[ 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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(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?