[ 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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
(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.
no subject
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?