[ 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. ]
[ breathing isn't easy when all he wants to do is push back on him, sink clive's fingers as deep as possible and angle them right where he wants them. hurry all of this along. but prompto follows instructions despite it, feeling sweat beginning to plaster hair to the back of his neck; already, he'll probably have to shower again. but he doesn't actually care, the strain of remaining in this position causing his arms to tremble somewhat. ]
Clive – [ it's torment now, and prompto has to do something. ] Okay. Okay, let me...
[ he mumbles to himself, turned on and not quite so gracefully using his knee to drag the blanket away so he can get a hand around clive's cock. prompto only glances down enough to eye where he needs to be, teasing himself just a little with the tip before he arches his back and slowly pushes himself down on him.
immediately, he realizes it's too much. he should have waited, should have let clive pin him down and manage the rest of it. but he wants so badly that he pushes through the discomfort and moans unabashedly when his body relaxes and takes him in. ]
I have to – you're gonna have to move. [ because he doesn't think he can do much else right now. ]
[ too much, and too quickly. Clive makes a soft, strained sound when Prompto takes the initiative, a semi-protest almost out of his mouth ("careful") that dies the moment he sees how the perfect silhouette above him arches, aligns, then sinks. immediately, Clive forgets how to do anything but feel, feel this, how Prompto takes him and holds around him and doesn't let go.
it feels like― god, there's no word for what he fucking feels like. heaven, bliss, Prompto. Clive also arches, flat against the mattress with the small of his back lifting from bedsheets, abdominals rippling under Prompto's new weight. he sweats there for a second, utterly taken, before he finds enough sense to frame Prompto's waist with his hands and answer his call to arms.
he is gonna have to move. every part of himself wants it. so he moves: slow grinds upwards that turn into long, indulgent strokes that eventually pick up pace. his thighs spread with his knees crested― he feels at once completely swallowed and yet not deep enough― and he bounces Prompto on his lap, driving his need into him with each upwards movement, buzzing under his skin at how well Prompto takes him. ]
Fuck. [ eloquently. ] So good― Prompto, come here.
[ craning up for a kiss, messy and uncalculated. a part of him, feral and hungry, wants to turn them both over and switch positions, but the gentler part of him keeps that urge on a tight leash; afraid of harming or hurting or alarming. ]
[ everything's just a blur of sensation, starting from where they meet to the points of contact elsewhere. clive's hands, his hips, his thighs—all of it. too much and too little, neglecting his own need for the sake of focusing on trying to move with the rhythm he sets and remembering to breathe when it's punctuated by the softest sound of pleasure. each time clive presses into him and each time prompto sinks down.
his entire body is flushed, eyes half-open to look down at the man beneath him.
next time, he tells himself, he'll remember more of this. next time.
but he's swallowed up in his kiss, lips parting to allow clive to take whatever he wants from him, whatever he needs, and prompto pants against him like it will settle the blazing ache across his skin. in his brain, down his spine. the words tumble out of him in staggered breaths. ] On my back – [ because he's not the only one who wants to feel it deeper. ] Can you –
[ which is less of a question than a hint at the way he leans over and tries to roll them so they both have more leverage in a different position. ]
[ dangerous, he thinks again. everything he sees and feels narrows down to Prompto, skin and hands and knees bracketing knees, and he finds that he doesn't want to think about anything else for the moment－ not the sand falling from their hourglass, not the destination of their journey, nothing but this.
so, he answers the question of whether he can, by doing. he's strong enough for it, easily turning the both of them over (hum-growling at the feel of that, too, how their bodies make friction) to assume the position they'd held the night prior, with Prompto's long, lithe everythings pinned under Clive's bulk.
like this, he might wear the title of Dominant of Fire more convincingly. hot breath, blazing intensity. he presses his aether over Prompto's flushed skin, warm and crackling, and bites into the side of his neck before driving closer and deeper, setting a rhythm that's at once more affectionate and aggressive than before. wanting and needing and trusting Prompto to tell him if it's too much, if he needs to heel. ]
he's noisy without meaning to be, easing into the (oddly) familiar rhythm but keeping his body pliable if clive moves him. they do a little anyhow, the bed creaking as he's fucked into the mattress, and he slips an arm free to loop it around clive's shoulders, sinking his fingers into dark hair. to hold on, to ride through the way clive burns around him. ]
Clive. [ it's an embarrassing whimper. ] Clive —
[ he speaks to cover the way he moans, the sound of it sharper when he shifts his hips and practically bucks into clive at the deep pleasure that thrums through him. his other hand digs into clive's back, urging him closer. ]
There. Right there. [ he's so hard between them that he doubts he's going to last much longer. ] Please.
[ no promise of anything but the present, but Clive wants it anyway. Prompto tastes sweet when Clive kisses him, mouth full of those ragged, perfect noises; Clive lets Prompto taste him in return, fire and magic and raw need, humming in approval whenever Prompto tugs his hair just a little harder than he should.
good. so good. Clive hitches Prompto closer, fingers digging into the line of his waist, hiking him up until the small of his back lifts from the bed, giving Clive more space to fuck into him. ]
Right there, [ he parrots, when he feels Prompto's nails dig into his back. his voice sounds just as fucked-out, wrecked by pleasure. ] ―Can you feel all of me?
[ softly, and slightly coy. pushed all the way in, he slides his hand between their bodies and pets Prompto's stomach, then brushes fingertips along his flushed erection. pretty, every inch of him. Clive doubts he'll ever get tired of even just looking at Prompto. ]
Prompto. [ a low grind where he is, right there, and he resumes their shared rhythm again. fast, faster. the bed strains, and everything feels perfect. ] Come for me. Show me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
(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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
－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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
Clive – [ it's torment now, and prompto has to do something. ] Okay. Okay, let me...
[ he mumbles to himself, turned on and not quite so gracefully using his knee to drag the blanket away so he can get a hand around clive's cock. prompto only glances down enough to eye where he needs to be, teasing himself just a little with the tip before he arches his back and slowly pushes himself down on him.
immediately, he realizes it's too much. he should have waited, should have let clive pin him down and manage the rest of it. but he wants so badly that he pushes through the discomfort and moans unabashedly when his body relaxes and takes him in. ]
I have to – you're gonna have to move. [ because he doesn't think he can do much else right now. ]
no subject
it feels like― god, there's no word for what he fucking feels like. heaven, bliss, Prompto. Clive also arches, flat against the mattress with the small of his back lifting from bedsheets, abdominals rippling under Prompto's new weight. he sweats there for a second, utterly taken, before he finds enough sense to frame Prompto's waist with his hands and answer his call to arms.
he is gonna have to move. every part of himself wants it. so he moves: slow grinds upwards that turn into long, indulgent strokes that eventually pick up pace. his thighs spread with his knees crested― he feels at once completely swallowed and yet not deep enough― and he bounces Prompto on his lap, driving his need into him with each upwards movement, buzzing under his skin at how well Prompto takes him. ]
Fuck. [ eloquently. ] So good― Prompto, come here.
[ craning up for a kiss, messy and uncalculated. a part of him, feral and hungry, wants to turn them both over and switch positions, but the gentler part of him keeps that urge on a tight leash; afraid of harming or hurting or alarming. ]
no subject
his entire body is flushed, eyes half-open to look down at the man beneath him.
next time, he tells himself, he'll remember more of this. next time.
but he's swallowed up in his kiss, lips parting to allow clive to take whatever he wants from him, whatever he needs, and prompto pants against him like it will settle the blazing ache across his skin. in his brain, down his spine. the words tumble out of him in staggered breaths. ] On my back – [ because he's not the only one who wants to feel it deeper. ] Can you –
[ which is less of a question than a hint at the way he leans over and tries to roll them so they both have more leverage in a different position. ]
no subject
so, he answers the question of whether he can, by doing. he's strong enough for it, easily turning the both of them over (hum-growling at the feel of that, too, how their bodies make friction) to assume the position they'd held the night prior, with Prompto's long, lithe everythings pinned under Clive's bulk.
like this, he might wear the title of Dominant of Fire more convincingly. hot breath, blazing intensity. he presses his aether over Prompto's flushed skin, warm and crackling, and bites into the side of his neck before driving closer and deeper, setting a rhythm that's at once more affectionate and aggressive than before. wanting and needing and trusting Prompto to tell him if it's too much, if he needs to heel. ]
no subject
he's noisy without meaning to be, easing into the (oddly) familiar rhythm but keeping his body pliable if clive moves him. they do a little anyhow, the bed creaking as he's fucked into the mattress, and he slips an arm free to loop it around clive's shoulders, sinking his fingers into dark hair. to hold on, to ride through the way clive burns around him. ]
Clive. [ it's an embarrassing whimper. ] Clive —
[ he speaks to cover the way he moans, the sound of it sharper when he shifts his hips and practically bucks into clive at the deep pleasure that thrums through him. his other hand digs into clive's back, urging him closer. ]
There. Right there. [ he's so hard between them that he doubts he's going to last much longer. ] Please.
no subject
good. so good. Clive hitches Prompto closer, fingers digging into the line of his waist, hiking him up until the small of his back lifts from the bed, giving Clive more space to fuck into him. ]
Right there, [ he parrots, when he feels Prompto's nails dig into his back. his voice sounds just as fucked-out, wrecked by pleasure. ] ―Can you feel all of me?
[ softly, and slightly coy. pushed all the way in, he slides his hand between their bodies and pets Prompto's stomach, then brushes fingertips along his flushed erection. pretty, every inch of him. Clive doubts he'll ever get tired of even just looking at Prompto. ]
Prompto. [ a low grind where he is, right there, and he resumes their shared rhythm again. fast, faster. the bed strains, and everything feels perfect. ] Come for me. Show me.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)