Coronation

[featheredflames]

It is all far too much attention for Joshua's liking.

He knew this was how it would be, that there would be a certain amount of fussing the be expected...but this was beyond the scope of acceptable fussing surely. So much unnecessary commotion over a fitting of ceremonial robes that he wouldn't wear more than a handful of times at that... Would it not be better to spend time focusing on the clothing he would be draped in when he finally dawned his father's mantle? The day-to-day wear that he would need to sport as Archduke of Rosaria.

That would come later, in time, he had been reassured. This outfit would get at least a few days of wear out of it. The ceremony was to last more than a singular evening, festivities dragging on for nearly a week after the event of the coronation itself. Already Joshua feels weary at the thought. Fancy suppers and meeting with dignitaries were in his future but right now his present reality was a miserable one. Fabric is cinched around his waist as measurements are taken and pins are adjusted. He feels like a doll as he's fitted, made to stand for bells on end. Founder he could only hope that some semblance of reprieve would find him soon, hopefully before his knees gave out...

Swallowing he stares out the window, doing his best not to move as the tailors do their work as quickly as they can. It would be unfair if he told them to stop - they were only doing as they had been instructed to, to rework and refit the robes his father wore on his crowning day. Joshua cannot help but think they don't suit him - Clive would wear (and fit!) them far better than he. Yet it was tradition...and while he may be able to escape the tailors ere long, there was no escaping protocol and the duty that loomed over him.

Comments

[flamebrand]

More happy trilling from Ambrosia, who leans to nuzzle her face against Joshua's hair, his cheek. It's as much of an answer to how she's been as anything can be, though she also projects her discontent at being neglected (dramatic― it really hasn't been that long since Joshua last visited) by flapping her wings and urging Joshua closer with a few insistent chirps.

"She still thinks you to be eight, not eighteen," Clive observes, which is met with another little wiggle on Ambrosia's part, and a clicking of her beak. Silence, big Rosfield! The birds are talking!

[featheredflames]

"Well, she is still bigger than I am." He huffs out a laugh at her outburst, moving closer to obey her order. Her wiggles and chirping are, as always, charming, and Joshua is more than happy to indulge the chocobo in whatever way he can.

"Will I always be your chick, Ambrosia? I do not think I can easily fit beneath your wings as I once did." But that doesn't stop him from looping his arms around her neck. Whatever stress he had been carrying in his shoulders earlier melts away on contact.

"What a lovely bird you are."

[flamebrand]

Two lovely birds, as far as Clive is concerned. It's hard to keep his expression from sliding towards this side of doting, but the sentiment is clear on Clive's face anyway: blue eyes pool soft and warm, and his lips settle into a relaxed, settled arc as he watches Ambrosia nest around Joshua as best she can.

Very sweet. If Ambrosia had the standard chocobo coloring, they really might have been mistaken for a mother and her chick.

"Careful, brother. She may want to keep you for the rest of the night."

A step forward, and Clive touches his palm to the small of Joshua's back. To steady him, is his excuse― in truth, it's only an excuse to touch.

[featheredflames]

"As much as I would love to stay the night with such a lovely lady, I have prior arrangements."

He grins cheekily toward his brother, unable to help keep the warm blush from his cheeks when he feels Clive's palm steady him. He leans into the touch ever so slightly, just because he can. It's fine, is it not?

Ambrosia seems to be disappointed that she can't have Joshua all to herself, but he quickly placates her with a promise of fresh greens. "We brought you treats, since you so very much deserve them."

[flamebrand]

Joshua lists closer, and Clive can smell him even above the scent of hay and bird: parchment, ink, incense. Something warm and wicked blooms in the pit of his stomach, a desire that simmers every time his brother breaches the carefully-curated walls of Clive's personal space.

It isn't done, to want Joshua the way he does. Flesh and blood, Twin Flames. Clive already has him in every way that should matter; anything else would be ruinous.

Still, he leans, and noses against soft blond hair. The hungry creature in his chest rumbles in affirmation, whispers yes yes yes in Ifrit's sandpaper hiss―

―but Ambrosia snaps Clive out of his reverie with a rather emphatic chirp, indicating that the elder Rosfield should let go of her baby so that she can have the treats she deserves. No funny business, on her watch.

"...The greens. Right." Clive clears his throat, and steps away to fetch the items in question to hold out for Joshua to take.

[featheredflames]

No, there will be no delaying her treats if Ambrosia has any say in the matter. In a way she is a godsend, for Joshua finds himself holding his breath when the warmth of his brother's dampens the nape of his neck. He isn't expecting Clive to draw closer, to nose him the way Torgal would. Did he smell good? Was something wrong? Or did he feel it too, that inexplicable draw...

Founder bless the bird before him, for if Clive hadn't pulled away he may have turned to kiss him.

Ah...did he really just think that?

Taking the offered greens he gingerly turns to Ambrosia, sheepish. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Your Highness."

[flamebrand]

While his brother is busy with Ambrosia, Clive takes a few steps back to watch from a safe distance, arms folded across his chest to keep his wandering hands in check. He'd assumed that time would allay the simmering wrongness brewing under his skin, and that he would compose himself enough not to let terrible compulsions overtake his reason.

That hasn't been the case. The itch grows harder to ignore, year by year and day by day; Clive's love has metastasized into something beyond excising. Beyond duty or obligation or familial affection.

But it's impossible, he knows, to stop loving Joshua in any way, so the next thing out of his mouth is as fond as he ever is.

"You two make a pretty picture."

[featheredflames]

"Do we now?"

Ambroisa munches thoughtfully, giving him a full-bodied shake of her feathers in agreement while her beak is occupied. Yes, she is a very pretty bird, and so is Joshua. Thank you Clive for recognizing such truth.

A thoughtful finger taps against Joshua's chin as he looks between himself and the chocobo, before his gaze settles back on his brother.

"Shall I commission a portrait of us from one of the court painters? I am sure they would be delighted to indulge me."

[flamebrand]

A fond chuckle, at that.

"And what will the portrait be titled? 'Twin Birds of Rosaria'?"

Ambrosia has swiftly replaced Clive in the 'twins' department; Clive isn't angry about it. She's a very good chocobo, and has been loyal and dedicated to the both of them when humans were harder to trust than animals. Assigned to him as she is, Clive feels far safer when Ambrosia is with Joshua for any outings that require his brother to ride out of the castle gates. (Few and far in between.)

"It'd be a handsome painting, to be sure. But I doubt you'll be so eager after the portraits you'll have to stand for post-coronation."

[featheredflames]

Twin Birds of Rosaria. Haha, very funny Clive.

Even if Clive thinks that Ambrosia matches him better, Joshua would be one to disagree. She was still Clive's bird through and through, even if it was obvious that she was fond of him as well.

The smile on his face soon turns upside down at the mention of what will be expected of him after his coronation. The drudgery...he is not looking forward to it by any means.

"Founder, do not remind me. I want to forget for the few moments of freedom I still have before I become chained to that throne."

But he's quick to right the curve of his lips as he grabs more greens to feed the chocobo before him. "Mayhaps I will have you stand with me for one, just to make it fair."

[flamebrand]

"If we're to be fair," Clive corrects, "I would have to stand with you for more than just one."

Several portraits are in Joshua's future: one that will hang imperious in a main wing of Rosalith Castle, one that will sit more primly alongside a history of previous Rosfields, smaller depictions that will find their places in galleries and sitting rooms. It will be strange, Clive thinks, to see his brother's serene face placed beside a younger, more round-faced version of Elwin; another addition to a long line of Phoenixes and interims, none of them who lived longer than they ought to have.

A morbid thought. Especially before his brother's coronation, which should be a joyous, momentous occasion. Clive sets it aside for contemplation on a rainy day, and instead, keeps the tone and topic as light as the smile on his face.

"I don't know if the artist would consent to my standing beside you. I'd ruin the piece with my scowling."

[featheredflames]

"It would not be up to them, would it? It would be my choice."

And if that truly were the case, his obvious choice would be to have his brother by his side. They were a pair, and Joshua would rather not be depicted without Clive if he could have his way. Let the history books know that he was only where he was because of his brother.

"I am sure they can paint a smile if need be. I would have my Shield and brother stand with me."

[flamebrand]

History is a complicated thing to contemplate. Clive wonders, sincerely, how Ifrit the Blasphemous will be remembered alongside the Phoenix－ if, indeed, the scribes will record the second Eikon of Fire's existence at all, or if Clive will be subject to erasure the way it seems Ifrit has been consigned to for centuries, buried under the rubble of silence.

It isn't done, really, for Rosaria to venerate anyone but the Firebird. As far as Clive knows about the Undying and their efforts, they've worked tirelessly to curate what the world currently knows of the Rosfield line.

Things to consider. But, on the other hand, things that are far less important to Clive than what Joshua wants, which is why his answer to my choice in Joshua's soft voice is:

"Whatever you wish, then."

His brother asks for so little and gets far less than he needs, besides. Clive will indulge him with a portrait or two or twenty, even if they get burned after the fact.

To punctuate, he moves beside his brother and places his lips to the crown of his head. Friendly, warm. Much in the way he did when they were still children, when affection was easily given without external (or internal) scrutiny.

"I'll work on my smile."

[featheredflames]

If Joshua is to have his way, which he is determined to once he's been sworn in as Archduke, Clive will never be forgotten. It is disheartening every time he hears the title Ifrit has been given, to know that others think his brother an abomination or something unnatural. So what if there were two Dominants of fire? Rosaria should feel blessed to have two natural born Eikons to protect her.

He is not expecting the soft press of lips to his head but it warms him immediately, cheeks ruddy as he stands, stilled for a moment. Every little moment Clive will grant him where they can comfort one another is more precious than any jewels or gold. If only he could have such affection more often.

"Your smile is already perfect as it is. You simply need to use it more."

Toward him, he wants to say, as he holds the remaining greens in hand. If only he was empty handed, he would embrace his brother right now.

[flamebrand]

Does he not smile enough? Joshua gives him cause enough to soften that Clive is under the impression that he must be all rounded corners around his brother, but maybe that isn't quite so; the other side of that same coin is the white-knuckled grip he has around the reins keeping his overeager heart at bay, and he knows that that internally-gripped fist may look like austerity.

He can feel it now, that magnetic tug. Ifrit, reaching for the Phoenix. His aether, humming in time to Joshua's. Despite it, he tries to give his brother what he wants.

"You see the most of it."

Lips curved, traveling from hair to temple. Just a soft brush of mouth against skin. Clive tries not to think about how electric it is, how something hot travels from the base of his spine and sparks behind his eyes.

[featheredflames]

"And how lucky I am for that indeed."

The words barely make it past his lips before Clive's find his hairline and temple. It's such a sweet gesture that Joshua's heart can barely take it. It isn't fair that he has to suppress the aching burn that flares up inside of him every time he feels his brother's touch. It is cruel even, that he has to retain some semblance of decorum, not for his own sake but for Clive's.

It is here, with him, that he always feels more secure and whole. Perhaps Ifrit and Phoenix were one Eikon once, many centuries ago. Now they were twin flames, two opposite sides of fire's existence. Gingerly he lets go of the greens, the leafy bundle dropping between them before he reaches out to gently embrace his brother. Ambrosia chirps in protest at her snacks falling to the ground, but she quiets observing the tender scene before her. It seems her boys need a cuddle, and she can permit it for a moment or two.

[flamebrand]

Again, his heart lurches. That roiling, ugly thing that whispers profanity to him grows louder in volume, and feeds heat into his blood, into his head. He barely has time to think before the soft rustle of greens on hay indicate that his brother has freed his hands, and those same hands settle against him now, holding him close for what's meant to be a sweet, innocent embrace.

Just an embrace. Just. Just the usual grace Joshua shows Clive over trifles; an undeserved kindness extended with harmless sincerity.

It should remain as such. Uncomplicated, and hallowed in that lack of complication. Something that can simply exist between the two of them without being tarnished by that wicked creature in Clive's ear, hissing want, want, want.

He turns his head just slightly. His nose buries in gold hair― the color of sunlight, the texture of Clive's happiness. It overwhelms him, overtakes him. His next breath hitches in the back of his throat, dry and hungry.

It's the only warning he can give before he finds himself realigning in the cradle of Joshua's arms, and tipping his chin for a kiss. Nothing about it is chaste: his mouth pries his brother's open to taste his broken exhale, ravenous and wild with need.

Oh, he fucking loves Joshua so much. It's unconscionable, but he hums it against Joshua's tongue anyway. I love you.

[featheredflames]

This isn't the first time Clive has kissed him.

Joshua remembers it like it was yesterday when he did, despite it happening two summers ago. Clive had returned from a particularly long stint of patrolling their borders, sweaty and red-faced from the sun. He remembers greeting his brother, running down to front gates to embrace him and welcome him home. The next thing he remembers are lips on his and a suddenly flustered Clive.

He has been fantasizing about that moment ever since.

It had been sheer luck that no one had seen what Clive had done and he apologized for it over and over, chalking it up to missing Joshua and simply being overwhelmed to see him again. Perhaps that had been the case, but a dark, greedy part of him inside had been awakened, telling him that it'd have been better if his brother's reasonings were different. That it had been desire that spurred Clive into kissing him.

Now, it seems, that may have been the case all along.

Joshua gasps against Clive's mouth, a small trill of surprise slipping free of his throat as he's kissed deeply. This is no chaste kiss of a knight missing his charge. No, there was an obvious need mixed with three little muttered words of adoration as his tongue meets Clive's. His brother loves him - that is a fact he has never once doubted...but to think he could love him like this.

Perhaps Clive expects him to push him away. Maybe he would imagine Joshua would respond with disgust and recoil. It is the opposite, in truth, as the younger Rosfield returns the contact with all the clumsy vigor of a boy unkissed as he grips onto Clive tight, moaning ever so softly in encouragement.

[flamebrand]

It takes more than a moment for Clive to remember himself. It's only when he feels fingers fist into his leathers, when he hears that soft moan in Joshua's voice, that Clive untangles enough of his sanity to hiss furious warnings against his own mind's ear.

But, oh, against all odds, there's reciprocation, and every part of Clive flares where their bodies meet: their mouths, their hands, their chests. He can taste the Phoenix's aether on his tongue, warm and soothing like homecoming; he can feel Ifrit responding in kind, violence laid to rest after years of tempering, its low growl in acknowledgment more a purr than anything else.

The impossibility of it all breaks the last of Clive's defenses. The fissures in his mental bulwark spread, and years of held-back emotions sift through spiderweb cracks. I love you is corrosive and destructive, but it's the sentiment he silently kisses against Joshua's mouth until the both of them need to come up for air.

They separate, and every nerve in his body screams in protest. Clive feels at once hot and cold, chilled by the reality of the line that he's crossed, and sweating lightly at how good it felt.

Founder, gods, fuck.

"―Forgive me," is hoarse, rattled. "Founder, I swear to you that I..."

He what? Didn't mean anything by it? A falsehood, through and through; he shakes his head mid-sentence to dispel it entirely, still a poor liar by every metric.

[featheredflames]

"Flames, do not apologize to me, Clive-"

He will not accept it, nor will he allow it when his heart is pounding and his head is spinning from the revelation that Clive feels it too. He isn't mad, he isn't imagining things - the love he has for his brother burns hot in his chest and the Phoenix inside him is practically trilling from delight.

He knew it. He knew Clive felt this way and now he could return the affection without guilt. Is it wrong? Who is to say? No one needed to know. No one else need involve themselves in their private lives.

There is no opportunity for Clive to protest further, not when Joshua's lips are covering his and it's his turn to attempt to shove his tongue down his brother's throat.

[flamebrand]

Do not, Joshua says, and Clive gets pulled in two diametrically opposing directions: the rational, horrified part of his brain that tells him to protect Joshua from this (ruin, utter ruin, the complete breakdown of Joshua's future), and the hungry, voidlike creature in his chest that has yearned for this ever since he realized that he could only find it in himself to love blond hair and blue eyes and Clive in his brother's voice.

Is it unfortunate that the latter wins? For Rosaria, maybe. But Joshua surges forward anyway, and the rest of Clive's equivocating becomes entirely moot.

It feels right. Joshua's lips, his tongue, his breath. They taste each other, and they layer kisses on kisses until the rest of the world becomes white noise. One hand settles on Joshua's jaw, tilting and keeping him in place with the other grips around the outline of his waist, drawing him close enough for Clive to roll his hips up in a desperate rut.

Animal instinct. He presses forward, and barely notices how he's walked Joshua back against the stable wall.

[featheredflames]

It isn't fair that he has been forced to give all of himself in service of their lands and people. While it ought to be a duty one would covet and strive to have, Joshua has never wanted the responsibility. He does not see himself as fit for it. Clive would be better. Anyone else would be, quite frankly...but it is his lot in life to take on his father's mantle, to rule their people.

So, it is only fair that he's allowed this, allowed his brother's love and affection. No other would or could appreciate him the way Clive did, how could they? They didn't know what it was like, nor could they understand what the two of them had endured. Bonded and forged together in flame, quite literally, Joshua would never part from his brother if he had any say in the matter.

Thankfully they seem to be of a similar opinion. Clive is desperate, perhaps even more so than he is, as he mouths and paws at him. He's up against the wooden wall of the stable now, back bumping into it, but that's fine. That's alright. It just means he has more support to pull Clive even closer against him, to press flush up against his broad chest and wrap his arms around his neck. The grind of his brother's hips against his own has him shifting in a bid to return the friction, unpracticed and instinctual. There is no fight against him, no struggle for power - he's more than happy to defer to Clive's desires when they are in line with his own.

[flamebrand]

The ghost of his self-control is mortified－ the rest of Clive isn't. The heat in the pit of his stomach seems to spread to every part of him, makes his next kiss taste like flame; one elbow braces his weight against a wooden beam as their bodies press closer, chest to chest and pulse to pulse.

There are entirely too many layers between them. Joshua in his less officious but nevertheless extensive outfit, Clive in his tight-hugging leathers. Frustrating, Clive thinks, as he releases Joshua's mouth to kiss along his jaw, nuzzling against the dip of his neck, dizzy with the feeling of slotting so perfectly against his brother.

As if by design, his wicked mind supplies. His breath runs ragged along the shapely column of Joshua's neck, teeth scouring over delicate skin.

"Joshua," he rasps. "Flames, I'm meant to be saving you from this."

This, he demonstrates with a knee between his brother's legs, making friction along whatever interest might be mounting there. It might be easier to back off if there's nothing there; it might be easier if Joshua were to banish him from his sight. It's his heart that knows that Joshua won't, and it's his heart that clenches at that knowledge.

[featheredflames]

Save him?

The notion is absurd, so out of pocket that he's startled more by it than the knee grinding against his crotch. What did Clive even mean? Was he not supposed to enjoy being touched in such a way? Was he to be saved from Clive himself? Ridiculous. Not even a thought he can entertain.

"Why would I ever want to be saved, Clive?" The question comes out desperate, panted, as if he's run a thousand yalms. If anything Clive is saving him by finally indulging in this taboo. Joshua had thought himself mad at times, for wanting a twisted closeness he thought he could never have...but it seemed his darkest fantasies would be made manifest, brought to light and fueled by both their flames.

To think Clive could want him at all in such a capacity is flattery of the highest caliber. His brother never wanted anything at all. Joshua would give him the world, moon, and Metia if it were possible. At least he can give Clive himself, and while that seems a poor consolation prize, if that's what Clive wants, Founder forbid if he will not have it.

[flamebrand]

Why is an easy enough question to answer. There are scores of reasons why two brothers bound by blood should keep affection separate from lust; scores more, still, when one of the two is days away from inheriting a throne. Mostly, it just isn't done, and that should be justification enough for Clive to peel himself away and demand that Joshua forget this, that he never think on it again lest it corrupt him further than Clive already has.

And yet. His mind churns around the implication set in the margins of his brother's question. The 'why' is secondary, in truth, to the use of the word 'want'. It questions Clive's assumption that this isn't exactly what Joshua desires, and Founder, fuck－

－there's nothing in Clive that could refuse his brother anything. There's a mirrored thought here, that though Rosaria and the world continuously take and take from Joshua, Joshua barely asks for anything in return.

A sigh through grit teeth, and Clive closes his eyes. His chest is still pressed against his brother's, one hand at a perfect waist where the fabric of Joshua's tunic has rucked up, leaving Clive free to thumb against bare skin.

He feels good. So fucking good. Clive can't bear the layers that separate them, and his breath is hot along Joshua's neck as he dips, kisses, rakes his tongue over his brother's pulsepoint.

"And this is what you want?" A desperate, last-ditch attempt to make Joshua see how twisted this is meant to be (and horrifically isn't). "For me to ruin you?"

Teeth scour under Joshua's jaw as punctuation.