It's my duty to you, [ he replies, the faintest trace of a laugh in the way he exhales, ] to be impressive.
[ What use does Rosaria have for a dull sword? The point of Clive is to stay near Joshua and promise that anyone who dares contemplate harm upon him will be swiftly cleaved in two; he's indicated that tenfold today, on the training grounds, and some of the men who occupy higher spaces in the Sanbrequian army give Clive a wide berth as he walks a step and a half behind Joshua, deferring to his brother's lead as always.
Feared, not revered. Clive doesn't care. As long as the world adores Joshua, Clive can bear its hate. As long as Joshua loves him, nothing else matters.
So it's annoying, again, that they have to part yet again: they don't get too far before Sanbrequian officials swoop in like vultures to usher Joshua to his rightful place towards the head of the table, while Clive is similarly whisked away to occupy a space a handful of chairs away, a rosy-cheeked noblewoman to his right and a stern-faced general to his left. It makes Clive feel brittle to be corralled around like some animal, and worse still when he notices that the space around Joshua is filled with beautiful young men and women of his age, bright-eyed and eager to win his brother's favor.
The elite echelon of Sanbreque's nobility, no doubt. All of them looking at his brother as a marriage prospect, hoping to warm his bed at least once before Joshua leaves to return for Rosalith. Clive tears his focus away from the head of the table, keeping his expression staunchly neutral so as not to telegraph displeasure in the middle of a banquet meant to be celebrating the both of them. ]
[Joshua expected this, and it's part of his duty, part of what he was raised to do - smile and say the right things, avoid making enemies while also avoiding making any promises. He is a curious person, genuinely interested in learning things, which means he's an attentive listener. It makes him good at this sort of thing, normally.
But he doesn't immediately realize the point of it all. It doesn't take him that long - Joshua's not a fool, but he's also not used to that sort of attention. So much of the last ten years of his life have been spend at Rosalith, cooped up in the castle, studying to be Archduke. Books, treaties, letters - there were banquets, of course, and other affairs that he attended as the heir. He navigated them well enough, this isn't his first time. But the nobles of Rosaria are fewer, and children of the correct age few as well, and it was commonly understood that there was little chance he would marry until he ascended the throne.
In short, Joshua is used to politics and diplomacy and even charm. He isn't used to being flirted with.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to realize that's what's going on. In his defense, it's far more subtle than it might be in another setting - there are no garish displays, no obvious innuendos. Just interest that's a little too pointed, compliments that are a little too flattering.
He responds as best he can, staying neutral while trying to remain kind and avoid offending anyone, being careful not to offer any real encouragement. It makes him uncomfortable in a way that Clive's attention didn't. It feels false, and he knows it is - none of these people know him, none of them see him as anything more than a possible path to advancement.
But it's part of the game. One mentions Clive - 'and your brother too, of course, such handsome men Rosaria has sent us' - and Joshua can't help glancing down the table. If he's being approached like this, has Clive received such attention too? He can see the noblewoman next to Clive leaning in to say something to him, though of course Joshua can't hear it from his position.
He bites back a sigh. He had not thought of himself as a possessive person, before this, but when it comes to Clive, it seems he can't stop himself from feeling the sting of jealousy at the idea that some daring woman might wish to slip into his bed. He knows Clive wouldn't - he does - but he can't help how he feels.]
[ The men and women around Clive are a bit more daring: the elder Rosfield is a soldier, which many take to assume that he requires slightly less care than the younger Rosfield when it comes to manners, having been raised around men of bawdier inclinations. They speak of Ifrit's conquests, and the noblewoman beside him― a little flushed on wine and intrigue― laughs into her hand, then presses her soft body up against his side.
"I wouldn't mind being conquered by Ifrit, myself," she purrs. The table erupts into laughter, leaving Clive to sit stiffly, keeping himself in check so as not to do anything that might reflect poorly on Joshua. ]
...You jest, [ is his default reaction to most of the provocation. He'd never liked the cakes and ale when he was a child, and he likes them far less now, with more riding on how he consumes them.
Meanwhile, the men and women around Joshua glance back and forth between the siblings, then titter behind their own hands. "Come, Your Grace, you mustn't let your brother steal all the attention!", says a pretty young woman with auburn hair, and touches at Joshua's sleeve.
"A group of us are planning to retire to the salon after this, for some more private conversation and games... Perhaps you'd do us the kindness of joining?"
'Games'. There's intent there, expectant and eager. Clive can't hear the content of the conversation happening towards Joshua's end of the dinner table, but he sees how the young woman's finger grazes at his brother's sleeve; it shames him, how unbearable he finds it all. By all rights, this is what Joshua should be doing: speaking to others his own age, expanding his world beyond Clive.
Still. Clive thinks back to forevermore, and tries not to grit his teeth. This entire banquet-charade can't be over soon enough. ]
[Clive doesn't look like he's enjoying himself, Joshua can see that even with the distance between them. It isn't surprising - Clive has never flourished in these sorts of settings. When he has been required to attend events alongside Joshua, as his shield, he tended to linger close, to focus on his duty rather than using it as an opportunity to enjoy himself.
Joshua always felt rather guilty about that. He imagined that Clive was able to cut loose around his men, in more casual settings, but Joshua doesn't belong in those places and never will so long as he's the Archduke. He has always wanted to see Clive relax and enjoy himself, but he knows that events like these are simply not the sort of thing that suits him.
In this case, though, Joshua finds himself (selfishly, childishly) reassured. He isn't enjoying himself, and neither is Clive. They can be united in their discomfort, even if Joshua has to be much more careful to conceal it. Clive has a certain allowance of coldness, even rudeness, given his reputation in Sanbreque - Joshua certainly won't scold him for it. But he himself must smile, must make sweet excuses.]
I'm afraid we rode most of the length of Sanbreque today. I haven't the strength to join you - I'm already nearly falling asleep.
[He laughs, adds a gentle jest to make it softer.]
If you see me wavering, please catch me before I land in my soup.
[It's somewhat true, at least. They did ride a long way, and everything since their arrival has been tiring as well. But Joshua is in no danger of falling asleep at that table, too carefully alert and aware of every little danger. Which in this case means social traps, flirtations, and invitations that he has absolutely no desire to accept.
He does want to rest. But he wants a moment alone with Clive first - at least a moment. It feels like it's been days since they were able to talk freely, though Joshua knows it's been mere hours.]
[ The gaggle look disappointed, but it's obvious that they don't consider the refusal to join a rebuff; Joshua is a perfect gentleman about it, and it only makes the women more eager to spend time with him tomorrow, please, please. They promise tours of gardens and a secret spot where they can rest with a breathtaking view of the Mothercrystal, soft picnic cushions and warm, warm company.
Clive's portion of the table is less subtle. The more the men and women around them drink, the more risqué their questions get: as if he's some wild animal with a penchant for ravaging both maidens and young men alike. Clive bears it for as long as he can, remaining as neutral as he can manage for Joshua's sake－
－but he hits his limit during dessert, when the woman sitting next to him slides a hand along his thigh, and gets dangerously close to the space between his knees. His chair scrapes back, and he rises onto his feet with stern finality. ]
...Excuse my impoliteness. I think I've had too much to drink.
[ Without blaming his need to leave on his present company, he gets up and starts to walk towards Joshua's seat, ignoring the spread of murmurs behind him. None of the other guests seem particularly offended, which is the saving grace; the woman who caused the outburst looks pleased, even, and turns to her friend to boast: "who knew that the fearsome Dominant of Fire could be so shy? A sweet little schoolboy, isn't he."
It turns Clive's stomach. Still, he would never leave Joshua alone in this pit of vipers, so he takes his station a few yards away behind his brother's seat at the table, by the wall and in the shadow of a large tapestry hanging from floor to ceiling.
(He spies Dion laughing into his wineglass, with the young dragoon, Terence, whispering something hurriedly to him. Dion looks up, and gives Clive a wink.) ]
[Joshua doesn't know what happened at Clive's table, but he can see the ripples, Clive standing up, whispers and murmurs spreading, a little laughter. He's more concerned about Clive than anything - he's certain Sanbreque expects an amount of standoffishness from Clive, but he doesn't like what they might have done to provoke it.
Even so, having Clive closer to him is a sort of comfort. He's grown used to it. When Clive is at Rosalith, when he isn't facing one of the many threats that press on Rosaria's borders, he's almost always shadowing Joshua. At banquets, at negotiations, when welcoming visitors, Clive stays near him. It's remarked upon, sometimes, but no one really questions it. Everyone in Rosaria knows that Joshua nearly died once already, and that if anything happened to him now it would disrupt the precarious safety of their country.
So even if some of them fear Clive, they understand why he stays near, or think they do. And Joshua has never thought of it as anything but a comfort. He's safer when Clive is near, he feels more steady when Clive is near. He's happier, then, when Clive abandons his seat and takes a post behind Joshua. He doesn't care what the Sanbrequian nobles might think.
He says something noncommittal to the young nobles chasing his favor -]
My time may be quite spoken for tomorrow, I have the honor of meeting your Emperor. But the gardens do sound delightful -
[And then he looks back at Clive, trying to catch his eye, to give him a quick look of thanks. Though he knows Clive didn't come up there just for him, he doesn't care. Having him there helps.
The nobles clustered around Joshua at the table see him too, of course, and there's a bit of a murmur - scandalized, or delighted, it's hard to tell. But Clive is not so tempting a fruit as Joshua, at least not in that moment, so though he gets a lot of looks, no one approaches him yet.
Joshua hasn't rushed through his meal, not wanting to appear rude, but he wants it to be over. He wants to stop talking to these people, he wants them to stop looking at Clive, stop talking about him. He keeps a careful smile on his face, a welcoming expression, but the moment the dessert course is removed he feels a rush of relief.]
How pleasant you've all made this meal - I appreciate it deeply. But I ought to retire, before I can no longer keep my head up.
[ If Joshua finds a measure of comfort in having Clive near, the feeling is reciprocated in spades: being his brother's shadow has always suited Clive far better than being anywhere close to the limelight, and he can breathe easier for it despite the simmering undercurrent of dislike he feels for the gaggle of noblewomen and noblemen who speak at Joshua instead of trying, even for a second, to perceive him.
So. When Joshua announces that he wishes to retire, Clive is upon him before the others can get a word in edgewise. Hand extended, gaze calm. ]
I'll see you to your quarters, Your Grace.
[ Natural as anything, without inviting any debate. One or two of the other guests seem to want to say something, but the crown prince interrupts with his own quip about leaving the brothers Rosfield alone, for Greagor's sake－ "one doesn't wish to reek of desperation."
That does the trick. A quick bow to the rest of the room, and Clive motions for Joshua to lead him out and back into the quiet of the castle halls, where they pass portraits of past generations of Lesages alongside sprawling paintings of Bahamut taking wing.
It's only once they've made a good amount of distance between themselves and the ballroom that Clive finally breathes, tension furrowing the space between his brows. ]
...An ordeal. [ One that he doesn't look forward to enduring again, though the next day might bring with it even more of these unbearable diplomatic trials. A sigh, and he glances towards Joshua, naked concern in his eyes. ] ―They swooped upon you like vultures. Are you alright?
[ He can't afford to touch his brother until they reach the safety of closed doors, but still. His hand twitches by his side, wishing he could comb fingers through blond hair and soothe a palm over Joshua's cheek. ]
[It's such a relief just to be away from all of that, Joshua nearly laughs at the question. He stops himself, still careful - the halls are empty save for them and an occasional passing servant, but Joshua knows better to let down his guard until they're behind closed doors. But he can answer Clive, at least, when he's fairly sure no one's close enough to hear.]
I feel a bit like I've been pecked at by vultures, in fact. Or nibbled upon by a pack of very hungry rabbits.
[He wishes he could reach out, take Clive's hand. Just for a moment, just to feel something real.]
I knew that it would be... difficult here, but I suppose I didn't expect to it to be like that. Like each and every one of them think that if they can get me in - in bed, they'll win some sort of prize.
[But then, that's true, isn't it? Even a brief dalliance would give a noble Sanbrequian family leverage. All the better if someone could manufacture an infatuation - or worse, a pregnancy. And naturally, a marriage proposal would be the ultimate prize. Most of the nobles clustered around him were not of high enough rank to be considered if Rosaria simply wanted a political marriage (really, only Dion or one of the Emperor's siblings or their children come near the appropriate rank to wed an Archduke), but if they could manage to trick him into falling in love -
Well, Joshua knows of plenty of rulers throughout history who have made unwise marriages because they were in love. And he can't judge them, as he hopes to avoid marriage for exactly the same reason.
He can't even really blame the men and women flocking around him tonight. They want to rise in the world, and he's an obvious path. He might resent them a bit for thinking he's an easy target, that he would fall for such obvious social climbing, but he can't blame them. This is what their lives have revolved around since they were born, just as his has revolved around the Phoenix, Rosaria, the Archduke's throne.]
Were they awful to you?
[That's what he's more worried about, really. At least the nobles hounding him were reasonably pleasant about it. He knows Clive may not have received such consideration.]
They're not so harmless as rabbits, [ is a bit of a huff, though there's no ire to it: just dry exasperation, which he vents through his teeth. They wind themselves down another hall towards the innermost recesses of the castle, the safest and most fortified segment of it, occupied by a handful of large suites that are reserved for the most venerable guests of the Empire. Clive has no idea which room Joshua's been assigned to, as he was swiftly barred from joining the tour earlier, but defers to his brother to show him the way.
He's eager to be out of earshot, out of eyeshot. Though, after tonight's dinner, he's starkly aware of the possibility that someone might be bold enough to trespass－
－which means that sharing a bed with Joshua is out of the question. There will be no way to explain away naked bodies in sheets, which goes well and far beyond what is expected for a vassal and his liege, let alone brothers bound by blood. ]
I minded their prying eyes on you more than their wandering hands on me. [ Bluntly, because he has no need to hide that trespass from Joshua. Clive is his, and Joshua has the right to know if anyone has set their hands on what rightfully belongs to him. ] Beautiful as you are, I didn't relish the rabble lusting after you.
[ He could endure a pass at his cock by a drunk noblewoman; he would have found a blade to draw if the same had been done to Joshua. Let the Sanbrequian nobles dream of climbing the social ladder, or being given a fleeting glance; they were raised to chase. But not at the cost of Joshua's dignity, or his autonomy. Clive would never allow anyone to corner Joshua as if he was some animal to cage. Never again. Their mother did enough harm without yet another high-minded fool trying to reassert themselves in that now-empty space. ]
[Joshua certainly minds the thought of their hands on Clive. It angers him to think about - that they would force their attentions on him in that way, that they touched him without his permission. It's a bit of jealousy, too, possessiveness that someone dared touch what ought to be Joshua's. It's not wise to feel that way, but he can't help it.
He might hate Sanbreque. It doesn't matter. He can't let it affect these negotiations.]
I don't think lust came into it, much. They saw me as an opportunity, and an easy mark. But none of them touched me - not like that. [A breath, muttered:] How dare they.
[Joshua saves anything else for the moment when they've got a door between them and the rest of the world. Luckily, that time has nearly arrived.
His room is right in the middle, a suite fit for a visiting monarch. Finer than his rooms at home, really - Rosalith is a smaller castle, like Rosaria is a smaller country. The furnishings are lavish, bordering on garish in Joshua's opinion, but it's all meant to impress visitors with Sanbreque's wealth. All that he cares about right now is that he can shut the door, and lock it - though who knows who might have a key. Still, it's the best they can manage right now.]
I hate the thought of them with their hands on you. [He turns to Clive, lets himself be angry, just for a moment.] I wish we could burn this place.
[ White furnishings, white bedding, white flowers in crystalline vases. Joshua's suite has a beautiful view of the Mothercrystal towering over the breadth of Oriflamme, but Clive obstructs their view of it with a definitive drawing of curtains (also white), shielding the both of them from any amount of scrutiny from the outside world.
With that done, and the door shut and locked behind them, Clive can finally approach Joshua with the sort of urgency he wouldn't dare show in public. Four quick strides take him back in Joshua's orbit, with one ungloved hand outstretched to press itself against the jut of his brother's jaw.
And god, he'd been aching for the contact. Years and years of self-denial broken by one night of hedonistic indulgence, and now Clive crumbles under the weight of a single day without touch. It would be comical if not for the circumstances they're in. ]
―Joshua. I won't let myself be the reason for the failure of your mission. [ Thumbing just along the corner of Joshua's eye, Clive moves another half-step into his space. The assertion is sincerely meant; no matter what happens, this is his brother's first foray into public relations as Archduke of Rosaria, and no amount of offense will make Clive jeopardize it.
That said, he relaxes into Joshua's anger. An honest thing, so rare for Joshua to show. ]
Though you are still beautiful when you scowl. [ This time, his thumb swipes along the corner of Joshua's mouth. ] Come here.
[He goes to Clive, easily, immediately, crossing the slight distance between them with only a step. Joshua has wanted to touch him all day, has wished for it desperately since dinner. The sensation of Clive’s hands on his skin dampens his anger in a moment.
Joshua slides his arms around Clive, one hand settling at the back of his neck, brushing bare skin there. He knows they aren’t safe here, not really, but he can’t be without this. He’s grown so greedy, so quickly.]
I hate them for doing it, but - I wanted to touch you too.
[A soft, quick confession. He wanted Clive from the moment he saw him, the most eye-catching thing in that room. There will never be a world in which Joshua can kiss his brother in front of onlookers, but he wanted to so badly.
He can do it now, finally, and so he does.
It’s not an innocent peck. There’s need wrapped up with frustration, but more than that, relief. Here with Clive, Joshua is safe. For a moment, at least, he can have what he wants. So he presses his lips to Clive’s and kisses him properly - or at least as well as he’s able, given his still-limited experience.
Afterward, Joshua doesn’t move away. He is where he wants to be, for as long as Clive will allow it.]
The only good thing about this trip is that I get to see you all dressed up.
[Not that he doesn’t like Clive no matter what he wears - and it isn’t as if he goes about in rags, either. He is the Lord Commander, after all. But they so rarely have need of such fine clothing, and Joshua does appreciate the view.]
[ They've had decades to acclimate themselves to others' scrutiny, but the weight of it looms even heavier in foreign territory. It is a relief to be able to breathe easy in trusted and beloved company again, and Clive reciprocates the kiss by leaning inwards for one of his own, just as sweet as the one Joshua offered him. Open-mouthed, trading breath for breath.
There's still the understanding that they have no business pawing and clawing at each other like hungry animals with no sense. What they can't do in public, they shouldn't be doing at all. But the reality exists that it feels perfect to be pressed heartbeat against heartbeat with Joshua, tangled and close, and Clive smiles at the assertion that he was both wanted and admired by his most precious person. ]
As ever, it's for your benefit.
[ Both to keep up appearances, and to match colors with Joshua. They are, and will always be, a unified front. ]
And you―the Archduke's regalia suits you. [ Sliding one hand up the breadth of Joshua's back, tracing and appreciating his shape. The tailors have worked wonders with their father's clothes, modifying and updating them for Joshua to wear proudly. ] ...I declined accompanying you to your fittings for a reason, you know.
[ It would have been far too much to pine after Joshua when he was being fitted to wear the crown. A sullying of something sacred, Clive'd thought.
Look at him now, kissing Joshua in foreign territory with his palm splayed against the small of his brother's back. Unholy and unwise. Elwin would be so disappointed in him, he thinks. ]
[He wouldn't blame Clive. It would be boring to sit around, watching someone get measured and try on clothing. It had bored him more than a little, and he'd been the one doing it.
But it's reassuring to know that the end result is appealing. More than reassuring - especially since Joshua isn't interested in being appealing to anyone but Clive. He understands that he has to seem available in these courtly games, or else rumor will spread quickly, but that doesn't mean he needs to flirt in return.
Part of him thinks it wouldn't be so awful, really, to let people think that he has a lover at home that he won't betray. It wouldn't stop everyone, but it might make things a little more bearable. But Joshua knows that would lead to closer scrutiny, and while they can evade some attention with the obvious - Clive is his brother, no one's first assumption will be that they've crossed the line into something so sinful - there are surely some who might be willing to look too closely. He can't draw that sort of attention, not when they have a secret that could easily ruin them.]
I knew they were afraid of you, but I hate the way they're treating you. [Joshua raises a hand, touches Clive's cheek. Gentle, because Clive is precious to him.] I can't even do anything about it - they haven't overstepped the rules of diplomacy.
[Not even the unwanted touching, not really, as much as Joshua's anger sparks at the thought of it. There are plenty of men who would welcome such a thing, after all, and it's likely that those responsible even see it as a kindness. As if Clive might be lacking for attention.
Joshua doesn't think that's possible. In that, he can understand it, a little. Who could look at him and not want him?]
You could stay here, though. With me.
[There are plenty of reasons that's a terrible idea, and Joshua knows it. But he can't help but offer anyway.]
[ With Joshua still cradled in his arms, Clive walks them a few steps to the side, ever closer to the (generously-sized) canopied bed that sits primly against the far end of the room. Clive will have to help Joshua out of his finery before he even thinks to do anything untoward― even he's not audacious enough to ruin the Archduke's wardrobe－ but the slow journey is an indication that Clive wants Joshua to be far more comfortable than he currently is. ]
...You tempt me. You know I'd like nothing more.
[ A forward lean, to press his mouth against Joshua's jaw. Kissing pale, thin skin, but not with enough intent to bruise. ]
But, like you, I would hate how the Sanbrequians would treat you if they noted my absence from the barracks. [ Because, inevitably, the rabble will assume that the Brothers Rosfield are too paranoid to sleep apart from each other for even a night. ] They would underestimate you, and I won't have it.
[ As if any of them have even a fraction of Joshua's strength. His brother, the Phoenix. This castle could be cinders and ash if Joshua willed it; it's only by his grace and kindness that any of them are extended a chance at peace.
A sigh, and Clive pulls back enough to cradle Joshua's face again. Despite that soft exhale, he lets the corner of his lips hike into a smile. ]
Still. I'll stay for as long as I can. [ Terminally incapable of denying his brother anything. Joshua deserves a bit of spoiling, after having endured the events of the day. ] If it would please you.
[Joshua thinks they both deserve something for making it through their first day here - something to make the day a little less awful. He spent all of dinner wishing he could touch Clive. He isn’t going to give it up so easily now.]
It would please me.
[He knows, of course, that Clive can’t stay. He knew that when he offered it. But Joshua couldn’t help himself - he’s never had a night like the one they just shared. He’s never fallen asleep next to someone, woke to next to them. He’s wanted that, of course, idle imaginings that were never specific because he knew he could never have what he really wanted.
It still doesn’t feel quite real. Like it might disappear, like he might somehow lose this, lose Clive. It isn’t about doubting Clive - that’s something Joshua could never do. It’s more the impossibility of it all, all the reasons they both know they shouldn’t be doing this. But now that they have, Joshua knows he’ll never want anything else. No matter the danger.]
And you? [He tugs Clive back with him, just a little further, so that he can sit on the edge of the bed, Clive just between his knees] What would please you?
[Joshua’s anger has melted away easily in the face of Clive’s attention. It’s hard for him to feel anything negative when Clive is looking at him like that. But if anything, Clive is the one who ought to be spoiled - after all the insult he’s suffered today, and will surely suffer tomorrow.
At least there’s a cadre of Sanbrequian knights nursing their bruises tonight because of him.
Joshua looks up at his brother, reaching out as well, slim fingers resting on the ties of his all-too-tempting leathers.]
After all you’ve done for me today, my shield, I would gladly reward you.
[ Clive'd been bold the night prior, claiming that he'd take Joshua on Sanbrequian sheets. Simply, the logistics of doing something like that is a nightmare: never mind the fact that someone might find out, the maids in the morning would notice the state of the sheets if they managed to be reckless enough. Between the two of them, Clive truly believes that he's the one that has to temper their desires lest he bring ruin, and he feels that duty keenly now, with Joshua sitting and looking up at him through long, pale lashes.
He can't be greedy. The fact that Joshua has accepted how deep his desires really go should be enough.
Should be. It's hard to think of should when Joshua is speaking to him the way he is, with hands roaming over his body. Clive remains standing between his brother's knees, and reaches to slide his fingers along and under his chin. All those men and women clamoring for scraps at Joshua's table, and here Joshua is now, asking Clive what would please him. ]
...It would please Your Grace's shield, [ he finally says, ] to strip His Grace of his finery, and to have him be Joshua once more.
[ A knowing half-grin, more a quick quirk of his lips than anything else. With that, he finally settles into a kneel, still tucked between Joshua's thighs. ]
My Joshua. [ Low and warm, before he leans in for a kiss. Sometimes he thinks it a miracle that no one has seen his infatuation for Joshua for what it is, but he's had years of denying it to himself, he supposes. ]
[In truth, Clive is the one who must temper both of their desires - because Joshua won't. For all his clever mind and careful thinking, when Joshua chooses a course he commits himself to it fully. In his heart, there's no room for regret or hesitation. Now that he knows he can have Clive, he has no interest in holding back, even when he should know better.
He is greedy. He knows it. But Clive is all he wants, and Joshua would throw himself into fire for his brother. The possibility of Sanbrequian condemnation is not quite enough to give him pause - but he will, always and forever, be swayed by Clive's own desires. Including his self-restraint, if he is able to hold onto it where Joshua isn't.
He is swayed, though, immediately and utterly, by Clive's careful words.]
How shocked those knights you thrashed would be if they heard that silver tongue of yours.
[He says it so fondly. There was no chance Joshua would refuse, of course, but when Clive asks like that - Joshua would give him anything he asked for. Anything at all.
He kisses Clive, and when they part, rests his forehead against Clive's - just for a moment.]
That's what I want to be. [Quiet, only for him.] All I want to be.
[Joshua will never lay down his duty, of course, can never truly cease being the Archduke. But here, in these stolen moments, he can be something else. Something that eases just a bit of the burden from his shoulders.]
Those knights need only know 'Lord Commander Rosfield'. [ Forehead to forehead, breath against breath. ] 'Clive' is yours.
[ Just as 'Joshua' is Clive's. Neither of them are referred to so casually anymore: only Sir Wade calls the elder Rosfield by his first name on occasion, and only because everyone knows that Sir Wade has been with the brothers since the Night of Flames. Both of them have had to shed their childhood and their personhood quickly in order to serve, and so―
―this is their reprieve, as twisted and wicked as it might be. No one in the world will ever know what Joshua and Clive have had to endure to be where they are, and no one in the world will understand that it's this bond that they share that has allowed them to live through the unspeakable and unimaginable.
Clive smiles, and presses his lips briefly against the corner of Joshua's mouth one more time before he sets to work on the complicated clasps and ties keeping his brother's formalwear in place. It's a bit of a shame to tug the silks off of him when he looks so striking in them, but he can appreciate that the pomp and circumstance must get stifling after a while; it's nice to peel the layers off and liberate his brother from the weight of it all.
It's when he has his arms circled around Joshua's middle, undoing the last of the laces keeping the corset-like vest hugged tight to his brother's form, that he hears a knock at the door. One of the castle's handmaids, he presumes, by the meek way that her muffled voice sounds through the door.
"Your Grace? I apologize for the intrusion... I was told you would need help getting settled for the night."
Right. Everything Clive is doing now, servants usually take care of. It's not the work of a Lord Commander to get his Archduke ready for bed.
Under his breath, against Joshua's ear: ] ―Should I dismiss her, or should I hide?
[Joshua goes still. In the euphoria of Clive’s nearness, he’d forgotten that as well. In his daily life, Joshua prefers to dress himself - he dresses more simply, lets the servants take care of more important tasks, steals a bit of privacy for himself at the beginning and end of the day. Even so, any occasion that requires more formal attire has always required the help of servants as well.
With Clive here, it had been easy to forget. And had they been at home, the servants wouldn’t think twice about being turned away by their Lord Commander - Clive and Joshua had plenty of things to discuss, were often found in one another’s company, and it would be only natural for Clive to offer that sort of help. It wouldn’t mean anything.
But here, it might. And if Joshua himself turns them away, there will be whispers that someone else is tending to him, and likely rumors will fly as to who. If he lets them in - what a farce, Clive having to hide. And Joshua is already half undone.
He sighs, tilts his head just enough to press his lips to the curve of Clive’s jaw.]
Dismiss her, please.
[It’s the best of these poor options. It won’t be so surprising to have Clive in his room - after all, he escorted Joshua there, and naturally they’d have much to discuss. It shouldn’t be remarkable.
It only means that Joshua really can’t try to convince him to stay the night. He wants to, badly, though he knows it’s unwise - he wants to fall asleep next to Clive, feel that intimacy and safety. But if Clive is missing from his own room all night, it will be noticed, and everyone will think he spent it in Joshua’s room rather than out carousing with any of his admirers. All the worse because they will be right.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, for all that Joshua knew it was a poor idea to begin with. He pushes Clive away gently and stands, stepping away from the bed - with no intention except to reduce any appearance of inappropriate behavior, any passing thought that might come from the sight of him, half-undressed by the bed, Clive obviously having been close just a moment before.
It isn’t easy to step away. It isn’t easy to put any distance between them, not when, for a moment, Joshua could relax into his touch.]
Of course, [ he says, about the apologies. The maids are only doing what they've been commanded to do, and thus, they're not at fault for the intrusion; it's late, and Clive is sure they'd like nothing better than to return to their rooms and sleep.
He only allows himself a frisson of disappointment (for now) as he obliges the distance that they have to make, and tries to steel his face into quiet neutrality for the imminent conversation that he'll have to engage in. Speak the truth, he tells himself. Only lies of omission, not falsities.
(It burns him to think that the world will only know the masks that he and his brother are required to wear, but that's the cost of leaning into their taboo.)
The maid on the other side of the door winds up being more a girl than a young woman― no older than he was on the Night of Flames, Clive thinks. Her doe eyes widen when she's met with the tall, imposing figure of the Lord Commander instead of the softer outline of the Archduke, and she stammers through her apologies, which Clive waves off with a gentle hand. ]
I have business to discuss with His Grace, [ he explains. ] I'll see to it that he gets settled before I retire for the night.
[ The poor girl looks lost; Clive softens at her trepidation, and rests the flat of his palm over her hair. ] If anyone gives you trouble, tell them that Ifrit threatened to swallow you whole.
[ That seems to placate her, somewhat: she looks surprised, momentarily, by the joke, but hides a smile under one hand as she reaches into her apron pockets for something to hand to Clive. A perfumed note, which the girl says was handed to her by one of the noblewoman who'd been at the banquet― "I was told to give this to His Grace," she explains, to which Clive nods and takes the item in question from her. ]
I'll see to it that he receives it, [ he reassures her, despite his mounting headache. The girl leaves with a curtsy, and it's only after he's sure she's properly gone that Clive closes the door with a long sigh.
Holding up the note for Joshua's perusal: ] They're awfully persistent.
[He watches Clive, overcome with affection. For all that his brother is thought of as terrifying, for all that he knows Clive might even think of himself as someone people ought to keep their distance from, Joshua has always known that he has an incredibly kind heart. Of course he would treat a nervous serving girl so gently, of course he would soothe her fears so easily.
Joshua is not so very much older than that girl, but with the weight of a country on his shoulders, with all the darkness he's lived through, he feels a hundred years older. It's sweet to watch Clive's gentle kindness, something Joshua feels himself but rarely gets to see otherwise.
Clive has probably earned an admirer there, though certainly for more innocent reasons than the others.
Once the door is closed, Joshua makes his way to Clive, taking the note. He barely glances at it, doesn't unfold it. He has to play the game to some extent, he has to seem polite and approachable, but he really has no desire to actually get caught up in those courtly games. He certainly doesn't want to encourage anyone.]
They truly are. I wouldn't be surprised if you find someone in your bed when you get back to your room.
[Because for all that the attention paid to him has been heavy, none of it has been quite so forward as that paid to Clive. It frustrates Joshua to think of it - and perhaps there's a bit of jealousy there, too. Not because he thinks Clive would ever take an interest in any of them, but because they can pursue him so openly. These people who only see him as a curiosity, who don't know him or respect him, can do things that Joshua will never be allowed to do.
He doesn't regret this. He never could. He loves Clive so desperately that he feels lucky even knowing it must always be a secret. It's only that he knows, too, that Clive deserves better. He deserves adoration. The world ought to know that he is loved - but Joshua will never be able to give him that.
He touches the corner of the note to a candle flame, letting it burn. He doesn't bother looking at the contents. There's nothing it could say that would interest him, and the swift, fiery destruction soothes a bit of his discontent.]
Perhaps I can ask Dion to manufacture a secret affair. They would leave me alone if they thought their prince was interested.
[It would come with other problems, but it might be worth it. He thinks Dion could be trusted for something like that, since it wouldn't concern the fate of nations - only Joshua's peace of mind.]
[ He has barely a moment to be annoyed by the thought of someone in his bed before he catches Joshua burning the note. His mouth flies open in a bemused bark of a laugh, surprised by the audacity of the gesture but delighted by it in equal measure.
See, is a private thought he has to himself. No one should ever mistake my brother's patience for weakness.
Once Clive is sure that Joshua is far enough away from the candle (it really wouldn't do to set the castle on fire on their first night), he pulls Joshua to him, mindful of the clothes that his brother is still wearing, moving to undo the last of the ties around his waist to divest him of the vest. The rest is easy enough for Joshua to remove on his own, if he wishes to: a crisp white dress shirt, and a final thin undershirt. Clive doesn't touch Joshua's trousers, mostly because he can't be held accountable for what he might do if that layer sloughs off.
Especially when they're discussing Dion and affairs. He tries not to mind the mental images too much, or have them at all, but they surface anyway. Joshua and Dion are the both of them beautiful men, and they would be perfectly matched in station and age. ]
The Phoenix and Bahamut. It would be likely.
[ Dion had been... warm. Even the teasing at dinner was largely to give excuses for Clive to leave, and he'd been kind about Clive's earlier dismissal, besides. Still, a part of Clive balks at the idea of people looking at Joshua and envisioning him in the crown prince's bed; not just because Sanbreque and Rosaria have a bloody history, but because. Well.
It's petty jealousy, is what it is. He finds himself opening the front of Joshua's dress shirt, undoing the first three buttons of it to reveal the mark he'd left the night prior, and to press his mouth against it to freshen the reddening. ]
...Did he seem interested?
[ Blue eyes flick up. The truth is that Joshua is free to have anyone he wants― Clive would never deny him― but that Clive is only a man. Infatuated with someone he was never meant to have, and possessive of him in ways that make guilt weigh even heavier on his mind. ]
[It's a romantic idea, really. The Phoenix and Bahamut, two young Dominants whose countries are at odds, falling in love against their better judgment. The sort of affair that's just forbidden enough to be appealing, the sort of thing that would inspire dreamy bards.
And Dion is kind, and brave, and handsome. Joshua quite likes him, he's been more than welcoming. He's even been more respectful to Clive than nearly anyone else here - Joshua thinks Dion and Clive would get along well, should they ever have the chance to interact in a somewhat less complicated setting. They're both warriors, leaders, with a strong sense of right and wrong.
But all the qualities Joshua likes about Dion are ones that he loves in Clive. He can look at Dion and know that he's handsome, but he doesn't feel that sting of desire, that flush of heat that comes when Clive touches him. He doesn't think he could feel that way with anyone else, doesn't think he could want anyone the way he wants Clive. And more than that, the way he loves Clive, with a piece of his heart that no one else will be able to touch, no matter what may happen.
The sort of forbidden that could ruin them. But the way Joshua feels with Clive's mouth on his skin -
He doesn't care at all.]
No, I don't think so. He's been kind, but we were alone for some time today and he didn't say or do anything even a bit flirtatious.
[Admittedly, Joshua isn't terribly practiced in these things, so if Dion was being subtle he could have missed it. He doesn't think so, though.
He raises a hand, carding his fingers through Clive's hair, wanting nothing but to pull him closer. To peel that clothing off him and tug him to the bed. It's all so new, and Joshua hasn't had his fill of Clive yet - perhaps he never will. He fumbles a little with the buttons of his own shirt that Clive hasn't yet touched, his breath catches, it's struggle to keep his mind on what he was saying. Something about Dion?]
- I don't think I'm his type.
[Though Joshua also doesn't particularly care either way. There's only one person he wants to want him.]
[ There are two wolves inside of Clive: the one that wants to keep Joshua for himself, and the other that wants the entire world to adore his brother for who he is. The latter wins his internal struggle this time around, even as he slides further down the expanse of Joshua's smooth chest as it's revealed to him, button by excruciating button. ]
Impossible. [ Warmly, as he kisses over one pink nipple. ] You're everyone's type.
[ A little offended, actually, that anyone might think his perfect, beautiful, kind, smart, resourceful brother to be anything less than immediately desirable. Clive kneels in front of Joshua, the position more intimately familiar to him than anything else, and litters more kisses downwards, over Joshua's navel and sideways along his hip.
God, he's wanted Joshua all day. The training and politicking distracted him from the ache of it, but now that there are closed doors and drawn curtains, his proximity to Joshua is enticingly heady― it still feels insane to be allowed this, to have this be his new normal whenever they have the space and privacy for it.
Clive doesn't want anything else. He doesn't need acknowledgment or easy pleasure. Like this, knelt in front of Joshua with his hands bracketing his waist, he feels like the most fortunate man in all of Valisthea. ]
I worry that you've no idea how attractive you are.
[ Very biased, Clive knows. Still, it's a harmless flirt (since Dion apparently didn't!!!), and he presses it against Joshua's stomach before pulling back just an inch. ]
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[ What use does Rosaria have for a dull sword? The point of Clive is to stay near Joshua and promise that anyone who dares contemplate harm upon him will be swiftly cleaved in two; he's indicated that tenfold today, on the training grounds, and some of the men who occupy higher spaces in the Sanbrequian army give Clive a wide berth as he walks a step and a half behind Joshua, deferring to his brother's lead as always.
Feared, not revered. Clive doesn't care. As long as the world adores Joshua, Clive can bear its hate. As long as Joshua loves him, nothing else matters.
So it's annoying, again, that they have to part yet again: they don't get too far before Sanbrequian officials swoop in like vultures to usher Joshua to his rightful place towards the head of the table, while Clive is similarly whisked away to occupy a space a handful of chairs away, a rosy-cheeked noblewoman to his right and a stern-faced general to his left. It makes Clive feel brittle to be corralled around like some animal, and worse still when he notices that the space around Joshua is filled with beautiful young men and women of his age, bright-eyed and eager to win his brother's favor.
The elite echelon of Sanbreque's nobility, no doubt. All of them looking at his brother as a marriage prospect, hoping to warm his bed at least once before Joshua leaves to return for Rosalith. Clive tears his focus away from the head of the table, keeping his expression staunchly neutral so as not to telegraph displeasure in the middle of a banquet meant to be celebrating the both of them. ]
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But he doesn't immediately realize the point of it all. It doesn't take him that long - Joshua's not a fool, but he's also not used to that sort of attention. So much of the last ten years of his life have been spend at Rosalith, cooped up in the castle, studying to be Archduke. Books, treaties, letters - there were banquets, of course, and other affairs that he attended as the heir. He navigated them well enough, this isn't his first time. But the nobles of Rosaria are fewer, and children of the correct age few as well, and it was commonly understood that there was little chance he would marry until he ascended the throne.
In short, Joshua is used to politics and diplomacy and even charm. He isn't used to being flirted with.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to realize that's what's going on. In his defense, it's far more subtle than it might be in another setting - there are no garish displays, no obvious innuendos. Just interest that's a little too pointed, compliments that are a little too flattering.
He responds as best he can, staying neutral while trying to remain kind and avoid offending anyone, being careful not to offer any real encouragement. It makes him uncomfortable in a way that Clive's attention didn't. It feels false, and he knows it is - none of these people know him, none of them see him as anything more than a possible path to advancement.
But it's part of the game. One mentions Clive - 'and your brother too, of course, such handsome men Rosaria has sent us' - and Joshua can't help glancing down the table. If he's being approached like this, has Clive received such attention too? He can see the noblewoman next to Clive leaning in to say something to him, though of course Joshua can't hear it from his position.
He bites back a sigh. He had not thought of himself as a possessive person, before this, but when it comes to Clive, it seems he can't stop himself from feeling the sting of jealousy at the idea that some daring woman might wish to slip into his bed. He knows Clive wouldn't - he does - but he can't help how he feels.]
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"I wouldn't mind being conquered by Ifrit, myself," she purrs. The table erupts into laughter, leaving Clive to sit stiffly, keeping himself in check so as not to do anything that might reflect poorly on Joshua. ]
...You jest, [ is his default reaction to most of the provocation. He'd never liked the cakes and ale when he was a child, and he likes them far less now, with more riding on how he consumes them.
Meanwhile, the men and women around Joshua glance back and forth between the siblings, then titter behind their own hands. "Come, Your Grace, you mustn't let your brother steal all the attention!", says a pretty young woman with auburn hair, and touches at Joshua's sleeve.
"A group of us are planning to retire to the salon after this, for some more private conversation and games... Perhaps you'd do us the kindness of joining?"
'Games'. There's intent there, expectant and eager. Clive can't hear the content of the conversation happening towards Joshua's end of the dinner table, but he sees how the young woman's finger grazes at his brother's sleeve; it shames him, how unbearable he finds it all. By all rights, this is what Joshua should be doing: speaking to others his own age, expanding his world beyond Clive.
Still. Clive thinks back to forevermore, and tries not to grit his teeth. This entire banquet-charade can't be over soon enough. ]
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Joshua always felt rather guilty about that. He imagined that Clive was able to cut loose around his men, in more casual settings, but Joshua doesn't belong in those places and never will so long as he's the Archduke. He has always wanted to see Clive relax and enjoy himself, but he knows that events like these are simply not the sort of thing that suits him.
In this case, though, Joshua finds himself (selfishly, childishly) reassured. He isn't enjoying himself, and neither is Clive. They can be united in their discomfort, even if Joshua has to be much more careful to conceal it. Clive has a certain allowance of coldness, even rudeness, given his reputation in Sanbreque - Joshua certainly won't scold him for it. But he himself must smile, must make sweet excuses.]
I'm afraid we rode most of the length of Sanbreque today. I haven't the strength to join you - I'm already nearly falling asleep.
[He laughs, adds a gentle jest to make it softer.]
If you see me wavering, please catch me before I land in my soup.
[It's somewhat true, at least. They did ride a long way, and everything since their arrival has been tiring as well. But Joshua is in no danger of falling asleep at that table, too carefully alert and aware of every little danger. Which in this case means social traps, flirtations, and invitations that he has absolutely no desire to accept.
He does want to rest. But he wants a moment alone with Clive first - at least a moment. It feels like it's been days since they were able to talk freely, though Joshua knows it's been mere hours.]
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Clive's portion of the table is less subtle. The more the men and women around them drink, the more risqué their questions get: as if he's some wild animal with a penchant for ravaging both maidens and young men alike. Clive bears it for as long as he can, remaining as neutral as he can manage for Joshua's sake－
－but he hits his limit during dessert, when the woman sitting next to him slides a hand along his thigh, and gets dangerously close to the space between his knees. His chair scrapes back, and he rises onto his feet with stern finality. ]
...Excuse my impoliteness. I think I've had too much to drink.
[ Without blaming his need to leave on his present company, he gets up and starts to walk towards Joshua's seat, ignoring the spread of murmurs behind him. None of the other guests seem particularly offended, which is the saving grace; the woman who caused the outburst looks pleased, even, and turns to her friend to boast: "who knew that the fearsome Dominant of Fire could be so shy? A sweet little schoolboy, isn't he."
It turns Clive's stomach. Still, he would never leave Joshua alone in this pit of vipers, so he takes his station a few yards away behind his brother's seat at the table, by the wall and in the shadow of a large tapestry hanging from floor to ceiling.
(He spies Dion laughing into his wineglass, with the young dragoon, Terence, whispering something hurriedly to him. Dion looks up, and gives Clive a wink.) ]
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Even so, having Clive closer to him is a sort of comfort. He's grown used to it. When Clive is at Rosalith, when he isn't facing one of the many threats that press on Rosaria's borders, he's almost always shadowing Joshua. At banquets, at negotiations, when welcoming visitors, Clive stays near him. It's remarked upon, sometimes, but no one really questions it. Everyone in Rosaria knows that Joshua nearly died once already, and that if anything happened to him now it would disrupt the precarious safety of their country.
So even if some of them fear Clive, they understand why he stays near, or think they do. And Joshua has never thought of it as anything but a comfort. He's safer when Clive is near, he feels more steady when Clive is near. He's happier, then, when Clive abandons his seat and takes a post behind Joshua. He doesn't care what the Sanbrequian nobles might think.
He says something noncommittal to the young nobles chasing his favor -]
My time may be quite spoken for tomorrow, I have the honor of meeting your Emperor. But the gardens do sound delightful -
[And then he looks back at Clive, trying to catch his eye, to give him a quick look of thanks. Though he knows Clive didn't come up there just for him, he doesn't care. Having him there helps.
The nobles clustered around Joshua at the table see him too, of course, and there's a bit of a murmur - scandalized, or delighted, it's hard to tell. But Clive is not so tempting a fruit as Joshua, at least not in that moment, so though he gets a lot of looks, no one approaches him yet.
Joshua hasn't rushed through his meal, not wanting to appear rude, but he wants it to be over. He wants to stop talking to these people, he wants them to stop looking at Clive, stop talking about him. He keeps a careful smile on his face, a welcoming expression, but the moment the dessert course is removed he feels a rush of relief.]
How pleasant you've all made this meal - I appreciate it deeply. But I ought to retire, before I can no longer keep my head up.
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So. When Joshua announces that he wishes to retire, Clive is upon him before the others can get a word in edgewise. Hand extended, gaze calm. ]
I'll see you to your quarters, Your Grace.
[ Natural as anything, without inviting any debate. One or two of the other guests seem to want to say something, but the crown prince interrupts with his own quip about leaving the brothers Rosfield alone, for Greagor's sake－ "one doesn't wish to reek of desperation."
That does the trick. A quick bow to the rest of the room, and Clive motions for Joshua to lead him out and back into the quiet of the castle halls, where they pass portraits of past generations of Lesages alongside sprawling paintings of Bahamut taking wing.
It's only once they've made a good amount of distance between themselves and the ballroom that Clive finally breathes, tension furrowing the space between his brows. ]
...An ordeal. [ One that he doesn't look forward to enduring again, though the next day might bring with it even more of these unbearable diplomatic trials. A sigh, and he glances towards Joshua, naked concern in his eyes. ] ―They swooped upon you like vultures. Are you alright?
[ He can't afford to touch his brother until they reach the safety of closed doors, but still. His hand twitches by his side, wishing he could comb fingers through blond hair and soothe a palm over Joshua's cheek. ]
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I feel a bit like I've been pecked at by vultures, in fact. Or nibbled upon by a pack of very hungry rabbits.
[He wishes he could reach out, take Clive's hand. Just for a moment, just to feel something real.]
I knew that it would be... difficult here, but I suppose I didn't expect to it to be like that. Like each and every one of them think that if they can get me in - in bed, they'll win some sort of prize.
[But then, that's true, isn't it? Even a brief dalliance would give a noble Sanbrequian family leverage. All the better if someone could manufacture an infatuation - or worse, a pregnancy. And naturally, a marriage proposal would be the ultimate prize. Most of the nobles clustered around him were not of high enough rank to be considered if Rosaria simply wanted a political marriage (really, only Dion or one of the Emperor's siblings or their children come near the appropriate rank to wed an Archduke), but if they could manage to trick him into falling in love -
Well, Joshua knows of plenty of rulers throughout history who have made unwise marriages because they were in love. And he can't judge them, as he hopes to avoid marriage for exactly the same reason.
He can't even really blame the men and women flocking around him tonight. They want to rise in the world, and he's an obvious path. He might resent them a bit for thinking he's an easy target, that he would fall for such obvious social climbing, but he can't blame them. This is what their lives have revolved around since they were born, just as his has revolved around the Phoenix, Rosaria, the Archduke's throne.]
Were they awful to you?
[That's what he's more worried about, really. At least the nobles hounding him were reasonably pleasant about it. He knows Clive may not have received such consideration.]
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He's eager to be out of earshot, out of eyeshot. Though, after tonight's dinner, he's starkly aware of the possibility that someone might be bold enough to trespass－
－which means that sharing a bed with Joshua is out of the question. There will be no way to explain away naked bodies in sheets, which goes well and far beyond what is expected for a vassal and his liege, let alone brothers bound by blood. ]
I minded their prying eyes on you more than their wandering hands on me. [ Bluntly, because he has no need to hide that trespass from Joshua. Clive is his, and Joshua has the right to know if anyone has set their hands on what rightfully belongs to him. ] Beautiful as you are, I didn't relish the rabble lusting after you.
[ He could endure a pass at his cock by a drunk noblewoman; he would have found a blade to draw if the same had been done to Joshua. Let the Sanbrequian nobles dream of climbing the social ladder, or being given a fleeting glance; they were raised to chase. But not at the cost of Joshua's dignity, or his autonomy. Clive would never allow anyone to corner Joshua as if he was some animal to cage. Never again. Their mother did enough harm without yet another high-minded fool trying to reassert themselves in that now-empty space. ]
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He might hate Sanbreque. It doesn't matter. He can't let it affect these negotiations.]
I don't think lust came into it, much. They saw me as an opportunity, and an easy mark. But none of them touched me - not like that. [A breath, muttered:] How dare they.
[Joshua saves anything else for the moment when they've got a door between them and the rest of the world. Luckily, that time has nearly arrived.
His room is right in the middle, a suite fit for a visiting monarch. Finer than his rooms at home, really - Rosalith is a smaller castle, like Rosaria is a smaller country. The furnishings are lavish, bordering on garish in Joshua's opinion, but it's all meant to impress visitors with Sanbreque's wealth. All that he cares about right now is that he can shut the door, and lock it - though who knows who might have a key. Still, it's the best they can manage right now.]
I hate the thought of them with their hands on you. [He turns to Clive, lets himself be angry, just for a moment.] I wish we could burn this place.
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With that done, and the door shut and locked behind them, Clive can finally approach Joshua with the sort of urgency he wouldn't dare show in public. Four quick strides take him back in Joshua's orbit, with one ungloved hand outstretched to press itself against the jut of his brother's jaw.
And god, he'd been aching for the contact. Years and years of self-denial broken by one night of hedonistic indulgence, and now Clive crumbles under the weight of a single day without touch. It would be comical if not for the circumstances they're in. ]
―Joshua. I won't let myself be the reason for the failure of your mission. [ Thumbing just along the corner of Joshua's eye, Clive moves another half-step into his space. The assertion is sincerely meant; no matter what happens, this is his brother's first foray into public relations as Archduke of Rosaria, and no amount of offense will make Clive jeopardize it.
That said, he relaxes into Joshua's anger. An honest thing, so rare for Joshua to show. ]
Though you are still beautiful when you scowl. [ This time, his thumb swipes along the corner of Joshua's mouth. ] Come here.
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Joshua slides his arms around Clive, one hand settling at the back of his neck, brushing bare skin there. He knows they aren’t safe here, not really, but he can’t be without this. He’s grown so greedy, so quickly.]
I hate them for doing it, but - I wanted to touch you too.
[A soft, quick confession. He wanted Clive from the moment he saw him, the most eye-catching thing in that room. There will never be a world in which Joshua can kiss his brother in front of onlookers, but he wanted to so badly.
He can do it now, finally, and so he does.
It’s not an innocent peck. There’s need wrapped up with frustration, but more than that, relief. Here with Clive, Joshua is safe. For a moment, at least, he can have what he wants. So he presses his lips to Clive’s and kisses him properly - or at least as well as he’s able, given his still-limited experience.
Afterward, Joshua doesn’t move away. He is where he wants to be, for as long as Clive will allow it.]
The only good thing about this trip is that I get to see you all dressed up.
[Not that he doesn’t like Clive no matter what he wears - and it isn’t as if he goes about in rags, either. He is the Lord Commander, after all. But they so rarely have need of such fine clothing, and Joshua does appreciate the view.]
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There's still the understanding that they have no business pawing and clawing at each other like hungry animals with no sense. What they can't do in public, they shouldn't be doing at all. But the reality exists that it feels perfect to be pressed heartbeat against heartbeat with Joshua, tangled and close, and Clive smiles at the assertion that he was both wanted and admired by his most precious person. ]
As ever, it's for your benefit.
[ Both to keep up appearances, and to match colors with Joshua. They are, and will always be, a unified front. ]
And you―the Archduke's regalia suits you. [ Sliding one hand up the breadth of Joshua's back, tracing and appreciating his shape. The tailors have worked wonders with their father's clothes, modifying and updating them for Joshua to wear proudly. ] ...I declined accompanying you to your fittings for a reason, you know.
[ It would have been far too much to pine after Joshua when he was being fitted to wear the crown. A sullying of something sacred, Clive'd thought.
Look at him now, kissing Joshua in foreign territory with his palm splayed against the small of his brother's back. Unholy and unwise. Elwin would be so disappointed in him, he thinks. ]
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I just thought that sort of thing bored you.
[He wouldn't blame Clive. It would be boring to sit around, watching someone get measured and try on clothing. It had bored him more than a little, and he'd been the one doing it.
But it's reassuring to know that the end result is appealing. More than reassuring - especially since Joshua isn't interested in being appealing to anyone but Clive. He understands that he has to seem available in these courtly games, or else rumor will spread quickly, but that doesn't mean he needs to flirt in return.
Part of him thinks it wouldn't be so awful, really, to let people think that he has a lover at home that he won't betray. It wouldn't stop everyone, but it might make things a little more bearable. But Joshua knows that would lead to closer scrutiny, and while they can evade some attention with the obvious - Clive is his brother, no one's first assumption will be that they've crossed the line into something so sinful - there are surely some who might be willing to look too closely. He can't draw that sort of attention, not when they have a secret that could easily ruin them.]
I knew they were afraid of you, but I hate the way they're treating you. [Joshua raises a hand, touches Clive's cheek. Gentle, because Clive is precious to him.] I can't even do anything about it - they haven't overstepped the rules of diplomacy.
[Not even the unwanted touching, not really, as much as Joshua's anger sparks at the thought of it. There are plenty of men who would welcome such a thing, after all, and it's likely that those responsible even see it as a kindness. As if Clive might be lacking for attention.
Joshua doesn't think that's possible. In that, he can understand it, a little. Who could look at him and not want him?]
You could stay here, though. With me.
[There are plenty of reasons that's a terrible idea, and Joshua knows it. But he can't help but offer anyway.]
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...You tempt me. You know I'd like nothing more.
[ A forward lean, to press his mouth against Joshua's jaw. Kissing pale, thin skin, but not with enough intent to bruise. ]
But, like you, I would hate how the Sanbrequians would treat you if they noted my absence from the barracks. [ Because, inevitably, the rabble will assume that the Brothers Rosfield are too paranoid to sleep apart from each other for even a night. ] They would underestimate you, and I won't have it.
[ As if any of them have even a fraction of Joshua's strength. His brother, the Phoenix. This castle could be cinders and ash if Joshua willed it; it's only by his grace and kindness that any of them are extended a chance at peace.
A sigh, and Clive pulls back enough to cradle Joshua's face again. Despite that soft exhale, he lets the corner of his lips hike into a smile. ]
Still. I'll stay for as long as I can. [ Terminally incapable of denying his brother anything. Joshua deserves a bit of spoiling, after having endured the events of the day. ] If it would please you.
[ Reverent words, but unmistakably a tease. ]
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It would please me.
[He knows, of course, that Clive can’t stay. He knew that when he offered it. But Joshua couldn’t help himself - he’s never had a night like the one they just shared. He’s never fallen asleep next to someone, woke to next to them. He’s wanted that, of course, idle imaginings that were never specific because he knew he could never have what he really wanted.
It still doesn’t feel quite real. Like it might disappear, like he might somehow lose this, lose Clive. It isn’t about doubting Clive - that’s something Joshua could never do. It’s more the impossibility of it all, all the reasons they both know they shouldn’t be doing this. But now that they have, Joshua knows he’ll never want anything else. No matter the danger.]
And you? [He tugs Clive back with him, just a little further, so that he can sit on the edge of the bed, Clive just between his knees] What would please you?
[Joshua’s anger has melted away easily in the face of Clive’s attention. It’s hard for him to feel anything negative when Clive is looking at him like that. But if anything, Clive is the one who ought to be spoiled - after all the insult he’s suffered today, and will surely suffer tomorrow.
At least there’s a cadre of Sanbrequian knights nursing their bruises tonight because of him.
Joshua looks up at his brother, reaching out as well, slim fingers resting on the ties of his all-too-tempting leathers.]
After all you’ve done for me today, my shield, I would gladly reward you.
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He can't be greedy. The fact that Joshua has accepted how deep his desires really go should be enough.
Should be. It's hard to think of should when Joshua is speaking to him the way he is, with hands roaming over his body. Clive remains standing between his brother's knees, and reaches to slide his fingers along and under his chin. All those men and women clamoring for scraps at Joshua's table, and here Joshua is now, asking Clive what would please him. ]
...It would please Your Grace's shield, [ he finally says, ] to strip His Grace of his finery, and to have him be Joshua once more.
[ A knowing half-grin, more a quick quirk of his lips than anything else. With that, he finally settles into a kneel, still tucked between Joshua's thighs. ]
My Joshua. [ Low and warm, before he leans in for a kiss. Sometimes he thinks it a miracle that no one has seen his infatuation for Joshua for what it is, but he's had years of denying it to himself, he supposes. ]
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He is greedy. He knows it. But Clive is all he wants, and Joshua would throw himself into fire for his brother. The possibility of Sanbrequian condemnation is not quite enough to give him pause - but he will, always and forever, be swayed by Clive's own desires. Including his self-restraint, if he is able to hold onto it where Joshua isn't.
He is swayed, though, immediately and utterly, by Clive's careful words.]
How shocked those knights you thrashed would be if they heard that silver tongue of yours.
[He says it so fondly. There was no chance Joshua would refuse, of course, but when Clive asks like that - Joshua would give him anything he asked for. Anything at all.
He kisses Clive, and when they part, rests his forehead against Clive's - just for a moment.]
That's what I want to be. [Quiet, only for him.] All I want to be.
[Joshua will never lay down his duty, of course, can never truly cease being the Archduke. But here, in these stolen moments, he can be something else. Something that eases just a bit of the burden from his shoulders.]
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[ Just as 'Joshua' is Clive's. Neither of them are referred to so casually anymore: only Sir Wade calls the elder Rosfield by his first name on occasion, and only because everyone knows that Sir Wade has been with the brothers since the Night of Flames. Both of them have had to shed their childhood and their personhood quickly in order to serve, and so―
―this is their reprieve, as twisted and wicked as it might be. No one in the world will ever know what Joshua and Clive have had to endure to be where they are, and no one in the world will understand that it's this bond that they share that has allowed them to live through the unspeakable and unimaginable.
Clive smiles, and presses his lips briefly against the corner of Joshua's mouth one more time before he sets to work on the complicated clasps and ties keeping his brother's formalwear in place. It's a bit of a shame to tug the silks off of him when he looks so striking in them, but he can appreciate that the pomp and circumstance must get stifling after a while; it's nice to peel the layers off and liberate his brother from the weight of it all.
It's when he has his arms circled around Joshua's middle, undoing the last of the laces keeping the corset-like vest hugged tight to his brother's form, that he hears a knock at the door. One of the castle's handmaids, he presumes, by the meek way that her muffled voice sounds through the door.
"Your Grace? I apologize for the intrusion... I was told you would need help getting settled for the night."
Right. Everything Clive is doing now, servants usually take care of. It's not the work of a Lord Commander to get his Archduke ready for bed.
Under his breath, against Joshua's ear: ] ―Should I dismiss her, or should I hide?
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With Clive here, it had been easy to forget. And had they been at home, the servants wouldn’t think twice about being turned away by their Lord Commander - Clive and Joshua had plenty of things to discuss, were often found in one another’s company, and it would be only natural for Clive to offer that sort of help. It wouldn’t mean anything.
But here, it might. And if Joshua himself turns them away, there will be whispers that someone else is tending to him, and likely rumors will fly as to who. If he lets them in - what a farce, Clive having to hide. And Joshua is already half undone.
He sighs, tilts his head just enough to press his lips to the curve of Clive’s jaw.]
Dismiss her, please.
[It’s the best of these poor options. It won’t be so surprising to have Clive in his room - after all, he escorted Joshua there, and naturally they’d have much to discuss. It shouldn’t be remarkable.
It only means that Joshua really can’t try to convince him to stay the night. He wants to, badly, though he knows it’s unwise - he wants to fall asleep next to Clive, feel that intimacy and safety. But if Clive is missing from his own room all night, it will be noticed, and everyone will think he spent it in Joshua’s room rather than out carousing with any of his admirers. All the worse because they will be right.
It’s a bitter pill to swallow, for all that Joshua knew it was a poor idea to begin with. He pushes Clive away gently and stands, stepping away from the bed - with no intention except to reduce any appearance of inappropriate behavior, any passing thought that might come from the sight of him, half-undressed by the bed, Clive obviously having been close just a moment before.
It isn’t easy to step away. It isn’t easy to put any distance between them, not when, for a moment, Joshua could relax into his touch.]
With my apologies.
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He only allows himself a frisson of disappointment (for now) as he obliges the distance that they have to make, and tries to steel his face into quiet neutrality for the imminent conversation that he'll have to engage in. Speak the truth, he tells himself. Only lies of omission, not falsities.
(It burns him to think that the world will only know the masks that he and his brother are required to wear, but that's the cost of leaning into their taboo.)
The maid on the other side of the door winds up being more a girl than a young woman― no older than he was on the Night of Flames, Clive thinks. Her doe eyes widen when she's met with the tall, imposing figure of the Lord Commander instead of the softer outline of the Archduke, and she stammers through her apologies, which Clive waves off with a gentle hand. ]
I have business to discuss with His Grace, [ he explains. ] I'll see to it that he gets settled before I retire for the night.
[ The poor girl looks lost; Clive softens at her trepidation, and rests the flat of his palm over her hair. ] If anyone gives you trouble, tell them that Ifrit threatened to swallow you whole.
[ That seems to placate her, somewhat: she looks surprised, momentarily, by the joke, but hides a smile under one hand as she reaches into her apron pockets for something to hand to Clive. A perfumed note, which the girl says was handed to her by one of the noblewoman who'd been at the banquet― "I was told to give this to His Grace," she explains, to which Clive nods and takes the item in question from her. ]
I'll see to it that he receives it, [ he reassures her, despite his mounting headache. The girl leaves with a curtsy, and it's only after he's sure she's properly gone that Clive closes the door with a long sigh.
Holding up the note for Joshua's perusal: ] They're awfully persistent.
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Joshua is not so very much older than that girl, but with the weight of a country on his shoulders, with all the darkness he's lived through, he feels a hundred years older. It's sweet to watch Clive's gentle kindness, something Joshua feels himself but rarely gets to see otherwise.
Clive has probably earned an admirer there, though certainly for more innocent reasons than the others.
Once the door is closed, Joshua makes his way to Clive, taking the note. He barely glances at it, doesn't unfold it. He has to play the game to some extent, he has to seem polite and approachable, but he really has no desire to actually get caught up in those courtly games. He certainly doesn't want to encourage anyone.]
They truly are. I wouldn't be surprised if you find someone in your bed when you get back to your room.
[Because for all that the attention paid to him has been heavy, none of it has been quite so forward as that paid to Clive. It frustrates Joshua to think of it - and perhaps there's a bit of jealousy there, too. Not because he thinks Clive would ever take an interest in any of them, but because they can pursue him so openly. These people who only see him as a curiosity, who don't know him or respect him, can do things that Joshua will never be allowed to do.
He doesn't regret this. He never could. He loves Clive so desperately that he feels lucky even knowing it must always be a secret. It's only that he knows, too, that Clive deserves better. He deserves adoration. The world ought to know that he is loved - but Joshua will never be able to give him that.
He touches the corner of the note to a candle flame, letting it burn. He doesn't bother looking at the contents. There's nothing it could say that would interest him, and the swift, fiery destruction soothes a bit of his discontent.]
Perhaps I can ask Dion to manufacture a secret affair. They would leave me alone if they thought their prince was interested.
[It would come with other problems, but it might be worth it. He thinks Dion could be trusted for something like that, since it wouldn't concern the fate of nations - only Joshua's peace of mind.]
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See, is a private thought he has to himself. No one should ever mistake my brother's patience for weakness.
Once Clive is sure that Joshua is far enough away from the candle (it really wouldn't do to set the castle on fire on their first night), he pulls Joshua to him, mindful of the clothes that his brother is still wearing, moving to undo the last of the ties around his waist to divest him of the vest. The rest is easy enough for Joshua to remove on his own, if he wishes to: a crisp white dress shirt, and a final thin undershirt. Clive doesn't touch Joshua's trousers, mostly because he can't be held accountable for what he might do if that layer sloughs off.
Especially when they're discussing Dion and affairs. He tries not to mind the mental images too much, or have them at all, but they surface anyway. Joshua and Dion are the both of them beautiful men, and they would be perfectly matched in station and age. ]
The Phoenix and Bahamut. It would be likely.
[ Dion had been... warm. Even the teasing at dinner was largely to give excuses for Clive to leave, and he'd been kind about Clive's earlier dismissal, besides. Still, a part of Clive balks at the idea of people looking at Joshua and envisioning him in the crown prince's bed; not just because Sanbreque and Rosaria have a bloody history, but because. Well.
It's petty jealousy, is what it is. He finds himself opening the front of Joshua's dress shirt, undoing the first three buttons of it to reveal the mark he'd left the night prior, and to press his mouth against it to freshen the reddening. ]
...Did he seem interested?
[ Blue eyes flick up. The truth is that Joshua is free to have anyone he wants― Clive would never deny him― but that Clive is only a man. Infatuated with someone he was never meant to have, and possessive of him in ways that make guilt weigh even heavier on his mind. ]
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And Dion is kind, and brave, and handsome. Joshua quite likes him, he's been more than welcoming. He's even been more respectful to Clive than nearly anyone else here - Joshua thinks Dion and Clive would get along well, should they ever have the chance to interact in a somewhat less complicated setting. They're both warriors, leaders, with a strong sense of right and wrong.
But all the qualities Joshua likes about Dion are ones that he loves in Clive. He can look at Dion and know that he's handsome, but he doesn't feel that sting of desire, that flush of heat that comes when Clive touches him. He doesn't think he could feel that way with anyone else, doesn't think he could want anyone the way he wants Clive. And more than that, the way he loves Clive, with a piece of his heart that no one else will be able to touch, no matter what may happen.
The sort of forbidden that could ruin them. But the way Joshua feels with Clive's mouth on his skin -
He doesn't care at all.]
No, I don't think so. He's been kind, but we were alone for some time today and he didn't say or do anything even a bit flirtatious.
[Admittedly, Joshua isn't terribly practiced in these things, so if Dion was being subtle he could have missed it. He doesn't think so, though.
He raises a hand, carding his fingers through Clive's hair, wanting nothing but to pull him closer. To peel that clothing off him and tug him to the bed. It's all so new, and Joshua hasn't had his fill of Clive yet - perhaps he never will. He fumbles a little with the buttons of his own shirt that Clive hasn't yet touched, his breath catches, it's struggle to keep his mind on what he was saying. Something about Dion?]
- I don't think I'm his type.
[Though Joshua also doesn't particularly care either way. There's only one person he wants to want him.]
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Impossible. [ Warmly, as he kisses over one pink nipple. ] You're everyone's type.
[ A little offended, actually, that anyone might think his perfect, beautiful, kind, smart, resourceful brother to be anything less than immediately desirable. Clive kneels in front of Joshua, the position more intimately familiar to him than anything else, and litters more kisses downwards, over Joshua's navel and sideways along his hip.
God, he's wanted Joshua all day. The training and politicking distracted him from the ache of it, but now that there are closed doors and drawn curtains, his proximity to Joshua is enticingly heady― it still feels insane to be allowed this, to have this be his new normal whenever they have the space and privacy for it.
Clive doesn't want anything else. He doesn't need acknowledgment or easy pleasure. Like this, knelt in front of Joshua with his hands bracketing his waist, he feels like the most fortunate man in all of Valisthea. ]
I worry that you've no idea how attractive you are.
[ Very biased, Clive knows. Still, it's a harmless flirt (since Dion apparently didn't!!!), and he presses it against Joshua's stomach before pulling back just an inch. ]
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