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

[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.

[featheredflames]

Mother and Father had been cousins. That was a fact Joshua had learned when he looked over their family tree. It was a common practice as well, intermarrying to keep the bloodline of the Phoenix pure. Why then would it be so terrible for him to be with Clive? Sure, he would be expected to produce an heir at some point...but could he not have this happiness for now? Did he have to give it up and deny himself when something he had wanted so badly was now right here in front of him?

"Ruin me? Clive, please. Surely you realize it is the opposite."

He could never ruin him. It was simply not possible.

Joshua groans as he feels the hot, wet tongue of his brother slide over his throat, the teeth a temptation rather than threat. Fingers find the shaggy scruff of Clive's nape, twisting into locks that will need to be brushed out later. It's fine, really...Clive has brushed his hair out he can always return the favour.

"You're mine, Brother, and I yours...how can you ruin me when you better me?"

[flamebrand]

Is it unfair that the only reason their relationship is far more contentious than a brother-sister union is because Clive doesn't have a womb? Possibly. The Rosfield line has been carefully curated for centuries now, but it's not so much the carrying on of their bloodline that Clive is preoccupied with at the moment; rather, it's the twisting of delicate fingers in his hair, the warmth of Joshua's exhale against his ear, the honey-sweet words coming out of that perfect mouth.

Of course Clive is Joshua's. In every way, in every context, in every lifetime they might live together. A substantive truth that rends Clive in two but mends him in the same breath, and finally settles some of the roiling guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Made for each other. Clive, Joshua's shadow, born five years before him just to make sure that Joshua would never, ever live even a moment alone in this world. His brother's acceptance melts something inside of him, letting him vent tension and nuzzle against soft blond hair with open affection.

"Joshua..."

His teeth find a soft earlobe this time, trapping it for a gentle nibble. "...You've driven me out of my mind for so long, being so sweet and beautiful."

[featheredflames]

"Ah..."

An airy laugh slips free as Clive suckles and nibbles his ear, teasing him in a way he didn't think his brother capable of. It's a side of him that he has always wondered about, craved to see, and now here it is. Clive's mask has slipped and his confident, ever devoted brother is now greedy and wanting. That's perfectly fine, so long as he remains the target of that desire. He tilts his head to the side to allow him more access to delicate flesh, nails digging dull into the back of his brother's neck.

"The same could be said of you Clive, although I would claim you are far more handsome than you are a beauty."

[flamebrand]

He's wanted no one else like this. The scant amount of times he's exposed himself to intimacy (only countable on one hand) have been more lessons than trysts: egged on by fellow soldiers, then guided by more experienced hands on how not to hurt.

There's nothing practical or sane about what he desires from Joshua. Clive wants to put his mouth all over the map of Joshua's body, to taste him and open him and feel him unfurl. Golden, molten, beautiful. It's all he can think about as he kisses along Joshua's neck again, teeth painting pale skin a pretty shade of pink, leaving just enough pressure to mark without bruising.

"Everything and everyone pales in comparison to you," is a warm murmur. He isn't thinking of how he must look, or his side of the equation: just Joshua, and wanting to remove his gloves to feel the toned surface of his brother's stomach. Leather brushes up against navel, where Clive has snuck his hand under that neatly-pressed tunic.

More, his mind unhelpfully supplies. The guilt grows quieter and quieter the more Joshua allows him, and he feels less and less monstrous about it.

[featheredflames]

The extent of Joshua's experience with intimacy was regulated to inked pages of romantic fantasies and raunchy poems and letters, penned desires he had no personal frame of reference for. He had never kissed nor been touched in such a fashion, not beyond platonic embraces or lips pressed to his cheeks or forehead in a bid to comfort when he had been ill. Physical touch for Joshua was always meant to soothe, not excite, and beyond his own timid exploration of his body, he was as virginal as one might expect the Phoenix, a god made flesh, to be.

His mind was a gutter, in contrast, and many untoward thoughts had his brother at the center of them. He can scarcely believe it, that Clive would want him in such a fashion. It wasn't as if his brother wasn't handsome - he could have anyone he fancied and yet here he was, choosing Joshua. There had been times he thought it cruel, that he had essentially trapped Clive into his service, but that was what his brother wanted...along with this as well.

The leather clad fingers on his middle leave him gasping, teeth leaving marks he wishes he could see right now. Clive was ravenous and wanting, but what was wrong with that? Every man had a hunger within him - even Joshua did to an extent - so why would his brother be any different? If anything, it's flattering to know he's so desired, even if, perhaps, he probably shouldn't be.

"Come now Clive," he breaths out his brother's name, moaning softly as he tries to think of how exactly he should respond. How far should he let this exploration go? Should he stop him? It was rude to Ambrosia to make use of her stable for such things but at least she doesn't seem to mind for now... "I am just a man, like you. There is nothing special about me."

[flamebrand]

Clive has enough sense in him to know that there were better ways for his selfishness to manifest. That there might have been any number of things to want that would be less destructive, less catastrophic, less consequential than his all-encompassing infatuation with the one person in his life who he holds above all else: Joshua, both his purpose and his ethos.

No one ever needed to trap Clive into bending the knee for his brother. Since the moment they met, Clive was Joshua's in a way that should have made the Undying shudder. And now, the Undying have more reasons to want Clive dead: a faltering of the bloodline, yet again by Ifrit the Blasphemous' hands.

Those hands are gripping Joshua's waist, sliding up under Joshua's tunic, thumbing leather over the peak of a sweet, pink nipple. Clive can feel his mouth water; he's lost all sense of where and when, save for the reality of being in Joshua's immediate periphery.

"You're my brother." Not the Phoenix, not the Archduke-to-be. "And you're perfect."

Lifting his head from where it'd been nuzzled under the carved line of his brother's jaw, Clive claims him for a deep, lingering kiss. Impressing upon him that he is perfect, that everything about him since birth has been perfect, that he's only grown more perfect as the years rolled by. Unbearably, intolerably.

When their mouths part, a thin line of saliva connects their mouths; Clive tips his head, and licks it off of Joshua's flushed lips.

"－Fuck, I've wanted you. Wretchedly, and for so long."

[featheredflames]

It is a valid argument - he is Clive's brother and in that sense he is special. Joshua cannot imagine an existence where he wasn't, where Clive wasn't his. A man could take many lovers and have many friends, but Clive would only ever have one brother, and that title was his alone.

Perfect though...now that was a claim Joshua would contest - if he had use of his mouth to. But he doesn't, not when Clive's tongue is against his teeth and he's left to gasp against his brother's lips. Already he feels as if he's burning, his own face flushed from the tips of his ears straight down his throat. There is a ravenous hunger that has been presented before him, as Clive looks at him like a man half-starved. Again, he cannot fault him for it - not when he feels it too.

Clive is practically pawing at him, fingers squeezing at his waist and his skinny chest. There isn't much to grab but the sensation of being touched at all is a jolt to his system that fans the flames of desire that already had begun to burn. When Clive parts just enough to speak and lick at his mouth like a dog, he cannot help the wanton whimper that falls out of him.

"As have I. You have me, Clive. I promise. You always shall."

No one else ever has or will.