[ 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.
[ it's incredibly romantic, looking up at clive and blushing beneath the post-sex flush of his skin. prompto can feel his heart squeeze in his chest, wrapping itself around his throat and momentarily silencing him. so, carefully, he slips his hands to cup clive's face, urging him closer until their noses touch. ]
Not all that hard to believe you after everything I've seen, [ he offers, thumbs sliding over his cheeks. ] But I wanted to help anyway. I know how scary stuff like that can be.
[ waking up in an unknown place around unknown people and unknown circumstances. at least clive hadn't resorted to destructive methods to garner attention. and withdrawing just enough their eyes meet, prompto smiles at him, something soft and sweet and just for the two of them. ]
Look where we are now. [ it's a tease, an affectionate one punctuated with a light kiss to clive's mouth. ]
[ a soft laugh, caught between Prompto's warm hands. ]
Where I've always been, I think. In your sights.
[ again, wrapped around his finger, drawn, inevitably, to that smile. something about moths in flames, even if he's usually the one suffering the flame comparisons.
(he doesn't ask about the things Prompto has seen, not yet. a conversation to be had when they're not sex-drunk in bed.)
[ it's sweet that he asks, though prompto wonders if now is the appropriate time to have this kind of conversation. are they serious? is it just something fun to pass the time? (if that's true, they could have been doing this a lot longer than less than a day...) the complications of the facts make it difficult; clive could return to his world without warning, and —
prompto doesn't want to think about that right now. ]
If you want, [ he answers instead, pushing his fingers through clive's hair and smoothing it away from his face. ] Not sure how many people will though.
[ of course, he pauses and thinks, his expression falling slightly in earnest thought. ]
I dunno. Unless you wanna say we're boyfriends? But that doesn't seem right either since we're not really dating? [ he is absolutely not going to tell clive that they're friends with benefits. ] You can say whatever you want if they ask. I trust you.
[ his protest is quieted by a sudden surge of trying to fix whatever this miscommunication might be, looping his arms around him and pressing close. their noses touch, and prompto squeezes him in a loose embrace. ]
I just mean... I wanna be that for you. [ he wants clive to be happy too. ] I wanna be more than that, but what if – [ damn, he hadn't wanted to think about that, much less talk about it. ] Probably not the best time to bring it up – But what if we, um, get separated?
[ and he doesn't mean losing track of each other. he means clive going home. ]
[ oof. stupid move, Rosfield. his expression slides into a frown, thoughtful, but he stays where he is, elbows bracketing either side of Prompto's face. ]
Then I spend my life aching for you in Valisthea.
[ simply. a matter of fact. Clive can only feel how he feels, and he sighs through his next exhale, shoulders drawing back just a sliver. ]
...I can't say that the thought of taking you with me hasn't crossed my mind. A selfish, monstrous thing to think.
[ after experiencing displacement, wishing it on someone he's come to care for is more than slightly horrendous, he's sure. his brows slant, apologetic for even speaking the words into existence. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
[ 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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
'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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Not all that hard to believe you after everything I've seen, [ he offers, thumbs sliding over his cheeks. ] But I wanted to help anyway. I know how scary stuff like that can be.
[ waking up in an unknown place around unknown people and unknown circumstances. at least clive hadn't resorted to destructive methods to garner attention. and withdrawing just enough their eyes meet, prompto smiles at him, something soft and sweet and just for the two of them. ]
Look where we are now. [ it's a tease, an affectionate one punctuated with a light kiss to clive's mouth. ]
no subject
Where I've always been, I think. In your sights.
[ again, wrapped around his finger, drawn, inevitably, to that smile. something about moths in flames, even if he's usually the one suffering the flame comparisons.
(he doesn't ask about the things Prompto has seen, not yet. a conversation to be had when they're not sex-drunk in bed.)
craning forward, nuzzling foreheads, Clive ventures: ] ...Prompto. If anyone asks--
[ a tilt of his head, doglike. ]
--am I permitted to call myself your lover?
[ or is there some modern vernacular for this, too? something "dude"-adjacent? Clive has no idea. ]
no subject
prompto doesn't want to think about that right now. ]
If you want, [ he answers instead, pushing his fingers through clive's hair and smoothing it away from his face. ] Not sure how many people will though.
[ of course, he pauses and thinks, his expression falling slightly in earnest thought. ]
I dunno. Unless you wanna say we're boyfriends? But that doesn't seem right either since we're not really dating? [ he is absolutely not going to tell clive that they're friends with benefits. ] You can say whatever you want if they ask. I trust you.
no subject
--I didn't mean to press. Apologies.
[ "dating" and "boyfriend" are slightly unfamiliar, but he can infer their meanings from context; no, he supposes, they're neither of those things. ]
I won't make trouble for you. I promise it.
[ it is, ostensibly, what Prompto wants to make of it. Clive is here by his grace, and he won't ruin it if he can manage. ]
no subject
[ his protest is quieted by a sudden surge of trying to fix whatever this miscommunication might be, looping his arms around him and pressing close. their noses touch, and prompto squeezes him in a loose embrace. ]
I just mean... I wanna be that for you. [ he wants clive to be happy too. ] I wanna be more than that, but what if – [ damn, he hadn't wanted to think about that, much less talk about it. ] Probably not the best time to bring it up – But what if we, um, get separated?
[ and he doesn't mean losing track of each other. he means clive going home. ]
no subject
Then I spend my life aching for you in Valisthea.
[ simply. a matter of fact. Clive can only feel how he feels, and he sighs through his next exhale, shoulders drawing back just a sliver. ]
...I can't say that the thought of taking you with me hasn't crossed my mind. A selfish, monstrous thing to think.
[ after experiencing displacement, wishing it on someone he's come to care for is more than slightly horrendous, he's sure. his brows slant, apologetic for even speaking the words into existence. ]
(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)