts away fruitlessly, bending down to remove his boots.]
Let me, [ Clive suggests softly, as he drops from the edge of the bed to help Joshua out of his traveling gear. Knelt in front of him, hands to laces, still hovered close.
Agony. He imagines sliding his palms up the side of Joshua's legs, up over his thighs, along his thin waist. He wonders what Joshua would feel like under his palm, if he'd be able to feel the pulse of his aether when they're skin to skin, if he'd taste like fire when kissed. Clive has taken lovers before, as a consequence of bawdy soldiers demanding their First Shield to make himself a real man; he has also been in the company of comrades in need of a desperate rut after the trauma of near-death experiences. All of these have come with the unfortunate, grim reminder that his pleasure depends on visions of blond hair and his brother's eyes, of the sound of Clive in Joshua's voice.
Clive will want to kill whoever touches Joshua. He knows he won't.
Boots peel off; Clive sits up and loops his arms around Joshua's middle, helping him to unclip his traveling packs from his belt.
Founder, Joshua even smells perfect. Like parchment and ink and soft incense. Clive bows his head, and unwittingly nuzzles against his brother's shoulder. ]
...Do you remember the time I took you to the river on your nameday?
[ To break the silence. He might swallow Joshua whole if he doesn't find something else to focus on. ]
[Joshua would let him do just about anything right then. He doesn't need help, not really, but if Clive is the one offering he could never refuse. He stays still, tries not to notice how close Clive is, tries to keep his mind where it should be, and not wandering off down one of those dark, indecent paths that seem to come so easily to him. But Clive's arms are around him, just for a moment, and Clive's face presses to his shoulder, and he takes a quick breath, not quite a gasp.
He wants Clive so badly. He wants Clive to touch him, to look at him like a lover, to hold him. He knows it's impossible. He also knows that he won't ever want anyone else like this. His fate has always been written - for all that Joshua has a romantic heart, there'll be no romance in his life. He was always meant to marry for Rosaria.
And spend all of his life wishing for someone he can't have.]
Yes.
[It takes Clive talking about something simple, a vivid memory, to bring Joshua back to where he should be. Not thinking of impossible things, not inches from disaster.]
I had such a good time - well, until I fell in.
[But Clive was there to save him, and though he'd been terrified for those brief moments, in the end he was safe. In the end he could still treasure those first few minutes, where he was free to do as he wished.]
[ A pleasant memory of the past, to offset the present. Thinking too deeply about the reality of undressing Joshua will be ruinous; under the light leathers serving as ornamental armor, Joshua is only protected by thin, soft layers befitting his station.
Maybe Clive should take the divan. Suddenly, the thought of Joshua pressed against him feels like heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. ]
I hardly minded. It rankled more to see everyone treating your nameday as if it was theirs-- planning to parade you like some...
[ A light scoff, as he straightens and loosens the buckles of Joshua's protective layers. ] ...rare golden chocobo. It didn't sit right.
[ Fingers brush along his brother's nape; the feel of it makes him almost mirror the soft breath Joshua'd taken before, low and surprised. Just the barest touch, and his aether sparks with pleasure.
What in the hells is happening to him? ]
...I only wished you could have had more time to yourself. [ A clearing of his throat, and Clive pulls back. He feels on fire, every thought in his mind gravitating towards increasingly more taboo what ifs. ]
[Clive’s fingers on his skin - has he ever wanted anything more? Just that barest brush is enough to set his heart pounding. Joshua is a fool, he knows, to even imagine that anything could be between them besides brotherly devotion and loyalty. But it’s so easy to think for a moment that it might mean something.]
I’ve always known that I belonged to Rosaria before I belonged to myself. Those few moments you stole for me - they meant so much.
[He doesn’t hate being the Archduke. Sometimes it feels so worthwhile, sometimes he can see the things he’s able to do for his people. But Joshua never had a chance to be anything else, and he never will.
He’s had plenty of idle dreams about what he would do, if his life had been his own. A scholar, perhaps. An adventurer, if he could do it at Clive’s side. Pretty dreams, but he knows his duty.]
Really, I would rather have spent more time with you.
[He’s been so carefully trying to keep his hands to himself. It’s dangerous enough that something sparks through his veins every time Clive’s hands brush his skin. Joshua can’t give in to temptation. But he can’t stop himself, either, and so he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Clive’s cheek.]
I wish - [He stops himself, starts again,] I wish you were more free to do as you pleased, too.
[It’s true. But it’s not what he almost said. I wish I could be yours.]
Thinking back, he'll wonder what it was that pushed him over his edge-- Joshua's soft voice speaking of freedom? The fingers along his cheek? Joshua's clavicle peering out of his thin underclothes?
Later, Clive will understand that it was both none of it, and all of it. Too many years of wanting and denying; the walls he'd built around his emotions were always bound to fall.
Hands fly to Joshua's wrists. They grip (gently, gently), push forward, and pin his thin frame onto clean sheets. Clive climbs on him, intent and hunger making blue eyes sharper, though they gentle when they take in Joshua's form. Beloved, beautiful-- Clive dips down and presses his mouth to Joshua's neck, teeth and lips and tongue raking against soft skin.
He can taste the Phoenix's aether, deep and warm and pulsing. It makes something strange and arcane in Clive shudder in anticipation, wanting more, more, more--
--until the world reorients itself again, and Clive realizes what exactly it is that he's doing. Has done. Would have done. He pales, blood draining from his face, and retreats as though burned. ]
Joshua-- [ short of breath, shuddering. ] --Forgive me, I forgot myself. Forgive me--
[For an instant - just a brief flash of emotion - Joshua is afraid. Not of Clive, who he truly believes would never hurt him, but rather that he's been found out. That he's done something wrong, that Clive has seen through him, that he's disgusted by the thought of Joshua touching him now. But it's not that. It's something else entirely, something he never expected, something very similar to the things he tries so hard not to think about.
Clive's hands are strong, his body is warm. This close, Joshua can feel Ifrit's heat beneath his skin. It doesn't frighten him. Ifrit hurt him once, but Clive is in control of his eikon now, and Joshua cannot fear him. The Ifrit of his nightmares and the Ifrit that Clive becomes may as well be two different creatures.
Joshua breathes in, heart pounding, and then - that warmth on his neck, the slide of teeth, Clive. When he trembles, it isn't out of fear. He's struck dumb, but his body feels more alive than it ever has, and he wants more -
And then Clive is gone, and for a moment all Joshua can do is stare at him in shock. Then Clive's pale face sinks in, his words, his horror.]
No, I - No, Clive -
[He doesn't know what to say, can't find the words. He reaches out, reaching for Clive.]
[ Every nerve in his body is screaming for more: it yearns in a way that he doesn't know what to do with now that he's touched Joshua with that dark, forbidden intent. It makes him shake, and the slide back away from Joshua despite those beloved hands seeking him out makes him realize that－
－fuck, he's hard. Like some sort of animal in heat. Despair laps up against his consciousness, doubled and tripled by the shock he sees on Joshua's beautiful face, the quick reassurance that Clive didn't hurt him. Again, as if Clive is some animal sure to scamper away if scolded, and thus needs to be reassured.
It shames him more than his injury ever could, that Joshua needs to swallow what must be disgust and horror to assuage him that he isn't the monster that he knows himself to be. Kind, gentle Joshua, whose heart Clive is breaking. ]
I can't. [ His voice is barely over a whisper, almost inaudible over the creaking of the bed as he swings himself off of it. ] Founder will it that I never touch you again.
[ Clive would have defiled Joshua. Joshua, the one thing he holds holier than anything. His precious brother, his one and only. ]
I would have done worse than hurt you, [ is choked, sob-adjacent. He turns away from Joshua, hands gripped into tight fists, mortified. ]
[Joshua’s shock is fading, replaced by - something else. Worry, fear, something like need. No one has ever touched him like that, put their mouth against his skin, and he never thought Clive would. Never. But now it’s hard not to want, hard to drag his mind off how he feels, desire sparking along his nerves.
Clive looks horrified, though, shattered by what he’s done. And Joshua knows he should feel the same. He should be disgusted, frightened, not - wishing that Clive hadn’t stopped. But he can’t, won’t pretend at anger. Not just because he wants Clive, has wanted him for so long, but because he can’t stand that look of pain on Clive’s face. Can’t stand the thought of him hating himself for something that Joshua wanted.
Still wants.]
Don’t say that.
[He follows Clive, getting off the bed, going to him - though he stops before touching him. It’s true, he’s afraid Clive will run if Joshua touches him. Will hate himself so much that he won’t allow it. That he won’t listen. So Joshua is careful, though inside his heart is still pounding.
He doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. He doesn’t know what drove Clive to do that, and he fears saying the wrong thing. In the end, though, all he can do is be honest.]
Would it - truly be so awful?
[He knows it would be. He knows it’s wrong. Clive is his brother, his protector. But -]
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[It’s not entirely true. Joshua isn’t used to riding for this far or this long, so he is tired and a little sore. But it’s not so bad that he can’t handle it - he’ll just sleep very well tonight and be a bit stiff in the morning, he thinks. He doesn’t intend to give Clive another reason to worry over him.
He’ll be doing all the worrying this evening, thank you.]
Sit down. Let me see what’s happened to you.
[Joshua gestures Clive towards the bed, while he rummages among their luggage to find the poultices and bandages he knows they brought. Really, he intends to cajole Clive into letting Joshua heal him, but in case it doesn’t work, at least he’ll have something to make do with.
He’s calmed down a little thanks to the rest of their ride, but his concern hasn’t faded. He’s worried about the men who attacked them, what that means for Rosaria, what he ought to do - but right now, Clive is at the front of his mind. Clive was hurt protecting him. He knows it’s Clive’s duty, and that Clive seems satisfied doing it. And Joshua can’t deny that there’s some spoiled, selfish part of himself that likes that too, that thrills at Clive wanting to protect him, fighting for him.
But even so, especially so, Joshua always wants to be the one to care for him. Another selfish impulse that he so often can’t indulge that feels all the more important when Clive was hurt because of him.
Finding the supplies, he dumps the bag on the divan. Of course Clive is going to share the bed with him. Joshua hasn’t even considered the possibility of anything else.]
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－intimate. One-sidedly, Clive knows. Especially since the offer is being extended with the best of intentions, telegraphing concern over Clive (and nothing but concern) despite the fact that Clive is the one who has unduly troubled Joshua with his incompetence. On their first day, no less.
It humbles him. So he doesn't push back, and lets his weight settle on the mattress as he moves to strip off his layers for Joshua's scrutiny. Armor first, followed by crimson and black leathers, until there's nothing left but his trousers.
Clive doesn't allow himself to think anything of his bareness. Instead, he shows Joshua the state of him: the dark, expansive purple-yellow bruise in the shape of an orc's foot spreading from the side of his chest down to nearly his navel, and a slight swelling of his right arm, at the elbow. Sprained, possibly. Most of the damage is internal－ there are no cuts or open wounds to speak of― but they're ugly, unsightly things. ]
I've been through worse, [ he offers. He knows it's no consolation, but he'd prefer to say it regardless. ]
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Clive.
[He reaches out, doesn't quite touch him. Afraid even the slightest touch would hurt, and it probably would. Joshua has learned a little of medicine, and of how the human body works - partly just because he's curious about nearly everything, but mostly because he wants to know when a wound is dire enough that the Phoenix's magic is needed. He's grown since he was a boy, wanting to take away every hurt he could. He tries to only use it when necessary.
He knows it probably isn't now. With time and care, Clive will heal on his own. But Joshua's heart hurts at what's been done to him. Broken ribs, almost certainly. That will make it painful to move, and the arm will make it painful to do nearly anything else.]
Let me heal you. Please. It will only take a moment.
[The Phoenix is warm in his chest - or perhaps it's just his chest that's warm. He realizes, abruptly, that he hasn't seen Clive like this in a long time. They don't undress in front of one another, there's no reason to, at their ages it would be inappropriate.
This isn't inappropriate. It's necessary. But suddenly it feels like it might be both, and Joshua's eyes skim across Clive's shoulders, his chest, not looking at the injuries -
He closes his eyes for a moment. Let Clive think he's only horrified by the bruising, which is even true, really. It's shameful of him to think of anything else. When he opens them again, he's mostly steady.]
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Torn, Clive also flicks his gaze to the side, towards the nondescript wall of their small room. Logically, Joshua shouldn't. These wounds are nothing that patience and poultices can't fix, and his brother is tired, and the power of the Phoenix is sacred.
The problem is that his heart betrays him. He tries to remember when the last time his brother deigned to heal him was― when the last time he felt Joshua's warm fire seep through him was. Ifrit is an inferno, intense and destructive, but his brother's Eikon is an undulating wave of life-giving heat; ever since being given the blessing of the Phoenix, Clive has always liked the way the firebird felt in him. Steady and gentle, like a heartbeat.
He thinks of all the ways he could respond to Joshua's please. "You needn't trouble yourself with such things, Your Grace." "I haven't earned a moment of your blessing, Your Grace." "Your Grace is too kind, but he must rest."
All of them would be preferable to what he actually says, which is: ]
...As you wish, Joshua.
[ Because, at the end of the day, Clive is Joshua's. He turns towards his brother on the bed, utterly vulnerable and open, because Joshua is the only person he will ever trust with the full breadth of his soul. ]
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I like it when you call me by my name.
[When, for just a moment, he isn't the Archduke. He's just Joshua, Clive's brother, who adores him no less now than he did when they were small and all of this mattered less.
He reaches out, fingers just a hair away from brushing Clive's skin. He doesn't need to touch someone to heal them, so he doesn't touch Clive - not wanting to cause even a moment's pain. If there's a part of him that aches at being so close, he ignores it as well as he can.
The Phoenix comes easily. It always does now, as if Joshua's infrequent use of its power makes it all the more eager to show itself. Clive's efforts have kept him from having to prime for a long time, and since he's kept to the castle for so long, he's rarely even needed to draw on its lesser powers. Do eikons get restless? Whatever the reason, Joshua hardly has to think before that heat is flowing through him.
He does it right. He heals the bruised flesh, the cracked bone beneath it, the torn ligaments. He soothes away any small aches left behind, letting the Phoenix's warmth ease away the pain until there's nothing left. Until the damage is completely gone, and only then does Joshua touch Clive's skin, only for a moment. To be sure, that's all. To be certain he's done it right.]
Better, I hope?
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He opens eyes that he hadn't realized he'd held closed; he takes a deep breath, noting that it no longer hurts to fill his lungs with air, and lists, unconsciously, into the hand touching him.
Joshua, he calls out again in the safety of his mind. Joshua. ]
Better than when I started the day. [ Not quite accusatory－ "you did far more than you had to"― but verging on chiding. A don't-push-yourself. Still, he adds: ] ...Thank you.
[ To demonstrate, he flexes the previously-injured elbow and shows that his range of motion has been restored: it bends, stretches, and rotates without trouble. Once that's done, he deflates somewhat, posture rounding to something less austere.
He wonders if he should, if it's proper, but he curls forward and puts his forehead on Joshua's shoulder anyway. A light settling, which he'll relinquish immediately if he senses any discomfort. ]
I made you look weak. It won't happen again.
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You fought well - you defeated them both yourself. There's nothing weak about that.
[Clive didn't make either of them look weak, Joshua thinks. Tales will spread, certainly, because all the men love to talk - and fighting creatures like that is worthy of a tale or two. Coming away with only the injuries he did is more than most could hope to manage. They were all safe because of him.
But -]
Even if you had, it doesn't matter. You don't have to be perfect, Clive. You don't.
[Joshua knows it feels like that, for both of them. He has to be the perfect Archduke, showing no weakness that Rosaria's enemies could exploit. Clive has to be the perfect Lord Commander, feared and admired for his skill. It feels like if either of them falter, everything might come apart around them. Joshua knows the feeling well, it's what makes it hard for him to sleep at night.
But he can't watch Clive blame himself for something like this. Clive has fought so hard, for so long. He's done it all for Rosaria, and Rosaria doesn't appreciate him properly. But he's done it for Joshua, too, and Joshua has promised himself to always appreciate Clive properly. To give him everything possible, everything he deserves.
And if that's a place where he can be less than perfect sometimes, and not bleed for it, Joshua will fight for that.]
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Joshua has always been kind. It's what makes him so beloved, and it's what makes him so strong, and it's what Clive loves so deeply about him. Because he does: he loves Joshua. As his liege, as his brother, as―
―he cuts his thoughts off, and shakes his head. ]
I have to be. [ Quietly, but firmly. ] ...I've already lost you once due to carelessness, Joshua.
[ Lost, in the sense that he thought he'd lost Joshua. Close his eyes, and he can still remember scrabbling towards his brother's limp body, screaming and wailing and crying while the Undying held him back and away. Pleading for help, pleading to die. Ten years ago to this day, and it still haunts him. ]
I won't chance it again. Never.
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But he also knows it isn't just that. He never gets to be this close to Clive. Never gets to hold him. The brush of his fingers on bare skin reminds him that Clive isn't wearing a shirt - but Joshua hasn't forgotten that for a moment, not really. If he feels warmer, it's all right. If his cheeks flush, Clive isn't looking at his face, so it's -
Not safe. But he doesn't let go.]
You've protected me all this time. I don't want you to carry that guilt forever.
[He remembers that night. He tries not to - sometimes he has nightmares about it still - but he does remember. But he never thinks of Ifrit as Clive, not that night. Clive didn't have any control, didn't know what he was doing. How could Joshua blame him? When he woke afterwards, still in pain, still terrified, alive only thanks to the Phoenix, it was Clive's name he called.]
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It's wretched. He knows what it is, and he knows what to name the pangs of pain he feels whenever the Rosarian court titters at the subject of potential unions for his brother. Jealousy, need, and something else with far worse consequences. Even now, Clive can't bring himself to tear away.]
I'm the reason you need to be protected, Joshua.
[ He lifts his head, and is aware, now, of how close their faces are. Joshua is cast in moonlight, long lashes framing brilliant eyes, perfect brows furrowed in concern. Clive almost holds his breath, his brother is so beautiful.
Instead, he grits his teeth. Grimaces, not at Joshua but himself. ]
I became your burden. [ His voice cracks towards the end; he's replayed this moment so many times that he can recite it by memory. ] I forced you into a prime that you weren't ready for. All because of me, and what I said to you that night.
[ "You must do your duty." "You have to keep Father safe." How could he have said that? Joshua was only ten years old－ a child. He'd done the same thing to his brother as all the others did, as their mother did. He should have told Joshua that it was fine to run. That he should be protected. That he could hide if he needed. ]
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He's letting his imagination run away from him, surely. Seeing what the deepest, worst parts of him want so badly to see. But for a moment it feels almost real, for a moment he's teetering on the precipice of something terrifying. Even so, he doesn't let go of Clive.
His heart is beating hard, but he still hears every word Clive says. He hears it, and shakes his head. Recovering himself, a little.]
You didn't force me into anything.
[Joshua speaks quietly, but with emotion. It breaks his heart to know that Clive has carried this guilt for so long.]
I've been raised knowing my duty since I was born. I am meant to be Rosaria's protector - I was frightened, but I would have tried regardless.
[Of course Clive's words mattered to him. Everything Clive has ever said to him matters. But they can't be weighed more heavily than ten years of Anabella raising him to know what he was meant for, ten years of Elwin impressing his duty upon him, ten years of expectation. Frightened or not, uncertain or not, Joshua would have tried to do that duty.]
You've never been my burden. You're the only thing that keeps me steady. [Joshua sighs, soft, and tells at least one truth:] I would be lost without you.
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They did neither. Clive was kept locked in a room for his own safety until Joshua woke, and Clive knows that Uncle Byron must have told Joshua about it at some point: "oh, there was so much darkness in your brother while you were asleep. He was in pieces, you know. For a good while. Though he did his level best not to let it show when he was finally permitted near you."
Clive feels fifteen again. On the verge of failing Joshua again, when he hears I would be lost without you. He wants to take his brother's face in both palms and kiss him breathless. He wants to hold him close and feel his pulse against his skin. He wants to save Joshua, and hold Joshua, and keep him from everything that would ever look at him with ill intent.
Despicable. But he can't stop himself from acting on a fraction of his unspeakable desires, and so his hands settle on either side of Joshua's blisteringly beautiful face. Gently, with enough give that he could slip away easily if he wishes to. ]
And I'm telling you to let me bear all of this for you. So that you never feel lost again.
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One of Joshua’s hands comes up, covering Clive’s, holding it there gently.]
If you wish to bear my burdens, you must let me care for you in return.
[The truth is, he can’t stop Clive from continuing to do what he’s done for years: cutting himself to the bone to protect Rosaria, to keep them safe and free so that Joshua might take the throne. It’s Ifrit, it’s Clive, who’s really done it all.
And everyone around them has been content to let it happen. To use Clive’s strength, with little care for Clive himself. Joshua should have done more to stop it, he knows. He shouldn’t be allowing it now. Clive deserves better.
But Joshua can’t ask his brother to stop if it’s truly what he wants. Rosaria needs him, and Joshua needs him even more desperately. Clive is one of the few he truly feels safe with, one of the few he trusts implicitly. What he can do is insist on this. This, if nothing else.]
Let me heal you when you’re hurt. Come to me when you need rest, or - or comfort.
[It can be excused as brotherly affection, perhaps, when Joshua turns his head just a bit, just enough to press his lips to Clive’s palm. He tells himself that, wanting to believe it, though he knows by the rhythm of his heart in his chest that it isn’t true.]
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His pulse quickens. He's sure Joshua can feel it from where they touch. Like bellows to a fire, Clive can feel his heart heat in his chest.
"If you knew how I look at you, you wouldn't say those things to me." Clive thinks to say it, but the words catch in the back of his throat. ]
Joshua.
[ A chide or a plea, he doesn't even know. His thumb grazes under Joshua's eye, along the peak of his cheekbone. He's so warm; the Phoenix, incarnate. Life and rebirth. Clive's entire world.
He stills for a moment, then breathes through his teeth. He really can't deny Joshua anything. ]
...If that will put your mind at ease. You're the only one I can trust myself with.
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Anything else would be survivable. He's already lost his parents and his last chance to have anything like a peaceful childhood. He could lose his throne, lose his kingdom, and he thinks that he would find a way to carry on, to keep fighting.
But he can't lose Clive. Not to battle - something he fears constantly, for all that he childishly also believes Clive could never lose - but to his own actions. Joshua could so easily misstep, do something stupid and selfish that would drive Clive away. He knows it. Clive would forgive him nearly anything, but how could Clive forgive him something like that?
Still, he can't make himself pull away. Unconsciously, against what should be his better judgement, Joshua leans into Clive's touch.]
It's all I ask for. I hate the thought of you getting hurt for me. I know it's happened - probably more than I think - but if I had my way, no one would ever touch you again.
[Joshua tries not to put that in any context but battle. Anything else is too much - too upsetting to think about. He wants Clive to be happy, he does, but there's a reason he's steadfastly refused to ever listen to rumors, ever to ask about whether his brother has taken lovers.
He doesn't want to know. He doesn't ever want to know.]
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Ifrit trills under Clive's skin, mirroring his want, his elation at being granted even a sliver of Joshua's possessiveness. ]
No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours, [ is uncalculated, stated before Clive can stop himself. The palms bracketing Joshua's face hold with more purpose; he wishes he could make Joshua understand the depth of his feeling, how inextricable it is from Clive's fundamental being. ] I belong to you.
[ Too intense to be a declaration by a subject to his liege. Clive knows it, but he can't take it back-- he finally, finally slides his hands off of his brother, and gives him more space to breathe. ]
...I won't go anywhere, Joshua. I'm fine, so... [ A paltry attempt at finding equilibrium. Clive tries for a smile, and squeezes the crest of Joshua's knee. ] ...We should rest. It's been an age since we shared a bed.
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But Clive pulls back before Joshua can teeter and fall over that ledge, and that's for the best. He knows it is, even if he feels the loss keenly. He was so close to doing something terrible - to saying something he shouldn't, to asking Clive (begging him) to allow Joshua to touch him.
Just once. And they could pretend it never happened.
His heart is still beating too hard, but he manages to smile back at Clive.]
We do have another long ride tomorrow.
[He had not thought for a moment about sharing the bed. They did it when they were young, when Joshua would sneak into his room, and Clive never turned him away. But now Joshua knows it will be more difficult. Clive's words won't leave his mind. No one's touch has ever mattered to me but yours. He didn't mean it that way. He didn't.
It will haunt Joshua.
Still, there's nothing in the world that could make him exile Clive to the divan. He sets himself to normal tasks, pushing his thoughts away fruitlessly, bending down to remove his boots.]
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Agony. He imagines sliding his palms up the side of Joshua's legs, up over his thighs, along his thin waist. He wonders what Joshua would feel like under his palm, if he'd be able to feel the pulse of his aether when they're skin to skin, if he'd taste like fire when kissed. Clive has taken lovers before, as a consequence of bawdy soldiers demanding their First Shield to make himself a real man; he has also been in the company of comrades in need of a desperate rut after the trauma of near-death experiences. All of these have come with the unfortunate, grim reminder that his pleasure depends on visions of blond hair and his brother's eyes, of the sound of Clive in Joshua's voice.
Clive will want to kill whoever touches Joshua. He knows he won't.
Boots peel off; Clive sits up and loops his arms around Joshua's middle, helping him to unclip his traveling packs from his belt.
Founder, Joshua even smells perfect. Like parchment and ink and soft incense. Clive bows his head, and unwittingly nuzzles against his brother's shoulder. ]
...Do you remember the time I took you to the river on your nameday?
[ To break the silence. He might swallow Joshua whole if he doesn't find something else to focus on. ]
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He wants Clive so badly. He wants Clive to touch him, to look at him like a lover, to hold him. He knows it's impossible. He also knows that he won't ever want anyone else like this. His fate has always been written - for all that Joshua has a romantic heart, there'll be no romance in his life. He was always meant to marry for Rosaria.
And spend all of his life wishing for someone he can't have.]
Yes.
[It takes Clive talking about something simple, a vivid memory, to bring Joshua back to where he should be. Not thinking of impossible things, not inches from disaster.]
I had such a good time - well, until I fell in.
[But Clive was there to save him, and though he'd been terrified for those brief moments, in the end he was safe. In the end he could still treasure those first few minutes, where he was free to do as he wished.]
I do wish you had not been blamed.
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Maybe Clive should take the divan. Suddenly, the thought of Joshua pressed against him feels like heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. ]
I hardly minded. It rankled more to see everyone treating your nameday as if it was theirs-- planning to parade you like some...
[ A light scoff, as he straightens and loosens the buckles of Joshua's protective layers. ] ...rare golden chocobo. It didn't sit right.
[ Fingers brush along his brother's nape; the feel of it makes him almost mirror the soft breath Joshua'd taken before, low and surprised. Just the barest touch, and his aether sparks with pleasure.
What in the hells is happening to him? ]
...I only wished you could have had more time to yourself. [ A clearing of his throat, and Clive pulls back. He feels on fire, every thought in his mind gravitating towards increasingly more taboo what ifs. ]
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I’ve always known that I belonged to Rosaria before I belonged to myself. Those few moments you stole for me - they meant so much.
[He doesn’t hate being the Archduke. Sometimes it feels so worthwhile, sometimes he can see the things he’s able to do for his people. But Joshua never had a chance to be anything else, and he never will.
He’s had plenty of idle dreams about what he would do, if his life had been his own. A scholar, perhaps. An adventurer, if he could do it at Clive’s side. Pretty dreams, but he knows his duty.]
Really, I would rather have spent more time with you.
[He’s been so carefully trying to keep his hands to himself. It’s dangerous enough that something sparks through his veins every time Clive’s hands brush his skin. Joshua can’t give in to temptation. But he can’t stop himself, either, and so he reaches out and brushes his fingers against Clive’s cheek.]
I wish - [He stops himself, starts again,] I wish you were more free to do as you pleased, too.
[It’s true. But it’s not what he almost said. I wish I could be yours.]
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Thinking back, he'll wonder what it was that pushed him over his edge-- Joshua's soft voice speaking of freedom? The fingers along his cheek? Joshua's clavicle peering out of his thin underclothes?
Later, Clive will understand that it was both none of it, and all of it. Too many years of wanting and denying; the walls he'd built around his emotions were always bound to fall.
Hands fly to Joshua's wrists. They grip (gently, gently), push forward, and pin his thin frame onto clean sheets. Clive climbs on him, intent and hunger making blue eyes sharper, though they gentle when they take in Joshua's form. Beloved, beautiful-- Clive dips down and presses his mouth to Joshua's neck, teeth and lips and tongue raking against soft skin.
He can taste the Phoenix's aether, deep and warm and pulsing. It makes something strange and arcane in Clive shudder in anticipation, wanting more, more, more--
--until the world reorients itself again, and Clive realizes what exactly it is that he's doing. Has done. Would have done. He pales, blood draining from his face, and retreats as though burned. ]
Joshua-- [ short of breath, shuddering. ] --Forgive me, I forgot myself. Forgive me--
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Clive's hands are strong, his body is warm. This close, Joshua can feel Ifrit's heat beneath his skin. It doesn't frighten him. Ifrit hurt him once, but Clive is in control of his eikon now, and Joshua cannot fear him. The Ifrit of his nightmares and the Ifrit that Clive becomes may as well be two different creatures.
Joshua breathes in, heart pounding, and then - that warmth on his neck, the slide of teeth, Clive. When he trembles, it isn't out of fear. He's struck dumb, but his body feels more alive than it ever has, and he wants more -
And then Clive is gone, and for a moment all Joshua can do is stare at him in shock. Then Clive's pale face sinks in, his words, his horror.]
No, I - No, Clive -
[He doesn't know what to say, can't find the words. He reaches out, reaching for Clive.]
Don't go, please. You - you didn't hurt me.
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－fuck, he's hard. Like some sort of animal in heat. Despair laps up against his consciousness, doubled and tripled by the shock he sees on Joshua's beautiful face, the quick reassurance that Clive didn't hurt him. Again, as if Clive is some animal sure to scamper away if scolded, and thus needs to be reassured.
It shames him more than his injury ever could, that Joshua needs to swallow what must be disgust and horror to assuage him that he isn't the monster that he knows himself to be. Kind, gentle Joshua, whose heart Clive is breaking. ]
I can't. [ His voice is barely over a whisper, almost inaudible over the creaking of the bed as he swings himself off of it. ] Founder will it that I never touch you again.
[ Clive would have defiled Joshua. Joshua, the one thing he holds holier than anything. His precious brother, his one and only. ]
I would have done worse than hurt you, [ is choked, sob-adjacent. He turns away from Joshua, hands gripped into tight fists, mortified. ]
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Clive looks horrified, though, shattered by what he’s done. And Joshua knows he should feel the same. He should be disgusted, frightened, not - wishing that Clive hadn’t stopped. But he can’t, won’t pretend at anger. Not just because he wants Clive, has wanted him for so long, but because he can’t stand that look of pain on Clive’s face. Can’t stand the thought of him hating himself for something that Joshua wanted.
Still wants.]
Don’t say that.
[He follows Clive, getting off the bed, going to him - though he stops before touching him. It’s true, he’s afraid Clive will run if Joshua touches him. Will hate himself so much that he won’t allow it. That he won’t listen. So Joshua is careful, though inside his heart is still pounding.
He doesn’t know what the right thing to say is. He doesn’t know what drove Clive to do that, and he fears saying the wrong thing. In the end, though, all he can do is be honest.]
Would it - truly be so awful?
[He knows it would be. He knows it’s wrong. Clive is his brother, his protector. But -]
I will never fear your touch.
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