flamebrand | overflow.

[ 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. ]

[Looks of envy might sting as much as the sharp side of a blade. She smiles as she takes a bite of bread and a drink of wine, feeling nearly giddy already. His laughter is more intoxicating than the wine.]

Infatuation does things to a person.

[So, maybe some of the gossip will be a little unkind from those wishing they were in Jill's place. She doesn't care.]

When we were little, I would dream about being able to spend time with you like this.

[Not even the kisses, necessarily. Just time alone, in private, with this ease between them.]

I'm very lucky.

[ When they were children. It's both easier and harder to reflect on those times now, fresh off the back of Anabella's death; the shadow of her looms less heavy, but Clive doesn't revel in the memory of her corpse, either.

He'll compartmentalize that, though. (Like he always does, rose-tinted glasses about his father and all.) More importantly: ] I remember that my training often took me away from you and Joshua.

[ He'd tried so hard not to be seen as a pampered little thing who treated soldiering like a wealthy noble's pastime. In truth, he'd preferred the barracks to his mother's frigidity, but he'd missed Jill and Joshua in his crusade to be taken seriously. ]

...Old habits. [ Older now, but largely doing the same thing. He rests a hand on the crest of Jill's knee. ] I know I haven't been as present as you deserve.

[Jill shakes her head, a pale, slender hand coming to slide over his, fingers fitting neatly between his on her leg. He doesn't outright apologize for any absence, but she knows that's what the words are. He doesn't need to be sorry for it.]

I'll always wish for your company, but I don't begrudge you for the time away. You're making a difference in the world. And sometimes, I even get to join you.

[She smiles warmly at him. Their travels haven't always been easy, their battles numerous and foes seemingly never-ending, but at least she gets the opportunity to fight by his side when their efforts don't need to be in one place and another. A part of her misses the years before he got a hold on Ifrit, though she knows he most certainly does not. It felt good to be needed. To use Shiva for good, and not the horrible acts she'd been forced into before Clive came back into her life.

But the way things are now aren't terrible.]

You're here now. I'm happy.

[ She does far more than just join him, but she should know that. Clive won't insult her intelligence by pressing the matter further; more importantly, she's happy, which means the world and then some.

He softens, and squeezes her fingers with his own. ]

You have me, regardless of where I am.

[ Emotionally, she always has his heart in her hands. ] If that makes you happy, then it will ever be that way.

And you, me.

[He always has. Always will, and hearing him sound so sure makes her heart flutter. She thinks it must be abundantly clear when she looks at him. Every part of her being adores him.]

You make me happy, Clive.

[An important point to stress. He's lived so much of his life in service to others--but he needn't do anything to have her heart. He's earned it simply by being himself.]

I hope you never doubt that.

[ A slow and careful lifting of their linked hands, and he presses his mouth to the back of Jill's. (Later, Joshua will try this same move on Mid, and be summarily rejected by her. Poor Joshua.) ]

If I do, [ with all the conviction he can muster, ] I'll count on you to give me hell about it.

[ She's always so patient with him－ surely she's entitled to kick him in the shin and throw objects at him every once in a while. Sometimes he worries that she's too understanding, and that she whittles herself thin (literally, when she was still using Shiva's powers on a regular basis) for his sake. Pot, kettle, etc. ]

[Gallantry from Clive, fortunately, works very well on Jill. Her fingers squeeze his, heart full.]

Without hesitation. You've always been special to me.

[None of it has to do with Ultima, or being a Dominant, or being Cid, or being a solider, being a Shield.]

Simply for being yourself. I'll remind you as often as you need it.

[Kindly, of course. His mother gave him enough hell for a lifetime.]

[ Anabella gave him worse than hell: she gave him nothing (go girl give us nothing!!!). Hell from Jill would be far more benign; at least he'd be able to ask her to kiss the bruises afterwards, if he feels shameless enough.

He lets go of her hand, but only so he can oblige Jill's request to eat. It's great, sitting here and knocking knees, but he has a comfortable bed that they can lounge on for a bit－ he stuffs one last piece of bread and cheese in his mouth, and washes it down with the rest of his wine. ]

I'll try not to let it get to my head. [ Slightly bashful, not to be too precious about the whole thing. He clears his throat. ] ...Or, so I say, as I ask you to stay the night with me.

[ It's gone plenty to his head, obviously. ] Do you want something of mine to wear?

[As is his right, as far as she's concerned. No one would be surprised by this series of events, not even themselves. This feels like the natural order of things. No duchy, no obligations--just them, and how effortless this change in status quo feels.]

We've spent many nights together.

[In their traveling clothes, several feet apart, back to back. Eyes cast elsewhere or busy with a task when privacy is needed. This is a bit different, and the teasing in her voice is clear, even before she laughs.]

... please.

[Slipping into one of his shirts may be part of a fantasy she's allowed herself to have.]

[ They've been defined by polite distances made intimate by trust; this is a fairly big breach to their carefully-cultivated song-and-dance, but he knows what they say about things and being taken out of boxes and how hard it is to put them back in.

So he gets up, and doesn't second-guess his offer to let her wear his clothes. The shirt he fishes out of his wardrobe (identical to the one he has on now) is bigger and far more comfortable to lounge in than what she's currently wearing―

―though he realizes, after a beat, that she's definitely not going to fit into any of his trousers. The thought makes his face warm, but he chases away the demons in his head before returning to her with the initial offering of a spare top. ]

I could go ask Tarja for an extra set of sleepwear, if this won't do.

As reluctant as I am to deprive Tarja of the joy that will bring her, that will work fine, Clive.

[Tarja is perhaps the most bold and straightforward about her opinions of the lovebirds. Mostly because she knows just how to make Jill flush despite her attempts to play it cool, interjecting with helpful reminders of being careful for several reasons when she least expects it. Not long before Clive arrived Tarja had simply said she didn't expect to see Jill until tomorrow with a sly smile.

Tarja does tend to know things.

Standing, she takes his shirt and holds it against herself--it unfurls to her knees, wide enough to fit at least two of her. She laughs.]

If you can't find me, check this shirt before you raise the alarm. I might be lost in it. But I'll be very comfortable, at least.

[ What Tarja might have said if Clive had gone to her for spare clothes: "we need them for the injured and sick; just lend Jill something of yours". She does tend to know things.

Anyway. Jill holds the shirt-tent up to her smaller frame, putting their difference in stature into perspective; it makes Clive feel slightly hotter under his metaphorical collar. ]

...Take care that you don't drown.

[ And please tie up the laces in the front, he doesn't say, because he isn't leading by example. With that, he turns on his heels and faces the wall, feigning intense interest in the patterns of wood grains instead of whatever changing is happening behind him. ]

[What, the laces aren't simply for decoration? Jill smiles to herself as Clive turns, the attempt at some privacy a familiar thing. She does him the extra favor of turning around as she steps towards the bed to undress, using it to neatly lay out her clothing as she strips it off, layer by layer. She clears her throat after a few very quiet moments beyond the noises of the Hideway beyond the walls of Clive's room.]

I could think of worse ways to go. Did you know, [she pauses to drop her skirts, boots following,] some of the ladies swear they can catch glimpses of you getting ready in the morning if they stand just so.

[... with how many gaps there are in the building, Jill wouldn't be surprised if there's some truth to that.]

[ The gentle rustle of fabric behind him is a true test of restraint, but he's far too polite to let dick-related impulses ruin Jill's trust in him. Thus the wall remains, temporarily, the most interesting thing in the room.

An exasperated sigh-laugh when she mentions people peeping, however. Founder help them all. ]

It's hard to imagine anything more tiresome than watching me put on armor.

[ It's a lot more adding layers than taking them off, but whatever floats people's boat. If this is him contributing something positive to the women of the Hideaway, so be it.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for Jill to give him the go-ahead to turn again. ]

Edited 2025-08-21 06:08 (UTC)

I'd disagree.

[Just saying. While she's never peeped at the Hideaway (though she knows where not to stand), she's watched him prepare for the day out of the corner of her eye so many times on the road that she's lost count. It's probably for the best he thinks that's dull.

There's a brief moment she's completely bare, and then it's gone as she pulls on his shirt. She almost laughs when she looks down at herself and sees how the bottom of it brushes her knees. The neckline nearly slips from her shoulders--he is mosr certainly broader than she is--and she ties a little bow with the laces. After rolling up the sleeves.

She doubts this is very flattering on her, but it's comfortable and smells like him and she's quite happy, all things considered. Jill turns around to see Clive's back.

He could be less polite and she wouldn't mind at all. But she's grateful for his sensitivity. He always thinks of her, doesn't he? As she thinks of him.]

I'm dressed. How do I look?

[ "Smelling like Clive" can mean many things, in many contexts－ in some, he doesn't smell very pleasant at all. But when he's not slick with monster gore or bathed in hellfire, his scent skews warm: cedar, amber, steel.

Prompted, he turns on his heels to face Jill again. Slowly, so as not to oversell his curiosity. Blue eyes settle on the outline of her, of slender arms buried in too-wide sleeves and bare legs covered perfunctorily by the oversized fabric.

Being bludgeoned by a behemoth would feel less intense than this. He hovers, shifts his weight on his feet, and releases the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. ]

―You're always beautiful. [ Trying not to stare too much. ] But... comfortable, too. [ I want to put my mouth all over you' is probably not polite to say, so: ] You wear the shirt better than I do.

Then maybe you should take yours off.

[The words are bold but the delivery a touch bashful. She's not used to this, and maybe that should frighten her, but she knows they're both going to stumble. At least they can be foolish together. There's no part of her that would judge him, and she knows that rings true for him, too.

There's no need to be shy with all the years and affection and miles shared on the road between them, and so she gathers up her courage again to step forward and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Standing, it means she has to lean up on the balls of her feet to reach him. That just makes her smile into it, amused.]

[ Negotiating what's been permitted, toeing at lines in ever-shifting sand. They've been orbiting each other for ages now, knowing things that they haven't spoken into existence; maybe it's time.

His own smile pressed to hers, he loops an arm around her ruinously thin waist (Creator, the fabric feels so thin) and walks her, carefully, towards the bed. Kiss intact.

It pains him to break it, but: ] If the lady insists.

[ He has to remove his shirt, as bid. One last brush of his nose against Jill's, and he steps back to hook his fingers into the hem of his top and to pull it off in one clean, fluid motion. ]

[It feels heavenly to be in his arms, pressed against him. When she feels the bed on the backs of her legs, she sits, smiling up at him.

As he strips off his shirt, she hastily shoves her neatly folded clothing onto the floor. Tomorrow's problem. Her eyes are on Clive, on a body she's seen plenty of times before, between changing on the road or stopping for a quick rinse at a stream or helping to check on a wound that would heal on its own just fine, but just to be sure no stinger or claw or fang or blade remained. Context is king, and here... it's all so different. Intimate.

And here, she's free to look as she pleases. Lean lines and hard muscles from a lean and hard life. She thinks life at the Hideaway has seen him fill in a little more, but she finds him handsome at all times. It's clear in the way her eyes roam over him, and how they take a moment to reach his face again.]

Now, get back here. Your lady insists.

[ She's free to look: every inch of him is hers for the taking. Clive thinks little of his body besides what it can do for him, and is unashamed of all the ways in which life has made its inexorable mark on it.

More importantly, Jill is sitting on his bed in nothing but his sleeping shirt, looking up at him through her long, pretty lashes, mouth still pink from kissing. As much as Jill has been woven into every aspect of his current life, her presence a welcome constant, this is breathlessly new.

Maybe she should pinch him. It'd end with him ravaging her, probably. Not like Torgal at all; his hound knows how to heel. ]

I thought you'd exhausted yourself of requests. [ Teasing. She'd mentioned that the only thing she'd ask of him is to relax and enjoy himself, and this applies to both. His weight settle on the bed next to her, and he only allows her a second to think of a comeback before he's blocking it with his mouth, trapping her in a kiss deeper than the one before. ]

[Ah, he got her. She's about to tell him as much when he's kissing her again, and Jill decides he doesn't need the praise. What he needs instead is her mouth, lips sealed for an awkward moment before she parts them. Kisses were only ever taken, long ago, and so she feels clumsy in her inexperience of giving them freely.

But she wants to give him kisses and affection and so many of the things they've both lacked so far in life. It seems silly, when it's all been right here between them, and for so long. They just needed to reach for it and trust nothing would break.

Her hand comes to lightly rest on his chest, on bare skin she's always wanted to caress, and she can feel her heart pounding her ears. This can't be real.]

[ He feels that fleeting moment of awkwardness, the split-second reluctance to part lips, but feels gratified when Jill doesn't pull away; he was prepared to do it for her if she didn't seem to find her footing. The last thing he wants is to do anything that resonates poorly with her.

And, well. Nothing breaks. Jill is warm and soft and familiar, and Clive settles fingers against her chin to tip it, carefully, to find a better angle that slots their mouths together. His pulse is fast, and distantly, he's afraid that he might burn her: he must be hot to the touch.

By the time he finally comes up for air, he's flushed and panting. The hand still looped around Jill's waist pulls her inward by it, knee against bare knee. ]

You're perfect, [ he rasps. ] Founder, I could do this for hours.

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https://i.imgur.com/pg83smk.jpeg constantly dead and dying about their size dif

he's going to be her weighted blanket 🥹 and/or mattress... or somehow both at the same time

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