[ 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.]
[ Training in the summer... hm. Clive thinks he can recall the time he'd caught Joshua visiting the training grounds, though he'd credited the flush on his brother's face to the oppressive midday sun at the time; with what Clive knows now about Joshua wanting him, he wonders if he'd made his brother feel miserable when he insisted Joshua go back inside and drink some water.
It would almost be funny, if not for the fact that their attraction to each other is what most would consider perverse. Joshua shouldn't look at Clive and want him, and Clive shouldn't feel so elated about Joshua looking.
And yet. Here he is. Looking, and wanting to be seen. ]
If anyone was looking, I didn't notice it. I only had eyes for you.
[ His palm smooths downwards this time, from chest to stomach and lower, until he's the one tracing the outline of Joshua's interest with his fingers this time around. The physical proof of Joshua's arousal makes Clive's own cock strain in his trousers, and for a second, he forgets to breathe. ]
Fuck, Joshua. [ His voice crawls low, turning sandpaper with barely-contained need. ] ―You have a long ride tomorrow.
[ A shuddering sigh, half to remind himself that it would be unwise to take Joshua when most of his brother's following day will be spent on a saddle, and half to let Joshua know that, despite how wildly irresponsible Clive is being, he would still rather die before he lets Joshua hurt in any way. ]
[Joshua knows that Clive is trying to be responsible, trying to care for him. He knows that Clive is right, too - they have a long ride tomorrow, and if they do whatever they please, it might be uncomfortable for him. He knows that he should listen.
It’s just extremely difficult, with Clive’s hand on him. He wants to press up into it, wants to tell Clive that he doesn’t care at all, that tomorrow’s consequences mean nothing to him.
It’s not just desire, though that’s a good part of it. It’s also Joshua’s fear that he won’t get another chance. That they’ll wake up tomorrow and Clive will think better of all of this, will hate himself for giving in to what they both want, will regret it. He’s afraid he’ll never have this again, and if that’s the case, he doesn’t want to hold back. Joshua wants to give Clive everything. He wants that, at least, if he never gets anything else.]
I know, but - [What can he say? It’s hard to think when Clive is touching him like that. All he wants is more.] - will we have another chance?
[In the end, all he can do is put voice to his desires, his fears.]
If this is the only time I’ll have you, I want all of you.
[He gives into the urge to press up against Clive’s hand, unable to contain the stuttering gasp that draws from him. In truth, anything they do will be more than he ever dreamed. It already has been. It’s greedy to want more, he knows, but he can’t help himself. What if Clive never touches him again? What if this night is all he ever has?]
[ Clive's expression twists, momentarily. He's worked through the mental barriers that kept him from acting on this particular night (or, well, he broke his own resolve through no real fault of Joshua's own), but the mention of what their future will look like from this day onward loom heavy in their periphery. Whatever they consummate now― how will they navigate it, with the whole of Valisthea watching their every move?
Justifying away the frequency with which Clive visits Joshua's chambers is simple enough, but it will be harder to find sound reasons for Joshua's rejection of marriage proposals. That is, if he rejects them at all; a terrifying thought occurs to Clive of Joshua promising himself to another, and of Clive becoming the clandestine affair.
It's no life for Joshua to live. The guilt and secrecy of it. It stills Clive's hand for a moment, settled where it is over the achingly enticing outline of someone he wants more than anything in the world. ]
It terrifies me, [ he finally admits, ] to think that I might ruin you if I do this.
[ Because he doesn't know if this will be the only time. Because he knows it should be, and that they should wake the next morning and never speak of it again. Because he knows that if they don't speak of it, the knowledge that they had something for one perfect night will burn the both of them from the inside out, forever.
His hand slides off of Joshua, but only so that he can press back downwards with his weight, flush against his brother's form, pinning him like a butterfly on canvas. ]
But I swore forevermore. And forevermore it will be, until you will this to end.
[ Their hips slot together; Clive grinds downwards just slightly, his outline against Joshua's. ] I would take you in Sanbreque, if you asked sweetly enough.
[For all that Joshua wants to simply exist in this moment, to not think about anything but Clive, it's difficult not to fear the future. Joshua knows he'll be pressured to marry - it's only been whispers so far, but that's because he's only just taken the throne. He's expected to carry on the Phoenix's line, and if he can marry in such a way that gains Rosaria precious alliances, all the better. He's known that since he was a child, when Anabella used to evaluate possible matches.
He never really liked thinking about that kind of thing then, and he doesn't now. He's always intended to put it off as long as possible. Now, with the chance for something to grow - the chance to really have Clive, to be with him - Joshua hopes that he can find a way to put it off forever. It won't be easy, he knows, but they have cousins who can carry on the Phoenix bloodline. The eikon won't pass to anyone until he's dead, anyway, so any child of his would likely play the same role as their father was meant to: Archduke only until the next Phoenix is of age.
Joshua knows that wanting this, hoping for it, is going to make his life much more difficult. He knows that well. But the alternative is - impossible.
The truth is, from the moment he knew it was possible for Clive to want him, he was already ruined. Marrying some political choice was unappealing enough before, but he might have buried his feelings deep in his heart, put a smile on, and endured. But now, when it might mean losing Clive? Having to touch someone else, let them touch him? He can't even stomach the thought.]
You're the only one that I want. The only one I've ever wanted.
[He can feel Clive against him, pressing him to the sheets, his need evident - matching Joshua's own. His breath comes in a sigh of pleasure as Clive moves against him, hands coming up to clutch at Clive's shoulders, half to steady himself and half just to touch him.]
I can be patient. [It's really a bit difficult right now, with his whole body alight with need, but Joshua knows Clive is right. It's better to wait. They'll have another chance, he tells himself, they will.] But tonight - will you touch me?
[He wants so much that's it's difficult to know what to ask for. But that much, at least -]
[ Not quite a matter of will, anymore; Clive is already standing in the aftermath of his own broken detritus, his iron self-restraint shattered by inexorable need. Touching Joshua is an inevitability, and he demonstrates it with another slow rock of their hips together, in tandem, making friction along their clothed lower halves.
He doesn't ask if anyone has touched Joshua before, because he truly doesn't want to know. He's already half-mad with all of this, and has resolved to be gentle－ anything that threatens that goal is shoved into a little box that he shoves even further into the recesses of his mind, not to be opened until Joshua is out of arm's reach. ]
As much as you want. [ To the point about touching. His hand steals to Joshua's waist again, hitching him up and closer and marveling at the fact that 'astonishingly good' is a real feeling that someone can experience. Every time a part of him comes in contact with Joshua, bare skin on bare skin, he feels unfamiliar electricity course up his spine and spark in his skull.
He mirrors his brother's breath, soft and content, and starts to work Joshua's trousers down his hips. Slowly, tracing every line and dip. He feels his throat tighten when he flits his focus down and sees more bared skin, feels his breath catch when he finally frees Joshua from the restrictive hold of his smallclothes and touches along the heat of him.
His eyelids flutter; there it is again, the coil of nerves, the awareness that there are more boundaries to cross. He breaches them, but with the slightest tensing of his shoulders. ]
You've ever been too sweet to me, [ is another admission. ] It made me yearn for you. It makes me yearn for you.
[ Joshua, the only one who has ever made him feel as if he belongs. Not just to his homeland or to his duties, but to someone who cares for him, who sees him as Clive Rosfield instead of a set of strategic advantages or a well-sharpened sword. ]
―Fuck, [ he sighs, low and awed. ] I love you, Joshua.
[To Joshua, even this much is almost overwhelming. Clive touching him so carefully, looking at him like that - it’s nearly too much. He’s never been bare like this in front of anyone before, not when he’s hard and wanting, certainly not when it’s someone he’s desired so much, for so long.
He’s embarrassed, a little, to be seen like this. A natural feeling, perhaps, eased by Clive’s careful touch. He’s so close, so warm, and Joshua too feels like he’s burning up.
They’re crossing one of the last boundaries here, he knows. There’s no going back from this. But there never was, not really, not from the moment that Joshua realized it might be possible. Even if they’d done nothing, even if Clive had been able to hold back, knowing that Clive wanted him would have changed everything.
He’s not frightened of it. This is what he wants, what he’s wanted so badly. But his heart is beating hard anyway, his thoughts scattering with each touch.]
You alone deserve all the sweetness I might have in me.
[Clive has always been his favorite person, and the years have only made Joshua adore him more. Seeing how hard he fought for Rosaria, his regret, his devotion - Joshua always wished to comfort him, to give him peace. In their lives it has been terribly hard to come by, so it felt like all Joshua could offer was his kindness, his love.
He wants to give Clive more, give him everything. He wants, more than anything, to make Clive happy.]
I love you. [He says it simply - just stating a true thing, an immutable fact of who Joshua is. He’s breathless, but only because Clive’s hand is on him, and he can hardly stand the pleasure of just that simple touch.] Will you let me touch you, too?
[ Their ancestors are rolling in their graves. Clive hardly cares, in the aftermath of that I love you. The truth of that has always been self-evident― despite their mother's best efforts, Clive has never doubted that his brother cares for him deeply― but to be told it after breaking every rule that should exist between them makes his heart flip in his chest.
A strange contradiction. Everything has changed, while also staying completely unchanged. They've always been the most important person in each other's lives: it's just the shape of how they express their truth that's crept well and truly into the realm of taboo.
Still, Clive's answer to whether Joshua can touch is a breathless: ] Yes. [ He never wants Joshua to doubt that he could have anything of Clive's. Clive has always been Joshua's, with or without the blessing of the Phoenix, with or without the title of Shield, with or without the approval of the world.
So he kisses him again, soft and affectionate, and sits up to remove the last of his own clothes. Bared, for Joshua's appraisal. He's hardly as beautiful as Joshua, tanned and scarred (the one on his cheek given to him when he was captured by enemies in Dhalmekia, a scornful burn made to mimic the mark of a Branded) as he is, but there's little point in being shy at this point. He's been hard since he fell on top of Joshua the first time, high on his brother's misguided permissiveness. ]
Sometimes I think you can read my mind, [ he murmurs. ] Did you know that I had thoughts of you in my head all day?
[In Joshua's eyes, he's far more beautiful. Every scar is a mark of Clive's strength, his bravery. Of course Joshua would rather he didn't have any such scars at all, would prefer that Clive never be hurt - but even so, he isn't horrified by them. Each one, he knows, was taken in defense of Rosaria. In Joshua's own name. When he looks at Clive, that's what he sees: all that he's done for Joshua, all his perfection and his devotion.
He's seen Clive without a shirt before, but seeing him like this, being together like this, is something entirely new. Joshua wants to trace the lines of his body, lick the sweat from his skin, put his mouth on those scars. He can hardly handle how much he wants Clive.]
I wish I could read your mind. [He smiles, genuine, teasing amusement.] I'd have crept into your bed and seduced you long ago, if I'd had any idea you might have given in.
[Joshua is nervous, a bit, to actually reach out - but he wants to very much, wants to touch Clive, give him that pleasure. So he does, carefully at first, trailing his hand down Clive's stomach, down further, to wrap around his hard length. Joshua only really knows what he does for himself. Clive deserves so much more than that. Hopefully he won't be too bothered by Joshua's inexperience.]
What did you think about? [A pause, and the hand wrapped around Clive strokes him gently.] This?
[ Oh. That's sinful. Joshua's words, coupled with the feeling of his fingers (the same fingers that hold delicate quills and signs diplomatic documents with graceful ease, the same fingers that flip through heavy tomes and traces over forgotten text) around― Founder help him― his cock, make Clive stiffen even more. As if he even could, aching as he'd been even before being goaded so sweetly.
His breathing turns uneven; the slow, exploratory friction makes him shift under Joshua's grip, urging more. ]
Worse. [ Thoughts he'd kept to himself, and would have sooner died before admitting to. Guilt still threatens to catch in the back of his throat, to make the confession as bitter as it ought to be, but he swallows it.
Because Joshua wants this. He wants to know. And so, Clive will tell him. ]
I spread you open with my fingers. In Oriflamme, on Sanbrequian sheets. [ Shuddering through his next exhale, he dips down to kiss along Joshua's neck, playing at his soft skin with teeth that still don't quite bite. There's still the desire to, doubly so given what he's admitting to, but caution is still paramount. ] ―Then I claimed you for my own, before anyone else could.
[ He mouths at Joshua's shoulder, kissing the barest hint of a mark at its crest. Pale skin turns slightly pink, but not enough for the color to linger; Clive repeats the gentle sucking over Joshua's chest, his collarbone, the underside of his chin. ]
I fucked you so thoroughly― [ verges on somewhat dangerously possessive, but with a lingering undertone of apology; obscene as the rest of the fantasy is, he would never dare to treat Joshua like some sort of object. ] ―that even if the prince of Sanbreque were to have you, he'd feel you in my shape.
[ Terrible. He should be put down like the monster he is. ]
[Worse, Clive says, and then he weaves these fantasies with his voice roughened with desire, and it's more than Joshua could ever have imagined. Enough to drive him mad with need, enough that he wants to throw caution aside and beg Clive to take him, regardless of how much he might regret it tomorrow.
To know that Clive was thinking these things of him, may even have done so before, is incredible. If nothing else, it makes Joshua feel a little less guilty about all the things he's thought of Clive - the dreams, the fantasies. None were quite so explicit, but not out of a lack of desire - just a lack of experience. But he wants that, and he moves against the sheets in an attempt to calm himself, to keep from asking Clive for what he knows he shouldn't.]
I want to be yours. [In every way he can be, in every way Clive wants.] I want you to be my first, Clive, I want you to ruin me for anyone else.
[As if he hasn't already. It's done, Joshua knows he won't be able to desire anyone's touch the way he does Clive's.
Eager, excited by the hitch in Clive's breathing, the teeth against his skin, Joshua begins to stroke him more quickly, not looking away, captivated by the simple truth of what he's doing, what he knows he ought not be doing. As clumsy as he might be, if he can still give Clive pleasure, that's all he wants right now. That, and Clive's hands on him, Clive's mouth -]
You can leave a mark. [Breathless, knowing it's unwise, but not caring -] Under my clothes, where no one will see.
[He wouldn't mind more than one, wouldn't mind a collection to look at later, so he'll know this was all real. So that he'll bear Clive's mark, no matter what other consequences may find them.]
[ Overwhelming, to say the least. Clive holds Joshua holy, as a pinpoint of light in a world so easily susceptible to darkness― and yet, he also wants Joshua in a way that will sully that sanctity, will dirty him with Clive's base desires. Joshua deserves deserves everything, but Clive would take everything away from him; Clive wants to protect Joshua so that nothing may touch him, but can't protect Joshua from himself. A mess of contradictions that exist all at once, culminating in unseemly, desperate rutting into Joshua's warm hand.
It's obscene. It shouldn't be allowed. But it feels perfect in a way that nothing ever has (nothing ever will), and Clive makes a sound like a man drowning, one hand fisted in rumpled sheets to brace his weight as he bucks.
He's slick in Joshua's hand. It makes him starkly aware of how he's dirtying him, and that, too, is dizzying. His mouth forms the shape of Joshua's name (the only thing he can think of to say, the only coherent thought in his head), and he bites it into soft skin when he's bid to, right above where he guesses Joshua's heart is.
He kisses, sucks, and the mark holds. Red and possessive. His, his. Clive's tenuous control over his impulses slack even further, and he bites more reminders against Joshua's shoulder, then under the dip of his collarbone (dangerous). ]
Joshua― [ Breathless, his voice rising and falling in time to the movement of that hand wrapped around him. ] ―Slower. I want us to―
[ A stifled moan, low and rumbling. With the hand he isn't using to hold his weight up, he takes Joshua's stiffness and tries to match the rhythm that's already been made, desperate and artless. ]
―Together. [ Almost a whine, which is diamond-rare from a man like Clive. A please that only Joshua is allowed to know or hear. ]
[Even if he wanted to, it would be impossible for Joshua to deny Clive anything when he sounds like that - the desire and need so raw in his voice that Joshua can feel it right down to his bones. But he's in the grip of that same need, wanting nothing more than to be with Clive, to touch him and be touched, to watch him truly let go.
And Clive is giving him everything he wants. The marks on his skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through him. When Clive's hand wraps around him, he almost cries out, only barely catching himself - aware suddenly that the walls might be thin, they might be heard if he's not careful.
But it's so hard to cling to even that tiniest bit of self-control. Hard, almost impossible to think of anything but Clive's hand on him. His hips stutter into that touch, back arching, so close. It's Clive's touch, Clive's voice, and knowing that it's him is everything Joshua's wanted for so long, everything he thought he could never have. He'll never be able to move on from this, he knows. He wants to worship Clive, and learn how to please him, and look at him and know that Clive is his, that he doesn't want anyone else.
Joshua knows he's impossibly greedy. He knows that it's selfish, to want so much from his brother, who is handsome and kind and so easy to love. To tie him to Joshua, who can never truly give him what he deserves (someone who could love him openly, a family, a future), is unfair.
But he loves Clive. He loves Clive, and he wants him more than he's ever wanted anything or anyone. It's only because of Clive that Joshua knows what it truly means to want. How could he possibly give this up?]
Clive - [He's so close, he can feel the slide of Clive's sword callouses against his heated flesh. He slows his own hand, wanting to match Clive. Together. Joshua knows he can't hold on much longer, though, about to tip over the edge.] - please.
[His pleading falls apart, though, because Joshua's last shard of frayed control slips away. He does cry out as he comes, he can't help it, can't even think to try to stop himself, but it's soft - overwhelmed, breathless.]
[ Agonizing, that they have to stifle their collective sounds. It's a reminder that other people exist beyond the sanctity of their four walls, and that, if found out, the world will do everything in its power to force them apart.
(Joshua will be... safe, relatively. Clive can't imagine anyone considering stripping the Phoenix of his rightful title as Archduke, but Ifrit already has a strike against him; they will likely remove him from the position of Lord Commander, and blame the transgression on the same madness that drove him to attack Joshua all those years ago.)
So, discretion it is. Even if it feels impossible, with how sweetly Joshua pleads for him under his breath, and how beautifully he comes apart after being brought to his edge. Arousal runs through Clive like wildfire; he surges forward to kiss that sound out of Joshua's mouth both to stifle it and to taste it, to claim even the proof that Joshua came, for him, in his hand. Sweat-slick and pretty, flushed and perfect. Clive will have this image of Joshua in his mind's eye for ages― it's all he'll think about tomorrow, even after the heat of the moment abates and he's left to contend with the gravity of what he's done.
Tomorrow. Right now, he kisses Joshua again, covering his spent body with his own, feeling his own need mount higher, higher. ]
I love you, [ he murmurs, as if he's mad with it. (He is.) ] Joshua―
[ And finally, he succumbs to Joshua's please, coming with a final shudder and a bitten-back cry of his own, a broken thing that he presses against Joshua's neck. He paints Joshua's hand and stomach with it, and he should feel far more horrified about it than he does; instead, he feels overcome by affection, overwhelmed by the completeness he feels, brought to his limit by someone he cares for more than anything in the world.
His orgasm is a long, drawn-out thing, and he settles into it by rolling the both of them onto their sides, legs tangled with their foreheads touching. Eventually, he lifts Joshua's hand and starts to clean it idly with his mouth, lips and tongue licking spend away from those perfect fingers. Reverent, even despite the obscene display.
Nothing about their relationship will be normal again, but perhaps the both of them were never normal to begin with. Ifrit and Phoenix, born to become one. ]
[Joshua feels - oh, better than he ever has in his life. Content, perfectly so, floating in the aftermath of that bliss. All the more so because Clive is there with him. He'll cling to those few moments for as long as he can: Clive's breath against his neck, that muffled cry, the way his body flexed and released, the feel of him in Joshua's hand. Knowing that he was part of that pleasure, the reason for it.
He's never felt like this before, and he knows it isn't only because he's never done this before. It wouldn't have been the same with anyone else, wouldn't have felt so perfect, so incredible. He's always loved Clive, since he was a boy who knew nothing of pain or sorrow, but somewhere along the way it changed, became something he knows it shouldn't have. He always will love Clive, no matter what else might happen. But Joshua is in love with him too, utterly lost, despite all the reasons he shouldn't be.
But this moment, his breath matching Clive, the quiet perfection of it - this is the closest thing to real happiness that Joshua can think of.]
I love you. [Said with the same certainty as before, without the passion clouding his words, without any doubt of what he means. Joshua just wants Clive to hear it. Wants him to know that he means it, that he will never regret any of this. Whatever the world brings them - Joshua isn't going to let go of him.
Even if he is distracted only a moment later.]
Clive. [His reaction to Clive taking his dirty hand, putting his mouth to it - it's the most scandalized Joshua's managed to sound all night, and even then, there's a gentleness to it that's far more affectionate than horrified.] You needn't do that.
[But he doesn't pull his hand away. He'd let Clive do just about anything he wanted right then, Joshua knows, and that -
Rather than disgust, he feels the faintest kindling of interest. Not anything real, young as he is Joshua has always lacked stamina, and this is no different. But even so, Clive's mouth on his fingers does something to him. He certainly doesn't have it in him to stop Clive.]
[ He might be the happiest man in the world, right then, to hear Joshua confess to him again. I love you, as if it's the most natural thing in the world to say. And maybe it is― for them, at least. Devotion and loyalty and love. Joshua is all Clive has, and all Clive will need, even if Joshua loses the Phoenix tomorrow.
High-brow thoughts, as he does low-brow things. Clive licks a long stripe along Joshua's palm, right along his lifeline, and smiles. ] No, I don't. [ Need to, he means. ] But I want to.
[ And that's a bit more of the Clive from childhood, when he had more leave to teasingly and harmlessly push back. He wouldn't be caught dead speaking out of turn in the company of their subjects (gods know that he hates the rumors that Ifrit is the one that controls the Phoenix), but right now―
―he thinks he's permitted. One last lick along the dip where thumb meets index, and Clive relinquishes Joshua's hand. ]
...I should fetch you a washbasin. And some clean cloth. [ He presses a kiss along Joshua's temple, and slowly, slowly peels himself from his brother with the sort of bone-deep reluctance that makes him reaffirm that, yes, this is what he wants. The guilt is still there, sitting in the pit of his stomach, but it doesn't color the way he touches Joshua anymore; he can't, now that he knows that their affections are mutual.
He loves Joshua. Irreversibly, and inexorably. Tomorrow, he will have to pretend that he doesn't want to kiss Joshua in witness of Greagor and every other god that shadows their footsteps, and will have to relinquish his brother's company so that others may have it, as much as it'll burn Clive to see the Sanbrequian elite fall upon his beautiful brother like so much flies on honey.
None of them will deserve Joshua. They tried to kill him. But peace is more important than Clive's still-seething anger towards the men who ever dared turn a sword against Joshua, and so, Clive will let his brother do what he must. ]
It won't be but a moment. ...I'm not running away.
[He feels Clive’s loss immediately, the warmth and comfort of his nearness, that gentle touch. Joshua could easily have pressed close and fallen asleep just like that. He was weary from the ride already, and now he feels that deep contentment and peace that would be so easy to listen to.
But Clive is right, as he so often is. If they fall asleep like this - covered in the mess they’ve made of themselves - they’ll certainly regret it in the morning. Just because Joshua can’t bring him to care about such things right now, when he’s warm and happy in a way he never thought he could be, doesn’t mean they don’t matter.]
Mmm. Come back before I get cold.
[There’s a playful affection to his words. It feels easy, though he knows it shouldn’t - he knows he should feel some hesitation about slipping so easily from treating Clive like a brother to treating him like a lover. But it comes easily, enough so that Joshua knows that will only make things more dangerous.
All of Rosaria already knows he favors Clive. He refused to allow Clive to be punished for Ifrit’s actions, despite what the nobles of Rosaria and Clive himself wanted. (Joshua still has no doubt that this was the right decision, thinks that Clive has punished himself far more than he ever needed to.) He insisted that Clive be given his rightful position as Lord Commander, and he’s always made a point of treating his brother with the respect he deserves - and subtly making it clear to the rest of the court that they ought to as well, at least in Joshua’s hearing.
There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Joshua loves his brother. But how much more difficult will it be now, when he looks at Clive with different eyes, when he knows Clive’s touch? It isn’t as if he’ll be able to give Clive a parting kiss when he rides off to battle, like so many of the soldiers’ wives do. He’ll have to act no different than ever in public, and save everything else for these private moments.
At least it won’t be terribly strange for Clive to be in his chambers alone with him. At least he’s already known to be affectionate towards his brother - no one will think it odd if Joshua smiles at him, or touches his shoulder, or lingers in his company a bit longer than most. Those were all things he already did, for better or for worse.
He can smell Clive on the sheets, and he wants to press his face to them, breathe in. He wants to curl around Clive and not let go, wants Clive’s arms around him. Wants to see him smile, and give him more moments where he can relax. In Joshua’s arms, preferably.]
When we reach Sanbreque, I will ensure your chambers are as near mine as possible.
[Not an odd request, for a ruler and his sworn shield visiting a nation they’ve so recently been at war with. Likely he won’t even need to request it, but - Joshua will be certain.]
[ All of Rosaria knows that the Rosfields are inseparable. In a way, Clive himself has made that fact known, ever since Joshua granted him mercy: that Ifrit will never transgress again, and that he will remain ever by the Phoenix's side as both his sword and shield. Sir Wade calls it 'overkill'－ "Clive, it's just a member of the merchant's guild asking for a trade permit, your presence isn't required during the hearing"－ but the normalization of his presence near Joshua serves as a deterrent, and he'll make sure that the Sanbrequians also remain informed that this is standard practice for the both of them.
Despite this shift, which Joshua seems to be taking swimmingly to (and is even more radiant for it, tousled and glowing), Clive will always be his protector as well. It's just that, well.
Now, Clive has an excuse to swat other kinds of flies.
He smiles and sighs, low and fond, as he reaches sideways to sift his fingers through blond hair one more time before he gets up, finding his trousers amidst the mess he's made of his clothes on the floor. ]
When did you become such a troublemaker? [ Says the one who cracked first. A gentle tease, as he decides to forgo the idea of a shirt entirely, electing to leave the room in nothing but his pants and a pair of slippers. They're all winding down to rest, it shouldn't be so scandalous. ] You'll be the death of me.
[ Still smiling, he spares Joshua one last glance before stepping out－ nearly tripping over the dinner tray in the process, cursing softly under his breath－ to play fetch. The owner of the cottage's wife finds him outside and does look a little scandalized by the state of Clive's undress, but kindly provides him with a few washcloths that he takes back to the room with the basin full of clean water.
He returns, objects in tow, and scoots the tray inside with one foot (poor manners, the kind he never shows in front of anyone but Joshua). He gravitates back towards his brother quietly, and bids him roll onto his back so that Clive can make himself useful with the cloths. Careful and doting, as ever.
After a few seconds of gentle silence: ]
...You know that you mean everything to me, Joshua. [ Softly. ] Nothing will ever change this, no matter what form our relationship takes.
[He certainly doesn't mind watching Clive leave in that state - though the moment he does, Joshua feels a brief spike of possessiveness. Of course, that's something he can't indulge, not over such a simple thing, not when plenty of people will see Clive like that - he'll have to content himself with knowing that they might look, but he is allowed to touch. It's a pleasant thought.
More pleasant when Clive returns, though, and Joshua can look at him again. He lets Clive take care of him, enjoying the tender care - another selfish, greedy impulse, when he could just as easily clean himself. He's perfectly capable. But Clive wants to, and Joshua wants every bit of Clive that he can get, so of course he'll allow it. Of course he'll enjoy it.]
You mean everything to me, as well.
[A quiet truth that he knows he must never confess to anyone else. Rosaria should mean everything to him. But if the kingdom fell, and he still had Clive, he would survive. If he lost Clive, even if it won him Rosaria, safe forever, something would shatter in Joshua. He would do his duty, he's been raised for that, but he would have nothing left but that.
Joshua reaches out, running gentle fingers through Clive's hair. Indulging himself, now that he can. It wouldn't have been so terribly odd before - but now he can do it without worry, he can touch Clive and know that Clive understand what he means.]
I know that things - won't be easy. But my feelings for you won't change. [The part of Joshua that's a hopeless romantic, the part that loves tales and songs even though he knows how cruel the world can be, wants to believe that happiness is possible for them. That he can find a way to avoid the marriage that is expected of him, that he can be with Clive, even if it must always remain a secret. He wants to try. He doesn't want to break Clive's heart - or his own.] If it becomes too much, too painful... please tell me.
[He never wants Clive to suffer for this. They are already doing something they shouldn't, something the world would see as awful. Clive has already punished himself so much - for Ifrit, for Phoenix Gate, and Joshua knows he has punished himself for the feelings they share, too. That much of a burden he hopes to lift, and to keep it from ever crushing him again. He'll do what he must to make that real.]
[ Clive is aware that he should also feel more guilty about where his priorities lie (Joshua, then Rosaria), but the truth of the matter is that he has already almost lost his brother once, and the experience of it has already shattered him.
He runs the washcloth over Joshua's stomach, cleaning the last of the mess that he'd made on perfect, unblemished skin, and kisses over Joshua's navel once he's done. He savors the feeling of those gentle fingers combing through his hair, and flicks his gaze upwards towards Joshua's imploring eyes, holding his gaze throughout that last request. ]
You could never hurt me.
[ With perfect, unflinching conviction. An echo of what Joshua has always told him, but with more certitude. It will never be the case that Clive suffers because of Joshua; he will suffer gladly for Joshua, but not because his brother is the root cause of said suffering. There is a clear, diamond distinction there in Clive's head, and maybe it's the case that no one will understand it but Joshua. ]
I would lose my title, my Eikon, my name, if that's what it took to keep you. I need nothing else.
[ Too intense, most would say. This is not what a normal man would say, even to a normal lover. But, again, the events of Phoenix Gate have already fractured something in Clive irreversibly; he already knows that he won't survive a second time.
With that said, he sets the basin and cloths aside to slide back next to Joshua, to pull him back into the warmth of his arms and to pull the now-rumpled blanket around both of their bodies. It wouldn't do if Joshua caught cold. ]
[It shouldn’t soothe him to hear words like that. He shouldn’t want that sort of thing from Clive - should refuse, tell him that he deserves better. And he does deserve better, that much Joshua knows to be true. He deserves a love he doesn’t have to fear for, he deserves to never have to doubt or worry. Joshua can’t give him that, as much as he will try to, as much as he will fight for what peace they might find together. There will always be pressures on them. There will always be that fear of discovery.
Clive deserves better. Of course he does. But he deserves a choice, too, and so does Joshua. If they’ve both chosen each other, despite the danger, the fear of what might come, Joshua can’t tell him no. He can’t refuse that choice. After all, isn’t he choosing the same thing?
He curls into Clive’s embrace, sliding his arms around his brother in turn, holding him close enough to feel his warmth, hear his heartbeat. He could stay like this forever, he thinks, and be happy.]
I don’t want you to have to lose anything for me. Never.
[Joshua is tired, but he struggles against the weariness. As if, if he lets himself sleep, this will all disappear.
He knows it won’t. When he wakes, Clive will be there, and they’ll have to begin finding their own path through all of this. But he doesn’t want this night to slip away from him, not yet. Just a little longer.]
Thank you. [His voice is soft.] For tonight. I didn’t think - I could have this.
[Joshua didn’t think he could be happy. Not like this, not with someone he should never be with - the only person he’s ever wanted.]
[ Clive knows that the weight of their choice won't always be easy to bear. The terms of their lives will press down on them, and they will have to hold themselves strong against storms and strife. It should be a daunting thought, but Clive finds that he doesn't fear it at all－ it seems possible with Joshua at his side, shining and brilliant, always the brightest pinpoint of light in all of the world's darkness.
His brother, his birthright. Clive sees how Joshua fights sleep, and it makes him feel soft despite Joshua thanking him for something that most people would have Clive's head for. You're welcome is decidedly not the correct response to "thank you for ravaging me", but it's hard to fall back on misery when all Clive feels is the sort of happiness that most men would be hard-pressed to find over the course of many lifetimes.
So he strokes blond hair, smoothing sweat-mussed strands back into their proper place, tickling the unruly ends that act a little like his own unruly bangs. Small similarities, here and there. ]
I'll forgive myself for my lack of restraint, then. [ A soft smile, reaffirming. ] And swear to you that you'll never doubt again.
[ With that, he takes one of Joshua's hands, momentarily dislodging it from where it's looped around him to kiss along its knuckles. Like another oath pledged, another sworn promise. ]
The only trouble now, [ is warmer, more lighthearted. ] Will be how we exercise our collective patience.
[ It's been years of not-so-casual repression. This new development is going to be hell for Clive, who is a poor liar on a good day. ]
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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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It would almost be funny, if not for the fact that their attraction to each other is what most would consider perverse. Joshua shouldn't look at Clive and want him, and Clive shouldn't feel so elated about Joshua looking.
And yet. Here he is. Looking, and wanting to be seen. ]
If anyone was looking, I didn't notice it. I only had eyes for you.
[ His palm smooths downwards this time, from chest to stomach and lower, until he's the one tracing the outline of Joshua's interest with his fingers this time around. The physical proof of Joshua's arousal makes Clive's own cock strain in his trousers, and for a second, he forgets to breathe. ]
Fuck, Joshua. [ His voice crawls low, turning sandpaper with barely-contained need. ] ―You have a long ride tomorrow.
[ A shuddering sigh, half to remind himself that it would be unwise to take Joshua when most of his brother's following day will be spent on a saddle, and half to let Joshua know that, despite how wildly irresponsible Clive is being, he would still rather die before he lets Joshua hurt in any way. ]
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It’s just extremely difficult, with Clive’s hand on him. He wants to press up into it, wants to tell Clive that he doesn’t care at all, that tomorrow’s consequences mean nothing to him.
It’s not just desire, though that’s a good part of it. It’s also Joshua’s fear that he won’t get another chance. That they’ll wake up tomorrow and Clive will think better of all of this, will hate himself for giving in to what they both want, will regret it. He’s afraid he’ll never have this again, and if that’s the case, he doesn’t want to hold back. Joshua wants to give Clive everything. He wants that, at least, if he never gets anything else.]
I know, but - [What can he say? It’s hard to think when Clive is touching him like that. All he wants is more.] - will we have another chance?
[In the end, all he can do is put voice to his desires, his fears.]
If this is the only time I’ll have you, I want all of you.
[He gives into the urge to press up against Clive’s hand, unable to contain the stuttering gasp that draws from him. In truth, anything they do will be more than he ever dreamed. It already has been. It’s greedy to want more, he knows, but he can’t help himself. What if Clive never touches him again? What if this night is all he ever has?]
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Justifying away the frequency with which Clive visits Joshua's chambers is simple enough, but it will be harder to find sound reasons for Joshua's rejection of marriage proposals. That is, if he rejects them at all; a terrifying thought occurs to Clive of Joshua promising himself to another, and of Clive becoming the clandestine affair.
It's no life for Joshua to live. The guilt and secrecy of it. It stills Clive's hand for a moment, settled where it is over the achingly enticing outline of someone he wants more than anything in the world. ]
It terrifies me, [ he finally admits, ] to think that I might ruin you if I do this.
[ Because he doesn't know if this will be the only time. Because he knows it should be, and that they should wake the next morning and never speak of it again. Because he knows that if they don't speak of it, the knowledge that they had something for one perfect night will burn the both of them from the inside out, forever.
His hand slides off of Joshua, but only so that he can press back downwards with his weight, flush against his brother's form, pinning him like a butterfly on canvas. ]
But I swore forevermore. And forevermore it will be, until you will this to end.
[ Their hips slot together; Clive grinds downwards just slightly, his outline against Joshua's. ] I would take you in Sanbreque, if you asked sweetly enough.
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He never really liked thinking about that kind of thing then, and he doesn't now. He's always intended to put it off as long as possible. Now, with the chance for something to grow - the chance to really have Clive, to be with him - Joshua hopes that he can find a way to put it off forever. It won't be easy, he knows, but they have cousins who can carry on the Phoenix bloodline. The eikon won't pass to anyone until he's dead, anyway, so any child of his would likely play the same role as their father was meant to: Archduke only until the next Phoenix is of age.
Joshua knows that wanting this, hoping for it, is going to make his life much more difficult. He knows that well. But the alternative is - impossible.
The truth is, from the moment he knew it was possible for Clive to want him, he was already ruined. Marrying some political choice was unappealing enough before, but he might have buried his feelings deep in his heart, put a smile on, and endured. But now, when it might mean losing Clive? Having to touch someone else, let them touch him? He can't even stomach the thought.]
You're the only one that I want. The only one I've ever wanted.
[He can feel Clive against him, pressing him to the sheets, his need evident - matching Joshua's own. His breath comes in a sigh of pleasure as Clive moves against him, hands coming up to clutch at Clive's shoulders, half to steady himself and half just to touch him.]
I can be patient. [It's really a bit difficult right now, with his whole body alight with need, but Joshua knows Clive is right. It's better to wait. They'll have another chance, he tells himself, they will.] But tonight - will you touch me?
[He wants so much that's it's difficult to know what to ask for. But that much, at least -]
I'll ask very sweetly, if you wish.
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He doesn't ask if anyone has touched Joshua before, because he truly doesn't want to know. He's already half-mad with all of this, and has resolved to be gentle－ anything that threatens that goal is shoved into a little box that he shoves even further into the recesses of his mind, not to be opened until Joshua is out of arm's reach. ]
As much as you want. [ To the point about touching. His hand steals to Joshua's waist again, hitching him up and closer and marveling at the fact that 'astonishingly good' is a real feeling that someone can experience. Every time a part of him comes in contact with Joshua, bare skin on bare skin, he feels unfamiliar electricity course up his spine and spark in his skull.
He mirrors his brother's breath, soft and content, and starts to work Joshua's trousers down his hips. Slowly, tracing every line and dip. He feels his throat tighten when he flits his focus down and sees more bared skin, feels his breath catch when he finally frees Joshua from the restrictive hold of his smallclothes and touches along the heat of him.
His eyelids flutter; there it is again, the coil of nerves, the awareness that there are more boundaries to cross. He breaches them, but with the slightest tensing of his shoulders. ]
You've ever been too sweet to me, [ is another admission. ] It made me yearn for you. It makes me yearn for you.
[ Joshua, the only one who has ever made him feel as if he belongs. Not just to his homeland or to his duties, but to someone who cares for him, who sees him as Clive Rosfield instead of a set of strategic advantages or a well-sharpened sword. ]
―Fuck, [ he sighs, low and awed. ] I love you, Joshua.
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He’s embarrassed, a little, to be seen like this. A natural feeling, perhaps, eased by Clive’s careful touch. He’s so close, so warm, and Joshua too feels like he’s burning up.
They’re crossing one of the last boundaries here, he knows. There’s no going back from this. But there never was, not really, not from the moment that Joshua realized it might be possible. Even if they’d done nothing, even if Clive had been able to hold back, knowing that Clive wanted him would have changed everything.
He’s not frightened of it. This is what he wants, what he’s wanted so badly. But his heart is beating hard anyway, his thoughts scattering with each touch.]
You alone deserve all the sweetness I might have in me.
[Clive has always been his favorite person, and the years have only made Joshua adore him more. Seeing how hard he fought for Rosaria, his regret, his devotion - Joshua always wished to comfort him, to give him peace. In their lives it has been terribly hard to come by, so it felt like all Joshua could offer was his kindness, his love.
He wants to give Clive more, give him everything. He wants, more than anything, to make Clive happy.]
I love you. [He says it simply - just stating a true thing, an immutable fact of who Joshua is. He’s breathless, but only because Clive’s hand is on him, and he can hardly stand the pleasure of just that simple touch.] Will you let me touch you, too?
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A strange contradiction. Everything has changed, while also staying completely unchanged. They've always been the most important person in each other's lives: it's just the shape of how they express their truth that's crept well and truly into the realm of taboo.
Still, Clive's answer to whether Joshua can touch is a breathless: ] Yes. [ He never wants Joshua to doubt that he could have anything of Clive's. Clive has always been Joshua's, with or without the blessing of the Phoenix, with or without the title of Shield, with or without the approval of the world.
So he kisses him again, soft and affectionate, and sits up to remove the last of his own clothes. Bared, for Joshua's appraisal. He's hardly as beautiful as Joshua, tanned and scarred (the one on his cheek given to him when he was captured by enemies in Dhalmekia, a scornful burn made to mimic the mark of a Branded) as he is, but there's little point in being shy at this point. He's been hard since he fell on top of Joshua the first time, high on his brother's misguided permissiveness. ]
Sometimes I think you can read my mind, [ he murmurs. ] Did you know that I had thoughts of you in my head all day?
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He's seen Clive without a shirt before, but seeing him like this, being together like this, is something entirely new. Joshua wants to trace the lines of his body, lick the sweat from his skin, put his mouth on those scars. He can hardly handle how much he wants Clive.]
I wish I could read your mind. [He smiles, genuine, teasing amusement.] I'd have crept into your bed and seduced you long ago, if I'd had any idea you might have given in.
[Joshua is nervous, a bit, to actually reach out - but he wants to very much, wants to touch Clive, give him that pleasure. So he does, carefully at first, trailing his hand down Clive's stomach, down further, to wrap around his hard length. Joshua only really knows what he does for himself. Clive deserves so much more than that. Hopefully he won't be too bothered by Joshua's inexperience.]
What did you think about? [A pause, and the hand wrapped around Clive strokes him gently.] This?
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His breathing turns uneven; the slow, exploratory friction makes him shift under Joshua's grip, urging more. ]
Worse. [ Thoughts he'd kept to himself, and would have sooner died before admitting to. Guilt still threatens to catch in the back of his throat, to make the confession as bitter as it ought to be, but he swallows it.
Because Joshua wants this. He wants to know. And so, Clive will tell him. ]
I spread you open with my fingers. In Oriflamme, on Sanbrequian sheets. [ Shuddering through his next exhale, he dips down to kiss along Joshua's neck, playing at his soft skin with teeth that still don't quite bite. There's still the desire to, doubly so given what he's admitting to, but caution is still paramount. ] ―Then I claimed you for my own, before anyone else could.
[ He mouths at Joshua's shoulder, kissing the barest hint of a mark at its crest. Pale skin turns slightly pink, but not enough for the color to linger; Clive repeats the gentle sucking over Joshua's chest, his collarbone, the underside of his chin. ]
I fucked you so thoroughly― [ verges on somewhat dangerously possessive, but with a lingering undertone of apology; obscene as the rest of the fantasy is, he would never dare to treat Joshua like some sort of object. ] ―that even if the prince of Sanbreque were to have you, he'd feel you in my shape.
[ Terrible. He should be put down like the monster he is. ]
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To know that Clive was thinking these things of him, may even have done so before, is incredible. If nothing else, it makes Joshua feel a little less guilty about all the things he's thought of Clive - the dreams, the fantasies. None were quite so explicit, but not out of a lack of desire - just a lack of experience. But he wants that, and he moves against the sheets in an attempt to calm himself, to keep from asking Clive for what he knows he shouldn't.]
I want to be yours. [In every way he can be, in every way Clive wants.] I want you to be my first, Clive, I want you to ruin me for anyone else.
[As if he hasn't already. It's done, Joshua knows he won't be able to desire anyone's touch the way he does Clive's.
Eager, excited by the hitch in Clive's breathing, the teeth against his skin, Joshua begins to stroke him more quickly, not looking away, captivated by the simple truth of what he's doing, what he knows he ought not be doing. As clumsy as he might be, if he can still give Clive pleasure, that's all he wants right now. That, and Clive's hands on him, Clive's mouth -]
You can leave a mark. [Breathless, knowing it's unwise, but not caring -] Under my clothes, where no one will see.
[He wouldn't mind more than one, wouldn't mind a collection to look at later, so he'll know this was all real. So that he'll bear Clive's mark, no matter what other consequences may find them.]
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It's obscene. It shouldn't be allowed. But it feels perfect in a way that nothing ever has (nothing ever will), and Clive makes a sound like a man drowning, one hand fisted in rumpled sheets to brace his weight as he bucks.
He's slick in Joshua's hand. It makes him starkly aware of how he's dirtying him, and that, too, is dizzying. His mouth forms the shape of Joshua's name (the only thing he can think of to say, the only coherent thought in his head), and he bites it into soft skin when he's bid to, right above where he guesses Joshua's heart is.
He kisses, sucks, and the mark holds. Red and possessive. His, his. Clive's tenuous control over his impulses slack even further, and he bites more reminders against Joshua's shoulder, then under the dip of his collarbone (dangerous). ]
Joshua― [ Breathless, his voice rising and falling in time to the movement of that hand wrapped around him. ] ―Slower. I want us to―
[ A stifled moan, low and rumbling. With the hand he isn't using to hold his weight up, he takes Joshua's stiffness and tries to match the rhythm that's already been made, desperate and artless. ]
―Together. [ Almost a whine, which is diamond-rare from a man like Clive. A please that only Joshua is allowed to know or hear. ]
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And Clive is giving him everything he wants. The marks on his skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through him. When Clive's hand wraps around him, he almost cries out, only barely catching himself - aware suddenly that the walls might be thin, they might be heard if he's not careful.
But it's so hard to cling to even that tiniest bit of self-control. Hard, almost impossible to think of anything but Clive's hand on him. His hips stutter into that touch, back arching, so close. It's Clive's touch, Clive's voice, and knowing that it's him is everything Joshua's wanted for so long, everything he thought he could never have. He'll never be able to move on from this, he knows. He wants to worship Clive, and learn how to please him, and look at him and know that Clive is his, that he doesn't want anyone else.
Joshua knows he's impossibly greedy. He knows that it's selfish, to want so much from his brother, who is handsome and kind and so easy to love. To tie him to Joshua, who can never truly give him what he deserves (someone who could love him openly, a family, a future), is unfair.
But he loves Clive. He loves Clive, and he wants him more than he's ever wanted anything or anyone. It's only because of Clive that Joshua knows what it truly means to want. How could he possibly give this up?]
Clive - [He's so close, he can feel the slide of Clive's sword callouses against his heated flesh. He slows his own hand, wanting to match Clive. Together. Joshua knows he can't hold on much longer, though, about to tip over the edge.] - please.
[His pleading falls apart, though, because Joshua's last shard of frayed control slips away. He does cry out as he comes, he can't help it, can't even think to try to stop himself, but it's soft - overwhelmed, breathless.]
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(Joshua will be... safe, relatively. Clive can't imagine anyone considering stripping the Phoenix of his rightful title as Archduke, but Ifrit already has a strike against him; they will likely remove him from the position of Lord Commander, and blame the transgression on the same madness that drove him to attack Joshua all those years ago.)
So, discretion it is. Even if it feels impossible, with how sweetly Joshua pleads for him under his breath, and how beautifully he comes apart after being brought to his edge. Arousal runs through Clive like wildfire; he surges forward to kiss that sound out of Joshua's mouth both to stifle it and to taste it, to claim even the proof that Joshua came, for him, in his hand. Sweat-slick and pretty, flushed and perfect. Clive will have this image of Joshua in his mind's eye for ages― it's all he'll think about tomorrow, even after the heat of the moment abates and he's left to contend with the gravity of what he's done.
Tomorrow. Right now, he kisses Joshua again, covering his spent body with his own, feeling his own need mount higher, higher. ]
I love you, [ he murmurs, as if he's mad with it. (He is.) ] Joshua―
[ And finally, he succumbs to Joshua's please, coming with a final shudder and a bitten-back cry of his own, a broken thing that he presses against Joshua's neck. He paints Joshua's hand and stomach with it, and he should feel far more horrified about it than he does; instead, he feels overcome by affection, overwhelmed by the completeness he feels, brought to his limit by someone he cares for more than anything in the world.
His orgasm is a long, drawn-out thing, and he settles into it by rolling the both of them onto their sides, legs tangled with their foreheads touching. Eventually, he lifts Joshua's hand and starts to clean it idly with his mouth, lips and tongue licking spend away from those perfect fingers. Reverent, even despite the obscene display.
Nothing about their relationship will be normal again, but perhaps the both of them were never normal to begin with. Ifrit and Phoenix, born to become one. ]
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He's never felt like this before, and he knows it isn't only because he's never done this before. It wouldn't have been the same with anyone else, wouldn't have felt so perfect, so incredible. He's always loved Clive, since he was a boy who knew nothing of pain or sorrow, but somewhere along the way it changed, became something he knows it shouldn't have. He always will love Clive, no matter what else might happen. But Joshua is in love with him too, utterly lost, despite all the reasons he shouldn't be.
But this moment, his breath matching Clive, the quiet perfection of it - this is the closest thing to real happiness that Joshua can think of.]
I love you. [Said with the same certainty as before, without the passion clouding his words, without any doubt of what he means. Joshua just wants Clive to hear it. Wants him to know that he means it, that he will never regret any of this. Whatever the world brings them - Joshua isn't going to let go of him.
Even if he is distracted only a moment later.]
Clive. [His reaction to Clive taking his dirty hand, putting his mouth to it - it's the most scandalized Joshua's managed to sound all night, and even then, there's a gentleness to it that's far more affectionate than horrified.] You needn't do that.
[But he doesn't pull his hand away. He'd let Clive do just about anything he wanted right then, Joshua knows, and that -
Rather than disgust, he feels the faintest kindling of interest. Not anything real, young as he is Joshua has always lacked stamina, and this is no different. But even so, Clive's mouth on his fingers does something to him. He certainly doesn't have it in him to stop Clive.]
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High-brow thoughts, as he does low-brow things. Clive licks a long stripe along Joshua's palm, right along his lifeline, and smiles. ] No, I don't. [ Need to, he means. ] But I want to.
[ And that's a bit more of the Clive from childhood, when he had more leave to teasingly and harmlessly push back. He wouldn't be caught dead speaking out of turn in the company of their subjects (gods know that he hates the rumors that Ifrit is the one that controls the Phoenix), but right now―
―he thinks he's permitted. One last lick along the dip where thumb meets index, and Clive relinquishes Joshua's hand. ]
...I should fetch you a washbasin. And some clean cloth. [ He presses a kiss along Joshua's temple, and slowly, slowly peels himself from his brother with the sort of bone-deep reluctance that makes him reaffirm that, yes, this is what he wants. The guilt is still there, sitting in the pit of his stomach, but it doesn't color the way he touches Joshua anymore; he can't, now that he knows that their affections are mutual.
He loves Joshua. Irreversibly, and inexorably. Tomorrow, he will have to pretend that he doesn't want to kiss Joshua in witness of Greagor and every other god that shadows their footsteps, and will have to relinquish his brother's company so that others may have it, as much as it'll burn Clive to see the Sanbrequian elite fall upon his beautiful brother like so much flies on honey.
None of them will deserve Joshua. They tried to kill him. But peace is more important than Clive's still-seething anger towards the men who ever dared turn a sword against Joshua, and so, Clive will let his brother do what he must. ]
It won't be but a moment. ...I'm not running away.
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But Clive is right, as he so often is. If they fall asleep like this - covered in the mess they’ve made of themselves - they’ll certainly regret it in the morning. Just because Joshua can’t bring him to care about such things right now, when he’s warm and happy in a way he never thought he could be, doesn’t mean they don’t matter.]
Mmm. Come back before I get cold.
[There’s a playful affection to his words. It feels easy, though he knows it shouldn’t - he knows he should feel some hesitation about slipping so easily from treating Clive like a brother to treating him like a lover. But it comes easily, enough so that Joshua knows that will only make things more dangerous.
All of Rosaria already knows he favors Clive. He refused to allow Clive to be punished for Ifrit’s actions, despite what the nobles of Rosaria and Clive himself wanted. (Joshua still has no doubt that this was the right decision, thinks that Clive has punished himself far more than he ever needed to.) He insisted that Clive be given his rightful position as Lord Commander, and he’s always made a point of treating his brother with the respect he deserves - and subtly making it clear to the rest of the court that they ought to as well, at least in Joshua’s hearing.
There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Joshua loves his brother. But how much more difficult will it be now, when he looks at Clive with different eyes, when he knows Clive’s touch? It isn’t as if he’ll be able to give Clive a parting kiss when he rides off to battle, like so many of the soldiers’ wives do. He’ll have to act no different than ever in public, and save everything else for these private moments.
At least it won’t be terribly strange for Clive to be in his chambers alone with him. At least he’s already known to be affectionate towards his brother - no one will think it odd if Joshua smiles at him, or touches his shoulder, or lingers in his company a bit longer than most. Those were all things he already did, for better or for worse.
He can smell Clive on the sheets, and he wants to press his face to them, breathe in. He wants to curl around Clive and not let go, wants Clive’s arms around him. Wants to see him smile, and give him more moments where he can relax. In Joshua’s arms, preferably.]
When we reach Sanbreque, I will ensure your chambers are as near mine as possible.
[Not an odd request, for a ruler and his sworn shield visiting a nation they’ve so recently been at war with. Likely he won’t even need to request it, but - Joshua will be certain.]
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Despite this shift, which Joshua seems to be taking swimmingly to (and is even more radiant for it, tousled and glowing), Clive will always be his protector as well. It's just that, well.
Now, Clive has an excuse to swat other kinds of flies.
He smiles and sighs, low and fond, as he reaches sideways to sift his fingers through blond hair one more time before he gets up, finding his trousers amidst the mess he's made of his clothes on the floor. ]
When did you become such a troublemaker? [ Says the one who cracked first. A gentle tease, as he decides to forgo the idea of a shirt entirely, electing to leave the room in nothing but his pants and a pair of slippers. They're all winding down to rest, it shouldn't be so scandalous. ] You'll be the death of me.
[ Still smiling, he spares Joshua one last glance before stepping out－ nearly tripping over the dinner tray in the process, cursing softly under his breath－ to play fetch. The owner of the cottage's wife finds him outside and does look a little scandalized by the state of Clive's undress, but kindly provides him with a few washcloths that he takes back to the room with the basin full of clean water.
He returns, objects in tow, and scoots the tray inside with one foot (poor manners, the kind he never shows in front of anyone but Joshua). He gravitates back towards his brother quietly, and bids him roll onto his back so that Clive can make himself useful with the cloths. Careful and doting, as ever.
After a few seconds of gentle silence: ]
...You know that you mean everything to me, Joshua. [ Softly. ] Nothing will ever change this, no matter what form our relationship takes.
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More pleasant when Clive returns, though, and Joshua can look at him again. He lets Clive take care of him, enjoying the tender care - another selfish, greedy impulse, when he could just as easily clean himself. He's perfectly capable. But Clive wants to, and Joshua wants every bit of Clive that he can get, so of course he'll allow it. Of course he'll enjoy it.]
You mean everything to me, as well.
[A quiet truth that he knows he must never confess to anyone else. Rosaria should mean everything to him. But if the kingdom fell, and he still had Clive, he would survive. If he lost Clive, even if it won him Rosaria, safe forever, something would shatter in Joshua. He would do his duty, he's been raised for that, but he would have nothing left but that.
Joshua reaches out, running gentle fingers through Clive's hair. Indulging himself, now that he can. It wouldn't have been so terribly odd before - but now he can do it without worry, he can touch Clive and know that Clive understand what he means.]
I know that things - won't be easy. But my feelings for you won't change. [The part of Joshua that's a hopeless romantic, the part that loves tales and songs even though he knows how cruel the world can be, wants to believe that happiness is possible for them. That he can find a way to avoid the marriage that is expected of him, that he can be with Clive, even if it must always remain a secret. He wants to try. He doesn't want to break Clive's heart - or his own.] If it becomes too much, too painful... please tell me.
[He never wants Clive to suffer for this. They are already doing something they shouldn't, something the world would see as awful. Clive has already punished himself so much - for Ifrit, for Phoenix Gate, and Joshua knows he has punished himself for the feelings they share, too. That much of a burden he hopes to lift, and to keep it from ever crushing him again. He'll do what he must to make that real.]
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He runs the washcloth over Joshua's stomach, cleaning the last of the mess that he'd made on perfect, unblemished skin, and kisses over Joshua's navel once he's done. He savors the feeling of those gentle fingers combing through his hair, and flicks his gaze upwards towards Joshua's imploring eyes, holding his gaze throughout that last request. ]
You could never hurt me.
[ With perfect, unflinching conviction. An echo of what Joshua has always told him, but with more certitude. It will never be the case that Clive suffers because of Joshua; he will suffer gladly for Joshua, but not because his brother is the root cause of said suffering. There is a clear, diamond distinction there in Clive's head, and maybe it's the case that no one will understand it but Joshua. ]
I would lose my title, my Eikon, my name, if that's what it took to keep you. I need nothing else.
[ Too intense, most would say. This is not what a normal man would say, even to a normal lover. But, again, the events of Phoenix Gate have already fractured something in Clive irreversibly; he already knows that he won't survive a second time.
With that said, he sets the basin and cloths aside to slide back next to Joshua, to pull him back into the warmth of his arms and to pull the now-rumpled blanket around both of their bodies. It wouldn't do if Joshua caught cold. ]
You have ever been my joy.
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Clive deserves better. Of course he does. But he deserves a choice, too, and so does Joshua. If they’ve both chosen each other, despite the danger, the fear of what might come, Joshua can’t tell him no. He can’t refuse that choice. After all, isn’t he choosing the same thing?
He curls into Clive’s embrace, sliding his arms around his brother in turn, holding him close enough to feel his warmth, hear his heartbeat. He could stay like this forever, he thinks, and be happy.]
I don’t want you to have to lose anything for me. Never.
[Joshua is tired, but he struggles against the weariness. As if, if he lets himself sleep, this will all disappear.
He knows it won’t. When he wakes, Clive will be there, and they’ll have to begin finding their own path through all of this. But he doesn’t want this night to slip away from him, not yet. Just a little longer.]
Thank you. [His voice is soft.] For tonight. I didn’t think - I could have this.
[Joshua didn’t think he could be happy. Not like this, not with someone he should never be with - the only person he’s ever wanted.]
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His brother, his birthright. Clive sees how Joshua fights sleep, and it makes him feel soft despite Joshua thanking him for something that most people would have Clive's head for. You're welcome is decidedly not the correct response to "thank you for ravaging me", but it's hard to fall back on misery when all Clive feels is the sort of happiness that most men would be hard-pressed to find over the course of many lifetimes.
So he strokes blond hair, smoothing sweat-mussed strands back into their proper place, tickling the unruly ends that act a little like his own unruly bangs. Small similarities, here and there. ]
I'll forgive myself for my lack of restraint, then. [ A soft smile, reaffirming. ] And swear to you that you'll never doubt again.
[ With that, he takes one of Joshua's hands, momentarily dislodging it from where it's looped around him to kiss along its knuckles. Like another oath pledged, another sworn promise. ]
The only trouble now, [ is warmer, more lighthearted. ] Will be how we exercise our collective patience.
[ It's been years of not-so-casual repression. This new development is going to be hell for Clive, who is a poor liar on a good day. ]
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