Riona (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rionaleonhart) wrote2025-01-10 05:45 pm
rionaleonhart) wrote2025-01-10 05:45 pm
Entry tags:
Fanfiction: Where It Leaves Us (Final Fantasy XVI, Clive/Joshua)
I never expected to write one Clive/Joshua fic, let alone two! But, when I posted Regrets last year, the Roscest fans were just so lovely and passionate that it really made me want to write more for them.
Title: Where It Leaves Us
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: 14
Pairing: Joshua/Clive
Wordcount: 2,100
Summary: Clive and Joshua, trapped forever in the interdimensional rift.
Warnings: Incest.
“There’s no way out,” Joshua says. “Is there?”
They’ve both been thinking it for some time, Clive knows. Joshua is just the first to say it.
Ultima called this place a rift between worlds. If they were in Valisthea, or even in lands beyond Valisthea, there would be some way to get home: by foot or by mount, by ship or by wing. It would be challenging, perhaps, but it would be possible.
They know nothing of worlds beyond their own. If there’s any route out of this dark land, with its still air and its strange suspended ruins, it’s one beyond their understanding. And they seem unable to prime here; whether the Phoenix’s wings would be of use to them or not, they’re beyond their reach.
“Well,” Joshua adds, bitterly, “I suppose there might be one way out.”
You will yield to us, Mythos. Ultima’s words linger uncomfortably in Clive’s ears; it feels like he can still hear them, somehow. Until you do, you will remain here.
“It’s not one we’re going to take,” Clive says.
“No,” Joshua says. “Ultima won’t have us.” He looks up, at the shadowy clouds, if clouds are what they are. “Where does that leave us, though?”
Here, Clive supposes. Until they die, if death is still something that awaits them. There’s a strange timelessness to this place; for all their searching, he feels no hunger, no thirst. Do he and Joshua still age?
No way to know for now.
“It leaves us still searching for our exit,” he says.
We won’t find it, Joshua’s look says. Clive gives him a look in return: I know.
“Very well,” Joshua says, after a long pause that might have taken no time at all. “I suppose there’s little else to do.”
-
It’s near-silent here; the three of them are the only ones who seem to make any noise in this world. Torgal’s panting, the swish of his tail, the pad of his paws. Joshua’s breathing, with the slight rasping edge it’s had since he was a boy. Clive finds himself walking with a heavier tread, the sound of his own footsteps a strange comfort.
Nothing moves here. But the light of Ifrit’s fire flickers over their surroundings, in the form of the ball of flame above them. It lets Clive almost trick himself into thinking that he can see motion, that there’s some kind of life in these still ruins.
The fire takes constant low-level focus to maintain, and Joshua has offered to take shifts. It took no thought at all for Clive to refuse him. If they’re here for long enough, there’s the risk that Joshua will eventually exhaust his magic lighting their way, succumb to the curse, and only Clive will remain. Clive and Torgal and the statue that was once Clive’s brother, stranded here, for life or for eternity: whichever ends first.
There’s little to be thankful in this place. But they have each other, and Clive doesn’t mean to give that up.
-
Paths and stairs and paths and stairs. There’s nothing to keep their bearings by; they might have been walking in circles all this time.
Not that it makes a difference. There’s no way out.
Clive takes a seat on the uneven floor, his back against a low stone wall. He isn’t tired, exactly; perhaps the need for sleep is something unknown in this place, like hunger, like thirst. But he’s had enough, for now, of climbing crumbling staircases to nowhere.
Torgal lies down next to him, resting his chin on Clive’s thigh. Joshua sits on Clive’s other side, close enough for Clive to feel his warmth. He’s always run hot, just like Clive: a mark of their eikons, perhaps.
Clive isn’t prepared for it, that warmth from both of them. It hadn’t really struck him before, but there’s no temperature to the air here, no sense of chill or heat. Just another way this place doesn’t feel real, another way it leaves Clive feeling unmoored from his own body.
This – Torgal’s thick fur, Joshua’s heat – this feels real. For a moment, all Clive can do is sit there, craving more, a need so powerful he can’t think clearly.
He takes off his gauntlets and buries both of his hands in Torgal’s fur. Leans over to press his face into Torgal’s flank, closes his eyes. Drinking it in: something warm, something real, something alive.
“It helps, doesn’t it?” Joshua asks, after a moment. “Being able to touch something.”
Clive makes an indistinct noise into Torgal’s coat. Joshua shifts closer and leans across him to stroke Torgal as well, his shoulder pressed against Clive’s side.
-
“I wonder if the Hideaway will choose a new Cid,” Clive murmurs, as they duck under the remains of a stone archway.
Perhaps they’ve chosen one already. How much time has passed in Valisthea since he and Joshua were taken here? Or has time been passing at all?
“Jill would do well in the role, I think,” Joshua says.
Clive smiles a little at that. “Perhaps too well. Who would remember Cid the Second, when the first and third have so much to recommend them?”
Will anyone be left to remember? The world might not survive his absence.
It seems such an arrogant thing to think. Clive isn’t destined to save humanity; if Ultima’s words are true, he’s destined to bring about its end. It’s his presence the world can’t survive.
“I doubt anyone will forget you,” Joshua says. “I’d certainly remember.”
“We’re both here,” Clive points out. “You hardly need to remember me when I’m right in front of you.”
“We’re both here,” Joshua agrees. “Both alive, or close enough. For now, perhaps that’s more important than questions of being remembered.”
-
“Tell me a story,” Joshua says.
It startles Clive into laughing. “What?”
“I was thinking of what I missed about our world,” Joshua says. He takes a seat on a fallen pillar, reaches out to scratch Torgal behind the ears. “There’s no bringing sunlight here, or birdsong, or fine food. But you used to tell me stories when I was a boy. If we’ve no novels, perhaps that would be the next best thing.”
“I’m not much of a storyteller,” Clive says. “I fear adult Joshua may have more discerning standards than ten-year-old Joshua.”
“Adult Joshua will take what he can find.” Joshua spreads his hands, indicating the void around them. “There’s very little entertainment here. I won’t turn my nose up at your efforts.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Clive stoops to fuss over Torgal as well. “There was once a hound named Torgal.”
“Ah, yes!” Joshua exclaims, delight in his voice. “I forgot how many of your stories were about Torgal!”
“A mark of my lack of creativity, I’m afraid. I’d take inspiration from whatever I could see.” Clive ruffles the fur on Torgal’s back. “There was once a hound named Torgal. He tore Ultima to pieces, and the Rosfield brothers escaped to see the sun again.”
Joshua laughs. “A beautiful story. I don’t suppose you know how they escaped?”
It’s difficult to envision, even when he’s making it up himself. “Perhaps we’ll find out, one day.”
-
“What do you miss about the world?” Joshua asks, when they’ve resumed their search.
“Jill,” Clive says. “The Hideaway. Feeling useful to people.”
“You’re useful to me,” Joshua says. “I’d have lost my mind five times over without you here.”
Clive flexes his fingers. “I miss fighting. I wouldn’t have expected to. But I’m not used to going so long without a sword in my hand; it’s making me restless.”
“We could spar,” Joshua suggests. “It might not be a bad idea. I’d like to keep my sword arm in shape, so I can drive my blade through Ultima’s eye if he ever shows his face to us again.”
They don’t have practice swords. They can’t starve here; does that mean they can’t be mortally wounded? They’ll just need to be cautious. “I’d appreciate that. We should look for a good sparring spot.”
It makes him feel a little better, saying it. The search for an exit is hopeless, has felt hopeless for a long time; they’re keeping it up mainly for the sake of having something to do. A sparring spot is something concrete to search for, something they might actually find.
“What else do you miss?” Joshua asks.
“Food and drink,” Clive says. “My bed.”
“Sex?”
Clive’s footsteps stutter to a halt. “I – I suppose,” he says, a little flustered. “Is that something you miss?”
“It’s not technically out of our reach, I suppose,” Joshua says. “Harder to ask for than a story, though.”
It’s a strange joke to make, and Clive can’t find the words to reply. In the end, he only resumes walking.
-
“Clive!”
Joshua’s desperate cry cuts straight through him, and in the next instant both of Joshua’s hands are around Clive’s wrist, pulling him back to stable ground. It takes Clive a breathless moment to make sense of what’s happened.
He almost fell. They were sparring, he lost track of the edge of the ground behind him—
He almost fell.
Clive twists around to stare down into the abyss.
What would happen, if he fell? Is there some sort of ground below, beyond his line of sight; would he only have time to regret his slip before he hit the bottom?
Or is there just more abyss, a drop into eternity? If he fell, would he just keep falling, without even the promise of starvation to put an end to it?
“Joshua,” he whispers. Turning back to his brother, to the man who saved him.
“Clive.” Joshua pulls him into his arms; Clive can feel him shaking. “Tell me you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” Clive says. “Joshua—”
Joshua kisses him.
It feels, for an instant, like the most natural thing in the world, like a way anyone might try to confirm Clive’s safety. But – no, Joshua is his brother, and there’s nothing brotherly in this kiss, in the urgency of it, his lips and his teeth and his tongue—
No, Clive’s mind tells him, break away, step back, but he’s too close to the edge and his legs still remember almost falling, they keep him anchored where he is. Joshua seems to take his lack of resistance as encouragement, tangles his fingers in Clive’s hair, and Clive—
It’s such a warm, living, real sensation, and they’re so alone here.
Clive grips Joshua’s arms and kisses back.
It’s dizzying; it’s terrifying. It feels like his mind is screaming at him. Because he almost fell, or because this shouldn’t be happening?
But he needs more, he needs to be closer, and he barely even registers he’s trying to strip Joshua’s clothes off until he finds himself swearing at how complicated they are. Joshua starts laughing, and the sound simultaneously warms Clive and sends spears of ice through him: that’s his brother’s laugh.
He tries to back away. “Joshua—”
Joshua catches hold of his hands. “The edge, Clive.”
He draws Clive back with him, to safer ground, and Clive follows with numb, shaking steps.
For a moment, they’re just facing each other in silence, still as the ruins around them.
“We could forget that this happened,” Joshua says, gently. “If that would be easier.”
They can’t forget. How could they forget?
This can’t happen; the thought is a horror, a breach of nature, a breach of Clive’s role as Joshua’s brother and protector. But the thought of trying to forget, of going back to their endless wandering, unable to talk about this, trying to pretend they’re not both thinking about it...
That feels worse, somehow. There’s nobody else here; there needs to be some kind of honesty between them. They can’t resign themselves to an eternity of lying to each other.
And Clive misses being touched, more than he could ever have understood before this moment.
When Clive kisses him again, Joshua sighs quietly against his mouth. There’s a relief to it that makes Clive shiver.
Joshua’s words are haunting him. Harder to ask for than a story. How long has he wanted this?
“I never thought of you this way,” Clive promises, breaking away. “I need you to know—”
“That this wouldn’t be your choice?” Joshua asks. “That it’s only desperation and loneliness I have to thank for this? You needn’t concern yourself, brother. I’ll put any thought that you might be foolish enough to desire me from my mind.”
Clive stares at him.
“I need you to know that I was truly your brother,” he manages to say, once he’s found his voice. “That there was nothing sordid in my love for you. Please don’t let this change your memories of me.”
Joshua’s expression softens a little at that.
“I won’t,” he says.
Title: Where It Leaves Us
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: 14
Pairing: Joshua/Clive
Wordcount: 2,100
Summary: Clive and Joshua, trapped forever in the interdimensional rift.
Warnings: Incest.
“There’s no way out,” Joshua says. “Is there?”
They’ve both been thinking it for some time, Clive knows. Joshua is just the first to say it.
Ultima called this place a rift between worlds. If they were in Valisthea, or even in lands beyond Valisthea, there would be some way to get home: by foot or by mount, by ship or by wing. It would be challenging, perhaps, but it would be possible.
They know nothing of worlds beyond their own. If there’s any route out of this dark land, with its still air and its strange suspended ruins, it’s one beyond their understanding. And they seem unable to prime here; whether the Phoenix’s wings would be of use to them or not, they’re beyond their reach.
“Well,” Joshua adds, bitterly, “I suppose there might be one way out.”
You will yield to us, Mythos. Ultima’s words linger uncomfortably in Clive’s ears; it feels like he can still hear them, somehow. Until you do, you will remain here.
“It’s not one we’re going to take,” Clive says.
“No,” Joshua says. “Ultima won’t have us.” He looks up, at the shadowy clouds, if clouds are what they are. “Where does that leave us, though?”
Here, Clive supposes. Until they die, if death is still something that awaits them. There’s a strange timelessness to this place; for all their searching, he feels no hunger, no thirst. Do he and Joshua still age?
No way to know for now.
“It leaves us still searching for our exit,” he says.
We won’t find it, Joshua’s look says. Clive gives him a look in return: I know.
“Very well,” Joshua says, after a long pause that might have taken no time at all. “I suppose there’s little else to do.”
It’s near-silent here; the three of them are the only ones who seem to make any noise in this world. Torgal’s panting, the swish of his tail, the pad of his paws. Joshua’s breathing, with the slight rasping edge it’s had since he was a boy. Clive finds himself walking with a heavier tread, the sound of his own footsteps a strange comfort.
Nothing moves here. But the light of Ifrit’s fire flickers over their surroundings, in the form of the ball of flame above them. It lets Clive almost trick himself into thinking that he can see motion, that there’s some kind of life in these still ruins.
The fire takes constant low-level focus to maintain, and Joshua has offered to take shifts. It took no thought at all for Clive to refuse him. If they’re here for long enough, there’s the risk that Joshua will eventually exhaust his magic lighting their way, succumb to the curse, and only Clive will remain. Clive and Torgal and the statue that was once Clive’s brother, stranded here, for life or for eternity: whichever ends first.
There’s little to be thankful in this place. But they have each other, and Clive doesn’t mean to give that up.
Paths and stairs and paths and stairs. There’s nothing to keep their bearings by; they might have been walking in circles all this time.
Not that it makes a difference. There’s no way out.
Clive takes a seat on the uneven floor, his back against a low stone wall. He isn’t tired, exactly; perhaps the need for sleep is something unknown in this place, like hunger, like thirst. But he’s had enough, for now, of climbing crumbling staircases to nowhere.
Torgal lies down next to him, resting his chin on Clive’s thigh. Joshua sits on Clive’s other side, close enough for Clive to feel his warmth. He’s always run hot, just like Clive: a mark of their eikons, perhaps.
Clive isn’t prepared for it, that warmth from both of them. It hadn’t really struck him before, but there’s no temperature to the air here, no sense of chill or heat. Just another way this place doesn’t feel real, another way it leaves Clive feeling unmoored from his own body.
This – Torgal’s thick fur, Joshua’s heat – this feels real. For a moment, all Clive can do is sit there, craving more, a need so powerful he can’t think clearly.
He takes off his gauntlets and buries both of his hands in Torgal’s fur. Leans over to press his face into Torgal’s flank, closes his eyes. Drinking it in: something warm, something real, something alive.
“It helps, doesn’t it?” Joshua asks, after a moment. “Being able to touch something.”
Clive makes an indistinct noise into Torgal’s coat. Joshua shifts closer and leans across him to stroke Torgal as well, his shoulder pressed against Clive’s side.
“I wonder if the Hideaway will choose a new Cid,” Clive murmurs, as they duck under the remains of a stone archway.
Perhaps they’ve chosen one already. How much time has passed in Valisthea since he and Joshua were taken here? Or has time been passing at all?
“Jill would do well in the role, I think,” Joshua says.
Clive smiles a little at that. “Perhaps too well. Who would remember Cid the Second, when the first and third have so much to recommend them?”
Will anyone be left to remember? The world might not survive his absence.
It seems such an arrogant thing to think. Clive isn’t destined to save humanity; if Ultima’s words are true, he’s destined to bring about its end. It’s his presence the world can’t survive.
“I doubt anyone will forget you,” Joshua says. “I’d certainly remember.”
“We’re both here,” Clive points out. “You hardly need to remember me when I’m right in front of you.”
“We’re both here,” Joshua agrees. “Both alive, or close enough. For now, perhaps that’s more important than questions of being remembered.”
“Tell me a story,” Joshua says.
It startles Clive into laughing. “What?”
“I was thinking of what I missed about our world,” Joshua says. He takes a seat on a fallen pillar, reaches out to scratch Torgal behind the ears. “There’s no bringing sunlight here, or birdsong, or fine food. But you used to tell me stories when I was a boy. If we’ve no novels, perhaps that would be the next best thing.”
“I’m not much of a storyteller,” Clive says. “I fear adult Joshua may have more discerning standards than ten-year-old Joshua.”
“Adult Joshua will take what he can find.” Joshua spreads his hands, indicating the void around them. “There’s very little entertainment here. I won’t turn my nose up at your efforts.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Clive stoops to fuss over Torgal as well. “There was once a hound named Torgal.”
“Ah, yes!” Joshua exclaims, delight in his voice. “I forgot how many of your stories were about Torgal!”
“A mark of my lack of creativity, I’m afraid. I’d take inspiration from whatever I could see.” Clive ruffles the fur on Torgal’s back. “There was once a hound named Torgal. He tore Ultima to pieces, and the Rosfield brothers escaped to see the sun again.”
Joshua laughs. “A beautiful story. I don’t suppose you know how they escaped?”
It’s difficult to envision, even when he’s making it up himself. “Perhaps we’ll find out, one day.”
“What do you miss about the world?” Joshua asks, when they’ve resumed their search.
“Jill,” Clive says. “The Hideaway. Feeling useful to people.”
“You’re useful to me,” Joshua says. “I’d have lost my mind five times over without you here.”
Clive flexes his fingers. “I miss fighting. I wouldn’t have expected to. But I’m not used to going so long without a sword in my hand; it’s making me restless.”
“We could spar,” Joshua suggests. “It might not be a bad idea. I’d like to keep my sword arm in shape, so I can drive my blade through Ultima’s eye if he ever shows his face to us again.”
They don’t have practice swords. They can’t starve here; does that mean they can’t be mortally wounded? They’ll just need to be cautious. “I’d appreciate that. We should look for a good sparring spot.”
It makes him feel a little better, saying it. The search for an exit is hopeless, has felt hopeless for a long time; they’re keeping it up mainly for the sake of having something to do. A sparring spot is something concrete to search for, something they might actually find.
“What else do you miss?” Joshua asks.
“Food and drink,” Clive says. “My bed.”
“Sex?”
Clive’s footsteps stutter to a halt. “I – I suppose,” he says, a little flustered. “Is that something you miss?”
“It’s not technically out of our reach, I suppose,” Joshua says. “Harder to ask for than a story, though.”
It’s a strange joke to make, and Clive can’t find the words to reply. In the end, he only resumes walking.
“Clive!”
Joshua’s desperate cry cuts straight through him, and in the next instant both of Joshua’s hands are around Clive’s wrist, pulling him back to stable ground. It takes Clive a breathless moment to make sense of what’s happened.
He almost fell. They were sparring, he lost track of the edge of the ground behind him—
He almost fell.
Clive twists around to stare down into the abyss.
What would happen, if he fell? Is there some sort of ground below, beyond his line of sight; would he only have time to regret his slip before he hit the bottom?
Or is there just more abyss, a drop into eternity? If he fell, would he just keep falling, without even the promise of starvation to put an end to it?
“Joshua,” he whispers. Turning back to his brother, to the man who saved him.
“Clive.” Joshua pulls him into his arms; Clive can feel him shaking. “Tell me you’re still here.”
“I’m still here,” Clive says. “Joshua—”
Joshua kisses him.
It feels, for an instant, like the most natural thing in the world, like a way anyone might try to confirm Clive’s safety. But – no, Joshua is his brother, and there’s nothing brotherly in this kiss, in the urgency of it, his lips and his teeth and his tongue—
No, Clive’s mind tells him, break away, step back, but he’s too close to the edge and his legs still remember almost falling, they keep him anchored where he is. Joshua seems to take his lack of resistance as encouragement, tangles his fingers in Clive’s hair, and Clive—
It’s such a warm, living, real sensation, and they’re so alone here.
Clive grips Joshua’s arms and kisses back.
It’s dizzying; it’s terrifying. It feels like his mind is screaming at him. Because he almost fell, or because this shouldn’t be happening?
But he needs more, he needs to be closer, and he barely even registers he’s trying to strip Joshua’s clothes off until he finds himself swearing at how complicated they are. Joshua starts laughing, and the sound simultaneously warms Clive and sends spears of ice through him: that’s his brother’s laugh.
He tries to back away. “Joshua—”
Joshua catches hold of his hands. “The edge, Clive.”
He draws Clive back with him, to safer ground, and Clive follows with numb, shaking steps.
For a moment, they’re just facing each other in silence, still as the ruins around them.
“We could forget that this happened,” Joshua says, gently. “If that would be easier.”
They can’t forget. How could they forget?
This can’t happen; the thought is a horror, a breach of nature, a breach of Clive’s role as Joshua’s brother and protector. But the thought of trying to forget, of going back to their endless wandering, unable to talk about this, trying to pretend they’re not both thinking about it...
That feels worse, somehow. There’s nobody else here; there needs to be some kind of honesty between them. They can’t resign themselves to an eternity of lying to each other.
And Clive misses being touched, more than he could ever have understood before this moment.
When Clive kisses him again, Joshua sighs quietly against his mouth. There’s a relief to it that makes Clive shiver.
Joshua’s words are haunting him. Harder to ask for than a story. How long has he wanted this?
“I never thought of you this way,” Clive promises, breaking away. “I need you to know—”
“That this wouldn’t be your choice?” Joshua asks. “That it’s only desperation and loneliness I have to thank for this? You needn’t concern yourself, brother. I’ll put any thought that you might be foolish enough to desire me from my mind.”
Clive stares at him.
“I need you to know that I was truly your brother,” he manages to say, once he’s found his voice. “That there was nothing sordid in my love for you. Please don’t let this change your memories of me.”
Joshua’s expression softens a little at that.
“I won’t,” he says.
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Joshua’s expression softens a little at that.
“I won’t,” he says.
I really enjoyed this whole piece but this ending made me melt on the spot. I can feel his desperation on not wanting their past perverted in spite of what's happening now. Hhhh. So lovely.
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