You may. To be told that he can, in his brother's voice, sets his nerves alight in ways that Clive never thought was possible. It makes him want to surge forward and tear that tunic off of Joshua like the savage creature that he's become, but he keeps those ugly impulses at bay for long enough to answer:
"If you'd let me."
Deferential in a way that he wasn't, not even under Sanbreque's boot. His compliance towards the Empire was bought with blood and violence, but compliance wasn't loyalty. Wyvern was their pet drake, but Clive has always been and will ever be Joshua Rosfield's.
With that, Clive rakes his palms under his brother's layers and works on shimmying him out of them. The tunic first, its collar unlaced with clumsy, overeager fingers; belts and buckles afterwards, with increasingly impatient insistence. He makes a sound like a starved hound when he finally gets an eyeful of bare, pale skin－ his nose presses against Joshua's clavicle, breathing in that warm, sweet scent as he works one hand downwards, under the waistband of Joshua's trousers to palm between his legs.
"Perfect," he rumbles. It's hard to form words that are more than two syllables, but he tries. "My perfect omega."
Joshua isn't in heat, but he's warm where Clive tries to stroke him, the outline of his pretty cock intoxicating against Clive's palm. He can feel his mouth water, and he rumbles again, low and throaty where his mouth presses against Joshua's neck.
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Date: 2025-12-22 04:10 am (UTC)"If you'd let me."
Deferential in a way that he wasn't, not even under Sanbreque's boot. His compliance towards the Empire was bought with blood and violence, but compliance wasn't loyalty. Wyvern was their pet drake, but Clive has always been and will ever be Joshua Rosfield's.
With that, Clive rakes his palms under his brother's layers and works on shimmying him out of them. The tunic first, its collar unlaced with clumsy, overeager fingers; belts and buckles afterwards, with increasingly impatient insistence. He makes a sound like a starved hound when he finally gets an eyeful of bare, pale skin－ his nose presses against Joshua's clavicle, breathing in that warm, sweet scent as he works one hand downwards, under the waistband of Joshua's trousers to palm between his legs.
"Perfect," he rumbles. It's hard to form words that are more than two syllables, but he tries. "My perfect omega."
Joshua isn't in heat, but he's warm where Clive tries to stroke him, the outline of his pretty cock intoxicating against Clive's palm. He can feel his mouth water, and he rumbles again, low and throaty where his mouth presses against Joshua's neck.