[ 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}
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. ]
no subject
―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?