Chapter Text
Clive paced, nervously, he's worried sick, more than he has ever been, not before facing Kupka, or Bahamut, not even Barnabas worries him, in fact, their little squabble and the world's imminent peril where insignificant at the moment.
The wood beneath his feet must be worn down, marking the loop he's been walking over and over for the past half hour. You see, just a few days ago, he almost died– or that's what the others say,–he sure felt like shit while all the blood gushed from his body out the gnarly gash left by Odin's Dominant.
That close call made Clive want to re-evaluate many things, one of them being his relationship with Jill, or, lack of it thereof. Prompted him to open up even more. This is why today, today he dedicated it all to themselves, brought Jill to watch the Snow Daisy field, slaughtered a few creatures just to see her smile, to see her happy.
Now he just waited for her as she bathed. They took a room for the night in a nearby rest, vivid, full of drunken people, loud music and decent food. This wasn't their first time sharing quarters, or being intimate, far from it, since that night on Ash's shore they've done it, several times. Inability to perform wasn't exactly the reason behind his uneasiness. No. It was caused by a recent conversation, or rather, an agreement.
Not long ago he spoke the truth, of what he's been doing with their beloved pet, what they've done together, and how he hoped she'd be willing to accept it. At first her silence made him repent, doubtful. But Jill, she was no ordinary woman, to her this wasn't new, this was part of the many horrors she had to endure while being held captive. Breeding with beasts to satisfy other's dark fantasies. This though, she knew it was different, it was genuine, symbiotic, a master who wouldn't dare raise his fist against his faithful companion, a hound who wouldn't dare bare his fangs to the hand that fed it.
Clive got pleasantly surprised upon her reaction, she chuckled, trying to mask it with a hand. Held his, warmly, affectioned, for all she had for her knight was pure devotion and love. Accepted him, all of him.
Thus they settled on giving it a try when the opportunity presented itself, because the Hideaway was too risky, too quiet after hours for something more than a quick rendezvous, too hectic during the day. Tonight was it though, they had time to spare. So Clive goes to the balcony, whistles to the canine who layed in waiting. Replies with a quiet bark, swiftly jumps on a pile of barrels for momentum, lands next to the man in less than a few seconds.
Distracted, none has noticed Jill's arrival, so she clears her throat to make her presence known.
"Jill!"
*Wuff*
Clive turns and Torgal trots to her side, rejoices in the pets he receives, "I...uh..how was your bath, was the temperature to your liking?" She nods as he comes closer, embracing her. Taking in the smell of soap; sage and thyme lingering on her skin.
They hugged often, at any chance really, because neither knew which could be the last. Kissed, held hands, small gestures here and there, it was like a constant need to feel each other, alive and well.
"You're tense" she says, not as a question, but a remark. Cards her fingers through his sooty hair, "Yes, I am...Jill...are you sure abo–she presses a finger to his lips–"I told you already. I want this". She then lets go, sits on the bed and pats the empty space besides her, inviting him in.
They gaze at each other before sharing a light kiss. Clive trails her neck with his lips, helps her undress, plants small kisses on her shoulders, arms, every new surface that becomes devoid of clothing, til she's bare and all lays discarded on the floor. Jill stops him though, pressing both palms flat against his naked chest.
"Show me." It's demanding and the tone sends a chill down Clive's spine, "Torgal, come here boy." The dog looks puzzled, he's never been allowed on furniture, never gets called upon when his hunans mate, Clive notices his hesitancy, "it's alright–he reassures him–I permit it." At this the weight on the mattress shifts as he gets up to join them, unsteady, not used to the wobbly surface at first.
Clive reaches to him, scratches his chest and behind the ears, knows how he likes that particular spot, scoots backwards til he's leaning against the headboard, parts his legs wide, then Torgal seems to get what kind of game they'll be playing.
He's ecstatic, bouncing all over Clive, doesn't know where to start, Torgal's licking his face, chest, abs, decides to focus on his crotch, also knows his master's favorite spots.
Jill watches them attentively, notices Clive playing with his nipples, tweaking and pinching them, making small circles, twisting back and forth til they are plump.
Watches his hips slide ever so slightly to meet the strokes of Torgal's tongue, his erection starts tenting the leather and she hears the zipper being undone as he takes the pants off, throws them to the side, "I see you chose to forego the under garments" Jill stiffes a giggle at the young man's readiness, "it is less messy this way." He says, reclining back, giving the canine better access to his bottom half.
Torgal's licking at his cock and hole, hungrily. Jill can't help but be aware of how he trembles, breath hitches every time the appendage goes inside him, can't stop the question from blurting out, "Have you allowed him to knot you?."
This catches him off guard, shakes his head in response, because in actuality he's never felt at ease enough to go as far, not from lack of interest, but privacy, it was always in a haste, unplanned, in precarious places, unlike here, "But, we can try it now" he answers, enthusiastically.
"Alright, turn around, raise your bum." He does as told with no hesitation, meanwhile Torgal keeps licking at his ass, whines excitedly and tries to mount him, only to be halted by Jill's arm, "Hold on boy, we need to get him ready first" Clive hears a drawer being pulled open, sees a small bottle of olive oil in his peripheral. Many travelers use these rests in place of brothels, more private ,anonymous and discreet, so it was customary to have those placed at every chamber.
She dips her fingers in the cool substance, coating them in a thin film of oil. Carefully presses one digit to the ring of muscles, circles around the opening and pushes inwards. Hears him hiss as she waggles around, draws it in and out, another digit joins in, one at a time, just a smidge deeper each, until there's four and he gets stretched, as much as she can, though not even enough for what's about to go inside him.
Jill curls one of her fingers and Clive gasps, digs his nails on the mattress, eyes snapping open, "M–more." He trembles, whimpers at the sudden emptyness as she withdraws her hand, moves to side.
"You'll get more soon, come on boy, get at it." And Torgal who's been eagerly awaiting hops on his back, starts thrusting right away, Jill guides him, takes the base of his sheath and pushes it inwards, so he can insert the whole length in. It feels good per usual, at first he relishes in the sensation, until the knot begins to expand, growing with each push, swelling to the point his vision blurs and pain zings his nerves and Clive's growling and thrashing against the bed, he's gone soft, feels it flap about with the movement as he tries his best to bear it.
The pain Is not as strong as when an Eikon's power courses unwelcome through his veins, or when a Coeurl grazes his skin with sharp as steel claws. But it still borders on unbearable, he bites his cheeks, tastes copper–"Clive...Clive. Deep breaths, try to relax..." Jill calls out his name, warm and soft, Torgal's hips jerk a couple of times as he finishes, before coming to a halt. he's licking the back of Clive's neck, attempting to comfort him as well.
She sits in front of him, guides his chib up, the rest of the limbs follow till he's on hands and knees. Traces a thumb across his dry, chapped lips, parts them and proceeds to explore the cavity of his mouth, plays with his tongue, feels the razor edge of the teeth, takes the sodden fingers out as he moans, "Let me make it better." She whispers, bites his earlobe teasingly.
Jill then grabs her breasts, squeezing and kneading them together, hands sensually caress her curves, down to her thighs, teasingly ghost over her folds, Clive doesn't miss the fluid dripping out, "Gods, you're so wet." He groans and this is exactly what she wants, to drive him mad with arousal, make the pain dissolve.
Indeed, he no longer feels discomfort, just the gentle pulse of Torgal's knot as he ejaculates, warm, deep within his walls, each throb tickles something, akin to what Jill had done earlier. The bed shifts and it's her, getting closer, crawling on all fours with a wicked smile. She presents her sodden cunt to him, "Eat me." she orders, and Clive complies obediently. He laps at her juices, sucks at her clit, swipes her crease, gobbles her up as if he's been starved. Clive
Slides his arms under her, to lift her lower back, get better scces, takes a hold of her ass cheeks, grips them tightly, buries his faca between her legs.
Jill's cries–Founder–they go straight to his dick, reviving it fully. She's a whimpering mess, twitches whenever his tongue brushes her nub, assaults the overly sensitive bundle, massages her passage, tongue darts in and out. Jill's arms go weak, she collapses on the mattress, squeezes her thighs around him, rocks her hips with no discernable rhythm, fucks his face with abandon. Jill Warrick was very prim and proper, but when they where in bed, all decorum was left at the door. She didn't need a gentleman or a lover, she needed an animal and Lord Rosfield gladly fullfills that role.
Those cries are driving him insane, her scent fills his nostrils, musky, sweet, her taste envelop the inside of his mouth and it's bitter, sharp but–oh–so intoxicating. He's on the verge of coming but in the middle of orgasm itself, the sensation isn't waning, it was in fact intensifying, spreading across every inch of his body like a slow burn.
Clive trembles as the ripples wreck him, had his brain hazy with euphoria, eyes practically rolling back into his skull, the head of his cock tingles, he's squirting on the bed, but it's not seed. And Jill, Jill's climaxing all over his face, loud and messy, with a broken cry.
Torgal pulls against him, trying to break the tie, it stretches his entrance as the massive knot passes through with a wet pop, he clenches and unclenches around nothing as all the semen rushes out, hot and watery, trickles down his legs. The feeling is so unearthly, from being so full to nothing in seconds.
"Jill–please" he breathes out, because he has to feel something inside again or he'll loose it. She huffs, catching her breath, still woozy, but comes to his aid nonetheless, because he needs her.
She caresses Torgal lovingly, asks him to move aside, he plops down next to Clive, tending to himself. Jill then collects Torgal's seed and fluids, drives her middle finger knuckle deep inside Clive's pulsing hole, has Ifrit's Dominant squirming and sobbing against the linen, pleading for release.
His unattended cock aches and Torgal can sense his distress, comes to his aid as well, shoves his head between Clive's torso and the bed, goes for his swollen shaft, eagerly strokes it with his tongue, slurps the liquid trickling out. He wants to speak, wants to plead, because he needs more, deeper, harsher, wants to be rammed senseless, but it's all garbled noises that sound more like frantic cries.
Jill finally presses that heavenly spot within his entrails and it's like something snaps, triggers a chain reaction that makes Clive erupt in pure rapture, Torgal catches each stream, swallows it like a salty treat, no longer fazed by the spewing appendage, Jill keeps fingering the mound of flesh as he swallows her in, she works him through the frenzy until he's trembling and can't take it no more, blacks out for a few seconds, eyes unfocused. Let's himself crumble into the bed, breathing hard, as if he's done battling a fierce hoard of enemies.
He feels something cold on his forehead, Jill's cleaning him with a wet rag, already done with herself and Torgal, she also applies an ointment to his sore hole, this stings, makes him curse between gritted teeth, but he manages a word of gratitude. When Jill returns, her arms wrap around him, Clive hold one of her hands, kisses it, "How do you feel?." She asks, "Sore." He replies, voice deeper than usual, hoarse but she can hear the corners of his mouth lift in a smile, "That was incredible, minus the pain, of course, that...I could do without."
The old mattress creaks as he turns to his back, "Does it ever stop hurting?." Clive quirks an eyebrow and this time Jill's the one smiling, "Truthfully, I'm afraid to say, not quite, but if we keep at it, it will stop eventually." He rubs her cheek, brushing away a few stray strands of silver hair, "Then we shall do so–Torgal sandwiches himself between them with a loud bark, both Jill and Clive shush him in unison, " You're not supposed to be in here boy, remember." He yawns loudly in response, snuggling up, stretching his big paws across Clive's chest, fluffy tail limp over Jill's legs, covers them like a furry blanked.
They fall asleep like this shortly after.