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Little fingers clasp his own. His feet stumble in this shaded, quiet corner they’ve chosen to practice in. Mother might burst through that door any moment, and it makes him all the more anxious.
“You can do it,” Joshua smiles. How embarrassing that his younger brother can keep a beat better than him. “Just once more.”
“Let them laugh at me,” Clive pouts. Joshua clicks his heels together and holds out his hands. Clive takes them, and feels like he can face the world.
“Come on, Clive. If you can wield a sword, then you can learn to dance.”
Clive sighs. Though in hindsight, he wishes he appreciated this moment more. Little did he know, he would miss it forever.
“You take one private lesson, and now you’re the expert.”
“It’s nice to be better at something,” Joshua says. He grins cheekily. “Seeing that my big brother is better at everything else.”
Oh, how he wishes that was true.
The nights are darker.
Before the gloom settled in, Clive could stare out of the gaps in his chambers and see the stars glistening with the moon. The twilight provided enough light to see the grains in the wood floor (and to keep him from tripping over his own feet when he stumbled to bed too late at night).
Now, with the death of four mother crystals, the skies are foggy with sludge, like a curse upon the land, and his heart.
His mind is racing. He hasn’t slept in days. Joshua woke this morning with blood between his fingers, coughing violently as he told tales of the God he sealed inside him – a God he chose to imprison to protect his very own brother.
Despite all his efforts otherwise, Clive has still managed to fail as a shield.
The joy at reuniting, the sorrow at his brother’s pain, the exhaustion of traveling all over Valisthea to fend off akashic in Rosaria and bandits in Dalimil and politics in Northreach –
Clive lays in his bed, and feels hollow. Tomorrow they will journey for Tabor, and by some miracle, he will find the energy to press on. He rubs his hands into his eyes, seeing lights that can no longer be found in their night sky.
The memory of Ifirt Risen still haunts his memories. The feeling of being together, melded in mind and soul, one purpose, one being. He’s never felt so complete. So perfect, and loved.
This is why his hands shake. Two long weeks have passed, and he still feels harrowingly empty.
His door creaks open.
The hideaway is a refuge free of bandits, imperials, and akashic monsters – but Clive’s hand reaches for his sword anyways. Too many years camping out in the dirt, too many knives in his back.
A small flame brings light into the room, then dampens as it is snuffed out. Clive sees just enough of Joshua’s face in the fading flame to relax.
“Joshua?” He tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses down on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”
“Quiet, brother,” Joshua says. His voice is light, and he isn’t coughing. “People are trying to sleep.”
Clive hesitates in his confusion, momentarily lost as the sheets are pulled aside, and Joshua crawls beside him. He is warm, burning with the heart of the Phoenix; a living flame that mimics his own. The Phoenix has always felt more pure than Ifrit. Inherently good and kind, the bringer of life rather than death.
Clive leans back on an elbow and seeks his face in the darkness. Joshua busies with stealing his pillow.
“Is your bed no good?”
“No, it isn’t,” Joshua states. His long legs kick around in the bed, getting comfortable. “It is full of monsters.”
Clive stiffens, and in his exhaustion, takes a moment too long to recognize the tease in his voice. Joshua pats the bed, and Clive slowly lowers himself beside him.
“Is that so? I’ll have to speak with Otto in the morning.”
Joshua breathes from his nose – a light, amused laugh. Delicate fingers weave around his middle, much like when they were children. He tucks himself under Clive’s chin, and sighs.
“Remember how we would sleep like this? Mother got so angry when she found me in your chambers, I had to start sneaking in through the balcony.”
“You suffered terrible nightmares,” Clive remembers. A deep, painful knot in his chest begins to unravel as he breathes in the familiar scent of his brother. “She never understood.”
They lay in silence, as if remembering her death in tandem. Clive hated her not for the way she hated him, but for the weight she put on Joshua’s shoulders. Good riddance, he thinks, but can’t say. He knows Joshua loved her in a different way.
“Sometimes I lied about the nightmares,” Joshua says. Clive makes a surprised noise, and Joshua is quick to laugh, “Sometimes, brother. I just felt safer with you.”
Clive tightens his arm around him. They are much too old to be close like this; the bed can barely fit their adult bodies, and it’s hardly proper for anyone, let alone two men –
But Clive has waited eighteen years to see his brother again. He would not send him away, even if the world was burning.
As his eyes adjust to the dark, he can see Joshua staring at him. He raises a hand to sort through the pale hair at the nape of his neck, the same way he would soothe him as a child. Joshua’s eyes close near immediately, sighing with a release of tension in his shoulders.
“I’ll protect you from every monster,” Clive says lightly. Joshua grins, and in minutes, they are asleep.
The journey to Tabor is no small feat. They fall back into their roles as if no time had passed; Joshua smartly telling him of plants that grow in the desert, pointing out snares in the sand or old ruins he studied in old broken tomes – and Clive resumes his role as: don’t fucking touch that.
“You two are children,” Jill teases, as Joshua nurses his slapped hand.
The beast rises out of the sand, and Clive gestures as if to say what did I tell you – but Joshua smiles like he knew all along.
They meet Joshua’s retainer in Tabor (all ten fingers and counting). Clive is endlessly grateful for Jote and her many years devoted to protecting his brother. But in a small, decrepit corner of his heart, he finds himself jealous of their bond. They light up in the other’s presence, Joshua smiling gently for her, and Clive mourns the loss of so many years he will never get back. She knows him in a way he cannot, and it is painful.
He thanks her anyways. The Undying are a strange, cultish folk, but at least Jote is kind and hospitable.
“Please, stay the night,” she says, taking Joshua’s hand. Clive’s eye is twitching, and he rubs it to stop. “Your journey has been long. We have three beds you may use.”
“I can take the floor,” Clive offers. Jill gives him a flat look that he chooses to ignore.
Jote is stiff, clearly intimidated by the presence of two Rosfields.
“My lord, it is my sworn duty to –”
“This is your house,” Clive waves. “Straw is a luxury over the cracks I’ve slept in.”
Jill can sense Jote’s unease, so she gently takes her arm and asks for a tour of the library. Joshua’s attention remains set upon the half-torn tapestry; a dark, ominous figure vaguely depicted in the threads.
“I’m missing something,” Joshua mutters, deep in thought. Clive stands next to him, and crosses his arms. “I see the broken image in my dreams, but I cannot seal the pieces. I must find the complete mural.”
Clive nods. Something about the tapestry calls to him too, like it takes effort to remove his gaze from it. Joshua shifts at his side, and Clive is once more hit with that empty, hollow longing; scooped out, pitted and miserable, he feels so singular, so lonely, so insignificant. Ifrit lays dormant most often, but he stirs inside him, like a snake slithering against the edges of its cage, and Clive fights a sudden wave of nausea.
His hands shake with the urge to be together again. To be perfect as they were, to be him. He can feel the fire under his fingernails, the hell in his teeth (the feathers in his back).
Clive braces against the table and tears his eyes from the tapestry, sucking in a breath. Joshua looks at him, and has an equally winded expression on his face.
Nothing is said.
“My lords,” Jote calls, good and proper. “Your bedchambers are ready.”
Joshua is the first to move. He trips over the first step, but summons a chipper voice for Jote. I hope you have been resting well. Yes, yes, the hideaway physickers have taken great care of me.
Their fading voices feel like water in his ears. Clive wipes the sweat from his face, and refuses to look back at the tapestry.
The women take one room, while Joshua and Clive are given another. These chambers are small; four simple corners with mud ceilings to pack out the heat. They dress down for bed methodically, Clive dropping armor while Joshua peels off strings of jewelry, and the tension feels impenetrable. It’s a stark difference from their light teasing as they crossed the desert this morning, but there’s nothing tangible to cause it; just strange air and that thudding feeling in his chest.
Clive only spends a quarter candle on the floor, before Joshua rolls over on the bed and leans down to tug at his shirt.
“Just get up here already.”
Clive opens an eye.
“Now, you know damn well we won’t fit.”
Joshua pulls at him impatiently.
“I don’t care.” He pauses, and with big, sad eyes, Joshua begs, “Clive, please.”
He is helpless. Joshua scoots to the wall, and Clive crawls in with him. Their weight creaks the bedposts, and they must bend their knees to keep from kicking the footboard. Joshua lays half atop him to make more room, and it’s as if the pit in his stomach dissipates on contact.
Joshua gives a deep, heavy sigh. Clive tries to be careful of his chest seal, but it’s difficult when Joshua isn’t giving it any mind.
“I thought I was going crazy,” Joshua whispers. He shifts more on his side, and Clive wraps an arm around him instinctively. “But I know you feel it too.”
Clive’s heart skips. So much heat is on him at once, it is shameful how long he takes to speak correctly.
“Feel what?”
“Ever since we became the Risen, it’s as if…” Joshua twists a hand in his shirt. It ties up his heartstrings, knots them between his fingers. “Everything in me yearns to be that again.”
Clive swallows thickly. Joshua has found the edge of his shirt and is worrying it between his index and his thumb. His knuckles brush skin. He adjusts his weight on his side, giving more of his hips into Clive’s thigh, and he knows this is wrong, knows they should not lie so closely, but it’s as if he can finally breathe.
“I keep thinking of it,” Clive admits. “My thoughts were your thoughts. Nothing required effort, simply existence. Together, it felt like we were…”
“Perfect,” Joshua says.
Clive squeezes his eyes shut. Joshua strokes along his ribs, and his arms raise in goosebumps.
“Try to sleep.”
Joshua is not pleased by the abrupt end to their conversation, but he doesn’t argue with him. No flames lick his skin, but he can feel the magic between their bodies, circulating like two koi in a pond. Clive refuses to allow any improper reaction of his body, so as Joshua’s breathing falls into a rhythm, Clive forces himself into rest as well. He’s tired, that’s all.
Joshua fits in well at the hideaway.
He’s far more approachable than Clive ever was, so their residents are eager to share knowledge with him; the backyard’s botany, tomes of old, ancient knowledge, swordcraft and trading – the way Joshua floats between them is reminiscent of the way their father used to visit with the Rosarian townspeople, a genuine interest in Bearers and peasants alike. Clive simply knows how to put his shoulder to the yoke, but Joshua knows how to nurture, and the pride he feels for him is endless.
Clive has been in and out of the hideaway for days, making frequent trips to help Martha and Wade settle Eastpool again. When he returns, he’s pleased to find that Joshua and Mid have got on well. Their speak of engines and science still goes far above his understanding, but it pleases him to see how intelligent Joshua has become. That even a life in the shadows can bear someone this good, kind and smart. His father would be proud; there was no better fit for an Archduke.
Joshua is on strict bedrest by Tarja, but he still helps Mid where he can. He sits up on the workbench, holding out tools as they banter.
“That cogwheel is backwards.”
Mid rips out the wheel, turns it and slams it back in.
“Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”
Amused, Joshua plays with the wrench in his hands.
“Like where?”
“I ‘unno, doing Phoenix things, or the like.”
“Dion left somewhere,” Joshua shrugs. “We don’t leave for Waloed until Clive gets back. I suppose I’m fresh out of Phoenix things to do.”
Mid flips her long braid over her shoulder and grunts.
“Then be useful and divvy up the fire, please.”
Joshua fans the flames of her furnace. He looks so at ease, Clive is hesitant to interrupt them. For a moment, when the embers catch on Mid’s shoulders and they laugh as she smothers the flames – he wonders if there is a spark between them. Joshua takes to those that treat him less like royalty, which is probably why his well-mannered retainer is sulking in the infirmary.
“You said more fire.”
“Greagor’s tits, if I lose me eyebrows again, you’re drawin em back on.”
Joshua laughs behind his hand, and Clive leans up against the dungeon doorway and thinks, he is beautiful.
The horror slams into him like the hilt of a sword. He tries to wipe the thought by force; tries to scramble for excuses – he’s exhausted, it’s dark down here, she, he meant she – but he didn’t, and he’s the worst brother in the world.
Joshua turns to look at him with a fond expression. His hair is sticky, the sweat clinging to his face from all the furnace heat, and the soot on his chin is only more charming.
“Clive, you’re back.”
I will burn in hell, Clive thinks. I will burn, and the world will be better for it.
“Ready to go?” Clive asks. His voice feels thick. Joshua jumps from the bench and tosses Mid the wrench.
“Sorry, my lady. I have Phoenix duties after all.”
“Don’t die the lot of you,” Mid gestures. “An wipe your face, like.” Joshua steps to his side, wiping his face with his arm, and Clive feels that knot of tension loosen again, this time against his own will. The guilt simmers with the shivering relief. Joshua is by his side, everything will be fine.
Clive sleeps on hard ground more than he sleeps on proper bedding, so camping in Waloed is inconsequential.
Ever the dutiful scout, Gav agrees to take the first watch. Clive knows he’s going to climb up that mountain and smoke that dirty habit he learned from Cid, but he can’t blame him. Clive picked up his own Cidisms, like trying to save the whole damn world.
He misses the stars. Joshua coaxes the fire back to life, then crawls onto his bedroll, coughing quietly so Clive won’t worry. He worries anyway.
He rolls to his back, as it’s the only comfortable way to sleep in armor. He trusts Gav, but he can’t afford to take off more than his gloves not knowing what lurks out here. Especially when his brother lies so close, curled on his side, sick and vulnerable.
The seal on his chest glows through the dark.
He isn’t weak, Clive thinks. He might be stronger than us all.
Other than the pops of the fire, their camp is quiet. Clive sighs defeatedly. Soon it will be his turn for lookout, and he won’t have slept a wink.
Joshua’s back is turned to him. Clive is afraid to let his mind wander. He doesn’t want to accept any more beasts that live inside him – Ifrit is more than enough – but it’s another lesson he refuses to learn. If Ifrit is him, then so is this new monster.
His chest squeezes. That dark feeling settles in his stomach, and for fucks sake, he can smell him; all the sweet, fragrant spices that remind him of Joshua.
What is wrong with me?
Disgruntled, Joshua sits up sharply. With a tired huff, a smothered cough, and a drag of his bedroll, he hauls himself to Clive’s side and flops next to him. Clive goes entirely stiff, lifting his hand as not to touch him. He doesn’t deserve Joshua’s trust, he shouldn’t stray so close –
“The Undying have reason to believe that an in-tact Apodytery might reside somewhere in Waloed,” Joshua says. Clive is stunned silent as he cuddles to him, pillowing his head on Clive’s arm, chainmail and all. “I think we should go.”
Clive’s heart is racing. Why? Because Joshua looks so soft in the firelight? Because he smells like coriander and tea? Or is it the gentle hands that play at his shirt strings, or the long, blonde eyelashes that weigh heavy with fatigue?
Clive does not touch him back.
“You are still chasing that mural.”
“I need answers.” Every shallow breath he takes is like a relief to his soul. Like the mere sound of his voice in his ear is enough to settle Ifrit as he churns inside him. “I think we both do.”
Clive stares at the sky. The embers float above them with the wind. He can hear Torgal squeak a yawn, and a lone frog croaks in the brush.
Attempting to break this thick tension, he says, “Yes. To stop Ultima.”
Joshua shrugs.
“Sure.”
No doubt he can hear his heart racing. But Ifrit is damn near purring, and once again, Clive is too weak to push Joshua away.
Soon he is stirred from sleep by a hand on his shoulder. Clive has to peel himself out from under Joshua’s baby-like grip, and Gav silently laughs at him, sitting back by the fire.
“Not a word,” Clive whispers, gathering his sword. Gav presses a finger to his lips, and grins.
They find the mural in the Apodytery.
Clive suffers to learn that Ultima is not only after Ifrit, but the Phoenix as well. Despite his horror, Joshua is downright pleased by it.
“This is bad, Joshua,” Clive hisses, grabbing him by the scarf. He gestures to the grand mural, where all the dominants worship the shadowy figure above them; now known as Ifrit, depicted with phoenix wings. “Ultima needs you to complete his vessel, and you’re carrying part of him in your fucking chest!”
Joshua shoves him away.
“You cannot shoulder this burden on your own! If Ultima needs us both, then I can rest easy knowing that he cannot take you from me! So stop – ” he pushes him again, harder, “— trying to save the world by yourself!”
Clive’s heart bleeds like a wound. He looks away sharply, and Joshua sighs, rubbing at his own arm. The tension breaks.
“I didn’t mean to yell.”
“I know. Come on, let's go find Gav.”
Joshua’s flame follows them out of the deep Apodytery chamber. They can’t return the way they came, so they follow one of the long tunnels that extends to a second staircase. Clive’s teeth begin to ache from clenching his jaw so tightly. Joshua climbs the stairs in front of him, one long leg in front of the other, jingling with jewels and silks and the silver sword at his soft hip, and Clive is forced to keep his eyes on the floor, lest he really burn in hell.
If you knew how I looked at you, you wouldn’t be so eager to save me.
“Wait,” Joshua says. Clive’s boot squeaks on the step as his hackles raise. “I see something at the end of this corridor. There might be another mural.”
Clive sheaths his sword and clears his throat.
“The same one?”
“No. Different. Follow me.”
Joshua takes off, and Clive jogs to follow. For someone that coughed up a fistful of blood this morning, he’s already so quick on his feet –
Half of the mural is covered by a rotted tarp. Joshua yanks it down, and they both shield their eyes from the dust that follows.
“Look,” Joshua coughs. “It’s Ifrit Risen.”
Clive squints. He waves away some of the cobwebs.
“He looks different.”
The depiction isn’t a shadowy black like the last mural, but painted in a vivid red. Some of the color has faded to time, but no doubt this Ifrit sports fire red flames, and long tail feathers.
“There is more,” says Joshua. Clive follows the images down the wall. It depicts Ifrit and the Phoenix as two separate beings. The writing is in a language he can’t read, and as the mural progresses, the images become faded and rotted.
“They are…dancing?” Clive narrows in on the last painting; Ifrit and Phoenix nose to nose. The art completes itself in a circle, like a depiction of a loop in time.
Joshua has gone very quiet.
“Can you read this?” Clive asks. Joshua chews on his bottom lip, and in that moment, looks so young again.
“Some pieces. The Undying taught me what little we know of the ancient language.”
“What does it say?”
Joshua turns to him with a somber expression on his face.
“They are lovers.”
Clive is sure he heard that wrong. He looks back to the mural and studies the cycle all over again. Ifrit and the Phoenix born to dominants, the dominants hand in hand, the Eikons merging together –
“That can’t be right.”
“Twin flames,” Joshua points. “Two hearts become one. I can’t understand some of the words here, but it mainly reads as souls destined together.”
What a cruel twist of fate.
The dominants are pictured as two vague humans holding hands. No facial features, no clothing; just red little figures made for the other.
Clive turns away, pressing a hand to his mouth. Joshua stands there and says nothing.
“This is wrong,” Clive says. He turns around, growing louder. “You read wrong, Joshua. It’s a silly painting in an old, rotten cave. Let’s go.”
Joshua looks hurt. “Clive, we need to talk about this.”
Clive starts for the stairs again.
“No, we really don’t.”
Joshua scrambles after him, flickering a ball of flame once more.
“This is groundbreaking! That mural could be the key to defeating Ultima. To understanding who we –”
Clive turns, and snaps.
“Enough.”
Joshua clenches his teeth shut. Clive stares, and Joshua stares back. Clive immediately feels sick from the tension, but he refuses to let it show. At last, Joshua looks away in bitter submission, and Clive feels no better for winning. They approach the surface in cold silence.
“Sheesh, a bit dark down there, wasit?” Gav jokes, attempting to lighten the mood.
“We’re leaving,” Clive grits. Gav raises his eyebrows, but asks no more questions.
He has no one he can speak to about this. Not even Jill, and that fact is eating him inside.
“You need to rest,” Jill says, placing a hand atop his own. “At this rate, you will burn yourself to the bone.”
Clive hasn’t spoken to Joshua since they returned from Waloed. Dion is back, so Joshua has found company in his old friend. His strong, influential, very tactile friend, who has a known history of male lovers. Clive might really be ill.
“For the hideaway,” Clive says, slapping coins down at the bar. Maeve takes the gil with a grin.
“Hear that folks! Next round is on Cid!”
Hooting and hollering erupts from the mess hall. Jill sees right through him.
“Clive, please.”
He looks to the bottom of his tankard. Across the hall, Joshua is waving his hands around as he speaks passionately. Dion calms him back down with a hand on his shoulder, and to Clive, it’s as physical as a punch to the stomach.
“I wish I could tell you, Jill,” he says. “I really wish I could.”
Jill looks hurt by that, but she is stronger than words.
“You learned something about Ifrit.”
About me.
“Gods play cruel games,” Clive says. He swings back the rest of his beer, fighting back a cringe at the bitter. He wipes his mouth and returns the cup. “I will be a pawn no more.”
Thankfully, Jill lets it go. It takes all his strength to avoid watching Joshua. He can hear his laugh, he can smell him –
That is mine. You touch what is MINE.
Clive presses a hand to his chest. Even Jill seems to sense Ifrit’s activity, as she stands straight and alert.
“Would you travel with me? I need to run an errand for my uncle.”
Jill runs her fingers through the fur between Torgal’s ears, patting him as he perks at the mention of travel.
“I’ll go.”
Oh, that if Clive could love her the way he wants to. Oh, if fate wasn’t so cruel.
It pains him to leave Joshua behind, but it would pain him far more if he was to lose control. He will cut his own hands before ever harming him again – and that is a promise.
They return days later, in the dead of night. Clive feels guilty for dragging Jill halfway across the continent, so he sees her to bed, and sneaks his own way to his chambers.
Everything is as he left it, besides the new stack of letters at his desk. He places his newly acquired keepsakes on his table; a Rosarian scarf from Wade, a chocobo sign, and a few new rings. He lights a lantern with his fire, and sorely strips off his armor (caked in dirt and blood, it will need a good wash in the morning). For now, it’s all he can do to wipe himself clean, and dress in fresh clothes. He feels utterly drained, each passing day worse than the last. He would think the blight was drinking from his very soul if he didn’t know any better.
He's so oversensitive from their long time apart, that he doesn’t need to look to know Joshua is at his door. He keeps his back turned, and stares blankly at the wall, holding his breath to see if Joshua will leave.
Naturally, he does not.
Footsteps pad across the floor. Clive’s heart races, blood pumping in his ears. As the sheets are pulled back, he finds the cowardice to say,
“We cannot do this.”
Joshua doesn’t stray this time. Weight presses into the bed, and a hand finds his shoulder.
“Even now, feeling as miserable as you are, you would turn me away?”
Clive refuses to roll over, because he knows if he looks at him, he will break. “I will not hurt you Joshua. No matter how much you might hate me, I will not.”
Slowly, weight comes to settle at his back. He can feel in Joshua’s breathing that he’s tense. And yet he still reaches for him, slowly holding to his waist, and then sliding his hand forward, to hold him at the chest.
“I will never hate you, Clive.”
He struggles to keep his voice from breaking. When he closes his eyes, he can still see the mural on the wall. Joshua’s presence is so comforting to his Eikon, it horrifies him.
“How are you possibly okay with this?”
Joshua’s fingers are soft and long; not so worn and calloused as his own. He pets over Clive’s chest, breathing shallowly behind his ear, as if he’s holding back.
“Is it not a beautiful thing?” Joshua finds his arm, and encircles his wrist. “How wonderful is it, that I have been given someone made for me. That despite all the cruelty in this world, I was gifted a brilliant person that has loved me all my life, and I him.”
Clive can no longer resist his nimble fingers. He finds his hand and squeezes it with all his strength.
“This is wrong. We are brothers, and yet I want for you.”
Joshua takes a shaky breath. He threads their fingers together, lost to the eternal darkness of his chambers. Every nerve is on end, every hair and sense heightened by the other.
“We are no longer playing by the rules of men. To Gods, we are all next of kin, all borne from the same cruel creator.” Clive turns over to argue, but as predicted, he freezes at the sight of him. Joshua’s eyes are big and watery, much like the brave face he would put on when he was trying to look tough as a child. “Please, don’t make me leave.”
Clive’s heart breaks. He lifts a hand to sweep the hair from his cheek, holding him tightly.
“I am your shield. I was sworn to protect you, the Phoenix blessed me to protect you.” His hands shake as he brushes over his smooth chin. “My biggest fear is that I cannot save you from myself.”
“Then save me,” Joshua begs. He grinds forward, pushing his hips into his thigh, and Clive physically gasps from the stiffness he finds there. “Please, Clive. Ever since we joined as one, the Phoenix screams for you. He paces inside me, longing to steal every breath you take. He yearns for Ifrit so badly, so carnally, it burns so much I cannot sleep. No matter what I do, my body is not satisfied.”
Clive stops breathing. He cups him hard by the neck, struggling for control. He doesn’t know what is Ifrit’s desire and what is his own, but maybe that was the answer all along. There is no difference.
“You test me,” Clive whispers. “Creator help me, that I will not ravage my own brother.”
Joshua shudders like he wants nothing more.
“I’m happy it's you,” says Joshua. “Of everyone in the world to be fated to, I would always choose you.”
Fuck.
“Founder, Joshua. Do you not hear yourself?”
Hands push him to lay back in the sheets. Clive stares up as Joshua turns to straddle him, the low lantern light giving him a perfect view of his naked torso, and the stiff arousal in his trousers. He looks threadbare and needy, eyes dilated as he looks Clive up, and down.
“Save me, Clive,” says Joshua. He strokes from his chest to his throat. Joshua presses their bodies together to beg by his ear. “Please, big brother. Defile me. Save me.”
Clive fists a hand in his hair, and Joshua kisses him.
He makes a hurt, surprised noise – and then the rest doesn’t matter. All the regrets, the guilt and the taboo; it melts from his mouth and off his chest. It’s like two perfect pieces that slot together, two soulmates fitted where they were always supposed to be. Clive has spent years trying to defy fate. But as Joshua sinks his tongue into his mouth, he wonders why he tried to defy this one.
They lick, suck, and taste. Long sweeps of tongue, and the click of their teeth.
“Oh, Gods,” Joshua shudders. “You feel that?”
It’s like a rush of too much ale; a hazy, druggy feeling that burns in his stomach. Their Eikons purr happily, and it melts right through him.
“Yes,” Clive rasps. He fits their mouths together again, kissing deeply. Their lips slide noisily, this time a sound groaning from them both. Joshua is so beautiful above him, lithe and slender, yet flexible as he presses against him and arches his back into his hands. They are flushed, and he knows it. His resolve is slipping through his fingers, replaced by golden hair and buttery skin.
“I cannot stand how the world looks at you,” Joshua hisses. He ruts against him, drawing arousal between his legs like a snare. “All those wandering eyes, they lust for you, and have no respect that you are mine.” Joshua turns his head, and bites hard to his throat. Clive gasps, and moans. “I tapped you here with my sword,” says Joshua. He pulls aside his shirt, and bites his other shoulder. “I blessed you here, to be mine.”
Clive’s head swims. He is comforted to know that Joshua burned with the same possessive flames that he struggled to snuff within himself.
“I have only ever served one master.”
Joshua moans. They press chest to chest, so tight that Clive can feel Joshua’s stomach clench as he kisses him once more. It is deep and carnal, lips sliding together, his stubble scratching on Joshua’s cheek as they attempt to consume the other. His lips are so plush and soft, almost feminine in the smooth, hairless skin he wears, and yet masculine in his strong arms and the cock against his thigh. Clive is so hard it hurts. He has never known arousal this strong.
“May I touch you?” Clive asks.
“Fuck, please.”
The curse sounds so pretty on his tongue. Clive holds him at the waist, stroking up his back, then down his chest. Clive pulls the belt from his trousers and begins to undress him, peeling apart his brother so that he might sin. Joshua is making soft, needy sounds that become progressively louder. His hands stray to Clive’s shoulders, kneading and squeezing as if he’s in pain.
“Are you –”
“I need to be one,” Joshua gasps. He hangs his head and shivers again, and swear to the Gods, Clive can feel him throb. “I need to be – us again.”
Clive makes a sympathetic sound. Ifrit whines, or perhaps, he does.
“I know. But we can’t. You are too weak, and, well…” He dips his fingers beneath the band of his underclothes, feeling hot, sticky skin against his knuckles. It feels like he’s ruining something precious. Like he’s staining white linen with blood. “Our Eikon would be a shock to the hideaway.”
“Then like this.” Joshua bravely reaches behind him, and feels across Clive’s cock, where it’s trapped in his trousers and stuck down his leg. Clive’s head thrashes back as he bites on his tongue. “Be one, inside me.”
“Fuck, come here.”
Their clothes fall away. It’s been so many years since they have been nude together, Clive barely recognizes the man before him. Sculpted, wounded, and ghastly beautiful, too skinny in some places, and too long in others. He is perfect.
“Oh, Founder,” Joshua sighs. He squeezes his chest in both hands. “The Gods made you for me.”
Clive doesn’t want to acknowledge the way that made him feel (nor the way his length drooled), so he pulls Joshua close, breathing deeply into his hair as he strokes down to his arse with one hand. “I need something to stretch you with.”
“My pants – back pocket.”
“You are horrible.”
“I am out of patience,” replies Joshua.
Here, here.
His heart thumps with the knowledge that we should not be doing this, but his body grows all the more aroused for it. The glass vial is small, with just enough oil to slick his fingers. Joshua is reactive under his touch, slinking down to press his face in his shoulder, and Clive is hesitant to breach him, petting down his tailbone and circling his fingers there. Even with all these years apart, Joshua knows him by breath, by heartbeat and bone. He kisses Clive sweetly on the cheek.
“You cannot do to me what I haven’t already done to myself.”
The encouragement makes his face burn. Clive slides in his two middle fingers, and is shocked by the welcoming heat, and the sweet tightness of him. Joshua arches his back, pressing closer, but makes no wounded noise or moan of surprise. He’s just a cat in his arms, purring happily, sucking on his ear.
“I was so worried I was preying on you,” says Clive. He uses his free hand to squeeze his left thigh, and then further, at the round of his cheek. “But perhaps I was the prey.”
Joshua laughs breathily. He pushes back on his fingers, sliding his arms forward and curling like a panther. His shoulder blades shift, and he tips his head to kiss him further.
“Curl your fingers. Yes, yes up –” Joshua moans loudly. Clive stifles it with his mouth, turning them sideways so he can hitch Joshua’s leg up his thigh, and work his fingers deeper. Joshua wraps his arms around his neck. Clive feels a distinct tingling down his neck, and he shivers from it. “Clive,” whispers Joshua, licking spit from his lip. “Have you – with a man?”
Clive swallows. The memories aren’t so pleasant. He uses the soft, lazy press of Joshua’s mouth to ground himself.
“It’s complicated. When I was a Bearer, I was seen as less than human.”
As his mind drifts, it’s almost as if he can feel the reflexive pulse of the Phoenix – pressed chest to chest, he senses a flash of possessive anger that isn’t his own.
“I’m sorry,” says Joshua, soft despite his anger.
His fingers make lewd noises as he pushes into him, over and over. They both know he’s ready, but he drags it out a little longer. If this is his only chance to please his brother before the end of the world, then he will do so rightly. Joshua’s cock is drooling on his stomach. There is no coming back from this.
“Will you torture me forever?” Joshua moans.
Clive removes his fingers, and pulls on his thigh, urging him to shift into place.
“Forgive me.” Clive pets up his leg one more time. “You are so beautiful, Joshua.”
He looks flustered by the compliment. In his usual deflection, he reaches behind to grab Clive by the cock and stroke him, leading him to his entrance.
“Please, make me whole.”
Clive would see to it that his brother never begs a thing from him again. They both moan when he presses inside, inch by torturous inch, until there’s nothing that separates them from mind and flesh. His stomach twists with tight arousal, suddenly overstimulated by such a tight heat, and the overwhelming scent of his brother. They are flicking with flames, gasping ash into the other’s mouth, breathing smoke from their noses as they try their hardest not to prime with the Eikons roaring within them.
Their bodies fit perfectly, like they were always meant to be.
“Fuck,” Joshua gasps, eyes rolling shut. He rocks back on him, like he’s trying to feel him thoroughly. “Big brother. I get it now.”
Clive’s throat clicks with a swallow. “Stop it. I’m trying to focus.”
Joshua wiggles a hand between their bodies to work himself in hand. He smiles, squeezing tight to him with that thigh wrapped around his hip for leverage.
“No more focusing, Clive. Kiss me.”
He moves, or perhaps, they move together. Joshua makes pleased, short moans, and Clive’s eyes begin to burn, and their hands thread as they hold tightly to the other. They can’t be as loud as they want to, but Clive will give him everything – all that he desires, a million orgasms, a thousand hours spent like this, he will find a way for him.
He fucks him deep and slow, and when it’s not enough, Joshua rolls to his stomach, and Clive presses to his back. He has never been so quickly on the edge of orgasm, but Joshua’s body sucks him in and continues to demand more, and Clive gives, and gives. He can feel Ifrit snarling, and every blink feels heavier with the lack of control.
“Fuck,” Clive grits. His hand fits into Joshua’s small waist. He pulls him back, and the slick sound of thigh hitting thigh makes his balls ache. “Joshua, tell me if I hurt you. Ifrit is fighting me.”
“I know.” Joshua gasps shortly, and then rolls his hips. They are becoming frantic, and rougher. “Me too. You can’t hurt me, please Clive, you can never hurt me.”
Something breaks.
“I did,” Clive sobs. It escapes him, a string of tears that have been stuck in his throat. “I almost killed you.”
“Oh, Clive.” Joshua turns enough to fist a hand into his hair, to pull him close and press their cheeks together, so his tears become theirs. “So long as you walk this earth, I will be born again, for you.”
Every inch of their bodies is pressed together. Back to chest, arm to arm. Clive cries into his hair and Joshua holds him there. He’s surrounded by him, consumed in flesh and soull. He’s emotional and he can’t choke it back (almost like he’s brimming with passions that aren’t all his own, like a wine cup fit to spill over).
“I love you,” Joshua says, soothing him. Clive drives into him, over and over, harder, and harder. “You’re okay, I love you so, so much.”
Clive comes with a fist in the sheets, biting back tears, and a choked declaration in his own throat. It’s not so much a confession, but more of a stated fact, like Mid’s science or Tomes’ written history. It’s carved on the walls, painted in the Apodetary as certain proof that they complete each other.
Joshua was right. It is a beautiful thing.
He shudders through it, moaning. Joshua moans back, and squirms to touch himself. Clive pulls out and replaces his cock with his tongue, and Joshua makes an inhuman sound; a sharp squawk muffled in his pillow. He can see light between his shoulder blades; simmering fire that threatens to spill from his spine. Gods, he can only imagine how stunning he would be with those Phoenix wings springing from his back.
Clive has no more concept of his surroundings. Just Joshua, and the way he fits in his hands. The doubt, the guilt, the regret; it ceases to exist. It’s as if the human part of himself has finally faded away.
Joshua comes in a quiet, shivering mess. Clive pumps him in his hand until he’s groaning, his long eyelashes fluttering from the stimulation. Joshua never says stop. They go again, and again, until the sun rises.
Clive sits on the edge of the bed, and threads his arms through his shirt. He prepares to pull his head through the opening, but stops when he feels a soft touch at his spine.
“These are the scars of whippings,” Joshua says. He keeps his voice low now that the hideaway is awake. Muffled talking echoes through the chamber door, along with the sounds of hammering, and the song of the orchestrion. His room looks so big in the sunlight. Their clothes strewn around the floor, an empty vial rolled against one of his boots. It wasn’t a dream.
Clive allows Joshua to chase the scars with his fingers, pillowing his shirt in his lap.
“I was a Bearer for thirteen years.”
“Founder bless it that I never meet the Imperials who did this.”
“They are worth nothing to me,” Clive says. Both the scars, and the Imperials. Joshua’s hands turn firmer as he finds a spot of hard muscle, and begins to rub into it. Clive hangs his head, muffling a groan. “I was so – numb back then. Self destructive. All I cared about was avenging you.” Only to find out the killer was me.
Joshua turns his knuckle into the spot under his shoulder blade, then rubs it out with his thumb, sweeping high and low. Clive has a world of problems waiting for him out there, but oh, if this moment could last forever.
“I wanted to find you,” Joshua whispers. For the first in a long time, he hears raw emotion in his voice. Guilt in its cracks, bleeding through deep sadness. “But I couldn’t. To keep us both safe. Please forgive me.”
“Joshua, if you ever listen to a word I say – know you never have to explain yourself to me. Ever, do you understand?”
Joshua’s hands move in tandem now. Two palms sweep up his back, and come to rest at his shoulders. He can feel a forehead press against his nape. Joshua’s throat swallows, and the following exhale is shallow.
Clive has a dumb moment of understanding. Joshua has made all the advances thus far. He holds his breath in fear that Clive will still push him away.
Clive reaches to his shoulder, and presses a hand over the fingers squeezing there. Joshua continues to say nothing, so Clive turns partway on the bed, and grabs the side of his cheek. Joshua is forced to look at him through tired, guarded eyes.
“My entire life has always revolved around you,” Clive says. He pets his cheek with his thumb, and Joshua’s eyes widen. The buzzing anxiety begins to fade as their Eikons settle. “Now, I know why. There is nothing you can do that will make me leave you.”
Joshua bumps their foreheads together. “And I you.”
They both move for the kiss. It’s short, and tight lipped. Only a matter of heartbeats until something clatters outside, and Blackthorne begins to curse heavily. Joshua laughs.
“We have work to do.”
“Um, you need to rest.”
Joshua swings his long legs out of bed, stretching his arms high above him as he pops his back. The long, smooth curve of his naked body makes his mouth water.
“You are good in bed,” Joshua says, “but not that good.”
Clive throws a pillow at him.
Joshua hops into his clothes, and much like their days of young, climbs out through the balcony.
Their final day is approaching. There is a mutual understanding between Clive, Joshua, and Dion, that their chances of returning are slim to none. The hideaway residents have come to realize this as well. Some have attempted to keep spirits up, but as the skies darken and that crystal looms in the sky, it becomes increasingly somber among them.
On the morning they return from Dalimil, Clive drops his sword off his shoulder, and sees that Otto has clearly had enough.
“What are you burning?” Clive asks.
“Scrap wood,” Otto says. The children have already begun to gather around the bonfire. The Tub and Crown brew drinks, lining up tankards at the bar, while Goetz helps to make more seating room for the residents. Otto sets his hands on his hips. “Geoffroy said we could burn the rotted bits. It’s been depressing enough around here – I figured if there was enough means to throw a fete, it would be now.”
Clive shifts his weight. He looks up to the sky, now dark with sunset, but no stars in sight. Whether he lives or dies, by the flames, that will change soon.
Otto is staring at him like he’s not sure if he will disapprove or not. Clive watches as the new Bearers are given hot food, staring down at the bowls with wide-eyed wonder. The Cursebreakers hang up their weapons and take on a tankard of ale instead. Clive feels an indescribable amount of fondness for them.
“We should tell the backyard,” Clive says, picking his sword back up again. “Those in the atrium might be interested as well.”
Otto’s face softens.
“Thanks, Clive.”
The bonfire is a hit. Some of the residents bring out instruments, as others collect chairs for sitting.
Joshua drags Jote out of the infirmary, and takes control of tending the fire, occasionally performing tricks for the children. Clive takes a headcount to make sure none were left behind. Even Torgal has managed to find a place by the rear stacks, begging for treats from Charon.
They are missing one.
Clive turns around. He checks near the boarding deck, and finds Dion slumped against the wall, facing the water.
“Aye, did I ever tell you folk I played lute?” Gav hollers. His words slur, and a crowd of laughter erupts.
“Yeah, right! Over Greagor’s fat ass.”
“No, really! Givit here!”
“Hey – !”
Clive approaches Dion without sword nor drink in his hand, to appear as non threatening as possible. He sees him, but does not regard him, so Clive says,
“Not your thing?”
“I have nothing to celebrate,” Dion says. His eyes are cold and sad, like a man that has accepted death. “I simply await our departure so that I might reach atonement.”
Clive scratches his chin. He watches the children as they weave laurels with Jill. Gav is flubbing his way through a song, singing loudly to make up for the wrong notes. It makes him miss home.
“I don’t think it’s a celebration.”
Dion looks between the fire, the beer, and Mid as she kidnaps the other youths to dance.
“Is it not?”
Clive feels himself growing defensive. He breathes in slowly, for Dion has not grown to know them as he has.
“These people have endured great suffering.” Clive explains, “Each of them carries their own sorrow, and yet despite this, they find a way to press on. It’s not circumstance that deserves celebration, but our humanity. The will to keep on living.” He turns to Dion, and finds him listening intently. “You would do good to remember this when you think of your redemption.”
Dion crosses his arms. He gazes back at the bonfire, then to Joshua, who is smiling with Jote. Dion sighs.
“Said like a true leader. When we were children, the Phoenix would speak so greatly of you. I always thought he was lucky to have family that loved him.”
Cuttingly honest, just as the rumors say.
Clive goes quiet. He chews the side of his tongue, and keeps his attention away from Joshua.
“There are reasons to live, Dion. It took me half my years to understand why. But one day you’ll know.”
Rather than grace him with a response, Dion pushes off the wall, and saunters his way towards Joshua. Clive takes that as a win. Dion stiffly sits beside him on the log, and Joshua wraps an arm around his shoulders, welcoming him with words lost to the music – and rather than a burning jealousy, Clive just feels love for them both.
Gav appears, and slaps him on the ass.
“Gittin there, Clive,” Gav grins, shoving a beer into his hands. “It’s the end of the world.”
Clive can’t sit near his brother, so he makes himself a spot near Jill, and lets Torgal lay across his lap, as he rarely ever does. More people get up to dance, even Tarja, drunkenly in tandem with Dorys, and as the songs continue, Joshua stares at him from across the bonfire. Clive knows it; he can feel the gaze hot on his face, not from the fire, but the affections of the phoenix.
“Didn’t you ever dance, Prince Rosfield?” Mid teases, squeezing his shoulder. Clive lightly swats back at her.
“Don’t go there.”
“I’ll dance with you, my lady,” Joshua says, rising. “Forgive my brother’s poor manners.” Mid cackles, and takes his arm.
“C’mon, Jote! You too!”
“Oh – I um, I don’t – oh!”
Clive watches them join the line. Harpocrates takes the opportunity to speak with Dion under the fire. Clive takes charge of containing the flames, extending his palm to feel the heat.
His heart weighs heavy. He watches Joshua’s hands clasped with Mid and Jote. He wants silly things. Simple pleasures he cannot have.
Clive retires to his chambers after his second ale. Few notice his absence, except the perceptive Prince Dion, and his own brother, of course.
He is stripping off the gloves of his armor when someone slips in through his balcony. Clive folds the gloves together, and keeps his attention on the ledger he’s reading. Isabelle thanks him for his help in Northreach. Maybe he can write her back by morning.
“Tired already?” Joshua asks, gripping back on the balcony rail. Clive keeps his eyes down.
“I was never one for parties, you know this.”
“Mmm.” Joshua makes his way through his chambers, the beads on his clothes jingling with every step, like little windchimes. “A shame you didn’t stick around to show off your impressive dance skills.”
Clive barks a laugh. He looks up, and melts under the soft expression of his brother.
“Very funny.”
“Two left feet, mother said.” Joshua strolls towards him, scraping the heel of his boot along the floor, as if mimicking a dance. “You were too nervous to ask Jill for help, so I had to be the lady.”
“I hated mother’s fancy galas.” Clive cringes at the memory. “The stiff outfits and the horrible shoes.”
Joshua snickers.
“I hated them too.” He steps close enough to grab Clive by the hips. He lets him, breathing slowly. “Most of all, I hated watching you dance with those pretty girls, knowing it was me who practiced with you for all those hours.”
Clive’s eyebrows shoot upwards. They see eye to eye like this, and with his bare hand free, he sets it at the nape of Joshua’s neck. His lungs feel too tight.
“Even then…?”
Joshua frowns. “I was too young to understand the feeling at the time. I was so possessive of my brother, I didn’t want him to belong to anyone else.” His fingers slip between the ties of his corset. “Clive, listen to me. Ultima is close. I will not be able to hold him much longer.” He stares through long, pale eyelashes. “Can we have one last dance?”
Clive takes the fingers of his right hand, and holds them. In between the silence, music floats around them, soft in the distance. The bonfire light filters through the cracks in the walls, appearing yellow and red, like lightning streaks across the floor.
It’s as if no time has passed. Slow, and in step, and hand in hand. Clive holds back his anguish, and his tears, and Joshua kisses him for it, gentle and sad. They sway in a dance long lost to Rosarian history.
Chatter, laughter, and music is numb to them. Their steps slow as their kisses deepen, and when Clive’s knees hit the bed, Joshua pushes him down to it, crawling between his legs.
He pulls him in his mouth, and works him open with those long, pretty fingers of his. Clive presses his hands to his eyes, and begs forgiveness for a sin he’s not sorry for.
Joshua fucks him that night. His mouth tastes like blood when they kiss, but Clive doesn’t care; he is tired of shame and propriety. His squeaking bed frame is hidden behind the music. Their Eikons purr and trill and Clive subjects himself to it, one last time.
One last time. One last fight. One last prime, fused together to defeat a God.
To be us, is to be loved.
I, Ifrit, Risen from the ashes.
The end of the world is actually a new beginning. That’s the part those murals never got right.
Joshua dies, then lives for him, and Clive has no more tears left to cry. To destroy Ultima’s crystal would kill him, so they do it together. This marks the end of Bearers, Dominants, and Gods – but not the end of them.
(Well, maybe a few fingers.)
They wash up on the sand somewhere, both missing an arm, both under the full, cloudless moon.
Clive feels bizarrely empty. No Ifrit, no Eikons, no magic. But a hand finds his in the sand, clasping what he has left, so he knows he isn’t alone. He summons his strength to turn his head; to witness Joshua half-soaked in the sand, bits of hair singed and stuck to his sweet, bruised face.
They will not marry, nor have children, nor live quiet, retired lives. Through sickness and pain, they will spend the rest of their years working to the bone for a world that isn’t ready to move on. They will commit their private lives to the shadows, to a double life of secrecy and love, and it will be a horrible, beautiful thing.
Joshua stares at him, blood pooled from his mouth, and yet smiling with it. The epitome of pride.
“One more dance?” He asks.
Clive presses his head back into the sand, and laughs.
“Just one more.”