flamebrand | overflow.

[ the saving, in Clive's recollection, was entirely incidental; he was meant to kill Jill that day, jerked along on his leash like a trained dog with a beast's name. Wyvern. they'd likely have died, too, if not for Cid and his timely intervention.

once again, Clive has someone else to thank for his good fortune. something he won't say, though, when Jill is offering him her sincerity in a way that makes his head spin. ]

You saved yourself, [ he murmurs. ] All those years you spent, overcoming all your odds.

[ one hand still against her waist, the other lifts to press against Jill's face, cupping her cheek. calluses to soft, unmarred skin. ]

Thank you. For living― for finding your way back to me.

[Years she spent bowing to a master she should have slaughtered. Could have slaughtered, easily. But fear kept her weak, and she hates that she let herself be used as long as she did. She keeps those words to herself, not wanting to tarnish his sweetness--even if he's deflecting.]

You were never very good at taking a compliment.

[She understands his sentiment. As her cheek presses into his hand, she lifts the one of hers not holding onto her precious gift and gently rests her fingertips against his wrist. Without all his armor, she can touch his skin, and she just barely caresses the spot where his pulse runs, fond.]

I'm sure you're as thirsty as you are tired.

[Which, regrettably, might mean allowing some personal space--but she can sacrifice her desire to be so close to see him fed and watered and rested.]

[ again, not beating the comparisons to Torgal: if he had pointy, fuzzy ears, they would've drooped just slightly after being called out on not being able to accept compliments. his mouth opens to protest― 'that's not'― but he thinks better of it. he's always been a terrible liar (according to everyone who isn't him).

after that moment of fumbling, he clears his throat. hand still pressed against Jill's face, hesitant to relinquish that touch until he has to.

he has to. another hum, and he slowly peels back. ] ...Right. [ get it together, Rosfield. ] Our wine.

[ repositioning their filled glasses, he slides one to Jill and picks up the other. ] ―I'm not that tired, by the way.

[ he is. but also, he wants to spend more time with her before he passes out unceremoniously like a sack of potatoes, so. there's that, for posturing. ]

[Jill's sorry to lose his touch, but it does give her the opportunity to place her perfume next to Stuffed Torgal. Her two gifts, both dear to her, and she smiles at them before taking her glass in hand. She raises it to Clive in silent cheers, a welcome home, and thinks her cheeks will be sore later for all her smiles today.]

I'm glad. [He's tired. She knows it, and he is a terrible liar.] I don't wish to leave yet.

[She's not sure what it was about this particular parting, but she missed him more than usual. But she thinks that every time, penning him letters, some delivered and some stuffed away to never see the light of day again.]

Gav and Otto have things they wish to discuss with you, but I told them it can wait until tomorrow. We can afford to let you sleep.

[ a fond little uptick of his lips, almost obscured by the rim of the glass pressed against them. ]

They'll be whispering missives to me in my sleep.

[ so that they're lodged in his mind by the time he wakes up. not a thing that would actually happen, but the warm spread of affection in his chest makes him lighthearted, and he really would like the last thing he sees before he passes out to be Jill's smile (her poor facial muscles).

a sip of wine, brow raised mischievously. ]

So I expect you to protect me from them through the night, my lady.

[ an implicit invitation. the others will talk, but they've been talking for ages now. let them. ]

Shall I post at your door?

[The invitation may be implicit, but sounds too good to be true to Jill. He must be teasing her, joking innocently. So, she jokes back.]

Or you can have two Torgals guarding you.

[A big fluffy one and a smaller, stuffed one. Jill tips her head to their newest companion with a soft laugh.]

[ courage, Rosfield. another sip, and he lets the glass sit on the desk. ]

Better yet, [ is warm enough that it doesn't sound like a demand; she's still free to refuse if this is too much. (also with apologies to the two Torgals, who are very good boys and very capable of protecting him if they felt so inclined. toy included.) ] the Dominant of Shiva, by my side.

[ not at his door, Founder help him. he'd never let Jill stand around outside while he sleeps. ]

[Nothing from him could sound like a demand, not in any way she would be alarmed by. There's surprise on her face, clearly, caught off guard despite a tiny hope in her heart that's lived there for a long, long time. Her eyebrows hover high for a moment, eyes flicking over to his bed, and then the blood rushes to her cheeks in a pink tinge.

She breathes out a laugh, charmed. He's perfect in her eyes.]

It's my place, after all.

[By his side, always. Hadn't they just said? She smiles at him, tucking her hair behind her ear.]

[ Mirrored thoughts: Jill turns a lovely shade of pink, and it's perfect. She's perfect. The shape of her, the color of her soul. He could lean in and press his mouth to that flush, taste the warmth of her.

Gods, does he want to. He presses his palm to the back of Jill's hand, trapping her mid-gesture, fingers still tucked behind her ear. Rapt― almost boyishly so. ]

Jill, [ he murmurs, and it's the only warning he gives before he presses his hot, wine-stained mouth against hers, as careful as he can manage; he feels every cell in his body go alight, as perfect as he'd felt since Ifrit Risen. Their noses brush, and Clive's next exhale sticks to the back of his throat. Emotional. ]

[Her pale blue eyes widen at his touch, when he says her name--and then slip closed as she feels his lips press to hers. He feels like the warmth of the campfires they share while on the road, not the flames of Ifrit. That's Clive: warm and safe and comforting. Jill's own breath hitches once her lips part from his, eyes opening and brain struggling to register what just happened.

Her flush has spread to the tips of her ears, accompanied by a bashful smile. A pleased smile, at its heart. Her tongue passes over her lips. The wine is sweet, but she's sure his kisses are sweet on their own.

Yet this all feels natural. Talk of being by one another's side, all they share, the trust ans affection between them... whatever hesitation is obliterated in the face of this sense of relief.]

You missed me more than I realized.

[A gentle teasing, her voice soft.]

[ An inevitability. As much as Clive champions the grand ideal that they're all the own arbiters of their destinies, that nothing is written, he thinks that he and Jill were fated all the same.

His touch smooths along her cheek, tracing the heat along the rise of her cheekbone. She's stunning like this, warm and pleased, tucked close enough to him that he can hear her breathing― he settles his forehead against hers, letting their noses touch again. ]

I pined. [ The words come out as a whisper-laugh. Joking, but not. ] You have my permission to lord it over me.

[ One more slide of thumb against jaw, and he finally lets go. ]

[She's pined for him for years. It's only fair he feels the yearning, too, though Jill would never tease him about it. She's wanted to be his in every way since they were children, desperately hoping that Anabella would see some benefit in marrying her to him. Of course, it never would have happened even if their lives didn't go terribly off course. Her value was in political alliances, not marrying her spare son.]

We're both spared from that agony for a little while, hmm?

[He lets go just for her to lift a hand and brush the backs of her fingers over his cheek, over scars and stubble.]

And one day we'll need never part.

[ So this it what it means to have floodgates open. All those times he'd tried to reach for Jill and stopped short of it, fearing the corrosive nature of his presence and the potential harm it might do her― a part of him still balks at the thought of what he is and what he could become, but the damage is done. He's kissed her, and he doesn't think he could bear trying to forget how it made him feel.

Tipping his face into Jill's palm, he lets her affection seep into his skin. New, novel. Anabella never handled him with gentle hands, and the nursemaids who tended to him in youth only did so with apology written in their lowered eyes and careful touches; as if his mother would have rained hellfire on them if they were ever caught showing her failed son any sort of unearned kindness.

He didn't mind it. That was simply the way of things. But Jill was always different, even back when they were children: asking about him, looking after him, praying for him. He should have seen it more clearly, and sooner. ]

A day that can't come quickly enough. [ Maybe Ultima could stop being The Worst™, thus saving him so much time and heartache. Alas. ] Until then...

[ Another brief brush of lips against lips. Unlike Torgal, a Bad Dog move. ] ...We still have an entire bottle of wine.

[He does remind her of Torgal, leaning into her touch. The sweet look in his eyes makes her want to run her fingers through his hair and spoil him with the attention he's lacked his whole life. He deserves every moment of it.

But she lets her hand fall after that stolen kiss, laughing.]

We do. And food. You should eat.

[But she can't resist stealing another kiss. To make it fair.]

[ Oh. He can tell that they'll make a sport of stealing kisses, and the thought of it makes his face warm, this time. A light dusting of red rising on tan, scarred skin. The word smitten comes to mind. ]

Yes, my lady.

[ Hand to his chest, head bowed. Playful, even despite the impeccable court-learned mannerisms. ]

If you have any other demands for me tonight, I'm amenable.

[ Drinking, eating, sleeping... cuddling. (The last one, he'll take credit for.) He must sound overeager, but then again, he is. ]

Amenable?

[She asks with a laugh, sure it's a little more than just amenable. He usually is, even if they haven't shared a kiss and pushed their relationship into foreign territory. Something unspoken, but always there with them, waiting. Hoping.]

My only request [not demand!] is that you relax and enjoy yourself.

[Jill sips her wine before reaching for the plate of food, making a neat stack of bread, cheese, and meat for him. It feels good to mother hen him, and she'd be doing this exact thing whether they'd kissed or not. He spends his blood and sweat every day for others--the least she can do is look after him, doting on him in ways that don't feel like doting at all.

It's so small, so insignificant, but so rare for them in these difficult lives they've lived.]

Here. Eat.

[ It seems a monstrous thing, sometimes, for him to have so much while others scrape by with so little. A hideaway, a group of men and women who support him in his mission to do something so ridiculous as changing the entire make of the world, and a woman who cares for him enough to make stack meat and cheese on top of bread when she could be doing literally anything else.

He decides not to get into existential conundrums, though. Deserving or no, Jill is here and offering him finger food, and his stomach does growl. Alive, despite everything. ]

Only if you do the same.

[ Opening his mouth to let Jill pop the stack into his mouth, while he makes a reciprocal cheese-meat-bread tower of his own. He refuses to be the only one being pampered here. ]

[The Torgal allegations just grow stronger. Jill smiles, pleased to see him eat, and touched he's so quick to feed her, too.]

I ate! [She insists with a laugh.] I had to pass the time, waiting for you to come home. Please, it's all yours.

[He can put it all away, she's sure. He may not be a growing boy, but something needs to fuel his running about.]

But I am thirsty.

[So, she'll take a long drink from her wine and lean over to top off both their drinks, no matter how little space there is.]

[ Oh, he could bathe in the sound of that laugh. He sets the mini-sandwich that he made to Jill's side of the plate, silently insisting that she take it despite her protests, and then (and only then) starts demolishing the rest of the food.

Not a growing boy, but still six-feet-and-change of pure muscle, always metabolizing. The big furnace monster trapped in his body also doesn't help things. ]

Water, [ he reminds Jill between bites. He reaches sideways for the waterskin he keeps for his long journeys, and passes it her way. ] You'll give yourself a headache in the morning.

Am I the one that just returned from days on the road?

[He always looks after her. She's grateful for it, for him. Sometimes when she looks at him she can't believe that not only are they reunited after so many years apart, but she has his affections. And now, she knows what it's like to have his lips on hers. The thought brings a new flush to her cheeks... not that the initial blush has had much chance to flee.

She takes a sip of water before reaching for at least the bread he put near her.]

And I would ask you not to speak of morning. I'm in no hurry to get there.

[She wants to stay in this moment with him. Morning means their responsibilities will come looking for them.]

[ There should be a name to this feeling, and one comes to mind: four letters, one syllable. Mentally, he grapples with the idea of saying it now, simple and honest and candid, but the window of opportunity to declare it seems to have closed; the sentiment likely deserves a better set dressing than 'with his mouth full of cheese and Jill's mouth full of wine'.

So. He tucks the word into his chest for later. A time more suitable. Perhaps when they break the last of the Mothercrystals, and he figures out what in all the hells is going on with Ultima. ]

I'll still be here when you wake, [ is a promise. One he hasn't always been able to keep in the past, but still. ] But, alright. We'll put the passing of time out of our minds.

I do look forward to falling asleep together.

[But there's no rush. They've fallen asleep side by side before, on bedrolls out in the wilds or inn rooms where they pretended to be mistress and Bearer as they saw the troubles across the lands. But this will be different. It's his bed. That thought alone makes her heart flutter. If she thinks about the possibility of being in his arms as she drifts off to sleep, she might swoon and end up in Tarja's bed instead.]

... as long as you can endure the gossip once anyone realizes where I've been.

[She says it with a small laugh, only a little embarrassed. People already talk. The lovebirds, they're called, and everyone knows where one is, the other can't be far.

She's never minded. The speculation about their relationship kept the women entertained and Jill pretended not to hear it. She's never doubted her importance or place in Clive's life, and she hopes he feels the same.

He should, with how fondly she looks at him.]

[ Endure, she says, as if she could ever be a weight that needs bearing. From the start, Clive hasn't minded the elbowing and teasing－ it's been happening since Cid was still with them, accusing Clive of staring, of his mouth hanging open, of hovering like a lost pup－ and had only been curious to know whether or not it exasperated Jill. It's one thing to be secure in one's knowledge of one's importance to another, and another thing entirely to have it be gossip fodder.

Licking crumbs off his thumb, he offers: ] I expect to be fending off a horde of angry suitors who've had their prospects shattered.

[ Keeping it light. The others should be mad, honestly. How the fuck he's managed to win the affection of the most beautiful woman in Valisthea when he's this much of a mess, Clive has no idea. ]

Fight off--[That gets another laugh from her, dove gray hair slipping over her shoulder as she shakes her head.

He distracts her from the sight of his tongue. Behave, Jill. She'll never stop blushing at this rate.]

You've got us confused. We'll awake to weeping outside your door, I expect.

[He's a handsome man. Kind and good. There's no lack of admirers.]

I might need to sneak out the balcony. For my own safety.

[ A reciprocal laugh at 'weeping', the sound low and bemused. ]

There's not a soul in here foolish enough to threaten your safety, Jill.

[ Firstly, because she could toss anyone into the water surrounding the Hideaway if she set her mind to it, and secondly, because Clive would be Very Upset about it. Having to watch Anabella act coldly towards Jill in childhood was bad enough; he thinks he might have been long dead under the executioner's axe for murder if he'd been taken by the Iron Kingdom alongside her. ]

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