[ (un?)fortunately, Clive is a light sleeper: both out of necessity, and due to circumstance. ten years as an older brother with an ill sibling who occasionally snuck into his room to share beds; thirteen years subsequent as a slave living day to day in profoundly unsafe barracks rife with violence and abuse.
he feels Prompto squirm and clutch at him, and so― he doesn't sleep, mostly. he drifts in and out of half-consciousness, breaking the lulls between what he gleans are poor dreams to stroke Prompto's hair, to stay close. it's only when the barest promises of morning filter through the thin curtains of their motel window that he thinks to close his eyes, and it's only a short amount of time after that that he feels the sweat-drenched body pressed to him start to stir.
historically, the best thing to do for someone who's had a bad night's rest is to not pummel them first thing in the morning about it. he waits until he's sure that Prompto is actually awake to crack his eyes open, though the gesture is perhaps a bit too purposeful to be natural, and his focus immediately after opening his eyes is far too sharp.
(anyone who has known Clive for more than a hot second will say that Clive is, in fact, a terrible liar.) ]
[ he's not paying so much attention to clive's face as he is the way he breathes, in the process of attempting a roll when his voice strikes through the quiet. ]
Oh. [ it has the same weight as a curse. ] Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was just, uh... [ prompto deflates almost immediately. ] I was thinkin' about getting some air. Or grabbing a shower.
[ he's already running through the mental gambit of things to say, the peace his mind had found those precious moments the night before having disappeared. but he tries his best to remain still now, disliking the tacky sensation of skin against skin where they continue to touch. it can't be comfortable for clive either, though prompto doesn't point it out. instead, he offers him a soft half-smile. ]
I can do that, and you can sleep some more. We don't have to be out of here for a while yet anyway.
[ his focus becomes hawklike for a fraction of a second. appraising, assessing. the moment lingers like a held breath, then dissipates; Clive settles back onto Prompto's pillows, and closes his eyes.
he won't smother. they've slept together once, but that doesn't entitle Clive to Prompto's feelings, or the things that he isn't yet ready to divulge. without an invitation, Clive won't push to bridge the space that Prompto clearly needs. ]
Alright.
[ blankets draw over his chest; he remembers that he's still naked, and he should probably be a bit more modest about it now. his phone lies discarded on the floor on top of his shed clothes, set to ring if it receives a notification. (he doesn't get any: only Prompto has his number.) ]
[ he can sense there's something unspoken between them now, hovering for a moment or two longer before slowly (and finally) drawing away. prompto nods and then murmurs agreement, something soft that he's certain clive would hear despite that fact.
and once he's free, he only lingers a second or two on the edge of the bed – watching clive and putting everything to memory – before gathering some of his things from a partially opened bag on a nearby chair and fleeing quietly to the bathroom. the shower doesn't help calm his nerves, though he stands under the water for far longer than necessary as he tries to force his thoughts outside his body. far away from the still lingering pleasantness of the night before.
he should probably make up for all the awkwardness, set on that as he dresses and feeling a little more like himself. prompto stares at the bite marks in the dingy mirror for a second or two before asserting himself and the decision he's made.
carefully, he sits in the space between clive and the side of the mattress, leaning over him. ] Good morning, by the way. [ his smile is brighter, less troubled. ] Forgot to say it back.
[ while Prompto showers, Clive does some soul-searching. about this world and his place in it, what fate has deemed necessary for him to do here, how he can spend his time until he has no more of it left. he thinks about his fortuitous encounter with Prompto, and whether he could have (or should have) done anything differently the night prior.
only the last of those musings have a concrete answer: he wouldn't have. at some point, he gives up keeping his eyes closed and reaches for his phone to pull up the camera roll, and smiles at his three-pic gallery. two blurry blond blobs, followed by one perfectly lined-up shot of a beautiful young man and his well-practiced smile.
the same smile beams down at him a few minutes later, after Clive has set his device down and started playing one-man I Spy with the ceiling. ]
I got ahead of myself. It's barely morning.
[ a light quirk of his lips, though his gaze remains somewhat appraising. ] I'll be out of your hair if you want your room back.
[ not begrudging in the least, though his expression sort of falters for a moment at clive's suggestion of leaving. despite his normal response to allow it to happen, to let Clive do whatever he wants to do, prompto quickly shakes his head and bridges that gap to head off whatever miscommunication might come from this. so, playfully, he maneuvers over clive and settles atop his thighs, the blanket and prompto's pants the only thing separating them.
he rests his hands against clive's chest. ]
You'll have to take me with you if you wanna go anywhere. [ it's a tease, of course, but he decides that, since he's already come this far, he might as well go the distance.
so, prompto dips down and kisses clive with a warmth that reflects exactly how he feels: happy, content, and wanting more of this thing between them. ]
[ and oh, Prompto is playing with literal fire. "you'll have to take me with you" takes on added meaning when Clive holds it up to the things he was contemplating before, and it takes every ounce of self-restraint he has not to say "to Valisthea, then", even as a joke. he would sooner cut his own hands off before he hurts Prompto in that way.
the added weight on his body feels achingly good. so does the kiss, which he tips into and reciprocates, palm to Prompto's thigh. attached already, despite all the ways in which others might tell him (rightfully so) that it's ill-advised. ]
...I left my sword in my room, [ is a light joke, once their mouths part. ] But I suppose I can do without it for the morning.
[ says the man who can animorph into a giant hellbeast if he really had to. they're very safe. he thumbs along the crest of Prompto's knee, then dips down to kiss at one of the marks he'd left on Prompto's jaw only hours ago. ]
[ at first glance, he might never have associated 'cute' with clive. but there are moments like this, where he's so relaxed and sweet, that prompto can't help thinking he's the very definition of the word. anyone would be lucky to have him as a companion and as a partner, as a lover, and that creates a warm flush all the way through him that has nothing to do with the residual heat of the shower he's just taken. maybe they'd talk about it some day. if he managed the courage before it was too late.
quietly, prompto snickers in response and then leans into the press of clive's mouth, eyes slowly sliding closed. ]
Not a bad way to remember last night, [ he hums, not at all looking for an apology. ] I kinda liked it anyway.
[ that mix of pain and pleasure, the care that clive had shown him. had it not already been too late, prompto would have handed him his heart right then and there without any strings attached. but he has to tiptoe around those words, the ones right at the tip of his tongue that almost tumble free: how i like you. how he likes him so much that he'd willingly follow him anywhere.
prompto flattens himself against clive, mostly so he can reach him easier and kiss the corner of his mouth. ] We're still a few days from Lestallum, so... they'll probably fade a lot before then.
[ there's something disarming about how honest Prompto is about liking things. Clive's life in Valisthea had been so colored by people safeguarding their needs and wants to prevent them from being taken away; there'd been so much dearth and death that there was a pervasive sense of guilt in experiencing happiness.
Prompto is different. he smiles, and the world is a little brighter for it. he laughs, and gravity seems to reverse. something precious, to be preserved and protected― Clive finds that he would do most anything to make sure that Prompto is at ease.
arms wind around Prompto's shoulders, keeping him in place while they kiss, one hand at his nape. after their lips part, Clive slides his mouth to a well-shaped ear, and nips at the soft skin of Prompto's earlobe. he stays there as he responds. ]
Will I have no other opportunities to make more, before we arrive at our destination?
[ low, and with clear intent that he also wants this to continue for however long he's permitted. at the very least, he thinks he'd like for them both to enter Lestallum with Prompto bearing at least a mark or two, so that everyone they encounter knows that they're not just a young man and his bodyguard, or a mercenary and his guide: he'd like for them to think that Prompto has been held and loved. ]
[ clive asks, and prompto knows the answer before it even registers as something tangible to say. especially when he's sinking into the weight of clive's embrace, mouth parting softly in an attempt to hide the shiver that's slowly working its way down his spine. their attraction to one another feels magnetic now, like he could find him any place and at any time without so much as a hint of where he might be.
he exhales, the sensitivity of his lobe being bitten doing things to him that make his skinny jeans suddenly somewhat uncomfortable. ]
You can make as many as you want. [ admitting it is easy when he doesn't have to look him in the eye as he says it. ] I want to have all of you. [ a pause, and he backtracks, blushing hard at the way that sounds. ] Is that weird? I don't know why it came out like that.
[ just kill him now and make it quick. ]
But I mean it, so... Guess what I mean is — I want to know all of you. [ as if that sounds any better. ]
[ Prompto's blush travels all the way to his ear. Clive can taste that flush against his mouth, and he chuckles about it; chuckles a little about the fumbling, too, though not unkindly. it's as cute as everything else about Prompto, and he rewards it with a light nip to cartilage.
he gets the message, loud and clear. sometimes Clive can be slow on the uptake (clearly), but he has a feeling he's not misinterpreting this one. ]
You're fine, [ he assures. not weird in the least, or weird in similarly-weird company. if anything, Clive is the one who insinuated himself into Prompto's space by assuming a lot about his mental state from a simple "yes and no"― someone less inclined to be kind the way Prompto is might have taken the ill-concealed concern as patronization. Clive loves that a little about Prompto, too: that he truly believes in the goodness of Clive's intentions.
even like this, pressed together and trading early-morning kisses. so trusting. let no one ever take advantage of Prompto's heart, Clive thinks. ]
We're aligned, on that front. I'd like all of you. [ tracing Prompto's spine with an index and middle, just for the sake of feeling him. ] Including the things you're reluctant to speak of.
[ only the barest allusion to the possible nightmares; Prompto can interpret this however he wants, because the sentiment is the same: you're lovely, including the parts of you that you think might not be. ]
[ it sounds better when clive says it. much more romantic, sweet. even when he goes further, reminding prompto that he'd spent most of the night tossing and turning with dreams still lingering somewhere in the back of his mind, it doesn't feel disingenuous. then again, prompto's never thought that about clive. ]
I dunno, [ he starts, slowly pulling back to sit up so he can look at him. ] There are some things that I really wish weren't true.
[ about himself, he means. maybe even about the world considering where he'd originally come from. or rather who. it's a complicated mess, one he could sum up neatly – if very awkwardly – and even though clive isn't from his world, he might still see it for what it is: strange, improbable, difficult to understand. prompto struggles with his identity constantly, so saying such things out loud could end up breaking him further.
but if he can't trust this sincere man the same way his friends had believed in him, why bother at all? ]
What if you don't like what I've got to say? [ his voice is low, almost borderline whispering. ]
[ what if. it's easy to say something trite like I won't or nothing you say could make me dislike you, but platitudes can often fall into the realm of lies. they also say nothing about why Prompto might be inclined to believe what he does, and that's more important to understand than false claims and sweeping generalizations. this is clearly something that Prompto grapples with. it isn't Clive's place to minimize it.
he stays on his back, head propped against a pillow, still naked and sex-mussed and possibly a little dark-eyed from lack of sleep. regardless, Clive knows he looks relaxed－ it's hard not to be, with Prompto so close to him. ]
I would rather do my utmost to understand you than to know nothing about you at all.
[ it's the sort of grace that'd been extended to Clive a few years back, when he'd been stripped to nothing and brought down to his knees, begging anyone who would listen to kill him. ]
―On your own terms, mind. [ he reaches for Prompto's hand, and kisses the palm. ] When you feel you want to. It needn't be now.
[ even if it's not a promise, it placates him nonetheless. soothes him in a way he hasn't felt in the longest time, and more than that, clive is utterly genuine. prompto hasn't known a moment where he would endanger him purposely or thin the truth to save his feelings. so, his smile warms again, letting clive take his hand and melting further towards the far side of falling head over heels. ]
Okay. [ quietly, and then, with further affirmation, ] Okay, deal. When I'm ready. [ not now because he wants to salvage the rest of this moment, the beginning of a new day. ] So long as you help me understand you too. 'Cuz I really, really want to, Clive.
[ ever so slowly, prompto crawls forward and cages clive with his body, hovering over him with a cheerful grin. ]
You wanna start now? [ though he's subtly hinting at something not so depressing. ]
[ ah. "okay", he says, then follows it up with that bare-faced admission of want, then smiles at Clive in a way that makes him fucking melt.
(privately, he rescinds his previous assertions about Prompto playing with fire. he might just have Clive wrapped around his pretty little finger, actually.) ]
Oh, [ is a half-sigh, half-laugh. ] You're dangerous.
[ their positions are reversed from the night before; a novel thing, considering how Clive hasn't let anyone pin him like this in an age. Prompto was pretty when he was splayed on the sheets like something to be lovingly unwrapped, but this is nice, too－ a clear, unobstructed view of that beautiful smile, and that beautiful smile only.
Clive cranes up, and kisses under his chin. he's still somewhat damp from the shower, and the feeling of him makes Clive's nerves light up again. ]
[ well, he figures that's as good an answer as any. ]
Nah. [ it's hummed at the presence of clive's mouth against the beginning slant of his throat. ] You're just not used to me yet.
[ he's teasing, of course. because prompto can be dangerous when he really wants to be. his aim is sharp and precise and deadly—none can match him when it comes down to the wire. and he's quick, his lack of real strength translated into speed. and most of all, he's unassuming. no one would ever look at him and think he's capable of so much more.
of course, clive's had him mostly figured out from day one. so he has to do something to keep him on his toes.
which is how prompto finds himself resting his weight on clive's abdomen, his fingers digging deep into dark hair and further mussing it as he tips his face down. he kisses at his jaw and dots smaller kisses along the length of it to his mouth, nipping softly at clive's lower lip before lightly nudging their noses together. once, twice. and he turns in for a more meaningful kiss, one full of every feeling that prompto's had since they'd met. ]
[ Clive Rosfield, eldest son of the Duchy of Rosaria turned Outlaw, vessel of the god who created his world, the Dominant of Ifrit, is effectively brought to his metaphorical knees by one kiss. no one back home would ever guess that this would be all it takes for Clive to heel.
because he does. he gives in to the simple need to hold Prompto close and let him press closer in an extension of something poorly-planned from the night prior. they kiss, and Clive's aether presses hot against Prompto's lips; something wilder and hungrier than the night before, on the heels of Prompto saying that he wants to know more.
there's a lot more, actually. maybe more than Prompto bargained for. Clive is all strength and stamina and drive, and his devotion is, perhaps, a little too intense for most people to handle.
but, well. if Prompto wants to know. Clive pulses under his touch, and if Prompto knows anything about magic, he might feel the deep well of it stirring just beneath Clive's skin.
a breath later, and Clive whispers: ] I have no oil. [ blunt. maybe comically so. ]
[ he knows some about magic. that the astrals bless the king regent of the lucis caelum line with the ability to call upon them, to control them. that every element they are comprised of is to be equally wielded, and by extension, those in the king's retinue can use it. so he's felt fire and ice and the deepest voids of static, has cast them in the middle of battle when nothing else was working.
but this? the way clive himself seems to brighten beneath him and burn so intensely?
he doesn't know this. ]
I, um. [ prompto tries to breathe, to reorient himself. ] Hang on.
[ which is probably not what clive wants to hear, but there's a sudden need that stretches between them, one that has prompto reluctantly sliding away and searching through his things even as he begins to strip out of his clean clothes with awkward haste. there's a triumphant hum as he finds what he's looking for – the smallest bottle of lubricant (don't ask questions) – and he's stumbling back to clive with a deep-set flush to his skin. ]
Here. [ and he presses it into clive's hand as he crawls onto the bed, crawls over him to return to kissing as if he'd never left. ]
[ hold on feels like a mental haymaker. maybe it's a bit bold of him to assume that Prompto is prepared because he had this particular scenario in mind, but the fact that he comes back with exactly what they both need makes Clive feel－
－fuck, what does it make him feel? wanted? like he could actually just keep fucking Prompto for the rest of the day, more like. like he wants to give and give and give until Prompto tells him that he can't take any more.
Clive is definitively hard by the time Prompto crawls back on him; he should be able to feel it if he shifts his hips back just a little. no question that Prompto is the cause of it, if Clive's eager uncapping of the bottle is anything to go by. the room fills with the sound of kissing, and the slightly-obscene wetness of viscous fluid being warmed on a palm.
while Clive catches his breath: ] You've thought about this, too?
[ husky. his voice skims low and hungry, and mellows into a low, shuddering breath. he shouldn't ask questions, but he can't help it. ]
Have you touched yourself to me? [ tracing wet fingers along the small of Prompto's back, teasing the possibility of them dipping lower. ] Sweet thing.
[ of all the things they could be doing, it's the vibration of that compliment in clive's voice that has prompto biting down on his tongue to stop himself from gasping out loud. too much, maybe. just that and nothing else. because he doesn't know what to do with such words, the promise of what they might bring.
so, he tries to channel all of that into kissing clive, pushing forward against him in a way that has their bodies slotted just enough to tease. ]
A little, [ he admits, shuddering out a breath and shifting to invite those fingers to continue their journey downward. ] Remember the night we got ambushed by that flan? It was so hot when you tried cutting it in half. [ don't judge him. clive is sexy when he's fighting, so what. ] I coulda jumped you then, but...
[ prompto exhales and presses his face against clive's shoulder, kissing a trail to his neck. ]
I wasn't sure how you felt. [ which, admittedly, had been almost a week ago. ]
[ Prompto is so correct to objectify Clive, a man who earnestly wears quite possibly the sluttiest outfit in Final Fantasy history, but Clive doesn't know that. in his arousal-thick brainfog, he tries to remember back to that moment with the flan (he doesn't recall that it went very swimmingly－ hadn't he had to zap it into submission?), and huffs an involuntary laugh. ]
In front of the flan? [ god, Prompto is so fucking cute. Clive turns his head to kiss soft blond hair, almost as if he's been effectively distracted from the natural trajectory his hand was moving in－ down－ but he decides not to torture Prompto like that.
so. thick, sword-callused fingers slick downwards, and downwards still. past the smooth curve of Prompto's ass to ghost over his entrance. just the barest promise of friction for now, to test Prompto's comfort. ]
I would have asked for us to be intimate in less unpleasant company.
Kissed you at least, [ he supplies helpfully(?), breath hitching ever so slightly at the teasing test of clive's fingers. ] Just because.
[ and that's really all he has to say about that. does clive want him to send poems or something? he's not very good at it, but he'd try for the sake of making an effort to impress him. he could go on and on about the attractive qualities of a man built like clive who commands the battlefield just as proficiently. even then, there are only so many words he knows. it's why images are better suited for him. (he might or might not have snapped a few from that very night in question.)
sucking in another breath, prompto shifts his body to accommodate the position as he reaches back to take clive by the wrist. ]
I'll tell you if I need you to slow down. [ not that there's any hurry, but he's equally turned on by the thought of clive inside of him. he rests their foreheads together. ] I really want you.
[ something to remember: Prompto likes to watch him fight. a little mystifying, but if it's something that will break the tedium of the everyday for Prompto, Clive is more than happy to oblige him however he wants on the road.
he's also more than happy to oblige him here, too, in this room and on this bed, wrist held with his lube-wet finger pressed inwards just enough to suggest the first breach. Clive waits for permission, which he gets unequivocally, and smile up against Prompto's lips for a quick, affirming kiss.
it's the last warning he gives before he adds pressure, and slides his middle inside Prompto's hot clutch. i want you makes Clive see as many stars as he's sure Prompto is seeing at the moment. ]
―How long do we have this inn for?
[ motel, whatever. Clive's brain feels a little fried, just from feeling how fucking warm and tight Prompto is around just that one digit; his voice strains and scrapes, instantly turned on from this line in the sand, crossed. ] I need you in bed with me until they threaten to throw us out.
[ in case Prompto wasn't sure that Clive wanted him back: he does. desperately. he kisses the crest of Prompto's freckle-dotted shoulder, and bites it lightly. ]
[ he tries to focus on what clive's saying. he really does. but it takes effort, especially with one of his fingers already inside him, and it's taking everything he has not to squirm or rock his hips to seek out more. ]
I, uh. Later? [ wow, words seem very difficult right now. ] Much later. I don't think it really matters.
[ his breathing is a little uneven, giving himself another second or two before he finally shifts into clive and begins the slightest bit of rhythm. not much, just enough to relax and get comfortable with it. he's eager, but he doesn't want the awkwardness of being unable to outrun anything if they have to because they hurried through this.
eventually, he urges clive for more, each exhale a quiet groan. ]
You can keep going. [ just in case he didn't get the idea already. ] I'm good. Feels good.
[ for Clive, too. the shifting, the angling. he can feel Prompto trying to relax around him, and he rewards the effort by letting his ring join the middle in that tight space when he's given permission. slow, soft strokes, with the rhythm occasionally changing when he thinks he's found a spot that makes Prompto tremble when touched. ]
Just a bit more, [ he murmurs by Prompto's ear, running his lips over the curve of it as he speaks. ] Breathe for me, and you can have all of me soon.
[ 'all of me' being the conspicuous hardness sandwiched between both of their bodies. pulsing in anticipation, almost embarrassingly so considering their first round wasn't all that long ago. his dick's gone as stupid as the rest of him; Clive scissors his fingers inside Prompto, and his world boils down to how good it must feel to be completely seated there. ]
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he feels Prompto squirm and clutch at him, and so― he doesn't sleep, mostly. he drifts in and out of half-consciousness, breaking the lulls between what he gleans are poor dreams to stroke Prompto's hair, to stay close. it's only when the barest promises of morning filter through the thin curtains of their motel window that he thinks to close his eyes, and it's only a short amount of time after that that he feels the sweat-drenched body pressed to him start to stir.
historically, the best thing to do for someone who's had a bad night's rest is to not pummel them first thing in the morning about it. he waits until he's sure that Prompto is actually awake to crack his eyes open, though the gesture is perhaps a bit too purposeful to be natural, and his focus immediately after opening his eyes is far too sharp.
(anyone who has known Clive for more than a hot second will say that Clive is, in fact, a terrible liar.) ]
Good morning, [ he murmurs. ] You're up early.
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Oh. [ it has the same weight as a curse. ] Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up. I was just, uh... [ prompto deflates almost immediately. ] I was thinkin' about getting some air. Or grabbing a shower.
[ he's already running through the mental gambit of things to say, the peace his mind had found those precious moments the night before having disappeared. but he tries his best to remain still now, disliking the tacky sensation of skin against skin where they continue to touch. it can't be comfortable for clive either, though prompto doesn't point it out. instead, he offers him a soft half-smile. ]
I can do that, and you can sleep some more. We don't have to be out of here for a while yet anyway.
[ considering it's barely even morning. ]
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he won't smother. they've slept together once, but that doesn't entitle Clive to Prompto's feelings, or the things that he isn't yet ready to divulge. without an invitation, Clive won't push to bridge the space that Prompto clearly needs. ]
Alright.
[ blankets draw over his chest; he remembers that he's still naked, and he should probably be a bit more modest about it now. his phone lies discarded on the floor on top of his shed clothes, set to ring if it receives a notification. (he doesn't get any: only Prompto has his number.) ]
I'll be here if you've need of me.
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and once he's free, he only lingers a second or two on the edge of the bed – watching clive and putting everything to memory – before gathering some of his things from a partially opened bag on a nearby chair and fleeing quietly to the bathroom. the shower doesn't help calm his nerves, though he stands under the water for far longer than necessary as he tries to force his thoughts outside his body. far away from the still lingering pleasantness of the night before.
he should probably make up for all the awkwardness, set on that as he dresses and feeling a little more like himself. prompto stares at the bite marks in the dingy mirror for a second or two before asserting himself and the decision he's made.
carefully, he sits in the space between clive and the side of the mattress, leaning over him. ] Good morning, by the way. [ his smile is brighter, less troubled. ] Forgot to say it back.
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only the last of those musings have a concrete answer: he wouldn't have. at some point, he gives up keeping his eyes closed and reaches for his phone to pull up the camera roll, and smiles at his three-pic gallery. two blurry blond blobs, followed by one perfectly lined-up shot of a beautiful young man and his well-practiced smile.
the same smile beams down at him a few minutes later, after Clive has set his device down and started playing one-man I Spy with the ceiling. ]
I got ahead of myself. It's barely morning.
[ a light quirk of his lips, though his gaze remains somewhat appraising. ] I'll be out of your hair if you want your room back.
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[ not begrudging in the least, though his expression sort of falters for a moment at clive's suggestion of leaving. despite his normal response to allow it to happen, to let Clive do whatever he wants to do, prompto quickly shakes his head and bridges that gap to head off whatever miscommunication might come from this. so, playfully, he maneuvers over clive and settles atop his thighs, the blanket and prompto's pants the only thing separating them.
he rests his hands against clive's chest. ]
You'll have to take me with you if you wanna go anywhere. [ it's a tease, of course, but he decides that, since he's already come this far, he might as well go the distance.
so, prompto dips down and kisses clive with a warmth that reflects exactly how he feels: happy, content, and wanting more of this thing between them. ]
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the added weight on his body feels achingly good. so does the kiss, which he tips into and reciprocates, palm to Prompto's thigh. attached already, despite all the ways in which others might tell him (rightfully so) that it's ill-advised. ]
...I left my sword in my room, [ is a light joke, once their mouths part. ] But I suppose I can do without it for the morning.
[ says the man who can animorph into a giant hellbeast if he really had to. they're very safe. he thumbs along the crest of Prompto's knee, then dips down to kiss at one of the marks he'd left on Prompto's jaw only hours ago. ]
Founder, I made a mess of you.
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quietly, prompto snickers in response and then leans into the press of clive's mouth, eyes slowly sliding closed. ]
Not a bad way to remember last night, [ he hums, not at all looking for an apology. ] I kinda liked it anyway.
[ that mix of pain and pleasure, the care that clive had shown him. had it not already been too late, prompto would have handed him his heart right then and there without any strings attached. but he has to tiptoe around those words, the ones right at the tip of his tongue that almost tumble free: how i like you. how he likes him so much that he'd willingly follow him anywhere.
prompto flattens himself against clive, mostly so he can reach him easier and kiss the corner of his mouth. ] We're still a few days from Lestallum, so... they'll probably fade a lot before then.
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Prompto is different. he smiles, and the world is a little brighter for it. he laughs, and gravity seems to reverse. something precious, to be preserved and protected― Clive finds that he would do most anything to make sure that Prompto is at ease.
arms wind around Prompto's shoulders, keeping him in place while they kiss, one hand at his nape. after their lips part, Clive slides his mouth to a well-shaped ear, and nips at the soft skin of Prompto's earlobe. he stays there as he responds. ]
Will I have no other opportunities to make more, before we arrive at our destination?
[ low, and with clear intent that he also wants this to continue for however long he's permitted. at the very least, he thinks he'd like for them both to enter Lestallum with Prompto bearing at least a mark or two, so that everyone they encounter knows that they're not just a young man and his bodyguard, or a mercenary and his guide: he'd like for them to think that Prompto has been held and loved. ]
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he exhales, the sensitivity of his lobe being bitten doing things to him that make his skinny jeans suddenly somewhat uncomfortable. ]
You can make as many as you want. [ admitting it is easy when he doesn't have to look him in the eye as he says it. ] I want to have all of you. [ a pause, and he backtracks, blushing hard at the way that sounds. ] Is that weird? I don't know why it came out like that.
[ just kill him now and make it quick. ]
But I mean it, so... Guess what I mean is — I want to know all of you. [ as if that sounds any better. ]
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he gets the message, loud and clear. sometimes Clive can be slow on the uptake (clearly), but he has a feeling he's not misinterpreting this one. ]
You're fine, [ he assures. not weird in the least, or weird in similarly-weird company. if anything, Clive is the one who insinuated himself into Prompto's space by assuming a lot about his mental state from a simple "yes and no"― someone less inclined to be kind the way Prompto is might have taken the ill-concealed concern as patronization. Clive loves that a little about Prompto, too: that he truly believes in the goodness of Clive's intentions.
even like this, pressed together and trading early-morning kisses. so trusting. let no one ever take advantage of Prompto's heart, Clive thinks. ]
We're aligned, on that front. I'd like all of you. [ tracing Prompto's spine with an index and middle, just for the sake of feeling him. ] Including the things you're reluctant to speak of.
[ only the barest allusion to the possible nightmares; Prompto can interpret this however he wants, because the sentiment is the same: you're lovely, including the parts of you that you think might not be. ]
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I dunno, [ he starts, slowly pulling back to sit up so he can look at him. ] There are some things that I really wish weren't true.
[ about himself, he means. maybe even about the world considering where he'd originally come from. or rather who. it's a complicated mess, one he could sum up neatly – if very awkwardly – and even though clive isn't from his world, he might still see it for what it is: strange, improbable, difficult to understand. prompto struggles with his identity constantly, so saying such things out loud could end up breaking him further.
but if he can't trust this sincere man the same way his friends had believed in him, why bother at all? ]
What if you don't like what I've got to say? [ his voice is low, almost borderline whispering. ]
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he stays on his back, head propped against a pillow, still naked and sex-mussed and possibly a little dark-eyed from lack of sleep. regardless, Clive knows he looks relaxed－ it's hard not to be, with Prompto so close to him. ]
I would rather do my utmost to understand you than to know nothing about you at all.
[ it's the sort of grace that'd been extended to Clive a few years back, when he'd been stripped to nothing and brought down to his knees, begging anyone who would listen to kill him. ]
―On your own terms, mind. [ he reaches for Prompto's hand, and kisses the palm. ] When you feel you want to. It needn't be now.
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Okay. [ quietly, and then, with further affirmation, ] Okay, deal. When I'm ready. [ not now because he wants to salvage the rest of this moment, the beginning of a new day. ] So long as you help me understand you too. 'Cuz I really, really want to, Clive.
[ ever so slowly, prompto crawls forward and cages clive with his body, hovering over him with a cheerful grin. ]
You wanna start now? [ though he's subtly hinting at something not so depressing. ]
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(privately, he rescinds his previous assertions about Prompto playing with fire. he might just have Clive wrapped around his pretty little finger, actually.) ]
Oh, [ is a half-sigh, half-laugh. ] You're dangerous.
[ their positions are reversed from the night before; a novel thing, considering how Clive hasn't let anyone pin him like this in an age. Prompto was pretty when he was splayed on the sheets like something to be lovingly unwrapped, but this is nice, too－ a clear, unobstructed view of that beautiful smile, and that beautiful smile only.
Clive cranes up, and kisses under his chin. he's still somewhat damp from the shower, and the feeling of him makes Clive's nerves light up again. ]
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Nah. [ it's hummed at the presence of clive's mouth against the beginning slant of his throat. ] You're just not used to me yet.
[ he's teasing, of course. because prompto can be dangerous when he really wants to be. his aim is sharp and precise and deadly—none can match him when it comes down to the wire. and he's quick, his lack of real strength translated into speed. and most of all, he's unassuming. no one would ever look at him and think he's capable of so much more.
of course, clive's had him mostly figured out from day one. so he has to do something to keep him on his toes.
which is how prompto finds himself resting his weight on clive's abdomen, his fingers digging deep into dark hair and further mussing it as he tips his face down. he kisses at his jaw and dots smaller kisses along the length of it to his mouth, nipping softly at clive's lower lip before lightly nudging their noses together. once, twice. and he turns in for a more meaningful kiss, one full of every feeling that prompto's had since they'd met. ]
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because he does. he gives in to the simple need to hold Prompto close and let him press closer in an extension of something poorly-planned from the night prior. they kiss, and Clive's aether presses hot against Prompto's lips; something wilder and hungrier than the night before, on the heels of Prompto saying that he wants to know more.
there's a lot more, actually. maybe more than Prompto bargained for. Clive is all strength and stamina and drive, and his devotion is, perhaps, a little too intense for most people to handle.
but, well. if Prompto wants to know. Clive pulses under his touch, and if Prompto knows anything about magic, he might feel the deep well of it stirring just beneath Clive's skin.
a breath later, and Clive whispers: ] I have no oil. [ blunt. maybe comically so. ]
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but this? the way clive himself seems to brighten beneath him and burn so intensely?
he doesn't know this. ]
I, um. [ prompto tries to breathe, to reorient himself. ] Hang on.
[ which is probably not what clive wants to hear, but there's a sudden need that stretches between them, one that has prompto reluctantly sliding away and searching through his things even as he begins to strip out of his clean clothes with awkward haste. there's a triumphant hum as he finds what he's looking for – the smallest bottle of lubricant (don't ask questions) – and he's stumbling back to clive with a deep-set flush to his skin. ]
Here. [ and he presses it into clive's hand as he crawls onto the bed, crawls over him to return to kissing as if he'd never left. ]
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－fuck, what does it make him feel? wanted? like he could actually just keep fucking Prompto for the rest of the day, more like. like he wants to give and give and give until Prompto tells him that he can't take any more.
Clive is definitively hard by the time Prompto crawls back on him; he should be able to feel it if he shifts his hips back just a little. no question that Prompto is the cause of it, if Clive's eager uncapping of the bottle is anything to go by. the room fills with the sound of kissing, and the slightly-obscene wetness of viscous fluid being warmed on a palm.
while Clive catches his breath: ] You've thought about this, too?
[ husky. his voice skims low and hungry, and mellows into a low, shuddering breath. he shouldn't ask questions, but he can't help it. ]
Have you touched yourself to me? [ tracing wet fingers along the small of Prompto's back, teasing the possibility of them dipping lower. ] Sweet thing.
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so, he tries to channel all of that into kissing clive, pushing forward against him in a way that has their bodies slotted just enough to tease. ]
A little, [ he admits, shuddering out a breath and shifting to invite those fingers to continue their journey downward. ] Remember the night we got ambushed by that flan? It was so hot when you tried cutting it in half. [ don't judge him. clive is sexy when he's fighting, so what. ] I coulda jumped you then, but...
[ prompto exhales and presses his face against clive's shoulder, kissing a trail to his neck. ]
I wasn't sure how you felt. [ which, admittedly, had been almost a week ago. ]
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In front of the flan? [ god, Prompto is so fucking cute. Clive turns his head to kiss soft blond hair, almost as if he's been effectively distracted from the natural trajectory his hand was moving in－ down－ but he decides not to torture Prompto like that.
so. thick, sword-callused fingers slick downwards, and downwards still. past the smooth curve of Prompto's ass to ghost over his entrance. just the barest promise of friction for now, to test Prompto's comfort. ]
I would have asked for us to be intimate in less unpleasant company.
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[ and that's really all he has to say about that. does clive want him to send poems or something? he's not very good at it, but he'd try for the sake of making an effort to impress him. he could go on and on about the attractive qualities of a man built like clive who commands the battlefield just as proficiently. even then, there are only so many words he knows. it's why images are better suited for him. (he might or might not have snapped a few from that very night in question.)
sucking in another breath, prompto shifts his body to accommodate the position as he reaches back to take clive by the wrist. ]
I'll tell you if I need you to slow down. [ not that there's any hurry, but he's equally turned on by the thought of clive inside of him. he rests their foreheads together. ] I really want you.
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he's also more than happy to oblige him here, too, in this room and on this bed, wrist held with his lube-wet finger pressed inwards just enough to suggest the first breach. Clive waits for permission, which he gets unequivocally, and smile up against Prompto's lips for a quick, affirming kiss.
it's the last warning he gives before he adds pressure, and slides his middle inside Prompto's hot clutch. i want you makes Clive see as many stars as he's sure Prompto is seeing at the moment. ]
―How long do we have this inn for?
[ motel, whatever. Clive's brain feels a little fried, just from feeling how fucking warm and tight Prompto is around just that one digit; his voice strains and scrapes, instantly turned on from this line in the sand, crossed. ] I need you in bed with me until they threaten to throw us out.
[ in case Prompto wasn't sure that Clive wanted him back: he does. desperately. he kisses the crest of Prompto's freckle-dotted shoulder, and bites it lightly. ]
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I, uh. Later? [ wow, words seem very difficult right now. ] Much later. I don't think it really matters.
[ his breathing is a little uneven, giving himself another second or two before he finally shifts into clive and begins the slightest bit of rhythm. not much, just enough to relax and get comfortable with it. he's eager, but he doesn't want the awkwardness of being unable to outrun anything if they have to because they hurried through this.
eventually, he urges clive for more, each exhale a quiet groan. ]
You can keep going. [ just in case he didn't get the idea already. ] I'm good. Feels good.
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[ for Clive, too. the shifting, the angling. he can feel Prompto trying to relax around him, and he rewards the effort by letting his ring join the middle in that tight space when he's given permission. slow, soft strokes, with the rhythm occasionally changing when he thinks he's found a spot that makes Prompto tremble when touched. ]
Just a bit more, [ he murmurs by Prompto's ear, running his lips over the curve of it as he speaks. ] Breathe for me, and you can have all of me soon.
[ 'all of me' being the conspicuous hardness sandwiched between both of their bodies. pulsing in anticipation, almost embarrassingly so considering their first round wasn't all that long ago. his dick's gone as stupid as the rest of him; Clive scissors his fingers inside Prompto, and his world boils down to how good it must feel to be completely seated there. ]
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