Chapter Text
The air was alight with cinders, embers drifting through the air along with the sudden swath of flame—his own flame, Joshua noted, the white-hot orange plumes of the Phoenix. Clive reared back and brought his flame-wreathed sword through the clavicle of an Akashic beast, wrenching it back out with a grunt as aether began to pour forth. The heat licked down Joshua’s spine, and yet he suppressed a shiver.
Joshua had noticed, as he spent more time in his company, that Clive called less and less on his own flame and more on Joshua’s. He had only just become familiar again with the deep, blackened scorch of Ifrit’s brimstone when it had mysteriously vanished, to be replaced with Phoenix pinions. Every time Clive called upon his blessing Joshua would feel the pull in his chest, of the piece of him Clive held, and the warm burn of his answering call. He brought a hand to his breast, and breathed in the chill of the Sanbrequois wilderness, trying to quiet the fluttering of his heart.
He knew not what to make of it. It left him restless, a feeling he should have long had under control. He buried the sensation down, willing the heat to abide. He wondered how much of the connection Clive felt.
Joshua brought The Burning Thorn in an arc upwards into one of the last Akashic they had been culling, kicking the corpse off his blade before it burst into aether. His chest rattled at the exertion, but he swallowed down the cough. He stopped to catch his breath. There were only a few left, so he allowed himself a moment to rest, and observed as Clive finished the job.
Joshua had always enjoyed watching Clive, even as a child spectating in the sparring grounds. Truly, he was in his element, and it was beautiful to see, equal parts brutal and graceful. Watching him now, he felt oddly pleased—Clive was his Shield, after all, and there were none finer. He moved like he was born for this. Perhaps he was.
Leaning back against the rocky cliff face with arms crossed, Joshua watched as Clive continued his dance.
An Akashic goblin gurgled its death cry as Clive thrust an open palm to its chest, fire bursting forth from within the beast and fluttering into wisps of feathers. The air rippled—the reek of burning flesh gave way to a crisp whirl of aether. Sparks burned past, and heat bloomed in Joshua’s chest. Again he grasped at it, as if he could push it down, smother it back into his rib cage. He lifted his eyes only to find Clive matching his gaze, intent, lightly panting from his exertion.
Sometimes in his brother’s eyes he worried he saw recognition, that Clive knew, that his gaze could pierce through Joshua and see him laid bare, see the inside of the cage where he had locked his heart away. He wretched his eyes away, feeling like a caught child. He shook the thought from his mind—his brother was no seer, and he could not know his black heart. And yet, his gaze burned him.
The last of the beasts felled, he searched for something to busy himself with so he did not feel his brother’s stare. He wiped his blade against the damp grass, and already mourned the fact that the Akashic had been easy pickings—he would have liked to see Clive dance a little longer.
Only while cleaning his blade did he notice the slow pooling of aether at their feet, still barely perceptible.
“Brother,” Joshua called out, “An aether flood.” He gestured towards the ground, Clive’s gaze flickering to meet his movement.
He heard Clive click his tongue in annoyance—it seemed they lost more and more ground to the seas of aether. His brows furrowed. “We’ll head back, then. There’s little daylight left anyway.”
They returned to the grassy clearing where they left Ambrosia to graze. Only Ambrosia, at Clive’s insistence—they were to travel light, and they did not need another chocobo when Ambrosia could seat them both just fine. Joshua ran his hand over her smooth beak as Clive readied the saddle, Ambrosia nipping at his fingers and pushing into his touch, chirping a small sound. Joshua smiled—in what seemed like a lifetime ago, Clive had taught him how to ride on this very bird.
Clive gestured to him. He helped Joshua into the saddle, a hand pressed into the small of his back. Joshua felt himself flush—Clive did not need to do this. Joshua could seat himself with ease. Clive always did, regardless. His back felt warm where he had touched him, pleasant and tingling, but the fluttering in his stomach made his skin crawl.
He hadn’t needed Joshua to come with him for these minor errands really, either. But Clive had insisted, and Joshua yielded, not knowing how to decline without it sounding odd. He shivered a bit, trying to will the sensation of Clive’s steady palm to his spine away, his skin prickling with goose flesh and already missing the heat.
Clive pressed his foot into a stirrup and swung the other over the saddle, sitting in front, reins in hand. He called to Ambrosia to fly, and they were off.
Joshua felt himself lurch after only a few moments of Ambrosia’s gallop. Clive looked over his shoulder.
“Don’t pull away,” He reprimanded lightly. “Hold tight.”
Joshua wrapped his arms around Clive’s midsection, and leaned his face against his strong back. Again, he pressed down the heat in his chest, though Clive had summoned no flame.
Dusk was settling in by the time they returned to their camp. They had chosen an alcove to shelter, with convenient access to a stream for water & bathing, and a thick canopy of trees blocking out the wind. The sky was already a dusky pink, though the difference in its normal sickly hue of Primogenesis was slight. Clive began to shed his armor, so that he might rest more comfortably, while Joshua got their fire going.
He sighed as he stared into the flames, prodding the logs gently to tend to the campfire. Joshua shivered, despite the heat, though he was not cold. His restlessness since fighting the Akashic only grew. It must be the aether. He peeked over to his brother, who had just finished removing his greaves. Clive heaved a sigh as well, sounding much like Torgal when he was left with nothing to do. Joshua laughed lightly at the thought, covering the motion with the back of his hand.
“Do you feel it?”
“Mhm,” Clive grumbled. “Pins and needles. Like I’ve energy, but nowhere to put it.”
He seated himself right next to Joshua by the fire, stretching out his legs. Sometimes it felt like Joshua never saw him dressed down like this, never not sheathed in his armor. He wished he could see this more—his brother at peace. Or trying to be. Clive had closed his eyes, brows pinched, and Joshua watched as his chest, slightly exposed at the neckline of his undershirt, rose and fell in calming breaths. He swallowed and shifted slightly, a queer, queasy feeling filling his belly.
Clive cracked open one eye, peering at Joshua. “And you? Or are you tired?”
“I’m not tired,” Joshua lied. He was tired most often than not—he felt it in his bones, even with the anxious energy the surplus of aether had given him. His sickness and the seal on his heart bled him of any vitality. But he had no choice. Either he endured and pressed on, or he succumbed to his weakness. He had long made his decision in the matter.
Silence took hold. Clive eyed his fire, apparently deeming it unsatisfactory, and began to tamper with it. Or perhaps he just wanted something to do. He dumped another couple pieces of scavenged wood on the campfire, and then lit those aflame with the Phoenix’s blessing. A blasé, unnecessary use of his gift.
Again? Joshua hoped he did not see his flinch, grasping at his heart. It was too much, the constant warm pull, when he did not know why his brother was doing this. It reminded him so deeply of when he finally regained his flame and felt the pull of the Blessing for the first time since the Night of Flames. At that moment he had known his brother was alive, and he had never felt such happiness. It left him shaking and weeping.
Joshua hugged his knees and took a deep breath, gathering his resolve. He spoke softly, not knowing if he was pressing into a wound. “Do you reject Ifrit, Clive?”
Clive paused to look at him, surprised, then looked down thoughtfully. “No,” he said after a moment, “Not anymore.” Joshua thought it sincere. He felt relieved, but he still didn’t understand.
“Then why do you not call upon your own flame?”
“Do I need to?” Clive summoned a flicker of Phoenix fire in his palm, warm and light and pulsing with life, like a heartbeat. Shadows danced on the cliff face behind him, and Joshua did not allow himself to flinch.
“Yours suits me just fine.” Clive closed his fist, smothering the whisper of flame. He leaned back on his arms, and his shoulders brushed Joshua’s, warm and strong and tempting.
Joshua pressed his face into his knees, unsatisfied. He exhaled his frustrations in a huff, and watched Clive attempting to try and calm himself from his restlessness, breathing deeply and purposefully. The air felt thick and cloying, despite the cool breeze. Their glances, the flame, the lingering touches—it gnawed at the pit in his stomach, tension pulling his insides taut.
Joshua glanced back up. “You should eat.”
Clive always did seem calmer after a meal. Joshua rose and rummaged through their packs for their provisions. Wrapped in cloth he brought out dried salted venison, hard cheese, and a treat—fresh baked bread, seeded with nuts, that he had bought in Northreach that morning. It was still soft. The seller had recognized him, through Clive—always a welcome face, ever lending a hand. “That’s a good man you have there,” he had said to Joshua, and took a couple silver off the price. Joshua had not known what to say, and so only had his polite thank you and coin to give.
He handed the bundle to Clive, along with a knife, gripping the blade and extending the handle to him. Clive’s fingers brushed Joshua’s as he took the knife from the blade anyway.
When he sat down, he sat across from Clive, the fire between him. Clive eyed him, but said nothing. “You should eat, too,” he murmured. The chasm grew, but Joshua knew it was for the best, despite the ache.
They ate with no sound but the flickering fire for company. Clive ate rapidly—he always did. Joshua assumed as a soldier, he was never allowed to savor a meal, time valued much more than any mere Branded’s pleasure. Joshua wished that he would allow himself this time, now.
He sighed as he watched Clive break off the heel of his bread and begin charring it over the fire. Such a waste. His odd tastes had followed him from adolescence, it seemed. Clive was always willing to eat anything, even in gross combinations, and he would do so to watch Joshua’s horrified reaction to his terrible concoctions. Joshua smiled at the memory. Clive caught the movement, and Joshua feigned a cough into his hand.
Joshua ate much more slowly, and tried not to make his staring at Clive so obvious. It was a habit he developed in childhood, eating slowly—if he did not he was prone to nausea, his frequent illnesses making his stomach delicate. And thus Clive was finished much sooner than Joshua. He sat by the fire for a while, face pinched, before he huffed, and began to pace. Clearly, he was still restless from the aether. Joshua was, too, but had more restraint. Clive though, was worse than Torgal.
Joshua swallowed his venison, not wanting to speak with his mouth full. “Brother, settle. Do you want some more?” He held up the bundle of cloth with the sliced hard cheese and waved it a bit, as if to make it more enticing.
“No,” Clive said, looking petulant. He did look a bit tempted, though. “I want—” He smoothed a hand over his face, agitated. “I need to do something.”
His brother looked like a beast pacing the length of his cage, agitation coming off him in waves. Joshua thought for a moment, of how to sate him. His mind was brought back to earlier, at Clive’s ferocity and grace as he moved in for a kill. He felt a bit warm, and that queer, queasy feeling filled his belly, but so did anticipation. His brother did need him to do something. Joshua worried with no intervention he’d be like to spontaneously combust.
“It seems the Akashic could not tire you out. Shall I?” Joshua stood, and began to stretch his sore muscles.
“Tire me?”
“Yes,” he said while stretching his shoulder. “A friendly spar. You and me. What do you say?”
Clive seemed to be mulling over the proposed scenario in mind. Joshua tried not to look too hopeful, or worse—desperate. There was a creeping sensation in him, reminiscent of the childish embarrassment in his youth of when he would beg Clive to play with him, when Joshua knew he was busy with his training, but was desperate for his attention anyway. A flush crept up his neck at the worry that Clive might reject him, thinking him too delicate, still the weak child who needed to be coddled.
But when Clive turned back to Joshua, his eyes were bright. Purposeful, almost.
“Alright.”
He felt a little giddy from his impulsive proposal. Joshua had never crossed blades with Clive before, even as children with blunted swords. He never was allowed to—deemed too frail to even begin sword training. And though it was not spoken aloud, he always knew too, the trepidation of others around him. Perhaps it would be too dangerous—what if Joshua lost control? He was fire made flesh, and fire was dangerous. All-consuming, impossible to contain once unleashed.
But now he knew Clive was born from fire, too. He was thrumming with excitement. Joshua wanted to do this right.
“And,” he added, “I would see your flame. All of you. Don’t hold back on me,” Joshua chided, “I’ll know.”
Clive huffed a laugh through his nose, his eyes fond. He clapped Joshua on the shoulder, his fingers flexing in lightly.
“I promise, to you.”
Being Dominants of fire, the most pertinent thing for a friendly row was to find an area that would not immediately go up in flames. Not far from their camp the valley dipped low, most like below sea level, once home to a deep river. Little foliage grew in the more rocky area now, though several streams trickled down in small waterfalls. Not deep enough to house their Eikons, but enough for any great spouts of flame.
The sun shone behind Clive, dusk taking hold of the day. It wreathed him in its dying light, black mane flaming. It would be dark soon, but light wasn’t a concern for them. Clive reached behind his cape and unsheathed his sword. He had strapped his armor back on, intent on doing this properly. He levied Invictus towards Joshua.
“Ready?”
Joshua responded by giving him a deep bow—a courtesy to a respected opponent. Clive snorted, and returned the favor. It occurred then to Joshua that it was very quiet, as if there were no birds nearby to sing. He realized he had been holding his breath, as the air sat still and he watched Clive, waiting.
Clive struck first.
At the first touch of their blades, an echoing shriek of metal on metal rang out, almost avian. Every time Clive brought his sword down, Joshua would arch up to meet him, falling into a rhythm. It felt good, natural, like he knew Clive’s own movement before he even did. His heart raced, his blood sang, and he grinned.
Eagerly Joshua began to press back against his thrusts, driving Clive back. Their blades met and broke apart again and again, sparks burning past as the blades kissed. Joshua brought The Burning Thorn upward in a piercing jab, so quickly that Clive was forced to rear back instead of parry. He took another step back, as Joshua wanted, and Joshua again pressed the advantage. He took up the lead in their dance, each step rhythmic and familiar and made Joshua’s heart pound all the faster.
Again as Clive was forced back he took another step, until it took him into the running water of a stream trickling into the valley. The ground was suddenly slick under him, a wet stone turning under his foot, and he was lurching. Joshua struck.
Heat burst forth from Clive, the hot air nearly pushing Joshua back. There you are, Joshua thought as the blackened flames of Ifrit cloaked Clive like a second skin. The water of the stream instantly evaporated into mist, and Clive righted his footing with Invictus dug into the ground.
Clive moved. Their blades kissed and sprang apart and kissed again, until Joshua’s throat was burning with it, every breath scorching, but he refused to let up. Invictus glowed with Ifrit’s molten inferno, cracking and rippling with the impossible heat of an Eikon. Sweat was dripping into Joshua’s eyes, stinging them.
Joshua’s ears rang as The Burning Thorn skidded off Invictus, embers flying past a hair's breadth from his face. Far too close for comfort. With no reprieve, Clive slashed again. Joshua recoiled from him. The blade gleamed in an arc above, shimmering with heat and the air rippling from the temperature increase. Joshua was forced to parry it high, leaving him open, and he grunted as a white hot palm pressed to his chest, attempting to shove him backwards.
He stumbled. And then he could not see. He blinked—the sun had crested the horizon at that moment, glaring from behind Clive, blinding him. He planned this, Joshua realized as he scurried back, taking a defensive stance. Clive’s blade thrust to Joshua and he only narrowly met it in kind with his own. He took a breath, trying to steady himself, and made eastward in the valley so the treeline would block the glare. Clive gave chase.
He struck while his back was turned, and Joshua was barely able to meet the blow. Instinctively he began to heat, reaching for his Eikon buried within him. The air sweltered and flickered before he steadied himself, dismissing it. Clive’s eyes flicked to the movement, and he scowled.
“In earnest, Joshua,” Clive growled out, sounding almost chastising.
He thrusted into Joshua again and again, their blades screeching with every kiss. Joshua’s lungs were searing, his muscles aching. All the while Ifrit’s flames intensified around Clive, coalescing in a scorching aura. Their eyes met. Joshua tried to ready himself, for perhaps a blast of fire, or some other attack that would require so much flame. Clive’s face was lit from one side, the rest shadowed in a deep scowl. And then it was gone. Joshua blinked—all brimstone evaporated in an instant, leaving only faint traces of aether.
“Stop holding back,” Clive breathed.
And then the world was alight with Phoenix feathers. Joshua gasped, clutching his chest. He would use my own flame against me? He grit his teeth. He refused to let Clive ready his attack, arcing The Burning Thorn with such fury that it left them both startled. Clive barely brought his sword up in time, Invictus coming to meet his blade at a slanted angle.
The momentum of the parry sent both of their swords flying, leaving them unarmed. Phoenix pinions glittered around Clive’s gauntlets, before erupting into shifting white hot flames across his arm, veins of blue fire leaping as the inferno breathed and swelled.
Joshua ignored the burn of the connection and shifted his weight so he did not fall back. Not letting up, Clive was coming at him again, a fist wreathed in Phoenix fire lighting up the world the closer it got to Joshua’s face. He blinked the lights from his eyes and caught Clive’s fist with his own hand. Aether pulsed, and the flames extinguished. Clive is a fool if he thinks my own flames won’t yield to me, Joshua thought haughtily.
His hand caught, Clive made use of his leg instead, kicking out Joshua’s shin. He dropped. Pain lanced up Joshua’s leg. He wouldn’t be able to stand in time for Clive’s next blow. A fiery wing had formed in the air alongside Clive’s arm, but before he could strike, Joshua lept at him. He wrapped his arms around his midsection and threw him to the ground, Joshua going with him. He scrambled to pin Clive before he could get his bearings. Again, Joshua pulsed his aether, and the Phoenix wing disintegrated into wisps.
He straddled Clive’s waist, trying to use his inferior weight to keep him down, his legs caging Clive’s own. He reached for Clive’s wrists, but Clive grabbed his hips. He planted his feet flat against the ground and bucked up into Joshua, uprooting him from Clive’s middle and forcing his weight onto his hands above Clive’s head. Joshua’s breath caught in his throat, and his stomach twisted. Not now.
Clive’s hands gripped his waist and the air was forced out of Joshua’s lungs as he was slammed against the ground. Clive turned him so he was facing the dirt, grappling both of his wrists behind his back, and leaning his full weight on Joshua to keep him down. Joshua made a small sound, in the back of his throat, and hoped Clive didn’t hear.
The heat flooded Joshua. There was no Phoenix flame. He had no excuse. He squirmed, trying to throw Clive off him, kicking his legs out and panting into the dirt.
“Yield.” Clive rasped out against his ear, bearing down harder. The grip of his hands on Joshua’s wrists would surely bruise. Joshua swallowed. This spar had been a mistake—a childish whim. He had knotted his own noose. He should have known better.
“You—” Joshua gasped at Clive’s weight bearing down on him. It wasn’t fair. All he could think of was the warm body caging him in, the arms that held him down with ease. The stubble was rough against his ear. He shuddered. It wasn’t a fair fight at all.
“You promised to use your own flame,” Joshua said, voice going quiet.
Joshua fell limp. Never had Clive ever treated him so roughly. His blood was loud in his ears, the gnawing in chest suffocating. He needed Clive off him. Deep down, a part of him wished he would never ease off. He felt nauseous.
Clive stilled. The seconds felt like hours, as Joshua lay defeated, panting into the ground and weak with his own desire. He closed his eyes, sick with shame. If Clive didn’t let off of him, he didn’t trust his body not to react.
He still hadn’t moved. Joshua braved a look over his shoulder. “Brother?”
Clive pulled on Joshua’s wrists suddenly, until he was spun round and pivoted upright, on his knees face to face with Clive, though Clive still hanged over him as if Joshua was going to run. He was still heaving from the exertion of their fight, hair sticking to his sweat damp forehead and a thick strand clung against his brand scar.
“You would know why I chose your flame?” Clive rasped, voice thick with an emotion Joshua didn’t know. Fury, perhaps. Or grief.
He summoned Phoenix fire to his palm, not in a sphere but unconstrained, bright and pulsing like a beating heart. Joshua flinched from the warm strain in his breast.
“It was all I had of you. For eighteen years.” Though they were pinched in anger, Clive’s eyes were wet. “Your warmth. Your succor. If I focused, or mayhap pretended, it’s like I could feel your heartbeat. I thought this was all that was left of you in the world. The only light left.”
The flame lit Clive like he was born from fire itself, equal parts shadow and blaze. The tears in his eyes looked white hot, but when they dripped onto Joshua’s face, they were only slightly warm, cooling on impact to trail down his neck.
“And yet, you have come back. Within arms reach.” Clive made an aborted sound, like he was choking back a sob. Joshua pressed a hand to his damp cheek, stroking his thumb across the stubble. His face was so warm.
Clive clasped the hand not holding the Phoenix flame onto Joshua’s tightly, pressing his face into it. “But you are not here.”
Joshua ached. “Clive—”
“You return only to pull away. The light is back, only to slip through my fingers again.” This time, he did not hide his sob. “What else can I do but hold onto the only piece of you I have?”
Joshua fought the burn in his eyes, his throat tight, his limbs trembling. He pressed his shaking hands to Clive’s cheeks, holding their foreheads together while the flames licked dangerously close to his neck.
“I’m here, Brother.” Clive’s breath was damp on his face. The tears had clumped his eyelashes together wetly, and the redness of his sclera made the blue of his eyes burn.
Clive clenched his fist and the fire was extinguished. He clasped his flame-warmed hands over Joshua’s with a speed that startled him, and he pressed against his forehead until it ached.
“Then why do you pull away?” The intensity of his stare had Joshua reeling, but he could not wretch his gaze away in Clive’s grip. Clive briefly closed his eyes, and took a shuddering breath. His throat bobbed.
“Do you loathe me? I know, I could not ask for forgiveness—for what I’ve done. But,” Clive reached around him and pulled Joshua into a crushing embrace, and he spoke into Joshua’s throat. “I could beg. Tell me what I can do, Joshua. I would do anything.”
Joshua’s tears fell freely. “Clive—” He smothered the beginning of weeping into his brother’s shoulder, then took a deep breath. “There is nothing to forgive.” He smoothed his hands over Clive’s large back, like he was attempting to soothe him, but perhaps it was more for himself. “I have never blamed you, Brother.”
Clive’s grip on him tightened, to the point of pain. Joshua breathed in sharply. “Then why?", he cried.
Joshua swallowed down his sob. He pressed the heat in his chest down, trying to steel himself. He would endure, as he always had.
“I would—I would not burden you with this.”
He could not speak the words to existence. Would not. He would not sully Clive with this. He deserved so much better. Joshua wondered if it was his blood that rotted him from the inside. Mother and Father had been cousins, and the Phoenix’s line had spun in circles for centuries. Purity, his mother had said, was everything. He wanted to laugh. Perhaps he had taken to her lessons too well. And Clive would expect him to saddle him with this corruption, when he had already bore so much suffering? Unclean hands had grasped at his brother for long enough.
“Who are you to speak of burden? You, who takes it on so willingly?” Clive glared down at Joshua's chest, more words unspoken. Arguing of the seal was a song and dance they both knew well, always pointless. That, Joshua would not yield on. He knew no regrets.
Clive tensed, realization creeping onto his face. “You think I do not feel the same.”
The air left Joshua’s lungs. Please, don’t. Joshua screwed his eyes shut, the tears flowing without his consent. He fought to control his shuddering gasps—he was going to start hyperventilating. Suddenly, the sky tilted—he yelped as Clive bared his weight down on him, pinning him to the ground again.
“Did I not already pledge myself to you? It was no promise to the Duchy, or the Phoenix—it was to you, always you.” Clive pressed Joshua’s hand to his chest, and he felt the rapid thrum of his heart. He wondered if Clive could feel his own, shaking his body with the force of its palpitations, echoing so loudly in his ears.
“Please hear me, Brother. You are all I have ever wanted. Always—even then,” Clive glanced aside, and Joshua knew the emotion in his eyes all too well. The shame. Suffocating and black, filling your lungs, all consuming. His brother knew it, too. Joshua’s vision was blurred, the world tipping.
“Were it not for you, I would not be here. This journey I have made for you. The thought of continuing on without you, again—” Clive choked. “I cannot bear it. When I swore my oath, I meant it. I am yours.” Clive pulled back down and smothered him with his weight, leaving no means of escape, and pressed his face to Joshua’s neck. “But I do not know if you are mine.”
Joshua stared out to the sky weakly. He brought his trembling hand to Clive’s hair, gently threading his fingers through the strands, and held him to his chest. “I always have been. I always will be.”
Tu isag elythe. Ne'er cleft our bond shall be. When Clive had pledged himself to Joshua as his Shield, in his mind Joshua had said his own, a prayer. To protect Clive, to be his Shield in turn, for as long as they both live. Forevermore.
Joshua pulled Clive’s head back lightly with his fingers through his hair. Still shaking, he craned his neck up and pressed his lips to Clive’s tentatively, barely. “I’m sorry.”
He gasped as Clive grabbed his jaw and brought him in for a bruising kiss, caging him in with his other arm. Clive took the opportunity of his mouth parting in surprise to press his tongue in, licking into him with a moan so low it would make a whore blush. The sensation of his brother’s tongue mapping his teeth made Joshua’s cock jump, and he breathed so heavily through his nose it was like he was panting for Clive’s own breath, like he couldn’t make his own. Joshua realized he hadn’t yet closed his eyes.
Clive was like a man starved—in that, he and Joshua were as one. He knew what his brother tasted like now, and he could never be the same. He shuddered, and melted into Clive’s touch. How right everything felt, finally, in that moment. Relief flooded him, and choked him. He licked into Clive’s mouth till his chest burned and he was dizzy with it, until he was so stimulated he felt like his heart would burst—it was so much, so suddenly, everything he had ever wanted abruptly dropped into his lap.
“Clive, ah, wait—” He tried to speak between the press of saliva slicked lips, feeling tongue-tied. The heat and adrenaline of the battle had come roaring back, and Joshua’s blood was so loud in his ears. His cock was starting to fill out pathetically fast in his breeches, and he struggled for breath when Clive wouldn’t let him pull away, until his head swam from the deprivation.
Clive panted into the junction between his shoulder and neck, his eyes still glistening. “I have waited eighteen years. I can’t anymore. I won’t.” Joshua felt the drag of his stubble against his smooth jaw as Clive mouthed at his chin. “Please. Let me have you.” Clive rolled his hips into his, and Joshua stuttered out a surprised breath at the press of the hard outline of his brother’s cock. “Let me show you what you do to me.”
Joshua’s mouth was slack. He felt as if he was being burned, and in that moment he’d let Clive do anything to him. He would let Clive devour him whole—all the better, to never be parted from him again. His words had left him, though he didn’t trust himself to speak anyway. He nodded rapidly, guilt and trepidation and joy gnawing at him anxiously.
He yelped as he was manhandled by his brother, tossed over his shoulder like he weighed nothing at all, with as much grace as one would haul a sack of popotoes. Joshua flushed, but that was partly due to the blood rushing to his head. His prick jabbed into Clive’s shoulder uncomfortably, and he squirmed.
“Clive— really?” Clive steadied Joshua with one hand—on his rear, he would add—and grabbed the hilts of their discarded swords in the other, saying nothing and making his way back to their camp briskly. Joshua hung limply, and halfheartedly beat his curled palms at Clive’s back, annoyed but lacking fire. And without much else to do.
He huffed. Clive at least could have carried him in his arms—it would have been more romantic. But Clive was focused, like a man on a mission. Feeling Joshua’s tepid struggles, he smoothed his hand down Joshua’s ass in a soothing, petting motion. Joshua’s flush deepened, and he renewed his struggles petulantly. Clive had the audacity to chuckle, a low fond sound.