Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clive has never before considered himself particularly needy. If anything, his life has shown him how useless such a thing is for someone like him. No one will listen, anyway.

But with Cid it’s… different.

He likes that he can just approach the other man and hug him from behind and receive a loving pat on his forearm after a long day, or rest his forehead against Cid's neck while the older Dominant is finalizing something or another with the cursebreakers. No matter what, Cid won't deny him a show of affection. He'll turn and kiss Clive's temple or hum in pleasure or lace their fingers together and continue talking, utterly unbothered. It makes Clive feel safe. Loved.

Happy.

Then again, there are the times they have to go without. The times when duty calls; when Clive needs to set out in the middle of the night to help Gav gather intel, or to be his backup when the likelihood of something going dreadfully wrong is high. Or the times when Cid is pulled away for Very Important Reasons; when the demand for his expertise and quick thinking is of more import than keeping the Hideaway running. For that, the job can be safely handed to Otto, or Gav, or Clive, or even Jill, who has been stepping up since her recovery.

All of that to say that when they have to spend time apart, Clive finds himself getting unusually horny.

Initially, he's mortified with himself. It's not normal for him to react like this, so why now? Over time, however, it's incredibly clear that it al points back to one infuriating, lovable, incredibly ridiculous man: Cidolfus Telamon.

The bastard.

So it is that, after a particularly long time apart—two weeks, to be precise—Clive is getting antsy. Moody. Not necessarily snapping at people, but when even the affable Geoffrey comments on his surly attitude, he knows it's bad.

It's even worse by the time he finds himself pacing in front of the solar door. He's already stripped down for the night, unsure if Cid will be back this very night, but hoping.

Hungry.

Aching.

He’s about to give up and go to bed when the most blessed sound reaches his ears: that of the solar door creaking open, like the person is trying to be quiet. When a familiar figure steps in and catches sight of him, all pretenses of attempted silence vanish with a smirk and a crinkle of beautiful green eyes.

“Clive, love.”

Cid doesn’t have time to get any more words out, considering Clive has flattened him to the door with a barrage of desperate kisses. Cid grunts from the impact but immediately circles his arms around his younger lover, humming pleased into his mouth. Returning the hunger with little teases of his own until Clive is attempting to climb him like a tree. Cid laughs breathlessly and wrestles Clive back, just enough for him to breathe.

“I miss you, too,” he teases.

“Cid.” Clive huffs, tugging on the laces of the other Dominant’s jacket. “Let me—”

“Now, darling, I need at least a moment to bathe,” starts Cid.

“You do not,” growls Clive, shoving the jacket over Cid’s shoulders. “What you need is to stop being a damn tease and fuck me.”

It’s not often that Clive is quite so blunt. He sees the spark in Cid’s gaze; the violet lightning that even the Deadlands can’t suppress.

Despite initiating, Clive yelps, taken aback, when Cid flips the script and somehow pins Clive to the door. Grasping his ass with one hand, tugging his hair with another, growling against his throat and biting the exposed skin. Clive keens.

“Well, then,” snarls Cid, sucking bruising kisses up his neck. “Welcome me home.”

Clive moans filthy, eyes already glazing over from the treatment. “W-welcome home…”

“Mmm.”

Cid’s mouth covers his, their lips pressed together like a seam. Clive whines when Cid sucks on his tongue, his eyes alight and drilling into his as though he’s trying not to miss a moment. When those strong hands grope under his sleep pants, over the firm muscles of his ass, Clive bucks his hips and moans, deep and raspy. He’s hard, has been hard since Cid walked through the door. Now there’s a notable wet spot spreading across the fabric, making his near-useless humping even more unbearable.

“Cid,” he gasps, changing his tune even quicker than usual. “Please…”

With a bestial rumble, Cid grips his thighs, hoisting them up even with his hands buried in the legs of the sleep pants. Clive immediately wraps his legs around him, panting and grinding against the delectable plane of his lover’s abdomen whilst Cid carries him step by step to the bed.

Their bed.

When he drops Clive, he does this lightning-quick maneuver that manages to yank the younger’s pants off almost entirely. One ankle is caught, and Cid all but rips it free and throws the garment aside, crawling over Clive and kissing him fiercely, rutting his leather-clad bulge against Clive’s desperately leaking erection.

“Missed you, darling,” pants Cid against his mouth.

“Cid,” is all Clive can get out, tangling his callused fingers in the other man’s hair and pulling him further into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that’s more tongue and teeth than anything else.

Abruptly, Cid pulls back, leaving Clive to writhe in protest. A protest which ceases when Cid makes to slough his jacket.

Now Clive is keen.

He reaches up, snapping in warning when Cid attempts to stop him. Yanks the laces of his damn shirt until they break; pulls his cock free of the confines of his leathers until both men are groaning. Cid doesn’t leak as much as Clive does, but there’s a healthy amount of pre-cum anyway. Clive wants it all for himself.

“Fucking Greagor,” hisses Cid as Clive begins to pump him. Face flushed, eyes bright, he’s focused on the large prize before him. Maybe Cid will deign to stretch his mouth, or his ass, fuck, why didn’t he think to prep himself beforehand…!

Then Cid yanks his hips away, leaving Clive to whine in frustration. He tries to grasp for it again, but Cid is climbing over him, positioning his hips closer to his face. Immediately, Clive knows what he wants.

So he opens his mouth, tongue hanging out, looking up at Cid with pure need.

With a groan, Cid lowers his cock into Clive’s mouth. Clive widens his jaw, loosens it, breathing heavily through his nose as Cid snarls and grasps the headboard, hovering over him, still sinking even deeper into his mouth; the petal-soft head of his cock rubbing the back of Clive’s throat.

“Bloody hell,” moans Cid, thrusting shallowly into his mouth. “Hot as every level of hell; Greagor…”

Clive manages to make an aborted noise from his chest before Cid rolls his hips. His cock presses dangerously against his soft palate, and Clive tilts his head back, forcing Cid to adjust—all worth it for the delicious stretch of that cock going down his throat. His vision blurs with tears but he feels utterly complete like this; inhaling Cid’s musky scent, cock stuffed in deep, swearing a violent storm above him.

It feels like they’re both home.

A strangely guttural, primal noise resonates from Cid. He adjusts his position again, fucking Clive’s mouth with more intent, lips parted and damp as he licks them again and again, watching his cock slide in and out of the velvety warmth of Clive’s mouth.

“Gods above, you’re so fucking good,” husks Cid. His eyelids are at half-mast, boiling with desire as he slow-fucks Clive’s face. “Such a needy little wife, ready for my cock when I come home…” Clive mewls around the girth in his mouth, eyes rolling back as Cid fucks in a little deeper. Spit dribbles from his lips as he salivates to keep up. “Fuck, but you’re perfect, love…”

Clive feels like he’s throbbing in every pulse point. He squirms, mostly in his extremities, trying to be good and pliant for Cid’s needs. He sees the heat sparking in the other man’s eyes; how he notes Clive’s readiness and how Cid’s broad chest expands with each quickening breath. How the golden brown fur on his chest seems to glimmer in the little light available to them via the moon shining down from above, cutting through the solar’s exposures.

Cursing once more, Cid starts fucking his mouth in earnest. Clive’s eyes roll back again, his body trembling with the effort it takes to remain good and mostly still while Cid uses his mouth as he pleases. He loves this; loves being good for Cid, to make him feel good, desired, because hell if that isn’t what he does for Clive every damn day.

The thick cock in his throat throbs. Clive all but chokes, eager for it, ready to drink down every last drop—

only for Cid to suddenly slip out entirely.

Clive makes his displeasure known through a frustrated groan. He props himself up on an elbow, mouthing toward that lovely, flushed, wet cock, but Cid pushes him down; gently, albeit with enough force to snag Clive’s attention.

Looking almost pained, Cid utters, “Fuck, but you’re incredible.” Clive makes a sound of agreement, trying to nuzzle at the cock bobbing in front of him. A violent shudder wracks Cid’s spine before he shoves Clive back down. His voice is thick. “Can I make you come, darling?”

It’s such a foolish question that Clive can’t even be upset. “Please. Please. ”

The sudden harsh grip on his cock has him crying out. Cid shimmies down, eyes brilliant and bright, stroking him slow and long until he’s leaking so freely that it brings tears to his eyes. Clive writhes, breathless, begging for more. He doesn’t even care how now, just more.

Once Cid deems him wet enough, he strokes Clive’s pre-cum over his own cock, eyes closing as he utters a pleasured grunt with each motion. Heat prickles under Clive’s skin, threatening to break through. He feels like he’s going to combust.

Just when Clive is certain he can’t take any more waiting, Cid captures his lips in a wet, sloppy kiss. Clive leans into it, trying to bite Cid’s lips the way the older man does him, but Cid is crafty, avoiding the nips with sounds of delight. Like it’s a game.

One Clive wants to lose at the end.

Just as he thinks so, Cid’s strong fingers wrap around his cock—no. Not just his.

Both.

Even as the knowledge takes him, Cid is starting his slow upstroke. The friction alone makes Clive gasp, but when he looks down and sees the image of their flushed, wet, fat cocks grinding together, encapsulated by Cid’s single-handed grip, well…

It’s understandable that he goes a little mad right there.

Clive does everything he can to hold off: bites the insides of his cheeks, clenches his thighs, attempts to distract himself by clutching Cid even closer, mewling and nuzzling his throat, kissing the stubbled skin, shuddering with each breathless gasp of his name.

If anything, that makes Cid crueler. He starts twisting his hand, forcing their dicks to slip and slide against each other, the friction of pre-cum not quite as slick as oil, so there’s just enough resistance to make Clive cry out and fuck up into Cid’s hand. The head of his cock catches on Cid’s, making him see stars.

“Cid, Cid please,” he babbles. The other man grunts when Clive’s nails catch over an old scar, but he doesn’t seem to mind, rolling his hips in opposing tandem with Clive’s. It’s lovely and frustrating and Clive feels like he’s throbbing in each vein; that he can feel his blood pumping through, hear it building to a dull roar in his ears as his chest heaves in desperate attempts for breath. “Cid!”

Just like that, his orgasm crashes into him, sweeps up his back and down over again. Clive ruts furiously, his feet slipping over the bed covers as he continues chasing every ounce of that high.

When he starts whimpering from oversensitivity, Cid releases him. Clive doesn’t even have a chance to catch his breath before his lover is kissing him, smothering him with affection that makes his heart swell in his chest.

Clive lazily wraps a leg around Cid’s waist to pull him closer, moaning when the heat of his cock makes itself very well known, still hard and pulsing lightly. “You didn’t come yet,” he breathes between kisses.

The outlaw smiles, that familiar, wicked glint giving him a lovely thrill up his spine, so strong he actually arches. “No,” drawls Cid, planting a dewdrop kiss to his damp lips. “But there’s no rush. Unless you’re tired, of course.”

“Not even a little,” gasps Clive, smiling against their next hungry kiss. Cid growls, pleased, and proceeds to lick and kiss down his neck. Clive sighs happily, tilting his head to give his lover more access.

Indeed, they have all night.

Chapter Text

Occasionally, Clive goes through what his partner laughingly calls “phases,” wherein she simply isn’t interested in sex. Which is a stupid term, in Clive’s opinion. He’s not a child or the godsdamned moon. When he tells Cid so, it makes the bastard laugh even harder.

But, yes, he does sometimes lack complete interest in the act. The first time it came up—or rather, it didn’t come up, despite his lover’s best efforts—Cid was endlessly fascinated. He asked numerous questions, all of which Clive answered no matter how annoying because… well, it touched him that Cid cared enough to want to know, even if the man admits to not understanding it firsthand.

Either way, when Clive doesn’t want to play, Cid is the perfect partner and drops the subject until Clive is ready again. And, damn him, Clive falls harder for him each time.

Plus, he enjoys those times. He and Cid tend to notice an increase in nonsexual quality time, and it feels like their bonds strengthen after every quiet dinner, each night spent reading together on opposite ends of the room, or every morning they wake up, fully clothed, and take the time to cuddle for an extra few minutes. It’s lovely. It truly is.

All that said, once Clive’s drive flares up again, it strikes him with a vengeance. The second Cid notices, he’s quick to pounce and make up for lost time. Every single time. The bastard.

Like now, for instance, as he leans back in his chair at the desk, pushed a good foot or so away so he can look at Clive knelt between his spread knees. One hand is tangled in Clive’s hair as he uses the other to massage his cock and smear pre-cum along Clive’s lips. The younger Dominant is utterly nude, forbidden to touch himself or Cid, except to hold his knees for balance. Which he does. By way of death grip. Because fuck you, Cid.

The way Cid frowns down at him sends tingles along Clive’s spine. Narrow eyes even more pinched than usual, eyebrows furrowed, tongue running along his teeth as he considers the scene. Clive’s cock, swollen and red, twitches between his legs. The older man’s shirt is open, laces undone, revealing his broad chest and the forest of hair that Clive wants to run his fingers through, knowing it feels just on the coarse side of soft. But then Cid rubs his cockhead along Clive’s cheek, smearing slick, and he can’t help but protest.

“Cid,” he rasps, his chest heaving. “Please. Let me.”

The hand in his hair tightens. Clive moans as Cid tugs him forward, not onto his cock like he wants, but still pressing one knee into his chest.

“Not yet,” growls Cid. When Clive licks his lips, his lover yanks him back in punishment. “Eager thing. I’ve been so patient. How long has it been?”

Clive whines. “Two… two weeks.”

“Mmhm. And how many days did you spend teasing me, knowing damn well you were as hungry as I was?”

“Three.” Clive’s eyes hurt, trying to stare at Cid’s cock from this angle. The other man keeps stroking it, bringing attention to the flushed head, and Clive is getting desperate. Cid’s too dry, he needs some spit, to just let Clive lick him a little. “Cid—”

“Three days,” muses Cid, as though he hasn’t spoken. “And yet here you are, unable to wait thirty minutes to choke on my cock.”

The low rumble of his voice is too much. Clive is throbbing, hot and leaking profusely. He wants… needs…

“Shh.” Cid soothes him mockingly; only then does Clive recognize that he’s been whimpering. “Just a little longer. Keep looking pretty for me down there.”

The worst part is that Cid’s already tormented him before Clive fell to his knees. The moment he realized Clive was in the mood—and had, in fact, been teasing him—he toppled him over the desk, filled him with his deliciously slick and well-oiled fingers, and proceeded to edge him for almost an hour. Fucking him with his hand, using his arm when he got tired, then back to his hand. By the time Clive was in tears and begging for it, Cid sneered, removed his fingers, and slid a plug in there instead.

Clive clenches to feel it now. It only frustrates him more. Too short to rub against his prostate—unless someone is pushing on it—so all he can do is kneel and want at Cid’s leisure, waiting in his second favorite position.

Saliva floods his mouth. He swallows.

All the while, Cid watches him like a hawk. He looks like a god awaiting worship on his throne, stroking his cock with languid, unhurried pulls. Eventually he begins to leak, just a little. Clive sucks hard through his teeth to keep drool from spilling lewdly out of his mouth at the sight, the smell of this man.

Please, please, please…

By the time his silent mantra has no meaning anymore, Cid’s hold gentles. He releases his cock, guiding Clive lower. “Open up, sweetheart.”

Clive’s jaw practically unhinges. Within seconds his mouth is full, gloriously stretched around his lover’s dick. He moans, blissful, and immediately whines when Cid pulls him back.

“Ah, ah,” chides the older man. “Let me set the pace, or you’ll wait forty minutes this time.”

The threat all but makes Clive go limp in his hold. He can’t wait anymore. He’ll be good, see? Nice and lax, allowing Cid to push and pull by his hair. It doesn’t hurt, not at all, not the careful way Cid has his fingers tangled at the back of his skull, where each tug is a comfort with just enough pain to make him feel every pulse in his cockhead.

Cid sighs. “That’s it. Perfect.”

Clive inwardly preens at the praise. It trickles through him, weighing heavy and aching in his balls. Pre-cum dribbles from his tip, the soft drip, drip of it falling on the leather laid out under his knees to protect them from the floor. He inhales deep to get that familiar scent of tobacco and musk and petrichor.

It is perfect. Just like this, right here, with Cid beginning to roll his hips, making Clive take him even deeper.

“Deep breath.”

Clive complies, and on the next push, Cid’s cock is working against his soft palette. Past. Stretching his throat.

More. Please.

Out again. Clive coughs, splutters, and manages another breath, this time without direction, before cock fills his mouth again. A hoarse moan escapes him before he can’t anymore. Cid pulses on his tongue; hot, heavy. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth. He’s held there longer this time. Pulled off. Pushed down. A steady, heavenly rhythm that makes his eyes roll back into his head.

Soon his nose buries into the mass of curls at the base of Cid’s cock. Musk floods his nostrils, bitter salt dripping down his throat, into his lungs, settling.

Perfect.

Clive is aware of his own arousal in the same way he’s aware of his heart beating—it’s there, happening, building, even, but it’s secondary to the cock pinning his tongue, rubbing between his spit-laden lips. He cracks his eyes open, vaguely surprised to notice they’re wet, too.

Cid watches himself fuck his mouth, lips parted, tongue caught between his teeth as though enamored at the portrait Clive paints between his legs like this. The moment he notices Clive watching, he starts to talk:

“Look at you, fuck, so hungry for it. Great Greagor, your mouth is heaven. Hot as hell. Wet all for me, isn’t that right?” Clive moans, and Cid’s eyelids flutter briefly.

Then—

“Gods above, I love you.”

Clive can’t breathe, throat stuffed; can only spasm as his orgasm smashes into him like a chocobo at full speed. He comes completely untouched, shaking, choking. Dimly, he can hear Cid spitting curses and praise, but it’s all nonsense beneath the blood rushing past his ears.

When Cid does finally pull out, Clive inhales; a deep, ragged gasp. Spit and pre-cum spill past his lips as he grapples for air again.

It takes him too long to realize that Cid’s silence is a warning.

Still dazed, Clive yelps when Cid hauls him up. Bloody hell, he always forgets how strong the older Dominant is until he manhandles him again. Within seconds, Clive is hoisted onto the desk, one ankle on Cid’s shoulder, the other hanging off his opposite arm at the knee. Cid leans over him, eyes sparking, thunder rolling with every deep inhale, the sound making Clive’s spent cock stir already.

All he has the energy to do is whimper when Cid lowers his head, tongue sweeping in broad licks to clean whatever didn’t land on his jacket, now abandoned to the floor. There isn’t much except a few drops on his cock. Clive keens from overstimulation.

Still growling, Cid nips his way back up, only pausing to suck each nipple until Clive squirms and tries to push him back. Then he grasps the plug. Clive’s spine snaps in an arch, realizing what Cid is about to do.

“Fuck, Founder, flames, please, Cid—” He cuts off with a cry as Cid eases the plug out, rapidly replacing it with three fingers. Clive half expects him to fuck him this way as he did earlier, but Cid only huffs over him, stretching him.

Then, in a single movement, he shoves his cock in.

Clive shrieks, shaking, clamping down on the sudden intrusion. Cid groans. Only pauses for that moment before he starts pounding Clive into the desk with powerful, jolting thrusts.

“Ah—fuck, fuck!” Clive tries to grab hold of something, anything, but Cid snags his wrists and pins them just above his head. There’s barely any room on the desk for all he’s fucking him, shoving Clive higher with each movement. Stars glimmer and explode behind Clive’s eyelids as he clenches them shut. Deep, hoarse cries rattle out of his throat. Cid curses and goes even harder, somehow.

“Yes, fuck, that’s right,” grunts Cid. Even through his tears and wails, Clive can make out his expression as he hovers over Clive. Face flushed, utterly fuck-drunk, eyes wrecked as sweat beads across his forehead and dribbles down his scruffy jaw. “So tight. So perfect. Like you’re made for me.”

Clive can’t agree or disagree, too taken with the feral glint in Cid’s eye as he lays his claim after two weeks without the chance. Fire and flames, if this is what it gets him, he’s got to tease Cid more often…

As though sensing his train of thought, Cid shuffles, hiking Clive’s other leg up over his shoulder and folding him in half. Like this, he’s more grinding than fucking him, but it’s lighting him up from inside. A violent shudder passes between them; Clive moaning, Cid scowling, neither taking their eyes off the other.

Even now, Clive can’t resist the struggle, if only to feel Cid squeeze him tighter; fuck him harder. Both are panting more than moaning now, sweat-slick, sliding. Clive is somewhat aware that he’s gotten hard again, but his entire attention is on Cid and the way the other man just looks at him. Watches him like he’s never seen anything like it, and never will again.

It makes Clive feel special, loved, in a way only Cid really can.

He gulps down air in a futile effort to breathe a bit longer. Words cracking. “C-Cid… please…”

Cid snarls, diving down for a kiss. It’s too messy, too full of teeth and tongue to really call it that, but with the air this humid between them and Cid filling him so wonderfully, Clive doesn’t care. There will be time for those soft, loving kisses later.

He manages to gasp out, “Inside… Cid, come inside me!”

“Fucking Greagor.”

Clive can tell he’s close when Cid releases one of his wrists to wriggle it between them and start jerking Clive off. Then the thrusts become broken and erratic. Clive gurgles, accidentally bites his tongue.

Cid sucks his tongue right into his mouth, and it’s all over for them.

Clive comes a second time, wave after wave, spurting between them with broken, disconnected noises caught between Cid’s lips and teeth. Another couple of thrusts later, Cid is flooding his insides with spend, moaning deep and rumbling into Clive’s mouth. It vibrates down his spine, almost feeling like a third orgasm.

Both collapse to the desk, Cid still buried inside, Clive trembling from the exertion of coming twice in such a short period.

“Cid,” he croaks, barely keeping his eyes open.

His lover answers with a series of kisses, much softer and sweeter this time. Clive sighs into his mouth, and Cid gently disentangles from him. He doesn’t pull out completely yet, though, cradling Clive’s jaw as he continues peppering kisses along his face.

“I love you. Great bloody Greagor, I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you,” slurs Clive, breaking into a whine as Cid pulls out. Come spills out of him. For once, he’s too exhausted to care, only giving a small squeak as Cid eases him off the desk and into a stumbling stand. The other man wholly supports him, which is good, since Clive’s legs are basically jelly now.

Cid scoffs. He manages to make it surprisingly loving. “Come on, love, help me out a little.”

“Mmhm.” Clive considers making an old man comment. Then decides not to. This is too nice, and Cid’s already murmuring something about food, water, and warm water to wipe themselves off with.

Next he knows, Cid eases him onto the bed with a grunt. Despite all his promises, he shucks his shirt and crawls in next to him, pulling him close, chest to Clive’s back, littering his neck and shoulder with kisses.

It’s lovely. Even more perfect.

“Gorgeous,” husks Cid. “My gorgeous little wife.”

Clive groans and kicks his shin. “Shu’up.”

“Never.”

That fucking figures.

Clive doesn’t complain any further, though. Here, he’s cozy, warm, loose-limbed and happy. He wriggles in closer, only mildly alarmed to feel Cid’s cock semi-hard against his lower back as his lover carefully grinds against him.

“Cid.”

“Yes, love?”

“The light.”

Cid goes quiet. Then bites his shoulder, making Clive yelp and, unfortunately, lie there more awake.

“Bugger the light. I want to look at you.”

Fucking asshole. Clive wouldn’t change a godsdamned thing.

Chapter Text

When Cid initially presented the idea, Clive was understandably skeptical. In his defense, the ideas Cid comes up with on his own are rarely what one might call good (inventions being the rare, sole exception to the rule; as though every great concept goes that way and the rest tumble out of his mouth in a frustrating mishmash of stupidity, charm, and irresistible brilliance). Clive has every right to be wary when Cid takes a seat next to him at the Fat Chocobo and says, So, I’ve been thinking…

Yet every time, like the good wife partner he is, Clive hears him out. Every time, he knows he should say no.

Nine out of ten times, for one reason or another, he agrees. Rumor has it that Tarja is beginning to suspect that he has brain damage.

Right now, Clive is inclined to agree with her.

The solar is quiet, as it is about half the nights out of the week. In fact, the entire reason Clive agreed to give this a whirl is because Gav has just returned from a mission, everyone in the Hideaway seems to have their needs met, and for once Otto has no complaints about the ledgers. Ergo, they have time to bask. Or they would, if the very air around them wasn’t humid, warm, and only not catching fire or sparking due to the Deadlands surrounding them.

The time is more than present. The basking…

Well.

Neither of them are getting much of that.

Cid sits in the chair at his desk. This is typical. He’s nude. This isn’t not typical.

His hands grip the armrests, knuckles white, little grunts and growls filtering out between clenched teeth. In the chair, this is a little unusual.

Clive is also nude. In his lap. On his cock. Eyes blurring as he tries for the fourth time to read the words on the pages in front of him. Cid’s cock pulses deep inside him, resting meanly against his prostate. Every tick and twitch makes Clive whimper.

The fact Cid is keeping his hands to himself is the part no one would believe, even if they were here to see it. Fucking flames, Clive can hardly believe it… and he’s the one aching. Aside from his hole, dripping with oil, Cid hasn’t touched him at all.

He tries not to shift, he really does, but Cid is so directly on that sweet spot that he has to relieve a little of the pressure. Even that little wiggle earns him a loud snarl. The smells of musk, oil, and petrichor immediately thicken.

He can do this, damn it. Fuck. Just a little more. Turn the page. What was he reading? Doesn’t matter, just try. Scan the page. Breathe in, out—

A faint, dull thrum from behind almost undoes him. Clive bites the insides of his cheeks, spreads his fingers across the desktop. His nerves jangle like a dancer’s bracelets. Tears swell in his eyes; his throat tight and wet.

Look at the page, he reminds himself. Read. A whole sentence, finally. Not that he retains it, but he read words, certainly. Now, the next…

Another thrum, this time accompanied by an audibly stifled groan. Clive is lightheaded. Oh, fuck, if he passes out here, will Cid just fuck him? Pin him down and use his soaked hole until he floods him with cum? Would he carry Clive to bed? Well, yes, of course; it’s Cid. But would he glide Clive’s favorite plug in to keep him stuffed, or would he lick every drop out?

Clive’s dick pulses. He whimpers.

“Hnnnngh…”

That’s all Cid lets loose; that pained, needing sound. It’s driving Clive crazy.

Don’t squirm. Don’t look. Don’t…

Cid is breathing so hard that Clive can feel it. Huge, heavy breaths. He bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut.

There are two rules. One: Cid can’t move. If he moves, he’s failing.

Two: if Clive looks back at him, Cid can’t be responsible for what happens.

And a third unspoken rule that Clive understands on a visceral level is that if he’s crying, Cid will absolutely fucking lose it. Something about him in tears from pleasure seems to strike a deep chord in the older Dominant.

A broken moan strains out of Cid. A low, pained, Cliiiiive…

Clive looks over his shoulder just as a tear falls out of his eye, trailing down his cheek. Right where Cid can see.

The next second, he’s suddenly on his toes, wheezing against the desk as Cid fucks him mercilessly into the wood. A handful of strong, heavy thrusts, just enough for Clive to take in a stuttering breath—and then it’s over before he can so much as wail. Over as soon as it started, Cid settling back to his chair and carefully bringing Clive back with him.

Clive could fucking scream for a whole other reason now.

He pants, trying to regain his senses. Several tense moments of quiet pass until he realizes Cid isn’t moving, is hardly breathing… and he’s the one twitching, ass clenching in rolling waves around Cid’s cock.

Clive barely manages to shove the book aside this time before Cid rears up, slams him down. Fucks him in several harsh thrusts before stilling over him. Hot air washes over Clive’s back. He mewls, fists clenching, trying to get his godsbedamned mind back for a moment.

Slowly, so slowly, Cid eases him back as he sits once more. Clive is fairly throbbing all over, even untouched. His ass is the only part of him still getting stimulation, and that he needs to calm, to control, as the rest of him shakes without merit.

Technically, Cid has failed more than a dozen times now; twice, overtly. But Clive can’t bring himself to say anything as he struggles to recapture air into his lungs. Fuck. He just needs to get some sense back, to think.

Rather than help him, though, Cid’s hands return to the armrests of the chair. Clive struggles to maintain a somewhat collected façade (is it, really? No, best not answer that, he thinks) as he considers his options. Or, tries to.

He can’t think. Cannot. Every nerve is alight, each pathway forged by Cid’s relentless appetite and need for him. So Clive does the only thing he can think of—but he has to be horribly, painfully cautious to avoid retribution.

One arm shifts. Subtle. He waits, but Cid doesn’t react, apparently still concentrating on his own breathing. Clive shifts again.

Nothing.

Slowly, he slides his hand up his side. Cups his right pec, allowing himself a slight shiver before freezing. Cid groans but holds steady.

Clive rubs his thumb over his nipple. The self-assurance is almost immediate; he starts to loosen up. Utters a faint sigh. Closes his eyes so he can focus on feel, on sound.

He grows bolder. Rubs his nipple more. Finds himself relaxing further, almost slumping onto the desk. His other hand trails to the opposite side, and ah, yes, there. The soothing motions are lovely, and seem to pull lazily at his cock, deep inside. Clive makes a contented noise.

Once he’s relaxed, though, he starts spreading his attention outward again. Behind him, under him, Cid is very, very, very still.

Oh

fu—

He’s lifted in the same moment the epiphany strikes. Clive gasps, manages to stammer out, Cid, wait—but Cid does not wait, because next Clive knows, he’s on the desk, shoved even further over, and Cid pounds him into the wood.

This time, it lasts more than a few thrusts, and Clive is able to loose a shriek into the room. He’s somehow got hold of his nipples still and covers them protectively, before Cid yanks him back by his hair, lifting his upper torso off the desk, still thrusting into him.

Clive immediately takes advantage and starts rolling and pinching his own nipples. Like this, it’s even more obvious what he’s doing. Cid moans like the roll of a thunderstorm, hiking Clive’s hips up and back one-handed, fucking him even harder. His cock bobs under him, untouched, pulsing and dribbling copious amounts of pre-cum.

“Cid,” he gasps, cheeks flushed as he can hear the pre-cum drip to the floor. His lover growls and huffs like an animal, practically folding him in half the wrong way that feels so damn right. His cock swings helplessly, throbbing with each strike to his prostate. A sob bubbles out of Clive. He twists his own nipples with a wail. “Cid!”

A loud curse, and Cid abruptly releases the tearing hold on his hair. Clive manages not to fall face-first, one arm propping him up while the other rolls his puffy nipple between his fingers, tugging. Cid, meanwhile, pauses in his wild thrusts. The sound of wood scraping on stone. Clive’s eyes widen when Cid urges his legs down and the balls of his feet find the chair.

Cid leans over him, draped, buried so deep in his ass, thick and throbbing. He growls into Clive’s hair, nips his ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” They’re the first coherent words Cid has formed since they started. Clive frowns because he doesn’t sound very apologetic. “Can’t hold out with this tight little hole strangling my cock.”

Clive moans, sealing his fate.

Cid immediately starts a punishing pace, tearing shrieks and cries out of Clive. He fucks him mercilessly, one hand of his own pinching and pulling on the nipple Clive was forced to abandon.

Heat bubbles deep in Clive’s belly, pooling between his hips. Every little rub against his prostate is coming back to punish him, the sweet spot so terribly abused at this point. He thrashes in Cid’s hold, begging wordlessly, twisting, writhing.

Cid sounds absolutely feral now, biting up his shoulders, hips slapping his ass, threatening to turn the cheeks stinging red. Amongst his curses, Clive’s name slips in, fuck, Clive, Clive, Clive, CLIVE!

Hot cum spills into him and Clive jolts, whining as Cid pumps every ounce into him. Even as the older man slows to catch his breath, his broad hand slips to Clive’s front. His cock hangs heavy, pulsing, dripping obscenely. Clive doesn’t need to look (can’t anyway) to know Cid is allowing the pre-cum to pool in his hand.

Then he takes Clive in a firm grip and pumps him hard and fast.

Stars erupt behind Clive’s clenched eyes. He twitches and squirms, babbling, until Cid bites that thick muscle between neck and shoulder and makes him howl.

Clive comes hard, voice cracking with the sobs shaking his frame. Utter bliss spreads through him, hot in his balls and cock, then blooming out until the tips of his fingers and toes tingle. The sound of Cid cussing and praising him in that viciously deep tone almost makes him feel like he’s coming a second time.

At last spent, Clive collapses to the desk. Cid follows suit, peppering kisses along his back, muttering, Gorgeous, perfect, love you.

Clive preens under the attention.

Of course, they can’t fall asleep here. Clive squirms, frowning when Cid grunts and ruts into him as though trying to keep his cock inside. “Get off, Cid.”

“Already did,” the older man mutters against his neck. Clive rolls his eyes.

“I mean it. You’re heavy for an old man.”

He feels more than sees Cid’s scowl in this position Yelps when his lover gives him a hard pinch to his rear in retribution.

Grumbling, Cid does finally pull out. Red heats Clive’s cheeks as cum and oil spill down the inside of his thighs.

“Well, I broke, sweetheart.” Cid says it so conversationally while wiping him down with a clean rag. “What are your demands?”

Right. The agreement was that if Cid cracked first, Clive got something out of it. He considers his options while his partner finishes cleaning them up. When Cid pulls him to his feet, Clive doesn’t complain. He can walk but his legs are a bit jelly-like.

“I want dinner,” he decides. “In bed.”

Beside him, Cid snorts in amusement. They make their way to the short flight of stairs. “Aye, I can do that.”

Once he’s settled, Clive adds, “And I want the open side tonight.”

Now his lover frowns. Cid won’t pout, just scowl, and it silently amuses Clive to no end. “But you’ll escape.”

“It was supposed to be my side anyway.”

“Love—”

“You broke, Cid.”

Grimacing, Cid relents. “Fine. It’s yours tonight. Anything else?”

Pleased, Clive wriggles to make himself comfortable at the headboard. “A lemon loaf.”

“Aye, dear.” Cid heads for the door.

“Oh, wait, and I want—!” The door slams closed before Clive can finish. He huffs but at last allows himself a smile of satisfaction.

On the other side, Cid shakes his head and scratches his stubble. “Little shit,” he mutters.

He makes it to the stairway before a scream from below reminds him that he forgot to put pants back on.

Chapter Text

He’s sharing a few drinks with his lover on the green couch that, when prodded, Cid adamantly refuses to replace. Just because it’s old and cranky don’t mean it’s fulfilled its purpose yet, he once cheerfully told Otto. His old friend rolled his eyes, called him a “bleedin’ idiot,” and left it alone.

Anyway, he’s enjoying this night in with Clive. Lovers for a few months now, the lad all but moved in the same night they first shared a bed, and Cid has enjoyed every damn moment with him since. Clive is tidy, considerate of his personal things despite them being strewn in places he curses when he trips over them, and—most importantly—never asks why Cid won’t get rid of the couch. Probably because by this point they’ve made some filthy, fond memories on it.

Perhaps Clive is thinking something similar; otherwise, his question comes seemingly out of nowhere. “How many bedmates have you had?”

Cid tilts his head and sets his goblet on the low table before them. There’s not even a hint of jealousy in the younger Dominant’s voice. Ergo, he answers easily. “In here? Just the one pretty face right next to me.”

Rolling those gorgeous blue eyes, Clive says, “I meant in total. Lifetime.”

“Ahh.” Cid considers for a long moment. It’s not a difficult question to answer, simply… a touch awkward. But it’s Clive. He won’t lie to him. “Mm, before you, about… four? No, five.”

“Relationships?”

“No, no, mostly one-offs. One attempt at something more, but—” Cid cuts himself off, noticing the wary frown pinching Clive’s face. “Something wrong, lad?”

Clive looks down at his tankard. Turns it in his hands. Quietly, without looking up, he says, “I’m not jealous. You don’t have to lie to me.”

That makes Cid’s eyebrows fly up. “Pardon?”

“I said, you don’t have to lie. I’m not some starry-eyed child, Cid. I know you’ve had more than five.”

It takes a good minute or so for the words to sink in. Once they do, Cid can’t help it. He laughs, and laughs, and when Clive looks confused, he laughs even harder.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chortles, waving a hand toward Clive. Trying to calm down. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t mean to laugh. But I’m not lying, truly. Only five others have wanted to have sex with me.”

The younger man stares at him as though trying to puzzle out a riddle. Finally, he says, “Because you’re an ass?”

Cid’s smile drops. “Oi—”

“Well, your personality doesn’t do you any favors.”

“Bugger off, you little shit.” Cid knocks him with his knee none too kindly, earning a grunt… and a slight smile that Clive likes to think his sullen face is good at masking. Cute. “Obviously, it’s my size.”

Clive’s gaze sweeps over him. He frowns. Cid almost palms his own face. He loves the man, but good fucking Greagor, can he be obtuse.

“I meant my cock, lad.”

Snorting, Clive drinks his ale. “Now you’re absolutely lying.”

“Wh—”

“There is no way,” continues Clive, uncharacteristically talkative thanks to the alcohol, “that’s the reason. I’ve seen it. It’s perfect.”

Definitely the drink talking. “Sweetheart, I’m flattered, but you are the only one who thinks so. I have literally had whores turn me away and refund all my gil. So very sorry, sir, but that monster will break even my sluttiest twink. Might I suggest the Veil? And don’t get me started on how Isabelle required a month’s notice to ensure she had anyone willing.”

After his brief speech, Clive gawks at him, his jaw almost hitting his knee. Inwardly, Cid sighs in relief. So simple. He really just needs to be blunt with the lad. Of course, he’s—

“Have you only tried to bed madmen?” demands Clive.

Cid groans. “Love—”

“No, I just—I can’t understand that logic.” Okay, it is kind of adorable how offended Clive is on behalf of his dick. As the other man speaks, his cheeks grow pinker from a mixture of alcohol and annoyance. “I don’t have a particularly loose hole, and you fit like a glove.”

Just like that, Cid’s cock wants to join the conversation. Even if Clive’s analogy is a bit off, considering the subject. “No, you are very ti—”

“And my mouth isn’t unusually wide,” gripes Clive as though he doesn’t hear him. “I’m not saying everyone has to let you fuck their throats, but fire and flames, you don’t always need it, either. Have they not heard of using their hands?!”

Cid is glad he put his drink down. He’s practically choking on his own spit as it is.

“And I know more than a few in most establishments allow entire fists inside them,” rants Clive. “Not Jill-sized, either. Bloody Titan hands all around!”

Now Cid is torn between hilarity and horny. “Clive, that’s not—”

The other man’s head snaps up to look at him. Cid almost swallows his tongue when, with a hard glint in his gaze, Clive demands, “Take off your pants.”

Cid snaps one of the laces in his trousers in his bid to comply. Normally Clive only gets bossy when he wants Cid balls-deep in him. His cock is rapidly swelling at the thought.

With a huff, Clive settles on his knees between Cid’s, sword-callused fingers wrapping around the twitching girth. His thumb and middle finger don’t quite touch.

“See?” says Clive, still irked. “Not a monster. Absolutely perfect.”

Then the lad swallows him down in one determined go.

“Greagor’s fucking tits!” Cid howls, throwing his head back. One foot flies to the table for purchase. His goblet spills, but the fuck if he cares right now.

In one slow, long, wet pull, Clive draws up, his lips sealed around his cock. Then back down. There’s no room for his tongue to play, what with Cid taking up so much of his mouth, but the other man gives it a genuine effort anyway. He mewls and moans as he seems determined to suck Cid’s soul out of his cock. Drool smears across his lips, drips from his chin, down and over Cid’s balls. Add that he’s got the hottest mouth in Valisthea and Cid is living in his own personal heaven.

One of Clive’s hands leaves his knee to grasp Cid’s wrist. He lifts his hand away from the couch cushion, peering up through wet eyes. Cheeks flushed, moaning, Clive places Cid’s hand on the back of his head. Pulls insistently.

Fuck.

Unusually obliging, Cid tangles his fingers in the inky locks. Places his other foot on the table as well, angling his hips. Clive follows his lead eagerly, both hands back on Cid’s knees. They make eye contact, Cid heaving for breath, Clive drooling around him obscenely. Despite the intensity of the situation, Cid can’t help but feel soft toward him.

Clive taps his finger once. Pauses. Then twice. One for a positive, two for stop.

“Aye, darling,” breathes Cid.

He tightens his grip and pushes Clive’s head down, thrusting his hips up. A garbled whine responds, choking, and one tap to his knee.

With that permission granted, Cid wastes no time fucking his mouth. Sweat dampens his face as he grunts and growls and groans, sliding back and forth into the soaking furnace. Clive truly does fit him like a hot, filthy glove.

Perhaps the strangest part of their arrangement is how Cid doesn’t get off on dominance, nor Clive from subservience. For Cid, it’s about what drives Clive crazy; what gets him to this state of sometimes drink-tipsy but always cock drunk. It’s how beautiful and lost to pleasure his partner is. As for Clive… well, Cid is well aware.

For Clive, it’s that Cid makes him feel safe and loved, no matter how down and dirty they get.

Soon enough, Cid feels that tell-tale pressure that promises he’s about to burst. That’s when he opens his mouth. Lets it all out.

“Great Greagor, love, so good. You were right—hnngh. Bloody hell, your mouth—so hot, so wet. Perfect for me.”

Clive spits out a cock-muffled moan, eyes rolling back as he eagerly swallows Cid down. Just like that, stuffed down his throat, Cid holds him there, twitches, watches Clive spasm as though he is the one about to blow…

And then he does, Cid does, comes right down his lover’s eager throat with a hoarse shout. Balls tightening, hips rolling, cum spilling out of his cock in repeated spurts until he’s positive that Clive has milked him bone (ha!) dry.

He sags back on the couch with a groan (or maybe it’s the couch groaning? Bugger it; doesn’t matter). Carefully, he loosens his hold on the other man’s hair, shuddering as Clive hums around his softening cock. Plays with the pretty soft locks until Clive finally pulls off. Spit and cum dribble down his chin, his eyes bright and fierce.

“See,” he croaks, voice fucked from it all. “I told you. Perfect fit.”

Chapter Text

Cid doesn’t consider himself particularly picky, at least when it comes to taking a casual lover. Man, woman, pale, dark, blond, brunette, intersex—so long as they’re interesting people and down to try new things, his “tastes” are pretty broad. That doesn’t mean he lacks weaknesses, though. In fact, he has two:

Someone into assplay, and a delicious set of tits.

And he’s hit the motherload with Clive Rosfield.

The former is definitely in the cards tonight. If there’s anything Clive is into, it’s letting Cid do pretty much whatever strikes his fancy when it comes to his ass. Bloody hell, the lad’s pants are usually the first thing to go. This unusually lazy afternoon, with the lovely sun shining in, Clive is spread under the warm golden light, fully nude on their bed, panting as Cid settles between his spread, bent legs and begins to make out with the delicate flesh over Clive’s ribcage. Amidst the moans and squirms, Cid looks up in time to see his lover’s hands drift to his own pecs, thumbs circling around his nipples in a soothing motion. A surge of heat inspires him.

“Darling, let me play with your tits?”

Clive blinks down at him, momentarily puzzled. When Cid repeats the plea, he bites his lip, nods, and slowly removes his own hands to reveal the delectable spread for Cid to play with in full.

Now, Cid isn’t an asshole—okay, no, he is. But he’s not an inconsiderate lover, he’s taken time to tease and prod and play with as much of Clive’s body as he can; tits are no exception. However, he hasn’t focused solely on them yet, and right now, he’s seized by the idea of licking and teasing until Clive complains and pushes him off with a grump and demand to move on already.

They definitely share a love of pushing each other to their limits.

Eager to feast, Cid cups each pectoral with his hands, squeezing and kneading. He’s met many a soldier in his day, but even here, Clive proves to be something special. Swollen muscle builds the firm cleavage, covered with a silky layer of fat that does, in fact, jiggle a bit if not confined beneath clothes.

Cid groans his appreciation and runs his tongue up the line of Clive’s sternum. Then down, wetting the smatter of dark hair on his chest, and under the swell of one tit. Opposite the one he’s tasting, his hand gets to work, rolling large pinches of skin until he grasps a nipple. Clive’s chest heaves in a contented sigh. Not a bad start, in Cid’s professional opinion.

He licks the other nipple until it firms in his mouth. Gentle suckles earn him a mewl, so he eases up on his fingers, aiming for a soft, steady pleasure.

“Ahh…” Clive’s voice pitches for a split second. He starts squirming, more in reaction than an attempt to escape. Closing his lips in a kiss, Cid switches his attentions, ensuring each side receives the same treatment.

In time, Clive’s short disconnected noises lengthen and bind together like twine. He doesn’t get louder, merely more constant.

Thanks to Cid’s care, the younger Dominant’s nipples are barely pinkened at this point. He cups the pectorals, squeezes them together, licking and nuzzling them between utters of deep affection for both the feast and his host.

A quick glance up shows Clive is watching his every move. Blue eyes glazed, lips damp, the color of warmth and arousal tinting his cheeks. Cid holds his gaze a moment longer, licking each nipple like they’re candies, and then pulls one between his teeth, sucking a little harder, nipping a little more.

Clive moans thick and deep. His head falls back to the pillow, hands petting the blankets as though they’re replacements for his usual self-soothing. Fuck. Cid is so hard from this, he’s liable to snap before Clive can even think to push him off…

A sudden jerk under him. Cid pauses, but quickly resumes his play when Clive doesn’t otherwise make any noise or protests. If anything, his expression is almost glossy, hazed over with borderline delirium as Cid moves on to the other nipple with his mouth. Vaguely, he’s aware of Clive’s hips moving under him, but they’re short, lazy rolls, so he doesn’t think much of it.

Right until Clive lets out a low, pitiful moan and twitches. Cid nearly pulls back to check in—and then feels the first spurt of cum against his belly. For a split second, Cid is frozen in disbelief.

He came. From playing with his nipples.

He came from playing with his nipples.

Just as he thinks it, Cid is back down, sucking and milking every drop from Clive’s cock by toying with his chest alone. The way he squirms, low cries and moans ribboning out, twining in raw sensuality, has Cid throbbing. He doesn’t stop until Clive starts making these aborted, pathetic noises, and by the time he looks down, his lover’s stomach—and a bit of his own—is a mess of cum.

Great fucking Greagor.

Mewling, Clive shifts under him. Looks up, bleary-eyed, and shakily strokes Cid’s face. Cid stares back, awe-inspired, truly speechless.

Clive licks his lips and rasps, “S’wrong? Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

A desperate groan bursts out of Cid. He buries his face in Clive’s neck, shuddering, still reeling with the knowledge of what’s happened. Unable to believe that Clive doesn’t seem to realize what happened.

He came just from sucking on his tits.

Clive whines and rocks his hips, his messy, soft cock smearing cum across Cid’s throbbing hard-on as he lies draped over him. Bloody hell, he’s about to lose it, but he needs to check in, needs to be sure—

“Ciiiiid.” The plaintive whine snags something in his primal brain. He lifts his head, looking to see Clive blinking at him with hazy, desperate need. “Please…”

Fuck.

Cid shoves back. Grabs the oil from the nearby nightstand. Hitches Clive’s legs up, savoring the stuttered gasp of lovely surprise when the lad hooks his ankles on Cid’s shoulders, spreading his thighs, tilting his hips up. Douses his fingers in oil, then Clive’s hole. His lover yelps from the sudden cold but doesn’t retract. Gyrates his hips, even, when Cid prods at his entrance.

“Cid, please, please…”

The begging snaps that primal part of him. Cid shoves a finger in with a growl, then a second, and with the third Clive is clamping down, gasping. Fucking himself onto Cid’s fingers, grappling for something to hold onto, and Cid gives him his hand, groaning when Clive’s nails bite into his knuckles from the sheer intensity. Once he’s drilling into his prostate, Clive is garbling nonsense—his cock readily hard again, dripping. Delicious.

Much as he wants to just drive in, Cid stretches him. Prods, rubs, torments until Clive is shaking viciously. Voice cracking as he spits out his name, nipples hard as his back arches.

Cid clamps onto one with his mouth. Clive shouts. Chokes on his own spit, then melts into the bed, moaning as Cid laves over one nipple, and then the other, only pausing to add more oil to his fingers and stretch Clive that much further. The fourth has his lover in tears. Fuck fuck Cid please, I need—please!

So Cid finally obliges. Slips his fingers out, wiping them on the bedding while Clive struggles to tilt his hips up. Pupils blown wide open, mouth damp from spit, babbling.

Cid fuck me, fuck me, need you, Cid—!

He can’t take any more. Cid prods at Clive’s entrance, watches him jerk, and then shoves in until he’s buried completely, his lover spasming and clenching around his cock.

A litany of curses fall out of Cid’s lips. Hot, wet, tight—Clive never disappoints, no matter what they do. He wants to lay claim to him, to ensure no one else even thinks twice about wanting him, to shower him with affection and assurance and tell him how much he’s adored and worshiped by Cid alone.

For the moment, however, he just starts fucking him.

Clive is malleable under him, legs thrown up, ankles locked behind Cid’s neck, then his lower back, shaking and wailing as Cid pounds into him. Broken snarls and sweat drip from his lips and face, onto the gorgeous man beneath him, looking utterly cock-drunk and in awe like Cid is his world.

It’s going to drive him utterly mad one of these days. All Cid can think to do is deliver that utter pleasure, to watch Clive’s face twist as he cries out and arches under him. Driving his hips down, trying to get more.

When he grasps Cid’s wrist and shakily places his hand over one swollen tit, Cid almost comes right there. He manages not to, determined to bring Clive to the brink a second time first. But he does twist and pinch his nipple, first one, then both, his weight on Clive’s chest as he torments his chest with fingers and then lips and teeth. Biting down on his neck while Clive gasps and clenches. Locks his ankles behind Cid and yanks, driving him in impossibly further.

Broken chokes of, Please, please, Cid, inside, lead him to grasp Clive’s cock. Hot and hard in his palm, he jerks him off with brutal, strong strokes. Within moments Clive isn’t even moaning, just gasping and making disconnected noises until he pulses and comes. Covering Cid’s hand, their chests, strands of cum sticking to fine hairs and dripping.

Cid hoists himself, hands on either side of Clive’s ribs, tucked under his arms. A few more unsteady thrusts and his orgasm strikes him hard and hot. He bellows. Pumps Clive full of his spend, eyes clenched shut as he roils in the white-hot pleasure ripping through him.

His thrusts weaken, cock going steadily soft. Rather than pull out, though, he grunts and wriggles to keep inside a bit longer. Clive makes a dull protest sound from his nose. Blinks his eyes open to look at him, exhausted and sated and so beautiful.

“Cid,” he murmurs.

“Aye, sweetheart?”

“Pull out.”

Snorting, Cid just shuffles close, grinding his hips against his lover’s ass, smirking at the whines he elicits. “Why? You’re warm. Doesn’t my pretty wife like feeling full?”

“Asshole,” grumbles Clive, though he makes no move to disentangle his legs from behind Cid’s back, either. Cid leans down, kissing him, grinning when Clive sighs against his mouth and lazily returns the affection.

Then Cid gives one of his reddened, puffy nipples a flick. Clive grunts, unlocks his ankles, and forcefully bears down to push Cid out.

“Little shit.” Cid rolls onto his side, fingers gathering some of the cum from Clive’s belly before he licks it off. Laughing at the scandalized whine his lover makes before Clive turns his back to him. Taking the hint, Cid pulls him closer. They can clean up in a bit. For now, this is lovely. Nuzzling against the nape of Clive’s neck, kissing the damp skin, tasting salt and Clive.

As their heartbeats slow to normal, Clive squirms a bit. Mumbles, “You went hard there at the end.”

“Couldn’t help it,” says Cid against his shoulder, still trailing kisses that make Clive sigh and crane his neck. “You came from me playing with your tits, love.”

Clive stills.

Oh, he didn’t notice. Cid groans into his back, lazily grinding against the curve of his ass. It may take a little while for him to get back up, but that Clive didn’t even know he came from it is stupidly hot.

“I… what?”

“Mmhm,” he purrs. “Definitely going to have to do that again.”

Clive’s hands slap over his nipples with a whimper.

Chapter Text

Rarely does Clive need to sneak into the solar. The vast majority of the time, Cid will either not be there or be awake at his desk, scribbling into a ledger or writing a letter to his “pet project,” something Clive silently finds more than endearing. Tonight, however, he barely opens the door and notes all the candles are out. Cid doesn’t tend to hoard light crystals—”Fire does me just fine,” he likes to say with a wink, to which Clive rolls his eyes and hides a smile—so if a candle isn’t burning, he went to bed on purpose.

Clive slips in, throwing up a weak wyke; just enough to help him navigate his way to the bedroom. He can find it by instinct at this point. Cid’s shit strewn on the ground, though? Not instinctive. He’s stubbed enough toes (and once stepped on a random nail, what in the fucking Founder’s name, Cid??) to know better now.

Sure enough, as he creeps up the short flight of stairs, the flickering wyke shows his partner fast asleep in bed. No shirt, blankets shoved against the wall, only in a loose-fitted pair of pants.

Unreasonable. He’s going to catch cold. Clive considers waking him up just to remind him that he can’t rely on Clive as a personal heater, but immediately dismisses it. For one, a cranky Cid is even more annoying than a normal Cid. For another… fuck it. He won’t say it aloud, but he loves the cuddles.

Shaking his head, Clive gets to stripping his clothes off. Unbuckles his boots; toes them off. Unties the laces of his jerkin and pants, shrugs out of them, his shirt. He’s sort of thirsty, so he’s looking for the water jug they are supposed to keep nearby, when a soft, muffled snort gets him looking at the bed.

Cid is the worst kind of bed hog, and this is a prime example. He’s splayed out, one arm on what he insists is Clive’s side, the other half-hanging off the mattress. Legs spread-eagled, head tilted to the side, hair rumbled as a gentle snore escapes him.

Utterly unreasonable man, even in his sleep.

The wyke nearby catches off a bottle at the bedside table. Damn. They forgot to put the oil away—no, Cid forgot to, because he’s supposed to be on clean-up duty when he fucks Clive so hard that he can’t even form a coherent sentence after. He looses a soft sigh and stalks to the table, ready to put the oil away.

And along the way, his eyes graze over Cid’s sleeping form again. Laid out on his back. Hairy chest rising and falling with gentle breaths. The telltale bulge in his crotch.

Clive stops. Studies him.

The muss of honey-brown hair, thin strands of gray along his temples and short beard. The slant of his nose. Little lines near the corners of his mouth, and the frown lines that defy his usually cocky grin. The slope of a semi-hard cock in his sleep pants.

The strong line of his neck; the tendon pulled taut where his head tilts. The decisive dip between his collar bones. Hard line of his chest, down to a slightly soft but still quite trim belly. A dark trail of hair from his stomach spreading down under his pants, where Clive knows it will lie thick and slightly curled around the base of his cock, which from the angle must be pointed toward his hip, so if he pulls those pants down, he’ll see the thick vein starting to become prominent underneath.

Saliva floods Clive’s mouth.

He can already feel himself swelling; getting hard at the possibilities before him. They have talked about it before, in theory, and both have woken the other with a blowjob to great results. But right now Clive is wanting something… a bit more intense.

He exhales slowly. Glances at the bottle. Knowing Cid, if he tries anything on the bed, there’s a minimal space of time for him to get whatever he wants done before Cid wakes up and just utterly flips the script—and Clive—to rail him through the mattress. Once, literally through. The damn bed broke.

This one, so far, seems sturdier. So, worth the risk.

But there’s still the matter of Cid having a sixth sense for when Clive is aroused. It’s weaker in sleep, certainly, but even if Cid were in a coma, Clive has no doubt if he sat on his dick long enough, Cid would wake with a roar and pin him to the wall before fucking him stupid against it. Ergo, if he wants to get anywhere before Cid reaches that point, he absolutely cannot prep himself on the bed. Or even near it. If Cid smells the oil, he’ll probably jump up like a bloody coeurl and pounce.

Decided, Clive carefully picks up the vial and tiptoes out to the solar. After a moment’s hesitation, he locks the front door. If there’s an emergency, he’ll drop everything, no questions asked. Otherwise, the idea of Torgal sniffing his ass is… not an experience he’d like to relive. Or remember. Fuck, can he ask Ifrit to burn that out of his brain?

Whatever. The door is locked. Cid is fast asleep. He’s got to do it now.

Clive doesn’t trust the couch; it’s too creaky. Cid’s desk is old as well—probably as old as the wanker himself—but it’s much sturdier (like the wanker himself). Clive leans onto it with his forearms, spreading his feet. Pauses to listen for any stirring. Nothing. Pours oil into his fingers, catching a whiff of a faintly sweet floral fragrance, and reaches back to rub against his hole.

He curses softly, a little startled at how quickly his cock reacts, twitching in a Pavlovian response. Damn it, Cid.

Focus. Focus.

Slowly, he circles his fingers around his hole, biting his tongue. For sure, Cid’s lovely, thick fingers stretch him better, but he has a goal in mind. So he shoves that selfish thought aside and makes himself relax, slowly pushing a finger in with a soft sigh. It’s nice, just that feeling of having something inside. It’s not long before he adds a second finger.

Filthy little devil, aren’t you? The idea of Cid purring into his ear makes him bite his tongue over a whine before he goes back to it. Pressing, rubbing, sliding his fingers in and out. Once he’s used to that, he starts stretching himself with a shivery sigh.

Something Cid insists on is very, very thorough preparation. Clive doesn’t mind having his ass slapped—if anything, he wants to try getting off on that alone someday—but that’s far from his goal tonight, so he grumbles, adds more oil, and gets back to work.

It’s been too long since he did this himself. Why does it always feel tighter when he’s the one doing it…?

With a small grunt, Clive turns back to his task. Finally, he feels he’s wet enough—and stretched enough—for Cid to both not wake up too quickly nor find a way to exact retribution for hasty preparation. He breathes out slow, pulls his fingers free, and grabs the oil, hobbling back to the bed.

Cid’s barely moved. Chest moving lightly, expression soft in sleep. Clive sort of wishes he had thought to put his plug in, but Cid isn’t exactly difficult to bring to full arousal, so… fuck it.

He is cautious, tugging Cid’s pants down enough that he can wriggle out of them later, but not so much that he risks waking him. Every little huff and snort makes the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end.

Almost too excited, Clive clambers atop his sleeping lover. Licks his lips, pouring more oil into his hand. Watching Cid’s face carefully as he reaches down, back, carefully working the semi-hard cock beneath him to flushed fullness.

Even in his sleep, Cid twitches. Groans softly, eyebrows briefly knotted, before he sighs and relaxes. Clive sucks his lower lip between his teeth, biting down as he feels Cid grow hard, hot, and heavy in his palm. By the flames, just touching him is anticipation; reminding him of how it’s going to feel in a few scant minutes if he can do this right.

Thankfully, Cid doesn’t do much more than stir a little, express short sighs and soft moans. He’s well and truly asleep.

Clive shuffles back a little, pumping Cid’s dick. Inhales deeply. Gives a little squeeze to watch his partner briefly spasm and relax again.

“Love you,” he whispers under his breath.

Then, lining Cid up oh so carefully, Clive wriggles, finds his position, and starts to sink down on his thick, wanting cock.

He bites down hard on his lip, drawing a little blood. Whimpers at the stretch. Even if Cid fucked him mere hours ago, his body always seems eager to tighten up; to make the next impale a workout. Clive squirms on him, breathing short yet deep as he works his way down. A little more, a little—yessss.

He utters a short whine. Sinks down more, clenching his hands atop Cid’s thighs for balance. The stretch burns, but in a delicious way, and he just—wants—that—hit.

Clive bears down and falls suddenly, taking Cid in fully. Barely managing to stifle a gasp, he breathes heavy and looks down at his partner. Cid is frowning, but still lax, still seeming receptive and unconscious for this.

That’s when Clive decides it’s time to up the ante.

Taking steadying breaths, he starts rolling his hips. Small, gyrating movements, clenching to watch Cid’s subconscious reactions. To his delight, Cid starts twitching, groaning. Small, subtle noises. His cock pulses inside Clive, making him gasp and grind down harder to get that intoxicating rub against his prostate.

As he’s adjusted to Cid’s girth, Clive lifts himself up with his thighs, his core taut, arms steadying himself on Cid’s legs. Sinks back down with a moan. It feels so good. Like his plug, but bigger, thicker, reaching deeper, better. His own dick pulses in response to the stimulation. The air feels humid when he inhales, and all he can think about is making a big, filthy mess on his lover.

“Wake up, Cid,” he whispers, despite not wanting him to wake up unless it’s from sheer pleasure. He wants to see that hazy look, the flicker of confusion—the moment his eyes glint with understanding, when he makes the decision to take over and fuck him. Or, just as good, if he leans back and throatily tells him to keep going, to make himself come on his lover’s cock.

A short, muffled whine slips out at the thought. Clive isn’t quite bouncing, not yet, but he’s not exactly going gentle or slow anymore, either. His breath punting out in little gasps as he rolls and clenches and grinds.

Beneath him, Cid’s eyelashes flutter. A long, deep groan slithers out, tickling along Clive’s skin. Then a short guttural noise.

So close. Clive refuses to touch his dick. If he can come untouched… Founder, it feels so good that only Cid can do that to him…

The sliver of green almost knocks the wind out of him. Clive tries to meet his lover’s sleepy gaze, a little embarrassed at how hot his body feels, how much he’s leaking onto Cid’s belly with each slide down. He pants, squeezing around the thickness inside him. The sound Cid makes is wrecked and filthy.

“Fuck,” the older man rasps, visibly tired but also clearly uncaring. Cid blinks up at him, grasping sluggishly at Clive’s ass, getting two large handfuls and digging his fingertips into the delicate skin around his slick, stuffed hole. “Mm, couldn’t wait to sit on daddy’s cock?”

Heat explodes in Clive’s face. He yanks the pillow out from under Cid’s head. Oomph! Drops it on his face. Pah! Before Cid can react, Clive places his palms flat on his chest and starts riding him like his life depends on it.

Immediately, his dick is throbbing. Insides hot as he slips along Cid’s cock, working up a sweat. If he’s lucky, he can come before—

Cid, never one to follow anyone else’s plan, doesn’t even bother doing the normal thing and removing the pillow first. Broad hands clamp down on Clive’s hips, thumbs digging in, fingers tugging his cheeks apart with brutal strength. He doesn’t even have time to correct his momentum before Cid matches his next fall down with a sharp thrust upward.

A strangled cry rips its way out of Clive’s throat. He digs his fingers into Cid’s chest, trying in vain to maintain control. Cid wrests it away with another fierce thrust, knees bending, feet planted on the mattress. Heaving grunts as he fucks up into him, driving in deeper with his ass spread lewdly like that. Clive scrambles for purchase but it’s yanked out of his control as Cid tosses his head, throwing the pillow off his face. The sack knocks something over from the bedside table but Clive barely notices, frozen at the sight of Cid’s teeth bared, eyes sparking as he easily overcomes the pithy challenge and takes control.

Riding him is useless when Cid has such a strong hold on his hips, driving deep inside with such ferocity. His body is rumbling, actually tremoring from the force under Clive’s thighs when they have a chance to meet Cid’s hips. Aside from that, all Clive feels is the powerful way Cid drives his cock up into him, the hold on his hips and ass, the pleasure roiling through him with every pointed strike to his prostate.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” snarls Cid, his tone sending another sharp wave of pleasure up his spine. “Just like that. So pretty when you let me get you there. Don’t have to do a thing, darling, you’ve got me all worked up.”

Clive spits out a pitiful whine of Cid! and his lover responds with a growl and quicker thrusts. He’s shaking, teeth clacking, eyes rolling into the back of his head as Cid gives him everything he wants, just as he always does.

His breaths come in shorter gasps, tendrils of damp hair clinging to his forehead. Cid is utterly relentless, acting as though he was never asleep. For all he complains about Clive’s “endless stamina,” he’s the one yanking his hips down and hitting that delicious spot inside him that has Clive’s vision whitening at the edges.

Then his fingers start prodding at Clive’s hole, puffy from use, sensitive, and Clive keens.

Cid curses. “Such a sweet wife, such a tight hole. Got you begging for it now, don’t I?” He prods again, the pads of his fingers pressing the delicate flesh in against his slick cock. Clive shudders, his head falling back, drool pooling at his molars. “Fuck, love. Perfect for me, such a beautiful mess to wake up to.” He presses again, his next fuck in a bit slower, and Clive is shaking viciously. Cid groans, his deep voice falling to a plea. “Great fucking Greagor. Let me fill you up, darling, leave you dripping. You take my cum so well, gotta give you more, don’t I? Fuck, Clive, please, let me come inside you?”

It’s too much. So hot. Sweltering. Clive can barely think, has stopped being able to move. Every syllable dribbling from Cid’s sensual lips has him prickling.

“C-Cid,” he chokes out between thrusts. “Please… please…!”

Groaning, Cid thrusts up, holding Clive down and there to grind in circles, making him wail. “Yes, yes, please, such a loving, thoughtful wife, taking me so well, so good, Clive, fuck, Clive!”

The brutal shout of his name, the knowledge that he’s the one doing this—making Cid beg for him, to come inside him—is what tips him over the edge. Clive screams, spasming, clenching hard around the thickness inside him as he spurts over Cid’s chest. His ears ring, so loud that the sound almost drowns out Cid’s moans, but there’s no escaping the frantic pace his lover sets after that. With every new thrust in, Clive feels like he’s coming again. His throat scraped raw from shouting, his ass throbbing from the treatment, clamping down as though every wave will milk Cid into him, even though the other man hasn’t come yet.

Thunder rolls under him, around them. Vibrates through the air. Clive is still dribbling, still shaking, when Cid lets out the most broken, destroyed noise he’s ever heard.

Then he grasps Clive’s hips again, harder than before, and starts fucking him senseless.

Clive can barely react other than to go limp. Making distorted, gurgling sounds as Cid plows into him with ferocious grunts. Every little noise goes to Clive’s exhausted, desperately needy cock. He’s still riding the high of orgasm, petering out, only every grind of Cid’s dick against his prostate makes him feel like he’s coming again.

Looking down, gasping for breath, he sees the narrow intent in Cid’s gaze. His lips taut, sweat beading and dripping down his temple, his neck, his eyes for once not focused on Clive’s face… but on his chest. Where his pecs jiggle with each fuck in.

Clive mewls, threatened to a second orgasm by that intense look alone.

He gives himself over to Cid, giving the older man a chance to think he’s fully won. Then, hands trembling, he reaches up. Notes the way Cid’s eyes widen when he grasps his chest, pinching each nipple at the same time. Moaning from the sensation, the crazed sparks flickering off Cid’s eyelashes.

Clive tugs on his nipples, whines, and Cid’s thrusts stutter before he comes inside him with a shout, something similar to Clive’s name, but so wrecked and raw that he can’t be certain. Clive squirms in his lover’s brutally tight hold, choking when Cid drives a couple more pointed thrusts into him.

At last, Cid stills. His broad chest heaves, expression pinched and fuck-drunk. Clive sinks down and Cid gathers him into his arms, breathlessly husking sweet praises into his ear. Gorgeous, perfect, fucking Greagor, can’t imagine how I ever came before you, unbelievable, darling. Clive tells himself the flush in his face is from their activities, nuzzling in with a contented, tired sigh.

As their sweat cools them down, Clive starts to wriggle. He should clean up—

Cid’s arms tighten around him. He squawks. “Cid?” His voice is utterly wrecked, not unlike his insides at this point. “Leggo.”

A low, warning growl sends a shiver down his spine, settling at his tailbone. Then Cid’s words make him whimper:

“Oh no, love. You woke me up. We’re not done here."

Chapter Text

Cid loves the lad with the whole of his heart, truly. From the surly frowns to the small, almost timid smiles; the pretty face belied by a body littered with scars; his one-mindedness and his endless empathy. Clive Rosfield is everything a man could want—and he loves Cid back. What could be better?

He doesn’t even have complaints on the sex front; a rarity for him. Well… he wouldn’t mind doing it more often, but considering Clive oftens ends up on the receiving end—it works for them—he isn’t about to actually complain.

Perhaps the best part for Cid is how unpredictable yet familiar their routine has become insofar as the bedroom. No matter who instigates, it always becomes a question of, Which surprise awaits us this time?

This time, he’s eyeing the way Clive moves about the solar. The lad absolutely knows what he does to Cid; knows that the sight of him in just those damnably tight pants and loose, open shirt revealing the deep swell of his pecs drives Cid crazy. He remains still at his desk, however, lazily smoking a cigar while Clive absently tidies a few knickknacks and stretches here and there. They had a rough go of it in the past week, and neither are immune to feeling the strain.

In a deep rumble, Cid offers, “Could give you a shoulder rub.”

Clive answers with a snort. Not looking at him.

Brat.

Cocking his head, Cid watches as the lad rolls his head, one hand coming up to rub the thick muscle there. He has to remove the cigar from his mouth to avoid drooling on it. Fuck, but his not so little wife is so delectable.

Clive continues to ignore him as he lackadaisically picks up a few stray books to put back on the shelf. At least, he seemingly ignores him… Cid catches the quick flicker of blue from under dark lashes and even darker bangs. A low shudder begins to build in the older man’s core.

As though not noticing, Clive shuffles a few of the books around. He’s much more particular than Cid about how they’re ordered. So long as the same subjects are generally together, Cid doesn’t mind. But watching his lover reorganize gives him more flashes of muscle stretching and bunching. The slight tic in Clive’s jaw as he has to open one especially worn volume to find whatever information he deems necessary to continue his task.

Cid’s eye is drawn to the lovely line of the younger Dominant’s neck. It’s smooth, clean, pale… unmarked.

He wants to fix that.

Clive suddenly goes red. It takes a moment for Cid to realize why. The shudder in his core has built to a low, wanting growl.

Putting out his mostly ashen cigar, Cid places both hands on the desk. Begins to rise. Clive’s body stiffens for a brief moment. Raking his gaze over the lad, Cid quickly sees the growing bulge at the front of his sinful leathers.

Stepping around the desk, Cid growls, “Clive.”

What startles him is when Clive meets his stare and growls right back. Cid’s cock is instantly pulsing in his own pants.

He takes a step forward. Immediately, Clive pivots and matches with a step back. Cid pauses to observe him, head tilted to the side. A hard-on may not necessarily indicate a want to play (though, with Clive, it almost always does), so he’s looking for other clues. And he finds them in the way the way the lad’s gaze falls to his crotch, how his tongue darts out to wet his lips, in the manner he drags his upper teeth over his lower lip, and then raises his eyes to meet Cid’s, pupils swollen, almost eclipsing the blue.

Cid darts forward with the intent to grab. The slippery devil that he is, Clive maneuvers to skitter away in the nick of time, avoiding Cid’s gloved hand. Both end up facing each other again, tension thrumming between them in erratic, excited heartbeats.

“Seems you have a little problem there, sweetheart.” Cid’s voice husks deep, his pulse racing with how Clive’s eyes narrow. “What’s wrong? Don’t want daddy to take care of it for you?”

Teeth flash in one of Clive's rare snarls.

All right. Clearly, his lover isn’t in a talkative mood. That’s more than fine by Cid. Half the fun of their games is about the puzzle; interpreting various cues. And, if Cid says so himself, he’s quite adept at deciphering one Clive Rosfield.

His lover wants to fuck; that much is clear. But he doesn’t want to be caught—at least, not so easily. The noises he’s making are vaguely reminiscent of Ifrit… not like the Eikon is communicating, more that Clive has chosen to lean on some of those animalistic, instinctive traits. The proof of his full awareness is in the oceanic depths of his gaze, even lustful as it is, and the steady flickers of warmth and affection when his mouth twitches, trying not to grin.

Another throb of arousal goes right through Cid and to his cock. Saliva begins to flood his tongue. He wonders if Clive is leaking yet.

Cid peels his lips back in a feral smile. When he attacks this time, Clive’s eyes barely have the chance to widen before they collide. Both men tumble to the floor, Clive nearly managing to wriggle free before Cid barrels his full weight against him, pinning him to the stone floor. He’s not horribly unkind, though, rolling Clive onto his back and onto the shabby rug next to their couch. When the lad snaps his teeth at him, Cid emits a wordless warning from deep in his chest before grasping both of Clive’s wrists, pinioning them above his head.

Normally, here is where Clive will give in, even if only for a short bit. So when he tries to heave Cid off, the older man relaxes his hold… only for Clive to go limp. Curious, he squeezes his wrists again, receives a harsh buck of Clive’s hips. Cid loosens, and Clive collapses to the floor.

Ah. Now he sees.

Cid redoubles his efforts, slamming Clive’s wrists down and grasping them in one hand. When the younger man struggles, he sits heavily on his hips, earning a wheeze… and more, if slightly less forceful, struggling.

“Someone’s feisty.” Cid grunts, shifting back so his ass firmly presses against his lover’s clothed cock. A strangled moan rips out of Clive’s throat. For a brief moment, his fighting shifts to chasing that friction, humping up against Cid. “Still don’t want to talk, pet? Need I just fuck the words out of you?”

Clive lets out a short, sharp keen. Amused, Cid shuffles back so that their bulges fit together. His lover gasps and shudders under him.

Cid rocks his hips, sneering. “Any better now?”

Dark eyes flash. Belatedly, Cid realizes that the move has laid him flatter over the lad, giving him less leverage.

Even as he starts to correct it, Clive jerks his head up so fast and sudden that Cid winces in sympathy. And then emits a noise of surprise when Clive fits his mouth at the bared spot of Cid’s wrist, under his glove and where the sleeve falls open in a V, and bites. Not hard, not really, just enough to secure a place before he begins to desperately, lewdly suck the skin there.

Cid groans. It doesn’t feel especially good, but it’s certainly not bad, either. It’s the act; the carnality of it that turns him on. When his lover’s damp mouth slides down a fraction, the sucking sounds continuing, Cid gets a glimpse of the reddening bruise being left behind, and—

Ah. Ahhh, that’s it.

He yanks his arm free, tangling his fingers in Clive’s hair and pulling despite the nonverbal protests. Leaning down toward that snarling mouth, he drops his voice to a low purr. “That what this is about? You’re feeling insecure?”

Clive’s eyes snap wide. “N-no…!”

The fact his denial is the first spoken word he utters in hours doesn’t go unnoticed by Cid. He nips the lad’s cheek, just enough to hurt a little; to garner his attention. “There’s no shame in it, sweetheart. You want to mark me where anyone can see, don’t you?” The sharp bump in Clive’s throat bobs, and Cid smirks. “I was thinking the same thing, earlier. How that pretty neck needs a new bruise or two.” He bends so close that their noses brush. Breathes out, “Come on, Clive. Use your words.”

His eyes entirely black, Clive rasps, “Let me suck on you.”

Cid’s cock twitches. “Of course, darling.” He releases Clive’s wrists, loosening the laces of his jacket—only for the younger Dominant to pounce. The strong stitches of Cid’s leathers creak under the force of his pulling.

Much as Cid groans at the feeling of his cock being freed, he tugs on Clive’s hair, unkindly, earning a huff. Cid growls right back.

“Now, now, love, there is, in fact, an order to things.” He switches hands as he shrugs his jacket completely off, never fully releasing Clive’s hair. Eventually, he gets his shirt off as well. The way his partner’s eyes light up at the sight of his bare chest… that alone is almost enough to push Cid to the brink of madness.

He manages to keep his cool, however, changing the pull on Clive’s hair to a push as he guides him toward his chest.

“Go on.”

Clive leaps on the invitation, sucking a mouthful of his nipple past his teeth. Jaw clenched, Cid fists the inky strands in his hand, uttering little pleasured grunts as the younger man licks and sucks and scrapes with his teeth. Not that Clive doesn’t deliver in his own way, but usually these positions are reversed: Cid mauling his chest, Clive squirming under the attentions. Tonight, Clive is obviously in a certain mood, and Cid is loving it.

He rumbles out, “That’s it, Clive, as much as you want. Take it all.”

Clive moans loudly against his chest, eyes rolling back before fluttering shut as he switches to the other nipple with eager. Cid’s fingers flex against his skull. It’s wonderful. Doesn’t seem to rile him up the same way it does Clive, but he’s beginning to leak pre-cum nonetheless.

Then Clive starts biting up toward his collar before latching onto the sharp bone and sucking so obscenely that Cid is rethinking where he wants his mouth. Wet and messy and perfect, fucking Greagor.

Unfortunately, his mind diverting to this path means he’s let his guard down.

Clive heaves up, hands abruptly fastened to Cid’s bare waist as he flips the older man onto his back. Cid lands with a pained grunt, vaguely thankful for the shabby rug—and then Clive licks down his chest, drooling over him, rolling his pants and smallclothes the rest of the way off. The switch made Cid lose his firm grip on the younger man’s hair. He tries to correct it, but Clive has already found a new place to mark, sucking harshly over the jut of his hipbone.

Well, fuck. He did say to take it all, didn't he?

Decided, and admittedly curious, Cid props himself up on one elbow. He pets Clive’s hair rather than grip, nails gently scratching over the sensitive skin of his scalp. Clive groans. Glances up with a hazy gaze, then mouths over his upper thigh. He bites down gently, more gnawing than anything. Starts sucking a dark mark there, too.

Cid shudders as the lad continues his mission to suck and bite the meat of his legs. He gets out between steadily roughening breaths, “Not just where others can see, then? You want to make sure I remember, too.”

A soft mewl against his inner thigh is his answer. Clive sucks harsh there, biting down hard enough to make Cid yelp.

“A-ah, easy, love,” he pants, briefly tugging Clive’s hair. “I don’t recover as easily as you.”

Clive finally detaches his mouth. Great Greagor, but he’s beautiful. Lips puffy, chin shiny with spit, cheeks pinkened with excitement, eyes sparkling with a mixture of defiance and need.

A rasping growl of, Good, is all Clive says before he ferociously attacks Cid’s inner thigh on the other side. Cursing, Cid spreads his legs to give his partner more room.

Clive is quick to take advantage, going for the large, sensitive tendon between thigh and pelvis. The sudden ferocity at such a tender area has Cid gasping, forced to stop petting in order to keep his balance on both elbows. He doesn’t want to look away for a second.

As though reading his mind, Clive whines and laps at Cid’s balls, nuzzling into the thick hair around his cock as he tastes his fill. Cid feels the muscles in his stomach tighten, his legs clenching at the dutiful attention being given to him. Slow, unsteady breaths leave his chest. Clive practically mewls, lashes fluttering as he continues on his delicate warpath, eventually taking one of Cid’s balls into his mouth and teasing in slow circles with his tongue, drooling indecently.

Cid sucks in a harsh breath between his teeth. Before he can say anything (though to be honest, for once, he’s pretty speechless), Clive moves on to the other, giving it the same diligent treatment.

Fuck, but he loves this man so much.

That said, lovely as it is having his balls given such direct, slick pleasure, Cid is beginning to feel his patience fray. So when Clive begins moving up his body again, ignoring his cock, Cid growls and tugs his hair. When that doesn’t deter his lover, he does it again, harder. Still Clive just huffs and moves up again.

Finally, Cid pulls until the lad stops. His voice drops in warning. “Clive…”

Head strained back due to Cid’s grip, Clive snarls back. “One more.” Despite the ferocity of his tone, his words make his plea all too transparent. “One more, Cid.”

Eyes narrowed, Cid agrees gruffly, “Fine. One more.”

The instant Cid lightens up, Clive goes straight for his neck. Not biting or sucking; at least, not at first. Just spit-laden lips and closed teeth sliding along taut skin. Cid groans and tips his head to the side. Eagerly, Clive takes the offering, driving him crazy with the teasing until he finds a spot—a very visible one at that—and latches on, suckling, whining his pleasure.

These bruises will ache in the morning. Cid plans to return the favor, the bloody brat.

Just when he’s ready to pull him away from the tenderized flesh, Clive pops free and eases back to admire his work. The small yet deeply satisfied smile on his lips gives Cid pause on immediate retribution. When the younger man lets out a contented sigh, Cid simply keeps his hand gentle where it is. Clive happily settles back between his legs, nuzzling and kissing the flushed cock dying for attention.

It takes Cid a good moment to translate the soft murmurs falling from his lover’s mouth: mine, love, mine, Cid… Then, with a sigh, Clive wraps his lips around the thick, leaking cockhead before him.

Even just the soft suckling has Cid’s lungs deflating in an explosive moan. Clive doesn’t even seem to hear it, utterly blissed out with the tip of Cid’s cock in his warm, wet mouth. His tongue moves, lazily massaging the sensitive skin.

Somehow, Cid manages to keep his voice somewhat even. “All good, sweetheart?” He pushes Clive’s bangs back to better look him in the eye. “Got me all marked up like you wanted?”

“Mmmhm.” Clive sighs deeply through his nose.

Cid decides to let him bask for a little while longer, crooning praise and gently scratching his scalp. Bit by bit, the initial high seems to wear off. Which is fantastic, because Cid is close to snapping from his own desperately increasing arousal.

“Good,” he husks… then yanks Clive off suddenly, hissing over his gasped complaint. “My turn.”

He rapidly maneuvers Clive so he’s bent over the couch cushions, knees bent on the floor. Cid unties his laces with practiced ease, shoving the leathers down and off so he can push those muscular thighs apart. In front of him, Clive makes a sound somewhere between distressed and turned on.

“No whining,” scolds Cid, using his thumbs to spread his lover’s cheeks. “You had your fun, love.”

He dives in tongue first, prodding and slurping at the twitching hole. Clive chokes out, Cid! as though scandalized. The older man replies with a wordless grunt and trying to work in further. It won’t be enough, they need oil, he knows this—

Sudden inspiration strikes as though gifted by the god of Thunder himself, the filthy old bastard. Still huffing, Cid attaches one hand to Clive’s hip, the other stretching in front to grasp his cock, hot and hard and messy from extended arousal in his smallclothes. When Cid firms his grip and strokes from base to tip, Clive squeaks out something that might sound offended if it wasn’t for the fact he’s the one reaching back with one hand to pry one cheek open further for Cid to continue his feast.

*I am the luckiest man on this gods-forsaken planet.*

He lets go of Clive’s hip to gather the pre-cum he’s steadily milking from the younger Dominant’s cock. It gives his partner the leeway to push his ass back in a demand for more. Cid is happy to oblige.

Once he gathers enough, he uses that to slick up his own cock, aided by the leftover spit from Clive’s mouth just minutes ago. He doesn’t stop there, throbbing, going back for more. Soon Clive is thrashing in aborted motions, keenly trying not to lose Cid’s mouth from where he likes it most.

“Cid! Cid, please!” His raspy cry echoes in the solar.

With another growl, Cid milks more out of him, refusing to cease until he’s satisfied. This time, rather than wet his own dick, he smears the pre-cum over the lad’s hole, his chuckle almost mean at Clive’s confused moan.

“This way,” he says, barely pulling back for his current mission, “I get to taste all of you at once.”

Cid plunges his tongue in, finally finding some give. A thump sounds—Clive hitting his head on a cushion, poor baby—and Cid holds him open again, delighting in the earthy, salty musk on his taste buds.

“C-Cid! Oh… Cid, Cid, Cid.” Clive babbles his name in needy sobs, fumbling for his own cock.

This time, Cid lets him, too enamored with the way his lover is falling apart at the literal tip of his tongue. He slurps and presses, suckles and moans, until Clive’s legs start quivering. Harder and harder, shaking, quaking—and then he spasms with a wail, coming all over the front of the couch and floor.

It’s too hot not to give in. Cid strokes himself as Clive jerks against him, groaning thick and deep as he comes against his lover’s thighs. Pleasure rocks back and forth between them, and Cid stubbornly refuses to quit until Clive yanks away with a whimper.

Cid sits back on his haunches, wiping his face with the back of his arm and hand. He snorts a laugh when Clive slumps boneless against the couch, panting heavily.

Given he’s quicker to recover—a trade-off for Clive’s ridiculous refractory period, he supposes—Cid tries to scoop him off the couch, earning an elbow to his ribs. “Ugh. Brat.”

“Fuck off,” wheezes Clive, barely shooting him a one-eyed glare over his shoulder. “Made a mess… bastard.”

“Aye, aye, you have plenty of time to clean it up.”

“Me?!”

Arching an eyebrow with a sneer, Cid says, “I’m the one who’s going to be sore tomorrow. Unless you’re up for me marking you?”

For a moment, Clive’s silence rings clear and true; like an assent. At least, until he half-turns in Cid’s arms, gaze alight with the sparks of challenge.

“Do it.”

Chapter Text

“Behave yourself, lad.”

“Or what?”

Never have two words gotten Clive in so much trouble.

He bites the fold of sheet closest to him, whimpering as those deft, wide fingers stretch him open. The squelch of oil with each twist and thrust goes straight to his cock, hanging thick and dribbling between his legs. Since pinning him to the bed and stripping his clothes off, Cid has yet to say a word. A quick peek over his shoulder proves the man kneeling behind him, his expression a fierce, thunderous scowl, betrayed by the crackling of desire in his pupil-eaten eyes as he adds a third finger to spread more oil inside.

“Cid,” stammers Clive, hitching his ass up. “I get it, just, just please…”

A low growl shuts him up. He sucks his lower lip between his teeth, muffling a whine as Cid rubs and massages his prostate. Pleasure throbs through his hot dick, making him spurt a little more clearish fluid.

When the older man does finally speak, it’s to rumble, “Feels ready,” before he flips Clive onto his back. Clive lunges up for him, kissing him greedily, needful, whining when Cid pushes him back to the bed and grasps a handful if one pec. Massaging, squeezing, rolling his nipple between thumb and forefinger while Clive gasps and arches into it.

“Please, Cid, please,” he moans.

“Hmmm…”

Despite Cid’s considering hum, his eyes swell with heat. A thick, broad hand grasps Clive behind the thigh, shoving his leg up and open. He eagerly—even if his face heats with embarrassment—spreads his other leg as well, leaving him open for the other man. Cid’s gaze flickers down, a hunger so palpable in his face that Clive swears he feels sparks from his hands, Deadlands or no.

“So now you behave,” chides Cid. Before Clive can argue, he hitches the younger man’s hips onto his knees, lining his cock up to his oil-slick, loose hole. “Let’s see how long that lasts, darling.”

He immediately starts pushing his cock in. Clive cries out, trying to wrap his legs around him, but Cid snarls and shifts so that he’s folding Clive practically in half. The first fuck in continues in a steady, delicious split. His rim burns in a way that Clive has come to associate with mindblowing sex, and it makes him mewl as Cid grunts and huffs his own pleasure between clenched teeth.

“That’s it, love, a little more.” The low roll of his voice has Clive trying to bear down, to get him in faster, but it only results in Cid’s hips ceasing. He grasps one of Clive’s wrists, pinning it next to his head, his other forearm used for balance as he curls over him. Their eyes meet, magnetized. Clive swallows over a heady moan.

“Don’t rush me,” scolds Cid, before continuing the agonizingly slow push. Clive whines and kicks his feet uselessly in the air. It’s hot, his hole is tight, Cid fills him so well, he’s ravenous, he needs, he needs—

Cid bottoms out with unusual gentleness. The heavy head of his cock rubs directly over Clive’s prostate, sending little extra zings of pleasure through his limbs.

“There we are,” husks Cid, his eyes lowering to half mast. “All full now, don’t you feel better?”

He probably should just say yes, or nod. But Clive is nothing if not stubborn, so he just scoffs weakly and glares at him.

That gets him a narrow-eyed look. A deep rumble sounds, reverberating the air between them. “Greedy thing,” hisses Cid. “Guess I’ll have to do a little more, then.”

Clive’s breath hitches at the promise/threat. He tries not to squirm, hoping it means that Cid will start fucking him. He is full, and slick; Cid always performs a thorough prep, resolute that Clive won’t be taking his cock without incredible preparation first. It’s hardly rare for Cid to get nice and settled just to start pounding away until they both come, Clive usually at least twice.

He blinks in surprise when the first thing Cid does is release his wrist and tangle his fingers in Clive’s hair. The lust in his expression is softened around the edges by fondness. Clive’s heart swells in his chest and threatens to choke him.

“The way that I love you,” murmurs Cid before dropping a soft kiss to his lips. Clive sighs into it, legs twitching as he tries to exercise patience. Because really, this is perfect, too. Kissing Cid is like coming home.

“Love you,” he rasps back when Cid pulls away. “Cid…”

“Shh, pet. I know. I’ve got you.”

The pull out is slow, making his legs twitch even more. Clive whines when the head of Cid’s cock pulls at his rim, making him whimper, no, no, don’t—

And then Cid glides back in with the same aching slowness. Clive shivers and prays the pace will pick up soon. It feels good, of course, but neither of them are going to come like this.

As though reading his thoughts, Cid utters a small laugh. Kisses him again. “Always a race to the finish line with you,” he says. The blunt accuracy makes Clive’s ears go hot. “Relax, love. Let me take care of you.” Which he punctuates with a draw out, again teasing at his cock popping free. Clive whines and clenches around him, desperate to keep him in, trying to pull him back, and he yelps when Cid pinches his nipple in sharp retribution.

“None of that.” The low tone Cid uses is a definite, irrefutable warning that draws a strangled noise from Clive’s throat. “I’ll choose your pleasure tonight. All you need to do is watch me.”

All he needs to do? Clive would laugh if Cid’s cock wasn’t throbbing so heavily inside him. He tries to turn his head, only for Cid’s hands to tense and snap him back. A fierce look darkens the older Dominant’s face, his eyes practically sparking.

“I said look at me.”

He pushes back in, and Clive whines. Tears flood his eyes. Even blinking them away encourages Cid to tug on his hair and bite his lower lip in punishment. Softly as he fucks him, he’s harsh with the bites and pulls; not quite drawing blood or hurting beyond pleasure, but leading Clive in a crawl to higher stimulation and swollen bite marks littered across his neck and shoulders.

If anything, when Clive squirms or whimpers, Cid’s hips move slower. It’s drawing on something he’s never quite felt before; a deep-seated frustration that builds alongside equal pace with the pleasure of being filled, of feeling the hard grind against his prostate each time Cid bottoms out. Clive slaps at his arms, Cid, c’mon, please, and Cid licks into his mouth with a heady groan that makes Clive’s balls heavy and aching.

In and out, a slow roll of the hips, pausing only to shift or adjust Clive. Barely incremental movements that don’t add any extra stimulation. All he can focus on is Cid’s face, the man’s focus so utterly on him that Clive wants to cover his face and hide.

But he also doesn’t want to stop drinking in the way Cid looks at him.

Just when Clive thinks he can, in fact, keep his eyes open, Cid finishes another gradual grind in and rubs hard against his prostate. He cries out, head thrown back on instinct. Cid growls and yanks his head back into place, pulling his hair, his growls and pants hot against Clive’s cheeks. “No, love. Here, with me.”

“Cid…” It comes out in a pathetic whine. He tries to grab for something again, this time scrabbling at Cid’s broad back. If his nails dig in, all the better, this is torture.

Cid groans at the bite of his nails, breaking for a moment to give a single, hard thrust in. Clive damn near clears the bed in the ecstasy that floods his core. More of that, he needs more of that—

“Where are you going?” Cid shifts again, throwing Clive’s legs over his shoulders, compressing him so tight that Clive struggles to get a full breath. “Watch me, love.”

“I am,” he bursts out, frantic and annoyed and so full he could scream. “Founder damn you, I am watching yo—AH!” He stutters off, bitten sounds caught in his mouth. Cid has slipped one hand between them, rubbing circles into the soft, sensitive skin just above his hole. The pressure only adds to Clive’s spiraling, unfulfilled need. He chokes on a sob.

“So mouthy, so greedy,” says Cid. He’s all encompassing, making the air swell with heat and petrichor. It’s a sight and sensation that Clive will burn into his brain for the rest of his life. Gods, he’s so hard, leaking all over his belly, and Cid won’t touch his cock except for the brief instances when his stomach adds a little friction.

Cid’s growl softens a little, his voice pulsing with affection. “My greedy little wife.”

Clive wants to punch him through the wall as badly as he wants to kiss him. He manages to get the latter, whimpering and pulling on Cid until their mouths meet in a desperate, sloppy kiss, full of teeth and spit.

Soft, damp lips trail over his jaw, his ear. Cid rattles, Good boy, in his ear, and Clive swears it’s almost, almost enough to make him come. But he’s not close enough to tip over that edge, still just out of reach. He writhes to make his displeasure known.

Utterly unfazed, Cid just resumes his pace. The one thing that Clive is unequivocally enjoying—though he’ll never say it—is how lewd the squelch of oil is this way. Cid suddenly raises up, easing Clive’s legs down around his waist, and oh, thank fucking flames, he’s about to get serious.

Only, rather than fuck him, Cid pulls most of the way out before grabbing the oil and drizzling more onto his cock and Clive’s hole.

“Don’t want you to feel any pain, now, do we?” asks Cid, a sharp grin carving into his face.

As if this torment isn’t its own kind of pain?!

“You know what,” breathes Clive, feeling brave now that Cid’s attention isn’t so hard on him. “Fuck you.”

That is a mistake.

Cid doesn’t look up, but the way he tosses the oil aside without care for what spills has Clive’s pulse jump in his throat. He starts to move back, but Cid leans over. Cages him with his hands on either side of Clive’s head, a sliver of his teeth bared, his cock just barely, barely hanging on inside him.

“Perhaps,” says Cid, voice so dark and delicious that Clive can’t help the violent shiver that wracks his spine. “You need a reminder of why this all started in the first place.”

He gives one hard, sharp thrust in. Clive chokes on a breath, struggling to draw in air. Every nerve sings, ready for Cid to just obliterate him…

… except Cid just stays there, balling him up, circling his hips in a gradual, unhurried grind. Clive keens. He tries to clench down, to rock his hips and pick up some sort of speed, but Cid just huffs and kisses him.

“Don’t look so upset, love. Doesn’t this feel good?” Clive’s retort is lost in a gurgle as Cid just presses against him, against his prostate that doesn’t feel anywhere near sore enough and is getting too much mild stimulation for him to climb any kind of peak. “Don’t you like my cock deep in that tight little ass of yours? Isn’t it good, right against that sweet spot there?” Clive scratches at his back, wheezing. Cid fondly kisses him again. “Do you want me to pull out?”

“No!” gasps Clive. His throat feels raw, and dry. He swallows uselessly, his voice cracking. “No, don’t, please, I just… I need…!”

“I know what you need,” purrs Cid. One of his hands comes to Clive’s hair, petting the damp, sweaty strands back from his forehead as he whimpers and tries to chase his palm with his lips and tongue. “Come now, sweetheart, let me take care of you. You’ll like how it feels at the end, I promise.”

A short, desperate wail mingles with a sob as Clive finds a weak semblance of purchase with his hand on Cid’s shoulder. “C-can’t. Too much, not enough!”

His words visibly affect Cid. The other man groans over him, knuckles popping as his hands tense on either side of Clive. He husks out, “You can take it. I know you can. Stay just like this, gorgeous. Daddy’s got you.”

Clive sobs openly. He tries not to blink too much in spite of the tears. Cid is so thick and hard inside him, filling him to capacity. Each leisurely slide in brings a fresh wave of tears that Cid starts kissing away, his gentle hums adding to the low waves of need that refuse to build fast enough. Clive is aching. He feels like he’s losing his grip on what’s even real outside of this slow-building hedonism.

He cracks. Begs, “Please, just—fire and fucking flames, please, just a little faster!”

Cid croons and smooths his hair back again, kissing his temple. “You’re doing well. Just relax.”

Relax, ha. How can he possibly relax when Cid keeps fucking him—if he can really call it that at this point. His lover is being soft (mostly) and gentle (kind of) and sweet (other than the fucking torment). Clive can feel every drag against his inner walls, the whole of Cid when he’s buried in to the hilt.

He’s going mad.

And Cid gives him no peace. When he’s not rolling his hips, he’s kissing Clive, sucking a new bruise into unmarked flesh, growling praise as Clive sinks further and further. His eyes leak a steady stream of tears, and his cock is drooling so messily that pre-cum dribbles up to his chest, where Cid’s folding has put the majority of his weight on his upper back. It’s so good and hot. Clive tastes sweat when Cid kisses him, and ozone when he licks past his teeth.

“Such a good wife, so calm for me now.” Cid’s words come out in short breaths. “You like this?” Clive can’t form words at this point; he just whimpers and rolls his head, not in a no, but because a wave of pleasure laps over him. It takes him a moment to realize Cid has finally, finally picked up some speed. “Hmm? Do you want more, my pretty little wife?”

Part of Clive still wants to snap; he’s not little, or a wife… but he’s so taken with the raw want in Cid’s gaze and suddenly none of that matters.

His mouth dry, Clive weakly licks his lips. His first attempt at talking is little more than a croak. On the second try, however, he rasps, “Yes, please.”

Cid groans, clearly more affected than he’s been letting on. He picks up the pace, though it’s not anywhere close to when he lets loose. It’s steady, the slap of his hips against Clive’s ass loud enough to fill his ears. Even that, after so long of such slow movement, almost does him in. Clive moans, embarrassed at how loud he is, but he can’t help it. And from the way Cid sparks, he’s more than all right with that.

“That’s it, such a good boy,” growls Cid. He keeps the steady pace, though his thrusts do get a bit stronger, jolting Clive a little each time. One of the older man’s hands finds Clive’s, tangling their fingers, and Clive utters a thin, reedy noise. “Nngh, yes. Fuck, Clive, you’re so tight. So hot. So good.”

“Cid,” he cries. His chest heaves. Something is building, it shouldn't be, but fuck, he’s not going to question it, not at this point. “Cid, please, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

Cid grunts a response, hands shifting to Clive’s hips. He adjusts him, still steady, though there’s sweat starting to trail down the sides of his face and into his short beard. There’s a part of Clive that knows he’s sore—Cid isn’t exactly an average-sized man—but he’s too far gone to care, and usually likes it anyway. There’s something about it, knowing Cid will carve out a place just for him, leaving his mark in more ways than one… it does things to Clive. Things that make his chest tight and his lips tingle.

Cid does begin to go faster, clearly reaching the end of his own rope. Despite his frantic flailing earlier, all Clive can do is utter high-pitched whines and muffled whimpers, clinging tight to Cid, hooking his legs around his torso and pressing his heels into the man’s lower back. Cursing, Cid begins to fuck him proper, teeth gritted, hissing out, “C’mon, darling, c’mon, now, let go.”

As if by command, Clive’s orgasm rushes up to meet him. A loud, grating wail catapults out of him as he sprays himself and Cid with cum. He squirms, clenches, writhes, all unintentional, and all seeming to have the effect of making Cid’s tightly wound control snap.

With a snarl, Cid grasps him by the shoulders and yanks Clive back onto his cock. Holding him there, thrusting wildly, his chest heaving between spitting praises; Gorgeous, fucking tight, so wet for me, my love, my wife, my Clive.

And Clive is drunk off it, Cid’s words line a bittersweet wine in his head and veins. He hangs on as best he can, but at this point, he’s mostly just pliant for Cid, still riding remnants of his own high. Clive mumbles something—he doesn’t even know what—and grasps Cid’s face in shaking hands. Manages to clear enough of his throat to eke out something coherent.

“Cid,” he gasps, moaning when another thrust brutalizes his poor, swollen prostate. “Cid, I… I’ve been good, please come inside me…”

A long, low, thick moan rattles between them, and Cid’s hips start to lose momentum. A few more desperate fucks in, and he comes with a deep groan. It vibrates through Clive, making his arms fly up to bring Cid close as he coasts along his own orgasm, hips twitching as he fucks the last bit deep into Clive.

Both men lay like that, gasping in humid air. Eventually, Clive starts to squirm and pushes at Cid. “C’mon. Out.” Cid mutters something and shifts, all but pushing his softening dick inside. Clive grunts. “Cid, pull out.”

A low, breathless laugh warms his neck. Clive shivers, wary of the answer, but it’s even worse than he expects.

“Or what, sweetheart?”