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Jill glanced out of the tent flap, watching Clive stroke Torgal behind the ears as he tended the fire. Rare was it that they even pitched a tent while they were out, but the past few days of rain had left them erring on the side of caution. Clive had first watch, another thing they didn't always do thanks to Torgal's keen senses even asleep, but again, the wet ground had made the creeping of enemies much more difficult to hear.
The firelight caught the side of Clive's face, lighting up his eyes in the flames.
"You cold, boy?" she heard him ask Torgal before he rested his hand beside the flickering orange flame, almost inside it, unaffected thanks to Ifrit, and then pet Torgal with the new warmth. Torgal whined happily, arching into Clive's hand, and he smiled softly at the wolf.
Jill felt her own lips tip up, fondness for the boyish joy that Clive kept only for himself and a few others. She was among the few blessed by Metia to see it, his expressions rarely hidden from her. If he were sad, happy, or scared to death, he couldn't hide it from her, and he rarely seemed to try.
Torgal yipped, and Clive pressed his hand gently over Torgal's muzzle. "Quiet boy; you'll wake Jill."
She slipped her head back inside, feeling the burn of his attention on the tent.
"She hasn't been sleeping. Let her rest."
It was true; Jill couldn't bring herself to sleep during the days of rain. Still, after years spent living inside a volcano where cold wind and pattering rain was not permitted by the air temperature, she was still unsettled by how loud it could be. Sleep had been growing more and more elusive by the day, and yet she remained awake.
And Clive had noticed.
He noticed everything about her. With his blue eyes boring into hers, she felt his presence overwhelm her far too often, his attention so focused that he became the only other one in the room with her, his understanding of her life so pure and reciprocated by one of equal torment.
In the long nights where they lay under the stars staring at the moon until sleep could take them, Jill could close her eyes and remember the nights they did that as children, when she'd innocently grab his arm and shake him excitedly, or he'd pull her towards him so she could see a shooting star before it was lost across the sky. But they were not so innocent now. It had been long since stolen from them.
Perhaps she could go outside and sit with him, point up to the stars and try to name them, as she used to. He used to be better than her at finding the constellations wherever they lie, but she could name each star that made them up. Together, they could conquer the night sky.
Just as she sat forward, mind made up, she heard Clive's tongue click, summoning Torgal. "Want to grab some more wood? See if we can't find some that's dry?"
Jill sat back down, brushing her hands over her arms. She would have had to cover up anyway, dressed only in the simple white layer she wore beneath her usual ensemble.
For a moment, a fleeting moment, she wondered what reaction Clive might have if she'd gone outside dressed like this. They'd seen each other in shifts and undergarments before; such was a hazard of travelling together for so long, but if she could catch the moonlight in her silver hair, would he look at her any differently? If the firelight danced off her skin, would he be as entranced as she was?
Did he even care?
She glanced down at herself and sighed, running a disappointed hand along her breasts. She was not as shapely as Isabelle was, nor was she as sultry as Benedikta. She was not as alluring as Tarja, not as exotic as Vivien. For years, she'd been reminded that she was nothing in the Iron Kingdom. She was a savage, dirt beneath their boots, a tool. Perhaps she'd never learn to see herself as anything more than that.
But she could see Clive's handsome face in her mind, the way he looked at her, the attention he paid her, like she was more than she'd ever dreamed she could be. Was there perhaps a chance that he saw her as someone who could compete with the likes of Benedikta Harmon?
Would he ever run his hand along her modest chest? Tease her nipple with his calloused fingers?
Her hands slipped under the hem of her skirts and hiked it up so she could follow the path he'd take with her own hand. Her fingers were cool against her skin, and her eyes drifted shut. Clive's hand would rarely be cold. Ifrit would burn her to the touch. She'd seen it, even just moments ago, his hand resting over the fire, warming Torgal. She took a deep breath, arching into her hand, feeling Clive's warmth.
Her fingers slid down the valley of her breasts, and she sighed. Would Clive touch her like that? Would he caress every fraction of her skin? Over the bumps of battle scars from years thrust into wars she was never meant to fight in, over the imperfections that marked her as a warrior. Would he tolerate her cool flesh, or would Ifrit allow Shiva to finally find comfort in warmth?
Head tilted to the side, she could imagine his lips on her neck, soft kisses, hard kisses, teeth, tongue. Her lips parted in anticipation of what was never to come, but she kept her eyes closed, let her mind run wild.
She could tell it was Clive in her mind, because her body warmed up considerably as she let out a soft whine, desperate for more.
Lying back down, she could almost imagine she were leaning against his solid chest, muscles she'd longed to touch on her own, but could never even fathom the opportunity but in her mind. But he had her cradled now: his chest, the ground; his hand, hers. And in a feverish agitation, another soft whine escaped her, though it's pleas were loud and clear.
More.
"Please," she found herself mouthing, hoping that her conjured illusion of Clive would see to her needs. Begging that her mind was strong enough to resist the deprecating thought that maybe the real Clive wouldn't do this, wouldn't see her this way. Perhaps he'd rather be in the Veil with the hand-picked courtesans.
But she willed it away with thoughts of his hand in hers as he helped her step down from a ledge, or off the rowboat from the hideaway. How his grip would tighten ever so slightly, how his fingers would curl into hers, how his touch would linger just a moment longer than one would expect.
How that hand would trail its way across her stomach if it could, down her hip, along her thighs. How his fingers would teasingly dance along the curls between her legs, explore soft folds while his eyes stared up at her, watching for her every reaction.
She lamented her long, lithe fingers, far different from Clive's thick ones. Though they more the same callouses from years of fighting, she was jolted from the moment for just an instant when she realized that she wasn't Clive. That her hand was her own, and his was outside, gathering firewood.
No. No, if she only closed her eyes again, he was in the tent with her still.
Resuming took a moment, but once she slipped a finger inside herself, felt the cool air against her tongue as she gasped, she felt herself nearly choke on it in relief. Clive would find her clit with assassin's precision. She arched into her touch, feeling something within herself tighten, tension building with every careful stroke.
But Clive had two hands.
She let her other hand float back up to her breast, leaned back where his chest would be, and let her touch herself with gentle strokes as she wondered. Of course Clive would be gentle, his hand would move with care and he'd stoke a fire faster with his fine touch and perfect attention. But Clive was a soldier, an assassin, a dominant. His fingers would grow rougher as he was more acquainted with her, his touch would grow harder, his hands firmer.
Would he lose himself as her breath hitched? Would these soft gasps be able to undo someone like him? Her touch grew faster, more desperate and frantic as her hand shook, chasing the building pleasure he could bring her. Legs spread, spine off the ground, her mouth was wide, wishing his were there to kiss the moans she tried to hold back straight off her lips.
Clive had always looked at her with soft eyes. But she'd seen the fierce flames burn within. His mouth would fall open as he realized how close she was, his smile would be gone, his eyes wide. His hands precise. His movements desperate.
And when her hips shot forward, rocking against her hand-- his hand-- as she rode out the sweetest pleasure, she breathed out, "Clive."
Her eyes finally opened, legs still trembling, breathing heavy as she started to come back to herself, back to the tent, to the crackle of fire. And after a few endless moments, she let her head rest back down, limp and relaxed, as her eyes drifted shut.
"She hasn't been sleeping. Let her rest."
Clive stood up and beckoned for Torgal to follow as he headed into the wooded surroundings. He didn't want to stray too far from their camp lest Jill call out for him, but all the wood on the edge of the forest was still damp from the previous day's rain.
So, Clive and Torgal stepped deeper into the woods, testing a few that looked promising, only to come up empty.
He glanced back at camp. Jill had looked so tired by the fire before he'd all but sent her into the tent to get some rest. She'd been resting her chin in her gloved hand, one eye shut while the other watched the flames beside him.
He couldn't help but smile at her, remembering stories of some animals who slept with one eye open to stay alert for predators, and that almost seemed to fit Jill too closely.
He'd put his hand on hers. "Jill, get some rest. I'll keep watch."
"No, it's alright.'
"I insist."
He thought she'd push back a bit more, but to his surprise, she'd sucked in a tired breath and nodded before slinking off into the tent.
Now, he only hoped she was asleep, relaxed beneath the stars earning the rest she so deserved.
"Torgal," Clive said, grabbing another damp log. "Go back, just check the camp, make sure Jill is alright."
Torgal licked his snout before turning and padding back off towards the camp.
"Damn this wood," he muttered, tossing another back. He had naught but twigs, and grabbed one halfway decent sized broken treebranch before Torgal bounded back, whining.
"What is it, boy?"
Torgal let out a soft bark before spinning in a circle and then bounding back off, turning, waiting for Clive to follow.
"What?"
Torgal's lack of a growl left Clive more confused, but he followed, dropping the wood by the fire as he looked around. Torgal sat near Jill's tent, but Clive wasn't ready to wake her, not until he had a look around. But there were no signs of intrusion, no footprints, beast nor man. So, he followed Torgal.
Clive crept quietly so as not to wake Jill, checking the ground for whatever it was that had Torgal stressed out. He whined again as he lay down beside the tent. Was Jill hurt? Was that what Torgal was on about?
Hand reaching back, ready on the hilt of his sword, he crossed the rest of the way to the tent.
He pressed his ear to the tent flap, and sure enough, he could hear Jill's pained moans, muffled, as if she didn't want him to hear them. Her breathing was off, far too breathy, like the air were dancing from her lungs rather than being forced out.
His hand moved from his sword to the flap of the tent. They hadn't gotten into any fights today on the road, so it must be an old injury from a few days ago, or perhaps something internal he was keeping from her. Could he coerce the answer from Tarja? Should he not have sent her inside from the fire? Could he have watched her closer, found the cause of her pain.
Jill's breath caught, and she sucked in loudly before that sound became a soft moan, a sigh, high pitched and... obvious.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh Great Greagor, Jill was not in pain.
Clive's eyes widened, and he snapped his attention to Torgal. No longer able to breathe, Clive stood there dumbfounded. Gods above, he needed to get out of there, he needed to give her privacy.
But swallowing was difficult, and his head was suddenly much lighter than he'd ever anticipated. He took a few steps back, but he could still hear her, almost as if she'd gotten louder. Or perhaps he was listening harder.
He gestured to Torgal. It took everything in him to command the wolf. "Torgal, she's not hurt. Stay by the fire." His voice cracked like he was still a young boy, but Torgal listened to the instruction, and Clive was left once again unsure what to do with himself.
He should join Torgal and hum a melody that wouldn't bring back thoughts of Jill. No, he needed to keep her from his mind. He managed to spin on his heel.
And then he heard his name.
Neck twitching, he did everything in his power not to turn more than his head.
No. There was no way. No way she's in there... thinking of him.
His brows lifted at the thought, and he felt himself turn. What could she be thinking? Or worse... doing?
His throat grew tight in his struggle to breathe through the thought of it. What was he going to do? Should he let her know? Should he say anything? Could he pretend he hadn't heard her?
What if he'd been mistaken and in his desire for her, he was projecting? What if she'd simply noticed his shadow cast over the tent and was saying his name in a sleep-induced stupor?
And... being Clive... he did the one thing he could think of.
He asked.
"Jill? Did you just say my name?"
There was a long pause and then shuffling before he could hear her response. "Yes! Yes, I did. Sorry, I thought I heard something. Was it you walking about?" Breathless. Like how she'd said his name.
"Um... yes. I just... uh... returned from collecting w-wood with Torgal and... heard... you."
"Oh." The long pause was poignant. "How long ago did you return?"
"Only moments ago."
"Oh. Good."
Clive bit his lip, rocking back and forth. "Uh. Did you sleep?"
Jill laughed a little, more to herself than to him. "Not yet."
"Okay."
Another long pause. "Clive?" He sucked in his breath. His name on her lips left him lightheaded once again. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. No, I'm... I'm fine." His voice cracked again. "I'm actually... I'm going to have Torgal stay here while I check the perimeter. Just... you know... in case what you heard wasn't me."
"What I heard?"
"You heard something."
"Right! Yes."
"Yes."
Another pause.
Clive cleared his throat and backed away from the tent, stumbling as he did. "I'll... leave Torgal with you."
"You said that already."
"Right. Uh... sleep well."
Running his hands along his face, Clive gripped his hair and gave a sharp tug to snap his attention to anything else.
"Stay here, boy. Watch out for Jill," he muttered before making his way back into the trees, far from the fire.
But he was already burning up.
In truth, he needed Jill. He needed Shiva and her powers to help him cool down, he needed air, a breath of it, but nothing in the breezeless skies helped ease the ache in his lungs.
This was Jill. His Jill. There was no way she'd think about him that way. There was no way she'd picture him beside her the way he'd done about her. Surely he was the only one of the two with any delusions that they could be more than what they were.
But the soft whispered breath of his name on her lips as she panted and moaned.
He rested his head against the nearest tree and gave in, because if he didn't do something, he'd never be able to so much as look around the camp without a massive distraction looming over him.
Taking a glance around to be sure Jill hadn't followed, he pulled his belt off and let it fall to the ground before unclasping his gauntlet and glove and letting them fall beside him as well.
If Jill did follow him out here, would it be the worst? It was surely deserved payback for him having heard her. And after tonight, would she hate it?
Pulling himself free from the tight confines of his already tight pants had him groaning in instant relief. Head rested in the crook of his arm against the tree, he spat into his other palm and wrapped a hand around himself, groaning as he hears her voice in his head, hears her whine and breathe heavily.
What was going on in her fantasies? Were they the same that he had? Where her hand would wrap tentatively around him at first, slow and gentle as she traced the veins of his cock with a lazy finger, a teasingly light grip until she offers a tender squeeze.
Clive's eyelids fluttered shut as he moaned. Jill would absolutely tease him. She'd push him back onto the ground and let her breasts drag along the planes of his chest while he panted. Her fingers would dance around, because Jill would take her time. She'd leave her firm grasp of him, leave him wanting, and trace the V that dipped from his hips. She'd trace the scar there as she leaned up to kiss him while she resumed her attentions where he craved her most.
She would know the slick beneath her thumb was entirely of her own doing, and she'd grin that devilish grin at him before making her long languid strokes smoother with the assistance.
"Fuck," Clive muttered, following her imagined path with his own hand, seeing her face behind his eyes as though she were truly in front of him.
Her hands would be soft as she rolled him around in her palm. Calloused hands would leave him feeling her every move, but she had a natural softness that came from simply being Jill. He hoped he'd have the same if he were ever blessed to touch her.
But he knew Jill, and she was not all soft petals of a flower. His grip tightened, he sped up. She would watch his eyes as she moved her hand, as he bucked into hers.
His lips parted and he reached for hers, meeting only with the air, but indulging all the same. His throat was dry from his ragged panting, he was sweating, not even realizing how hot his hand had become as he pleasured himself. Was it Ifrit's doing? He couldn't say.
Would Jill notice how desperate he was for her? How he longed to spill into her hand and throw his head back in relief? Would she even let him? Or was she keen to draw it out?
Gods, he wished he knew. He wanted to know her as intimately as he knew her daily life. He knew how she broke her fast, what she preferred in the mornings, how she hated to travel in sand without tall boots. He knew she preferred to sleep on her right side, that she'd grow restless in most other positions. He knew how to tie the ribbon into her hair because she'd shown him how.
But now, now he wanted to know how she would move beneath him, were he ever to get her into his bed. He wanted to know if she would push him down and straddle him to ride like a wild chocobo. Would she like it if he went down on her, would his scruff irritate her or make her sing? He wanted to know.
He needed to know.
His hand moved furiously, desperately, hearing his own moans like through the ears of another.
Through her ears, would he sound as undone as he felt?
"Jill..."
His mouth fell open as he let out a breath, spilling along his hand and onto the grass as he stroked himself through his climax. He could feel his toes curl in his boots as he moaned, pressing his head further into his arm against the tree as he was was wracked with waves of pleasure from his fingertips throughout his whole body. He felt like collapsing for a moment, to melt into nothingness and slip away.
He looked down at himself and was pleased that the mess hadn't reached his clothes. He bent and wiped his hand in the grass as subtly as possible before grabbing the rest of his things and settling himself back as presentably as he could. Perhaps his hair might be a bit worse for wear from grabbing it so fiercely, but he felt he should be alright to go back, especially if Jill was asleep.
But how was he ever going to handle knowing that she'd said his name?
His name...
Her name.
Jill let out a deep breath that she'd held for far too long, her grip on Torgal's fur tight as she listened. She'd have to find a way to back out of the woods without her presence alerting him. Perhaps she had a moment while he was still... recovering.
"He's fine, Torgal," she hissed nervously to the whining wolf. "Come on."
But Torgal broke free, running loudly towards Clive.
Jill covered her mouth, watching in horror as Clive turned to follow the noise.
"Torgal?" Clive's eyes darted up. "Jill?"
Well, there was no getting out of this one. She watched Torgal bounce up onto Clive, licking him in earnest relief as he'd done to her when she'd emerged from the tent to see why he was making a fuss.
"H-hello," she said, struggling to hear her name in his voice after what she'd just witnessed. She gestured weakly to Torgal. "He seemed antsy about something, so I f-followed him."
"I thought you were... in the tent." He swallowed visibly.
"Oh... I was. But he..." she looked to the sky for strength. "He was pawing at the fabric for my attention."
Clive bit his lip as he crossed closer to her and leaned against the tree, his hips jutting off the bark ever so slightly. It took everything in her not to look. Not to stare.
She could see Clive was particularly interested in a fallen piece of a branch. "He... he led me back to camp earlier as well, a bit in a state. I thought you were in trouble."
"Yes. I thought you were as well."
Clive sucked in a breath and leaned his head back. "Jill, how long were you standing here?"
"Um... a moment."
He closed his eyes. "You saw."
Guilt washed over her as she stepped forward, a comforting hand out and ready that she hastily let fall to her side. "Yes. I... heard."
Slowly, he managed to creak his eyes open. "I must confess then... I... heard you as well."
"What?"
"I thought you in pain."
"Do I sound that horrible?"
Clive's brows shot up at her question. "N... no! But I heard you moa... make noise after Torgal led me to believe you to be injured. My mind put those two together and came up with the wrong conclusion until..."
"Until?"
"My name."
Jill felt her face burn. "Oh."
"Yes."
There was a long pause as before between the two, and Clive only broke it with the clearing of his throat. "Perhaps we should get back."
"Yes. Let's."
Once they'd returned to camp, they both sat uncomfortably by the fire. Jill pressed her face into her palm and mumbled into her hand. "You said my name, too."
Clive nodded into the air, watching Torgal rest on his paws, content with his day of 'saving' everyone.
Jill scooted closer to where Clive sat. "You and I, we've been friends an awfully long time. I'm almost shocked this is the first time this has happened to us."
That brought a small smile to Clive's lips. "First time caught, at least."
"True. Hardly the first time I've thought of you."
Clive bit his lip to stop his wide grin. "Is that so? The sentiment is mutual."
"Clive," Jill said, moving closer again. "Come into the tent for the night. Torgal will keep watch."
He was nodding before she'd finished her words, to his feet the moment she'd stopped to take in a breath. His hand was waiting for her.
And then, Torgal was up, growling.
Both of them stopped and turned to see a hoard of wasps heading in their direction.
Clive drew out his sword. "Something we ought to take care of before I take care of you."
Jill chuckled. "Confident, are we? Remember which of us it was who was brought to his knees in a forest at the sound of his own name."
Clive smirked. Never had he been more eager to fight some wasps and go to bed.