@bruisednotes for clive
“ clive, look at me. ” the world narrows to the short distance between them. arthur, standing but a few feet away, keeps his arms steady at his sides, palms open and waiting. tall grass sways at his knees. the blighted lands lingered like a dark scar over his shoulder, only a few hills north from the secluded fields they'd found. the shape of them transform the bearer into a paler line in contrast. his voice is low, warm, patient. despite the hard beat of his pulse, he keeps his gaze steady. the deep browns of his eyes stir once—a thin, aether-laced gold brushing against the irises—before he forces the color back down.
he takes a breath, deep enough to shutter in his chest, then nods. takes another. watches the other watch him with a small, growing satisfaction. steady the moment, he tells himself. keep him here instead of back there, at the worst of it.
“ we have time. ” he reassures. the other's worry softens his face, not enough to take away the tired wrinkles around his eyes or the hesitant pull of his lips, but enough to braid care and caution into something quiet. gentler, perhaps, than the dominant has been able to afford in a long while.
“ you've been burying yourself in work for weeks. ” arthur continues. not accusing, just measuring the toll of burden. the months since cid's death had been anything but kind, and everyone knew clive took the worst of it—staring into the shape left behind and hoping with each day that every order, instruction, mission, and bounty could fill the gap. though now, with the hideaway steadily building, everyone split into their roles with as much sureness as they could muster in these trying times, it seemed the most opportune moment to remind the dominant that there was only so much command could do for him.
especially with the bout of heat beneath all that false calm.
arthur feels the warmth radiate between them. it was as if he stood within the fires of beinn leodladh himself. a crisp ash. and something more precise beneath—like lightning after summer rain. they fought each other, almost, noticeable enough for arthur's eyes to see the edges of aether eating around clive's frame. the bearer's face softens, unafraid or stupid or familiar, it is hard to tell. still, he does not shy away. “ you're going to hurt yourself holding all that in. ” he steps closer, slow, palms open and calm. “ why not practice letting some of it go for once ?? ”
