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Of all the roles Clive hadn't expected to take in his brother's life, purveyor of medicine was certainly among the most outlandish ones.
Or, as Mid would put it, you're his drug dealer, Clive.
It started simple enough. Just another request from someone at the Hideaway—namely, Joshua's all-too-faithful attendant Jote. A service Clive could render, and would be glad to, if it meant alleviating the pain that plagued Joshua at all times, courtesy of the crystalline curse and Ultima's constant striving to escape the prison Clive's brother had made of himself. Clive foraged for the right ingredients, and brought them to Jote and Tarja, letting them sort it out among themselves.
He let that be for a while, going to replenish Jote's supplies whenever she asked, no questions asked. Until he spied in—by complete inadvertance—on Jote administering the medicine to his brother. Joshua's sigh of relief was a heavenly sound, one that made Clive suddenly all too aware of how difficult his brother's breathing normally was, of the subtle ways he normally held himself, even in battle, to avoid straining himself as much as he could.
The next time Jote asked him for supplies, he went to fetch them—but he came back with a request.
"Show me how to make the medicine." It wasn't a question; Clive wouldn't bear a refusal from her. Undying secrets or no, he was Joshua's Shield, he was a Rosfield, and this was his Hideaway.
Either Jote perceived all that in Clive's quiet glower, or she was willing to agree from the first, because she brought him into the infirmary with her.
When she caught them at the workstation, Tarja cast a look on Clive that was far too open with its surprise. "Five years, you've been with us, and now you take an interest, Cid? Should I be worried you're going to send me away?"
Clive scoffed, amused. "Just learning to take care of my brother, Tarja. Nothing more." She nodded slowly at that, quietly approving before she moved on to take care of her patients.
When Joshua saw Clive enter his chambers along with Jote, he had a moment's pause, looking at the phial in Jote's hands as if to confirm her intent, then starting backwards when he saw that it was indeed his medicine. "Clive, what're you—"
"I'm just here to observe," Clive said. "This time."
Joshua slowly shook his head. "I'd really rather you don't see this."
Jote paused at the open refusal, ever loyal to the Phoenix above all else. Clive tried his best not to take umbrage to it. "Joshua," he said sternly, "Jote needs backup. I'm learning so I can be there should she ever need a helping hand, or a substitute."
Appealing to Joshua's health would never have worked, he knew; but by making it about Jote's wellbeing, Joshua could but relent.
"Very well," his brother said stiffly. "You can—watch. But as soon as Jote's finished, I want you out of these chambers."
It pained Clive to be so coolly rebuked by his own brother. Had they really been apart so long that they couldn't share these moments of intimacy? He knew rebuilding their bond meant accepting the bad—had Joshua not come to terms with that yet? Or worse: had he realized it, and deemed Clive not worth the hassle?
These were all doubts and concerns that could be voiced later, without a witness—directly to Joshua, or maybe first to Jill for counsel. Either way, he could accept the condition for now. "All right," he said, equally stiff.
Joshua let out a long sigh. "Good. Jote, if you could—"
Whatever was so horrible about the drug, Clive didn't see a hint of it before Jote ushered him out. Maybe Joshua had made himself remain strong in front of him—maybe, by staying here, he'd added to his brother's torment, even though he only meant to relieve it.
Those thoughts clung to him like blood after a battle, staining every glad moment that followed for the next few days. It was surprising, in a sense, finding out there were still things Clive needed to grieve about his brother, even after so long grieving for his apparent death. Trust, he now learned, hurt just as deep when it was lost than life itself.
He kept it all to himself, not wishing to burden Joshua—or anyone else—with it. He wouldn't stop loving his brother, but he could bear to do so from whatever distance Joshua deemed necessary.
Days passed, then weeks. There were more treatments, and Clive watched a few more times to make sure he knew the process intimately. One time, he lingered by the door after Jote forced him to leave, tempted to barge in, force his way past his brother's wall of secrecy, and be done with it, damn the consequences. He couldn't, of course—Joshua would never forgive him. But it meant he was still there when Jote came out. She eyed him suspiciously, closed the door behind herself, then planted herself in front of him, arms crossed.
"You're brooding." Then, with a delay just significant enough to let Clive know she had considered omitting the title, "My Lord Marquess."
He regarded her dourly. Denying would be a waste of time; besides, she hadn't made any assumptions as to why yet, though Clive could guess that she knew. "Get to the point."
"You're—affected, by the Archduke's rejection." She waited for him to protest; he wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "I would urge you to consider the matter from his perspective."
"But I can't, can I? If he won't let me—"
She cut through his words ruthlessly. "You only need consider this: no one else has been allowed to watch me treat him. Not Tarja, nor any other physicker we've come across before. No Bearer gifted with curative magic, either. But he's allowing you." She paused, this time mostly for effect. "Think on it. On what it means for him."
She walked away, leaving Clive to stare after her.
When Clive had argued to Joshua that Jote may need a substitute, he hadn't truly expected that day to ever come—never mind as soon as it did. She was so dedicated to his brother, it seemed inconceivable that she would take any chance to be parted from him for any long span of time. In that way, she was unique among the Undying—though equally blind in her loyalty, Clive suspected; it wasn't that she was more careful with her own life so much as she wanted to make sure she could stay in function as Joshua's most trusted attendant.
It seemed unlikely that she'd ever be gone long enough to miss the time Joshua would require treatment. And yet, the day came.
They had received no word. A mission gone wrong, no doubt, compounding Joshua's pain from lack of treatment with anxiety over his attendant's ultimate fate. Clive could only wonder at how he could bear it all.
And then, he decided that Joshua didn't have to.
"Clive, I told you—"
"Jote hasn't returned yet. You need your medicine."
Joshua looked ruefully at the case between them. Clive had cornered him in his chambers, expecting the argument and wanting it away from any prying eyes. Everything was ready; Joshua had but to accept it.
But accept it was the one thing Joshua simply wouldn't do. "I can hold out a little longer."
"You've already gone longer than usual since your last dosage."
Joshua frowned. "You've been keeping track?"
"Of course I have. I worry about you, Joshua. All the time." Joshua had a sharp intake of breath then; first Clive thought it a gasp of surprise at Clive's revelation, then he saw the way Joshua clenched his fist, the way his stance shifted slightly. A fit was threatening to come, and Joshua, stubborn as ever, wouldn't show in front of Clive. "Are the side-effects of the medicine that terrible? If it causes you so much pain you won't even let me see it, perhaps I should ask Tarja—"
"No," Joshua cut him off. "Don't involve anyone else—especially not Tarja."
"Joshua, the point is to alleviate your pain, not—"
"It's not pain!" The words came out strained, like Joshua tried to hold them back but couldn't; his gaze remained firmly on the floorboards near Clive's feet. He took a few ragged breaths as Clive watched him, confused. "The issue isn't that the medicine causes me pain. The indignity is of a—very different nature."
So it was an issue of dignity after all. "Joshua, you know I wouldn't think ill of you, no matter what. Don't you?"
Joshua let out a dark scoff. "Somehow I doubt that."
That was it, then; the issue was that Joshua doubted him, specifically. "Try me! Just—give me a chance, damn you! I can't bear to see you push me away, not when we were once so close!" He stepped closer, anguish catching ablaze and lending his motions with too much force; Joshua flinched, but didn't step away. "You were my world, Joshua. You still are."
"Don't—say things like that," Joshua said feebly.
"Why do you think I do all this?"
Joshua, at last, met his eyes, suddenly fierce. "For freedom. Don't you dare claim it's for me."
"That's right; freedom. Freedom for everyone to live on their own terms, with those they love. For me, that's you, Joshua." He took a ragged breath. "Finding out you were alive, that I had something I could still rebuild, something I could fight for—that's what got me to where I am today." Joshua's lips had parted in surprise during his speech, but Clive didn't notice. "So don't—please don't tell me it's all been for nothing."
The words hung in the air between them, their echo only broken by Clive's ragged breath. They were too raw, too close to an unspoken truth Clive had always kept close to his chest.
Then: "The drugs, they—they're quite pleasurable." Joshua's confession, barely above a whisper, burned his cheeks red. "They scrub away at my control. If you were to see it, I—you—" He sighed. "I don't want you to see it. It's shameful, what they reduce me to."
Curiosity gnawed at the edges of Clive's thoughts, spurred on the this taste of Joshua's secret; it took all his strength to tamp it down. His brother's needs came first—always. "I could leave—"
Joshua shook his head. "Someone needs to stay. Just in case—"
Jote had given the same warning: in case something went wrong—with Ultima's prison, with the crystal's curse, with Joshua's own health. There were remedies for all of those, but they had to be administered fast if a symptom manifested.
"Then—" Clive didn't know how to ask this. He'd said all he had to say; if Joshua hadn't decided to let him in now, he had no further argument to offer.
"Then you must stay," Joshua relented slowly. He brought his hand up to his upper arm, massaging gently—a begrudging admission of the pain he was in, Clive realized. "I would only request that you don't judge me too harshly for what I say under the influence of the drugs."
"I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't."
Joshua raised an eyebrow, lips pinched, but didn't say anything else. "Very well," he finally said with another sigh. "Let's get to work." And with that, quietly, he began removing layer upon layer of his clothes, until his chest was bare, pale skin kissed by the firelight.
Clive stood transfixed for a second, unsure when things had shifted to make Joshua agree to this. He knew each step of the treatment by heart, and yet he had never done it himself; the motions felt unfamiliar and awkward, his every touch hesitant as he had to make sure he wasn't too rough on Joshua's body. Joshua only responded by gestures: a nod, a shake of his head, a wave of his hand. He was tense—Clive could see that much—but it was the only sign he showed of the drugs' effects.
It went as it did each time Jote administered the treatment, except for Clive feeling inexplicably breathless by the time he was done administering it. Clive got to the final step and Joshua was growing even more still in front of him, if such a thing was at all possible. Clive himself felt on edge, rendering the process exhausting—for both of them, he suspected.
"All done," he said, stepping back with a weary sigh. "I never realized how taxing this was on Jote." Reflexively, he rubbed a hand across his face to wake himself up—only to grimace at the viscous feeling of the Joshua's ointment clinging against his eyelids. "Ugh. Guess that's why Jote is so meticulous about wiping her hands. This stuff feels awful."
Joshua whirled back to face him, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Clive—did you—"
"It's fine," Clive said dismissively, reaching for a scrap of fabric to wipe his eyes. "Just a little bit of ointment."
"Clive, it got into your eyes."
"It doesn't even hurt. I'm okay."
"It's—absorbed much faster through soft tissue than through skin," Joshua said tersely. "I think—you'd best sit down."
"What? Joshua, I'm—"
He couldn't finish the sentence: his body suddenly rocked as hard as when he sailed the Enterprise on the open seas during a storm. Before he could topple over, Joshua reached for him, holding him fast across the waist and steadying him. "Easy," Joshua said softly. "You're not used to it like I am."
"I can handle some stupid cream," Clive protested. And yet he felt something new now, a flush of heat across his midsection, searing as Ifrit's flames had felt the first time. "Can you—let go? It's—really hot."
Joshua helped him sit on the bed, but he did not, in fact, let go. Instead, he let out a chuckle. "Look at us," he said. "We're going to go through it together, then."
Clive was going to protest, but the heat had softened already, turning into a more pleasant, buzzed feeling. "What are we going through, exactly?"
"I think it's too late for an explanation," Joshua laughed again; or rather, he attempted to, but he cut himself off with a strained grunt. "It's coming over me, Brother."
The need for explanation was gone; Clive was all too aware of the sudden tightness in his trousers. Was Joshua similarly aroused? More, since he'd had a larger dose? Or was he so accustomed to the drugs that he could resist it better than Clive? Tantalizing questions that only sent Clive's pulse on a wild cavalcade.
Suddenly, Clive's senses were all too aware of Joshua's position: next to him on the bed, entirely turned towards him, hands still on his waist. Every point of contact prickled with electricity, galvanizing Clive's growing sense of need. He dared steal a glance at Joshua, and saw his brother's eyes blown wide and dark, all traces of innocent blue wiped out. His breathing was ragged and strained.
"Is that what Jote helps you with? She—lets you ride it out?"
Joshua let out a whimper, but managed to end it in another chuckle. "Ride it out," he muttered, amused. Then he looked up, meeting Clive's gaze. "If you're implying anything untoward between me and my attendant, you're wrong. She only helps me keep it contained. Helps me—turn my focus away from these urges you're feeling right now."
"Well maybe I could—"
"No," Joshua said firmly. "You couldn't." He crept closer, slinging a leg over Clive's and pressing his entire chest to Clive's side. His breath was hot in the crook of Clive's neck, but far hotter still was the firmness pressing into his hip.
"Joshua—"
"Now you see why I needed you out? I can't resist—this. Even if I should—with you more than anyone else."
"You—are not yourself," Clive muttered feebly.
"Aren't I? Do you feel any different, Brother?"
"Yes," came the automatic denial, though Clive's thoughts and his body screamed No in choir. He felt so tense, which only made the pulsing desire in his veins feel that much more pressing.
Joshua peered up at him without drawing away, his gaze veiled by golden lashes. "Perhaps that's our answer then," he said softly. "We are not ourselves, and so there is nothing wrong about any of this." He leaned forward, nose pressed to Clive's neck just as his hand found purchase right over Clive's crotch.
The sudden contact to his cock tore a gasp from him, his body's reaction drowning out his reason's attempts at denying himself this. Maybe he really was different because of the drug—not because the desire was new, but because there was no way he ever would accept this normally. Not in a—
"Fuck," he groaned. Joshua had seemingly sorted out his own inner conflict, whatever it may be: he climbed into Clive's lap unceremoniously, keeping one hand at Clive's cock all while he hooked the other at Clive's nape. "Joshua, you—"
"I dare you to say we can't," Joshua said, rubbing more intently. "That we shouldn't." He ground down his whole body into Clive's lap. "That you don't want to."
"The drug—"
"We can sort out what part of this is the drug once I've gotten what I want, Brother. And I—" He leaned in, cheek against Clive's, and whispered in his ear, "Want you."
A shiver didn't properly describe the sensation that course across Clive's skin; it was something bigger, stronger, all-encompassing. Clive was bursting at the seams, about to reshape himself into whatever form Joshua wanted him to take. There was no choice—there had never been a choice. "Yes," he simply breathed out, closing his eyes and letting his body go pliant against Joshua's insistant touch.
Joshua wasted no time: his fingers flew straight to their target, surprisingly nimble for his addled state as he worked Clive's belt buckle undone. The same fate awaited the fastenings of his trousers; then Joshua dug in, jabbing his fingers in the opening and prying the tight leather until he blindly found Clive's naked cock. Clive arched his back at the sudden touch, allowing a moan past his lips—then more. He had chosen abandon; now all he could do was ride this out, relish the feeling of Joshua touching him, hot and slight and soft and oh so very familiar in the most tortuous of ways.
His brother hadn't tried to undress him any further than this, and it occurred to Clive that he wasn't planning to: Joshua had gotten Clive's cock out of its constraints, both hands wrapped around it, and that was apparently all he wanted. His eyes were set on it too, staring transfixed with his lips parted and his cheeks flushed. Joshua had always been beautiful, but never more so than like this, in this moment.
"—kiss you—?" It was the best Clive could manage, but it got enough of Joshua's attention.
"What?"
Clive's mind stuttered to form full sentences, but he tried his best. "Can I?"
Joshua held his gaze quietly for a moment, wide-eyed. Then he breathed deep, and finally, nodded. But when Clive tried to reach out, Joshua raised one of his hands to catch his arm. "Let me," he said tenderly before leaning in.
The gesture had to be calculated: there was no other way Joshua could manage to place himself so that every inch of his body was pressed against Clive's, or that Clive's cock would happen to land right across the hard line in Joshua's trousers. If there was any doubt in Clive's mind—if he was even capable of doubt right now—it was dispelled by the mischievous smirk on his brother's lips. "Just one," he teased, before pressing that very smirk to Clive's lips.
Joshua was as delicate in kissing as he was in his all aspects of his everyday life; the kiss was a soft press, gentle as a caress, and even when he deepened it, he remained gentle. Meanwhile, Clive felt ravenous, ready to eat his brother whole if he could; but every time the impulse overtook him and he tried to press harder, to get rougher, to take control, Joshua drew back just enough to thwart him without quite breaking the kiss. It was a maddening dance, a back-and-forth that had Clive teetering dizzily off-balance by the time Joshua decided the kiss must end.
Breathless, Clive tipped back, landing on the mattress with a gasp even as Joshua chuckled above him. "Don't tell me you're done yet."
"Flames, no," Clive answered without thinking. "I don't think I'll ever be done."
"That wouldn't do," Joshua chided as he leaned forward, hovering over Clive's body with his own. "I'm going to need you to finish." Clive looked up at him in dazed confusion, but Joshua just tilted his head and smirked. "Inside of me."
The words petrified Clive—except for his cock, which twitched excitedly at the mere prospect. "Are you—sure? I'm, um—" He glanced down at his cock, jutting between the two of them.
"Built in proportion in every area," Joshua offered with a languid smile. "I've noticed. But—nothing I can't take."
His certitude only served to make Clive feel even more feverishly heated. How did Joshua know? How much practice did he have? How had he gotten practice?
All questions that were obliterated from Clive's mind as Joshua stood back up and shed his clothes, efficient and shameless, almost disinterested. As if he wasn't unveiling his entire body for Clive to see, as if it wasn't the most gorgeous sight Clive could imagine, the vision of him like so much nectar to quench Clive's bottomless thirst.
Before Clive could process the image in front of him, Joshua mounted him again, taking his position with an easy exactitude. His eyes met Clive's, glinting with defiance and a secret joke; then his hands found the base of Clive's cock, holding it steady as he descended upon it, and Clive was swallowed up by the abyss.
The sensation of Joshua around him went beyond words. It may not be the flames of Ifrit, consuming him and turning his form to that of a monstrosity, but it was just as altering. There was no coming back from this: a dam shattered to pieces within himself when his brother engulfed him, again and again, letting a flood obliterate his being. His hands went to Joshua's waist, holding on for dear life as much as holding on to his brother.
When he tried to touch Joshua's cock, Joshua batted that hand away. "You must earn that still, Brother," he teased. The message was loud and clear: the next time Joshua bore down on him, Clive thrust upwards to meet him, the sound of their bodies clashing together as thunder in Clive's ears, yet it was still drowned out by the cry Joshua let out, desperate and ecstatic. It was the first sign that Joshua's apparent control was only a façade; underneath, he was just as needy as Clive, the medicine raging through their system and driving them to sate base urges.
Joshua threw his head back, riding Clive with renewed fervor now that Clive matched his motions. His cock bounced freely between them, the movement almost hypnotic: Clive wanted nothing more than to see what patterns he could make it draw in the air between them, and so he drove harder and harder, as relentless in this as he was in battle.
"Come on, Brother," Joshua urged him, his voice strained hard. "Give me your all. I want to feel your seed filling me up."
It was as if the command had gone past Clive's conscious mind and down, all the way to the core of his body instead: with just his next thrust, his whole body went tense as he exploded, releasing in hot, long pumps inside of Joshua. Joshua gasped when he felt it, before descending all the way down Clive's cock, resting on it as he sat in Clive's lap, letting himself be filled, his throat letting out a low rumble or a moan.
Panting, Clive felt his climax slowly recede, though his mind was barely any clearer, especially with the sight of Joshua still impaled upon him, flushed crimson and sweaty, his cock furiously hard and the tip brushing against Clive's shirt. Slowly, Joshua pushed himself up, wincing as Clive left him, before throwing himself sideways, sprawling down on the mattress.
"What—now?" Clive asked, panting hard.
"Now? We're not done, are we?" Joshua met his eyes, the looked down at himself. Slowly, he shifted his position, lying on his back and spreading his knees to offer Clive a better view. "Now, Brother…you feast."
Clive's hunger had been screaming within him for too long now: the moment Joshua gave the command, he dove in, his lips finding the base of Joshua's cock. Joshua shuddered and sighed, but Clive didn't move, savoring the heady taste on his tongue that was at last his to enjoy.
Then he grabbed both of Joshua's thighs, and pushed them up, up towards his brother's chest. Joshua gasped again—this time in surprise—as Clive spread him out completely. Clive's own seed leaked from his brother's hole, sinfully tempting.
Clive did as commanded: he feasted, his tongue easily following the path opened by his cock as he lapped every drop of himself he could pry out of Joshua. He went until sated, until Joshua's commands stopped coming and were replaced only by wordless, sweet agony. Then he kept going, waiting for Joshua to yield.
It came sooner than he thought. "Clive, if you don't stop soon, I'll—"
Stopping? There was no stopping now—but Clive wouldn't miss out on another meal. He pulled out, licked a strip from Joshua's hole up to his sac, grazing the tender skin and its soft contents with his teeth before he went back to Joshua's shaft. It throbbed against his lips, slick with leakage and hard underneath, thrumming with the anticipation of release.
Clive swallowed it whole.
Joshua must not have expected him to be able to: he gasped again, and it proved his undoing. His cock hit the back of Clive's throat and immediately erupted, delivering Joshua's hot essence right onto Clive's awaiting tongue and into his gullet. Clive drank and drank and drank, milking more with his hands until Joshua fully ran dry. Only then did he let go of his brother's cock.
He expected the haze to settle it then, a warm afterglow he could bask in before he had to face the reality of what they'd just done—but it was no use. His body demanded more still, even as both of them were too spent to do more. "Fuck," he hissed.
"I warned you," Joshua let out, hoarse and exhausted. "Jote and I tried to have me—how'd you so eloquently put it?—ride it out."
Clive propped himself up on his elbows. "So you and she did—"
Joshua shook his head with a resolute wince. "No. She provided me with—tools. But that was the extent of her involvement." Then he chuckled. "When you said ride it out you weren't so far off the mark."
"Ah." It certainly answered some of Clive's questions. "And—"
"And I've learned where the limit of my stamina lay, and how far from what the drugs demanded of me that limit was."
The notion set Clive's veins on fire. "I wouldn't mind seeing that for myself," he let out, before biting his lips. How had he admitted such a thing? Maybe his returning sense of shame meant the medicine was wearing off—though the shame wasn't enough for him to move away from between his brother's thighs, so perhaps not.
"Too late for that. To your credit, you brought me to my limits much faster than I managed by myself."
"So—what do we do now?"
"Suffer through the rest of the dosage. Best get comfortable." Joshua patted the mattress to his side in invitation.
Clive, however, had a better idea. "I'm plenty comfortable here," he said, laying his head down on top of Joshua's stomach. His brother's cock was pressed against his chest, close to his heart, softened but still pleasantly hot and sinfully wet.
Joshua scoffed. "Suit yourself."
Despite his brusque tone, his hand went to rest on top of Clive's head, softly petting his hair. The heat inside Clive's gut was still overwhelming, but if it meant getting to be like this, Clive thought it may well be worth it. This wasn't just something he'd been craving ever since he'd seen Joshua again as adults—it was better than anything he'd imagined. He may not have allowed himself to look that craving in the eye, but it was there nonetheless.
"Joshua?" he said quietly. "We should talk about this." He attempted to look up, but Joshua's hand gripped his hair tighter and pushed him back down, his nose right into Joshua's navel
"No," Joshua said firmly. "Not now, anyway."
"Not—"
"We're still feeling the drugs. It wouldn't be a—"
"Joshua, this wasn't the drugs. Not for me." Joshua tensed under him; he waited for an answer, but none came. "The drugs made me—open up to the idea. That's all. And I think it was the same for you."
"And when the drugs are gone? Would you still be…open to the idea?"
"I—don't know," Clive admitted. Joshua was dodging his own unspoken question. "It will require—tremendous bravery, to speak the words out loud."
Joshua made a neutral sound. "If worst comes to worst—I'll need another treatment sooner or later."
The implication sent a thrill down Clive's spine that had nothing to do with the feeling of the drugs. "Then I'll be there to administer it, if Jote won't."
"Jote'll understand." Joshua stretched lazily. "We should try to sleep. It'll make it easier to wait out the drugs."
Sleep seemed impossible right now. "And when we wake up?"
"I guess we'll see how we feel then."
It was final enough. "We'll see then," Clive accepted.