Call Me Yours [BL]

Chapter 15 Part 1

the genre is power bottoms

Clementine is the youngest of seven brothers, each as talented and remarkable as the last. There's Taylor, and there's August, and of course Valentine. Carillo and Xavier come to mind, and finally their oldest brother, Benjamin.

Tine is a hard last name to live up to, he finds out.

Clementine isn't gifted in art like August, and he's not much of a chef like Taylor. Benjamin is a doctor, but Clementine's never been all that good with blood. Valentine makes modeling look easy, so he gives it a shot, but Clementine has a hard time staying still. Behind the camera seems better, but he doesn't understand lighting like Carillo. Xavier is a lawyer, and Clementine is smart, but he's too easily biased—too easily swayed and pliable as he chases after his older brother's passions. He'd never be able to confidently build a case on his own.

Clementine doesn't know what he's passionate about. Everything already seems taken.

When he hears Prince's low laugh, Clementine realizes his previous thought is flawed. Pretty men, he thinks. He's pretty passionate about that.

Prince looks model-like as he leans against the outdoor barstools and sports a beer bottle with an air of effortless confidence. Clementine is taken in by the dark of his eyes, so bright and mesmerizing under the moonlight. They look even more intimidating up close, angled up and hyper-focused on Clementine. He reminds him of Valentine's cat.

"Okay," Prince drawls, his voice pitched teasingly low. "You've got me all to yourself."

"Finally," Clementine says, clear exasperation written in his voice. He's wasted too much of the night trying to find somewhere they can be alone. Clementine saw it earlier, the gentle beginnings of interest flicker in Prince's eyes, and Clementine was adamant to make it stay. To nurture it into something more, but everywhere they went someone always showed up.

It's hard to flirt with your brother three feet away.

"Finally," Prince echos, his lips twitching up. "What now?"

Clementine considers the older man as he contemplates a response. Prince is intimidatingly good-looking and far too composed as he tilts his head and rakes an interested look over Clementine. It's every bit slow as it is intentional, and it works to rattle Clementine's nerves.

Clementine goes with the truth, "I didn't think I'd make it this far," he confesses sheepishly.

Prince laughs and it sounds so pleasant to him. "No? But you were trying so hard." His smirk is mean. Clementine can't take his eyes off the fullness of his lips, so plush and inviting. It stretches wider the longer he stares.

"You weren't exactly jumping to talk to me," Clementine says, petulant.

"That's true," Prince agrees softly. "You seemed excited enough for the both of us. I didn't think I had to do any work."

"You do," Clementine argues.

"Do I?"

"Yes," he insists.

"Okay," Prince soothes, amused. "You have my attention."

Clementine can tell. He sees it in the way Prince angles his body toward him, so inviting and meticulous as his eyes dance over Clementine. The way he takes Clementine in all over again, as if the first time wasn't enough, and he seems to like what he sees. Prince lifts his beer to his lips and hums appreciatively. "Tastes good," he utters lowly, holding Clementine's gaze.

Clementine's own beer is cold in his hands, and he's just as greedy as he appreciates Prince's effortless charm. He's considerably smaller than Clementine, standing a head shorter even as Clementine sits on one of the barstools lined against the outside bar. Prince prefers to stand, using the edge of a barstool to lean his weight against. And he's such a sight as he does, leaned prettily against the high stool with all of his attention on Clementine.

The moonlight bathes him in soft beams, accentuating his sharp features and making him like all the more captivating. He smells like sunshine and it's such a stark contrast to how otherworldly he appears under the moon's glow.

The backyard is empty save for the two of them, the perfect spot to finally get Prince all to himself. He's spent a good portion of the night trying to avoid his brothers and their judging eyes as he eagerly followed Prince around. Valentine was a calmer presence compared to Taylor, less expressive with his disapproval of Clementine's interest in Prince. Taylor was verbal enough for the both of them—chastising Clementine for ignoring Kahili's party in favor of flirting.

Prince watched every failed attempt to flirt with little smiles he didn't bother suppressing, until finally, he curled a finger at Clementine as he slid open the back patio. C'mon, big boy.

The moon is full, the pool is calmingly still, and it's the perfect temperature outside, teetering that middle ground of warm and cold. Cool.

Clementine takes a sip from his beer just because Prince does, and then immediately regrets it. He sucks in a harsh breath when it burns the back of his throat. "Mm-" then clears his throat.

"How is it?" Prince teases.

Clementine swallows past the burn. "Tastes great."

It earns him an unintentional laugh. "You don't have to drink it, y'know."

"Well—"Clementine flushes. "..You're drinking it."

"If I drank a bottle of piss would you drink it?"

Clementine mulls it over. "I'd consider it."

Prince looks equally put off and interested. "I strangely believe you." Then, he leans over the bar top and searches for something. His eyes catch on the abundance of liquor bottles stored neatly behind the counter and he makes a sudden happy noise. Clementine watches him push away from the barstool to walk behind the counter.

"What're you doing?" His eyes track Prince's movements curiously.

"Beer isn't good," Prince says. "Especially for underage pups who never drink."

Clementine sputters. "I'm not—I'm not a pup."

Prince only hums.

"I'm not," he persists, and he's not whining.

"I know you're not," Prince soothes, but he's smiling in a way that says otherwise. "I'll make you something better."

Prince works with seamless ease as he pulls out different bottles and places an empty glass on the bar top. "I used to bartend, right after I turned 21."

Clementine rotates his body and gives Prince his undivided attention. He looks better with it anyway. "How old are you?"

Prince only smiles. "I did it for a while, too. And there was always this drink I'd make for people who didn't like the taste of alcohol but still wanted something, y'know?" Clementine recognizes lemonade, but he doesn't know what the syrup Prince is using, nor the clear bottle he adds a splash of. When he's done, Prince slides it over the countertop. "Ta-da."

It smells strongly of lemonade when Clementine sniffs it and tastes just as similar.

"Wow," he gushes, ears perking as it slides so much smoother down his throat. "It didn't burn this time."

Prince smiles amusedly as he puts everything away.

Cherry, Clementine recognizes the syrupy taste.

"Why'd you stop?" he asks. "If the money was good and it was fun."

"I got a different job. You've met Ardyn, he got me the job."

Clementine squints as he tries to remember, "At the..."

"s*x shop," Prince finishes, smirking when Clementine's lips form an o, and he blushes.

"That pays better than bartending?"

Prince laughs like something's funny. "Not at all."

It leads Clementine to ask him what he wants to do as a career—among other things. Like what's his type, and is he single, and would you consider going on a date with me?

Prince leans into the bar and takes it all good-naturedly, smiling with amusement from the assortment of questions. "I don't have a type," he answers first. "I am single." And then, "I want to be a teacher."

Surprise colors Clementine's features. "A teacher?"

"What?" Prince smirks. "Expecting something more exciting?"

"Well—" he flushes, and Prince hums with an understanding like he's heard it all before. "Teachers are hot," Clementine defends as if it's his career instead.

"I agree," Prince teases. Then he adds more seriously, "I like kids a lot. It's not good money, but I can't really imagine something else I'd enjoy as much."

Clementine thinks of his brothers. Benjamin, who knew from such a tender age he wanted to be a doctor. And Taylor, who spent hours cooking family dinners every night before he went to culinary school. Or August, who gifted his brothers handmade art pieces that were always personal to them in lieu of a purchased gift.

Clementine doesn't understand that feeling.

Still, he sees the passion in Prince's eyes and smiles softly. "What grade?"

"As little as I can go." Prince sighs with an expression that doesn't suit his charisma. "Kindergarten if I can. I seriously love kids."

What else do you love, Clementine asks. And, you never answered my other question.

"I like gaming," Prince answers. "And sleeping. And I'll consider a date."

Clementine will take that. He will absolutely take a consideration.

"Okay," he breathes. His eyes glance up from his drink to take Prince in, and he finds him already watching. It makes his stomach flip with a bundle of nerves. Prince is pretty, he's every bit as captivating as his name, and Clementine was taken the moment he saw him. "..I like games. We could have a game date."

"I'll consider it." Prince smirks.

"I like sleeping, too," he adds. "A sleeping date."

His smirk widens. "I'll consider that, too."

"We could do both in one date?" Clementine suggests, nothing but earnest and hopeful as he hangs onto Prince's every word.

Prince considers him with a tilt of his head and unreadable expression. "What do you like?"

Clementine's ears perk. "Me?" When Prince nods, Clementine struggles for a response. "..I... I don't know what I like." It's a truth that sits with him unsettlingly. He doesn't care for modeling like Valentine, and he's not the best at photography like Carillo. Clementine is unremarkable in his family.

"I'm not..." Clementine tries again, but the words escape him. Prince watches patiently. "I'm not really into anything? I like video games, but I'm not the best. I'm not really the best at anything." The words strike him as too honest, and he realizes it far too late as they're hanging between him and Prince. He feels bare.

Prince weighs his words. "Why do you have to be the best at something?"

"Huh?"

"You seem to put importance on being the best." Prince's eyes meet his. "Why is it important?"

Clementine, again, struggles for a response. "Well—I don't know. Shouldn't you want to be the best?"

"Sure," Prince agrees. "If that's important to you. I want to be the best teacher I can because it's important to me that children feel nurtured in their education, but I don't need to be the best in video games to still enjoy it." Prince watches him intently, a tilt to his head. "Does that make sense?"

No, it doesn't. There's no point if Clementine can't be the best.

He nods anyway, then takes a sip of his drink. "I think you could be the best bartender."

Prince laughs like he knows Clementine doesn't understand, but he moves on nonetheless. "If teaching ever falls through it's good to know I'll have something to fall back on."

"Modeling," Clementine suggests next. He'd bet Prince could be the best model, but he doubts anyone would argue with him.

"Modeling?" Prince drawls. "And who's paying to take pictures of me?"

"I would," he answers honestly.

Prince's eyes burn brighter as they stare at him, such a deep brown that Clementine gets lost in. He doesn't mind the misdirection—Prince has an alluring charm that's hard to resist. His demeanor is all but addicting, and Clementine is addicted. "I would," he repeats, slower, quieter, and more purposeful as he traces Prince's lips with his eyes.

Across the counter, Prince weighs Clementine with his eyes. They're half-lidded as he takes in Clementine's visible and growing attraction, dragging along his features in slow ways that drive Clementine mad. "I think you really would," Prince says slowly, an enticing lilt blanketing his voice. It's pitched softly and inviting—Clementine is enchanted. "I wouldn't charge you, though, pup."

Pup. The name makes him blush all over again.

Clementine rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. "What could I do then? As a thank you."

Prince drawls a noise, thoughtful, then taps the counter with his finger. "Finish your drink."

Clementine all but downs it. It's a little sour going down, but he loves the taste enough to lick his lips when his glass is empty and nothing but a drop remains. He places it down with a quiet clink on the bar top.

Prince watches him. "How was it?"

"I loved it." Clementine stares back. "What was it?"

"Lemonade."

Clementine stares at him far longer than he means to, waiting for more, but nothing comes. "..You served me a lemonade?"

Prince's finger taps the counter again. He nods, then adds, "Cherry lemonade."

"I thought—" Clementine flushes from the ridiculousness of it at all.

"Underage pups don't need alcohol," Prince teases. He adds more seriously, "Especially not when you don't like it."

An unwanted blush settles on his cheeks. "I'm not a kid."

"No," Prince agrees. "You're not." His gaze is appreciative as he leisurely takes in Clementine's broad shoulders, the way his shirt grows taught around his arms every time he flexes, and his frame that hints at strength easily doubling Prince's.

Clementine's stomach does flips at his blatant attraction. "And I don't like alcohol," he says. "So.. thank you."

A silence stretches between them—temptation slowly building in the small space of the bar. Clementine could lean over the counter and kiss him, he really could. Instead, he says, "You told me you don't have a type, but I do."

"Yeah?" Prince's voice drawls in a way that lures Clementine in all over again. "What's your type, pup?"

"What do I get if I tell you?"

"Oh, is it a trade?" Prince laughs. "Alright, I'll tell you a secret if you tell me your type."

A secret, Clementine is bewitched. "Okay," he breathes. "I've always had a thing for hybrids."

Prince smiles. "Really? That's a lot cuter than I was expecting."

"What did you think I'd say? Blond? Brown eyes? Petite—"

"Petite?"

Clementine giggles. "You're exactly my type."

Prince leans into the counter and watches Clementine with a growing smile. "My name isn't really Prince."

"What?" It's the last thing he expects. "It's not?"

Prince shakes his head. "It's my middle name."

"What's—"

Prince silences him. "You have to earn it."

Clementine's blood turns. It wakes every submissive bone in his body. "How can I earn it?"

Prince straightens and curls a finger at him, c'mere, pup.

Clementine's barstool pushes back noisily before he's crowding the inside bar with Prince. Prince's giggle is melodic in his ears when he picks him up and places him on the counter, and Prince is right there to meet his eagerness.

He's older, he knows what he wants in life, and he's the prettiest thing Clementine's ever seen.

Clementine didn't stand a chance when Prince pulled him in and kissed him.

That bundle of anticipation that settled in his stomach unravels to reveal a need for Prince. His smell stirs Clementine's primal instincts, and there's that urge to please. He's intoxicating. Clementine gets lost in his touch, Prince's fingers startlingly cold as they slide against his jaw and tilt his head down. His thighs cage Clementine in, and Clementine discovers he's passionate about that too.

It's too broad—he refines this sudden passion into a cohesive image of blond, tan, and seductive. Princely.

Their bodies press together and it starts slow, exploring, until Prince smooths his hand on the side of Clementine's neck and guides him forward. He deepens their kiss as his thighs rise to hold Clementine's hips. Prince tastes of beer Clementine doesn't like, but he finds it addicting. He parts his lips to get a better taste.

"You taste so sweet," Prince murmurs against his lips, then he kisses Clementine again because the first taste wasn't enough. He's self-indulgent with small and insistent kisses that turn slower, deeper—all-consuming.

Clementine runs his hands up Prince's thighs and just about groans when he makes it to his hips. He tracks his hands down again and greedily soaks in how good Prince feels underneath his touch.

When they finally break apart, Clementine has an overwhelming urge to scent him. They're equally out of breath, but Prince looks ethereal with desire swirling in his eyes and the moon's light shining on him angelically.

Clementine's ears press low into his hair when Prince's arms circle his waist so he can press a soft kiss just under Clementine's jaw. His low voice tickles his neck, "Gonna take me to bed now or am I gonna have to bend over right here?" His eyes lift, heavy and hot, and Clementine aches. "Your pick."

Clementine sets Prince on the ground, his heart hammering with lust. "Bed," he grunts.

He knows he's made the right decision when he and Prince sneak inside and find a bedroom upstairs. Clementine nudges him on the bed. Prince is someone who deserves the f*****g of his life to be on this throne-like bed, not some countertop. His hair fans against the white pillows when Clementine encourages him down, all so he can slot himself between Prince's thighs.

Prince laughs at his enthusiasm, but his arms circle Clementine's neck and brings him closer. They share another kiss, and then three more, until Clementine quickly loses count and he can focus on nothing but the beauty underneath him. His mind chants, Prince, Prince, Prince. He wants to scent him.

He groans this time—when Prince's thighs cage him in and squeeze.

Clementine pulls back enough to stare into Prince's hooded eyes. He exhales unsteadily and asks, "Can I eat you out?"

Surprise lights Prince's features, momentarily coating his hunger, but it's back when he tilts his head against the pillows and laughs. His head tilts seductively, a smile stretching across his lips. "Sure, pup. You can eat me out." His thighs spread in invitation and Clementine all but jumps to grasp it.

Before Clementine can lower himself down and explore, Prince cups the back of his neck and coaxes him down for another kiss. A moan instantly spills past Clementine as he fists the sheets next to Prince's head to hold his weight up. "I feel a little bad," Prince mumbles against his lips, thumb softly rubbing his nape. "You've got such a pretty face, I almost feel like I have to sit on it. Too bad I'm a pillow prince, huh?"

Clementine's mind goes positively blank. He insists, "You can."

Prince's lips twitch up. "Mhm, I could," he agrees, still stroking Clementine's neck. "But why would I do that when I could lay here and have you do all the work, hm?"

"Oh," he breathes. "Yeah—I'll take care of you."

"Yeah?" Prince smiles, and Clementine immediately nods, willing to do anything and everything this pretty boy wants. "Then be a good boy and do what you promised." His chin tilts up to press a soft kiss to Clementine's lips. "Since you're gonna take such good care of me."

Clementine feels something swell in his chest—youthful pride.