[ clive laughs, and so does prompto, enjoying this so much more than whatever penance he'd sought earlier. it's warm and sweet, the kind of thing he's become familiar with since their unlikely friendship had shifted into much more intimate territory. which is why he makes an effort to press closer, urging clive against him despite the aching throb through certain parts of him. ]
I'm already resting. [ he's in a bed? and he's comfortable. ] You said whatever I need, right? [ prompto punctuates the question with a kiss. ] I'm not gonna punish you. I want to be close to you.
[ he wants to feel him, to know that he's still there with him.
it takes a moment for prompto to find his courage, ignoring the strain of his muscles as he gives clive's hair a forward pull in an attempt to topple him. the positioning is a little awkward, but he doesn't let up, kissing away whatever protests might fall out of clive's mouth. only on a breath does he continue. ]
...Is that okay? [ as if he's going to force clive into something he doesn't actually want. ]
[ as if there's anything else Clive would rather be doing. careful, Clive mouths against Prompto's lips at all the shifting, hand instinctively moving to Prompto's hip before remembering the bruise that sits there, too. all his life, he's spent hurting; he wants to avoid any of it when he's around someone he cares so deeply for.
because he does. unmistakably. Prompto's eyes flick up towards Clive, asking for permission, and Clive thinks that he would agree to anything at this point. ]
More than, [ he breathes. it's actually a Problem, how little of a problem it is to simply stay. ] I want to be as close as you'll let me.
[ even if it makes him ache with everything he won't be able to do, with Prompto in his current condition. ]
You are－ [ another laugh, between kisses. ] ―Irresistible.
he's never had anything like this before, and it's not as if clive knows that particular truth about him (yet). how often he'd spend all his time alone—foster parents who were never home, no real friends until high school. even after that, well... his best friend is gone, and the others he'd stuck by had their own kind of soul-searching to do, which had left him, once again, on his own. but clive pays attention to him and spoils him with sweet words and even sweeter actions.
it's an addicting feeling, one that even overpowers the physical limitations of his body.
prompto huffs out a soft sound of indignation and nudges his nose against clive's before gently knocking their foreheads together. soft affection. ]
Not like you, [ he teases back, finally letting his hands smooth down clive's neck and over his shoulders. ] And I'll so show you when I don't feel so runover. But right now? [ prompto tips his face and kisses the corner of clive's mouth. ] Maybe you should get a little closer.
[ oh. his brow hikes at closer, because the only way to achieve that is either putting his weight on Prompto (out of the question), or having Prompto roll on top of him (probably also not ideal).
which isn't to say that it isn't agonizing, the way Prompto is pressed up against his side in his soft bathrobe, hair damp and smelling like clean bodywash, boneless and pretty and smiling. Clive traces one thumb along the corner of those curved lips, breathing a light, amused exhale, so glad that their mishap didn't lead to him losing someone who is quickly becoming an inextricable part of his life. ]
Closer. [ he parrots. something in his chest flutters with need. ] I can think of more than one way to be 'closer'.
[ more than anything, prompto is a fighter. he wouldn't have stopped without a reason, and clive is more than enough of one for him to keep pushing forward.
a pleasant shiver runs down the length of his spine. ]
You sure? [ the way clive teases him is exciting, a good distraction from the pain and the fight that had led to it. ] You could always tell me if you think that'll be better.
[ it's absurd, really. saying things like this when he means the exact opposite, and prompto turns his face into clive's hand, lightly pressing a kiss to any part of him he can reach. focusing on clive allows him to feel less embarrassed despite the warm flush spreading over his skin, but more than that, it's a miracle his voice remains as steady as it is while being this close to him.
he lets out a quiet breath. ] Or maybe do that and show me at the same time?
[ hm, Clive hums again, as he presses a kiss to Prompto's hair. ]
If you want to know, [ in words, he means, as he slowly sits up and runs a hand through his own hair, now a little mussed from all the tugging. ] Then, I'll say it.
I want to put my mouth on you.
[ blunt, and with intention. he thinks he can finagle the position without putting too much stress on Prompto's body, if he keeps Prompto's hips raised on some pillows and keeps his own weight on his knees, straddled over bruised legs without lowering onto them.
his fingers steal over the front of the soft bathrobe, playing at the loosely-knotted tie. ]
All you need to do is lie back, and let me take care of you.
the direct phrasing does something to him then, shifting slightly and breath hitching at the discomfort of his hip before he focuses on clive and forgets about that too. for the briefest moment, prompto wants to protest—only because it doesn't seem fair. but... if this will help clive in some way, he isn't going to stop him.
lightly, he grips the wrist of the hand toying with the robe and gives it a gentle tug. ]
Okay. [ as if clive really has to convince him. ] But kiss me first.
[ it's almost a question, propping himself up on an elbow and unabashedly staring at his mouth like it's the only thing he can focus on. ]
[ cute, Clive thinks. he can tell that Prompto is either unused to being on the receiving end of a bit of doting, or prefers to give as good as he gets; perhaps a bit of column A, a bit of column B. ]
―Will your mouth get lonely, if I use mine for purposes other than kissing you?
[ a hint of playfulness, as he obliges the request. chaste at first― little pecks, featherlight touches― until he angles and slowly deepens the contact, open-mouthed and indulgent, licking up to rub tongue against tongue.
god, he really could do this all day. he could lose hours kissing and tasting Prompto until Prompto is a puddle on the mattress, flushed and pretty and utterly convinced that Clive is very, very, very enamored by him. ]
Maybe you'd prefer my hand instead, [ he murmurs against Prompto's lips. ] If you want me to keep kissing you.
[ the attention, though lighter than normal, is somehow intensified by the way clive whispers against his mouth, breathing sharper now and very much turned on by the thought. clive's mouth or clive's mouth and his hand? it's a decision he has to make, but not before he leans up to kiss him again.
there's just something so satisfying about being able to do that. ]
Not lonely, [ he breathes, squirming slightly. ] I just... I like your mouth. I like your hands too.
[ there's a whole list of things prompto likes, suddenly keen on surrendering them to him as his free hand rubs along clive's side, tracing skin and muscle all the way to his hip. to the waistline of those loose pants that would be so easy to slip into if he chose to. ]
And I like when you're, um, right here with me. Where I can reach you. [ so, yeah, maybe he should use his hand. ]
[ the sentiment is numbingly sweet. Clive has to sit in it for a moment, coming to terms with how freely it's given, how different it is from how Clive is usually needed. Prompto asks nothing of him except to simply be, near and close, and the reality of that makes his heart clench in a sentiment far too strong to be idle fondness or temporary infatuation.
he leans in to add another kiss to the pile, shifting under Prompto's hand until they're as flush against each other as he can manage without bearing down on anything that might still hurt. it's an agonizing boundary that he'll maintain, because he still can't bear the thought of Prompto in pain. ]
Then I'll stay right here. [ to the tune of whatever you want. ] And enjoy your hands and your mouth, as well.
[ he likes them, too. he likes every inch of Prompto, which he conveys by undoing the front of that soft bathrobe to track his touch down Prompto's chest and stomach, tracing soft, toned skin down towards what he knows is a badly-bruised thigh. he doesn't press his fingers inwards, mindful not to apply pressure; the hand slips up again, featherlight, and pets a slow line between long legs. ]
There's no one in any world that makes me feel as you do, Prompto.
[ a soft statement of truth. he presses it to Prompto's lips again, his own heartbeat too loud in his ears. ]
[ he knows a confession – small as it might be – when he hears one. at first, it's difficult to focus on with clive's hands trailing over skin, igniting desire all the way through him, and it's even harder when there's the lightest pressure between his thighs. but this feels monumental somehow. bigger than all of this, and prompto immediately wriggles a little, withdrawing to grab at the bathrobe and pull it back together as he speaks. ]
Wait, wait. I wanna... [ hopefully, clive doesn't get the wrong idea. and maybe that's why he speeds through an explanation. ] I don't wanna say this when I'm naked and you're, well [ a half-wild gesture ] almost naked.
[ a different flush burns over his skin, brightening some of the freckles on his face and shoulders, but he ignores it, shoving a hand through his hair and raking it back away from his forehead and out of his eyes. insistent, though, prompto looks at him, every word right there in the way he stares at him.
heart on his sleeve. he just has to say it. ]
I know I've told you before – that I like you. But it's more than that. Way more than that. And I know we haven't even known each other that long and all... I dunno. It feels like we have. [ clive is the only one who sees him. ] So, um. This probably sounds so lame, but it's like... I think I've been waiting my whole life for you.
[ which has him holding his breath, hoping that he hasn't just made a huge mistake. ]
[ there's a moment of near-concern, when Prompto squirms and pulls away from Clive's hands. for a moment, he worries that the touches were too much for a person so obviously in discomfort; his brows turn down in contrition until Prompto opens his mouth and starts to explain the why-s and what-s.
yes, he supposes his own admission was as much a confession as any. no one in any world is the same as nothing and no one, after all. you, and no one else. it's Clive's truth now, written into his heart―
―and the realization that Prompto is reciprocating it now, spoken hesitantly and with endearing awkwardness, makes Clive see stars. like being hit over the head with a blunt instrument.
for a moment, words escape him. his chest feels tightly packed― or does it feel like it's expanding too fast? he can't decide. eventually, he finally reaches to place a palm on Prompto's cheek to hold him in place. ]
―And I was put here to find you. To be yours.
[ softly, but with confidence. decisive. a statement like a clean swing of a broadsword; to Clive, nothing exists in the moment outside of Prompto and his beautiful flush. ]
Since the moment I met you, you have ever been my joy.
[ it's unfair, he thinks. unfair that clive can say those things so adamantly and without backtracking, without having to order his thoughts and get them straight the first time. especially when it strikes something deep in his chest, a hope that breaks and cascades over all the pain and loneliness and suffering to ease it into manageable pieces.
prompto leans into clive's hand and exhales slowly, suddenly so overwhelmed with those feelings that it almost hurts to breathe. ]
I'm yours too, [ he whispers, not entirely smooth but steady. firm. ] Always.
[ until he decides he's done with him. until he decides to leave. until fate or whatever cruelty out there wishes to separate them.
it stings all the way through, as much as his body does when he moves to get both arms around clive's neck and drag him close. but prompto doesn't care, ignoring the pain as he pulls him down, wanting to feel the familiar weight of his body over him when they kiss. his mouth parts, and there's a sudden urgency to it, pressing his tongue forward to tease at clive's as his fingers slip into his hair and hold on.
[ a definitive line in the sand, crossed. not just idle puppy love, not just physical compatibility, but something bone-deep: the sort of something that Clive desperately wants to keep, and to hold sacred forever.
(maybe if he can defy fate. maybe if he can will it to keep him by Prompto's side.)
dragged back down into that now-familiar orbit, with arms around his neck and fingers in his hair, Clive returns the urgency with his own brand of it, with his own fingers tangling in soft blond strands to keep Prompto tilted and close. letting their tongues meet is a silent affirmation, a mine as he kisses the next breath out of that perfect mouth.
he needs to be mindful of Prompto's condition, but his need for him supplants that caution just enough that he bears down subtly, chest to chest; putting enough pressure to suggest pinning (as if Prompto will flutter away if he doesn't), with his free hand at Prompto's side, hitching him as close as Clive can manage without manhandling him. ]
Prompto, [ he breathes. it sounds like i adore you. ] Stay with me.
[ the weight, though almost gentle, is more than welcome, breathing into the next kiss that follows the previous one. he aches so badly, and it has nothing to do with the physical discomfort he's currently in. ]
I will. [ that pressure in his chest ascends to his throat and chokes him. ] I will. I'm right here.
[ as if either of them needs a reminder.
prompto presses up against him now, his robe falling open with both of his hands occupied—one in clive's hair and the other at his back, stroking down to trace the curve that leads to his ass. he doesn't squeeze but rests it there, parting his legs and bending his knee as if ready to press it against clive's side. but the initial pressure of it against the bruising there causes him to gasp, a fight between the pain and the familiar desire of wanting clive. in the end, his discomfort wins out, and his fingers grip at him almost too tightly. ]
...I really hate how much this sucks right now, [ he complains, still making an effort to draw clive to him for another kiss. ] I want you so bad.
[ right here. Clive can feel Prompto warm underneath him, and he feels the same pulse of want-need flare in his chest―
―until he hears that gasp, which he knows has everything to do with pain and nothing to do with pleasure. it makes Clive back off immediately, which may or may not be annoying: for a man so uniquely built to hurt someone, he's terrified of causing it to people he cares for. even when they might ask him to be more aggressive. ]
...There's still tomorrow. [ which is a flimsy promise to make, given that even that's not necessarily guaranteed. but he kisses the reassurance against Prompto's mouth anyway, lifting his weight back up and off to give Prompto more space to breathe and rest. ]
You can show me the rest of this city, [ another kiss, ] and have me whenever you feel you want me.
[ after a few more potions and a late start to their morning, most likely. Clive reaches to pull the robe back into its proper place, and runs his fingers through Prompto's hair. ] ...That's what you would call a "date", isn't it?
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I'm already resting. [ he's in a bed? and he's comfortable. ] You said whatever I need, right? [ prompto punctuates the question with a kiss. ] I'm not gonna punish you. I want to be close to you.
[ he wants to feel him, to know that he's still there with him.
it takes a moment for prompto to find his courage, ignoring the strain of his muscles as he gives clive's hair a forward pull in an attempt to topple him. the positioning is a little awkward, but he doesn't let up, kissing away whatever protests might fall out of clive's mouth. only on a breath does he continue. ]
...Is that okay? [ as if he's going to force clive into something he doesn't actually want. ]
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because he does. unmistakably. Prompto's eyes flick up towards Clive, asking for permission, and Clive thinks that he would agree to anything at this point. ]
More than, [ he breathes. it's actually a Problem, how little of a problem it is to simply stay. ] I want to be as close as you'll let me.
[ even if it makes him ache with everything he won't be able to do, with Prompto in his current condition. ]
You are－ [ another laugh, between kisses. ] ―Irresistible.
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he's never had anything like this before, and it's not as if clive knows that particular truth about him (yet). how often he'd spend all his time alone—foster parents who were never home, no real friends until high school. even after that, well... his best friend is gone, and the others he'd stuck by had their own kind of soul-searching to do, which had left him, once again, on his own. but clive pays attention to him and spoils him with sweet words and even sweeter actions.
it's an addicting feeling, one that even overpowers the physical limitations of his body.
prompto huffs out a soft sound of indignation and nudges his nose against clive's before gently knocking their foreheads together. soft affection. ]
Not like you, [ he teases back, finally letting his hands smooth down clive's neck and over his shoulders. ] And I'll so show you when I don't feel so runover. But right now? [ prompto tips his face and kisses the corner of clive's mouth. ] Maybe you should get a little closer.
[ and he smiles into another kiss. ]
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which isn't to say that it isn't agonizing, the way Prompto is pressed up against his side in his soft bathrobe, hair damp and smelling like clean bodywash, boneless and pretty and smiling. Clive traces one thumb along the corner of those curved lips, breathing a light, amused exhale, so glad that their mishap didn't lead to him losing someone who is quickly becoming an inextricable part of his life. ]
Closer. [ he parrots. something in his chest flutters with need. ] I can think of more than one way to be 'closer'.
[ a light hum, considering. ]
Do you want me to show you?
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a pleasant shiver runs down the length of his spine. ]
You sure? [ the way clive teases him is exciting, a good distraction from the pain and the fight that had led to it. ] You could always tell me if you think that'll be better.
[ it's absurd, really. saying things like this when he means the exact opposite, and prompto turns his face into clive's hand, lightly pressing a kiss to any part of him he can reach. focusing on clive allows him to feel less embarrassed despite the warm flush spreading over his skin, but more than that, it's a miracle his voice remains as steady as it is while being this close to him.
he lets out a quiet breath. ] Or maybe do that and show me at the same time?
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If you want to know, [ in words, he means, as he slowly sits up and runs a hand through his own hair, now a little mussed from all the tugging. ] Then, I'll say it.
I want to put my mouth on you.
[ blunt, and with intention. he thinks he can finagle the position without putting too much stress on Prompto's body, if he keeps Prompto's hips raised on some pillows and keeps his own weight on his knees, straddled over bruised legs without lowering onto them.
his fingers steal over the front of the soft bathrobe, playing at the loosely-knotted tie. ]
All you need to do is lie back, and let me take care of you.
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the direct phrasing does something to him then, shifting slightly and breath hitching at the discomfort of his hip before he focuses on clive and forgets about that too. for the briefest moment, prompto wants to protest—only because it doesn't seem fair. but... if this will help clive in some way, he isn't going to stop him.
lightly, he grips the wrist of the hand toying with the robe and gives it a gentle tug. ]
Okay. [ as if clive really has to convince him. ] But kiss me first.
[ it's almost a question, propping himself up on an elbow and unabashedly staring at his mouth like it's the only thing he can focus on. ]
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―Will your mouth get lonely, if I use mine for purposes other than kissing you?
[ a hint of playfulness, as he obliges the request. chaste at first― little pecks, featherlight touches― until he angles and slowly deepens the contact, open-mouthed and indulgent, licking up to rub tongue against tongue.
god, he really could do this all day. he could lose hours kissing and tasting Prompto until Prompto is a puddle on the mattress, flushed and pretty and utterly convinced that Clive is very, very, very enamored by him. ]
Maybe you'd prefer my hand instead, [ he murmurs against Prompto's lips. ] If you want me to keep kissing you.
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there's just something so satisfying about being able to do that. ]
Not lonely, [ he breathes, squirming slightly. ] I just... I like your mouth. I like your hands too.
[ there's a whole list of things prompto likes, suddenly keen on surrendering them to him as his free hand rubs along clive's side, tracing skin and muscle all the way to his hip. to the waistline of those loose pants that would be so easy to slip into if he chose to. ]
And I like when you're, um, right here with me. Where I can reach you. [ so, yeah, maybe he should use his hand. ]
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he leans in to add another kiss to the pile, shifting under Prompto's hand until they're as flush against each other as he can manage without bearing down on anything that might still hurt. it's an agonizing boundary that he'll maintain, because he still can't bear the thought of Prompto in pain. ]
Then I'll stay right here. [ to the tune of whatever you want. ] And enjoy your hands and your mouth, as well.
[ he likes them, too. he likes every inch of Prompto, which he conveys by undoing the front of that soft bathrobe to track his touch down Prompto's chest and stomach, tracing soft, toned skin down towards what he knows is a badly-bruised thigh. he doesn't press his fingers inwards, mindful not to apply pressure; the hand slips up again, featherlight, and pets a slow line between long legs. ]
There's no one in any world that makes me feel as you do, Prompto.
[ a soft statement of truth. he presses it to Prompto's lips again, his own heartbeat too loud in his ears. ]
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Wait, wait. I wanna... [ hopefully, clive doesn't get the wrong idea. and maybe that's why he speeds through an explanation. ] I don't wanna say this when I'm naked and you're, well [ a half-wild gesture ] almost naked.
[ a different flush burns over his skin, brightening some of the freckles on his face and shoulders, but he ignores it, shoving a hand through his hair and raking it back away from his forehead and out of his eyes. insistent, though, prompto looks at him, every word right there in the way he stares at him.
heart on his sleeve. he just has to say it. ]
I know I've told you before – that I like you. But it's more than that. Way more than that. And I know we haven't even known each other that long and all... I dunno. It feels like we have. [ clive is the only one who sees him. ] So, um. This probably sounds so lame, but it's like... I think I've been waiting my whole life for you.
[ which has him holding his breath, hoping that he hasn't just made a huge mistake. ]
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yes, he supposes his own admission was as much a confession as any. no one in any world is the same as nothing and no one, after all. you, and no one else. it's Clive's truth now, written into his heart―
―and the realization that Prompto is reciprocating it now, spoken hesitantly and with endearing awkwardness, makes Clive see stars. like being hit over the head with a blunt instrument.
for a moment, words escape him. his chest feels tightly packed― or does it feel like it's expanding too fast? he can't decide. eventually, he finally reaches to place a palm on Prompto's cheek to hold him in place. ]
―And I was put here to find you. To be yours.
[ softly, but with confidence. decisive. a statement like a clean swing of a broadsword; to Clive, nothing exists in the moment outside of Prompto and his beautiful flush. ]
Since the moment I met you, you have ever been my joy.
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prompto leans into clive's hand and exhales slowly, suddenly so overwhelmed with those feelings that it almost hurts to breathe. ]
I'm yours too, [ he whispers, not entirely smooth but steady. firm. ] Always.
[ until he decides he's done with him. until he decides to leave. until fate or whatever cruelty out there wishes to separate them.
it stings all the way through, as much as his body does when he moves to get both arms around clive's neck and drag him close. but prompto doesn't care, ignoring the pain as he pulls him down, wanting to feel the familiar weight of his body over him when they kiss. his mouth parts, and there's a sudden urgency to it, pressing his tongue forward to tease at clive's as his fingers slip into his hair and hold on.
now, he tries to tell him, i want you now. ]
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(maybe if he can defy fate. maybe if he can will it to keep him by Prompto's side.)
dragged back down into that now-familiar orbit, with arms around his neck and fingers in his hair, Clive returns the urgency with his own brand of it, with his own fingers tangling in soft blond strands to keep Prompto tilted and close. letting their tongues meet is a silent affirmation, a mine as he kisses the next breath out of that perfect mouth.
he needs to be mindful of Prompto's condition, but his need for him supplants that caution just enough that he bears down subtly, chest to chest; putting enough pressure to suggest pinning (as if Prompto will flutter away if he doesn't), with his free hand at Prompto's side, hitching him as close as Clive can manage without manhandling him. ]
Prompto, [ he breathes. it sounds like i adore you. ] Stay with me.
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I will. [ that pressure in his chest ascends to his throat and chokes him. ] I will. I'm right here.
[ as if either of them needs a reminder.
prompto presses up against him now, his robe falling open with both of his hands occupied—one in clive's hair and the other at his back, stroking down to trace the curve that leads to his ass. he doesn't squeeze but rests it there, parting his legs and bending his knee as if ready to press it against clive's side. but the initial pressure of it against the bruising there causes him to gasp, a fight between the pain and the familiar desire of wanting clive. in the end, his discomfort wins out, and his fingers grip at him almost too tightly. ]
...I really hate how much this sucks right now, [ he complains, still making an effort to draw clive to him for another kiss. ] I want you so bad.
[ and he's feeling bold enough to admit it. ]
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―until he hears that gasp, which he knows has everything to do with pain and nothing to do with pleasure. it makes Clive back off immediately, which may or may not be annoying: for a man so uniquely built to hurt someone, he's terrified of causing it to people he cares for. even when they might ask him to be more aggressive. ]
...There's still tomorrow. [ which is a flimsy promise to make, given that even that's not necessarily guaranteed. but he kisses the reassurance against Prompto's mouth anyway, lifting his weight back up and off to give Prompto more space to breathe and rest. ]
You can show me the rest of this city, [ another kiss, ] and have me whenever you feel you want me.
[ after a few more potions and a late start to their morning, most likely. Clive reaches to pull the robe back into its proper place, and runs his fingers through Prompto's hair. ] ...That's what you would call a "date", isn't it?