[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 -]
[ To the tune of you don't understand, though he knows that Joshua does. His brother is no longer a child, and Clive is aware of the education that happens when princes come of age and are told what their expectations are in terms of continuing the bloodline. Joshua isn't so naive as to think that Clive's mouth on his neck was anything but carnal in nature, and Clive isn't so despicable that he'll fall back on that excuse to forgive himself for the transgression.
So. Though it burns him alive to admit it, he lays it out as clearly as he can manage. ]
―I would have taken you, had I not stopped myself. [ Still too vague. He adds: ] I want for you. You must know what this means.
[ Which makes him a failure not only as a protector, but as Joshua's brother. The one thing he ought not to be able to fail in, being blood-tied; perhaps Anabella had been correct to hate him, if this is the thing he was destined to become. ]
This is what I would do to you, had I the freedom to do as I please. [ Something in his gaze turns desperate; he sees the worry in Joshua's face and wants nothing more than to soothe him and tell him that everything will be alright, but he's the problem. How does he protect Joshua from himself without pushing Joshua away? ] It's wretched, and I won't make you suffer it.
[Joshua says it as gently as he can manage. He knows what he wants. He knows it's awful, it's wrong, that Clive will probably be just as horrified at it as he was by his own actions. Even knowing Clive wants him doesn't change that, they both know it's the kind of thing they should never give into.
But Clive wants him. It's impossible that such a thing could be true, and yet - Clive's mouth was on his neck, Clive's hands on his wrists. Joshua still feels hot, still finds it hard to keep his thoughts from what might have happened. But Clive is looking at him now like a drowning man. Joshua doesn't know if he can find the right words, is afraid that all he'll do is upset Clive more. Even so, he's going to tell the truth.]
It isn't wretched. You aren't.
[He takes a breath, closes his eyes for a moment. Steadying himself. He's frightened to speak any of this aloud. But he doesn't look away from Clive when he speaks.]
I would welcome you in my bed. I would give you anything you might want, so long as it meant you would touch me.
[Joshua has never wanted anyone else. He knows he should. He knows he's intended for a political marriage, and a love like the one he has for Clive is the worst possible thing he could fall to. But he can't help it, and he doesn't want to. Even the faintest possibility that Clive might feel similarly for him is enough to make him stop caring about anything else.]
If you hate yourself for it, you must hate me as well.
[ He feels air draining out of his lungs. Joshua speaks, and he says― he says something about knowing what Clive means, but wanting it regardless. The internal struggle to make sense of it all makes his chest tight, and his mind works a mile a minute to come to terms with what he's hearing.
It can't be, though. Joshua can't be giving him permission. It's impossible. Expecting reciprocity is worse than wishful thinking, because reciprocity shouldn't exist at all.
And yet. Clive watches as his brother opens his eyes and maintains eye contact, speaking impossible words with impossible conviction. It threatens to shatter him again, and the only reason it doesn't is because of what Joshua says about hating him. ]
Never, [ is the kneejerk response. ] Never, Joshua.
[ Founder, he feels lightheaded. Worse still, he feels some part of himself shake with elation that Joshua might want this in the way that he does.
A breath, and Clive reorients himself. Wills the room to stop spinning, and wills himself to keep his focus steady, his voice soft. ]
―If I do this, [ is accompanied by a shake of his head. ] I would ruin you. I―
[ He swallows, his throat thick with his words. ]
―I would ever look at you, and want you. [ To prove it, he presses his hand to Joshua's face again; he knows his brother will be able to hear his pulse pounding through his palm, feel how his skin burns. ] Anyone you show favor to, I would loathe.
[Joshua wants to clutch at Clive’s hand, afraid this could be the last time Clive is willing to touch him. The heat of Clive’s touch only makes him want to lean into it, his heart beating a matching rhythm.
Clive is right, if they do this, give into this, there’ll be no going back. But -]
It would change nothing for me. I already think of you with - with others and I burn with jealousy. That they might have you when I can’t.
[Joshua has always feared that one day he would have to give his blessing to Clive’s marriage. After all, who wouldn’t want Clive? He’s the most handsome man Joshua knows, kind and true, strong but gentle. Joshua is sure he will be loved, because who could know him properly and do anything else, really?
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. Even if Clive never touches him again, he knows that having to give his brother to someone else will still break his heart.
And Joshua’s own fate has been written since he was born. If Clive feels even a bit of that same emotion, that unhealthy possessiveness that Joshua can’t shake, then it seems terribly unfair that they shouldn’t have a chance. A chance at - something. A moment together, if nothing else.
Joshua’s heart is already lost anyway.]
I know my duty. I know I am expected to wed. But you’re the only one I want - the only one I will ever favor.
[He steps closer to Clive, not looking away, reaching out to rest one hand gently over his heart. So he can feel that heat, that pulse, that mirrors his own.]
Even if you never touch me again, that will be true.
[He knows it’s awful. He knows they shouldn’t. He knows they can never go back from this.
[ 'Someone else'. As if there ever has been, as if there ever will be. Clive Rosfield, the second Dominant of Fire, is a poor marriage prospect: too strategically important to Rosaria's military to be married off to another nation as a peace offering, and too frequently dispatched to the frontlines to be an attractive husband for a noblewoman. There has been talk of him siring a child in the hopes that Ifrit may be passed down (an Eikon that has heretofore never existed), but he doesn't care to try.
Ifrit was born for the Phoenix, and Ifrit will die with the Phoenix.
It's the only rational thought he can muster before he leans forward into that forbidden sliver of space between them, spurred by the suddenly unbearable thought of them ever being apart. Clive has experienced it once, when he held his brother's broken body and felt his entire world come crashing down around him.
He angles his head, and presses his mouth against Joshua's. It isn't chaste－ it's open-mouthed and wanting, with one palm cradling the side of that perfect face, the other finding the small of Joshua's back to pull him inwards, closer. Clive tilts, and kisses, and breathes; he relents once, letting their lips part, then surges back in again, making a hungry sound in the back of his throat.
When his lungs ache, and his vision starts to double, he finally pulls back. ]
Fuck, Joshua－ [ A low pant, voice hoarse. All pretense of being the Archduke's Lord Commander has disappeared; he's just Clive, bare and honest. ] －You're the only one that will ever have me.
[ Until I die, he whispers, and nips along Joshua's lower lip. ]
[It's almost too much, overwhelming, everything he hoped for and never dreamed could happen. Joshua has never really been kissed, certainly not properly - all the years he might have spent indulging in crushes and puppy love, if he were another boy, were spent either recovering or learning how to rule.
It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Since he's known what it was to want, he's only wanted one person. Even after everything, all their words, Clive pressing him to the bed earlier - even after all that, it almost doesn't seem real.
But Joshua, even inexperienced as he is, is not the sort of boy who hesitates when this might be his only chance. When Clive kisses him, he kisses back, and if it's a little clumsy, and little too eager, he isn't embarrassed. Not then, anyway, not in that rush of emotion and delight and want. He raises a hand to settle on the back of Clive's neck, not really holding him there, just touching him. An unconscious movement as he leans into Clive, caught so completely in his gravitational pull.
When they pause to breathe, Joshua is flushed, dizzy with impossible happiness. He's smiling, he can't help it, though it's a bit of a small thing - like it's hard to believe this might really be happening.]
I would be the luckiest soul in the world, should that be true.
[It isn't that he's doubting Clive - only that he's wanted this for so long, and he never thought it could happen. It's real, he knows, but even so it feels like a dream.]
And I would be yours, Clive. [Quiet, but honest.] As long as you want me, I will be.
[It is - hard to focus on anything he's saying, with Clive's hands on him, Clive's lips against his. So easy to fall into it, let his lips slide open, lean into Clive again.]
[ Reciprocal touching, reciprocal kissing. Hard to imagine any of this is real at all; Clive almost doubts it until he sees the shape of Joshua's smile and hears the impossible things he's saying, again, about belonging and wanting.
It almost makes him consider canceling the diplomatic mission entirely. Almost. Even on the heels of this paradigm-shifting realization (Joshua wants him), their respective roles to play in polite society haven't changed. Joshua is still the Archduke of a country that teeters on the brink of destruction, and Clive is still the Archduke's First Shield. Their lives have never been their own.
Clive will remember that in a moment (or two, or three)― presently, he busies himself with walking Joshua backwards, lips still locked, until the back of his brother's legs hit the edge of the mattress again. ]
―Forevermore, then.
[ A bastardization of the oath he'd taken: to shield the firebird's flame, forevermore. This is hardly protection, the opposite of shielding. But Clive sinks Joshua back down regardless, letting soft blond hair pool on clean white sheets, feeling lightheaded at the sight of it.
Another kiss, followed by another. One hand steals under the thin fabric of Joshua's traveling shirt, and Clive swears he sees stars the moment he feels his palm brush against bare, smooth skin. His aether crackles with need. ]
Gods, [ he rasps, ] you feel more perfect than I'd imagined.
[ Which is a confession (that he's likely already made) that he's imagined it. Touching Joshua like this, pinning him and taking him. Just another red-blooded human, at the end of the day; he wonders if Joshua will be disappointed by the realization. ]
[The idea that Clive might have been thinking of him, wanting him, is impossibly exciting. All this time, he’s wanted Clive - thought of him, tried desperately not to think of him - but he never even once wondered if Clive might be thinking of him in return.
Joshua knows that he isn’t perfect. He’s too thin, without the finely muscled figure that Clive has, the sort of thing that makes Joshua’s mouth go dry. But so long as Clive wants to look at him, wants to touch him, he can’t be too self-conscious. And Clive’s touch on his bare skin - it’s everything he’s ever wanted.
Forevermore. It’s his dearest wish. Clive has already made that vow, on his knees in the throne room, but this is something else. This isn’t Joshua the Archduke and his Lord Commander and First Shield. This is the man he loves, the man he wants to be with. The demands of his position need one thing from him, but he desperately wants this instead. Just this.]
What did you imagine?
[Inexperienced Joshua might be, but innocent - perhaps less so. He’s been well-educated, as would be necessary for someone expected to wed and produce heirs. What he’s also had for years is the run of the Rosalith castle library - including all the bawdy tales that they really weren’t supposed to have.
And this is Clive, who he’s wanted for so long. How can he be anything but eager? He feels greedy, almost, as if he must clutch at this with all he has. As if it might disappear any moment.
Finally, he lets himself properly appreciate the sight of Clive above him, bare chested and beautiful. He can reach out, too - touching Clive like he’s something impossibly precious. He wants to taste Clive’s skin, wants to learn all the things he’s never been allowed to.]
[ Oh, Joshua is dangerous. Playing with fire (ha). He asks Clive what in his sweet voice, and it brings to mind all the unspeakable things he's already done to Joshua in the not-so-safety of his mind. Things that made his stomach churn in shame before this night, and things that make him feel hot to the point of burning now. ]
Like this, [ he affirms, with his palm brushing up along Joshua's stomach, following the dip of his navel. ] Bare, and waiting.
[ Clive, who the soldiers have always lovingly needled about being so celibate that he might be a monk if not a Shield. He's sure Joshua must have heard the complaints about their Lord Commander always refusing nightly outings with his men; some concern or other about morale dipping.
This is the truth of things, though. Less a lack of drive, and more a problem of who it's directed towards. Clive bites gently over Joshua's neck again, stifling a primal urge to let his teeth sink in and leave a mark; everything they're doing right now is forbidden, but that gesture is triply so.
A heated exhale to compose himself, and he lifts his head to rub noses. ]
I thought of how you'd cling. How you'd sing so sweetly for me. [ Horrible, sinful fantasies. Like dripping ink over clean parchment, or tracking blood over white cloth.
It's what he feels like he's doing now, trailing his touch over Joshua's chest. Distantly, he can hear footsteps moving behind the closed door, beyond the walls of their room and out in the hall. Maybe the owner of the estate, here to being them supper. But it's so hard to focus on anything beyond Joshua, the shape of him and the sound of his breathing, so close in a way that Clive never thought they could be. ]
[The world outside their room may as well not exist to Joshua. All his attention is on Clive - the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, his teeth on Joshua's neck. He shivers as Clive's hand travels across his skin, aware he's growing uncomfortably hard just from this. It's embarrassing, a little, how easily his body responds. But it's Clive. He could unravel Joshua with hardly any effort at all, if he wished.
Joshua is already flushed, and he gasps when Clive nips at his neck, a soft artless exhalation. He likes it, and some part of him, selfish and sordid, wishes that Clive would leave a mark. So that he'll know, tomorrow, this really happened. So that there will be proof of this, of Clive. But though he's finding it harder and harder to keep his thoughts steady, he knows that would be a bad idea. Someone would surely see it, and how could they possibly explain such a thing? So he can only wish, wistfully and fruitlessly, and try to control his desires even a little.
It's game he's bound to lose. He already knows that.]
I would. [A little breathless, a little awed. To think that Clive imagined those things, thought of him like that.] I would give you everything. I want to.
[He wants to cling to Clive, he wants to pull him closer and feel every inch of him. He wants to find out what Clive likes and give it to him, so that he'll never have reason to think of anyone else, want anyone else.
It's impossibly greedy, how much he wants, how far he's willing to go. But Joshua has never loved Clive in a casual way, not even as a boy. He's always loved him with an intensity that made him risk Anabella's anger, made him stand up to everyone who wanted Clive punished, made him fight as hard as he could to become well, become the Archduke, so that he could make Clive his Lord Commander. Make him a little safer, make him a little more Joshua's.
His hand slides down Clive's chest, exploring. Daring great, still only the smallest sliver of what he wants, his hand drifts downward.]
[ It's been written since Joshua's birth that he would belong to Rosaria. The next firebird, the long-awaited Dominant that would make the duchy prosper. A symbol of pride and hope and power.
So it must be wicked, for Clive to kiss his jaw and whisper: ] My Phoenix.
[ His. Not the Eikon of Fire, ruler of life and death, but his beautiful brother, arbiter of Clive's life or death. Clive will endure for Joshua, and will perish if Joshua ever does.
So he shivers when Joshua slides his hand down below his stomach and to his already filled-out hardness, uncomfortable in the soft leather of his trousers. Pleasure follows the still-lingering disbelief that Joshua is touching him like this, and he mirrors Joshua in his own graceless gasp, too hot under that palm. ]
Feel what you do to me, [ is almost a hum-growl, kissed along the seam of Joshua's mouth. ] Only you, Joshua.
[ A low grind down, obscene, against the hand on him. It makes Clive shudder again, sparks flying in his head, every inch of him attuned to the beloved presence pressed under him. Joshua, Joshua, Joshua.
So it's infuriating and terrifying, then, when he hears a knock at their bedroom door. The proprietor from earlier, his voice muffled by that thin door separating the both of them from utter ruin. "Pardon me, Your Grace," the man says. "But I've brought you something to eat."
That presence should be enough for Clive to snap back into himself. To realize how utterly wrong it is, what he's doing, and to stop.
But he leans in instead, and whispers in Joshua's ear: ] Do you want me to dismiss him?
[Joshua goes still at the sound of the man's voice. Something unexpected and unwanted, intruding into this world that, for a moment, was only the two of them and nothing more. In the safety of that world, Joshua could set aside everything else and just focus on what he wanted, who he wanted.
He does not welcome the interruption, the reminder that he isn't just Joshua, someone that Clive can touch. He's the Archduke, and Rosaria needs so much from him, and he has to give it.
He wilts a little, remembering that. Is it so awful, to want this for himself? He knows it is, really - not because of what he wants (Joshua is well aware that many past Archdukes have had lovers outside of marriage) but of who. It's unfair to Clive, too - doesn't he deserve happiness, a love that he doesn't have to keep secret forever? Joshua knows he should end this now. This is likely the last time he'll be clear-headed enough to muster the self-control.
He knows he should. He desperately doesn't want to. He loves Clive, he wants Clive, he's never wanted anyone else. He never will. And at his heart, beyond being the Phoenix, the Archduke, Joshua is a lonely young man who dearly wants to be loved. Who wants nothing more than to have Clive look at him with desire, touch him with need, want him more than anything.
It's selfish, it's wrong. But just one night, just once - can he not simply be Joshua?]
Tell him to go.
[How can he do anything else, in the end? With Clive above him, his hand on the undeniable proof that Clive does want him. How could Joshua possibly just stop?
He clasps Clive gently through his trousers instead, his touch clumsy but certain.]
[ Their last line of defense, broken. Clive's breath hitches in the back of his throat when Joshua traces the outline of him― a bold move― and he nearly laughs at how exhilarating it feels, how intoxicating it is to be wanted by someone that Clive has defined his entire world around.
He kisses Joshua again, quick but deathly affectionate. ] ―Alright.
[ Not "if you will it", or "whatever you want". Just a simple affirmation, and a touch of a smile that resembles the kind of expression Clive'd made when he was younger, less burdened by the weight of their shared tragedies. A yes, because it's what Clive wants, too.
He draws up a bit by his elbows, then, and turns his head towards the door, speaking with firmer finality: ] ―His Grace wishes to rest. Leave the tray outside the door, and I'll see to it that he receives it later.
[ Clive can feel how the presence on the other side of the door stills, uncertain. It makes his heart pound to think of what might happen if the man doesn't heed him, if he opens the door and sees them tangled in each other; still, Clive thinks that he might not be able to stop.
But, after a beat: "yes, Lord Commander. Pray call upon me if His Grace needs anything at all."
The sound of clattering silverware and shuffling footsteps later, Clive releases the breath that he'd been holding. ]
[He understands why Clive normally treats him as the Archduke, with careful respect and restraint. He appreciates it - his place on the throne is hard to argue with, in Rosaria the Phoenix Dominant always rules, but that doesn't provide him with automatic respect. Joshua knows he'll have to earn it every moment, he'll have to rule properly and act as an Archduke ought, or else the nobles of the realm will see him as weak. A ruler in name only, a pawn of whoever can grab the most power.
Clive isn't the only one who treats him with respect, far from it, but Clive is his Lord Commander. Clive is also the one who has fought the hardest for Rosaria, and the one who (Joshua knows, and hates) many still fear. As if he might lose control of Ifrit at any moment, instead of spending every breath keeping all of them safe. Clive treating him with that careful respect, almost reverence, sends a message. He's no longer Clive's little brother, clinging to his sleeve - he's the ruler of Rosaria.
Joshua knows all that, and he loves Clive for it. But he treasures each tiny moment when Clive treats him like Joshua again - that little smile, his easy agreement, any time Clive says his name. It's not only that Joshua can cease being the Archduke, just for those moments. It's that perhaps in those moments his brother can be just Clive, too.
Joshua appreciates everything he's done. But if he could give Clive peace, safety, a chance to lay down his burdens - he would do it without regret, no matter what it took.
He brings up his other hand, caressing Clive's cheek, gentle and affectionate.]
You are so terribly handsome when you smile.
[And he smiles too, a fond little curve of his lips.]
[ It stands to reason that, if Joshua is to live for Rosaria's sake, then Clive lives for Joshua's sake. Joshua will protect the homeland that they can exist in, and in turn, Clive will protect Joshua so that nothing and no one can threaten his wellbeing. That's the equation that they have to balance, at least for the sake of politics and propriety. Outside of those restrictions, however―
―they have this. Something intensely forbidden that will always have to be relegated as a secret, but something also solely for themselves. Untouchable, as long as they keep it safe. Unforgivable, but theirs.
Clive knows he should stop. He won't. ]
I've been trying to brood less, [ is just as fond, light, and Clive lets the smile stay curved along his lips as he presses another kiss to the corner of Joshua's beautiful mouth. His hands are moving to pull the last of his brother's thin travel top off, eager to see more of him now that he's certain that he's permitted; he drapes it along the headboard of the bed, far more reverent with Joshua's things than he is with his own.
Clive sits up a bit, straddling Joshua's hips, then runs his palm over all that bare skin. Sternum to navel, then back up to his chest. He thumbs along one perfect peak, drinking him in with affection-drunk eyes. ]
Founder, you're so beautiful.
[ A little sigh, as he traces the delicate line of Joshua's waist, fingertips ghosting over the outline of him. Paler than Clive, smoother, speaking to a life spent more indoors than not, but with clear signs of having done as much training as was permitted of a man of his station. ] Not even the Gods could make anything as perfect as you.
[Joshua doesn't consider himself ugly, but he's never thought himself beautiful either. Under Clive's attention, he does feel it - a flush in his cheeks, a smile on his lips, tucking every word away to cling to later when he's lonely, when Clive is far from him.
It feels strange to be looks at like that, with desire. Like anyone, Joshua has wished that he looked different - more like Clive, really, less breakable, stronger. Looking up at Clive, he can see small scars here and there, the remnants of battles that Joshua wasn't there to ease away with his healing. Joshua doesn't have any of those, his skin free of any evidence of what was done to him - he looks untouched, despite the damage his body once took. The power of his eikon, and he's grateful for it, so that Clive never looks at him and thinks of Ifrit's claws and teeth.
Really, though, it quickly becomes hard to keep his thoughts orderly when Clive is touching him like that. Like no one else ever has. His breath catches when Clive brushes over his nipple, shifting a little on the bed, his trousers growing ever more uncomfortable.]
To think that you should say that, looking as you do. [Joshua is a little breathless, but he manages to sound teasing anyway, looking up at Clive.] I came to watch you train once, in the heat of summer, and afterwards you took your shirt off to cool down. I swear, no one in the yard could look at anything else.
[Actually, Joshua can't speak for a single other person. There might as well have not been another soul in the yard, for all that he noticed. His throat had gone dry, his heart pounded. He'd hated himself for it, but the sight haunted his nights for so long afterward. And now he again can't look away from Clive, heart pounding, body entirely out of his own control.
But this time Joshua can reach out and touch Clive, trail fingers across his skin, feel the heat of him. And he does.]
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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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[ To the tune of you don't understand, though he knows that Joshua does. His brother is no longer a child, and Clive is aware of the education that happens when princes come of age and are told what their expectations are in terms of continuing the bloodline. Joshua isn't so naive as to think that Clive's mouth on his neck was anything but carnal in nature, and Clive isn't so despicable that he'll fall back on that excuse to forgive himself for the transgression.
So. Though it burns him alive to admit it, he lays it out as clearly as he can manage. ]
―I would have taken you, had I not stopped myself. [ Still too vague. He adds: ] I want for you. You must know what this means.
[ Which makes him a failure not only as a protector, but as Joshua's brother. The one thing he ought not to be able to fail in, being blood-tied; perhaps Anabella had been correct to hate him, if this is the thing he was destined to become. ]
This is what I would do to you, had I the freedom to do as I please. [ Something in his gaze turns desperate; he sees the worry in Joshua's face and wants nothing more than to soothe him and tell him that everything will be alright, but he's the problem. How does he protect Joshua from himself without pushing Joshua away? ] It's wretched, and I won't make you suffer it.
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[Joshua says it as gently as he can manage. He knows what he wants. He knows it's awful, it's wrong, that Clive will probably be just as horrified at it as he was by his own actions. Even knowing Clive wants him doesn't change that, they both know it's the kind of thing they should never give into.
But Clive wants him. It's impossible that such a thing could be true, and yet - Clive's mouth was on his neck, Clive's hands on his wrists. Joshua still feels hot, still finds it hard to keep his thoughts from what might have happened. But Clive is looking at him now like a drowning man. Joshua doesn't know if he can find the right words, is afraid that all he'll do is upset Clive more. Even so, he's going to tell the truth.]
It isn't wretched. You aren't.
[He takes a breath, closes his eyes for a moment. Steadying himself. He's frightened to speak any of this aloud. But he doesn't look away from Clive when he speaks.]
I would welcome you in my bed. I would give you anything you might want, so long as it meant you would touch me.
[Joshua has never wanted anyone else. He knows he should. He knows he's intended for a political marriage, and a love like the one he has for Clive is the worst possible thing he could fall to. But he can't help it, and he doesn't want to. Even the faintest possibility that Clive might feel similarly for him is enough to make him stop caring about anything else.]
If you hate yourself for it, you must hate me as well.
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It can't be, though. Joshua can't be giving him permission. It's impossible. Expecting reciprocity is worse than wishful thinking, because reciprocity shouldn't exist at all.
And yet. Clive watches as his brother opens his eyes and maintains eye contact, speaking impossible words with impossible conviction. It threatens to shatter him again, and the only reason it doesn't is because of what Joshua says about hating him. ]
Never, [ is the kneejerk response. ] Never, Joshua.
[ Founder, he feels lightheaded. Worse still, he feels some part of himself shake with elation that Joshua might want this in the way that he does.
A breath, and Clive reorients himself. Wills the room to stop spinning, and wills himself to keep his focus steady, his voice soft. ]
―If I do this, [ is accompanied by a shake of his head. ] I would ruin you. I―
[ He swallows, his throat thick with his words. ]
―I would ever look at you, and want you. [ To prove it, he presses his hand to Joshua's face again; he knows his brother will be able to hear his pulse pounding through his palm, feel how his skin burns. ] Anyone you show favor to, I would loathe.
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Clive is right, if they do this, give into this, there’ll be no going back. But -]
It would change nothing for me. I already think of you with - with others and I burn with jealousy. That they might have you when I can’t.
[Joshua has always feared that one day he would have to give his blessing to Clive’s marriage. After all, who wouldn’t want Clive? He’s the most handsome man Joshua knows, kind and true, strong but gentle. Joshua is sure he will be loved, because who could know him properly and do anything else, really?
He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it. Even if Clive never touches him again, he knows that having to give his brother to someone else will still break his heart.
And Joshua’s own fate has been written since he was born. If Clive feels even a bit of that same emotion, that unhealthy possessiveness that Joshua can’t shake, then it seems terribly unfair that they shouldn’t have a chance. A chance at - something. A moment together, if nothing else.
Joshua’s heart is already lost anyway.]
I know my duty. I know I am expected to wed. But you’re the only one I want - the only one I will ever favor.
[He steps closer to Clive, not looking away, reaching out to rest one hand gently over his heart. So he can feel that heat, that pulse, that mirrors his own.]
Even if you never touch me again, that will be true.
[He knows it’s awful. He knows they shouldn’t. He knows they can never go back from this.
Joshua knows he’s already ruined.]
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Ifrit was born for the Phoenix, and Ifrit will die with the Phoenix.
It's the only rational thought he can muster before he leans forward into that forbidden sliver of space between them, spurred by the suddenly unbearable thought of them ever being apart. Clive has experienced it once, when he held his brother's broken body and felt his entire world come crashing down around him.
He angles his head, and presses his mouth against Joshua's. It isn't chaste－ it's open-mouthed and wanting, with one palm cradling the side of that perfect face, the other finding the small of Joshua's back to pull him inwards, closer. Clive tilts, and kisses, and breathes; he relents once, letting their lips part, then surges back in again, making a hungry sound in the back of his throat.
When his lungs ache, and his vision starts to double, he finally pulls back. ]
Fuck, Joshua－ [ A low pant, voice hoarse. All pretense of being the Archduke's Lord Commander has disappeared; he's just Clive, bare and honest. ] －You're the only one that will ever have me.
[ Until I die, he whispers, and nips along Joshua's lower lip. ]
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It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Since he's known what it was to want, he's only wanted one person. Even after everything, all their words, Clive pressing him to the bed earlier - even after all that, it almost doesn't seem real.
But Joshua, even inexperienced as he is, is not the sort of boy who hesitates when this might be his only chance. When Clive kisses him, he kisses back, and if it's a little clumsy, and little too eager, he isn't embarrassed. Not then, anyway, not in that rush of emotion and delight and want. He raises a hand to settle on the back of Clive's neck, not really holding him there, just touching him. An unconscious movement as he leans into Clive, caught so completely in his gravitational pull.
When they pause to breathe, Joshua is flushed, dizzy with impossible happiness. He's smiling, he can't help it, though it's a bit of a small thing - like it's hard to believe this might really be happening.]
I would be the luckiest soul in the world, should that be true.
[It isn't that he's doubting Clive - only that he's wanted this for so long, and he never thought it could happen. It's real, he knows, but even so it feels like a dream.]
And I would be yours, Clive. [Quiet, but honest.] As long as you want me, I will be.
[It is - hard to focus on anything he's saying, with Clive's hands on him, Clive's lips against his. So easy to fall into it, let his lips slide open, lean into Clive again.]
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It almost makes him consider canceling the diplomatic mission entirely. Almost. Even on the heels of this paradigm-shifting realization (Joshua wants him), their respective roles to play in polite society haven't changed. Joshua is still the Archduke of a country that teeters on the brink of destruction, and Clive is still the Archduke's First Shield. Their lives have never been their own.
Clive will remember that in a moment (or two, or three)― presently, he busies himself with walking Joshua backwards, lips still locked, until the back of his brother's legs hit the edge of the mattress again. ]
―Forevermore, then.
[ A bastardization of the oath he'd taken: to shield the firebird's flame, forevermore. This is hardly protection, the opposite of shielding. But Clive sinks Joshua back down regardless, letting soft blond hair pool on clean white sheets, feeling lightheaded at the sight of it.
Another kiss, followed by another. One hand steals under the thin fabric of Joshua's traveling shirt, and Clive swears he sees stars the moment he feels his palm brush against bare, smooth skin. His aether crackles with need. ]
Gods, [ he rasps, ] you feel more perfect than I'd imagined.
[ Which is a confession (that he's likely already made) that he's imagined it. Touching Joshua like this, pinning him and taking him. Just another red-blooded human, at the end of the day; he wonders if Joshua will be disappointed by the realization. ]
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Joshua knows that he isn’t perfect. He’s too thin, without the finely muscled figure that Clive has, the sort of thing that makes Joshua’s mouth go dry. But so long as Clive wants to look at him, wants to touch him, he can’t be too self-conscious. And Clive’s touch on his bare skin - it’s everything he’s ever wanted.
Forevermore. It’s his dearest wish. Clive has already made that vow, on his knees in the throne room, but this is something else. This isn’t Joshua the Archduke and his Lord Commander and First Shield. This is the man he loves, the man he wants to be with. The demands of his position need one thing from him, but he desperately wants this instead. Just this.]
What did you imagine?
[Inexperienced Joshua might be, but innocent - perhaps less so. He’s been well-educated, as would be necessary for someone expected to wed and produce heirs. What he’s also had for years is the run of the Rosalith castle library - including all the bawdy tales that they really weren’t supposed to have.
And this is Clive, who he’s wanted for so long. How can he be anything but eager? He feels greedy, almost, as if he must clutch at this with all he has. As if it might disappear any moment.
Finally, he lets himself properly appreciate the sight of Clive above him, bare chested and beautiful. He can reach out, too - touching Clive like he’s something impossibly precious. He wants to taste Clive’s skin, wants to learn all the things he’s never been allowed to.]
Did you - think about me like this?
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Like this, [ he affirms, with his palm brushing up along Joshua's stomach, following the dip of his navel. ] Bare, and waiting.
[ Clive, who the soldiers have always lovingly needled about being so celibate that he might be a monk if not a Shield. He's sure Joshua must have heard the complaints about their Lord Commander always refusing nightly outings with his men; some concern or other about morale dipping.
This is the truth of things, though. Less a lack of drive, and more a problem of who it's directed towards. Clive bites gently over Joshua's neck again, stifling a primal urge to let his teeth sink in and leave a mark; everything they're doing right now is forbidden, but that gesture is triply so.
A heated exhale to compose himself, and he lifts his head to rub noses. ]
I thought of how you'd cling. How you'd sing so sweetly for me. [ Horrible, sinful fantasies. Like dripping ink over clean parchment, or tracking blood over white cloth.
It's what he feels like he's doing now, trailing his touch over Joshua's chest. Distantly, he can hear footsteps moving behind the closed door, beyond the walls of their room and out in the hall. Maybe the owner of the estate, here to being them supper. But it's so hard to focus on anything beyond Joshua, the shape of him and the sound of his breathing, so close in a way that Clive never thought they could be. ]
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Joshua is already flushed, and he gasps when Clive nips at his neck, a soft artless exhalation. He likes it, and some part of him, selfish and sordid, wishes that Clive would leave a mark. So that he'll know, tomorrow, this really happened. So that there will be proof of this, of Clive. But though he's finding it harder and harder to keep his thoughts steady, he knows that would be a bad idea. Someone would surely see it, and how could they possibly explain such a thing? So he can only wish, wistfully and fruitlessly, and try to control his desires even a little.
It's game he's bound to lose. He already knows that.]
I would. [A little breathless, a little awed. To think that Clive imagined those things, thought of him like that.] I would give you everything. I want to.
[He wants to cling to Clive, he wants to pull him closer and feel every inch of him. He wants to find out what Clive likes and give it to him, so that he'll never have reason to think of anyone else, want anyone else.
It's impossibly greedy, how much he wants, how far he's willing to go. But Joshua has never loved Clive in a casual way, not even as a boy. He's always loved him with an intensity that made him risk Anabella's anger, made him stand up to everyone who wanted Clive punished, made him fight as hard as he could to become well, become the Archduke, so that he could make Clive his Lord Commander. Make him a little safer, make him a little more Joshua's.
His hand slides down Clive's chest, exploring. Daring great, still only the smallest sliver of what he wants, his hand drifts downward.]
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So it must be wicked, for Clive to kiss his jaw and whisper: ] My Phoenix.
[ His. Not the Eikon of Fire, ruler of life and death, but his beautiful brother, arbiter of Clive's life or death. Clive will endure for Joshua, and will perish if Joshua ever does.
So he shivers when Joshua slides his hand down below his stomach and to his already filled-out hardness, uncomfortable in the soft leather of his trousers. Pleasure follows the still-lingering disbelief that Joshua is touching him like this, and he mirrors Joshua in his own graceless gasp, too hot under that palm. ]
Feel what you do to me, [ is almost a hum-growl, kissed along the seam of Joshua's mouth. ] Only you, Joshua.
[ A low grind down, obscene, against the hand on him. It makes Clive shudder again, sparks flying in his head, every inch of him attuned to the beloved presence pressed under him. Joshua, Joshua, Joshua.
So it's infuriating and terrifying, then, when he hears a knock at their bedroom door. The proprietor from earlier, his voice muffled by that thin door separating the both of them from utter ruin. "Pardon me, Your Grace," the man says. "But I've brought you something to eat."
That presence should be enough for Clive to snap back into himself. To realize how utterly wrong it is, what he's doing, and to stop.
But he leans in instead, and whispers in Joshua's ear: ] Do you want me to dismiss him?
[ Translation: do you want this to continue? ]
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He does not welcome the interruption, the reminder that he isn't just Joshua, someone that Clive can touch. He's the Archduke, and Rosaria needs so much from him, and he has to give it.
He wilts a little, remembering that. Is it so awful, to want this for himself? He knows it is, really - not because of what he wants (Joshua is well aware that many past Archdukes have had lovers outside of marriage) but of who. It's unfair to Clive, too - doesn't he deserve happiness, a love that he doesn't have to keep secret forever? Joshua knows he should end this now. This is likely the last time he'll be clear-headed enough to muster the self-control.
He knows he should. He desperately doesn't want to. He loves Clive, he wants Clive, he's never wanted anyone else. He never will. And at his heart, beyond being the Phoenix, the Archduke, Joshua is a lonely young man who dearly wants to be loved. Who wants nothing more than to have Clive look at him with desire, touch him with need, want him more than anything.
It's selfish, it's wrong. But just one night, just once - can he not simply be Joshua?]
Tell him to go.
[How can he do anything else, in the end? With Clive above him, his hand on the undeniable proof that Clive does want him. How could Joshua possibly just stop?
He clasps Clive gently through his trousers instead, his touch clumsy but certain.]
I have what I need.
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He kisses Joshua again, quick but deathly affectionate. ] ―Alright.
[ Not "if you will it", or "whatever you want". Just a simple affirmation, and a touch of a smile that resembles the kind of expression Clive'd made when he was younger, less burdened by the weight of their shared tragedies. A yes, because it's what Clive wants, too.
He draws up a bit by his elbows, then, and turns his head towards the door, speaking with firmer finality: ] ―His Grace wishes to rest. Leave the tray outside the door, and I'll see to it that he receives it later.
[ Clive can feel how the presence on the other side of the door stills, uncertain. It makes his heart pound to think of what might happen if the man doesn't heed him, if he opens the door and sees them tangled in each other; still, Clive thinks that he might not be able to stop.
But, after a beat: "yes, Lord Commander. Pray call upon me if His Grace needs anything at all."
The sound of clattering silverware and shuffling footsteps later, Clive releases the breath that he'd been holding. ]
Never a dull moment, [ he murmurs. ]
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Clive isn't the only one who treats him with respect, far from it, but Clive is his Lord Commander. Clive is also the one who has fought the hardest for Rosaria, and the one who (Joshua knows, and hates) many still fear. As if he might lose control of Ifrit at any moment, instead of spending every breath keeping all of them safe. Clive treating him with that careful respect, almost reverence, sends a message. He's no longer Clive's little brother, clinging to his sleeve - he's the ruler of Rosaria.
Joshua knows all that, and he loves Clive for it. But he treasures each tiny moment when Clive treats him like Joshua again - that little smile, his easy agreement, any time Clive says his name. It's not only that Joshua can cease being the Archduke, just for those moments. It's that perhaps in those moments his brother can be just Clive, too.
Joshua appreciates everything he's done. But if he could give Clive peace, safety, a chance to lay down his burdens - he would do it without regret, no matter what it took.
He brings up his other hand, caressing Clive's cheek, gentle and affectionate.]
You are so terribly handsome when you smile.
[And he smiles too, a fond little curve of his lips.]
When you frown, too. But I like the smile better.
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―they have this. Something intensely forbidden that will always have to be relegated as a secret, but something also solely for themselves. Untouchable, as long as they keep it safe. Unforgivable, but theirs.
Clive knows he should stop. He won't. ]
I've been trying to brood less, [ is just as fond, light, and Clive lets the smile stay curved along his lips as he presses another kiss to the corner of Joshua's beautiful mouth. His hands are moving to pull the last of his brother's thin travel top off, eager to see more of him now that he's certain that he's permitted; he drapes it along the headboard of the bed, far more reverent with Joshua's things than he is with his own.
Clive sits up a bit, straddling Joshua's hips, then runs his palm over all that bare skin. Sternum to navel, then back up to his chest. He thumbs along one perfect peak, drinking him in with affection-drunk eyes. ]
Founder, you're so beautiful.
[ A little sigh, as he traces the delicate line of Joshua's waist, fingertips ghosting over the outline of him. Paler than Clive, smoother, speaking to a life spent more indoors than not, but with clear signs of having done as much training as was permitted of a man of his station. ] Not even the Gods could make anything as perfect as you.
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It feels strange to be looks at like that, with desire. Like anyone, Joshua has wished that he looked different - more like Clive, really, less breakable, stronger. Looking up at Clive, he can see small scars here and there, the remnants of battles that Joshua wasn't there to ease away with his healing. Joshua doesn't have any of those, his skin free of any evidence of what was done to him - he looks untouched, despite the damage his body once took. The power of his eikon, and he's grateful for it, so that Clive never looks at him and thinks of Ifrit's claws and teeth.
Really, though, it quickly becomes hard to keep his thoughts orderly when Clive is touching him like that. Like no one else ever has. His breath catches when Clive brushes over his nipple, shifting a little on the bed, his trousers growing ever more uncomfortable.]
To think that you should say that, looking as you do. [Joshua is a little breathless, but he manages to sound teasing anyway, looking up at Clive.] I came to watch you train once, in the heat of summer, and afterwards you took your shirt off to cool down. I swear, no one in the yard could look at anything else.
[Actually, Joshua can't speak for a single other person. There might as well have not been another soul in the yard, for all that he noticed. His throat had gone dry, his heart pounded. He'd hated himself for it, but the sight haunted his nights for so long afterward. And now he again can't look away from Clive, heart pounding, body entirely out of his own control.
But this time Joshua can reach out and touch Clive, trail fingers across his skin, feel the heat of him. And he does.]
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