etrayalogs | Mission 010 Catch All

[Sleipnir’s distinct lack of response to something that should at least have earned a his or the slightest of flinches is, admittedly, a little concerning. He thinks back to their fight, trying to remember if the man had a similar reaction to pain then, but it felt like it was so long ago with everything that happened at home and here.

At the sound of Sleipnir’s voice, Clive looks up to make eye contact. He tilts his head slightly, staring intently into Sleipnir’s eyes for a moment before the flame of an Eikon’s fire gutters and his eyes return to their normal hue. He straightens and furrows his brow. When he speaks, his voice is as it usually is.]

No. Why?

[Clive gives Sleipnir another glance before putting the first aid supplies away. He is halfway to picking Sleipnir’s helmet back up when it hits him. Sleipnir called him Clive. He looks back up, eyes wide, helmet forgotten. The urge to reach over and touch the other man’s cheek spikes in him, but he manages to refuse it. Instead, he rests his hand over the part of Sleipnir’s that isn’t broken.

His voice, when he speaks, is soft and full of wonder and perhaps the tiniest touch of sorrow.]

You called me Clive.

[ Sleipnir stares into those glowing orbs and feels as if a yawning abyss is opening up in front of him. He feels almost beckoned, told to jump. The moment drags at his consciousness and in it he knows Accelerator has left a mark on him; oddly Sleipnir wonders if it has made him more like Barnabas, this hollow feeling in his chest.

Then the glow is gone and time feels like it snaps together once more at its regular brisk pace. Sleipnir blinks a couple times at the loss of being held by the abyss.]

Oh. You just... [he closes his eyes and shakes his head once to try and clear it] it is nothing. I will... speak more on it later.

[To explain that he is seeing things would require him to tell Clive why he is seeing things and he doesn't want to do so here. If Accelerator is still lurking Sleipnir doesn't want him to know how effected he is. He thinks he should maybe hurry Clive along, he doesn't want him in danger because Sleipnir didn't properly do a risk assessment.

But then Clive's hand is on his own again and it draws Sleipnir's gaze up to Clive's. He sees the wide eyes and hears the sorrow, and it causes his own brow to furrow.]

...Should I have said Lord Rosfield?

[Because Sleipnir already knows how the man feels about Mythos, regardless of how much of an honor and a privilege it is, so he knows that isn't Clive's preferred option. He supposes using the man's first name aloud was probably presumptuous.]

[The more they interact, the more worried he gets for Sleipnir. But that is something to assess when they are far the fuck away from this place. He doesn’t like how it feels, how it smells and finding Sleipnir in a pile of its ruins didn’t make him any more inclined to stay.

He shakes himself loose from the marvel at Sleipnir using his name not once, but twice tonight. One of them he can keep as evidence. This one he’ll have to tuck away in a safe spot, the place where he is finding many such happy little memories going.]

No! No. I - [Okay, he might be blushing now.] I like it when you call me Clive.

[Before he can embarrass himself any further, he picks up the second helmet and holds it up.]

Do you still want me to help put this on?

[Sleipnir blinks at the vehement denial and cants his head a little to the side. Regrettably what with this warehouse being abandoned there is no light to shine on Clive's face so his embarrassment remains hidden... for now. Still he'll remember the adamant 'no' for 'Lord Rosfield'. Sleipnir wonders if Clive prefers it less than Mythos, seems almost like it.

Clive, however, presses on dutifully before Sleipnir can get a word in about it.]

...I do not know how it is worn, but perhaps you would show me, then next time I can be prepared.

[...Next time. He hopes there will be a next time. Sleipnir would like it if there is a not-shitty-timing motorcycle ride. For some reason he can't put a finger on though the idea has his face heating up... awful.]

Sure thing.

[Clive casts a quick orb of fire to hover above them so he can show Sleipnir the different parts of the helmet, explaining each part before moving to put it on the other man. Luckily for both of them, it's difficult to tell if someone is blushing via only firelight.

Clive puts the helmet on and adjusts the chinstrap as necessary. He pops is on, too, before swinging his leg over the bike. When he talks, his voice comes through a speaker in Sleipnir's helmet.]

The helmets are mic'd so we can talk to each other. It gets pretty loud once we start moving so it'll be needed for communication. Swing your leg over and sit on the cushion behind me. There are handles you can hold on to next to your seat, but it would be better if you held onto me until you get a feel for moving with the bike. There are spots for your feet to rest. Do not touch the exhaust pipe. Seriously. You can and will burn through your flesh faster than you can blink. Even a second of contact against bare skin can cause a third-degree burn.

[Clive pulls out his phone to pick out some music while he waits for Sleipnir to hop on. Distractedly, he says.]

It's more comfortable if you hold onto my waist. Your arms will get less tired and I won't have to deal with added pressure or resistance on my shoulders.

[Once he queues up two albums, he tucks his phone away.]

Let me know when you're ready and we'll be off.

[Sleipnir pays close attention to the explanation, something new which needs digesting serves as a valuable distraction. Although, it is a little nice to have Clive put the helmet on for him. Gives him more of the warm feeling which spreads through his chest. Chest and cheeks. Blasted, why does his cheeks continuously heat under Clive's gaze? It makes him feel a bit stupid and like he needs to huff. Then Clive's voice rings out through the helmet which shocks Sleipnir into realizing Clive has already gotten his helmet on and is seated on the motorcycle.

Distantly Sleipnir is impressed at how much Clive has adapted to this world and its creations. From the helmet to the motorcycle, it seems like a lot to take in... but Clive has already mastered. He supposes this is one of the reasons God has chosen ~~Myt~~Clive to be his vessel. Adaptability is surely a desired trait.

He blinks hard. Sleipnir has at least been mostly focused on what MyClive is saying by virtue of it sounding as if the man is talking directly into his ear. As Clive pulls out his phone Sleipnir decides the best approach to getting on the motorcycle is probably similar to how one would mount a chocobo.]

As you wish.

[Did that work? Could Clive hear him?

He puts a hand on Clive's shoulder to stabilize himself as he slings his leg over the two-wheeled vehicle. The way the cushion is set up... well, Sleipnir is spread open and behind Clive Rosfield and he thinks he likes this method of transportation more than cars. He scoots closer and wraps his arms around Clive in what Sleipnir would normally consider to be an embrace, but since it is, somewhat?, necessary for how one is to be a passenger on this thing he concludes it should not count as one. Right? Right. A very strange night.

The music starts up and Sleipnir jolts up rigid from the shock of hearing it within the helmet. The cacophony of music which starts up is as entrancing as it was startling...]

I did not know it could play music! I am ready to go now though!

[He shouts above the music as he believes he needs to.]

[It’s kind of cute, how attentive Sleipnir is being. Clive also finds it a little charming, getting him ready for his first time on a motorcycle. Getting the helmet on, strapping him in. Too bad Sleipnir can’t see Clive’s face anymore because he has the softest little smile on under his helmet as he thinks about how he can make this night better for his friend.

His friend.

How odd. It wasn’t a word he ever thought he would use to describe Sleipnir, but he found it to ring true. He was comfortable around the other man in a way that he wasn’t used to with other people. The two of them had been spending a surprising amount of time with each other. The more the two of them talked, the more Clive realized he genuinely enjoyed and sought out his company.

When Clive feels the slender man climb on and slide up against him he lets himself take a moment to bask in the warmth of it. The last time they had been this close they had been waterlogged and close more by necessity than choice. This was different.

Clive almost started going when Sleipnir yelled into the mic. Clive winced and put his hand over one of the ones on his waist.]

You can talk in a normal voice. I can hear you.

[Clive kicks up the stand and starts the bike.]

Just relax into me, alright? Let the music take you away for a bit and enjoy the ride. Oh, and don’t let go.

[Clive goes easy on Sleipnir while they are still in the city. Were he alone, he would likely be weaving through traffic rapidly, but the other man needed time to get used to the movement of the bike before he would be comfortable with that.

The second they have some open road outside of the city though?]

Wanna go faster?

[The wince which Clive makes is visible and Sleipnir flushes a little with embarrassment. He speaks in a regular, albeit quieter than normal, tone.]

You will forgive me for this, everything is just so [loud is not the right word] ...intimate. It's as if both you and the music surround me.

[Everything feels as if it is being poured right into his ears... Sleipnir could get lost in this easily, he thinks.

Then Clive takes off and Sleipnir almost falls off and would have too had he not excellent reflexes; his arms immediately tighten on Clive's waist and he some how pulls himself even closer to the man. It is... exhilarating. The twist and turn of this vehicle, being able to feel the wind rip through his shirt, the beautiful sound dancing straight into his mind. Oh, this. This is... Sleipnir did not know it, but this is something he missed— no, this is new, and impossible to miss, but it feels like his being is being lifted up; were it not for this nights events he might even say he has a soul and it is singing, but there is a dull weight, a gloom or rot which clings to him even now as they speed away from everything which happened.

Adapting to the movement of the motorcycle comes quickly to Sleipnir, but when he starts to relax into Clive: his helmet bonks into the other's and it startles Sleipnir slightly making his grip tighten momentarily, but relax into Clive he does, fitting his body snugly to the man's own. It's a warm comfort and a beautiful juxtaposition to the cool wind. He thinks he loves this, or he will when his mind isn't so shackled to what has befallen him. It reminds him of racing as a horse, only it is not his own legs he races upon, but rather the strength of another. Is this how Barnabas used to feel when the man rode him? Oh, what a feeling. If only he could feel the wind through his hair... Sleipnir almost nuzzles into Clive, but remembers the previous colliding of their helmets so he resists.

When the number of man-made spires dwindle to few Sleipnir hears Clive's voice and his body perks up from it's relaxed position.]

Absolutely! [said loudly with enthusiasm, but then he recalls how he shouted in Clive's ear through the helmet previously, so he returns to a quieter tone of voice] Can we take our helmets off? I wish to feel the wind in my hair— oh but the music would be lost...

[The thought of losing the all consuming symphony is disheartening, but then again if the helmets were off perhaps he could nuzzle into Clive Rosfield...]

[Clive smiles behind his helmet. His voice in Sleipnir’s ear is so gentle, earnest.]

That’s a bit of the point. This is a place for you. Don’t think, just exist. Let the music fill your mind, let our contact calm you. Set everything else aside for me. I’ll take care of you.

[Clive knows he made the right call when he feels Sleipnir’s body relax behind him. He might not be able to make all of the pain go away, whatever had happened had clearly shaken the man to his core, but he could at least give a modicum of peace. A gentle warmth filled him. The music that surrounded them, the pressure and heat of Sleipnir pressed against his back? A sense of calm filtered down over him.

No itch, no need to burn, no insatiable hunger. Just him, Sleipnir, and the road beneath them. Blissful, blissful quiet.

He chuckled at Sleipnir’s excited response before slowing and pulling over to the side of the road. He puts down the kickstand and steadies the bike between his powerful thighs.]

Undo the clasp under your chin. You can just lift the helmet off after that.

[Clive easily removes his helmet and shakes out his hair, giving it a quick ruffle to bring some body back to it. When Sleipnir is free of his own helmet, Clive hands his back.]

Pop open those side containers. The helmets go in there.

[Clive unzips his jacket and takes out a glasses case from an inner pocket, pulling on a pair of tinted glasses. He patted around to see if he had a pair of sunglasses for Sleipnir and found a pair in a fabric slip of a case.]

Put these on. It’ll help with the wind and prevent debris or bugs from getting into your eyes.

[Clive looks over his shoulder and smirks at Sleipnir.]

I’ll have you know, riding a motorcycle without a helmet is very illegal, sir.

[ A place for you... Set everything else aside for me. I’ll take care of you.

The tenderness in Clive's voice is... and to have it right there as if lips were speaking right into his ears... It's overwhelming. Sleipnir notices his own breath once more, the rise and fall makes it feel as if his chest is cracking open— but it's different from tonight's events, it's not pain or fear, but his eyes sting. Being told such things... things only Barnabas has given to him. He feels blind-sided by the care Clive is showing him. Why would one such as he, why would God's chosen vessel take care him? Vulnerable. He screws his mouth against this onslaught of feelings and grips Clive tighter. Has he not been vulnerable enough tonight? ~~Is is safe to find comfort in this?~~

Set everything else aside for me.

All of these thoughts also qualify as 'everything else' to Sleipnir and so he ~~tries~~ does. Lets them go as if they were pieces of drift wood being set upon a river. It's rocky, and at times he thinks he should pick it up again, but he lets them go in favor of the bard whom sings in his ear. The music of this world is like nothing he has heard before and he has fallen a little in love with it.

Once they have come to a stop Sleipnir observes the method in which Clive removes his helmet, then follows the instructions. The air already smells a bit better— no longer is it so seeped in repugnant smog. Sleipnir rakes a hand through his hair, ruffling the locks off of his scalp.]

Very well.

[Despite Clive not asking, but rather commanding, him to do so Sleipnir tucks the helmets away in the side pouches. When handed the glasses Sleipnir will suppress a chuckle at Clive's concern, but, he supposes, getting bugs in one's eyes is never comfortable. At least at the height Sleipnir travels with his liege as a horse doesn't have many bugs at all. Regardless he puts the glasses on.

Sleipnir visibly perks up when Clive turns to look at him, his own smile curving his lips.]

You cannot get me with the laws of this land, Clive Rosfield, as we are not of it. Besides, what gaol could hold me?

Edited (Weird ffxvi spelling of jail) 2025-08-12 18:31 (UTC)

[Clive enjoys the quiet that settles between the two of them. It’s a comfortable sort of thing. They didn’t tend to have moments like these terribly often. It wasn’t that they felt awkward in silence with each other, it was that they always seemed to find something to talk about. Sleipnir brought out the chattiness in Clive, yet another thing he never expected.

Clive can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at how Sleipnir perks up under his attention. It is adorable. Another good thing about it? It isn’t fake. While Sleipnir could be a tease, he didn’t seem to be much of an outright liar. By omission? Certainly. Everyone can be and the nature of Sleipnir’s position would require it. But his reactions like these? If Clive had to use a word to describe them, it would be ‘pure’. His excitement was always so true.]

Could any gaol here hold either of us?

[Clive turns back to face the road and puts the kickstand back up.]

Hold on tight.

[This time, he does wait to feel that Sleipnir is secure behind him before he pulls off the side of the road. He gives the bike a second to get up to a higher speed before he leans forward and lets loose on the throttle.

And oh, how they fly. Miles of concrete eaten under wheels barely touching the pavement as intermittent buildings turn to forests flying alongside them. The smell of the green slowly overtakes that of the city, the light from the stars steadily growing brighter in the sky above. This is a glimpse of what this world used to be, what it could be again.

Any path those thoughts could possibly go down are drowned out by the rev of an engine, the heat of the man against him, the wind ripping through his hair. This was as close to freedom as he had ever felt.]

[Sleipnir's smile turns playfully wicked, delighting in this side of the man. This must be The Outlaw part of Clive Rosfield. A part he used to have complex feelings for, but now? Now they are in alignment and it feels right.]

They would never stand a chance.

[This time Sleipnir is prepared for the buck of the motor-vehicle; he slides forward to press his body firmly against the man, wraps his arms around his waist tightly, and then he indulges— just a little. Sleipnir nuzzles into the space where Clive's neck meets the base of his skull and breaths in deeply.

He needs this.

It's a thought which scares Sleipnir, dredges up thoughts of the walking past, and right now this is no place for it. No, he is just going to bask in the comfort of this moment, take it in, and allow it to hold him together.

These thoughts blow away the moment Clive hits the throttle and Sleipnir realizes he's left himself buried in Clive's neck. The speed pulls too on him, but anchored as he is Sleipnir knows he is safe in this. And so he rises and lets the wind rip through his hair, through his body, through his mind, ~~through his soul—~~

Sleipnir loudly lets out a long whoop followed by a cackle. This speed is the perfect speed. This bike a perfect steed. This moment a perfect moment.]

Edited (spelling) 2025-08-17 20:34 (UTC)

[Clive laughs, a quick, loud, and joyous thing.]

They wouldn’t know what they got themselves into, that’s for certain.

[Funny though the thought was, Clive has no intention of getting the two of them arrested tonight. He was pretty confident in his ability to outrun the cops in general. He had to do it before and he would likely have to do it again before the end of this mission, but tonight was about just living.

A light shiver runs down his spine when he feels Sleipnir nuzzle into his hair. He enjoys the feeling, the gentle brush of his nose, the breath on his skin. It’s not something he expected to want, but something about it was both soothing and exciting. He set that aside for now. Best to focus on the road.

Hearing Sleipnir’s whoop and cackle of pure excitement and what felt a lot like joy brought a grin to Clive’s face. He picked up speed, testing the upper limits of his bike. With the speed they were going, it didn’t take too long to get to their destination. Clive does the responsible thing and slows down before pulling onto a nearly hidden dirt track directly off the road.

Turning off the motorcycle, he swings off the bike and holds it steady. Once Sleipnir is off, he stashes it in some bushes in well-practiced motions. Sliding his glasses up to the top of his head, he turns to look at Sleipnir.]

Up for a little walk?

[Sleipnir didn't want the ride to come to an end, but he supposes all things must. There will surely be a ride back to the city to partake in. He'll comfort himself with this thought as he dismounts the motorcycle. He's quiet as he watches Clive hide it as if he's done this before- but that makes sense, Sleipnir is pretty sure Clive said he knew the place he was taking them to.

The glasses he has been wearing are removed from his head, but instead of putting them atop his head like Clive he just holds and fidgets with them in his hands. Sleipnir isn't sure what he should do with these, but he thinks he probably should have left them in the pockets on the vehicle. Too late now.

His eyes glance to Clive at the question.]

... I know of no reason as to not.

[Clive watches Sleipnir for a moment before taking the glasses back and putting them in his pocket. Instead, he slips his hand into the other man’s and gives it a gentle squeeze, making sure to choose the hand that doesn’t have the broken fingers. He wasn’t sure what Sleipnir’s fascination with hurting himself on that hand was right now, but he didn’t really want to push.]

Perfect. C’mon.

[Clive doesn’t drop Sleipnir’s hand. He guides him down an almost invisible trail clearly more used by animals than people, moving surprisingly quietly through the brush, not breaking any twigs and barely disturbing the foliage. The path they take is at a slow but steady incline. By the time they reach the top, Clive has been helping Sleipnir up over boulders until they reach a plateau. He knows Sleipnir doesn’t need the help to climb. The other man is strong and capable. He does it anyway because he wants to. The idea of not being in contact with the other man feels somehow wrong.

Once they are both safely on the flat outcropping of rock, he gently turns his companion to face out.

From their place so high up, they can see the ocean, gentle waves reflecting the bright moon in rippling elegance. From where they stand to the very horizon, stars litter the darkness above in far more clarity than the two would have been able to see on this planet up until now. A breeze ruffles their hair, the air smelling for the sweet rot of the forest with a tinge of salt from the sea.]

This is one of my favorite spots.

[Oh. Sleipnir supposes Clive taking the glasses makes more sense and makes it easier. His eyes drift back to his open hands and he remembers to breath just when Clive slips his hand into Sleipnir's. His brow furrows in a confusion far more open and honest than he's allowed himself to express around most people. The confusion, like everything else from this night, from that moment and after, is tinged with the wounded look which has been haunting his eyes. Sleipnir still finds himself bracing for the pain to echo through him.

Letting Clive lead him around, Sleipnir's eyes rove across the landscape they move through. He's trying to fill his brain with the imagery and not the echoing memories, the phantom twitch, but the smell of dirt, musk, foliage, leather; Sleipnir squeezes Clive's hand lightly just to reassure himself he's here.

The look of confusion furrows its way back onto Sleipnir's face when Clive begins helping him up the boulders. He doesn't know why Clive is doing so, it's baffling, but it is also...nice? It builds something warm inside Sleipnir's chest and he isn't sure if it's safe to warm himself by it yet. Still...he lets Clive help him up. This is why he reached out to Clive, right? To get a hand up? Strange how time here has made this a possibility.

Then he sees what it is Clive Rosfield comes here to see.

It's breathtaking.

Such a dark and beautiful scene. It wraps Sleipnir into the night so completely, by wind and scent, sight and sound, and it holds him. His eyes are wide and his mouth trembles without his meaning it to. When he was back there, when time folded in on itself, when it was just the dripping, the rust, and the pain, he had wondered if he'd get to see the outside world again. Not those horrible buildings, but this! Real nature. Something which feels like home. Sleipnir is certain heaven must smell like this, feel like this, this kind of relief, this kind of safety, safe, with Clive, Clive is safe, he came, he rushed out, he brought him here, safe—

Sleipnir's knees buckle.]

[Something about Sleipnir’s openness both quickens the pace of and warms Clive’s heart. Even through all of his other emotions, Clive can see that pain. Something horrific happened and, while Clive wanted to know what it was, he wasn’t going to push. Sometimes, the best thing to do for someone was to just be with them. And that was what he planned on doing.

Clive can’t help but chuckle a little at Sleipnir’s confusion at being helped up rocks he could easily surmount, but he wants the other man to remember that Clive is here, touchable and real, and that Sleipnir is here, nowhere else and with no one else. Touch can be grounding and, so far, it seems that Clive’s touch was something that helped Sleipnir.

While this scene never ceased to bring a sense of calm to Clive, he wasn’t here to see it. He was here to let Sleipnir see it. So instead of watching the sky and horizon, he turns his head to watch Sleipnir. He sees the marvel there, the awe, desire, and appreciation, but he also sees something else. Something he can’t quite name. Not yet, anyway.

Sleipnir doesn’t have the chance for his knees to hit rock. Clive is there in an instant, catching him and helping to ease him to the ground. He keeps a protective arm around where he caught Sleipnir at the waist, but resists the urge to tuck the other man in against his chest. It didn’t go so well last time.]

Are you okay? What’s wrong? Tell me what you need.

[It feels like a sudden twist of vertigo, as if Sleipnir has been walking and suddenly the counter-weight to his plank has been removed and he is dropping to the sea below. No, maybe it's more like he's been tackled by some unassuming punk-kid, to end up on his back with that child's hand around his throat—

Sleipnir's eyes widen in panic and he clutches at Clive with the hand nearest to the man, instinctively reaching for him. Only, he finds himself not on his back, not on cement, but instead is seated atop the embankment and leaning into Clive's support. He's heaving jagged breaths in, and he hates that he is doing so again after all those Clive Breaths he had taken previously, how how how, how is it he is brought low like this once more? He hates this hates that he is trembling, when did that start up again? For some reason, he feels compelled, he looks from Clive to the sky, to the sea, to the trees, the way they came, then back to Clive, his breaths aren't slowing, his eyes are stinging, he hates this, what did he do, what did that little shit do to him?]

[Clive holds Sleipnir steady. He knows panic when he sees it, felt it enough times himself, seen it enough times on soldiers from the front lines. He knew the look of someone leaving their body, their mind bringing them to places in the past. When you fight enough battles, you meet your fair share of people who might survive the battle, but don't survive the war that is their mind.

Whatever happened to Sleipnir must have been bad. That flicker of rage whispers its reminder in the back of Clive's mind. Whoever did this would most certainly pay. They would suffer. In time. Clive was a patient man and, right now, he had higher priorities.

Clive lifts his free hand slowly so Sleipnir can see how he moves towards him, giving him the chance to pull away before Clive gently tucks loose hair behind Sleipnir's ear. If he lets him, Clive will cup the other man's cheek gently in his hand. If not, he'll rest it in his lap.]

You're here with me, Sleipnir. Just me. Listen to the sound of my voice, okay? Can you tell me what you see around us? Describe it for me.

[Sleipnir's eyes shift between both of Clive's as his lungs labor trying to find enough air to fill themselves. When the hand raises his gaze snaps to it, eyebrows furrowing as it comes closer, confused until the hair gets tucked. His attention goes back to Clive as he feels the man's palm on his cheek, warmth radiating from it. It's comforting, reminds him of when Barnabas cradles his face, it's a language he understands. Sleipnir leans into the hand and looks down, eyes half closing as he does so causing some of the moisture gathered there to run down his face. This has Sleipnir clenching his jaw; these tears made no sense—he is angry, not sad.

His mind snags on Clive's words—Sleipnir still rather likes his voice, and thusly makes an effort to concentrate on what it is he is asking, despite not being able to breathe properly. Although, concentrating on Clive's hand might be helping. He's not sure. He misses the helmet which fed Clive's voice right into his ears, quiet and intimate—but here is not loud, no it's quiet, unlike that raucous, foul city with their disgusting towers reaching their greedy fingers in the air.

The thing which is too loud is Sleipnir's mind. He needs to quiet it—this has never been a problem before. His eyes slip shut causing more tear to fall and he heaves in a breath before opening them again. One of his hands is clutching Clive's jacket and the other digs into the vegetation on the ground.]

I—I see [you] ...I...

[His eyes leave Clive to slowly look over what's behind the man.]

The trees... I am more familiar with these ones than the ones they call Palm... They are very tall... bark brown with many close ridges...

[Clive’s heart aches for the man before him. He wants to pull Sleipnir in, hold him against his chest, whisper words of assurance, rub his back, anything more than just touching his cheek, but Sleipnir is allowing this, and it will have to do for now. Clive swipes a thumb across the other man’s cheek, catching the tear and taking it away.

Nodding, Clive continues to run his thumb over Sleipnir’s cheek gently.]

Good. What do you like about these trees?

[Clive watches Sleipnir closely, keeping an eye out for anything that may indicate a need to change the subject, subvert a thought, redirect an action, anything. Whatever the man before him needed, as long as it was within Clive’s power, he would give.]

[Sleipnir's chest continues to shake as he draws in breath after shallow breath. The gentle thumb upon his cheek is entirely at odds with his lungs, with his head, with his heart. It's almost enough to make him scream, but Sleipnir has already had his fill of such a thing hours ago.]

Good? No, it is not good. None of this is good. What do I like about these trees?? They are outside. Out of that city. Away from that hellish place.

[He grips Clive's leather jacket even tighter, his leather gloves whining in protest against it. The moisture is now cascading down in two little streams from his eyes and it's still no good. He's angry, not sad. There shouldn't be tears falling. He hates this, lets go of the ground to scrub once at the opposite cheek from Clive's grasp. Angry. Not devastated.]

[Clive can practically see the panic rising in Sleipnir, breaths shortening, tears flowing more freely, the tension in his body, how his jaw clenchs. He slides a his freer hand slowly, gently, around to the small of Sleipnir’s back, taking time to make sure he gives interspersed grounding pressure along the way.]

Hey.

[His voice is gentle. He uses the hand still on his cheek to guide Sleipnir back to him.]

Look at me. Focus on me.

[While he talks, he untucks the other man’s shirt with slow, smooth movements, before sliding his hand under and pressing his palm, skin to skin, with a pressure bordering between gentle and firm.]

We’re right here, together. Sitting in a beautiful place, away from all of that noise and refuse. It’s just you and me. I’m here. I won’t let anything else touch you, only me, and only if you want.

[Sleipnir's chest heaves and he presses his lips together firmly as if this will stop the tears flowing, as if it could make any of this stop. His eyes are blinking rapidly attempting to hold back the rain which threatens to drench him to the bone. His shoulders shake with the force of everything within him collapsing as his gaze is pulled back to Clive. He is a mess. He is a wreck. He has been devastated.

He tries to listen to Clive, tries to cling to his words like a raft in a stormy sea, but he can barely see the man now— all he has is his voice, but it can barely be heard over the sounds of his own screams from hours ago replaying in his mind over and over and over on repeat. What is he supposed to do? What was he supposed to do? How can he beat an opponent who overrides his entire being? How can he protect their world, their people, if he is so easily beaten, so easily broken? What if it happens again? What if there is another like Accelerator back in Valisthea? What if they find him? Find Barnabas? Find Clive?

A strangled whine escapes his closed lips and he slams himself into Clive's chest, arms wrapping around him as if he was the only thing which could save him now. Etraya has so effectively taught him fear and he hates it. Wishes it was anger which drowns him, but no, it is fear and agony wrapped in one horrid wave which rocks him, has him sobbing into Clive, crying as he hasn't done so in many, many years.]

[Clive watches the war rage in Sleipnir’s features and can feel his heart breaking. What he wouldn’t give to be able to take this pain, to shoulder it for him. Clive knows panic, he knows fear, he knows despair, all so deep they feel as though they will never let one’s soul go. He knows what it feels like when fresh, what it feels like when it has scarred over. He could handle this, too. For Sleipnir, he would. He would do it in a heartbeat.

But he can’t.

Clive’s eyes sting, but he refuses to let his body go any further. He would stay strong. Sleipnir needed him, and he would not fall to his own tears. Clive holds Sleipnir to him, firm enough for the man to feel protected, but loose enough where he can pull away easily if it all becomes too much.

Words would do very little here, so instead Clive runs his fingers through wind-tousled hair, tucks Sleipnir’s head to his shoulder with his own, and hums a song he would sing to Joshua when nightmares pulled the boy from his sleep, rocking Sleipnir gently as he does.]

Mission 010 Catch All - Closed

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