[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.]
https://i.imgur.com/pg83smk.jpeg constantly dead and dying about their size dif
[ 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.
he's going to be her weighted blanket 🥹 and/or mattress... or somehow both at the same time
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. ]
[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.]
[ "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.
[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.]
[ 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.
[He guides her and she's grateful. If he's a flame than she's the moth, willing and eager. She could think of worse ways to go.
Her eyes are bright, breath stolen from her lungs just the same as Clive. When was she supposed to breathe during that? Already, she wants to kiss him again, ready to drown in him. Forget the shirt.]
Do you have somewhere to be?
[Jill knows the answer to that. She drops her head to kiss his bare shoulder, because if they need to catch their breath she can at least pepper his skin with kisses, mouth trailing up towards his neck.]
[ They both know that if Gav came running right this minute, Clive would pack things up and attend to whatever catastrophe has befallen the realm. It's the way of things, but he can be selfish enough to hope that he gets these next few hours to himself (themselves).
A throaty exhale, when she kisses his neck; she should be able to feel how he rumbles against her lips. ]
―If my lady will indulge me, [ he offers, hand gently massaging Jill's nape. ] I have a request for her.
[Anything she wants to reply, but she loses the word against his throat, a kiss pressed to the tip of his scar before she bumps the underside of his jaw with her nose. She could kiss every inch of him and still want more.]
What is it, Clive?
[She asks after a moment, lifting her head to look upon his face with nothing but fondness. Should Gav barge in she'd understand, as always, but she might have to make an effort not to kill the man.]
[ He's momentarily made stupid by the sheer radiance of that look on Jill's face; by the flames, she's so fucking beautiful. He can't decide if he wants to tip his weight backwards for a better vantage of her face, or if he wants to lean forward and taste that smile on her lips.
Verdict: tip back. He'll get distracted if he starts kissing her again, and he has to tell her his request, which is― ]
―I want you to mark me. [ Thumbing across Jill's lower lip, savoring the softness of it. ] Anywhere you please.
[The request surprises her, eyebrows lifting a fraction and smile dimming. It's clear she didn't anticipate that request.]
Mark you?
[Hasn't he been marked enough? A lovemark is a far cry from a brand, but her hand comes to his cheek, crossing the short distance between them. A thumb brushes over where the scar of his brand remains.]
Only if you'll do the same to me.
[She finds her smile again, albeit smaller. If he's sure, then they can both be marked by one another. A temporary reminder of tonight--far better than a lash or brand laced with poison.
But she has to take care with him. So many people have not.]
[ He has been marked enough. People have hung many labels from his neck since he was a child: the failed firstborn, the broken shield, the Branded slave. Even 'Cid' is a marker of sorts, a scar that will never heal; there are many things Clive has to wear out of necessity, though many of his new mantles are slung over his shoulders by his own choosing.
He can tell that Jill isn't thrilled by the request. It warms him, and leaves him feeling apologetic in the same breath. She sees so much of him, and so much of these things make her gentle heart worry. He doesn't deserve her. ]
If those are your terms. [ Leaning into her touch, nuzzling against her palm. ] But of all the marks I've had to bear, I would covet the ones made by you the most.
[ So she needn't worry. She'll always be welcome and wanted. ]
[Shield, slave, or solider, she's always seen him. She hopes she always will. Her eyes stay on his, searching, and finding the absolute truth in his words. That allows her to put her worries aside.]
Anywhere I please?
[An echo, mirth making its way back into her eyes.]
Fuel to the flame. Are you sure you want that?
[Jill teases. People talk anyway, and they'll talk more in the morning, marks visible on his skin or not.]
[ A beat, as he realizes that Jill has warmed to the idea, and then: ]
I'm the one that asked. [ To the tune of 'did I stutter?'. Playful. ] Anywhere, Jill.
[ She's free to make him pull down his trousers and present his ass for marking if she so desired. The power she holds over him is, in fact, immeasurable. ]
And as many as you'd like, if you need the deal sweetened.
[He makes her laugh, an almost shy, girlish sound. Her fingers slip into his hair before she drops her hand--any attempt to brush his hair from his face is futile, stubborn as his hair is.]
Oh, but there's so much of you. I'm spoiled for choice.
[ He could eat that sweet laugh out of her mouth, so he does: a brief kiss, after she finishes speaking. He'll have to learn moderation, but perhaps that can wait until after this night. ]
Feel free to explore your options, [ he murmurs, fond. ] Everything you see is yours.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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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.]
https://i.imgur.com/pg83smk.jpeg constantly dead and dying about their size dif
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.
he's going to be her weighted blanket 🥹 and/or mattress... or somehow both at the same time
[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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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[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?
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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.
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[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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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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Her eyes are bright, breath stolen from her lungs just the same as Clive. When was she supposed to breathe during that? Already, she wants to kiss him again, ready to drown in him. Forget the shirt.]
Do you have somewhere to be?
[Jill knows the answer to that. She drops her head to kiss his bare shoulder, because if they need to catch their breath she can at least pepper his skin with kisses, mouth trailing up towards his neck.]
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[ They both know that if Gav came running right this minute, Clive would pack things up and attend to whatever catastrophe has befallen the realm. It's the way of things, but he can be selfish enough to hope that he gets these next few hours to himself (themselves).
A throaty exhale, when she kisses his neck; she should be able to feel how he rumbles against her lips. ]
―If my lady will indulge me, [ he offers, hand gently massaging Jill's nape. ] I have a request for her.
[ All this talk of demands and requests. ]
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What is it, Clive?
[She asks after a moment, lifting her head to look upon his face with nothing but fondness. Should Gav barge in she'd understand, as always, but she might have to make an effort not to kill the man.]
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Verdict: tip back. He'll get distracted if he starts kissing her again, and he has to tell her his request, which is― ]
―I want you to mark me. [ Thumbing across Jill's lower lip, savoring the softness of it. ] Anywhere you please.
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Mark you?
[Hasn't he been marked enough? A lovemark is a far cry from a brand, but her hand comes to his cheek, crossing the short distance between them. A thumb brushes over where the scar of his brand remains.]
Only if you'll do the same to me.
[She finds her smile again, albeit smaller. If he's sure, then they can both be marked by one another. A temporary reminder of tonight--far better than a lash or brand laced with poison.
But she has to take care with him. So many people have not.]
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He can tell that Jill isn't thrilled by the request. It warms him, and leaves him feeling apologetic in the same breath. She sees so much of him, and so much of these things make her gentle heart worry. He doesn't deserve her. ]
If those are your terms. [ Leaning into her touch, nuzzling against her palm. ] But of all the marks I've had to bear, I would covet the ones made by you the most.
[ So she needn't worry. She'll always be welcome and wanted. ]
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Anywhere I please?
[An echo, mirth making its way back into her eyes.]
Fuel to the flame. Are you sure you want that?
[Jill teases. People talk anyway, and they'll talk more in the morning, marks visible on his skin or not.]
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I'm the one that asked. [ To the tune of 'did I stutter?'. Playful. ] Anywhere, Jill.
[ She's free to make him pull down his trousers and present his ass for marking if she so desired. The power she holds over him is, in fact, immeasurable. ]
And as many as you'd like, if you need the deal sweetened.
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Oh, but there's so much of you. I'm spoiled for choice.
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Feel free to explore your options, [ he murmurs, fond. ] Everything you see is yours.
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And I'm yours. You know it, don't you?
[A smile as she trails her hand down his chest. Strange, to touch so freely.]
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