[ 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.
[ and the way clive says his name would have been the end had it not been for the perfectly hard rhythm he sets after teasing him. it doesn't take much more then. not really. he's strung out on the feeling of clive inside him, his voice low and gentle despite the gravel to it—all the things he focuses on as he presses his knees into clive's sides and chases almost greedily after his own orgasm.
it hits him hard. harder than the first time they did this, everything squeezing tight around clive as if his very life depends on keeping him there. inside him. deep inside him. his voice cracks on a moan, yanking at clive's hair unintentionally hard as it burns through him. and then —
then, he's just pliant, pressing his mouth to any part of clive he can reach with all the energy he has left. ]
[ Prompto shakes and grips and tugs at him, takes him and falls over his edge, and Clive feels his heart submit. irreversible and inevitable. if he gets sent back to Valisthea tomorrow, he knows he'll feel his soul ache for Prompto for the rest of his life.
so he calls Prompto's name, like it's the only thought in his mind. it is. Prompto, as he brings himself closer to his own orgasm, tugged closer and closer towards it with each breath. Prompto, as he tilts his head to meet Prompto's tired mouth with his own.
he spills over like that－ hips stilled, pressed inside to the hilt. he curls around the warm body pressed to him, affection verging on protective, and doesn't relinquish his hold even after he starts coming down from his peak.
if only Prompto could stay. Clive pours aether into him again, breathing deeply against blond hair while his magic brushes along all that beautiful bare skin. if only. ]
[ in those lulling moments between bliss and reality, prompto allows himself the smallest bit of hope. that this could be forever, that they might not have to say goodbye. even without clive knowing the darker parts (and vice versa), there's something there. something tangible in the weight of his mouth and the salt of his sweat, in the comfortable blanket of clive's magic flooding over him. he lets himself hope and holds on to it as relaxes his fingers and rubs gently down the back of clive's neck and then the length of his spine.
lightly, he presses him closer. ]
Don't wanna move, [ prompto mumbles, his thighs squeezing at him. ] Don't want you to either.
[ not yet. not to clean up or give him space. not to end this dream they've somehow become a part of. and the intensity of it is so overwhelming that prompto rests his face against clive's shoulder to keep from saying anything remotely close to stupid. because he would, he could, and that might ruin it all. ]
[ the world reshapes itself around them slowly; Clive thinks he liked this motel room better when it was just him and Prompto. but they finally wriggle into something resembling shape instead of formless masses desperately trying to shove together, and Clive finally manages to form thoughts that aren't just senseless sounds in the shape of Prompto's name.
lips press against sweat-mussed hair, then to a flushed ear. ]
Easy wishes to grant, [ Clive rasps. ] Would your Grace like anything else?
[ affectionately teasing, but also half-serious. whatever the rest of the day might bring, he'd like it to be whatever Prompto likes. if they have nothing else, they can at least have today to be indulgent.
Clive shifts, but only enough to be sure that his weight isn't overbearing. aware, at least, that it can get claustrophobic under his bulk. ]
[ he wriggles just a little at that, glad his eyes are closed so he doesn't have to expend the effort to roll them. ]
Far from it. [ there's a shiver at the heat of clive's words in his ear. ] Like, totally not royalty at all. Buuuut.
[ prompto hums in thought, aware of each point of contact between them and wanting clive to be comfortable as he sinks into the mattress. it's not the best, conscious of a spring trying to slowly dig its way into the back of a thigh, but he's very much decided to not move until he absolutely has to. slow and steady, his hands begin to wander and tug to keep clive pancaked against him.
he nudges against the damp heat of his skin, mouth finding a spot to kiss. ]
I think I'm good. Really, really good. [ better than good. ] What about you though? Can I, um, do something for you?
[ yeah, that seems the proper thing to say right now. ]
[ asked what he'd like, and that ugly, selfish thought resurfaces: i'd like you to come with me to Valisthea. seems too grand of a thing to say after sex, though-- like some trite pillow talk to laugh off as a joke, instead of the real ache Clive feels nestled in his chest.
instead, he pulls the blankets up over the both of them to prevent their sweaty bodies from cooling too fast, and bites another mark into Prompto's neck. everyone they pass from now until the next town will look at Clive and think him deranged for this, but. oh well. ]
You could stay with me. [ an open-ended truth. again, Clive is a terrible liar. ] And allow me to take another picture of you. Later.
[ prompto tips his head just enough to give clive room to bite him, and the gasp that leaves him echoes in his chest. soft but deep, hands gripping at him briefly. then, he's melting once more beneath him into the uncomfortable bed. ]
'm not going anywhere. Promise. [ perhaps he's not quite understanding, but prompto will give himself to him nonetheless. ] So... yeah. You can take any pics you want. Any time.
[ he rubs a hand up clive's back to finger at his hair, and after the shock of that statement sort of runs its course, prompto laughs softly. ] A miracle? Why? [ because they ended up in bed together? because they've been drawn into this thing without understanding the details of it? because there are no clear rules? ] I'm just me.
[ Clive would like to take a photo of Prompto now, crumpled and flushed and pooled beneath him, but that would require him to sit up and rifle though the carnage they've made of pillows and sheets to find his phone. maybe later.
now: ] You were the only one who believed me.
[ when he first arrived, is implicit. Clive sifts mussed bangs from Prompto's face, and looks down at him as if he could somehow convey the depth of his gratitude from one look; there's a limit to his language and vocabulary, after all. ]
When others believed I'd gone mad, you extended humor and patience. [ he still remembers it, and: ] You smiled, and I felt saved.
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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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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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[ and the way clive says his name would have been the end had it not been for the perfectly hard rhythm he sets after teasing him. it doesn't take much more then. not really. he's strung out on the feeling of clive inside him, his voice low and gentle despite the gravel to it—all the things he focuses on as he presses his knees into clive's sides and chases almost greedily after his own orgasm.
it hits him hard. harder than the first time they did this, everything squeezing tight around clive as if his very life depends on keeping him there. inside him. deep inside him. his voice cracks on a moan, yanking at clive's hair unintentionally hard as it burns through him. and then —
then, he's just pliant, pressing his mouth to any part of clive he can reach with all the energy he has left. ]
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so he calls Prompto's name, like it's the only thought in his mind. it is. Prompto, as he brings himself closer to his own orgasm, tugged closer and closer towards it with each breath. Prompto, as he tilts his head to meet Prompto's tired mouth with his own.
he spills over like that－ hips stilled, pressed inside to the hilt. he curls around the warm body pressed to him, affection verging on protective, and doesn't relinquish his hold even after he starts coming down from his peak.
if only Prompto could stay. Clive pours aether into him again, breathing deeply against blond hair while his magic brushes along all that beautiful bare skin. if only. ]
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lightly, he presses him closer. ]
Don't wanna move, [ prompto mumbles, his thighs squeezing at him. ] Don't want you to either.
[ not yet. not to clean up or give him space. not to end this dream they've somehow become a part of. and the intensity of it is so overwhelming that prompto rests his face against clive's shoulder to keep from saying anything remotely close to stupid. because he would, he could, and that might ruin it all. ]
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lips press against sweat-mussed hair, then to a flushed ear. ]
Easy wishes to grant, [ Clive rasps. ] Would your Grace like anything else?
[ affectionately teasing, but also half-serious. whatever the rest of the day might bring, he'd like it to be whatever Prompto likes. if they have nothing else, they can at least have today to be indulgent.
Clive shifts, but only enough to be sure that his weight isn't overbearing. aware, at least, that it can get claustrophobic under his bulk. ]
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Far from it. [ there's a shiver at the heat of clive's words in his ear. ] Like, totally not royalty at all. Buuuut.
[ prompto hums in thought, aware of each point of contact between them and wanting clive to be comfortable as he sinks into the mattress. it's not the best, conscious of a spring trying to slowly dig its way into the back of a thigh, but he's very much decided to not move until he absolutely has to. slow and steady, his hands begin to wander and tug to keep clive pancaked against him.
he nudges against the damp heat of his skin, mouth finding a spot to kiss. ]
I think I'm good. Really, really good. [ better than good. ] What about you though? Can I, um, do something for you?
[ yeah, that seems the proper thing to say right now. ]
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instead, he pulls the blankets up over the both of them to prevent their sweaty bodies from cooling too fast, and bites another mark into Prompto's neck. everyone they pass from now until the next town will look at Clive and think him deranged for this, but. oh well. ]
You could stay with me. [ an open-ended truth. again, Clive is a terrible liar. ] And allow me to take another picture of you. Later.
[ nibbling, now, over an earlobe. ]
You really are quite a miracle, you know.
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'm not going anywhere. Promise. [ perhaps he's not quite understanding, but prompto will give himself to him nonetheless. ] So... yeah. You can take any pics you want. Any time.
[ he rubs a hand up clive's back to finger at his hair, and after the shock of that statement sort of runs its course, prompto laughs softly. ] A miracle? Why? [ because they ended up in bed together? because they've been drawn into this thing without understanding the details of it? because there are no clear rules? ] I'm just me.
[ whatever that might mean. ]
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now: ] You were the only one who believed me.
[ when he first arrived, is implicit. Clive sifts mussed bangs from Prompto's face, and looks down at him as if he could somehow convey the depth of his gratitude from one look; there's a limit to his language and vocabulary, after all. ]
When others believed I'd gone mad, you extended humor and patience. [ he still remembers it, and: ] You smiled, and I felt saved.
[ simple, but true. ]
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